Appreciation post for all the JJK writers getting hate right now
The way some of you have been treating jjk writers lately is so fkn weird and ungrateful⌠like genuinely, what do you gain from tearing apart something people create for free? yâall have gotten way too comfortable being disrespectful. If you donât like something, just leave?
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summary: a fortune, the student council presidency, and a future already negotiated for youâcomplete with a ryomen engagement ring after you graduate from university. youâve 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 â˘ď¸, the university they go to is heavily implied to be aristocratic, brief sukuna x reader but she doesnât 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 couldnât 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.Â
Well, that and her birthdayâbecause 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.
âThe car is waiting for you,â she said simply, her tone lacking the warmth of a mother wishing her daughter farewell.Â
You hardly noticed its absence. You hadnât felt it in years, anyway. Youâd be luckyâor unlucky, you werenât quite sureâif 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. âHow is it that youâve somehow managed to develop a slouch? Your father and I didnât pay for you to go to charm school for nothing to come of it.â
Your jaw tightened, the familiar urge to shrug her hand away flared, but you didnât let it show in your voice. âAnd where is he? He couldnât take an early lunch to come home and see me off?â
She released a breath that sounded more like a laugh than a scoff. âWhy would he? Youâre going to be back in two months for dinner with the Ryomen family. Heâll see you then.â
This time, your bitterness did reach your voice. âOh. Right. That.â
Your suitcase was plucked from your side by the family driver and you watched as he loaded it into the trunk.
âYes. That.â Your mother tugged at your skirt, as if that would make it any longer.Â
She looked at you sharply. Her message was clear, even though it remained wordless: donât 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 didnât. Once you were fourteen, styling your hair came as easily as walking on two feet.
But the Ryomen family didnât care about that as much as your mother did.Â
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 businessâan 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 gimmickâone 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 couldnât 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 eyesâand 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.
âWell, I should be going,â you mutteredâmore to yourself than to herâbecause you werenât even confident she was listening anymore.
Your suspicions were confirmed when she muttered a final âdonât forget about the dinnerâ before shutting the door behind you. She didnât follow you out. Didnât hug you goodbye either.
Once you were inside the vehicleâheadphones on, with music blaring loud enough to drown out any chance at forming a coherent thoughtâyou 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.
â
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 hadnât 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 didnât get on your clothes.
âUtahime!â
âIâm sorry!â she said quickly, tilting the can upright again.Â
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.Â
âLet the record show that I didnât mean to do that and am guilty of all crimes regardless,â she paused, then smiled at you. âYou know, you donât really need to campaign. No one has run against you in, whatâ three years?â
You frowned as you wiped your thumb over the dot of paint on your skirt. It was small enough that an untrained eye wouldnât notice. âI know that, but you can never be too sure.â
âActually, you can be,â she retorted, but retrieved a fresh posterboard for you anyway. âThe only way you lose this election is if a meteor penetrates Earthâs orbit and targets Mikage specifically, and in that case, we would all be dead anyway.â
You raised a brow as you dipped a fresh paintbrush into the can. âIn that case, I should campaign to make sure that everyone died with an intent to vote for me.â
Utahime laughed with a shake of her head but didnât push it any further. âI should run a smear campaign against you in the schoolâs newspaper. Maybe then, your effort wonât be for naught.â She paused. âSpeaking ofâ have you read the newspaper lately?â
You were stopped dead in your tracks. If Utahime had managed to read the entirety of the universityâs boring-to-death newspaper and felt it was important enough to bring up to you, you couldnât help but feel uneasy. âYeah? Not this weekâs issue, though. Why?â
âOf course you read it regularly,â she mumbled with a smile before fishing her phone out of her backpack. âThereâs a new column for blind items. About the students. Can you believe that this shit actually made the final cut? Itâs awesome.â
You invaded her personal space to look at her phone screen. âNo way. What are they saying?â
Utahime laughed. âJust 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.â
Reading the blind items to yourself, you canât 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 roommateâs makeup collection out the window and blamed it on someone else, resulting in their expulsion from the sorority.
A notorious rich boy blew his semesterâs 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. âIâm sure we all know who number four is about.â
She shrugged but nodded anyway. âRight? I mean, Gojo revs his engine like itâs nobodyâs business all the time.â She looked down at her phone. âI wonder whoâs shitting in the showers, though.â
âMaybe that oneâs about Gojo, too,â 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.Â
Your familyâs 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 pointânobody talked about it, and you never dared to askâbut to your understanding, Gojoâs great-great-great-grandfather had screwed over yoursâsomehow, some wayâand 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 youâd learned. That was enough for you to write him off.Â
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.Â
Well, that and the time he spilled beer all over your shoes at a frat party freshman year. He probably didnât even remember it had happened, but you did, because some other dipshit had been recording the entire ordeal and posted it online.
The earful youâd 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. âOh, wow. Youâd better hope he didnât hear that, or else you just lost a vote.â
â
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, youâre pretty confident that youâve just aced your first Anatomy & Physiology test.Â
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 examsâbecause all things considered, itâs 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 youâve checked off your mile-long to-do list for the day.Â
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.âwhere he doesnât 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.
Itâs a 98%. An A.
You smile to yourself, but it doesnât last very long. It falters the moment you feel a presence looming over your shoulderâone that carries the scent of expensive cologne. Itâs light and masculine, and reminds you of summer, for whatever reason. You may have complimented it if the presence hadnât beaten you to speaking.
âOnly a ninety-eight? Poor thing. Didnât sleep well or something?â
Suddenly, your compliment dries up, because youâd know that voice anywhere. Satoru fucking Gojo.
You snap your head around so fast it nearly spins off your spine. âStay away from me and get a life,â 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 heâs doing right nowâwhich you arenât listening to a lickâheâs 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. âSee? You got number thirteen wrong. You said the fluid inside body cells is extracellular fluid. Ouch.â He pats the back of your seat, as if itâs any consolation. âYou know, Iâm free Thursday afternoons. I could tutor you, and once the exam comes around, that frown will be turned right-side upââ
You stand abruptly and hand his test back to him, your wrist so rigid it may as well cut through ice. âOh, Iâm so good off that. Iâd rather gouge my eyes out with an ice pick.â
Satoru tilts his head, his grin so smug it makes you sick. âWell, suit yourself. Speaking ofâpretty sure ice picks are usually on clearance this time of year. Yâknow, with it being spring and all.â
A single glance around the room tells you nearly everyone else has already left, and that itâs painfully obvious you and Satoru are the only ones who stayed behind to talk. Youâd rather not be spotted with him again. You donât bother hiding your eye roll as you zip up your backpack and walk away, crumpled test in tow.
âHey, where are you going? What about our riveting conversation?â he calls after you, and you can practically hear his grin when he speaks. âIt was a funny joke!â
The door slams shut behind you.
â
You canât stand Sukunaâno matter how hard you try.
âCan you at least turn that down?â
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. âWhatâs it matter, anyway? Thereâs nobody here.â
You huffed and tried not to take it personally, as the single person currently sitting beside him. âIt matters to me because, unlike some people, I actually care about my grades. Very shocking, I know.â
It might be shocking to mostâwhich youâd understand, because it even shocks you on most daysâbut 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 couldnât recite your full name if he tried, nor could he remember your birthday, favorite color, or go-to drink order at your favorite cafĂŠ.
Because at the end of the day, Sukuna doesnât see you. He doesnât want to. He doesnât have to. But after everything, he knows you better than most. He knows about the things you donât 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 endâa nice house, a somewhat decent spouse, a few kids in the far futureâthen whatâs the point in trying in the meantime?
âJeez, woman. I was just asking. It that time of the month or somethinâ?â
You scoffed, but didnât dignify him with a reply.
You donât know what this is exactlyâwhatever you and Sukuna are. You arenât dating. You have kissed a few timesâexperimental and primarily drunk kisses shared at parties that never amounted to anything, because, well⌠you just donât like each other. You arenât sure if youâre even friends, or if youâd want to be.
At most, youâre 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.
âI just need to focus. Yaga said I have a good chance at landing the internship, but that doesnât mean I should start slacking off now.â
âWhat internship?â
You blinked.
âThe internship I applied for three months ago?â
Sukuna blinked.
âThe one I passed three rounds of interviews for?â
You scoffed. âFor fuckâs sake, Sukuna, itâs just about the only thing Iâve been talking about for months!â
He held his hands up in a placating gesture. âOkay, okay, okay. Jeez. The only thing Iâm noticing right now is that Iâm not the only one being loud in the library anymore.â
A swarm of harsh replies flooded your mind, but you tamped them downâbecause you were 99% percent sure Sukuna was far too dim-witted to grasp whatever insult you could chuck his way anyway.
âWhatever. I need to get going.â You packed up your belongings and stood, taking a step in the opposite direction before he caught your arm. You glared back at him. âWhat?â
âAre you mad at me or somethinâ? Whatâd I say?â
Once again, you didnât 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. âWomen.â
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.
âOhâsorry, did you want something?â 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 didnât just have to do with running into him.
âHey, noâ come back, Iâm serious,â he called after you. He reached into his pocket and slid another dollar into the machine. âWhat do you want?â
You turned around, eyeing him closely. âI donât need your dollar, Gojo.â
Unfazed by your tone, he laughed. It was boyish and carefree in a way that surprised you. âI know you donât,â he said simply. âWay to make me feel nice about my good deed, though. I didnât know a single dollar could move you so much.â You narrowed your eyes at him, and he tilted his head toward the machine in response. âCâmon. Pick something.â
And because you just couldnât 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.
ââŚGummy bears,â you finally managed to choke out. âPlease.â
Satoru smiled and punched in the corresponding code for a bag of Haribo Gummy Bears. âDecent choice for a starving woman. Not sweet enough for my taste, but decent.â
You huffed out a breath, watching him retrieve both of your chosen snacks. âSour Patch Kids? Really?â
He handed you the gummy bears before nodding once. âYup. Really.â He paused, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. âI thought youâd like them. I mean, youâd definitely fit in with them.â
âFit in with who?â
Satoru tore the bag open and popped one into his mouth. âThe Sour Patch Kids. Yâknowâwith this whole mean-girl-who-hates-me getup youâve got going on. Really sour of you.â
Your eyebrows pinched together. âThatâs so stupid.â
âYeah, but you almost smiled. Saw it with my own eyes,â he chirped back, chewing on the candy. You smoothed your expression, and he shook his head. âNo, no, noâ donât hide it now. Thatâs just unfair. I paid a dollar for that smile.â
Your face tightened, because now you really were fighting the urge to smile, damn it. âWhatever,â you snapped as you started to walk awayâthen stopped, your expression tightening even more. âI mean⌠thank you. For the gummy bears.â You said one last thing before turning your back on him. âAnd donât think this means I like you now, because I donât.â
Satoru just smiled. âYeah, of course, wouldnât dream of it.â
â
Your phone vibrated late into the night.
If it were any other day, you wouldâve been fast asleep by now. Youâd been strict about your sleep schedule ever since you accidentally discoveredâat twelve years old, six hours into a late-night 3 a.m. deep diveâthat not sleeping enough can result in the brain eating itself.Â
But even the fear of having a peanut-sized brain by the time you were forty hadnât 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 âi need to focus and stay in and be boring all the timeâ on me just listen
sukuna: u should take time away from your hw and relax
You nearly smiled. This mightâve 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: iâll think about it
sukuna: cool. be ready by 9
you: i never said i was going???
â
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 youâre 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, youâre still hereâlooking your best, at that.
You werenât as much of a bore as Sukuna made you out to be, but you could admit that you didnât 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 sayâyou canât remember, and youâre honestly a little tipsy already, truth be told.
Suddenly, Shoko nudges your side with her elbow. âHey, party girl. You gonna stand in here all night, or do you plan on joining us at some point?â
âI didnât even see you there,â 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. âYeah, Iâm coming.â
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. Itâs warmer now that youâre enveloped in this sea of bodies; your cheeks feel hot, but you pay no mind to it. Youâre not sure how long it takes before you and Shoko reunite with Utahime and Nobara, the four of you forming a little circle for yourselvesâsomething that looks conspiratorial from the outside, but feels like a haven on the inside.
âTook you long enough,â Nobara says by way of greeting. She glances down at your cup. âWhatâd you find in the kitchen?â
âI donât even know what the hell this is. I just grabbed whatever was unopened and poured it into a cup with ice. Iâm hoping itâll water down,â you reply with a shrug.
Nobara scoffs. âToji never stocks shit for these partiesâdeadass, this is the worst frat. I donât even know why we come here.â
Shoko laughs, though you can barely hear it over the music. âWe come here because girls get in free at the door. I mean, if Iâm gonna get shitfaced and regret my decisions tomorrow morning, I sure as hell donât wanna pay for it.â
Utahime taps Shokoâs cup. âYeah, speaking of getting shitfacedâyouâre drinking water once you finish that. I canât carry you back to your dorm. The last time I tried, I basically dragged you there.â
Shoko groans but doesnât fight it. All of a sudden, the three of them lock eyes on something directly behind you, and their expressions fall.
Utahimeâs face goes white as she places her hands on your shoulders. âGirl, donât turn around. Iâm so serious.â
âWhat are you talking about?â Your brows knit together, even as youâre 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 doesnât make you sick, it does make you nervous. In the span of three seconds, a million thoughts rush through your mind.
Youâre 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 youâre jealous. No, you couldnât care less what the hell he does. Itâs the principle that bothers you.
If you were expected to keep up appearances and make time to âbondâ 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.
âJust classless,â Shoko hums.
You turn back around, laughing. âHeâs a mess. I donât know what the hell my parents are thinking.â
Nobara sighs. âYou should run away and join the circus or something. Theyâll never find you.â
You laugh to yourself, knowing theyâre only trying to make you feel better. But the impending doom of your upcoming graduation feels worse than ever now. You feel suffocatedâlike the air is too warm to breatheâso you mumble out a half-assed excuse before slipping through the crowd and out onto the balcony.
Itâs 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 tryingâand failingâto fish toilet paper out of a tree. Two seconds later, they go tumbling over together, face-planting into the grass.
âThatâs gotta hurt.â
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 heâs wearing now. Youâve never seen him in anything but collared dress shirts and black slacks, courtesy of Mikage Academyâs suffocating dress code.
He takes a step closer. Then another. Soon heâs 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. âHi.â
âHey,â he replies easily. He glances at you, then back out at the lawn. âNice party. Solid DJ choice.â
You huff. âSmall talk? Really?â
Satoru shrugs. âI figured I should ease into it. You donât exactly look like youâre in the mood for my usual charm.â
âYou mean being insufferable?â
âWow,â he says. âI was more so going for memorable.â
Your eyes meet. Youâre the first to look away.
âSorry,â you mutter. âI donât really know how to talk to you when Iâm not irritated with you and your stupid gloating.â You pause, then lift a finger. âAnd before you say anythingâI aced the quiz yesterday. So if you came out here to rub it in, save it.â
âOh no,â Satoru deadpans. âMy entire planâ ruined right before my eyes.â
You glance at him. Heâs smiling, but itâs softer than usual.Â
âNo,â he continues, dropping his head slightly. âThatâs not why I came out here.â
Your brows pinch together. âNo?â
âNope. I needed air. And maybe a tetanus shot after sitting on that couch, âcause that thingâs disgusting.â
You laugh despite yourself.
âAnd,â he adds casually, âI saw you come out here.â
You turn toward him. Somehow, his eyes look brighter at night. âIs that your official reason?â
âMostly,â he says. âWhat can I say? Iâm curious.â
âAbout?â
âAbout why you look like youâd rather be anywhere else than at a party like this.â
You hesitate. âItâs⌠complicated, I guess.â
âAh,â Satoru nods.Â
You scoff, easily reading between the lines. âIt has nothing to do with Sukuna. Wellâ okay, maybe a little. But not like that.â
He tilts his head. âYou sure? Because from where Iâm standing, it kinda looked like your boyfriend might have a lot to do with it.â
âEw. No,â you say quickly. âHeâs not my boyfriend.â
Something shifts in Satoruâs expression. âGood to know.â
You blink. âWhy?â
He shrugs. âJust is.â
You roll your eyes, but continue anyway, words spilling easier now. âIf my parents have their way, heâll probably be more than my boyfriend someday.â You grimace. âWhich is terrifying, because heâs about as smart as a box of rocks, and I canât be around him for more than ten minutes without wanting to bang my head against the wall.â
Satoru lets out a low whistle. âDamn. Here I thought I was harsh.â
Panic flickers through you when he doesnât say anything else right away.
âI know it sounds stupid,â you rush on. âThere are people whoâd kill to have something lined up like that, and here I am complaining. My mom married my dad for business reasons and theyâre⌠fine. I think.â You run a hand over your hair. âBut I donât want that. I donât want to be married right after graduation. I donât even know if I want to get married at all.â
Satoru doesnât interrupt, but when he does speak, his voice is quieter. âThat doesnât sound stupid. In a place like this,â he gestures toward campus, âeverythingâs a transaction. Degrees, connections, last names.â He scoffs lightly. âMy parents wonât shut up about networking. Meanwhile, the best relationship Iâve built here is with the lady who gives me extra french toast in the dining hall.â
You laugh, clearly surprised. Not only because the french toast sucks, but because you wouldnât expect something like that from him. It should make you feel less impressed with him, but for some reason, it doesnât.
âIâm serious,â he adds. âPeace isnât exactly encouraged around here. If anything, youâre expected to trade for it.â
âAnd you?â you ask before you can stop yourself. âYou donât seem all that worried about it, for someone who comes from a family like yours.â
Satoru shrugs again, but this time itâs different. Less flippant. âGuess I just decided a while ago that Iâd rather disappoint my parents than disappoint myself.â
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.
âYou make it sound easy,â you say.
He smiles. âHey, I never said it was. Itâs just easier than the alternative, is all.â
You nod because it feels appropriate, and you arenât sure what else you should do. Talking with him is surprisingly easy, but that doesnât mean youâre supposed to be doing it. That you should be doing it. Even now, you wish you could resonate with Satoruâs ideology, because all you can think about is how much your parents would hate this.
âMy parents would hate this,â 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 youâre supposed to hate talking to him yourself, but donât.
He rubs the back of his neck. âThis conversation?â
You try not to stare at his bicep, flexing right in your face.
âYeah,â you admit. âMy parents hate your family. Always have.â
âMine arenât exactly fans of yours either.â Satoru laughs, tilting his head slightly. The feeling was mutualâhe couldnât take much offense at it. Still, he asks, âDo you feel that way too?â
âWhat do you mean?â
He turns to look at you, his expression almost serious. âDo you hate me?â
You huff. âI donât even understand the reasoning all that much. I just know that the animosity exists, and that Iâm expected to respect itâ and I guess I have, for the most part.â
âThat isnât what I asked,â he replies simply. âDo you hate me? On your own terms?â He pauses then, and if you didnât know any better, youâd think he looked a tad nervous. âIâm sure Iâve given you enough of a reason to. More than one, Iâd bet.â He glances away. âThe first time we ever spoke, I spilled beer all over your shoes. I shouldnât have been holding it anywayâ I hate beer.â
âI knew you remembered!â you yell, pointing a finger at him. âIâve been holding that grudge against you for years now.â
âWhat? Of course I remember. I apologized immediately,â he says quickly. âPretty sure I almost got on my knees and everything.â
You click your tongue and shake your head. âThe damage was already done.â
The conversation stills for a moment, and you choke over your words before managing a more serious reply.Â
âFor as obnoxious as you are, I donât hate you. No. I donât even know you well enough to hate you if I wanted to.â
âAlright, Iâll take it.â Satoru smiles to himself. âI think youâd form a better opinion of me if you let me get to know you. Youâre a tough nut to crack, you knowâ been tryinâ for years.â
You stare at him, and he doesnât cower in response. Not that he typically would, but you half-expected him to.
âIâm serious,â he says instead. âWe should be friends.â
Your laugh comes out sharp. âAbsolutely not. My parents would be livid. Beyond livid, actuallyâtheyâd probably murder me. And I mean, a true crime podcasterâs wet dream type of murder. No joke.â
âWell, if thatâs the case, I think we should definitely be friends,â he says through his laughter. âIâve always wanted to be in a documentary. Confessionals and all. A face like this is made for the cameras.â
âYouâre such a jerk,â you scoff, nudging his side, barely able to fight off your smile.
âMm-hmm. A big jerk that youâre still talking to,â he replies. âIf I didnât know any better, Iâd think you wanted to be my friend too.â
You donât 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.
âI think this might be the first argument youâve ever let me win,â he grins.
You narrow your eyes. âThis isnât a win. Itâs more like⌠a draw. A tie.â
âSure. A draw, a tie. Potato, potahto. Whatever.â He extends his hand toward you. âSo. Friends?â
You take it and shake it. âYes. Friends.â
He smiles. âSee? Easy peasy lemon squeezy.â
When your hands fall apart, Satoruâs hand stills at his sideâfingers flexingâbefore he grasps the railing. You straighten, stepping back from it yourself. The night air suddenly feels too thin, as if there isnât enough of it for the two of you to breathe anymore. More anxiety than anything else.
âI should probably go,â you murmur. âItâs late.â
And youâve been talking for quite some time now, which only means itâs a matter of time before someone notices and writes a blind item in that stupid newspaper column.
âRight,â he replies. âNeed someone to walk you home?â
You shake your head. âI think Iâll manage.â
Satoru nods, his smile slow as it turns up at the corners. âAlright. Sleep tight, donât let the bed bugs bite.â
âNight,â 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.
â
You royally fucked up this time.
To no surprise, you won the student council election with flying colors. No one had the ballsâorâŚclit? You donât discriminateâto 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 yourselfâand you wouldâve done the same physically if you werenât on the verge of blacking out.
Vision splotchy, you glanced around the dorm, only to find that everyone was already passed out cold. You couldnât stay hereâyou had a meeting bright and early!
And so, with some difficulty, you finally managed to find your purseâthe 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 âS,â you clicked Shokoâs 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. âGirl, red alert! Get your sexy ass up and come pick me up!âŚplease.â
âWoah, Prez. I had no idea you thought about me this way. Tell me more.â
Your heart dropped straight to your ass.
âSatoruâŚ?â you whine, more than ask.
âYeah, itâs me. Iâm startinâ to think you meant to call someone else. Bit of a blow to my ego, but I can handle it.â
Slumping against the couch, you huff. âMeant to call Shoko. Need a ride.â
Silence filled the line for a moment, then an insufferably attractive laugh broke it. âAre you drunk right now?â
You sniffled. âA little. I meanâa lottle. I-I mean, a lot. Very drunk. Drunk and stranded.â
You heard rustling on the other end, the faint jangle of keys. Your eyes fell shut. You were so damn tired.
âOkay, I just left my apartment. Where are you?â
In any other situation, you wouldâve refused Satoru Gojoâs help. You were a strong, independent woman. You didnât 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 wasnât an option.
âIâm at off-campus housing down the street. Please hurry. And bring water. And snacks. And a blanket. Andââ
âYes, boss, Iâve already got all of thatâalong with a partridge in a pear tree. Jeez, youâre needy.â He laughed, and it made you pout. âIâm only a few minutes away. Hang tight.â
â
âWatch your head, watch your head!â
Thunk.
âOww,â 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 driverâs 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.
âHow much did you have to drink?â he asks, sounding almost agonized. âDonât know if you know this, but itâs Tuesday night.â
It took you about ten seconds, a long drink of water, and a deep sigh of relief before you answered.Â
âI won the presidency,â you finally say, as if that answered everything.
âAh.â He reaches for a nearby pack of gummy bears. âThis good? Thatâs all I could find on the way.â
âYes,â you barely cared, tearing the package open. âYâknow, GojoâŚyouâre kinda nice.â
He huffs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. âOh, really? What gave you that idea?â
Chewing thoughtfully, you started listing things your sober self wouldâve never admitted.
âYou came to get me even though Iâm such a bitch to you. And you brought me water, and my favorite candy, andâhic!â
âAnd you tease me all the time, but you arenât that mean when it comes down to itâŚâ You sniffle. âI honestly wish you were. Itâd be easier to hate you.â
He laughs, shaking his head as he finally shifts the car into drive. âAw, sorry about that. I can be mean to you if you want?â
The drive was quiet, mostly because it was so shortâthe 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.
âAre you a sad drunk?â he asks, even though he already knew. âAw, you are, arenât you?â
You sniffle. âWhy are you being so nice to me?â
He shifts toward you, more careful now, lifting the water bottle back to your lips. ââCause weâre friends now. Iâm nice to my friends. Câmere.â
To his surprise, you let him tip the bottle, drinking without protest.
Swallowing, you frowned. âNo, you arenât.â Sniffle. âYouâre mean to Suguru. And Nanami. And TojiâŚâ
Satoruâs smile is lopsided. âYou have a point. Guess Iâm just nice to you then.â
âBut why?â you press, not even realizing it. âYou have no reason to be.â
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, sheâd made his heart race every time she was near. From the moment he met her in biologyâcut down by her sharp tongueâheâd felt motivated instead of defeated.
Heâd 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. âFor someone so smart, you can be a little dense sometimes.â
Your sniffle cut him off. His head snaps toward you, and his chest nearly caved in at the sight of fresh tears welling up.
âNo, no, no, noâ hey, I was joking! I didnât mean it, I swear.â
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.
âYouâre kinda cute when youâre drunk,â he says.
What the fuck?
Why would he say that out loud? Right now? Of all times?
âYouâre kinda cute all the time,â you replied easily, fingers fumbling with the pendant on his necklace. âYou smell really nice, too.â
Satoruâs heartbeat doubled, but he forced himself not to read into it. Not now. Not when youâre in this state.
He cleared his throat, pulling his hands away. âLetâs get you inside, okay?â
He stepped out first, then opened your door. Your eyes met his as he reached in to unbuckle you. âEasy,â he murmured.
Getting you out of the car was about ninety-five percent Satoruâs 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 stairsâbut 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.
âGet some sleep, okay?â
You didnât 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.
âSatoru?â you called.
He paused, one foot already out. âMm?â
âI like it when youâre nice to me.â You shook your head. âNoâI mean⌠I like being your friend.â
Satoru smiled faintly. âMe too.â
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
â
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 youâve 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 youâre 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 heâs 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 youâre 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 heâs played last into just about every other conversation, to the point where it borders on endearing and annoyingâbut 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 youâve 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 youâd ever like to admit.
But more than anything, you despise that you just canât find anything to hate about himâno matter how hard you try.
It had only been a little over a month, and yet itâs difficult to remember what it was like when the two of you werenât 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.
âWhatâs this?â you ask, setting your pen down. When you open it, you find your favorite pastry sitting inside, untouched. Your brows knit together. âHowâd you know this was my favorite?â
When you look at him, heâs already chewing a bite of the muffin he bought for himself.
âWeâve been to the cafĂŠ twice together and you got the same thing both times. How could I not know by now?â
You take a bite of your own, chewing thoughtfully. Youâve been to the cafĂŠ with Sukuna more times than you can count on both hands, and not once has he remembered what your go-to order is. It shouldnât mean so muchâin the grand scheme of things, itâs just a four dollar pastryâbut it does. It feels good to be known, even in the simplest way.
âWell⌠thank you. I appreciate it.â
âYeah, no prob,â he replies, setting his muffin down. âYour stomach growls when you donât eat in the morningâI could hear it from three aisles back.â
You shove his shoulder, eyes wide. âShut up. No, you couldnât.â
âYeah, youâre right,â he relents with a grin, glancing your way. âIt was four aisles back.â
You roll your eyes, face warm. You glance down at his muffin, and he clutches it closer to himself.
âNo looksies,â Satoru says firmly. âDaddy doesnât like to share.â
You grimace. âEw. Gross. Donât call yourself that.â
âMommy doesnât like to share?âÂ
âEven worse.â
Satoru sighs in playful defeat, and just in timeâbefore he can try againâyour professor addresses the class and starts the lecture.
And no more than five minutes later, he doesnât even complain when you ask for a bite of his muffin.
â
Youâre 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 onâwhich means you donât have a free hand to grab a hot chocolate from the on-campus cafĂŠ. What a great start to your study session this is.
Your steps are quick, and from afar, you probably look like youâre lightly jogging, which isnât the best look considering youâre wearing a thick, furry winter coat and a pair of fuzzy pajama pants. It isnât 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 folderâonly to realize someone else has already picked it up.
âNearly gone with the wind,â Satoru sighs. âGood thing I was here to save the day. No need for thanksâ itâs all in a dayâs work.â
You straighten once youâve gathered the rest of your things. âYou and your gloating. Donât you ever get tired?â
âNope.â He shakes his head, then glances down. âCute slippers.â
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. âShut up. Theyâre warm!â
âAnd fashionable,â he lilts, and gestures to the armful in your hands. âWhatâs all this for?â
âStudying,â you answer, because itâs obvious. âIâm gonna make flashcards for the A&P exam and probably take a few practice tests.â You reach for the folder still in his grasp. âSo, if youâll excuse meââ
âHey, hey, hey. Slow down a sec.â Satoru lifts the folder out of reach. âLet me help you out, yeah?â
You narrow your eyes. âWhy? Donât you want to score better than me anyway?â
âOh no,â Satoru says flatly, face blank. âYouâve exposed my master plan once again. Whatever will I do?â Then he grins. âHow could you think so little of me? Iâll score better than you without sabotage, you know that.â
âAs if,â you retort, averting his gaze.
Satoru raises an eyebrow. âIf youâre so confident, prove me wrong.â
You tuck your lips into your mouth, weighing his offer. On one hand, youâre hesitant to let him into your roomâafraid that you might not dislike it. That you might even like being alone with him. On the other, youâve never been one to back down from a challenge like this.
Your pride settles it for you.
âFine,â you say. âI will. Follow me.â
â
Rumor has it that this was where it all truly began.
Your bedroom.
It was all rather easy at first. Youâd spent about an hour making flashcards, a time primarily spent in silenceâsave 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, Satoruâs jacket is hanging on the back of your desk chair, and heâs lazily sprawled across your bed. Heâd offered to take the chair, but you insisted that sitting made you focus better. Which it does, but youâre 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. âDone yet? Iâm dying here. The fun part is supposed to be me quizzing you.â
You straighten the cards before tossing them his way, the deck landing on his stomach. âYes, now hurry up. I donât have all day.â
âYes, maâam,â he chirps, propping himself up against your pillows as he gathers the cards. He clears his throat, glances once at you, then back down. âWhat are the two primary functions of the skeletal system?â
It doesnât take you more than a second. âSupport the body and protect softer body parts.â
He hums and flicks to the next card. âWhat three things does the muscular system allow the body to do?â
You hum, rubbing your chin. âMovement, support, and⌠heat production.â
Another flick. âWhat about the nervous system?â
âIt controls immediate responses to stimuli,â you answer easily.
Satoru huffs, flipping through card after card as you breeze through half the deck. Soon youâre naming the primary functions of individual musclesâtemporalis, masseter, sternocleidomastoid, extensor digitorumâyouâve lost count of how many youâve answered correctly. Youâre zoned in, until he looks up at you with a raised eyebrow.
âThese are too easy for you,â he declares. âYou need something more challenging.â
You squint and lean back in your chair. âWhat? These are plenty challenging.â
He hums, clearly unconvinced. âNope. You need more independent practice. Stuff you canât predict.â
âLike what?â you ask. âSince youâre so smart, Iâm assuming you have an alternative method. Put up or shut up.â
Satoru exhales through his nose, meeting your gaze without missing a beat. Heâs long since learned your tone, your bite. He grins and sits up straighter, lifting an arm and pointing to his own. âWhat does the tricep do?â
You blink. âStraightens the arm at the elbow? Duh. I thought this was supposed to be hard.â
âShh, be patient. A master is at work.â He pauses, then asks, âWhat about the orbicularis oris?â
Your posture straightens against your will, gaze dropping to his mouth. Your eyes trace the curve of his lipsâwhere that muscle would beâand you watch as the corners of his mouth tug upward. Five seconds passâlonger than any question has taken you so far.
âIt allows for movement in the lips,â you finally say.
âMm,â he sighs. âOnly half credit. Thatâs a little vague. Name three specific functions and I might reconsider.â
The room feels warmer. You clear your throat. âSpeech, whistling, and⌠kissing.â Your eyes flick away to your desk as you fuss with loose papers, trying to come off as busy or distracted. You add quickly, âItâs informally known as the kissing muscle. Everyone knows that.â
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.
âWhatâre you doing?â 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 isnât touching you, but heâs close enough that you feel the heat of him at your back, and certainly close enough to make your thoughts scatter.
âTold you,â he murmurs. âIâm helping you study.â
You swallow. âHow, exactly?â
He exhales, breath brushing your neck. âHave you practiced for the muscle identification portion yet?â
Shit. Youâd 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.
âNot really,â you admit, shrugging. Your back brushes his chest, and you clear your throat quickly. âHow do you plan on helping with that?â
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. âFor starters: what muscle just helped you shrug your shoulders?â
You swallow thickly. Your breath leaves you shaky, and you hope he doesnât notice the goosebumps rising on your skin when his thumb traces again, slow and deliberate. Meant to tease you, youâd imagine.
âUpper trapezius,â you say, breathy despite yourself.
âGood.â You can hear the smile in his voice. His hand moves, thumb sliding to the back of your neck. âYour neckâs tense.â
âWell,â you say, forcing a shaky exhale, âitâs not every day I become a study tool. First day on the job.â
He laughs, and thereâs something charged beneath it. âYou saying you donât like my method?â
âNo, Iâm not saying that at all,â you blurt. You glance up and freeze at how close his face is. â...Iâve liked others less. Thatâs all.â
A lopsided smile. âSo you want to continue?â
Your answer is immediate. âYes.â
His thumb presses more firmly at your neck. âWhat muscle is tensed up here?â
âTrick question,â you mutter, âstill the upper trapezius.â
âGood.â His hand flattens, gliding down your back, following the natural arch of your spine as your breath catches in your throat. âNow tell meââ
Your heart is pounding.
ââwhat muscle is making your back arch like that?â
You scoff, trying to straighten. âYouâre ridiculous.â
âThatâs not an answer,â he tuts. âDonât know it, huh?â
âOf course I do,â you stammer.
âThen tell me, smart girl.â
Your stomach twists with nerves and something far more dangerous. He shouldnât 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 didnât. If you invited him to stay instead.
You shake your head, grounding yourself. âErector spinae.â
He hums. âSee? Not so hard.â
âIt was plenty hard,â 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, actuallyâwhat youâre feeling now goes beyond simple intrigue. Itâs excitement. Bordering on longing.
âWhat are you doing?â you ask, words tumbling out of your mouth.
âJust lookinâ at you,â he replies easily. âYouâre pretty.â
âWhaâ? Sh-Shut up.â
He grins. âYouâre cute when youâre shy, too.âÂ
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, heâd held you instead.Â
His hand slides to your waist, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. He still hasnât pulled away, and you pray that he doesnât. You donât want him to.Â
You lick your bottom lip without thinking. His eyes drop instantly, tracking the movementâand he doesnât bother hiding it, even after heâs sure youâve noticed.
And when heâs 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.
âWell, if you thought studying was hardâŚâ
âŚOh?Â
Your gaze dips.
Oh.
Heâs 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 itâd 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.
âAnd which muscle is responsible for that?â you ask against his mouth.
He smiles, you can feel it. âIschiocavernosus.â
Satoruâs large hands smooth over the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing at all. Youâre 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.
âFound it,â 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.
Satoruâs movements, you realize, seem automatic. Like heâs thought about this before, planned for it, evenâhe was just waiting for you to give him the chance.
Hands suddenly paw at his shoulders, your hips squirming slightly. âStop teasing me, Satoru.â
Satoru laughs, fingers tugging your fuzzy pajama pants down just enough to kiss your hip bone. âFine, fine. Under one condition.â
Your heart pounds. âWhat is it?â
His hands smooth over your thighs as he shifts a bit lower. âLet me taste you.â
You blink a few times, clearly surprised. Youâve never been with a guy whose first move is to go down on you. âOkay⌠I mean, if you want toâah!â
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.Â
Satoruâs eyes are darker than youâve 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.
âFuck, thank you,â he whispers against your skin, wet kisses inching closer to your core.Â
And when his mouth finds the wet patch on the gusset of your panties, Satoru knows heâs 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. âTastes so sweet.â
Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging at the root when his lips close around your clit. Your hips wouldâve bucked into his mouth if his iron grip wasnât keeping you in place.
Even with his face buried in your pussy, he manages to speak.Â
âMmhâ tastes like candy, baby. Thought about this sâmany times.â
The confirmation only makes you twitch, which he seems to notice if the firm press of his tongue to your clit is any confirmation.
âAhâ shit, Satoru. Right there.â
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.Â
âS-Sorry,â 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. âBaby, I donât care. Tug on it even harder if you wanna. Your pleasure feels good to me.â
âMasochist,â you say through a breathy laugh.
His mouth is back on you. âOnly for you.â
Youâre 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.Â
His eyes crack open to watch your face, twisted in a pleasure that heâs 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.Â
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.Â
His voice is deep and scratchy when he speaks. âYouâre beautiful when you cum.â
Your eyes snap open, a newfound heat finding your cheeks. âShut up.â
Heâs crawling up to meet your lips with a smile, shaking his head. âNuh-uh. Just telling the truth.â He kisses your lips, and you taste yourself on them. âSweetest pussy. Iâd go for seconds if you let me.â
Youâre 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 heâs doing his best not to grind into your hand.
A quiet laugh leaves your mouth. âI think Iâd rather do something else.â
His hands fist into the bedsheets in an act of restraint. âLike what?â he asks, voice strained.
You huff, free hand taking hold of his chin, forcing him to look at you. âI think youâre smart enough to figure it out.â
âI donât wanna assume. Itâs ungentlemanly, yâknow?â His lips press against yours, pulling back before you have the chance to deepen the kiss. âAh-ah-ah, canât do anything more âtil the lady asks.â
Heâs so fucking annoying.Â
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. âStop wasting my time. I want you to fuck me, Satoru.â
His cock twitches against your hand. Maybe bossiness works best with him.
âThatâs so hot,â he says, panting.Â
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. Itâs somehow even bigger than you initially imaginedâŚlengthy, and flushed a pretty shade of pink at the tip.
This time, Satoru doesnât tease you like you were expecting him to. Doesnât gloat.Â
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.Â
And here he is, looking at you like youâre worth more than your family name and the money bags that come with it, like he wants you for you. Nothing else.
âWe donât have to, baby,â he whispers, sweet and gentle, as if sensing the mental games youâre playing with yourself. âIâm happy to just be here with you. I mean it.â
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 parentsâwhatâs 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.
Iâd rather disappoint my parents than disappoint myself.
And in this moment, you realize that losing Satoru would far surpass mere disappointment. It isnât something you can bear, nor do you ever want to.
You shake your head, leaning up to kiss him, nice and soft. âI want this. So⌠stop making me wait.â
Satoru laughs, lips on your cheek as he notches himself on your entrance. âYes, maâam.â
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.
âYouâre okay, pretty girl,â he murmurs against your mouth, one hand holding your cheek while the other strokes your hip. âDoing so good for me. Just a liiittle more.â
You huff, risking a glance downward, only to see he was only half inside. You throw your head back on the pillow. âLiar.âÂ
He smiles against your lips, kissing you. âFigured a little white lie never hurt anyone.â
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 paceâgiving 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. âFuckâ faster, Toru. Please.â
The sound of his name on your tongue, so wanton while heâs inside you, spurs him on in a way heâs 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.
âMmh, wanted you for so long,â he says, words muffled against your skin while he kisses down your neck. âThisâhahâcanât be real, baby. Feels so good.â
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.Â
âSo good,â you whimper into his mouth. âWant more, Satoru, pleaseââ
âShh, I got you,â 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.Â
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.
âYou werenâtâmmhâwearing a bra the whole time?âÂ
You whine, trying to drag his mouth back to yours by your grip on his hair, but he doesnât let up. âY-You ask stupid questions.â
He flattens his tongue, laving over the underside of your breast, his hips never faltering. He groans against your skin. âCâmon, sweetheart, donât give me that attitude. Havenât I been good? Yeah?â
A pout forms on your kiss-bruised lips. âMmâ Iâm not giving attitude.â
Satoru laughs, the sound raspy and deep. âYou are, pretty girl, but itâs okay. Toruâll make it all better.â
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 heâs been waiting for.
His cock twitches inside you when you moan again, your pussy clenching around him like a vice, tight and warm.Â
You whine. âSatoruââ
âMm-hmm, I know, baby, donât you worry,â he says, voice slightly smug as he continues to draw circles over your clit, feeling the way it pulses against his thumb. âGive it to me, sweets, know you can do it.â
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 heâs 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.
âInside,â you request, voice breathy. âPlease, Toru.â
That makes Satoru cum before he can realize it.Â
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 heâs 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.
ââŚHi,â you whisper.
Satoru seems to share your thoughts. He brings his hand to your cheek, knuckles brushing over your flushed skin. âHey, baby.â
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.
âGet off me,â you say, pawing at his chest halfheartedly, âyouâre heavy.â
It seems that Satoru has learned you well enough to know exactly what youâre 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. âMm, no can do, pretty. I like to cuddle after sex, guess youâre just gonna have to deal with it.â
You squirm as he begins to pepper your face with kisses, wet and dry, trying to get a proper reaction from you.Â
âOkay, okay!â you exclaim, laughing without realizing it. âFine. We can cuddleâŚbut we have to clean up first.â
Satoru beams at that. He kisses your forehead before practically leaping off your bed, searching for a towel. You arenât sure why the sight of him prancing around your room in his birthday suit makes you feel soâŚwarm and tingly inside.
God, what has he done to you?
You yawn, rubbing your eyes. âOn the left side of the closet. Third drawer down.â
A second later, heâs 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 heâd pick out.Â
âMatches my eyes,â he preens, doing most of the work as he pulls the panties up your legs and the shirt over your head.
âOf course youâd notice that,â 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. âThought you didnât wanna cuddle.â
âI never said that,â you grumble.
He laughs to himself, the kind that signifies heâs up to no good. âAww. Just a cute little cuddle muffin you are.â
âIâll get off you right now if you donâtââ
He immediately stops laughing and tightens his hold on you. âSorry, sorry. You run a tight ship.â
â
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 hookupâs room, or not-so-discreetly kick them out of yours.Â
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, youâre in no rush to make him go.Â
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. âMorning.â
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.Â
The strap of the camisole youâd 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.
âGood morning,â you manage out, voice slightly weak but not entirely from just waking up. âHowâd you sleep?â
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.Â
âBetter than usual,â he says, voice rumbling in his throat. âEven with you stealing the covers from me all night, itâd be worth it every time to wake up to this.â He picks his head up just enough to look down at you. âYou?â
Your cheeks are warm, and you bury half of your face into the pillow. âBetter than usual. I actually feel rested.â
Reaching an arm out, you turn the clock on your nightstand toward the bed. 2:38 p.m.
âWe slept the whole day away!â
Satoru hums behind you, chest rumbling against your back. âMm, good sex tends to do that to people.â
You smile, looking back at him over your shoulder. âOh? So thatâs why you were snoring into my ear all night?â
âPrecisely why,â he replies easily, before pecking your lips. âPussy put me right to sleep.â
This time, you lean in to kiss him. When you pull away, you freeze.Â
Oh fuck.
Then you shoot up out of bed, eyes wide and panicked. Itâd 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.Â
The drive alone would take two and a half hours.
âHoly shit, I need to go,â you say, scatterbrained as you rush into your closet.
Satoru props himself up on his elbow, sounding more panicked than he likely intended. âWhat? Why?â
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. âI have to go to dinner with my family and the Ryomens. My mom is going to kill me.â
And heâs left to watch, helpless, as you check yourself in the mirrorâputting your earrings on, looking beautiful as everâŚto 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 itâs not like heâs your boyfriend or anything.
(Even though heâd thought about how great that would be as he admired you while you slept.)
âOh, cool,â he says, forcing a cheery tone into his voice. âWhat for?â
You press your lips together, hastily applying your makeup lest you show up late with none on. âIâm not really sure. Probably to talk about their plans for us post-graduation. Thatâs all they talk about these days.â
He bites the inside of his cheek.
Doesnât matter, he tells himself. Sex between friends can beâŚcasual. Donât read into it so much.
âRight,â he replies, rubbing the back of his neck, doing his best to seem relaxed. âSounds boring.â
You nod at him through the mirror before turning to face him. âYeah, it will be.â
A silence settles the moment your eyes meet.
Slowly, you walk over to himâstill lying in your bed, clad in nothing but his boxers. âIâm sorry Iâm leaving like this.â
He waves a hand through the air, making an exaggerated pshhh sound. âDonât worry about it. I get it.â
You give him a lopsided smile before leaning down to kiss him. He barely has time to close his eyesâto savor itâbefore youâre already pulling away.
âIâll text you, okay?â you say. âYou can use my shower again if you want. Make yourself at home while Iâm gone. Just donât use up my body washâitâs expensive.â
Satoru lets out a laugh that doesnât quite reach his eyes. âOkay, no promises. Have fun.â
And then youâre gone, the door clicking shut behind you.
He falls back against the mattress, dragging his hands over his face.
Itâs casual, he tries to remind himself. Donât be a crybaby.
But you kissed him goodbye.
What was casual about that?
â
The hallways are abnormally crowded today.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, Shokoâs messages flooding in.
shoko đ: hi
shoko đ: how was the dinner?
shoko đ: did your parents finally come to their senses
shoko đ: 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 iâm seeing it now, total HUSBAND MATERIAL right here
shoko đ: 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 theyâre 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 youâve been up to. What you did when no one was around.
But thatâs 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 đ: 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.
âWatch where youâre going, iPad kid,â Satoru teases, a wide smile on his face.
You pocket your phone, huffing out a laugh despite yourself. âI was watching where I was going. You just came out of nowhere.â
âUh-huh, totally,â 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. âHey. Whatâs up?â
âNothing, Iâm fine,â you answer instinctively.
âTalk to me,â he says, nudging your arm softly, still trying to keep things light.
Then your eyes meet hisâhis blue irises practically begging you to open up.
âItâs justâŚâ Your voice trails off, growing quieter. âYou didnât tell anyone, did you? AboutâŚâ
Satoru leans back slightly, like the question physically hit him.
âUhâ no,â he says. âNo, I didnât. Promise.â
You catch the shift in his expressionâthe way it falters, like something just closed off.
Your eyes squeeze shut. Shit. âNo, itâs not that I regret it or anything, itâs just thatââ
âItâs okay,â he cuts in, rubbing the back of his neck. âReally. Itâs fine. You donât have to explain.â His eyes meet yours again. âI didnât tell anyone. Donât worry.â
You tilt your head slightly. âOkay.â
âOkay,â he echoes quickly. âGood. Iâm glad we got that figured out.â
âMe too,â you say, though you donât sound convinced anymore. âDidâ did I say something?â
Satoru shakes his head, that boyish smile slipping back into place. âNah. Youâre good.â
You glance around again. ââŚOkay.â
âOkay,â he repeats. âAre you going to the party this weekend? Chosoâs frat is throwing.â
You nod. âYeah, Iâll be there. I assume Iâll see you there too?â
âYup,â he says with a nod. âWell, Iâve gotta get to class. Iâll talk to you later?â
âYeah,â you say, turning to watch him walk away down the hallway.
Well⌠that conversation went well.
Right?
â
After a few days of Satoru avoiding you like the plague, youâre starting to think your conversation didnât go so well.
Heâs only sent you one Instagram reel over the last three daysâand 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 thereâs been no response since.
You wonder if you should message him again.
Maybe his phone got swept up in a tornado. (Itâs 75°F and sunny outside.)
Maybe heâs currently being attacked by alligators and desperately needs you as a lifeline. (Though you know he wouldnât even accept your helpâheâd be convinced he could take an alligator in a fight.)
Maybe he just hasnât 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.
âThereâs no way youâre about to double text a man.â
You jump, quickly locking your phone. âUtahime, I was not. I was just checking our messages.â
Utahime hums, clearly unconvinced, scrolling on her own phone. âYou keep telling yourself that, girl.â
Rolling onto your back, you stare at the ceiling, hands folded over your chest.
âAre you seriously sulking right now?â
âIâm not sulking!â
(You were definitely sulking.)
Utahime sighs, nudging your side. âDid you read this weekâs blind items?â
You shake your head. âNo.â
She tilts her head down at you. âWell, Iâm pretty sure one is about you.â
âWHAT?!â
Youâve never sat up this fast in your lifeâlightheaded and dizzy as you reach for Utahimeâs 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 noâbut once heâs 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. âHey. What happened to taking these with a grain of salt? Theyâre probably not real. Aside from the shower shitterâthat one seems pretty legit.â
You let out a weak laugh. âYeah⌠youâre probably right.â
Even still, the pit in your stomach doesnât go away.
â
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.Â
Sukunaâs 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.Â
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 heâs leaving you to fend for yourself.
âLater, girl,â 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.Â
Anger rises in your throat. Anger you have no right to feel.Â
After all, Satoru wasnât yours. You werenât 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. Youâd tell him how you feel. You would say it now, out loud and to his face. At least then, heâd know how you felt.
The problem, though, was that you werenât any of these things. You were terrified and hesitantâso 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.Â
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.Â
You release a sharp breath you hadnât realized youâd 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.Â
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.Â
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. âWere you not going to come say hi?â
You roll your eyes despite yourself, refusing to meet his eyes in the mirror. âNo. Seems like you were a little preoccupied.â
Silence stretched thin between you.Â
Then his hands find your waist, spinning you around to face him.
âDonât do that,â he says, voice soft and almost pleading.
You swallow. âDonât do what?â
âYou know what,â he replies, âact like⌠you donât care. Like you donât feel anything for me, just because youâre upset.â
You avoid his gaze. âIâm not upset. Itâs not like weâre dating. You can do what you want withâŚwhoever you want.â
Satoru huffs, forehead knocking into yours before he pulls back. âHow long are we going to keep doing this, baby?â he asks, hands finally coming to settle on your waist. âI donât want anyone else. Not like how I want you.â
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 didnât want an ounce of doubt to live in your head.
Maybe it was your turn to return the message.
âMe neither,â you finally admit.Â
His expression softens in relief.
âGood,â he murmurs, brushing your hair away from your face.Â
Your lips press together. âBut whyâd the blog say you were with a girl from the Zenin family?â
âThe same reason that the stupid blog says you and Sukuna are together,â he says with a shrug. âItâs a rumor. People see you standing next to someoneâat a very healthy distance, by the way, a very platonic and normal distanceâand run with it.â The corner of his mouth lifts. âI donât go around letting my rumored girlfriends kiss me on the cheek, though.â
You tilt your head, knowing full well that Satoru was capable of knowing that there were no feelings between you and Sukuna. âCareful, you almost sound upset.â
He shrugs his broad shoulders, tilting his head in the same direction you did. âDepends. Is he a good kisser?âÂ
Your fingers are still gripping the edge of the counter. âHe is.â
Satoru glances over your face, the corner of his mouth twitching once he notices the slight pout on your lips. âBetter than me?â
You donât want to give him the satisfaction, but youâre not a liar. âNo.â
A small smirk. âGood.â
âMaybe you should get back to your friend,â you retort, shaking your head.
âYouâre cute when youâre jealous,â Satoru coos, hand cupping your cheek, thumbing over your bottom lip.
You splutter. âWhat? Iâm not.â
âNo?â
âNo.â
Satoruâs 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.
â...Only a little,â you finally admit.
Satoruâs fingers thread into your hair, guiding your forehead to his lips. âThatâs okay. I was jealous too.â
âJealous? You?â
âJealous. Me.â
You clear your throat, and for the first time in your life, you decide to prod for further reassurance.Â
âDo you like her?â you ask, voice small.
He seems distracted, his lips on your cheek now in a chaste kiss. âHm?â
âDo you like her?â you repeat, hands prodding at his chest to make him meet your eyes. âThat girl you were talking to.â
Satoru scoffs, like the answer was obvious. âNo. Iâm a one-lady type of guy.âÂ
That answer shouldnât make your face feel warm, but it does. Heâs turned you into mush, putty in his hands.Â
His thumb brushes over your hip bone. âDid you let Sukuna kiss you because you like him?â
You shake your head. âMaybe I just like kissing people. Itâs fun, you know.â
âOh, I know,â he says, nose brushing yours. âBut do me a favor, yeah?â
âYeah,â you murmur, heart rate doubling in your chest.
âThe next time you wanna kiss someone, come to me instead,â he murmurs, hands sliding up your sides. âIâm better at it, anyway. Said it yourself.â
You canât bite back your smile now, nor do you try to. âOkay.â
âOkay, baby.â
You hoped no one noticed how long youâd both been gone from the party, but when you exited the bathroom togetherâlip gloss smeared on Satoruâs mouth and your hair messier than beforeâit likely told the entire story for you.
â
You wake up wrapped in a Digimon throw blanket.
A small, sleepy groan leaves you as you try to moveâto stretch your limbs after a night of sleep.
Only, the heavily weighted blanket on top of you, known as Satoru Gojo, doesnât make it very easy.
His arms are wrapped so tightly around you that youâd think he was afraid you might slip away in the middle of the nightâso 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. Thereâs one on his desk tooâtaken on the first day of your internshipâset beside his computer.
Because, as he says, âseeing you smiling in that pretty little dress motivates me to study, âcause I need to pay for your tastes somehow.â
Youâre 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 youâd left the night before.
A quiet whine leaves him, and he fumbles blindly for your hand, guiding it back to his hair so youâll keep playing with it.
âGood morning to you, too,â you murmur, scratching lightly at his scalp.
âMorning, baby,â 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.
âWhatâre you doing?â you ask, smiling.
âEating breakfast,â 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.
âIgnore it.â
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 đ: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP
shoko đ: [article link]
You tap the link, your eyes widening as you read the headline.
âWhat?â he asks, already pouting slightly at the interruption. âWhat is it?â
Wordlessly, you turn the phone toward him.
Satoru Gojo and Y/N L/N were spotted on the Gojo familyâs personal yacht, indulging in promiscuous activities.
And to make matters worse, front and center is a picture of you sitting in his lapâhis hand squeezing a handful of your ass like heâs afraid it might run away from him.
You press your palm to your forehead. âI told you we shouldnât have taken the yacht out that day.â
Satoru hums, clearly distracted. âHow do I save this picture? You look really sexy in this.â
âSatoru, focus!â you say, lightly swatting his shoulder. âWhat should we do?â
He shrugs, fingers resuming their slow work of tugging your underwear down your legs. âRight now, Iâm thinkinâ Iâll finish my breakfast. Weâll figure the other stuff out later.â
You think you should protestâbut the moment his mouth finds you, every argument dies on your tongue.
Because you know that heâll 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 youâll 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!! itâs the longest fic iâve ever written so itâs a lil experimental for me. this is also my first time writing for gojo in about two years and itâs my second time writing him ever sooo iâm still figuring out how i want to characterize him lol
anyway i hope you enjoyed, as always please let me know your thoughts <3
Synopsis - A quiet night of studying turns into something softer when the pressure of pre-med life finally catches up to you. Between anatomy notes and exhaustion, Gojo reminds you, in the simplest, most human ways, that you donât have to hold everything together alone.
WC- 3k
⥠âËâ§ WARNINGS :: No use of Y/N :: Nerd Gojo:: Soft Gojo :: Bf Toru:: pure fluff:: Academic stress/burnout:: Non-sexual intimacy:: Comfort reliance :: Soft dependency :: premed reader:: premed Gojo:: College AU :: Established relationship :: SFW:: INTIMATE AS FUUUUCK:: not proofread
đٞâď˝ĄË NOTES: got this idea while studying for my anatomy class and then saw a TikTok that made me want to write about it even more. Enjoy <3
đ§ŕžŕ˝˛âŞâ.âŽMUSIC RECS: (highly recommended)
- You Are the Right One- Sports
- Glory Box - Portishead
- watch you sleep- Girl in Red
- "Apocalypse" and "Sweet" - Cigarettes After Sex
The first thing you notice is the quiet. Not the empty kind, but the soft, lived in comfort that settles between you two, two people who donât need to fill every second with noise. The faint crackle of Gojoâs record player hums in the background, something slow and warm and spinning lazily, blending perfectly with the low scratch of his pen against paper.Â
It wasnât unusual for your nights to look like this. Between the two of you, âfree timeâ had slowly turned into shared study sessions, quiet dinners eaten over flashcards, and falling asleep to the sound of each other typing. Pre-med didnât leave much room for anything elseâbut somehow, neither of you minded. Not when it looked like this
You try to focus on your notes, you really do. Highlighter in hand, textbook open, diagrams of the human skull staring back at you, messily written colorful notes spanning the entire page. Notes that usually stick to your brain immediately. Notes whose words are currently refusing to stay still. Zygomatic bone. Maxilla. Mandible. They blur together, letters tangling like theyâre actively trying to confuse you.
You blink hard, once, twice, dragging your eyes back to the page. Nothing sticks.
Your gaze drifts.
Across the room, Gojo sits at his desk, hunched slightly forward, one leg bouncing under the chair like it always does when heâs deep in thought. His glasses are slipping againâlow on his noseâand without even pausing his writing, he pushes them back up with his knuckle. Itâs such a small little action, automatic. You watch him do it again thirty seconds later. And again.Â
Your lips twitch.Â
Heâs shirtless, because of course he is, and the dim, warm lighting from his desk lamp casts soft shadows across his strong shoulders, the muscular lines of his back shifting every time he moves. His gray sweatpants hang low on his hips, careless and comfortable, like he didnât even think about it. Meanwhile, you feel like your brain is melting out of your ears.Â
Youâd seen him like this a hundred times, completely locked in, focused enough to make everything else fade out. It shouldâve been intimidating. But instead, it was⌠steadying. Like if he could handle it, maybe you could too.
You stare back down at your notes.Â
Inferior nasal concha.Â
What evenâ
A frustrated groan escapes you before you can stop it. You drop your highlighter onto the bed and roll onto your back, notes sliding across your stomach as you drag a hand over your face. The ceiling stares back at you, blank and unhelpful. Your thoughts feel loud and messy, like a hundred tabs are open all at once yet none of them are loading properly.Â
You hated feeling like this. Not because the material was hard, you could handle hard, but because it made you feel scattered, disconnected from yourself. Like all the effort you were putting in wasnât landing anywhere.
From behind you, the scratching of Gojoâs pen stops. His chair creaks. You donât even know heâs turned around.Â
âWhatâs wrong, baby?â
His voice is softer now, focused on you. You exhale, long and tired, turning your head just enough to glance at him upside-down from the bed. âI donât get any of this,â you admit, your voice coming out more defeated than you meant it to. You gesture vaguely to your notes sprawled across you. âLikeâI read it, but itâs not⌠staying. Itâs just⌠words.âÂ
He doesnât interrupt, he never does when youâre like this. He listens to you intently. So you keep going. âAnd I have that chem quiz tomorrow, and my bio lab report isnât even halfway done, and I swear every class decided to pile everything on at the same timeââ you cut yourself off with a frustrated huff, pressing your palms into your eyes. âMy brain just feels⌠scrambled. I canât think straight.â
Silence settles again, and then the chair shifts, wheels whirring smoothly across his wooden floor.Â
Footsteps.Â
You hear him before you see him, feel the dip in the mattress before anything else as he climbs onto the bed. The movement is careful and deliberate, intentionally trying not to jostle you too much.Â
You lower your hands. Heâs closer now.Â
Leaning over your scattered notes, his eyes scan them quicklyâsharp, focused, taking everything in within seconds. That same intensity he always has when heâs studying, except now itâs directed at something thatâs clearly frustrating you.
Then he looks at you, really looks at you, and something in your chest eases just a little.
You shift onto your side to face him properly, your cheek pressing into the soft fabric of his pillow. A small smile tugs at your lips despite everything. âCome to save me?â
For a second, he just watches you, then his mouth curvesâsoft, familiar, a little amused. âNope.â
You blink. ââŚWow.â
Thereâs a beat, just long enough for you to narrow your eyes at him, before he huffs out a quiet laugh, reaching over you to grab your notes. âRelax,â he murmurs, settling in beside you, one arm propping his head up while the other holds your paper between his fingers. âIf I save you, you wonât learn it.âÂ
You groan again, rolling your eyes dramatically. âToru I donât think itâs the material. I just need to reboot my brain. It isnât working.â
âIt is working,â he says easily.Â
You turn your head toward him, unimpressed. âItâs not.â
âIt is,â he repeats, glancing at you over the top of your notes. His glasses slide down again. He pushes them back up, absentminded. âYouâre just tired, babe. Thatâs normal.â
That lands a little differently. You donât respond right away.Â
âYouâve been going nonstop,â he continues, quieter now, less teasing. âIâve seen your schedule, Itâs kind of insane.â
You huff lightly. âSays you.â
âIâm a year in front of you,â he shrugs. âIâve already suffered through half of this.â
âThatâs not comforting.â
âAw darn, Itâs supposed to be. Should I include some chocolate to sweeten the blow next time?â
You roll your eyes, but the tension in your chest loosens just a little more.
He shifts closer, just enough that your knees brush under the blankets, just enough that his presence feels solid and grounding. He taps your notes lightly. âOkay. Face bones, right?â
You sigh. âUnfortunately.â
âAlright.â He tilts his head slightly, thinking. âYouâre trying to memorize everything at once, arenât you?â
ââŚMaybe.â
âThatâs your problem.â
You squint at him. âWow. Thank you. Super helpful.â
âIâm serious,â he insists, nudging your leg lightly with his foot. âYour brainâs overloaded. Youâre mixing everything together.â
You hesitate, because⌠yeah. That actually sounds right. He notices the shift immediately, his expression softening just a fraction.
âCâmere,â he murmurs.
Before you can question it, he reaches out, gently tugging you a little closer by your wrist. Not forceful, soft. Barely enough that the space between you disappears. You shift without thinking about it, rolling back onto your stomach, notes crinkling under your chest as you prop yourself up on your forearms. Now youâre facing him. Â
He mirrors you almost immediately, turning onto his stomach too, one fist folded under his chin, the other resting loosely between you. The space is small now. Intimate in that quiet, unspoken way. Your legs brush. Your breaths feel closer. Heâs staring into you.Â
His expression softens in a way that makes your chest ache a little. Just⌠him. Calm. Steady. For a second, neither of you say anything. The music hums low behind you. The room feels warm, dim, wrapped slow and safe.
His gaze flickers down to your notes, scanning quickly, then back up to your face.
You donât even realize youâve gone still until his hand lifts. His fingers find your cheek like itâs the most natural thing in the world. Gentle. Warm. He cups your face, thumb brushing lightly over your skin, slow and absentminded at first.Â
You sink into his touch. Your cheek presses deeper into his palm, your eyes softening as you look at him, like something in you just⌠lets go. All at once, enough for your shoulders to loosen, for that tight, tangled feeling in your chest to ease.Â
He notices, he always notices. His thumb stills for a second beneath your eye, like he felt that shift happen in real time âThere you go,â he murmurs, talking through you. His eyes trace your face carefully, like heâs mapping it out, not just for the sake of your notes, but because he knows you. Because he likes looking at you. His thumb slides along your jawline, following the curve with a thoughtful focus.Â
âThis,â he says softly, pressing just enough for the nerves to spark alive, "is your jaw. Your mandible.â
You swallow, barely. The words stick this time.Â
His touch lingers for a second longer than needed, making sure you really feel it, understand it over useless memorization. Then his hand shifts. His fingers slide upward, just in front of your ear, settling gently at the hinge of your jaw.
âThis is your temporomandibular joint⌠your TMJ.â His voice dips slightly, quieter, like heâs letting the word settle between you. âItâs what lets you open and close your mouth.â His eyes flicker back to yours, something softer there now. A little teasing, but still warm. âWould you like to demonstrate?â
Thereâs something about the way he says it, low and patient, scanning every inch of your brain, that makes your lips twitch.Â
You open your mouth slowly, and he watches, softly digging his pointer into your brain so your brain can register the location of the touch. âThere you go,â he murmurs, basically under his breath. âMhm.âÂ
His fingers stay there, feeling the movement of your joint as your jaw shifts, careful.
Present.
You close your mouth again, and for a second, neither of you move. His hand doesnât leave, and your eyes stay locked on his. Something quiet passes between you, something that has nothing to do with studying.
Then, gently, he moves again.
His fingers flutter farther upward, tracing the hue of your blush until they rest along the curve of your cheekbone. He presses lightly.Â
And thisâŚâ he says, voice softening even more, âis your zygomatic arch.â His thumb brushes just beneath it, slow, absentminded. âYou feel how it curves?â he asks. You nod slightly, your voice too quiet to trust. âYeah,â he murmurs, almost to himself. âThatâs what gives your face structure. Holds everything together up here.â The soft tone of his voice makes your heart stutter.Â
His gaze lingers on that spot for a second before shifting again. Carefully, his fingers move to the bridge of your nose, touch featherlight. âThis is your nasal bone,â he explains, tapping gently. âSmall, but important. Itâs what gives your nose its shape.â
You scrunch your nose a little without thinking.
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound warm and soft between you. âDonât argue with it,â he murmurs, thumb brushing the side of your nose affectionately before moving on.
His hand drifts lower to your chin. His fingers settle there, tilting your face just slightly so he can see better. âThis part,â he says, pressing lightly, âis the mental region of your mandible. And right hereââ His fingertip shifts just a little, pressing gently into a small spot near your chin. ââyour mental foramen. You feel it?â
You nod, slower this time. âYeah,â you whisper.
His lips curve immediately, soft and proud in a way that makes your stomach flip. âExactly.â
He says it like you did something impressive, like you got it. And the thing isâyou did. Not because you forced yourself to memorize it like usual, but because he made it make sense. Because he slowed down with you, sat here with you.
It lingers on your face, thumb brushing lightly along your skin again, slower now, less about explaining and more about⌠staying there. His eyes lift back to yours, and for a second, the studying fades into the background completely.
âYouâre not as lost as you think,â he says quietly. You hold his gaze, something soft and uncertain flickering in your chest.
âIt feels like I am,â you admit.
His expression shifts just slightly. More serious, grounded. âI know,â he says. âBut feeling like that doesnât mean itâs true.â
Your throat tightens a little. His hand slides from your chin back to your cheek, cupping it fully this time, thumb brushing just under your eye. âYouâre just overwhelmed baby,â he adds, softer now. âThereâs a difference.â
The room feels quieter than before. His thumb drifts again, no longer following a diagram, no longer tied to your notes. It traces your jaw, your cheek, slow and absent, like he forgot where the lesson ended.
