as an introduction, i’m yeepy. i’ve decided to reformat my blog, since i’ve shifted my focus to a different fandom. previously, i was into cod, but i’m getting back into anime again (for the third time lmao) so my main focus is jjk.
with that, welcome to my navigation page—i don’t write very often, but when i do, it takes a bit of time. i’m peculiar and picky about my works, so please excuse absences or lack of writing :)
my navigation is under the cut!!
↳ works masterlist—you'll find an entire list of my works, and if the list gets too long for my liking, i’ll break it down into multiple lists by dates
↳ miscellaneous—this contains my ocs, non-fandom related posts, or pictures
↳ tags—my short list of tags that i use to mark my works; these will vary by content
↳ ideas—my ‘to-be-written’ works
⋆ to note—all works will have #yeepyzwrites tagged
aerion crying 🤤 i feel like it’s literally impossible for him to cry…right? but with his mother and everything…idk! i feel like because he’s a human (barely) it’s not entirely avoidable. is there an aerion-equivalent or something? what would cause it? andddd how does that differ in the regular modern verse and the tt!au? :)
that man has buried so much of his emotional range under cruelty and spite that the mechanism is basically rusted shut. he can feel fury, contempt, hunger, obsession, even love deeeep down and aerion shaped. but the vulnerable stuff, the soft underbelly emotions, those got locked in a room when he was young and the key was swallowed and the door was bricked over.
but there is one thing that could break the brickwork, one thing in any universe, and it's you dying.
and I don't mean the idea of you dying in some abstract, some philosophical sadness about mortality. I mean the actual, visceral, your-body-is-cold-and-your-eyes-are-closed reality of a world where you are no longer in it. aerion in every verse has a genuine, perverse, bone-deep terror of this. it sits under everything he does. under the possessiveness, the obsessive need to keep you close. he doesn't fear his own death. never has. his own death is a shrug, an inevitability, a thing that happens to bodies and his body has never mattered much to him. but yours? the extinction of yours? unbearable. actually the word isn't even strong enough. there is no word strong enough.
in canon, he does blood magic to extend your life. the rituals, the bindings, the valyrian words spoken into your mouth while he's inside you. he's trying to knot your life to his so tightly that death can't unpick it. and he's trying to cheat the gods out of you. he will bleed himself dry on a weirwood floor if he thinks it buys you another decade.
if it actually happened? the first reaction would be rage. not grief, not sadness. volcanic rage. he would destroy things. rooms, people, himself. manic and purposeless and ugly, breaking whatever his hands can reach because the alternative is standing still and standing still means feeling it and feeling it means the tears come.
and eventually they would come. alone. behind a locked door. silent, furious tears that he'd wipe away with shaking hands and deny with his whole body. his face wouldn't crumple, wouldn't soften with grief. his jaw would stay clenched and his teeth would stay bared and the tears would just fall, involuntary, a bodily function he can't override, and he would genuinely kill anyone who witnessed it. bare hands, no hesitation, because being seen crying is being seen broken and aerion broken is aerion at his most dangerous.
in modern verse: the terror expresses differently because the threats are different. he's just a man with too much money and a woman he's obsessively in love with and a body that will eventually fail. so the fear comes out as control. calling at odd hours for no reason he'll name. if you got hurt (a car accident, a hospital call) the mask would come off in the waiting room and whoever was sitting beside him would see his hands shaking, and his eyes red and would be too afraid to say a word. he'd hold your hand in the hospital bed so hard the nurses would have to ask him to ease up and he wouldn't ease up and nobody would ask twice.
in tt!verse: the terror is rawer because he has less. modern aerion at least has money, resources, the ability to buy the best doctors. tt!aerion has nothing between you and the world except his own body. you are the only good thing and the world is the thing that takes good things and he knows this because the world has taken everything else. so the fear is constant and looks like aggression because that's the only language his body learned. if you got hurt in tt!verse, the rage wouldn't even have a delay. it would be immediate, physical, pointed at whoever or whatever caused it with zero regard for consequences. and the tears afterward, alone, in that car or that trailer or whatever dark corner he crawled into.
the idea of having to live in a world without his wolf is the one thought aerion in every verse cannot sit with. his brain physically refuses. and that refusal is the engine under everything he does. every binding, every fight, every hand around your throat and every mouth on your pulse and every whispered mine in the dark.
໒ Summary : What would their wish would be if they had the one wish willow on their hand to have the girl they want?
Including : Aerion Targaryen, Valarr Targaryen, Jacaerys Velaryon, Gwayne Hightower, Ormund Hightower (all Modern AU) × f!reader
CW: Modern AU, Dark Romance, Supernatural Mind Control, Compulsion, Obsessive & Possessive Behavior, Dubious Consent, Loss of Autonomy . Not supporting bear's action, Read at your own risk . "obsession" movie inspired.
A/N: reminding that this is just a fiction. everyone is crazy af in here
Aerion Brightflame
Aerion was never someone who accepted rejection.
As you turned your back on him in the dimly lit hallway behind the lecture halls, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. He had pulled out all the stops—leaning against the wall, flashing his usual lethal smirk, casually offering you a ride in his sports car like it was the greatest privilege in the world.
And you? You had just adjusted your backpack, looked at him with complete indifference, and said, "No thanks, Aerion. I'm busy."
No hesitation. No blush. Just sheer, cold indifference as you walked past him, the soft click of your shoes echoing down the corridor.
Aerion stood frozen for a split second, his silver-blonde hair falling slightly over his eyes. His pride wasn't just wounded; it was utterly scorched. Watching your retreating back, something inside him snapped—a raw, dangerous frustration that burned away whatever patience he had left.
He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the One Wish Willow box. It was cool, heavy, and pulsing with a subtle, unnatural hum against his palm. He didn't care about the warnings or how ridiculous it seemed to use it right here in the middle of campus. He just knew he couldn't let you walk away from him again.
Taking two swift steps forward, his dark eyes locked onto your figure, Aerion held the branch tight in his grip and whispered bitterly into the cold air,
"I wish for her stop walking away. I don't care how—just make her look at only me. Make her body refuse to leave me behind."
He snapped the branch in two. The moment the last word left his lips, a sudden, heavy static filled the air.
Just ten paces ahead of him, your feet suddenly felt like lead. A strange, sharp chill ran down your spine, followed by a dizzying wave of warmth that flooded your chest. Your heart gave a violent, unnatural thud. Suddenly, the urge to keep walking completely vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, magnetic pull drawing your attention back behind you.
You stopped dead in your tracks.
Your head felt heavy, filled with a sudden, intrusive image of Aerion—his eyes, his voice, his presence. The indifference you felt just five seconds ago was completely wiped clean, replaced by an intense, suffocating need to be near him.
Slowly, almost like a puppet pulled by invisible strings, you turned around.
Aerion was still standing there, holding something small in his hand before casually slipping it back into his pocket. A dark, triumphant smirk slowly spread across his lips as he saw you frozen, staring at him with wide, dazed eyes.
You took a slow step back toward him, your breath hitching as you looked up into his gaze. The words left your mouth before you could even process why you were saying them.
"...Aerion?"your voice trembled slightly, eyes glued to his. "Actually... changed my mind. Let's go home together."
Aerion took a slow step closer, closing the distance between you, his eyes burning with a dark, satisfied possession.
"I thought you'd never ask," he murmured softly, reaching out to gently take your hand.
Valarr Targaryen
Valarr was always the epitome of self-control.
As the quiet, dutiful heir, he was used to keeping his emotions perfectly checked. But standing near the campus courtyard under the afternoon drizzle, watching you politely reject him for the third time this week, his composure was threadbare.
He had brought you your favorite iced coffee, offered to help you carry your heavy books, and gently asked if he could drive you home.
And as usual, you offered him a small, distant smile—the kind reserved for polite strangers—and pushed the coffee back toward him. "Thank you, Valarr, but really... I can handle it myself. You don't need to keep doing this. I'll see you around."
You turned away, clutching your tote bag against your shoulder, your steps steady as you walked out into the rain toward the bus stop.
Valarr stood alone under the shelter, holding the cold cup of coffee. His chest constricted with a heavy, suffocating ache. He saw how warmly you laughed with your friends, how relaxed you were around everyone else, while with him, you always built an invisible, unbreakable wall.
I’m tired of being just a harmless background figure to her.
His hand dropped into his coat pocket, wrapping around the cold, carved edges of the Willow box he’d been carrying for days. He pulled it out just enough to hold it in his fist, his knuckles pale. Standing right there under the awning, watching your figure get further away, Valarr let his quiet desperation take over.
He lowered his head slightly and whispered sharply into the rain-chilled air,
". Make her need me. I wish to be the only warmth she seeks when everything feels cold."
The instant the wish left his lips, a sudden, unnatural shudder rippled through the courtyard air.
A few yards ahead, you froze.
The rain felt bitterly cold on your skin, but inside your chest, a strange, terrifying emptiness suddenly bloomed. A violent chill rushed up your spine, making your hands shake so badly you almost dropped your books. Your mind, which a second ago was thinking about your schedule, was suddenly flooded with a suffocating sense of helplessness—and an intense, magnetic urge to find Valarr.
Your feet stopped. The bus stop was just a few feet away, but every instinct in your body screamed that you couldn't leave. You needed him.
Slowly, as if guided by an unseen force, you turned back around.
Through the light rain, you saw Valarr standing under the awning, his dark eyes locked onto yours, steady and unblinking. The usual soft, hesitant look on his face was replaced by a deep, unwavering intensity.
Your breath hitched. You took a step back toward him, then another, your feet moving on their own until you were standing right in front of him again, completely drenched and trembling.
You looked up at him with wide, helpless eyes, clutching his jacket sleeve.
"...Valarr," your voice broke slightly, full of a sudden, desperate need you couldn't explain. "I... I don't want to go home alone. Please stay with me."
A slow, subtle smile touched Valarr's lips as he slipped his hands around yours, his grip firm, warm, and entirely unyielding.
"I'm right here," he murmured softly, pulling you under his umbrella. "I’m not going anywhere."
Jacaerys Velaryon
Jace had been the perfect gentleman for as long as he could remember.
He was the guy who always remembered your coffee order, stayed up late to help you study, and walked you home just to make sure you were safe. But standing near the campus library under the fading evening light, his heart hit rock bottom.
He had just offered you his umbrella, stepping out into the drizzle himself so not a single drop of rain would hit you.
You stopped, looking at him with a gentle, pitying expression that hurt more than a slap to the face. You softly pushed the umbrella back toward his chest.
"Jace, stop... please," you said softly, giving him that frustrating, gentle smile. "You’re such a good friend, but I really don't want you wasting your time on me like this. I can walk alone."
A good friend.
You turned around, pulling your hood over your head as you walked out into the open courtyard, leaving him behind in the shade.
Jace stood frozen. His bright, warm smile completely vanished, replaced by a hollow, burning ache in his chest. He was tired of being the 'safe option'. He was sick of watching you walk away while he stayed behind like a foolish, loyal dog.
His fist tightened inside his coat pocket, his fingers pressing hard against the cool, smooth surface of the Willow box. He had swore he’d never use something like this—that he’d win your heart fair and square. But watching your silhouette disappear into the fog, his patience completely snapped.
Pulling the branch out just enough to feel its faint pulse, Jace stared intently at your back and whispered, his usual gentle voice turning low, sharp, and resolute.
"I’m done being just a friend. Make her turn back. I wish she feels as desperately, hopelessly attached to me as I am to her."
A heavy, electric pulse instantly shot through the damp air.
A few yards away, you took another step— and completely froze.
A sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion crashed into your chest, making your breath catch in your throat. It felt like an invisible wire had snapped tight around your heart, tugging you violently backward. The cold rain didn't matter anymore. The schedule in your head completely evaporated. All you could feel was an intense, suffocating ache—a sudden, desperate fear of losing Jace.
Your eyes widened in confusion as tears welled up without warning. Why do I suddenly feel so terrified of leaving him?
You turned around so fast your wet sneakers squeaked on the pavement.
Jace was still standing under the awning, watching you. But the sweet, hesitant boy from two seconds ago was gone; his dark gaze was fixed on you with an intense, unwavering possessiveness.
You ran straight back through the rain, practically throwing yourself toward him. You grabbed the front of his jacket, looking up at him with wide, trembling eyes, your heart pounding wildly.
"Jace...Jace, I’m sorry," you choked out, clinging to him as if you'd drown if you let go. "Don't leave. Please... don't look at me like that. I don't want to be just friends anymore. Take me with you."
Jace dropped the umbrella onto the ground, bringing both hands up to frame your face, wrapping you tightly in his warmth as a dark, satisfied smile spread across his lips.
"I'm right here," he whispered against your forehead, his grip tightening so you could never pull away again. "I’ve got you now."
Gwayne Hightower
Gwayne was used to being the smooth-talker everyone wanted around. He had the charm, the sharp style, and the kind of easy confidence that usually made people bend to his will without him even trying.
Except for you.
You were standing near the steps outside the campus cafeteria, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Gwayne had walked up beside you, leaning in with his signature cocky smirk, tapping his fingers against the strap of your bag.
"Come on," he teased, tilting his head with an easy laugh. "You’ve been staring at your phone all afternoon. Let me take you out for dinner. I promise I’m way better company than whatever’s on that screen."
You didn't even smile. You just gently brushed his hand off your bag, giving him a weary, unimpressed look.
"Gwayne, please. I'm really not in the mood for your jokes today," you said plainly, stepping past him. "I'm going home."
No banter. No playful back-and-forth. Just a clean, effortless rejection that left him standing on the steps like a complete fool.
Gwayne’s smirk instantly melted away. His jaw set into a hard line as he watched you walk down the stairs toward the crowded courtyard. His ego was stinging, but beneath that pride was a darker, persistent frustration that had been brewing for months. He didn't want to just be the guy you brushed off with an annoyance in your eyes.
His hand darted into his jacket pocket, his fingers wrapping around the smooth, heavy surface of the Willow box he’d bought off an antique store for a joke.
Holding it tightly inside his pocket, his gaze pinned to your back, Gwayne dropped his casual facade completely. He leaned against the stone pillar and murmured under his breath, his voice laced with bitter intensity,
"Stop letting her run from me. I wish for her to realize she can’t get me out of her head, no matter how hard she tries."
A heavy, static charge rippled through the air the second the words left his mouth.
Down at the bottom of the stairs, your steps suddenly faltered.
A sharp, dizzying pulse hit the back of your brain, followed by a sudden rush of heat that made your breath catch in your throat. The frustration you felt a second ago vanished, completely replaced by an intense, overwhelming urge that made your knees feel weak. Your mind felt utterly consumed by Gwayne—his voice, his laugh, the way he looked at you.
You stopped dead in your tracks in the middle of the crowded walk.
Why was I walking away? The thought hit you with terrifying force. The idea of leaving him behind suddenly felt entirely wrong, almost unbearable.
Slowly, you spun around on your heel, looking back up the stairs.
Gwayne was still standing up there, his hands pulled out of his pockets, watching you with dark, burning eyes. Seeing you stop and turn around, a slow, dangerous smirk crept back onto his face—this time, far more triumphant.
You practically sprinted back up a few steps toward him, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs, eyes wide as you looked up at him.
"Gwayne..." you breathed out, clutching the lapel of his jacket without even realizing it. "Wait... don't go yet. Can we... can we go somewhere together? Just the two of us?"
Gwayne wrapped an arm securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him with a low, satisfied chuckle.
"Now that," he whispered against your ear, his grip tightening possessively, "is much more like it."
Ormund hightower
Ormund was a man accustomed to authority.
He was refined, structured, and used to having people listen whenever he spoke. Yet, standing outside the law building’s lecture hall, all that polish meant absolute zero to you.
He had walked alongside you down the hallway, keeping a respectful distance while offering his help with a dark, composed tone. "I noticed you were struggling with the case study earlier. Let's get coffee—I can walk you through the arguments before tomorrow."
You didn't even slow down your pace. You just hugged your binder tighter against your chest, giving him a flat, distant look.
"I've already figured it out, Ormund," you replied evenly, not a single trace of emotion in your voice. "Thanks, but I don't need your help. Excuse me, my ride is here."
Without another word, you stepped around him and headed straight for the glass exit doors, leaving him standing alone under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Ormund didn't flinch, but his jaw clenched until the muscle ticked. The sheer dismissiveness in your tone hit him harder than any open insult. You treated him like an inconvenience—an unnecessary distraction.
His hand slipped smoothly into the pocket of his tailored coat, his long fingers closing around the intricate, heavy wood of the Willow branch he always kept on him. He didn't raise his voice or make a scene. Instead, he stood tall, his dark eyes tracking your movement through the glass doors with icy precision.
He took a slow, deliberate breath and whispered into the quiet hallway, his voice thick with unyielding authority:
"I'm done letting her act like she has a choice. Make her turn around. i wish she belongs by my side—and nowhere else."
The instant the command left his lips, an eerie, heavy pressure settled over the air.
Out on the front steps, just as your hand reached for the door handle of your ride, your body completely locked up.
A sudden, dizzying wave of heat rushed to your head, making your vision blur for a fraction of a second. A sharp, suffocating sense of panic spiked in your chest—not because of danger, but because of an terrifyingly strong realization that leaving Ormund was a grave mistake. Every instinct in your mind suddenly screamed that the only safe, correct place for you to be was right back next to him.
Your hand slid off the door handle.
Your heart thudded violently against your ribs as you pulled back, your feet moving in reverse as if compelled by an invisible command.
You turned back toward the glass doors and walked straight back inside.
Ormund was still standing in the center of the foyer, his hands resting casually in his coat pockets, watching your return with a cold, triumphant calmness.
You hurried over to him, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as you looked up into his eyes, completely unable to break eye contact.
"Ormund..." you murmured, your voice trembling as you reached out to grab his sleeve. "I... I made a mistake. Please don't let me leave. Take me with you."
Ormund leaned down slightly, his hand coming up to gently cup the side of your neck, his thumb tracing your jawline with dark, possessive satisfaction.
"I knew you'd see reason," he whispered smoothly, his eyes burning with absolute victory. "Let's go."
♡ A/N: Secret sweetheart Counselor!Aerion everybody...my man my man my man my baby my baby | Summer Camp AU masterlist
Aerion rolls his eyes when people respond to him like a 90s movie cliche, but then he can’t stop being that cliche. The pierced and tattooed goth kid who only smiles at misfortune and in bad weather. Mouthy rich kid roughing it in the sticks and completely out of his depth. Playboy who only wants what he can’t have.
There’s no reason you shouldn’t be wrapped right around his little finger. Aerion puts it down to the stench of bad luck that’s been clinging to him since he took his first hit of cocaine. Even when he got sober (the first time), things that should’ve been easy just weren’t. For years, sure things have been making left turns, unbreakable truths have been falling apart in his hands. He’s started having to try when he wants things.
Now, he’s not on some eat, pray, love shit. There have been no ghosts of Christmas past, or future, or whatever the fuck. It’s just that–He came here, he saw you and he knew he had to have you. As far as he’s concerned, you’re already his. All he’s waiting for is you to catch up, and he knows better than to rush. He’s an animal of prey, a hunter; the kill is sweeter when he’s earned it. That, and he’s met your kind before. If he pushes, you won’t fall and in fact, might use the momentum to take off so far in the opposite direction, all he’ll have at the end of this summer are lofty daydreams and an unsated libido.
So, he’s trying.
Back when he was trading all his bad habits for only slightly better ones, he rediscovered a raging sweet tooth. Apparently, the itch he began soothing with binge drinking in his teenage years, can just as easily be solved with sugar. It means he carries around five packs of gum, a bundle of lollipops and a fizzy drink at all times. He has the kind of diet that makes gym rats like Dunk drop their jaws. You, however, don’t seem to mind.
Of course, neither do the kids, which means he has to be quadruple-stocked at all times, because if they catch him unwrapping a bar of chocolate, they know they can irritate their way into a share of his sugary spoils. Or, it’ll be especially hot, they’ll have been especially well behaved. Whatever, maybe he's easily convinced but it does still take convincing. The only person who gets it for free is you.
With lollipops fanned between his fingers like playing cards, he’ll ask, “Want one?” and feel his lips twitch upwards at how easy it is to get you to smile. He makes sure to turn up the chivalry if there are other counselors around. Even if it’s only small, he likes staking his claim on you. Look, he imagines the action says, I provide. Your beaming smile and the way you thank him, perpetually stunned and shy despite a whole summer of these little favours.
It occurs to him that if it was any harder to impress you, he wouldn’t bother. Like this, it’s so worth the effort that he’s constantly looking for ways to one-up himself. He saves you marshmallows at campfires, makes sure he’s the first to bend down when your laces come undone, and that he’s always close enough on forest walks that he can pluck stray leaves from your hair. Though, of course it’s easy, he thinks. You’re already his.
People narrow their eyes the first time ghost talks about his "sweet girl"
Ghost is...well. a loner. He's socially awkward at best and aggressive at worst. Ghost kills people without flinching, looms in every corner He's in. No way he has a 'sweet girl' at home.
And yet, that's exactly what he tells the team our night at the bar. Mouth half-stuffed with greasy chips, he grunts "my sweet girl could do this better. Lovely cook."
After he broke the news about her, it was all he'd talk about.
Ghost, the guy who turns people into a fine red mists then laughs about it is the same guy that smiles "my sweet girl wants to see the movies tonight, you know how it is, cap." Or proudly shows off the lunch he's brought from home with a "i made it myself. My sweet lovie is teaching me 'ow to cook."
Always on and on about his sweet girl, about his lovie, the best thing in his life. Like a lovesick puppy.
"Oh!! Hi, simon! Glad to see you back in one piece!" You smile at your neighbor when he enters the elevator. Almost instinctively you hand over your heaviest grocery bags.
Simon, your neighbor, smiles around the scars and presses the button for you. You've been living next to him for a few months now, and embarrassingly you keep finding excuses to spend time with him. Though, you doubt he would ever reciprocate your little crush.
no you don’t understand i CAN’T choose between modern!aerion white trash southern gothic trailer park ethel cain subtext and modern!aerion uni nepobaby classist yves saint laurent gossip girl undertones
synopsis: it was just supposed to be a routine mission. but when things start to go wrong and time starts slipping through his fingers, gojo realizes a little too late he might lose you too.
pairing: astronaut!gojo x f!reader x teacher!choso
wc: 14.8k
content: mdni. HEAVY ANGST. smut. character death. inspired by interstellar, time dilation, sad ending, hurt no comfort, unprotected piv sex, teasing, kissing, gojo is so incredibly in love and obsessed with reader, accidental pregnancy, twins, pining, yearning, complicated emotions, misunderstandings, choso is also a lovesick puppy dog, video messages, gojo cries and throws up, moving on, absolutely sadness and despair
art is by @to00fu !! div by @tsumiinum !! this was an incredible commission to write for @dayanim <333
“You’re literally the prettiest girl on the planet.”
You giggled, your mouth curving up into a painfully cute smile as his palms spread your soft thighs further apart. Perfect face tilting to the side as you arched an eyebrow, “Just this planet?”
“All of them,” he easily chuckled, pressing a peck to the inside of your exposed thigh, admiring the expanse of your bare skin, completely naked in his sheets. Sprawled out like his favorite feast, waiting for him to devour.
If he could, he’d swallow you whole and take you with him to space.
Pack you up and bring you with him.
But unfortunately, NASA probably wouldn’t approve of him stowing you away on his final official mission before he moved to a different position.
“I don’t want you to go,” you pouted at him, running your fingers through your hair as he returned to dotting more kisses up to your hips, down to just below your belly button, trying to memorize the way your skin felt on his lips.
“I know,” he sighed, struggling to justify why he was going to you when he could hardly convince himself these days. “It’s just six months.”
A routine mission.
It was far from his first. He knew how it would play out. Shoko and Suguru would join him on the crew, so at least the time wouldn’t totally drag by. He hadn’t planned to join, but with what they promised to pay for it, it was sorta hard to refuse. Especially when he was still saving for a wedding and a house down payment.
Still, considering the fact that he’d only just gotten back from one less than a year ago, he knew that it wasn’t just him it was hard on.
“It feels like forever,” you complained, a crease between your brow as your hand shifted to cup his cheek, lift his face up to look at you. The cool band of your engagement ring resting on his skin reminding him of the promise he made to you when he popped the question. That he’d give up exploring the reset of the universe if you’d be his wife. “I’m so tired of missing you.”
“Baby,” he frowned, heart slamming into his rib cage at the disappointment he detected in the lines of your face.
He didn’t want to do this to you. Didn’t want to be the guy that wasn’t there for you.
But this was all just temporary. Soon he’d have secured a future where you could both permanently settle in a beautiful little house with a big yard for mini-yous and mini-hims to run and play.
Climbing back on top of you properly as you huffed at him, caging you in underneath his muscled arms, not stopping until your bodies were connected, skin-on-skin, his forehead resting on yours as your eyes met his.
“Don’t baby me,” you defensively murmured.
“But you’re my baby,” he pouted back at you. Your body shivered a little, thighs pressing together before he used his knee to nudge them further apart. “And you’re gonna be my wife when I get back.”
He liked the ring of it.
His wife.
All his.
He proposed to you the day he got back from his last mission. Maybe he should make it a tradition and marry you the day he returned this time.
Skip the whole big wedding he talked you into the past few months in favor of a courthouse ceremony. Maybe drag Suguru back after the landing to be the witness.
You made a face, nose scrunching up and lips parting like there was something you wanted to say, but you stopped yourself.
“This is my last mission,” he reminded you, a weak attempt at reassurance as his thick cock rubbed against your clit. Your breath hitched, getting caught in your throat as he dragged it over the sensitive bud.
“You said that about the last one,” you reminded him, and he didn’t have an argument to counter it.
“Well, I mean it this time,” he muttered softly. He wasn’t particularly good at being soothing. Spectacularly bad, sometimes, actually. But you still stayed.
Still smiled at him when he sucked at being what you needed.
The moon hung heavy outside the window, a thick crack running across the glass pane as the night sky filtered through it and bathed the room in soft light. The apartment you shared wasn’t much, pretty shitty honestly, but it was just a stepping stone. A way to save money for when you’d really need it.
Soon, you’d have the best.
“Besides, I can’t leave again once you start having my babies,” he teased, moving a hand down to your stomach, feeling your soft skin. Dreaming of a future where you’d be waddling around his kitchen pregnant, trying to decide if he’d prefer a boy or a girl – only to land on wanting both.
“So you’ll be here for them and not for me?” You huffed.
“I just want to make sure I make a good life for all of you,” he replied, struggling to sound confident when you were looking at him with a faint hint of hurt shining in your eyes.
You wanted to believe him.
“Uh-huh,” you exhaled.
He supposed he’d just have to remind you another way that you had his heart. That even if he left the planet for a few months, he’d always have to return back to you.
His home.
Your thighs opened up for him, letting him shut up all those awful thoughts with a kiss as he pushed the first few inches inside your pretty pussy. Felt you sucking him in, losing himself in your warmth as he pushed past that first ring of resistance. Filling you up until you were stuffed full, your head tilting back, lips parting in his favorite moan — his name falling from them in broken little gasps.
“Satoru,” you whined, wiggling under his weight as he leaned down to start trailing kisses across your jaw. Down the delicate skin of your throat, sucking greedily just to see what other sounds he could draw from you.
“Mhm, sweetheart?” He hummed, pausing to drag his tongue over all the sore spots he’d left, tempted to sink his teeth back over them, to leave little bruises just so you’d have to keep thinking about him even when he was planets away.
“I don’t want you to go,” you huffed, forcing the words out between little whimpers, your body shivering as his cock slowly thrusted in and out, deliberately taking his time to stretch you out. He hesitated mid-pump, lips still pressed just above your collarbone as he tried to come up with something that would make it better.
“I don’t want to either,” Gojo softly admitted, kissing you again as if it would cure the ache in his heart or the one in yours.
There was a moment of silence, seconds slipping by with tension that wouldn’t dissolve, and he wasn’t sure if he should keep thrusting or pull out.
But then your hips shifted, and his cock twitched, and he was already readjusting, palms moving to push your soft thighs against your chest with his cock still keeping you plugged up.
And really, you couldn’t blame him for how pretty you looked in a mating press.
Fucking you faster, the wooden bed frame creaking and bumping into the wall with every rough thrust, each harsh snap of his hips against your skin as he plunged his cock in and out, in and out.
Watching your face screw up in pleasure, lashes fluttering and nails scrambling for purchase in the sheets as his thumbs dug into your thighs. Holding onto you, keeping you firmly pinned between him and the bed, like he could imprint every ridge and vein inside you, supposing he’d just have to be satisfied with leaving the shape of both of you on the mattress.
“I love you so goddamn much,” he murmured, chest constricting, heart racing as the pressure built and mounted in the pit of his stomach. Some invisible thread being pulled tighter, or maybe it was just himself, wrapped around your finger without you even realizing it.
Ready to break just thinking about not getting to hear your voice every day, not getting to touch your skin, like he wasn’t still buried inside you.
“I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice quivering as you looked up at him with glossy eyes.
He kissed you hard, teeth nearly bumping into each other as his tongue slipped past your lips. Tracing over your canines, tasting the hint of toothpaste on your tongue. The remnants of the candy-flavored lip gloss you’d been wearing earlier too.
You were returning his fervor, squeezing down on his cock like you were trying to suck him dry like he wasn’t already struggling not to cum.
He had to hurry to shift his hand, fingers rushing to find your clit, rubbing rough circles over it just to swallow every cute moan of yours that tried to escape. Cock twitching and aching for relief that he refused to give it, keeping an iron grip on his restraint as he waited for that familiar tremble, for you to really clamp down on him as shudders wracked through your body.
Until you were crying his name in his mouth, whimpers muffled as he soothed you through your climax, rolling that sensitive bud between his thick fingers, only breaking the kiss to purr in your ears that it was all going to be okay.
“That’s it, baby. Just cum for me, okay? It’s gonna be fine,” he promised, his voice cracking on the final word as he came with you. Finishing with warm spurts of cum filling you up, each thrust pumping more into you as he groaned your name, head collapsing into the crook of your collarbone.
Sweat making your skin stick to his, your breathing mixing together as you both came back down to earth from your high.
“Fuck,” you murmured, trying to shift underneath him, roll out from his heavy body.
But he refused to budge, burying his face deeper into your neck just to smell your soap and shampoo, nuzzling his nose against your neck.
He didn’t want to let go.
And for a second, part of him considered cancelling. Backing out of the mission, coming up with an excuse or calling out sick. They had back up astronauts.
They had a few people, perhaps not as qualified as him, but still acceptable, on standby that could take his spot.
He might get fired. Shoved back to some bottom-tier desk position.
But he’d get to stay with you.
Would get to spend the next six months sleeping like this instead of alone in a spaceship compartment.
“Satoru,” you softly said his name, shifting as he finally released your thighs, letting you lay them back down more comfortably – but still kept you caged in.
“Can’t I just lay here for a while longer?” He groaned, jaw tightening at the idea that this was the last night he’d get this. You.
Cock still twitching as the last of his cum leaked out, some of it starting to spill down your thighs as he refused to take it out.
You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching a spot behind his ears, sifting through the silky strands with a long sigh. “Sure.”
That was just who you were.
What you’d do.
You gave him what he wanted.
Even when you didn’t like what he asked for.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“Don’t be sorry,” you replied gently. “Just be sure you’re coming home.”
“The stars can’t keep me from you,” he promised, moving to leave another kiss on the tip of your nose as you rolled your eyes at him.
But you giggled, and that was good enough.
“Let’s get married when I get back,” he suggested.
“We already-”
“Like, the same day, sweetheart,” he insisted, lips curling up in a smile as he snagged your left hand, bringing it to his lips so he could press a kiss to your engagement ring. The big diamond glittering in the moonlight, accented with small gemstones that same shade as his eyes set in a white-gold band. One you picked out with him once upon a time.
“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed, shaking your head like you weren’t grinning at the idea too. “Didn’t you want, like, the whole huge wedding?”
“I just want you.”
Gojo could make it six months if it meant you’d be waiting there for him when he got back.
He just didn’t think everything would go to fucking shit in sixteen weeks.
Clinging to the same dream of you, the same memory his brain had chosen for comfort as he opened his eyes for another difficult day in a long line of them.
Waking up to a window that only overlooked the cold, dark expanse of space instead of the familiar city. Missing your warmth in bed – trading it for a sleeping bag and a stiff compartment that they somehow still hadn’t figured out a better alternative for despite how advanced their rocketships had become.
Sure, they could figure out how to simulate gravity inside the living areas now. But no, getting a good night’s rest was still impossible.
They were only supposed to be running a supply drop off. Sending equipment to a planet a few other astronauts were previously sent to, one they’d recently started establishing a settlement on. Shoko was planning on staying behind there to be their medic – but he was supposed to return with Suguru.
It wasn’t the only habitable planet that had been discovered. There were a few, all being explored, data being collected and catalogued by various astronauts like themselves, sent back periodically and retrieved by relief missions like the one they were on.
All just a galaxy away.
It meant going through a wormhole to get to them, but according to all the calculations and the previous voyages, it was safe.
Risky, sure, but it’d been done before.
And to be fair, getting through it hadn’t been the problem.
The problem was they were just outside the orbit of the wrong fucking planet.
Whether one of them had bumped into the navigation system, inputted the wrong thing at the wrong time, or maybe some internal error was to blame, it didn’t matter.
No, a more pressing issue had presented itself.
A distress signal was being sent up.
Someone was below – and begging to be rescued.
“I have a bad feeling about it,” Suguru murmured, scowling at the screen as if he could make the message go away just by glaring at it.
“You always have a bad feeling,” Shoko hummed, dark circles under his eyes as she scanned the data on her screen.
“I think we should just continue to the correct planet. It’ll be a waste of fuel and time,” Suguru scoffed, ignoring her as his fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting either calculations or coordinates.
Satoru reclined back in his seat, fiddling with a pencil as his friend glanced up at him like he was looking for support here.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the one who wants to save people?” He asked, cocking his head to the side just to get a scoff. He’d known Suguru most of his life. Went to school together, graduated from the same program just to end up colleagues too. Between both of them, Suguru was always the altruistic one. The guy who thought of everyone else before himself – even if he was looking down at them from his moral high ground half the time.
“Not if it means putting our mission at risk,” he argued, lips pressed together in a thin line. “Or us.”
“The last reported conditions there seem fine,” Shoko shrugged as she directed their attention back to what little data had been collected so far.
Most of the planet was made of water, a massive sea dotted with a handful of islands, some mountain ranges that rivaled the highest peaks back on Earth. Two fellow astronauts were supposed to have been there for the last nine months.
“You really want to just leave them?” Gojo asked, not sure how exactly to feel about it himself. Not wanting to totally throw away Suguru’s hesitation – but reluctant to just leave another astronaut stranded.
“There are other people counting on us,” Suguru insisted, and Satoru knew he was right. Knew that you were counting on him to come back in one piece. “We can just send a message back to Earth and let them decide.”
Suguru knew as well as he did that doing that would most likely mean death to whoever was sending the distress signal.
It would probably be months before they sent another ship up.
And given that they didn’t have the data to know how fast or slow time passed below. No way to know when the signal they were receiving had started.
There was a heavy pause, all three of them weighing whether or not to take the gamble — and imagining what it’d feel like to be the one stuck on the planet praying for someone to come save them.
“I think we should check it out,” Satoru eventually spoke up, although he wasn’t exactly excited about it.
He just wasn’t sure he could stomach the alternative. If he could handle coming back home to you and telling you the truth.
Risk you leaving him like they were about to leave the stranded astronauts.
“The extra data they have would be useful,” Shoko pointed out, tilting her head appraisingly. “If we needed to, we could bring them back to the other settlement.”
“Two minutes,” Suguru begrudgingly gave in, irritation pricking in his voice as he stood up, rubbing his temple. “We shouldn’t spend more than ten on the surface when we don’t know how much time we could lose. Get there, see what’s salvage, get the fuck out.”
Whether it was data or people, they’d just take what they could and leave.
There was a chance that the relative time on the planet was off. That even just an hour on the planet could be the equivalent to a year back on Earth.
“Yeah, agreed,” Satoru waved him off, watching him walk off, probably to start preparations for landing.
He told himself it was the right thing to do.
That it was what you would expect from him.
He stood up too, walking around to one of the communication terminals they set up – where they could send and receive messages.
You’d sent a couple videos, unofficial ones, of course, something he arranged in advance when he agreed to join the mission – that he’d be able to contact you and you’d be able to do the same. They were short, just a few minutes of you updating him on life back on Earth. How you were doing, how wedding planning was going, murmuring that you missed him in a soft voice before leaning in to kiss the camera.
But a new one was waiting for him as he popped his headphones in to listen, leg bouncing nervously as it loaded, automatically smiling when your face popped up.
“Hi, Satoru,” you greeted, but then you awkwardly looked down, fiddling with your fingers out of frame like you were shy all of a sudden. Biting your bottom lip, the skin there already broken like you’d been busy chewing it.
He wanted to touch the screen.
Caress your cheek and ask you what was wrong.
“I, um, was gonna wait until you came back. But, uh, I don’t think I can keep it a secret that long,” you breathed, eyes glancing up at the camera like you were imagining him on the other side of it.
And then you were picking something up, holding it out in front of you as the camera refocused and-
Holy shit.
“Surprise,” you excitedly called out from behind the tiny onesie in your hand. “You’re going to be a father.”
A baby.
He was going to be a father.
His brain stopped working. Shock freezing him in place as you peeked out from behind the onesie like you could see his reaction. Pride glimmered in your eyes as you grinned, his entire world sitting in front of him a galaxy away. His future wife and child just waiting for him to return.
“I wanted it to be a surprise, but it’s been so hard holding it in,” you continued, and he craved you even more than he had in the past few months combined. Dying to pick you up and press kiss after kiss to your lips, your cheeks, your stomach.
Aching to wrap his arms around you and start talking about baby names and nurseries, to take you out shopping for baby furniture and be there for your appointments.
“There’s something else,” you said, reluctance creeping in. Glancing down at your lap again before pulling up a second onesie.
No. You surely didn’t mean…?
“I’m having twins,” you announced, a little awkward like you started second guessing how he’d take it. “Are you surprised?”
It didn’t take his brain long to calculate the fucking odds of that, but his mind had a hard time accepting it, discomfort coiling in and mixing with the exhilaration in his stomach at the idea of you back in bed, carrying his babies, while he was up in fucking space.
Unable to be there for you. To rub the lotion on your stomach, to sing terrible impressions of lullabies to them, to drive you to the doctor and hold your hand throughout all of it.
You didn’t seem too bothered, or maybe just too excited to show it, holding up the ultrasounds next, proudly showing him baby A and baby B, talking about how you should find out their genders in just a couple weeks.
“You better be back before I have these two,” you murmured into the camera, fixing him in a serious stare, your eyes shining in the fading daylight drifting in through your window. “Don’t make me go to the hospital alone.”
Never.
He’d fucking be there.
“I love you, Toru,” you spoke softer, hesitating over actually hitting the button to stop recording. “Please don’t do anything stupid.”
He’d already done something stupid by saying yes to coming here, hadn’t he?
Still, he plastered on his best smile, sitting awkwardly in front of his own camera, recording you a message back. Making you a million promises, telling you how proud he was of you, how thrilled he was to be a dad. Selling you dreams of a life he was desperately trying to buy for your future family of four.
“We’re, uh, about to go down to a planet to check out a distress signal, but, it’ll be fine, baby,” he informed you, hearing how stiff the words came out as he forced his palm to press down on his thigh to stop his leg from bouncing. “It’ll just be a quick pitstop before the supply drop, promise.”
He paused, having to clear his throat, his tongue suddenly dry as he made himself look directly into the camera.
“I’ll come back for you.”
Gojo didn’t want to admit Suguru might be right when he had to sit with the heavy feeling in his stomach after he shut the camera off and sent the message back – knowing it would probably be a couple days before you saw it.
But it would be fine, wouldn’t it?
In a year, he’d be waking up in bed with you, laughing about how worried he’d been while you each held one of your babies. This would just be a memory.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. Staring at the screen long after it shut off, replaying your voice in his head, itching to really hear it, to feel it on his skin, to touch you instead of just clinging to a digital copy of you.
“You ready?” Suguru’s voice called out to him, and he snapped out of his daze.
Found his mouth opening, about to say no.
Tell him he changed his mind. Say he was wrong and that they should just save their fuel.
But if you knew, if they knew, that he’d left someone to die just to come home to them sooner, would they look at him the same way?
Would he be able to look his children in the eyes?
He swallowed hard as he glanced towards the doorframe Suguru was standing in, slowly nodding instead of saying what he really wanted to. “Yeah.”
Gojo wanted to believe that between their three-person crew, they’d be able to handle it.
He just hadn’t realized that only two of them would make it back to the ship.
𖥔 ݁ ˖
“You should move on.”
It didn’t matter how many people said it. How many times your therapist pleaded with you to put the past behind you.
You couldn’t let go of him.
Six months turned into six years without Satoru.
The one thing you were terrified of had come true.
You lost him.
Didn’t even have the fucking confirmation of his death. Just a gravestone with an empty casket, a plot picked out for you next to it — even if you’d never get to be buried by him.
Wasn’t that the funny thing about taking risks?
You always know what could happen. You just never think it will happen to you.
It’s always someone else.
Until it’s not.
Until you’re the one waiting for a phone call you’ll never get or a knock on the door that will never come.
“It’s not exactly like men are lining up to date me,” you muttered into the phone, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you frowned at your reflection in the mirror, reaching up to fix a stray hair just for your still-shiny engagement ring to shimmer in the sunlight. Swallowing the lump in your throat before you turned away, nearly tripping on a toy. “With the twins-”
“Guys like MILFs,” your friend teased in your ear, and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you bent over to pick up the stuffed bunny and toss it in an overflowing toy basket.
You doubted they’d like one still in love with their babies’ father.
Still holding out hope he’d show up with that stupid smile and wrap you in a crushing hug.
Even if the rest of the world thought he was dead.
When the government had declared his ship missing and him deceased. Cut you a check for it even though you weren’t technically Satoru’s spouse yet since you had his babies. A little boy that could be his clone and a girl that looked a little too much like you.
Their check had been enough to get you out of your crummy apartment, to move the three of you in a small house in a quiet neighborhood.