Your hand moves before you can think about it, slipping forward, resting lightly against his free wrist. to feel him there. His breath hitches just for a second. His eyes drop to where your fingers touch him, then back up to your face, and something in his expression shifts. Softer and deeper. Like something unspoken just passed between you.
Your eyes linger on his for a second longer, memorizing him in this moment, his pale hair, glowing a golden white against the lamplight, falling messily over his forehead, the way his glasses have slipped again, baby blue eyes still managing to be brighter than ever.Â
And then you sigh, shifting forward. At first itâs subtle,your elbows pressing into the mattress, your body inching closer, but he feels it immediately. His hand stills on your cheek, his eyes flickering down as you move.
Then youâre crawling toward him, and he reacts without hesitation. He pushes himself upright, shifting smoothly into a cross-legged position, one hand already reaching out for you before youâve fully gotten there. Plain instinct.Â
You climb into his lap. Your knees settle on either side of his hips, your hands finding his shoulders for balance, but you donât stay upright for long. The second youâre close enough, you fold into him completely.Your arms wrap around his torso, tight, needing him there, solid and real, and your face buries into the crook of his neck, right under his jawâ oh sorry, Mandible.Â
Warm. Safe.
He exhales softly at the contact, like the air leaves him without permission. âHeyâŚâ he murmurs, voice lower now, softer in your ear. His hands come up immediately, one sliding to your back, the other threading into your hair, fingers gentle as they move through it. Slow and repetitive, like he knows exactly what you need without you saying it.
âWhat?â he asks quietly, tilting his head just enough to rest against yours. âStill donât understand?â
You shake your head against him. Your nose brushes his skin with the movement, your breath warm against his neck. âItâs not that,â you mumble, voice muffled where youâre pressed into him.
His fingers pause for half a second in your hair. ââŚNo?â
You tighten your hold on him just slightly, your arms pulling him closer, if thatâs even possible. âI just love you.â It comes out soft and simple, because it is. The most simple fact of life has always been your love for him, itâs just.. There. Inevitably.Â
His hand in your hair stills, fingers curling slightly like heâs grounding himself in the feeling of you. His other hand presses more firmly against your back, holding you closer, then he turns his head.
His lips press gently to your temple, warm and lingering. âI love you too, baby,â he murmurs against your skin.Thereâs a pause. His thumb starts moving again, slow circles against your back. âSo much.â
You smile softly. âHelp me study tomorrow?â
He chuckles, âWhatever you need, sweetheart.â
You donât respond right away, not because you donât want to, but because something in you finally lets go. Your body softens against his. Completely. The tension you didnât even realize you were holding melts out of your shoulders, your arms loosening just slightly around him. Your breathing slows and deepens.
He feels it immediately.
The shift is subtle, but he knows you well enough to catch itâthe way your weight settles more heavily into him, the way your face presses a little deeper into his neck, the way your fingers stop fidgeting against his back.
His hand stills again.
âŚHey,â he murmurs softly, like heâs checking. No response, just the steady rhythm of your breathing, warm against his skin. His chest tightens, so full. âTired, huh?â he whispers, more to himself than to you.
You make a small sound, barely there, more breathy than voice.
And thatâs all he needs.
His grip on you adjusts, more secure now, one arm wrapped fully around your back while the other stays in your hair, fingers continuing their slow, gentle movements. He leans back just slightly against the headboard, careful not to jostle you. You donât stir. Your body molds against his naturally, like itâs familiar, like it belongs there.
He rests his cheek lightly against the top of your head. For a while, he just sits like that.
Not moving around, not thinking about his notes or the exam he was studying for or anything else waiting for him.
Just you.
The quiet sound of the record spinning.
The soft rise and fall of your breathing.
The weight of you in his lap.
His thumb traces small, absent patterns against your back, over and over, like he doesnât even realize heâs doing it anymore. ââŚYouâre working too hard,â he murmurs eventually, voice barely above a breath.
You donât hear him. Or maybe you do, somewhere deep down, but youâre already too far gone to respond.
His lips brush your hair gently.âYouâll get it,â he adds quietly. âAll of it.â Thereâs no doubt in his voice.
His fingers slow in your hair, softening into stillness as he holds you there, careful and close, guarding something fragile. And for the first time all day, youâre not overwhelmed, not thinking about deadlines or exams or the way everything was piling up.
summary. after years of failed dating app matches, you finally hit it off with someone. heâs funny, charming, emotionally available⌠and apparently?! not who you thought he was... literally â because he used his ex-best friend suguru geto as his profile picture! so now, youâre stranded in a foreign country for the holidays, stuck with the real satoru gojo: a digimon-loving, trivia-winning, six-foot-tall nerd who... sure. may have catfished you. but he also might just win your heart.
tags/warnings. fluffy holiday au. nerdjo. light angst. slow burn. eventual smut. long distance relationship (reader is from cali, satoru is from japan). fake dating. one bed trope (yuuuup). found family feelings w/ the jjk cast. lots of dorky humor. alcohol/weed usage. thereâs a bit of suguru x reader (also sukuna hits on you a lot bc he wants to piss gojo off). endgame is satoru x reader w/ a happy ending! soft and silly romcom vibes.Â
author note. merry christmas! this fic is loosely based on the movie Love Hard (w/ my own retelling). it'll be 2 parts! i wanted it to be a oneshot and was rly hoping to finish it before christmas but life got in my way so alas. i'll say more towards the bottom but enjoy this first part for now~ (art by @/leimiruu on x)
main masterlist - part 2 >>>
Love is⌠hard.Â
Not âhardâ like an honest misunderstanding, or a fight you work through with emotional maturity and a seasonally appropriate Hallmark movie kiss.Â
No â âhardâ like dodging your fifth unsolicited dick pic of the week while Googling âhow to spot a narcissist,â because apparently you need a manual now. Like realizing your therapist makes more money off your dating trauma than you ever will.Â
Which is funny, considering people pay you to write about it.Â
âDo I believe in love? No. But I do believe in ad revenue. And trust me â what youâre writing? Sells. Youâll make it big, darling. I swear.âÂ
Wise words from your boss, Mei-Mei. And by wise, you mean cold, calculated, and unfortunately? Very on brand.Â
Youâre a columnist for Swipe Right into Hell, and your beat? Disaster dates. Ghostings. Red flags. You write about it all. One guy asked if he could wear his ex-wifeâs wedding ring during sex. Another told you he didnât believe in astrology or feminism â but he did believe in Bitcoin.Â
So, yeah. If love is a battlefield, youâre the war correspondent. Bulletproof. Jaded. Always packing a pen.Â
Youâd think by now â after all the swipes, the situationships, the nights replaying bad decisions in bathroom mirrors â youâd have cracked the code. Found the formula. Unlocked the algorithm to real connection.Â
Mei-Mei certainly thinks you did.Â
âUghhh. Youâre a genius! I swear, your last column was chefâs kiss,â she purred to you on Monday, tapping her lacquered nails against a chart of engagement analytics. âTragically humiliating⌠in a relatable way, of course!âÂ
Tragically humiliating? Â
Yeah, sure. Thatâs one way to describe it. Your date dumped you via a Venmo memo when you asked him to split the bill with you.Â
(âLunch was great. Youâre not. âď¸â)Â
âUh... thanks. I think?âÂ
You werenât entirely sure if that was praise or exploitation â because with Mei-Mei, the line was always blurred.Â
âOf course, baby!â she cooed. âYour ratings are exceptionally high. But... letâs kick it up a notch, shall we?â And grinning like a cheshire cat, she slid a detailed spreadsheet in front of you encouragingly.Â
âWe need a story so massive before Christmas. Donât ask me why, but holiday trauma performs extremely well. I expect your report by early-December. Get back out there, hm?âÂ
Apparently, love is dead. Because people live for drama. For tragedy. Itâs unfortunate, but it gets the clicks. And despite all the ânew materialâ youâre looking for? A part of you still aches â still yearns â for love.Â
So, like a well-trained masochist, you swipe. Again.Â
| Brett, 27Â â Los Angeles, CAÂ |Â Â
âHey, kitten. Iâm Sapiosexual. An INTJ. Love your profile. Letâs chat, yeah?âÂ
Sent a dick pic and texted âU up?â at 3:17 a.m. on a Tuesday. (You werenât)Â
Swipe.Â
| Colin, 32Â â Santa Monica, CAÂ |Â Â
âSup. Iâm just a nice guy. Totally not like other guys.âÂ
Sent a three-paragraph spiral about how nice guys finish last due to unrequited love. (With his childhood best friend.)Â
Swipe.Â
| Naoya, 22Â â Orange County, CAÂ |Â Â
âWhat do you do for fun? Because let me set the record straight. I love a woman who knows their place. Preferably, three steps behind me. Or in the kitchen.âÂ
You reported him. Twice. (Just to be sureâŚ)Â
Swipe.Â
| Greg, 25 â San Francisco, CA | Â
âHey. Uh... Iâm married btw. But itâs complicated, u know?âÂ
You almost admire the honesty. (Almost.)Â
Swipe.Â
Swipe.Â
Swipe.Â
You were about five more red flags away from joining a monastery when suddenly, you got an idea. Perhaps... itâs just California? Youâve been living here your whole damn life. Letâs try escaping the endless sea of self-proclaimed âentrepreneursâ â the gym bros, the surfer stoners. The men who think that being emotionally available is a liability. Â
So? You expand your distance radius.Â
Like... Â
Way out. Â
Just to see what would happen.Â
| Satoru, 26 â Kyoto, Japan | Â
âHey. Iâm not here to play games. Unless itâs Mario Kart. But donât cry, because Iâd totally win, sweetheart.âÂ
Itâs a miracle. Because for once, thereâs no shirtless mirror selfie. Itâs just a guy on a front porch, wearing a hoodie. Thereâs a coffee cupped in his hands, with long raven hair falling against the violet hue of his eyes. Â
He has gauges, a sleepy smile, and oh my god heâsâÂ
âŚgorgeous. Â
And not the curated, flex-for-attention kind of gorgeous youâve learned to dodge. No. Thereâs something⌠approachable about him. Soft. Stupidly warm. Like if you sat beside him, he wouldnât talk â heâd listen.Â
~ ⥠ď¸Â Youâve matched with Satoru Gojo!  ⥠ď¸Â ~Â
...typingÂ
Satoru: Did you know that the universe is 13.8 billion years old? There are billions of galaxies. Trillions of stars. And yet⌠here we are. Matched on a dating app.Â
Satoru: So⌠hi!
Satoru: Wanna test fate?Â
You: lol đ
You: well then...
You: thatâs one way to say hello!! đ
Satoru: Yeah... figured Iâd lead with existential dread instead of wyd đ
He was... normal.Â
Stupidly normal. Maybe a bit nerdy.Â
But somehow? It worked. He made you smile.Â
...typingÂ
Satoru: Okayokayokay... but REAL question... Â
Satoru: Do you pour milk before cereal??? 𤨠Or are you a functioning member of society?Â
You: đ¨đ¨
You: excuse you!! Â
You: what kind of monster do you think i am??? đ
Satoru: Phew đŠ
Satoru:Â Just needed to be sure!! People have surprised me beforeÂ
And just like that, you were hooked.Â
You talked while brushing your teeth. On your lunch break. In bed, half-asleep, phone screen dimmed but still open to his thread. Heâs got opinions on everything.Â
Anime, horror movies, why candy canes are overrated, the superiority of old-school consoles, and the tragic fall of Yahoo Answers.Â
One day he asked:Â
...typingÂ
Satoru: Are you more of a salty girl or a sweet girl?Â
You paused, halfway through folding laundry, holding one sock while you reach for your phone.Â
...typingÂ
You:Â hmmm.....
You: are we talking snacks?? or personality type?Â
Satoru:Â đ
Satoru:Â Well shit...
Satoru: Now I wanna know the answer to both...Â
You:Â hehehe đ
You:Â what do YOU think i am?Â
Satoru: Oh, hell no...
Satoru: Iâm not falling for that
Satoru: Bc if I guess wrong, youâll never let me hear the end of it.Â
You:Â pshhh...Â
You: that response answers for me đÂ
You: but hmm... i guess iâm both?
You: bc it depends on the day... OR the person.Â
Satoru:Â Okay cool
Satoru: Soooo... Iâm either incredibly lucky, or youâre about to ruin my life in a really interesting way.
You:Â ruin you??
You: never!!
You: ...you're one of the few people i actually wanna be sweet to â¤ď¸Â
Satoru: â¤ď¸Â
Satoru: Guess it's a good thing that I'm a sweet guy đ both snack AND personality wise
Satoru:Â Which brings me back to the important question...
Satoru: Snacks
Satoru: Salty or sweet. Answer wisely, sweetheart.
You:Â hmm...Â
Satoru: This data could make or break us đ¤¨
You: imma salty kinda girl
Satoru:Â ...Â
You: but i donât dislike sweet things! đ
Satoru:Â Siiiiiigh...Â
Satoru:Â Fine. I respect it
Satoru: Even though itâs OBJECTIVELY the wrong answer đ guess Iâll just have to be the sweet one in this relationship
Somehow, it never felt forced. You didnât have to explain your jokes. You didnât have to shrink yourself or play dumb or brace for silence. He got it. He got you. And he made you laugh â constantly. But more than that⌠he made you feel safe.Â
It was easy to forget youâd never seen him move. Never heard his laugh in real life.Â
Until you started calling each other.Â
What started as a five-minute âjust wanted to hear your voiceâ spiraled into two hours. Then three. Now itâs just⌠what you do. The sound of his voice has become background music â familiar and warm, the kind of thing you could fall asleep to. Soft, a little raspy, warm around the edges when he laughs.Â
He talks fast when he gets excited â usually about Digimon lore, bad anime dubs, or some absurd theory he read online at 3 a.m. He jumps from tangent to tangent like heâs chasing thoughts through constellations â but somehow, never leaves you behind.Â
And when heâs really into something, you can hear it. His voice lifts like gravity canât hold it.Â
âHmm⌠if we were two particles traveling at the speed of light,â he murmured, âdo you think weâd still find each other in another timeline?âÂ
âOh my godâŚâ you smiled against your pillow; voice thick with sleep. âIs this your version of âWould you still love me if I was a wormâ Satoru?âÂ
His laugh was soft and breathy, wrapping around your ribs like ribbon.
âPshh⌠no,â he scoffed, and you could hear the pout in his voice as he shuffled against his own bedsheets. Then, with a huff he drawled. âThis is my scientifically superior version of that question.âÂ
âMmm⌠I see,â your hum was sleepy, curling deeper under the blanket. Grinning, your eyes fluttered closed as you murmured. âYes. I think we wouldâ
A comfortable silence settled, and you could hear the line crackle softly as he exhaled.
âI wishâŚâ he said after a beat, ââŚwe could spend Christmas together. Itâs not fair youâre so far away.â
His voice was quiet, like he was afraid to say it too loud. And somehow, it landed harder than any confession. You pressed your ear closer to the phone, like maybe, if you try hard enough, youâll feel the weight of him on the mattress beside you.
âYeahâŚâ you whispered. âMe too.â
Youâd been talking to Satoru for a month now â and honestly, every other man you come across canât hold a candle to him. So, when Mei Mei saunters to your desk December 1st, silk blouse pristine and judgment already locked and loaded, you know sheâs not going to like what she finds.
âItâs officially December, my dear,â she hums, lowering herself into the chair across from you, tilting her head in that familiar, patronizing way. âSo. Where are my lines?â
Your fingers still over the keyboard. Time to come clean.
âI know, I knowâŚâ you say, rubbing at your temples before finally looking up. Your heart thumps harder than it should. âAnd⌠donât be mad. But⌠just hear me out. What if this year⌠I donât write about heartbreak?â
Itâs like you might as well have told her you quit. The silence is deafening while she blinks at you, deadpan â like youâve grown a second head.
âDarling,â she says coolly, with a bitter laugh. âChristmas is in three weeks. I donât need pleasantries â I need pain.â
âBut thatâs just it, isnât it?â you push gently, sitting a little straighter in your chair. âChristmas is supposed to feel⌠good. Warm. Like something you lean into, not brace yourself against.â You gesture vaguely toward the window, the gray sky.
Youâve always been alone for the holidays. No family. No one asking when youâll be home.
âI mean⌠people are⌠tired. Stressed. Lonely. The world already feels cold enough without another reminder that love is awful. Right?â
Mei scoffs, flipping her hair over one shoulder, repulsed by the suggestion. âThat mushy shit doesnât sellâŚâ And her eyes sharpen, flicking back to you. âYou sound dangerously sentimental. Very unlike you, darling.â
Your mouth opens. Closes.
Little does she know⌠this is you. Or at least, the you thatâs been kept hidden your entire career â doing something that feels so⌠empty. Youâre tired. Tired of pretending that love is dead. For once, you want to believe in it. Believe that all this with Satoru â the potential for love â could be real.
ââŚI met someone.â
That gives her pause.
âOh?â
Her snobbish tone is hard to ignore, but you donât let it diminish the excitement you feel from the thought of him.
Satoru.
âYeah⌠heâsââ you begin with a breathless laugh, tucking your chin into your palm like it might hide your grin. âUgh. Heâs good, Mei. Like⌠really fucking good. Funny⌠smart⌠thoughtfulâŚâ
But Meiâs sculpted brow arches as you continue to gush.
âOhmygod and so handsome too,â you breathe, face lighting up. âLike. Itâs unfair how good-looking he is, I swear. Plus, he remembers the little things I say, and he always checks in when Iâve had a rough day. Itâs likeâŚâ you pause, breath catching as your heart aches with longing.
âItâs like⌠he sees me, Mei.â
At that, a knowing hum rumbles through your boss.
âI seeâŚâ she nods, lips tugging upward. âWell. Can you show me a picture, then?â
âOh, sure!â you chirp, already digging for your phone in your bag. Your heart flutters at the sight of his photo, and after navigating to his profile, you hand the device over to her.
Her eyes narrow, then flick back to you. âThis guy is in JapanâŚâ and you can already hear it, that condescending tone, syrupy sweet. âI wonder⌠have you seen him yet?â
âW-What?â you blink, crossing your arms, instantly on guard. âWell⌠no. But itâs a sixteen-hour time difference! Itâs hard to line up video calls, but we talk all the time andââ
âMm.â Thatâs all she needs. Sheâs handing the phone back with a noise youâd describe as infuriatingly smug. âNo way heâs that perfect,â she says, already rising to her feet. âI bet heâs catfishing you.â
Your heart drops.
God. Thatâd be just your luck.
âWhat?! N-No!â you argue, unwilling to entertain the idea. âItâs real, Mei. Heâs real.â
âMmm. So is Santa Claus~â
You scoff, brows furrowing.
âNo, seriously. He said he wanted to spend Christmas with me. I was actually thinking of surprising him â flying out and ââ
âOh, that sounds wonderful,â she interrupts, saccharine and sharp. âFlying to Japan? To meet a man youâve never met?â a loud pompous laugh bursts out of her lips, making your blood boil. âAhhh⌠what a story! I expect lines, my dear~â
And as her heels are clicking away, you glare after her, cheeks hot, heart thudding with equal parts embarrassment and fury.
That⌠bitch.
Fine. Youâre going to prove her wrong.
You must.
It hadnât taken much convincing to get Satoruâs address.
You told him you wanted to send a Christmas present. He teased you, of course.
âA present? For little old me?â he drawled. âAwh⌠what is it? Is it scandalous? Oh!! Is it Digimon related??â You could practically hear the grin in his voice. And sure enough, a minute later, he sent his address with a laughing âFine. But only if itâs Digimon-related, sweetheart.â
Little does he knowâŚ
Itâs you youâre sending.
(Though yes, heâs still getting something Digimon-related too. You spent two weeks hand-knitting a Gabumon scarf hat â complete with floppy ears, tiny claws, and a ridiculous little horn. Itâs absolutely absurd. You hope heâll love it.)
Kyoto is blanketed in snow when you land â your breath visible in the air as you drag your suitcase outside the airport, gloved fingers fumbling with your phone. You manage to request a car (thank god for global apps), but the second the driver steps out and starts speaking rapid-fire Japanese, your brain goes static.
âUhâŚ. sumimasen?â
Itâs the only word you know that seems remotely polite. That, and arigatou. Oh, and you know, baka, (thanks to Satoruâs anime rants about how âsub is superior to dub.â He swears by it, so naturally, youâve started watching anime. In sub. Maybe because it feels like holding onto a piece of him.)
As you enter the car, you press your face to the frosty window and Kyoto whirls past â ancient shrines nestled between sleek buildings, power lines framed by snow-laced branches, vending machines glowing like beacons in the dark. The city is beautiful. Foreign. Dreamlike.
But then, the car pulls up to his house â and suddenly, youâre the one who feels foreign.
Because what the hell.
The place is huge.
Itâs walled off with an iron gate, and a winding stone path leading up to a home that looks like a cross between a modern compound and a high-end ryokan. Heâd told you his family was well off, but you didnât realize well off meant a fucking dynasty.
Great. Now youâre standing here with your thrifted suitcase, the handmade gift for him, wrapped in a flimsy bag, wearing your own knitted scarf and a coat you borrowed from your roommate because your own has a busted zipper. Youâre suddenly hyper-aware of every chipped nail, every dollar you donât have in your bank account.
God. What are you even doing here? This man seems ever more too good to be true. What if heâs playing you? What if⌠Meiâs right. Does he even want you? Whatâll he do when he sees you? Whatâll he say?
Fuck.
You take a deep breath, tugging your scarf a little higher, gripping his present like a lifeline. Itâs fine. Whatever. You came all this way. No turning back now, right?
When you ring the doorbell, a faint chime echoes inside the estate. The air bites at your cheeks while voices murmur on the other side. Footsteps near the entrance and thenâ
Click!
The shoji slides open. Youâre grinning nervously â heart hammering in your chest, steadying yourself as a figure comes into sight. A figure whom isâ
A woman.
âăăŁâŚčްďźä˝ăăç¨ă§ăăďźâ
She stands with one hand on the frame, backlit by the warm glow of the house behind her. Dark hair pulled into a lazy bun, a cigarette balanced between two fingers, smoke curling lazily into the night air. Sheâs tall. Cool. Effortlessly poised in a way youâve never been. And she looks⌠young. Maybe your age.
Meiâs laugh is echoing in your goddamn ears.
Double fuckâŚ
Did Satoru lie? Is this his girlfriend? His wife? A casual fling he forgot to mention? God. Is this why he never video chatted you?
It feels like a kick to the chest.
What the hell were you thinking?? Flying across the world for a guy youâve never met in person?!
 âăĄăăŁă¨ăčăăăŚăďźâ
Sheâs still looking at you, head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed with vague curiosity â and you realize with a jolt you havenât said anything. Not a word.
âOh! Iâuhâsumimasen?â you stammer, fumbling with the little Japanese you know. âS-Sorry, I⌠I donât speak Japanese,â you laugh, awkward and breathless. âI think I have the wrong house, though. I was looking for someone named Satoru butââ with a glance past her, you try not to look desperate.
God. Youâre such an idiot.
âUhhh⌠never mind,â and clutching your suitcase, you attempt to retreat. âIâm so sorry. This was a mistake.â
Though her hand shoots out, catching your sleeve.
âOh. Satoru? That idiot?â she says casually, in English this time â voice smooth, tinged with amusement. She flicks ash off the edge of the porch. âYeah, youâre at the right house. Heâs just at the FamilyMart with Yuji right now. Craving strawberry shortcake, apparently.â
As your brain begins to short-circuit, she takes one last drag of her cigarette, then steps aside, gesturing toward the entryway.
âCâmon. Youâll freeze your ass off.â
âOiii,â Shoko calls. âWe have a guest, guys! Say hello toâoh, um⌠sorry, whatâs your name again?â
Before you know it, youâre stepping inside â toeing off your shoes at the entrance. Your feet pad against the tatami as you round the corner, and youâre greeted with a group of three other men sitting casually around a low table, with an abundance of snacks at the center.
Though, despite how laid-back the room appears, with pillows and drinks and half opened bags â thereâs an underlying tension so thick, you swear it could cut glass.
Theyâre all staring at you with stone faces.
One man is blonde, with a chiseled jawline and a stern demeaner. Another has bubblegum-pink hair and tattoos crawling up both arms, and the third is a teenager with messy black hair who looks like heâd rather be literally anywhere else.
Are these Satoruâs⌠friends? Family? Heâs never mentioned them before.
Shoko takes another drag from her cigarette, unfazed. âIâm Shoko, by the way,â she says lazily, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. âKnown Satoru for years. Unfortunately.â She smirks. âThis is Kento, Sukuna, and Megumi.â
âH-HelloâŚâ you murmur, gripping the handle of your suitcase as you hold a tight, nervous smile. âNice to meet you. Sorry for⌠dropping in like this. I just flew in from America and⌠I was hoping that â well, Satoru would be here?â
âGojo?â Sukuna gruffs, leaning back on one elbow. He plucks a piece of pocky from the snack tray and chews it without breaking eye contact. âAnd who the fuck are you supposed to be? His secret girlfriend or somethinâ?â
The words hits harder than it should.
Girlfriend? Secret?
God, what are you to him?
And now, it dawns on you that they havenât a clue who you are either. Of course, they donât. Why would they?
You feel your cheeks heat. âO-oh, no. No, itâs not like that,â you say quickly, waving your hand like itâll brush the embarrassment away. âI mean⌠we talk. Weâve been talking. Butââ
You trail off and theyâre all looking at you with raised brows.
âWe donât have a label or anything. Weâre just⌠friends.â
âFriends?â Sukuna perks up, grin widening. âSo lemme get this straight. You flew twelve hours across the globe for that pretentious dick?â He scoffs. âAnd he hasnât even put a label on you?â
Thereâs something dangerously amused in his tone now, and he tosses the half-eaten pocky stick back onto the tray.
âDamn. Lucky bastard.â
You blink, unsure whether to feel insulted or embarrassed or both.
"Donât you worry sweet thing. You decide to stay and I can show ya how a real man can take care of ya, hm?"
Kento shifts, cutting him a glance. âSukunaâŚâ
âWhat?â he says, raising both hands innocently. âThis girl is hot as fuck. And Iâm just saying â if it were me? Iâd at least make sure she knew what she was walking into. Or out of. I'm not like that asshole.â
You blink again.
Is he⌠hitting on you?
âGreat... here we goâŚâ Megumi mutters.
And Kento sighs, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. âPlease ignore him,â he tells you, voice calm but firm. âEverything is a pissing contest with Gojo where heâs concerned.â
âOkay, first of all â fuck you,â Sukuna snaps, sitting up straighter now, suddenly defensive. âItâs not about competition. Iâm just not blind. Look at her!â
You blush subtly, and Megumi mutters, barely glancing up.
âDon't take him seriously... trust me. He says that. But every time Gojo brings a fangirl around, he's always trying to take her home like itâs a fucking game.â
...fangirl?
The word slams into your chest like a hammer. Is that what they think you are? You stiffen, heart dropping. Because that proves it. You shouldnât be here. Of course someone like him would get dozens of women throwing themselves at him.
What made you think you were any different?
You shouldnât have come.
âI-Iâm sorry,â you whisper, grip tightening around the suitcase as you fumble to gather your things. âI shouldnât have⌠I didnât mean to barge in. Iâll justââ
And bowing your head, you spin on your heel, until suddenly you collide into someone. But it all happens so quickly; you donât register who. Because with a gasp, you stumble backwards, entirely focused on how your giftbag slipped from your grip, making Satoruâs scarf fall to the floor.
âW-What⌠what are you doing here?!â
âShit, Iâm sorry.â
'Sorry' must be your go to word tonight. Youâre too embarrassed to look up and see more of Satoruâs friends judging you. Youâre dropping on your knees, scrambling to gather things with shaking hands mumbling under your breath.
âIâm leaving now⌠god, I shouldnât have come. Please donât tell Satoru I wasâ"
âWHOA, is that Gabumon?!â a new voice exclaims, bright with curiosity. âHey Gojo, whoâs this?â
At the mention of his name, you freeze.
Your head slowly lifts, eyes tracing up to catch sight of another pink-haired boy, peeking out from behind the man directly in front of you.
But⌠the man doesnât look like Satoru. Not the Satoru youâve come to know.
No. He has snowy-white tousled hair, tucked beneath a beanie, with bright blue eyes, blinking behind thick-rimmed glasses.
Nothing like his profile pictures.
âSatoru?â you breathe.
His mouth parts, speechless while heâs looking at you like youâre a ghost.
âDude, thatâs so cool! Did you make that?â Yuji asks, eyes sparkling. âGojo sheâs a keeper, huh?â
âMmm⌠clearly.â Nanami glances over. âBecause since when do you let girls know you like Digimon?â
âAbout damn time,â Shoko snorts, already lighting another cigarette like this is the most amusing thing sheâs seen all week.
âAnd, she flew here for you,â Sukuna laughs from the back, sounding far too smug for someone uninvolved. âShit, Iâll marry her if you donât, asshole.â
The voices layer over each other â praise, laughter, awe. But itâs too bright, too loud, and youâre frozen in the middle of it. Feeling completely detached from reality while the blatant truth stands directly in front of you.
He lied.
And the worst part? You believed him. You came all this way. Mei Mei was right.
Love is dead.
âUm, actually. IâI left something outside,â you blurt, shoving the scarf back in the bag and clutching it to your chest, blinking back the tears. âExcuse me a moment.â
And before anyone can stop you, youâre slipping past them â out the door, out of breath â your chest aching with something you canât yet name. While behind you, footsteps follow as he calls your name.
âWaitâshit. Wait!â
Satoru knows he fucked up. And by the time he barrels out the front door, youâre already halfway down the street, boots crunching through the snow like youâre marching to war.
He feels like a grade A idiot. Because somehow, against all odds, you â this ridiculously perfect girl â came all the way to Japan thinking he was someone worth showing up for.
And now heâs watching you walk away.
âWaitwaitwaitwaitâŚâ he groans, jogging after you, breath puffing white in the air. âSlow down and just⌠can you justâfuck. Just stop for a second?!â
âStop?!â You whirl around, eyes wet and furious. âWhy should I? Who the fuck even are you? What kind of psycho catfishes someone for months and then just lies to their face?!â
He blinks, defensive instinct kicking in before his brain can catch up.
âWâWellâwhat kind of psycho flies across the country and shows up on someoneâs front lawn?â he fires back, hands flailing. âIn Japan, might I add!â
A bitter scoff tears out of you. âYou saidâand I quoteââI wish you were here with me for Christmas,ââ your arms fold tight across your chest like youâre holding yourself together. âWhy the hell would you say that if you didnât mean it?â
He backpedals immediately. Because fuck â he did mean it. Every lateânight call. Every laugh. Every stupid wish whispered into the dark.
But instead of admitting that, panic takes over.
âLâLookâthatâs justâsomething people say, okay?â he rambles. âLike⌠âyour babyâs so cute,â orâumâ âmy diet starts tomorrow,â orââ
Heâs waving his hand, scrambling for humor â something to soften it â but the words die on his lips when he sees your face drop. You blink hard, like something inside you just broke. And the sight of it makes his stomach twist into knots.
Great. Now he feels like even more of an asshole.
âShit⌠okay,â he blurts, voice softer now. âThat was... yeah. Um. That was a dick move. I know...â
âFuck youâŚâ you mutter, turning back around.
âHold up! Please⌠just come inside, yeah? We can talk it out. If you'll just let me explainâ"
âI donât want to talk to you. Ever again.â
He can hear the hurt underneath the edge of your voice, and he stands there, watching you trudge through the snow â your figure getting smaller against the snow-washed street. He knows there is no salvaging this. He fucked it up. But still⌠reality slams into him all at once.
You donât speak the language.
You donât know the city.
You donât have a car.
Fuck. Do you even have anywhere to go?
âFuckfuckfuckfuck⌠fuck!â he breathes, running a hand through his hair as he begins to jog back toward the house, bursting through the door.
âGuys, Iâll be right back!â he shouts to no one in particular as he grabs his keys off the counter, hands shaking. âShe left something at the airport!â
Then, heâs gone again. Chasing the only girl who ever made him feel seen.
Itâs cold. Too cold for someone with no plan and no fucking clue where youâre going. But the cold doesnât sting as much as your heart does.
You donât even know how far youâve walked. Five minutes? Ten? Your fingers are numb, your phone battery is nearly dead, and your boots are soaked through.
By pure luck, you stumbled into some sort of Japanese bar. And the kanji on the glowing sign outside might as well be ancient runes, but the warmth spilling through the door felt like something close to safety. Like maybe if you just stepped inside, youâd stop feeling so fucking alone.
Because hey, at least the sake tastes good.
You have no Wi-Fi, no plan, not a single ounce of pride left. All you have is the stupid hope that maybe if you drown yourself in enough of this bitter rice wine, itâll burn the ache out of your chest.
The edges of the bar blur slightly. Everythingâs warm and loud. Someoneâs laughing too hard in the corner. Across the room, beyond the haze, thereâs a man with a dark bun and violet eyes, sipping from a bottle with his head tilted back.
Beautiful.
Almost likeâŚ
The photos on Satoruâs profile?
Are you delusional? Drunk? No... that is him. Right??
Youâre blinking through the blur, trying to make sense of it. But then? The room begins to spin and sure enough, nausea hits.
âShitââ you whisper, grabbing the edge of the bar.
Youâre pushing off your stool, stumbling outside the icy curb, before you double over and hurl into the snowbank.
Great. Fucking perfect. Can this day get any worse?
âHeyâhey! There you are!â
Oh, yeah. It can.
Tires crunch as a car jerks to a stop beside the curb. The door flies open, left swinging in the cold and Satoru rushes out, barely remembering to throw the gear into park before heâs crossing to you, boots skidding slightly on slush.
âJesusâfuck. Are you okay?â he drops beside you, crouching low. âWhat the hell happenedââ
âDonât touch me,â you snap, pushing at him weakly while your body sways. He pulls back like you burned him.
âIâm fffine,â you slur, though your stomach still churns and your face is damp with cold sweat. âGooo away.â
He sighs, exasperated.
âYouâre not fine. Youâre pale and shaking andâwait. Are you⌠drunk?â He exhales, brushing his hand through his hair like heâs trying not to lose it. âCome on. Let me take you home.â
âHome?â you laugh, bitter and sharp, scoffing as you shove at him again. âYou mean your home?â
âNo. I meant⌠wherever youâre safe. I justâcan we not do this right now? Please?â
You snort, head lolling as you stare at the ground. âYouâre a liarrrr,â you mutter, voice thick and sloppy. âJusâ like everyone else.â
The words land heavier than he expects. Wind howls between you, carrying the smell of snow and alcohol and regret. Satoru opens his mouthâcloses it. For once, he doesnât have a smart comeback.
âIâm gonna stay right here,â you announce suddenly, sliding down until your back hits the wall. You cross your arms, chin lifting like itâs some kind of moral victory. âI donât need you.â
ââŚin the snow?â he asks flatly.
âYup,â you nod, blinking too hard. âMaybe Iâll meet someone who doesnât lie for fun.â
âJesus, womanââ he drags a hand down his face. âYouâre in a foreign country. You donât speak the language. Youâre drunk off your ass. Iâm not just gonna abandon you in an alley behind a bar you canât even read the name of!â
âPffft... well I liiike this bar,â you say bitterly, voice cracking. âS'greeat. They poured the sake fast. And nobody lied to me.â
Every time you say it, it hurts him even more. Satoru exhales hard, pacing a few steps like if he stops moving, he might actually lose it. But when he turns back, ready with another argument â another plea â he freezes.
Because youâre... crying.
Not quiet tears. Not dignified ones. Ugly, shaking sobs that pull from somewhere deep in your chest, shoulders hitching as you scrub at your face with the sleeve of your coat.
âI hate you,â you mutter, voice wrecked.
His chest tightens. He doesnât know what to do with that. With this.
âI really liked you,â you continue, words tumbling out now, unstoppable. âLikeâreally liked you. I donât do this. I donât fly across the world for people. I donâtââ you hiccup, laughing wetly through the tears. âS'bullshitâŚâ you mutter bitterly.
He blinks, lips pressing in a thin line like heâs unsure what to say. The cold wind blows as you sniffle.
âPlus⌠youâre hot as fuck. I donât get it. Like⌠you didnât even need to lieâŚâ
You mutter, shifting in the snow. And that one makes him flinch.
âSâstupid⌠you couldâve jus' been you,â you say, gesturing vaguely at him. âBut no. Instead you make up this whole fake version. Lying about everything. Liarrr. And now I canât trust you. Betcha lied about liking me too, huh? All of it.â
He opens his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Because thatâs the cruel part.
He didnât lie about everything.
He thinks of the way peopleâs eyes light up when they recognize his last name. The way conversations shift the second they realize heâs that Gojo. He thinks of years spent being wanted for the wrong reasons â money, status, face value.
And youâre the one person who ever made him feel like itâs okay for liking what he liked. The nerdy, cocky, compulsively sarcastic guy who collects Digimon cards and corrects Wikipedia entries in his spare time.
âOh yeah⌠ya know who I saw in there?â you suddenly say, jerking your thumb toward the glowing doorway behind you. âThat hot guy from yer pictures.â
Satoru stiffens.
âUh⌠Suguru?â
âOh,â you sniff. âSo heâs a real guy?â You laugh again, hollow and dizzy. âFigures. Yâknow what? He looks like he wouldnât lie. Bet heâs honest. Bet he doesnât make fake profiles and pretend to be someone else.â
Youâre too drunk to notice the flinch in his jaw, the way he shifts his weight like the words physically hurt.Â
âMaybe Iâll go back in and see if heâll take me home, huh?â
You try to shove off the wall and nearly trip again, but Satoru steadies you without thinking â hands warm and steady under your arms.
âLookâŚâ he murmurs, voice gentler now. âI know youâre mad. And I deserve it. But Iâm worried about you.â
His grip adjusts â one hand rising to gently cradle your elbow, the other slipping around to the small of your back as he lowers his head to meet your bleary, mascara-smudged eyes.
âItâs cold,â he says, voice pitched just above a whisper. âItâs late. Youâre probably jet-lagged out of your mind. Just⌠come back to the house with me, alright? Sleep it off. And if you still hate me in the morningâfine. Iâll even help you hook up with Suguru⌠if you want.â
Your head jerks back slightly, eyes narrowing. âW-What?â You squint at him, breath curling white between you. âSeriously?â
He shrugs with the ghost of a smile, though it doesnât reach his eyes. âI mean, me and him used to be friends. Iâm your best bet.â
âThatâs insane,â you mutter.
âIâm aware,â he says dryly. Then, more cautiously: âAll Iâm asking is that you pretend to be my girlfriend. Just until Christmas is over.â
You scoff, half stumbling again as you try to push away from him. âWhy the hell would I do that?â
He hesitates. Then breathes out through his nose, gaze flicking away for a second.
âBecause⌠you saw how excited my friends were to meet you. I donât have a great relationship with my family, okay? Those guys⌠theyâre all I have. Iâve spent holidays alone more years than I havenât.â His voice cracks a little, just a hair. âI donât wanna ruin this one⌠please?â
Something in your expression softens. It hits you all at once, stupid and sharp: how close he is. How blue his eyes are. Maybe itâs the crack in his voice, or the tired honesty in his face, or the fact that for the first time tonight, he doesnât look like a liar. He just looks⌠sad.
ââŚokay,â you whisper. âFine. Letâs just⌠go.â
But when you step forward, you falter slightly, ankle twisting in the snow, and he moves without hesitation â an arm looping under yours, the other bracing your elbow as he helps you upright.
âShitâokay. Easy, sweetheart. I got you,â he murmurs, adjusting his grip.
And maybe itâs the alcohol, or the heartbreak, or the fact that your guardâs been sanded down to nothing. But for a second? You let yourself lean into him. Just a little. Just enough.
He guides you carefully toward the car. The passenger door creaks open. He ducks down to guide you in, one hand braced above your head so you donât hit it on the frame. His other hand lingers at your lower back. You glance up at him in the doorway.
âDo you⌠really think Suguru would like me?â
Thereâs a flicker in his expression. Then a tight smile.
âI think⌠heâd be lucky if he did.â
You frown, unsure how to read that. But you donât press.
He closes the door behind you, gently. And as he rounds the car to take his seat, you rest your head against the window â watching snow dust the windshield like ash.
Itâs going to be a long Christmas.
The drive home was quiet. When Satoru glanced through the rearview mirror, he realized you were out cold before he even hit the second red light. Your head was tilted against the window, lips slightly parted, breathing deep and even.
You looked impossibly beautiful.
By the time he pulled into the driveway, the snow picked up again, soft and powdery in the glow of the porch light. Satoru kills the engine and glances at you one more time.
âHey⌠uh. Weâre here?â
But you donât wake. And honestly, he canât find it in his heart to wake you himself. So instead, he sighs, âCâmon, sleeping beautyâŚâ climbing out and circling the car. âRight⌠well. Up and at âem.â
He lifts you gently, bridal style. And your head lolls against his shoulder, warm breath ghosting across his collar. When he adjusts his grip, you snuggle closer, burrowing into the crook of his neck. And he tries to act like his brain wasnât short-circuiting.
As he approaches the estateâs entrance, the door slides open before he can knock. Yuji stands there with a bag of chips in one hand and a soda in the other.
âWoah. Dude. She okay?â
âWhat?! Of course!â Satoru huffs. âSheâs fine. Justâtired. Long flight. Jet lag hit her hard, yâknow?â
Yuji nods solemnly. âRIP.â
Satoru rolls his eyes. âMove. Gotta put her to bed.â
Yuji moves. Nobody presses further. Satoru doesnât stop in the hallway, just takes the stairs two at a time, heading straight for his room, nudging the door open with his foot while he eases you inside.
He lowers you onto the bed slowly, like you might break. Your coat bunches beneath you, and he hesitates â then gently shrugs it off your shoulders, exposing some of your bare skin. You murmur something incoherent, head rolling to the side.
âShhh⌠time to get some rest, sweetheartâŚâ he breathes. âLay back for me, yeah?â
As you lay back, he slips your boots off next, one at a time, fingers brushing your ankles. And god, your feet are freezing.
But as heâs reaching for the blanketâ
âMmmph.â
Your hand fumbles blindly and finds his shirt, tugging him down with you. He stumbles forward slightly, one knee landing on the edge of the bed, catching himself on his palms as you tug him down. Your arms wrap loosely around his waist, burying your face into his chest.
âW-Woahâhey,â he breathes, voice cracking a little. âYouâreâuh. Kinda clinging there, huh?â
You donât answer. You just⌠sigh. Sleepy and content. He lies beside you, unsure where to put his hands, heart racing. Youâre cold. He can feel the way you press into him, like heâs the warmest thing in the world. Your fingers bunch his shirt. Your nose nuzzles the fabric.
âMm⌠sâtoruâŚâ
His heart flutters, and he knows youâll probably hate him again in the morning, but he doesnât move.
Because he likes the way you cling to him. Because heâs selfish. Because the girl he lied to for weeks is now curled up in his bed, face pressed to his ribs, saying his name like sheâs dreamt it a hundred times.
So, he sleeps beside you that night. Pretending, just for now, that none of it was a lie.
âI keep thinking⌠if this is what youâre like over the phone, what the hell am I gonna do if I ever see you in person?â
Youâre dreaming again.
Of his voice â that voice. Warm and easy. The one that used to call you at midnight, laughing through the line like it was nothing, like you werenât slowly losing your mind for a stranger youâd never met.
âCause⌠I really love talking to you. Might just get addicted to you, sweetheart.â
You sigh, stirring slightly against the warmth pressed to you. Itâs a heavy, encompassing warmth â like youâve been swaddled in sunlight and something sweet. Thereâs an arm draped languidly around your waist, and a thumb twitching against your lower back.
Dreaming.
âMmphâŚâ
Your thighs are warm, tangled, clinging to something⌠hard. You wiggle your hips as the rhythm of breathing ebbs and flows beneath you. And that movement makes a low, sleepy sound rumble against your chest.
âFffuckâŚâ
The groan isnât innocent, and your brow furrows with a whimper as something firm twitches between your legs. Beginning to grow. A hand flexes at your back, and you instinctively press your thighs tighter, making him gasp.
âUnngh⌠b-babyâŚâ
As your eyes flutter open, fluttering against his skin, youâre greeted with the slope of his throat, pale in the gray morning light. And the throbbing heat between your legs makes it undeniable now.
This isnât a dream. This isnât your bed. This isnât your blanket. And your thighs are straddling Satoruâs hips with his morning wood right there and holy shitâ
âS-Satoru?!â
You squeak. And his brow twitches, snowy lashes fluttering, lips parting on a sleepy inhale. When his hazy gaze focuses, youâre met with that blue. Bluer than the sky, bluer than anything should be this early in the goddamn morning.
But then, awareness sinks in, and he stutters. âH-HuhâŚ?â gaze flicking down to the very compromising position youâre both in.
âShit!â his voice cracks as you shove at his chest, face molten.
âOh my godâwhy the hell are we sleeping together?!â you shriek, and heâs desperately trying to explain. âIâYouââ he wheezes as you push his again. âOw, okay, damn, donât commit a felony! You literally pulled me into the bed when you were drunk. And then you passed out on top of me! Iâm the victim here!â
Your hands are still on his chest, mid-push. But you stop. Breath catching. Eyes locking.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
You both look down at his dick.
ââŚso,â he mutters, throat bobbing as his eyes flick back up to your faceâvery carefully avoiding your chest, failing miserably. âYou, uh⌠gonna move?â
âR-Right!â your cheeks erupt in flames as you scramble off him like heâs on fire, nearly tripping over the bed. âShitâsorryâI didnât mean toâŚâ
âNo, itâs uh⌠fine. Totally fine.â He mumbles with an awkward laugh. âI mean⌠not that Iâm complaining⌠but damn. If this is how you serve breakfast in America? I might need to move andââ
âDonât.â You snap, making him freeze. âDonât say thatâŚâ
Your arms are crossed as you stand, pressing your lips together tightly. His expression instantly drops, the humor fading. And god. You want to be mad at him. You should be mad.
But mostly?
Last night comes flashing back â your drunk, pathetic sob story. And really, you just feel⌠humiliated.
âYou donât get to make jokes right now,â your tone trembles as you try to hold it tight. âNot after last night. Not after I flew across the world for someone who doesnât exist. For some whoââ you trail off, failing to find words that donât sound even more pathetic. And scoff. âGod⌠Iâm such an idiotâŚâ
Thereâs a long pause. Satoruâs quiet, but then you hear him sigh.
ââŚyouâre not. Youâre not an idiot.â
Your eyes flick over as you watch him shift upright, pushing a hand through his messy hair. His expression softens, vibrant eyes dimming with a tenderness. And for once, it doesnât feel like heâs reaching for some smartass line to soften to blow.
âI told you⌠I shouldnât have lied. Okay? I know thatâŚâ he scratches the back of his head, knowing thereâs no excuse he can give you thatâll make him sound any less pathetic. He exhales, pushing on. âLook⌠just stay until Christmas. Please? Iâll do everything I can to make it up to you. Even⌠hook you up with Suguru, like I said.â
He hesitates as he says it. But thatâs what you want⌠right? After all, you expected him. You expected Suguru.
You blink, mouth parting as your conversation at the bar comes crashing back towards your foggy memory. Youâd said it to spite him. You were drunk and stupid and humiliated, and you just wanted to wound him.
Because you liked him.
You really, really wanted it to be real.
Your mouth parts. Youâre about to answer when your phone buzzes.
Mei: Howâs Japan, darling? Is he real? I expect those lines~
You stare at the screen. Something twists in your chest â not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. And with a bitter smile, you tuck the phone away.
âRightâŚâ you mutter, rubbing your arm nervously. âUh⌠sure. I guess Iâll stay.â
a/n. hello my darlings. merry christmas, i hope you all are enjoying your holiday! i will have pt 2 out before the end of december, lmk if you wanna be tagged. this fic kinda gives me supermodel! gojo vibes? at least with the message it's exploring. hehe. anyways, love you all. thanks for reading đ
part 2 >>>
summary! you were his most well kept secret, scrolling your instagram for hours on end, collecting each and every magazine that you'd ever featured in, satoru was obsessed with you, the gorgeous goddess who just so happened to go to his university. what happens when he sees you struggling to reach a book in the library and plucks up enough courage to finally go up and talk to you? how will the resident bad boy sukuna disrupt his fever dream come true? (major mentions of fling!sukuna x reader, smut, fluff, angst w/comfort. m.list)
the old campus library felt like a completely different world full of ornate woodwork climbing up the walls, interrupted only by tall stained glass windows that caught the soft amber glow of autumn turning them into a palette of beautiful shades. outside, the trees were aflame with rich color, copper, rust, deep crimson, and their reflection danced on the polished floors.
this was satoruâs sanctuary.
with perfectly dim corners and forgotten book shelves, long tables where no one really noticed if you stayed for hours after dark. it was the one place he could be invisible and hide away from the world.
which is why his heart damn near exploded when you walked in.
you were quite literally the hottest thing satoru had ever seen, and seriously, you really didn't belong here. your makeup was shining with pink glitter on your lids and a look that screamed sex icon.
with your pink cheetah print mini skirt, rhinestone hair clips catching the libraryâs warm light, a bedazzled phone clutched in one hand and a louis vuitton pochette tucked under the other. your heels made the kind of click that had half the students peeking over their books to catch a glimpse of you.
and gojo took in every single detail.
he watched as you looked over the shelfs, rising up on your tiptoes, your acrylics fluttering helplessly just inches from the bookâs spine, of course it had to be on the very top shelf justttt out of reach.
and of course no one else was around to help you out.
gojo adjusted his glasses pushing them up his nose, heart thumping badum, badum, in his chest. his fingers hovered over his laptop keys, still stuck on a line of working of an astrophysics assignment he stopped fully understanding a whole twenty minutes ago.
heâd memorized every one of your photos, every cover shoot, every tiktok q&a where you smiled that same breathtakingly perfect smile he was so used to.
the goddess of his screen, right here in the dusty old sanctuary he never thought youâd step foot in, ever, struggling to reach a book that he was tall enough to grab without even trying.
well, you know what they say? when opportunity knocks.
clearing his throat almost as a way to prepare himself, he closed the lid of his lap top and stood towering.
his palms were sweating. he wiped them on his jeans as subtly as he could as his brain sent boughs of anxiety coursing through his blood. every step felt unreal, like he was glitching through a dream he wasnât supposed to be part of. he could hear the faint squeak of his sneakers against the floor, echoing too loud in the silence as if the library itself was watching him with bated breath.
you didnât notice him at first, too busy tiptoeing, a pout forming on your glossy lips as your fingers swiped at nothing but air. your pink mini rode a little higher as you stretched, glittery charm bracelet jingling with the effort, and satoru had to drag his eyes away from your lower half and back up to your face like a gentleman, his throat went desert dry.
he cleared it quietly. âh-hey, uh, need some help?â
you turned around, and wow.
up close, you were somehow even more perfect. highlighter catching on your cheekbones, the smell of candy and designer perfume floating around you like some kind of special alluring aura. your eyes met his, confused for a split second, then amused. not mean, not mocking, just curious, like you were trying to place him. like he was a page youâd never noticed before.
âerrr, yeah!â you said, with a breathy little laugh that made his stomach flip inside out. âm' not really built for reaching stuff that high.â
he blinked, then smiled, nervous but trying to play it super cool. âlucky for you, i majored in tall.â you laughed again even though it was kind of, definitely super dry, and satoru swore heâd never heard anything more captivating in his entire virgin life.
âyouâre funny,â you said, stepping aside to give him room. âwhatâs your name, honey?â he froze for a second at the pet name, but quickly pushed it aside as a usual thing you probably said to everyone.
sheâs asking your name, idiot, say it!
âgojo. i mean, satoru. gojo satoru. either one, or uh. both at once.â he winced. smooth satoru, real smooth. you just tilted your head, smiled like you didnât mind at all, and watched him pluck the book down with one easy reach.
âthanks, but satorus too long, and i hate calling people by their last name.â you said, cradling the book in your arms like a purse dog. satoru's eyes blew wider like he was surprised you'd say that so outright. he cleared his throat and rubbed his neck. "oh, i see... what would you like to call me then..?" he asked with a nervous blush dusting his nose.
âhmm..." he watched as you tapped a finger to your chin in thought, and how your beautiful eyes sparkled with an idea as you suddenly blurted out, "toru! ill call you toru." you exclaimed with a passion gojo found irresistibly adorable.
he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. âtoru... it's sounds good coming from you mouth." he mentally face palmed and before he could think his brain threw up word vomit like there was no tommorow. "holy shit wait! that's not what i meant! i mean it sounds good on your tongue? oh-my-god-that's-worse... please, i'm so sorry i-â
you cut him off with a loud giggle, quickly slapping a hand over your mouth once you realized you were in a library, not that it did much to muffle the still continuing melody.
his brain short circuited, he was sure of it. neurons fried, circuits blown, oxygen? never heard of her. because you were standing there, laughing like he was actually funny, like this wasnât a scene straight out of one of his most unrealistic lecture daydreams.
you gave him a big smile as you wiped away a stray tear that slipped out from giggling so hard, and god, he was fucked. the look of pure joy on your pretty little face made him feel like his soul was ascending like a cartoon ghost floating up from his body.
you shifted your weight on your heels, resting one hip against the shelf. the fluorescent light overhead made the rhinestones on your bebe cami sparkle. you tucked the book under your arm like it was a designer clutch and popped another bubble of gum, watching him with a kind of lazy, feminine feline curiosity.
âso,â you drawled, âwhatâs a pretty guy like you doing all alone in a dusty place like this?â
pretty. you just called me pretty.
he had to bite his tongue hard as to not let himself choke on air like a loser.
âi, uh-â he coughed, adjusting the frames on his face, trying to stall while his brain caught up to the sitch. âi... i like books?â
you laughed again, not as hard this time but a pretty sound all the same.
this was becoming more and more dangerous, the way you looked at him like he was adorable, like he wasnât wearing a hoodie with digimon plastered all over it and old busted up jordans he hadnât replaced in three years, like he wasnât the guy who built computers in his dorm for fun and had a separate folder of your magazine covers saved on his hard drive labeled âfor researchâ even though no sort of science was involved.
âyouâre cute,â you said matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing on the planet.
satoru was long gone.
he stared at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, face flushed a gentle pink that crept all the way up to the tips of his ears. the air was suddenly thick and he clocked himself taking much faster, deeper breaths.
god, what is wrong with me?!
ây-you think so?â he asked softly, still so stunned.
you tilted your head again, hair bouncing. âdonât be weird 'bout itt, of course i do!â
he felt his knees weaken, but he had to stay calm, maybe say something niche awesome and cool. say something flirty! youâve practiced this in the mirror for god sake!
âyouâre, uh...â he tried, mouth dry. âyouâre like⌠really symmetrical. scientifically speaking. your face, i mean. p-perfect proportions.â
you blinked at him, surprised for a second before giggling once again.
âare you trying to flirt with me using the golden ratio?â
ââŚyes.â
âoh my god,â you said, biting your lip. âthatâs actually really hot.â
he almost moaned at your flirty tone.
was this real? did he really just admit to trying to flirt with you?
he was talking to you. you. the girl whose instagram he checked religiously, zooming in on every new post like it was a secret message just for him to analyse and overthink the lighting or whatever thing his neurodivergent brain decided to home in on. he knew what your favorite lip gloss was, he knew what kind of drink you prefered from cafes, heâd bought three different issues of vivi just to see the full spread of your beach shoot, and had one of them hidden in the bottom drawer under his spare laptop cables.
you were the girl he had fucked his fist raw to.
and you were standing right in front of him, telling him he was hot for quoting fibonacci.
this couldnât be real.
âdo you, uh⌠study fashion or something?â he spewed out, trying desperately to keep the conversation going.
he couldn't lose this opportunity.
ânot that you need to! you look like⌠like you walked out of an old juicy couture magazine... b-but like- in the best way! of course!â he nervously added.
you grinned, chewing your gum thoughtfully. âno. i'm in marketing. but i do part-time modeling gigs, keeps my followers happy, and my bank account.â
oh, i know. he thought, but smiled like he didnât. like he hadnât memorized your last seven ad campaigns and tracked the rise in your follower count every week.
âthatâs really cool,â he said instead. âyouâre, like, really good at it.â
you raised a brow. âhmm? so youâve seen my stuff?â
he panicked. âuh... once. maybe? a few times. like⌠it just came up on the internet.â he cleared his throat.
you smirked. âjust came up, huh?.â
he felt raw heat rush to his ears. âi⌠no⌠maybe.â
you stepped a little closer, still grinning, glossy lips curving like you knew exactly the effect you had on him.
âitâs okay, toru,â you whispered conspiratorially. âi'm fine with hot guys like you looking at my stuff.â
he snorted, loud and awkward, then clapped a hand over his mouth. your laughter followed, kinder this time, almost sweet. you didnât seem like you were judging him, if anything, you seemed like you were delighted by how much of a mess he was.
you leaned back against the bookshelf, flipping the bookâs cover open lazily. âwhat were you working on, before i came over and distracted you with my tragic lack of height?â
he glanced back at his table, his laptop still open, screen filled with half-written equations and tabs full of research for his paper.
âjust⌠homework. physics stuff, y'know. not super interesting.â
you hummed. âoh wow physics! you really are a genius? not some nerd poser or something?â
âor something,â he said with a sheepish grin.
you eyed him again, like you were scanning him. tall. gangly, but in a model-off-duty kind of way. platinum white hair slightly tousled like heâd been running his hands through it. pretty piercing blue eyes behind round glasses that only made him look more ridiculously handsome, like a gorgeous professor with no idea how hot he actually was.
you popped another bubble. âi know i already said this but, you're real hot toru, y'know that? perfect model materialâ
he groaned, covering his red face. âyouâre gonna kill me.â
you nudged his arm with your elbow. âin an endearing way, though.â
his brain flipped out completely and he felt his stomach drop in the best, most exciting way.
sheâs flirting with me. sheâs actually flirting with me! this isnât a simulation. this is real.
he was suddenly hyper aware of everything, like the way your perfume lingered in the air, the soft click of your nails against the book cover. the scuff on your pink heels, your lip gloss glinting like a disco ball every time the light shifted. his eyes trailed down to the perfect curve of your tits, god what he would give to cop a feel for just a secon-
âso,â you said, as casually as if you were asking for the time, âyou gonna ask for my number or just keep eye fucking me like that?â
his jaw dropped and you giggled again.
âi-i wasn't- i was gonna-,â he stammered, clutching the edge of the bookshelf for support. âi just didnât know if, i mean, youâre, like, you. and iâm just...â
you raised an eyebrow. âyouâre you, toru.â
he cleared his throat as if he didn't hear you right.
âmy toru, if you play your cards right.â
he was dead. buried. emotionally incinerated.
âuh- can i- yeah- your number, please. definitely. like. right now.â
you pulled your phone from your purse, bedazzled case catching the light like a chandelier. âhere y' go."
he shakily took your phone.
you peeked at it and burst out laughing. âjust 'gojo'? that's lame.â
he shrugged, somehow managing a grin. âoh! uh... i guess you'll have to make up the name...â
he saw your lips curl as you typed in a new contact. you turned the phone around and he read the name.
'toru đŤŚ'
âyouâre so... flirty...â
âyeah, i get told that alot.â
...
you tilted your head again. âi like you, toru, you're cool.â
he didnât think anything in his life had ever sounded better.
"r-really? you're like, really cool too-"
"y/n! hurry the hell up or we're leaving without you!"
a foreign voice interrupted the moment, and you looked over your shoulder through the book cases to see sukuna and yuki looking around for you.
"shit, sorry but i gotta run. my friends are hosting a function at their place tonight, cant bail on them!"
satoru stammered abit before straightening up and nodding his head quickly like he knew anything about parties. he gulped looking at sukuna, he alone looked 100x more likely to be dating a hot model like you, he was tatted up, smoking hot and oh so boyish. you were hanging out with guys like this on the daily? it made satoru's self confidence waver.
"no, yeah, totally. uhm... it was really nice meeting you y/n-"
"you too toru see yah! i'll text you!"
you replied, fast walking off to your other, more popular friends that seemed to be pretty adamant in you returning quickly.
he stared after you, eyes wide behind his glasses, watching the way you moved so effortlessly, like a star gliding through space, not a care in the world, completely unaware of the way the whole library seemed to be staring at you like a fancy new car, just like him. he saw how students whispered as you passed by, you were already back in your element, heading toward your friends. your heels clicked rhythmically against the floor as you weaved through the bookcases.
yet his mind could only hyper fixate on one little detail.
she called me toru...
he felt his pulse racing again, the aftershock of the interaction rippling through him. there was no fucking way this was real. it couldnât be. not in a million years.
'i'll text you' your words rang in his ears.
he fumbled for his phone, eager to check for the message. he knew it wasnât going to be anything mind-blowing, just a quick âheyâ or maybe an emoji, but it didnât matter. it was something.
his hands shook as he unlocked the screen.
no new messages. his heart sank, and for a sec, he was ready to throw his phone out the window. donât overthink it, satoru. itâs just one conversation. stop acting like sheâs going to text you back immediately, you idiot.
he paced back and forth for a few minutes, his mind in a complete fog. the sound of his footsteps was the only thing that seemed to ground him, the reality of the library pulling him back from his spiral of thoughts.
okay. okay, you need to calm down. what just happened is insane. but itâs not like sheâs your girlfriend. hell, you barely know her. but fuckâŚ
he sat down at the nearest table, pulling out his laptop and trying to force himself to focus. his fingers hovered over the keys, but the words werenât coming to him. the physics problems smooshed together on the screen, the equations meaningless in comparison to what had just happened.
she called you pretty. she said you were hot. and she didnât run away. she didnât laugh at you. she just called you cute! god, youâre fucked, satoru.
he couldnât stop smiling, even though he knew he was being ridiculous.
~
you didnât think much more about it after that. after all, you were you, and satoru? well, he was just some pretty nerd who you had a quick flirty conversation with. sure, it was fun, but it wasnât like anything was going to come of it.
...
still. you couldnât help thinking about his smile or the way he stuttered and blushed. the way his eyes shot up to meet yours, like he was afraid he might melt if he looked too long. he wasnât the first guy to be nervous around you, but there was something refreshing about the way he acted. not like he was trying to impress you, but like he was genuinely just happy to be talking to you.
it was really cute.
you were knocked out of your thoughts when sukuna slung an arm around your shoulders as yuki walked next to you out of the library.
âtook you long enough,â he complained, his voice low and rough in that way that made heads turn even when he wasnât trying. his rings clinked lightly as his fingers settled on your shoulder, âdonât tell me you were actually studying?â
âshe was flirting,â yuki chimed in, tugging her black leather jacket tighter around herself. âwith glasses.â
âglasses?â sukuna raised a pierced brow, looking amused. âyou mean the lanky nerd who always camps out in the back corner like he pays damn rent?â
you gave a lazy little shrug, chewing your gum as your pink acrylics tutted against your phone screen. ây'know him? heâs cute.â
yuki nearly choked on a laugh, slapping a hand to her chest. âcute? you think heâs cute?â
âlike, awkward cute,â you clarified, eyes scanning your texts, pretending not to notice how sukunaâs grip subtly tightened. âhe called my symmetrical face hot.â
yuki actually wheezed. sukuna just stared down at you for a second, unreadable. âyou fuckinâ with him?â you gave him a sugary smile, lips glossed just right. âno. he was just sweet, helped me reach a book.â
âsweet,â he repeated flatly. you were already ahead of them weaving through the quad, your low rise mini skirt swishing, a little pink blur in a sea of neutrals. you didnât even need to look back to know they were following you. people always followed you.
you were the kind of girl people stared at, you were the girl. the one in the center of every group pic, the one who got handed aux at parties, the one every guy either wanted or bragged about knowing. and yeah, it got exhausting sometimes. but it was better than being invisible. it was better than being left behind.
sukuna and yuki flanked you like always, your unofficial bodyguards, your chaos and calm. people moved for the three of you like you were royalty. âwhatâs his name?â yuki asked as you all approached the parking lot. she was already pulling her keys out, ready to drive you to the party.
âsatoru,â you said absently. âbut iâm calling him toru.â sukuna scoffed, you were oblivious to the drop in his stomach.
~
back in the library, satoru still hadnât moved. his brain kept replaying the moment you said his name. toru. he never knew two syllables could make him feel like his chest was going to explode. and then your friends had shown up. those friends.
satoru had locked eyes with the pink-haired one for only a second, but it was enough.
he was tall , broad-shouldered, ink running down his arms like artless declarations of war and rebellion, slick black piercings catching even the dimmest light of the library. he had a cigarette tucked behind one ear like some hot mc from a shonen manga, like he didnât even need it to look mysterious. his shirt clung to him like it didnât dare wrinkle. his stare was deadpan, squinted and bored, like heâd already sized satoru up and decided he wasnât worth the breath it would take to speak.
his eyes said it all, 'iâve done things your virgin brain can't even fathom. iâve had her in ways youâll never even understand.' satoru felt small, smaller than he had in years.
this guy, sukuna, looked like the kind of man girls wrote warnings about in their diary. the kind your friends begged you to stay away from but you never did.
he looked like the kind of guy you did date.
satoruâs fingers twitched at his sides, a nervous impulse to hide himself behind his sleeves. behind his hoodie. behind something. anything. 'theyâre probably just friends,' he told himself. but the words didnât land.
not when you were surrounded by people like that, cool, popular, hot in a way that didnât come from filters or good lighting but from raw, lived-in confidence. people who belonged in glossy polaroids, in afterparties, in hot moments behind closed doors.
people who werenât him.
he thought about the way youâd laughed at his dumb jokes, called him toru like it was something soft and special. how youâd looked at him like he was something worth looking at. but it didnât change the fact that he was stammering and akward.
meanwhile, sukuna probably had you pressed against a wall the night before, hand on your throat, like he owned you. satoru blinked down at the ground, heart clenched, throat dry.
what if he does? what if you werenât just flirting? what if sukuna was the one you called when the party ended? the one who got to see you undone, bare and real?
the image hit him hard, a flash of you in someone elseâs bed, laughing the way you had in the library, except it wasnât for him this time. he shook his head, embarrassed with himself, but the thought had already burrowed in.
youâre not her type.
and god, wasnât that the worst part? because he wanted to be.
he wanted to be everything you liked. everything you needed. but standing there in that hoodie with his backpack half-zipped and his heart in his mouth, he wasnât sure he even belonged in the same room as you.satoru dropped his forehead to the desk, groaning softly.
get a grip.
but he couldnât help it. not when heâd spent the better part of his freshman year zooming in on pictures of you on the cover of âtokyo street glam.â not when he had a folder on his phone labeled âmath notesâ that was really just full of screenshots from your instagram stories.
you were his secret, his biggest guilty pleasure. the one girl he let himself obsess over even when he swore he didnât do that anymore. and now? you were not just real in his life, but youâd talked to him. youâd liked talking to him. he finally lifted his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, still slightly fogged from the heat of his own forehead.
his phone vibrated. his whole body went rigid he snatched it up off the table so fast he nearly dropped it.
[new message: unknown number]
xxx xxx xxx: heya toru :)
his mouth dropped open a little. he just stared at the screen, like it might disappear. like it was a mirage. his fingers hovered for a moment, then tapped quickly.
toru đŤŚ: hey !
and then, as fast as he could, he threw his phone face-down on the table and physically shoved his chair away from it like it might implode. his heart pounded. his ears were ringing.
holy fucking shit she texted you.
he let out a shaky breath, tugging his hoodie sleeves down over his hands and scrubbing them over his face.
~
âhe texted back,â you told yuki, holding up your phone lazily.
âheâs probably combusting in that dusty ass library right now,â she grinned, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. âyou just turned that boyâs world upside down.â
you blew a bubble, letting it pop slow. âgood.â
âyou gonna see him again?â you shrugged, but your smile betrayed you.
âdepends. maybe.â
yuki eyed you. âyou like him.â
âi donât not like him.?â
from behind, sukuna made a low noise of disapproval.
you ignored it.
~
back inside, satoru was still buzzing. his fingers hovered over the keys, unsure what to say next. he wanted to impress you. to be funny. to be hot. but mostly, he just didnât want to blow it.
he checked your profile again, he didnât mean to. it was just instinct now. all your selfies, your campaign shoots, your y2k party outfits, the way you always looked like you stepped out of a dream and into a flashbulb.
your most recent post was from a few minutes ago where you snapped a photo of you and yuki getting ready for a frat party.
of course.
~
the alpha phi frat (yes bro ik i overuse this sybau) had people scattered absolutely everywhere, mingling with the distant chatter and laughter of students spilling out onto the lawn. fairy lights crisscrossed above, casting a warm, golden glow over the scene, while the scent of alcohol and pot poisoned the air.
you stepped out of the car, your mini dress hugging your curves perfectly. your hair was styled beautifully, and your makeup was a flawless blend of early 2000s glam and modern chic. yuki, ever the contrast, sported a sleek black ensemble, her dark lipstick and sharp eyeliner giving her that edgy allure.
as you made your way through the crowd, the familiar faces of your inner circle came into view.
choso was the first to greet you, leaning against the kitchen counter with a red solo cup in hand. his long, dark hair was tied into two high ponytails, and his deep set eyes held a quiet intensity. choso was the enigmatic artist of your group, often lost in thought but always present when it mattered. despite his reserved nature, he had a soft spot for you, often sketching portraits of you in his notebook.
ây/n,â he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
âheyy cho,â you replied, giving him a quick hug. âstill got that whole grungy thing going on?â
he chuckled softly. ây'know it.â
nearby, suguru lounged on a couch, his long black hair tied back, revealing a perfectly sharp jawline and a mischievous glint in his eyes. he raised his glass in a silent toast as you approached.
ây/n, always a vision,â he yawned, his voice deep, sexy and smooth as silk like he was trying to coerce you into his bed with his tone alone.
âawe you're sweet. not sleeping with you tho, sorry!â you shot back, smiling.
suguru was the charismatic leader, effortlessly drawing people into his orbit. he had a way with words and a confidence that made him irresistible to way too many. your relationship with him was very flirtatious.
"that's too bad, pretty."
shoko sauntered over with a bottle in hand.
ây/n! shot?â she offered, already pouring two.
âyou know i canât say no to you, girl,â you laughed, clinking glasses with her.
sukuna, ever the token bad boy, leaned against the closest wall, his tattoos visible from under his shirt. his pink hair was tousled, and his eyes followed you as you moved through the room.
he gave you a once over and approached you, slinking an arm around your waist and hooking his head down to inhale you're perfume with a groan.
sukuna was your on-again, off-again fling, he was a hot guy and he could match your energy like no one else, and while your relationship was complicated, especially with his tendency to be extremely unloyal, there was no denying the sliver of chemistry (?)
you giggled before pushing him off and working your way further into the party, dodging bodies as you progressed.
you said a few hellos to different people, nodding at nanami and hugging maki tight.
as the group settled into their usual banter, yuki decided to stir some shit and get people talking.
âguess who y/n was flirting with today?â she announced, drawing everyoneâs attention. the room quieted slightly, all eyes on you.
you shot her a sideways glance and felt for the phone in your pocket, remembering you needed to text a certain someone back.
âsome weird nerd,â she teased.
you saw sukuna's face from the corner of your eye tighten slightly.
âa nerd?â suguru echoed, raising an eyebrow.
âyeah, glasses, stuttering, the whole 9 yards,â yuki elaborated.
âhe was cute,â you defended, shrugging, about to hit send on the message you were about to send satoru when sukuna interrupted.
he scoffed, pushing off the wall.
âiâm getting another drink,â he muttered lowly, disappearing into the crowd.
the group of girls and guys rolled their eyes collectively before shoko made a throw away comment.
âwell, that was dramatic,â
choso snorted abit and suguru just shook his head.
you rolled your eyes too, but a small smile played on your lips. sukuna fucked around with all kinds of girls, what gave him the right to get all pissy? you didn't really like him like that anyways, he just knew how to fuck...
you watched sukunaâs retreating figure push through the crowd with his jaw locked, shoulders tense.
you waited for a moment. maybe he was just being dramatic. maybe heâd cool off and come back and pretend like nothing happened.
but he didnât.
and something about that made your blood boil.
âiâll be back,â you muttered, not really addressing anyone in particular.
yuki gave you a knowing look but didnât stop you.
you slipped past sweaty bodies and brightly lit walls, the music thudding behind you like a heartbeat as you pushed open the sliding glass door to the patio, it was much colder out here. sukuna was leaning against the railing, cigarette hanging between his fingers, his mouth was clenched like he was chewing on all the things he wanted to say but wouldnât.
âyou always do this,â you said softly, voice sharp in contrast to the quiet. âget weird whenever someone else so much as breathes in my direction.â
he didnât turn around. just took a slow drag of his cigarette and exhaled smoke into the air like it was supposed to calm him down.
âso now youâre into nerds?â he said voice flat.
you scoffed. âis that really what youâre mad about?â
he glanced over his shoulder. âiâm not mad.â
you stepped closer, irritation prickling under your skin. âbullshit. you stormed out like i cheated on you or something.â
he turned fully to face you now, arms spread slightly like he couldnât believe what he was hearing. âweâre not together.â
you laughed, bitter and tired. âexactly. weâre not together. so why the fuck do you care?â
he looked at you then, like, really looked at you deeply. something flashed in his expression, hurt? jealousy? possession? it vanished almost as quickly as it came but it was still there.
âi donât,â he said coldly. âyou can fuck whoever the hell you want.â
âthen why are you acting like this?â
he stepped closer, his voice low and cutting. âbecause you act like you donât care, like itâs just casual, and then go around flirting with other guys like itâs a game.â
âyou sleep with other people all the time.â
âyeah, but i donât shove it in your face.â
âi wasnât trying to shove anything-â you snapped, taking another step forward, â-you just canât stand not being the center of attention, can you?.â
his eyes narrowed. âand you canât stand the idea that someone might not want you.â
that one stung more than it should have.
you blinked, lips parting, breath catching in your throat for half a second. then you swallowed it down and stared right back at him.
âfuck you.â
he smirked. âyou already did.â
you rolled your eyes and turned, ready to walk back in, to let this whole thing rot where it stood. but then,
âheâs not gonna fuck you like i do,â he called out, his tone filled with disgusting malice.
you stopped.
turned.
walked right up to him.
âmaybe not,â you said sweetly, âbut he doesnât talk to me like iâm disposable.â
he didnt reply, but the wicked look on his face let you know that you got to him.
you stepped back. âenjoy your drink.â
and with that, you left him there, cigarette burned down to the filter, staring at your back as you disappeared into the party.
~
you navigated back to a some what secluded couch and sat down trying to calm yourself, and think. and maybe, okay, definitely, text that nerd.
you reached for your phone that had been vibrating on and off all night in your purse. as expected, a few dms, a couple mentions from the party, sukuna had liked one of your thirst traps from last week, typical, but it was the one message that you'd received a few hours ago that made your heart do a weird little flip.
toru đŤŚ[10:03]: wydddd?
yikes, you felt bad.
you [12:47am]: u still up?
you paused. stared at it. then hit send before you could chicken out.
you rolled onto your back on the couch of an empty room you'd found, biting your lip, phone clutched to your chest.
the reply came way faster than expected.
toru 𫦠[12:48am]: im always up for you
you stared at the screen, mouth open.
âwhat the hell,â you muttered, smiling like an idiot.
you [12:49am]: that was smooth toru. didnât know you had game
toru 𫦠[12:49am]: i donât. im literally panicking rn
toru 𫦠[12:49am]: i had to rewrite that message like five times. you donât wanna see the first drafts
you snorted.
you [12:50am]: ok show me the deleted ones
toru 𫦠[12:51am]: i think one said âyes i am awake haha as a human doesâ and then another one just said âgulpâ
you [12:51am]: stopppppp LMAO
you [12:52am]: thatâs so cute itâs disgusting
toru 𫦠[12:52am]: glad i could repulse you into liking me? i think?
you [12:53am]: donât get cocky bud ur just some cute guy i met
toru 𫦠[12:53am]: you think iâm cute?
you laughed again, your cheeks a little warm despite the hour.
you [12:54am]: youâre literally the prettiest boy iâve ever seen
toru 𫦠[12:55am]: oh
toru 𫦠[12:55am]: oh my god
toru 𫦠[12:55am]: youâre just saying that
you [12:56am]: iâm not lol. you looked so good in the library today. like⌠ridiculously good
toru 𫦠[12:57am]: i was sweating so bad. i think my shirt was sticking to me. you looked like a dream tho. a bratz doll kinda dream
you grinned.
you [12:57am]: i am a bratz doll. kinda my whole label lmao. yk what i really like? coffee. speaking of!
you [12:58am]: wanna get some tomorrow? 1pm ish? bluebird cafĂŠ?
your finger hovered for a second before you sent it.
across campus, in a dorm room cluttered with textbooks, half-eaten candy, and his favorite hoodie tossed over the back of his desk chair, satoru gojo was staring at his phone very intensely.
he read the message once.
twice.
three times.
and then he launched himself face-down into his pillow and let out a noise somewhere between a squeal and a dying animal.
âyes,â he whispered into the sheets. yes yes yes fuck yes.
his thumbs scrambled to reply and his response came in seconds.
toru 𫦠[12:58am]: yes yes yes yes yes yes yes
toru 𫦠[12:58am]: i mean yeah sounds cool lmao
he immediately smacked his forehead. sounds cool?? what was wrong with him?? you were literally the hottest person heâd ever seen and he was texting like someoneâs nervous little cousin.
still.
you responded instantly.
you [12:59am]: ur such a loser
toru 𫦠[12:59am]: ur such hottie
he stared at the screen after sending it, heart pounding. he could still see you in that tight little outfit from earlier, that confident swing of your hips, your glossed lips twitching when you called him hot, like you already knew what that did to him.
and god, what didnât it do to him?
he was so far gone. the way you talked to him, like you were toying with him. like you knew heâd let you. like you knew heâd beg if you asked nicely enough.
fuck.
he shifted on his bed, adjusting himself under the sheets with a hiss.
you had him half-hard from just a few texts and a smile.
his phone buzzed again.
you [1:00am]: wear a shirt like you were wearing today again. the tight one. pls. for science.
toru 𫦠[1:00am]: yes maâam
toru 𫦠[1:00am]: but only if u promise to sit close to me
you bit your lip, heat crawling up your neck and down your legs.
you [1:01am]: i was gonna try sit in ur lap anyway??
gojo made an honest-to-god whimper.
toru 𫦠[1:01am]: gulp
you laughed into your hands, locking your phone as the giddiness spilled over.
you didnât know why you were getting all hyped over this guy.
he was awkward. kind of dorky. always fumbling.
just an awkward guy with a pretty face.
and you?
you were already dressing to impress. already picturing how heâd react when you leaned in close, lipgloss shining. already planning which perfume would drive him crazy.
just coffee.
totally chill.
except your pulse wouldnât slow down, and your smile wouldnât fade.
not even a little.
~
meanwhile, sukuna stood on the patio still, cigarette ash crumbling between his fingers, the cold air biting at his skin, but he didnât feel it. all he could think about was the look in your eyes when you told him off. the way your voice didnât even shake. the way you walked away like he didnât matter. like he was just another hookup who didnât know how to keep his mouth shut.
he dragged the smoke in deep, holding it in his lungs like it might cauterize the part of him that still gave a shit. but it didnât. it never did.
you always did this. wormed your way under his skin like a parasite. made him feel things he swore he didnât have in him. and every time, he let you. like a fucking idiot.
you werenât his. he wasnât yours. that was the deal. and he liked that. needed it. no strings. no expectations. he fucked, you moaned, and then you went home. clean and efficient.
but tonight?
you had the audacity to smile about some four-eyed loser. even said he was cute, cute, in front of everyone like you werenât the same girl whoâd been choking on his cock last weekend, mascara dripping down your cheeks, begging him to keep going even though you were shaking.
now you were giggling over some soft-spoken virgin with library dust in his hair?
fuck off.
he could see it. this âtoruâ guy blushing like a fucking idiot when you touched his arm. stuttering through compliments. looking at you like you hung the stars. and worse, way worse, he could see you liking it. eating it up. letting yourself be doted on like you were something sweet and fragile.
what a fucking joke.
you were a brat. a tease. a bad girl in a tight dress with too much lipgloss and not enough shame. sukuna knew that. he liked that. you werenât soft. you werenât gentle. you were fire and sharp teeth and open thighs. thatâs what he fucked. what he owned.
and now you were giving that soft shit to someone else?
nah.
he got the real you. the parts no one else could handle. the parts that needed someone like him. the late-night chaos. the bruises you didnât want to explain. the shame-soaked mornings where you wouldnât look him in the eye.
he got the truth.
that nerd didnât know you. he didnât know the mess under the makeup. the desperate texts at 2am. the neediness that bled through every time you swore you didnât care.
and you?
you didnât get to act like you were someone new. like you were pure now, just because some pretty boy batted his lashes at you in the nonfiction aisle.
fuck that.
he scoffed under his breath, flicking the dead cigarette into the grass and watching the embers scatter.
this wasnât supposed to matter. none of it was supposed to matter.
you were hot. you were cool. and he thought if he kept it physical, kept it casual, he wouldnât get sucked in.
but there you were. invading his thoughts, ruining his night with one stupid, flirty smile at someone else.
you shouldnât get to do that.
he dug into his pocket for another cigarette and lit it with shaking hands.
he was spiraling and he knew it.
he hated this.
hated how youâd crawl into his head without even trying. hated how you made him feel sixteen again, jealous, stupid, insecure. hated that you didnât even ask him to stay. hated that maybe, just maybe, you didnât want him as much as he wanted you.
and he really fucking hated the idea that you were probably talking to that fucking flop tonight.
maybe you already had.
maybe he was texting you back right now, saying something dumb and sweet like you looked really pretty today, and youâd eat it up because that was the shit you liked now, wasnât it?
and sukuna would be out here, sucking down his second cigarette, pretending it didnât gut him.
âfucking hell,â he muttered, tossing the second one too.
he stared up at the night sky, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he could force the feeling down if he just stood still enough.
but it sat there anyway, heavy in his chest.
you were slipping away from him.
and he didnât even know if he wanted to stop you.
he walked back into the house like he hadnât just spent twenty minutes outside trying not to feel things. the bass of the music hit him first, pulsing through the floorboards, drowning out whatever was left of his pride. he grabbed another drink just to keep his hands busy. he didnât even know what it was, probably something sugary and cheap,but he needed something to hold so he wouldnât punch a wall.
he spotted yuki first, dancing near the kitchen with shoko and maki, drinks in hand, glittering under the soft lights strung along the ceiling. he didnât bother looking for you at first. he told himself he wouldnât. told himself it didnât matter.
but his eyes betrayed him, scanning the room like they always fucking did.
and there you were.
sitting on the couch, legs tucked under you, grinning down at your phone like it had just told you the funniest joke in the world.
he didnât have to guess who you were texting.
he knew.
the look on your face said it all. soft. dreamy. your glossed lips tilted into a little smirk, teeth poking through as you bit back a laugh. your fingers moved fast, typing something with a kind of excitement he hadnât seen in you in a long time. not with him. not for a while.
you never looked at your phone like that after fucking around with him.
no, you usually ghosted him the next day, like you needed to forget it even happened. like he was something you regretted once the high wore off.
but now you were sitting there in a tight little dress, glowing from the inside out, because some nerd made you smile with a few well-timed texts.
fuck that guy.
fuck his stupid glasses.
fuck how easily he got your attention after one day.
he took a slow breath, trying to shake it off. he wasnât going to be that guy. the clingy one. the bitter one. he had girls. options. people would kill for a night with him and he knew it. he didnât need you. he never did.
but goddamn, it felt like you were the only thing he wanted in that moment.
he forced himself to move, leaning back against the counter, trying not to watch you as you texted.
you glanced up once, eyes sweeping the room, and you caught him. just for a second. your smile faltered, and you looked away fast, back to your phone, back to 'toru.'
you didnât come over.
you didnât even wave.
you just kept texting.
he swallowed deeply and looked away.
suguru came up beside him, handing him a new drink. âyou look like youâre about to rock someone's shit.â
âi might,â sukuna muttered, taking the cup.
âyou know sheâs not yours, right?â suguru said casually, like he wasnât cutting sukuna open with the truth.
sukuna didnât answer.
âjust saying,â suguru added, sipping his own drink, âyou act like you donât care, but every time she entertains someone else you look like youâre about to commit a felony.â
â...sheâs not like that with me,â sukuna said quietly.
âyeah,â suguru said, looking back at you, âand maybe thatâs the bigger problem."
he hated that look on your face.
soft. sweet. like someone actually deserved it.
like he hadnât just had you moaning into his neck a week ago.
âunbelievable,â he muttered under his breath, jaw twitching. he pushed off the counter and made his way across the kitchen, bumping past some guy in a letterman jacket hard enough to make the drink in his hand slosh. the guy looked ready to say something, but one glance at sukunaâs expression shut him up.
he thrived on that.
the fear. the respect. the control.
he didnât lose.
and now here he was, second place to some awkward little library rat who probably still asked his mom how to do laundry.
pathetic.
you werenât even that special, not really. at least that's what he told himself.
you had a pretty face, sure. tight body, knew how to use it.
but god, were you exhausting.
always wanting to âtalkâ after. getting weird if he didnât text back fast enough. acting like he owed you something when all you ever were was convenient.
it wasnât his fault you caught feelings.
it wasnât his fault you mistook a few orgasms for meaning.
and now? you were all smiles and fluttery lashes for some guy whoâd probably cum in his pants if you so much as kissed his neck.
he laughed, bitter and mean, dragging a hand through his hair.
youâd be bored in a week. two, tops.
guys like that didnât know what to do with girls like you.
he did.
he knew how to make you fall apart. knew how to get under your skin, pull sounds out of you you didnât even know you could make. heâd ruined you for other guys, he was sure of it.
he downed the rest of his drink and tossed the cup aside like it disgusted him, then stalked toward the hallway without a word to anyone. if he couldnât have your attention, heâd find someone elseâs.
you werenât the only hot girl at this party.
and if you wanted to pretend he didnât matter?
fine.
heâd show you just how easy it was to forget someone.
even if it was a lie.
even if it tore him up inside.
he was good at pretending, you taught him that.
~
you lock your phone, the ghost of a smile still clinging to your lips, cheeks warm as you sink into the leather couch.
you tuck your phone into your purse and push yourself up, brushing your hands down the sides of your dress. no use staying curled up in the corner when the nightâs still young and the liquor is just starting to hit.
âfinally decided to rejoin the rest of us?â suguru calls as you weave through the crowd toward the kitchen.
âwas that you smiling at your phone like a puppy?â choso adds, lifting a red solo cup to his lips with a grin.
you snort, accepting the tequila shot suguru passes you. âshut up.â
âno, really. that was some schoolgirl shit,â choso teases, bumping his shoulder against yours. âwhoâs got you blushing like that, huh?â
you shoot him a look as you throw the shot back, the alcohol burning a slow, sweet trail down your throat. ânobody.â
âmhmm,â suguru hums, not buying it for a second. ânot like you to be giggling like that, especially not when sukunaâs in one of his moods.â
you shrug, licking a little salt from the back of your hand. âheâs always being weird.â
choso raises his brows. âyou good with him?â
âwhy wouldnât i be?â you say, a little too quickly.
they exchange a look but donât push it. instead, suguru downs his shot and offers his hand. âcome dance.â
you let him pull you onto the living room floor, the music thudding loud enough that it vibrates through your heels. choso joins, the three of you falling into a loose rhythm, spinning and swaying under the hazy glow of the string lights. suguruâs hands find your waist, steady but never greedy, while choso twirls you around with a flourish that makes you laugh.
you let go for a little while. lose yourself in the music and the alcohol and the safety of your friendsâ touch. suguru dips his head to murmur something that makes you laugh, choso pretending to swoon dramatically in response. you throw your head back, laughing harder, spinning until the room blurs
but of course, good things always seem to allude you once you're fully engulfed, you spot sukuna across the room.
heâs leaned against the far wall, and heâs not alone.
thereâs a girl tucked into his side, long legs, shiny hair, tiny black dress, and sheâs all over him. her hand drags a possessive line down his chest, and he just stands there, smirking like itâs nothing, like sheâs nothing, like youâre nothing.
his fingers run along the hem of her dress, drifting lower with zero subtlety. and still, he doesnât look at you, not even a glance, not even a twitch.
you pause mid step, not frozen exactly, just confused.
because wasnât he the one who got all tense when he heard you talk about another guy? wasnât he the one looking pissed earlier when yuki teased you about your little crush? wasnât he the one who always acted like he hated when you gave anyone else your attention, even though he never wanted to claim you outright?
and now this?
your stomach doesnât twist, it just sinks, more like: what the hell is his problem?
you keep moving. force your body to flow with the music again as suguru slides behind you, hands warm at your hips. youâre still dancing. still laughing. still here. but your mind keeps circling back.
itâs not that you expected anything different. not really. you and sukuna were never official. never had rules. never had to check in with each other. but still⌠there was always a tension, a pull, something unspoken between the two of you that made it feel like no one else could come close.
and yet, here he is. practically letting that girl climb him like a tree. acting like you didnât spend last weekend tangled in his sheets. like he didnât tell you just days ago that you made his head spin.
you down another shot when suguru hands it to you, nodding in thanks. it burns going down, but it keeps your face smooth. keeps your smile intact.
choso leans close, voice low in your ear. âyou good?â
you nod. âhmm, just donât get him.â
he follows your gaze. sees the way sukuna is still letting that girl grind against him. the way his hand now fully cups her thigh.
âheâs being a dick,â choso says plainly. âyou know that, right?â
âyeah,â you murmur. âi just donât get why.â
suguru cuts in, quiet and even. âbecause you scare him.â
you blink. âwhat?â
âhe doesnât get to control how you feel about someone else. and itâs killing him,â suguru says. âso he does this. acts out. pretends heâs unbothered. heâs not.â
âbut likeâŚâ you glance over again, brows furrowing. âif it bothers him so much, why go hook up with someone right in front of me?â
you exhale, a short breath through your nose. âyeah. that checks out.â
you pull away from the guys with a small, grateful smile. âiâm gonna go outside for a sec.â
âyou sure?â suguru asks.
you nod. âiâm fine. just wanna clear my head.â
you step out onto the porch, letting the chill air wrap around your bare arms. your heart isnât racing. your hands arenât shaking. but your mind wonât stop running laps.
youâre not mad at sukuna for messing around. you never expected monogamy from him, but you are mad, maybe a little, for the double standard. for how he acts like itâs betrayal when you even mention another guy, and then turns around and grabs the first girl who bats her lashes at him.
itâs not jealousy. itâs not heartbreak. itâs just you becoming fed up.
you deserve more than someone who only wants you when itâs convenient.
bzzttt
toru 𫦠[2:07am]: i canât stop thinking about u
you smile a little softer now, much gentler.
toru 𫦠[2:08am]: u looked so pretty tonight btw. i saw your post on instagram!
you [2:08am]: ur so sweet. i needed that.
and you mean it.
you donât even have to wonder about his intentions. satoru makes you feel wanted without playing games. without dangling affection like a prize. he doesnât try to make you jealous. doesnât punish you for being desirable.
he just likes you. for you.
and for fucks sake, he's made you feel more wanted in one day than sukuna ever did in the close to three years you'd been fucking him. yikes.
toru 𫦠[2:09am]: good. iâll remind u in person tomorrow :)
you laugh, the sound slipping out before you can stop it. light and real and unfussy.
with sukuna, itâs always been messy and almost volatile. a push-pull you never had the rules for.
but with satoru?
it feels so easy. like you could be soft without having to apologize for it.
you slide your phone back into your purse and square your shoulders.
youâre not gonna let sukuna take this night from you. he doesnât get to own your attention. not anymore.
you head back inside, head higher than before.
the night isnât over yet.
and tomorrow?
youâve got a date with a boy who looks at you like youâre the best thing thatâs ever happened to him.
and maybe, for once, thatâs exactly what you need.
~
satoru stood outside the bluebird cafĂŠ, adjusting his tight black shirt that showed off his sleeper build perfectly, for the fifth time. his hands were shaking slightly, heart going budump budump in his chest like a drumbeat. it wasnât the coffee date that had him nervous, it was you.
you had that effect on him, on everyone, really. the thought of seeing you outside the calmness of the library, outside of that brief, awkward interaction where heâd fumbled through every word, made his stomach mush together uncomfortable.
heâd told himself he was going to be cool, collected. he could do this! it was just a coffee date.
no big deal.
heâd gotten through way worse. but none of that had prepared him for how his breath caught every time he thought of how youâd looked in that stupid skirt and that ridiculous attitude that was so effortlessly attractive.
when his eyes found you, fuck. it was like a punch to the gut.
you were sitting at the corner table, like you owned the place. of course, you did. you had that undeniable âiâm too cool for you, but iâll let you lookâ kinda vibe.
you wore a tiny denim skirt that was, to be frank, barely even a skirt. a rhinestone studded top that clung to you in all the right ways, and those chunky platform heels that screamed âdiva.â your lips were glossy and full, glistening under the soft cafĂŠ lighting, and your hair was perfectly messy, just enough to look like youâd rolled out of bed yet still looked like a million bucks.
oh my god.
his eyes drifted lower, watching how the hem of your skirt just barely grazed the edge of your thighs, how the way you moved your hand to adjust your drink made his brain short-circuit for a second.
fuck. you looked so gorgeous. he wasnât prepared for just how gorgeous. his mind ran through a series of scenarios that were definitely not appropriate for public spaces, none of which helped the fact that his heart was now hammering in his chest like a jackhammer.
you were so⌠confident. he hated it. no one should have that much power over him, especially someone who he was almost two times bigger than.
âhey,â you greeted as he moved closer, your voice a little too smooth for his liking, like you knew exactly what effect you were having on him.
âh-hey,â he managed to say, sitting down across from you, trying to act normal, trying to ignore the way his thoughts were spiraling.
you leaned forward slightly, your fingers wrapping around the cup of iced tea you had already ordered as you took a sip, a slow motion that only made things worse.
âso, i see you listened,â you teased, your lips curling into that seductive smile. âthat shirt looks so hot on you, toru.â
satoru flushed, already regretting that he had let you get under his skin so easily. but when you looked at him like that, eyes gleaming, lips glossed and soft, he couldnât help it.
âthank you, you look stunning.â he muttered, his voice suddenly rough. his mind was already back to thinking about what heâd seen when you smiled like that, the way his body reacted in ways he definitely shouldnât have let it.
he couldnât help but imagine what you would be like in his bed. not that heâd ever say it out loud, but the thought haunted him. could he make you beg for him? could he make you moan his name like you probably did for that pink haired guy you were with at the library? would you let him pull you closer, your breath hot and needy as he kissed you until you couldnât think anymore?
god, he hated that you could make him think about these things.
satoru shifted in his seat, trying to seem nonchalant but his body betrayed him. âthanks for asking me to come along, didnât know you were the one to make moves, especially not on boring guys like me,â he said, a small smile finding its way to his lips despite the growing ache in his chest.
your eyes lit up with amusement at his sarcasm. âi like that you know your place,â you said, the words light but with an edge, as if daring him to challenge you.
he shifted in his seat again, fighting the urge to lean forward and test the limits of that challenge. âtrust me,â he said, âi know exactly where i stand.â
his breath got choked up in his lungs as you let go of one of the sweetest laughs he thinks he'd every heard. his whole body tensed with heat and need as he watched you giggle so much.
he wanted you so badly.
~
by now you two had fallen into comfortable conversation.
you laughed at something he said, something dumb and not nearly as clever as he wanted it to be, and satoru thought he might melt into the floor. it wasnât just the sound of your laugh, though that alone could wreck him; it was the way your hand rested casually on the table between you, your fingers brushing his every now and then like it was nothing. but to him, it felt like everything.
you tilted your head, giving him that soft little smile that made him feel like you saw right through him.
âyouâre adorable when youâre trying so hard to be smooth,â you said gently, voice lilting like a secret between friends. your tone was sweet, not mocking, but it still made heat crawl up the back of his neck. âlike, youâre actually pulling it off. just barely.â
satoru smirked, covering up his absolute internal collapse with a shrug. âi donât try. i am smooth,â he said jokingly, praying you wouldnât notice the way his foot was tapping under the table from nerves. âthis is just my natural charm.â he said with a big goofy smile.
you leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand as your lips curved into the softest, most devastating smirk. âoh? so youâve accidentally been giving me bedroom eyes this whole time?â
he choked on his coffee.
you giggled and reached over to lightly pat his chest, like you were soothing him after delivering the most casual, lethal blow. ârelax, toru. i think itâs sweet. guys like you donât usually give me the time of day.â
he blinked, stunned. âg-guys like me?â
âyeah, you know,â you said, like it was obvious, âthe smart, weirdly-pretty ones. the ones who donât realise theyâre hot because theyâve been too sheltered their whole life.â
he stared at you, utterly ruined. âyou really think iâm hot don't you? y' keep on saying it... n-not that i mind!â
âoh, baby,â you said with a little laugh, âyou donât get to sit across from me all soft and shy and pretending not to stare at my lips, and act like you donât know the effect youâre having.â
his mouth went dry.
but your voice softened again, gentler this time, like you could sense he was hovering right on the edge of overload. âyouâre really sweet, toru. funny, too. i like how you get flustered when i push you a little.â
he tried to summon a coherent response, but his brain was short-circuiting. you were too much, kind and confident, beautiful and bold, and now you were complimenting him like it was nothing?
âi-uh- yeah, no, i like you too,â he finally managed, rubbing the back of his neck. âa lot, actually.â
you smiled at him and then stood slowly, adjusting your mini skirt with deliberate care. your sweater slipped a little off one shoulder and you didnât bother fixing it. you let his eyes linger.
âso listen,â you said casually, slinging your purse over your shoulder. âi have this little shoot i need to do for a brand deal tonight. just a few instagram shots. nothing crazy. a cute little set, fluffy lighting, all that.â you tilted your head again, voice syrupy sweet. âyou good with a camera, toru?â
he blinked. âuh⌠i mean, yeah. i guess? iâve done some stuff for the yearbook.â
âperfect.â you smiled like a cat whoâd just caught something in her claws. âi think youâll be really good at capturing all my... angles.â
his brain stuttered.
âyou wanna come by?â you asked, already typing something into your phone. âyou can help me out. iâll feed you. and maybe after⌠iâll let you pick which photos i post.â
his mouth opened. no sound came out.
âunless youâve got better plans than coming back to my place and watching me pose around?â
he almost knocked over his drink standing up.
âgreat,â you said brightly, as if you hadnât just set his entire nervous system on fire. âiâll text you my address. bring your hands. i might need help adjusting.â
and with that, you leaned in, kissed his cheek so softly he thought he imagined it, and walked out, hips swaying, head high, leaving him to sit there, stunned and overheating, wondering how the hell he was supposed to survive whatever came next.
holy fucking shit.
satoru was still in his seat, mouth parted slightly, the ghost of your kiss burning on his cheek like it had been stamped there. his hands trembled around the now lukewarm cup of coffee he hadnât touched since you started chatting and proceeded to ruin his entire internal equilibrium.
you were gone. walked out like it was nothing. like you hadnât just asked him, him, to come back to your apartment and help you take instagram photos, like you hadnât just tilted your glossy mouth toward his skin, kissed him soft and sweet and unearned.
was he dead?
was this a near death hallucination? maybe the universe was punishing him for all those nights he zoomed in on your thirst traps at 2am with trembling fingers and a blank expression, whispering, âjesus christ,â to no one like it was a prayer.
you were god. you were everything. and youâd just invited him over like it was casual. like it didnât undo months of fantasies. years of longing. this was not how it was supposed to happen. he was supposed to pine forever, secretly. obsess quietly.
notâŚthis.
his phone buzzed, and when he fumbled for it, his screen lit up with a new message.
you [3:14pm]: hereâs my address. text me when youâre outside. :) come over sometime later, yeah?
he rubbed a hand down his face, cheeks flushed, ears burning. his brain was running at 200mph, playing reel after reel of every single post youâd ever uploaded. every grainy mirror pic, every behind-the-scenes video, every thirst trap with the caption âdonât text ur ex, text me instead <3â which he had once seriously considered replying to with âokâ before deleting it like a coward.
you were chaos incarnate, dripping lip gloss and destruction. the human embodiment of the for you page and heâd liked every post. every single one. anonymously. pathetically. from the dark corner of his bedroom, dim blue light glowing against his glasses as he muttered things like, âsheâs unreal. sheâs actually not real. they made her in a lab.â
heâd saved your bikini pics. zoomed in on the brand tags like a freak. reverse searched your lipstick shades. bought the magazines you were featured in, yes, plural. he had a stack of them in a drawer under his bed like some kind of teenage dirtbag, some with his computer cables in his drawer.
pages dog-eared, his favorite ones burned into his memory. one of them had a spread where you wore this ridiculous rhinestone bikini on a beach, holding a dripping popsicle with your tongue out, and he was still not okay from that shoot.
satoru stared at your text like it was written in gold. like it would vanish if he didnât cherish it hard enough.
he groaned. out loud. in public. attracting a confused glance from the barista cleaning the counter. he stood up fast, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder like a man on a mission.
~
by the time he was outside your apartment door, his palms were damp.
you lived in the bougiest building on campus, the kind of place with gold trimmed elevators and a concierge who looked like heâd sooner tase someone than let them loiter. satoru had to buzz up, which was another level of humiliation he hadnât mentally prepared for.
you answered with a playful, âbe right there,â and he swore your voice alone could implode his brain. when the door finally opened, he almost blacked out.
you were in a tiny zip-up hoodie, baby pink, cropped at your ribs with juicy scrawled in rhinestones across the back, and the tiniest matching shorts heâd ever seen in his life. you were barefoot. you looked like a trashy 2000's supermodel. like an ashanti music video vixen. like someone whoâd ruined countless menâs lives just by biting their straw.
âhey, toru,â you said, sweet as sugar. âyou brought all of you, right?â
he swallowed hard. âi brought all of me.â
you giggled and tugged him inside by the wrist.
he nearly tripped over his own feet entering your place. the air smelled like vanilla and something very flirty. your apartment was exactly how he imagined it: mirrors everywhere, pink lighting, framed photos of you on the wall. a vanity covered in makeup. pink fuzzy rug underfoot. was that⌠a pole in the corner?
jesus christ.
he tried not to stare too hard as you sauntered across the room, hips swinging, grabbing your phone and ring light.
he noticed how you kicked a hoodie that looked way too big to fit you under your bed discreetly, he managed to read 'kappa' printed on the back. wasn't that sukunas frat? he was pushed out of his own head by the sound of your voice.
âso,â you drawled, throwing a wink over your shoulder, âyouâve stalked my instagram enough, you know all my good angles, right?â
satoruâs laugh came out strangled. âuh, yeah. yeah, totally.â
he did. he really did.
he knew exactly how you posed, how you tilted your head just slightly for selfies, how you arched your back just a little for those mirror pics, how you gripped the waistband of your pants like it was the most natural thing in the world to drive men to insanity with a pose. heâd studied them like they were scripture.
you sat down on your velvet couch and grabbed a tube of gloss, reapplying it with a pout. âyou nervous?â
âno,â he lied. âiâm... iâm excited. yeah. iâve always wanted to see the magic happen live.â
âoh, baby,â you purred, âyou are the magic.â
he made a noise. an embarrassing one.
you tossed him your phone and struck a pose, leaning back on your palms with your knees spread just slightly. âgo on, toru. get my good side.â
you didnât have a bad side.
he fumbled with the camera app, trying to focus on anything besides the way your tank top stretched across your chest, the way your shorts rode up on your thighs, the glint of a belly button ring catching the light.
click.
âyouâre shaking,â you teased.
âiâm fine.â
âmm. iâll be the judge of that.â you repositioned, crawling forward on your hands and knees across the couch like you werenât trying to end his entire life.
click. click.
âtoru,â you said sweetly, âare you blushing?â
âabsolutely not.â
you laughed and flipped your hair over one shoulder. âgod, youâre so cute. i like you.â
he was going to die here. he was going to drop dead in your living room with nothing but his own frantic, horny thoughts and your body burned into his retinas.
you held out a hand. âgimme. i wanna see.â
he passed you the phone with trembling fingers. you scrolled through the shots, nodding in approval. âthese are actually good. like, really good. iâm impressed.â
âthanks,â he said, voice cracking. âi, uh⌠do some photography stuff on the side. for class.â
âmm, bet you do,â you said, not looking up. âbet youâre real good with your hands, huh?â
he opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again.
you glanced up, expression sweet and wicked. âyou okay, toru?â
âiâm great.â
âyou look like youâre gonna combust.â
âi might.â
you leaned back into the couch, phone in your lap, and studied him with that same soft-lipped smile. âyouâre adorable,â you said, voice quieter now. âall that brainpower and youâre sitting here losing your mind over me in shorts.â
he groaned into his hands. âcan you blame me?â
you laughed. ânot at all. i like it. you make me feel sexy.â
he peeked through his fingers, helpless. âyou are sexy.â
you tilted your head. âthen why do you look like youâre about to pass out?â
he sighed dramatically. âbecause iâm in your apartment. you just crawled across a couch like a centerfold. iâve seen your instagram stories like, eighty million times. i subscribe to the magazine youâre on the cover of. and now youâre here. being cute. and sexy. and funny. and calling me toru like weâre... like this is normal.â
your expression softened, something kinder flickering behind your long pretty lashes.
âtoru,â you said, and this time it was less teasing. more intimate. âyou really like me, huh?â
he nodded. âkinda obsessed with you, actually.â
you smiled wide.
then you got up, crossed the room, and straddled his lap before he could blink.
maybe sleeping with satoru is what you needed to make your conscience stop thinking about sukuna and that bitch at the party earlier.
his heart nearly fucked itself over. he couldn't even fathom what was happening right now.
you cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing his cheeks. âgood,â you whispered. âbecause i kinda like you too.â
he swallowed, hoping you wouldn't notice his very quickly growing boner, âk-kind of?â
you grinned. âwell. i liked you in the library. i love you with a camera in your hands... my own personal photographer.â
his breath hitched.
you shifted on the couch, camera forgotten in your lap, as you studied satoruâs face, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, that gorgeous white hair falling in soft waves over his forehead. you looked like a vixen straight off a low-res 2004 myspace album, lips glossy, attitude filthy sweet, thighs barely crossed.
âokay toru,â you said, voice dripping in something syrupy âi think weâre gonna start with something a little more⌠intimate.â
his mouth went dry the moment you pulled out the velvet rope. it was pink,!soft and so sensual. satorus brain blanked.
ârope?â he choked.
âyeah,â you smiled, casually, like you werenât turning his entire brain system into static. âi want you to tie my wrists. loosely. make sure i can still move my hands around.â you leaned forward, offering your arms like it was a fucking privilege. âthink you can handle that?â
no. he absolutely could not. but he still nodded, taking the rope with shaking hands. his fingers brushed your skin as he looped it around your wrists, and that alone had his dick twitching in his jeans. he swore under his breath.
she smells like vanilla and heat and fuck me,
he thought, looping the velvet.
i havenât even touched her properly and iâd die for her right now.
you let your arms fall back, raising your bound wrists over your head in a pose so casually provocative that his mouth parted on instinct. the rope pulled tight just enough to bite. your top slid higher, barely covering anything. the whole scene looked like it belonged in a magazine he wouldâve hidden under his bed in high school, and now it was real. in his lap. begging to be remembered.
he swallowed hard.
iâm gonna wet dream about this forever.
âyou look ravishing,â he whispered hoarsely.
âdo i?â you teased, tilting your head. âwant to see more?â
you let one strap of your tiny rhinestone top fall. then the other. and when you pulled it down just enough to expose one perfect breast, nipple glossy from a layer of shimmer lotion.
you knew exactly what you were doing to him, and you watched as his mind stop working and his lip caged between his teeth.
holy shit, holy shit! iâve jacked off to pictures of her a thousand times and now sheâs half naked in front of me. what the fuck?!
click.
the shutter snapped and he wasnât even sure if his hand had moved. he took another, then another, each frame of your body more brazen, more artful, more his.
you arched under the dim light, toes pointed, eyes lidded. your lip caught between your teeth as you said, âthese ones⌠theyâre only for you.â
his cock pulsed with need as he watched you intensely.
âtheyâre not going online,â you added sweetly, glancing up through your lashes. âno other one of my fans gets to see me like this. just you, toru. my number one fan."
he clenched the camera harder, fighting the urge to fall to his knees and thank the gods for whatever good karma led him here.
only me. fuck. fuck. sheâs mine.
even if it was just for tonight. even if it was only temporary.
you shifted again, slowly opening your legs after you slipped off the small shorts, as you lay back, balls of your heels digging into the cushions. the hem of your panties, bright pink and sparkly barely clung to you. he could see the outline of everything. and then you stretched, arms over your head, making your stomach tighten and your tits rise beautifully, rope still binding you just right.
âtoru,â you breathed, eyes locked on his, âdo you want to see me take them off?â
god yes. god fucking yes. i want to see whatâs under that glitter. i want to taste it. i want to ruin her. fuck.
he nodded. âyeah,â he rasped. âplease.â
your fingers slipped under the waistband slowly, deliberately, dragging the panties down your thighs with an elegant arch of your spine. and he watched, stared, like it was the last thing heâd ever see.
âdonât worry,â you said, tossing them onto his lap. âthese arenât for instagram either.â
his cock throbbed. it was unbearable. it was heaven.
he took more shots, each one filthier than the last, legs spread, lips parted, bound wrists clutching the edge of the couch as you moaned softly for him. you looked like you belonged in a pornographic museum. like a goddess on her throne letting her chosen mortal worship.
and youâd picked him.
sheâs gonna kill me. iâm gonna nut in my jeans like a fucking loser. oh my god.
you sat up, resting your chin on his shoulder while he adjusted the camera. âyou okay?â you whispered, pressing a kiss to his ear. âyouâre breathing kinda heavy, baby.â
call me baby again and iâll fucking bark.
âjust⌠w-warm in here,â he muttered, cheeks a deep crimson red.
you smiled and trailed a finger down the center of his chest. âpoor thing. want a break?â
he looked down at you, your chest still bared, your body shining with light, legs folded in perfect confidence. âyou think i could survive a break?â he asked, voice lower now, rougher.
you laughed softly. âfair point.â
then you took the camera from his hands, placed it on the table, and straddled his lap in one easy motion.
âno more pictures,â you said. ânow you can just look.â
his hands flew to your waist on instinct, gripping you like you were the only real thing in the universe. and honestly, to him, you were.
how did this happen? how the fuck did i go from jacking off to her tiktok thirst traps to having her naked in my lap, moaning my name?
you cupped his face, voice softer now. âyou okay baby?â
he nodded.
you leaned in and whispered, âdo you want to touch me?â
he nodded again, too fast.
you smirked. âthen do it. but be gentle. i like being handled like iâm expensive.â
âyou are,â he said instantly, voice ragged. âyouâre the most expensive thing iâve ever touched.â
you kissed him for that. deep and filthy and grateful. and as he dragged his palms over your ass, up your waist, over your bare chest, he was so far gone.
and somewhere in the back of his hazy, lust-soaked brain, he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
these pictures?
these moments?
they were only for him.
and if you ever asked, heâd burn the whole world to keep them safe.
you gasped into his kiss as his fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you tightly against him. his breath was hot and oh so ragged, mixing with yours in the close air of your living room. you felt the curve of his mouth against your neck, the brush of his stubble as he nipped gently at your skin.
heâs so warm, you thought, sliding your hands through his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft white strands. and heâs mine, right here, right now.
he moaned low, almost lost in the feeling of you beneath him. youâd taught him how to pose you like a goddess for the camera; now he was learning how to worship you in real time. his hand slid up your back, then lower, fingertips grazing the top of your panties still bunched around your thighs.
âyou know,â he murmured against your ear, voice thick with want, âiâve wanted this for so fucking long. i don't even think this is real.â
you smiled against his skin, tugging at his hoodie so you could slide it off his shoulders. âi can tell,â you purred. âi promise i'm real toru. real and all yours right now.â
he lifted his head to meet your eyes, those pale blues shimmering with need.
your laugh was soft, sultry. âoh, baby,â you said, rolling your hips against him, âi wanted you before i knew your name.â
his pupils dilated, and he swallowed hard. âfuck,â he breathed. âyouâre gonna kill me.â
you cupped his face, thumb brushing his lower lip. âonly if you want me to,â you teased, leaning in to kiss him again. this time, your tongue brushed his, and he groaned, hands fisting in your hair.
holy shit, he thought, this is real. sheâs here, wanting me, touching me.
you pulled back, slipping off the last barrier, his jeans, until both of you were just skin and heat. you guided his hands to your body, showing him where to touch, where to press, encouraging him with soft moans and glowing praise. every direction you gave him made his confidence soar, made him believe he could be the one to make you melt.
he paused, looking into your eyes. âi⌠i want to make you feel good,â he said, voice husky. âreally good.â
you smiled, heart swelling. âthen show me, baby.â
he nodded, then bent to kiss you again, this time more tender, more deliberate. he let his palms roam your body, over your breasts, down your waist, skimming the curve of your hips. you pressed into him, encouraging him, letting him know just how right it felt.
heâs so gentle you thought. so respectful. and so fucking good with his hands.
you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. âtoru,â you gasped, âfuck me.â
he hesitated only a moment, surprised by your boldness, and then he was inside you, filling you in slow, delicious thrusts. your breath caught, and you clutched his shoulders as he moved, your rope-bound wrists sliding free in the heat of the moment.
âshit,â he groaned, chest pressed against yours. âyouâre perfect.â
you arched against him, closing your eyes. âyeah⌠perfect for you.â
his pace quickened, fueled by your praise, your soft encouragements, your needy gasps. every time he hit that sweet spot, you cried out his name, and it sent a thrill rippling through him.
my name on her lips⌠he thought, this is everything.
you rode him hard, matching his thrusts until both of you were breathless, skin slick with sweat and sheen of your own arousal. you held him tight, panting, and pressed a kiss to his collarbone.
âletâs finish the shoot later,â you whispered against his skin, voice thick with satisfaction and warmth. âright now⌠just us.â
he kissed you back, slow and tender, and you felt his body tremble. âjust us,â he echoed.
and in that moment, tangled together on your couch, every magazine cover, every instagram scroll, every stolen fantasy heâd ever had of you crystallized into this single, perfect reality, warm, messy, intimate, and wholly, irrevocably yours.
~
you were now tucked beneath the folds of your plush throw blanket, legs tangled with his, head resting against his bare chest as the glow from your salt lamp bathed the apartment in a hazy, honeyed light. his arm was slung loosely around your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. satoru had never been this close to someone, physically, emotionally, and his brain was still catching up.
you were real. warm, beautiful, half-naked and still glittering from the camera flash and sweat. and now you were curled into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.
âyou okay?â you murmured, voice soft, a little breathy.
âam i okay?â he huffed a quiet laugh. âi just lived out the most insane fantasy of my life, and now iâm laying here with the hottest girl in the universe like itâs a regular night.â
you tilted your head back to look at him, âhottest girl in the universe, huh?â
âscientifically proven,â he said, smug but still pink in the cheeks. âobjectively. you broke the hotness scale.â
you giggled, then leaned up to kiss his cheek, slow and sweet. âyouâre so dramatic,â you whispered against his skin.
his heart thumped. he wanted to keep you here forever, in this little soft bubble that smelled like your body lotion and sounded like your quiet laughter. but instead, you stretched like a cat against him, bare legs brushing his, and said, âsoâŚâ
he blinked, brain short-circuiting again. âso?â
you propped your chin on his chest, gazing up at him with that glittery confidence of someone who knew she had him wrapped around her finger. âthereâs a party tomorrow night,â you said casually, tracing patterns on his stomach. âyou should come.â
satoru blinked. âa⌠party?â
âmm-hmm. like, a real one,â you teased. ânot like a dungeons and dragons meetup or whatever you nerds do.â
âhey,â he laughed, âfirst of all, rude. second of all⌠are you serious?â
âdead serious,â you purred. âitâs at suguruâs place. itâll be mostly my friends. youâll meet everyone.â
satoruâs stomach dropped a little. your friends. the one he saw with face tattoos and designer sunglasses and mysterious piercings in places he couldnât guess. the ones who always looked like they just stepped out of a campaign ad for a luxury fashion line. the ones who probably wouldnât even look twice at him if he wasnât draped in your attention like an accessory.
âwonât they think itâs weird?â he asked before he could stop himself. âme being there.â
you raised an eyebrow, amused. âwhy would it be weird?â
âbecauseâŚâ he swallowed, trying to sound cooler than he felt. âiâm not exactly in your league.â you sat up, straddling his waist now, your eyes burning into his. âtoru,â you said, serious, âdonât ever say that again.â his breath hitched.
you leaned down, pressing your lips to his. âyouâre sexy, smart, and you make me laugh. you made me nervous. so if youâre coming to the party, you better show up like you belong.â
he stared at you, stunned. âyou were nervous?â
âduh.â you smiled. âyou were wearing that little tight black shirt and looking all hot and mysterious. i thought youâd ghost me after coffee.â
he buried his face in your neck, groaning. âi literally thought i was going to faint when i saw you in that skirt.â
âgood,â you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. âi wore it just to fuck with you."
he moaned dramatically, pulling you closer. âyouâre evil.â
âand you like it.â he couldnât deny it. you were fire and silk and sugar and bite, and he was hopelessly addicted.
âso?â you whispered, brushing your lips against his. âyou coming to the party or what?â
he nodded, breathless. âyeah. fuck it. iâm coming.â
you grinned. âgood. bring your charm, toru. my friends are gonna love you.â you said it like a promise, not a possibility. like he already belonged.and for the first time in a long time, he almost believed it.
maki đĽ [9:45pm]: the one you said looked like he types in html for fun?
you ⊠[9:45pm]: he does. itâs hot
shoko đŹ [9:45pm]: youâre bringing your nerdy little fantasy to the mixer? this is big
you ⊠[9:46pm]: weâre just friends. chill
suguru đ [9:46pm]: uh huh. just friends who take steamy photos together and then go silent for six hours. got it.
you ⊠[9:46pm]: not steamy. artistic, and how did yk i only told yuki đđđź
shoko đŹ [9:46pm]: mm. âartistic.â sure.
yuki đ§ [9:47pm]: oops... anyways please tell me you at least warned him that sukuna might bite
you ⊠[9:47pm]: heâs a big boy. he can handle it
maki đĽ [9:47pm]: he survived a coffee date with you, he can probably survive a frat party
you ⊠[9:48pm]: exactly
nanami âł [9:48pm]: just tell him not to drink anything suguru hands him. thatâs the only advice that matters
suguru đ [9:48pm]: excuse me?? iâm a generous host
shiu đˇď¸ [9:49pm]: generous with what. vodka or spiked shit that gets you high off your head?
you ⊠[9:49pm]: okay but actually. be nice to him
suguru đ [9:49pm]: iâm always nice. heâs cute. nerdy. polite. kinda like nanami if he still had joy in his eyes
nanami âł [9:49pm]: i can leave this chat
suguru đ [9:49pm]: no you canât
choso đĽ [9:50pm]: sukuna? you good?
sukuna ⥠[9:51pm]: fine. just didnât realize we were inviting groupies to my frat
yuki đ§ [9:51pm]: omg
choso đĽ [9:51pm]: man. come on
maki đĽ [9:52pm]: this is why we canât have nice things
you ⊠[9:52pm]: gojo's not a groupie. heâs literally a person. yâall will be normal or i swear to god
sukuna ⥠[9:52pm]: no one said anything. itâs your life. do what you want i ain't pulling up i'm busy
you ⊠[9:53pm]: thanks. i will.
maki đĽ [9:52pm]: it's literally your frat? fym you're not pulling up đ
suguru đ [9:53pm]: and the drama begins before the drinks are even poured. weâre so back
shoko đŹ [9:53pm]: love when the pregame starts in the group chat
you ⊠[9:54pm]: anyway. just try not to scare him off.
~
meanwhile, sukuna was scowling at his phone. he stared at the last message you sent, thumb hovering over the screen like it was taunting him.
'anyway. try not to scare him off.'
urgh.
satoru.
toru.
like he needed the nickname shoved in his face again. like he hadnât already figured out you were letting that four-eyed pretty boy get his hands all over you. not that heâd said anything. not that he had a right to. not anymore.
he used to be the one who got under your skin. the one youâd crawl back to after breaking someone elseâs heart. the one youâd come to when you were sick of boys and needed a man.
and now? now you were bringing some soft-spoken, glasses-wearing, overachieving fucker to the mixer like you were introducing him to the family. like he was real. sukuna exhaled through his nose and tossed his phone on the bed.
he already knew who he was. satoru. the honors student. the tutor. the sweet one. the one you flirted with at the library just to prove you could. sukuna remembered watching it, how your voice dipped lower, how you tilted your head when you asked for his number, the way you said toru like it was already a pet name.
and now you were texting the group chat like he was coming to the damn cookout. it shouldnât have bothered him. it wasnât supposed to. he had girls on rotation. he had no shortage of hookups. but none of them were you. none of them had that glint in their eye, that attitude, that stupid, intoxicating mix of gloss and venom and sugar that made him feel like a rabid dog just for wanting a taste.
he lit a cigarette and opened your instagram.
he didnât even have to search. you were at the top of his stories. you always were. he watched the one you posted two hours ago. a link to your new post, a perfectly captured album of you. a cropped hoodie. thighs out. caption: 'might delete later.'
fuck you.
he swiped back to your page. all those tagged posts from yuki, suguru, choso. none with gojo. not yet.but he was coming. heâd be there, saturday night, in your orbit, breathing your air, looking at you the way everyone did, like you were the sun, and maybe, just maybe, youâd start looking back.
thatâs what scared him. not that gojo liked you. but that you might like him back.
he took another drag and let the smoke burn in his lungs longer than necessary, fuck it. he could play it cool. he always did. heâd smirk, talk shit, wrap his arm around someone hotter, louder, easier. make sure everyone saw. especially you.
you traded him in for someone soft. someone polite. someone who probably apologized after cumming too fast. he scoffed, tossing the half-finished joint onto the ashtray with more force than necessary. pathetic.
he thought about texting you. something slick. something cruel. maybe 'hope he doesnât cry when he finds out where that mouthâs been.' or 'you always go for the ones you can control, huh?'
but he didnât. just sat there, jaw grinding, thumbs still, screen glowing back at him. eyes sharp. chest tight with that ugly kind of jealousy he swore heâd grown out of.
what a fucking joke.
you were his first, you were supposed to stay that way.
~
the uber pulled up to the kappa house which was the furthest frat from campus. gojo sat in the backseat, watching you re-apply your gloss, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. he glanced over at you again, radiant as ever, your lips curled into a cute smile as you scrolled through your phone.
âyou okay?â you asked, sensing his nerves.
âyeah,â he replied, voice a little too high-pitched. âjust⌠a lot of people, you know?â
you chuckled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. âyouâll be fine. theyâre just people. my people, but still.â
he nodded, trying to steady his breathing. the memory of the night before flashed in his mind, your body pressed against his, the way you whispered his name, the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. it felt surreal, like a dream he never wanted to wake from.
âlast night was⌠amazing,â he murmured, eyes meeting yours.
you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. âit was,â you agreed. âbut tonightâs about fun. letâs not overthink it.â
the car came to a stop, and you both stepped out, the sound of music and laughter spilling into the street. gojo took a deep breath, adjusting his glasses.
âreadyyyy?â you asked, offering your hand.
he took it, fingers intertwining with yours. âready.â
as you walked up the steps, the door swung open, revealing a sea of faces. conversations halted, eyes turning to the two of you. gojo felt the weight of their gazes, the scrutiny, the curiosity. âwhoâs that?â someone whispered.
âis that her new guy?â another murmured. he swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shrink back. you squeezed his hand, grounding him.
âignore them,â you whispered. âtheyâll come around.â you led him through the crowd, past familiar faces and curious stares, until you reached a plush couch in the corner. you both sat down, the noise of the party fading into the background.
âsee? not so bad,â you said, leaning into him. he smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing. âyeah. not so bad.â
as you chatted about the party, your friends, and the latest gossip, gojo couldnât help but feel a sense of belonging. with you by his side, the world seemed a little less daunting.
youâre halfway through your drink when you spot them weaving through the crowd, choso and suguru, side by side, both dressed in their version of âcasualâ which somehow still looked like a fashion campaign.
choso in a black sleeveless mock-neck that showed off his tattooed arms and a single chain glinting against his collarbone. suguru, laidback and smiling, with his hair tied low and a fitted shirt open at the chest like heâd just walked off a yacht.they zero in on you immediately, and you can already see the glint in suguruâs eyes.
âwell, well,â he says as he gets close, his voice warm. âso this is the mystery man.â satoru stands to greet them, and you watch chosoâs brow lift ever so slightly, like he wasnât expecting him to be⌠that tall. that broad. that annoyingly good-looking.
âhey,â satoru says smoothly, extending his hand. âsatoru. thanks for not jumping me straight away.â
choso grins, shaking his hand, then clapping his shoulder with a kind of quiet approval. âwe only beat up assholes,â he says, and then adds, âyouâve got a solid grip, man.â suguruâs eyes flick between you and satoru, clearly amused. âyou been holding out on us,â he tells you, then turns to satoru again. âyou always look like that or is this a special occasion?â
âthis?â satoru gestures to himself, cocking a brow. âiâm barely trying.â you snort into your cup. heâs cool as hell on the outside, but you know better. his knee was bouncing a second ago and he keeps fiddling with the ring on his thumb.
âseriously though,â choso says, leaning back against the couch, sizing him up again. âdid not expect you to be built like that. what the hell do you do?â
you glance at satoru, who flashes a sheepish grin that doesnât match the cocky tilt of his voice. âfreshman year i got into boxing,â he says. âfigured if i was gonna be a nerd, might as well be one that could take a hit.â
âor give one,â choso mutters, clearly impressed. âyouâre cut.â suguru raises a brow in appreciation.
ânot anymore,â satoru says, rubbing the back of his neck. âhavenât had the time. but yeah, i trained for like, two years, a gym in shibuya. coach was an ex-mma guy. real psycho, made me spar with dudes twice my size.â
âyou won?â choso asks, grinning.
âgot knocked out once,â satoru says with a shrug. âbut i broke a guyâs nose, so. fair trade.â suguru whistles, clearly amused. âyouâre full of surprises."
âoh, heâs full of a lot,â you murmur, sipping your drink again, and satoru shoots you a look thatâs somewhere between mortified and turned on.
âso you twoâŚâ suguru gestures between you vaguely, like he doesnât want to say together outright. âwhatâs the vibe?â you stretch lazily, one leg over the other, and smile. âfriends,â you say lightly. âheâs been helping me shoot some things.â
satoruâs mind flashes, vivid, bright, to the way your hand had pulled his to your waist the night before, the flash of your camera catching the outline of you, the way youâd whispered just for you in his ear as you pressed your chest to his. he can still smell your perfume on his shirt. his fingers twitch just thinking about it.
âwe get along,â you add, and itâs almost too soft. too real. âheâs sweet.â satoru stares at the amber in his glass, willing himself not to combust. sweet. how the fuck was he supposed to keep it together when you called him sweet like that, like he was a boy you actually wanted to keep around?
choso nods slowly. âheâs got a good vibe.â suguru hums. âsolid energy. confident without being a dick.â
âyet...â choso adds, shooting him a warning glance.
satoru just laughs. âdonât worry. sheâll keep me in check.â
you lean into him slightly, your thigh brushing his. âheâs already well-trained,â you murmur, just loud enough for choso and suguru to hear. suguru lets out a low whistle. âdamn. itâs always the nerdy ones.â
âit really is,â choso agrees. âthey bottle that shit up for years and then one day just, boom. thirst trap worthy.â
âhe could literally crush a watermelon with those thighs,â you say dreamily, mostly to mess with satoru, and he almost spills his drink.
âjesus christ,â he mutters, laughing through the mortification. âyouâre gonna give these guys the wrong idea.â
âwhat idea?â choso grins. âweâre just bonding.â
âteam-building,â suguru adds.
âhazard training,â you say, with a wink.
satoru shifts a little closer, brushing your arm. âyou guys always this intense?â
âyou should meet sukuna,â choso says dryly. you go still for just a second, but itâs nothing you let show. satoru feels it anyway, the way your fingers tighten slightly on your drink.
âheâs not coming tonight,â you say casually. suguru raises a brow but doesnât push. instead, he turns his attention back to satoru. âso whatâs the goal, man? you trying to get into modeling too or just vibing in the deep end?â
âi think heâs already in too deep,â choso mutters. satoru shrugs, keeping it chill even though heâs fully sweating under his hoodie. âjust hanging out. making memories. flexing for the grid.â
you laugh, leaning into his shoulder like you canât help it. âyouâre lucky youâre pretty,â you say, voice low and fond. he turns to look at you, and thereâs a flicker of something quiet in his eyes. âso are you,â he says softly. the pause that follows is short, but not empty. then suguru claps his hands. âalright. drinks?â
chosoâs already standing. âiâll grab tequila.âsatoru watches them go, the easy way they navigate the crowd, like they belong in every room they enter. and somehow, theyâd made him feel like maybe he did too. you turn to him, smiling, eyes glinting under the low lights. âsee? not so bad.â
âyeah,â satoru breathes. ânot bad at all.â
âiâm gonna go get us drinks,â you say, hand brushing satoruâs thigh as you stand. âtequila or beer?â
âuh, tequila?â he answers a bit too fast.
âthatâs what i thought.â you wink, and just like that, youâre off, hips swaying through the crowd like you own the place. maybe you do, in a way. everyone watches you go. including satoru.
once choso and suguru return the nudge his shoulder friendly.
âbro,â choso mutters, following his line of sight. âyouâre so cooked.â
âcooked?â satoru repeats, blinking.
âdone. fried. beyond saving,â suguru says, grinning. âthe way you looked at her just now? hopeless.â
âi wasnât- i didnât-â satoru fumbles, then groans. âfuck.â
ânah, itâs cute,â choso says, clapping him on the back. âendearing. like a dog in love.â
âheâs got the hair for it,â suguru adds. satoru sighs, slouching further into the couch as if itâll swallow him. âis this what you guys do all night? just nag each other in rotation?â
âmostly,â choso says. âbut youâre new, so weâre going easy.â
âplus, youâre already getting the invite into the guy circle,â suguru adds, gesturing toward the two men approaching with solo cups in hand. âthatâs nanami and shiu.â satoru straightens instinctively. he recognizes nanami from campus, business major, intense stare, kind of always looks like heâs five minutes away from quitting everything to become a lumberjack. shiu, he doesnât know. tall, dark, lean, with eyes like heâs permanently unimpressed.
ânanami,â suguru greets, casually fist-bumping him. âshiu. this is gojo.â
âthe gojo?â shiu arches a brow, handing him a cup.
âuh,â satoru says, taking it. âi guess?â
âthe one sheâs been parading around all night like a shiny new toy,â nanami says flatly, sipping his drink. âwelcome to hell.âsatoru laughs nervously. âthanks?â
âignore him,â choso says. âthatâs just how he flirts.â nanami gives him a blank look. âno, itâs not.â
âso,â shiu says, sitting on the edge of the armrest next to him. âyou and y/n. whatâs the story?â
satoru opens his mouth. closes it. tries again. âweâre just friends.â four disbelieving stares hit him at once.
âfriends,â shiu repeats.
âsure,â choso deadpans.
âgot it,â nanami mutters.
âyou should hear how she says your name,â suguru adds. âlike itâs a little treat.â satoru flushes instantly. âwe really are just friends.â
âdo your friends usually strip for you in front of a camera?â shiu asks, sipping. âor is that a special bond?â he nearly chokes on his tequila
âjesus christ,â he wheezes. âdo you guys have, like, a hazing ritual or something?â
âyou passed it,â choso grins. âwe just needed to see if youâd fold.â
âand you did,â suguru says proudly. âfolded like a lawn chair.â
âiâm so glad i came,â satoru mutters into his cup.
âso is she,â nanami says, not looking up. âshe hasnât stopped smiling since you got here." satoru pauses.
âyeah,â choso says, more gently now. âshe likes having you around.â he doesnât know what to say to that. so he doesnât say anything. just sips and lets it sit in his chest, warm and blooming.
âby the way, donât let sukuna get to you,â shiu says after a beat, and itâs the first time the nameâs been spoken with any real weight. âi wonât,â satoru says quickly, "why would he?â
âbecause heâs an asshole,â choso says simply. "we love him and all but jeez. he's a handful."
âand because he doesnât like sharing,â suguru adds. ânot attention. not space. definitely not her.â
âwait-â satoru frowns. âwere they a thing?â the group goes quiet. nanami speaks first. ânot officially.â
âbut?â satoru presses.
shiu shrugs. âthey hooked up. on and off. nothing defined.â
âhe never claimed her,â choso says, âbut he didnât want anyone else to either.â
âtoxic,â satoru mutters.