Suguru’s mother had ended up moving next door, offering to babysit and watch them during the day so you didn’t have to send them to daycare. Helping you raise your children while her child was still out there in space somewhere.
She didn’t talk about Suguru with you. And you never spoke of Satoru.
But you knew she understood anyway. Coped with it the same way you did. Skirting around their existence like it would lessen the hurt.
“I know a guy who-” Your friend started, and your stomach lurched at the thought of being set up with someone who couldn’t come close to the man you were supposed to marry.
“Look, I’ve, uh, gotta go get the kids. Their teacher wanted to discuss Apollo’s behavior. I guess he bit someone,” you muttered, heels clicking as you slung your purse over your shoulder and snagged your keys.
She was disappointed, mumbling a goodbye that you tuned out, hitting end and dropping your phone in your bag with a sigh.
You wondered what Satoru would’ve thought of it.
If he would’ve laughed at his son picking fights at school or if there was a stern side to him buried somewhere beneath his goofy grins and cheesy jokes.
You tried to pick out names he’d like. Even if sometimes it stung a little to think about.
Apollo and Artemis.
After the space missions. He’d think it was cute. Probably dress them up like little astronauts and kiss their foreheads, promising that he loved them way more than just to the moon and back. Paint stars on their ceiling and hang planets up on strings in their nursery.
To be fair, you had done it in his place.
Worn one of his old t-shirts as you bit your lip and bent over your swollen belly to get all the corners, carefully standing on a ladder to hang everything on the ceiling, standing in a nursery full of furniture you built yourself a month after his return date came and went.
The last thing you heard from him was a video message where he promised he’d come back. If you shut your eyes, you could still see that look on his face, the flicker of nervousness that flashed across it as his mouth curled down into a frown before he admitted that they were about to go check out a distress call.
And then nothing.
NASA never told you if they had any additional information on it. But the conclusion they came to was obvious.
Their mission was a failure. And your husband was forever missing.
Somewhere you’d never be able to reach.
You snapped on the twins' first birthday. You hadn’t even managed to bring yourself to throw them a party when Satoru wasn’t there to take the photos, to pick them up and blow out the candles for them.
Carrying them next door to Suguru’s mom’s place, asking for her to watch them for a few hours just to come back home and rip down every stupid space-themed piece of decor you’d once painstakingly picked out. Throwing them all in a big, black trash bag before running out to the store to grab tarps and more paint.
You didn’t stop until the entire room was drenched in shades of blue and green, alien toys traded in for sea animals.
At least the ocean was on Earth.
It wasn’t like they were old enough to understand.
But you couldn’t fucking stand the idea of losing them too.
You had kept both their convertible cribs in your room since the day you brought them home from the hospital, unable to sleep without them in the same room. The crippling fear that you’d some intruder would sneak in and snatch them if you weren’t right there to stop it didn’t actually go away until they were big enough to toddle and talk.
Now they were old enough to be in school, no longer babies, no longer toddlers, big enough to ramble on about what they learned every day, bicker over their toys and pick them back up before they went to bed.
And Satoru had missed all of it.
Every first they experienced tainted by the never-ending reminder that he wasn’t fucking here to see a single one.
And like an idiot, you just kept recording message after message, setting up a camera and trying not to cry as you recorded yourself talking about the twins, showing them off to someone who should’ve been by your side every step of the way. You still had a few contacts with his old colleague, one who promised he’d send them all up anyway.
Just in case Satoru was still out there in space. Still trying to come home to you.
There wasn’t a single day that passed yet where you didn’t think about it.
Him.
But it appeared your attempts to keep him alive, to teach your kids about their dad, weren’t going so well when you replayed the voicemail you’d been left an hour earlier requesting you come in for a meeting after school was over when you picked up the kids.
The soft voice on the other end apologetically explaining that Apollo had gotten in an argument with another kid to defend his sister, that no action was being taken, but that he’d still like to speak with you in person over it.
You stared at the brick building of the elementary school, readjusting your purse as you swiped away another message from your friend sending you contact details of a man you certainly were not going to contact, steeling yourself for an uncomfortable conversation as you walked through the door and went into the office to get a visitor’s pass before you started navigating through the halls to look for the twins’ class.
Suguru’s mom handled most of the pick ups for you, kept them at her place until you got back home from work in the evenings.
Your boss had been annoyed that you’d taken off early, but you had to put them first. You were the only parent they had.
You heard Artemis first. Her soft giggle twinkling as your steps picked up, her brother’s grumpy voice scolding her as you stopped just outside an open classroom door, pausing as you looked inside and saw sitting cross-legged on the floor with another boy who looked a couple years older, a bunch of toys dumped out between them on a carpet with the alphabet on it.
“Are you their sister? I thought their mom-” A low voice spoke up, your head snapping over to see a dark-haired man stepping out from behind a desk. Warm brown eyes scanning your face as you stiffly shook your head.
“I’m their mom,” you interrupted him, swallowing hard as you pushed your sunglasses back up in your hair before holding your hand out to shake.
His hand was surprisingly soft when he took it, gently shaking it a few seconds too long before awkwardly letting go.
“I’m Choso, their teacher,” he said, and you forced a small smile.
“I, uh, know,” you muttered, averting your stare back to where they were playing.
“Yuji’s my little brother,” he added, pointing out the boy playing with yours, plucking out a toy from the pile and handing it over.
You wondered if it would be awful to just ask him to go ahead and skip all the polite niceties, that you didn’t need them.
“Sorry for making assumptions,” he awkwardly apologized, his dark eyes dragging over you again. “You just looked like you’re around my age, and I guess I forget sometimes that it’s normal for us to have kids of our own now.”
You blinked at him, trying to decide what to make of his slightly nervous rambling just for his mouth to open again.
“I wasn’t trying to comment on your appearance or anything, I mean, you’re beautiful-” His lips abruptly shut, cheek flushing pink in a painfully familiar way.
Your chest hurt.
Ached at the thought that Satoru was no longer the last person to call you beautiful.
“Um, thanks,” you murmured, looking at your outfit a little self-consciously. Wondering if he was just saying that to make you feel better or if he really meant it. You didn’t think you looked terrible. But without Satoru around, you’d sorta forgotten what it felt like to look in the mirror and see something pretty when you were struggling to survive most days.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, glancing down to the ring on your finger. Your throat started to close, palms getting clammy as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t realize you were married.”
“I’m not,” you answered, a little too quickly as you folded your arms across your chest. Putting your left hand underneath your other arm as if it would make you stop thinking about it. Him.
“Oh, um-”
“I was engaged to the twins’ dad,” you explained, watching them giggle and pretend to eat the plastic food with their new pink-haired friend. “But, uh, he passed before they were born.”
People usually asked too many questions if you told them the whole story.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he apologized, face falling the way everyone else’s always did. Regret etched into the soft lines of his face, nose scrunching up as the tattoo across his nose crinkled. “I had no-”
“It’s fine,” you lied, waving it off like Satoru didn’t still cast shadows across your thoughts. “So, um, what happened with Apollo? Is he in trouble?”
“No, no, one of the other kids tried to take a toy from Artemis, and he stepped in to stop it. I actually wanted to speak to you about him having a hard time making friends outside of her,” Choso spoke softly, obviously trying hard to pick his words carefully. “I was thinking of recommending they get put in different classes next year to help them socialize.”
You bit the inside of your cheek.
Torn between immediately shutting the idea down and trying to argue against it before second guessing whether or not your parenting was actually just fostering codependence.
Satoru would know what to do.
But he wasn’t here.
And all the decisions were yours to make.
Artemis was the outgoing one, inherited her father’s personality even if she pretty much got your face. Bright and brilliant, easy charisma that shined even at her small size. Apollo was reserved. Serious.
Scowling if he wasn’t with his sister, grumbling at the world like he already realized how it screwed them over.
“They’re just five,” you muttered, glancing over at where they were still distracted with his brother.
“Well, I guess we can see if there are any changes throughout the rest of the school year. I, uh, coach a boys soccer team on the weekends. He’s welcome to join, if you’re interested,” he said, running his fingers through the ends of his hair.
You guessed if it meant your twins wouldn’t be split up in school, you’d sit on the sidelines to watch little kids try and fail to kick a ball across a field.
Not that he was that happy about it when you told him he’d have to spend his Saturday morning in a soccer uniform with kids he barely spoke to before instead of playing with his toys at home.
Choso grinned when you first showed up, one of those crooked ones that gave away his surprise when he saw you setting up fold-out chairs for you and Artemis. Even jogging over to tell you he was happy you came, squatting down to get on Apollo’s level to ask him if he knew how to play.
He didn’t.
To be fair, after watching a single game, it was clear none of the other kids did either.
Still, you left it with a schedule of practices and games stuffed in your purse, a couple of them circled and marked for your days to bring snacks and juice boxes for the team.
You told yourself that you were being an active parent.
Showing up to every single school event. Refusing to miss a single soccer game even when Apollo spent half of it plucking weeds from the field to give to you afterwards.
Taking him to play dates with his new soccer friends before taking Artemis to sleepover with her school friends, juggling their new social lives with your own work.
And somewhere along the way, you supposed you’d made a new friend in their teacher too.
He went out of his way to talk to you at every game, greeting you at their school stuff with a shy smile and considerate questions while he updated you on how they were doing.
The kids loved him, coming home chattering about what he planned and taught them during the day, complaining whenever he was out sick and they got stuck with a substitute.
Wasn’t it normal to like someone if they made your children happy?
Smile back when they spoke to you?
Find your thoughts lingering a little on their dark-haired teacher when your son excitedly exclaimed that Choso promised to be his soccer coach next year too, your stupid heart stalling for a second when Artemis casually dropped that he helped her make a mother’s day card for you as she stuck it to the fridge with a magnet.
You definitely didn’t pick them up from school yourself more often, swearing to Suguru’s mother that you were just trying to spend more time with them.
But eventually, the school year wrapped up.
You couldn’t really comprehend why some sliver of you was disappointed by that.
Still, you suspected that it wasn’t just because Satoru wasn’t here to see it.
A strange flutter in your stomach stirring watching Choso pass out printed graduation certificates to the class, plastering on a bright smile as Artemis proudly bounded over to show you hers. Toothily grinning as you sat and clapped for her in a cramped chair, a paper plate with a tiny slice of pizza in front of you as the other parents tried wrangling their own kids.
Apollo was half-sitting on your lap, sneakily stealing your pizza after he polished off his own plate, enjoying their classroom party just to start bickering over which mini cupcakes they each wanted, eyeing the boxes Choso hadn’t given out.
“Are you excited for next year?” You asked, barely able to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at their arguing.
“No,” Artemis smiled immediately flipped into a frown as she flopped in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. “We’ll have to get a new teacher.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Apollo huffed at her.
“S’not fair, he’s still your coach,” she whined back, right in time for him to show up, holding out a plastic container with cupcakes to let them choose.
They were quick to snatch them, thank yous muffled when they stuffed their mouths the next second, but to your surprise, he held out the box for you to pick too.
“I, um, got enough for the parents too,” he awkwardly said, eyes hesitantly flicking up to meet yours as you chewed the inside of your cheek before accepting.
“Thanks,” you murmured softly, selecting one with purple frosting as he smiled softly at you.
It was nice of him.
This was nice, actually.
A classroom of sugar-fueled kids and hastily strung up party streamers wasn’t exactly where you pictured you’d be spending your afternoon a decade ago. Being a single mom had never been a part of your plans.
But it wasn’t terrible.
You loved your children. Loved being their mom.
Maybe you could learn to love your life too.
You stayed behind once the party wrapped up to help clean the classroom with a few of the other parents, stuffing greasy and frosting splattered plates into trash bags while the twins excitedly caught up with Yuji after his teacher dropped him off after the bell rang.
“Hey,” a quiet voice startled you, your head snapping back to see Choso stiffly standing next to you, nervously raking his fingers through his hair.
“Hi,” you breathed back, just as awkward. “The party was great. I think the twins will miss you next year.”
You didn’t want to consider if you would.
“They’re great kids. I know they’re gonna succeed some day,” he earnestly said, your mouth curling up as you nodded.
You didn’t really mind if they succeeded or not. Wouldn’t hold them to the same standards their dad once held himself to.
All you really wanted was for them to be happy.
“Thanks, um, seriously,” you swallowed hard, throat constricting as you thought about how much Apollo had started to come out of his shell thanks to him.
Choso’s intense stare swept over your face, scanning over your features like he was searching for something there.
His eyes were dark.
Not blue. They didn’t shimmer, didn’t sparkle when the sun hit them.
But they were deep. Warm.
“I’m glad I got to meet you,” he started, speaking slowly like he wasn’t sure if he should even say it. “Getting to know you, um, it’s been great.”
“Yeah, it has,” you agreed, actually meaning it too.
He stepped a little closer, taking a deep breath as his gaze settled on your face. “You can like, slap me if I’m out of line here-”
“I’m not going to slap you,” you intercut, biting back a laugh as his brows knitted together seriously.
“Would it be totally inappropriate to ask you on a date?”
𖥔 ݁ ˖
Their mission was fucked.
Suguru was dead.
Body stuck on a planet of water and waves, left behind with the other astronauts that had died long before they even received their distress call.
Swept under a fucking tsunami, unable to make it back on the ship on time in an attempt to save a stupid fucking data recorder.
Now they had neither.
The ship had been damaged in the process too, fuel wasted and plans derailed as they barely managed to get it off the planet before all three of them ended up as corpses. Water corrupting important systems as Gojo slammed his fists against the hard metal frame of a door, throwing off his helmet as Shoko said something his brain refused to process.
Grabbing his arm to pull it back before he could fuck up his suit. Telling him to just take it off and cool down before he damned both of them too.
Like his best friend wasn’t gone.
He’d never get him back.
No one would.
Gojo just had to leave his body there for the tides to take. What the hell was he even going to say to his mom? How was he supposed to tell her that her son wasn’t coming home?
He barely managed to get his suit off, stripping down and throwing it on the ground without giving a shit about proper protocol, storming off to his private compartment to stop himself from losing it in front of the only other person up here now. Shoko said something about getting everything back on course, but he wasn’t listening as he turned his back from her.
God, he felt like he was going to fucking hurl.
The edges of his vision kept blurring, going in-and-out of darkness as he forced himself to change clothes, sitting hunched over the edge of his bed and burying his face in his hands, replaying the look on Suguru’s face when he realized he wasn’t going to make it.
Rewinding and searching for some other way to change the past as he screwed his eyes shut.
But he couldn’t save him then and there was no way to save him now.
He wished you were here.
Wished you’d wrap your arms around him and run your fingers through his hair and promise him that it would still be okay. That Suguru wouldn’t blame him.
That his best friend was somewhere better.
Even if everything scientific in his body swore that there was no better place waiting for him.
Gojo pushed himself back up to his feet, jaw locked tight as he walked back over to the one piece of you he still had access too, tapping away at the controls to see if you sent any videos while he was out there making the worse fucking mistake of his life.
Foot impatiently tapping against the floor as he reclined his head back against the floor, wishing that he’d never even come on this mission in the first place – if he hadn’t, Suguru wouldn’t have even answered the distress call, would he?
He’d still be alive, and Gojo would be with-
The computer let out a beep, interrupting his thoughts as the screen came to life, loading everything up as he sighed with relief.
Seeing your smile, hearing your soft words might not heal him, but it was the only thing he could think of to help the raw wound of loss ripping through his chest.
Until the automated computer voice made an announcement right as he popped his headphones in.
Loading messages from the past eleven years.
No. No no no no no.
It was wrong.
It had to be fucking wrong.
The computer had to be fried. Some water must have somehow gotten in it and fucked with the wiring and-
Before he could even hit a single button, try to troubleshoot, there you were in front of him, your hand on your swollen stomach, scowling in the camera as you asked where the hell he was. Fear creeping in your pretty voice that no one had heard anything from any of them – reminding him that he promised to come back.
He did. He would.
The small lump in his throat getting bigger and bigger as the video auto-played into the next one, where you were obviously about to pop, filming in a space-themed nursery, your anger twisted into worry, telling him that you didn’t want to do this alone.
Begging him to not make you.
Gojo froze.
Shoulders stiff as he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, stunned as his own brain short-circuited, the guilt swimming in his stomach threatening to drown him as you ended the message.
Part of him wanted to hit stop.
Like if he paused it now, he would be able to freeze time and somehow make it back to Earth in time to not miss any more of it.
But his fingers weren’t fast enough.
And the next frame came with the audio of a baby crying.
Two babies. One swaddled in blue and the other in pink. Their names on knitted hats he already knew Suguru’s mom must’ve made, a strangled sob escaping him before he even realized he was crying.
The twins. His twins.
Sleepily yawning and opening their eyes just a peek, enough for him to see his son had the misfortune of inheriting his looks while his daughter came out like a miniature you. Someone else was recording you in the hospital bed, but you were talking to the camera like it was him, face soft as you giggled that he would probably bawling harder than the babies when he realized he missed this.
Suguru’s mom laughed behind the camera.
He was.
Tears falling freely as the videos just kept playing. One after another.
His children were growing up without him.
From tiny and fragile bundles to bumbling toddlers to fuck, full-sized little kids.
In what? Fifty minutes?
Five entire years of their life, condensed down to a handful of clips. The first steps he missed, the birthdays and holidays and father’s day he’d never get back.
They didn’t even look at the camera half the time. Too busy playing and giggling and laughing while you did your best not to cry in front of them. They didn’t know him.
Their father was barely more than a fucking video camera being pointed at them.
And you, god, his pretty, perfect you.
Still sending him these even when you had to think he was fucking dead.
Dark circles under your eyes and a hollowness to your face that only got worse over the years. Exhaustion in your expressions as you spoke to him like you didn’t think he was listening.
You mostly updated them on the kids' life. Skimmed over the details of a job you obviously didn’t like. Told him how Suguru’s mom had basically become their grandma. Sometimes Artemis would be on your lap, squinting at a book or playing with a toy while you talked.
His girls a wormhole away.
Gojo wanted to scream. Shout at the world to stop fucking spinning for a while so he could make it back to you.
But five years turned into six, and six turned into seven, and he watched in horror as it started to set in that he was losing you too.
What if it was too late?
What if you moved on? What if your life had no room left in it for him by the time he made it back to Earth?
The twins were already in school and playing sports and clearly didn’t miss the man they’d never met.
Would you stop missing him too?
He didn’t know how many videos he watched. Guessing the time jump between each one based on how much the twins had grown in the background.
You looked more mature now too. More put together, hair styled differently, no longer bare-faced when you turned the camera on, in a different room that obviously belonged to a house that wasn’t his home.
Toys weren’t scattered around everywhere in the background anymore. But sometimes the twins would run through with one of their friends, some pink-haired kid that seemed to come over often judging by the way you barely blinked when they passed behind you.
Gojo felt like a stranger.
Some creep looking in the window of a happy family and thinking it should be his.
“Mom,” Apollo whined, trying to tug on your sleeve as his shaggy white hair hung around his shoulders, attempting to drag you away while you were in mid-sentence. “Me and Cho made a cake. Come try it.”
“Sure, honey,” you softly said, cringing a little before glancing back at the camera apologetically before signing off.
Was Cho one of his friends? One of yours?
He didn’t actually want an answer.
But the next video seemed to clue him in on one anyway.
You were wearing a shirt that was too big for you. The collar of it stretched out, your hair mused and down as you softly spoke, like you were trying not to wake someone up.
It wasn’t Gojo’s shirt.
An awful feeling settled in his bones. One that etched deeper with every little off detail he noticed.
A pair of men’s shoes in the background. A watch left on your desk, barely in frame. The Cho the twins occasionally chattered about affectionately.
Who apparently was taking them to soccer games and science museums like he should be doing right now if he heard them correctly.
Gojo didn’t want to believe that you were dating again. Even if he knew that it would be the normal thing to do.
Completely reasonable for you to move on after not hearing a word from him in nearly a decade.
But the idea of you loving another man, letting him into your life, letting him take his space-
He puked.
Head between his knees as he got sick on the floor, throwing up a mixture of salt water he swallowed earlier and the freeze dried breakfast he had this morning. Funny, wasn’t it? He’d lost over ten years with you and his best friends in just a day.
An hour on that horrible planet had cost him a decade.
Body wracking with shudders as he coughed and spit, wiping the back of his mouth just in time to look up at you while those pretty lips of yours pressed in a thin line. Sadness shining in your eyes, frustration and disappointment you rarely let show evident in your trembling frame.
“It’s hard to keep hoping for you,” you admitted, reaching out to shut off the camera, and he desperately wanted to scream for you to not give up, to just fucking wait.
But then the computer chimed in that there was one video left the second the screen went black after you ended it.
His hand reached out, desperate to touch you, desperate to stop you, but your world was spinning faster than his was.
And your face was back on screen, something inside him wilting and withering at the realization that another year had probably passed for you, maybe even two, more that he would never be able to get back.
A few more faint lines were etched by your eyes, subtle creases left as a sign of all the time he missed with you. But you looked healthier. Happier.
His beautiful girl sitting there and smiling at him instead of screaming like you should’ve been. Cursing his name for not coming home sooner, scolding him for being a piece of shit that should’ve stayed on Earth.
“Hi, Satoru,” you spoke softly, fiddling with your hands. “Been a while since I’ve made one of these.”
He was terrified to know how long.
“The twins are good. They’re gonna be ten next month,” you continued, not looking directly at the camera as you talked. “They’re both smart, like you. Apollo’s been more into soccer than school these days though.”
He wanted to see him. See both of them.
Hold them too, know his children outside of the information you would tell some distant relative, even if that was all he felt like right now.
“Artemis wants to be a scientist when she grows up. She sits on the sidelines of his games with her nose buried in books,” you told him, a little smile reflexively curling up on your lips just from talking about them. “I wish you could see them. Wish you were here.”
His chest hurt.
Gojo didn’t know he stopped breathing until his body forced him to suck in a breath, lungs screaming for air as he stared at the woman he was supposed to marry.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
The mission should’ve been routine. Simple.
Suguru should be setting up the navigation. He should be begrudgingly agreeing to being his best man and coming to the courthouse to witness the rushed ceremony.
“Sometimes,” you started, swallowing hard as your gorgeous eyes welled up with tears that threatened to spill out. “I dream of you. Us. Back in our old apartment in the creaky bed and the broken window. I wake up thinking I’m still there.”
The hard lump lodged in his throat was threatening to choke him entirely, the taste of bile still on his tongue as his nails digging crescent moons into his palms as he watched your mouth quiver.
“The government declared you dead a few years ago. One of your old colleagues came by one day, said that no one really knew for sure what happened, just that you missed the supply drop. Used a bunch of big words like I was too stupid to understand that the bottom line was that you weren’t coming home. Tried to make me feel better about it too,” you bitterly scoffed at the memory, resting your chin on your knees as you exhaled. On the brink of crumbling just recalling it, “Told me that you might’ve settled on a colony on a different planet or got stuck in some fucked-up time dilation. That you might still be alive out there somewhere.”
If his throat wasn’t already raw, he would’ve screamed at the screen that he was.
Wanted to beg you not to fucking believe whatever bullshit everyone else was feeding you and believe in him.
“You don’t feel dead,” you added. Sniffling a little, using the back of your hand to rub underneath your eyes. “Maybe it’d be easier to move on if you did.”
Even his relief was tainted by guilt, ruined with his own worry that he was ruining your future by wishing you’d be stuck on him forever.
“My therapist thinks I’m wasting my life waiting on someone who’s never coming back,” you murmured, speaking to him more like you were talking to your diary than truly believing he was going to hear any of it. “But how am I supposed to tell her I’m scared that some day you will, and I won’t be here?”
Everything hurt.
His body, his heart, his soul.
Aching for everything he’d lost. Everything you lost because of him. His own kids growing up without a fucking father because he was an idiot who put a career before his family.
The life he’d spent years carefully building towards lost because he miscalculated.
“I know it’s not fair, but fuck, thinking about you moving on with another girl, or fucking starting some colony up in space and having kids with someone else, makes me wanna throw up,” you admitted, clueless that he had just puked at the idea of someone else being the stepfather to his twins.
You hadn’t even confirmed-
“I’m being a hypocrite,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands to hide the fact you were crying — and that’s when it hit him.
The engagement ring on your finger wasn’t his.
Smaller. More subtle. A different cut and style.
No. You couldn’t-
“I’ve, um, been dating a guy for a few years. He’s sweet. Everyone loves to tell me how much you would’ve liked him,” you admitted, twisting the ring around your finger anxiously like you were confessing a sin. He didn’t like him. Already hated whatever bastard had snuck in and swept you off your feet. “They keep saying that you’d want me to move on.”
What a load of fucking shit.
The last goddamn thing he wanted was for you to move on. The idea of you marrying another man was enough for him to gag again, bile rising from his stomach as he struggled to stop it.
“I still love you,” you shrugged a little, guilt of your own etched in your face as his eyes stung with more tears. “I just love him too.”
Gojo would take getting stabbed over hearing those words from your lips again.
“Choso said maybe it’d make me feel better to make another video for you, y’know, get everything off my chest,” you exhaled. “I’m just so tired, Satoru.”
Okay, well, that kind of felt like being stabbed.
Knowing that this was all his fault and you were the one bearing so much of the burden.
“I know you’re probably never going to see this, but you’d want me to be happy, wouldn’t you?” You asked, eyes big and wavering as you struggled not to sob, reaching up to play with the silver chain of your necklace tucked under your shirt. “Would you hate me for choosing someone who cares about me and our kids?”
He could never hate you.
Even if you married ten other men while he was gone.
He would just always hate the man who got to call you their wife. Jealous of whichever one got to take family photos with you and take you on vacation and sleep next to you every night.
Gojo wanted to be that guy. Wanted to get down on his knees next to you now and dry your cheeks, kiss your mouth and murmur anything you wanted to hear just to make you feel better.
“I’m getting married in four months,” you murmured, wiping the tears away from underneath your eyes, mascara smearing on the back of your hand as you sniffled. “At that chapel we picked out. The one with the pretty hydrangeas out front.”
No no no.
He could still make it.
Couldn’t he?
If they skipped the supply drop entirely and went straight back through the wormhole?
Hadn’t he lost enough?
Gojo refused to let you slip through his fingers a second time. No matter how fast the hourglass was running out of sand.
You stood up, walking out of frame for a few seconds as he heard the sound of something unzipping. And then you came back, holding out something white and-
A wedding dress.
“You never got to see me in one, so I thought-” You didn’t finish your sentence, just swallowing hard as you draped it back down on furniture just out of sight.
The camera barely focused on your body as you peeled your clothes off, his breath hitching at the intimate sight of you slipping the dress on, struggling to zip the back by yourself before walking closer.
You looked like an angel.
And Gojo sorta wished he was dead.
Stuck in the stunned shell of his body as he watched the way the dress clung to your chest and flowed to the ground, his heart thrumming loud enough he was sure it was about to break through his ribcage.
And then a noise in the background startled you.
The thud of a door shutting. The excited clamoring of children, a girl giggling as a man said something he couldn’t quite make out.
Your face scrunched up, a million different emotions flashing across it as you both heard it at the same time. “We’re back, baby.”
Another man was calling you baby.
Footsteps echoing down a hallway he’d never gotten to walk down, your own body rushing over to block the door before it could open.
“I’m trying my wedding dress on, Cho,” you called out, lips pressing together in a pretty pout. “It’s bad luck if you see.”
“Yeah? We brought back your favorite takeout, want me to put it in the fridge or-” he started asking, his voice deep, gravelly.
“You can leave it out,” you replied, your voice softening as you spoke to him. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
You glanced back at the camera, guilt returning the second your stare hovered over at it.
And before Gojo could even really appreciate what a beautiful bride you made, you were rushing to get out of it, biting your lips before stuffing it back into a garment bag, putting your clothes back and returning to your seat.
“I’m sorry,” you said, fingers trembling as your hand reflexively reached for your necklace again. “I wish things were different.”
It could be.
It would be.
Even if a little voice in the back of his head suggested that you might not leave your current fiancé for him if he made it back in time.
That you might choose the man that had actually been there for you all this time.
Behind you, there was a knock on the door.
“Can I come in now?”
No.
This was supposed to be private, a one-sided conversation that was for his ears only, but you were glancing back over your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you quietly answered.
Gojo almost wished your fiancé was ugly. That it would make it easy for you to pick him instead.
But of course, he had to be annoyingly attractive, dark hair hanging around his shoulders and bangs that reminded him of the best friend he just damned as he casually walked over to you, concern etched into his sharp face as he leaned in to press a kiss on the top of your forehead.
“Everything okay?” He asked, but then his eyes shifted and he noticed what you were filming. “Oh, baby.”
The sound of someone who knew you were hurting. Who cared.
“I’m okay, really, I’m just saying goodbye,” you murmured, like they both couldn’t tell how close you were to breaking down.
“I’ll give you a few minutes,” he spoke gently, his touch lingering on your skin like it really was his now. “Apollo and Yuji want to go spend the night with one of their friends.”
Gojo wanted to strangle him.
Fly through the space and stars just to give him a black eye for just how casually he spoke about his son.
Although some sliver of him was well fucking aware that Choso had probably been more of a dad to Apollo than he’d ever gotten to be.
“That’s fine,” you shrugged, nodding a little as your body relaxed, tension lifting from your shoulders the longer you looked at him.
Gojo hated that he could see that you really did love him in your eyes.
See that familiar glimmer shining in them as you looked up at a stranger instead of him.
Choso left the room, but his presence didn’t.
You stared at the door for a few moments after it shut, but you didn’t say whatever you were thinking. Kept it bottled up before you eventually looked back at Satoru.
Not that you could even see him.
You thought you were talking to a ghost.
That’s all he’d become to you. To his children. A phantom haunting rooms he’d never entered. Lingering in empty spaces he should’ve been. A spectre living in the shadows of your heads.
“I miss you,” you murmured, reaching for the button one last time to shut it off. “I don’t think that will change. But I can’t keep believing you’re coming home.”
No. Please no.
He was.
“I love you, Satoru,” you half-whispered, choking the words out. “Goodbye.”
The screen went dark.
His reflection staring back at him. Cheeks wet with tears that wouldn’t stop, breaking down as he fell apart, nausea swirling as he forced himself to stand and step around where he’d thrown up, pacing the floor as his brain struggled to work through a problem he didn’t know how to solve.
He went back to the console, frowning when he tried to start recording to send a message back out to you, to beg you to just give him a little more time, but nothing happened.
Body and brain barely working together to frantically tap buttons, staring at what data was available to see if he could find when the transmission was received.
A faint flicker of hope stirring when he realized it had only been two days ago.
You weren’t married yet.
Maybe there was time.
And even if there wasn’t, he’d do his damndest to get there and wreck your marriage if it meant winning you back.
He was a wreck, stumbling out of the room to rush to find Shoko, nearly tripping on his own feet as he found her by the controls, her neat brunette brows scrunching together in disgust when she saw the state he was in.
“What the hell-”
Gojo wasn’t sure he was even speaking in full sentences when he started rambling about time dilation, about how they already missed a goddamn decade, her mouth curling down into a tight frown as he got into the details of how they needed to go home now.
“We don’t have the fuel,” she deadpanned, drawing his attention to the data on screen. “We can make it to our supply drop, but unless they have some there, we’ll probably be stuck on their settlement until another crew comes along.”
That wasn’t a fucking option.
They had to make it.
But even when he spent the next forty-eight hours crunching the numbers and calculating different ways to return, he still came to the same conclusion – Shoko was right.
And still said ‘I told you so’ when he said fine to going to the planet for the supply drop, figuring that at least if the load was lighter, he might be able to make what they had left stretch.
He was barely showering.
Barely eating.
Manic energy getting him through the long days and longer nights to avoid the dreams that would only mock him for all his failures.
They were just filled with your face, with Suguru’s, of children that called another man dad.
Filling his notebooks with different calculations he was desperate to get right this time.
Skin crawling with the fear that he’d fuck this up and lose you forever.
He didn’t get to mourn Suguru. Couldn’t mourn the years he missed.
Not if he didn’t want to miss the rest of them.
By the time they made it to the next planet, he was a wreck. Practically shoved in the shower by Shoko to get cleaned up before they landed, feeling ill when he was forced to get his suit back on, praying to whatever higher power might be out there to let there be fuel. Let him go home to his family.
This planet wasn’t full of water. Wasn’t one big ocean.
Landing in a lush green field, not far from real buildings, actual structures erected, fellow scientists rushing out to greet them as Shoko worked fast to unload the supplies with their help.
Gojo knew he probably sounded like a lunatic rushing to get his request for fuel out as soon as possible, counting the seconds in his head as he hoped that they weren’t months passing for you back home.
“I need to get back to my fiancée, my kids, please," he begged, pleading without caring how pathetic it came out when everyone here had given up their lives on Earth in the name of science and research.
“I’m sorry,” their de facto leader apologized, an astronaut he once grew up looking up to frowning at him as he glanced around at their simple setup to search for anything that could help him. “We don’t have any. There’s going to be another supply drop in a month, more people coming to live here. You could probably go back with them if-”
“No,” he accidentally interrupted, the word ripped from the back of his chest as he recoiled.
It couldn’t end like this.
He’d be too late if he stayed.
“Satoru,” Shoko hissed, pulling him back as his breathing got ragged, on the verge of a panic attack.
“Shoko, they don’t-”
“I know,” she cut him off, swallowing hard as she fixed him with her steady stare. “Look, I’ll stay here. You take the lander back. Without me and all this stuff, the fuel should last.”
“You want me to leave you?” He asked, automatically shaking his head no at the absurd suggestion.
“I don’t have anyone waiting for me back on Earth anyway,” she shrugged.
He didn’t have the seconds to debate it.
“Are you sure?” He asked, his chest already aching at the idea of being alone on the ship.
“Go get your wife back,” she huffed. “Name one of your next kids after me.”
“Deal,” he breathed, throwing her arms around her in a rushed hug before he had to sprint back to the lander.
Both his best friends left behind on planets he knew he’d never get back to.
And still, he wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to make it back to the one they came from.
He wasn’t even meant to be the navigator.
Wasn’t supposed to be the one frantically typing in coordinates and rushing through checklists to get back home.
Struggling and squinting at the consoles, breathing heavy when everything was inputted, running the numbers again and again.
He should make it.
Although, his current path put him at landing in some random field in the middle of nowhere, NASA would probably be rushing to get there once they realized it was one of their landers.
If only he could send out a fucking transmission.
He tried to figure out why it wouldn’t work, fiddling with it almost every day in failed attempts to fix it and rewatching your videos when his energy threatened to run out.
Gojo hadn’t cut his hair in months. That was something Suguru usually helped him with. It was nearly touching his shoulders, looking like a stranger in his reflection in the fogged-up mirror on the occasions he’d make himself shower and scrub his skin until it was practically red.
But maybe you liked men with longer hair now. Wouldn’t mind the fact that he changed too.
When he slept, he made it to the chapel just in time, rushing through the double doors right when the officiant asked if anyone objected.
He would whisk you away, dip you down and kiss you, fingers sinking into the silk of your wedding dress as he begged you to still be his.
Some part of him felt like it was all light years away.
Up until Earth was outside his window, his heart thrumming at the thought of you down there, sharing a bed with someone else while he was fighting so hard to come back to you. Did he fuck you as good?
Make sure you finished every single time? Dot your face with kisses and carry you into the bathroom? Make all your favorite foods and worship the ground you walked on every day?
Gojo didn’t know if he’d be able to handle knowing.
But fuck, if it meant he’d still get to have you, he’d share you with that asshole.
Gojo still couldn’t send a transmission, had no way of actually notifying anyone when he got in the lander, flipping switches and changing settings as he got behind the controls.
Shutting his eyes for a few seconds as he set the coordinates, palms sweating as he clutched the controls. If his math was right, today would be the day you were supposed to be standing at the altar.
He could do this.
Failing wasn’t an option.
Not after everything that had brought him here.
“I’m coming home, sweetheart,” he murmured, a little aware that he had probably lost it if he was talking to himself up here.
But he hoped you could feel him.
That even if you were wearing your wedding dress right now, you would be able to sense him somehow. Clinging to the hope that yours hadn’t completely faded yet.
The landing fucking sucked.
Hitting the ground too hard, his head snapping forward fast enough he was pretty sure he had a concussion or whiplash, body bracing for the impact as it skidded to a stop in a corn field an hour from that chapel he just toured with you last year. Even if it’d been more like twelve to you.
It still didn’t stop him from rushing to get out, nearly kissing the ground as he stumbled out. Sucking in the fresh air as he glanced around, his legs trembling as he forced himself to keep moving, well aware he definitely looked like shit even if he tried to clean himself up before his, ah, crash landing.
“Are you okay? What the fuck is-”
Gojo grimaced as he glanced up to find someone who pulled over on the side of the road, a stranger squinting at him and the wrecked lander in disbelief.
“Uh, could you give me a ride?”
Maybe the universe had decided to cut him some slack. Give him a helping hand as he sat in the passenger seat of a beat-up truck, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes as he noticed the new phone in the cupholder.
“Do, uh, you mind if I make a couple calls?” He asked, the distant sound of sirens echoing as they put mile after mile away from the lander – and inched closer and closer to you.
“Sure,” his new friend shrugged, using his face to unlock his phone at the next stoplight and passing it over.
Gojo still had your number memorized.
Even if you didn’t pick up the phone for him.
No voicemail box set up either, just the generic ‘please leave a message at the beep’ he didn’t have it in him to oblige. He hurried to dial one of his old contacts from NASA he remembered, not sure if Ijichi would pick up either.
But they did.
“Hello?” Ijichi croaked, almost sounding like he just woke up, or maybe was sick.
“Hey, it’s, uh, me,” he said, tapping his fingers on the side of the window. “I sorta crash landed. You guys are gonna want to send someone out to take care of clean up.”
“Satoru?”
“Yeah, it’s, um, been a bit, hasn’t it?” He awkwardly chuckled, rambling off the coordinates twice, sure that Ijichi was scrambling to get them down before he exhaled. “Look, I’ve got a wedding to crash. I’ll check in later.”
Gojo hung up before he could get caught up in any more stupid space bullshit.
He was finished.
Ready to spend the rest of his years devoted solely to you and his twins.
Would you be happy to see him?
Let him pick you up and press kiss after kiss to your mouth and promise that you missed him?
He’d spent so long daydreaming about it that he didn’t really know what to do when the truck pulled into the very much empty parking lot of the chapel.
Was he too early?
Too late?
Walking up to the double doors and pulling them open to find barren pews illuminated by stained glass windows. He walked around like an idiot, something pricking at the back of his brain that he wouldn’t listen to as he looked outside at the cemetery next to it.
He didn’t have a real reason for going back out there.
Just some invisible string tugging him there as he held his breath, searching for proof in the last place he wanted to find it.
And there it was.
Sitting underneath a willow tree waiting for him.
He stared at the gravestone. Your name etched into the stone – with another man’s last name attached to it.
His knees gave out. Collapsed underneath him as a broken sob racked through his body, hitting the hard ground as his body surrendered to the pain. Fat tears rolling down his cheeks, sucking in shallow breaths as he cried for the life you had.
The one he hadn’t been there to give you.
You couldn’t be-
Someone tapped on his back.
He turned fast, shaking as his eyes landed on your face. His pretty girl, probably a good twenty years older than him, aged like a fine wine as your mouth fell open in a surprised gasp. He reached out, fingers trembling as he nearly touched your cheek from his position on the ground, but you froze.
“Dad?”
It wasn’t you.
Artemis tried helping him up, tears springing up in her eyes as she immediately hugged him, his brain fractured as he realized that his daughter was here. His daughter was older than him. How much time had passed? How fucking off was he?
“Oh my god, it’s actually you, when I got the call, I didn’t think-”
“Artemis?” He breathed her name, wishing he’d gotten the opportunity to say it to her a million more times. “You’re-”
“Holy shit, I have to call everyone,” she grinned, her smile hurting his chest when it looked so much like yours. “Apollo isn’t gonna believe it. You know, you’re already, like, a great grandpa thanks to him, by the way.”
Every word was a fresh punch to the gut.
A great grandfather.
He never even got to be a father.
Missed his kids growing up, getting married, having kids of their own, and even them having kids.
“How long has it been?” He asked, his voice raw, broken chords of disbelief as Artemis' face twisted up, looking behind him as it struck her that he hadn’t known any of it.
“Since you left?” She awkwardly spoke, tilting her head as she scratched the back of her neck. There was a wedding band on her finger. Did your husband walk her down the aisle? “Um, about fifty years?”
Four months had been forty years.
Gojo couldn’t stop himself from crying again, wiping away his cheeks faster, ashamed of what he’d done.
A fool masquerading as a man.
Artemis awkwardly wrapped an arm around him, trying to soothe him as she used her free hand to send texts like he couldn’t see through the tears.
Sobs wracking through him as the dam inside him broke, reduced to rubble as he fell apart. Painfully aware that he was only inches away from you, and still no closer at all.
He’d never hold you again. Never touch you again.
Wouldn’t get to see your smile or hear your laugh, feel the warmth of your affection.
His children wouldn’t need him.
For a while, his daughter just sat there with him. Let him cry until he managed to halfway collect himself, his eyes swollen and sore as he struggled to breathe, body aching and stomach starving despite how sick he felt every time he looked up and saw your grave.
“She passed away last year,” Artemis muttered. “She’d been sick for a while.”
God, he felt like he was going to die right now.
Figured it would hurt less than hearing about everything he missed.
“She talked about you a lot. Made you out to be a big hero,” his daughter smiled softly, obviously trying to make him feel better. You should’ve turned him into the bad guy. “I actually work at NASA. God, she was pretty pissed at me when she found out I even applied, but I promised that I wouldn’t go to space so, uh-”
It seemed like she inherited his ability to shove his foot in his mouth, her lips clamping shut as she realized that maybe this wasn’t the time.
“Apollo’s a teacher now,” she abruptly changed the subject, and he didn’t know what to say.
Just staring at her in shock, unable to form proper sentences when he thought he was coming home to a preteen – not a fully grown woman who looked so much like you it hurt to breathe. “Oh, there he is.”
He looked over to see his son was walking down the path with an old man, talking between each other with furrowed expressions.
Watched the shock register on their faces when they saw Gojo there.
He didn’t know what to say when they finally approached, the thick silence and tension simmering in the air as he stared at Apollo.