âbingo,â suguru grins. âheâs like if a red flag started a punk band.â
âand sheâsâŚâ nanami trails off, shaking his head. âbetter than that.â satoru feels his fingers tighten around his cup. âis he here?â
ânot yet,â shiu says. âbut he might show. heâs unpredictable.â
âheâs pissed,â choso adds. âwe all saw the group chat.â satoru nods, remembering the texts he peeped over your shoulder earlier to read. groupie. right.
âjust donât take it personally,â suguru says. âsukuna lashes out when he feels cornered. and youâre not doing anything wrong.â
âyou like her?â nanami asks suddenly. the question knocks the wind out of him. satoru blinks. âiâŚâ
do i? yes. obviously. painfully. he clears his throat. âsheâs cool. really cool. and smart. and funny. and like, stupidly pretty.â
âso yes,â choso says, nodding.
âand youâre what?â shiu asks. âwaiting for a sign from god?â
ânah,â suguru says. âheâs just scared.â
âiâm not scared,â satoru lies.
âyou should be,â nanami says bluntly. âsheâs a lot.â
âsheâs worth it, though,â choso adds. âif you can handle it.â
âi donât know if i can,â satoru says honestly. the four of them regard him for a moment. then suguru grins. âwell, shit. at least youâre honest.â
âmore than most guys around here,â choso agrees.
âbetter than sukuna already,â shiu mutters.
âheâs not gonna like this,â nanami warns. âyou being here. with her.â
âhe doesnât have to like it,â satoru says, surprising even himself. âitâs not his choice.â
ânow thatâs the energy,â suguru says, clinking his cup against his.
âjust donât throw the first punch,â choso says.
âunless he does,â shiu adds. âthen, by all means.â
satoru laughs, tension breaking just a little. he looks around at the group, four guys who could easily have iced him out or humiliated him, but instead welcomed him in like some weird brotherhood of unhinged protectors.
âthanks,â he says.
âdonât mention it,â choso shrugs. âwe like you.â
âyou fit,â suguru says. âsomehow.â they all laugh.
they all laugh.
and then your voice cuts through the circle, light and bright as you reappear with a full drink in hand. satoru looks up, eyes softening instantly.
âheyyâ
âsorry they took forever,â you pout. âyou miss me?â
âmaybe,â he says, like itâs a secret. âa little.â
you hold the drink out to him. âyour tequila, my liege."
âyouâre too good to me,â he says, and takes it.
âi know,â you smile.
you glance around at the others. âyou boys behaving?â
â'course,â choso says.
âmhm,â you deadpan.
you settle beside satoru again, arm pressing into his.
âtold you theyâd like you.â
and he believes it.
because for the first time in a long time, he likes himself too. for now..
~
as the laughter from the group dies down, the tension in the air shifts, subtly but unmistakably. the door to the frat house creaks open, and itâs as if the entire room collectively inhales.
gojo freezes, his attention snapping to the doorway. thereâs something about the presence that disturbs the natural flow of conversation, something sharp, something unsettling.
a shadow falls across the room as sukuna steps in, his lean form tall and imposing against the backdrop of the houseâs dimly lit interior. his eyes sweep over the crowd with the kind of disinterest that only someone as effortlessly menacing as him could pull off.
satoruâs heart skips, though his face betrays nothing. heâs heard about sukuna, of course, the chaos that follows him like a storm cloud, the way he can control a room without even trying. and now, standing in front of him, that reputation feels all too real.
âsukunaâs here,â choso says lowly, voice barely cutting through the tense air. the others shift, subtly bracing themselves, like theyâve been trained for this.
sukunaâs gaze flickers over to your group, locking onto you for a split second. then, just as quickly, his attention flicks to satoru.
the tension is a crackling undercurrent, satoru meets his gaze with a stiff look, but inside, the nerves coil tighter. his mind races, what is it about this guy that makes everyone shift in their seats? the guyâs presence isnât just intimidating, itâs suffocating, like being in the presence of something mean and oh so very dangerous.
âwell,â sukunaâs voice cuts through the air like a blade, smooth and mocking. âyou showed up. funny, i didnât think you were the type to be at a party like this.â his eyes twinkle with a mean amusement, his lips curling into a smile that could easily be mistaken for a sneer.
satoruâs first instinct is to say something snarky, to assert himself, but the weight of sukunaâs presence steals his words. he knows the others are watching, waiting for the first crack to form, the first move in this unspoken battle.
you clear your throat, cutting through the tension. âsukuna,â you greet, your voice light but firm, not giving away anything. âdidnât expect you tonight.â
sukunaâs eyes flick back to you, and for a moment, thereâs an unreadable look between you two. itâs brief, but gojo catches it, the subtle shift in the atmosphere. itâs like a silent communication between you and him that doesnât need words, a silent acknowledgment of something old and familiar.
âiâve got my reasons,â sukuna says, eyes flicking back to satoru. âbut iâm not here for small talk. just wanted to see who your latest⌠distraction is.â his gaze turns calculating. âis this the guy whoâs been making you so âartisticâ lately?â
thereâs no mistaking it now, sukuna doesnât just find satoru an interesting figure, he finds him a threat. a challenge. and gojo can feel it, this undercurrent of possessiveness.
satoruâs heart rate spikes, but he forces himself to stay calm, keep his composure. he turns toward you, offering a small smile, though the back of his neck prickles. âdidnât realize i was a âdistraction,ââ he says, his voice light, though thereâs an edge to it now. âbut i guess thatâs one way to describe me.â
you throw him a glance, warning in your eyes, and for a second, satoru wonders if heâs being too obvious. too bold. sukuna doesnât like that, doesnât tolerate being mocked or even challenged, and the dangerous aura around him grows thicker the longer the interaction stretches.
sukuna narrows his eyes, "donât get cute with me,â he warns, his voice smooth but laced with venom. he steps closer, his presence crowding the space. âyou donât belong here, pretty boy. you mightâve fooled some of them, but i can smell a pretender from a mile away.â
satoruâs jaw ticks a few times, but he keeps his face cool, chin tilted just enough to show heâs not intimidated. âyouâve got a lot to say for someone who doesnât even know me,â he retorts, voice dropping a little lower.
the tension in the air thickens. suguru and choso exchange a look, both noticing the way things are escalating. shiu, standing a few feet away, flicks his eyes over to you, trying to gauge your reaction.
you step in before things can spiral any further. âsukuna,â you say firmly, your voice sharper than before. âcan we not do this here? this is not the time or place.â
sukuna gives you a look, something between admiration and disdain. his gaze flicks back to satoru, but this time, thereâs something darker in his eyes. âwhatever you say, princess,â he murmurs, his tone low and dangerous. âbut this one? heâs not what you think he is.â
with that, he turns and makes his way deeper into the party, his presence still lingering like a shadow over the group. the atmosphere remains thick, the tension hanging in the air like smoke from a fire that hasnât quite burned out.
satoru takes a slow breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease that sukunaâs words have left behind. he glances over at you, whoâs still standing a little too still, eyes locked on the space sukuna just vacated.
âis he always like that?â satoru asks, his voice low, though thereâs no denying the edge of concern there.
you let out a long sigh, turning to face him fully. âyeah,â you say softly, almost apologetically. âsukunaâs a⌠complicated person.â
âi can tell,â satoru mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. his earlier confidence is slipping, replaced by a twinge of doubt. he thought he could handle this crowd, but sukuna⌠sukuna was something else entirely.
âyou donât have to worry about him,â you say, your voice softer now. you place a reassuring hand on his arm, and for a brief moment, the world feels a little less heavy. âhe just has a way of⌠testing people. seeing how much they can take.â
satoru lets out a breath, looking at you. thereâs something about the way you say it, like youâve seen this play out before, over and over again. something in his gut tightens at the thought.
but he nods, forcing a smile. âi can take it,â he says, though his voice is steadier than he feels. âbut iâm guessing sukunaâs not gonna be my biggest fan, huh?â
you smile the best you can trying to seem fine, âheâll get over it,â you say, but thereâs a strange bitterness in your tone. âhe usually does.â
satoru watches you, trying to read the unspoken words in your gaze. thereâs a history there, a tension between you and sukuna thatâs thicker than whatâs on the surface.
heâs not sure how deep it goes, but something tells him that tonight was only the beginning.
the rest of the night stretches longly out before them, full of promises of fun and tension, of friendships and unspoken rivalries. but for now, satoru is left with the quiet certainty that his place in this world, your world, is still uncertain. and sukuna? heâs just the first of many obstacles that stand between him and whatever this is with you.
but heâs not backing down. not now. not ever. he was going to have you, even if that meant knocking sukuna around abit.
Š 2025 sixxels. All work belongs to @sixxels Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.
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synopsis â after reading about a book series that mirrored everything youâd loved about a past favourite, you were thrilled to find it in your college library. the copies were oldâworn enough to still have checkout cardsâbut what caught your attention was the same set of initials, G.S., scrawled across nearly every one. the same G.S. who had filled the margins with sharp, thoughtful annotations. you couldnât stop yourself from thoroughly enjoying the silly little comments written in the margins, leaving your own notes alongside theirs. it wasnât until much later that you realised G.S. wasnât some long-gone bookworm. it was none other than the man you had sworn to hate. gojo satoru.
pairing â nerd! satoru x reader
genre â academic rivals to lovers
word countâ 32k (oops)
warnings â sexual content (unprotected sex), swearing, mentions of not eating, slight angst.
small playlist i listened to while writing
"You all can come and grab the papers nowâdo not ask me for any re-evaluations, the mark presented on the paper is your final markâ"
You barely listen. The professor could be reading a grocery list for all you care. Your focus is already on the stack of midterms in his hands, your heart pounding like a drum against your ribs.
The exam had been brutalâ200 marks, covering classical mechanics and electromagnetism, some of the toughest material in your Physics II course. Past students had called it a horror show, a midterm designed to crush dreams and expose weaknesses. It was weighted heavily in your final grade, which meant every single mark mattered. The room is filled with a tense hum, a mixture of eager whispers and anxious murmurs. Some students hesitate in their seats, mentally preparing themselves before facing their doom. But you? You don't wait. You weave through the aisles, manoeuvring past people, determined to be one of the first to grab your paper.
And, of course, Gojo is right behind you.
"Jeez, you could at least pretend to be patient," he muses, his tone dripping with amusement as he strolls lazily down the steps, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. You roll your eyes. "Not all of us have the luxury of cruising through exams without trying."
"I do try," he says, flashing you a grin. "I try just enough." Before you can shoot back a response, you reach the professorâs desk. Professor Takeda raises an unimpressed brow as he sorts through the papers.
"You two again," he sighs. "Half my life as a professor has been spent watching you bicker."
"Don't be dramatic, sir," Gojo says smoothly, resting an elbow on the desk. "It's only been three years." Takeda shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about headaches before handing you your paper. You grab it without waiting, fingers slightly shaking as you flip it over.
98.
The relief rushes through you instantly, so strong you canât help the triumphant burst of excitement. "Ninety-eight!" you blurt out, beaming as you hug the paper to your chest. Itâs a damn near perfect score, and after all those sleepless nights, all those hours of grinding through problem setsâyou earned this. Gojo, still waiting for his turn, glances at you with an expression you canât quite place. His usual smirk is still there, but thereâs something elseâsomething quieter, almost thoughtful, before he smooths it over with his usual easy confidence.
Takeda hands him his paper. Gojo flips it over, barely reacting as he reads the number at the top.
"Ninety-five." Your grin widens.
"You mean I beat you?" You practically bounce on your heels. "Me? The one you said was âtoo uptightâ and needed to ârelax and accept second placeâ? Me?"
Gojo exhales through his nose, shaking his head, as he folds his paper out of your sight. "Don't get too cocky," he drawls, shoving the paper under his arm. "Itâs just three points."
"Three points above you."
"For now," he corrects smoothly, nudging your shoulder as he moves past you.
Itâs been this way since freshman year. You and Gojo had ended up in the same introductory physics course, and from the very first midterm, it was clear: you were the only two truly competing at the top of the class. But while you poured everything into studyingâlate nights, flashcards, equations scribbled on napkinsâGojo seemed to barely put in the effort. Heâd show up late to lectures, half-asleep in sweatpants, glasses slightly skewed, yet somehow still aced every exam. He never took notes, never stressed, never seemed to break a sweat. It drove you insane. Because no matter how hard you tried, how much effort you put inâhe was always right there with you. Sometimes ahead, sometimes just behind, but never far enough to ignore.
And worst of all? He made it look easy. By now, the entire physics department knew about your rivalry. Professors expected you to fight over test scores. Study groups would take bets on who would score higher. Even during practical lab sessions, it was always a silent battleâwho could get through the calculations faster, who could figure out the trick questions first. You hated him. And now, after years of this, you finally had something over him. A small, almost imperceptible shift in the universe.
You beat Gojo Satoru. As soon as class ends, youâre practically floating out of the lecture hall, midterm still clutched in your hands. The second you step into the cafeteria, your eyes scan the room for your friend, and when you finally spot her at your usual table, you donât even bother with a greeting. âI got a ninety-eight,â you announce, sliding into the seat across from her with an undeniably smug grin. âAnd I beat Gojo.â
Her head snaps up from her laptop. âWaitâ Gojo Gojo?â
You roll your eyes. âAs opposed to what? Some other Gojo in our department?â
âOh my God, you actually did it?â she gasps, setting her drink down as she stares at you in something close to awe. âI thought that man was unstoppable.â
âWell, turns out heâs not.â You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head. âGuess he finally met his match.â Your friend is still blinking at you in disbelief when a voice cuts in from behind you, slow and amused.
âOne good score, and you think youâre the shit.â You freeze. Then, before you can even turn around, Gojo is already there, stepping up behind you like a shadow that refuses to be ignored. You feel the presence of himâtall, lazy, entirely too smugâbefore you even lift your head to meet his gaze. Heâs leaning in just slightly, close enough to loom, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. That familiar, insufferable smirk is plastered on his face, condescending and infuriatingly amused.
You huff. âCanât a girl enjoy her victory in peace?âÂ
He tilts his head, that same damned smirk never wavering. âVictory?â he echoes, voice dripping with mockery. âYouâre getting ahead of yourself, arenât you? One midterm doesnât erase three years of domination.â You scoff, crossing your arms. âOh, please. Like youâve actually dominated me.â
âOh, you want me to bring out the stats?â Gojo hums, slipping into the seat beside you like he owns the place. He props his elbow on the table, resting his cheek on his palm as he begins, âPhysics I finalâ97 to your 96. Thermodynamics midterm? 95 to your 91. Electromagnetic Fields examââ
You groan. âJesus Christ, you memorized all of them?â
âYou think I donât keep track?â He arches a brow, eyes glinting with amusement. âItâs not my fault I have a consistent history of kicking your ass.â
Your friend snorts into her drink. âHe kinda has a pointââ
You shoot her a glare. Gojo, meanwhile, is clearly having the time of his life. He leans in, that imposing height of his making his presence impossible to ignore, his voice dropping just slightly, almost teasing. âBut sure,â he drawls, chin resting in his hand. âEnjoy your one win, (name). Iâll let you have it.â
You grip your cup so tightly the plastic crinkles. âLet me have it?â
âMmm.â He tilts his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself. âWouldnât want you to cry when I obliterate you on the final.â Your friend nudges you under the table, mouthing heâs so full of shit, but you barely register itâbecause the air between you and Gojo is charged in a way that makes your stomach twist. You wonât admit it out loud, but part of you wondersâ is this how he always talks to you?
So close, so taunting, like he enjoys watching you bristle. You hate how natural it feels, how effortless the rhythm of your bickering has become. But more than anything, you hate the way your heart stutters when he pushes himself out of his chair, hands still stuffed in his pockets, and grins down at you like he already knows how the next round of this fight is going to end.
âYou should really start studying,â he hums, walking backward toward the exit. âYouâll need it.â And with that, heâs gone, leaving you fuming at the table. Your friend watches him go, eyebrows raised. âSo, uh,â she says slowly. âAre we sure you guys arenât flirting?â You glare at her.
âI hate him.â She smirks. âMhm.â You seethe a little, realisingâwith a stab of annoyanceâthat yes, that motherfucker is actually leading right now in terms of grades and rankings. Itâs not even about the marks. Okay, maybe itâs a little about the marks. But youâve always been the smart woman in your course. The one who professors hold up as an example. The one whose name has been printed on merit lists and whose email is always flooded with internship offers and research opportunities. Youâve spent years perfecting your academic standing, earning every achievement through sheer effort and discipline. But for some odd reason, none of it ever seems to matter until youâve compared it with Gojo Satoru. You glare at his name on the leaderboard, one place ahead of yours. A single midterm shouldnât be enough to infuriate you, and yetâ
Your eye twitches. How the hell did you even get here?
Well.
Actually.
You know how. You just try not to think about it because, frankly, itâs one of the most mortifying moments of your entire academic career.
â
It was the very first week of freshman year, and you were, for lack of a better term, an insufferable know-it-all. Not in a bad wayâokay, maybe in a slightly bad way. But it wasnât your fault that you took your education seriously, or that you actually read ahead in your courses, or that you genuinely cared about learning. If anything, you were doing everyone a service by answering questions when no one else raised their hands. So, on that particular day, when your physics professor asked the class a question about vector components, you barely hesitated before speaking up.
âThe perpendicular components of a vector are independent of each other,â youâd answered smoothly, sitting up a little straighter as you prepared to elaborate. âThatâs why we can analyse them separately usingââ
âOhhh, wow,â someone cut in, voice dripping with mock wonder. âLook at that. We got a genius in the house.â The interruption had been so unexpectedâso audaciousâthat it completely derailed your train of thought.
And when you turned around, irritated beyond belief, there he was. White hair, round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, an undeniably punchable smirk tugging at his lips. You had no idea who he was at the time. Just some tall, obnoxious guy slouched lazily in his seat, all limbs and arrogance, tapping a pen idly against his notebook as he stared at you with barely concealed amusement.
Your brows furrowed. âExcuse me?â
âIâm just saying,â he shrugged, âyou must be so fun at parties.â The class chuckled. Your jaw clenched. âWell, someone has to answer when no one else even tries.â
âRight, because weâre all just too stupid to understand vectors,â he drawled, stretching lazily in his seat.
âI didnât say that,â you shot back.
âDidnât have to,â he grinned, tapping his temple. âI could feel the superiority radiating from you.â You exhaled sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to turn back around before you said something that would get you in trouble on the first week of class.
âOkay, okay,â your professor cut in, looking thoroughly unbothered by the exchange. âLetâs keep the debating to actual physics concepts.â That should have been the end of it. But then you heard a low tsk from behind you.
âI bet she memorized the textbook cover to cover before the semester even started,â the white-haired menace mused under his breath to his friend with the long, black haired locks, who seemed disinterested in what his friend had to say.
You whipped around. âI did notââ
âDonât lie, nerd.â
âExcuse me?!â The class chuckled again. And when you shot a glare toward your professor, expecting some kind of reprimand, he just sighed and muttered, âGod, I already know you two are going to be a pain in my ass.â From that moment on, it had been war.
Your first set of midterms was when you realized he wasnât just talk. You walked into class with a 97 on your physics exam, feeling confidentâonly to glance over and see Gojo slouched in his seat, grinning as he casually flipped his test paper over to show a 99. He made eye contact with you as he tapped his fingers against the big red number. You nearly broke your pen in half.
And so it began.
Every exam, every assignment, every single class discussion became a battleground. You would argue over formulas, nitpick each otherâs solutions, and constantly try to one-up the other. You worked your ass off to close the gap, pouring hours into perfecting your work. And Gojo? Gojo barely looked like he was trying. That was what infuriated you the most. He never seemed stressed, never looked exhausted, never talked about pulling all-nighters. He just showed up, half the time looking like he hadnât even studied, and still somehow stayed ahead. Until now. Until your 98 finally beat his 95. A single win isnât enough. But damn, does it feel good.
â
You step into the lecture hall, already bracing yourself for the inevitable. Sure enough, Gojo Satoru is exactly where you expect him to beâsprawled out in his usual seat, legs stretched obnoxiously far like he has no concept of personal space. His sunglasses rest on top of his head, keeping his messy white hair from falling into his annoyingly pretty eyes, and the second he spots you, that familiar smirk tugs at his lips. Youâre already exhausted.Â
âYouâre early,â you mutter, slipping into your seat and pulling out your laptop.
âAnd youâre predictable,â he shoots back. âWhat, do you set an alarm just to make sure you get here before me?â
âYou wish.â
âNah, you wish.â
You pause, narrowing your eyes. âThat doesnât even make sense.â
He shrugs, propping his chin on his hand. âStill got under your skin, though, didnât it?â
You make a sound of irritation in the back of your throat, ready to tell him exactly where he can shove his smug attitude, but your friend plops into the seat next to you, completely unaware of the storm brewing between you and Gojo. You exhale sharply, forcing yourself to shift gearsâthereâs something more important than your ongoing war with him. Something much, much more important.
âOkay, so, I found this book series last night,â you begin, your fingers twitching excitedly as you pull out your phone. âI was going through one of those book recommendation guidesâyou know, the niche ones that arenât full of the same ten bestsellersâand this one just caught my eye.â Your friend hums in interest, booting up their laptop. âWhatâs it about?â
You practically buzz with excitement. âSo itâs kind of likeâugh, how do I explain itâitâs this really well-written like narrative, mystery, suspense, romance, but with, like, existential themes? And this insane world building? And apparently, no one talks about it because the publisher went under before it got the recognition it deserved, so itâs kind of a hidden gem.â As you speak, Gojo, who had been staring blankly at the front of the room, blinks. That sounds familiar.
âYouâre really selling it,â your friend teases.
âRight?! And apparently, itâs super hard to find, but I checked, and our library actually has a few copies.â You tuck your phone away, already feeling a rush of excitement. âIâm gonna borrow the first book after class.â Gojo leans back in his seat, eyes flickering with something unreadable.
Yeah, he thinks. Iâve definitely read that.
He doesnât say anything, though. Just rests his chin in his palm and listens as you keep gushing. Because now that he thinks about it, he really liked that series too. It had been one of those random books he picked up between classes, half expecting to get bored, but then something about it hooked him. The way it wove together philosophy and adventure, the quiet melancholy lingering in the proseâit was the kind of book that stuck with you. But he never finished it. Midterms had hit, and between exams, research papers, and group projects that made him want to rip his hair out, he just⌠forgot. He never went back to check out the last few books. He had meant to, but by the time he had free time again, his brain had moved on. And now here you are, unknowingly digging it back up.
His fingers drum idly against the desk, and for some reason, he canât shake the thought: Sheâs gonna love it. He steals another glance at you. Youâre still talking, eyes bright with excitement, flipping through your phone as you read off little details from the guide you found. The enthusiasm is contagiousâhe canât remember the last time he saw you this animated about something that wasnât academics. Usually, all your energy goes into perfecting equations, arguing with him over points lost on exams, and trying to one-up him in every possible way. This is⌠different.
And weirdly, he finds himself kind of liking it. Not that heâd ever admit it.
â
So after class finally finishesâthankfully, your professor had been going through a hard topic that he kept droning on and on about, emphasising how likely it was to appear in the final examâit was enough to sate even Gojo, who, for once, shut up and took notes diligently. You head out at lightning speed, managing a small âsee you laterâ to your friend before disappearing into the hallway. Honestly, ever since the new year of college had started, youâd barely had time to indulge in activities you actually enjoyed.
Sure, you squeezed in a few books here and there when you had the chance, but it was difficult finding ones that hit just the right wayâones with the same kind of engaging plot, the same writing style that kept you hooked. Youâd tried, but nothing had stuck with you the way your favorite books used to. It had been frustrating, going through these long periods without anything to read. But this time, you had a feeling it would be different.Â
Turning a corner, you step into the vast college library, its sheer size never failing to impress you. The high, arched ceilings, the rows upon rows of bookshelves, and the dozens of students scattered across large wooden tables, heads buried in textbooksâitâs an environment that should feel welcoming, yet all it does is remind you how much work you still have waiting for you. You shake that thought away.
Right now, youâre here for one thing.
You glance at your phone, rereading the authorâs name one last time before slipping it into your pocket and heading straight for the fiction section. Itâs tucked away in one of the quieter corners of the library, past the heavier academic texts, and while itâs not as large as the science or philosophy sections, it still has an impressive selection. The shelves here are a little dustier, the books a little more wornâproof that they donât get checked out as often as the physics or chemistry textbooks. You trace your fingers lightly along the spines, scanning for the title. When you finally spot it, you feel a flicker of excitement. There it is.
The first book in the series. The cover is simple yet striking, the title embossed in slightly faded silver lettering. You pull it off the shelf carefully, glancing around to see if the rest of the series is there. To your delight, every single book is lined up neatly in order. Some of them look well-loved, the edges softened from use, some even slightly bent, as if theyâd been carried around in bags, read and reread countless times.
You flip the book over and read the blurb. Even though you already know the gist of the story from your research, thereâs something about reading the official summary that makes your excitement spike. Itâs exactly what youâve been looking forâan underrated but brilliant story, the kind that feels like a hidden gem. Unable to resist, you take the book with you and settle down at one of the smaller, tucked-away tables. Youâre a slow reader, someone who likes to absorb every word, letting the imagery settle in your mind before moving on. But the moment you turn to the first page and begin reading, youâre immediately pulled in.
The writing is crisp and immersive, the kind that hooks you effortlessly. Within moments, youâre completely lost in the world of the book, eyes darting across the pages, flipping to the next before you even realize it. The characters are compelling, the descriptions vivid, and the dialogue sharp. You can already tell this is going to be one of those stories that sticksâthe kind that lingers in the back of your mind long after youâve finished. Just as you reach a particularly interesting part, your phone buzzes.
You blink, momentarily disoriented before glancing at the screen. Itâs a reminder you set for yourself. Right. You still need to study. A sigh escapes you. As much as you want to keep reading, you know you canât afford to waste too much time. With some reluctance, you close the book and stand up, making your way toward the borrowing counter. You check it out quickly, securing it in your bag, already planning when youâll carve out time to read it between your study sessions. Itâs something to look forward to, at least. And if you had known just who had been the last person to check it out before you, maybe you wouldnât be so eager.
â
The ringer from your Pomodoro timer goes off, its sharp chime cutting through the quiet of your dorm room. With a sigh, you drop your pencil onto your open notebook, rolling your shoulders back as you stretch in your seat, feeling the slight stiffness from hours of hunching over your desk. Lazily glancing at the glowing numbers on your laptop screen, a small grin tugs at the corners of your lips.
Four hours of focused work.
Good. Youâve finally finished studying for the night, trudging through a mountain of tricky concepts and endless equationsâjust enough to ensure youâll keep up with the next few lectures before the actual final exam looms over you. The weight of the work youâve put in settles in a satisfying way, a quiet reassurance that youâre keeping up. Yawning, you grab your phone, thumbing through a few unopened texts, sending half-hearted replies where needed.
Your mind is already half-tuned out, already drifting toward what you actually want to do now that your responsibilities are out of the way for the night. Pushing yourself up from your chair, you shuffle toward your bed, sinking into the softness of your mattress with a pleased sigh. And then, with an eager flicker of excitement, you reach for the borrowed library book resting on your side table, fingers running over the slightly worn edges of the cover.
Finally.
Opening it to the page you had left off, you settle deeper into the blankets, eyes scanning the words slowly, absorbing every detail. The prose is effortless, pulling you into the world woven between the lines. The atmosphere is rich, each description vivid and carefully placed, the characters full of depth. Thereâs a certain feeling you get when a book is just rightâsomething that clicks into place, the rare kind of story that makes the outside world blur at the edges. You donât rush through it.
You savor every word, taking in the dialogue, the intricate details of the setting, the careful unraveling of the plot. Then, just as you shift slightly, readjusting your grip, a small slip of paper flutters from between the pages. You blink, momentarily pulled from the trance of the story, watching as it lands lightly on your blanket.
Frowning, you reach for it, fingers brushing against the slightly yellowed, aged texture of the paper. Itâs rectangular, not quite as thick as a regular bookmark, with neat printed lines running across it in faded ink.
A borrowing card.
You stare at it for a second, a vague memory surfacing. Back during your university orientation in first year, you remember a librarian offhandedly mentioning that some of the older books in the collection still had checkout cards inside them, relics from a time before everything became digitized. But since youâd only ever borrowed course-related booksâones that were constantly replaced with new editionsâyouâd never actually come across one. Huh.Â
Your fingers trace the faded lines as you sit up slightly, eyes scanning the list of names scrawled across itâ
Except⌠there are no names. Just one. Or rather, just a set of initials, written neatly in blue ink
G.S.
The date beside it is from a while ago, though not too long. But the strange thing is, itâs the only entry on the entire card. You blink, flipping it over, checking the back. Nothing. So⌠no one else has borrowed this book? You hesitate, gripping the card a little tighter. Youâre supposed to write your name down now, right? Thatâs how these things work. Itâs a log of borrowers. But thenâwhy had this person only written their initials?
A weird feeling stirs in your chest. Not unease, exactlyâjust something you canât put a name to. Itâs probably nothing. Maybe this book just wasnât that popular. The only reason you found it was because of some obscure online guide, after all. Maybe no one really checked it out over the years, and the one person who did just didnât feel like writing their full name.
Shaking your head, you push the thought aside, grabbing a pen from your nightstand. Without thinking too much about it, you write your own name neatly beneath G.S., along with todayâs date. Then, you tuck the card back into its place and return to your book, letting yourself sink back into the story. A few more pages in, about a quarter of the way through the book, your eyes catch something that makes your brow furrow.
Are those⌠scribbles?
Your annoyance flares up immediately. Who the hell desecrates a library book? Itâs practically sacrilegious. Your fingers tighten slightly around the spine as you bring the book closer to inspect the crime against literature, fully prepared to be enragedâ
Wait.
Theyâre not just random scribbles. Theyâre annotations.
Your irritation dims slightly, curiosity piqued as you squint to make out the neat, slightly slanted cursive handwriting running along the margins. Some words are underlined, a few sentences circled, and in a crisp blue ink, a note is scrawled beside a particularly tense conversation between two characters:
âI can just tell heâs gonna be the one dead first. Heâs overreacting to everything.â
You blink. Then, despite yourself, a small giggle escapes. Becauseâokayâwhoever wrote this isnât wrong. You literally thought the same thing just a few moments ago. As much as you love a good, well-written novel, youâve read enough books in your life to recognise the telltale signs of an early death flag. And this character? Heâs practically begging to be taken out of the story. Your amusement lingers as you scan the page again, eyes flitting to more scribbles running alongside the printed words.
"God, she sounds so insufferable."
You smirk a little at that, suppressing a chuckle.
"I like this lineâthe quote kinda speaks to me."
Your gaze follows the arrow pointing toward a particularly well-crafted piece of dialogue. Huh. You actually like that line too.
"I take the previous statement backâno way did he say that entire motivational monologue just for him to throw his morals aside..."
A small, surprised laugh escapes you. You love when characters do this kind of thingâspend pages waxing poetic about their grand principles, only to completely toss them out the window at the first sign of trouble. Itâs frustrating, but also wildly entertaining, and you find yourself nodding unconsciously in agreement.
You shift slightly, adjusting your grip on the book as your initial annoyance starts to morph into something elseâsomething you donât want to admit is enjoyment. Because as much as you usually hate unnecessary markings in books, these annotations donât feel disruptive.
They feel⌠engaging. Like youâre reading with someone. Itâs a strange feelingâan unexpected, quiet kind of companionship in the margins of the book. You scan ahead, flipping a few pages forward, wondering if this mystery annotatorâG.S., you assumeâhas left their thoughts scattered throughout the entire book.
Oh. They have. Almost every page has at least something scribbled in the margins. Some annotations are sarcastic, others incredulous. A few are simple observations or predictions about the plot, and some are just random, dramatic reactions that make you snort.
"Oh my GOD, just kiss already!"
You huff out an amused breath, shaking your head.
"He is so painfully oblivious itâs almost impressive."
Honestly, you were thinking the same thing. Before you realize it, youâve started reading out loudânot the annotations, but the actual book. Itâs something you do sometimes when youâre alone, when a scene is particularly well-written or emotional. And now, with G.S.âs thoughts scattered alongside the text, it almost feels like youâre having a conversation with them. Like theyâre some ghostly presence in the book, reacting alongside you in real time.
You catch yourself before you say something back to one of the notes.
Which is insane. Because this is just a random personâs handwriting in a library book. And yetâ
You exhale through your nose, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the page. You kind of⌠want to know who they are. Who is G.S.? Because if their annotations are anything to go by, they have the exact same thoughts as you while reading. The same exasperation, the same eye-roll-worthy observations, the same appreciation for the well-crafted lines. And you canât help but wonderâjust who was sitting with this same book in their hands, reading the same words, thinking the same things? Itâs an odd, fleeting curiosity, but you push it aside for now, shaking your head as you turn the page.
You settle deeper into your blankets, the book resting comfortably in your hands as you turn the page. The words on the paper blur slightly in the dim light of your bedside lamp, but you donât mindâyouâre too immersed now, drawn into both the story and the unexpected presence of G.S. in the margins. The next chapter begins, and you take a slow breath before diving in, eyes flicking between the printed text and the handwritten notes.
"Oh, I just know this is going to go terribly."
You glance at the line itâs referencingâa scene where the protagonist makes a bold, arguably reckless decision. Yeah, G.S. is probably right. A few more pages pass. The tension in the book rises, and youâre so absorbed that you nearly miss the next annotation.
"There it is. The classic âstaring at the moon in emotional turmoilâ scene. Authors love this one."
You snort. Okay, but theyâre right. You tilt your head, momentarily pausing your reading to stare at the note. Itâs a little strange, this dynamic youâve somehow fallen into with a complete stranger. You feel like you know them, or at least, their reading habits. Their humor. The way they react to the exact same things that pull at your attention. It's unsettling in a way thatâs not entirely unpleasant. You flip forward, skimming ahead to see if the notes continueâand they do.
"I KNEW IT. I CALLED IT. HEâS A TRAITOR."
You blink, pausing mid-sentence. Your gaze darts back to the text, where a major plot twist has just been revealed. Your mouth parts slightly, rereading the words to make sure youâre seeing them correctly. Damn. You did not see that coming.
You exhale, a small smirk tugging at your lips. Fine. Point to you, G.S. You keep reading, now almost waiting for the next annotation, like itâs a second voice in your head providing commentary as you go. And when the protagonist makes another questionable decisionâ
"Why are men in fiction like this?"
âyou laugh, shaking your head. It continues like that for pages. Every now and then, G.S. 's notes make you chuckle, or nod in agreement, or roll your eyes because come on, that was an obvious metaphor. And as much as you want to be annoyed by the interruptions, you find yourself⌠enjoying it. Maybe even liking it. At some point, you shift your position, getting more comfortable against your pillows, completely absorbed. The words feel alive, and not just the printed ones, but the ones scribbled in blue ink alongside them. Itâs a conversation you never expected to haveâone separated by time, by anonymity, by the unlikelihood of ever knowing who G.S. is. Your fingers brush over the ink of the annotations, slightly faded but still legible. Thinking back to the date listed on the library card from quite a while ago, you wonder if G.S. has even thought about this book since then. Or if theyâve forgotten about it entirely. You stare at the letters for a moment longer before shaking your head, pushing away the odd sensation curling at the back of your mind.
Itâs just a book. Just some random personâs annotations. It doesnât mean anything.
A reminder notification pops up on your phoneâone youâd set earlier to keep your study schedule in check. You sigh. Right. You should get some sleep soon. Reluctantly, you close the book, running your fingers over the cover one last time before placing it on your nightstand. Youâll finish it laterâbetween classes, between assignments, between all the little gaps in your schedule where you can steal a moment to read. And maybe, youâll keep an eye out. Because now, you kind of want to know if G.S. ever came back for this book.
â
By the time your next Physics lecture rolls around, youâve already finished the first book in the series. It had consumed your nights, pulling you in with its immersive world-building and gripping storylineâbut, if you were being honest, the experience had been made infinitely more enjoyable because of the annotations left behind in the margins. The presence of another reader, someone who had walked the same narrative path as you and left breadcrumbs of their thoughts along the way, had made the book feel less like a solitary escape and more like a shared secret. So, naturally, when you stride into class that morning, youâre already prepared to discuss it at length with your friend.
What you arenât prepared for is Gojo Satoru.
Not that you ever are, really. He has a habit of making his presence known, like some self-appointed force of nature existing solely to get under your skin. And today is no differentâhe walks past you with an easy, sauntering gait, the kind thatâs deliberately slow enough to be obnoxious. Thereâs a telltale smirk tugging at his lips, the glint of mischief in his strikingly bright eyes as he leans in, as if heâs about to say something insufferable just to throw off your morning. You pretend not to see him.
Your willful ignorance must be obvious because you hear him scoff under his breath as he passes by, but you donât give him the satisfaction of looking.
Instead, you beeline toward the row where your friend is already seated, setting your bag down with an eager bounce in your step.
âDude,â you start, flipping open your laptop with a flourish, âremember that book I told you about a few weeks back?â Your friend raises a brow. âThe one from that super niche book guide you were raving about?â
âThe very same one,â you confirm, barely able to contain your excitement. âI finally finished it, and oh my god, it was so good. The plot? Phenomenal. The pacing? Perfect. But you know what actually made it even better?âÂ
You donât notice the way Gojo hesitates just as heâs about to settle into the seat behind you. He freezes, fingers hovering above the keyboard of his laptop as his ears zero in on your conversation.
âYou found another book to obsess over?â Your friend teases, but you shake your head fervently.
âNo, no, listen,â you insist, your voice lowering slightly as you lean in, âsomeone left annotations in it.âÂ
Satoruâs fingers twitch.
âYou mean like, study notes?â
âNo! Like, actual thoughtsâcomments, reactions, opinions. And not just boring analytical stuff, either. They were funny. Snarky. They made fun of the characters at the exact moments I wanted to. It was like reading the book with someone, you know?â
A very distinct, yet invisible, sense of dread creeps into Gojoâs chest.
Oh. Oh, shit. The annotations. He had completely forgotten about those. He had scrawled them in the margins ages agoâmostly on a whim, partly out of boredom, and entirely because he physically could not read a book in silence. If there was one thing Gojo Satoru was incapable of, it was shutting the fuck up, even when he was the only audience for his own commentary. So, naturally, when he had found himself enjoying the book way more than expected, he had started treating it like a private conversation with himself, writing down whatever thoughts came to mind.
He never expected anyone to see them. And now, sitting barely a foot away, heâs listening to youâof all peopleâexcitedly gush about his stupid little scribbles, completely oblivious to the fact that the person you were praising, the one whose humor you found entertaining and whose insights you had agreed with, was him. He schools his expression, keeping his head tilted just enough to appear disinterested. But his ears are wide open.
âWhoever wrote those notes,â you continue, flipping your pen between your fingers, âhad some serious opinions. And honestly? I kind of love them. Like, I think we have the same brain.â
Satoru presses his lips together, biting back a grin.
You? Agreeing with him? That was new.Â
Your friend hums. âSo youâre basically having a book club with some anonymous person who read it before you?â You chuckle. âI mean⌠kinda? Itâs weird, but itâs nice in a way. Like, usually when I read, itâs just me and the book. But with the annotations, itâs like thereâs this extra layer of interaction. I get to see how someone else processed the story, how they reacted to the same moments I did.â
Satoru knows he should stop listening. He should. But he doesnât.
Because something about this whole situationâthe fact that you, of all people, had unknowingly connected with him through a bookâhas him equal parts amused and intrigued. You, who always huffed when he teased you. You, who rolled your eyes at his antics, who made a point to ignore him even though he knew you were hyper-aware of his presence.
You had spent nights poring over words he had written in passing. And you had liked them. God, if you knew, youâd probably strangle him on the spot.
âI actually wanna see if this person has read the rest of the series,â you muse, mostly to yourself. âLike, maybe they annotated other books too.âÂ
Satoru exhales through his nose, staring at his laptop screen but not actually registering anything on it. Well. This was going to be interesting.
â
You make your way to the library once again, the first book of the series clutched in your hands, ready to be returned. It feels weird, parting with it. As if youâre saying goodbye to something that had, for the past week, been a quiet companion during your late-night reading sessions. But not to worry, thereâs still like five more books in the series. Your steps slow slightly as you approach the return counter, fingers absently reaching into your bagâs open pocket for a pen. Without much thought, you flip open the book and scrawl the date of return onto the inside of the back cover, where the borrowing card is located. Your thumb absentmindedly drags across the faded blue ink of the initials scrawled in the row above where youâve signed your name.Â
G.S.
Whoever they were, they had made your reading experience infinitely better with their wry, sarcastic observations and strangely thoughtful insights. It was like reading alongside a particularly sharp-witted friendâone who, frustratingly, was just out of reach. Youâre lost in thought, mulling over the mystery of G.S., when you abruptly walk straight into something firm and unmoving. And warm.
Something that smells like sandalwood and fresh linen and something inexplicably, irritatingly familiar.
You barely have time to stagger back before a voiceâdeep, lazy, and dripping with its usual brand of smugnessâdrawls, âMy, my, pretending to walk around with your nose in a book so people think youâre more studious than you actually are?â
Your stomach sinks. You do not have the patience for this right now.
âFuck off, Satoru,â you mutter, not even looking at him as you try to sidestep. Predictably, he moves right in front of you again, blocking your path with that insufferable ease of his. Hands in the pockets of his impeccably tailored slacks, sleeves of a stupidly expensive cashmere sweater pushed up to reveal the sharp line of his wrists and veiny forearms, and his ever-present glasses glinting under the dim library lightsâhe looks as if he owns the place.
His head tilts, white hair falling slightly over his frames as he glances down at the book in your hands. That smileâall teeth and smugnessâspreads across his face like heâs caught you in something scandalous.
âOh? Reading a book that isnât course-related? Scandalous. What happened, got bored of being a try-hard? Or are you just begging to score lower than me on the final?â He exhales dramatically, shaking his head. âTsk, tsk. Not that Iâd expect you to actually be on my level, but itâs cute that you tryââ
You stop listening after that. Normally, youâd throw something equally sharp-tongued back at him, tell him to go get hit by a bus or something equally creative, but youâre too drained to bother. The exhaustion from back-to-back lectures, plus the fact that you havenât eaten anything substantial today, has dulled the sharp edges of your patience. A dull ache pounds at the base of your skull, and every word out of his mouth makes it throb even harder. Your expression must give away more than you intend because, for a split second, Gojo falters.
Itâs quickâbarely there. But you see it.
A flicker of something almost resembling concern flashes behind his glasses, like heâs actually noticed how drained you look. The moment is gone before you can process it. His usual smug expression slides right back into place, and you donât have the energy to care.
âI need to return this,â you say flatly. âGet out of my way.â
Instead of stepping aside like a normal person, he falls into step beside you, hands still lazily stuffed in his pockets. âOh? So now you acknowledge my presence,â he muses, voice light. âWhat, you didnât miss me in class today? I even waited for you to roll your eyes at me like you do every morning. Felt almost lonely without it.â
âI genuinely do not care,â you reply without looking at him. He presses a hand to his chest as if wounded. âOuch. Someoneâs moody today. Low blood sugar? On your period? Brain finally given up trying to keep up with mine?âÂ
You donât dignify that with a response, instead sliding the book into the return pile with a little more force than necessary. Gojo watches, his gaze flickering between you and the book.
âWhat book were you returning, anyway?â The question is so casual, so offhanded, that you almost donât clock it as strange. Almost. You narrow your eyes at him. âDidnât take you for someone interested in my life.â
His lips curl into something unbearably smug. âOh, Iâm not.â He rocks back on his heels, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. âI just like knowing what my rival is up to outside of class. You know, studying your weaknesses. Gathering intel. The usual.âÂ
You stare at him. âYou are so full of shit.â
âI really am,â he agrees cheerfully. You exhale through your nose, patience wearing thinner by the second. âShouldnât you be off somewhere being a general public nuisance?â
âThis is me being a general public nuisance.â He grins. âAnd youâre the lucky victim of the day.â
âGod, I hate you.â
âAww, thatâs cute. But you should be honest with yourself,â he says, following you as you make your way toward the exit. âI think youâd miss me if I suddenly disappeared.â
âAbsolutely not.â
âYou so would.â
âI would thrive in your absence.â
Gojo makes an exaggerated show of wiping away an imaginary tear. âHow cruel. And here I was, thinking we had something special.â
You push open the library doors, stepping out into the crisp afternoon air. Finally, freedom. But, of course, Gojo keeps following you.
ââŚWhy are you still here?â you ask, tiredly. He hums. âDunno. Walking this way.â
âYou donât even know where Iâm going.â
âExactly,â he says, grinning. âA mystery. How exciting.â You consider throwing your bag at him. You settle for walking faster. You quicken your pace, hoping Gojo will get bored and wander off. He doesnât. Of course he doesnât. He easily keeps up with you, long legs making it effortless, his stupid grin never fading.
âWalking faster wonât shake me, you know,â he muses, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. âIf I didnât know any better, Iâd think you enjoy my company.â You donât bother responding, gripping the strap of your bag tighter and staring straight ahead. He walks backward in front of you, head tilted, watching you with an almost lazy amusement. âSo, where are you going? CafĂŠ? Student lounge? Maybe a secret nerd meeting where you all discuss the best highlighters for maximum efficiency?â
You give him a deadpan look. âYes, Satoru. Thatâs exactly what Iâm doing. Weâre all going to sit in a circle and ritually sharpen our pencils while whispering incantations about final exams.â He gasps dramatically. âI knew it. I bet you have a shrine dedicated to good grades too. And, like, a little altar where you sacrifice people who get higher scores than youââ
âI donât need to sacrifice anyone,â you cut in, dryly. âBecause I get the highest scores.â His grin widens. âNot all of them.â
You bristle, and he knows it. You both know that you and Gojo have been locked in a constant academic battle since the semester started. Itâs maddening how often you end up in the top two spots. Even more maddening that he acts like he doesnât even try. You exhale slowly, trying to focus on literally anything else. âIâm going to get food. Why donât you go fuck off somewhere, like, I donât know, ruin someone elseâs day?âÂ
âYou wound me with such crass language,â he says, clutching his chest like you physically struck him. âIâm just being a good friend.â
âYouâre not my friend.â
âWow.â He sighs dramatically, as if genuinely offended. âAll this time weâve spent together, and you still call us enemies? Iâd like to think of us more as⌠frenemies.â
âI would like to think of us as strangers.â
âAnd yet,â he says, smirking, âyou still talk to me.â
You roll your eyes. âOnly because you wonât shut up.âÂ
Gojo shrugs. âDetails.âÂ
By now, youâve reached the campus cafĂŠ. The smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries drifts through the air, making your stomach growl embarrassingly loud. You knew skipping lunch was a bad idea. Gojo hears it, of course.
âOh?â His eyebrows lift, delighted. âWas that your stomach? Should I be worried? Are you dying of starvation? Is this how our rivalry ends?â You ignore him and step inside. The cafĂŠ is buzzing with students, some hunched over laptops, others chatting over coffee. You head straight for the counter, scanning the menu, debating if you should just get something quick and easy or actually sit down for a meal. Gojo, uninvited, leans casually against the counter beside you.
âGetting a drink too?â he asks, peering over your shoulder.
âWhy do you care?â
âMaybe I wanna know what fuels my biggest competition,â he says, tone exaggeratedly thoughtful. âWhatâs the secret? Triple shot espresso? Pure willpower? The tears of your academic rivals?â You give him a look. âYouâre projecting. You probably run on the suffering of others.â
âObviously,â he says easily. âBut I like to mix in a little sugar sometimes. Keeps me balanced and shit.â Youâre about to tell him to go bother someone else when the barista glances up. âNext?â You quickly place your order. Just as youâre about to pull out your wallet, Gojoâs voice rings out:
âIâve got it.â
Your head snaps toward him. âWhat.â
âIâm paying.â You stare at him, genuinely baffled. âWhy?â
He grins. âBecause Iâm so generous, obviously.â You narrow your eyes. âNo, really. Whatâs the catch?â
He puts a hand over his heart, feigning offense. âYou think Iâd trick you? Iâm hurt.â
âYes.â
Gojo just laughs and hands his card to the barista before you can argue further. You glare at him. âThis better not be some elaborate scheme to hold this over my head later.â
âOh, it definitely is,â he says cheerfully. âI plan to bring it up all the time.â
âOf course you do.â Your drinkâ tea to be specificâ is ready a moment later. Begrudgingly, you take it, mumbling, âThanks.â Gojo gasps, eyes wide. âDid you just thank me?â You exhale. âNever mind. I take it back.â
âNo, no, itâs too late, you already said it.â He grins. âYou like me.â
âI hate you.â
âYou adore me.â
âI tolerate you at best.â Gojo sips his drink, looking entirely too pleased with himself. âThatâs basically the same thing.â You groan and turn to leave.
Thankfully he doesnât make the move to follow you this time.
â
Your⌠somewhat friendly interaction with SaâNo, Gojoâwas forgotten by the time the next week rolled around. Not deliberately, of course. But between your physics assignments, math problem sets, and an unrelenting pile of lecture notes to review, your brain had simply discarded the memory. College had a way of pushing everything that wasnât directly necessary for survival to the furthest corners of your mind. Currently, you were in the library, hunched over a thick textbook, your fingers curled into your hair as you skimmed the same paragraph for what felt like the tenth time. Nothing was sticking.
You groaned, tilting your head back against the chair and letting your gaze drift to the high ceilings of the study space. It was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of pages and the rhythmic clicking of laptop keys. Your physics notes sat in front of you, covered in a desperate sprawl of formulas and diagrams, but the more you stared, the more meaningless the symbols became. You needed a break. Your eyes flickered toward the fiction section.
It wouldnât hurt to get another book.
A moment later, you were standing in front of the shelves, fingers tracing the spines as you searched for the second book in the series. It didnât take long to findâit was positioned neatly with the rest of the series, the cover slightly fading due to how long it had probably been there. As you turned to leave, your thumb brushed against the inside cover, where the borrowing card was located.
And there, scrawled in the same faded blue ink as before, were the initials:
G.S.
You paused. Your mystery commentator had been here before you. Again. You traced the letters absentmindedly, your mind flickering back to the first book. Their annotations had been witty, sometimes mocking, but always sharp. You had enjoyed themâmore than you expected.
You flipped to the borrowing card. G.S. had checked out this book multiple times. At least three dates next to their initials. A strange feeling settled in your chest. Who were they? You shook your head, pushing the thought aside as you made your way to the borrowing counter. It doesnât matter. Itâs just some random person. Still, as you returned to your study space, setting the book beside your untouched notes, your fingers itched to open it.
You triedâreally triedâto focus on physics. For maybe ten minutes. Then, with a sigh, you slid your textbook aside and cracked open the novel. This one picked up right where the last had left offâthe protagonist, an ambitious scholar, now forced into an uneasy alliance with a rogue historian, both of them hunting for a long-lost manuscript said to contain the secrets of the universe. Their journey took them through ancient libraries, shadowy alleyways, and grand halls of academia filled with intrigue and suspense that you thoroughly enjoyed.Â
It wasnât long before you noticed the annotations.
"What an idiot. Why would you trust someone who literally betrayed you three chapters ago?" You huffed a quiet laugh. It was scrawled in the margins of a tense conversation between the protagonist and the historian, who had indeed been suspiciously untrustworthy.
Another note, a few pages later: "This argument is painfully dumb. If they just communicated, we wouldnât need three more chapters of tension." You found yourself smiling. Whoever this was, they were blunt, maybe a bit cynical, but entertaining.
Then, another annotation caught your attentionâthis one different. It was scribbled beside a passage where the protagonist was deciphering an ancient mathematical equation, trying to understand the patterns behind the manuscriptâs code. The handwriting was just as casual, but the contentâ
"This is basically just Fourier analysis but dressed up in fancy old-world academia. If the author actually wanted to be accurate, theyâd at least mention waveforms. But nooo, we get poetic nonsense instead."
You blinked. That was⌠oddly specific. And not the kind of thing your average literature enthusiast would comment on. For a fleeting second, you wonderedâ
Does G.S. study physics?
The thought was strange, lingering in the back of your mind even as you continued reading. Minutes turned into hours. Slowly, students trickled out of the library. The rustling of papers faded, the soft murmur of whispered conversations disappearing into the silence of the near-empty study space. You didnât notice.
Not until the overhead lights dimmed slightly, signaling that the library was closing soon. With a sigh, you shut the book, stretching your stiff limbs. Physics could wait a little longer.
â
A few days later, you found yourself in yet another grueling lecture. The classroom was buzzing with low chatter as students filtered in, some sleep-deprived, some over-caffeinated, and most looking like theyâd rather be anywhere else. You were somewhere in the middleâtired but functional, flipping through your notes with half-hearted interest as you tried to prepare yourself for another two-hour session of mathematical physics. You adjusted your laptop screen, took a sip of your tea, and just as you settled in, you felt a presence.
A familiar, irritating presence.Â
âMorning, rival,â Gojo Satoru said cheerfully, dropping into the seat next to you with all the grace of an avalanche. You didnât even look up. âGo away.â
He tsked. âIs that any way to greet your favorite classmate?â
âYouâre not my favorite classmate.â He grinned, propping his chin on one hand.
âDonât lie. Youâd miss me if I wasnât here to make class interesting.â
You ignored him, resolutely staring at your notes. The professor arrived a moment later, quickly settling into the dayâs topicâwave equations and their applications. The discussion meandered through standard examples, Fourier transforms, and the different methods used to break down complex waveforms.
You barely registered the name of the theoryâjust a fleeting recognition of something familiarâbefore you were back to jotting down notes. At first, you were focused, diligently taking notes and absorbing the information. For the first thirty minutes, you managed to avoid paying him any attention. You scribbled down notes, underlined important formulas, and even managed to listen without feeling the urge to slam your head into the desk.
But thenâof courseâGojo had to open his mouth.
âSo, hypothetically,â he mused, voice carrying just enough to be heard by the surrounding students, âif we were to apply this to a broader model, say⌠nonlinear oscillations, wouldnât that meanââ
You immediately frowned. He was already trying to sound smarter than he was.
âThatâs not how that works,â you cut in before the professor could even acknowledge him. Gojo turned to you, looking far too entertained. âYeah, it is.â
âNo, it isnât.â You shifted in your seat, twisting to face him fully. âYou canât just apply Fourier analysis wherever you want and expect the results to be useful. Nonlinear oscillations donât break down the same way because of the introduction of chaotic behaviorââ
âOh, come on,â Gojo scoffed, waving a hand. âItâs not that deep. Sure, chaotic elements make things messier, but that doesnât mean the framework is useless.â
You let out a sharp breath. âIt means the entire assumption of the analysis changes. You canât approximate a nonlinear system with linear components and expect the results to hold upââ
âYou can if you use a perturbative approach,â he countered smoothly.
You almost growled. âA perturbative approach only works when the nonlinear term is small relative to the linear system. If the nonlinearities dominate, your entire model collapses.â
âNot always,â Gojo shot back, shifting in his seat with that insufferable smirk. âIt depends on how well you construct the higher-order termsââ
You threw your hands up. âAt that point, you might as well scrap Fourier analysis entirely and just use a different decomposition method!â A few students had stopped taking notes. Some were watching out of curiosity; others, out of sheer amusement.
Gojo, completely unbothered, shrugged. âBut that wasnât the question, was it? The point is that Fourier methods can still be useful, even if the system isnât perfectly linearââ
You gritted your teeth. âUseful doesnât mean accurate, dumbass.â Gojo gasped dramatically. âDid you just call me a dumbass? Right here? In front of our professor?â
âMaybe I wouldnât have to if you stopped saying objectively incorrect thingsââ
âOh, please,â he drawled, leaning back in his seat. âYouâre just mad because Iâm right.â
Your jaw clenched. âYouâre not right.â
âI am right.â
âNo, youâreââ
A loud cough. You both froze. Slowly, you turned toward the front of the room, where the professor was staring at you both, unamused.
"Would you two care to bring your literary debate outside of my physics class?" You swallowed. Gojo scratched the back of his neck, looking entirely unbothered.
"...No, sir."
"Good," the professor said flatly. "Then kindly stop interrupting the lesson." You resisted the urge to sink into your chair. Gojo, of course, had the audacity to look amused. As the lecture resumed, you shot him a glare.
"This is your fault."Â
He winked. You swore you were going to strangle him one day. As soon as class ended, you were out of your seat, shoving your laptop into your bag with slightly more force than necessary. Behind you, Gojo was taking his sweet time, stretching like he hadnât just spent the past two hours actively making your life worse. âMan,â he sighed dramatically. âThat was a great discussion, donât you think? Nothing like a little intellectual sparring to keep the brain sharpââ
You spun around so fast he almost bumped into you. âDiscussion?â you repeated incredulously. âThat wasnât a discussion, that was you talking out of your ass like usual.â
Gojo placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. âWow. You wound me. You know, I feel like I say that phrase a lot. Would you prefer it if I said thee painfully wrench mine own heart with such careless wordsââ
You rolled your eyes and stormed out of the lecture hall, weaving through the crowd of students. Of course he followed, long strides easily keeping pace with yours. âIâm just saying,â he continued, completely ignoring your clear irritation, âitâs kind of funny how you always shoot me down but never actually prove me wrongââ
Your jaw clenched. âI do prove you wrong. Every time.âÂ
He smirked. âDo you, though?â
âYes!â You turned on your heel, walking backward so you could glare at him properly. âJust because you talk like you know everything doesnât mean you actually doââ
Gojoâs smirk widened. âSo you do think I sound smart.â Your eye twitched.
âThatâs not what I said.â
âSounds like thatâs what you said.â
âGo kill yourself.â
âOnly if you join me, sweets.â
âDonât call me that!â
âWhy, you donât like being called sweets?ââ
You groaned, turning back around and quickening your pace. You werenât going to stand here and let him twist your words into whatever self-indulgent nonsense was brewing in his head. Gojo, naturally, kept up with ease. âYou know, itâs weird how you always get so mad at me. Maybe you should work on that anger problem of yours.â
âOh, I have an anger problem?â You spun around again, narrowing your eyes. âYouâre literally the most aggravating person Iâve ever met.â
âReally?â He tilted his head in mock thought. âI dunno, you seem to get pretty riled up over nothingââ
âYou are nothing.â
Gojo laughed, the sound bright and infuriatingly genuine. âDamn, that was actually kinda good. You been practicing comebacks in the mirror?â
âLeave me alone, for the love of god, before I strangle you, bastardââ
âOooh, kinkyâ.â
Before you could actually commit violence, someone stepped between you. âAlright, enough,â a smooth, tired voice interrupted. You looked up to see Suguru Geto, Gojoâs ever-patient best friend, standing between you with the exasperation of a man who had dealt with this before.
âSatoru,â he said, dragging a hand down his face, âleave her alone.âÂ
Gojo pouted. âBut we were bonding.â
âWe were not bonding,â you snapped. Suguru gave you a knowing look. âAnd you,â he sighed, âstop encouraging him.â
You scoffed. âEncouraging him? Iââ
A hand suddenly clamped down on your shoulder. You glanced up to see your own friend standing beside you, looking just as exasperated as Suguru. âCome on,â she muttered, tugging you away. âWeâre going to lunch before you actually try to kill him.â You didnât resist, only because the temptation was strong. But as you turned to leave, you caught a glimpse of Gojo flashing that stupid, insufferable grin at you.
You stuck your tongue out at him. Gojo only winked again in response. Why did he keep winking at you? It made you wanna puke. You definitely needed lunch. Maybe something very, very spicy.
â
You're sitting in your dorm again, cross-legged on your bed, laptop open in front of you, but your mind is elsewhere. The textbooks and notes are pushed to the side of your desk, proof that at some point you had every intention of being productive tonight. A third empty cup of tea is perched precariously on your nightstand, and the finished second and third books of the series stacked besides your laptop.Â
It had been a slow burn, working your way through them between lectures and study sessions, but now, the empty feeling of finishing a book you enjoyed is settling in. Worse yet, it's late at night, which means you can't borrow the fourth book until tomorrow. The thought alone makes you sigh as you shut your laptop and flop back against the pillows.
You flipped open the third book, fingers brushing over the slightly worn borrowing card tucked inside. The neat, slanted initials âG.S.â were there again, written in blue ink. And just like before, the pages had been marked with the same sharp, and sometimes frustratingly perceptive annotations that had made you laugh, scoff, and evenâon some particularly well-argued pointsâbegrudgingly nod along. Your mind drifts, replaying some of your favorite annotations from the books.
There was the one where G.S. had written, "Oh, he's totally gonna betray them," followed by a later note that read, "I CALLED IT. WHEREâS MY PRIZE?" That one had made you laugh out loud in the middle of the library, earning a few disapproving stares. Another one of your other favorites from the third book had been an annotation scrawled in the margins of a pivotal scene:
âThe irony of this moment is almost painful. She sees herself as the heroine, but the real tragedy is that sheâs just another character in someone elseâs story.â
You had reread that line about five times before closing the book and staring at the ceiling, feeling somewhat existential. Another annotation had been pure sarcasm:
âYes, because when faced with adversity, the best solution is always to run directly into danger. Genius.â That one had also made you laugh out loud in one of the study halls located in some part of your university, earning a weird look from the girl across the hall. But the annotation that had really stuck with youâreally made you pauseâwas in the third book, written in response to a section that delved into the intricacies of time and choice:
âIf you think about it, this entire dilemma can be broken down into a fundamental question of physics. If time is just another dimension, then isnât every choice we make just another coordinate on an already-existing map? So is it really âfree willâ if weâre just tracing a path thatâs already there?â
That one had thrown you for a loop. It was the kind of thought that lingered, weaving its way into quiet moments when you least expected it. And, you hated to admit, it made you thinkâwhoever this person was, they were kind of brilliant.You sighed, snapping the book shut. You needed to get the fourth one. Now. But a quick glance at your phone reminded you that it was almost midnight, and the library had closed hours ago. You groaned, letting your head submerge deeper into the pillows. You grabbed your phone, scrolling mindlessly, until your eyes flicked to the messages her friend had sent earlierârecommendations for movies sheâd been meaning to watch. You scrolled absentmindedly, not really expecting to find anything interesting, until your thumb hovered over one title:
Whisper of the Heart.
Something about the name tugged at your memory. Wasnât this the one with the girl who loved books and a mysterious boy who shared them? On a whim, you pressed play. The soft hum of the opening scene filled the quiet of her dorm, and soon, you were drawn in. The gentle storytelling, the warmth of the animation, the way the main character, Shizuku, slowly became obsessed with the name written in all the books she borrowedâ
Oh. Oh, shit.
Your face grew hot as you sat up straighter, eyes darting to the books stacked beside you. You weren't doing that. Right?
âŚWere you? Because if you really thought about itâif you really thought about itâwerenât you kind of doing the same thing? You buried your face in your hands. This is so embarrassing. And yet, as you peeked between her fingers at the screen, you couldnât help but draw the comparison between Seiji Amasawa and your mysterious, faceless G.S. Seiji had been intriguing, a presence felt long before he actually appeared. Just a name scribbled in books, a person she hadnât met yet but somehow felt connected to. And wasnât that exactly what G.S. was?
You groaned, flopping back onto your bed, kicking your feet against the mattress. âI need to stop,â you mumbled into your pillow, but your shoulders shook with barely contained laughter. It was stupid. This whole thing was stupid. You didnât even know this person. For all you knew, G.S. could be some forty-year-old professor or a girl who just happened to find the same series as you on the niche book guide you were on. And yet, there was this tiny, ridiculous, completely unserious part of you that wanted to believeâ
What if it was some guy? A guy with sharp wit, someone who thought deeply about things most people glossed over, someone who liked this series enough to leave behind thoughts for others to find. A guy whoâ No. Nope. Nope. You were not about to mentally script herself into some shoujo romance anime over marginalia.
But the damage was done. Because now, your brain had latched onto the idea, spinning daydreams faster than you could stop them. Some dramatic, cinematic first meeting. Some passing moment where youâd reach for a book, and a handâslender fingers, ink-stained maybeâwould brush against yours, and youâd look up andâ
You shot up again, shaking your head violently. God, this is pathetic. But even as you scolded herself, you couldnât wipe the stupid little smile off your face. You were allowed to have a little fun, right? Just a tiny bit of harmless romanticising? You collapsed back into the pillows, eyes drifting back to the ceiling as the movie played on. And as Shizukuâs voice echoed through the room, musing about stories, destiny, and the people we stumble upon by chance, you thoughtâjust for a secondâMaybe, maybe, you kind of liked this. The idea of it all. The way life sometimes felt like a story waiting to unfold. Maybe itâs silly, maybe itâs unrealisticâbut right now, in the quiet of your dorm, with the soft glow of your laptop screen and the remnants of Whisper of the Heart playing in the background, you donât really care.
â
Satoru Gojo had always been considered a prodigy. A genius. Someone born with an innate brilliance that set him apart from others. It had been that way since he was a childâwhere other kids had to struggle and study, he breezed through school without breaking a sweat. It wasnât just academics, either. He was quick-witted, sharp, and effortlessly charming in a way that made people gravitate toward him. But when you grow up with everyone expecting greatness from you, it becomes suffocating.Â
So he learned to play the fool.
It started as a maskâbeing overly cheery, always teasing, never taking things too seriously. It was easier that way. No one could see the weight of expectations if he always had a grin on his face. And at some point, the mask became second nature. Satoru Gojo, the carefree, insufferable genius. The only person he could ever drop it around was Suguru. His best friend, the one person who could keep up with him, who understood what it meant to carry something too heavy to put into words. Then, freshman year of university, he saw you.
He had noticed you beforeâhow could he not? You were diligent, meticulous in a way that fascinated him. You always sat at the front of the class, always had color-coded notes, always took everything so seriously. And maybe that was what caught his attention first. You were everything he wasnât. Where he coasted through life, you worked hard for it. And for the first time in a long time, he didnât quite know how to communicate with someone. So he did what he always did. He teased.
âThe perpendicular components of a vector are independent of each other,â youâd answered smoothly, sitting up a little straighter as you prepared to elaborate. âThatâs why we can analyse them separately usingââ
âOhhh, wow,â he cut in, voice dripping with mock wonder. âLook at that. We got a genius in the house.â He had meant it playfully. A joke. But the way your expression hardened, the way your eyes flickered with irritation, made something click in his brain. You didnât like him. And yet, he couldnât stop teasing you. Even when he knew it annoyed you, even when he knew you hated him. Maybe it was because you challenged him. Maybe it was because, for once, someone didnât look at him like he was untouchable. Or maybe it was because he liked you.
Not just because you were prettyâthough you were, infuriatingly soâbut because you were determined. Because you cared about things deeply. Because you fascinated him in a way nothing else did. He found himself watching you more often than he cared to admit. The way you bit your lip when you were concentrating, the way your eyes lit up when you finally understood something, the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear when you were nervous when results came out. It was all so... endearing.
And maybe thatâs why he finds himself watching you sometimesâwhen youâre scribbling furiously in your notebook, when youâre biting the end of your pen in deep thought, when youâre rolling your eyes at something he says but still, still responding. He watches, because for the first time, someone makes him want to understand more than just equations and theories. And if the only way to keep your attention was by being your rival, then so be it.
â
The next morning, you had a practical class, a hands-on session designed to reinforce the theory youâd been learning. Since it was held in a laboratory, students were sorted into small groups to share lab tables. Unfortunatelyâor fortunately, depending on how you looked at itâyou werenât grouped with Satoru, but by some cruel twist of fate, his group was at the same table as yours. The setup was simple: four students per group, two groups per table.
A long, clean expanse of black lab benches stretched across the room, each one covered with neatly arranged equipment: a set of metal ramps, photogates, a timer, and a set of small carts. Todayâs experiment was a classic: measuring acceleration using a motion sensor. Each group was supposed to release a cart down a ramp and use the photogates to measure velocity changes over time. Simple, right? Satoru, of course, had already started causing trouble before the experiment even began.
âYou know, itâs kinda unfair that I wasnât put in your group,â he mused, leaning against the lab bench with a smirk. âWouldâve been fun watching you pretend to know more than me.â You didnât even look up as you adjusted the height of the ramp, focusing on making sure it was aligned properly. âOh please, Gojo, you wouldâve just copied all my calculations and then taken credit for my hard work.â
âI wouldnât do that,â he said, feigning offense. âIâd let you take, like, fifty percent of the credit.â Your lab partner snorted beside you, shaking their head as they double-checked the photogate placement. Satoru, undeterred, watched as you bent over to place the cart at the starting position. His group was still setting up, which meant he had time to bother you before he actually had to do any work.
âI bet my groupâs results will be more accurate than yours,â he declared. You rolled your eyes, finally sparing him a glance. âYou do know accuracy depends on precision and minimising errors, right? Which meansââ you motioned to his group, where one of them was currently struggling with the timer, ââyour chances of that happening are slim to none.âÂ
Before he could retort, your professor called for everyoneâs attention, signalling the start of the experiment. Both of you fell into your respective tasks, measuring, calculating, and recording values with practiced ease. You got so caught up in fine-tuning your results that Satoru didnât get the chance to throw more taunts your way. That was until, while waiting for your next trial to begin, you turned to your friend beside you, excitement bubbling over.
âOh my god, I finally watched Whisper of the Heart last night,â you gushed, voice dropping into that high-pitched, dreamy tone reserved for things you were completely obsessed with. Your friend gasped, clutching your arm. âStop. You did not.â
âI did.â
âDID YOU CRY?â
âOBVIOUSLY.âÂ
Satoru, who had been focused on adjusting his groupâs ramp, stilled slightly. He knew that movie. More than that, he could predict exactly why you were talking about it. Casually, he glanced over, pretending to check his photogate readings while shamelessly eavesdropping. Your friend squeezed your arm excitedly. âI told you it was perfect. The vibes, the music, the slow-burn romance. Tell me you loved Seiji.â
âOh, I loved Seiji,â you sighed, eyes sparkling. âLike, the way he was so ambitious but still so soft? And the way he believed in her? And the fact that he left little signs for her without even realizing how much theyâd mean?â You could feel yourself getting lost in the emotions of it, and your friend was right there with you, nodding along enthusiastically. âIt was so romantic,â she said dreamily. âThe idea of someone quietly believing in you and pushing you forward. Itâs justââ
âSO good,â you finished for her, and the two of you squealed quietly before catching yourselves and trying to focus again. Then, almost absentmindedly, you added, âHonestly, I feel like Iâm in Whisper of the Heart right now.â Your friend perked up. âHow so?â
You nudged her lightly. âBecause of G.S.â
Satoru, who had been handling the cart for his next trial, fumbled slightly. Your friendâs eyes widened knowingly. âNo way. You mean your G.S.?âÂ
You groaned. âDonât call him that. But yeah. The whole leaving-annotations-in-the-books thing? And how I keep borrowing them? Itâs totally giving Seiji and Shizuku. Like yeah I kinda sound corny right nowââ
âNot really honestly, I get itââ
âExactly! See? I knew I wasnât crazy. Imagine G.S is like Seijiâ scratch that, imagine heâs better, like some sweet, studious, hot book nerdââ
Satoru swallowed, suddenly feeling warm despite the sterile chill of the lab. You thought he was like Seiji? More than that, you thought G.S could perhaps even be better than Seiji? That wasâthat was something.
âAnd next week,â you continued, stretching your arms over your head, âafter I finish studying, Iâm going to borrow the next book.â
Satoru barely heard the rest of the conversation after that. His brain had latched onto one horrifying realisationâ
The last four books werenât annotated. Oh, shit. He hadnât really expected you to grow this attached to his stupid thoughts scribbled on the edges of the frayed pages, hadnât expected you to burn through the series so fast. He completely forgot that he didnât bother annotating the last few books because he had gotten so busy with work. But you had just sat there, eyes sparkling, gushing about his notes like they were some grand romantic mystery. You liked them. You liked his words. Not just the books themselves but the tiny, scribbled thoughts he had left behind. Satoruâs stomach did a weird little flip. It seemed to be doing that a lot every time his nosy ass overheard you talking about his writing.
You really liked his writing. The writing youâd been gushing for about two weeks now. You really found it special. You liked it so much that the thought of continuing the series without it made his chest ache. Because what if you borrowed the next one and found nothing? What if you flipped through the pages, searching for his voice, only to be disappointed? No. No way. That wasnât happening. Initially he had done it as a way to, yâknow, simply yap, maybe desecrate the pages of a book from a library with his oh so superior commentary. But now? He was going to do this for you. Because the way you had talked about Whisper of the Heartâthe way your face had gone soft and dreamy, the way your voice had gotten all excitedâhe wanted that. He wanted to hear you talk about how much you enjoyed the little quips that made their way into his head every time he read something. He wanted to be the reason you spoke like that again. Maybe it was pathetic, but he wantedâ really wanted to once again be the reason why your cheeks slightly went pink when your friend called him yours. Even if they were his initials, they were his, and it insinuated he belonged to you, right?
The second class ended, Satoru bolted. There was no time to waste. He had four books to annotate, and he didnât care if it took him all night. If you wanted G.S., then G.S. was going to be there.
â
Satoru burst into his dorm, heart pounding as he dumped his bag onto the floor. His fingers fumbled with the zipper as he yanked it open, pulling out the four books you were inevitably going to borrow next. He stacked them on his desk, staring at them like they were some kind of urgent missionâbecause they were. You liked his notes. You liked his notes. That thought alone sent a weird, warm feeling blooming in his chest. He flopped into his chair, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled sharply. This wasnât just about keeping up the act anymore. It wasnât about maintaining the mystery of G.S. or feeding into some casual curiosity you had. No, this was about you. About the way your eyes lit up when you talked about the books. The way you had called himâunknowingly, of courseâyour own Seiji. The way you were so excited to continue the series, fully expecting to find more of his little thoughts nestled between the pages. He wasnât going to let you down.
Satoru grabbed the first book off the stack and flipped it open, his pen poised over the margins. He scribbled his initials in the borrowing card in the same blue ink that he always usedâ he always thought the blueness of the ink was much better than any other pen colour out there. Before he started reading, he did this in all the library cards, and made sure that the date corresponded to the previous datesâ so you wouldnât think it was suspicious that the last remaining books were all borrowed on the same day. He then started readingânot just skimming, but really reading, more carefully than he ever had before. Thankfully he did remember the plot of the first three books, so catching up with what was going on wasnât too hard. Every sentence was weighed, every line considered. What would make you pause? What would make you smile?
When he hit a particularly poetic passage, he underlined it and wrote in the margin: Bet whoever is reading thisâ I just know this made your heart do that stupid fluttery thing.
He smirked to himself. If only you knew.Â
A few pages later, he found a scene with the protagonist staring out a train window, deep in thought. The description was vivid, full of melancholic longing. He tapped the pen against his lips before jotting down: Ever feel like this? Just existing, watching life happen? He could already imagine you reading it, tilting your head slightly, considering his words. Would you reply in your head? Would you wonder what kind of person wrote something like that? The thought of it sent a thrill through him, and he leaned in closer, more invested than ever. Hours passed, but he barely noticed. The desk lamp cast a warm glow over the pages as he worked, annotating with a mix of teasing, sincerity, and the occasional cryptic remark just to mess with you. In the fifth book of the series, there was a passage about finding comfort in routineâabout how little, familiar things could feel like home. He thought back to all the times during your early morning classes, how youâd bring a steaming thermos filled with a tea of some kind, something to sip on while you reviewed the lecture slides before the professor started the lecture. The half cold tea in that same thermos, heâd seen you nursing it outside the exam hall before a midterm while your eyes furiously scanned your meticulous, colour coded notes. Satoru probably guessed that it was a habit of yoursâ to have a warm comforting drink while you readâ lecture notes, physics textbooks, or fiction.
He hesitated for a second before writing: Hope anyone who ever reads this is reading this with a warm drink. Tea, in my opinion, is the best kind of beverage to drink while reading a book series like this.Â
Would you pause when you read that? Would you glance around, suddenly hyper-aware that maybe G.S knew you? That someone had been paying attention? Or maybe youâd think heâs just like you? The thought sent a rush of satisfaction through him. By the time he reached the second last book, his hand was cramping, but he didnât care. He stretched briefly before diving back in. This one had more banter between the characters, something he knew you loved. He played into it, adding sarcastic commentary in the margins. When the heroine had a particularly dramatic internal monologue, he scribbled: Relax, youâre not in a soap opera.
And a few pages later: Actually, never mind, maybe you are.
He could already hear your reaction. The annoyed little huff, the way youâd roll your eyes but secretly love it. You always did have a tendency to refute things first, only to realise you enjoyed them later. Heâd sometimes see it in the way when youâd roll your eyes or let out a disapproving noise at Satoru plainly criticising one of the professors under his breath during a lectureâ but Satoruâs eyes were sharp, he never missed the smallest twitch of your lips as soon as youâd finished your melodramatics. The last book was the longest, and by then, the city outside his window had gone quiet. His dorm was dim except for the glow of his lamp, and his body was buzzing with a mix of exhaustion and excitement. He was too far in now, too absorbed in the thought of you reading all of this soon. This book had a recurring theme about missed chancesâabout words left unsaid and moments that could have changed everything if only someone had spoken up. It hit a little too close to home, but he didnât let himself dwell on that. Instead, he carefully underlined a sentence: Sometimes, we donât realise what we mean to someone until itâs too late.
Beneath it, he wrote: I hope this never applies to yĚśoĚśuĚś whoever is reading this.
And thenâ and then he wrote another little thing, but it felt a bit too intimate, a bit too revealing so he neatly crossed it out. His pen hovered over the page for a moment. That was the most honest thing he had written all night. Satoru exhaled, rubbing his eyes before sitting back, staring at the stack of books now filled with his thoughts. He had done it. You wouldnât get a single blank page. Youâd find him in every single one.
â
Satoru strolled across campus with a tote bag slung over his shoulder, weighed down by four thick novels. The booksânow thoroughly marked up, pages lined with his messy scrawlâfelt heavier than they should have, but maybe that was just him. Heâd spent the entire night annotating them, barely stopping to eat, sleep, or think about anything that wasnât you reading his words. Now, all he had to do was return them before you got to the library. He wasnât about to let you see him checking them in like some lovesick idiot. He carefully managed to place them back on the shelf after scanning them as âunborrowedâ. He was a few steps from the library doors when someone rounded the corner, and before he could reactâ
Bam. The collision wasnât hard, just enough to jostle him off balance, and he barely had time to reach out and steady you before you could stumble back. âDamn, could at least pretend to watch where youâre going,â he drawled, glancing down at you with a smirk. âOr do you just like running into me?â
You scoffed, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. âYeah, I totally planned that. Just desperate to bump into you of all people.â
âOh, come on,â he teased, stepping aside so you could walk past him. âIf you wanted an excuse to see me, you couldâve just said so.â You rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed. âPlease. Iâm actually on my way to the library, unlike some people who just loiter around.â
His grip on his tote bag tightened for half a second, but he kept his expression easy, unreadable. âLibrary, huh?â
âYeah,â you said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. âI finished this book from a series Iâm actually enjoying, so I figured Iâd borrow the next one today.â You didnât even know why you told him that, but you figured it was an improvement from the usual bickering you two always had going on. He hummed, nodding slowly. âOh, okay. WellâŚâ He took a step back, flashing a lazy grin. âHave fun with that.â You narrowed your eyes at him. âWhy do you sound weird?â
âI always sound weird.â
âYeah, but more than usual.âÂ
Satoru shrugged. âDunno what youâre talking about.â You stared at him suspiciously for another second before shaking your head. âWhatever.â And with that, you pushed past him, making your way toward the library doors. Satoru watched you go, fighting the smug grin threatening to take over his face. He could already picture itâthe way youâd flip through the pages, expecting plain text, only to find the familiar, scrawled handwriting in the margins. He wondered if youâd smile. If youâd talk about it again the way you had in class. He shook his head to himself, finally turning away. Yeah. He was so in trouble.
â
You settled into your usual spot at the campus cafĂŠ, tucking yourself into the corner by the window with the newly borrowed books. Yes, books. Not a book. You figured that if there were just four more books left in the series, youâd just borrow them now, instead of continuing the annoying walk from your dorm or lecture rooms to the library. The familiar scent of aged paper and coffee beans wrapped around you, grounding you in your routine.
With your drink beside you and your phone silenced, you flipped the fourth book open, eager to dive in. You didnât even bother to check the borrowing card this time, neither had you written your own name in it yet, heart beating a little faster as you childishly hoped that the familiar cursive scrawls were still present in the weathered pages. You had barely made it past the first few pages when your eyes caught something in the margins next to one of the more romantic lines.
Bet whoever is reading thisâ I just know this made your heart do that stupid fluttery thing. You blinked. Your stomach did an odd little flip, completely unprovoked. Honestly speaking, your heart did that little flip more in regards to the familiar blue handwriting rather than the line on the page. You knew exactly whose handwriting that was.Â
G.S. had struck again. A slow smile pulled at your lips as you traced the ink with your fingertip. You had gotten so used to these notes, the little jokes, the occasional deep thoughts, that it almost felt like a conversation now. Like you werenât reading alone, but with someone who understood exactly what youâd linger on, what youâd pause to appreciate. And yet⌠something about this one felt slightly different. You glanced at the ink again. It looked a little⌠darker? Not as faded as some of the earlier notes in the series.
You frowned slightly but shook the thought away. Maybe it was just your imagination. You kept reading. A few pages later, the protagonist stared out of a train window, lost in thought. The description was melancholic, vivid, and all too relatable.
Ever feel like this? Just existing, watching life happen? You exhaled sharply through your nose. Yeah, you thought. All the damn time. You tapped your fingers against the table, feeling that same strange connection as before. Whoever G.S. was, they had a way of making their presence knownânot just through the words they chose to underline, but in the little thoughts they left behind, the questions they posed, the moments they chose to comment on. It was like they could hear your thoughts before you even formed them, like they knew exactly where your mind would linger on the page.
The sun dipped lower outside the arched windows of the campus cafĂŠ, casting long shadows across the floor as golden light pooled over the tables. The afternoon crowd had begun to thin, students trickling out one by one, their conversations fading into the hum of the espresso machine and the occasional clatter of cups behind the counter. The once-busy space was quieter now, more intimate, like the world had momentarily shrunk down to just you and the book in your hands. You traced the ink of the latest annotation with your thumb, barely skimming the words but feeling them all the same. It was a strange thingâto be so affected by someone you had never even met. Had you met them? The question pressed at the edges of your mind, unspoken yet persistent. The specificity of some of these notes, the way they seemed to know youâit made your stomach flip in a way you werenât quite sure how to name.
You glanced at the cafĂŠ entrance, as if expecting to see someone standing there, watching you, waiting to see your reaction. But no one lingered. Just the usual stragglersâpeople buried in their own work, in their own stories. Still, the feeling remained. With a quiet exhale, you pulled your focus back to the page and turned it, sinking further into the book. The story continued, but now, each annotation felt like something more. Like a conversation waiting to happen. And by the time you could hear the cicadas chirping outside, you had successfully finished the fourth book.
â
Your luck today had been astoundingly awful. The first sign was your hairâa complete disaster from the moment you woke up. Brushing it down did nothing. Water made it worse. Mousse? A grave mistake. You finally resorted to tying it up, accepting defeat. Then came the sharp pain on your forehead, a telltale sign of a forming pimple, because of course your skin had decided to betray you too. But the true betrayal came from your kettle, which, after years of faithful service, had chosen this morning to stop working. No tea. No caffeine. No hope. And now? Now, as if the universe hadnât already tested you enough, you were seated next to Gojo Satoru, his chair pushed obnoxiously close, his long legs stretching out under the desk like he owned the place. His expression was insufferably smug, like he had personally orchestrated all of this just to get under your skin.
Have you ever mentioned that you shared more than one class with Gojo? Sure, you were both in the same physics course, but once again, your luck with picking extra subjects was nothing short of terrible. Thatâs how you ended up in psychologyâa field that couldnât be further from the world of physics you were so deeply immersed in. You had figured it would be a nice change, to explore a different kind of science.Â
Unfortunately, a certain white haired freak seemed to share the same thought process.Â
You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. âWeâre not choosing your dumb topic.â Gojo gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. âExcuse you, my brilliant topic.â
âYou want to write about the psychology of humor.â
âExactly! Itâs fascinating.â He grinned. âWhat makes something funny? Why do people laugh? Why am I so naturally hilarious?â You pinched the bridge of your nose. âWeâre in a psychology class, Gojo, not a stand-up workshop.â
âAnd yet, humor is deeply psychological.â He leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. âMaybe if you had a better sense of humor, youâd agree with me.â You scowled. âI have a perfectly fine sense of humor.â
âSure you do,â he teased, âin the same way a brick has mobility.â Your jaw clenched. âIâm not doing a research paper on why people laugh.â
âAnd Iâm not doing one on cognitive dissonance,â he shot back, drumming his fingers against the desk. âItâs been done to death.â
âItâs interesting,â you argued. âIt actually ties into real-world behavior.â
âSo does humor.â You stared him down. He stared right back, his lips curving just slightly, like he was having the time of his life getting you riled up.
A muscle in your jaw twitched. âRock, paper, scissors?â
Gojo snorted. âWhat are we, five?â You held out a fist. He sighed, then did the same.
Rock, paper, scissors, shoot. Your scissors to his rock. Your eye twitched. His grin was downright gleeful. âLooks like weâre writing about humor.â
âYou are insufferable.â
âIâm a visionary,â he corrected, stretching his arms behind his head. âYouâll thank me when we get a great grade.â You grumbled something under your breath, flipping open your notebook to at least try and plan the assignment. You werenât about to let him ruin your GPA over jokes. But Gojo wasnât looking at the notebook. He wasnât even thinking about the project anymore. His gaze lingered on the way a few wisps of hair had escaped your ponytail, framing your face. He wasnât used to seeing your hair tied backâit made your features more striking, somehow. It made him notice the little things, like the way your brow creased when you were annoyed, or the way your lips pursed slightly when you were trying really hard not to snap at him. And it was funny. All morning, youâd been looking at him like he was a headache, while he⌠well. Heâd be lying if he said he wasnât kind of enjoying himself. He propped his chin in his palm, watching you jot something down in your notebook.
âYou know,â he mused, âfor someone whoâs so against my topic, you sure do make me laugh a lot.â You shot him a suspicious look. âWhat is that supposed to mean?â
Gojo smirked. âJust an observation.â You scoffed. âAn annoyance is not the same thing as amusement.â
âTell that to your cognitive dissonance.â You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, something distracted you. A shift in the air, a fleeting scentâsomething clean and warm, like cedar and the lingering spice of cologne. You blinked. You didnât know why you noticed it now, of all times, but the way he smelled was⌠oddly pleasant. You shook it off, focusing on your notes again. Only, now you were very aware of other things, tooâlike the fact that his hand, resting casually on the desk, was a lot bigger than yours. His fingers were long, his knuckles prominent, and his nails were annoyingly well-groomed for someone who clearly put zero effort into most things. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to refocus. Itâs just Gojo, you told yourself. Heâs just being annoying. As usual. Iâm probably ovulating or something. Gojo, meanwhile, had caught the way your eyes flickered over to him, how you quickly looked away after.
He tilted his head. âSomething on your mind?â
âYeah,â you muttered, deadpan. âHow fast I can finish this project so I donât have to deal with you.â Gojo chuckled, and despite yourself, you felt the sound of itâlow and amused, like he found you far too entertaining. âOh, sweets,â Gojo drawled, his voice lilting with amusement, âno way in hell am I gonna let you finish this project fast enough to escape me. Câmon, in our three beautiful years of rivalry, youâve never once tried to get to know meââ
âLetâs just start the project,â you cut him off, already pulling out your stationery and notebook, flipping to a fresh page with more force than necessary. You barely resisted the urge to groan at the topic glaring back at you. Humour. Ugh.
Gojo, of course, noticed immediately. He didnât even have to tryâhe just always noticed things. The way your lips pressed into a thin line, how your fingers fidgeted with the cap of your pen, how your shoulders tensed slightly, like you were already resigning yourself to suffering through an assignment you hated. His smirk fadedâjust a little. And then, before he could think about it too hard, he sighed.
âYou know what?â he said, nudging his notebook aside. âScrew it. Letâs do your topic.â
You blinked, pen hovering mid-air. âWhat?â
âYou heard me,â he said, waving a hand. âCognitive dissonance, weird little psychology experiments, all that jazz. Itâs fine.â
Your eyes narrowed. âThis feels like a trick.â
âWow, you think that low of me?,â he said, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. âI am capable of compromise, you know.â
You gave him a flat look. âSince when?â
Gojo rolled his eyes but didnât argue. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk, watching you with a lazy kind of curiosity.
âSeriously, though. If you hate my topic that much, letâs just do yours. No big deal.â
You stared at him, suspicious. Gojo Satoru? Giving up? It felt wrong.
âWait,â you said suddenly, narrowing your eyes further. âWhatâs the catch?â
âThereâs no catch,â he insisted, but the way he said it, all breezy and casual, made you even more suspicious.
â⌠You want me to owe you a favor, donât you?â
He gasped, scandalised. âSweets, I would never manipulate you like that.â
You scoffed. âYou absolutely would.â
âOkay, yeah, I would,â he admitted easily, grinning. âBut this isnât that.â
You hesitated, drumming your fingers against the notebook. Then, you exhaled, shaking your head. âNo. Weâll do humor.â
Now he was the one taken aback. âHuh?â
âI donât want to hear you complain about how boring cognitive dissonance is for the next two weeks,â you said, scribbling down a rough outline. âAnd youâre actually interested in humor, so weâll get it done faster.â
Gojo just stared at you, like he couldnât quite believe what he was hearing.
âHold on. Youâre giving in?â
âDonât make it weird.â
âOh, Iâm definitely making it weird.â His grin was slow, teasing, like he had just won something. âThis is, like, a historic moment. I should get it framed.â
âGojo.â
âI mean, imagine if people knewââ
âGojo.â
ââthat you actually care about my interests? That youâgaspâwant to make me happy?â You kicked him under the desk.
âOw!â He laughed, rubbing his shin. âThat was uncalled for.â
âYou deserved it.â
âBut really,â he said, still grinning, âthis is kinda nice.â
You quirked a brow. âWhat is?â
He shrugged, tilting his head. âUsually, weâre arguing for ourselves. This is the first time weâve argued over, like, whatâs better for the other person.â Your lips parted slightly. You hadnât thought about it like that. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, absurdly, a little laugh slipped out of you. Just a small one, but it was enough to make Gojoâs eyes flicker with amusement. And before you knew it, he was laughing, too. It wasnât even that funny, but somehow, the realisation of how ridiculous this entire thing had beenâbickering for fifteen minutes over who should get their way only to insist on the oppositeâhad you both quietly shaking with laughter in the middle of the library.
âOkay, okay,â you finally said, breathless. âLetâs get this outline done before we completely fail this class.â
âIâd never fail,â Gojo said, flipping open his notebook. âIâm naturally brilliant.â
âYou would if I werenât here keeping you on track.â
He grinned. âSee? You like being my partner.â You rolled your eyes, but as you both started drafting the project together, something about thisâabout working with him, actually workingâfelt⌠nice. And even though he was still Gojo, still distracting, still annoying, still insufferably smug, for once, he didnât feel like an opponent. He just felt like Satoru. Not Gojo, but Satoru. Of course, the moment things got too productive, he ruined it.
âYâknow,â he mused, leaning back in his chair, âI am gonna make sure our humor project includes at least one joke at your expense.â
You deadpanned. âThen Iâm making sure our references include an article on the psychological effects of annoying classmates.â
Gojo gasped. âI would love to read that.â
You smacked his arm with your notebook. And, as usual, he just laughed. You two managed to get a lot of the work doneâ not just a solid outline of your project, but the finer details too. Gojo suddenly shoved his chair back, standing up so abruptly that you startled. âI need to do something,â he announced, brushing imaginary dust off his clothes. You frowned, confused. âWhat? Where are you going?â
âJust wait here,â he said, already turning on his heel. Your brows furrowed. âWaitâwhat? Gojoââ
âJust wait!â he called over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway. You stared at the empty space where he had been, utterly bewildered. What the hell was that about? For a moment, you debated packing up your stuff and leaving just to be petty, but curiosity got the better of you. Huffing, you tapped your pen against your notebook, drumming your fingers impatiently. Three minutes passed. Then five. Thenâ
Gojo reappeared, striding back toward your table with an obnoxiously triumphant grin. In one hand, he held two drinks, in the other, a small paper bag. He set them down in front of you like he was presenting some kind of grand prize.
You stared. â... What is this?â
âSnacks,â he said, like it was obvious. âI see that,â you said, eyeing the drinks. One was clearly milk teaâyours, probablyâbut the other was some sugary monstrosity topped with whipped cream, which was obviously his. âBut why?â
âWell, weâve been working,â he said easily, plopping back into his seat. âFigured we deserved a break.â You blinked, then looked down at the tea again. It smelled⌠exactly how you usually ordered it.
Suspicion prickled at you. âDid youâdid you get this on purpose?âÂ
Gojo took a sip of his own drink, unbothered. âYeah?âÂ
Your eyes narrowed. âHow do you even know what I drink?â
Gojo shrugged. âDunno. Guess I just noticed that one time when I ended up paying for it.â
You paused. The thought of Gojo Satoru noticing anything about youâremembering how you liked your tea, going out of his way to get it without even askingâmade your brain short-circuit for a second. You werenât sure what to do with that information, so you just focused on unrolling the top of the pastry bag, peering inside. There were two croissantsâone chocolate, one plain.
â⌠Okay, but the pastries?â
âI didnât know what you liked, so I got both.â You squinted at him. âThat doesnât make any sense.â He smirked. âSure it does. If you like chocolate, I got it right. If you donât, more for me.â You stared at him, then at the pastries, then back at him.
âUnbelievable,â you muttered, shaking your head.
âUnbelievably thoughtful?â he supplied.
âUnbelievably annoying.â
Gojo grinned. âThat too.â Rolling your eyes, you took the chocolate croissant anyway, breaking off a piece. The tea was still warm when you took a sip, and you hated that it was perfectâhated that Gojo Satoru of all people had somehow memorized exactly how you liked it. He propped his elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand as he watched you. âYâknow, for someone whoâs been roasting me for the last five minutes, you seem to be enjoying that a lot.â
You shot him a look. âDonât push it.â He only laughed, reaching for his own pastry. âNo promises.â
â
Over the next week, you and Gojo fell into an oddly stable rhythm. It wasnât immediateânothing with Gojo ever wasâbut slowly, the sharp edges of your interactions dulled. The bickering still happened, but it felt different, less like clashing swords and more like an inside joke neither of you wanted to drop. Your study sessions were always in the same corner of the library, where Gojo insisted on pushing the limits of how far back he could tilt his chair before it inevitably crashed to the floor.
(âGojo, if you fall and crack your head open, Iâm not calling an ambulance.â
âNah, you totally would.â
âI wouldnât.â
âYes, you would, sweets. You like me too much to let me die like that.â)
Youâd grumble and go back to your notes, but a traitorous part of you was starting to find his antics almost⌠endearing. Your actual progress on the project was steady. It surprised youâGojo mightâve been infuriating, but when he actually focused, he was sharp. He had a way of cutting through useless information, pinpointing the most interesting angle on a subject, making connections you hadnât considered. Begrudgingly, you kind of understood why he was always neck to neck with you in grades.
(âSo, humor as a psychological coping mechanism?â
âMhm.â
âAnd you want to include self-deprecating humor as a subsection?â
âWell, yeah,â he said, twirling a pen between his fingers. âItâs like, prime material.â
âYou literally never make fun of yourself.â
âI make fun of myself all the time.â
You scoffed. âOh, really?â
He smirked. âYeah. I mean, look at meâsix-foot-three, gorgeous, built like a godâmy life is so hard, yâknow?â
You stared at him. âThat was not self-deprecating.â
âNo?â He shrugged, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach do something weird. âMaybe I just want you to compliment me.â
You threw a balled-up piece of paper at his head.)Â
There were⌠moments. Small, fleeting things you didnât know what to do with. Like the time your pen rolled off the table and he picked it up, spinning it between his fingers before handing it back to you, and you noticedâreally noticedâhow big his hands were. Or how, sometimes, when he was reading something on your laptop, heâd lean in too close, and youâd catch the faint scent of his cologneâfresh, clean, but with something warm underneath. You ignored these things. Obviously.Â
But then came the gym. You were only there because you needed to de-stress. The project had been long, your classes demanding, and you just wanted to move your body and clear your head. You werenât expecting to see him there. At first, you didnât even realize it was Gojo. You were just filling your water bottle, minding your business, when your gaze flickered to the squat rack and landed on a very tall, very shirtless figure. And then your brain short-circuited. Because it was Gojo.
And Gojo wasâ
Built.
Like, really built. You had known he was tall. You had known he was in shape. But knowing and seeing were two different things. His usual oversized hoodies and button-ups had hidden the fact that his entire torso was carved like a damn statue. Broad shoulders, lean muscle, a defined chest, abs for days andâ
Your gaze dropped lower.
âHappy trail. Something inside you malfunctioned. Because, okay, fine, sureâobjectively speaking, Gojo Satoru was attractive. You had always known that. But this? This was different. This was some kind of cruel joke. This was the universe personally handing you a vision of a half-naked Gojo and saying, Hey, enjoy struggling with this one! You were staring. Oh, god, you were staring. You needed to leave. You were about to spin on your heel and get the hell out of there, but that was when he noticed you. His gaze locked onto yours in the mirror, and something slow and amused curled across his lips.
âYo,â he called, turning around fully now, like he knew exactly what he was doing. You were so close to pretending you hadnât heard him, but there were only so many places to run. You forced yourself to walk over, as if this was normal, as if your brain hadnât just imploded from seeing Gojo Satoru shirtless. âYou work out?â he asked, wiping sweat off his forehead with a towel, and you hated that even that was distracting.
âYes, Gojo, I work out,â you said flatly, crossing your arms. He grinned. âHuh. Never wouldâve guessed.â You narrowed your eyes. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â He just shrugged, all easy confidence and knowing smirks. âYou donât exactly look like the gym type, sweets.â
âBecause I donât look like I can deadlift a hundred kilos?â you shot back.Â
He tilted his head. âCan you?â
â⌠No.âÂ
He laughed, tossing the towel over his shoulder. âThen I rest my case.â You scowled. âYouâre annoying.â
âAnd youâre staring,â he quipped, and your breath caught in your throat. Your face heated. âIâI am not.â His smirk deepened. âSure you arenât.â
You clenched your jaw, trying to school your expression into something neutral. You refused to let him know he was right. But as you turned on your heel and all but stomped to another part of the gym, you could still feel his gaze on you. And the worst part? You didnât hate it.Â
The next day, you almost considered canceling your study session. Not because you were avoiding Gojo. Obviously. You were just busy. Lots of work. Essays. Big academic responsibilities. But you werenât a coward. (And okay, fine, maybe a tiny part of you was curious to see if things would be normal again. Not that things were weird, butâwell. Whatever.) When you arrived at the library, Gojo was already there, feet kicked up on the chair across from him, lazily flipping through his notes.
âLook who decided to show up,â he said without looking up. You dropped your bag onto the table with a little more force than necessary. âShut up.â He smirked. âFeisty today, huh?â You ignored him, pulling out your laptop. âDid you actually get any work done?â
He held up a single, crumpled page.Â
You groaned. âGojo.â
âHey, hey,â he said, leaning forward, âin my defense, I was busy yesterday.â You knew exactly what he was referencing. You refused to react. Instead, you snatched the page from his hands. âWeâre never finishing this at this rate.âÂ
Gojo leaned on his hand, watching you with a lazy smile. âMaybe I just like dragging this out so I can keep seeing you.â
Your fingers twitched around your pen.
He was messing with you. Obviously. That was what he did. But it was getting harder and harder to pretend you didnât notice the way his gaze lingered sometimes. Or the way your stomach dipped when he said things like that. You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus. âWeâre getting this done today, whether you like it or not.â
âBossy,â he murmured, still watching you. You gave him a look. And then you got to work. And as much as you hated to admit it, your study sessions with Gojo had started to feel⌠comfortable. It was weird. In some ways, nothing had changedâyou still bickered, still teased, still rolled your eyes at each other every five minutes. But there was something different underneath it now, something you couldnât quite name. And you werenât sure you wanted to. Not yet.
â
The lecture hall was packed, the dull hum of students settling in filling the air as you pulled out your notes. Todayâs topic was something about fluid dynamicsânot that you were paying too much attention. Mostly because you were tired. And, maybe, because there was a certain someone sitting behind you. You donât know when or why it had startedâ maybe it was the fact that youâd, well, always been deprived of male attention (since you were hyper focused on academics instead. Those men wonât bring you scholarships, but your GPA will!), or the fact that you had seen him multiple times in the past weeks without feeling the urge to rip his head off, or maybe you actually were ovulating, you hadnât checked your cycle on your period tracking app yet but it was likelyâ
You had been doing your best to ignore it, to ignore him, but Gojo had a way of making his presence known. Even when he wasnât doing anything, you were now even more hyper aware of himâthe occasional shift of his chair, the absentminded tapping of his pen against the desk, the quiet sighs of boredom that you knew were dramatic. And then, just as you were finally starting to concentrate, you felt it. A presence leaning in behind you, the faintest brush of breath against your ear.
âSweets,â Gojo whispered, his voice low, teasing.
Your whole body went rigid. âWhat,â you hissed, barely moving your lips, keeping your eyes trained on the professor at the front of the room.
âThereâs a fatal flaw in this lecture,â he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. You refused to turn around. âGojo, I swearââ
âI mean, really,â he continued, like you hadnât spoken, âhow can they expect us to focus on physics when youâre sitting right in front of me?â Your grip on your pen tightened. Your face was definitely heating up. Slowly, finally, you turned your head just enough to glare at him. âAre you seriously flirting with me in the middle of a lecture on fluid dynamics?â
Gojo grinned, chin resting on his palm, looking utterly unrepentant. âIâm not flirting. Iâm just⌠yâknow⌠testing like behaviourism, or whatever.â
You inhaled sharply, willing yourself not to react. Noticing your silence, his smirk grew.
âOr,â he whispered, tilting his head, âis the idea of me flirting with you not so bad?â Your brain short-circuited for half a second. Then you turned back around, focusing very hard on your notes, pretending you hadnât heard him, pretending your heart wasnât doing something very annoying in your chest. Behind you, Gojo chuckled softly, and you could feel his smirk.
You hated him. You hated him. Nah, you didnât. You just⌠now mildly disliked him.
â
By the time the physics final rolled around, your life had been reduced to a frantic cycle of cramming formulas, flipping through notes, and barely surviving on caffeine. The psychology project with Gojo had taken up way more time than you expectedânot just because of the work itself, but because of him. His constant presence, his insufferable teasing, the way he somehow made long study sessions more bearable with his antics. It was irritatingly easy to fall into a rhythm with him, and by the time youâd turned in your joint paper, you were too mentally exhausted to even think about anything else. Which was probably why you forgot about book five. When you finally let yourself have a break, that you found it tucked away in your bag.
The sight of it sent a flicker of guilt through your chestâyouâd been so eager to read it, and then you just⌠hadnât. You curled up by the window, the campus cafĂŠ bustling quietly in the background, warm drink in hand as you flipped open the book. This one was slightly smaller than the other ones in terms of lengthâ youâd be able to finish it in an hour or so. The familiarity of the prose was comforting, like stepping back into a world you knew well. And then, right beside a passage about finding comfort in the little thingsâthe warmth of a cup of tea, the quiet joy of returning to a familiar bookâwas an annotation.
Hope anyone who ever reads this is reading this with a warm drink. Tea, in my opinion, is the best kind of beverage to drink while reading a book series like this.
Your breath caught in your throat.
Okay. That was⌠oddly specific.
A chillânot unpleasant, but strangeâcrept up your spine. It wasnât just the words themselves, but the fact that G.S. knew this about you. It was as if theyâd noticed your habit of your love of tea. But it was probably a coincidence. I mean, tea is enjoyed by millions of people in the world, right? You exhaled slowly, shaking the feeling off as you flipped a few more pages. The wittiness of the quips grew, and you eagerly read through each one with heightened interest. In about forty five minutes, you had managed to finish the fifth book with ease. Since you had some free time to spare, you started on the second last book.
The first note you came across was pure sarcasm, scrawled beside a particularly dramatic inner monologue from the protagonist.
Relax, youâre not in a soap opera.
And a few pages later: Actually, never mind, maybe you are.
You huffed a quiet laugh, rolling your eyes. The teasing was familiar, familiar enough to imbue a sense of relaxation in you. The annotations drew you in, the ink curling across the margins like whispered thoughts meant just for you. It was easy to imagine G.S. sitting beside you, their presence warm and familiar, flipping through the pages with quiet amusement. Someone who knew exactly which passages would make you pause, who understood the way certain lines lingered in your mind long after youâd read them.
Your fingers traced over the words they had left behind, and for a moment, you let yourself daydream. You imagined meeting themâG.S., whoever they were. The two of you sitting in some hidden corner of a library, books stacked high around you, the world outside fading away. Maybe their voice was soft, thoughtful, the kind that made you want to lean in a little closer. Maybe they smiled when you argued about a particular passage, when you pointed out something theyâd written in the margins.
Maybe they would look at you like you were something worth understanding.
The thought sent a strange warmth curling through your chest. It was silly, this little fantasy, but you let yourself indulge in it anyway. And that was when your brain betrayed you.
For a brief, horrifying moment, the faceless idea of G.S. wasnât faceless anymore. The image of Gojo flashed into your mind, unbidden and unwanted. But it wasnât just him reading beside you, wasnât just him scrawling out these notes with his long, annoyingly pretty fingers.
It was him kissing you.
Gojoâs lips brushing against yours, lazy and confident, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand sliding up your spine, the heat of him pressing against you, that teasing voice of his murmuring something you wouldnât quite catchâ
Your entire body froze.
No.
No, no, no.
You tried to shake it off, tried to focus on the book in front of you, but the words blurred together, unreadable. Your mind was stuck, caught on the vividness of the thought that had just invaded it.
Gojo.
Not just Gojo sitting across from you, running his mouth like he always did. Not just Gojo tossing a wadded-up paper at your head or poking at the end of your pen when you were trying to write. Noâyour brain had conjured up something else entirely. Gojo leaning in too close, his breath warm against your lips. The weight of his hand pressing into the small of your back, fingertips splayed across your lower back, your waist, your sides. The slow, unhurried way he would kiss youâbecause of course heâd be like that, because he was always so damn self-assured. Because he never did anything halfway.
And worseâworseâyou could almost hear him. That stupid teasing voice, low and amused, murmuring something between kisses, something only meant for you. Your fingers twitched, and you slammed the book shut.
No. Nope. Not happening.
Your pulse was erratic, your skin burning like youâd been caught doing something you shouldnât. You blinked rapidly, as if that alone could erase the thought from existence, but the sensation lingered, the imagined heat of him refusing to dissipate. It was just stress. Thatâs all it was. You were exhausted, overworked, and had spent way too much time in Gojoâs orbit lately. Of course your brain was short-circuiting. You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to reopen the book. Back to reality. Back to G.S.Â
Back to anything that wasnât Gojo Satoru and the absurd, fleeting idea of what kissing him might feel like.
â
Gojoâs deep voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back into the present as he tapped the end of his pen against the open physics textbook in front of you both.
âAnd thenâare you even listening to me?â You blinked, realizing youâd been zoning out. âYeahâyeah,â you mumbled, scrambling for something relevant to say. âProfessor Takeda can be an ass sometimes, even if heâs awesome at teaching.â Gojo grinned, apparently satisfied with your response, and continued yapping as he absentmindedly worked through some small equations on the paper in front of you both. His handwriting was quick and fluid, annoyingly neat for someone who acted like he never took anything seriously.
You didnât quite know how it had happened, but after the two of you had finally submitted the psychology project, something between you shifted. It wasnât spoken aloud, wasnât even acknowledged outright, but it was thereâan unspoken understanding. You still bickered, still argued over trivial things, but there was something else now too. A companionship. A quiet, reluctant camaraderie that neither of you had actively sought out but somehow settled into with surprising ease. And now, you were in the library with him, ironically revising for the upcoming physics final, less than a week away. You werenât sure when he had become your unofficial study partner, but here he was, scribbling down formulas as he complained about Takedaâs obsession with fluid dynamics.
âYouâre still struggling with Bernoulliâs principle?â you teased, shifting your chair slightly to get a better look at his notes.Â
âStruggling is a strong word,â he said, twirling his pen between his fingers. âI prefer âstrategically choosing to ignore it until I absolutely have to care.ââ
You scoffed, but before you could argue, your eyes landed on the book beside your bagâthe sixth book in the series youâd been slowly working through, the second-to-last one before the finale. You had completely forgotten about it. You were pretty sure you had hit the maximum borrowing period, and at this rate, you were lucky the library hadnât sent you an overdue notice.
âI need to go return this,â you muttered, grabbing the book and standing up.
Gojo glanced at it, tilting his head slightly. âThat again?â
You blinked at him. âWhat?â
âThat series,â he clarified, nodding towards the book in your hand. âYouâve been reading it forever. Whatâs the deal?â You hesitated for a moment, not really sure why you felt the sudden urge to explain, but then the words slipped out before you could stop them.
âI⌠I donât know. Itâs comforting, I guess,â you admitted. âItâs one of those series that just sticks with you, you know? And itâs not just the storyâitâs the annotations.â
Gojo raised an eyebrow. âAnnotations?â
You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. âYeah. Someone else read these books before me, and they wrote all these little notes in the margins. Some of them are funny, some are insightful, some are just straight-up teasingâbut they make the whole experience feel⌠shared, I guess.â For once, Gojo didnât say anything. He just listened, head tilted, watching you with an expression you couldnât quite decipher.
You coughed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. âAnyway, I should go return this.â You turned before he could say anything else and made your way to the libraryâs return sectionâonly to find the drop-off shelves completely blocked off with construction tape. A small sign informed students that book returns had to be made manually at the front desk. With a sigh, you made your way to the librarianâs desk. She smiled at you as you set the book down.
âReturning this?â she asked, flipping open the cover to check the borrowing card.
âYeah,â you said, nodding. She hummed, scanning the barcode. âYou know, someone else borrowed this whole series a while back.â
No way.
No way, no way, no way.
Is this how you were going to finally find out who the faceless stranger you had grown attached to was? Your heart skipped a beat. You forced yourself to keep your voice casual.Â
âOh? Can you recall who?âÂ
She paused, tapping her chin as if trying to recall. âGive me a moment dear. Heâs a maleâŚabout the same age as you, actually. Well I think he might be the same age as you. Hmm, he was tall, quite tall, had this head of brilliant white hair, and glasses. His eyes were startlingly blue too. I canât remember his name but you twoâd get along, he seemed very interested in these series too!â She chuckled, taking the book from you to store it under one of the accompanying shelves.
Your blood ran cold.
She continued, oblivious to your internal panic. âHad this little keychain on his bag too. It tinkled a lot when he came in to borrow the books.â Your mind flashed back to the small jingling sound of Gojoâs keychainâ a digimon one. The one that always made a tiny noise whenever he slung his bag over his shoulder. Oh my god.
Your grip tightened on the desk. âRight. Thanks.â
Somehow, miraculously, you managed to return the book without your hands shaking. But the moment you turned away, the weight of the realization slammed into you like a tidal wave. Your breath hitched, your vision tunneled slightly, and for a second, you werenât sure if your legs would carry you back to the table.
Gojo.
Gojo was G.S.
The knowledge settled in your bones with a dizzying clarity, making the library around you feel unreal, like you were wading through a dream you couldnât wake up from. The notes, the teasing comments, the underlined passagesâit had all been him. The same Gojo Satoru who drove you insane with his arrogance, who somehow wormed his way into your study sessions, who made physics revision bearable with his endless chatter. And he had never said a word about it. By the time you reached the table, your emotions were tangled beyond recognitionâembarrassment, frustration, something dangerously close to hurt. You dropped into your seat, a little too forcefully, the noise drawing his attention.
Gojo barely glanced up from his notes. âYou okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.â
You swallowed, pulse thrumming against your ribs. Your fingers curled into fists against your lap. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something sharp, something that could cut you open if you werenât careful.
âItâs you,â you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
He finally met your gaze, his pen stilling against the page. For a secondâjust a secondâthere was nothing but blankness in his expression, as if he truly didnât understand what you meant. But then, recognition flickered in those bright, unreadable eyes. And slowly, like he had been waiting for this exact moment, he grinned.
âTook you long enough.â
A sharp breath escaped you, like the wind had been knocked from your lungs. Something twisted in your chest. He knew. He had known. You exhaled shakily, trying to hold onto your composure, but your voice wavered when you spoke again. âYouââ You swallowed hard. âYou knew it was me reading those books, and you justââ
He didnât deny it. Didnât even try. You hated the way he was looking at you, like this was funny, like this was just some game he had been playing all along. Like he had been waiting for you to connect the dots, to put the pieces together while he sat back and watched. Something inside you cracked.
âYou were just messing with me.â The words came out quiet, but there was something raw beneath them, something unsteady. âThatâs what this was, right? Just another one of your games?â
For the first time, his smirk faltered.
âThatâs notââ
But you didnât let him finish.
You stood up too fast, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. A few heads turned, students shooting you mildly annoyed glances, but you couldnât bring yourself to care. You felt like the library was closing in around you, like you needed to get out before you drowned under the weight of it all.
âForget it,â you muttered, voice tight. You grabbed your bag, barely able to look at him. âIâll see you in class.â And before he could stop youâbefore he could say something that might make you stayâyou turned on your heel and walked out of the library. Your pulse roared in your ears, your face burned with humiliation, and your heartâGod, your heart was a tangled, aching mess you werenât ready to unravel yet.
â
You didnât talk to Gojo for three days. Not once. Not in class, not in the library, not even in passing. If he was in a group conversation, you found an excuse to leave. If he tried to sit next to you, you conveniently needed to be somewhere else. And if you caught even a glimpse of him from across campus, you turned in the opposite direction before he could call your name. It wasnât out of pettiness. At least, you didnât think so.
You were hurt.
The weight of it had settled deep in your chest, a slow, heavy ache that didnât fade no matter how much you tried to distract yourself. You felt stupid, looking back at all those late nights spent tracing the loops of G.S.âs handwriting, at the way you had let yourself get caught up in the fantasy of someoneâsomeone you thought understood you. Someone who had felt just as deeply about those books as you had. And the whole time, it had been him.
Had he just been laughing at you? Watching you get wrapped up in his words, in him, while he sat back and waited for you to figure it out? Had it all just been some kind of joke? You didnât know what answer would hurt more. Gojo, however, wasnât making your avoidance easy.
He noticed, of course. The first day, he seemed ashamed. You saw it in the way he frowned when you brushed past him after class, in the way his gaze lingered when you sat on the opposite end of the library instead of your usual table.
The second day, he got annoyed.
âAre you serious right now?â he had muttered when you blatantly ignored him outside the lecture hall, your fingers tightening around your books as you sped up. By the third day, his frustration had given way to something elseâsomething quieter, something bordering on concern.
He caught your wrist as you passed him in the hallway that morning, his grip loose enough for you to pull away if you wanted.
âHey,â he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. âAre weâ?â He hesitated. âDid Iâ?â
You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time in years, you saw itâuncertainty.
Gojo Satoru was scared. But you werenât ready to talk. Not yet. So you shook him off and kept walking.
He let you go. For the rest of the day, you tried to pretend like it didnât feel like a mistake. That night, unable to sleep, you reached for the last book in the seriesâthe one you had borrowed before you found out. You had been meaning to return it. The thought of flipping through those pages again felt wrong after everything that had happened. But something about the weight of it in your hands made you pause. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you curled up in bed and opened to the first page.
And read.
At first, it was mechanical. You skimmed. Skipped paragraphs. Let your eyes pass over the words without really taking them in. But thenâsomewhere along the wayâyou found yourself slowing down. The story was familiar, but it felt different now. The annotations were there, just like before. The same small, thoughtful notes in the margins. The same underlined passages, the same occasional sarcastic remark scribbled beside overly dramatic monologues.
And it still felt intimate.
Your chest ached. Gojoâs handwriting had always been a little messy, but now, you could hear his voice in it. The playful quips, the teasing corrections, the occasional rambling thoughts that trailed off mid-sentence. He hadnât just read these books. He had shared them. With you. But it wasnât until you reached the end of the book that you froze.
A note, scrawled beneath a passage about missed chances. About how sometimes, you donât realise what someone means to you until itâs too late.
To whoever is reading this, I⌠really hope that this never applies to you.Â
And then, right underneath it, you spot a small sentence. Your eyes narrow as you lean in, catching the faint blue ink beneath the initials G.S., nearly lost beneath the hurried strike-through. Itâs messy, almost like he had written it in a rush, then panicked and scratched it out before anyone could see. The ink is slightly smudged, the letters not quite as crisp as they should be. But you can still read it.
Your breath catches. The frustration twisting in your chest falters, cracking under the weight of what youâre seeing. This wasnât just about G.S. This wasnât just about some stupid rivalry, some elaborate, long-running inside joke only he was in on. He had liked you.
All along.
The truth of it presses against your ribs, turning your anger into something elseâsomething hot and unbearable and aching. Because of course Gojo Satoru wouldnât have just let you take that book without noticing. Of course he wouldnât have just been some faceless mystery behind the initials. He had been right there, all this time. Watching. Waiting. Never saying a damn thing. You press your lips together, gripping the book tighter, torn between wanting to shove it in his stupidly smug face and the overwhelming realization that thisâthis whole thingâhad never been a game to him.
Not really. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the page, heart pounding. You should be mad. You are mad.
But now? Now you donât know what to do with the way your chest is clenching, your stomach twisting, the words replaying in your head over and over again. He really, really liked you. And he had been too much of an idiot to say it.
It wasnât just a game. It never had been. Your fingers curled around the edge of the page, heart hammering against your ribs. And in that moment, without a second thoughtâ
You didnât hesitate.
You barely registered slipping on your shoes, grabbing your jacket, heading across campus toward the dormitories. Your pulse roared in your ears as you climbed the stairs, the weight of the book heavy in your bag. You remembered the way heâd joked about it onceâhow it was almost too easy to find his dorm because the boysâ rooms were stacked directly above the girlsâ.
("Itâs like fate, babe," heâd drawled, slinging an arm over your shoulders. "Youâre literally sleeping right below me."
"Donât say it like that," youâd deadpanned, shoving him off.
Heâd only grinned, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "What? Itâs true. If you ever get lonely, just know Iâm right thereâ" he pointed up dramatically "âin room sixty-nine."
Youâd groaned at that. "Of course itâs sixty-nine."
"Oh, absolutely." His smirk had been positively insufferable. "The universe practically insisted on it.â)
And now, here you were. Standing in front of his stupid door, his stupid room number glaring at you, mocking you, reminding you of how easily he had wormed his way into your life. You knocked. There was a pause. Thenâfootsteps. The door cracked open, and Gojo blinked down at you, disheveled, his glasses slightly askew. He was in a hoodie and sweatpants, and for once, he looked genuinely caught off guard.
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â he whispered sharply. âWhat if the dean catches you? Itâs past curfew.â
You ignored him. âExplain.â
Gojo stared at you. Then, with a sigh, he opened the door wider and let you in. His dorm was surprisingly neat, save for a few open textbooks on his desk. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling before leaning against the edge of his bed.
âYou want an explanation?â Gojo muttered, rubbing his temple as if trying to collect his thoughts. His voice was uncharacteristically hoarse, lacking its usual teasing lilt. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze.
âFine.â
And thenâsomething shifted in his expression. That raw, unguarded look returned, cracking through the facade of the cocky, untouchable Gojo Satoru.
âI liked you this entire time.â
Your breath caught. His words were quiet, but they landed like a stone in your chest, sending ripples through every assumption you had made about the past few months. Noâlonger than that. Yes, you had gathered from that scribbled annotation that he had liked you, but hearing it was different from reading it. The weight of what he was saying pressed down on you, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breathe. He swallowed, his Adamâs apple bobbing. His gaze flickered away for a second, like he was considering taking it back, like he was still terrified of saying it out loud. But then, with a short breath, he pressed forward.
âIââ He licked his lips, shaking his head slightly. âWhen I overheard you talking about the books, about G.S., I thought⌠I donât know. At first, it was funny.â He let out a weak laugh, but there was no humor in it. âYou, of all people, getting caught up in my annotations.â
A pang of hurt flared in your chest at that, but Gojoâs face twisted almost immediately, like he regretted saying it that way.
âI donât mean it like that,â he murmured. âI just meanââ He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. âYou always had this way of looking at me, like you had me all figured out. Like you already knew what kind of person I was. And I guess⌠part of me thought it was funny that I got to be something different in your head for once.â
Your fingers curled at your sides. You werenât sure how to respond to that, but Gojo wasnât done. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he wasnât sure what to do with his hands. His eyes darted back to you, searching, waiting for you to interrupt, to tell him he was ridiculous. When you didnât, he exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was bracing himself.
âBut it wasnât just the books,â he admitted, voice quieter now. âIt wasnât just some joke to me.â His lips pressed together for a moment before he continued. âBecause the truth is, Iââ He hesitated, then finally met your eyes again, his own brimming with something raw and unguarded. âIâve liked you since freshman year.â
The air between you shifted. Your fingers curled at your sides as his confession settled in. You wanted to say somethingâanythingâbut all you could do was stare at him, pulse pounding in your ears.
He let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. âYeah. Long time, huh?â His voice was softer now, tinged with something almost self-conscious. âIt sounds stupid when I say it out loud. But I did. I do.â
Your mouth felt dry. âSince freshman year?â
His lips twitched, like he wasnât sure if he should smile. âYeah.â
Your mind reeled. Freshman year. That meant before the rivalry, before the teasing had turned sharp, before you had convinced yourself that he was just some cocky, insufferable show-off who loved to push your buttons. Before you had started believing he only saw you as an opponent to one-up. Gojo sighed, dropping his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at you. âYou remember that first day of class?â
You blinked. âWhere we had to introduce each other to the class?â
He nodded. âYou were wearing that stupid oversized sweater that practically swallowed you, and you kept tugging at the sleeves like you wanted to disappear. I justâ at first I thought you were just so cuteâ His lips quirked slightly at the memory. âAnd then you opened your mouth when we argued for the first time in classâ remember? When you answered that question on vector components and I poked fun at you or something, and when you responded back to me, you had this⌠fire in you. You wouldnât let me get a single word in edgewise, like you had something to prove.â
His expression softened, something unbearably fond flickering in his gaze. âAnd I just remember thinkingâshit.â
Your breath hitched.
âI wasnât supposed to like you,â he murmured, like it was a confession he had never meant to say out loud. âBut I did. And when we started arguing all the time, when it turned into this whole thing between us, I thoughtâfine. If I couldnât have you the way I wanted, then Iâd settle for getting under your skin.â He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. âAnd trust me, I tried to stop thinking about it. About you. But I couldnât. And then you started borrowing those books, and it was likeââ He exhaled sharply, like he didnât even know how to put it into words. You swallowed hard, heart hammering.Â
All this time.
Every argument, every smug grin, every lingering glance across the roomâhe had liked you this entire time.
âBut then you kept reading them.â His voice had softened, like he was talking to himself now as much as to you. âYou kept flipping through those pages, talking about how much you liked G.Sâ and god, who am I to deny you when you speak like that? When you speak like that about my thoughts, my feelings, spilled onto the pages of those stupid books? And suddenly, I was waiting for you to borrow the next book. Waiting to see which parts youâd pause on, which annotations youâd react to. Waiting to hear what youâd say about G.S. So Iââ
He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the fabric of his hoodie.
ââ I borrowed the remaining four books or so. I annotated every last one of them, annotated them so maybe, maybe Iâd get to hear that gorgeous voice of yours talking about it in class again. Iâd get to see that giddy smile when youâd refer to me as your Seiji Amasawa again. As your G.S. And honestly, it was worth the entirety of the long night I spent, just so Iâd see you fucking smile throughout the day and snap less at me because G.S. wrote something that made you think he was similar to youâ because in reality, with the way you viewed meâ entirely my fault by the wayâ it would never be possible.â He took a deep breath after saying that.
âAnd I realisedââ He paused, just for a second, like he needed to steady himself. âI liked it. I liked you. Not that I didnât already like you, butâ but I was falling. Like really deep.â
Something inside you twisted painfully. Your lips parted, but you couldnât force out a response. You had spent the past three days agonizing over the idea that he had been toying with you, that this had all been some elaborate joke, but thisâthis was different. This was Gojo Satoru, stripped of his usual bravado, laying his feelings bare in a way that felt like it might physically hurt him.
âThen why didnât you tell me?â you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Gojo let out a sharp, humorless laugh. He looked away, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. âBecause Iâm an idiot?â he said dryly. Then, quieter, âBecause Iâm Gojo Satoru, and I figured youâd never take me seriously?â
Your chest tightened at that.
Before you could process that, he spoke again.
âI know I was arrogant. I know I still am arrogant,â he muttered, his lips curling bitterly. âI push too hard. Iâm too much. I act like I know everything, and maybe I do most of the time, butââ He swallowed thickly. âThose annotations⌠they were the only time you ever saw me.â His voice had dropped lower now, almost vulnerable, and something about it made your pulse stutter.
âNot the dumbass you argue with in class. Not the rich kid with the perfect grades. Not the guy who has to prove heâs the smartest person in the room.â He let out a slow breath. âJust⌠me.âÂ
The silence between you stretched, thick and charged.
Gojoâs hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles going white. He looked like he was bracing for impact, like he had just thrown every last piece of himself at your feet and was waiting to see if youâd step on them. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for him.
Thenâ
You stepped forward. Gojo stilled the moment your fingers brushed against his hoodie, his breath catching in his throat. He stood up, towering over you, an unfamiliar glint in his cerulean eyes. You hesitated, your fingertips barely grazing the fabric before curling into it, fisting it lightly like you needed something solid to hold onto. His whole body went tense under your touch, his usual easy confidence absent now, replaced with something far more uncertainâfar more vulnerable.
âYou really are an idiot,â you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath against the space between you. His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk, wanted to tease, wanted to be Gojoâbut he didnât. Instead, he just let out a shaky breath. âYeah?â
You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening against his hoodie. âYeah.âÂ
The word hung in the air between you, weighty and full of something neither of you had the strength to name. And thenâbefore you could second-guess yourself, before doubt could creep inâyou surged up onto your toes and kissed him. Gojo made a startled sound against your lips, his whole body going rigid for half a second, like he couldnât quite believe what was happening. But thenâslowly, desperatelyâhe melted into it. His hands found your face, cupping it with a tenderness that made your heart twist. His palms were warm, his grip firm, like he was terrified youâd slip away, like he needed you to know this wasnât a joke to him. That it had never been. He kissed you like a man making up for lost timeâdeep, searching, like he had been waiting for this moment far longer than even you had realized. When he tilted his head, his lips pressing more firmly against yours, you felt itâall of it.
Every unspoken word. Every missed chance. Every moment that had teetered on the edge of this but never quite fallen. His fingers slid into your hair, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek, like he was memorising the way you felt beneath him. Your heart was a wild, unsteady thing in your chest, thundering against your ribs as you pressed yourself closer, your hands sliding up from his hoodie to clutch at his shoulders. Gojo let out a quiet, almost desperate sigh against your lips, like he had been holding back for so long that finally getting to kiss you was unraveling him.
And maybe it was.
Because as much as you had spent the past few days convincing yourself that this had all been a game to him, thisâthe way he was holding you, the way his fingers trembled just slightly against your skinâtold a different story. Gojo Satoru didnât play games with things that mattered. And youâsomehow, impossiblyâmattered. When you pulled back, slightly breathless, Gojo just stared at you, like he couldnât quite believe you were real.
Then, slowly, he grinned. âSo,â he murmured, his thumb tracing your cheek. âDoes this mean Iâm forgiven?â
You rolled your eyes, but you didnât step away. âDonât push it.â Gojo laughed, bright and real, before pulling you back into his arms.
âGod, do you know how beautiful you fuckinâ are? It drives me insane,â he mutters, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His breath is warm against your lips before he swoops down, capturing your mouth with his own again, his large hands grounding themselves against your waist as if heâs afraid you might slip away.
You giggle against his lips, trying to push him off, but he refuses to budge. âS-Satoruâwait!â Your protest is muffled, barely audible between the kisses he keeps stealing, his lips soft but insistent against yours.Â
He lets out a quiet, needy sound, almost a whimper, his grip tightening on your hips. âShut up,â he murmurs breathlessly, squeezing lightly at your waist as if that alone will silence you. âBeen waiting to kiss this pretty mouth for sooo fuckinâ long⌠Let me get my fill, yeah?â You barely have time to respond before his tongue swipes across the seam of your lips, coaxing them open. The second you allow him in, he kisses you deeplyâdesperatelyâhis tongue sliding against yours, tasting, claiming. The soft little noises you make against him seem to spur him on, his fingers pressing firmly into your sides as he tugs you even closer. His legs bump against the edge of the bed, steadying you between his parted thighs, and the world around you fades, leaving only the two of you tangled up in each other.
A surprised squeak leaves your lips when his thumbs slip just beneath your shirt, brushing against your bare skin. His hands are cold, the contrast against your warmth sending a jolt of electricity through you. He laughsâa quiet, smug chuckleâand then the bastard has the audacity to bite your bottom lip in amusement. âShh,â he teases, lips brushing against yours. âDonât wanna get caught sneakinâ into my dorm after hours, do you?â
Before you can even process a response, his hands move to the backs of your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifts you off the ground with ease. A gasp leaves your lips, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he manoeuvres you to the bed. He turns smoothly, lowering you down onto the mattress before climbing over you, his movements slow, deliberate, eager. And this time, you donât hesitate. Your hands fist the front of his hoodie, yanking him down in a clumsy rush to kiss him again, your breath mingling with his as your noses bump. His glasses shift slightly from the movement, and with an annoyed huff, he pulls them off, setting them aside carefully before his gaze returns to youâhungry. His mouth is back on yours in an instant, moving with a mixture of urgency and something softer, something deeper. His lips trail from yours to your jaw, to the delicate skin of your neck, to the dip of your collarboneâhis hands following the path his lips leave behind, fingers toying with the fabric of your open jacket. He pushes it off your shoulders tentatively, almost testing, waiting for you to stop him.
You donât.
A pleased hum vibrates against your throat as his confidence grows, his hands sliding over your arms, your waist, memorizing the shape of you beneath him. Your arms wrap around his neck, tugging him impossibly closer, like you could mold yourself against him if you just tried hard enough. The kiss is more than just the heat of the moment. Itâs more than just the weeksâmonthsâof built-up tension. Itâs the culmination of years of frustration, of stolen glances, of biting words laced with something deeper neither of you had wanted to acknowledge until now.
And maybe, maybe, itâs also the weight of finally realisingâfully understandingâthat the only person who had ever been able to keep up with you, to challenge you, to drive you absolutely insane, yet make you feel like this⌠was him. Satoru groans against your skin, nipping at your neck as his hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers splaying across your waist. But even in the heat of the moment, heâs calculated. His lips map out a path of possessive little marks just below your collarboneâplaces that can be covered easily. Even now, heâs thinking things through. Your breath hitches when his fingertips skim the skin of your hips again, this time firmer, testing. Your cheeks burn, and the words slip out before you can stop them.
âYou canâyou can take it off.âÂ
Satoru goes very, very still. You swear you can feel the exact moment he processes what youâve just said, the exact moment he realizes that you mean it. His hands tighten slightly against you, his breath coming out a little shakier than before. And for once, for onceâhe doesnât have some cocky remark ready to go. Because this? This is real. And for the first time, Gojo Satoru doesnât want to ruin it with a joke. He gently tugs your shirt up and over your head, eyes eyeing the new expanse of skin that has just been made available to him.
âMy gorgeous girlâŚâ
He whispers out, before heâs back to lavishing your skin with attention, paying close attention to your breasts, lips lovingly, reverently moving across your skin with gentleness you hadnât thought possible by him. You donât know what possesses you, but something suddenly clicks and shyly, you unclasp your bra, leaving your entire upper half bare, making Satoruâs breath hitch. And then, in a moment that takes you completely by surprise, he does something that makes your heart both melt and swellâif that was even possible.
Because instead of his usual teasing, instead of his cocky grin or some flirtatious remark that would make you roll your eyes, Satoru simply looks at you. Really looks at you. His intense blue eyes donât dart downward like you half-expected, donât darken with some unchecked hunger. Instead, they stay locked onto yours, unwavering, all traces of playfulness and impulsive need fading away. What replaces them is something quieterâsomething gentler. A tenderness that makes your breath catch, your chest tighten.Â
Satoru, who always had a joke ready. Satoru, who always teased and never took anything too seriously. Satoru, who could have had anyone but had spent years bothering you insteadâstaring at you now like you were something fragile, something precious, something he wasnât sure he deserved to touch. His throat bobs as he swallows, and then, carefully, softly, he speaks.