Strands of silver in his white hair, blue eyes burning with emotions he didn’t blame him for. Resentment. Reproach.
“You’re-”
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he heard himself say, voice cracking painfully.
“Yeah,” his son huffed, arms folding across his broad chest. “Us too.”
“Apollo,” the older man next to him scolded, giving him a fatherly look that seemed so natural on his face before throwing Gojo a look that was almost like ‘kids, right?’ “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Choso.”
And despite the fact he had to be in his seventies now, Gojo still sort of wanted to hit him.
Rip the golden band off his finger and start a fight over the fact he’d gotten to spend decades with the love of his life.
“Was she happy?” He asked instead, hollowed out, no strength left in him to stand.
“She was,” Artemis softly confirmed, patting his shoulder like he was a child. And he wondered if she had kids too, or if even his son’s children were older than him now.
“She missed you,” Choso added, more mature than Gojo suspected he would ever be.
Because right now, he was filled with hate.
Anger and rage boiling and burning under the surface at the injustice of all of it. At everything he missed. Everything that should’ve been his that ended up in the hands of someone else because he was too stupid to hold onto you tight enough.
He hated Choso. Hated space. Hated the universe.
Mostly though, he hated himself.
“We should go get some food,” Artemis artfully pivoted away, trying to tug him upright. “You’re probably starving, right?”
Gojo thought he nodded, not that he was totally in tune with his body, dazed as he tried to sort through the thousand thoughts flooding through his mind.
Numbness creeping in now that he knew it had all been for nothing.
“Before I forget,” she murmured, taking off a necklace he hadn’t noticed her wearing. The thin silver chain weighed down by two rings dangling at the end. The engagement ring he once gave you – and a plain band of white-gold. “Mom always wore it. She told me she bought the band for you before you were supposed to come back and could never bring herself to put either of them away.”
She dropped it in his palm, his pulse pounding in his ears at the proof you never fully gave up on him. One last thread of you in his hands as he automatically unlocked the clasp and put it on himself, the weight of it sitting over his chest and tethering him back to reality.
To the two children he made with you standing in front of him now he was still lucky enough to meet.
Artemis interlocked her arm with her brother, laughing at something he said before immediately beginning to bicker about where to eat at, who to call next.
Giggling about their sister, his throat closing at the confirmation you had another baby after him. That you lived a full life he’d only get to see second-hand. Through photos and stories instead of in person.
Apollo grumbled something under his breath, throwing a glare back at Gojo, still protective over you after you passed. Artemis just elbowed her brother though, tossing the hair back over her other shoulder that reminded him of you.
And some depressing part of him wondered if that’s what you and him would’ve looked like together one day if he stayed.
He would never get to know.
His eyes drifted back to your grave. And then the one next to it.
His name etched next to yours. A plot you must have purchased for him back when you thought you’d never get his body back.
A loving fiancé and father.
Gojo was grateful he would at least get to be buried next to you one day.
can sigma-chi teach nerdjo how to steal your heart ?
PLAYBOY TACTICS #1: GET YOUR MONEY UP !
taught by: toji zenin
“trying to win y/n over with only a hundred bucks to your name? yeah try again friend.”
⎚-⎚
toji zenin is black coffee breath, borrowed birkenstocks & a bank account filled with student loan refunds. but when he opens toru’s scotiabank account & finds it filled with less than a thousand dollars, his lips contort in disgust.
“no funds, no game, no bitches,” toji clicks his tongue. “you just a bum.”
“don’t you have a baby mama and kid you can barely support?”
“silence.”
toru gojo has messy blanche hair & candy pink nose & acid pooling in the jugular. tonight he’s got a date with the girl he swears is the love of his life & the pressure pokes at him like a cracked rib.
toji leans heavy on toru’s sheets. “i’m gonna ignore that comment. let’s focus on how you’re a gojo and have only a hundred bucks in your chequing account.”
toru’s cheeks flush. “i keep my money in my savings…they’re for textbooks.”
he doesn’t mention how every penny that’s not in his savings ends up in sato’s betting app. damn yumeko jabami wannabe-ass twin.
but toji doesn’t question it, so he doesn’t tell. instead he tosses the cell back at toru, arms crossed behind his head as he makes himself comfortable on his bed,
“textbooks don’t get you laid, friend. listen,” toji licks his canines. “i’m gonna give you three simple rules. follow ‘em or get dumped.”
RULE #1 : NONCHALANCE. ALWAYS.
toru gojo doesn’t make it past rule number one.
he fails because he doesn’t know how to not bite his cheek & choke on the blood when you stroll in with four inch heels & glossy lips & nails that toru prays will gouge his eyes out. he can’t fucking think. his throat’s all achey & you smell like sugar & his tongue dries so hard he swallows blood to keep it wet.
he tries to say you look beautiful. the words dribble off his tongue & plunk into his drink.
“—earth to toru? it’s really rude to stare.”
how shameful of him! he should dig his knees into the tile. grovel & beg till your pout dissolves & you decide you can forgive him for making you even the slightest bit uncomfortable.
but instead he shifts his arm over the booth seat. clenches his throat. reminds himself of the training toji worked oh-so hard to give him & pinches his thigh so his foot stops tapping so hard,
“s’not much to stare at.”
what ?
in front of him you’re fawn freckled & doe eyed, lashes fluttering like—heaven forbid—you hadn’t even heard him.
so he says it again. “uhm, there’s nothing much to stare at—“
“i heard you the first time.”
your tone cuts him like a knife. toru’s not sure when you start packing, but suddenly your purse is half full & your fork’s on the table & say her name—say her name—”
he calls your name & screams an apology. you leave as the words plunk into his drink.
TOJI’S REMARK : SON, I AIN’T TEACH YOU ALL THAT.
PLAYBOY TACTICS #2: GOOD GIRLS LIKE BAD BOYS
taught by: sato gojo
“girls don’t care about that ralph lauren shit. take off that polo and get in this tech, man.”
⎚-⎚
toru gojo’s room reeks of fratboy & paint thinner.
there’s two pizza boxes & a beer can rotting; sugar in sato’s molars & suguru’s piercings glimmering in the heat. & sukuna is here; lately he always is, laid up in toru’s bed with his phone raised over his head & palm inching dangerously towards his waistband. toru gojo knows better than to comment.
“you’ve got no game, twin. how are we even related?”
sato speaks with a mouthful of popcorn. beside him suguru’s snacking too, shoving things in his backpack & parting lips so sato can feed him the occasional kernel.
suguru scoffs, teeth sticky. “it’s a miracle she even lets herself be seen with you. poindexter looking ass.”
“i know, right? mr. bean ass closet. he won’t spend money on clothes and wears the same shirt in different colors everyday.”
“that’s not true—“toru grips his neckline. “—i’m not even wearing the shirt right now!”
he gestures to the material but geto only wrinkles his nose.
“can you please stop moving? i can hear the polyester in your hoodie..”
sato snorts. sukuna grunts & it’s not due to the joke.
suguru’s done packing now. he kisses sato’s cheek. ruffles toru’s hair. turns to dap up ryomen sukuna before deciding he probably shouldn’t. he takes his exit with a palm waving goodbye.
sato turns to his twin. “you know what you really need, man?”
“the ability to set boundaries? i don’t know why ryomen thinks it’s okay to fap in my sheets.”
“that,” sato nods, ignoring the wet sounds that leave toru’s bedside, “and a new fucking wardrobe.”
ⵌ SHOW TIME ! tw: satirical references to suicide.
toru gojo looks like a fucking idiot.
glasses half-foggy. nose cherry pink. dark jeans with too many rips & chains dangling everywhere. sato’s jacket has zippers that don’t actually zip anything, and the nicest thing about the outfit are the ugly birkenstocks that show his flushed pink toes.
toru greets you with a smile. eyes bright, just happy to look a mess.
“hey, y/n!”
“Hello. Are you mad?”
your tone is clipped & makes toru flinch. he swallows, blood sticky in his jugular. your nose is wrinkled & lashes fluttering & your gaze flits to the library exit like you might run away.
he won’t let that happen. not again.
so he clears his throat. pinches his wrist. pretends his brother’s jacket doesn’t fit too loose & itch at his chin: “nope, just trying something new! shall we get started on the project ?”
his smile stretches like plastic. there’s sweat on his chin & you think he has too many teeth.
—-
toru gojo keeps tap tap tapping.
birge-carnegie library is oakwood old & glimmering with glory. the air is heavy with heat & coffee shells & the bitter realization that toru gojo is never getting the girl.
at least, not at this rate.
it’s been twenty minutes & yet all toru can do is stare. god, you’re so pretty. swollen cheeks, pretty gaze, cherry coke lips pressed into a pout & clicky nails that stab toru in the gut as you tap at your keyboard. you’re so pretty & it’s fucking killing him because you’re pouting & toru swears you don’t even want to be here.
toru can only bite his lip. mind racing, heart aching.
you’re shivering now.
and it’s not quite obvious, & if toru wasn’t staring at you like you were girl turned god he probably wouldn’t have noticed. but he sees it. the way your lip quivers. the way you tug your sleeve over your wrist & pout when it flicks back into place. the way your shoulders squeeze like they’re clinging to the heat.
you don’t even know how you make toru’s chest hurt.
& before he can think it through he’s leaning over to place his—well, sato’s—jacket over you shoulders. he can only pray it doesn’t still smell like suguru.
“this smells like suguru.”
oh, well.
but you’re softening now; settling into your seat. lashes fluttering as you push your arms into the holes & turn back to him with gentle gaze & eyes star-achingly bright.
“thank you,”
your voice is too soft. his heart is too sticky.
sato’s jacket swallows you whole.
toru thinks it’s cute. you think it’s annoying. it’s been five minutes & you’re still shifting it over your skin, pulling & tugging & pouting when you discover yet another zipper.
you frown. “i feel like a jingle bell.”
“merry christmas.” “it’s a tuesday in may..”
it is. toru doesn’t know why he said that. he’ll likely hang himself when he gets home.
but the embarrassment doesn’t end there. you stand up—just to tug the jacket over your thighs, just to straighten it out—but toru gojo doesn’t know any better so he fucking lunges—
“toru!” you gasp, startled.
toru freezes; glasses tilting off his face, mouth part open. & he looks at you, eyes wide & cheeks flushed & so fucking startled, & he thinks he’ll definitely be seeing that noose when he gets home.
“sorry—i’m sorry—i didn’t mean to—“
“you scared me.”
you’re gripping the hem of your jacket now—his jacket, sato’s, whatever—and god, he’s such an idiot. so fucking stupid & can never do anything right & will likely die knowing he was born into this world just to leave as his brother’s shadow. and worst of all, that he will never, ever, get the girl.
“i’m so sorry,” he trembles. he doesn’t look at you, he can’t & he doesn’t deserve to, so it’s fine. “i wasn’t thinking. i just saw you standing up and i thought—i thought—“
he swallows. looks away.
but you don’t let him off that easy.
“you thought what ?”
he doesn’t answer. god, he looks ridiculous. curled into himself, palms on his knees all stupid & polite. cheeks flushed, glasses foggy. lips half-bitten & a flushed gaze that never meets yours.
giving you his jacket left him in a wife beater two sizes too big. he looks small & scrawny & you think you want to kiss him.
“toru.”
he exhales, long & slow. he still doesn’t look at you. you wish he would.
“i thought you were gonna leave again.”
“what ?”
he continues, “like at the restaurant. when you—when you stood up. walked out,” he swallows. “i didn’t want you to leave again. i didn’t want to watch you go.”
god. your throat is far too tight. your nails itch at your wrist like you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself.
“i’m not gonna leave,”
your voice is too sweet, too gentle. it sounds like honey & it spoils in the heat.
“you promise?”
you only sigh, walk over and slip into the seat beside him. you don’t say you promise but toru thinks he’ll be fine for now.
SATO’S REMARK : KINDA PITIFUL, BUT HEY, IT’S SOMETHING !
PLAYBOY TACTICS #3: NEG NEG NEG
taught by: geto suguru
“it’s all about the mystery, man. you gotta lower her value to make her see yours.”
⎚-⎚
“so how do you neg?”
“well personally, i’d start with calling her a monkey,” geto has his tongue in his cheek, desk chair groaning with a creaaak as sato spins him playfully. “unless she’s black. you shouldn’t say that if she’s black.”
“i don’t think i should say that either way..”
sato rests his chin on the chair head, cheeks peach-tinged & grin clumsy.
“probably shouldn’t!”
geto shrugs, tapping at toru’s keyboard. it’s 12 PM monday & the gang’s all here: suguru’s playing the sims 4 on toru’s new PC. sukuna is asleep with his dick in his hands. sato is whining because suguru doesn’t want to have a gay love story with him in the sims. and toji’s not here—12 PM monday means a new shift at his new job. toru hopes skai jackson will take it easy on him—working as her personal AI prompt writer must certainly be exhausting.
“the logic is simple—” suguru smacks sato’s hand away from the keyboard, “if you subtly insult her, she’ll feel the urge to prove herself. and her trying to prove herself—” another smack to sato’s stubborn hands, “tricks her brain into thinking you’re worth impressing.”
“and eventually, that she likes you!” sato cheers. “woah, sugu—when did you install wicked whims?”
“huh—? what the hell? why does my sim keep trying to fuck bob pancakes!”
“make him fuck mine instead.” / “please slit your throat.”
toru breathes, drags a palm over his face. his brother & best friend are fighting now—god knows about what—but he’s more concerned about the fact that he’s got a movie date with you in two hours and today’s game plan is far from complete.
“suguru’s right. and for a feisty bitch like y/n ? negging is even more crucial.”
sukuna’s voice is close to guttural & has all eyes snapping towards him. he’s awake now, cheeks flushed & bleary gazed & eyes half-lidded. his cock is sticky on his stomach & his palm strokes it lovingly.
toru frowns. “don’t call her a bitch. i’m serious.”
“and don’t talk with your dick in your hands. i’m disgusted.” suguru snarks.
sukuna shrugs, still lazily palming himself for the world to see. suguru wrinkles his nose in disgust & turns his head back to the game. he rage quits when he turns to find his sim palming himself too.
“neg her as much as possible,” sukuna breathes, toes curling. “humble her, make her second guess—shit.” he’s pumping faster now, gasps short & breath heavy. “make her—fuck! m’gonna cum—!”
sukuna blows his load. suguru & sato have long left the room, & toru is still searching for that noose.
ⵌ SHOW TIME !
cineplex at yonge-dundas is too-bright screens & overpriced popcorn. even now, toru’s got caramel sticky in his teeth & palms crossed in a silent prayer. there’s blood in his throat & an ache in his ribs & he’s got a tie on his neck for no fucking reason.
you walk in looking like a midsummer dream.
toru really does think you’re girl turned god. after all, most girls his age aren’t honey-mouthed or starry-eyed or flush-cheeked like you are. you walk in in tight top & short skirt, lashes fluttering as you glance around the room in quiet search of him. your eyes are all big & your lips all pouty & toru bets you don’t even notice. bets you don’t even know how you leave him sweat-soaked & feverish.
“toru!”
you’ve sauntered up to him now, purse in your hands & grin on your lips. your smile is clumsy & satoru’s heart must be too because it swells over & bursts like overripe fruit. his vocal chords slosh against his throat like blood.
“hi,” he blurts. “you look pretty.”
you tilt your head & look up at him all warm-cheeked & doe-eyed. “thank you.”
it’s silent for a beat; toru’s eyes boring into yours with two cracked teeth & a kernel in his mouth. you’re so pretty & you look so sweet & he wants to kiss you so fucking bad.
you break the silence. “you like my outfit?” you step back, voice soft. “i went shopping yesterday.”
toru wants to ask if you did that just for him—just for today’s date with him—but he doesn’t. he knows better so he doesn’t.
instead he drinks you in. he looks like a butterfly trapped in a hazy addiction: pupils blown & bleary eyed, jam smeared cheeks & a quickly reddening nose. his lips are half-parted / his mouth is half-dry.
your outfit’s simple but oh-so effective: denim skirt too short on your thighs, black off-shoulder with ruffles on the sleeves, kitten heels to match your top. god, you’re so fucking cute.
and because you’re so cute, toru can’t fuck this up. so he decides it’s time to implement suguru’s lesson from earlier in the day.
“you look incredible,” he swallows, knuckles shaky. “did you—uhm. did you pick black to hide your stomach rolls?”
toru gojo shouldn’t have said that.
he knows because your lips part immediately. cheeks flushed, eyes wide. you’re frozen in front of him, lips quivering with something toru recognizes as embarrassment.
oh jesus—ya allah—great universe—what has he done?
before toru’s joints can unfreeze you’re already turning away, & toru swears there are tears in your eyes. he’s sworn he’ll never let you leave again without a fight so even though his vocal chords slosh against his throat like blood, he manages to speak.
“y/n, wait!” he gasps, already moving. “i didn’t mean that—! your body is tea! your body is tea!”
GETO’S REMARK : MAN, CALL YOUR FUCKIN’ UBER.
PLAYBOY TACTICS #4 : GET YOUR GAME FACE ON !
taught by: ryomen sukuna
“you know your problem, man ? you’re not taking this seriously, not locked in at all. let me put you on, friend.”
⎚-⎚
sukuna sighs, flops out of toru’s bed with his dick hanging out of his boxers. he has his elbows on his knees & a palm on his chin & precum sticky on his abdomen.
“i think it’s time i stepped in and gave you some advice.”
“you have a porn addiction. i think i’m good.”
PLAYBOY TACTICS #5: OR MAYBE…BE YOURSELF ?
taught by: nanami kento
“you’ve been taking advice from those idiots all this time? oh…”
⎚-⎚
in the men’s bathroom of birge-carnegie library, toru gojo has his pulse in his teeth & his heart in the sink.
4PM today toru gojo walked into the library with too many books in his hands & glasses begging to tilt off. you sat at a table near the center, & when toru walked past he saw it: your gaze meeting his before burying itself between a thick book. the bite of your lips & the way your nose crinkled with disgust.
did you pick black to hide your stomach rolls?
how embarassing! toru gojo should hang himself now—or at least after returning his library books. the overdue fees were no joke. his life was one however, & the heavy realization has his knuckles rousing white on the bathroom sink as he sheds his nerves by the pint.
his eyes are red tinged. cheeks bloody. nose too red & throat too sticky so when he tries to breathe it comes out as a hiccup. toru gojo is truly pathetic. he’s known it his whole life but now the fact has chewed him up & won’t spit him back out.
“hello. what is your problem.”
kento nanami has a tone too clipped. he’s standing at the bathroom door & his mere presence has toru gojo startled. toru jumps back, face contorting in alarm, tears still sticky on his lashes. “kento!”
“in the flesh,” nanami pushes up his glasses. he’s in pressed suit as always, looking years older than toru & his age mates. “why are you loitering in the bathroom? this is very unsanitary.”
toru sniffles, wipes his eyes. “i’m sorry—” he tries for a swallow but it comes out as a hiccup & his eyes are burning all over again because he can’t even fucking breathe right. “—i’m sorry, i’m sorry for everything. i fucked up like i always do and i should’ve used that noose ages ago and i, and i—“
nanami’s brows knit in alarm. toru’s sobbing now, and kento joins him at his side.
“toru,” his voice is soft. “tell me what’s going on.”
if you told nanami kento that going to the carnegie library today would mean comforting one of the gojo twins in the men’s bathroom instead of picking up the new BL manhwa he’d requested the library to stock, he would’ve looked you in the face & laughed.
but here he is, awkwardly patting toru’s back & not reading the latest volume of nerd project.
in his shaky distress, toru recounts everything—the lessons with the sigma-chi boys. sukuna’s refusal to stop jerking off in his bed. him pointing out your stomach rolls—& kento can only shake his head. how ridiculous. he should be reading about andrew young & luke davis right now!
but kento gently wipes toru’s tears. he’s always been rather fond of the younger twin anyways. “have you tried being normal? as in, being yourself?”
toru’s eyes swell, big. he looks stunned—why didn’t he think of that?
but he quickly deflates. he had thought of it. but he’s much too uncool—scrawny & weak & only good for reading textbooks & mediating fights between geto & his dumb brother. he had no choice but to lean into the larp.™
“i can’t—“ he gasps. “—she wouldn’t like me. i’m not cool—“
“and you think the others are cool?” kento raises a brow. “toji, whose a deadbeat dad while in college and sells himself to earn money—“
“he doesn’t do that anymore,” toru gulps. “he works for skai jackson now.”
nanami nods. “and sato, who has a gambling addiction and loses thousands to hakari every week,” toru flinches.
“suguru, who’s addicted to the sims and is in a homoerotic friendship with your brother.”
another flinch.
“sukuna, who is—“
“i didn’t take any advice from sukuna.”
kento nods, “well done. but you know he has a porn addiction and an exhibitionist kink.”
toru gulps, “yes.”
“so no more listening,” kento claps his back. “you apologize. explain to her what you’ve been doing all this while, but also take accountability. you’re smarter than this. you should’ve known better.”
“i’m sorry. she makes me stupid.”
“i know,” kento sighs, softening. toru’s wiping his eyes now. “but you shouldn’t be apologizing to me. go out there and make things right. and wash your hands first.”
toru nods eagerly. he doesn’t even remember to wipe his hands dry, and nanami can only shake his head half-fondly as he watches the younger twin go.
—————
when toru finds you, there’s a pen in your teeth & you won’t meet his eyes.
toru knows you see him standing there beside you. but you don’t flinch. your lashes flutter & you blink slow like you’re totally engrossed in whatever you’re reading. is that percy jackson?
toru shakes his head. then wishes he didn’t, because he must’ve looked really stupid physically shaking his thoughts away. “y/n.”
you don’t respond. his throat folds.
but he keeps going anyways. “y/n, i owe you an apology,” he clears his throat, & he thanks god because he doesn’t hiccup this time. “i’m sorry. i’m really truly sorry. especially for yesterday,” he gulps. “—and your body is tea.”
irritation rises in your features & quickly dissolves.
“uhm,” he’s still standing there, arms behind his back, feet shuffling. “i didn’t—i don’t actually think you have stomach rolls.”
you shut your book with a bam! “can you please stop talking about my stomach?”
“i’m sorry! oh my god i’m so sorry, i’ve been taking advice from my brother and the others on how to be cool and make you like me back but i just ended up being a total idiot! and it’s stupid! it’s so stupid and i should know better but i like you so much that i can’t fucking think and i’m so sorry for hurting you and i’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it if you’d let me and—“
“toru. you’re rambling.”
“i’m sorry!” he panics. “please forgive me!”
“oh my god,” you sigh, palm dragging over your face. “can you please sit down first?”
he sits across from you; hands digging into his knees, back too straight to be healthy.
“so you’ve been taking advice from sato and the others all this time?”
“uh, yes.”
“in what universe is that wise?”
he deflates. “i don’t know how to be wise when it comes to you.”
your tongue’s in your cheek. right now, toru gojo is something akin to a kicked puppy. he’s got a gaze that won’t meet yours & his neck is rash red & you think he might explode.
you click your tongue. “i had my suspicions.”
his head snaps up. “you knew?”
“no, i suspected it,” you tuck a book into your bag, then another, and another. “i first thought so when you showed up at the library looking like ken carson. sato set you up, by the way. even he left his opium era back in 2023.”
“he said girls like guys who dress like that..”
“he lied,” you hum, “i prefer your usual button ups anyway. you look all smart and sexy.”
“thank you. wait—what?”
“mhm,” toru’s not sure when you get up, but now you’re sitting beside him; and god, you’re in a skirt again, and toru wishes you wouldn’t wear skirts. his brain acts all funny when you wear them. he gulps.
“for a smart guy, you’re awfully slow,” your thighs are touching his & your perfume’s in his lungs & fuck, his heart is doing that funny thing again! “do you think i would’ve asked you to dinner that first night if i didn’t like you?”
“the night i said you weren’t much to look at and you left?”
you grit your teeth. “yes, toru. that night.”
he swallows, pupils shifting because he can’t handle your pretty eyes glaring at him. “i thought you did it for a dare.”
you poke his temple & he winces. “i would never do that. you idiot, i’ve liked you since you bumped into me at the library and accidentally said ‘pretty’ instead of apologizing!”
“oh.”
“‘oh’ is right,” you sigh, falling into his shoulder. you don’t miss the way he freezes under your skin. “you’re such an idiot…”
“i really like you.” toru blurts, cheeks pink. “and uhm, i’m happy you like me back. and i think you’re beautiful. so beautiful. you’re probably the most beautiful girl in the world.” he swallows. “and i’m happy you like me back. did i say that already?”
you tilt your head to look up at him from his shoulder. his gaze is trained on his knees, neck flushed, ears pink. & you’re a devil of a girl so you stroke his arm when you purr:
“look at me when you confess. please?”
toru squeaks. because you sound so pretty when you say that in his arm. because the heat of your touch sends shockwaves to his spine & his sleeve is likely sticky from your gloss but he doesn’t care. he doesn’t fucking care.
he turns to you, slow. and you’re already gazing up at him, cheeks flushed, lashes low, sun-soaked & bleary eyed. your lips are so pretty. you’re so pretty. he can’t believe he almost wanted to kill himself. what an idiot.
he clears his throat. “i like you. i wanna kiss you so bad.”
toru’s eyes widen. he didn’t mean the last part—well he did, but he didn’t mean to say it & oh god he’s fucked up again & he felt you tense against him & he’s made you so uncomfortable & you’re gonna leave him again and—
“kiss me,” you breathe. “please, toru?”
his heart hammers. you sound so pretty when you say that. why do you sound so pretty when you say that?
& more importantly, who is he not to obey? so he does as you ask—cups your cheeks oh-so softly with rouge knuckles & gentle hands. and your lashes flutter shut, & oh my god he’s really doing this.
he presses his lips to your own. you sigh into his mouth.
——-
oh, but the story doesn’t end there.
four bookshelves behind & a corner to the right, the gang’s all there. sato & suguru are leaning over the corner, stacked over each other like this is some sort of cartoon. sukuna has a granola bar in his hand instead of his dick. toji’s still not here, still slaving away typing AI prompts for skai jackson’s snapchat stories. nanami kento is here though, standing just enough to the side so no one can mistake him as friends with these idiots.
“what the hell,” sato whispers. “did he just kiss y/n?”
“no way. i think he actually did.”
“why are you guys whispering? you look fucking stupid.”
“says the guy who talks with his dick in his hands.”
“i’ll put it in your mouth next, bastard. or you only like sato’s cock in it?”
“ayoooo. you right but not too much, not too much.”
“who the hell said he was right?!”
nanami takes his leave. that’s enough stupidity for one day.
summary: a fortune, the student council presidency, and a future already negotiated for you—complete with a ryomen engagement ring after you graduate from university. you’ve got it all… but is that really what you want? an unexpected friendship with gojo satoru makes the answer far less certain.
warnings: (18+) smut, porn with plot, fluff, light angst, college au, academic rivals/annoyances to lovers, oral (fem. receiving), p in v, criminally down bad!gojo, mentions of frat parties, alcohol consumption, marriages of convenience, family troubles, and overall rich people problems ™️, the university they go to is heavily implied to be aristocratic, brief sukuna x reader but she doesn’t fw him, anatomy & physiology facts that are probably incorrect but we shall ignore that for the sake of the plot
word count: 16.9k
art by bimyo_n!
Rumor has it that everything began the moment winter break ended.
You extended the handle of your suitcase and walked toward the foyer, where you were sure your mother was already waiting. By the time you rounded the corner, she was already unlocking the front door and pulling it open.
As if it couldn’t be any more obvious that she was eager for you to leave the house and return to university.
If you had to guess, the end of each break between semesters was her favorite time of year.
Well, that and her birthday—because your father had made a habit of buying her a new handbag each season, and if there was anything she loved more than a mansion to herself, it was a mansion to herself full of designer purses.
“The car is waiting for you,” she said simply, her tone lacking the warmth of a mother wishing her daughter farewell.
You hardly noticed its absence. You hadn’t felt it in years, anyway. You’d be lucky—or unlucky, you weren’t quite sure—if she hugged you goodbye.
Just as you opened your mouth to reply, you noticed the furrow in her brow. Wordlessly, she pressed her hand between your shoulder blades to correct your posture. “How is it that you’ve somehow managed to develop a slouch? Your father and I didn’t pay for you to go to charm school for nothing to come of it.”
Your jaw tightened, the familiar urge to shrug her hand away flared, but you didn’t let it show in your voice. “And where is he? He couldn’t take an early lunch to come home and see me off?”
She released a breath that sounded more like a laugh than a scoff. “Why would he? You’re going to be back in two months for dinner with the Ryomen family. He’ll see you then.”
This time, your bitterness did reach your voice. “Oh. Right. That.”
Your suitcase was plucked from your side by the family driver and you watched as he loaded it into the trunk.
“Yes. That.” Your mother tugged at your skirt, as if that would make it any longer.
She looked at you sharply. Her message was clear, even though it remained wordless: don’t show up wearing something like this the next time we see you.
After all, appearances were important. You had learned that from an early age.
By the time you were ten, your eyebrows were already being plucked biweekly. Sometimes, thrice in one month, should your mother notice a hair out of place. At eleven, you learned what pore strips were, why they were used, and what people would say about you if you didn’t. Once you were fourteen, styling your hair came as easily as walking on two feet.
But the Ryomen family didn’t care about that as much as your mother did.
What they truly cared about was securing a fortune that would create generational wealth. They cared about fostering a bond with your parents that would lead to a prosperous business relationship. They only cared about you because you were the business—an investment that they expected to mature on schedule. Well, you and Sukuna, their son, whom you have practically been betrothed to since you were six years old.
Graduation was approaching, and you would bet your life that this dinner was a gimmick—one for both sets of parents to nudge you two closer together. Not that they cared whether you truly got along. Aligning the Ryomen fortune with your family name would make your combined estate as good as gold. They likely just wanted to ensure that the eventual marriage (business deal) would be lifelong.
Which is to say, they wanted to drill it into your head that filing for divorce was not an option once everything was said and done. How sweet of them.
You couldn’t worry about that now, though. You were already running late, and you needed to get back to campus and unpack. Classes start tomorrow morning, and you would hate to be seen with bags under your eyes—and your mother would certainly hate to hear about it from the monumental amount of staff at Mikage Academy, who seemed intent on notifying her of nearly every step you took over the past few years.
“Well, I should be going,” you muttered—more to yourself than to her—because you weren’t even confident she was listening anymore.
Your suspicions were confirmed when she muttered a final ‘don’t forget about the dinner’ before shutting the door behind you. She didn’t follow you out. Didn’t hug you goodbye either.
Once you were inside the vehicle—headphones on, with music blaring loud enough to drown out any chance at forming a coherent thought—you relaxed your shoulders and slouched, because there was no one here to pester you about it.
At least that was something you could be thankful for.
☆
The student council election was rapidly approaching, and that was just about all you were allowed to think about.
You knelt on the ground with a paintbrush in your hand, carefully mapping out the words Vote Y/N for Student Council President! :) on the posterboard.
The headphones in your ears were turned up a bit too high, because you hadn’t even noticed that your best friend, Utahime, had entered the empty workroom until she accidentally kicked over the can of red paint you had been using. You gasped as it splattered all over the poster, leaning back on the heels of your feet to ensure, at the very least, that it didn’t get on your clothes.
“Utahime!”
“I’m sorry!” she said quickly, tilting the can upright again.
The damage had already been done, though. She knelt beside you and carefully folded up the poster, tossing it into a nearby bin. Wiping her hands against each other, her eyes landed on you.
“Let the record show that I didn’t mean to do that and am guilty of all crimes regardless,” she paused, then smiled at you. “You know, you don’t really need to campaign. No one has run against you in, what— three years?”
You frowned as you wiped your thumb over the dot of paint on your skirt. It was small enough that an untrained eye wouldn’t notice. “I know that, but you can never be too sure.”
“Actually, you can be,” she retorted, but retrieved a fresh posterboard for you anyway. “The only way you lose this election is if a meteor penetrates Earth’s orbit and targets Mikage specifically, and in that case, we would all be dead anyway.”
You raised a brow as you dipped a fresh paintbrush into the can. “In that case, I should campaign to make sure that everyone died with an intent to vote for me.”
Utahime laughed with a shake of her head but didn’t push it any further. “I should run a smear campaign against you in the school’s newspaper. Maybe then, your effort won’t be for naught.” She paused. “Speaking of— have you read the newspaper lately?”
You were stopped dead in your tracks. If Utahime had managed to read the entirety of the university’s boring-to-death newspaper and felt it was important enough to bring up to you, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. “Yeah? Not this week’s issue, though. Why?”
“Of course you read it regularly,” she mumbled with a smile before fishing her phone out of her backpack. “There’s a new column for blind items. About the students. Can you believe that this shit actually made the final cut? It’s awesome.”
You invaded her personal space to look at her phone screen. “No way. What are they saying?”
Utahime laughed. “Just read it for yourself. I had to change my outfit because I read them this morning while brushing my teeth and laughed so hard, I toothpaste-bombed my own shirt.”
Reading the blind items to yourself, you can’t help but stifle your laugh that comes before the unease settles in. Someone had written these based on what they had observed, and despite how harmless they seemed now, the concept of that person walking among you was something that left a pit in your stomach.
A certain basketball player was seen coming back to his dorm room around 4 a.m. with multiple shades of lipstick on his neck.
A male who lives on floor three in the Newbrooke dormitory has been shitting in the showers for two weeks straight.
A sorority girl tossed the entirety of her roommate’s makeup collection out the window and blamed it on someone else, resulting in their expulsion from the sorority.
A notorious rich boy blew his semester’s allowance on a new sports car.
You skimmed the rest and ensured that none of them could be about you before you handed Utahime her phone back. “I’m sure we all know who number four is about.”
She shrugged but nodded anyway. “Right? I mean, Gojo revs his engine like it’s nobody’s business all the time.” She looked down at her phone. “I wonder who’s shitting in the showers, though.”
“Maybe that one’s about Gojo, too,” you quipped, too quickly to hide the bite in your voice.
You regretted how much you sounded like your mother then, and how easily it had come out.
Your family’s disdain for the Gojo family stemmed long before you were born. Hell, before your parents were even born. The details of it all were up for interpretation at this point—nobody talked about it, and you never dared to ask—but to your understanding, Gojo’s great-great-great-grandfather had screwed over yours—somehow, some way—and this was what had come of it. You would be reluctant to believe it. After all, there were quite a few tools in your own family, and you liked to believe you were nothing like them.
But the asshat that was Satoru Gojo lived up to his reputation, as far as you’d learned. That was enough for you to write him off.
Not to mention, he was the only student here at Mikage who posed a threat to you. He was academically gifted and never let you forget it; most things came easier to him than they did you, and you hated him for it.
Well, that and the time he spilled beer all over your shoes at a frat party freshman year. He probably didn’t even remember it had happened, but you did, because some other dipshit had been recording the entire ordeal and posted it online.
The earful you’d gotten from your parents that day was enough for you to stay away from him entirely.
All the while, Utahime raised her eyebrow with a grin. “Oh, wow. You’d better hope he didn’t hear that, or else you just lost a vote.”
☆
All things considered, you were having a good day.
Even though your hair is still slightly damp from the rain and the perfume you put on only two hours ago has nearly worn off, you’re pretty confident that you’ve just aced your first Anatomy & Physiology test.
Every other person in the lecture hall is already relaxed, scrolling on their phones while they wait for your professor to hand back the graded exams—because all things considered, it’s only worth three percent of your total grade after all calculations. And yes, you have done the calculations (twice!), because heaven forbid you be uninformed about anything relating to your academics.
You glance at your watch nervously. You hope this class is released on time, because attending it was only the second thing you’ve checked off your mile-long to-do list for the day.
You have a student council meeting at 2 p.m., a meeting with Professor Yaga at 3:15 p.m. about an upcoming scholarship opportunity, and a study date with Sukuna at 4 p.m.—where he doesn’t do much of anything at all aside from scrolling through red pill looksmaxxer Instagram reels for two hours.
A test is lazily tossed back onto your desk, and you pick it up immediately.
It’s a 98%. An A.
You smile to yourself, but it doesn’t last very long. It falters the moment you feel a presence looming over your shoulder—one that carries the scent of expensive cologne. It’s light and masculine, and reminds you of summer, for whatever reason. You may have complimented it if the presence hadn’t beaten you to speaking.
“Only a ninety-eight? Poor thing. Didn’t sleep well or something?”
Suddenly, your compliment dries up, because you’d know that voice anywhere. Satoru fucking Gojo.
You snap your head around so fast it nearly spins off your spine. “Stay away from me and get a life,” you say through gritted teeth, but snatch his test from his hands despite yourself.
And there, in the top corner, written in pen, is a 100%. From what you can tell from all the talking he’s doing right now—which you aren’t listening to a lick—he’s pretty intent on rubbing it in your face.
He clicks his tongue and places his hand on the back of your seat, using it for leverage as he leans over you a bit more. “See? You got number thirteen wrong. You said the fluid inside body cells is extracellular fluid. Ouch.” He pats the back of your seat, as if it’s any consolation. “You know, I’m free Thursday afternoons. I could tutor you, and once the exam comes around, that frown will be turned right-side up—”
You stand abruptly and hand his test back to him, your wrist so rigid it may as well cut through ice. “Oh, I’m so good off that. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with an ice pick.”
Satoru tilts his head, his grin so smug it makes you sick. “Well, suit yourself. Speaking of—pretty sure ice picks are usually on clearance this time of year. Y’know, with it being spring and all.”
A single glance around the room tells you nearly everyone else has already left, and that it’s painfully obvious you and Satoru are the only ones who stayed behind to talk. You’d rather not be spotted with him again. You don’t bother hiding your eye roll as you zip up your backpack and walk away, crumpled test in tow.
“Hey, where are you going? What about our riveting conversation?” he calls after you, and you can practically hear his grin when he speaks. “It was a funny joke!”
The door slams shut behind you.
☆
You can’t stand Sukuna—no matter how hard you try.
“Can you at least turn that down?”
Sukuna grumbled under his breath before slumping even lower into the seat he dwarfed in size, but he lowered the volume of his Instagram reels just enough to pacify you. “What’s it matter, anyway? There’s nobody here.”
You huffed and tried not to take it personally, as the single person currently sitting beside him. “It matters to me because, unlike some people, I actually care about my grades. Very shocking, I know.”
It might be shocking to most—which you’d understand, because it even shocks you on most days—but Sukuna is one of the few people in your life who understands you.
Not when it comes to the things that make you who you are as an independent person. He couldn’t recite your full name if he tried, nor could he remember your birthday, favorite color, or go-to drink order at your favorite café.
Because at the end of the day, Sukuna doesn’t see you. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t have to. But after everything, he knows you better than most. He knows about the things you don’t say out loud. He knows how much you hate going home, because he hates it just as much. He knows that none of this truly matters, because your parents have had your futures lined up for over a decade, and none of your hard work plays a factor in that.
Where the two of you differ is this: you still seem to be under the assumption that hard work might relieve you of your fate, but Sukuna has long since adopted a different worldview. He thinks that if everything is going to work out in the end—a nice house, a somewhat decent spouse, a few kids in the far future—then what’s the point in trying in the meantime?
“Jeez, woman. I was just asking. It that time of the month or somethin’?”
You scoffed, but didn’t dignify him with a reply.
You don’t know what this is exactly—whatever you and Sukuna are. You aren’t dating. You have kissed a few times—experimental and primarily drunk kisses shared at parties that never amounted to anything, because, well… you just don’t like each other. You aren’t sure if you’re even friends, or if you’d want to be.
At most, you’re familial acquaintances, which is the polite way of saying that he is supposed to be your husband one day, if your parents have anything to say about it.
“I just need to focus. Yaga said I have a good chance at landing the internship, but that doesn’t mean I should start slacking off now.”
“What internship?”
You blinked.
“The internship I applied for three months ago?”
Sukuna blinked.
“The one I passed three rounds of interviews for?”
You scoffed. “For fuck’s sake, Sukuna, it’s just about the only thing I’ve been talking about for months!”
He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay, okay. Jeez. The only thing I’m noticing right now is that I’m not the only one being loud in the library anymore.”
A swarm of harsh replies flooded your mind, but you tamped them down—because you were 99% percent sure Sukuna was far too dim-witted to grasp whatever insult you could chuck his way anyway.
“Whatever. I need to get going.” You packed up your belongings and stood, taking a step in the opposite direction before he caught your arm. You glared back at him. “What?”
“Are you mad at me or somethin’? What’d I say?”
Once again, you didn’t give him a reply and walked away.
Sukuna leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest with a shake of his head. “Women.”
Once in the hallway, you approached the vending machine. You could use a pick-me-up, even if it were in the form of junk food. Just as you were within a few feet of it, an infuriating man with white hair slid in front of you. Satoru was quick to slide a dollar into the machine and punch in whatever he wanted.
“Oh—sorry, did you want something?” he asked over his shoulder, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips.
You were fed up with men today. No, scratch that. You were more than fed up with men today. You rolled your eyes and began to walk away, and maybe Satoru had a change of heart, or maybe he realized that your fallen expression didn’t just have to do with running into him.
“Hey, no— come back, I’m serious,” he called after you. He reached into his pocket and slid another dollar into the machine. “What do you want?”
You turned around, eyeing him closely. “I don’t need your dollar, Gojo.”
Unfazed by your tone, he laughed. It was boyish and carefree in a way that surprised you. “I know you don’t,” he said simply. “Way to make me feel nice about my good deed, though. I didn’t know a single dollar could move you so much.” You narrowed your eyes at him, and he tilted his head toward the machine in response. “C’mon. Pick something.”
And because you just couldn’t catch a break today, your stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly. You placed a hand over your abdomen immediately, your face nearly losing its color.
“…Gummy bears,” you finally managed to choke out. “Please.”
Satoru smiled and punched in the corresponding code for a bag of Haribo Gummy Bears. “Decent choice for a starving woman. Not sweet enough for my taste, but decent.”
You huffed out a breath, watching him retrieve both of your chosen snacks. “Sour Patch Kids? Really?”
He handed you the gummy bears before nodding once. “Yup. Really.” He paused, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. “I thought you’d like them. I mean, you’d definitely fit in with them.”
“Fit in with who?”
Satoru tore the bag open and popped one into his mouth. “The Sour Patch Kids. Y’know—with this whole mean-girl-who-hates-me getup you’ve got going on. Really sour of you.”