âAre you sure you wanna⌠do this?â His voice is quieter now, laced with something that sounds an awful lot like uncertainty. Like heâs terrified of ruining whatever this is. âIâm notâpressuring you or anything, am I?â His fingers twitch slightly at his sides before he hesitantly lifts a hand, reaching out toward youânot to pull you in, not to take what youâve offered, but to tuck a few strands of your hair away from your face. His touch is featherlight, barely there, but it sends warmth spreading across your skin.
âI justââ He exhales, gaze flickering between your eyes, searching, as if trying to read your thoughts. âI donât want you to feel like you have to. If me kissing you made you think you needed to⌠yâknow, do anything moreâthen Iâm sorry.â The words leave his lips like a confession, like the idea of you feeling obligated to be with him hurts him. And thatâthat simple factâmakes something inside you ache. Because Gojo Satoru, for all his arrogance, for all his relentless teasing and larger-than-life presence, was standing before you now with uncertainty in his eyes. Not because he didnât want thisâGod, did he want thisâbut because he needed to be sure that you did too. For a moment, you just stare at him, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your fingertips.
Because this isnât how you thought this moment would go. Not with himânot with Gojo Satoru. You had braced yourself for teasing, for him to say something infuriatingly smug, to grin like he had won some long-fought battle. But instead, he was looking at you with quiet hesitation, with care. With something that felt like love. Your throat tightens.
âSatoru.â His nameâ his first name, not Gojoâ leaves your lips in a breath, barely above a whisper. His handsâso sure and confident only moments agoâremain frozen where they rest against your sides, like heâs afraid that if he moves, youâll change your mind.
âI want this,â you say, and you make sure there is no room for doubt in your voice. Your fingers curl around the fabric of his hoodie, grounding yourself in the feel of him. âIâm not saying it just because you kissed me, or because I think I have to. I want this.â His lips part slightly, but no words come out. His grip on you tightens just a fraction, like heâs trying to make sure youâre real.
You take a breath, steadying yourself, because you need him to understandâreally understand.Â
âIâve wanted this for longer than I want to admit,â you confess, a nervous laugh bubbling up in your throat. Your fingers flex where they rest against his chest, feeling the steady thud-thud-thud of his heart beneath your palm. Heâs warm, impossibly so, like heâs radiating heat just for you. âAnd it scares me, Satoru. You scare me.â His brows furrow, the corners of his mouth dipping slightly downward. âScare you?â
You nod. âBecause you make me feel things I donât know how to deal with. You drive me crazy. You make me want to strangle you half the time, and the other half Iââ Your voice catches, and you swallow thickly before continuing. âI want to be near you. I want you to look at me the way youâre looking at me right now.â His hands slowly slide up your sides, not rushing, not pushingâjust holding. His thumbs brush against your ribs, barely ghosting under the underside of your chest, but even that light touch sends a shiver up your spine.
âYou have to know this isnât just some impulsive decision for me,â you tell him, voice softer now, filled with something you canât quite name. âI donât do things just because theyâre convenient, or easy, or expected. I do them because I choose to.â You reach up, cupping his face between your hands, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. His breath stutters when you stroke your thumb over his cheekbone, and for the first time since youâve known him, he looks completely lost. âIâm choosing you,â you whisper, staring straight into those brilliant blue eyes. âNot because you kissed me. Not because of some annotations in a book. But because I want you, Satoru. I want this.â
A shaky exhale leaves his lips, and for a second, you swear he stops breathing altogether. His grip on you tightens just enough for you to feel it, his fingers pressing into your waist like heâs holding himself back. Then, slowly, so slowly, he leans in, forehead resting against yours. His breath is warm against your lips when he speaks.
âYou canât take that back now, yâknow,â he murmurs, his voice low and almost reverent.
âI wouldnât dream of it.â
In a flurry of kissing and movement, his hands roamed over your breasts, fingers pressing and kneading with a slow, deliberate touch that sent shivers down your spine. Every brush of his palm left a burning trail in its wake, making you arch into him, craving moreâneeding more. His lips never left yours for long, only breaking away to breathe, to murmur your name against your mouth like a prayer, before diving back in, desperate to claim every inch of you. Your own hands found their way under his hoodie, fingertips exploring the firm ridges and planes of muscle beneath. He was all taut sinew and warmth, his body solid beneath your touch, the faintest tremble betraying just how much he wanted this too. Heat pooled in your lower belly, a slow and delicious ache, as you pressed your palms flat against his stomach, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch.
And then you felt itâthe thin trail of hair below his navel, soft against your fingers, leading downward. Your breath hitched at the realisation, a flush creeping up your face as your hands lingered there, tracing along his happy trail. The sensation made him shudder, his breath stuttering for just a moment before he let out a low, breathy chuckle. âYouâre teasing,â he murmured against your lips, his voice rougher now, his grip tightening slightly where he held you.
You shook your head, though your fingers betrayed you, still trailing feather-light touches just above the waistband of his sweats. âJust exploring,â you whispered, emboldened by the way he reacted to your touch, the way his muscles tensed as if he was barely holding himself back. His entire body felt heavier now, weighted with desire as he sucked in a slow breath. His fingers twitched against your sides, like he was restraining himself, before he finally gave in.
With one fluid motion, he pulled his hoodie over his head and tossed it aside, leaving his torso bare. The sight of him knocked the air from your lungs. He was beautifulâlean but strong, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, skin warm and golden in the dim light. The definition of his abs trailed down to his happy trail, disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweats. There was something intoxicating about seeing him like this, vulnerable yet utterly self-assured, the usual cocky glint in his eyes replaced with something softer, something just for you. You traced your fingers lightly over his stomach, watching the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His breath came a little heavier, his hands gripping your waist like he was holding onto the last thread of his restraint.
"You're staring," he teased, though his voice was lower now, rough around the edges.
"Maybe," you admitted, dragging your fingertips just a little lower, reveling in the way his breath hitched. His lips curled into a smirk, but there was a heat in his gaze now, something dark and wanting. âCareful,â he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. âI might start thinking you like what you see.â
Your pulse thrummed wildly, heat licking at your skin as you met his eyes.
âI do.â
He gave you a full-blown grin, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, his canines glinting in the dim light of his dorm room. It was a look you had seen a hundred times beforeâmischievous, teasing, effortlessly confidentâbut now, there was something else underneath it. Something softer. Something real. His hands, warm and slightly rough, hesitated at the waistband of your sweats, fingers grazing the fabric as if waiting for permission. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. But despite the heat in his gaze, despite the way his breath was uneven and his chest rose and fell just a little too fast, he didnât move forward. Not yet.
âAre you sure?â His voice was lower now, quieter, cutting through the thick silence that had settled between you. His usual bravado was nowhere to be seenâno teasing remark, no cocky smirk. Just Satoru, looking at you like you were something delicate, something he wasnât sure he was allowed to have. Like he was terrified of doing something wrong, of ruining this moment before it could fully begin. You could feel his hesitation in the way his fingers flexed against your waist, could hear it in the way his voice wavered just slightly, as if he was bracing himself for you to change your mind.
It made your heart ache. You reached up, cupping his face gently, your thumb brushing over his cheek. His skin was warm under your touch, and he leaned into it instinctively, like he couldnât help himself. His breath hitched, just slightly, and you saw the way his lips parted, the way his lashes fluttered when your fingers traced along his jaw.
âSatoru,â you murmured, voice steady despite the way your heart was hammering against your ribs. His eyes flickered to yoursâdeep, cerulean, searching.
âIâm sure,â you whispered. âI want this. I want you.â For a moment, he didnât move, like he was letting the words settle, like he needed to make sure he heard you right. And thenâ
He exhaled, something tight and heavy leaving his chest, and his hands finally gripped your waist properly, fingers digging in just a little, grounding himself in the reality of the moment.
âGod,â he muttered, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice almost shaky. âYou have no idea how much I fucking love hearing you say that.â
He gently coaxed you out of your sweatpants, hand finding itself atop your underwear, breath hitching at the dampness that was present. Seems like this fueled his ego a little bit too much, because the next thing you knew, the Satoru you knew was back.
âDang youâre wet as fuck.â
You gave him a pointed look and he faltered, the smirk on his lips morphing into a grin as he ushered out apologies. Your hands clutched the sheets when his fingers began to gently touch you, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you eyed his hand with need. You couldnât stay mad with him for long the way his fingers tugged the flimsy material down and began to work his hand between your legs. He grinned, experimentally probing around, ocean eyes half lidded.
âThis is where youâre weak, right?â He murmured sensually, fingers finding your sensitive nub, eyes flickering up to watch your reactions, his pretty pink lips parted open in pleasure as he watched you come apart under him. He was precise with his fingers, circling you, teasing, pinching and rubbing, before thrusting in all the right spots, reaching places your own hand was unable to take you. Before long you had to let out muffled whimpers into his big palm that he had slapped gently across your lips; it covered almost the entirety of the lower half of your faceâ you were a bit loud.Â
Unable to take it anymore, you finally reached your breaking point, squirming underneath him as you came all over his fingers. Your chest was heaving, rising and falling in rapid succession, your breath coming in short, uneven pants as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through you. Every nerve in your body felt like it had been set alight, over sensitised and trembling in the lingering warmth of his touch. Your skin was flushed, heat radiating from every inch of you, and the room felt impossibly small, like it was holding the weight of everything that had just passed between you.Â
Hungry for more, you made quick work of his sweats, sliding them and his boxers down (pokemon boxers but you were too needy to make fun of him for it). Satoru loomed above you, shakily guiding himself to your entrance, pale lashes fluttering as he looked down at you. He was hardâ had been hard the moment you two had started kissing, pressing up against you in a needy manner.
âSuâSure you can take it? Donât need a break?â He breathed out, referring to the fact that you had practically jumped at the opportunity to take things further right after having an earth shattering orgasm thanks to his lanky fingers.
âSo fucking sureâ please, Satoru.â You flutter your eyelashes up at him, and he swears he almost comes from the sight. He nods, leaning down to kiss your lips gently, all the while he ushers himself inside you slowly.Â
Now you knew he had meant you not being able to take it because you might have been tired after your first orgasm, but now it felt more like he was warning you, because he was long, pressing inside of you deliciously. Once he had buried himself to the hilt, he halted in his tracks, giving you time to adjust. His face was screwed in pleasure, likely trying not to give in the urge to move. After a few minutes, when you deemed the feeling of him inside you as highly pleasurable and not the slight uncomfortableness that you initially felt while being split open in two, you murmured out a small âIâm ready,â and that was all it took for Satoru to start moving.
He kept up a slow, steady yet deep pace, his muscular form looming over yours, and for a moment, all you could do was look at him. The dim light of his dorm cast shadows along the sharp lines of his body, emphasizing the taut muscles in his arms, the sculpted contours of his chest, and the way his abdomen flexed with each controlled movement. His skin was flushed, a faint sheen of sweat glistening over his toned physique, catching the light in a way that made your breath hitch. His broad shoulders framed his lean build perfectly, his biceps taut as he braced himself above you, his fingers curling into the sheets as though restraining himself from losing control entirely.
And then there was his face. Messy white hair fell into his eyes, strands sticking to his damp forehead, and his lipsâGod, his lipsâwere parted, slightly swollen from kissing you breathless. His sharp jaw clenched subtly, his throat bobbing with a swallow, and when his gaze flickered down to meet yours, you felt like all the air had been sucked from the room.
His usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found. Instead, his expression was intenseâraw, focused entirely on you, like nothing else in the world mattered. His impossibly blue eyes, darkened with something deep and consuming, dragged over your face, your body, drinking you in like you were something precious, something his. âSatoruââ you breathed, voice barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make him groan, his grip on your waist tightening as he dipped down, pressing his forehead against yours.
âFuck,â he muttered, voice rough, strained. âYou have no idea how good you look right now. How good you feel right now.â He moved his hands from your waist, his fingers trailing over your skin as he shifted, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. The new position brought him even closer, his body pressing against yours, heat radiating between you as he continued to move within you. His breath was heavy, mingling with yours, and for a moment, it was all-consumingâthe feeling of him, the weight of him, the slow, deep rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. When you had imagined being with Satoru like this, youâd thought it would be⌠different. You had expected teasing, cockiness, maybe even some ridiculous commentary, because that was just who he was. You thought heâd smirk down at you with that usual self-assured gleam in his eyes, crack some joke between kisses, whisper something infuriating just to make you blush. You had even braced yourself for the possibility of him being downright kinky, because he was Gojo Satoru, and he loved pushing limits.
But this? This was something else entirely.
This wasnât just cocky flirtation or the result of years of pent-up rivalry and tensionâthis was intimate. It was raw, real, and so incredibly him, stripped of bravado and playfulness, leaving behind only the man in front of you. The one who had been waiting, wanting. The one who had loved you quietly, even when you didnât know. His movements were deliberate, his touch reverent, his normally mischievous eyes dark with something softerâsomething deeper. When he leaned down, his lips ghosting over your cheek before pressing to the corner of your mouth, it wasnât just a kissâit was a silent confession. A plea. A promise. His fingers threaded through your hair, brushing over your temple, before trailing down to cup your jaw with aching gentleness. âYou okay?â he murmured, voice hushed, almost breathless. You swallowed, overwhelmed by the warmth in his voice, the concern laced into every syllable, and you nodded, reaching up to lace your fingers through the soft strands of his hair. âYeah,â you whispered. âI just⌠I didnât expect this.â
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He tilted his head slightly, pressing another lingering kiss just beneath your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. âDidnât expect what?â
âFor it to feel like this,â you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. âFor you to be like this.â
Satoru stilled for half a second before exhaling softly, lowering himself further so his chest was flush against yours. His nose brushed against yours, lips hovering just out of reach, and when he spoke, his voice was almost fragile. âI donât think you realise how long Iâve wanted you,â he murmured. âIt was never just some passing thing, yâknow? It was always you.â Your chest tightened, your fingers gripping his hair just a little harder as his words settled deep within you. The air between you felt electric, charged, as if the weight of every unspoken feeling had finally caught up with you both. He kissed you againâslow, deep, purposefulâand you melted into him, your hands roaming over his bare back, nails lightly dragging along his spine. He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing against yours as he moved, his body fitting against yours so perfectly that it made your heart ache. There was no rush, no urgencyâonly the quiet, lingering touches, the shared breaths, the whispered words against flushed skin. It wasnât just about desire or need anymore. It was about something much more.
And before long, you were coming again, whispered cries of his name leaving your mouth as you tightened around himâ and if he had indulged in the feeling a second longer, he would have finished inside. He splattered on your stomach, hissing at the feeling, pale eyes fluttering shut. After a few seconds of basking in the afterglow, he quickly went into his bathroom, grabbing a warm washcloth to wipe your stomach down. Your breath came in quick, unsteady gasps, each inhale failing to steady the trembling in your limbs. A slow burn lingered beneath your skin, every nerve alight with the remnants of his touch. The air felt thick, pressing in around you, charged with everything that had just transpired. Heat clung to you, pooling in the spaces where his hands had been, leaving you adrift in the aftermath.
Your fingers curled into the sheets beneath you, gripping them like an anchor, like you needed something to steady yourself against the dizzying sensation still coursing through your veins. A shuddering breath escaped your lips, and you swore you could still feel the phantom imprint of his hands on your skin, the way they had mapped out every inch of you with a reverence that made your chest ache. Satoru was watching you.
You could feel his gazeâheavy, intense, something unreadable flickering behind those endless blue eyes. His hands hadnât left your body entirely, his fingertips still resting against your hips, warm and grounding. There was something in his expression that made your breath catchâa mixture of awe and something softer, something tender. Like he couldnât quite believe what had just happened, like he was committing every second of this moment to memory. He swallowed, his own breathing uneven, before he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your shoulderâslow, lingering, like he just needed to feel you. His lips brushed over your skin again, trailing up toward your jaw, soft and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.
â
ââThe room was bathed in the dim glow of his bedside lamp, casting long shadows across tangled sheets and discarded clothes. Your body still hummed from the aftermath, warmth pooling in your limbs as you lay half-draped over Satoru, your cheek pressed against his bare chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, grounding you in a way you hadnât expected. For a while, neither of you spoke. His fingers idly traced shapes along your spine, the touch featherlight and absentminded, while his other hand rested lazily on your hip, holding you close. You could still feel the heat radiating from his skin, the aftershocks of everything you had just done settling between you in the form of comfortable silence.
It was intimate, more than anything. More than the way he had touched you, more than the way he had moved inside youâthis moment, the stillness, the way he exhaled softly like he was content, was what made your chest tighten.
Then, of course, he ruined it.
âSo,â he drawled, breaking the peaceful quiet. âWould it be weird if I rated that experience a solid twelve out of ten?â You groaned, weakly smacking his chest, but he only laughed, the vibrations rumbling beneath your palm. âOh my God, Satoruââ
âI mean, I am the strongest,â he continued, completely undeterred, stretching one arm lazily above his head. âSo it makes sense that Iâd be great in every department.â
âYou have got to be kidding me.âÂ
He grinned, tilting his head to peer down at you. His hair was a mess, white strands sticking out in different directions, and his lips were still kiss-bitten, smugness radiating off of him in waves. âOh, donât worry, sweets, Iâd never joke about my performance in bedââ
You smacked him again, this time harder, and he let out a dramatic oof, clutching his chest like youâd wounded him.
âYou were being so sweet just a second ago,â you muttered, pouting as you nestled closer against him. âWhy do you have to ruin it?â Satoru chuckled, his arms wrapping securely around you as he pulled the blanket over both of you. âCâmon, you wouldnât want me any other way.â
You sighed, exasperated, but deep down, you knew he was right. He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side so he could face you properly, one long leg tangling with yours. His hand came up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch softer than you expected after all his teasing.
ââŚWas it really okay?â he asked, voice quieter this time. Almost hesitant. Your heart ached at the sincerity laced in his words, the way he was still Satoru, even after everything. Still checking in. Still making sure. You smiled, cupping his face in your hands as you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. âIt was perfect.â
A slow, almost shy smile spread across his face, and for a moment, the cockiness was gone, replaced by something softer. Something real.
Then, of courseâ
âPerfect, huh? So you are saying Iâm the best youâve ever hadââ
âGOJO SATORU, I SWEAR TOââ
His laughter rang out through the dorm, loud and unfiltered, and despite yourself, you couldnât help but laugh too, the warmth of it curling around your heart. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the lazy way his fingers traced along your spineâit was all lulling you into the kind of peace you hadnât felt in a long time. The teasing had settled into something softer, something quieter, and as sleep tugged at the edges of your consciousness, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you could stay like this forever. Satoru shifted beneath you, his hand sliding from your hip to your waist, pulling you just a little closer. His lips brushed your temple, his breath warm as he murmured, âHey.â
You hummed in response, not quite opening your eyes. His fingers tapped against your skin, hesitant. âBe my girlfriend.â
That woke you up. Your eyes fluttered open, your head lifting slightly to look at him. âHuh?â
He huffed out a soft laugh, like he couldnât believe he had actually said it. The Satoru everyone else knew was loud, arrogant, untouchable. But right now, he was just a boy with messy white hair and sleep-heavy eyes, holding you close like he was afraid you might slip away.
âI mean,â he continued, clearing his throat, âweâre already doing all this. And I like you. A lot. SoâŚâ He exhaled sharply, his thumb brushing over your waist. âBe my girlfriend.â Your heart clenched at the quiet sincerity in his voice, at the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered. It wasnât a joke. It wasnât just another one of his playful remarks. This was real. A slow smile spread across your lips. âWow. That was kind of romantic.â
He groaned, tipping his head back against the pillow. âDonât make this harder than it needs to be, sweets.â You giggled, shifting to prop yourself up on one elbow, fingers threading through his hair. âYou really like me?â
He turned his head back toward you, his eyesâthose striking, endless bluesâsoft in the dim light. âYeah,â he said simply. âI really do.â Your chest felt too full, your heart racing faster than it should have been after everything youâd already done tonight. But it wasnât nerves or fearâit was excitement, warmth, the dizzying rush of knowing Satoru Gojo, of all people, wanted you in a way that wasnât fleeting.
âOkay,â you whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. âIâll be your girlfriend.â He grinned instantly, arms wrapping around you as he rolled you onto your back, settling half on top of you with a triumphant look. âTook you long enough to say yes,â he teased, but the relief in his voice gave him away.
You laughed, shaking your head. âI hate you.â
âLiar,â he murmured, kissing you again, slow and deep, like he was trying to seal the moment in time. And maybe he was. Maybe you both were.
â
Getting into a relationship with Gojo Satoru was like being swept into a whirlwindâone that was loud, chaotic, and entirely consuming. Everyone around you had the same reaction when they found out: About time.Â
Shoko had rolled her eyes, exhaling smoke from her cigarette as she smirked. âHonestly, I thought you guys were already dating. Youâre both just that disgusting.â Nanami had simply given Gojo a long, knowing look before shaking his head, muttering something under his breath about finally. Even Getoâbefore everythingâhad grinned, clapping Satoru on the back and saying, âI was starting to think youâd never get your head out of your ass.â
Satoru, naturally, took it all in stride, tossing an arm around your shoulders and grinning like heâd won the lottery. âWhat can I say? She couldnât resist me forever.âÂ
Your life since then had been⌠a lot. In the best way possible. Because being with Satoru meant being at the center of his world, whether you liked it or not. And he was obsessed with you. Absolutely obsessed. It was the way he always had to be touching youâhis hand warm on the small of your back, his fingers playing with yours, his arm slung around your shoulders. It was how he looked at you, like you were the most fascinating thing in existence, eyes always following you, filled with nothing but admiration. It was the teasingââI get it, babe. Iâm super hot, but please let me study for five seconds without you getting distracted by me.â
It was the sweetnessâbringing you your favorite snacks when you were stressed, pressing kisses to your temple when he thought you werenât looking. Intertwining his large hand with yours and placing it in his coat pocket And, well, it was also the other thingsâ
âSatoru, we have a lecture in twenty minutesââ
âPlenty of time, sweetheart. What, you donât want to study with me?â
âThis isnât studying. Youâve been making out with me for the past ten minutes. And you really do need to stop. What if someone catches you in my dorm?â
âCâmon, I canât resist youââ
âSure you can, âToru.â
âBut you love me.â
You did. God, you did. And he loved you. He never let you forget it. Youâd studied together for your physics final, working hard side by side. Even though Satoru acted like everything came easy to him, he did work for it. And so did you. You spent countless nights pouring over equations, bouncing theories off each other, fighting over who got to use the good highlighters.
And when results day cameâ
âOh my God,â you whispered, staring at your score.
100%. Your hands trembled slightly as you clutched the paper, the weight of all those late-night study sessions, the stress, the endless debates with Satoru over formulas and theoriesâeverything culminating in this moment. Pure, unfiltered pride swelled in your chest. Before you could fully process it, a loud whoop filled the air.
âYES! I knew it!â
Suddenly, you were lifted off your feet, spinning in a dizzying circle as Satoruâs wild laughter bubbled over. His strong arms wrapped around you, keeping you pressed to him as he twirled you around the hallway like an overexcited kid.Â
âMy babyâs the smartest person in the world!â he crowed, not caring about the amused stares from your classmates. âGeniuses bow to you! The world kneels before you! Einstein weeps in his graveââ
You were laughing breathlessly by the time he finally set you down, his hands still firm on your waist as he grinned down at you. Your heart swelled at his excitement. âYou did well too, right?â
âPfft, of course.â He flipped his own paper up dramatically, flashing his score.
99%.
âI mean,â he sighed, shaking his head with mock sorrow, âyou totally obliterated me, absolutely wrecked my pride, but itâs fine. Matter of fact, I think it was the fact I didnât revise Bernoulliâs principle enough that resulted in me getting only 99%-â
In another world where he wasnât your boyfriend, you would've smirked and gloated about beating him, and he wouldâve snapped back with something equally smug. But instead, all you felt was prideâpure, unrestrained pride for him. You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. âIâm so proud of you.â Satoru melted into you, his arms encircling your waist as he hummed into your shoulder. âMmm, say it again. I like hearing that.â You chuckled, pulling back slightlyâjust enough to see the sheepish grin creeping onto his face.
âActuallyâŚâ he started, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes glinting with something suspicious. You frowned. âWhat?â He exhaled dramatically. âYouâre probably gonna kill me when you hear this.â Your eyes narrowed. âSatoru.â
âOkay, okayââ He raised his hands in surrender, before leaning in like he was telling you a juicy secret. âTechnically, I got a 99 on the midterm.â You blinked. ââŚWhat?â He grinned. That smug, trouble-making, up-to-no-good grin. âBuuuut you looked so beautiful when you were all happy about your score, so I lied and said I got 95 last minute.â
Your mouth dropped open. âYouâWHAT?!âÂ
Gojo Satoruâthe cockiest, most competitive man you knew, the one who never let anyone forget how brilliant he wasâhad lied about an exam score for you? He burst out laughing at your expression, reaching out to ruffle your hair. âDonât go feeling all bad about it, sweets. This final weighed more than the midterm, so technicallyââ he booped your nose, ââyouâre better than me.â
You were still reeling, warmth spreading through you as you realised he had lied to see you happy. âYou changed your answer for meââ
âYeah, yeah.â He waved off your shock, smirking. âIâm the best boyfriend in the world. You can say it out loud, babe.â You rolled your eyes, exasperated, before tugging him down into a kiss.
He instantly responded, his grip on your waist tightening, his lips warm and eager against yours. The teasing faded for just a second, replaced by something softerâsomething real. When you finally pulled back, he looked way too smug.
ââŚStill smarter than you, though,â you teased, just to knock him down a peg. Satoru gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. âOh, you absolutely crushed my heart and then ate itââ
Before you could react, he suddenly straightened, towering over you with a wicked glint in his eye. His large hands slid around your waist, ushering you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. His voice dropped, suddenly deep and velvety, amusement laced with something more sensual. âGuess youâll just have to make it up to me in bed, huh?â
You groaned, immediately shoving at his chest. âYouâre the worst.â
âYour worst.â He waggled his eyebrows, entirely unashamed. You shoved his face away, laughing as he grinned, easily catching one of your wrists in his hand. Instead of saying anything else, he simply lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to your wrist, his lips warm against your skin.
â
Later that night, you were curled up in his dorm, forcing him to watch Whisper of the Heart. He had grumbled and groaned, saying heâd already watched it way back in high school and that he "totally got the whole love and dreams thing," but you still made him sit through it. He spent the first twenty minutes sulking, arms wrapped around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder like a spoiled cat.
âIâm way better than Seiji,â he huffed after a particularly sweet scene. âLike, a million times better.â You snorted. âJealous of an anime boy, Satoru?â
âIâm just saying,â he drawled, tightening his arms around you. âIf I was in this movie, she wouldnât even look at him.â
âUh-huh.â You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the warmth. âSure, babe.â His fingers absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your sleeve, and for a while, you both watched in silence, the glow of the laptop screen painting soft shadows over the room. Halfway through the movie, you reached into your bag to grab your laptop, but something tumbled out and hit the floor with a soft thud. You blinked at the familiar cover of the last book.
âOh crap,â you muttered, picking it up. âI forgot to return this.âÂ
Satoru turned his head, eyes narrowing. âWaitâŚâ He plucked the book from your grasp, flipping through the pages with an expression that immediately made you suspicious. âYou didnât return this yet?â You nodded, smiling sheepishly. âGuess I kinda forgot.â His fingers slowed as he reached the back cover, eyes landing on the borrowing log where the name âG.S.â had been scrawled in blue ink.
For a moment, he just stared. His thumb ran over the initials like he was absorbing the weight of them, of what they had meant to you before you knew the truth. His usual teasing expression softened, something almost nostalgic flickering in his eyes. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he grabbed a pen from his desk, twirled it between his fingers, and, without saying a word, carefully crossed out âG.S.â
You watched as he replaced it with something elseâhis full name, written neatly, in the same familiar shade of blue ink in the column beneath the crossed out G.S. He paused, then handed you the pen. Understanding settled between you like an unspoken promise. Without hesitation, you leaned down, pressing the tip to the page to the column under his name, adding your own in smooth, looping letters.
The same date. The same ink. Together.
Satoru stared at it for a long moment, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his lips, something softer, something fonder. He looked at you with that unreadable, almost reverent gazeâthe one that always made your breath catch. And then, with absolutely no warning, he grinned and yanked you straight into his lap.
âSooo,â he murmured, lips brushing your ear as his arms locked around you. âHow does it feel to know youâve been fantasising about me this whole time?â You groaned, swatting at his arm. âSatoruââ
He just laughed, effortlessly dodging your weak attempts at smacking him. âNah, nah, donât try to deny it! I knew you had a crush on me.â
âI did notââ
âG.S.,â he sing-songed, his breath warm against your skin as he nuzzled into your shoulder. âYou thought I was some mysterious, tortured genius. Bet you used to daydream about me in class, dâyou think I showed up as some mysterious faceless guy in your wet dreams?ââ You grabbed a pillow and shoved it into his face. His muffled laughter rang through the room, and when he pulled the pillow away, he was still grinning. He kissed your shoulder, lingering there for a beat longer than necessary.
And this time, you let him gloat.
a/n: summary of this entire fic basically (art creds to su2kuna on đ)
sorry if there are error/grammar mistakes or slight plot issues uni is lowkey gnawing at the folds of my brain and a girl gets sick of reading 32k words over and over again.. but i hope you all enjoyed reading this because i really enjoyed writing it :) huhuhuhu much love
geto suguru is everyoneâs first crush. having a crush on him is as hopeless as it is inevitable though your friends quickly disagree that the awe-struck, mouth gaping expression is a strictly you thing, and that he isn't as much of a campus celebrity as you believe he is. regardless, you're determined to put your inability to hold a conversation with him in the past. the solution is simple, you seek out his best friend. if geto suguru is everyoneâs first crush (again, a completely objective statement), then gojo satoru is everyoneâs first heartbreak.
pairing: frat&icehockey!gojo x reader
content: mdni, idiots in love, oblivious reader, babyâs first kiss + virginity taken by same person (satoru ><), suguru as the wingman, a little angst, mostly fluff + crack !! titjob, a little spitting, p in v, degrading, oral, fingering handjob etc etc 37k+
note: happy belated national arabian horse day! this was meant to come out on the 19th but life got in the way... regardless of the day hit up a friend and start beating a dead horse to celebrate!
Geto Suguru is everyoneâs first crush.
Your friends insist youâre seeing him through some delusional rose-tinted lens and that he is, in fact, not as much of a campus celebrity as you believe him to be. You reject that notion. One look at him from across the room, other party goers be damned, is all it takes to confirm what you already know.
Geto laughs at something one of his friends says, tipping forward slightly as the alcohol softens his movements. You catch the tail ends of his laughter through the thumping bass, the glint of light reflected off his lip piercings when he smiles wide, his hand running through his untied black hair.
It would be as easy as walking up and saying hi to start a conversation. It would be as easy as smiling for him to turn his head and grace you with a smile of his own.
Oh, what you would give to be bathed in his gaze, for that pretty smile to widen at the sight of you. Heâd spot you through the crowd, youâd tuck your hair shyly behind your ear and heâd politely excuse himself from his conversation to walk over to introduce himself to this mysterious beauty from across the room.
Shoko makes a noise like sheâs strangling herself but when you turn to save her, sheâs staring at your face. âDo you have any idea what you look like right now?â
âWhatâs wrong? Did I smudge my liner?â
You pull out your phone to check your makeup using the reflection but between the flashing lights and someoneâs elbow jutting from your peripheral, youâre only eighty percent sure you donât look a mess.
Considering you dragged your roommate out to this party last minute, Shoko sips her drink with commendable patience. âEven if you did, that would be the least of your worries. Look, you really donât have to overthink this. We didnât just spend all night planning this for you to end up weirding him out with that look in your eye.â
âShit, that was the rehearsed deer look I was talking about!"
âRehearsed how?"
You decisively ignore her. âI just want to do this right."
Her eyes soften slightly. Sheâs always been weak to your woes. âYou will. Heâll love you. If you donât believe in yourself, believe in me. I promise you, Iâve known this guy for years and youâre exactly the type of person he just eats up.â
You think of all your attempts to enter Getoâs world. There's just something mystifying about him, some kind of aura he emits that has you tripping over your tongue and freezing at the worst moments. Your words become stilted, your humour and wit abandoned at every crucial moment, causing you to simultaneously dread talking to him as much as you wished for it.
Shoko turns you to face her, eyes steady in a way yours isnât. âAre you ready?"
You let out a slow breath and attempt to mimic her determination with a single nod.
âThen go find him.â
When you hesitate to even take a single step forward, Shoko gives you a push and then youâre off, legs moving without another thought. The crowd swallows you, bodies brushing past and jolting your shoulders, knocking you here and there. But none of that matters. Not when your heart is already set. Not when determination is the one thing keeping you upright, guiding you closer and closer to the boy who somehow makes a packed, sweaty houseparty fade into background noise
For too long, youâve let this intoxicating feeling linger, letting it settle deep in your chest, almost convincing yourself that watching from the sidelines was enough. As if anything short of his eyes on you, perhaps even his lips on yours, could quiet the restless longing twisting in your heart. Limerence is what Shoko diagnoses you with, but the word feels too small for the intensity that surges through you every time his name crosses your mind.
Geto appears like a beacon before you, the crowds having finally parted enough for you to catch a good look. The party music transitions to an angelic choir but admitting that is basically affirming Shokoâs concerns that your infatuation is unhealthy, so you quickly refocus. Your heart clenches, pounds against your ribcage, and you only hope the dim lighting will hide the warmth spreading across your cheeks. Heâs right there, right within reach. All you have to do is say his name.
All you have to do is make him see you.
You take a step forward, mumble an apology to the girl you bumped shoulders with, take another step towards where heâs laughing with a friendâthen veer sharply to the right and slip into the kitchen.
If talking to Geto were really as easy as saying hi, you would have done it months ago.
The kitchen is quieter, the bass reduced to a distant, muffled thump and you can finally breathe as the crowd thins. Thereâs still chatter though significantly more bearable and your eyes fall onto the small cluster of boys within, standing in the near dark.
Your feet instinctively slow but Shokoâs voice in your head tells you that youâve done too much to stop now and with a deep breath, you step beyond the threshold.
One by one, the group takes notice of you, their rambunctious laughter quietening into soft chuckles as heads pop up to look. Itâs not strange for someone to enter the kitchen at a party so the most you get is a head nod in greeting before they return to their conversation.
You reach for a red cup and then for a jug of some mysterious jungle juice.
Unfortunately, the jug sits behind one of the boys. Even worse, it sits behind who youâre really here at the party looking for.
Leaning lazily against the counter and nursing a red solo cup of something strong no doubt, stands Gojo, Getoâs best friend.
If Geto Suguru is everyoneâs first crush (again, a completely objective statement), then Gojo Satoru is everyoneâs first heartbreak.
You can feel the burn of Gojoâs stare as you get close enough to lift the jug and pour, hands trembling slightly. Before you can help yourself, you steal glances from the side of your eye, landing squarely on his shirt specifically at the crude letting that reads âTwo Seaterâ, arrows pointing abashedly toward both his crotch and his face.
You look back up immediately. You donât want to know.
The punch sloshes into your cup, some of it missing due to your shaky hands and you donât notice until a sticky trickle runs over your fingers. You hastily stop pouring and lick at the mess.
Before you can figure out how to announce your presence, thereâs a rush of footsteps and another frat boy appears. Hikari, you think his name was, stands by the kitchen entrance, hair slightly disheveled from his usual style, loud and demanding as heâs always been.
âHey!â he calls, scanning the room. âYou guys need to come see this."
A chorus of half-drunk âwhat?â and âsee what?â answers him like a herd of seagulls.
âIn the living room,â he says. âThere's two people on the floor andââ He stops, glancing over his shoulder like the situation might escape him if he looks away for too long. âJust hurry up!"
His vague words cause curiousity to spread faster than wildfire. The group of boys begin funnelling out of the kitchen, cups still in hand, voices rising with excitement.
âWhat is it?"
âIs it a fight?"
âPlease tell me itâs a fight.â
âDid someone break something?â
Hikari doesnât elaborate, instead turning and leaving the kitchen, confident the herd will follow. One friend, Choso if you remember correctly, looks back at Gojo who remains calmly drinking from his cup, still leaning against the counter beside you.
âArenât you coming, Satoru?â
Gojo shrugs, tipping back the last of his drink. âNah. You go on ahead.â
Choso hesitates like he wants to ask why, then seems to think better of it.
âSuit yourself,â he mutters, already backing toward the door as someone behind him shoves past with a whoop.
Within seconds, the kitchen drains of bodies.
Youâre deathly aware of the warm presence beside you. You inhale deeply and turn, ready to get this over and done with only to find him shamelessly looking at you.
For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other, his expression unreadable as he looks you over before his face splits into a lazy grin. âHey.â
âHi,â you squeak, immediately reprimanding yourself at the awkward sound.
His smile only grows. âI didnât expect to see you here. Are you looking for someone? Or maybe you missed the exit? Itâs down the hall to your right.â
âThatâs rude.â You cross your arms in an attempt to place distance between the two of you and to maintain a confidence you donât feel. âI attend parties.â
Gojo huffs and you feel slightly offended. He straightens and steps closer, close enough that his cologne hits youâsharp, expensive, and entirely too much. âI donât know about that. Iâve never seen you at one of these before.â His head tilts, regarding you. âHow do you even know Sukuna?"
For a moment you blank, wondering why he was asking about Sukuna. It hits you then that this party must be his. âAh. I came with Shoko.â
He hums. âThat makes sense. Shoko always did have a habit of collecting strays."
âExcuse me?â
âNot a stray,â he amends lightly at your glare. âMore like her lost puppy.â
"Just because youâve only ever seen me when Iâm with Shoko doesnât mean Iâm always with Shoko.â
âI was talking more about how you were holding onto her shirt in the crowds earlier. She didnât bring a leash for you?"
âDonât project your weird kinks onto me."
âDo you often spend time thinking about what weird kinks I might be into?â Thankfully, Gojo lets the topic go before you really do decide to throw it all away and walk out. âBut alright, letâs say I believe you and youâre just here for the party. Why are you here in the kitchen, then?â
âWhat else do people come to parties for? Iâm here to drink. And stuff.â You trail off, clearing your throat.
âReally?â He eyes your untouched cup. âBecause thatâs just juice. The good stuffâs over here."
He steps into your personal space to reach over you to grab a bottle from the top of the fridge and youâre face to face with the gross words on his top. He retracts his arm, bottle in hand, but doesnât step back. âWant me to pour you one?â
You think back to the last time you let yourself drink under the unwise judgement of Shoko, and how you can only recall glimpses of light and the vague memory of a toilet bowl âItâs fine, Iâve already had a lot to drink."
âRight,â he says, in a tone that makes it clear he doesnât believe you for a second.
You watch as Gojo pours himself another drink, sipping leisurely, pointedly ignoring the way youâre staring.
Gojo isnât exactly a stranger, but itâs an overestimation to call him your friend. In truth, heâs Shoko's friendâwhich means she occasionally drags him back to your shared dorm before disappearing to do whatever it is best friends do. You catch glimpses of him in passing, fleeting and inconsequential, never quite crossing into âintroduce-yourselfâ territory. Why would he? Heâs the kind of guy who turns heads without trying, long-limbed, effortlessly confident, wearing the grin of someone whoâs never been told no in his life.
Where Geto is soft-spoken and warm, guiding you through conversation with patient smiles and gentle ease, Gojo is loud and vibrant and reckless. There's a challenge in his eyes, a knowing smirk on his lips, like the world is perpetually entertaining and heâs always in on the joke.
You, on the other hand, are about as normal as it gets.
When the silence draws into something a little less casual and far more awkward, you clear your throat. âIâm Y/N by the way."
âI know who you are.â
âYou do?â
âShokoâs roommate, right? Weâve seen each other before. Sheâs mentioned you too.â He offers a hand, eyes holding yours like he knows youâll pull away with anything less. âIâm Gojo. Itâs nice to finally meet you.â
You go to echo his words, that of course you knew he was the Gojo Satoru but hesitate, settling instead for shaking his hand. His grip is warm and solid, carrying none of the jitteriness you feel. Hell, maybe you should have accepted a drink after all. What is this, a job interview? Why are you shaking his hand?
When you let go, you become painfully aware of how damp your palms are and curse yourself silently.
Gojo picks up on the silence and moves to lean against the counter, mimicking your earlier pose such that his arms are crossed over his chest, only emphasising his biceps in his sleeveless top. âSo, Y/N. If you didnât come in here for a drink, why are you here?â
His words cause you to still. This was it. Every moment in your dorm, huddled around the whiteboard usually reserved for studying, now littered with far less academic plans, Shoko chiming in her own thinkpieces occasionally. It all accumulated to this moment.
âI was looking for you actually. I wanted to talk to you.â Your voice is barely a whisper and humiliation slowly sinks in when he doesnât answer immediately. Perhaps he didnât hear you considering youâre speaking to your shoes.
When you finally look up, thereâs an unreadable expression on his face. Gojo slowly tracks his eyes up and down your figure. Finally, he straightens, head tilted slightly. âTalk to me? Alone?"
You nod, and his face breaks into a broad grin.
âI wasnât expecting that. Not that I hate it,â he purrs, voice dropping into something smoother as he steps closer and curls a loose lock of your hair around his finger. âWhat did you want to talk about, princess?"
Your mind vaguely registers the gesture, feeling the dampness of your palms once again. âI donât really want to say here."
His fingers still, your hair wrapped around it. âOh?"
You wonder what that look in his eyes meant. âCould we go upstairs?â
Gojo cocks his head, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His brows knit slightly, but his eyes gleam with amusement as he releases your hair, the strand falling back into place in a soft wave. âYou do know Iâm Shokoâs friend, right? And youâre her best friend?â
âWhy does that matter?â
âSeriously? You donât think itâll be awkward?â
Awkward? You blink, trying to make sense of his words. Perhaps Gojo and Shoko had argued recently. Maybe he didnât want her catching sight of the two of you together else it put you in an awkward position. Heâs more considerate than you expected.
âIt doesnât have anything to do with her,â you say carefully. âWhether you or I are friends with Shokoâit doesnât matter to me. I just want to talk to you.â You smile in satisfaction, relaxing a little at his kindness.
Gojo suddenly laughs, brushing a hand through his hair as he throws his head back like youâve said the funniest thing. When he looks back down at you, his eyes are shining. âThatâs what Iâm saying! But every time I joke about it to Shoko, she goes all crazy on me. Looks like we have a lot in common, huh? I guess that makes us compatible.â
You continue to smile, the corners of your lips wavering a little in uncertainty. Youâre not entirely sure what he means by that but considering youâre about to ask him for a favour, you appreciate his good mood.
âWell, alright,â he says at last, taking your hand. âIâd love to hear you out. Lead the way.â
Ignoring the little flip of nerves your stomach does as you hold his hand (perhaps he felt too drunk to climb the stairs alone?), you turn and lead him back into the living room and up the stairs to the quieter rooms of the house. The hand holding serves another purpose, you realise, as you weave through the crowds of people and he would surely have lost you had you not held on tighter, practically dragging him onward.
You feel a tug before your feet can even touch the second floor, like heâs suddenly become immovable. Before you can turn and check on him, you feel the warmth of his chest against your back, his hand slipping from yours to settle at your waist. Youâre pulled to a stop, his breath now brushing against your ear, his hair tickling the side of your face. Youâre certain heâs leaning over you despite being a step lower, and the faint scent of alcohol and sandalwood fills your senses.
âI didnât think youâd be so proactive,â he murmurs. You think he might have inhaled, slow and deliberate, but itâs hard to tell over the base vibrating through the floorboards and the frantic pounding of your heart. âWhat else are you hiding from me, hm?â
He reaches for your hand and turns you slightly so you can watch as he licks your fingers, tasting the sticky residue of your spilt juice. His blue eyes seem to sparkle, mesmerising in a way that makes you freeze. âYou taste sweet.â
Your breath hitches and he must have heard because the hand on your waist tightens and pulls you against him, head leaning down to gently nip at your neck. Your stomach does that little flip again, this time accompanied with a hot flush that short-circuits your brain.Â
âWait!âÂ
He chuckles softly, lips ghosting over a soft spot that makes your knees tremble a little. âDonât be nervous. You have me right where you want me.â
You freeze, heart hammering, fingers twitching. When his hand slips just barely beneath the hem of your top, the words tumble out of you in a rush.
âI like Geto!â
For a heartbeat, everything goes still, his hand, his lips, his breath. Gojo pauses, lips pulling back from your sweaty neck. In fact, his entire body jerks back, both feet returning to the step beneath you, hand leaving your waist to turn you to face him. His fingers find your chin to tilt your face down, eyes dark as they hold yours.
âWhat did you just say?â
You swallow, looking him in the eye. âI like Geto.â
He stares at you wordlessly for a few more moments before he frowns, letting go of you completely and stepping down one more step just for good measure. âWhat the fuck are you doing here with me then?"
You gesture frantically between yourselves, finding the answer quite simple. âTo talk? Thatâs what I said earlier, didnât I? I wasnâtâI wasnât insinuating⌠I wasnât trying toâyou know?â
âYou said you wanted to come with me upstairs.â
âYeah?â
âAlone.â
âRight.â
His frown only deepens at your easy response. âYou know how that sounds, right? To get a guy alone upstairs at a party?â
âIt sounds like I wanted to talk to you privately?â You try again at his disbelieving expression. âThe music was super loud. I didnât think youâd be able to hear me downstairs and I had to ask you something important so I didnât want to risk it.â
He lets out a huff, something short and breathy, lips quirked upwards like he finds something amusing, even as his eyes stay locked on you, unmoving. âYouâre kidding me, right?â
You hold out your hands as if to say, âWhat can you do?â.
Gojo groans, dragging a hand down his face. âFigures this was too good to be true.â His hand drops from his eyes to cover his mouth as he continues to stare at you. âNothing about that situation implied you just wanted to talk. And about Suguru, of all things? Seriously, heâs being a cockblock and he isnât even here.â
âWhat was that?â
âForget it.â He drops his hand. âIâm leaving.â
You quickly hold onto his arm before he can completely turn. âWait!â
Maybe itâs the desperation in your voice, maybe itâs your iron-clad grip on his bicep but he doesnât attempt to pull away. Instead, he looks back and wrinkles his nose at you, a strangely childish gesture.
âIâm not in the mood to just talk. Not anymore.â
âCome on, please? Thereâs no one else I can ask!â
âI donât see how thatâs my problem.â
âIf you could just please, out of the kindness of your heart, hear me out I would seriously appreciate it!â
He doesnât budge.
âI wonât tell anyone I rejected you!â
He frowns. âFirst of all, you didnât reject me because it was a misunderstanding. Second of all, are you really in a position to blackmail me right now?â
âI wonât tell Shoko you were the reason her favourite candle knocked over and singed a bit of her rug.â
His frown only deepens. Blackmail, you think, is surprisingly effective. âHold on, how do you even know that?â
âWhat do you mean? I was literally right there.â
Gojo lets out a deep, long groan. He wriggles out of your hold, sending you a glare. âYou know, you really suck at asking for help.â
âYou donât have to agree to helping me just yet. Just at least give me a chance to explain. Weâre already here, arenât we?â
âYeah, well, I had other plans when we got up here that didn't involve just talking.â
You remind yourself to be patient. Again, you were the one asking for a favour, heâs the only one that can help you with your dilemma, you need him. Donât call him a disgusting freak and walk away.
Clapping your hands together, you muster your best pleading look and send it his way. âPlease, Gojo.â
Youâre not really sure what broke through his defenses. For your own ego, you decide it must be because of your puppy dog eyes because he lets out a sigh and gives a reluctant nod.
âGo to the room to the right of the stairs.â
You bite back the instinct to cheer. Halfway through turning around, you look over your shoulder. âYouâre coming too, right?â
âJust get up there before I change my mind.â
Wondering if souring his mood like this would backfire on you, you quickly hop up the remaining steps and head to the mentioned room just in case he really does change his mind. It would be beneficial to appease him before you ask for a crazy favour, after all. Therefore, you donât even try to eavesdrop as Gojo continues to mumble to himself as he follows behind, worrying that somehow he might hear and turn around.
When you both reach the room, he closes the door and leans against it, arms crossed over his chest and expression flat in a way that feels very un-Gojo. Youâre suddenly struck by the unfairness of it, of how someone with such a careless, teasing exterior can also appear so unreadable when he wants to.
âFive minutes.â
You clear the irrelevant thoughts from your head. âExcuse me?â
âYou have five minutes before Iâm going back down.â
You take a deep breath. This is it, no backing out now. âOkay. I need your help.â
He huffs, unamused. âSo youâve said. But with what exactly? Calculus? Because spoiler, Iâve been drinking.â
âWith Geto.â
You watch in real time as the connection in his brain is made. He straightens off the door slightly. âWait. Suguru? You want help with Suguru? What kind of help? Love help? You want love help with Suguru?â
Every word from his mouth is like a bullet to your dignity. Through gritted teeth, you hiss, âYes. Can you be any louder?â
âI can try,â He says with a hint of humour. The smirk returns to his face and a feeling of foreboding looms over you. âThis is what you wanted to get me alone to say?â
âLook, I needed someone whoâs close with him and youâreââ
âClose? Please, Iâm his best friend. Iâm practically his wife.â
âOh. So that makes us competition?â
He wrinkles his nose and looks you up and down. âYou want me to help you get him.â
You nod.
âYou want to confess to him.â
âObviously.â
âDate him?â
âThatâs the goal."
âSleep with him?â
You give him a look so incredulous that he laughs, short and amused. âIf you want advice just hit up reddit. If you want him to like you back then an etsy witch has you covered for five dollars. I donât see why you have to bother me.â
âBecause,â you say slowly. âHeâs surrounded by people. He doesnât even know me. I need all of that, the advice, the reciprocation, and I need someone who can get me close enough to him where he can notice me. And I feel like getting an Etsy witch to manipulate his dreams to include me would cost more than five dollars. And Iâm broke. And Iâm kind of bad with guys.â
âSo, what? You want me to introduce you to him?â
âSure. And maybe tell me what he likes?"
Gojo looks you up and down again. He leans back against the door but this time, thereâs something smug and arrogant about his posture, eyes lazy as he takes up as much space as he can. âYouâre not even his type.â
âThatâs fine, Iâm flexible.â
âThatâs something you say at a job interview, not when youâre trying to get a boyfriend.â
âJust shows that I have an adaptable personality.â
âHe just came out of a 2 year relationship,â he shoots back.
âI accept and embrace his past.â
âHe has a habit of leaving his jackets on the arm rest of couches.â
âI have hands, I can put them away.â
âWhereâs your self-respect?â
âWith him. Iâll get it back after I get with him.â
Gojo huffs. âHe doesnât even know you.â
âThatâs why Iâm asking you for help.â
âYou know, I think I liked you better when you were just a shy little thing stumbling over your words.â
Again, you can only shrug.
When he only frowns, you decide to use your hidden ace. Before he can open his mouth and surely reject you, you beat him to it, voice overlapping his.
âIâll tutor you!â
His eyes narrow and when he doesnât say anything else, you push on.
âI know youâre aiming for that sports scholarship to study abroad next year.â
âHow do you even know about that?â He catches on quick with a groan. âShoko.â
You nod. âAnd I know that youâre looking for someone to tutor you because you need to get good grades to get accepted. If you help me with this, I promise I can definitely bring your grades up. We both benefit!â
Gojo stares at you like youâve just grown a second head and you think youâve lost him when his lips twitch. Then, almost traitorously, one corner lifts higher.
âYou,â he says slowly, pointing at you like heâs identifying a rare species, âAre trying to bribe me. Youâre trying to bribe me because you canât get game by yourself.â
âIt's not a bribe,â you say stiffly. âI'm just saying thereâs something in it for the both of us.â
âItâs a bribe,â he repeats, delighted now. âHoly shit, Shoko's roommate is bribing me. How desperate can you get?â
âIâm offering to give you academic support!â
âWith strings attached.â
âYes,â you sigh. "That's usually how deals work.â
He grins, wide and boyish and every bit infuriating as youâve ever known him. âYou think I can't get a tutor without helping you bag my best friend?â
âWell, you havenât yet.â
âThat's because I don't need one.â
âRight. So I should just forget all the times Shoko has ranted to me about how you keep asking her for help?â
âYou know, this conversation has really enlightened me on who my real friends are.â His gaze slides back to you, assessing. âAnd youâre confident you can help me?â
You straighten your shoulders and give a solemn nod. âIâve fixed worse than you.â
He studies you, eyes tracking your features down to your shoes and you fight the urge to squirm self consciously. He seems to be recalibrating you, seeing you not as Shokoâs tagalong but as an actual person making a very earnest, albeit very ridiculous, request.
Finally, he sighs, long and dramatic.
âWell, at least you have one thing going for you. Suguru eats this kind of stuff up, hardworking, stubborn, a little patheticââ
âHey.â
ââin a cute pet way,â he amends smoothly. âRelax.â
You glare at him anyway but the rational part of your brain reminds you that you need this. He grins back, entirely unrepentant.
âFine,â he continues, raising a finger, âIf I do this, weâre doing it my way. That means we need rules.â
You fight the urge to jump up and down in joy. âI was going to suggest that anyway! How about this, weââ
âRule one,â he says, face settling into something serious. âYou canât fall in love with me.â
Unable to help yourself, you burst out laughing. âTrust me, thatâs not going to be an issue. You're definitely not my type.â
At your laugh he smiles though it doesnât reach his eyes. âRule two, no complaining. Keep that mouth in check, sweets.â
You giggle. âWhat's wrong, fragile ego?â
He raises an eyebrow and you mumble irritated curses under your breath. âSorry.â
âRule three, if Suguru ends up falling head over heels for you, you owe me big.â
âHow big?â
His eyes flick down to your mouth again, then back up, smirk slow and dangerous. âIâll decide later.â
You catch the movement and swallow, feeling none of the humour from earlier. âOkay, deal. Then, rule four, you take your studying seriously. I don't tutor people who donât care.â
âI think between the two of us, I want to succeed the most so thatâs a given. Any more rules, sweets?â
When you shake your head, he nods. âWeâll start tomorrow.â
âNot today? I mean heâs literally right here,â You quickly clarify. âNot a complaint, just a question!â
âI came here to get drunk and have a good time. Iâm going to need at least three drinks to get me back there so be a good girl and wait. Iâll text you tomorrow if you really canât be patient. Unless, you want to back out already?â
You straighten your shoulders, trying to match his confidence. âIâm not backing out! I just want to make sure youâre not going to ditch me. This isnât really a normal request.â
âOh, so you know?â
You roll your eyes at him but have the decency to at least look bashful.
âTomorrow,â he repeats then jerks his chin toward the door. âGo on, sweets. Before I sober up and regain some self-respect.â
âDonât call me that.â
âA complaint?â
You bite your lip. âA suggestion.â
âHereâs a real suggestion,â he starts, turning around to open the door. Standing in the doorframe, he gives you one last look. âNext time you ask a guy to go upstairs with you at a party, maybe start with the part about not wanting to make out.â
Your face gets hot instantly, mouth opening to splutter, âI didnât mean anything by it!â
But he doesnât stay to hear the end of it, rejoining the masses downstairs without another word. He lifts his hand once as a goodbye and then heâs gone, leaving you alone in the room, half mortified, half exhilarated. Unwilling to give him any sense of victory with his last words, you head back downstairs and find Shoko to tell her the results of the first step of your plan.
Itâs a struggle pushing through the thick waves of people but you finally find your roommate off to the side, musing herself in a conversation with someone you donât recognise.
Instinctively, your eyes search for Geto if only to recall what youâre doing this for. Standing beside him, arm swung over his shoulder is Gojo, already sipping from a cup and laughing into the conversation with a natural ease that reminds you of the gap between who you were and who he is. As if sensing your gaze, he looks over and you flinch as if burnt. Something stirs in your gut and you wonder if your little plan to get with Geto has taken a slightly unpredictable turn.
âYou okay?â Shoko asks, noticing your fluster.
You nod, looking away quickly. âOf course. All going to plan, you know?â
âThen I guess youâre up to step two.â
âRight,â Your eyes drift back to Gojo and find him looking at you over the rim of his cup. The feeling in your stomach lurches. âStep two.âÂ
Step two begins with Gojo texting you at the ass crack of dawn. You blink the sleep from your eyes, squinting at the bright light of your screen in mild disbelief and annoyance as he tells you to pull up to his 9am lecture. Despite the lingering feeling that youâve bitten off more than you can chew, you understand that this is necessary.
You know for a fact that you have no classes today and therefore no reason to make the trek to university. a whole day,just gone and tasked with the impossible task of putting up with that infuriating player.
No, you reprimand yourself as you text back your agreement. No complaining. Do it for him, do it for Geto. With those words repeating in your head like a mantra, you pull yourself together and out of bed to get to campus.
It would be helpful, after all, to see where his studies were at if you were going to take this tutoring business seriously.
You get a coffee at the station to combat your sleepiness and the chill of a winter morning before hesitating and getting another. With two coffees, one in each hand, you wait outside his lecture room until the doors swing open.
Spotting him wouldnât be too hard, you muse, considering Gojo is impossible to miss.
And then, you see him.
His unmistakable frame, hair a messy white halo catching the late morning sun, strides into view. He's mid conversation as he steps out, animated, half-grinning, and you find yourself understanding why so many girls lose their minds over him.
âGojo!â You call out, voice slightly drowned out by the chatter all around.
Youâre about to give him a piece of your mind, him having been the reason why you kept to your phone all of last night like a wife anticipating the return of her war husband, when you freeze. Because when Gojo turns, your mind barely registering the amused look he gives you, the person he was talking to comes into view.
Because of course, where thereâs Gojo there is Geto, the yin to his yang.
You werenât ready for both of them.
Noticing your sudden stiffness, Gojo looks beside him and scoffs. Unimpressed, he starts walking over. You panic, attempting to smooth out your clothes and fix up your appearance though your hands are full of coffee so you end up doing an awkward wiggle.
âLook at you,â Gojo starts when heâs close enough. âLoitering outside my class like a fan. Maybe this is more urgent than I thought, not because you like Suguru but because you really need your self-respect back.â
You open your mouth to respond, to clarify, to deny, to just say something, but Geto catches up beside him and suddenly every possible word tangles up in your throat.
âOh. Hey,â Geto says, recognition flickering across his face. âYouâre Y/N, right?â
You blink, knees feeling weak and mind in shambles that he even knew your name let alone match it to your face. âUh, yeah! Thatâs me!â
He smiles, soft and easy, all the charm youâve seen him use on others now directed to you. âI thought so. Youâre in one of Shokoâs tutorials, no? I think I remember her mentioning you.â
âIâm her roommate, actually.â You try for a smile and pray it doesnât give off the extent of your adoration towards him.
âRight, that would be it. Iâm Geto.â
You nod mutely, wishing your brain would reboot to say something, anything that doesnât make you sound like youâve never spoken to a human before. Geto, he says, like you didnât already know his name, like he wasnât one of the most known people on campus. Still, the fact that he so humbly introduced himself only proves his humility and your heart gives a quiver.
This moment was everything youâve ever fantasied. His eyes on you, giving you that pretty smile youâve only seen directed at others. You could have stood there and basked in his attention until the end of time if Gojo didnât suddenly clap Getoâs shoulder and butt in.
âGreat, so glad youâre both acquainted,â he says, ignoring your glare and throwing an arm around your shoulder to pull you into his side. âBut as much as Iâd love to keep standing here and soak in this riveting small talk, I think my very dedicated super fan here needs me for something.â
You shoot him a look. âI am not your super fan.â
âNo? And is that not my coffee?â
You look down at your hands as if only remembering now what you were holding. Biting back a remark, you thrust out a coffee. âIt is.â
He grins, taking it and letting his fingers brush against yours. âThought so.â
Geto looks between the two of you. âOh, I see how it is."
Your eyes fling back to him at the same time Gojo exclaims, âWhat?â
âWoah, did I touch a nerve there or something?â Getoâs smile quickly turns smug. He returns Gojoâs earlier gesture and thumps him hard on the back twice. âI get it. Iâll get out of your hair then. Be gentle with him, Y/N. Heâs actually a pretty sensitive guy.â
It takes you a while to process his words so Gojo reacts first.
âDude, Iâm telling you itâs not like that.â
âSure,â Geto says in a tone that very much suggests he isnât convinced at all. âGuess Iâll see you around, yeah? Later, Satoru.â
You only realise seconds after he leaves that you hadnât said goodbye. In fact, after Gojoâs interruption, you hadnât managed to say anything more to Geto.
âHuh,â Gojo muses, breaking the silence. âYou get like that around him?â
You groan and find the lump in your throat gone. âI stood there like an idiot!â
âYou did.â
âHe probably thinks Iâm a freak!â
âProbably.â
âAnd you!â You look up to glare at him. âYou didnât have to make it sound so weird!â
âSo now itâs suddenly my fault?â
âYou caught me off guard by calling me your super fan!â
âRight, like that was the weirdest part of the conversation,â he shoots back, lips curled in dry amusement. âThat, and not the super sour face you were making at him. Like a grimace.â He mimics your expression and you properly grimace this time, hoping against all odds that that was not the face you had been making at the person you were actually a super fan for.
Deciding you will only lose if you continue to defend yourself, you choose to change the subject. âYou should have told me heâd be here.â
âYou never asked. Besides, is it my fault if you didnât prepare for that to happen?â
You sulkingly mumble a yes and he wags his finger at you, tutting disapprovingly.
âNo complaining, remember? Come on, letâs go. We have things to talk about.â
You sigh though relent to fall into step beside him, fingers curling around your own coffee as the crowd thins around you. Now that Geto is gone, the world feels marginally more comfortable, less bright, less sharp, but also less mortifying.
You remember your stuttering self a few minutes ago.
Still a little mortifying but now bearable.
Gojo takes a long sip of his coffee, then glances sideways at you over the rim. âFor future reference, I don't like coffee.â
You dig your elbow into his side and he winces but doesnât remove his arm around your shoulder.
âWhere are we going? I was thinking we could go to the library and look over your courses. That way I can pinpoint your weakness and where to target first. We only have a few months into graduation so weâre in a bit of a time crunch but I'm positive I can raise your grades from whatever they may be to⌠what?â
You trail off when you find Gojo looking down at you in disbelief. He shrugs when your eyes meet and shrugs, though the gesture is a little awkward with his arm over your shoulders.
âI just didnât think you were serious about the whole tutoring thing.â
âI keep to my promises, Gojo,â you pause. âAnd I hope you will too.â
He reaches over with his free hand to ruffle your hair, ignoring your squeak. âDesperation isnât a good look on you, sweets. Relax, relax, I'll get you two together. Trust me.â
You grumble but donât voice your suspicions, instead letting him drag you in a certain direction. You perk up when you donât immediately recognise your surroundings.
âWhere are we going?â
âI get it, you want to check me out. I'm just taking us somewhere where that can happen.â
âYour studies, not you,â you clarify.
âYeah, and my studies are mine so youâre checking me out.â
You grimace and he chuckles, turning you around a corner. âThe library is too quiet so weâre going back to my place.â
You stop abruptly.
âYour place?â
âYeah.â
âYour place?â
Gojo cocks his head as if listening to something in the distance. âDid you just hear that echo too?â
âForgetting the fact that we should clearly just go to the library or somewhere on campus at least, I thought you lived in Sig Kap?â
âRight you are. Wow, I'm really starting to see why youâre the perfect choice as a tutor.â
âBut you just said weâre going to your place.â
âNothing gets past you.â
âYour place as in the Sig Kap house.â
âLook at you go.â
You stare at his side profile, waiting for a punchline that wonât come.
âGojo.â
âYeah?â
âI am not going to your frat house.â
âWhat happened to not complaining? That was the first rule and youâre already breaking it, sweets. I'm starting to dread this whole arrangement,â he continues to tease, looking ever so peaceful.
âI'm sorry, I don't know what you think I'm about but I wouldn't willingly walk into a den full of men named things like Chad. Do you even have furniture?â
âI only had a cot for the majority of first year but now I've upgraded to a mattress on the floor.â
âGreat. Let's end this here.â
Gojo hooks his finger in your belt hoop before you can walk away. âFirst of all, we donât have a Chad. We do have a Kyle though.â
âYou're not doing yourself any favours.â
âSecond,â he continues on, pulling you back towards him with his finger. âItâs ten in the morning. Half of them are in class and the other half are probably legally dead.â
You stand your ground. âLibrary.â
âSig Kap.â
âLibrary.â
âSig Kap.â
âGojo.â
He leans in suddenly, close enough that you can see the faint crease at the corner of his eyes from squinting in the sun.
âYou want Suguru, right?â
Your breath catches and despite yourself, you hear him out. âSo? How is that relevant?â
âBecause,â he says mildly like heâs talking to a little kid. âSig Kap is where Suguru hangs out. He's my best friend, you know heâs my best friend thatâs why you came to me. Why wouldnât he be over at mine all the time? If you canât handle coming over now how are you ever going to fuck him?â
âI am notââ you choke, voice pitching before forcefully lowering your voice when you notice people looking at you. âThat is notâ I haven't evenââ
Gojo hums, watching you with a victorious grin. âSo you donât want to sleep with him?â
You make a startled noise and start walking in a random direction, eager to leave him behind. Life, however, is full of disappointments considering he follows, his arm draping over your shoulder once more.
âSo where are we going?â
You give in. âSig Kap.â
âWrong way, sweets.â
You groan but follow as he steers you in the opposite direction.
Gojo chatters in your ear the entire walk to where the frat houses are situated on campus, about how his least favourite professor is out to get him, about someone in his frat who set off the fire alarm this morning, about the latest philosophical debate holding the frat hostage: whether cereal is a soup or not. It's a steady stream of nonsense, ridiculous but unbroken because at least he wasnât talking to you so much as at you.
At some point, you stop responding entirely.
Somehow, his mere presence is enough to change your opinion and you actually feel relief when you finally see the house before you. Sig Kap stands broad and sunlit, paint only mildly chipped, windows open to let in the winter air. There's a couple bikes leaning against the porch railing and thereâs an abandoned hoodie on the outdoor chairs.
âOh thank god,â you mumble under your breath when he finally stops talking.
He lets you go to jog up the steps, opening the door to what youâre positive is about to be an overstimulating nightmare.
Warm air hits you first, carrying the scene of coffee and something oily. Sunlight stretches across worn hardboard floors until Gojo closes the door behind you and the hallway dims. A TV murmurs somewhere deeper into the house and thereâs a loud conversation happening upstairs.