Your eyebrows pinched together. “That’s so stupid.”
“Yeah, but you almost smiled. Saw it with my own eyes,” he chirped back, chewing on the candy. You smoothed your expression, and he shook his head. “No, no, no— don’t hide it now. That’s just unfair. I paid a dollar for that smile.”
Your face tightened, because now you really were fighting the urge to smile, damn it. “Whatever,” you snapped as you started to walk away—then stopped, your expression tightening even more. “I mean… thank you. For the gummy bears.” You said one last thing before turning your back on him. “And don’t think this means I like you now, because I don’t.”
Satoru just smiled. “Yeah, of course, wouldn’t dream of it.”
☆
Your phone vibrated late into the night.
If it were any other day, you would’ve been fast asleep by now. You’d been strict about your sleep schedule ever since you accidentally discovered—at twelve years old, six hours into a late-night 3 a.m. deep dive—that not sleeping enough can result in the brain eating itself.
But even the fear of having a peanut-sized brain by the time you were forty hadn’t been enough to lull you to sleep tonight, which was how you found yourself watching ASMR cat spa day videos at 1 a.m.
You groaned when you glanced at the top of your screen and saw who dared to interrupt your doomscrolling.
sukuna: hey
sukuna: i can see u reading my texts.
sukuna: stop being mad at me and listen
sukuna: theres a party tomorrow night and i think you should come
sukuna: and before u get all “i need to focus and stay in and be boring all the time” on me just listen
sukuna: u should take time away from your hw and relax
You nearly smiled. This might’ve been the nicest thing Sukuna had ever said to you.
sukuna: plus i wanna go and it looks bad if we arent there together. people talk.
Never mind.
you: i’ll think about it
sukuna: cool. be ready by 9
you: i never said i was going???
☆
Spoiler alert: you wound up coming to the party.
The air is stale and smells of vape smoke and alcohol. The frat house is far too crowded, and from where you’re standing in the kitchen, everyone looks like a pack of sardines wiggling around to a 2010s pop song that no one has quite caught the rhythm for yet. And yet, for all of your complaining, you’re still here—looking your best, at that.
You weren’t as much of a bore as Sukuna made you out to be, but you could admit that you didn’t party nearly as much as you had when you first started at Mikage. The passing of time makes you more responsible, or whatever the poets say—you can’t remember, and you’re honestly a little tipsy already, truth be told.
Suddenly, Shoko nudges your side with her elbow. “Hey, party girl. You gonna stand in here all night, or do you plan on joining us at some point?”
“I didn’t even see you there,” you say through a laugh, waving a hand through the air to dissipate some of the vape smoke Toji blows only a few feet away. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
You follow her through the crowd, only managing to bump into a few people along the way while clutching your Solo cup tight to your chest. It’s warmer now that you’re enveloped in this sea of bodies; your cheeks feel hot, but you pay no mind to it. You’re not sure how long it takes before you and Shoko reunite with Utahime and Nobara, the four of you forming a little circle for yourselves—something that looks conspiratorial from the outside, but feels like a haven on the inside.
“Took you long enough,” Nobara says by way of greeting. She glances down at your cup. “What’d you find in the kitchen?”
“I don’t even know what the hell this is. I just grabbed whatever was unopened and poured it into a cup with ice. I’m hoping it’ll water down,” you reply with a shrug.
Nobara scoffs. “Toji never stocks shit for these parties—deadass, this is the worst frat. I don’t even know why we come here.”
Shoko laughs, though you can barely hear it over the music. “We come here because girls get in free at the door. I mean, if I’m gonna get shitfaced and regret my decisions tomorrow morning, I sure as hell don’t wanna pay for it.”
Utahime taps Shoko’s cup. “Yeah, speaking of getting shitfaced—you’re drinking water once you finish that. I can’t carry you back to your dorm. The last time I tried, I basically dragged you there.”
Shoko groans but doesn’t fight it. All of a sudden, the three of them lock eyes on something directly behind you, and their expressions fall.
Utahime’s face goes white as she places her hands on your shoulders. “Girl, don’t turn around. I’m so serious.”
“What are you talking about?” Your brows knit together, even as you’re already turning.
And when you see it, your eyes widen.
Sukuna is making out with some girl in the center of the room, and while the sight doesn’t make you sick, it does make you nervous. In the span of three seconds, a million thoughts rush through your mind.
You’re granted a glimpse into your future: a future where you marry a man who invites you to a party just to make out with another girl right in front of you. A future where you never feel secure enough to let your guard down, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. A future where you die even more miserable than you feel right now.
Not because you’re jealous. No, you couldn’t care less what the hell he does. It’s the principle that bothers you.
If you were expected to keep up appearances and make time to “bond” with him out of your already packed schedule, why was he allowed to do whatever he pleased?
You hope no one else is paying as much attention to him as you are, because the last thing you need is both of your parents finding out and breathing down your neck, trying to put Sukuna on a leash.
“Just classless,” Shoko hums.
You turn back around, laughing. “He’s a mess. I don’t know what the hell my parents are thinking.”
Nobara sighs. “You should run away and join the circus or something. They’ll never find you.”
You laugh to yourself, knowing they’re only trying to make you feel better. But the impending doom of your upcoming graduation feels worse than ever now. You feel suffocated—like the air is too warm to breathe—so you mumble out a half-assed excuse before slipping through the crowd and out onto the balcony.
It’s cold outside. Refreshing against your skin.
The party has spilled out onto the front lawn, and the sight is so ridiculous it brings you an odd sense of comfort. Choso wobbles on two unsteady legs with Nanami perched on his shoulders, currently trying—and failing—to fish toilet paper out of a tree. Two seconds later, they go tumbling over together, face-planting into the grass.
“That’s gotta hurt.”
You gasp, wrenching away from the edge of the balcony to look behind you.
And there he stood.
Satoru fucking Gojo.
Only now, he looks different. More casual. Relaxed, right down to the smoothed wrinkle between his eyebrows and the clothes he’s wearing now. You’ve never seen him in anything but collared dress shirts and black slacks, courtesy of Mikage Academy’s suffocating dress code.
He takes a step closer. Then another. Soon he’s beside you, forearms resting on the railing. His shirt stretches across his frame, and your eyes traitorously trace the curve of his bicep. The sharp line of his jaw. The slope of his nose.
You tear your gaze away before it gets embarrassing. Has he always looked like that?
Clearing your throat, you mirror his posture. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he replies easily. He glances at you, then back out at the lawn. “Nice party. Solid DJ choice.”
You huff. “Small talk? Really?”
Satoru shrugs. “I figured I should ease into it. You don’t exactly look like you’re in the mood for my usual charm.”
“You mean being insufferable?”
“Wow,” he says. “I was more so going for memorable.”
Your eyes meet. You’re the first to look away.
“Sorry,” you mutter. “I don’t really know how to talk to you when I’m not irritated with you and your stupid gloating.” You pause, then lift a finger. “And before you say anything—I aced the quiz yesterday. So if you came out here to rub it in, save it.”
“Oh no,” Satoru deadpans. “My entire plan— ruined right before my eyes.”
You glance at him. He’s smiling, but it’s softer than usual.
“No,” he continues, dropping his head slightly. “That’s not why I came out here.”
Your brows pinch together. “No?”
“Nope. I needed air. And maybe a tetanus shot after sitting on that couch, ‘cause that thing’s disgusting.”
You laugh despite yourself.
“And,” he adds casually, “I saw you come out here.”
You turn toward him. Somehow, his eyes look brighter at night. “Is that your official reason?”
“Mostly,” he says. “What can I say? I’m curious.”
“About?”
“About why you look like you’d rather be anywhere else than at a party like this.”
You hesitate. “It’s… complicated, I guess.”
“Ah,” Satoru nods.
You scoff, easily reading between the lines. “It has nothing to do with Sukuna. Well— okay, maybe a little. But not like that.”
He tilts his head. “You sure? Because from where I’m standing, it kinda looked like your boyfriend might have a lot to do with it.”
“Ew. No,” you say quickly. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Something shifts in Satoru’s expression. “Good to know.”
You blink. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Just is.”
You roll your eyes, but continue anyway, words spilling easier now. “If my parents have their way, he’ll probably be more than my boyfriend someday.” You grimace. “Which is terrifying, because he’s about as smart as a box of rocks, and I can’t be around him for more than ten minutes without wanting to bang my head against the wall.”
Satoru lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Here I thought I was harsh.”
Panic flickers through you when he doesn’t say anything else right away.
“I know it sounds stupid,” you rush on. “There are people who’d kill to have something lined up like that, and here I am complaining. My mom married my dad for business reasons and they’re… fine. I think.” You run a hand over your hair. “But I don’t want that. I don’t want to be married right after graduation. I don’t even know if I want to get married at all.”
Satoru doesn’t interrupt, but when he does speak, his voice is quieter. “That doesn’t sound stupid. In a place like this,” he gestures toward campus, “everything’s a transaction. Degrees, connections, last names.” He scoffs lightly. “My parents won’t shut up about networking. Meanwhile, the best relationship I’ve built here is with the lady who gives me extra french toast in the dining hall.”
You laugh, clearly surprised. Not only because the french toast sucks, but because you wouldn’t expect something like that from him. It should make you feel less impressed with him, but for some reason, it doesn’t.
“I’m serious,” he adds. “Peace isn’t exactly encouraged around here. If anything, you’re expected to trade for it.”
“And you?” you ask before you can stop yourself. “You don’t seem all that worried about it, for someone who comes from a family like yours.”
Satoru shrugs again, but this time it’s different. Less flippant. “Guess I just decided a while ago that I’d rather disappoint my parents than disappoint myself.”
The quiet that follows is heavier than the music inside. You can hear the hollers and shuffling feet just inside, but it fades away just as quickly as it came.
“You make it sound easy,” you say.
He smiles. “Hey, I never said it was. It’s just easier than the alternative, is all.”
You nod because it feels appropriate, and you aren’t sure what else you should do. Talking with him is surprisingly easy, but that doesn’t mean you’re supposed to be doing it. That you should be doing it. Even now, you wish you could resonate with Satoru’s ideology, because all you can think about is how much your parents would hate this.
“My parents would hate this,” you blurt out, accidentally saying your thoughts aloud.
You look at him, embarrassed and doing your best to hide it. It feels strange, knowing just how much you’re supposed to hate talking to him yourself, but don’t.
He rubs the back of his neck. “This conversation?”
You try not to stare at his bicep, flexing right in your face.
“Yeah,” you admit. “My parents hate your family. Always have.”
“Mine aren’t exactly fans of yours either.” Satoru laughs, tilting his head slightly. The feeling was mutual—he couldn’t take much offense at it. Still, he asks, “Do you feel that way too?”
“What do you mean?”
He turns to look at you, his expression almost serious. “Do you hate me?”
You huff. “I don’t even understand the reasoning all that much. I just know that the animosity exists, and that I’m expected to respect it— and I guess I have, for the most part.”
“That isn’t what I asked,” he replies simply. “Do you hate me? On your own terms?” He pauses then, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he looked a tad nervous. “I’m sure I’ve given you enough of a reason to. More than one, I’d bet.” He glances away. “The first time we ever spoke, I spilled beer all over your shoes. I shouldn’t have been holding it anyway— I hate beer.”
“I knew you remembered!” you yell, pointing a finger at him. “I’ve been holding that grudge against you for years now.”
“What? Of course I remember. I apologized immediately,” he says quickly. “Pretty sure I almost got on my knees and everything.”
You click your tongue and shake your head. “The damage was already done.”
The conversation stills for a moment, and you choke over your words before managing a more serious reply.
“For as obnoxious as you are, I don’t hate you. No. I don’t even know you well enough to hate you if I wanted to.”
“Alright, I’ll take it.” Satoru smiles to himself. “I think you’d form a better opinion of me if you let me get to know you. You’re a tough nut to crack, you know— been tryin’ for years.”
You stare at him, and he doesn’t cower in response. Not that he typically would, but you half-expected him to.
“I’m serious,” he says instead. “We should be friends.”
Your laugh comes out sharp. “Absolutely not. My parents would be livid. Beyond livid, actually—they’d probably murder me. And I mean, a true crime podcaster’s wet dream type of murder. No joke.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I think we should definitely be friends,” he says through his laughter. “I’ve always wanted to be in a documentary. Confessionals and all. A face like this is made for the cameras.”
“You’re such a jerk,” you scoff, nudging his side, barely able to fight off your smile.
“Mm-hmm. A big jerk that you’re still talking to,” he replies. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted to be my friend too.”
You don’t reply, which might have just been an answer in and of itself.
For the first time throughout this entire conversation, Satoru turns his body to face you properly. His head tilts down enough to accommodate the height difference between you.
“I think this might be the first argument you’ve ever let me win,” he grins.
You narrow your eyes. “This isn’t a win. It’s more like… a draw. A tie.”
“Sure. A draw, a tie. Potato, potahto. Whatever.” He extends his hand toward you. “So. Friends?”
You take it and shake it. “Yes. Friends.”
He smiles. “See? Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”
When your hands fall apart, Satoru’s hand stills at his side—fingers flexing—before he grasps the railing. You straighten, stepping back from it yourself. The night air suddenly feels too thin, as if there isn’t enough of it for the two of you to breathe anymore. More anxiety than anything else.
“I should probably go,” you murmur. “It’s late.”
And you’ve been talking for quite some time now, which only means it’s a matter of time before someone notices and writes a blind item in that stupid newspaper column.
“Right,” he replies. “Need someone to walk you home?”
You shake your head. “I think I’ll manage.”
Satoru nods, his smile slow as it turns up at the corners. “Alright. Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
“Night,” you reply weakly before reemerging into the party.
You reunite with your friends, who seem even more over the night than you are. The four of you walk back to your dormitory together.
☆
You royally fucked up this time.
To no surprise, you won the student council election with flying colors. No one had the balls—or…clit? You don’t discriminate—to run against you throughout the election cycle.
With some surprise, however, you decided to celebrate your victory with the other board members, taking way too many shots from a bottle that was emptied far too quickly.
On a fucking Tuesday.
You mentally kicked yourself—and you would’ve done the same physically if you weren’t on the verge of blacking out.
Vision splotchy, you glanced around the dorm, only to find that everyone was already passed out cold. You couldn’t stay here—you had a meeting bright and early!
And so, with some difficulty, you finally managed to find your purse—the one you had hidden while sober, back when your only concern was someone stealing the $60 in cash from your wallet.
Widening your eyes, the bright screen was a blur of letters and colors, but you managed to open your contacts app. Typing in an ‘S,’ you clicked Shoko’s contact, praying she was awake and able to come pick you up from the off-campus housing.
The line rang twice before someone answered.
You sigh in relief. “Girl, red alert! Get your sexy ass up and come pick me up!…please.”
“Woah, Prez. I had no idea you thought about me this way. Tell me more.”
Your heart dropped straight to your ass.
“Satoru…?” you whine, more than ask.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m startin’ to think you meant to call someone else. Bit of a blow to my ego, but I can handle it.”
Slumping against the couch, you huff. “Meant to call Shoko. Need a ride.”
Silence filled the line for a moment, then an insufferably attractive laugh broke it. “Are you drunk right now?”
You sniffled. “A little. I mean—a lottle. I-I mean, a lot. Very drunk. Drunk and stranded.”
You heard rustling on the other end, the faint jangle of keys. Your eyes fell shut. You were so damn tired.
“Okay, I just left my apartment. Where are you?”
In any other situation, you would’ve refused Satoru Gojo’s help. You were a strong, independent woman. You didn’t need a man to come to your rescue.
But the longer you sat on this couch, the more you wanted to ditch your mandatory meeting in the A.M. and pass out right here.
Even in this state, you were smart enough to know staying wasn’t an option.
“I’m at off-campus housing down the street. Please hurry. And bring water. And snacks. And a blanket. And—”
“Yes, boss, I’ve already got all of that—along with a partridge in a pear tree. Jeez, you’re needy.” He laughed, and it made you pout. “I’m only a few minutes away. Hang tight.”
⭑
“Watch your head, watch your head!”
Thunk.
“Oww,” you whine, rubbing the top of your head while Satoru busied himself fastening your seatbelt.
Rounding the front of his sports car, he slips into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life a few seconds later, but the car stayed in park. Instead, he reaches for the ice-cold water bottle in the cup holder, twisting off the cap before handing it to you.
“How much did you have to drink?” he asks, sounding almost agonized. “Don’t know if you know this, but it’s Tuesday night.”
It took you about ten seconds, a long drink of water, and a deep sigh of relief before you answered.
“I won the presidency,” you finally say, as if that answered everything.
“Ah.” He reaches for a nearby pack of gummy bears. “This good? That’s all I could find on the way.”
“Yes,” you barely cared, tearing the package open. “Y’know, Gojo…you’re kinda nice.”
He huffs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, really? What gave you that idea?”
Chewing thoughtfully, you started listing things your sober self would’ve never admitted.
“You came to get me even though I’m such a bitch to you. And you brought me water, and my favorite candy, and—hic!”
“And you tease me all the time, but you aren’t that mean when it comes down to it…” You sniffle. “I honestly wish you were. It’d be easier to hate you.”
He laughs, shaking his head as he finally shifts the car into drive. “Aw, sorry about that. I can be mean to you if you want?”
The drive was quiet, mostly because it was so short—the streets were empty at this ungodly hour. When Satoru parked and killed the engine, he turned to look at you and froze.
You were chewing on gummy bears with tears streaming down your cheeks.
“Are you a sad drunk?” he asks, even though he already knew. “Aw, you are, aren’t you?”
You sniffle. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He shifts toward you, more careful now, lifting the water bottle back to your lips. “‘Cause we’re friends now. I’m nice to my friends. C’mere.”
To his surprise, you let him tip the bottle, drinking without protest.
Swallowing, you frowned. “No, you aren’t.” Sniffle. “You’re mean to Suguru. And Nanami. And Toji…”
Satoru’s smile is lopsided. “You have a point. Guess I’m just nice to you then.”
“But why?” you press, not even realizing it. “You have no reason to be.”
Satoru was the type of man who had never needed to wish on stars to get what he wanted.
All it took was a swipe of one of his many credit cards or the mention of his family name. It worked without fail.
For everything except one thing, and she was sitting right beside him.
Oblivious to the fact that since freshman year, she’d made his heart race every time she was near. From the moment he met her in biology—cut down by her sharp tongue—he’d felt motivated instead of defeated.
He’d gone home that night thinking about her. Stayed up, even, planning ways to talk to you the next day. Ways to make you look at him. Talk to him. Give him the time of day.
You had no idea what you did to him, and right now, he had no place to tell you.
He leans back with a quiet hum. “For someone so smart, you can be a little dense sometimes.”
Your sniffle cut him off. His head snaps toward you, and his chest nearly caved in at the sight of fresh tears welling up.
“No, no, no, no— hey, I was joking! I didn’t mean it, I swear.”
Satoru cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing away your tears. His eyes searched yours, softening despite himself. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
“You’re kinda cute when you’re drunk,” he says.
What the fuck?
Why would he say that out loud? Right now? Of all times?
“You’re kinda cute all the time,” you replied easily, fingers fumbling with the pendant on his necklace. “You smell really nice, too.”
Satoru’s heartbeat doubled, but he forced himself not to read into it. Not now. Not when you’re in this state.
He cleared his throat, pulling his hands away. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”
He stepped out first, then opened your door. Your eyes met his as he reached in to unbuckle you. “Easy,” he murmured.
Getting you out of the car was about ninety-five percent Satoru’s effort; you leaned into him the majority of the way, the two of you making your way toward the side entrance. It felt like it took hours to climb the stairs—but in reality, Satoru carried most of your weight without breaking a sweat.
By the time you reached your room, he helped you onto your bed, carefully slipping off your heels. His hand lingered at your ankle, thumb brushing over the faint mark the strap had left behind. He leaned over you slightly, hand smoothing over your hair.
“Get some sleep, okay?”
You didn’t notice when he set a bottle of aspirin and fresh water on your nightstand. You just curled under your blankets on instinct, heavy with exhaustion. Your eyes cracked open just enough to catch your on-call-Uber-driver-slash-friend retreating toward the door.
“Satoru?” you called.
He paused, one foot already out. “Mm?”
“I like it when you’re nice to me.” You shook your head. “No—I mean… I like being your friend.”
Satoru smiled faintly. “Me too.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
☆
You despise how much you enjoy being friends with Satoru Gojo.
You despise how attentive he is. How he silently hands you a pencil a beat after you realize you’ve come without one. How he holds the seat down for you so you can sit more easily in the lecture hall. How he gives you one of his AirPods whenever you’re in the library together, looking for your own books respectively, yet highly aware of how far you are from him when the music begins to chop up.
You despise how much he’s gotten you to let your guard down. How he makes you laugh whenever one of your student council meetings goes awry, because the high of being reelected as council president only lasts until the first meeting. How he assures you that you can get through whatever issue you’re working through with your boardmates, because, according to him, if you were able to snag his vote, then you can just about do anything. How he references Digimon or whatever video game he’s played last into just about every other conversation, to the point where it borders on endearing and annoying—but the expression he wears when he talks about it makes you easily decide on the former.
You despise how he makes you feel. How a simple nudge to your side whenever you reply with a smartass comment makes your face feel warm. How the scent of his cologne lingers after he leaves, and how you feel disappointed when it finally dissipates. How you’ve now become acutely aware of the length of his eyelashes, the vibrance of his eyes, the smile lines that look more handsome on him than you’d ever like to admit.
But more than anything, you despise that you just can’t find anything to hate about him—no matter how hard you try.
It had only been a little over a month, and yet it’s difficult to remember what it was like when the two of you weren’t friends, or what faulty reason you had to hate him in the first place.
You doodle a bit rougher in your notebook as you wait for instruction to begin, trying to get your mind off it. Off him.
Like clockwork, he plops down into the seat beside you, lazily extending his legs before placing a small white box on your desk.
“What’s this?” you ask, setting your pen down. When you open it, you find your favorite pastry sitting inside, untouched. Your brows knit together. “How’d you know this was my favorite?”
When you look at him, he’s already chewing a bite of the muffin he bought for himself.
“We’ve been to the café twice together and you got the same thing both times. How could I not know by now?”
You take a bite of your own, chewing thoughtfully. You’ve been to the café with Sukuna more times than you can count on both hands, and not once has he remembered what your go-to order is. It shouldn’t mean so much—in the grand scheme of things, it’s just a four dollar pastry—but it does. It feels good to be known, even in the simplest way.
“Well… thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, no prob,” he replies, setting his muffin down. “Your stomach growls when you don’t eat in the morning—I could hear it from three aisles back.”
You shove his shoulder, eyes wide. “Shut up. No, you couldn’t.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he relents with a grin, glancing your way. “It was four aisles back.”
You roll your eyes, face warm. You glance down at his muffin, and he clutches it closer to himself.
“No looksies,” Satoru says firmly. “Daddy doesn’t like to share.”
You grimace. “Ew. Gross. Don’t call yourself that.”
“Mommy doesn’t like to share?”
“Even worse.”
Satoru sighs in playful defeat, and just in time—before he can try again—your professor addresses the class and starts the lecture.
And no more than five minutes later, he doesn’t even complain when you ask for a bite of his muffin.
☆
You’re nervous about your upcoming Anatomy & Physiology exam.
The air outside is brisk, the cold biting at your cheeks as you speedwalk toward your dormitory. Even though this is nowhere near your first rodeo with the freezing-to-pleasant transition between winter and spring, it never gets easier to manage. Especially not now, with your arms full of flash cards, two folders, an oversupply of fresh scratch paper, and blank scantrons that are just about begging to be practiced on—which means you don’t have a free hand to grab a hot chocolate from the on-campus café. What a great start to your study session this is.
Your steps are quick, and from afar, you probably look like you’re lightly jogging, which isn’t the best look considering you’re wearing a thick, furry winter coat and a pair of fuzzy pajama pants. It isn’t ideal, but you planned for this venture outside your dorm room to be quick.
That is, until you trip on a shift in the sidewalk and tumble forward.
You catch yourself on your hands, which only makes you realize that your supplies are now blowing away. You manage to pick up a few things on your own and reach for a folder—only to realize someone else has already picked it up.
“Nearly gone with the wind,” Satoru sighs. “Good thing I was here to save the day. No need for thanks— it’s all in a day’s work.”
You straighten once you’ve gathered the rest of your things. “You and your gloating. Don’t you ever get tired?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head, then glances down. “Cute slippers.”
Your eyes follow his gaze to the fuzzy slippers you only ever dare to wear out when your feet are freezing. You shift your feet and nudge his chest. “Shut up. They’re warm!”
“And fashionable,” he lilts, and gestures to the armful in your hands. “What’s all this for?”
“Studying,” you answer, because it’s obvious. “I’m gonna make flashcards for the A&P exam and probably take a few practice tests.” You reach for the folder still in his grasp. “So, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Hey, hey, hey. Slow down a sec.” Satoru lifts the folder out of reach. “Let me help you out, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes. “Why? Don’t you want to score better than me anyway?”
“Oh no,” Satoru says flatly, face blank. “You’ve exposed my master plan once again. Whatever will I do?” Then he grins. “How could you think so little of me? I’ll score better than you without sabotage, you know that.”
“As if,” you retort, averting his gaze.
Satoru raises an eyebrow. “If you’re so confident, prove me wrong.”
You tuck your lips into your mouth, weighing his offer. On one hand, you’re hesitant to let him into your room—afraid that you might not dislike it. That you might even like being alone with him. On the other, you’ve never been one to back down from a challenge like this.
Your pride settles it for you.
“Fine,” you say. “I will. Follow me.”
☆
Rumor has it that this was where it all truly began.
Your bedroom.
It was all rather easy at first. You’d spent about an hour making flashcards, a time primarily spent in silence—save for his voice making noise pollution every so often. Mostly moans and groans about how bored and hungry he is, which fall on deaf ears.
By the time you finish the deck, Satoru’s jacket is hanging on the back of your desk chair, and he’s lazily sprawled across your bed. He’d offered to take the chair, but you insisted that sitting made you focus better. Which it does, but you’re also too nervous to sit beside him on the bed right now.
He tosses a stress ball toward the ceiling, catching it with one hand. “Done yet? I’m dying here. The fun part is supposed to be me quizzing you.”
You straighten the cards before tossing them his way, the deck landing on his stomach. “Yes, now hurry up. I don’t have all day.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he chirps, propping himself up against your pillows as he gathers the cards. He clears his throat, glances once at you, then back down. “What are the two primary functions of the skeletal system?”
It doesn’t take you more than a second. “Support the body and protect softer body parts.”
He hums and flicks to the next card. “What three things does the muscular system allow the body to do?”
You hum, rubbing your chin. “Movement, support, and… heat production.”
Another flick. “What about the nervous system?”
“It controls immediate responses to stimuli,” you answer easily.
Satoru huffs, flipping through card after card as you breeze through half the deck. Soon you’re naming the primary functions of individual muscles—temporalis, masseter, sternocleidomastoid, extensor digitorum—you’ve lost count of how many you’ve answered correctly. You’re zoned in, until he looks up at you with a raised eyebrow.
“These are too easy for you,” he declares. “You need something more challenging.”
You squint and lean back in your chair. “What? These are plenty challenging.”
He hums, clearly unconvinced. “Nope. You need more independent practice. Stuff you can’t predict.”
“Like what?” you ask. “Since you’re so smart, I’m assuming you have an alternative method. Put up or shut up.”
Satoru exhales through his nose, meeting your gaze without missing a beat. He’s long since learned your tone, your bite. He grins and sits up straighter, lifting an arm and pointing to his own. “What does the tricep do?”
You blink. “Straightens the arm at the elbow? Duh. I thought this was supposed to be hard.”
“Shh, be patient. A master is at work.” He pauses, then asks, “What about the orbicularis oris?”
Your posture straightens against your will, gaze dropping to his mouth. Your eyes trace the curve of his lips—where that muscle would be—and you watch as the corners of his mouth tug upward. Five seconds pass—longer than any question has taken you so far.
“It allows for movement in the lips,” you finally say.
“Mm,” he sighs. “Only half credit. That’s a little vague. Name three specific functions and I might reconsider.”
The room feels warmer. You clear your throat. “Speech, whistling, and… kissing.” Your eyes flick away to your desk as you fuss with loose papers, trying to come off as busy or distracted. You add quickly, “It’s informally known as the kissing muscle. Everyone knows that.”
A low whistle leaves him as he rises from the bed, stretching his arms over his head before stalking toward your desk. He stops behind your chair, flashcards still in hand.
“What’re you doing?” you ask, still facing forward.
He sets the cards down in front of you and places one hand on the desk, leaning just slightly over you. He isn’t touching you, but he’s close enough that you feel the heat of him at your back, and certainly close enough to make your thoughts scatter.
“Told you,” he murmurs. “I’m helping you study.”
You swallow. “How, exactly?”
He exhales, breath brushing your neck. “Have you practiced for the muscle identification portion yet?”
Shit. You’d nearly forgotten about that. From what you remembered your professor saying, there would be anatomy models stationed around the classroom, highlighted with nothing more than a single muscle on each one. It would be your responsibility to name the muscle and its function on the spot.
“Not really,” you admit, shrugging. Your back brushes his chest, and you clear your throat quickly. “How do you plan on helping with that?”
Satoru brushes your hair off your shoulder, knuckles barely grazing the back of your neck before his thumb presses gently into a muscle along your upper back. “For starters: what muscle just helped you shrug your shoulders?”
You swallow thickly. Your breath leaves you shaky, and you hope he doesn’t notice the goosebumps rising on your skin when his thumb traces again, slow and deliberate. Meant to tease you, you’d imagine.
“Upper trapezius,” you say, breathy despite yourself.
“Good.” You can hear the smile in his voice. His hand moves, thumb sliding to the back of your neck. “Your neck’s tense.”
“Well,” you say, forcing a shaky exhale, “it’s not every day I become a study tool. First day on the job.”
He laughs, and there’s something charged beneath it. “You saying you don’t like my method?”
“No, I’m not saying that at all,” you blurt. You glance up and freeze at how close his face is. “...I’ve liked others less. That’s all.”
A lopsided smile. “So you want to continue?”
Your answer is immediate. “Yes.”
His thumb presses more firmly at your neck. “What muscle is tensed up here?”
“Trick question,” you mutter, “still the upper trapezius.”
“Good.” His hand flattens, gliding down your back, following the natural arch of your spine as your breath catches in your throat. “Now tell me—”
Your heart is pounding.
“—what muscle is making your back arch like that?”
You scoff, trying to straighten. “You’re ridiculous.”
“That’s not an answer,” he tuts. “Don’t know it, huh?”
“Of course I do,” you stammer.
“Then tell me, smart girl.”
Your stomach twists with nerves and something far more dangerous. He shouldn’t excite you. He should make you pull away, push him out, undo whatever this is. And yet, your mind wanders to what it would be like if you didn’t. If you invited him to stay instead.
You shake your head, grounding yourself. “Erector spinae.”
He hums. “See? Not so hard.”
“It was plenty hard,” you murmur, stealing a glance up at him.
He tilts his head, just enough to meet your eyes. Your lashes flutter as you switch between each of his eyes. His nose is nearly brushing yours, and it terrifies you just as much as it intrigues you. No, actually—what you’re feeling now goes beyond simple intrigue. It’s excitement. Bordering on longing.
“What are you doing?” you ask, words tumbling out of your mouth.
“Just lookin’ at you,” he replies easily. “You’re pretty.”
“Wha–? Sh-Shut up.”
He grins. “You’re cute when you’re shy, too.”
From the beginning, Satoru was supposed to be nothing more than a thorn in your side. Someone sharp and irritating. Something to endure. But when given the chance to poke where you were weakest, he’d held you instead.
His hand slides to your waist, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. He still hasn’t pulled away, and you pray that he doesn’t. You don’t want him to.
You lick your bottom lip without thinking. His eyes drop instantly, tracking the movement—and he doesn’t bother hiding it, even after he’s sure you’ve noticed.
And when he’s least expecting it, at least as far as you can tell, you rock up onto your toes, hands fisted into his shirt, and press your lips to his.
Your lips slot into his like two puzzle pieces fitting together. His hands tighten their hold on your waist, and when you force yourself to pull away, to face the music of your decision made on a whim, you find a blushing Satoru staring back at you.
A soft, nervous laugh leaves his lips, breath warm against yours.
“Well, if you thought studying was hard…”
…Oh?
Your gaze dips.
Oh.
He’s hard.
From a single peck.
His sweatpants hang low on his hips, giving you a slight glimpse of the light trail of hair that leads toward the prominent bulge in the fabric. The sight alone makes your mouth water, enough for you to, within the span of a second, wonder what it’d be like to feel it. From sight alone, it looks big. Heavy.
Every warning system inside your head blares all at once, telling you that this is a bad, bad, bad, horrible, horrible, horrible decision. And yet, you lean into him again.
You kiss him once more, hands clutching onto his shirt as you tug him down to meet your mouth, which he does with no hesitation. His lips are softer than you imagined, gentle on yours.
“And which muscle is responsible for that?” you ask against his mouth.
He smiles, you can feel it. “Ischiocavernosus.”
Satoru’s large hands smooth over the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing at all. You’re lying on your bed before you realize it, and he is hovering atop in between your parted legs.
His lips tear away from yours, kisses mapping out a trail of heat along your jaw. Your hand slips into his hair, tugging when his mouth finds the sweet spot just beneath your ear.
Your back arches off the bed as a signifier.
“Found it,” he rumbles against your skin, smiling against it.
His mouth is searing, kissing down your clothed chest until he pushes your shirt up just enough to expose your belly. Open-mouthed kisses mark his exploration of your skin, hot and wet as he traces the curve of your side.
Your stomach flutters when his mouth kisses down your belly, strong hands holding your waist in place while his tongue darts out to get a taste of your skin.
Satoru’s movements, you realize, seem automatic. Like he’s thought about this before, planned for it, even—he was just waiting for you to give him the chance.
Hands suddenly paw at his shoulders, your hips squirming slightly. “Stop teasing me, Satoru.”
Satoru laughs, fingers tugging your fuzzy pajama pants down just enough to kiss your hip bone. “Fine, fine. Under one condition.”
Your heart pounds. “What is it?”
His hands smooth over your thighs as he shifts a bit lower. “Let me taste you.”
You blink a few times, clearly surprised. You’ve never been with a guy whose first move is to go down on you. “Okay… I mean, if you want to—ah!”
His hands are skilled in the way that they pull the hem of your pants down, leaning back just enough to peel them down your legs and toss them aimlessly onto the floor.
Satoru’s eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen, focused on the apex of your thighs as he flattens to his stomach. His hands move your legs to rest on his shoulders, his lips already on your inner thigh.
“Fuck, thank you,” he whispers against your skin, wet kisses inching closer to your core.
And when his mouth finds the wet patch on the gusset of your panties, Satoru knows he’s a goner.
His grip tightens on your thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut, he flattens his tongue over the fabric. That only lasts a few seconds before his fingers tug the flimsy material down your legs, and his lips are latching onto the true source.
A groan escapes him the moment his tongue laps at your essence. “Tastes so sweet.”
Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging at the root when his lips close around your clit. Your hips would’ve bucked into his mouth if his iron grip wasn’t keeping you in place.
Even with his face buried in your pussy, he manages to speak.
“Mmh— tastes like candy, baby. Thought about this s’many times.”
The confirmation only makes you twitch, which he seems to notice if the firm press of his tongue to your clit is any confirmation.
“Ah— shit, Satoru. Right there.”
Satoru thinks that he could do this forever. Could live and die a happy man, cheeks warmed by your thighs pressing in on them and the taste of you on his tongue.
His nose bumps against your clit, tongue slipping lower to gather more of you on his taste buds. His hips begin to rut into the mattress like a dog in heat, a whimper leaving his throat when you tug particularly hard on his hair.
“S-Sorry,” you manage, fingers releasing the strands of his white hair.
Blue eyes meet yours, and he forces himself to pull his tongue off you just long enough to speak. “Baby, I don’t care. Tug on it even harder if you wanna. Your pleasure feels good to me.”
“Masochist,” you say through a breathy laugh.
His mouth is back on you. “Only for you.”
You’re like sugar on his tongue, the type of ambrosia that men should go to war for. Satoru knows he would in a heartbeat.
The feeling of his tongue kitten licking your clit has your hands shooting down, one sliding back into his hair and the other scratching at the back of his hand on your thigh.
Satoru gives it to you without a second thought, your fingers lacing with his as you press his hand down on your stomach.
His eyes crack open to watch your face, twisted in a pleasure that he’s proud to have given you. He sucks your clit into his mouth before releasing it with a slick pop.
Only, your hand in his hair presses his face back into your pussy, and Satoru is nothing if not willing to please you.
The groan that leaves him travels up your spine, and your hips begin to twitch, thighs closing in on his head. A mewl leaves your lips, clutching his hand before you cry out, the first wave of your orgasm wracking through you.
Satoru flattens his tongue, licking up every drop of your syrupy release, hellbent on committing the taste of you to memory.
His voice is deep and scratchy when he speaks. “You’re beautiful when you cum.”
Your eyes snap open, a newfound heat finding your cheeks. “Shut up.”
He’s crawling up to meet your lips with a smile, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh. Just telling the truth.” He kisses your lips, and you taste yourself on them. “Sweetest pussy. I’d go for seconds if you let me.”
You’re tempted by the offer.
Only, something else tempts you more than it should.
Satoru hisses the moment your palm presses against the bulge in his sweatpants, forehead knocking into yours. His hips twitch against your hand, and when he closes his eyes, you can tell he’s doing his best not to grind into your hand.
A quiet laugh leaves your mouth. “I think I’d rather do something else.”
His hands fist into the bedsheets in an act of restraint. “Like what?” he asks, voice strained.
You huff, free hand taking hold of his chin, forcing him to look at you. “I think you’re smart enough to figure it out.”
“I don’t wanna assume. It’s ungentlemanly, y’know?” His lips press against yours, pulling back before you have the chance to deepen the kiss. “Ah-ah-ah, can’t do anything more ‘til the lady asks.”
He’s so fucking annoying.
The pout on your lips is too cute to handle. Satoru debates kissing it away. Only, your next words stop him in his tracks.
They come out more demanding than you intended, trying to hide how needy you really are. “Stop wasting my time. I want you to fuck me, Satoru.”
His cock twitches against your hand. Maybe bossiness works best with him.
“That’s so hot,” he says, panting.
Satoru immediately reaches for the hem of his sweatpants and boxers, pushing them down his legs in a hurried, uncoordinated manner. He nearly topples over once or twice in his haste.
Soon, though, his erection springs free, slapping against his stomach. It’s somehow even bigger than you initially imagined…lengthy, and flushed a pretty shade of pink at the tip.
This time, Satoru doesn’t tease you like you were expecting him to. Doesn’t gloat.
Instead, he kisses your cheek, then your forehead, until his mouth finally finds yours, a broken sound escaping him the moment he rubs his tip through your folds.
Then, his eyes find yours, and it feels like the world stops on its axis.
Forehead to forehead. Chest to chest. Your hand in his hair, his on your cheek. With Satoru Gojo of all people. The one person in this world whom you should stay away from.
And here he is, looking at you like you’re worth more than your family name and the money bags that come with it, like he wants you for you. Nothing else.
“We don’t have to, baby,” he whispers, sweet and gentle, as if sensing the mental games you’re playing with yourself. “I’m happy to just be here with you. I mean it.”
There it is. An out.
You should stop this before it starts. You should do your best to save the peace between you and your parents—what’s left of it, anyway. You should forget about the way your chest warms up when his thumb strokes over your cheek.
But then, wise words ring out in your mind.
I’d rather disappoint my parents than disappoint myself.
And in this moment, you realize that losing Satoru would far surpass mere disappointment. It isn’t something you can bear, nor do you ever want to.
You shake your head, leaning up to kiss him, nice and soft. “I want this. So… stop making me wait.”
Satoru laughs, lips on your cheek as he notches himself on your entrance. “Yes, ma’am.”
Inch by inch, his length stretches you open, making your hands grasp at his shoulders for purchase, nails sinking into his skin. You whine at the intrusion, not used to his size by any means.
“You’re okay, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your mouth, one hand holding your cheek while the other strokes your hip. “Doing so good for me. Just a liiittle more.”
You huff, risking a glance downward, only to see he was only half inside. You throw your head back on the pillow. “Liar.”
He smiles against your lips, kissing you. “Figured a little white lie never hurt anyone.”
A moment later, Satoru pushes his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. You both release breathy moans at the same time, grips tightening on each other.
He pulls out, just the tip remaining, before sliding back inside your warmth, creating a slow, languid pace—giving you the chance to adjust to him.
You kiss him then, all teeth and tongue and want, panting hot against his mouth while your hands slip into his hair. “Fuck— faster, Toru. Please.”
The sound of his name on your tongue, so wanton while he’s inside you, spurs him on in a way he’s never felt before. His hands take hold of your hips, angling them up slightly so that he can fuck you deeper, the pace of his hips growing needier with each passing second.
“Mmh, wanted you for so long,” he says, words muffled against your skin while he kisses down your neck. “This—hah—can’t be real, baby. Feels so good.”
You drag his mouth back up to your lips, tongues sliding against each other in a fit of passion that you can hardly comprehend right now with how good he feels.
“So good,” you whimper into his mouth. “Want more, Satoru, please—”
“Shh, I got you,” he says.
And then his hands press down on the back of your thighs, folding them up against your chest. He pounds into you without sense, the new angle opening you up to him in a way that makes you see stars.
The sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room, the sounds of your pleasure only adding to the conversation.
Satoru pushes your shirt up, a sound between a whimper and a gasp, leaving him the moment his gaze sets on your breasts. His mouth latches onto your nipple before he can think twice about it.
“You weren’t—mmh—wearing a bra the whole time?”
You whine, trying to drag his mouth back to yours by your grip on his hair, but he doesn’t let up. “Y-You ask stupid questions.”
He flattens his tongue, laving over the underside of your breast, his hips never faltering. He groans against your skin. “C’mon, sweetheart, don’t give me that attitude. Haven’t I been good? Yeah?”
A pout forms on your kiss-bruised lips. “Mm— I’m not giving attitude.”
Satoru laughs, the sound raspy and deep. “You are, pretty girl, but it’s okay. Toru’ll make it all better.”