âYou said everyone would be either in class or dead!â you hiss.
âIt was an exaggeration,â he says lightly. "Don't worry, everyoneâs harmless. But if youâre worried, you can just stick close to me.â
You ignore his cocky grin and shove him to get him walking. Unfortunately, getting to the stairs meant walking past the living room and you know things wonât be as harmless as he says when a voice calls out.
âYo!â
Gojo pauses and steps back to poke his head into the living room. âMorning.â
You awkwardly step back to let him, pushing you into view too.
Two heads snap toward you at once. One of them is sprawled across the couch, blanket half-tangled around his legs and a bowl of popcorn balances on his stomach. The other is slouched in an armchair, controller in hand, eyes bloodshot and face pale as if he was still hungover. Considering the state of the party last night, you donât doubt that he might be. Speaking of the party, you recognise the one on the left as Hikari.
âYouâre bringing a girl back in broad daylight?â The controller guy says, no tact whatsoever.
Hikari snaps his fingers in recognition. âHey, youâre the girl at the party.â
âDamn, back for more?â
Hikari shoves controller guyâs head down at the crude comment.
âShe's here to save my GPA,â Gojo explains. âSo keep it down, yeah?â
âThat's what we should be saying to you,â controller guy smirks.
Unfortunately, Gojo smirks back. âYou know they canât help it. I'm just too good.â
He guides you back towards the stairs as the boys in the living room chuckle, and when you finally think of something to say youâre already standing in the middle of his room. By then, thereâs another something to take up your mind and computing power.
Despite the relatively large floor plan, Gojo has decided to use none of it. True to his words, thereâs a mattress lying on the floor against one wall, blanket a mess and a single pillow sitting flat at the top. A stack of old textbooks make up a bedside table where thereâs a cute small lamp. On the other side sits a couch and a giant flat screen in front of it at a distance that would make optometrists frown.
Maybe thatâs why Gojo is sometimes seen wearing sunglasses indoors. Maybe theyâre prescription.
âThis is what you bring girls back to?â
Gojo drops his bag on the floor and flops down onto the couch, patting the cushion beside him. âCome sit.â
You eye the seat in disdain.
âWhat's with the look?â
âIs that even sanitary?â
He snorts. âWorried youâll get cooties or something? Relax, I rarely bring anyone back. Usually I go to the girlsâ place for that kind of stuff. Fucking on a mattress is pretty harsh on the back, you know. Youâre the first girl I've brought back in a while. Lucky you, right?â
You grimace but sit down gingerly. âCan you tell me what courses youâre doing?â
âWhat's the rush? Let's get to know each other better,â he says but he still reaches over to grab his laptop from his bag, opening it on his lap.
You can picture it so clearly, Gojo coming back from a long day of (skipping) classes to do his assignments and homework like this, slumped over his laptop on this surprisingly comfortable couch. The bare mattress on the floor might be a big contributing factor to his back pain, but you have no doubts that this routine wasnât doing him any favours. âHere,â he places his laptop on your knees and leans back, pulling out his phone from his pocket. âYou look.â
Considering his complete disregard of safety is not your issue, you donât protest and quickly type in the college website. As if sensing this is not the right time, a prompt pops up to log in again.
âPassword?â you ask, tilting the screen to him.
He barely looks up from his phone, one arm behind his head, the other typing away. âSixeyes69 question mark exclamation mark.â
You pause and type it in. It goes through.
âWhat's the number?â He asks, disinterested.
You look on the screen. â67.â
He chuckles. âNice.â
âAre you seriously okay with telling me your password like that?â
He shrugs, screenshotting the multi authenticator screen before hitting enter. The website in front of you loads and opens to his details.
âTtâs not like thereâs anything you can do with that. Are you planning to sneak in and do my assignments for me?â
Finding no fault in his words, you accept it and click through the tabs. Your brows quickly knit together as you read the contents.
âGojo.â
âMhm?â
âYouâre missing three assignments in this class, you have a midterm for another in two weeks and youâre barely passing first year statistics.â
Gojo looks up at the ceiling in deep concentration before looking down with a smile. âYeah, that sounds about right, why?â
âThis is insane! I'm not a miracle worker!â
âBetter find a lamp that grants wishes soon because your love life is on the line,â he points out. âThat was the deal, you find a way to get me into that scholarship and I get you and my best friend together. It's not my fault you were weirdly confident and didnât check to see where I was at before proposing that.â
Flabberghasted, you can only open and close your mouth like a fish. âLook, the midterm in two weeks, I can probably help with. The three assignments? You failing statistics?â
âPretty sure I passed that last quiz. Maybe check again?â
â51 is just barely passing which is basically a fail.â
âOh no, it seems like you canât do this after all. Looks like the deal is over. Hey, by the way, since youâre already here, why don't weââ Gojo sits up and leans in, one hand on your thigh above his laptop.
âI demand another favour.â
He freezes. âYou canât just do that.â
âI can,â you square your shoulders and meet his eyes. âI did this statistics class during my first year so I still have my notes. I can easily alter them and give them to you and if you have any questions, we can meet up and I'll go through the questions with you. There's no way you can submit two of the three missed assessments as late but I can help you write the one that was due last week. There will be a mark reduction but I'll make sure itâs as good as can be. And, like I said, studying for the midterm is possible in two weeks.â
Gojo stares at you as if seeing you for the first time. When he finally moves, itâs only to remove his hand from your knee and slump back into his leather couch. âYouâre insane.â
You wonder if heâs sulking.
âBut,â you continue on. âIf I help you with this then I can add to my condition. Besides, I made it too vague earlier and youâve helped me see that. So thank you.â
He rolls his eyes. âJust tell me.â
You bite your lip. âGo on a practice date with me.â
He blinks at you, giving you that same incredulous look before bursting into a fit of laughter that does wonders for your ego.
âHey.â
He keeps laughing, one hand resting on his chest.
âHey!â You hit his arm and he finally cracks an eye open to look at you.
âYouâre kidding,â he chuckles, struggling to catch his breath. âGojo Satoru doesnât do dates.â
âDon't refer to yourself in third person.â You smack his bicep one more time for good measure and because heâs weirdly solid under your touch. âIt wonât actually be a date. I just need to know how dates work. I can't just go from zero to not-zero without practice!â
His laughter trails off though the smile remains on his face. He tilts his head to the side. âYouâre at zero?â
You freeze, feeling like youâve walked into a trap.
âDefine zero.â
âHave you kissed anyone?â
You look away. âDefine kissed.â
He laughs again, though mercifully shorter. âThat's crazy. Next thing you know, youâre going to ask me to teach you how toââ
âPlease!â you say quickly. âIt won't be anything serious. I just need to know the mechanics, you know, how dates actually work. What youâre supposed to say, how you sit, when you pay, whether eye contact should be continuous or intermittentââ
âJesus,â he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. âYouâre actually a lost cause.â
âWell I've never done one before!â You clamp your mouth shut after, mortified at how loud you just got.
Gojo watches you for a long moment, the amusement still there though dimmed now by something closer to curiousity. Maybe even concern if you squint.
Silence stretches between you, warm sunlight pooling across the floor, distant house noise muffled beyond the door. He looks down at his laptop on your lap then back up to your face.
â...okay.â
Your heart stumbles and you inhale sharply. âOkay?â
âIâll do it.â
âReally?â Relief overwhelms your system and your shoulders relax.
âGojo Satoru doesnât go back on his promises.â He straightens and places a hand over his heart, a mock solemn expression on his face. Before you can poke fun of his use of third person again, he continues. âBesides, I need to figure out where you stand. Let's go on a date tomorrow.â
âEager much?â
He shrugs. âRip the bandaid off. Besides, I have no other time this week, I have practice all of this week for the upcoming game.â
Though you were ready to disagree, you find yourself nodding. âOkay, tomorrow.â
âIt's a date,â he says sweetly before clapping his hands together once loudly. âSo, does that mean I'm off the hook for today? Steam is having this massive sale and I have money to spend.â
You snort. âWhat makes you think youâre free to go?â
âYou got what you wanted,â he points out reasonably. âPractice date secured so mission accomplished, right? Seems like a natural stopping point and the Steam store is calling me.â
He reaches lazily toward the laptop. You smack his hand away without hesitation.
âWell hang up because youâre failing statistics and the submission box for that technical report is waiting for you. I'm afraid youâre going to have to reschedule.â
âYou're kidding. I dragged you here and gave you nothing to prepare with, thereâs no way you'll have anything to tutor me with.â
You stretch out your arms, fingers interlaced, and listen to the satisfying pop of your joints. âWatch me.â
Night has long since settled by the time you return to your dorm. Despite his perennial sulking throughout the entire tutoring session, lips jutted out when he isnât whining, eyes drifting from the screen when youâre not giving him your full attention, he still offers to walk you back to the opposite side of the campus where the dorm houses are. Guiding him through the writing assignment was somewhat akin to extracting teeth from a little kid, but heâs surprisingly quiet when youâre talking and only chooses to complain when youâve stopped.
And by the end of it, youâre proud to announce that he has 500 words on a once empty doc that was almost ready for submission.
Hey, you did mention before that you canât create miracles.
Still, thereâs something bright in his eyes when he reads through his own work, mumbling the words under his breath. So then, when you had reached down to pick up your tote bag and call it a day, heâs on his feet almost instantly, laptop snapping shut as he follows.âIâll walk you,â he says, like itâs not even a suggestion.
The campus at night feels different, all those late nights in the library had taught you that. Itâs quieter, softened at the edges and maybe it's placebo, maybe it isnât, but the air feels fresher and time seems to slow. Streetlamps cast warm pools of light along the pathways, the winter air crisp enough to bite at your cheeks. Your breath fogs slightly as you walk, footsteps echoing in companionable rhythm.
For once, Gojo isnât talking.
He makes the occasional comment, something about how dead campus feels after dark, how he hates early morning practices, how someone keeps taking his chocolate milk from the fridge, but for some reason you donât find it so tolerable. Maybe itâs the way heâs saying it, slower and calm, nothing like before.
You steal a glance at him.
His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders relaxed, expression softer than youâre used to seeing. Without the performative grin and constant chatter he looks less like the campus celebrity Everyone knows and more like heâs just some guy. Albeit, very attractive but you digress.Â
âYou didnât have to walk me,â you say into the silence that he hadnât immediately rushed to fill after his last anecdote.
âI know.â
âThen why are you?â
He shrugs. âJust felt weird not to. Besides, itâs late out and your dorm is half a century away. I need you alive to fix my grades, remember?â
You give him a faint chuckle and look forward again.
A few more steps pass in silence, broken only by the shuffle of feet.
âHey,â he says suddenly.
You look up, watching the light scatter over his side profile.
âThanks.â
âFor what?â
âFor today.â He kicks at a pebble on the path, watching as it skitters ahead. âFor not giving up on me after the first five minutes.â
You huff softly. âI said I'd help. And Y/N never goes back on her promises.â
He looks over at you and you both share a smile before his expression turns thoughtful. âYeah, but people say stuff all the time.â
You study him. âDo they?â
He hums and doesnât elaborate.
The dorm building comes into view ahead, lights glowing warmly through the windows. There's still a couple students drifting in and out, bundled in hoodies and coats and wearing slides, soft laughter spilling into the night.
You slow, suddenly aware that the walk is almost over. You turn to him so you can look at each other.
âYou know, youâre not as hopeless as you think,â you say quietly. âI think youâve just never pushed yourself to seriously try.â
He snorts. âThanks, real inspirational.â
âIâm serious,â you protest but the corners of your lips quirk up.
He looks at you then, properly looks, eyes searching your face with a small frown. When he canât find whatever heâs looking for, his brows relax.
âYou really think I can pass?â
âYes.â
Something in his shoulders loosens, tension easing away.
âOkay,â he breathes out. âThen, my grades are in your hands, teacher.â
You make a face. âI think I prefer sweets.â
He laughs and you turn to walk up to the entrance. The automatic doors remain stubbornly closed until you step into the sensorâs range, humming softly as they slide open. Warm air spills out, smelling faintly of old carpet and air freshener.
For some reason your feet slow.
âHey, Y/N.â
You turn, looking at him as he stands just outside the warm lobby light, hands in his pocket, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold.
âYeah?â
He hesitates.
âSee you tomorrow."
You bite your lip and nod, repeating his words softly. Then, before you can do something stupid, you turn and walk into the building. The doors close with a soft thud, sealing you inside.
Through the glass, you watch him turn and head down the path, white hair catching the glow of the streetlights. And of course, he doesnât look back.
Your reflection stares back at you instead, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes a little too bright, heart still beating faster than it should.
Tomorrow, apparently, youâre going on a date, practice or not.
For some reason, Geto pops up in your mind and you tighten your hold on your tote bag, making your way up the stairs. The soft curve of his smile earlier this morning, the way he had said your name like it belonged in his mouth, or maybe that was just wistful thinking. But the warmth in his eyes that had nearly short-circuited your brain was most definitely real and you cling to the image.
Right, this is for him.
Your phone buzzes a little after you settle into bed that night, making you jolt. you roll onto your side and reach for your phone, pulling it free from your charger as you read through your notifications.
gojo: i made it back safe in case you were wondering ><
You get comfortable, tucking your doona under your chin as you type back, your phone the only light source in your dark room.
you: trust i wasnât worried but thanks ig
gojo: who said anything about being worried?
also donât flake on me tomorrow
iâm taking this mentorship very seriously so u better asw you: i wonât flake ik iâm already asking sm of u
gojo: oh u know do u?
so ure going to pay for our date tmrw?
you: itâs not a date
gojo: sure it isnât
you: itâs just practice
gojo: i didnât say it wasnât
but if you admitted it was a real date iâd pay yk
you: please
like iâd actually want you to pay for my coffee
not a date, not real, donât need u to pay for my drinks
gojo: ure a hard girl to please
you: if its from someone like you, its gonna be harder than just hard
try impossible
gojo: harder than hard?
you: ?
gojo: something feels wrong about that sentence for some reason
anyway
is the campus close for you or should we meet up in the city
you: the campus works for me
gojo: ure not just saying that to avoid the date allegations are you
you: no way
gojo: sure sweets i believe u
donât wear anything boring
first impressions matter yk
you: oh my god stop pushing the date allegations
its just practice !!!!
gojo: okay and you can practice dressing up for me
for suguru
like for practice
you: ?
i know what u meant
but sure
as long as u do too theres no way im embarrassing myself by showing up overdressed if u show up in sweats and a hoodie
gojo: wouldnât dream of it
see u saturday sweets
You stare at the nickname longer than you should.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before moving.
you: goodnight gojo
The reply bubble appears then disappears before appearing again. Nothing comes of it as it disappears one more time and stays gone.
You swipe off the app and place your phone back on your bedside table, ignoring the pleasant buzz running through you.Â
You show up early like a super fan.
Youâve been sitting at the little corner table situated at the back of your favourite campus cafe for the past ten minutes now, stirring your drink just to look busy. The cafe hums around you with soft chatter, clinking spoons against teacups and ceramic against ceramic, a mellow playlist faintly playing in the background, but your nerves drown most of it out.
Youâve already gone through three mental checklists as you sit there, waiting. Your fingers curl around your empty cup, feeling the beads of water drip down your fingers and you really hope you wonât need to make an awkward break for the bathroom anytime soon considering he should be here about now.
You tell yourself youâre not nervous but you catch yourself glancing at the door every other second, heart jumping each time it swings open.
The bell chimes again and you look up with a start, eyes immediately locking onto Gojo as he saunters in, lifting his sunglasses so they rest on his head. Heâs dressed casually, a white and blue jersey over a pair of blue baggy jeans, but his good looks mold the outfit into something appropriate for a date.
Gojo spots you at his first look around and grins, sliding into the seat across.
âMorning,â he greets, a wide smile on his face. His eyes flicker down once at your empty cup. âDid you wait long?â
âNo, not at all!â You remember who youâre talking to and relax a little. âActually, I got here fifteen minutes early. I guess I got a little anxious.â
âWell, you donât need to be. You look nice,â he says, tone light. His eyes look you over once to make his words comprehensible and then one more time purely for the love of the game. âTrying to impress me?â
You scoff, trying to recover. âYou told me to dress nice.â
âCâmon, sweets. Play along. Weâre on a date, you know. Your next lines should be something like,â he suddenly tucks his elbow in, body curving to the side slightly, hand half closed and held delicately over his lips and chin. His eyelashes flutter over his cheek as he looks down and to the side, a faux shyness that makes you want to laugh. ââThank you, you look good tooâ.â
You let yourself laugh, shoulders relaxing. âWhat the fuck?â
âYou give it a try. It always works in anime.â
âNo way in hell,â you continue, laughing fading into occasional giggles as his gesture replays in your mind. âBesides, this is a practice date. I'll save that technique for the real deal, thank you very much.â
âAnd for practice, weâre going to pretend this is a real date.â He leans back into his seat, legs stretching out and bracketing yours under the table. His feet bump against yours lightly. âLet's give it another try. Did I make you wait long?â
You stir the straw inside your drink, pretending to be nonchalant, though your fingers twitch slightly against the glass. âNot long⌠I guess.â You try a mysterious act, hearing that guys like a woman with secrets. At least, thatâs what Shoko told you though a small part of you wonders if you should be taking âhow to seduce a guy 101â from a lesbian.
ââI guessâ?â he echoes, tilting his head. âThatâs the best you can do? Youâre supposed to be charming me, remember? At least try to make it look like I'm not coercing you here.â
âI donât care if I charm you or not,â you say quickly, cheeks warming. âIâm here to learn and youâre here to teach me.â
He laughs, a low, easy sound that makes your chest tighten. âYou know, I'm not exactly made of time. Do you know how many girls and guys would kill to be in your position right now?â
You resist the urge to roll your eyes though donât stop yourself from making your voice dry. âOh sure, letâs spend this entire date talking about all the competition I have.â
âWe would need at least four more dates to cover it all.â
âI didnât know getting into a relationship with you would be such an investment.â You snort. âIf all five of our dates are just going to be you listing my competition, I'd rather stand you up now and save myself the time. And the money.â
âI did offer to pay for your drinks.â He grins at the back and forth, the sides of his shoes bumping into your ankles lightly. âThatâs it, youâre getting into it.â
âFor practice.â
âSure, sweets. Practice. Speaking of,â he says, leaning forward just enough that the sunlight catches his hair. âYou should call me Satoru. Weâre on a date, remember? I canât tell if youâre on a date with me or my dad if you call me Gojo.â
You grimace. âCalling you by your first name makes it too real.â
âIt is real. Thatâs what you should tell yourself to get into this.â He juts out his lower lip, drawing his eyebrows inward. âCome on, sweets, let me hear you say my name.â
âWhen you say it like that, it makes me want to throw a drink in your face.â
âJust once, Y/N.â
You huff and roll your eyes. âSatoru.â
âOh my god, a girl called me by my first name!â he squeals.
You almost stand to get out of here if it means preventing people from associating you with him. He grabs your hand and drags you back down into your seat before you can properly escape, much to your dismay. âRelax, Iâm just playing.â
âAre you here to mess around or help me?â
âWell, you need to tell me so I can help you. What do you even know about him?â
âAbout Geto?â
âYeah, unless thereâs someone else you want to know more about?â He grins, easy and confident.
You ignore his comment. âWell, I know he⌠likes books. music. He's kind⌠thoughtful. Plays the guitar. Ah, specifically electric."
âAre you listing off whatâs on his dating profile right now?â
âShut up,â you snap, but it comes out weaker than intended.
âHe isnât actively on any dating app right now, just for your information.â
âAnd how would you know this? What are you doing on there?â
âIâm not on hinge, unfortunate for the female population, I know. We just tell each other everything,â he says, leaning back, one elbow resting on the armrest of his chair as he studies you from across the table. âIâm helping you, you know? First rule, donât just parrot his interests. Though maybe I don't have to worry about that since youâre clearly struggling to even remember them.â
âI wasnât going to parrot him.â
âI know you were,â he interrupts, wagging a finger. âLast time I checked, liking exactly what he likes does not make you compatible. It makes you predictable. And desperate.â
âOkay, harsh.â
âIt's all tough love, sweets.â
You fold your arms, slumping back in your seat, letting gravity do half the work of your sulk. âFine then, oh wise love guru. What should i say instead? Like, letâs say he asks me what I'm into and my mind goes blank like last time. What then?â
âYou're asking like itâs that difficult. Just be honest, tell him what you like regardless if it matches his interests. Do you want to be a groupie or be something more than a friend?â
âI want to be someone he likes.â
âSo you're going to play the role of Suguruâs perfect girlfriend? And what after that, genius? Are you just going to pretend forever?â
Gojo looks over to the front counter and smiles at some waitresses standing there already looking in his direction. He turns back as they start giggling and playfully arguing over who should come over to take his order.
âDonât force yourself to perform for him or curate yourself to be digestible. If the two of you are meant to be then he should want you.â
You look away, picking at nothing on your glass. âThat's easy for you to say.â
âIt's actually incredibly tiring being this emotionally intelligent all the time,â he says, face neutral.
You snort despite yourself and he looks satisfied.
âAnd what if I tell him and he doesnât like it?â
Gojo shrugs, slow and deliberate. âThen heâs not for you.â
You frown. âWow, youâre terrible at pep talks.â
One of the waitresses finally makes it to your table, an eager smile on her face and a determined look in her eyes. Behind her, you catch the rest of the staff shooting encouraging looks. She clutches her notepad a little too tightly, taking in a deep breath before talking. âHello, are you, um, both ready to order?â
âYeah,â Gojo says easily, flashing her a smile. âIâll just grab a hazelnut toffee latte with soy milk.â
The woman quickly scribbles his order down. âOf course! One hazelnut toffee latte with soy milk.â
âAnd whatever she wants,â he adds, nodding toward you.
You blink, caught off guard. âOh, I already ordered earlier. I'm fine for now, thanks.â
The waitress spares you a glance, eyes flickering briefly over you before returning to Gojo like a magnet snapping back into place. âNot a problem. Is there anything else I can get you started with today?â
âWe're good, thank you.â
Her face falls. She nods, but lingers a moment too long, clearly hoping for something, another question, a joke, anything to keep the interaction going.
Gojoâs grin grows just a little bit wider as he obliges.
âBusy today?â He asks casually, tone warm and interested.
Her face lights up and she quickly steps forward again. âA little! It's usually busy in the mornings what with the morning rush and all. Honestly, itâs like nonstop until at least 1pm.â
âThatâs brutal,â he sympathises, leaning back in his chair, posture loose and open. âAt least youâve got good coffee to survive on.â
She laughs, a bright and breathy sound that makes it clear sheâs not just laughing at the coffee comment alone. âPerks of the job, I suppose. Do you come here often?â
Gojo tilts his head as if the question deserved genuine thought and wasnât just a throwaway pick up line.
âNot as often as I should,â he decides easily. âBut I might start if the service is this friendly.â
Her smile widens, pink creeping into her cheeks. âWe try our best.â
âI was talking about you, sweetheart.â
Youâve been listening and watching with apt attention, taking mental notes on the right time to smile, when to tilt your head just so, when to tuck your hair behind your ears and when to employ the double tuck, when his last words make you frown.
You clear your throat, eyes fluttering away when both Gojo and waitress look over at you.
âWell,â the waitress starts suddenly, glancing down at her notepad like she needs to remind herself sheâs on the clock, "I'll bring your drink out as soon as itâs ready.â
âLooking forward to it,â Gojo replies, though he hasnât looked away from you yet.
She lingers half a beat longer, then turns and walks away, shoulders a little straighter than before.
âDone staring?â He teases.
âI was not staring. Don't you have the tact to not flirt with someone else when youâre on a date?â
âOh, so now itâs a date? Only when itâs convenient for you, huh?â
You reach over for a napkin and crumble it up to throw it at him. It barely makes it halfway across the table before it starts fluttering down.
âItâs only manners,â you insist, cheeks warm. âI didn't know what to do when the two of you were talking.â
He snorts. âYou couldâve joined the conversation.â
âAnd said what? "Hello, I'm also present and this jerkâs date for the day?â
âHey, I like the sound of that,â he muses.
Your next crumpled up napkin doesnât get any further than its predecessor. You glare at him, something about that conversation rubbing you the wrong way, echoing unpleasantly in your head in a way that makes you want to peel your skin off.
You clear your throat again.
âYou're here to teach me like I taught you statistics, right? Even though one is clearly harder than the other.â
âRight. Getting you to date ready is much more difficult.â
You ignore him to save the life of one napkin. âSo, how do I do that? Flirt so effortlessly and not make it cringe?â
âYou want to use what I just said with the waitress on Suguru?â He actually laughs out loud. âDo not, heâs going to see right through you. You should have met his last ex. The two of them were absolutely disgusting andâ oh wait, should I not talk about that?â
âYeah, letâs not.â
He hums and changes the subject. âAnyway, just let it happen. Be natural. You talk to me just fine.â
âYeah, but youâre you. frivolous, class clown, never takes anything seriously, probably never commits to anything,â you start listing, counting them on your fingers.
âI feel like the first thing and the last thing mean the same thing. Put one finger down.â
You refuse, still holding up four fingers. âSleeps on a mattress on the ground.â
âSo does half of Sig Kap. But relax, I get it. So you suck at flirting. Shouldnât you be happy I gave you a live demonstration of how itâs done?â
That gets you frowning again.
âDo you always call everyone something?â
âWhat does that even mean?â
âYou called her sweetheart.â
âI don't know her name. I wasn't about to call her âwomanâ, that sounds very sexist and I'm a feminist at heart. Thoughts on banning periods?â
âShe has a name tag.â
âI donât look at that area on a woman on the first date,â he pledges.
You continue without thinking.âHow is anyone supposed to know when you actually mean it when you give everyone similar nicknames?â
He goes quiet, eyes narrowing slightly. âWhat?â
Before you can elaborate, or maybe divert and make him look away so you can dig yourself out of the hole you just created, the waitress returns with his drink. She leans over him, placing it down carefully.
âHere you go!â
âThanks,â he says, polite but no longer quite as engaged. In fact, he hasnât looked away from you, still giving you that same disbelieving look.
You fiddle with your own drink. Maybe you should have ordered something else if it meant spicing up the number of objects you have in your possession to pass awkward silence with.
The waitress lingers a moment before hesitantly leaving when itâs clear thereâs no encore performance.
âI just meant itâs confusing for anyone, hypothetically,â you say in a rush, beating him. âAnyway! Flirting techniques, letâs talk about them!â
He watches you for a moment longer before dropping his head and ruffling his hair. You grimace, eyeing how close his head is to his open drink. When he looks back up, whatever conflict on his face has disappeared.
âFine, okay. Let's talk. First of all, itâs important where the date takes place. There's unspoken etiquette for every typical date location.â
âLike how you go on a coffee date, you shouldnât flirt with the waitress.â
Gojo cracks a grin. âYouâre getting it. Look, Suguru is kind of an artsy guy. He'd probably take you to an art museum or like a jazz bar for your first date.â
You narrow your eyes. âHow do you know that?â
âI told you, he tells me everything. Focus.â He dismisses your look. âHeâs kind of an enjoy-the-moment kind of guy. Probably wonât talk too much while youâre both admiring something together and saves all the talking until after when he leads you to some underground totally underrated dinner spot.â
You wince. âShit. I kind of like making little jokes in the moment.â
He snaps his fingers, face brightening. âRight? Like when youâre watching a movie in the cinemas!â
âOkay, that is a bit tricky. It depends.â
âDon't Genshin theorycraft me.â
âYou're lucky I got that reference.â
Gojo shrugs. âWell, Suguru enjoys just existing with his special someone. Don't get me wrong, he definitely talks when you get him started but I think heâs kinda cool for being able to sit in silence with someone.â
You chew the inside of your cheek. âIâm kind of bad with silences. I end up embarrassing myself just to fill them. Do you think itâs fixable? Should I just not talk?â
âWoah, slow down. Itâs fine, he has enough social awareness to fill in the gaps if youâre uncomfortable. But iâm just telling you what he likes,â he studies you. âHe doesnât like petnames, by the way.â
Heat creeps up your neck. âThatâs fine, itâs not a dealbreaker,â you mumble.
âI'm just saying. He's a real fan of using your first name. When you two get on that basis, of course.â
âAnything else, Geto expert?â
Gojo hums, taking a long sip of his latte, eyes tracking up. âHe likes meaningful stuff like art with a story behind it, long conversations about philosophy. Like yeah he still likes doing things just for fun but thereâs a difference between like and love.â
You wince. âBut love is meant to be silly, meaningless stuff. Like sending pictures of dogs cuddling because it reminded you of us or whether youâd still love each other if you turned into worms. Like taking the longer way back home just to spend more time together. Or, I don't know, building blanket forts as adults.â
Gojoâs mouth twitches.
You stop, suddenly aware you sound like youâve been storing these thoughts and theyâve suddenly all gotten loose.
âStuff that doesnât matter,â you finish weakly.
He rests his chin on his palm. âLike going to the arcade and getting plushies for each other at the claw machines?â
You laugh, shoulders relaxing. âI'd obviously do better. You look like you have no hand eye coordination.â
âDid you forget I literally play ice hockey?â
âRight, your role as the benchwarmer?â
âMy ass has never once graced those benches.â
âI don't know, I swear I remember seeing you on the sidelines.â
âYouâve come to watch me play before?â He grins, cheek slightly smushed from his position.
âBecause Shoko went.â
He juts his lower lip out. âHarsh.â
There's a few seconds of silence as the conversation replays and you feel a sudden rush of embarrassment. You look up to see if he clocked your earlier slip up but he only tilts his head more into his hand.
âWhat?â
âNothing.â You clear your throat and look down at your drink. It's left behind a ring of water around its base. âHow are you two best friends when youâre so different?â
âBecause he slows me down,â Gojo says like itâs simple. âAnd I drag him out of his head. But he doesnât need another person to do that for him so donât even think of taking my spot.â
You both share a laugh and it lingers a little longer than the joke deserves, warm and easy, until it naturally tapers off into something softer.
âWhy do you even like him?â He suddenly asks, voice soft against the murmur of the cafe.
You slowly slide your gaze out the window as if reliving the moment. You can almost feel the rain on your skin, the warmth of a hoodie not your own, and the residual laughter at the back of your throat that makes you smile.
âLast semester when it was pouring rain, he saw me waiting outside a building without an umbrella and we ended up running through the storm. Itâs stupid but it was fun and meaningless and definitely what I needed after my finals.â
Your words make him frown, finger tracing a random shape on the wet surface of his glass absentmindedly. âThat doesnât sound like him.â
âMaybe you donât know him as well as you thought?â You offer.
âDonât be ridiculous, heâs my other half.â
âAgain, should I be concerned right now?â
âAre you homophobic?â
âNo?â
âThen youâre fine.â
âWaitâŚâ
Gojo glances down at his phone and sighs. âIt's getting late, sweets. I'd love to stay longer but I promised the boys weâd go do this carwashing event.â
He pauses and looks up.
âDid you want to come?â he quickly adds on, âYou donât have to come alone, you could bring Shoko along or something.â
You wrinkle your nose. âNo thanks. You can imagine that sheâs not keen on seeing a bunch of shirtless boys.â
He grins. âSuit yourself. I'll walk you out. It's the least I can do on this date.â
You roll your eyes but stand and follow him out anyway, ducking under his arm as he holds the door open for you. Stepping out, youâre almost blinded by the bright sun and you have to cover your eyes to look up, squinting even with the shade provided by your palm.
He moves to stand in front of you. âWell, I'll see you around.â
Next tutoring session,â you remind him, letting your arm drop to your side. "Don't forget to watch the online lectures before then. And remember to do the weekly quizzes this time. Andââ
He reaches over to ruffle your hair fiercely, laughing when your words turn into a startled squeak.
âYes, yes, I got it,â
He lets you go and watches with a toothy grin as you start fixing your hair, glaring up at him and his audacity to smirk. His face quickly softens.
âSorry I canât walk you back to your dorms. I'm already running kind of late.â
âDon't worry about it,â you say when you feel like you look presentable enough. âUm, get there safe?â
âI will,â he starts stepping back. âText me if you need anything.â
âOkay, make sure toââ
âRelax, sweets, I got it,â He says with a chuckle and a wave, before he turns and starts walking off in your opposite direction.
You watch him go for a little longer before heading back to your dorm.You stare up at your ceiling. your ceiling stares back down at you. You've been staring at your popcorn ceiling for so long that youâve begun to discern shapes and different shades of what you had previously considered to be beige, plain and simple, but was now warping into the image of Gojo.
Something he had done yesterday clung to you even hours after the date. The ease in which he allowed the waitressâ fingers to brush his as he handed her the menus, the way he easily held onto your hand at the party, the lack of concern as he stood close to you on the walk back. You lift up your hands and slowly interlace your fingers. It's comfortable, familiar. until you start wondering one hand as someone else's.
Before you can doubt yourself, you pull yourself up and gather your phone and keys, heading to the door without another thought. On the way through the dorms, you send a quick text.
you: u free? im coming over
You stand outside Gojoâs door and knock. There's a muffled, incoherent reply before the door is pulled open, revealing Gojo. His hair is slightly damp with stubborn strands clinging to his forehead and heâs brushing his teeth. He's not wearing a shirt.
You stare at his chest.
âOne second,â he says around the foam in his mouth. He holds the door open a little wider and ushers you in, letting the door fall to a gentle click behind you. âSit on the couch.â
Wordlessly, you do, watching his bare back as he heads into his bathroom. The sound of water muffles your racing thoughts until he reappears, still shirtless but at least heâs not brushing his teeth anymore.
âHey,â he says, irritatingly casual. âI saw your text. You didnât even wait to see if I was free or not. For the record I am but imagine I wasn't. That would have been an awkward situation and between you and her, I would have picked her.â
You blink away your surprise and look up at him. âHer?â
âItâs a Friday night, Y/N. Youâre lucky I don't have someone over.â
You frown a little at that and he continues, heading to his kitchenette to open his fridge, pulling out two beers. He hands you one, pushing it towards you once more when you donât immediately take up his offer.
âSo, what are you doing here?â
âAre you going to put on a shirt?â
He blinks before a wide grin splits across his face. âI was wondering what you were looking at so deep in thought. I didn't want to assume again after you made a fool of me at the party but I guess you do have working eyes after all. Do you want me to put on a shirt?â
You blush, finally looking away. âObviously.â
He chuckles and places his beer down on the coffee table before going on a hunt to find a clean shirt. âBut from the way you were eyeing me it really wasnât that obvious. Besides, youâre telling me to put on a shirt in my own home?â
âIt's common sense when you have a guest over.â
His voice carries over from his room. âYouâre not really a guest, more like a pest. A guest implies I invited you over, no?â
âBut yesterday you said I could come to you for anything.â
âRight. What was I thinking?â Gojo comes back out and flops next to you, the couch dipping under his sudden weight. He takes the beer from your hands and cracks it open before handing it back and doing the same to his. âSo, you finally going to tell me whatâs up or are you just here to leech off my dwindling beer supply?â
âI donât even drink,â you mumble, watching as the water beads down your fingers.
âNo, but I do have some manners for my guest.â
âYou just saidâŚâ you trail off, recognising that youâll only go round and round in circles if you keep up this conversation. you place the beer on the floor and turn to him. âForget it. I'm here because I need your help.â
âFigures.â He holds the beer to his lips and takes a deep swig. âWhat can I do for you today?â
You bite your lip before turning to him. âCan I kiss you?â
Gojo chokes, pulling the beer from his lips with a hack, liquid spitting out onto his no longer clean shirt and sweatpants. He finally manages to get his mouthful of beer down, but he only coughs and hits at his chest. Hesitantly, you reach over and pat his back lightly.
He shrugs your touch away, looking at you in disbelief. âWhat did you just say?â
âI was wondering if youâd let me kiss you?â
âJust because youâre saying it politer now doesnât take away how crazy you sound.â He stares at you incredulously. âLook, I know we went on a date yesterday but I thought you of all people knew it was a practice date. I'm sorry but I don't feel the same way. Gojo Satoru doesnât do relationships.â
You groan, rolling your eyes. âI didnât suddenly develop a crush on you, Gojo.â
âSatoru,â he corrects you despite his shock.
âSatoru,â you emphasise. âI donât like you.â
âCould have fooled me.â
âYesterday just got me thinking. Youâre so natural with touching and stuff and I realised that I have literally no experience whatsoever. I know Geto isnât the type of person to care about whether I'm a virgin or not but I care. I care because I know I'll freeze up if we ever get to that part.â
He stares at you. âWhen i asked you a few days ago about whether or not you wanted to sleep with him, you told me to shut up.â
âThat was a few days ago.â You shuffle closer to him on the couch and watch as his eyes drop to your thighs inching closer, then back up, something like fear on his face. âI know this is a big favour but I thought since youâve kissed so many girls before and theyâve never meant anything that you might be okay with this? I mean you thought we were going to kiss that time at the party. So is this really that crazy to ask?â
âYes,â he says immediately. âIt is. because you like Suguru and I'm his best friend.â
âBut this is practice.â
âYou canât just echo what I've said in the past.â He runs a hand through his hair, looking off in the distance before coming back to you. âSuguru isnât the type of person to rush to things like that. You'd be in good hands.â
âI know but this is for me. So I know what to expect.â
His face is contorted in a way youâve never seen before. You decide to give another push.
âJust think of me as one of your hookups.â
He exhales softly, eyes staring into yours. âAre you sure? Have you even thought this through?â
âYes, I have,â you lie. âI mean, there arenât any cons. I'll lose my first kiss, get experience, and itâs all under practice anyway so it wonât mean anything. And you get a hookup for the night. It's a win win!â
His face only seems to pale more at your words. âYou havenât had your first kiss yet? Fuck, thatâs a lot of pressure. And I feel like you have the wrong idea about what a hookup entails.â
You shrug. âKissing? Making out?â
âSex.â
You pause. âWell, we wonât go that far. Maybe.â
âMaybe?â He exclaims and you quickly deflect because heâs looking more and more shocked.
âWe can start with kissing.â You shift closer, your thigh pressing against his. âCome on, it doesnât have to mean anything.â
Gojo looks at you, really looks at you, from the encouraging look in your eyes to the determined line of your lips. He huffs, running another hand through his hair at the absurd change to his Friday night plans. Sure, kissing someone wasnât a big deal for him, not when heâs tasted the lips of many before, but there was something different about taking someoneâs first kiss.
Finally, he sighs, long and hard. âJust a kiss.â
You beam, face lighting up. âOf course!â
He hesitates, cursing under his breath something long but incoherent, before gently reaching out to tilt your chin up. âTell me if you change your mind. Just shove me away, okay?â
You nod enthusiastically. âWhat do I have to do?â
âJust let me take the lead for now. And if you feel confident enough to kiss back, go for it.â Again, Gojo mumbles something under his breath, the absurdity of the situation still not lost to him. He leans forward as if to seal the deal before pausing, moving his hand up to caress your cheek tenderly.
Your breath hitches, eyes wide as you curse your own touch-starved form.
âYou okay?â He asks, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. âChanged your mind?â
You shake your head slightly.
Gojo huffs and you feel the puff of air against your lips.
When his lips finally press against yours, fitting against yours in a way youâve only ever seen in movies, you feel⌠nothing. You squeeze your eyes tighter, trying to dig through the sensations and pick out the one thatâs meant to set off fireworks and melt your stomach into goo. Instead, it just feels like thereâs someoneâs lips touching yours.
Sensing your discomfort, Gojo pulls back, eyes fluttering open to meet your unsure ones. His nose scrunches up a little as he studies your expression.
âHey,â he starts, voice low. âYou're hurting my ego.â
You lick your lips, trying to return your lips to their usual sensation. âIt just wasnât what I was expecting.â
âWhat were you expecting?â
âButterflies?â
He chuckles, hand still caressing your cheek. âYou're kissing me without any feeling. Itâs not my fault youâre as stiff as a board. Relax. Imagine Suguru or something.â
Now itâs your turn to make a face. "Wouldn't that hurt your ego more?â
âJust relax,â he repeats and you make the conscious effort to focus on the way heâs stroking your face soothingly. âThatâs it. Good girl.â
âDon't call me that, I cringed.â
He laughs, leaning in. âAbandon the part of you that cringes not the part of you that is cringe.â
With that, he brushes his lips against your again, letting you feel the slow movement and determine the pace.
Itâs not exactly rocket science, this kissing business, and you start to mimic the motion of parting your lips against his. It takes a few tries for him to hum in approval and deepen the kiss, his free hand sliding up to cup your neck and gently pull you closer to him. You let out a soft squeak and quickly pick up from the momentary break in rhythm on your end.
When his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, you blanch and pull back.
âOkay,â he starts. âThat really hurt my feelings.â
âWhat was that?â You cover your mouth with your hands, the slimy sensation replaying in your mind.
âThat was my tongue.â
âWhy didnât it feel good?â
He rolls his eyes at your complaint and slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer until youâre half on his lap. âBecause youâre thinking too hard.â
âI was not thinking at all, actually,â you say, scandalised. âI didn't know I was going to be ambushed.â
âOkay, my bad, I should have given you a heads up.â He pauses and announces solemnly, "I'm going to start using my tongue.â
You make a face and he huffs out a laugh, forehead dropping briefly against yours. Up close like this, you can feel the vibration of it in his chest, the way his grip tightens just a little like he doesnât want you getting any bright ideas about you escaping.
âYou're doing fine,â he says more softly, thumb brushing slow circles at your waist.
You think briefly that this must be the allure to him that has girls fawning for his attention. You're not immune either, and you sub consciously melt under his touch, relaxing again. Once youâve done it once, given into his temptation, itâs easy to fall back again.
âFine doesnât seem like outstanding status,â you mumble, trying to maintain some resistance.
âFor your first time, it wasnât so bad.â His nose nudges yours, playfully and coaxing and youâre in his web again. âCâmere.â
Gojo doesnât pull you this time. Instead, he just waits, one arm warm and steady around your hips, hand stroking your hair as he waits for you to come to him. It's a sign of consideration that has you feeling jittery and warm, though thereâs a lazy smirk on his lips that suggests he has other ulterior motives that makes it as infuriating as it is attractive.
Your gaze flicks to his mouth then back to his eyes. His lashes lower just slightly, watching you watch him, and something in your stomach flips over completely. Probably your common sense.
âJust⌠slower,â you mumble.
âYeah,â he says quietly. âSlower.â
He still doesnât move first which is deeply unfair, because now you have to be the brave one.
You lean in. It's clumsy at first, more of a gentle bump of noses and a too-soft press of lips than anything smooth or cinematic like he had kissed you earlier. You almost pull back in embarrassment, ready to admit that maybe he was a better kisser than you had given him credit for if itâll mean this pathetic peck of yours can end and he can make it good again, when his hand tightens on your hip and he takes over.
His mouth settles properly over yours, angle shifting until the awkwardness disappears, until it stops being babyâs first kiss and starts becoming a warm, steady pressure that has your toes curling. Yhe faint brush of his breath against your cheek, the subtle tilt of his head that fits your mouth together and when he nips at your bottom lip, a soft startled sound escapes before you can stop it.
He swallows it down without hesitation.
His hand tightens reflexively and slides down, cupping your ass as he leans back and guides you onto him, fingers pressing into the fabric of your clothes to keep you there, not that you had any plans of moving. One moment your body is twisted awkwardly to meet him and the next youâre seated full on his lap, his warmth solid beneath you.
His breath fans across your cheek in uneven bursts, warm and damp, and the faint scrape of his teeth lingers as a tingling awareness.
You realise, distantly, that youâre no longer stiff.
Your hands, which had been braced awkwardly against his shoulders, loosen without permission. One slides up into his hair as you lean into him, damp strands cool at the ends, warm near the scalp, and the sensation grounds you in a way nothing else does. His mouth opens at the sensation and when his tongue sweeps along your lower lip again, you donât pull away. It isnât slimy or invasive like last time, in fact you welcome it, mimicking his openness and the kiss deepens.
Your breath mingles, movements syncing up and under the guidance of his lips and tongue, you start getting bolder.
You shift closer, just a fraction, your head moving up and face tilting down to angle yourself deeper when a low sound slips out of him.
Your eyes fly open and you pull away. âWas thatââ
âNope,â he says immediately, eyes darker than when you last checked. He's panting beneath your palms, a slightly warm tint to his face as he stares at you.
You swallow. âYou justââ
âI didnât,â he insists, far too quickly.
When heâs so adamant like that, itâs a little hard to say anything more. Besides, while itâs almost fun to poke the bear, the memory of his mouth on yours has you thinking about something else entirely.
You donât move from his lap and he doesnât push you off.
âThink youâre getting it?â he asks, watching you with something unreadable lurking in his eyes.
You donât hesitate. âNo.â
You stare at each other, catching a much needed breath.
âAlright,â he says, voice rough. âOne more. and then we have to stop.â
You lean in and he lets out a soft sigh like a man doomed before meeting you halfway.
Gojo doesnât start slow this time, maybe because he knows if he does, he wonât be able to control himself.
His hand slides more firmly to the back of your neck, guiding you towards him with a kind of impatience, mouth finding yours with confidence, your chest tightening at the gesture. Your fingers clutch at his shirt instinctively and he makes a low noise at the back of his throat, deepening the kiss until you slide your fingers up and into his hair.
A low exhale slips through his nose, almost shaky and he tilts his head in response to your faint tugs.
âThatâs it,â he murmurs against your lips.
Emboldened, you tilt your head and slide your tongue into his mouth to taste him. He tastes like beer and minty and something addictive that has you repeating the movement over and over. When he reciprocates, your stomach swoops instead of recoiling.
You shift, suddenly desperate to get closer and settle over his bulge.
Wow.
You both jerk away from each other quickly, your hands leaving his hair and his arm retracting from your waist. The break feels violent in its suddenness, like surfacing too fast in deep water.
Cold air rushes between you where there had only been warmth seconds ago. Your lips tingle, oversensitive, parted as you drag in a shaky breath. Gojoâs chest rises and falls sharply, eyes wide in a way youâve never seen before, pupils blow dark. For once, there is no smirk, no teasing glint, just a raw, stunned awareness, like heâs trying to process several things at once and failing at all of them.
You become acutely aware of exactly where youâre sitting.
Heat floods your face and to the tips of your ears. you scramble backward, knees slipping against the couch cushions, putting space between your bodies even as the loss of his warmth makes your skin prickle.
âOh my god,â you breathe, horrified. âI didnâtâI mean, I wasn't trying toââ
âDonât,â he groans, slumping back, covering his flushed face with his arm. His other hand reaches down to adjust himself though he doesnât seem to have any ideas of covering himself so you watch unabashedly. âJust donât say anything for a second.â
You clamp your mouth shut obediently.
The room feels too small, too quiet, every little sound like the rustle of fabric or the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchenette, even your own uneven breathing, suddenly feels magnified.
Eventually, Gojo pulls himself up, fixing dark eyes on your figure.
âIâm sorry.â You rush to say, though youâre not sure what youâre apologising for.
âItâs fine, itâs not your fault. It wasn't because of you, I guess I've just been pent up,â he runs his hand through his hair and you watch as he pauses, something passing over his face before he abruptly pulls his hand away. âAnyway, itâs normal.â
You nod too fast. âRight, yes. Totally fine. Super normal, nothing weird happened.â
âRight,â he says. âNothing weird.â
Your shoulders sag a little, tension leaking out now that thatâs been cleared up. The adrenaline leaves behind a strange floaty sensation and you try, and fail, to push down the sudden desire to continue, to explore even further.
âWeâre definitely stopping the practice today,â he says, crushing your dreams.
You nod again, somewhat grateful that a decision has been made for you considering the conflict thoughts warring in your head. âOkay.â
He suddenly ruffles his hair all messy and stands up with an exaggerated groan that makes you jump. âOkay! That's over. You did good by the way. Youâre gonna be trouble when you actually start dating someone.â
You frown. âWhy?â
âIt's a compliment, sweets, learn to recognise them, yeah?â He starts walking over to his kitchenette. âWant an actual drink?â
Your brain is still somewhere back in that last kiss, struggling to catch up. âSure. Just water, right?â
He snorts. âIâm not a creep.â
When you lean back against the couch and close your eyes to recenter yourself, he steals a glance and lets out a long exhale. He closes his eyes for a moment like heâs deeply exhausted.
When he opens his eyes again and makes his way to you, his signature smirk is back.
If anyone saw how nervous you look about to text Gojo, they might think you had a crush on him. Which is absurd because you clearly have a crush on Geto.
Your thumb hovers over the send button, chewing the inside of your cheeks as you debate whether this is a good idea or not.
Itâs been a week since you first asked Gojo for advice and though his methods werenât orthodox nor was he incredible help, you still had to give him his merits. Talking to him was relaxing in a way, the constant back and forth familiar and even his judgement didnât seem to come from a bad place. The physical stuff was a whole other story and did not influence your thoughts on how you felt about him whatsoever.
In summary, Gojo has given you determination that you couldnât have achieved on your own.
Using this newfound confidence, you take a deep breath and finally hit send.
you: hey are you in class today?
Not even a full minute later, his reply buzzes.
gojo: yeah i am
stalking me, super fan?
you: god this is exactly why i hate texting u
gojo: :(
why whats up though
ur class doesnât finish until 2 right?
you: yeah how did u know that?
u sure ure not my super fan?
gojo: guilty!
i just know dont ask what u cant handle
so u gonna leave me in suspense or are u gonna tell me
you: well you have class with geto right
The inside of your cheeks starts getting a little tender as you continue to gnaw and bite at the flesh, anxiously waiting as Gojoâs typing bubbles appear and disappear.
gojo: yeah i do
you: can i come see you?
gojo: what
you: like ill come to your class but can you leave after so its just me and him
u were talking about creating these situations on saturday right
so like
wouldnt this be perfect?
gojo: god this conversation isnât good for my heart
you: ?
gojo: our class ends later than urs
you: thatâs fine i can wait !!
gojo: nah i dont feel like it
you: ?????
man what the hell you said youâd help me
gojo: and i did
on saturday
what if i want suguru all to myself today?
you: come on please???
gojo: what if i dont want to see u
you: well i wont be bothering u this time
i just need an excuse to see him
i think whatever magic u casted over me on sat worked im feeling like scarily confident
i want to talk to him before the feeling goes away
like i feel like i can really do it this time you know?
please satoru?
gojo: god u have no idea how evil u are
fine
ill get us to go to the library
you: THANK YOU@!!!!!!
gojo: u owe me
you: YES DEFINITELY
gojo: another date this friday then
you: OKAY!!!
wait what
Waiting at the library is agonising. you attempt to complete some smaller tasks for your courses that youâve left in lieu of thinking about, well, boys. But just like every time before, your thoughts stray and settle on him. His pretty effortless smiles, his soft laughter, that sparkling glint in his eyes when he looks at you and itâs like the world quietens just to listen too. his long fingers, the mole on his earlobe, his whiteâ
When your phone buzzes again an hour later, you jump up from your seat to find the location of the photo Gojo sent.
You slip into the fifth library floor as quietly as possible, scanning the endless rows of students for the familiar top of someoneâs head. It doesn't take long for your eyes to settle on him.
Gojo is impossible to miss, slouched low in a study booth, hood up and drooping over his hair and the bottom pulled up to cover his mouth. His arms are crossed over his chest as he stares at his laptop screen.
And of course, Geto sits across from him.
Taking in a deep breath, you slow your pace into something that might pass as a casual stroll as if you had randomly come upon them by chance and stop by their booth.
âOh, hi Satoru!â
He doesnât look up. âHey.â
Then, after a manual moment, you turn to Geto. âOh my god! Geto? Wow.â Your voice comes out pitched a little too loud. âWhat a coincidence!â
Geto looks up with a smile. âHey, Y/N. What are the chances we ran into each other?â
Gojo snorts and you donât miss how pointed it is. You take the chance to glare at the side of his face but he only sinks into his hoodie with a grumble. You continue to stare, even narrowing your eyes as if itâll sharpen your gaze and he finally lets out a loud groan, flipping the hood down to ruffle his hair and sit up.
âOh no,â he announces into the silence, loud enough to draw a few irritated glances, not that he cares. He checks his phone, staring at his empty notification list. âIt looks like my best friend accidentally locked himself out of his dorm.â
Geto pauses. âI'm your best friend.â
You purse your lips, watching as Gojo begins to slowly pack up his things. Granted, he only needed to close his laptop and shove it into his tote bag, without a case mind you. He refuses to look up despite your efforts to catch his gaze.
âSorry man, duty calls. I canât help that iâm such a good friend.â He stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder. When he passes by, his arm brushing against yours despite the empty space all around, he leans down to whisper, âGood luck.â
You donât have the time to decipher if itâs sincerity or sarcasm that you detect because he leaves, his lingering cologne the only sign that he was ever there.
You turn back to Geto, offering a small, awkward smile, wondering if heâs caught on.
âWhat was that about?â You laugh.
Geto chuckles softly. âSorry about him. You know how he can be sometimes.â
He looks up at you patiently.
âWell, an empty spot has opened up. Are you staying to study?â
You fight the urge to celebrate. You happily erase thoughts of Gojo from your mind, leaving the gruelling task of decoding his strange behaviour for another day. Gojoâs seat is still warm when you take it, pulling out your laptop just for the act. There was no way you were wasting this golden opportunity with actually studying, donât be silly.
âSo,â you begin, picking at the corner of your sleeve. âAny plans this weekend?â
âYou didnât hear? Satoru is having a game this weekend. Itâs just a preliminary but heâs been hyped for it. I'm sure heâd love it if you rocked up.â
You almost laugh out loud. âNo way. He'd hate that.â
Getoâs brows lift, amused. âWhy would he hate it?â
âBecause,â you say, gesturing vaguely. âWe're not really friends. More like we have a symbiotic relationship. If we didnât have that, I doubt weâd even talk to each other.â
âI don't think so,â Geto smiles at you but instead of giving you the butterflies, it leaves you feeling unsure. âBut you should come. Not by yourself, of course, I'm sure Shoko would come along.â
âIf she was going to go, sheâd just take Utahime.â You shift in your seat, throwing the idea around in your head. âEven if I wanted to, I don't think I know anyone else whoâd want to come with.â
âDo you want to go with me?â
Your brain blanks.
âWhat?â
âI was planning on going anyway,â he says, tone casual and all your senses tunnel-vision on him. âBesides, I've been curious about the girl whoâs been taking up so much of Satoruâs time.â
Your answer is obvious.
âIâd love to!â
It comes out a little too fast, a little too bright, but you canât quite bring yourself to care. Relief, excitement, disbelief, it all tangles together in your chest until the only discernable thing left is a giddy sort of lightness.
Getoâs smile widens, clearly pleased and you beam back. He hands you his phone.
âCan I have your Insta then? So I can text you the details later.â
Your hands shake as you take it, thumbs clumsy as you type in your username, backspacing more times than youâd like to admit. Youâre suddenly hyperaware of everything, the way heâs close enough to see your screen, the warmth of his hand where it had just been, the ridiculous desire to go through your own profile but through his eyes settling on your mind. Later, you can already imagine stalking your own profile, scrutinising every photo, every caption, trying to imagine what it would look like to be him scrolling through for the first time.
When he takes his phone back, he doesnât immediately pocket it. Instead, he actually looks, thumb scrolling down, humming.
Oh god, heâs looking right now.
"Where's that quote from your bio from?â He asks, glancing up briefly. âIt sounds familiar.â
âOh, um. Itâs from my favourite novel.â Your eyes flutter across his face as you tell him the title, sneaking in a quick description to try to sell it.
âIâll have to check it out then,â Geto says, putting his phone away. âDo you read often?â
âNot as much as I want to. You know how it is, with school and everything. Not to mention books are crazy expensive nowadays.â
He nods sympathetically. âThere's this small bookshop tucked away near the city. It's actually close by the rink where Satoruâs game is. I could show you after his game on Saturday.â
Your breath catches.
âAfter the game?â You repeat, trying very hard to sound normal and not out-of-breath.
Geto nods, completely at ease.
âIf youâre not in a rush to get back after,â he adds, considerate as ever. âIt says open pretty late.â
You stare at him for a second, thoughts scrambling over each other.
Heâs inviting you out after a game. That meant walking together, talking more, being alone without the buffer of a crowd screaming over a bunch of men slamming into each other and hitting with their sticks.
You realise youâre meant to give an answer and quickly hurry.
âYeah, that sounds perfect actually!â You say, a touch too fast, then wince and try again, softer. âI meanâyeah. That sounds really nice.â
âGood,â he says simply, smile deepening. âIt's a cozy place. You could get lost in there for hours.â
âThat sounds dangerous. I already have a book-buying problem."
âSecondhand prices,â he reminds you. âIt's much safer.â
You hum. âThat's debateable. Lower prices just means I have to buy more.â
You canât believe your luck. Not only had Geto basically invited you on a date to Gojoâs game, heâs also asked you to go book shopping together afterward. And somehow, you had just finished a perfectly normal conversation with him without embarrassing yourself beyond recovery.
Could things possibly get any better?
âYou know,â he starts up again and you lean in. âSatoruâs doing suspiciously good in his classes recently. Any clue why?â
You freeze, temporarily thrown off guard. âHe better be. I don't tutor him for nothing.â
âI knew it was you. Why are you tutoring him? If heâs blackmailing you, I can help,â he says with a straight face.
âNo, no! Nothing like that!â You rush to explain.
He cracks a smile. âIâm just joking. He's not actually as bad as his reputation makes him out to be. It's all bad rep, you know?â
While youâve known Gojo through his reputation for as long as you can remember, youâve never once stopped to consider that might not be everything about him.
âWhat do you mean?â
âSig Kap had a frat sweetheart two years ago,â Geto explains, folding his hands loosely on his laptop. âShe was nice, really sweet but some of the older guys treated her like shit. When Satoru called some of the boys out for messing with her they werenât too happy.â
Your brows lift. âSo did they kick him out or something?â
âNot that thereâs much they could have done considering his family.â
âWhat about them?â
He glances at you surprised. âYou donât know?â
You shake your head.
âHuh.â His expression softens into something gentler. âYeah. A lot of people approach him because they want something, connections, favours, you know the deal. He absolutely hates it. Ironically, that influence is also what kept the older guys from pushing back too hard and they couldnât exactly scare him off so heâs there to stay.â
âAnd some people still donât like him?â
âSome still donât,â Geto confirms. âSo they spread all those stupid rumours instead. Probably easier that way since itâs not exactly traceable.â
Your stomach tightens. âWhat kind of rumours?â
He hesitates, then shrugs. âStuff about him sleeping around. that heâs messed with every girl on campus, that kind of thing. You donât have to look so devastated, it doesnât bother him much. If anything, it gets him more game. But itâs far from the truth. I mean youâre a girl on campus and he hasnât messed with you.â
Something about the way he says it, calm and matter-of-fact, makes your chest ache.
âHe did earn a lot of respect back,â Geto continues, oblivious to your growing distress. âEspecially from the younger guys. But some of the older ones never really got over it.â
He falls silent, studying you with that gentle, searching look that makes you feel like youâre under a microscope and the spotlight is shining down on you. Whatever he sees under the lens makes him smile.
âItâs nice,â he says softly. âThat youâre so genuine with him. He doesnât get that very often.â
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Couldn't he have used a word other than âgenuineâ? Because you arenât genuine, far from it, and that realisation makes your stomach drop, nausea blooming sharp and sudden and upheaving the contents.
You approached Gojo with a plan just like all those who have approached him with ulterior motives in the past. And youâve used him for his friendship and his willingness to help, to get closer to the person right in front of you.
You are no better than the people Geto just described. Worse, even.
Heat rushes to your face, then drains away just as quickly, leaving you cold.
You push your chair back abruptly, the legs scraping loudly against the floor.
âWhere did Gojo go?â you ask, wincing internally.
Geto blinks up at you, startled by the sudden shift. âOh, uh.â He gestures vaguely toward the exit. âHe said he had to help meâthat is, his friend unlock his door. He's probably back in his room now though.â
You nod too quickly, already stuffing your laptop into your bag with fumbling hands, cables tangling as if theyâre conspiring against you.
âAre you going after him?â Geto asks gently.
You freeze for a split second.
Are you?Here you are, sitting across from the person you supposedly like, the person you engineered this entire situation to get closer to, and youâre about to abandon the conversation to chase after his best friend. This is your chance, the perfect golden opportunity, and youâre throwing it away. and yet, you canât bring yourself to completely doubt yourself.
âYeah,â you say, half a smile hovering on your lips. âIâm so sorry. Thereâs just something I need to say to him.â
You bite your lip.
âSee you at the match though?"
Getoâs surprise melts into an easy grin. "Don't worry about it. Good luck. And Y/N, seriously, take care of him, okay?â
The words prick at your skin with a faint sense of deja vu, but you donât stop to examine it. Instead, you give Geto one last shaky smile, sling your bag over your shoulder, and hurry toward the exit. Your heart pounds so loudly it drowns everything else.Â
You knock at what you believe is his door if memory serves correct.
âGo away, I'm jerking it.â
You canât decide if heâs being serious or just scaring unwanted guests away. Regardless, you clear your throat and talk.
âSorry for interrupting? Look, itâs me, itâs Y/N. Can I come in?â
No sooner had you said your name, the door flies open, Gojo standing right behind, eyes wide and face flushed.
âY/N? What are youâI mean, I thought you had that date with Suguru?â He goes to run a hand through his hair but pauses, switching to his other hand.
âYeah well, clearly I left him to come see you.â You sigh deeply and brush past him into his room. âThereâs something I need to say to you and itâs really eating up at me for some reason.â
âNo sure, go ahead. Walk right in,â he mumbles but doesnât try to stop you, instead closing the door gently. âWhat are you doing here? Because if youâre here to gloat or have a girl talk, Shoko is the one for you.â
You flop onto his couch, staring up at his ceiling. He pauses before following, the couch cushions dipping under his weight as he drops down beside you.
âGojo, Iâm really sorry,â you say, turning to him.
He stares back unamused. âI told you to call me Satoru.â
You blink, momentarily caught off guard before correcting yourself. âSatoru. I'm really sorry.â
âOkay.â His frown lifts and he leans back to look at you. âAbout what?â
You open your mouth, then close it again, suddenly unsure where to even start.
âAbout everything?â You try weakly.
He raises a brow. âThat narrows it down.â
You groan, dragging a hand over your face. âOkay, specifically I feel like I've been using you and being annoying and dragging you into my mess. And also I abandoned you in the library which was rude and I donât know what I was thinking. I guess I wasn't and I'm really sorry.â
Gojo blinks at you and you hold your breath for the verdict.
â...thatâs it?â
âThatâs not âitâ, thatâs a lot,â you argue, pushing yourself up. âYou've been helping me this whole time and I'm just barging into your life, asking for unreasonable favors and taking up your time.â
He watches you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes, surprise, confusion, maybe even something softer that he quickly buries under a flippant expression.
âThat's it?â he repeats, slower this time.
You nod, twisting in your fingers together in your lap, the fight leaving your body as quick as it came. âI mean, it's not nothing. I know I've been a lot. And you didnât have to help me at all, with any of it, but you did and IâŚâ Your voice falters. âI don't want you to think I was just⌠using you.â
Silence settles between you, thick but not entirely uncomfortable. The hum of his mini fridge in the corner fills the gaps. Somewhere down the hall, a door slams and laughter echoes faintly before fading.
Gojo exhales through his nose and leans back, head tipping against the couch cushion as he stares up at the ceiling.
âYouâre terrible,â he mutters.
He turns his head to look at you properly, blue eyes sharp in a way that makes your chest tighten. Up close like this, without the buffer of banter or crowds or motion, itâs impossible to ignore how intense he can be when he isnât performing for anyone. You've had the privilege to see this side of him a few times, and the thought that heâs let you in and youâve only gone and used him fills you with more guilt.
âYou didnât abandon me in the library,â he continues. âI left on my own free will, remember?â
âYeah butââ
âAnd youâre not using me,â he adds, voice flattening slightly. âIf you were, then you arenât using me to my full potential.â
You huff a weak laugh. âThanks?â
âI mean it,â he says, not smiling. âPeople who use others donât show up at their door looking like theyâre going to throw up from guilt.â
Heat creeps up your neck. âI did not look like that.â
âYou did,â he says easily. âStill kind of do.â
You shove his shoulder lightly. He barely moves, solid as ever, but the corner of his mouth lifts and the tension in your chest loosens at the sight.
âSo⌠youâre not mad?â You ask carefully.
He considers that more seriously than you expected. âI was.â
The worry comes back tenfold.
âBut not for the reason you think. So stop looking like youâve aged ten years, sweets, itâs not a good look on you.â
You wait for him to elaborate but he doesnât.
You sigh, unable to keep up with the emotional whiplash and opt to instead throw it all away.
âOkay, well thatâs cryptic," you mutter.
He shrugs. âI'm a mysterious guy. Itâs all part of the irresistable, untouchable charm.â
âI donât see how you can be mysterious when youâre so loud.â
âI open up to you and this is what I get?â
âYou did not open up.â
He turns his head back toward the ceiling. âAnd now I'm closing back down.â
You roll your eyes, but the knot in your chest has loosened enough that you can breathe again, you almost miss this back and forth and it seems he does too because he relaxes fully into his couch. Without thinking, you mimic him, shoulder brushing his. This time, neither of you moves away.
The proximity feels different than before. You've been closer to him than this, and you randomly recall being on his lap for some reason unrelated to this specific moment and the charged, quiet atmosphere.
After a moment, he speaks again, softer.
âDid you at least get what you wanted?â
You hesitate, the question knocking you out of orbit. âI think so. I mean he asked me to go to the game with him. and then a bookstore after.â
Gojo goes still beside you.
âMy game?â He shakes his head with a scoff. âFigures. Well, good for you.â
You twist the fabric of your sleeve between your fingers, suddenly unsure why that answer feels so unsatisfying.
âYeah,â you say anyway, forcing brightness into your voice. âIt is good.â
He hums noncommittally, eyes still fixed somewhere on the ceiling. For someone who never shuts up, his silence feels louder than anything he could say. You sneak glances at him from the corner of your eye, observing the strong curve of his nose, the harsh bob of his Adam's apple, the rise and fall of his chest and his big hands youâve had the opportunity to feel on your ass.
The quiet stretches, though it is far from quiet inside your head.
Then, before you can stop yourself, youâre already opening your mouth.
âCan I ask you something?â
His gaze slides to you instantly, sharp and attentive as if he was waiting for you to break the silence first. âNot to be that guy but you just did.â
âA real question.â You roll your eyes though his somewhat predictable rage bait helps ease some tension. Still, you hesitate, throat tight. If you say it out loud, it becomes real and no longer a suppressed fantasy. But if you donât say anything, this feeling in your chest might never go away, tainting every future you might have with Geto.