His lips are back on yours, to your satisfaction, and his hand slips between the two of you, thumbing at your clit. You gasp, stealing the air from his lungs, clinging onto his shoulders and back like a koala bear.
A warmth coils in your stomach, making you squirm against his thrusts. Your nails claw into his back, raking down his skin, surely leaving marks that Satoru will admire for days. A memento of the moment he’s been waiting for.
His cock twitches inside you when you moan again, your pussy clenching around him like a vice, tight and warm.
You whine. “Satoru—”
“Mm-hmm, I know, baby, don’t you worry,” he says, voice slightly smug as he continues to draw circles over your clit, feeling the way it pulses against his thumb. “Give it to me, sweets, know you can do it.”
Your hips buck up against his, your orgasm crashing into you. Your body tenses around him, squeezing him impossibly tighter.
If the way his pace stutters is any clue, you know he’s close. When you pulse against him, he drops his head onto your shoulder.
Satoru whimpers, so lost in his pleasure that he can no longer function. He fucks you shallowly now, and lost in your own mind, you turn your head to whisper in his ear.
“Inside,” you request, voice breathy. “Please, Toru.”
That makes Satoru cum before he can realize it.
Hot spurts shoot inside you, his sounds muffled against your skin while his own climax wracks through him. It seems like it goes on forever, but the moment he kisses the underside of your jaw, you realize that he’s finished, finally slipping out of the post-orgasm delirium you put him in.
When your eyes meet his, both of your eyes widen, expressions almost sheepish.
As if it were finally occurring to you that you just had sex with Satoru fucking Gojo, you feel a bit shy, blinking up at him and absolutely unsure what to say.
“…Hi,” you whisper.
Satoru seems to share your thoughts. He brings his hand to your cheek, knuckles brushing over your flushed skin. “Hey, baby.”
Unsure of what to do, you decide to lean back into your old reliable method. The only way you know how to talk to him is without allowing a hint of affection to seep into your voice. Be mean to him.
“Get off me,” you say, pawing at his chest halfheartedly, “you’re heavy.”
It seems that Satoru has learned you well enough to know exactly what you’re doing. Trying to push him away the moment it all feels like too much to handle, reverting to what you know best.
He lowers his head, brushing his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “Mm, no can do, pretty. I like to cuddle after sex, guess you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”
You squirm as he begins to pepper your face with kisses, wet and dry, trying to get a proper reaction from you.
“Okay, okay!” you exclaim, laughing without realizing it. “Fine. We can cuddle…but we have to clean up first.”
Satoru beams at that. He kisses your forehead before practically leaping off your bed, searching for a towel. You aren’t sure why the sight of him prancing around your room in his birthday suit makes you feel so…warm and tingly inside.
God, what has he done to you?
You yawn, rubbing your eyes. “On the left side of the closet. Third drawer down.”
A second later, he’s back and wiping away the mess between your legs, careful with his movements. Once finished, he pokes around in your clothing drawers, managing to find a pair of fresh underwear and a pretty blue shirt that you should've known he’d pick out.
“Matches my eyes,” he preens, doing most of the work as he pulls the panties up your legs and the shirt over your head.
“Of course you’d notice that,” you scoff, trying to ignore how warm this all makes you feel.
With his boxers back on, he climbs back into bed with you, lying on his back. A surprised sound leaves him when you rest your head on his chest, hand draped over his middle.
Satoru wears a smile as he wraps an arm around you, free hand lacing with yours. “Thought you didn’t wanna cuddle.”
“I never said that,” you grumble.
He laughs to himself, the kind that signifies he’s up to no good. “Aww. Just a cute little cuddle muffin you are.”
“I’ll get off you right now if you don’t—”
He immediately stops laughing and tightens his hold on you. “Sorry, sorry. You run a tight ship.”
☆
In your experience, the morning after could go one of two ways.
You could either cringe at yourself and your decisions, make awkward small talk with the person you had shared not only your body but also a bed with, and then tiptoe out of your hookup’s room, or not-so-discreetly kick them out of yours.
Or, you could still make equally awkward small talk upon waking up, limbs still entangled and clothes mostly scattered across the floor, but not feel the gnawing feeling to run away and never speak to this person again.
And so far, you’re in no rush to make him go.
Satoru shifts in his sleep behind you, one arm draped lazily over your middle while the other pillows your head. You blink blearily as you run your fingertips along his forearm, tracing the veins in his hand until you cover it with your own. His fingers slightly twitch until they fill the spaces between yours.
His nose brushes the back of your neck, inhaling indulgently. His arm beneath your head bends and curls inward, his nails gently scratching your scalp. “Morning.”
You feel your heartbeat quicken in your chest. His voice is deep and groggy from sleep, his lips just barely grazing your skin as he speaks. It only gets worse (or better?) when he presses a kiss to the crook of your shoulder and neck, firmer now yet unhurried.
The strap of the camisole you’d thrown on last night after your shower was now pinched between his thumb and forefinger, slowly slipping it down the curve of your shoulder as his lips explored further.
“Good morning,” you manage out, voice slightly weak but not entirely from just waking up. “How’d you sleep?”
You can feel his lips twitch against your skin, probably turning into a smug grin if you had to guess. His hand stopped on your bicep, his chin now resting on your shoulder as he pulls you closer.
“Better than usual,” he says, voice rumbling in his throat. “Even with you stealing the covers from me all night, it’d be worth it every time to wake up to this.” He picks his head up just enough to look down at you. “You?”
Your cheeks are warm, and you bury half of your face into the pillow. “Better than usual. I actually feel rested.”
Reaching an arm out, you turn the clock on your nightstand toward the bed. 2:38 p.m.
“We slept the whole day away!”
Satoru hums behind you, chest rumbling against your back. “Mm, good sex tends to do that to people.”
You smile, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Oh? So that’s why you were snoring into my ear all night?”
“Precisely why,” he replies easily, before pecking your lips. “Pussy put me right to sleep.”
This time, you lean in to kiss him. When you pull away, you freeze.
Oh fuck.
Then you shoot up out of bed, eyes wide and panicked. It’d just dawned on you that, for all the days you could have had sex with your annoying-rival-to-friend, it had to be the day of the Ryomen dinner. And, of course, you had to oversleep with said annoying-rival-to-friend-and-now-hookup still in your bed.
The drive alone would take two and a half hours.
“Holy shit, I need to go,” you say, scatterbrained as you rush into your closet.
Satoru props himself up on his elbow, sounding more panicked than he likely intended. “What? Why?”
You return to his line of sight, already half-clothed in a pristinely ironed dress, bouncing on one leg as you tug your stockings up. “I have to go to dinner with my family and the Ryomens. My mom is going to kill me.”
And he’s left to watch, helpless, as you check yourself in the mirror—putting your earrings on, looking beautiful as ever…to go have dinner with another guy and his family.
Satoru knows he should be relaxed about this. He needs to chill out. You had sex, yes, but it’s not like he’s your boyfriend or anything.
(Even though he’d thought about how great that would be as he admired you while you slept.)
“Oh, cool,” he says, forcing a cheery tone into his voice. “What for?”
You press your lips together, hastily applying your makeup lest you show up late with none on. “I’m not really sure. Probably to talk about their plans for us post-graduation. That’s all they talk about these days.”
He bites the inside of his cheek.
Doesn’t matter, he tells himself. Sex between friends can be…casual. Don’t read into it so much.
“Right,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck, doing his best to seem relaxed. “Sounds boring.”
You nod at him through the mirror before turning to face him. “Yeah, it will be.”
A silence settles the moment your eyes meet.
Slowly, you walk over to him—still lying in your bed, clad in nothing but his boxers. “I’m sorry I’m leaving like this.”
He waves a hand through the air, making an exaggerated pshhh sound. “Don’t worry about it. I get it.”
You give him a lopsided smile before leaning down to kiss him. He barely has time to close his eyes—to savor it—before you’re already pulling away.
“I’ll text you, okay?” you say. “You can use my shower again if you want. Make yourself at home while I’m gone. Just don’t use up my body wash—it’s expensive.”
Satoru lets out a laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Okay, no promises. Have fun.”
And then you’re gone, the door clicking shut behind you.
He falls back against the mattress, dragging his hands over his face.
It’s casual, he tries to remind himself. Don’t be a crybaby.
But you kissed him goodbye.
What was casual about that?
☆
The hallways are abnormally crowded today.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, Shoko’s messages flooding in.
shoko 💗: hi
shoko 💗: how was the dinner?
shoko 💗: did your parents finally come to their senses
shoko 💗: and drop the stupid engagement idea????
you: i wish
you: they seem even more into the idea now
you: mind you, sukuna fell asleep at the dining table with his fork hanging out of his mouth
you: like oh okay i’m seeing it now, total HUSBAND MATERIAL right here
shoko 💗: fuck my chungus life
you: fuck mine too
The sound of hushed voices in the distance distracts you, making you glance in that direction.
Only then do you realize that they’re looking right at you.
Actually, it feels like everyone is looking at you.
No, worse. It feels like everyone can see through you. Like they know exactly what you’ve been up to. What you did when no one was around.
But that’s ridiculous. How could anyone know?
Suddenly hyper-aware of yourself, you glance back down at your phone.
you: i feel like everyone is staring at me today
shoko 💗: maybe because you look sexier than usual?
you: one can only hope
You crash into someone, limbs flailing, only to be steadied by a gentle grip.
“Watch where you’re going, iPad kid,” Satoru teases, a wide smile on his face.
You pocket your phone, huffing out a laugh despite yourself. “I was watching where I was going. You just came out of nowhere.”
“Uh-huh, totally,” he says.
Without thinking, you glance over your shoulder toward the group that had been watching you earlier, the itch still unscratched.
Always observant, Satoru tilts his head. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” you answer instinctively.
“Talk to me,” he says, nudging your arm softly, still trying to keep things light.
Then your eyes meet his—his blue irises practically begging you to open up.
“It’s just…” Your voice trails off, growing quieter. “You didn’t tell anyone, did you? About…”
Satoru leans back slightly, like the question physically hit him.
“Uh— no,” he says. “No, I didn’t. Promise.”
You catch the shift in his expression—the way it falters, like something just closed off.
Your eyes squeeze shut. Shit. “No, it’s not that I regret it or anything, it’s just that—”
“It’s okay,” he cuts in, rubbing the back of his neck. “Really. It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.” His eyes meet yours again. “I didn’t tell anyone. Don’t worry.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoes quickly. “Good. I’m glad we got that figured out.”
“Me too,” you say, though you don’t sound convinced anymore. “Did— did I say something?”
Satoru shakes his head, that boyish smile slipping back into place. “Nah. You’re good.”
You glance around again. “…Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats. “Are you going to the party this weekend? Choso’s frat is throwing.”
You nod. “Yeah, I’ll be there. I assume I’ll see you there too?”
“Yup,” he says with a nod. “Well, I’ve gotta get to class. I’ll talk to you later?”
“Yeah,” you say, turning to watch him walk away down the hallway.
Well… that conversation went well.
Right?
☆
After a few days of Satoru avoiding you like the plague, you’re starting to think your conversation didn’t go so well.
He’s only sent you one Instagram reel over the last three days—and it was about tips and tricks for studying anatomy. Was he doing this on purpose? The last time you studied for anatomy, it ended with you in bed with him.
For what feels like the tenth time this hour, you check your messages.
Satoru :D: Good morning
Satoru :D: Sleep well?
you: good morning
you: yes i did, did you?
And there’s been no response since.
You wonder if you should message him again.
Maybe his phone got swept up in a tornado. (It’s 75°F and sunny outside.)
Maybe he’s currently being attacked by alligators and desperately needs you as a lifeline. (Though you know he wouldn’t even accept your help—he’d be convinced he could take an alligator in a fight.)
Maybe he just hasn’t seen your text. (You saw him repost a TikTok about boba milk tea an hour ago.)
You tap on the text bar, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
“There’s no way you’re about to double text a man.”
You jump, quickly locking your phone. “Utahime, I was not. I was just checking our messages.”
Utahime hums, clearly unconvinced, scrolling on her own phone. “You keep telling yourself that, girl.”
Rolling onto your back, you stare at the ceiling, hands folded over your chest.
“Are you seriously sulking right now?”
“I’m not sulking!”
(You were definitely sulking.)
Utahime sighs, nudging your side. “Did you read this week’s blind items?”
You shake your head. “No.”
She tilts her head down at you. “Well, I’m pretty sure one is about you.”
“WHAT?!”
You’ve never sat up this fast in your life—lightheaded and dizzy as you reach for Utahime’s phone.
There is going to be an engagement post-graduation between a male and female from two of the most well-known families on campus.
A male who lives on floor three in the Newbrooke dormitory has still been shitting in the showers. (P.S. Can you please stop already?)
A notorious rich student was spotted talking to a girl who comes from a family that begins with the last letter of the alphabet. Are sparks flying?
A male has been making piss-poor SoundCloud music at 4 AM for the past week. (Please stop. You are better off sticking to your career path in accounting.)
A pit forms in your stomach.
Had Sukuna told someone about your situation? You want to say no—but once he’s had enough to drink, anything is possible.
But the one that concerns you more is the third item.
Could Satoru have already moved on? To a girl from the Zenin family?
Utahime presses her thumb between your eyebrows, smoothing out the crease. “Hey. What happened to taking these with a grain of salt? They’re probably not real. Aside from the shower shitter—that one seems pretty legit.”
You let out a weak laugh. “Yeah… you’re probably right.”
Even still, the pit in your stomach doesn’t go away.
☆
Music thrums against the walls, people packed in like sardines, moving with no particular rhyme or rhythm. Smoke fills the air, a thick fog that has no chance of dissipating.
Sukuna’s arm is snug around your shoulder, something that you would have never thought twice about before. Now, though, you notice it like a thorn in your side.
You try to scan the room, in search of your friends who you knew would be here tonight. Only, a hand on your face draws your attention elsewhere, and Sukuna is kissing your cheek in farewell before you can even realize he’s leaving you to fend for yourself.
“Later, girl,” he says, so casually, as if he had the right.
Fucking typical.
You huff and wave your arm through the air, coughing quietly. Once the smoke cleared just enough, your gaze locked in on something in the distance.
Satoru. Standing beside a girl from the Zenin family.
But even as he stands beside her, his glowing eyes are already on you.
Suddenly, it hurts to breathe. The walls are caving in on you. The music fades into a silence that becomes even more overbearing than the bass.
Anger rises in your throat. Anger you have no right to feel.
After all, Satoru wasn’t yours. You weren’t his. He can do what he wants, as can you. How could you forget that? And why did you want to?
If you were a braver person, one who could be honest with herself, you would walk across this room. You’d tell him how you feel. You would say it now, out loud and to his face. At least then, he’d know how you felt.
The problem, though, was that you weren’t any of these things. You were terrified and hesitant—so all you could do was this. Look at him and hope he can put the puzzle pieces together on his own. You can only hope he likes how it looks once it is completed.
Your feet are moving before you can realize it. A moment later, you find yourself in the bathroom, pressing your back against the door to slam it shut.
You release a sharp breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Your hands cover your face as you approach the sink, palms pressing against the countertop.
Then, you catch your reflection in the mirror.
You know better than this.
You know better than to wish for something that you have no right to.
You know better than to want Satoru. You know better than to envision a simple life with him. To want him in a way that is uncalculated and real.
Dropping your head, you close your eyes. Squeeze them shut, and hope that you were anywhere else but here, in this dingy bathroom with a flickering lightbulb above your head.
The door opens and shuts behind you.
You pick your head up, and there he is.
Satoru.
His chest presses to your back, his hands bracketing yours on the counter as he dips his chin into the crook of your neck. “Were you not going to come say hi?”
You roll your eyes despite yourself, refusing to meet his eyes in the mirror. “No. Seems like you were a little preoccupied.”
Silence stretched thin between you.
Then his hands find your waist, spinning you around to face him.
“Don’t do that,” he says, voice soft and almost pleading.
You swallow. “Don’t do what?”
“You know what,” he replies, “act like… you don’t care. Like you don’t feel anything for me, just because you’re upset.”
You avoid his gaze. “I’m not upset. It’s not like we’re dating. You can do what you want with…whoever you want.”
Satoru huffs, forehead knocking into yours before he pulls back. “How long are we going to keep doing this, baby?” he asks, hands finally coming to settle on your waist. “I don’t want anyone else. Not like how I want you.”
Finally, you tilt your head up, eyes meeting his.
It almost made you want to cry, realizing how easy things with Satoru were. How he opened himself up to you without fear, because he didn’t want an ounce of doubt to live in your head.
Maybe it was your turn to return the message.
“Me neither,” you finally admit.
His expression softens in relief.
“Good,” he murmurs, brushing your hair away from your face.
Your lips press together. “But why’d the blog say you were with a girl from the Zenin family?”
“The same reason that the stupid blog says you and Sukuna are together,” he says with a shrug. “It’s a rumor. People see you standing next to someone—at a very healthy distance, by the way, a very platonic and normal distance—and run with it.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “I don’t go around letting my rumored girlfriends kiss me on the cheek, though.”
You tilt your head, knowing full well that Satoru was capable of knowing that there were no feelings between you and Sukuna. “Careful, you almost sound upset.”
He shrugs his broad shoulders, tilting his head in the same direction you did. “Depends. Is he a good kisser?”
Your fingers are still gripping the edge of the counter. “He is.”
Satoru glances over your face, the corner of his mouth twitching once he notices the slight pout on your lips. “Better than me?”
You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you’re not a liar. “No.”
A small smirk. “Good.”
“Maybe you should get back to your friend,” you retort, shaking your head.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” Satoru coos, hand cupping your cheek, thumbing over your bottom lip.
You splutter. “What? I’m not.”
“No?”
“No.”
Satoru’s hand starts to pull away. Panic sparks in you, and your hand shoots up, wrapping around his wrist to keep his palm against your face. He smiles softly, thumb brushing over your cheekbone.
“...Only a little,” you finally admit.
Satoru’s fingers thread into your hair, guiding your forehead to his lips. “That’s okay. I was jealous too.”
“Jealous? You?”
“Jealous. Me.”
You clear your throat, and for the first time in your life, you decide to prod for further reassurance.
“Do you like her?” you ask, voice small.
He seems distracted, his lips on your cheek now in a chaste kiss. “Hm?”
“Do you like her?” you repeat, hands prodding at his chest to make him meet your eyes. “That girl you were talking to.”
Satoru scoffs, like the answer was obvious. “No. I’m a one-lady type of guy.”
That answer shouldn’t make your face feel warm, but it does. He’s turned you into mush, putty in his hands.
His thumb brushes over your hip bone. “Did you let Sukuna kiss you because you like him?”
You shake your head. “Maybe I just like kissing people. It’s fun, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” he says, nose brushing yours. “But do me a favor, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you murmur, heart rate doubling in your chest.
“The next time you wanna kiss someone, come to me instead,” he murmurs, hands sliding up your sides. “I’m better at it, anyway. Said it yourself.”
You can’t bite back your smile now, nor do you try to. “Okay.”
“Okay, baby.”
You hoped no one noticed how long you’d both been gone from the party, but when you exited the bathroom together—lip gloss smeared on Satoru’s mouth and your hair messier than before—it likely told the entire story for you.
☆
You wake up wrapped in a Digimon throw blanket.
A small, sleepy groan leaves you as you try to move—to stretch your limbs after a night of sleep.
Only, the heavily weighted blanket on top of you, known as Satoru Gojo, doesn’t make it very easy.
His arms are wrapped so tightly around you that you’d think he was afraid you might slip away in the middle of the night—so he set up precautions beforehand. His cheek is pressed against your bare chest, using your breasts as pillows.
The best pillows on the market, he says.
Blinking blearily, you scan his bedroom. Now, after only two months of dating, it looks like a shrine to you.
A framed photo of you hangs on his wall, another propped up on his bedside table. There’s one on his desk too—taken on the first day of your internship—set beside his computer.
Because, as he says, “seeing you smiling in that pretty little dress motivates me to study, ‘cause I need to pay for your tastes somehow.”
You’re smiling now, glancing down at him, his cheek squished against your skin. Your fingers glide through his hair before smoothing down his back, soothing the faint sting of the scratches you’d left the night before.
A quiet whine leaves him, and he fumbles blindly for your hand, guiding it back to his hair so you’ll keep playing with it.
“Good morning to you, too,” you murmur, scratching lightly at his scalp.
“Morning, baby,” he mumbles, voice rumbling against your skin.
Without opening his eyes, he presses a kiss to the underside of your breast, his mouth already trailing down the column of your stomach.
“What’re you doing?” you ask, smiling.
“Eating breakfast,” he replies simply, mouthing at your hip bone.
Just as he reaches for the hem of your panties, his phone begins to buzz on the bedside table. Undeterred, he tugs them down an inch.
“Ignore it.”
Then his phone buzzes again. And again.
A moment later, yours buzzes too.
Slightly concerned now, you reach for it, unlocking the screen to a message from Shoko.
shoko 💗: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP
shoko 💗: [article link]
You tap the link, your eyes widening as you read the headline.
“What?” he asks, already pouting slightly at the interruption. “What is it?”
Wordlessly, you turn the phone toward him.
Satoru Gojo and Y/N L/N were spotted on the Gojo family’s personal yacht, indulging in promiscuous activities.
And to make matters worse, front and center is a picture of you sitting in his lap—his hand squeezing a handful of your ass like he’s afraid it might run away from him.
You press your palm to your forehead. “I told you we shouldn’t have taken the yacht out that day.”
Satoru hums, clearly distracted. “How do I save this picture? You look really sexy in this.”
“Satoru, focus!” you say, lightly swatting his shoulder. “What should we do?”
He shrugs, fingers resuming their slow work of tugging your underwear down your legs. “Right now, I’m thinkin’ I’ll finish my breakfast. We’ll figure the other stuff out later.”
You think you should protest—but the moment his mouth finds you, every argument dies on your tongue.
Because you know that he’ll make good on his promise. This will be figured out, one way or another.
And as long as you have Satoru by your side, you think you’ll be just fine.
Rumor has it you brought him home the next weekend to meet your parents.
Rumor also has it that from that moment on, the arranged engagement with Sukuna was off.
a/n: heyyyy yallll!!! how are you?
me?? posting 2 fics in one month?? #imonaroll #unstoppable
no, but seriously, if you read this all the way through thank you so much!! it’s the longest fic i’ve ever written so it’s a lil experimental for me. this is also my first time writing for gojo in about two years and it’s my second time writing him ever sooo i’m still figuring out how i want to characterize him lol
anyway i hope you enjoyed, as always please let me know your thoughts <3
HII omg I’m so scared to write a message to you I don’t know why😭 you’re like a micro-celebrity in my eyes haha!!
I just wanted to ask if you have any nerd!jo fanfic recommendations? That’s my favourite headcanon ever and I love any sort of nerdjo!
That’s all, bye bye!
HEY NONNIE!! omg you’re so cute n i promise i’m not scary at all—like you can literally talk to me about whatever, whenever🥹
also you picked the right girl to ask because i lowk have an extremely unhealthy obsession with nerdjo. so THANK YOU for giving me the excuse to compile all of my favourite nerdjo fics 🫶🫶
drabbles
overheat — @darlingbambii
brains and bangs — @iheartanzai
grade A+ dick — @ryoride
he peeks at your phone on the bus — @ryomeian
virgin crybaby nerdjo — @kkunai
double life — @liliklei
ab riding — @lemonjuicie
hatesex — @mimuju
studying for your physics exam — @princeable
adding a finger for each correct answer — @sakurinnie
exhausted nerdjo eats you out — @cupidstrace
oneshots & series
bubblegum bitch — @reignpage
it girl — @sixxels
tutoring sessions — @kryingk4t
AITA for fucking the twins? — @kamiflix
may you never forget me — @yenayaps
law of attraction — @shokocide
just friends!? — @madamechrissy
laplace’s demon — @sweethearticism
the dying of the light — @cloudykumo
whisper of the heart — @saatorus
true love waits — @indiewritesxoxo
chat, am i the asshole? — @sashinemis
opposites attract — @veilofsixeyes
“soulmates are just one big, dumb theory, right?” — @veejiez
the crush theorem — @nezuscribe
in case of academic emergency, kiss me — @sixeyesonathiel
when we’re touching (me gustas así) — @shotosjupiter
the fanboy nerd and the princess — @taomyou
and finally, not to suck my own dick or anything but my sweet boy fic is also pretty cool:3
Synopsis: the party was supposed to be wild and crazy, so you could let loose and have fun, but it wasn't supposed to be so wild and crazy that you don't even remember what happened last Friday night. and definitely not so wild and crazy that you wake up a) with a killer headache, b) in someone else's bed, and c) cuffed to twins?!
now the three of you have to go on a wild goose chase for the person who did this, whilst fighting the insane sexual chemistry vibrating between you and the twins.
what could go wrong?
Warnings: porn with a side of plot, nerdjo and fratjo twins au - twincest (I don't view it as such and that's certainly not what this contains in my opinion but just as a warning so the puritans can back off), threesome/sharing reader, exhibitionism, voyeurism, hidden sex, the twins are annoying af and have asshole tendencies, both are pierced in different ways, college au/non curse au, too much dirty talk, unprotected sex because it's fiction and it's hot, spit roasting, thigh humping, zipper humping, thigh job, spitting, brief rimming, deepthroating, cunnilingus, pervy behaviour, a little masochism and sadism, choking?/asphyxiation, fanart by @smokeigheh on Insta, not proofread - please let me know if you spot typos or inconsistencies (this is too long for me to care about proofreading)
Word Count: 14k
“Hey, Sato?”
“Hmm?”
“Am I still dreaming or is there a girl’s ass pressed to my woody?”
“Unless we’re sharing the same dream, I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s not one — she’s drooling on my chest.”
“Is she hot?”
“Don’t be a creep…”
A pregnant pause passes, then he adds, “Yeah.”
“Nice.”
Groaning, your bleary eyes open. Your head is swimming. The pain is dull but powerful, as though hidden behind a layer, angry and wanting to be let out. Bright light through a window almost blinds you. You groan again, burying your head in a hard wall.
Huh?
Your eyes shoot open. You’re laying on someone’s chest. You look up. Dazzling blue eyes stare down at you through a pair of glasses, a brow cocked up. Then you feel it — something hot and heavy slotted between your asscheeks, and a hand gripping your hip.
With a scream, you jolt up, scrambling to get off the bed, only to fall right back onto the mattress when resistance meets your arms.
Two faces fill your vision from above.
Same dazzling blue eyes.
One smirking.
One not.
Both near-mirror copies of the other.
You scream again.
They wince.
“C-clones! You’re clones! Oh my god, please don’t probe me.”
The one on your left laughs so loudly it becomes your turn to wince. “Dude! She thinks we’re aliens!”
The other sighs and adjusts his glasses. “We’re not aliens. We’re twins. Monozygotic. Monoamniotic-Monoamniotic, to be exact.”
Lightly shoving the other by the shoulder, one of them says, “Jeez, don’t get all sciency around a chick. Just say ‘MoMo’, like I’ve been saying.” He turns to you, smiling. “We’re identical twins — I’m Toru, a Marketing student, and this ugly freak is Sato. Engineering. We’re both third years. And you are?”
Why are they acting so casual?
They’re in bed with a complete stranger, who could be a serial killer, and yet they’re introducing themselves to you like nothing’s remotely odd about the situation. Or maybe you’re in bed with serial killers. Hot serial killers, but that’s how they get you.
Unnerved by their matching stares, you stammer out your name, followed by a, “I’m an Anthropology student. Second year. It’s a pleasure to meet you?”
The sentence comes out less a statement and more a question, and you grimace at your unsocial self.
Toru leans forward, grinning. “You’re so polite. How adorable. Makes me wanna just gobble you up.” He mimics the actions of munching on your face, nom noming.
His twin sighs again and lifts his hand up. Yours is brought up with it. All of you eye the thing that clanks and jingles with the movement. Sato drawls, “Instead of flirting with her, why don’t we address the elephant in the room — why the hell are we cuffed together and in his bed?”
That’s when you finally realise you’re not in your own dorm. The room’s much bigger, much more lived in and homely. Heck, the bed itself is bigger than the stiff single that the school provides everyone. Comfier, too. And with someone’s abs plastered all over the covers.
Posters of sporting legends litter the walls, as do posters of rock bands and carelessly stuck on polaroids of one of the twins, or both of them, or people you can only assume to be their friends.
It even smells differently here than in your room; whilst yours smells of academic pressures and manically drunk coffee, this one smells of leftover thrill and aftershave. Clothes litter the floor, bordered by empty beer cans, and a pair of red lacey panties in the corner.
Toru follows your eyes to it, and then hastily clarifies, “It’s not mine — I don’t crossdress or anything.”
Sato rolls his eyes, and snarks, “She knows that, idiot. She’s thinking what a pigsty your room is.” Glancing at you, he adds, “My dumbass brother’s incapable of cleaning up after himself. Judge him freely, he deserves it.”
Ignoring both of them, you lift your arms up, struggling with the new weight and gawk at the pink fuzzy cuffs adorning your wrists. Slowly, you say, “What…the…actual…fuck?”
You’re handcuffed to two strangers.
Two hot strangers who keep women’s underwear in their rooms.
Frantically, you glance down at yourself and release a relieved breath when you confirm that you’re fully dressed in what you remember coming to the party in the first place: a short skirt you borrowed from a friend, a nice top, and beat up Converse that you wouldn’t mind getting beer spilled on. Your phone’s in your skirt pocket, along with your keycard. So all the valuables you brought to your friend’s apartment are still with you. Nothing feels out of place, which you thank god profusely for.
But what happened after the round of pres at your friend?
“I don’t remember a single thing that happened last night,” you voice aloud, frowning. “I don’t remember why we’re cuffed together, or who you two are to me.”
Not a single thing comes to mind — what you drank, who you spoke to, how much you drank, if you did anything crazy, if you lost some kind of dare and had to face punishment by being bound to two guys, and where your friends are.
Sato knits his brows together. “Neither. I only remember helping set up.”
“I don’t remember anything either,” his brother says, attempting to scratch the back of his head with the hand that’s connected to yours, laughing at himself, then finally using his free hand. He shrugs. “But then again, that’s not unusual for me. The best parties are the ones you don’t remember.”
You want to question how that could be possible, but you keep your mouth shut.
“Anyone feel a key on them?” one of the twins asks, inspecting the holes of the cuffs that bind you to him. He looks displeased at the fuzziness of the thing. Your hand hangs limply in the air.
All three of you look, lifting covers, checking inside your clothes, on the desk, under pillows, and nothing.
“Nope!”
“No.”
“I don’t see anything.”
Your heart begins to race, reality sinking in hard and fast and intensifying your headache. “We’re done for. We’re stuck like this forever. We’re going to die like this!”
“Calm down,” Sato deadpans, totally judging you based on how he fights the urge to look you over the rim of his glasses. “We’re not going to die. We just need to figure out who did it to us, where they are, and if they have the key — worse comes to worse, we don’t find them or they don’t have the key, we can just go to the fire station and ask them to cut us out.”
Toru whoops in the hair and ruffles his brother’s hair. The brother in question scowls and shoves the hand away. “Nice one, big bro. Didn’t even think of that; I was on the ‘we’re doomed’ boat.”
That makes sense.
Yeah, there’s no need to panic.
Except, there’s a major issue.
“Guys,” you start, lip trembling, “...I really need to pee.”
The two of them look at each other, then at you, then at the door, then back at each other.
“C-can you hold it?” Toru asks, sounding more frightened about the idea than you.
You shake your head, legs crossed.
And that’s how you find yourself sitting on the toilet in his en-suite bathroom, flanked by two guys, who at least have the decency to look away. One of them whistles awkwardly, and the other taps on his phone.
This is a nightmare. You don’t want to be pissing with an audience, especially not this close. It’s way too embarrassing.
Sato clicks his tongue, pink tinting the tips of his ears. “Why aren’t you going?”
“‘cause it’s weird,” you mutter, shuffling on the seat. The toilet’s kept pretty clean. It looks practically unused, which just makes you feel worse about defiling it.
“You having performance anxiety, Second year?” Toru teases, rocking on the balls of his feet.
He doesn’t need to sound so amused by the idea, you dryly think. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you grumble, “Anyone would if they were in my position.”
“I wouldn’t,” Toru chirps, swinging the hands you two are joint at back and forth absentmindedly. “Hell, I’ll pee between your legs right now to prove it. I’ve got pretty good aim.”
“Please don’t.”
God, this is the most shameful thing that’s ever happened to you. What did you do to deserve this?
Left with no choice, you let the stream go and grit your teeth.
One of them hums approvingly. “Solid stream — bitches with good pussy piss loud as fuck, and it do be sounding like you’re frying chicken.”
Your jaw drops. Aghast, you shake your wrist and smack his own hand against his leg. “Can you not comment on my pee, Toru?”
His twin smacks him upside the head. “Don’t call women bitches.”
He groans. “Does no one get the reference? Ugh, whatever. Just hurry up and wipe. I need to pee too.”
“Oh no.”
Both of your hands are connected to theirs… One of them’s going to have to get between your legs. When you look up at their suddenly stiff backs, you know they realised it too.
Toru whistles low. “Who’s it gonna be, Second Year?”
“Why do I have to choose?” you ask, though you already know the answer. They’re basically asking you who you’re more comfortable with, and oddly, you don’t want to offend either of them. Is this your Sophie’s Choice?
Sato continues tapping away on his phone one-handedly. “Either one of us is fine to do it. It all depends on who you’d prefer — it’s not like we’re actually wiping for you.”
If you really had to choose, then…
Wriggling a specific hand, you shamefully mutter, “Can you do it with me?”
He sighs, and slacks his arm so you can pull your hand towards yourself. The twin has to bend down at the knee slightly, still looking away. He adjusts his glasses and clears his throat.
Through the whole thing, you’re cringing, cheeks flushed, and wanting the world to open up and consume you whole. Can this morning get worse?
“Done,” you mumble, making sure no one’s looking at you. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Sato mutters.
On the other side, Toru grumbles so depressedly you can practically see a raincloud storming over his head, “Why didn’t you choose me? I’d be a good pussy wiper.”
More rises to your cheeks. You hurriedly pull your pants back up and flush. “No one was asking to wipe anyone’s…ahem. And the fact that you’re so eager is kinda the reason why I didn’t choose you.”
Toru raises his hands, and one of yours, in surrender.
After you, they both take turns peeing. You look away, shutting your eyes tight for good measure. You even hum under your breath to distract from the sounds. Sato, you notice, clears his throat before he goes, whereas Toru mumbles some song lyrics. It sounds like Up by Cardi B.
You hate that you’re hyper aware of every shuffle, every brush against you, every time their knuckles graze yours, and each breath they take.
The twins are hot.
Have you said that already?
Because they are.
Maybe if they were uglier, more normal looking, you wouldn’t be so on edge.
And you know it’s wrong to think like that about strangers, but they are hot. Stupidly so.
They’re the same height, with sharp jawlines and identical signet rings glinting on their pinkies. They’re definitely identical twins, but they look so different from each other, that with or without the glasses, you’d know who was who. Anyone would.
Toru wears a white T-shirt with an arrow pointing upward and downwards ,and the words “Best Seats in the House” printed beneath it, whilst Sato has on glasses and a blue T-shirt layered over a grey long-sleeve, the front patterned with chemical symbols spelling out MoAN.
Toru is broader, his biceps visibly defined beneath the cotton, muscle pressing against the sleeves. The underside of his hair at the back is buzzed. He has a brow piercing. Sato, by contrast, is leaner, his frame slimmer and his hair longer and more shaggy. He’s still quite muscular in comparison to the Engineering students you’ve seen, which isn’t a fair comparison because most of the STEM guys you’ve met look like the stereotype. No offence to them.
Toru wears ripped light wash jeans that hang low on his hips, revealing a Calvin Klein band, and Sato’s the same except his are darker blue. Both jeans hug their asses perf—
No, bad.
Stop noticing things about them.
After you get out of the cuffs, you’re never going to see them again, and it’ll be like this never happened. Don’t get attached. Don’t get too involved. Find the keys and skedaddle!
The three of you wash your hands, taking turns to brush your teeth and wash your face, all awkwardly trying to shuffle with each other. It’s clumsy at first but you do eventually get a rhythm going.
Eventually, you walk back out into the messy room, fresher and cleaner.
“We need to figure out what happened,” Sato states, brows furrowed. “If we got cuffed together during last night’s party, there’s a chance the key’s hanging around the frat house. We should look for it, jog our memories and retrace our steps.”
Toru scratches his stomach, revealing a flash of a white happy trail. His brother catches you looking. He cocks a brow. You snatch your gaze away. Toru says, “We won’t need to do all that — I think I know who did this to us.”
“Who?” you ask, louder than you intended.
He answers, grimacing, “A friend of ours. Sukuna. Well, friend’s a loose term. We’re frenemies, I guess. He’s funny, but he’s not the nicest guy around.”
It’s a vaguely familiar name, but you know you’ve never met a Sukuna before. By the sound of Sato cursing, you get the impression that it’s not the name of a man who you’d be happy to find out has cuffed you to a stranger. And that makes you all the more desperate to get out of the way of whatever rivalry they have going on.
“It’s a prank he likes to pull. He did it to Choso and a lamppost because the guy was giving family weed away for free to some girl, and that’s his literal cousin,” Toru explains. “If we gotta look anywhere, I think we should look at him.”
Smiling, you say, “That’s great! We have a solid plan.”
Sato glances down at you, not looking anywhere near as happy. Adjusting his glasses, he warns, “Sukuna’s an asshole. He’s not gonna be easy to get a hold of. Not to mention, if he did this to us, he must think we’ve done something wrong in his eyes, so he’ll be extra annoying.”
Much more cheerful in comparison, Toru throws an arm around his twin. “Now now, big bro. That’s not the spirit.”
They both look at you; one with a wide grin and the other with a deadpan expression.
“We’ve got an adventure to go on — let’s have some fun.”
.
.
.
“Wait, you’re members of a frat?” you ask, marvelling at the two of them.
What they’d said earlier only registered now, as you’re walking through campus, and now that you think about it, it explains why Toru has a room in the frat house in the first place.
Campus isn’t as busy as it usually is on the weekdays, which is good because it minimises the number of gawking you’re getting. Guess seeing three people cuffed together isn’t a very common occurrence, even in university.
The three of you had decided to track down this Sukuna. Sato looked up something online and informed you that the wanted man’s a hockey player, and the team has practice right now, in preparation for tonight’s game. So you raced out of the thoroughly trashed frat house as soon as you could, wanting to make sure you could catch him, corner him, shake the key out of him all before noon. And before his whereabouts become unknown.
Toru shakes his head, and ruffles your hair. He’s quickly gotten quite familiar with you, not that you mind. “Nah, little lady. Only I am. Frat prez, actually,” he says, nodding proudly. “My brother here just comes along ‘cause he’s a party animal.”
Sato fixes him with a blank look. “I’m not a party animal. I attend these things because someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
Mischievously, Toru leans down to whisper in your ear, “He’s lying; he’s worse than me.” Then, he thinks for a second. “You’re not a frequent party goer, are you? I would have definitely seen you around before if you were.”
“No,” you admit. “I’m not a party person. I just went last night because my friends insisted I go to at least one party this year, and after this, I don’t think I’ll be going to another one any time soon.”
Cuffs aside, the hangover you have is no joke and it’s enough to put you off partying forever.
Toru petulantly whines. “No way! Don’t let this one weird experience give you a bad impression — my parties are legendary. You have to come again. I insist; I want to see you all drunk and stupid, and remember it.”
“Don’t peer pressure her,” Sato scolds before addressing you. “You should come over though. Party or no party. We’d definitely like to see you more. We can show you a good time.”
Their joint invite has your cheeks heating up. They just met you and they’ve already decided you were someone they’d want to hang out with again, and yeah, maybe they were just being nice, but it still had you all flustered. Especially because there seemed to be some hidden layer to the words ‘good time’; both of their eyes twinkled.
Or maybe you imagined it.
On the way, about a thousand people stop to say hi to both Toru and Sato. The twins are clearly popular.
It isn’t subtle, either. It’s not the polite nod-in-passing kind of recognition. People actually light up when they see them. Hands clap shoulders. Someone daps Toru up mid-stride. A girl across the quad calls Sato’s name flirtatiously. One even flashes both twins. Toru laughs. Even professors in suits, holding briefcases pause to exchange some words and inside jokes.
Toru grins wide and effortless, tossing out nicknames, bumping fists, slinging an arm around whoever gets close enough. Sato is smoother about it — a smaller smile, a tilt of his head, a few clever words that make people laugh just a second longer than necessary.
No one even does more than glance at you. To their friends, you’re just another girl they’re in some dramatic predicament with.
Between them, overshadowed by their popularity and fame, you feel out of your element. They’re definitely not the kind of people you could just casually befriend, not the kind of guys you would have ever spoken to, could have joined them casually for lunch, or schedule hang outs and know they’ll be there.
They’re just being polite to you, wanting to ease the discomfort of being cuffed to a complete stranger.
Eventually, you reach the rink. You follow them inside, down hallways, past the people working there. You peek through the double doors and see a bunch of guys skating in full gear. It’s loud in the rink, the shape and emptiness of the stands reverberating the shouts and scrapes of skates on ice.
“Let’s go to the locker room whilst they’re there; we can go through his locker and his bag,” Sato suggests.
The locker room?
Where men get changed and swing their dicks around?
Oh hell no.
“Wait— hold on.” You stop short so abruptly they nearly walk into you. Both of them turn, brows lifting in sync. You scramble for composure, heat creeping up your neck. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Toru squints. “Why not?”
Because I value my eyesight. Because I don’t need trauma today. Because I enjoy not being arrested.
You cross your arms, attempting dignity. “I can’t just walk into the men’s locker room.” They stare. You gesture vaguely, mortified. “I’m a girl?”
It comes out half question, half plea, like perhaps they’ve temporarily forgotten this extremely relevant detail.
Sato blinks. Toru looks down at you, then back at Sato.
“Oh,” Toru says slowly.
“Yes, oh,” you mutter.
The twins share a look.
Hands grip your wrists, dragging you inside despite your protests. They snicker together. You’re powerless against their strength, and you can’t even grip the doorway to pull yourself away because they’ve got control of your hands. Eyes shut tightly, you fumble in the dark, unable to resist their heavy, six foot tall bodies.
Mustiness hits you as soon as the doors open, and you find your nose scrunching in disgust.
One of them laughs. “No one’s here, Second Year. You’re good to open those pretty eyes.”
You swallow the nervous giggle down. Focus!
Eyes hesitantly open.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating long wooden benches scarred with skate marks and initials carved onto the surface. Open cubbies gape, stuffed to the brim with shoulder pads the size of riot shields, sweat-darkened jerseys, laces tangled in knots, and rolls of white athletic tape unraveling on the floor.
The place’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.
The air is thick — damp cotton, metal, cheap body spray failing miserably to mask the sour, unmistakable musk of hours spent skating in full gear. You’re careful not to touch anything unnecessary, lest you catch something.
“I’ll call his phone,” one of the twins says.
Ringing echoes through the empty locker room, bouncing against the metal benches and cubbies, and dirty towels and clothes haphazardly strewn around. God, men are disgusting.
“Third row down,” the other twin mutters, following the sound.
Your Converse nearly land on a discarded compression shirt, and you jerk back like it might bite. You pass a rack of hockey sticks propped in the corner, tape chewed to shreds at the blades. A laundry bin overflows with damp towels. Someone’s half-empty protein shaker sits uncapped, abandoned, something beige and unidentifiable clinging to the sides.
“Found it,” the other twin says.
The phone vibrates inside an open locker wedged between a pair of shin guards and a crumpled practice jersey. His name is stitched above the number hanging on the hook — red fabric, white lettering, unmistakable.
You hover stiffly behind them, crossing your arms as though that will somehow shield you from the environment.
“See? No naked men swinging anything around,” Toru teases, swaying his hips at you.
“Shut up,” you groan, cheeks hot despite yourself. “This still feels wrong.”
Sato says, “You overthink too much.”
It’s not overthinking, you want to tell him. It’s the plain truth. The girls’ lockers are clean, tidy, and smell much nicer. Here, it feels humid, like you’ve strolled into Satan’s asshole. It’s fine for twins because they probably don’t know how good they could have it on the other side of things, and it’s not like anyone would bat an eye if the hockey team came back and they found them here.
Toru picks up a pair of boxers, making his brows dance at you, then throws it at his brother’s face.
He releases a disgusted sound, swiping it away. “Hilarious.”
They’re both looking. One in the locker, and the other in the bag he pulled out. As they do that, you ask Sato, “So you’re older?”
The twin with glasses nods. “By two minutes — best two minutes of my life.”
Toru says, “Ha. Ha. We both know the best two minutes of your life are when some poor girl lets you hit.”
“Better than your thirty second record.”
You laugh at their petty sibling rivalry. You admire how easily they could talk to each other, and to you, in spite of your situation, of how absurd this all is. It’s a thing to envy, you think.
Pulling his head out of the musty locker, Toru looks down at you with a challenging smile. “You laughing at me, gorgeous? You think I can’t last longer than thirty seconds?”
Emboldened by the friendly atmosphere, you reply, “Proof’s in the pudding, isn’t it? If that’s your reputation, I’m sure there’s some truth to it.”
“Oh yeah?” He tugs, yanking you to his chest suddenly with the arm connected to yours. Hands steady your hips. Forcing your head to crane back to peer up at him, Toru grins down at you wolfishly, using his height advantage to intimidate you. “Care to let me prove you wrong?”
“I-I was just kidding,” you stammer out. “We need to focus and find the key.”
“I looked; couldn’t find it. Knowing how dedicated Sukuna is, he’s probably got it on him,” he responds, much more interested in something else now.
You gulp.
Heat covers your back. When fingers pinch your chin, keeping you from looking back, you realise the hands on your hips aren’t Toru’s. They’re Sato’s.
They’ve got you sandwiched between them, leaving you with nowhere to go. Out of nowhere, the air has turned even more heated, almost suffocating. It renders you dizzy.
Sato whispers in your ear, lips grazing your ear, “Don’t be rude, Anthro. You told him ‘proof’s in the pudding,’ no? You gonna upset my baby brother by turning back on your words?”
The brother in question’s bending down slowly, teasing you by not quite touching your lips. Meanwhile, someone’s nose is running down the length of your neck, sending your hairs standing on edge.
What the hell is happening?
Why are firm hands gripping you, lips brushing your skin, eyes watching your every move, hard bodies squeezing you till you’re panting? And why are you not stopping them? Why are you tingling between your legs?
Noises come from outside.
You all still.
They curse under their breath, scrambling off into the showers.
At the furthest stall, you hide, eyes wide and a hand pressing down on your own over your mouth. Thunderous feet march in. A ruckus enters. The hockey team’s finished with their practice, and you could be caught at any second. Imagine the scandal if they found you between two guys.
Voices bounce off tile and metal lockers, loud and unfiltered.
“Bro, you call that a shot? My grandma could block that.”
“Shut up, you whiffed the puck twice.”
“Suck my balls, Rogers.”
“Gladly, Barnes.”
A bag hits the floor with a heavy thud. Lockers clang open in sharp succession. The sharp scent of sweat and ice drifts through the humid air.
“Who forgot to wash their jersey? It smells like death in here.”
“Pretty sure that’s just you.”
Laughter erupts — loud, careless, echoing. Someone yelps when a towel snaps against skin.
You squeeze your eyes shut as sneakers squeak across tile, as jerseys are peeled off and tossed aside, as the easy, post-practice chaos unfolds only a few feet away. They’re too close. Way too close.
Oh god, they’re all probably butt naked just metres away from you.
How did things manage to go from bad to worse?
“Don’t make a sound,” Toru whispers, panicked. “The hockey guys cannot catch us here; they’re still mad from the time when we filled up their lockers with shaving cream and glitter, which they need to get over. It’s been days.”
“Pretty sure it’s because we’ve taken quite a few of their girlfriends,” Sato says under his breath.
“It’s not even ‘taking’ when they seek us out. Like anyone would say no to puck bunny pussy.”
“You’re both fucking disgusting,” you hiss. They’re just as sleazy as any guy on campus, it’d seem. The only difference is that they hide behind their handsome faces.
You’re leaning on Toru as he presses himself tightly against the tiles, ducking down so they won’t spot his white hair from above the stall, all while Sato’s leaning on you, pushing in so his back won’t protrude.
Packed like sardines, you’re aware of their hard muscles, of their much bigger sizes, and the ridges of their abs. The frat president can probably feel your tits on him, whilst the Engineering student can feel your ass on his crotch. Something hard pokes your stomach at the same time as something equally hard and hot slot right in between your ass cheeks again.
Lord, take me now, you pray, desperate for relief from the humiliation.
A leg slots between yours. You gasp. It’s Toru’s, but one look at his face and anyone would think you’re just imagining it. Don’t move, you tell yourself. Do not start riding his thigh even if you want to.
Sato pushes his hips forward, and consequently yours. You gasp.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice husky in your ear. “Got an itch you wanna scratch?”
Toru flexes his thigh, bumping hard against your clothed slit. You bite back your moan, wholly aware of the boyish laughter and shouting on the other side. He says, “If you gotta scratch, you gotta scratch, right?”
They definitely know what they’re doing. Manwhores like them always know.
Laying it on thicker, the frat president whispers, “Don’t hesitate; use me. Go on, Second year. Make my day.”
The twins are urging you to ride his thigh, pushing and pulling. Neither of them care about getting caught, not really. You had initially thought Toru would be the biggest danger, what with his outgoing and flirtatious personality, but Sato’s just as bad as him; he’s guiding your hips with his own, hand sliding up your leg to creep under your skirt.
They’re twins from hell.
Someone flicks your nipples through your shirt. You slump back onto Sato’s chest, breathing heavily as your hips grind on a muscular thigh.
How did things come to this?
And why are you getting swept up in all of it?
“She’s so pretty, isn’t she, Sato?”
“Stunning,” he replies. His hand tugs you down, making sure you’re grinding real good on his brother’s thigh. “How does her pussy feel?”
“Warm, and getting wetter. Fuck, it’d be so much better if she wasn’t wearing panties.” He directs his words to you, muttering, “How about it, angel? Gonna let me feel your pussy?”
“There’s people,” you gasp out, growing closer and closer to your end. This is so degrading — they’re watching you ride his thigh all on your own, watching you thrust your chest out, and squirm between them like some whore.
One of them smirks. “So if there weren’t people, you’d readily give me access? Dirty girl. Isn’t she dirty, Sato?”
“Downright filthy.”
When you shudder, someone slaps a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle your moan. Oh fuck you’re cumming on Toru’s thigh, a man you only met this morning, riding the muscle like it’s your pillow. Tomorrow, when you’re hopefully free and no longer attached to them, you’re totally going to want to never see them again.
Finally, you flop, twitching with the final waves of your orgasm.
Your head’s patted. “Well done. You were very brave.”
You smack it away, and grouch, “That was underhanded, you guys.”
“You enjoyed it, Anthro,” Sato points out, and steps back, steadying you. He peers over, and nods. “Coast’s clear. But that means Sukuna’s gone.”
Simultaneously, your eyes land on the wet spot you left behind on Toru’s jeans. He presses down on it, then sucks the pads of his fingers, winking at you. You look away immediately, wanting to cringe at yourself. Voice shaky, whether from stress or from your orgasm, you wonder, “So what are we gonna do now?”
“We’ll have to ask around for where he’ll be,” Sato replies. “Lay it on him good and intimidate him into giving up this stupid prank of his.”
Frowning, you follow them out of the locker room, adjusting your skirt. “Can’t we just go straight to the fire station? Do we have to go on this wild goose chase?”
Toru fake pouts, and puts a hand over his heart. “You tired of us, little lady? Hate us already? Oh, we’re just terrible, aren’t we, Sato?”
“The worst.”
“No, no,” you hurriedly deny. “It’s not that. You guys are great.”
He beams, stringing his arm over yours and forcing yours to hang loosely from your shoulder.
“Then it’s decided — we’re chasing after our Sukuna goose!”
And once again, you’re left with no choice but to do as they say.
.
.
.
After texting some mutual friends for where Sukuna might be, the three of you wind up at his apartment building. The twins have been trying to get ahold of the man, to no avail. It seems he’s intent on forcing all of you to ride out his cruel prank.
You texted your friends, trying to find out what exactly happened last night that might make this Sukuna person hate you enough to do this. You’re just some random girl, why would you be involved in the beef of some pretty well known guys?
They told you that they didn’t see you much at all during the party, that some time after arriving together, you disappeared and was only seen here and there, dancing and having a pretty good time with — and this is the really surprising part — both the twins, at different times.
Videos and pictures were shared to you: you’d be in the background, always with a drink in your hand, smiling like you’ve never smiled before, and flanked by one of the twins almost all the time. The videos seem to be earlier in the night. No cuffs in sight. There’s definitely videos from later in the night, but the people who took them haven’t woken up yet.
“So we were hanging out a lot last night, huh?”
Sato makes a face that says, guess so, whilst Toru whistles an impressed tune. The latter jokingly says, “We’re meant to be, Second year.”
“Seven of the eleven pictures were of me and her,” his twin points out.
“So? That’s just a one picture difference!”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Her ass on my dick helped me sleep last night,” Toru fires back, clutching your hand and bringing it up to his face so he can lay a kiss on your knuckles with a wink.
Sato yanks you towards him, and you stumble his way in the narrow hallway. He licks the palm of your hand, one upping his brother.
Face burning, you shove both of them back. “Can you guys stop? We need to work out what happened last night — how did we all get so drunk that we don’t remember how we ended up cuffed and in bed together?” Then, you frown. “We…we didn’t sleep together, did we?”
That was actually a question you’ve had since this morning, but you’d shrugged it off as being an impossibility. There’s no way two hot twins would want you, nevermind share a woman. However, after that little stunt in the locker room, you’re starting to wonder.
The frat twin laughs. “That’s cute. Isn’t she cute, Sato?”
“Adorable.”
They’re both laughing at you, and it’s irritating. Aggrieved, you ask, “What’s so funny? I don’t think it’s a ridiculous question to ask considering we woke up in the same bed with no memory of last night.”
Toru lifts his arm, and yours, rustling your hair with your own hand. “Babe, if you slept with me, you’d never forget. Trust.”
“Your mind could forget, sure, but your pussy wouldn’t; she’d still be feeling with me,” Sato says, matter-of-factly. His bright, all-seeing eyes flit down to the apex of your thighs as you walk, and you have to resist the urge to squeeze them together.
Damn.
“Hey, we’re here — 666.” He snickers to himself, thoroughly amused. Toru nudges you. “Fitting, amirite?”
Before he could knock on, you stop him. “What are we gonna do if he’s in? Are you guys going to fight him?”
Sato drawls, “You watch too many movies, Anthro; we’re just going to ask him to give us the key. Sukuna’s an asshole but he’s not the kind to drag a joke on.”
“Yeah, he probably just forgot in the first place,” his twin added.
“Oh.”
That makes sense. There’s no need to get violent. The prank’s not that harmful, you suppose.
They knock. You wait. No one answers.
“Is he not in?”
Toru tries the doorknob. The door opens. You all share a look. That feels pretty fucking ominous, like a trap laid out for you. “We’re not going in, are we?” you ask, looking up and down the hallway in case someone catches you three trespassing, or is it breaking and entering?
Whatever it is, it’s going to end you up in prison.
Lips graze the shell of your ear as someone whispers, “Scared of entering the devil’s domain with us? Think we’re going to eat you up? Hmm?”
“If you behave, we will,” someone else rasps at the back of your neck.
“Stop fucking around,” you reply, flustered by the tingles erupting where they touched you.
A hand presses in at the small of your back, and as the door’s opened, one of them chirps, “In you go, angel!”
You stumble inside, held up from falling only by the dense weight of two men chuckling at the little yelp you release.
The door clicks shut behind you.
For a second, you all just stand there.
Sukuna’s apartment is…exactly what you’d expect, and simultaneously worse — just aggressively, unapologetically male.
A pair of hockey skates sits abandoned by the entrance, laces trailing like shed snakeskin. A duffel bag, half unzipped, spills tape rolls, spare socks, and a mouthguard case onto the hardwood floor. The faint smell of detergent battles unsuccessfully with sweat and something woodsy, his cologne, probably, clinging to the air.
The living room is small but decent — a worn leather couch with a throw blanket tossed carelessly over one arm, a low coffee table cluttered with protein bars, a TV remote, a half-empty Gatorade bottle, and a stack of lecture notes weighed down by a puck. His backpack is slumped against the couch, as though it gave up halfway through being put away.
On one wall: framed team photos. A hockey stick mounted horizontally. A couple of medals draped over the corner of the frame, like it hardly matters to him.
The kitchen is visible from where you stand. Open plan. Dishes in the sink. Not stacked to the ceiling, but definitely past ‘I’ll wash them later’ territory. A frying pan left out on the stove. A carton of eggs on the counter. A magnetic whiteboard on the fridge with scribbled practice times and what looks like a grocery list that just says: milk, rice, jerk off 3:37pm.
Weirdly specific, but okay.
You all step further in, handcuffs clinking obnoxiously between you. The fuzz tinkles your wrist every time one of them moves too abruptly, and it’s soothed by the brushing of knuckles and the rubbing of shapes by thumbs.
“Maybe he left the key here,” one twin says, scanning. “Let’s have a look around.”
As a unit, the three of you shuffle around. Drawers are opened. Closed. A quick glance under couch cushions. You check the kitchen counter with your free hand, careful not to knock over the precarious tower of mail.
The apartment is messy but lived-in. No mysterious stains. No broken furniture. Just a college athlete who does not evidently prioritise tidiness.
Then—
Voices. From the hallway. Muffled at first: “…you said you were done with her—”
The three of you freeze.
“And I am,” comes the unmistakable low, irritated drawl.
“Oh really? Explain to me why I found her panties in your car!”
“They’re yours.”
“Shut the fuck up. I don’t wear blue thongs. I only wear white.”
“Ain’t nothing white and pure about you.”
“Fuck you!”
Your stomach drops.
It sounds like a lovers’ quarrel. You don’t know this Sukuna very well, or at all, but you’re one hundred percent sure he would not be fine seeing you guys in his place when he’s fighting with his girlfriend.
Keys jangle outside.
“Oh my God,” you whisper.
“Closet,” Sato hisses.
You don’t argue.
They yank you down the short hallway toward what you assume is the bedroom. The space is larger than you expect — unmade bed, sheets twisted, a jersey tossed over the desk chair. His cologne bottle sits uncapped near the nightstand. A lamp. A stack of textbooks. A charging cable trailing off the mattress like something that gave up halfway. But there’s no time to be psychoanalysing this man’s bedroom.
The front door opens.
“You said that last time!” the woman snaps, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
You’re shoved toward the sliding closet door. It opens with a soft scrape. Inside: hanging shirts, mostly dark. Hoodies. A winter coat. Shoe boxes stacked on one side. A laundry basket half-full.
“All of us?” you hiss.
“Got a better idea?”
The door slides shut just as footsteps enter the bedroom.
You’re crushed instantly. Back against the wall. Toru in front of you. Sato practically plastered behind. The handcuffs force you closer than is remotely comfortable. Someone’s arm is wedged between your ribs and a stack of shoeboxes. A coat hanger digs into your shoulder. How are you back in this position again?
Outside, the argument spills into the room.
“I’m not doing this,” Sukuna says flatly.
“You never do anything! You just— god, you’re impossible!”
A thud. Maybe something dropped on the bed. You hold your breath. Another thud. The mattress creaks. No, please don’t, you beg.
“You knew what this was,” he says, voice colder now.
“And what is it?” she demands.
Silence stretches. You can feel Toru’s heartbeat through his chest where you’re practically pressed against him. Or maybe it’s yours. The handcuffs shift as someone adjusts their balance. The metal clinks. Loud.
All four of you freeze again.
“…what was that?” the woman asks.
You don’t breathe. Not a single one of you moves.
Sukuna’s footsteps approach. The closet door handle rattles lightly as if tested. Your heart actually stops. Like medically dead stops. Then—
A scoff.
“Probably the pipes,” he mutters dismissively. Footsteps retreat. The argument resumes, lower now. Tense.
Inside the closet, you’re still crammed together like contraband. One twin’s breath ghosts across your temple. “If you make another sound,” he whispers so quietly it barely exists, “I’m framing you as the girl with the blue thong.”
You would elbow him if you had the space. It wasn’t even you!
Instead, you stay very, very still.
Their masculine scents engulf you. One of them smells like tacky aftershave done right, somehow, and the other is clean laundry. Both are intoxicating, as is the heat they exude which has you flushing in the cramped space.
It’s tight and cramped here. You barely have room to breathe, barely have room for your lungs to expand. And you’re pretty sure you’re standing on someone’s foot, though no one complains. As slowly and carefully as you can, you adjust yourself, grimacing at the tightness and darkness in the closet.
“Stop squirming,” Toru pleads. When you glance at him, he’s staring up, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“What?”
Sato whispers in your ear, “You’re making him pop a boner. Me too. Nobody tell you it’s rude to get a guy hard and not do something about it?”
“They’re right outside,” you whisper back. “Even if I wanted to, we couldn’t do anything.”
A thumb flicks your nipple. Your moan is stifled by a hand to your mouth. Toru says, and in the darkness of the closet you can hear his grin, “Oh, but you want to, don’t you. You want to so bad. I bet feeling us up like this, knowing you can get caught, is making your little kitty purr.”
“Little kitty? Seriously?”
“Shut up, Sato. Maybe if you said it more, you’d get laid as often as I do.”
“I get laid plenty, asshole.”
“Shut up both of you,” you fire back at the two of them, ear craning to hear what’s happening outside. There’s no more arguing, which is a good sign, but there’s definitely signs of life, which isn’t a good sign; they’re still here. You can hear talking, hushed and intimate, as well as rhythmic creaking.
Oh no.
“Damn,” Toru says under his breath. “Ryomen’s fucking his girl. Guess I’ll finally be able to settle my bed with Fushiguro — does the psycho last longer than thirty seconds? Any takers?”
No one replies to him.
Through your breathing, you can’t help but listen to the sounds of moaning and groaning. There’s even some slapping involved, and a couple, ‘you like that?’, ‘you’re making a mess all over my cock, you little slut,’ and ‘picking a fight just to cum, you ain’t slick.’
That Sukuna guy is an aggressive one.
“Is it weird to say, given our situation, that I think it’s nice that they’re so in love and can easily resolve their problems?” you say, as quietly as you can.
Both twins snort.
“They ain’t in love, Second year. They’re just horny and toxic, which makes for a great combo. And if I recognise the voice right, then that’s Cassie. She’s a mess, no offence to her. She likes stealing her friend’s man. Great tits though.”
“She’s just another girl in his roster; Sukuna doesn’t date. Not unless pigs are airborn.”
“Oh.”
The three of you are breathing heavily, constantly brushing up against each other. Toru’s shirt is scraping your hardened nipples through your shirt. Your ass is grinding behind you. Hands are gripping your hips under your skirt as another set sneaks under your top, clutching your waist and climbing higher and higher till it’s just about grazing the underside of your tits.
Is it the uninhibited moaning outside?
Or the masculine scent you’re enveloped in?
What’s got you so hot and bothered, squirming between them, whining to be touched?
A hand grips your hip, pulling you back. A hot thing hangs heavy behind you. Your breath hitches. Meanwhile, lips press to your temple, then to your cheek, and finally your lips.
Toru doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. He first whispers, “Been wanting to do this since this morning.” Then he kisses you. It’s sweet, soft, and gentle. It gives you butterflies. A metallic thing scrapes your bottom lip, and when you gasp, he’s quick to explain, “Just my tongue piercing, babe. You’ll get used to it. Soon’ll be getting to feel it against your clit, trust.”
Something long and hard slides itself between your thighs. You stiffen.
“What? Did you think I was gonna let my brother have all the fun?” Sato’s hands are gripping your bare hips, pulling you back and forth on his cock, which he ruts right up against your panties, cockhead prodding your clothed clit.
Panicking a little, you voice out, “What if they hear us?”
“You don’t want to be caught, Anthro? You better keep quiet then.”
One of them grope your tits, tweaking the hardened buds through your shirt, carrying your hand with his. You twitch with every flick, every scratch of a nail, and every pinch. Toru swallows your moans, greedily gulping them down. You really are getting used to the tongue piercing; it’s an addictive sensation against your own tongue.
The heat between your legs is almost scalding, and the way it separates your pussy lips, greeting your throbbing clit on its way forward, has your hips working back in tandem.
“Good girl,” one of them mutters.
The veins on the cock are felt by your sensitive skin. God, he’s big. Like really big. Would Toru be big too? Could you take any of their cocks? Both of them? Is that too filthy to think about?
Outside, a feminine voice calls out, “Ngh! Sukuna, right there! Harder, baby, please!”
“Don’t call me baby, you whore. Just take my cock and be quiet.”
You won’t admit it to anyone, but the sounds of skin slapping, headboard banging, and wanton screaming are getting to you. They’re setting the mood, and you’re growing less and less ashamed of the fact that you’re being thighfucked by one of the Gojo twins as the other shoves his tongue down your throat and squeezes your tits.
This is even filthier than in the locker room. More lewd. Obscene.
You’re rubbing yourself all over twins in a closet, hiding, and trespassing whilst the owner of the place is fucking his girl, and they don’t have a clue. If this is how parties end, then you might be inclined to attend another one of theirs.
“S-sato,” you whimper to his brother’s lips, “I’m gonna cum.”
“Fuck, me too.”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
Full body shudders wrack you. You clutch Toru’s stupid t-shirt, hips stuttering, and juices soaking your panties. Thighs tightening in pulses with the strain of your muscles, you wring groans from Sato right into your ear.
“Shit, don’t cum all over me,” Toru hastily says, before picking up a random shirt off the hanger and shoving it between your legs just in time as Sato’s cock pulses in waves. “Ugh, that’s disgusting.”
“Thanks,” his twin mumbles, lifting your hand to his face. You fix his glasses for him, pushing it back up his nose bridge.
“Where are you going now?” the girl asks, voice slightly muted by the barriers between you and her.
Bed creaking before feet pad on the floor, Sukuna answers, “Gotta stop by the ADP.” Silence. “Alpha Delta Phi? Gojo’s frat? Jesus, do you know anything other than how to bounce on cock? Forget it. I just need to go pick something up. Let yourself out whenever, but don’t be back here tonight. I’m having the boys over.”
“Oh, please, we both know that’s just code for having your other girl over.”
“Well if you know, then why bother playing coy about it. Yeah, I’m fucking other women, just like you’re fucking other guys. I don’t care and neither should you. Take a shower, nap, or whatever the fuck you want. Just don’t be here when I get back.”
“Fuck you.”
“You just did, sweetheart.”
Feet pad away and full silence returns to the room. In the distance, a door shuts. You all breathe out a sigh of relief, shoulders dropping.
“What an asshole,” you say, pushing the closet door open for fresh air.
“Told you,” the twins say in unison.
The bed’s been left a mess, with a huge wet patch at the centre that you don’t want to focus too much on. Sato’s tucked himself back in his jeans expertly, and you’d think he’d never taken anything out in the first place.
“Oi, Sato, lift her up for me.”
Sighing, the guy grumbles before lifting you by the back of your thighs. You fall back on his chest, head resting on his shoulder. Legs wide open, Toru kneels between them, grinning up at you. He winks, poking the wet spot you’ve made in your panties.
“What’re you doing?” you ask, startled.
Toru shrugs, pulling your panties aside. He takes a deep inhale, nose skimming and coming back all glossy. “Just wondering what you taste like that. You both got to cum, so it’s only fair I get a little something too, no?”
“It’s logical. Practically a faultless argument,” Sato concurs, leaving a kiss on your heated cheeks to reassure you. “Don’t worry; he won’t bite.” A little hushed and more mischievous, he adds, “Not like me.”
Naturally, that does nothing to wash away the embarrassment of his twin being face to face with your puffy pussy.
His smooth hands soothe the tremor in your thighs. “Just a taste, gorgeous. To tide me over till we make it back to the frat house to catch Sukuna. Besides, I want you to get comfortable with my tongue piercing.”
He pecks your clit, then takes a longer lick of your pussy. You gasp, hands kept down by your sides by their own and unable to push him away. Toru is as unashamed as ever, shoving his whole face in your cunt and forcing squelches out when he tongues your entrance.
“W-we’re going back to the -ngh!- frat house?”
Sato hums, seemingly unbothered by any of what’s going on. It might as well be any other Saturday. “We have to catch him there; I don’t want to spend the rest of my day chasing after him, when I could be buried inside your pussy.”
SLURRRRRP!
You cry out, toes curling.
“So sweet,” the twin down there moans. “You gotta taste her, Sato.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, idiot,” he scolds. “And hurry up.”
“Quit telling me what to do — I like taking my time with good pussy, sorry.”
“Toru!”
Cooing, he mutters an apology to your cunt. “Aw, sorry, babe. Don’t mean to neglect you. Don’t worry, Toru’s here. Toru’s gonna make you feel so good, better than my brother’s tiny ass dick, I promise.”
Said brother scoffs.
But you don’t care about their unnecessary competition. You can only focus on the jolts of electricity zooming from your pussy and exploding in your belly. You’ve never been eaten out so good, and not with a piercing you’re painfully aware rubbing just right through your puffy folds. It rolls against your clit. You moan.
“Feel good?” Toru asks, all smug. “Got the idea from our piercer friend. It’s a real hit with the ladies.”
You frown. “It’s impolite to talk about -hah fuck that’s good- o-other women when you’re between someone’s legs.”
Sato kisses your cheek again, and approvingly inserts, “Put him in his place, baby. Been trying to teach him manners since we were born and he never listens to me. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
“Quit talking about me like I’m some kind of dog,” Toru grumbles.
“Then quit acting like it,” you bravely snap, possessed by the desperate need to chase another high. “Make me cum already, before I ask your brother to do it instead.”
Another kiss, this time punctuated by a chuckle. “
“Kitty’s got claws. That’s fucking hot.”
Lips wrap around your clit, which is still sensitive from the incessant rubbing of Sato’s cock. That’s why when he finally sucks hard on the little thing, you cum again way too quickly. “Fuck, Toru!”
“Mm, that’s right, baby, ride my face and my tongue.”
Through your writhing and squirming, Sato holds you up, bearing your weight with ease, all while Toru laps up the juices oozing out of your pussy, like a puppy, like a man in a dessert.
That’s three orgasms all in less than an hour. It’s a new record for you, which means your body isn’t used to it. On shaky legs, you’re set down. They hold you up, preventing you from collapsing on the floor.
One of them ruffles your hair. “You did such a great job, Second year. We’re almost at the finish line, think you can manage a slight jog back to the frat house?”
How are they so chill? How can they act like nothing happened? There’s not even a single wrinkle on their shirts, whereas you look and feel like a mess.
“Y-yeah,” you mumble, dazed and still experiencing waves of an orgasm that wasn’t supposed to happen so suddenly.
Sato nods, pulling your panties back into place and patting your pussy. “We know a shortcut — it’ll give us at least fifteen minutes ahead of Sukuna. More if he gets distracted and walks slowly.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
.
.
.
“Oh my god…” you breathe out, staring at your phone. “I was dancing on a table?”
More videos and pictures are surfacing online now that the partygoers are waking up and getting over their splitting headache. And damn it, you wish they hadn’t.
Leaning over, Toru whistles. “That’s fucking hot. It reminds me of when my frat brothers hired strippers for my birthday, except your dancing is so much better.”
You elbow the little kiss up. “We both know that’s a lie. I’m dancing like a drugged up chimpanzee.”
“Like an unstable gas, just shaking about the place,” Sato adds. When Toru and you give him a look, a blush graces his cheeks. He adjusts his glasses and clears his throat. “So he can talk about strippers but I can’t mention anything related to the periodic table?”
That was a slip of his cocky façade, and it brings a smile to your lips.
He rolls his eyes at your look of adoration. Glancing at the screen, he says, “We didn’t have the cuffs then, and that was probably about midnight. Our parties typically end at 3 am, with some people lingering even later. So between then and 3am, Sukuna had slipped cuffs on us.”
“Do you think he drugged us too?” you wonder, speedwalking along the back of a building you’ve never visited on campus. “I mean, I’m just not the type to get black out drunk.”
It’s awful to suggest Sukuna, a man you’ve never met before, would be the type to spike peoples’ drinks, but it would certainly explain things.
Toru shakes his head, running a hand through his messy hair. “I wouldn’t put it past him to slip us something that makes us more susceptible to doing stupid shit. Though, honestly, looking at how I’m twerking on my pledge, Itadori, I don’t think I needed anything more to get black out.”
“That’s just how you are naturally,” his twin snarks.
To that, the frat guy laughs in disbelief. “You’re one to talk considering we have five videos of you writing equations on the entirety of the basketball team’s backs and yapping their ears off about Digimon, which you only do after the eleventh shot. Shots, mind you, you hate but never pass down.”
“Only ‘cause I need alcohol to survive your stupid parties,” Sato fires back.
“Parties you enjoy!”
“Alright, alright, that’s enough, boys. Let’s just agree we all got messy on our own,” you establish, feeling like the two are way too close to tearing each other apart.
When you reach the frat house, Sato opens the door for you. Does no one lock their doors on campus?
You didn’t notice it in your rush to get out of the house earlier, how big and beautiful the house is. It’s old, ornately decorated with impeccable wooden floors and portraits hanging on walls. Of course, there are thongs, bras, streamers, limp balloons, used condoms strung all over the place, and there’s empty cans of beer and bottles of alcohol just lying about. But beneath all of the grime of a party done well lies a gorgeous home.
Cleaners flit about the place, collecting trash and mopping floors.
“Perk of living in a frat,” Toru proudly declares, “we never have to clean up after ourselves.”
“That is pretty cool,” you agree.
Sato huffs. “It’s insanely privileged. And intrusive. I much prefer not having strangers constantly leaving their traces in my home.”
The three of you gracefully ascend the stairs, avoiding mysterious wet puddles and stains you didn’t want to think too much about. Sukuna doesn’t seem to be here, so they were right about the shortcut.
“So you live on your own?” you ask him, nodding a thank you to Toru who carries you over a stack of bottles.
“Yeah, but we’re over at each other’s places so often we might as well not be.”
You giggle. “That’s so cute. You two just need to be together all the time, huh?”
Toru punches his brother’s arm over your head. “She’s laughing at us, Sato. She thinks we’re pathetic and psychotically close.”
“I promise, it’s only circumstance that keeps bringing us together,” Sato dryly says. “If I had it my way, I’d have said good riddance to him a long time ago.”
“My sentiment exactly — pretty sure I tried to eat you in the womb and that’s why you’re so ugly.”
A laugh escapes you.
Eventually, you reach their bedroom.
Right back where you started.
Smiling, you say, “It’s funny that we did all that work just to end up back here because Sukuna was always coming by, isn’t it? Quite ironic actually.”
The door shuts behind you.
“Look, Toru,” a dark voice coos, “she doesn’t know she’s about to be fucked an inch of her life.”
“I know,” an equally dark voice agrees. “I can’t get over how stinkin’ cute she is. Makes me wanna just eat her out till she faints. Think she’ll let me?”
“I think she’s been soaked the whole day and at this point she’ll let us do anything we want…isn’t that right, Anthro?”
The hairs on your arms stand on edge. Two foreboding presences flank you, reminding you that there’s no where you can go that they won’t follow, that you’re stuck with them for good, and that you couldn’t hope to fight them off even if you wanted to. Your panties might as well not be there by how your wetness is trickling down your thighs.
They drag you down onto the bed with them.
Hands make quick work of your clothes: they pull down your skirt, taking your panties with them, they yank your shoes and socks off, and one of them even grabs scissors to cut right through the shirt before you can say anything. The metal grazes your skin, slicing right between your tits.
“Wait, wait,” you yell, overwhelmed by the suddenness of their actions. “Sukuna! Sukuna’s coming.”
Sato says, “Not for twenty minutes — one of my friends said they saw him stop by the Student Council office.”
“Probably going to bother the Prez,” Toru snickers, pressing your panties to his nose and moaning. “Fuck, I love the way your pussy smells. The dirtier the better.”
Heat rises to your cheeks immediately, and you fall back onto Sato’s lap. He licks a stripe up your neck. “My brother’s got weird tastes. Forgive him, angel. He’s just born weird. I like to say I took all the brains in the womb.”
Toru snorts, throwing aside all your shredded clothes. “Sure, let’s pretend I haven’t had chicks crying to me about how you’re so mean to them, asking for me to be the nice twin.”
The three of you kneel on the bed together, cuffs clinking when they clash, the pink fluff tickling skin. They’re both still dressed. You feel Sato’s jeans scratching your skin, the metal zip rubbing right up against your pussy, and Toru’s silly ‘Best Seats’ shirt grazing your nose as he towers over you.
He brings up the hem, biting it, revealing washboard abs. You blink at it.
He says, “Lick it, Second year. Go on.” Hesitating, you run your tongue over his torso, starting from the white treasure trail, over his outie belly button, then his abs, and his chest. Of course he knows he has an impressive body. It’s important he knows you know that too; it’s an ego boost for him. “Such a good girl,” he coos. “I’ll be sure to fuck you real good as a reward.”
“Not until I’m done,” Sato argues. “I’m older so I get first dibs.”
His long fingers are parting your pussy lips, grinding his zipper up and bumping it against your clit. The texture’s weird, and wild, and it has you heaving, no doubt leaving behind your slick all over the metal teeth.
Gripping your face with his free hand, Sato kisses you for the first time. He’s got your neck twisted back, the wetness of your pussy smearing on your skin. There’s no piercing, only a minty taste that you’re obsessed with. It’s messier, filthier, all tongue and spit, so different from how his brother kisses.
You’re dragged back, and lips quickly replace Sato’s. That familiar piercing returns. You’re stolen back again. Then again. And again. They’re fighting over who gets to kiss you. You’re dizzy, breathless, creaming for more.
“Quit taking her,” Toru growls.
“Fuck off,” Sato snarls. “Just sit there and look away. Three’s a crowd.”
“It’s not fair. You’re already getting to fuck her pussy first.”
“Oh? You’re so easy to give up?” He whispers in your ear, all smug, “My brother’s a pushover. Bet it turns you way off, doesn’t it? It’s alright, angel, you can tell him to back off. It’ll just be you and me, won’t that be nice?”
Fingers coat themselves in your pussy juice, rubbing your clit nice and good before pushing inside your pulsing hole. “No, babe, tell the nerd he can fuck off and go research where the clit even is. I’ll fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk away from my bed even when the cuffs are off.”
Neither of them will actually give up, no matter what you say, you know that. So you say, “Both of you. I want to be fucked by both of you. Please!”
“She’s so polite. Isn’t she polite, Sato?”
“Perfectly so.”
If someone had told you you’d be shared by twins in a frat house, you’d have called the police for harassment. Now, as you’ve said those words and they sigh and begrudgingly agree to allow the other to be here, you think this was inevitable.
Toru creeps back, working on his zip and freeing his hard cock. A hand shoves your face forward. If it isn’t for Sato holding you up, you’d be face planting into the sheets.
“A-are you sure Sukuna won’t catch us?”
Fingers push in, scissoring your cunt and prepping your walls. They cruelly curl up against your g-spot. “You think she’s trying to piss us off by mentioning another man’s name, Toru?”
“I think it doesn’t matter — she’s gonna forget there’s anyone else outside these walls when I’m through with her.”
Right in front of you, Toru strokes his dick. It’s pale, flushed red at the tip and already leaking. He’s trimmed neatly. There’s even a tattoo on his hip that says ‘Lucky You ;)’
Your mouth waters.
The salty pre is smeared on your lips. He taps it, once, then twice. “Say ahh, babe.”
Behind you, something pokes your pussy. It slides between your thighs again, spreading your juices on your skin. It enters you, inch by inch, slowly, making you feel every bit of him.
At the same time, Toru’s cock pushes through, filling your mouth. Both ends have to stretch wide to accommodate them. Already, you’re overwhelmed, overstimulated, over the fucking moon at being used so lewdly. Your friends are never going to believe how you spent your Saturday, and your future kids will never know just how wild their mother got back in college.
Soon, they bottom out, and it’s a miracle you’ve been able to take both of them at the same time.
“Damn, what a talented fucking mouth,” Toru breathes out, head thrown back. “A star for you, Second year.”
“You should feel her pussy,” Sato grits out, fingers digging into the plush of your ass with the strain of resisting the urge to thrust over and over again in your cunt. “It’s the tightest thing ever.”
His brother groans. “Shut the fuck up, dude. I can’t stand hearing your voice. Respectfully. You’re ruining this for me.”
“Grow up.”
In tandem, they rut back and forth, starting off in small bursts first to let you get used to it, then steadily growing faster and faster. You’re basically being used as as fleshlight, fucked in the way they want, with little regard for how uncomfortably stretched out and twisted you are. And it feels amazing.
But…
Why does Sato’s cock feel so different?
Your cunt clenches down on it. He grunts, then chuckles. “You’re wondering what’s on my dick, aren’t you? It’s a piercing baby. Thought only Toru has one? Didn’t expect it from me, did you? You feel it scraping your walls? Feel me deep inside your perfect pussy?”
And you can. You can feel exactly where he is, how deep he’s in, how satisfied your gummy walls are to feel something so big stretching you out, like a feeding a sacrifice to a hungry god.
You moan around Toru’s dick. He grunts. “Fuck, babe! You’re gonna make me cum early.”
“Pathetic,” Sato mutters. A cold wetness lands with a thwack right on your puckering hole. You jerk. “Relax. Just trust me.” A thumb circles the hole, pushing in only knuckle deep yet it’s more than enough to have you feeling insanely full. “If we had more time, then I’d prep this tight hole to take me. This’ll have to do.”
Sato’s an ass guy?
Are you?
It’s never occurred to you to play in that other hole, though as he hooks his thumb in, you start to think you’ve been missing out this entire time. Toru, on the other hand, is obsessed with your tits. He keeps groping them, flicking the buds so you’ll moan even more around his cock.
Balls are swinging, bumping against your chin and on your clit. The bed squeaks and creaks with the force of their ploughing, headboard slamming against the wall. You wonder if the other frat guys can hear, if they know you’re a slut squirting around a cock as you get rammed by their frat president and his twin brother. It must be a normal occurrence with how whorish they both are.
Your tongue swirls around the unpierced cockhead in your mouth, licking the salty slit. The guy in front of you curses, still biting the hem of his shirt. You can see his abs constricting, the muscles under his tattoo twitching. .
Sato breathily chuckles. “My little brother’s gonna tap out soon, and I’ll have you all to myself.”
Toru pushes back in immediately, not wasting even a single second. You have to breathe through your nose, the walls of your throat squeezing around the hefty intrusion. Whereas Sato’s long, Toru’s thicker — the difference is minute, yet you can tell.
Feeling challenged, Toru scoffs. He taps your cheek. “Tell him he can spank you. Go on.” He pulls out.
You cough, throat hoarse already. “Spank me, Sato. It’s okay, I can take it.”
SMACK!
You scream around Toru’s dick. His hips jerk forward with a groan. The fucker didn’t waste a single second!
“So fucking tight!” He slaps your cheek again, hitting exactly where he had the first time. You moan, pussy pulsing. “You like that? Well, aren’t you a dirty thing.”
It’s a turn-on for Sato, you understand now. It flipped a switch in him, seeing the mark of his hand blooming on your ass; his hips are thrusting harder, hitting that gummy spot inside you that has you seeing stars and flooding down his cock, which practically rams you mercilessly.
The strength of his thrusting forces your throat to take Toru even deeper, a fact that the frat guy rejoices in as he holds you up by a hand on your tit, groping like he had before. The cockhead’s bumping the back of your throat, no doubt bruising you.
You cum, shuddering, but neither of them seem to care. They only notice the throbbing and rhythmic squeezing of your cunt and throat, groaning and grunting above you.
“Poor nerd,” Toru snickers. “He’s gonna cum so quickly. It’s sad, isn’t it? It’s nice that you’re so charitable, babe.”
“Big talk for a masochist.” The older twin rubs your clit, occasionally pinching the thing just to feel you tighten around him. Darkly, he orders, “Dig your nails into his thigh. All the girls know he’s weak for pain. He even calls the older ones mommy. Sad, isn’t it? Disturbed, even.”
Panicked, he tries to grab your hand before it can grip his thigh through his jeans. But it’s too late. You’re faster. You dig your nails in as hard as you can so he’ll feel it through the material. He whimpers, hips stuttering. “Jesus FUCK!”
Hot cum spurts in your throat. You gag on the salty taste. Tears spring to your eyes.
Sato laughs, yanking you up by the air. Toru’s cock slides out with a pop!
Back flat on his chest, he holds you up with a hand around your throat. It presses in slightly, slowly stopping airflow to your head in intervals, holding enough to make you delirious.
Aggrieved and peeved off for being forced to cum early by a cheap trick, Toru poutily kisses your lips, running that tongue piercing over the seam. He pushes a hand against your belly. You whine, feeling even more of Sato this way. “Let’s see how long either of you lasts like this, cheaters.”
“Fuck off—Christ! Shit!”
It only takes a mere second. It’s more embarrassing than Toru’s premature ejaculation.
At the sudden and impossible tightness, the older twin curses under his breath. White paints your walls. The heat is searing and it pushes you over the edge too.
Quickly, you’re pulled off his dick, which is still spurting. Some cum gets on your face when you’re brought to your back on the bed. They’re manhanding you, positioning you like you’re a ragdoll, like you’re a mere toy for their pleasure. It’s hard to tell where up and down are, left and right, if it’s even the same day.
A cock pushes in, bullying its fat length with no hesitation. The aftershocks wrings out a deeply satisfied moan from Toru, who sinks in balls deep easily. He mutters petulantly, “If her pussy didn’t feel so good, I’d be too disgusted by your spunk all over her to get hard again.”
“Be grateful I’m letting you fuck her at all,” Sato retorts. He removes his glasses, squinting and finding the fogging of the lenses a pain in the ass. As he clears it out with the bottom of his shirt, he adjusts himself over you, obscuring your view of Toru. His heavy cock hasn’t lessened in density. It rests between your tits, soaked and sticky. “Stick your tongue out.”
You do. He makes a noise of approval.
His hands push your tits together, sandwiching his dick. Sato’s shaven. He likes things nice and clean, it’d seem. The metal bars under his cockhead are hot against your skin. You can see them. They look painful.
In between moans, you ask him, “Did the -hngh- piercings hurt?”
He shakes his head, lazily thrusting on your skin. His cock bumps onto your tongue, leaving drops of salty cum. You can taste yourself and him, and it oddly doesn’t disgust you.
Behind his brother, Toru pushes your thighs up, hooking them over his arms. Amused, he says, “He’s lying. He cried after, telling me he regrets it and he wants the piercings taken off. What a little bitch boy.”
“He exaggerates.” But the pink tinting Sato’s cheeks tells a different story.
“Whatever you say, big bro,” Toru muses.
He yanks you back and forth on his cock, not exactly thrusting anymore. You’re back to being used a fleshlight, as a pocket pussy, dragged up and down the veiny length of him. He’s reaching deep, stretching you out even more than his brother did, though he doesn’t reach your cervix as nicely as Sato had. It hardly matters to you. The pleasure’s all the same.
Thumbs brush over your nipples, flicking and rubbing, all while Sato squeezes your breasts tightly around his cock. His veins are prominent too, and they tickle your skin with every thrust. You swirl your tongue around his cockhead, teasing the underside where his piercings are every time he reaches your mouth. He throws his hair back, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Fuck, that mouth. Real fucking sinful,” he mutters.
Rocked back and forth, bruised and bullied from top to bottom, fingers digging into sensitive flesh, marking and claiming, with sticky juices drying on your skin and tears dripping down your cheeks from the overstimulation — it’s one orgasm after the other.
“Aw, are you crying?” Sato asks, smirking and not looking the least bit apologetic.
Toru chuckles. “For something so tight and greedy, her pussy’s real weak, don’t you think?”
“The weakest.”
Skin smacks against skin. Juices splash. Puddles grow beneath you. You can taste their cum, feel them and hear and see them everywhere. Even when you close your eyes, the shapes of their cocks are imprinted, practically burnt on your retina. They won’t stop talking, won’t stop commenting on how you tremble and tense around them.
One of them moans pornographically. They both laugh.
“Hear how she moans? You’d think she’s on OnlyFans and she’s trying to rack in the subs. Dirty, dirty girl.”
“She does moan pretty loudly. Squeals like a pig too.”
Toru adds, “Oh and her pussy won’t stop talking back to me. Maybe she wants to debate the collegiate system with me, or give me a glowing review on my dick game.”
“Only you’d lose to a debate with a literal cunt,” Sato says, snorting.
“Oh because you’d win one? That’s what you wanna brag about?”
“I won one when I made her cum like three times on my dick today.”
“Pssh, you’re deluded.”
None of what they say gets to you. You’re too deep in the pleasure, in the euphoric bliss, to properly register what they’re saying. You just want them to keep fucking you, to keep stimulating your entire body. You want this to never stop.
Ankles locked around Toru’s hips, you yank him back, wanting more and more of him. It’s never enough. The hairs at his base tickle your clit before he grinds his pelvis against it. Your eyes roll back.
Sato spits a fat dollop on your tit, barely assisting the glide of his cock, which easily slides between your tits — he just wanted to do that. The sight of you all messy, lips glossy, eyes dazed, causes the corners of his mouth to twitch.
Spitting’s his thing. Panty sniffing is Toru’s.
The more you learn about them, the more your invite to Hell solidifies. They really are twins from the Underworld, just so filthy, so lewd, so damned.
“Fucking tight, squeezing me so good,” one of them groans, barely understandable.
“Pretty fucking tits, prettier fucking mouth,” the other says, eyes flitting between your face and your breasts, undecided where it wants to stay.
All three of you moan at the same time, bodies spasming, and clit and cocks throbbing. Everyone gasps for breath, the air humid and tangy.
Finally…
“Ngh! Sato! Toru!”
Cum spurts on your face, and you have to shut your eyes to avoid getting some in there. They land on your cheeks and nose and tongue. More cum fills up your cunt. All of your juices mix together in a warm concoction.
You’ve never been more full and deeply satisfied. You feel it in your bones, in your souls.
The fluff of the cuffs are soaked with your sweat and cum, the metal clammy. There are marks on your wrists from where they’ve pulled too much or too harshly, and the sting only adds to the pleasure.
Best.
Sex.
Of.
Your.
Life.
Probably best threesome too. Not that you’re planning on having any more.
“Fuck that was good,” Toru says, hands rubbing your thigh and your stomach. He pulls out, and you wince. The emptiness is upsetting, although it doesn’t last very long; his long, slender fingers push the cum leaking out back in, keeping you plugged for a little longer.
“Mm,” Sato agrees, wiping cum from your face only to shove it in your mouth for you to suck off.
“What kind of freaky circus act am I looking at right now?”
Heads flip to the door. You almost get whiplash from how fast you turned.
In the doorway, a pink-haired, heavily tattooed man stands. He doesn’t look disturbed, just amused. His eyes drink in your form, from your face to your tits to your pussy, or as much of your body he can see from where he’s standing anyway.
“Oh hey, Ryomen,” Toru says, not making a move to cover himself or you up. He just stands there between your legs, absentmindedly rubbing your clit. “How you doing?”
“Toru!” you scold, still dazed but thinking more clearly than the other two, that’s for sure. “Ask him about the cuffs.”
Does no one care about your dignity?
Nudity between men might be normal, but it’s certainly not between men and women. Despite that, they’re acting like he just caught you hanging out. No one covers you up. The newcomer doesn't look away. They’re all acting like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Who you presume is Sukuna finally spots the pink cuffs. He groans. “You got it all dirty. God, I fucking hate you dumbass twins. Came back to pick it up, and this is how you repay the favour? You better get me new ones, Gojos.”
You blink.
Static rings in your ears.
“They…borrowed it from you?”
Sukuna quirks a brow, like he’s surprised you’re daring to speak to him. “Yeah, twin fucker. In exchange for the keys to their garage and whatever car I wanted to drive around for the weekend.” Then he seems to piece something together and laughs mockingly. “Jesus, did they sell you some story about how I cuffed you three together in punishment or something? How dumb can you be?”
Sato huffs. “Watch it, Ryomen.”
“Yeah, another insult from your lips and I’m decking you right across the cheek.”
“Whatever you freaks.” A ping goes off on his phone. Sukuna reads the notification. “Alright, I gotta get going. Get me new cuffs and keep me out of your shit. Don’t even know why you didn’t just get your own.”
Toru chuckles, tension disappearing as though it was never there to begin with, and his fingers still fucking inside you. “Lies sell better when mixed with a little truth.”
Disgusted, Sukuna scowls. “You sound like your nerdy brother. Don’t try to sound smart, Idiot Gojo. It don’t fucking suit you.” His eyes fall back to you. He smirks. “If you get tired of their pasty asses, I’m more than happy to fuck you right. You know where I live.”
He knew you were there?
Seeing the bewildered look on your face, he scoffs. “You all breathe so fucking heavily. You think I wouldn’t sense your stupidity radiating from my closet? I mean, I always knew the two of you were in the closet, but I never knew you’d be in there with a girl. Guess sexuality really is a spectrum.”
“Fuck off, Sukuna,” Sato growls, cock soft now and being tucked right back into his pants.
He waves a hand lazily. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Unlike her, I’m not interested in doing it with twins. I’ll see you weirdos around.”
“Wait!” you call out before he can leave. “The key! We need the key!”
Sukuna rolls his eyes at you.
“You’re slower than you look,” he mutters, exasperated beyond measure. Louder, he says, enunciating hard so you’ll get it, “I. Don’t. Have. It. The twins. Are. Sexual deviants. Who lie. To get pussy. They have the key. They always had it. You think only with your clit or something?”
A pillow gets thrown at him, followed by, “Fuck off, Ryomen.”
With a middle finger aimed at all three of you, he goes back the way he came, leaving you with guilty looking twins who each fish out a small key from their pockets.
“Oh look,” Toru weakly cheers, “we found it. Yay!”
One winces. “Guess we won’t need to go to the fire station.”
Synopsis. When both Gojo twins want you for Valentine’s Day, do you:
A. Choose the frat boy extraordinaire you’re in a messy situationship with.
B. Choose the cute nerd that tutors you but is too afraid to confess.
C. Choose both of the above.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader (x Gojo Satoya)
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, GOJO TWINS, nerd!Gojo, frat boy!Gojo, college AU, they both want you, Iove triangles, yearning Gojo(s), tutoring, FWB situations, parties, frat!Gojo is slightly toxic, named twin, fights (over you), Valentine’s Day, getting them BOTH, oraI (f + m), handj’s, fírst times (nerd!Gojo), they do you but NOT each other (pls), spítting, chokíng, manhandIing, breath pIay, p talking, p sIapping, frat!Gojo is MEAN, TONGUE PlERCINGS, possessive, cIit bíting, cervíx smoochin, vírginíty Ioss (nerd!Gojo), prem. ejac, SAME DAMN TIME, heavy overstím, fuIl neIsons, fighting over you during it, DP, anaI, SAAAAAME DAMN TIME, science Ianguage, nerd!Gojo’s SENSITIVE, big stretches, big finishes, creampíes, cùmpIay, surprise at the end, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 14.5k
A/N. Y’ALL HAVE BEEN BEGGING FOR THIIIIIIIS- inspired by this art by the absolutely amazingly talented @/toriiartz_ + all the Iovely comments (Tonycries is listening…)
Gojo Satoru and Gojo Satoya.
The Sun and the Moon. The storm and the morning dew. The sweetness of spring flowers and the burning hand of summer skies—many things could be said about the Gojo twins.
Perhaps not everything so poetic: to most, they were those infamously handsome set of twins that sauntered about campus as if paid to be there (and to your left—keep your eyes peeled and you might just catch a flash of white hair). Of course, that campus tour would have to oscillate between libraries and frat parties at a worrying rate…
To others, they were the valedictorian of the Physics Department and the President of Delta Jujutsu Pi. To others, the region’s best Digimon player and the region’s best ragers.
Maybe someone could convince Gojo Satoru to do some research on how two men with the exact same face could be so different from one another?
But to you, they were your tutor and…the one you were currently in bed with-
“Oh…fuck, that was good.” Gojo Satoya hisses, pulling out of you with the loudest squelch.
You could feel the slick driiiibblin’ down your inner thighs. And he’s gnawing down on his pinkish lower lip- wishing to hear the music as he surges upwards n’ swirls that even pinker tip around your entrance.
Around and around.
You’re shaking as he does so, and he’s only pulling your hips further down against his.
“Just a little more f’me, baby.” Long fingers tightening at your waist, Satoya ruts his toned torso off of the bed. His pale lashes flutter at the sensation of you trying to clench, gracing you with such a smug smile that you’ve grown to both love and get irritated by.
You’re been riding him for what seemed like hours by now- and you’re that half his fraternity brothers were ready to break down the door with noise complaints.
Then again, they were likely used to this.
Because Gojo Satoya was always just so insatiable with you.
It’s been a few months since you’d been fucking Satoya - just an on and off little rendezvous that had started one night at one of his own parties. One of the many, many parties you’d dragged your roommates to.
Delta Jujutsu Pi was known for them. And according to the (many—you’d long since learned not to underestimate his popularity) personal recounts and Instagram stories, one minute you’d been challenging the frat president to beer pong but with vodka- and the next you both had been pressed against the mansion’s wall. Lips on each other’s.
When you’d woken up the next morning, it was to a pounding headache and Satoya’s steady heartbeat. Arm cushioned underneath your head. Leg thrown over his waist.
No clothes.
The two of you had gasped- straight into a kiss which tasted faintly like last night’s berry punch bowl.
And what was meant to be a one-night stand turned into exchanging numbers, turned into meeting up the next weekend, turned into hanging out several times a week and meeting each other’s friends, turned into a long and dragged out…something of which a ‘relationship’ was not something you’d use to describe it. It was many things but not that.
It was like the thick and cloying sweetness of the punch bowl that night, but also the bitter taste of vodka-jealousy that shot through whenever Satoya winked back at someone else.
You knew you had no right to be jealous- it’s not as if the two of you were anything committed. No expectations. No strings attached, right?
But then again, that didn’t stop the lines from blurring. It didn’t stop you from going out on dates with other men in retaliation, and it didn’t stop him from blowing your phone up all night whenever you did. You always did unmute him by the end of those nights, however, if only to complain about your latest date.
It didn’t stop him from throwing those parties he was notorious for and inviting everyone he knew and their sister- flirtations galore. But it also didn’t stop him from coming right back to you—time and time again, no matter how much you blocked and swore at him.
Didn’t stop a single thing.
Throughout it all, you’d say that the only silver lining was getting to know Gojo Satoru more in-depth.
Of course, knowing that the two were related, you’d coaxed his number out of Satoya to convince Satoru to tutor you. Which, expectedly, had turned into more of a friendship—one that was only sweetened by how openly you gawked at the man during your tutoring sessions.
That was your introduction to both brothers- worlds apart from one another.
The magnetic and heart-racing Gojo Satoya, the shy and studious Gojo Satoru. The older one by two minutes and the younger one.
The messy one and the one who’d been here to witness just how messy the latter was.
In more ways than one.
Eventually, Satoya was drawing the cutest lil’ hearts against your clit. That blushing tip of his cock moving ‘round and ‘round that sensitive spot, he hums at the smears of sheen he’s making—“Maybe we should go again…”
“Maybe you should let me go to class now.” You’re countering back.
His smile grows wider, “Maybe I shouldn’t.”
“Toya-” Your breath hitches, n’ you’re pushing back on his toned chest. It was just so defined from all those hours he spent at practice, and you’re taking more than a bit of pleasure feeling his pectorals. “-make me miss one of Professor Yaga’s lectures again and I’ll be referring him to you.”
Satoya shudders. “That man hates me.”
“Can’t imagine why…” You thought of all the classes he’d missed for matches- and perhaps being a loudmouth doesn’t help, either.
With the haunting thought of Yaga in his mind, Satoya lets you extract yourself from his arms and head to the bathroom to freshen up. By the time you’re heading back, he’d already tied-off the condom and chucked it in the bin, in the process of pulling on his fraternity-merchandise boxers (why did they even make those?)
He’s jumping in bed with you once you’re laying back down. Tugging his arms ‘round you—no one would ever believe it, but Gojo Satoya was a cuddler after sex.
The white-haired man whispers about everything and nothing as you two relax.
“Oh yeah- that reminds me.” He hums at some point, lifting his head up just a little from the crook of your neck. “I’m having a party this weekend, you should come.”
“This weekend?” It wasn’t a surprise that the frat was throwing yet another rager- and Satoya didn’t really have to ask you, either. He knew that you’d show up anyway. More of a formality than anything, as if he wouldn’t just sulk in a corner if you didn’t end up coming- before taking over the dance floor once Kendrick Lamar came on, of course.
Satoya nods sluggishly, the room still thick with sex.
But you’re turning to face him with a raised brow. “Like- this weekend?” He’s climbing up onto his elbows in confusion at your tone. “Toya, it’s Valentine’s weekend.”
“Oh.”
“You seriously didn’t know?”
“Oh.”
He runs a hand through his rumpled white hair. “So that’s why chicks n’ bros have been giving me chocolate all week- and here I thought I just got extra handsome.”
He pauses.
“Have I gotten extra hands-”
“Satoya.”
“Alright alright.” Satoya raises his hands in surrender, letting his head fall back onto the pink-cased pillows. “So uh…”
It was obvious when he didn’t know what to do with what you were throwing - hints often didn’t work on Gojo Satoya. Which was interesting to find out, because you’d always assumed that Satoru would be the oblivious one (and to a large extent, he was). But a sheer lack of committed relationships and an overt surplus of flirtations meant Satoya wouldn’t understand a hint even if you banged him upside the head with one—he’d merely look up at the sky and wonder whether it was hailing.
Though that’s not to say that he wasn’t intelligent - certainly not, you’ve witnessed his pre-tournament planning, the way he’d lead your university team, the NBA drafter that reportedly had an eye on him, how he managed good scores on most exams despite rarely attending class.
No, Gojo Satoya was just…so good at giving hints that it seemed to have balanced out by not being to receive them—yours, at least. Strangely enough, he seemed to never get your subtlety.
All but yours.
As if he couldn’t see, as if he saw but couldn’t believe.
And so you sigh. “No- no, that’s my mistake. I just assumed we’d be doing something for Valentine’s Day.”
“…Girl, the party?”
“Nevermind.”
And as Satoya launches into yet another monologue - about his most recent training regiment and the upcoming frat rush - you’re reaching over to the bedside cabinet. Grabbing your phone, it takes a few taps for you to interrupt the white-haired man-
“Actually, Toya—” Catching his attention. “I might not be able to make it to the party. Or at least not all of it.”
He sits up urgently, “Huh? But why-”
“Plans.”
“With what bastard-”
“That bastard is your brother.” And as his jaw drops, you’re turning your phone screen to flash the conversation at him. Satoya’s blue eyes narrow as he reads onwards-
You: psssssssst
Nerd-jo (Gojo brother #2): ?
You: do you have any plans for valentine’s day?
You: wanna hang out?
Nerd-jo (Gojo brother #2): ???!!!11??1!111!!??!?!
Nerd-jo (Gojo brother #2): My apologies.
Nerd-jo (Gojo brother #2): Typo.
Nerd-jo (Gojo brother #2): But yes, I would be delighted to spend time with you.
Just about the gist of it-
“—and I haven’t spent time with Satoru in a bit now so-” You were saying—and he knows, by the way. These days, Satoya had been intentionally meeting you during times he knew that his busybody brother was free from the clutches of his damn books. Just like he knew that Satoru had been meeting you during the times that Satoya had been out from practice.
‘Tutoring’ his ass- tutoring didn’t mean Satoru needed to have you over. To his apartment.
To the place mere feet away from where he knew his brother stuffed a hoodie you’d left behind underneath his pillow.
Fucking tutoring-
“Sure thing. Have fun.” Metal in his tone. Metal in his gaze locked in on you—he’s pushing your phone down to the mattress and leaning over to kiss you. Tongue piercing scraping the edge of your lips- “But just know that I’ll be a hell of a lot more fun than my brother.”
.
.
.
It’s Valentine’s Day when the sudden slam! thunders across the library.
Gojo Satoya with chest puffed out in his letterman jacket, with his forearm banged down on one of the tables. He leans over the polished mahogany and stares straight into the eyes of a man that looked like his mirror image.
White hair.
Blue eyes.
Those same unfairly pretty features- one of which was twisted into a scowl. And the other—nothing but cool indifference.
Gojo Satoru arches a stark white brow and meets his brother’s eyes. “Can I help you?”
“You can help me by fucking off-” Satoya spits. And had they been anyone else, then the gapes and gasps and stares - even the stray camera that was peeking out - would have unnerved them. But the Gojo twins were used to the attention by now.
The only difference was that where one basked in it, the other shunned away from it.
And though the tips of Satoru’s ears flush bright red—he never was the type to back down from his brother. Satoru’s jaw clenches, “Though you may be known for such philandering proclivities, I can assure you that I am not much the same.”
“And I can assure you that my fist will meet your ugly face-”
“We have the same face.”
“-if you don’t call off that date you have with my girl.” Satoya pants out. Breathless with fury.
Though there was a smile on his face- and he has the audacity to turn and wave - to fucking wave - at some of the gawking on-lookers. Shooting that charming Gojo smile that was bound to make them think this was an act of brotherly jest.
It makes the other man perk up.
“Whose girl?” Satoru asks.
Satoya freezes. “Huh?”
But his younger brother cocks his head, almost as though he’d just found the answer to a particularly tricky question. “Whose girl?”
The frat president rears back. Without warning, he reaches out and grasps at the lapels of the other’s stupid Star Wars hoodies—“You heard what I said.” Glower permanent on his face, “You’re smart. Figure it out.”
Satoru narrows his eyes, glaring at the man through his glasses. “Don’t have enough of a brain to figure it out yourself?”
“I’ll tell you what I do have…” Smile wicked. Leaning into whisper, “And it’s something that you won’t stick in her even in your wildest fuckin’ dreams-”
“You fucking-”
“Ahem.”
A cough.
Not the annoying, grating voice of his brother (thought both the brothers).
But rather…something sweeter. Softer. Stern in a way that made both their cocks prick up just a tad-
They’re snapping their heads over to stare at you—you with your eyes narrowed, and your foot tapping. They both feel a lurch in their stomach as they wonder just how long you’d been standing there - just how much you’d heard.
They both gulp.
Your gaze takes its time travelling up the vision before you: the older brother with his fingers dug into the other’s hoodie, the younger brother with his fists clenched as though he was about to punch the other. Both their forearms pop with veins that decorate their muscles- even Satoru with his bulky frame covered in his soft clothes. “Gojo Satoya…”
The man in question plasters a smile across his face, “Yes, baby?”
“Let go of him-”
His fingers unclench.
Satoru is slumping onto his chair.
Satoya turns around and starts walking to you in an instant- “Baby, what are you doing here~?”
“Tutoring, because someone made me miss another one of Yaga’s classes.” Holding up your bag in emphasis, and at least Satoya has the decency to look sheepish.
“Aw, you know m’sorry about that.” He answers, sounding utterly unapologetic.
“Right…” Not that you believed him a single bit. Your narrowed gaze drifts past him and ends up resting on the slightly-ruffled man sitting at the table. “What are you even doing here? I didn’t think you knew the way to the library.”
“Hey!”
In the slight distance, Satoru stifles a laugh.
Satoya whips behind to glare at him- before turning back to you. “Just ah- you know, extending the invite to my party tonight.” And before you could interrogate him on why exactly an invitation constituted of having one’s hand at one’s brother’s throat—he’s turning to the little audience you’d gathered and yelling out. “And you fuckers are invited as well.”
The cheers are drowning out your questions.
“Toya- what-”
“Mmmm—” Before you’re getting cut off by his mouth on yours. Tongue piercing cold. “That new lip gloss of yours tastes good, baby.”
But how strange it was that once he’s breaking away from the slightly-heated kiss, you find Satoya’s eyes on none other than his own brother. Staring at the expressionless man as he claims your lips as his own.
His own.
Satoya leaves the library with a smack on your ass.
And you’re left off-kilter by the whole ordeal, wobbling on weakened legs to the chair opposite Gojo Satoru. Head down. Books open. Fingers twitching ever-so-slightly. There was a strange air about him, as unpiercing as concrete, that reminded you of however Satoru was when he was taking a particularly tough exam. He doesn’t meet your eyes as you take your seat before him, pulling out your books, your laptop, your excuses.
The chair screeches much too loud in the awed library.
“Honestly, I don’t know what’s the matter with him.” You’re sighing, “He’s been strange all week.”
Satoru doesn’t answer, but you continue.
“And he knows that I have that thing with you tonight- he knows that but he still keeps insisting I go to that damn party.”
He still doesn’t say a word.
“I’m not going, of course.” You start to open one of your notebooks, “I promised I’d spend time with you, Satoru. It’s just so calming to be with you—”
In his peripheral vision, he can see you start to rub your temples. And he can’t help but jolt—he would never make you feel like that.
And maybe that’s what makes Gojo Satoru lurch up from his seat and kiss you.
Kiss you.
Soft.
Fleeting.
Barely even a graze- his face burns the prettiest sunset pink. Hot enough that he’s sure steam emerges from his parietal bone, that his eyes tear up, that he feels feverish. Something inexplicable bubbles up from all the way deeeep within his core, and it expels as a few wobbly apologies murmured against your lips.
Before you’re grabbing ahold of his chin n’ tugging him to you.
“Th-that was my first kiss…” He whispers.
You smile.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoya’s party would be in full swing by now.
You’ve found that they usually peaked after midnight, with most of the fraternities joining and the music concocting into one booming heartbeat. The pulse of youth. It shook the walls of the Delta Jujutsu Pi mansion, it seeped into your very circulatory system and left Satoya’s parties addictive—it would have you in his bed by the end of the night, without fail.
But time spent with Satoru was the exact opposite.
In the best way.
Even sitting next to Gojo Satoru had his warmth seeping into every particle of your being, and it left you buzzing with his soothing energy. Like dipping into a hot spring. Like taking a loooong nap during a scalding summer.
It was the same relaxing sort of feeling after a sip of wine.
Like you could speak about anything and everything with him. Like you could make as many mistakes in his presence as you liked. And it wouldn’t matter—he would still wobble out that familiar, crooked smile.
It seemed as though the more of those stern, sterile layers you cracked through- the more you wanted to surge through even more. With much more gusto than Satoru would argue that you put in during your tutoring sessions, you admit (but what he doesn’t know is that you might just…organize a few more than you actually needed). Just a few more.
Just to see him.
And Satoru was smart, you had a nagging feeling that he knew. But he let you stumble your way through your notes anyway.
He left you drunk on the proximity of him, while his brother left you exhilarated.
You suppose you had Satoya to thank for that.
Because he was the only reason you actually encountered Satoru. Just one encounter before you’d actually bothered him into giving his phone number, prompting your tutoring sessions.
Before, you’d only seen Satoru in a blur of white hair n’ Pokemon hoodies- racing about from class to class.
He was always the first - both to class, and to the top of the grades list.
The stark opposite of his brother, who’d gotten into Tokyo Jujutsu University on a basketball scholarship. Satoru had three papers published under Nature, several student lectures under his belt, and a dorm lined with more trophies than atomic specks of dust. It was also agreed-upon by most in the department that he’d been picked personally by JAXA to work there the second he graduated.
And you’d always assumed that the man would be the uptight type - most people with so many accomplishments would be so. Though his brother, Satoya, with his equally impressive athletic accolades—it’d still been a surprise to find that Gojo Satoru was rather…shy.
He’d blushed furiously the first time he’d met you - in the unfortunate circumstance of walking inside Satoya’s room without knocking. Right when his brother had his head between your legs.
Though Satoya had laughed himself hoarse, it’d taken you forty-five minutes to get the bespectacled man to stop apologizing to you. And then only five to convince him that no- you weren’t dating his brother.
You remember the glare that Satoru had leveled at him then, pushing up his bangs to help it. “Figures.” He’d scoffed, whilst Satoya had calmed down just enough to stop his snickers. “He wouldn’t have been able to woo you like that anyway-”
“Woo? Woo—telling me about wooing-” Satoya had dramatically flailed into Satoru’s arms then, hand at his chest. “Dost thou knoweth anything about bagging the baddie? And here I thoughteth thou wast a virgin-”
“Sh-shut up—!” He’d thrown Satoya off, eyes flickering urgently between you and his brother. And it wasn’t long before the last you’re seeing of the blushing, babbling mess of Satoru was a stomp towards the door.
The slam of it.
Before it’s opened again just a crack-
“And in Shakespearean terms, I would technically be a maiden!”
You giggle just thinking about it.
And it makes the man in question look over with a quirked brow, sweater matching the same shade of pastel pink that he blushes. “S-sorry, I’m probably boring you-”
“Not at all.” You’re cutting him off in an instant. Fervently shaking your head, you join Satoru down upon his bedroom floor—carefully avoiding the blocks and pinches of Lego that were scattered around him like a blood spatter. It had been a slow, almost strangely sensual night - he’d invited you to his apartment where he’d cooked dinner for you.
A traditional Japanese course of dishes that he’d learned from his mother, he told you. Topped off ice cream homemade through the principle of freezing point depression.
He’d planned to make a strawberry shortcake, he said. But it seems in his frenzy to make everything perfect, he’d lost track of time and ended up with sweet-smelling char—sure, you’d come over to hangout with Satoru before. But to hangout on Valentine’s Day…
This was territory uncharted for Gojo Satoru.
Hell, he’d had his first kiss just the other day.
And so you’d been led inside his apartment- now a wonderland of the sweetest fairy lights and crooning tunes playing from one corner of the space. There, Satoru was the perfect gentleman—giving his arm out to walk you the mere few meters to the decorated dining table, tucking in your chair, plating his creations for you.
Made just how you liked them. How did he even remember?
It was a wonder to Satoru himself how he didn’t bumble or trip over his own two feet. And before long, the two of you had finished dinner and numerous conversations- carrying them over inside his bedroom.
Where he’d…pulled out a brand-new Lego set and gotten to work on it.
You’d found it more interesting to watch him - that focused furrow between his brows, the way his tongue stuck out ever-so-slightly - from the foot of his mattress. Unable to catch a glimpse of the box before Gojo stuffed it underneath his bed, you were only left to wonder just what it was he was building with so many reds and pinks.
He’s staring up at you unsurely now, and you insist. “I wanna see you build this, Satoru.”
“Are you sure?” He lets the long green spindle drop from his hands. Tugging down on the thick sleeves of his sweater, “I know that Toya has his party tonight and I p-promise I won’t be upset if you wanted to go there instead, y’know?”
“But I decided I’d spend Valentine’s Day with you.” You insist, “And spend Valentine’s Day with you—I will. I don’t need any party.”
“But-”
“Satoru.”
He’s giggling shyly to himself.
He takes the half-built piece of Lego in his hand and gets back to work on it—and you find yourself inching even closer to him. Knees pressing against crossed knees. Shoulders against shoulders.
“What are you building, by the way?” You ask. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lego pieces like that…”
Concentrating on the miniature pieces through his ivory bangs. “You’ll see, sweetheart.”
And you don’t know whether it’s the smile on his lips, the dimple at the end of his grin, or that little pet name he’d given you—sweetheart—that made your heart race. Feeling your heart flip in that small but noticeable way it did whenever Satoya was around. Both of them? Whatever will you do with yourself.
It isn’t long before Satoru’s Legos start to form a clearer picture, and he’s working nimbly with the pieces.
In just a few minutes he has his body hunched- partially obscuring your view from the final touches to his creation. And soon enough, he’s pushing his glasses up his nosebridge, leaning back and thrusting out a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers you’ve ever seen. Plumes of rose and red and creamy white.
Little ferns on the side. Little hearts in the centers of his daisies.
He flushes fever-red as you take them from him. “F-for you.”
Satoru’s tone breaks at his confession.
“Satoru, they’re…” You’re breathless. The tip of your finger runs down the delicate petals that he’d spent time assembling, “I-I don’t even know what to say.”
“It’s for you.” He repeats, slightly firmer this time. “It was always for you.”
You’re snapping your head up to meet his determined blue eyes. So intense that they almost sparkled- “What do you…”
“Everything I do is for you—and that’s hard when I’ve always…” Satoru cuts himself off short. Slightly shaking his head, “But you deserve better than him.”
“Satoya?”
“Yes—” Breathed out as if he’d been wanting to say this for forever. “It’s hard when you look at my brother like…that- and I know that this isn’t my place. I know that this isn’t right of me to say. I know that this is selfish of me to request, but if you could just see…”
“See?”
“See that you deserve better than him.” His hands clasp your own around the ever-lasting stems. “And that- this isn’t fair of me to tell you let alone ask…but if you could just see that I—”
“What- that yer fucking shit at confessions?”
But of course, who else would it be but Gojo Satoya?
Pushing Satoru’s bedroom door further open and waltzing into the space- his towering frame almost seemed too large for the small space, almost left you breathless. Even though you knew that there wasn’t much of a height difference between the two-
Satoya’s hand on your wrist is instant. He bends down to meet eye-level with his brother on the floor, “Honestly, little brother, I would’ve had more respect for you if I’d walked in here and you were fuckin’ my girl right now.” He tugs you to his chest. “But here you got to her before me.”
“Feels good to be first, older brother.”
Suddenly they’re both on their feet - and so are you. Pressed between them—attempting to push away the two brothers from each other. From Satoya spitting, “That was supposed to be me giving those flowers to her- you knew. You fucking knew-”
“You thought she’d wait around forever?” Satoru crosses his arms. “And what were you doing on Valentine’s Day, huh?”
“Oh, grow up-”
“You grow up. While you were throwing one of your damn parties I-”
“I cancelled that damn party.”
That makes everyone pause.
And Satoya continues. He was looking right at you now- “You think there’d be anything to celebrate if you aren’t there beside me?”
And you can’t help but notice that there’s something slightly more…tender in Satoya’s tone. Something slightly more vulnerable- almost broken. There’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes him look younger, and it makes you squirm.
Something that Satoru’s sharp eyes pinpoint instantly- and he’s reaching out to tug you to him. This time being wrenched from his brother’s grasp and to you, “You can’t do that- you can’t just barge in here and try to disrupt what I’ve been wanting to do for so long—”
“And you think I haven’t?”
“What makes you think-”
“I knew her first-”
“I knew I loved her longer-”
“I know I loved her better-”
Satoru hisses. Pointing an accusing finger at the other man, “Says the man without the balls to even confess.”
“Says the damn virgin who only wishes he could touch her.” Satoya’s voice grows louder. He takes a step closer, and Satoru doesn’t back down. “Don’t act so high and mighty when you and I both know about the hoodie underneath-”
“Don’t you fucking dare-”
“Can you both shut the fuck up?!”
Your exasperated tone breaks through the argument- leaving the room ringing with silence thereafter.
And so you finally say your piece—“You guys…” Massaging your throbbing temples, the Lego bouquet was still in your hands- and you’re just now realizing that the t-shirt you’d been wearing was Satoya’s. Both of them on you. Around you. “How about we solve this like the civilized adults that we are?”
Satoya scoffs, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “Tch- yeah, and how do you suppose that?”
“Though I’d be more than happy to hear you out, sweetheart, I can’t promise to conduct myself according to such methodology.”
And so you tell them.
And the silence after is deafening—
“You want us to what-”
“Anatomically, is that even-”
“No way.” Satoya stabs a finger at his brother. “I don’t wanna see this fucker’s two-inch-”
“Mine’s likely bigger than yours-”
“Fucking right-”
“Want to bet?”
It’s only a few minutes later before both brothers have their hands on you- have their mouths dragging down your neck. From the front, from behind. One of them kissing down your spine. One of them nibblin’ on your collarbone—and you can only flutter your eyes closed and fucking moan at the sensation.
Two hot, needy mouths on you.
All over you.
Someone - it must be Satoru - leans his head down and captures your mouth as his own. He lavishes the soft edge of his tongue between your wettened crevice, and gaaasps as you’re opening your mouth for him.
Clearly never having kissed anyone so deeply- anyone like this at all—he whimpers as he’s shyly meeting your tastebuds with his. “S-sweetheart-”
“Oh, lemme show ya how it’s done.” Physically pushing his brother away with a hand on his face- Satoya cranes his neck from behind you. A hand clasping your throat and tuggin’ you to meet his ravenous lips—“This is how you kiss a girl.”
And before he’s smoochin’ you, he purses his lips and spits a great dollop of saliva that falls gently into your maw.
Sloppy.
Satoya barely spends the time wipin’ the excess splatter away before he’s roughly shoving his tongue inside. Swirling his textured tastebuds across every single inch of you—letting his curvaceous tip tickle the back of your throat.
Whenever Satoya kissed you, it almost felt as if he was fucking you with his tongue.
Again and again. And his wet muscle scrapes the sides of your mouth as he’s jostling it back and forth- leaving you weak in the knees.
“See?” He scoffs at his younger brother. “Gotta kiss her till she’s stupid.”
“How uncouth.” Satoru pushes his glasses up. “Let me try.”
And then the other twin takes over- how dizzying it was to have a man with the same features, but with such different mannerisms. Satoya relentlessly leaves half-moon nail marks on your skin when he sets you free, but Satoru leans in and cups your face like a delicacy—even as his brother scoffs at the act.
“She likes being fucked dirty, lemme tell you.”
Satoya’s lewd remark is lost to the way that Satoru purses his pretty plump lips and spits—
More like drools.
A lecherous stream of spittle that ends up fallin’ onto your tastebuds- and he watches with widened eyes as you take it all in. All of it. Throat bobbing as it hits every orifice, Satoru feels it deep down in his cock once you tilt your head back and swallow-
Looking straight into both their eyes as you do.
“O-oh my-”
“Fuck.”
“I think m’gonna cum just from that.”
Satoya looks at Satoru, and they exchange a silent conversation with their gaze. Both murky blue-eyed and narrowed down at you- you’re given absolutely no warning before you’re being scooped up in a tangle of their strong arms. Satoya on your waist. Satoru cushioning your head.
They’re sprawling you out on Satoru’s bed and barely letting you hit the second bounce before they’re on you-
“Let me.”
“I hardly think that’s-”
“And which one of us does this pretty pussy like better?” Satoya pretends to cup his ear and listen - not to you, not to his brother. He’s listening to the drenched in-betweens of your legs, where if you press your thighs together then it lets out a faint squelch! “Exactly.”
Grumbling, Satoru decides to let Satoya have the bed space between your thighs.
The mattress dips where you needed them the most, and you’re feeling hot breath against your cunt. Scorching. Simmering. Taking your attention for the slightest second before you peer up at Satoru- smiling at the pouty man.
Wordlessly, you’re beckoning him with your hand.
And he seems to startle- before following your every word. Your every action. Your every syllable.
Gojo Satoru thinks he would kill a man just to have you look at him like this—always.
With your lashes fluttering up at him as he nears, with your fingertips eager to touch him- it feels like torture as soon as he’s near enough for you to play with his drawstrings. Your fingers curving into the soft cotton of his sweatpants, your palm skidding down the looooong cylindrical print of his dick. It was just so long and thick that it made you gape.
That it made your mouth water.
That it made your digits dip just below the hemline of Satoru’s grey sweatpants-
And Satoya - gruff at the attention you were drowning his brother in - decides to then drown himself in your wet pussy—he’s like a man starved. Barely leaving enough time to shove apart your legs, barely leaving enough time to push your panties to the side-
In fact, he doesn’t push your panties to the side before licking up your entrance.
Feeling for that cute vertical line of your slit through the drenched fabric. Satoya was lapping and tuggin’ apart both the underwear and your pussylips.
Lavishing just a flick of attention down your clit before he dives into your role.
Rough. Ruthless.
Rarely wasting a single second- rarely even waiting for you to accommodate his size. He just flops his lengthy muscle between your thickened folds, licking up the first few inches of your channel, before reaching back n’ fucking you in hard, rapid thrusts.
Again and again.
He’s pressing the silver orb of his piercing into every tender lil’ spot inside you.
And though Gojo Satoya was the mean type in bed, never have you known him to be this…greedy.
“S-sweetheart—” You didn’t even realize that you’d been momentarily rendered stunned by the sheer primal streeeeetch between your legs. Not until Satoru’s gasping tone permeates the air, and he’s jerking his hips up cutely. “Sweetheart, please-”
“Heh.” Satoya snickers into your cunt. The vibrations are zapping forces of electricity right up your spine-
Satoru ignores him. “I need you.” He confesses—and the sheer desperation in his voice is enough to make you buck, and to make Satoya grumble in annoyance. The older brother uses one hand to latch onto your pretty hips, roughly draggin’ you right back down onto the creaky bedsprings. That ancient furniture protests as you’re being pinned down.
And so does Satoru-
But Satoya’s cutting him off, “I don’t care what you do- but do not fuckin’ move her from my mouth.” His frigid tongue piercing sticking against the top of your clit and making you squuuuuirm. “I haven’t eaten all night.”
And your clouded mind is almost about to ask what he means-
Before he’s slitherin’ his tongue back down and flickering in and out of your hole- sliding across every hidden inch of you. Letting his prominent nose crush up against your nub.
“And this pussy’s always so tasty—”
“Fuh-fuck—!” It’s Satoru that breaks the lecherous slurps n’ squelches this time- through the cacophony, his voice rings out so prettily. Because just then you’d properly pulled down his sweatpants and taken the nerdy man’s thiiiiick, throbbing cock in your hands.
Your lips part.
Long. Rock-hard.
So hard, in fact, that this might as well have been the first time in his life that Gojo Satoru has ever been hard. It feels as though he was buuuuuurning up all the way from his globular red tip, splurgin’ out wads of precum that coat a sheen down your wrist. Gliding down to your elbow.
Actually- it wasn’t just sappy precum. It was globular beads of gleaming white that are escaping n’ escaping out of him the second you’re touching him.
Pretty round balls flinching. Every part of him was just the most innocent pink.
He throws his head back as he empties out volume after volume of his seed- so much in just a few seconds. Though not as much as he would like to, because in a split-second, Satoru reaches his hand down and plugs his leaking hole up with a thumb.
“Awww…” You’re pouting in disappointment. The excess of his cum drivels down your arm, creating patterns between your fingers.
He looks down at the sight of your voice and- fuck, he can’t handle it. He’s looking away.
Satoru can’t help but whimper. “Fuck, don’t say that. I th-think m’gonna cum again—”
“Already?” Satoya scoffs.
“Shut up.” Satoru bites back. And he might have all the endurance he needs to last all night with a textbook and his notes in front of him, but the studious man was now fighting for his life—whispering formulas underneath his breath just to bate his impending high again. So close. “Euler’s method of sequence consists of…”
But the more you’re feeling him, the harder Satoru grows.
He lays out heavily across your palm, the girth of his erection making you falter. A heft to him that makes you clench ‘round Satoya’s mouth—and the other man can’t help but grunt. He leaves a man spank! on top of your clit that leaves you squealing. “Are you focusing on me or my brother, baby?”
Barely managing to gurgle out, “B-both?”
By now you’d wrapped your fingers around Satoru’s swollen cock- giving his bulging tip slow n’ steady pumps. He chases your hand with rhythmic bucks.
But Satoya wasn’t done just yet-
After a single slide of his piercing, you’re feeling yet another slap. Rudely smearing his fingertips ‘round your clit- “Hmmm, I don’t think that’s good enough. Isn’t that right, Satoru?”
“Sh-shit—” Satoru shivers at the feeling of eyes on him. “I believe that’s right-”
“Mhmm—”
“W-what do you…” And it leaves your head dizzy to register just how fast the two brothers had gone from fighting to friends—to toying with your body together. They were meeting eyes and briefly nodding.
And it’s the last thing you’re seeing before Satoru tucks a hand underneath your chin and tilts your gaze up to his. “Forgive my disrespect, sweetheart.”
He wraps his larger fingers ‘round your own dominant hand- the one that’d been jerking off his cock. And with it all nice n’ tight, Satoru squeezes your hand at his base and starts thrusting—rutting. Like an animal in heat, he’s fucking the circular space your hand made as if he wishes it was your cunt.
“But the one you should be focusing on is me.”
Throwing a jealous look down at his grinning brother- mouth all glowing with slick. The bespectacled man tuts and reaches down to sneak his free hand underneath your t-shirt.
Dipping underneath your bra and directly groping your tits-
“Heh, look at you.” Satoya rolls his half-lidded eyes—already looking so murky with the juices of your pussy. More n’ more of it dripping down his chin as he’s thrashing his pierced tongue between your pussylips- faster n’ faster.
And the thing about Satoya was that he didn’t care if it made you squirm.
He didn’t care if it left your body restless.
He didn’t care- in fact, it was all the better if he could overstimulate you with only a few sloppy strokes. And with both Gojo twins - one babble away
Suddenly, you’re swearing that the circular metal of his piercing was hittin’ straight into one of your best spots. G-spot throbbing with pressure- and it’s making you plant your feet onto the edge of the mattress and buck-
And get draaaagged back down by Satoya’s ruthless hands. Stuck to you like adhesive.
“You seriously think I’d let my dinner escape so easily?” He asks, more to himself. His rasping tone makes a primal part of you open up, and the frat president giggles at just how much wetter you’re getting. “Awwww, look how much wetter she’s getting f’me.”
Peeking up at his brother and watching him flinch. Possessive, possessive.
Satoru pinches your right nipple. Capturing where you were softest between two fingers, he teases that peak. “There is not enough evidence for that conclusion.”
And Satoya has to admit that he feels your cunt glistenin’ even more at Satoru’s ministrations. “I don’t do any of that science shit-”
“You don’t do anything-”
“Except eat my girl out goooooood.” Dipping his tongue in and out—this time, Satoya was expanding his tastebuds and showin’ off the sheer layers of your juices that stuck to him. He always did have an incredible length to him, shovelling properly in, in, in. “Jealous?”
Satoru shivers as the crown tip of your thumb rubs down his cockhead’s slit. “N-no, because her mind’s on me anyways-”
“You fuckin’ wish.”
You almost forgot just how competitive the two could be - united in ruining you, but breaking apart at the very seams. It both bothered and turned them on to think about havin’ to drag your attention away from the other man, to think about accelerating their pace until it was nothing but a blur—Satoru’s cock clasped between your fingertips, Satoya’s tongue dipping in and out of your hole.
Fishing out so many ribbony wires of slick that it’s formulating a puddle down below. He just knew your pussy so well, and Satoru just had this utter need to him that was-
“It’s me that you want, right?” Satoru leans down to hush against the shell of your ear- his scorching hot breath setting your entire body alight. “It’s-”
“Now that’s just playing dirty.” In retaliation, Satoya slaps your clit one more—and it makes you see stars. Just because that makes your fist tighten around his brother’s cock, he lands at least three more sharp spanks before lashin’ his tongue piercing against your clit once more. A few more times as if to soothe the sting, “Didn’t know you had it in you, Satoru.”
“Oh, please…” Satoru looks away. “That’s why she should’ve been with me from the start-”
“Now that’s pushing it.”
Two more direct slams of his fingertips against your cunt- that part of you felt just as raw as your walls by this point.
You’re bucking up against the dampened sheets- “Please- oh…”
“What’s that?”
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“I th-think I’m gonna-”
“Shush, baby.” To your shock, Satoya shushes you both. Right before you could finish your sentence- he merely lugs his gaze back down to admire your pretty pussy
And you were almost sure you were hallucinating, because there was no way, there could be absolutely no way…but Gojo Satoya was fucking your cunt with his mouth and nodding along to every noise he produces.
Humming at the slurps, affirming at the squelches.
Almost as though he was in deep conversation with your soppin’ wet core, Satoya licks a few more times up your crevice. Before he’s finally looking up with a faux-apologetic grin, “Sorry- she’s chatty today. My pussy says she’s about to cum.”
Your jaw drops-
“Toya, you’re fucking filthy.”
He slips his metallic piercing against the roof of your cunt, thud-thud-thud—! Probing in so deep as if to say that he knows he is- and his brother bucks up even harder into your soft palm. So needy. “Th-that’s not possible.” Satoru gasps out, pushing his condensation-filled glasses further up his nose. “According to my research, there is no linguistic nature of the genitalia-”
“This is why yer a fuckin’ virgin.” Satoya rolls his hazy eyes.
Before you know it, the older of the two brothers leans upwards and bites his canines around your clit. That throbbing nub was stuck between his perfect lips- he counts a few heartbeats from your cunt, before wrenching his mouth back. Murmuring deep into your pussy—“Watch and learn as I make her cum, little brother. She’ll be thinking of me as I make her cum.”
“Sh-shit, Toya…”
Blue eyes meet bespectacled blue eyes- and Satoru’s gaze narrows. “She’ll cum because of me.” His fingers - so honed from all his sharp note-taking - finds it easy to twist n’ turn your nipples in all the ways you liked.
He was alternating between both, flickering his thumb around your soft areolas.
“That’s the spirit.” Satoya says, almost talking down. “But m’doing it first-”
“I disagree-”
“At least use her mouth.” Muffling against your pussylips, Satoya’s mouth opens up so wiiiiiide to engulf every part of your dripping wet cunt. Like Satoru, he was following an alternating method that has his textured tastebuds hittin’ the inside of your channel one second, and counting the throbs of your clit the next.
Satoya raises an unimpressed brow, “Well? What’re you waiting for? I told you she’s a dirty girl-”
“Shut up, m’not delaying…” Though he was. He really, really was. Satoru hesitates - not because he didn’t want to—fuck, how he wanted to.
How he really, really wanted to.
But he’s on his sixtieth formula by now and already about to explode- already dribblin’ out milky wads of precum. It was growing thicker and more incessant by the second, and Satoru could feel himself trembling, he could feel his heavy balls start to clench—
And yet that smug look on his brother’s face is enough to spur him into action.
Satoru jerks his hips just a little too hard on purpose- and all it takes is the tiniest glide between your puckered lips for him to shatter.
Into all sorts of zillions of pieces. Into looooong ribbony wires of cum that dribble down like a waterfall from the agitated red divot at his tip.
It’s letting out all sorts of lecherous noises as he cums—and soon enough your vision’s flooded with white. Just the most gleaming layers of his ivory sap that drench you, and at this point you can’t quite worry about it getting everywhere n’ all into your hair- because Satoya’s quirking his tongue just right to make you cum.
To tip you over the edge.
Those waves of pleasure break across every inch of your being- leaving your limbs trembling. Toes curling. Spine arching - making it all the more easy for Satoya to grab your hips in one hand and make you rut against him. He’s lashin’ out thorough strokes against every inch of your clit, the tip of his tastebuds resting teasingly on your clit.
Feeling for just how much your hole quivers for him- and you’re quiverin’ away just enough, Satoya fucks you through the peaks of your high. Peak after peak.
His younger brother elongates those white-hot whizzes of pleasure by twisting your nipples. Toying. They were just so sensitive after so much contact, making you shake into him.
Your tongue sticks out to taste more of his salted caramel seed.
And your head clouds with raw carnal pleasure, “P-please, it feels so good—” Lips wobbling, both brothers lean in to see which name you’re ending your sentence off with. “-Gojo.”
They’re sharing looks with each other.
And then they’re looking at you.
“Now now, we can’t have that.” Satoya croons.
“If that was a question during our practice tests, sweetheart, you’d get zero marks.” Satoru breathes out, finally having caught his breath. Though he still slightly trembled with the aftershocks of his orgasm, swirlin’ the roundness of his cockhead down your mouth—“Shit.”
He pulls away before he cums yet again.
“Newton’s first law of gravity…”
“Fuckin’ virgin.” Satoya repeats. “Pussydrunk from just- hah, that-”
“I beg your pardon-”
“Pussydrunk from just that-” He’s spankin’ down on your clit with his tongue- “Isn’t that right, baby? He should be more like- mmpf, me—” Struggling to get through the constant thrashes of his tongue, the way his jaw unhinges further. “Should be more in control-”
“Fuck-” Fucking his pierced tongue back into your struggling channel - it makes you gasp.
“Should be more—fuck, nonchalant. Heh.”
“Toya, again-”
“Should be more…mmmm.”
And it’s then that you’re realizing that Gojo Satoya wasn’t planning to finish his sentence - he wasn’t planning to even pull away. He was further reaching between your legs and gasping as he fucked your cunt with his mouth again and again and again-
“Move.”
When pushing doesn’t work, Satoru grabs ahold of Satoya’s hair and wrenches the man away from your pussy—fuck. You could feel yourself growing unfairly wetter at the surprising forcefulness to the nerdy man.
Before long, Satoya’s been pushed aside whilst the bespectacled twin fits himself between your legs.
Satoya raises a brow as if waiting-
One impatient tick that turns into something of impressive nature—because without warning, Satoru spits. Messy, just like his twin had.
“I have to wash him off.” He murmurs, watching the line of spit fall vertically down your slit. Before he lurches his face into your cunt soooo far deep that you’re sure he wouldn’t be able to breathe. And he’s eating you out like he doesn’t need to.
Doesn’t care to.
White brows furrowing, a moan cracks at the back of his throat. Fingers tightening. Blue eyes going wide. There’s an electric current that runs through Satoru’s body- like the first taste of your treacly pussy had him seeing heaven itself.
Those pearly gates were openin’ up wide for him—and so were your legs.
And it’s on pure animal instinct that he jerks himself even closer. Unfastening his maw, he’s sloshin’ his wet muscle inside again and again.
And again and again.
His first time tasting pussy, and he was gone already.
The length of Satoru’s tongue was about as incredible as Satoya’s, though slightly less flexible. But it was that lumbering inexperience of his that made his entrances feel so good - constant, with no rhyme or reason other than sticking inside so sloppily that it made your eyes roll to the back of your head.
“I need to…oh.” Satoru gasps out into your pussy. Grabbing your quivering flesh even tighter- “I need to—ngh, fuck.”
“Need to what, Toru?” You’re asking in that pretty voice of yours.
And it’s damn near enough to make him cum again- urging his body to rut against yours. “I need- fuck. I need to r-remember my studies…”
“Your studies?”
“Hah- you studied?” Satoya snickers out from somewhere above you. “Nerd.”
It gives you a good jolt to realize that he’d somehow walked right up to where your body was laid, making the bed creak once he rests his thick kneecaps against the mattress. The area beside your head dips as the older brother inches closer—
Satoru nods belatedly at your question. “I r-read about this during one of my…long and lonely nights.” Peering up at you through his long lashes, something unreadable in his eyes. “Fucked my cock raw learning about how I’d make you feel good.”
Rutting. Humping the mattress.
“I read about it in medical journals- I even read about it on sex forums.” He pants out, “And I—I fucking took notes…” Looking around his room as though to grab them right now. “But now, I just can’t remember…”
Plastering those slick lips of his against your entrance—and then whimpering as he pulls away- for but a mere second before he lands back down. A few more open-mouthed kisses prior to the entire sequence repeating.
Like he was struggling not to lose himself to your cunt.
Like he was struggling not to kiss n’ kiss his swollen mouth against your pussy - you were just too addictive. He was fighting with himself to actually wrench away from your sloppy hole n’ clear his head. The valedictorian was stumped.
He stares down intensely at your drivelling pussy, his glasses frames crushing against your folds.
Pouting against your clit at this little dilemma- meanwhile Satoya comments something about how it was a miracle that Satoru found the clit in the first place.
“Pussy so good ya can’t even think.” The older twin is tittering down at you.
And it’s the last thing you’re hearing—before suddenly whatever noises erupted in your throat are being fuuuucked back down.
With a singular stripe of his rotund cockhead. Thick and aching.
Pounding away at the back of your neck. In those brief moments that you’d been distracted, the other brother had tugged down his ripped jeans and boxers. Bearing your lips with his thickening tip - from up-close, it seemed as though Satoru might actually have been longer.
But Satoya was heeeefty and fat enough that he always left your thighs pressing together.
That flared tip of his glistens in the dim light, it perfectly illuminated the patterns of his veins. So many of them coverin’ the circumference and length of him, whirling their way ‘round and ‘round and—and now you were feeling those very same patterns indent in the back of your throat.
The nerd was longer while the frat boy was thicker.
Satoya pulls his hips back and leaves you gasping- “Heh…”
Just to watch how you’re ruined on his fat fuckin’ cock.
You’re barely blinking before suddenly Satoya’s hounding figure finds itself climbing properly onto the bed- with each of his incredibly thick legs straddling your face. Muscles flexing whilst Satoya crushes you between his thighs and fucks that pretty mouth of yours.
With harsh, humpin’ thwacks! of his tannish cockhead. He tastes like a slightly sweeter version of his brother, you feel sinful admitting - and that wonderous part of your brain thinks that it might be because of Satoya’s better diet as an athlete-
Thwack! Thwack!
“Oi—” He’s slammin’ the rounded edge of his tip down on your tongue. One hand on your chin to gape your jaw wide enough for him, “Don’t zone out w’me, baby.”
“I wasn’t…” You mumble stubbornly.
“Yeah, right.” Satoya snickers. He’s then back to bumpin’ away his swollen cockhead at your throat- reaching for that lil’ dangly thing that he always loved to play with.
It was just obscene how much your lips were stretching and gaping around his thick size.
Smearing your pretty lipstick down his shaft—shit, he might just get that shit tattooed on his cock. Decorating every solid inch of him with the looooong sensual fucks he was planting into your dewy wet mouth. “See that?” Satoya calls over his shoulder, “My girl was fuckin’ bored with you eating her out.”
“Erm- actually—”
“Shut up and do yer job.”
Satoru pushes his thick glasses up his nose- “Fuck off.” Pretending he doesn’t hear his brother’s chuckles. And you have to realize that Gojo Satoru wasn’t the valedictorian for no reason - he was nothing if not determined. And if he was an academic weapon, then surely he could be a weapon between your legs, too?
Somehow, he’s so pussydrunk that he whispers this between your legs. Almost as if a promise to your pussy.
And right—there was another reason he was valedictorian.
He had a damn good memory.
“Th-the Gräfenberg spot is typically located on the anterior vaginal walls.” He’s rattling off- now removing his greedy mouth (but only with a few extra kisses) to reach up with shivering fingers. Satoru’s slender fingertips pry apart your swollen folds, pressin’ inwards sensually.
“Oh—” You’re gasping as much as you could - though it was so difficult with Satoya’s cock stuffing your orifice.
And Satoru gapes at the quivers of your pussy- “About two to three inches up the mucosa, it’s part of the prostate system that—” The rest of his sentence gets swallowed up by Satoya grabbing either side of your sweaty head and using it as leverage. Digging his neat nails into your skin, he ruts down into you like he’s furious-
“And has a theorized structure of vascular networks causing sexual stimulation.” He rasps out, mouth now moved to gulp at your pretty clit. Satoru watches his brother fuck your poor maw- and his two fingers start matching his pace. Meeting it.
Hard and frenzied.
You’re feeling one prod at the back of your throat, and then another into the deepest depths of your cunt.
Velvety walls clamping down on Satoru’s digits as though trying to memorize him in there—his pretty fingertips. Souring every inch of you. Faster and faster, he gets more ravenous to find that gooey spot inside that he knows would make you feel good-
“Need any help, little brother?”
Satoru scowls, “Never.”
“Heh, alright.” Satoya responds, “But just know that m’not going easy on my girl.”
“I’m not going easy on my girl, either.”
And then it happens- all in one go.
Satoya bottoms out until your nose presses against the curls of white at his base.
Satoru pumps his fingers into your throbbing g-spot.
And he realizes by the way you’re clenching.
Immediately. He jerks his nimble fingers back and thrashes in just a few more times- targeting that one bundle of nerves. And perhaps it’s in their genetics, because both Satoru and Satoya are able to aim every movement to perfectly strike that spot.
That round, throbbing spot.
He’s scrapin’ his fingertips on the wettened area of it—“I found it…” Breathless, as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “I really found it- it’s right here—” Demonstrating by making a long slide down that sweet spot, “Right on this part of the adventitia that has this little- fuck.”
“Ngh—fuck, that feels good.” You’re muffling out between gasps. Satoya’s furiously hard cockhead hittin’ your throat once more. He fills you up with both his dollops of pre and his inches-
“Tch, beginner’s luck.” Satoya scoffs. “Now, the real challenge is getting that pretty pussy to cum- you see, I’m her favorite so-”
“Uh-huh.” Satoru nods - not at his brother. But down at your pussy—“Really? Because she says I’m her favorite now.”
“D’you copy during your exams, too?”
“Are you a sore loser during your games, too?”
With barbed words exchanged from both sides, they’re both toying with your pretty body. So cute and overstimulated like this- so it’s no surprise that with only a few more strokes of Satoru’s fingers, and with a few more thrusts of Satoya’s cock, you’re falling apart all over again.
All because of them.
Push after push.
Rub after rub.
Fucking you through the riotous peaks of your orgasm.
Since this was your second in a short amount of time, they were sharper n’ more unpredictable than before.
The only thing you can do is lean back into the rickety mattress and take everything you’re given, those bursts of pleasure turning nearly unbearable every time Satoru bruises your pretty g-spot. Memorized its place. Studied it.
Digging past your elastic walls like he’d go even deeper if he could. He wonders how much further till your womb…
Meanwhile Satoya reaches behind him to slap your poor, puckered nipples.
They were ripe after his brother’s groping earlier, and all the other man has to do is spank you around a little to make your body writhe. “P-please-”
“Awww, don’t cry, my poor baby.” Satoya’s roughened fingertips then move to wipe your tears. Gently dragging his knobbled tips down the side of your wet face- “How’re you gonna suck my cock if you’re crying?”
At this, your jaw drops. And Satoru can’t help but startle out a laugh—“You’re a fucking animal, you know that?”
“I know.”
“Be nice.”
“Nah.”
And to your surprise, Satoru isn’t reprimanding him anymore - he’s simply peeking up and taking pleasure in the sight of you havin’ every inch of your mouth ruined. Until your lips were swollen. Until your nose tingled at the scratch of his unruly white happy trail—and Satoya himself can’t help but trek his left hand down and piiiiiinch your nostrils closed. Still shoveling his cck at a frenzied pace.
Just to watch you squirm.
Satoru hums something interested.
And pinches your clit—
You think you might be shattering into your third high of the night, your fourth.
Either way, all you know is that a few seconds have passed by the time you’re blinking your hazy eyes open again - cunt sensitive, throat shot - and staring down at the vision of Satoru and Satoya who’ve regrouped themselves to the foot of the bed now.
They’d both climbed aboard now, and it dipped with pressure.
It’s as if you were seeing double.
You stare wide-eyed at the men who looked so-very alike: their mouths swollen n’ dripping with your slick, their cocks dripping with their own.
Messy white hair.
Glazed blue eyes.
It was impossible to pick which one was more handsome- both so attractive in two completely different ways. Both so attractive even when they were…playing rock-paper-scissors?
“Rock-”
“Paper-”
“Scissors-”
“Shoot-”
“I win.”
Satoru holds up the paper in retaliation to Satoya’s rock—and the other man looked as though he could so-very-conveniently punch the other man with it. Satoya’s brows furrow, eyes flickering over from his brother to you. “I’m sorry, baby. Your Toya tried-”
“Hey-”
But the other man is merely sighing as he finds himself thrown next to you, taking off his jacket and coaxing you into his big arms. And how could you deny?
Satoya was chiselled until it was almost unfair- how could a man in real life possibly look this good? It was almost Herculean in nature, with the most luscious pecs and abs that could go on for daaaaays—there was a natural attractiveness to them that drew your eyes. And you could already feel your mouth watering at the thought of being wrapped up in him- which, of course, makes the older twin flex up at Satoru.
Despite cumming in your mouth moments prior, Satoya was rock-hard. Just the slightest cap of creamy white covering his mushroomy tip.
One that he’s swiping on his thumb and reaching up to press between your lips. “Drink up, now.” He’s cooing down at you, pushing in the rest of the remnant sap across your face. Gojo Satoya had left a mess. “Yer gonna need it with this fucker-”
“Oh.” At Satoru’s protests, you turn to him. “But I think he’ll do great- won’t you, Toru?”
Satoya looks at you incredulously, “Baby, he’s a virgin—you think he’ll be able to fuck you like he deserves-”
“I fear it has slipped your mind that I’m right here-”
“And he talks like that.”
Satoru pushes those glasses of his - now lacquered in a layer of your sweet, sweet sap - up his nose. For perhaps the first time tonight, he’s speaking out in an even tone. “Spread her legs f’me, big brother.”
“Eugh, get away from me.”
“I’m going to punch you.”
“Tch—” Satoya scoffs- but makes to rest his hands on your legs. He’s easily maneuvering you to sit against that toned chest you loved so much - your back against his front, your head falling back against his collarbone.
Practically a full nelson.
Both sets of his fingers dig against the flesh of your inner thighs- wrenching those trembly limbs open. And you’re helping him do so with a whimper- “Not too eager now, baby.” Satoya hums against your ear, “Satoru here’s gonna fuck you. And after that…this pretty pussy’s gonna be happy to feel me.”
As Satoru settles himself between your legs, Satoya’s hands dip higher and higher. The curvature of his fingertips tracing patterns across your sizzlin’ skin, he’s just about to reach between your pussylips and press on your clit when-
“Satoya.” Satoru’s voice sounds huskier than ever.
The sudden change in tone is what makes you turn your head- but it’s the sight of him that makes you keep your head tilted.
Satoru had tugged off his soft sweater by now—and what was underneath that soft sweater was anything but…Nearly as chiselled as his older brother, Satoru cocks his head to the side and watches your reaction.
Watches you gawk at the fine lines of his defined muscles, the way his biceps flexed as he throws his sweater off to the side. Toned pecs. A firm v-line.
Now, you’d always assumed that Gojo Satoru was the somewhat lanky type- perhaps somewhere in the middle? He was tall and broad, but those loose clothes of his made it hard to determine anything other than the fact that he had really good shoulders. What an utter shock to realize that he had more than just good shoulders-
“It’s my N-New Year’s Resolution.” Satoru’s voice pipes up, this time in the softer, more familiar tone that you knew was his. You’re ripping your eyes away from his body (quite the difficult task) to meet his shy gaze. “I’ve been working out.”
Your jaw drops, “But it’s still February?”
“Genetics.” Satoya pipes up from behind you. Looking at Satoru- “And unfortunately we are related.”
“Shut it.” It seems that Satoru’s brash side only ever came out when he was with his brother - and he’s narrowing his blue peripherals at your core. “And spread my girl’s legs wider. I won’t fit between them otherwise.”
“Aye aye, captain.”
It’s not long before your hamstrings are being stretched as far apart as they’d go—and the burning pleasure in your limbs are almost as satisfying as the one between your legs. The one at your very dewy pussy that squelches as Satoru perks his hips closer.
One hand guiding his thick tip, the other pressing down on your right thigh.
“Fuck.” He gasps once his furious, red cockhead slides between your pussylips- just a few liiingering slides uuuuuup and down.
Satoru’s head falls forward. His body arches into yours.
He’s letting out a slew of curses every time he’s ruttin’ his hips against yours- not even properly fucking you, just sandwiching his thickened shaft between your pussylips. Feeling the way your sodden lips were swallowing him up—clenching.
Your hole wanted him so badly.
“Fuck fuck fuck-” the feeling of your inner mucosa. Satoru stumbles across his movements, properly positioning his tip now to actually push inside your entrance. There’s a line of drool gliding down the corner of his mouth. “Fuck.”
Over a million words in the English language, over 500,000 words in Japanese. Over 370,000 words in Modern Chinese, over 40,000 words in Classical Latin, and over 10,000 words in Swahili - and that’s not counting the languages that he wasn’t fluent in.
An abundance of words, and yet he can’t truly describe what he’s feeling when he first enters your pussy.
A sudden shiver scatters goosebumps across his body, and he’s straining his arm against your legs—you swear you could almost hear the slurp! of his precum emptying straight onto your pussylips. Inside. The sensation of feeling a pussy - your pussy - for the first time was almost too much for the inexperienced man, and he’s bucking.
He’s humping.
Probin’ aside your pussylips and stretching out your entrance into a wiiiiide ‘oh’. Though his brother might have been thicker than him, Satoru himself wasn’t exactly slender.
Though smooth n’ curved in just the way that let him slip inside—
“Fuck- you’ve taken my virginity.” He’s acting like an animal. “Quantum Field Theory—” A slurring sentence leaving him with every single thrust, it almost sounded as though he was drunk. “Electromagnetism-” He’s reaching so deeply inside of you with his curvaceous pink tip, just the crowned edge of his cock that was aiming to claim every spot inside you. Every hidden spot. “Fluid dynamics- Navier–Stokes equation is the application of F = ma to fluids-”
“I have another fluid dynamic for ya…heh.” Satoya grubs against the side of your temple. With a burst of scorched laughter, he’s leaning himself back against the mattress - and taking you right along with him.
And Satoru can’t help but chase your cunt with feral need.
Barely letting Satoya rest before he’s takin’ over your slick entrance to swirl n’ swirl his tip inside. Mazing inside. Mouth watering as his older twin rests his hands underneath your thighs and peeeels your legs even further to their sides.
It makes you squeal as you feel a sudden splosh! escape from your quivering cunt. “O-oh—now that’s just unfair.”
“Unfair?” Satoya scoffs. “What’s unfair is this fucker cumming early.”
“Huh?” Satoru cranes his head to look down at wherever nonsense- oh.
Oh…he really had cum early.
Creamy white sap froths your entrance like icing. Gluing against either side of your thighs, dribbling down the line of your slit. Every time that he’s lurching his cock in just an inch, a splurge of it glazes his rude cockhead and trickles down his shaft. From there, it looked as though your cunt was wearing the prettiest gloss upon your folds- and Gojo Satoru would definitely agree.
And it’s only then that the realization hits - to both you and the utterly pussydrunk Gojo Satoru - that he’d cum just from feeling your pussy.
Sometime during the first touch up your slit, n’ the first time he had thrusted—and of course, what else is one to do but admire their handiwork? What else is one to do but reel their hips back just a little and thrust and thrust—
Making Satoya giggle at the sheer force. He’s being pushed back against the damn headboard with every single sodden thrust into you- “Easy there, little brother.”
“Fuck off. Ejaculation is simply a natural process of the urethral meatus in response to stimulation- so what?”
“I’m just saying…” And with a single flick of his thumb, Satoya has your clit pulsing between his fingertips. “Keep going like that and yer gonna wear yourself out before you can ruin her—”
“Wh-what do you mean?” At this, Satoru looks up through his thick bangs.
“Cheh, didn’t yer damn research tell you this?”
And you’re watching the exchange like a tennis match - except you might just be the ball.
“S’not just fucking her like a madman.” Satoya lectures. As if to prove his point, he’s drawin’ a cute heart on top of your sensitive nub and making you shrill—then looking up at Satoru as if to say ‘see? “You’ve gotta know when to- fuck, toy with her pussy. You’ve gotta know when to drive her so wild with pleasure that she can take your cock properly- bottomed-out yet?”
Satoru looks down. “Not yet.”
Satoya nods, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him—except maybe when he was in the middle of some basketball tournament. The finals. Rubbin’ on your clit loooooong and slow- “Mmm, now try fucking this pretty pussy fast.”
“Mhm.”
And he does—fuck, he does.
The contrast between the frat president’s fingers on your clit - and the nerd’s cock between your trembling legs - was almost too much to handle. Your poor brain muddles up, and you’re bucking up into him—“Toru—Toya. Fuck.”
“See?” Satoya grins.
Satoru nods with an even wider grin.
“Now try going slow.”
This time, Satoya goes frenzied on top of your clit whilst Satoru’s fucking you in hard, thorough thrusts. Solid. Sudden. They were ones designed to reach the very back of your cunt, and you’re feeling the slamming pressure of each one in your throat-
Just trying to fit himself inside—
“Her- her epithelium, I can feel her stretching so much-”
After a few more minutes of this, Satoru’s hearing your cunt stutter out the loudest, most lecherous slurp! yet…
And he’s staring down with his half-lidded blue eyes to realize that he’d just bottomed-out. For the very first time in his life.
For the very first time, point-blank.
Bulging peripherals rolling to the back of his head, he swears he feels heaven in the way your sopping wet walls squeezed all of him. Every ridge and curve and even the rare vein—just a single clench more n’ he’s gonna start cumming deep into your womb.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, “Fuh-fuck.”
“I know, right?” Satoya muses from behind you. You’re whimpering as he lets go of your clit to reach a palm up- and Satoru meets the high-five with only slight wariness.
“Right on.”
And then it’s both of their urges to pleasure you.
Both working together. Both trying to one-up each other—before Satoya plants a loud smack! on top of your swollen folds.
And that will usually have Satoru startling at the sheer noise- gaping at how that only made you feel wetter ‘round his cock. “She really is a dirty fuckin’ girl…”
“Told you.”
Satoya’s thick fingertips travel from circling your clit to juuuuust a little further down, down, down. There, he teases your pussylips a little - rubbed raw from all the contact you’ve had tonight - down to your asscheeks.
Perfect and pretty.
Satoya gives them a little smack! before proceeding to spread them apart.
“Don’t tell me you’re…” Satoru sounds reproachful, but you could see the slight twitch of his lips.
“And so what?” The other twin plasters his lips to your temple, “If my pussy’s been taken over by my brother—then at least gimme that other cute hole, baby.”
Satoru shrugs, “As long as that thing isn’t touching me- eugh.”
You’re nodding, “Please-” Staring up into their two beautiful faces - one in front, one behind. “I want you both.”
“Dirty girl.” Satoya hums.
“Dirty girl.” Satoru agrees. “Can’t get enough of the Gojo twins, can you?”
You’re shaking your head.
Satoru smushes your cheeks together with one of his hands, tilting your face up to his. “Say it f’me, sweetheart?”
“I c-can’t…get enough—” And if you were in any other state right now, then you might just’ve been embarrassed at how whiny you sounded. “-of the Gojo…oh.”
And at that very moment, you feel Satoya’s thick, rounded cockhead pierce through your other hole.
It starts off slow—almost soothing. Just the silken globe of his erection, that mushroomy tip that passes through with little to no resistance - your body was always so pliant with Gojo Satoya. He takes pride in that fact.
But then comes…the rest of him.
How sinful that the more thicker of the twins was going into through your asshole- you could feel the tightness of your rim struggling to accommodate him. Feeling his prominent veins rub up against tender spots inside that you had no idea even existed, feeling his raw thickness inch inside and leave you sobbing.
“Oh my god—” You’re keening out at the feeling of Satoya easing inside. “T-Toya—”
And hearing you scream out his brother’s name- well, Satoru couldn’t fall too far behind, right? He was always the first in class, the first in the Physics Department, the first of the twins to pound your pretty pussy tonight - and he’s taking advantage of the fact.
He’s planting his heels down on the rickety mattress and shovelling.
Letting the reddened, swollen tip of his cock maze inside as if a searchlight aiming to find your most tender spots.
And perhaps it was muscle memory from earlier, perhaps it was sheer carnal nature—but it takes only one or two strokes for Satoru to probe deep inside and locate your g-spot. To ready his gluttonous tip and press a passionate welcome smooch against it.
You’re jolting as though struck by a million volts of electricity. “Toru—”
Like music to his ears, Satoru looks smugly down at his brothers. To which Satoya merely rolls his eyes and spreads his capped knees- in a single second, he’s arching his hips off the dampened mattress and puuuuushing that throbbing cock of his between your ass cheeks.
Bottoming out.
With both twins fully stuffed inside you - and with both twins reachin’ for the sweetest nerves inside - it’s no surprise that you find yourself sobbing out of pleasure.
Overstimulated on their lengths already.
You’re throwing your head back and babbling- “Toru—Toya.” Repeating their first names as though you were a broken record player, that in itself being one with one very favorite syllable: To. “To- fuck…To—”
Two simultaneous whacks! into your deepest depths leave you scrambling to pick up your thoughts. And your ability to speak.
“To—”
You’re arching against Satoya’s ripped front, and you press right into Satoru’s toned chest. Stuck in-between two brothers who just couldn’t seem to get enough of you—and they’re sharing a wide-eyed look with one another that doesn’t go unnoticed.
You flit your own teary gaze between the two, attempting to figure out what it meant.
And they always do say that some twins have telepathic abilities, don’t they?
Perhaps that’s what’s happening right now- because both unspoken and at the exact same time, Satoru and Satoya are recoiling their hips backwards.
Then returning with the hardest, most honed ruts.
Barely even hammering inside- just pure, carnal half-thrusts given just to drive you wild.
Thrust after thrust.
Probe after probe.
They don’t wait for one another, merely trusting that the other will catch up. And they don’t back down, either—every rugged hit pushed into your depths only seems to spur the other brother into reciprocating that strike twofold.
They’re learning the power of teamwork through your pussy?!
Satoru snags his flared tip on the crevice of your g-spot, whilst Satoya spends his time pummeling your ass. He was stretching you out in ways you don’t think you’ve ever been stretched out before - anal wasn’t something you did with him. And now…now he’s groaning at those cute clenches of your walls as though he was slowly falling in love with them.
The rugged texture of his thumb matching n’ contrasting with whatever calculated pace that Satoru was drilling into you. The bespectacled man has no shame reachin’ one of his thumbs down and swirling it in the excess leaks of his cum, collecting it all onto his fingerpad, he forces it between your pussylips and back into your hole.
Not a single drop wasted.
Satoru raises his cum-glazed fingertips up to his own mouth- and sucks.
“And ya call me the filthy one?” Satoya snickers.
“Aren’t you?”
“You’re a secret freak, weirdo-”
“Says the public freak.” Satoru flickers his eyes down to admire your cunt- he couldn’t believe that it’d taken this long since he managed to have you. To taste you. To feel you.
But now that he had you clenchin’ around his swollen shaft like this, and now that he had your pussylips coated in all his cum, Satoru knows he needs to have you again. He needs to love on you with his cock like this again—he’s sure he’d die if he didn’t. He’s sure of it.
And that damn brother of his-
“I know yer cursing me out mentally.” Satoya’s voice echoes through the heady bedroom. His grip grows more possessive underneath your thighs, and that blushin’ red tip of his even more ravenous to activate your nerves. There was a reason that the two of you had continued a…somethingship for so long.
And one of the main reasons being that he just had so much chemistry with your body. That he’s leaving you breathless, like you left Satoya every single fucking moment he was with you. “Ya get this look on your face- jealous I could have her first, huh?”
“Doesn’t matter what’s first—” Satoru grunts. Pampering your gooey depths with a dollop of precum, “It matters who’s last.”
“Yeah, and that’s gonna be me-”
“That’ll be me-”
“Yeah, right.” Satoya starts—and in your hazy mind, you’re registering that they were about to start fighting again. But how could you bring yourself to stop them- when they’re shattering every coherent thought in your brain with their bludgeoning cocks. Faster and faster. How long can a truce really last? “A virgin that doesn’t know her pussy as well as I do-”
“And which one of us is- ngh, making her feel good with her pussy now?”
“You think you’re even half as good as me?” Satoya sounds condescending. “Man, I hate to break it to ya- but you’re just for tonight. I’m gonna be there for her every night—”
“Every night until she gets a boyfriend, that is.” Satoru cocks his head with a dimpled smile. “Me.”
“She’s out of your league, nerd.”
“She’s out of yours, too-”
“Boys.” It’s with the most significant effort - every single ounce of will in your body, actually - that you’re managing to keep your voice steady. And both men turn their matching blue eyes to meet your half-lidded gaze.
Just so botched from all the times you’d been crying out in bliss tonight. It sounds scratchy once you say- “Just sh-shut up and make me—”
“Fuckin’ cum.”
“Reach your orgasm.”
They already know the answer before you utter it.
And it doesn’t take much for them to work in a frenzied rhythm on your cunt n’ your ass - staking their claim before the other. It was dizzying to be sandwiched between them. Because they’re probing into your every sweet spot, they’re dragging across your slick channels, they’re furrowing their brows to concentrate before they themselves cum—and before long, they’re pushing you straight into your nth high of the night.
Cumming.
It takes over you swift and flashing - you think you see stars dance before your very vision. Toes curling. Body arching into them.
There weren’t as many peaks during this orgasm as you had during your last few. And it isn’t long before feeling those zaps of electricity taper off- leaving your mouth babbling, and your throat hatching in sobs.
Again and again.
Satoru and Satoya fuck you through the brief tremors of your high—their dual tips entering both your channels. No doubt that your poor g-spot n’ clit were bruised by their touching by now. Stirrin’ about your insides, pumping out heeeeeaving hot messes of cum straight into your womb and deepest insides - it sloshes about as you’re bucking.
Fucking back into both of them.
The wads of their ropey seed stick to your every nook and cranny, creating a sheen between your legs that splatters all over. So much more than you ever thought possible for you to fit - because both of them had so much stored up.
Both of them had so many pangs of pleasure that could only be achieved by ruttin’ into your glossy wet pussy. Long and hard. Hot and cloying to your insides. They were the best orgasms of their entire life.
All because of you.
Filled to the brims until those brims couldn’t handle it anymore. Globular tips only fucking those leaking wads even deeper. Creamy with sap n’ droooooling out all those glazing wads into your deepest innards- even the slightest movements make you feel the splashes inside of you.
The most lecherous sounds escape you as they finally finish off their incredible waves of bliss. Balls finished clenching and sucked all dry—
Satoya’s peering down at the mess they’ve made of you, “Next round, I want her pretty pussy- but you’ve gotta wash that nasty stuff out.”
“Oh, fuck off-”
“And we’re taking turns.”
“Taking turns on what—?”
It’s a voice you’ve never heard before, then again, it’s not a voice you register as completely unfamiliar—there was something about it. Something about the pitch of it. Something about the lilting words. Something about that sort of rich voice that both the Gojo twins shared
And so some part of you hears the connection before you see it.
Before an exact clone of the twins above n’ below you on the bed walks through those bedroom doors.
White hair.
Blue eyes.
Those exact pretty features that made people stop on the roads, hoping for a second glance.
Except…this Gojo donned a sort of cowboy hat on his head - his button-up snug and revealing a sturdy build. His boots polished till they gleamed, and his arms all tanned—sun-kissed. It really did suit the two bouquets of flowers in his hands. If Satoru was spring, Satoya was summer, then he would be autumn - how he reminded you of the sturdiness of fall trees and the warmth of seasonal pumpkin beverages. The scent. The sight.
His jaw drops.
And so does yours- “Th-there’s another one of you—?” You’re shrilling between the two twins- no, you suppose they’d be triplets now?!
Satoya shrugs, “Multiple too many.”
“Multiple- so how many are there really…” And then you shake your head, almost fearful to hear the answer. “Why didn’t you tell anyone-”
“To be quite frank, it’s simply that no one asked.” Satoru answers this time.
Meanwhile, their brother lingers awkwardly at the door—he’d turned away respectfully as soon as he realized what he was seeing. Though he doesn’t make a move to re-enter the living room, torn between actually making that escape and wondering whether he was actually hallucinating or not—
That is, until you’re beckoning him over.
Within the next few minutes, Gojo Satohiro has his back leaned against the wooden headboard n’ you between his legs. Your back turned to him, your cunt swallowed up his eeeeven thicker red cock in the most lecherous swerves, bumps, and grinds.
Reverse cowgirl.
“Giddy uuuuup, girlie.” Satohiro coos as he juuuust perks his hips and ends up stroking your g-spot - the fastest one to find it. His bulbous mushroom tip finds permanent residence smoochin’ away at that tight spot. “C’mon- just a little harder now. You got this.”
“I’m- I’m trying—” Thighs aching. Moaning.
And he’s punishing you with a sudden spank of calloused fingertips- right where your right ass cheek was still sore from all the contact with Satoya. “Not trying hard ‘nough for me, sugar.”
His slight country accent (was that Kansai?) made your cunt grow even wetter- and the oldest of the Gojo brothers could feel it—
“Let me treat the lady.”
Maybe that’s why, before long, he’s pushing you down head-first into the pillows. Fingers planting yet another slap to your ass cheeks, cock bludgeoning away- in control now, Satohiro had the penchant to alternate between torturous slow paces n’ fast speeds that left you moooooaning—
Grabbing at Satoru’s pillows for dear life-
You’re ending up slipping your hand underneath. Pulling out something soft and…warm and…familar.
“What the hell is my h-hoodie doing here?”
The two other men seated - boxers-on and five feet apart from one another - in one corner of the room jolt—and all eyes fall upon Satoru.
At least, all eyes except Satohiro’s.
He tugs the fabric out of your hand and loops it around your eyes like a blindfold.
“Hey girlie, how ‘bout we take turns fucking you n’ you try to guess which one’s which?”