âHow do you know what youâre doing?â You ask.
One white brow lifts. âIn what context? I'm good at a lot of things. You're gonna have to narrow it down, sweets.â
You groan softly. âWith girls. With⌠touching. And stuff. Etcetera.â
Understanding dawns slowly, then all at once. You donât catch the shift in experience because you stare stubbornly at your hands clasp in your lap, heat flooding your face.
âOh.â
âI just donât know,â you admit, voice small. âI don't know what I'm doing at all and itâs embarrassing.â
He sits up a little, attention sharpening in a way that makes your skin prickle.
âY/N.â
You press on before he can interrupt. âI mean, I know theoretically, obviously. That's what bio class is for right? But I know in practice Iâll just freeze. Or overthink or do nothing. And if things ever go further with Geto, I don't want to be useless. You mentioned heâs had exes before, right? But I haven't. And that kind of sucks to think about.â
Then softly. âYou're probably the closest thing to experience I have.â
âUseless,â he starts. âIs not the right word I'd use. Suguru would never think that. Heâs not a dick.â
You finally look at him. âI donât want him to regret it. Or think I'm awkward. or that I don't want him.â
He studies you for a long moment, jaw tight, eyes searching your face like heâs looking for something he hopes not to find. âAnd youâre telling me this becauseâŚ?â
You scoff. âYou're not stupid. I mean sure, you almost failed babyâs first statistics but youâre not dumb.â
âNo, I guess I'm not, thanks,â he sighs, running a hand through his hair. âBut I was kind of hoping maybe I'm still fantasising.â
âYou were fantasising before?â
âLet's not go there.â
âItâs a Friday,â you say slowly. "Shouldn't you have a hook up right about now?â
He pouts, looking oddly down. âI wasn't feeling like it.â
âSo you had to use your hand.â
âI wasn't jerking off, Y/N.â
Neither of you believe that statement. Here you are, sitting on the couch of campus heartthrob Gojo Satoru, joking around about the lack of a female body against him while youâre upset about being a virgin. Even Gojo, who isnât admittedly the best at math, shouldnât struggle with putting two and two together.
âRight, I believe you.â You bite your lip, opening your eyes wider as you plead. âI just hate feeling unprepared. Youâve seen just how bad I freeze. Canât you help me?â
He chews on his lips aggressively before finally groaning, running a hand down his face. âYou have the worst ideas known to man. Fine. I'll help you. But we're stopping if it gets weird.â
âObviously.â
âDo you even remember how to kiss?â
âFind out for yourself.â
You grab his collar and tug him towards you, smacking your lips against his the second heâs in range. It's not the graceful, fireworks-exploding moment from rom-coms, more like two magnets clashing awkwardly, teeth bumping before you recall the right angle. Gojo chuckles into the kiss, the vibration tickling your mouth, and you pull back just enough to glare at him.
âIt hurts that you donât remember my lessons, sweets,â Gojo purrs, clearly enjoying your fluster.
âShut up and kiss me properly,â you mutter, snarky even as your cheeks burn.
You dive back in, and this time it clicks, most likely due to his more active participation. Your lips move in sync, his tongue slipping past your teeth. It's surprisingly nice, all heat and shared air, making your stomach flip in a way thatâs equal parts nerves and excitement. You didnât realise how much you were craving this since the last time.
Gojoâs hands stay loose on your waist, respectful but firm, until he deepens the kiss with a low hum. You feel him shift under you, his body reacting before his brain catches up. When you break apart for air, his eyes are darker, pupils blown wide. He adjusts his hips, and thereâs no missing the semi-hard bulge straining against his jeans because it nudges insistently against your inner thigh.
You both look down.
âUh, yeah,â he says, voice a little rough, something like accusation in his eyes as he glares down at Gojo junior. âGuess that means you do remember lesson one after all. Mind if I lose the pants?â
You snort, trying to play it cool despite the heat pooling in your gut. âNot so reluctant now, huh?â
âGame is game.â
He grins, all cock swagger, and pops the buttons off his jeans. They slide down his legs in a heap, leaving him in snug black boxers that do nothing to hide his growing interest. Gojoâs leaner than youâd pegged him for, abs carved from lazy gym sessions, waist dipping in before flaring to solid shoulders. But your eyes zero in lower, where his cock twitches half-hard against the fabric, outlining a decent length thatâs got you curiously intrigued rather than intimidated.
When he sits back down, he leans back on his palms and smirks. âYou can touch me, you know. I bet itâs better than just looking.â
âAnywhere?â
âI'm practically offering myself up to you on a platter. Yes, Y/N. Everywhereâs fair game.âÂ
You eye him for a little longer. He's not as big as he carried himself around to be.
As if sensing your unspoken realisation, he hurriedly explains, "I'm not completely hard yet.â
You nod, sympathetically. âRight, no I get it.â
âIâm serious, Y/N, stop looking at me like that.â
He grabs your hand and places it on his abs, ignoring your sudden squeak.
âYouâre going to have to work to get me there.â He watches as you hesitate, his heartbeat quickening slightly under your touch.
âThis seems less like teaching and more like you just wanting someone to get you off.â
âYouâre learning.â Despite his teasing tone, he eases you closer to him. âLook, itâs not exactly rocket science and what I tell you probably wonât apply to everyone. But most guys are animals so if you can make them feel good then thatâs all that matters. What's meta for most guys though is probably their neck and lower stomach. But you can start anywhere.â
His smirk falters just a tad when you explore, tentatively at first, palms sliding over his ribs and thumbs brushing his nipples until they pebble under your touch. Gojoâs breath hitches, but he keeps it together, murmuring encouragement. âI guess you could try there too. Fuck, this is kind of embarrassing. Canât you be normal and go at my neck or something?â
âYour neck?â Your fingers slide up to touch him there but he laughs and gently brushes your hand away.
âOkay, donât strangle me. When I say touch, I don't just mean with your fingers. You can touch your lips too, canât you?â
You bite your lips and nod, wetting them quickly with your tongue. You lean in closer, your lips finding the pulse point of his neck. It's a quick peck at first, testing, and he just arches a brow, unimpressed.
Fine, challenge accepted.
You brace yourself on his shoulders and lick a slow stripe up the tendon, tasting salt and faint cologne which isnât the best tasting thing in the world, so you nibble the skin. Gojo hums, head tilting to give you better access, and you dive in, sucking lightly, alternating with kisses that leave faint marks.
Itâs heady, this rush of control. His bare chest radiates warmth against your arm, heavy breaths ghosting your ear as he lets you lead.
âHungry, are you?â Gojo finds his footing against the absurd situation because if thereâs one thing he knows, itâs receiving attention from pretty women. If he closes his eyes like so, focusing only on the cute licks against his neck, he can almost ignore the fact that itâs coming from you. âI'd be careful not to leave any marks. Girls get jealous easily, you know?â
You roll your eyes at his very unsexy comment. He's underestimating you, youâre sure he is, and youâre even more determined to prove him wrong.
You kiss down his neck, licking at the column of his neck, and when you find this soft patch of skin, pale under your lips and glimmering with a thin layer of sweat, you do what your instincts roar at you to do and bite him as heâs mid yapping.
âI never really let girls kiss me like this, so be grateful that Iâohfuck!â
Gojoâs reaction is immediate as a downright sinful moan escapes his pretty lips unchecked. His hands tighten in your hips, head dropping forward, panting as he catches his breath from the sudden sharp inhale.
You let go, licking at the mark left behind. âOh, sorry. You donât do marks, right?â
âThat wasâŚâ He trails off, eyes dark as he holds you in his gaze. âJesus, sweets, where did you even learn that kind of stuff?â
You shrug, letting him hold you back and feeling a little bit like a rabid animal. âIt was just something I wanted to do. Was it bad? Did it hurt?â
âNo, it was fine. Keep going just⌠use your hands a bit more too,â he hurries to add on, clearing his throat and loosening his hold on you. âIt feels better if you use both your mouth and hands at the same time. Keep going, but donât forget the rest of me.â
Finding no error in his words, you enthusiastically go back to kissing and sucking on his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat. Meanwhile, you slide your hands down his chest, marveling at how smooth he feels despite his muscle.
When you graze your finger tips between the medial line of his abs, you feel him shiver and you detach your lips from his neck to watch his eyes track your every move, hungry and unblinking.
âAtta girl,â he rasps, abs flexing under your palm and he shivers as you slide even further down, hand hovering his stomach. His cock visibly thickens in his boxers as you trace the ridges of his abs.âThatâs it. Take your time, sweets. I'm not going anywhere.â
You never considered that Gojo would be so vocal during sex, not that this even counted as sex yet. If anything, that made you even more curious, wondering if he himself knew how much he was talking and how little any of it even meant. In case he didnât, you didnât dare talk in case it would break the spell.
Your fingers skim the waistband of his boxers and he sucks in a breath, voice dropping an octave.
âFuck, yeah. Thatâs the spot.â The fabric tents fully now, his cock hard and straining, the tip outlined clearly. It's thicker than you expected, pulsing with need, and the sight sends a thrill straight to your core.
Gojoâs eyes flick between your hand and your face, flushed and focused. âSee? told you itâd wake up. want to see all of it?â
You nod, eyes trained on his bulge.
He grins, taking your hands to hook your thumbs into the sides of his boxers. He helps you slightly though he lets you do most of the work. Emboldened, you tug the boxers down just enough to free his cock, watching it spring up, thicker now, veins prominent along the shaft, the head flushed and glistening with a bead of precum.
Your first words are, of course, very sexy.
âOh damn.â
Gojo laughs breathlessly. For my own ego, I'm going to take that as a good thing.â
âIt just doesnât look how I expected it to.â
That makes him frown. He ducks his head to meet your gaze. âHey. She has feelings too, you know. Donât imply that sheâs ugly, sheâll sag.â
âShe?â It's so ridiculous you snort, the nervousness running away to let curiousity fuel your movements once again, fingers curling around his hot, velvety length. He's rock hard under your soft touch, precum slicking your palm as you pump him experimentally. Gojo groans low in his throat, head falling back against the couch.
âShit, just likeânghâthat,â he grits out, voice wrecked. The sound hits you like a spark, raw and primal, making your thighs clench. âMyâmy dick has she/her pronouns. Itâs 2026 now, get woke.â
Still looking at you, he takes your hand again, wrapping it around his shaft.
âHold it properly. Feel how hot it is.â
He groans softly as you hold him, guiding your hand up and down in a slow stroke, pressing down where heâs sensitive just the way he likes it. âSqueeze gently and twist your wrist as you move.â
He demonstrates the twist motion, his large hand enveloping yours, precum beading at his tip from both the sight and feel of you.
He lets you go, leaning back on his elbows, enjoying the view of you jacking him off. âYouâre a natural, keep going, just like that.â
His breathing becomes heavier, his abdomen tensing. He canât help but buck slightly into your hand.
Despite his unattractive dirty talk, it doesnât drive away the power you feel and it doesnât take away from the sounds, the way his body trembles under your control. It's all so intoxicating, way better than any awkward fumble youâve imagined with Geto late at night with your hands down your pants.
To shut him up, you squeeze a little tighter and he hisses, pulling you away.
âSlow down,â he pants, catching his breath. He closes his eyes for a moment before locking you in a fierce gaze. âDo you usually shove your finger inside when youâre dry?â
âWhat?â
âThis is why lube exists, woman. God, my poor lady,â He looks up at you, eyes trailing down from your eyes to your lips.
âPlease donât refer to your dick as a lady.â
âIâve gotten no complaints so far.â Gojo reaches up, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb, dragging it down slightly. âHave you ever spat on anyone?â
âExcuse me?â You look down at him as if heâs grown another head.
He lets out a strangled groan, hips bucking up under you. âYeah, keep looking at me like that and spit on my dick. Give her the good old hawk tuah.â
Your grimace only grows and he bites his lip, the corners quirking up. âPlease,â he whispers and youâve lost.
The word hangs between you like a dare, his blue eyes locked on yours, all wide and pleading in a way that clashes hilariously with his usual attitude if the unsure quiver to his lips didnât wreck you.
Gojoâs cock throbs in your loose grip, the head leaking more precum that drips down the shaft, making your fingers slick without even trying. You hesitate, face heating up at the sheer audacity, but the way his abs tense, the subtle roll of his hips begging for more, chips away at your resistance.
âFine,â you mutter, rolling your eyes to mask the flutter in your stomach and you must have imagined the way he groans. âBut just know Iâm judging you the entire time.â
âEven better,â he moans.
You lean over him, one hand steadying on his thick thighs, firm muscle under smooth skin, and purse your lips as you spit on him. Itâs awkward as hell, the glop of spit landing off-centre on the underside of his shaft, but you smear it around with your palm.
The glide turns smoother instantly, wet and filthy, your strokes picking up speed as his cock slicks up fully.
Gojoâs reaction is immediate, a deep, rumbling moan spills from his chest, his head knocking back against the couch with a thud, not that he notices. âFuuuck, yesâthatâs it, just like that.â
His hands fist the fabric of the couch on either side of his hips, knuckles white, like heâs fighting not to grab you and take over. But he doesnât, he lets you work him, hips jerking up in shallow thrusts to meet your rhythm, the tip bumping your palm on every upstroke.
âKeep going, tighter⌠shit, youâre killing me here.â
The power rush hits you harder now, watching him come undone under your touch. His cock feels massive in your hand, thick and veined, pulsing hotly as you pump from base to tip, thumb swiping over the slit to collect more precum and spread it down. You can feel every ridge, every twitch, and itâs nothing like the vague fantasies youâd spun about Geto. This is real, messy, and way more intense. Your own arousal builds, thighs pressing together as you grind subtly against nothing, the heat between your legs turning insistent.
âDoes it⌠feel good?â You ask, voice breathy and you slow your strokes just to tease, squeezing the base and watching in awe as a fresh bead of precum pearl at the head.
He cracks one eye open, gaze hazy and dark, lips parted in a pant. âGood? Sweets, donât sell yourself short.â
A grin tugs at his mouth but it falters into a groan when you resume, faster now, the wet schlick of your hand echoing in the room causing you to squirm.
âDonât stop,â he all but whines. âGonna cum if you keep this up. Want me to, sweets? Want me to paint your hand or what?â
The crudeness should turn you off, but it doesnât, it only amps up the thrill, making you bold. You nod, biting your lip as you lean closer, free hand bracing on his chest to feel his heart hammering.
âYeah, do it. cum for me.â
Gojoâs control snaps like a rubber band. his moans pitch higher, body arching as his cock swells in your grip, veins bulging. âFuckâfuck, canât help it, Iâm gonnaââ
He bucks hard once, twice, and then heâs erupting, thick spurts of cum shooting from the tip to splatter your fingers, his stomach, even a streak across his abs. It's hot, sticky, rope after rope as you milk him through it, not knowing what else to do. You slow your strokes until heâs spent, twitching sensitively in your palm.Â
He slumps back, chest rising and falling like he ran a marathon, a lazy, disbelieving laugh bubbling out. He runs a hand down his face, groaning softly.
âI amâŚâ He lets out another breathless laugh, head dropping back against the armrest of the couch. âSo fucking washed. What the hell was that, sweets?â
You blink, a little dazed yourself. Your hand is still loosely wrapped around him, slick and messy, and only when his eyes flick down do you jolt and snatch your hand back like youâve been burnt.
âIâI donât know,â you mumble, gratefully accepting the tissue he hands you, awkwardly deciding to dab at his stomach and abs too, anywhere your eyes can safely land that isnât his softening cock. âThat was⌠hey, wait a minute. Shouldnât i be asking you? What the hell was that spitting thing?â
He shrugs, your body moving with the motion as you remain on his lap. âI told you, thereâs some things some guys like and some donât. As a note of reference, maybe donât spit on Suguru. Youâll kill his ego.â
He has the audacity to smirk at the thought considering the state of him, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, mouth pink and kiss-swollen from all the swearing and groaning.
âYou're disgusting,â you accuse weakly, trying not to think about how heâd looked under you a few seconds ago, jaw slack, eyes glazed, like youâd wrung the soul out of him.
âMmm.â His gaze drags over your face, down the line of your throat, lingering a beat too long at your chest before he drags it back up. âSo, how are you feeling after all that?â
âEmbarrassed,â you say immediately.
âBut kinda turned on, too?â he guesses, just as fast.
Your mouth drops open. âI did not say that.â
âDonât have to,â he says, maddening. âYouâre still sitting on me, you know.â
You freeze. You're still straddling his lap, knees planted on either side of his thighs on the couch, hips pressed to his, fingers bunched at his stomach. You'd be so focused on that scrunched up look on his face when he came that you kind of forgot to be mortified about the position.
Now you remember.
âI was busy,â you mutter, shifting like youâre about to climb off.
His hands come up automatically, one at your waist, one braced at your hip, holding you there without quite pulling you back down. âHey, hey. I didn't say you had to move.â
âBut youâre allâŚâ you wave a hand vaguely at his lap, face burning. âPost-nut clarity or whatever. You should be resting or something.â
âThatâs hilarious, do you think Iâm an old man?â He huffs a laugh. âIf my stamina lasted one puny handjob I would never show my face anywhere. Hey, donât glare at me like that. you know what that does to me. you glaring at me and spitting on my cock while you jerk me offâfuck.â
âDon't say it like that,â you hiss, heat flooding your chest. âYou literally told me to.â
âAnd you did so good,â he croons. âLook at you, all flustered now. You were seconds away from calling me pathetic, you know.â
âHow are you turning this on me? Youâre the one that liked it,â you shoot back, shoulder tensing.
His fingers flex at your waist, like heâs remembering it. âYeah. I really, really did.â
The way he says it sends a tiny shiver through you. You feel ridiculously aware of yourself suddenly, of your damp palms on his chest, of the way your thighs are pressed around him, of the restless thrum under your skin youâve been trying not to notice since he first groaned for you.
You shift again, intending to put some space between you, and hiss as the movement drags you a little too firmly against him, sparking through the ache low in your belly.
You go very still and so does he.
His eyes flicker, dropping for a fraction of a second to the point where your hips meet his. You can feel the change in him, no longer wrecked and loose-limbed, but sharpened like heâs honing in on every tiny flinch.
âOh,â he says softly. âFeeling something, sweets?â
âDonât start,â you warn, feeling every urge to catapult yourself off his lap. His hand tightens on your waist, thumbs rubbing absent circles, maddeningly casual. âCan you let me go already?â
âBut itâs not over yet, are you sure you want to miss the best part? If I said I wanted to make it your turn, would you say no?â
The question hangs between you, heavier than his usual teasing.
âThis isnât⌠about that.â
âSure it is,â he whispers, lips curved into a wicked grin. âYou wanna learn how to make a guy feel good right? Then you also need to know what you like. If you know what works for you, itâs easier to tell him what works for him.â
Has Gojo always been so reasonable?
âBesides,â he continues when youâre not rushing to sign up to his touch. âIâm being selfless here. You canât seriously think I'd let you walk out of here without repaying the favour first, right?â
âWay to sound like a douche.â You swat at his chest, a weak attempt to appear levelheaded.
âHow else am I supposed to say it?â He laughs softly, catching your wrist but not pushing it away, thumb stroking over your pulse. âI want to touch you. properly. Can I?â
Your stomach swoops.
âJust to know what it feels like?â
âExactly.â His smile goes crooked at the edges. âNow youâre getting it.â
You stare at him, breathing shallow. Your heart is thudding way too fast. youâre hyperaware of your own body again, of the way your panties stick uncomfortably, of the restless ache thatâs only been getting worse, of how easy it would be to fall into his tempting embrace.
âHey, come back to me,â Gojo murmurs. âWe don't have to do anything you donât want. I promise I'm not a dick. So? What do you want, sweets?â
You look down at where his hands rest, big and warm on your hips, fingers flexing like heâs trying very hard to stay put.
You could say no, you know that. He'd let you hop off, probably make a dumb joke to break the tension, and the both of you can go back to pretending the constant physical touch is driving you up the wall. But you also know your legs are still a little unsteady, and that every time you shift you have to bite back a sound you really donât want him to hear.
You swallow, hard.
âYou have to listen,â you say finally. âIf I say stop, you stop. and none of your stupid comments either.â
His expression sobers instantly, hands jumping a little at your hips. âPromise. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.â
âIâm telling you, when you say shit like that, everything goes back inside.â
âYeah, yeah, I get it, you want me quiet. So can I touch you or are you going to keep torturing us both?â
âYou deserve the torture,â you grumble, then quieter, âBut, yeah. okay.â
He hums. âNot good enough. Say it again?â
You bite back a complaint. âI want you toâŚtouch me.â
It comes out barely more than a whisper, but it hits him like a truck. His eyes darken, lashes lowering as he sucks in a breath. One moment youâre straddling him, the next heâs sat up and turned you around so your back leans against his chest, his breath tickling your neck.
âYou donât know what you do to me,â he groans, hands sliding down to your stomach. His fingers play with the hem, nails barely grazing your bare skin. âCan I?â
You shiver, looking down to watch his hands with anticipation. Swallowing, you brace yourself and nod.
âGood girl,â he breathes.
His hand trails under your shirt, fingertips tracing nonsense shapes on your skin. He doesnât go straight where you know youâre aching for him to go. Instead, he takes his time, mapping out the sensitive spots he finds, where your muscles jump when he squeezes, lowering his hand to where your breath stutters when he drags his knuckles along the inside of your thigh.
âYou're wound so tight,â he murmurs, half to himself. âRelax for me, Y/N.â
âShut up and stop teasing,â you hiss, and then gasp when his hand finally slips higher, brushing over the edge of your waistband.
âIs that a no?â He asks instantly, stilling.Â
]You want to throttle him. âIâm just⌠nervous.â
âOf course you are,â he says, voice going stupidly soft in your ear, hands playing with the fabric. âThe first timeâs always weird. But it doesnât have to be bad-weird.â
He slowly slips his hand under the band, feeling you go still.
âHey.â He presses his lips to your hair, mumbling soft words of praise. âYou're okay, youâre doing good. Just breathe for me.â
You do, albeit shakily, his fingertips brushing the damp centre of your panties.
âYouâre already⌠Jesus," he says quickly. âI really did a number on you, huh? And without even touching you, too.â
âIf you donât shut up, I'm leaving,â you threaten weakly.
He chuckles, guiding your attention away. Gojo slides your shorts down so you can see exactly where his fingers press against, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks at the sight of his thick fingers prodding against the backdrop of the panties you chose out this morning. If you knew something like this would happen, you would have worn something else.
Gojo thankfully doesnât comment on it. Instead, he slowly explores, no sudden movements, no overwhelming pressure, just the occasional slide against your clit.
âOkay?â he asks, and you realise youâve gone silent, holding your breath again.
âYeah,â you gasp. âJust feel different thanânevermind.â
âDifferent good?â He prompts, thumb pressing down on your clit and you jolt, an audible inhale escaping you.
You feel his arms tighten around you.
âOh, there we go,â he mutters, sounding ridiculously pleased with himself. âThat got you.â
You donât dignify that with an answer, not that you have the capacity to because the next moment, heâs moving his fingers with practiced purpose. His thumb circles your swollen clit through the damp fabric, the barrier muffling any sharp pleasure though it helps you wrap your head around the sensation.
When you start lifting your hips to meet his touch, he knows he has you where he wants you.
With his other fingers, he slowly slides your panties to the sides and touches you directly. The effect is immediate, your eyes snap down to watch, body tensing, want like youâve never known it before shocking you.
The sight of your own arousal makes you wetter and he abandons his touch to touch you directly.
âLook at that,â he coos in your ear, voice breathy with awe and smug satisfaction. âHere you were acting like you wanted to leave when youâre this wet. Thought I wouldn't know, sweets? That I couldn't see you eye my dick all hungry like that?â
He emphasises his words with a harsh pinch of your clit and your head falls back to rest on his shoulders with a filthy moan ripped from your throat, raw and unprocessed.
Gojo takes the chance to kiss your neck.
You should hit him for his words, you really should. But instead, your hand flies up to his forearm, nails digging in when he slides a finger to circle your entrance and the world briefly whites out.
He groans quietly, like your reaction is doing something to him. âThatâsâfuck, youâre so cute. Do that again.â
âDonât tease,â you say again, voice barely there and brain too mushy to think of something original.
And like he knows, Gojo slowly slides a finger into your pussy and the pressure temporarily pushes out all of the pleasure. But then his free hand is playing with your clit and heâs telling you how good you are and how pretty you sound, and it comes back.
He thrusts that finger in and out slowly, letting you adjust to the intrusion and when youâre sighing soft moans and broken demands again, he curls it and doesnât stop moving. He could easily overpower you, could pin you down and take, take, take, but he doesnât. Every time you tense like you might pull away, he backs off just enough, murmuring at your ear, though by the time youâre close you havenât panicked in a while.
Heâs the one breathing hard when you start to chase your peak, like heâs the one being touched.
Youâre writhing now, his arms having to tighten around you to keep you still as he slides another finger inside.Â
âThatâs it,â he whispers, panting when your thighs clamp around his hand, head tipped back on his shoulders and eyes starting to roll back. âThere you go. I've got you. Let go for me, yeah? Doing so good for me, sweets.â
âS-Satoru,â you choke out, the name ripped from somewhere deep.
His whole body jolts behind you and you feel a twitch near your ass.
âOh, fuck,â he groans, like youâve done something filthy. âSay my name like that again, I swear to godââ
You donât because suddenly, youâre gone.
His fingers pressed against the spongy spot inside, his thumb circling your clit, and suddenly everything tightens then snaps and youâre tumbling, shaking around the steady anchor of his hand and his arm and his voice in your ear. He doesnât speed up, letting you ride your orgasm on his hand, mumbling sweet nothings against your sweaty neck.
Itâs messy and overwhelming and a little scary for a second, then his palm is flat over your lower stomach, grounding you as waves of sensation roll through your body. His other hand finally gentles and you can breathe again.
When you finally slump back against him boneless, the room feels dimmer. your chest heaves, skin prickling with aftershocks that he guides you through.
He eases his hand away and wipes it on his pants, keeping you steady on his lap.
âHey,â he says softly, lips brushing your hairline. âYou still with me?â
You nod, or at least you try to. âI think so.â
âYeah?â He presses, smiling against your skin.
âYeah.â
âGood.â he exhales like heâs been holding his breath with you. âYou did amazing, sweets.â
âYou're making me sound like a dog.â
âWell, you were very obedient,â he says lightly, then winces. âOkay, that sounded kinda bad.â
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest where youâre still half-leaning against him. One of his hands comes up, hovering for a second like he isnât sure if touching you again is allowed, then settles gently at your side.
You catch your breath, stealing a glance. His hair is a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes still blown wide but thereâs something softer around the edges, so different from his usual cocky composure that it does something strange to your chest.
âYou're the worst,â you mumble, just to say something.
âOh?â his brows lift. âYou seemed pretty satisfied with the lesson.â
You keep your mouth shut because there is absolutely no winning that argument.
Silence falls, not heavy nor awkward, but certainly unfamiliar. Without the distraction of movement or adrenaline, your mind starts spinning into the consequences of your actions.
And the fact that youâre still sitting between his thighs.
You stiffen and he notices immediately.
âUh. Do you⌠want toââ
âYes,â you say at the exact same time he says, âWe should probablyââ
You both stop, voice overlapping as you tell each other to continue then stop again. Itâs funny if not awkward and you laugh, startled and breathless.
âOkay,â he says, hands lifting slightly in surrender. âYou first.â
âNo, you go,â you insist, scrambling upright a little too fast. The room tilts for half a second and you grab his thigh to steady yourself.
His hands hover again, then settle at your waist just in case.
âCareful,â he murmurs. âYouâre still a little⌠yâknow?â
You straighten and stand away from the couch, legs wobbling in a way you pretend not to notice. The cool air hits your skin and reality comes rushing back in a tidal wave of embarrassment.
Your skirt rests on your thighs but theyâre crumpled, and your hair is surely a mess.
Gojo watches, biting his lip hard enough to leave teeth marks. He stands too, running a hand through his hair, suddenly looking almost shy as he grabs his discarded shirt and pulls it back on.
For a moment, neither of you know where to look.
You fixate on a crack in the wall and he studies the floor.
âDo you, uh⌠want me to walk you back?â
The normalcy of the question feels surreal.
âIâm fine with walking,â you say quickly. âThe weatherâs nice so.â
âYeah,â he nods. âFresh air. Definitely.â
You grab your bag with fumbling hands, nearly knocking it off the couch in the process. He catches it before it hits the floor, fingers brushing yours again as he hands it over.
Neither of you pull away immediately. Then, you both do at the same time.
âRight,â you say.
âRight,â he echoes.
He opens the door for you, peeking into the hallway first before gesturing.
âYou sure you donât want me to walk you back?â
You almost cry at the visual of a way out. âNo, no, I'm fine. Itâs not too far anyway.â
Gojo studies your face like heâs trying to decide whether to argue or not. For once, he doesnât look like heâs in on some big secret. He just looks uncertain.
âIf you say so,â he mutters, stepping aside.
You slip past him into the hallway, letting out a big sigh of relief when you hear the door close gently behind you with a soft click. Looking over your shoulder, you see Gojo follow you out anyway.
Your feet slow. âYou donât have to, I'm really okay.â
âIâm not,â he says quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets. âIâm just heading in the same direction. That's all. What a coincidence?â
âUh-huh.â
The staircase is only a few doors down, but the short walk stretches, each step heavy with things unsaid. You can hear voices downstairs, life continuing on, oblivious.
At the top of the stairwell, you stop.
âAre we still going the same way?â
He shakes his head.
âIâll see you around,â you settle on when the silence stretches.
âSee you, Y/N.â
You take one step down, then another. After a third, you glance back.
Gojo is still there, watching. your chest does something uncomfortable as he waits.
âGoodnight, Satoru,â you say softly.
He blinks, like the name catches him off guard every time. Then he smiles, small but warm.
âNight, sweets.â
When you reach the bottom and push out into the night air, it feels shockingly cool against your overheated skin. The campus is quiet, streetlights painting everything gold and shadowed, the distant sound of traffic humming like white noise.
You walk faster than necessary because if you slow down, the thoughts will quickly flood in. And if you start thinking, you might realise that somewhere between asking him for help and leaving his room tonight, something has gone very, very wrong.Â
Youâre not sure why you care so much.Â
You tell yourself itâs because Geto will be there, because this is a chance to make a real impression, because this is what all of it has been building toward. But as you stand in front of your mirror, turning this way and that, smoothing imaginary wrinkles, adjusting your hair for the third time, checking your reflection from angles no one in real life would ever see, you realise this isnât normal.Â
Youâve never put this much thought into a âcasualâ outing before.Â
Not the outfit, carefully balanced between cute and effortless, like you didnât spend forty minutes deciding between two nearly identical tops just for the jersey to cover it anyway. Not the makeup, soft enough to look natural, deliberate enough to feel like armor. Not the way your stomach flips every time you picture stepping into the arena.Â
You know deep down this isnât about Geto. That thought alone makes your chest feel tight.Â
You grab your purse before you can overthink it further and leave.Â
When you walk into the arena, the roar of the crowd hits you like a physical force, loud and electric, buzzing with anticipation and cheer. It bleeds through the concrete walls, through your bones, and through the floor beneath your shoes.Â
The game hasnât officially started yet, you made sure to come before then, but the energy is already at a fever pitch.
Your eyes sweep the rink automatically, searching. And you spot him immediately.Â
Gojo, in his navy and white jersey, skates across the ice like it belongs to him, like the rink exists solely to accommodate his momentum. It doesn't seem to matter that his helmet obscures most of his face, youâd recognise him anywhere. the easy confidence in the way he moves, the loose, effortless posture, the casual speed that looks like he isnât even tryingâitâs unmistakable.Â
His hair, damp under his helmet, peeks out in soft white tufts. His cheeks are slightly flushed from exertion, breath fogging faintly in the cold air as he glides past teammates, exchanging easy shoves and taps of sticks. He's the easiest person in the world to look at and the hardest to look away from.Â
He glances up towards the stands during warm-ups, scanning lazily, and your heart stutters. You freeze, suddenly aware of yourself, of the crowd, of how ridiculous it is to hope heâll notice you among hundreds of people wearing the same colours.Â
I mean, all these people? All wearing the team jersey? And you wouldnât call yourself beautiful, not in the kind of way that makes someone stand out across a packed arena, and certainly not in a way that draws eyes automatically, notâ
Gojo turns a little more. and then his eyes meet yours.Â
The jolt is instantaneous, sharp and electric, like touching a live wire. Your breath catches, lungs forgetting their purpose entirely as a stupid, bright grin spreads across his face.Â
A strange warmth floods your chest, blooming outward until it feels too big to contain. You bite your lip, trying and failing, to suppress your own giddy smile as you tug lightly at the hem of your jersey, lifting it just enough to show the number at the front and point at it.Â
06.Â
If it's even possible, his grin widens. He spins around without hesitation, and easily mind you, skating backward for a few seconds just to show off the back of his own jersey, jabbing a glove thumb at the matching number with pride.Â
Heat rushes to your face.Â
It's ridiculous, childish even, but your heart is pounding and the warmth in your chest swells until itâs almost overwhelming.Â
When warm-ups end, he lifts his stick in your direction in one last, unmistakable acknowledgement before skating toward the bench, where his teammates swarm him instantly. One of them hooks an arm around his neck, dragging him down while another plays bongos on his helmet, elbows digging into his ribs.Â
From this distance you canât hear what theyâre saying, but you donât need to. His expression gives everything away, the wide grin and mock protests, and the way he shoves them back half-heartedly while still laughing.Â
Someone whistles, another bumps his shoulder and one even points toward the stands, toward you. Your stomach flips.Â
âY/N?âÂ
You start, tearing your eyes away as if caught doing something incriminating. Geto stands beside you, already holding two drinks, his expression warm and easy.Â
âHey,â he says, offering you one. âYou made it. I found seats over here, itâs a pretty good view, if I donât say so myself. We should head over before the game starts.âÂ
You take the cup automatically, fingers brushing his. âThanks!â
He smiles, guiding you through the rows of people with gentle awareness, making space and steadying you when someone brushes past too close. It's thoughtful and careful and exactly the kind of thing that made you fall for him in the first place.Â
Once seated, conversation comes easily to him. Itâs all polite small talk and soft jokes, quiet observations about the team and season. He fills in the silence like Gojo had predicted, never letting it become uncomfortable. He does all the right things that you could almost tick them off a list. He laughs at your comments like theyâre genuinely funny and asks questions that make it clear heâs paying attention.Â
It should be perfect, it should be everything youâve ever wanted.Â
And yet, your eyes drift back to the rink, to the flashes of navy and white.Â
To the tall figure leaning against the boards, helmet off now, shaking his hair as he listens to a coach, nodding absentmindedly while his gaze flicks upward.Â
Your pulse jumps when his eyes land on you again. Except this time he doesnât grin. It might be your imagination but he seemingly looks to Geto beside you, then back, just watching.Â
You force yourself to look back at Geto, nodding at something he just said, hoping your smile looks natural and not strained.Â
BUZZWORD
The game starts fast.Â
Faster than you expected, faster than anything youâve watched on TV, faster than seems physically possible for men balancing on thin blades over frozen water. The pluck drops and suddenly the rink explodes with motion, bodies colliding, sticks clashing, skates carving violent crescents into the ice.Â
You lost track of the puck almost immediately.
Geto leans closer, voice raised just enough to carry over the roar of the crowd. âWatch Satoru, he plays center so heâll usually be in there.â
Your eyes find him easily.Â
He moves differently from everyone else, you see, loose, flashier, or maybe thatâs just you. No, you reject that notion as he accelerates in bursts, gliding between players with impossible precision, stick tapping the ice impatiently when he doesnât have the puck.Â
Every time he skates past your side of the rink, your chest tightens and your throat hurts a little more as you try to cheer louder.Â
The first goal goes to the other team.Â
Your side of the arena groans as one, a wave of disappointment that rattles through the stands. You feel it too, a sinking drop in your stomach, though you donât fully understand the play that led to it.Â
Gojo slams his stick once against the ice in frustration, then shoves off hard, jaw set.Â
Geto doesnât seem worried. âTheyâll bounce back. Satoru is the best they have, after all.â
Just like he predicted, they do. Midway through the second period, one of Gojoâs teammates manages to slip the puck past the goalie, and the building detonates. People surge to their feet to cheer and you find yourself in that crowd, cheering without thinking, adrenaline crackling through your veins like you personally contributed.Â
On the ice, Gojo grabs the scorer by the shoulders and shakes him, helmet bumping into helmet, grin blinding even through the cage.Â
Itâs a tie game until itâs not. Another goal to the opposing side which Gojoâs team equalising moments after. Again and again, a tense back and forth that even has Geto inhaling sharply at moments.Â
By the third period, your nails are dug into the flimsy paper cup in your hand, ice long melted into a yucky watered down version of whatever was in the drink. You barely notice when Geto takes it from you and sets it aside so you donât crush it completely.Â
The scoreboard reads 3-3 and the clock tells you thereâs two minutes left.Â
The noise is deafening now, frantic and desperate, every movement on the ice met with gasps or shouts.Â
Gojo has long since lost the playful edge from earlier. He circles near centre ice, knees bent, weight forward, eyes tracking the puck like itâs the only thing that exists in the world. A defender tries to box him out and he shrugs him off with a brutal shoulder check that makes the crowd howl.Â
The puck slides loose along the boards, ricocheting off a tangle of skates and sticks like it has a mind of its own. Someone on Gojoâs team snatches it first and fires it forward, a risky pass that slides clean across open ice, and towards him.Â
Gojo receives it in stride, blade cushioning the impact with effortless control. He doesnât even glance down. his head is already up, scanning his way forward. A defender lunges for him and he slips past with a sharp pivot, hips twisting, edges biting deep into the ice.Â
Youâre on your feet before you realise youâve moved.Â
âGoâ!â you scream and like a domino effect, people around you start to cheer.Â
Gojo fakes a left. The goalie commits.Â
He snaps right, dragging the puck across his body in one powerful motion, forcing the goalie to witness the outplay. And then he flicks his wrist and a sharp crack echoes across the rink.Â
The puck lifts, a black blur slicing through air, threading the narrowest gap between glove and shoulder, and slams into the back of the net.Â
For half a heartbeat, there is silence. Then the buzzer screams and the crowd erupts.Â
Sound crashes over you in a tidal wave, screaming, stomping, clapping, the metallic rattle of the stands shaking under hundreds of pounding feet. Youâre shouting too, throat tearing with it, hands flying to your mouth before dropping again because you need them free to clap and wave, anything to release all this energy exploding out of you.Â
Down on the ice, Gojo throws his head back and roars, pure exhilaration bursting out of him. His teammates collide with him seconds later, swarming him in a pile of navy and white, shoving his helmet and grabbing his shoulders, almost knocking him over in their celebration.Â
He's laughing.Â
Even through the cage, from the distance, you can see it, the wild brightness in his eyes and the way his chest heaves with adrenaline.Â
They won.Â
They actually won.Â
Youâre bouncing on your toes without realising, hands clasped in front of your mouth.Â
Gojo breaks free from the pile just enough to turn and look up into the stands. It's easier finding you this time around when he knows where to look.Â
His whole face lights up, grin splitting wide and unrestrained, so bright it feels like it could blind you, he lifts his stick and points it straight at you then thumps it once against the ice in a triumphant salute.Â
Your stomach swoops violently.Â
You laugh, breathless and giddy, lifting both hands to wave back like an idiot. Your body is already leaning forward, feet shifting as instinct screams for you to move. To go down there, to be closer, to meet him at the glass while heâs still glowing with victory looking as beautiful as youâve ever seen him, so alive that it radiates off him in waves.Â
You want to throw your arms around his neck.Â
You want to tell him that was incredible.Â
You wantâ
âY/N?â
Getoâs voice cuts gently through the chaos, close to your ear.
You blink, tearing your gaze away from the ice to find him watching you with a small, amused smile.Â
âThat was intense,â he says, laughter in his voice. âI forgot how crazy these games get at the end. Makes you glad you came, right?â
âYeah,â you breathe, though it comes out shaky and raw from all the cheering. âYeah it was. Definitely.â
Your eyes flick down despite yourself and find Gojo still looking up, smile dimmed.Â
Geto gestures toward the aisle. âIf we leave now, we can beat the post-game crowd. The bookstoreâs only a short walk away anyway. We can find Satoru after he comes out.âÂ
The words land heavy in your chest. How could you forget? There was a plan in action, the reason why you came, the person youâre supposed to be focusing on.Â
âRight,â you say, though your voice sounds far away even to your own ears.Â
On the ice, Gojoâs teammates are tugging him toward the bench, shouting in his ear and shoving him here and there. He goes easily enough, though not without one last glance at you. He tilts his chin, a silent question in your eyes, clear despite the distance.Â
Are you going?
Your fingers curl into fists at your side.Â
âReady?â Geto asks softly.
You swallow. â... yeah.â
But as you turn to follow him up the aisle, the roar of the arena swelling behind you, you canât shake that youâve made the wrong decision. You feel it, that strange, electric thread stretching thinner and thinner behind you as the tunnel swallows Gojo whole.Â
BUZZWORD
It should be fun.Â
Geto is easy to talk to, heâs polite, thoughtful and gentle, and all the right things. You trail behind him between the shelves as he talks about a book he likes, or some theory he discovered that explains so much and makes so much sense.Â
You try, you really do. You nod your head and attempt to store that information away. Â
But everything just doesnât feel right. It's hard to store that information away when your head is full of that look Gojo had given you, the way his white hair had stuck out from under his helmet, damp from the effort and glory of winning, eyes sparkling under the stadium lights, the way he had lifted his stick to point at you.Â
Geto is kind. But your tastes donât match. Your jokes land in different places. He's nice, and you do enjoy his conversation. But not in the same way you had enjoyed Gojoâs company that day in the cafe.Â
You donât feel nervous. You donât feel excited. Honestly, you just feel like pretending.Â
And as if the universe is screaming at you about something just beyond your grasp, when you reach for the same book, your fingers donât brush. And you donât want them to.Â
Getoâs phone buzzes when heâs in the middle of explaining some theories from this guy called Slavoj Zizek? He winces at whatever he reads.Â
âSorry,â he starts, sounding genuinely apologetic. âI need to head out. But hey, hereââ He pulls a paperback off the shelf and hands it to you. âThis is the one I was talking about. I think youâll like it.âÂ
you accept it automatically. âThanks,â you say, and then heâs waving and gone the next moment, door swinging behind him.Â
For a while, you wander the bookstore in an attempt to rationalise the complex emotions warring inside you. Geto is your crush. You know this. And yet, it all feels so superficial. Gojo had been right, there was nothing personal about the things you liked about him to explain the crush.Â
You stand in the quiet of the aisle, holding a book you frankly donât care about, surrounded by a silence that feels like the wrong choice made tangible long after the last customer walks out. Heavy rain falls outside, pelting against the roof of the store, a steady white noise that backgrounds your thoughts.Â
When the bookstore begins to close, youâre ushered outside. You swear as youâre suddenly caught in the harsh weather and through the heavy sheets of rain, there looks to be no other store open. Hastily, you run out in the rain to find some place where you can get cover over your head. Finally, you see a small awning from a closed shop.Â
You run under the awning, hugging your arms to your chest as you wait out the storm, feeling stupidly alone and stupidly unsure why youâre this upset. This is what you wanted right? But the part of your heart that has always known the truth traitorously voices the thoughts youâve been pushing down all this time.Â
Gojo.Â
Through the sheets of heavy rain, someone is running towards you. Tall, white hair, still in his jersey, his hair now damp (read: soaked) with rain water rather than sweat.
He skids under the awning, breathless, terribly drenched, an unopened umbrella in one hand.Â
âWhat the hell,â he says immediately, voice sharp with concern and frustration. âAre you trying to get pneumonia? Why didnât you go home? Didnât you check the weather? It clearly said it was going to rain today!â
You blink, gaping at his sudden presence. âWhat are you, no, why are you here? Shouldnât you be celebrating?â
He snorts. âYeah, I was. Until Suguru texted. Said he left you at the bookstore and for me to pick you up. Seriously, you didnât even bring an umbrella?â
The situation finally catches up to you and you frantically gesture to his own umbrella. âHow can you lecture me when you just ran out all the way here without opening your umbrella? itâs literally in your hands, all you had to do was open it!âÂ
âLike i had the time to! My legs are literally burning from the game and you made me run all this way out to save you!â
âI never asked you to!â
âWell, I had to!â He steps closer, finally freeing himself from the rain completely. His presence fills up the cramped space under the awning and you catch a whiff of cedar and sweat. âI couldnât just let you die out here in the cold!â
Speechless, you open and close your mouth like an idiot. Finally, you manage to ask, âHow did you even know I was out here?â
âWerenât you listening? I told you Suguru told me he ditched you!âÂ
At Getoâs name, your face falls. Ah, right. your little moral dilemma about Geto.Â
Gojo also calms down a little, his chest heaving a little slower as he uses the silence to catch his breath. his eyes scan your expression, picking up on the way you bite your lip, eyes looking away.Â
âHey,â he says, voice soft though still strained. âYou okay?â
Your throat tightens. âI guess? I don't know. Look, sorry. I appreciate you coming.â
âDon't give me that. Just donât. Youâve told me every embarrassing thing about yourself when you outed that you, you know, like Suguru. Donât hide something from me now. Are you upset that he left?â His hand comes out to wipe water off your cheek. âDon't cry.â
You scrunch up your face in mild disgust. âIâm not? That's literally just rain water.â
âOh. So you're okay?â
You inhale and let it out slowly. Were you okay? You shouldnât be, not if Geto was your crush and he just ditched you. And yet, under Satoruâs shadow as he stands in front of you, blocking the rain, brows furrowed and lips pressed tight as he looks you over in concern, you find yourself feeling okay. More than okay.Â
âWhy do you even like him?â He asks, quietly, a question that would have easily been lost to the rain if you werenât hanging off his every word.Â
âI told you,â you start, just as quiet. âHe saved me that one time.âÂ
âYeah?â He opens the umbrella with one hand, and holds your hand in the other, gently guiding you out from under the awning. Rain hits heavy against the fabric and he holds you close to keep you out from the storm, your chest grazing his. âHe saved you that day in the rain, did he?â
You swallow. âYeah.â
âJust like this?âÂ
Mutely, you nod. In his arms, you barely notice the slight chill.Â
Gojo searches your eyes for something. He exhales, long and uneven, like heâs been holding this in for longer than heâs willing to admit. And yet, he doesnât shy away, doesnât tear his gaze away from yours, just keeps holding the umbrella over your head, tilted ever so slightly in your direction such that youâre completely covered.Â
âThat day,â he says, quiet but steady, âWhen you got caught in the rain after that stupid orientation thing? Suguru wasnât on campus. He went back home for a month before the semester started and didnât come back until the second week. I was the one that found you.âÂ
Your breath falters. âWhat? But he⌠he gave me his hoodie. His name was on the tag.âÂ
âYeah,â Satoru laughs, a single disbelieving puff. âI was wearing his hoodie. He wasnât at the dorms so I stole some of his clothes to wear. Itâs whatever, he steals some of mine sometimes. The point is, I was the one that helped you.âÂ
For a moment, you stop breathing entirely. The rain pours around the two of you, a curtain of noise, but itâs silent under the umbrella.Â
Youâve never seen Gojo so nervous. Definitely not before the big game earlier, not on any of the practice dates, never when he talks to a group of people. Between the two of you, nervousness came more naturally to you. And yet, standing before you vulnerable, wet lashes stuck together, cheeks flushed from running and is that a faint bruise forming on his jaw? He looks nervous and itâs a sight that sends warmth all over your face.Â
His eyes are unbearably soft as he waits for your verdict.Â
âWhy didnât you tell me?â Your voice sounds too small.Â
âBecause you thought it was Suguru. Because you liked him. And back then, I didn't realise that I wanted you to know it was me.â
Your heart thuds, something a little more daring saying the next few words for you. âAnd now?âÂ
This moment was perfect. The two of you had been slowly closing that small gap of distance, eyes seeing nothing but each other and suddenly all those rom coms and kdramas come to mind. All those scenes of first kisses (forgetting the practices because those didnât include real romance), all those late night conversations with Shoko about what itâs like, they all come and leave your brain.Â
But instead of leaning in and sealing the deal, Gojoâs entire body suddenly stiffens. His arm around you loosens, placing more distance between the two of you.Â
What the hell?Â
His gaze drops a little further before coming back up with a discipline that can only come from reciting the digimon opening theme over and over in his head. âNow I'm trying really, really hard not to stare at you.â
Curious, you look down to your soaked shirt where the fabric clings painfully close, embarrassingly sheer. It only serves to emphasise the lines of your bra and though you canât really see anything, Gojoâs face is flushed pink not just from exertion, and his jaw is tight.Â
âSatoruââ
âMy place,â he blurts. âWe should, uh, get you warmed up. Your shirt is literally see-through and if I have to keep pretending I don't notice, I'm going to walk myself right into traffic.âÂ
âThat is so dramatic.â The beginnings of a smile cause the corner of your lips to quiver upwards at his flustered state.Â
âiâm dramatic,â he insists, voice strained, still not looking. âNow come on. I still donât want you catching pneumonia out here and Sig Kap is literally right near the gate. We can keep talking there when you donât look like a puppy left out in the rain.â
âSays you.â You eye his white hair plastered to his forehead and smile, reaching up to move a few clinging strands from his eyes. âBut okay. Iâd like that a lot.â
Unfortunately, the gesture makes him look back down at you, inevitably making him catch an eyeful of your chest. He closes his eyes. âLet's just go before I give you this umbrella and walk onto the road.âÂ
You laugh a little. âGeez, you really are dramatic.âÂ
He walks you to Sig Kap, refusing to stand fully under the umbrella. When you try to grab his arm and pull him under, he only launches into a talk about being a feminist and how chivalry isnât dead and how much he hates periods and loves matcha. You laugh and he smiles down at you before looking away. Seriously, he needs to get over that.Â
At the door outside the house, Gojo stops you.Â
âHere.â he hands you the umbrella, fingers brushing yours, before reaching down to take his jersey off. You instinctively blush and look away, but considering your state of undress it would only be fair if you stole a glance. So you peek at him from the corner of your eyes.Â
You only manage to look just below his abs when something warm and slightly damp flops over your head.Â
âHey!â
He takes the umbrella back from you, standing in front of you and covering your back with the umbrella.. âPut that on before we head inside. Take your wet jersey off, hurry.â
Feeling warm despite the rain, you hastily pull off your soaked top, making sure heâs looking politely away, and throw his jersey on. Itâs still damp but not as drenched as your own. Looking down, it falls past your skirt and just above your knees.Â
âYouâre going to walk in shirtless?â
âBetter than you walking in looking like that.â He doesnât give you a moment to think about his words. âCome on, youâre going to catch a cold.â
He leads you to the now familiar front door and when it opens before Gojo can even touch the doorknob, you understand the reasoning of his actions.Â
âDude!â Hikari cheers, wrapping an arm round Gojoâs shoulders and eagerly pulling him in despite his grunt of protest. âCongrats on the win, man!â
Hikari quickly notices your presence.Â
âOh. So youâre already celebrating, huh?â
Gojo brushes past him, his hand holding tours to guide a path through the sweaty frat boys. âShut it, Hikari. Is Sukuna in?â
âNah. The whole floorâs gone.â Hikari answers, raising his voice as Gojo quickly places distance between him and you.Â
When the door of his room closes behind you both, he turns and pulls you in, his hand falling down on your hips, pulling you close. You both look like wet dogs but you couldnât care less.
âSorry about them,â he mumbles against your hair.Â
âItâs fine,â you pause. âWho's Sukuna?â
âThe guy in the room next to mine.â
âOh.â
He hesitates, searching your eyes in the dark of his room. The storm rages on beyond his window, rain entering through a slightly ajar window, but neither of you make the responsible move to close it. Instead, you find yourself pressing up against him, hoping for more.Â
âSweets,â he says, his voice low. âPlease donât tell me this is still practice.â
âItâs not.âÂ
He takes a deep breath in. âYou piss me off. Youâre annoying, and insistent, and you always get what you want.â
You frown a little. âHold on, I thought this was going a different way.â
He shushes you by placing a finger against your lips. âYou never listen to me and you never act how I think you will. Youâre definitely not normal and your thoughts are all weird and messed up. But youâre always in my head and you have the prettiest smile and the softest voice and when you tell me to shut up I want to drop to my knees and lick your feet.â
âOkay, itâs definitely getting weird now.âÂ
âI think Iâm seriously doomed,â he whispers despite your protests. âBecause I bought that coffee you gave me months ago and I still drank it even though I hated how it tasted. And I havenât been able to get it up without thinking about you and those pretty lips.âÂ
âNow I see why you donât do relationships.â
Gojo chuckles, eyes unbearingly soft. âI think Iâm in love with you, Y/N. Youâre all I can think about.âÂ
You let out a slow exhale.Â
This was not how you imagined any of this. That day when you sat down with Shoko to plan a devious scheme to get with Geto, you naturally assumed it would end with him by your side, or with a crippling inability to reassimilate with society.Â
Never in a million years did you think youâd be here, in Gojoâs enormous room inside a frat house, him hanging off your every word.Â
But thinking on it now, thereâs nothing you want to change in your plan.Â
âI think Iâm in love with you too,â you say just as quietly, a smile playing on your lips.Â
âReally?â If he had dog ears, they would have surely perked up. âBecause I was lying, I definitely donât just think that.â
âWoah, letâs calm down a little.â
He chuckles, breath misting your face.Â
His thumbs rub circles and you shiver at the faint sensation.
âCold?â
You bite the lip and nod. Now that youâve confessed, the forbidden desire building up in your core no longer feels like something you need to hide. Instead, you embrace it, and you let Gojo see the change in your eyes.Â
He nods back, looking down at his jersey on you.Â
âYou should probably take this off or youâll get sick.âÂ
You grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it over your head, leaving you in just your bra. You mentally fist bump your past self for overthinking your attire earlier that morning and throwing on a matching set.Â
His pupils dilate as he looks at you, eyes lingering on the delicate lace.Â
âAm I moving too fast?â He whispers, breath misting your ear as he leans in.Â
You rapidly shake your head, heart pounding in your chest. The air between you crackles with tension, the rain pattering against the window like a distant drumbeat.Â
He sighs, a low, relieved sound that vibrates through his chest. âGood. Câmere.â
He backs you up against the door, the wood cool against your bare back. His hands slide up your sides as he traps you. The guise of getting you out of wet clothes feels like a thin excuse now, but you donât mind, your own hands already tugging at his waistband, eager to feel more of him.Â
Gojoâs lips crash into yours, hungry and demanding, his tongue sweeping in to claim your mouth. You kiss back just as fiercely, fingers digging into his shoulders as you push against him, guiding him backward step by step. He stumbles slightly, surprised by your assertiveness, but a smirk tugs at his lips against yours.Â
He falls onto the couch with a soft thud, pulling you down on top of him. You straddle his lap, only because itâs the only position youâve had experience with thus far, and the friction of his hardening cock against your core sends sparks through your body. Your mouths meet again in a heated makeout, tongues tangling, breaths mingling in short, desperate gasps.Â
His hands roam your back, unhooking your bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away. You arch into him, pressing your bare breasts against his chest, nipples hardening from the contact.Â
âFuck, youâre so hot like this,â he growls, nipping at your lower lip. âWhere were you hiding all of this, hm?â
You shiver, fingers digging into his shirt. âYou like it when I tell you what to do, donât you? Big bad frat boy, already so hard because a girlâs got you pinned.â
He groans, hands gripping your ass to grind you against him. âKeep talking like that, and I'll show you whoâs really in control.â
But you donât stop. Instead, you push him back further into the cushions and trail your lips down his jaw, his neck, biting lightly to mark him. He lets you, for now, his breath hitching.Â
His eyes look down your body, hands feeling the softness of your skin before resting at the waistband of your cute, little skirt. He smirks and before you know it, youâre torn from his neck because he flips you onto your back in one swift move, pinning your wrists above your head.Â
âMy turn,â he purrs, voice rough.Â
You try to wriggle free. âWhat are you doing?â
âYou've always had a thing against my tongue, havenât you?â
âThat was weeks ago, I don'tâwait a minute!â Your hands find his head, trying to push him back up but he refuses, settling properly between your legs and lowering.Â
âRelax.â He turns his head and kisses your palm, eyes on yours. âI'll make you feel good. I always do, don't I?â
You hesitate, your arms losing their strength as the tension eases from your body. He watches you carefully, his gaze soft yet intense, making sure youâre okay before he moves. With a gentle nod from you, he lifts the edge of your skirt and flips it up onto your stomach, groaning low at the sight of the damp spot on your panties.
âSo cute,â he hums, his free hand sliding between your legs to rub at the numb poking out through the fabric. âThis little clitâs begging for attention.âÂ
You let out a startled gasp, hips bucking up involuntarily at the sudden touch. Itâs all still so new, the sparks of pleasure shooting through you like electricity.Â
âYou want my mouth on this pretty pussy, donât you?â He murmurs, lowering to mouth against your panties.Â
His warm breath seeps through the thin material, and the flat of his tongue presses against you, exploring with teasing pressure thatâs not quite enough to satisfy the ache building inside.Â
You jolt again, the sensation overwhelming, back bowing slightly as if to instinctively pull away. He doesnât let you go far, his hand on your thigh tightening to pull you back against his mouth.Â
âI know, I know,â he coos against you. âIt's too much, isnât it?â
You whimper, looking down and feeling a fresh surge of heat when you meet eyes with him.Â
âThatâs it, just feel it,â he encourages, his thumb stroking your thigh in slow circles.Â
Finally, he draws your panties to the side and doesnât waste another second.Â
Gojoâs mouth descends on your pussy, tongue flicking out to lap at your clit.Â
You gasp sharply, hips bucking up as he sucks the sensitive nub between his lips, rolling it gently. His hands hold your thighs apart, fingers digging into your skin to keep you open for him. He eats you out like heâs starved, tongue delving inside you, tasting your wetness then circling back to your clit with firm, insistent strokes.Â
âOh god,â you choke out, the words tumbling from your lips in a breathless rush. âFuck, itâs tooâfuck itâs so good!âÂ
With your hands free, you curl your fingers in his soft white hair, guiding him exactly where the pleasure feels strongest. It's your first time feeling anything like this, and the intensity builds fast, a coiling heat thatâs overwhelming but addictive.Â
He hums against you, the vibrations making you whine as his tongue thrusts in and out, mimicking whatâs to come, stretching you open with wet, probing motions.
âMmm, taste so fucking sweet,â he growls between licks, pulling back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your folds. âYouâre clenching so hard alreadyâgonna finger fuck you open so you can take my cock later.â
He adds a finger, sliding it inside your slick heat slowly, curling it to brush against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. âThat's it baby, feel how wet you are for me? so tight around my finger, imagine how youâll squeeze my dick when I'm buried deep.â
You nod frantically, the haze of pleasure making it hard to form words.Â
He senses your building release, slipping a second finger inside to stretch you further, scissoring them gently to prepare you while his mouth latches back on your clit, sucking harder. âCome on, cum for meâwanna taste you so fucking bad, sweets. I want to feel you shake.â
The orgasm hits you like a wave, crashing over your body without warning. you cry out, back arching off the surface beneath you as your pussy clenches around his fingers, pulsing with release. He doesnât stop, lapping at you through it, drawing out every shudder until youâre boneless and gasping for air, his tongue coaxing every last tremor from your oversensitive folds.Â
Gojo pulls back slowly, a string of saliva still connecting to you until he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he crawls up your body.Â
âFuck, you taste like heaven,â he murmurs, leaning in for a deep kiss and letting you taste yourself on his lips.Â
You kiss back weakly making him chuckle, and he pulls back with a wet chu.Â
âYou okay?â
You nod weakly. One moment youâre catching your breath on the couch, the next heâs lifting you over his shoulder and laying you down on his bed.Â
You yelp, feeling gravity turn on its head until youâre safely on his mattress.Â
Watching as he eagerly strips, you say, âYou got a bedframe.â
He grins widely, shimmying down his boxers to join his sweatpants on the floor. âYeah, I did. Do you like it?â
You huff. âYeah. About time, Satoru.â
Gojoâs smile is oddly bright as he gets on the bed and hovers over you. He shifts, propping himself up on his elbows, his blue eyes darkening as they fixate on your chest. Without a word, he moves down, his mouth hovering just above your skin before he presses his face into the soft valley of your tits, inhaling deeply as if savouring your scent.Â
âGod, I love these things.â he groans, voice muffled, his lips brushing the sensitive underside. âSo goddamn perfect. Feel how hard you make me just staring at them?â
You squirm, indeed feeling his cock throb against your leg. âYouâre such an animal.â
âI can't help it. Been thinking about these ever since last time.â He peeks up at you though heâs still hesitant to part with them completely. âCan i fuck them?â
Your nod is all the consent he craves. He straddles your waist carefully and guides his thick length to rest in the plush channel youâve created by pressing your breasts together. The first slide is torturously slow, the velvety skin enveloping him as he rocks forward, the tip emerging shiny with precum near your collarbone.Â
âShit, yes,â he hisses, hips snapping in a shallow rhythm. âSo soft, so fucking warm around me. Look at that, sweets. Your tits are hugging my dick like they were made for it.â
His voice drops lower, rough with building pleasure, each word punctuated by the slick glide of skin on skin.Â
You watch him, mesmerised by the concentration etching his features, brow furrowed, lips parted as he pants. Sweat beads on his forehead and trickles down his temples as his abs flex with every controlled push. The friction builds between your tits, his precum smearing across your skin, making the slide even smoother and more obscene.Â
He glances down to watch his cock disappear and poke out from your cleavage. âOpen your mouth for me, baby.â
âSweets,â you remind him.Â
He lets out a stifled groan, hips jerking forward. âSweets, please. Let me see your pretty tongue. Want it on my tip when i come through so fucking bad.âÂ
The nickname sends a thrill through you, and you part your lips obediently, flattening your tongue in invitation. He groans at the sight, hips stuttering as he angles higher, the flushed head of his cock brushing your waiting mouth on the next thrust.Â
âFuck, just like that,â he rasps. âYour tongue feels so good lapping at me like that. Swirl it around, taste how much I want you. God, sweets, youâre killing me.âÂ
You do, tracing the sensitive underside when he pushes forward, the salty tang of him flooding your senses. His reaction is immediate, a deep, guttural moan escapes him, his rhythm faltering as he jerks deeper, chasing the wet heat of your mouth.Â
âCan't get enough,â he growls, drawing back only to thrust again, his tip kissing your tongue with deliberate precision and drawing back a sticky string of his precum and your saliva. âGonna fuck your mouth next, stuff it full of my cock until youâre choking on it. You'd take it so well, wouldnât you? Suck me down like the greedy little thing you are.âÂ
Saliva pools on your tongue and drips down to mix with the mess on your chest. He watches it all with hooded eyes, rutting faster now, the slap of his hips against your breasts echoing softly in the room.Â
âFuck, sweetsâgonna cum,â he warns through gritted teeth, his forehead creasing in that pretty, desperate way. âCanât hold back with you squeezing me like this. Shit, iâm gonna paint you, mark every inch of these pretty tits.â
He lurches forward suddenly, back bowing as he towers over you, one hand bracing beside your head while the other strokes his base to control his release. The first hot spurt lands across your neck, thick and warm, followed by another that arches toward your open mouth. He aims with a focused groan, pressing down on the head to guide it, ropes of cum landing on your tongue, filling your senses with his taste.Â
âTake it, thatâs a good girl,â he pants, voice breaking on a final, shuddering thrust. âLook at you, covered in me. So fucking hot, dripping with my cum on your face and tits.âÂ
His body quakes through the aftershocks, eyes never leaving yours, drinking in your reaction as he milks every drop onto you.Â
When heâs spent, he collapses forward slightly, catching himself on his forearms to avoid crushing you and leans down.Â
Your lips meet his in a deep, unhurried kiss, tongues tangling slow and sweet at first, then hungrier as you melt into it. The taste of him, salty from earlier, mixed with the faint tang of your own arousal, ignites you, and you tug him down, hands roaming his shoulders, feeling the flex of muscle under sweat damp skin. A soft moan escapes you, and he swallows it, his grip tightening just a fraction.Â
He pulls back and pants against your lips, half laughing.Â
âSorry, I should have warned you. Kind of not the most virgin friendly thing to do, huh?â He sits up and reaches for some tissue to clean you. âShould of saved this for inside you, sweets.â
You clench, squeezing your thighs together. âIâve neverâŚâ
His eyes soften, wiping the last of his cum. âI know, sweets. We can wait if you need to, thereâs no rush.â
But curiousity and want is a dangerous cocktail and you find yourself shaking your head. âI want to.âÂ
Gojo lets out a shuddering breath and nods, sliding off your chest, his cock glistening and heavy against his thigh. âLet me get you warmed up again.â
He doesn't find much difficulty with that because one hand against your slit and his eyebrows are rising, feeling your wetness despite the lack of attention.Â
You blush, feeling caught. âWhat? Donât look at me like that, itâs embarrassing.â
âWhatâs got you so wet, hm?â
You squirm, feeling the lingering pleasure flare up. âItâs not my fault youâre so vocal.â
âDirty girl. You like hearing how good you make me feel?â His thumb smears your entrance, picking up and spreading the fresh arousal that gathers there and itâs as good as any verbal answer. âFeel that? So worked up with nowhere to go.â
His fingers part you gently, circling your entrance with feather-light strokes that make you gasp.Â
âLet me warm you up again, sweets. Youâre so swollen here, feels like youâve been waiting for more. Gonna make sure youâre nice and ready for me.â
He plays with the mess between your legs, his own expression a mix of hunger and restraint, breaths coming in measured pulls as he fights the urge to rush. One finger dips inside you shallowly, then two, curling just right to brush that spot that sends sparks up your spine.Â
The stretch is easier now, your body remembering the pleasure, and he coos softly at your soft whimper, thumb finding your clit to rub in slow, firm circles.Â
âShit, youâre so tight,â he groans quietly, voice rough around the edges. âSo warm and wet, itâs killing me not to slide in right now. But weâre taking our time, yeah? Making this perfect for you.â
Your hips rock instinctively into his hand, the coil of heat tightening low in your belly, and he grins, leaning in to pepper kisses along your jaw.Â
âLook at you, getting into it. My sweet girl, so responsive.â
You whine, the pleasure having reached a plateau and when you buck up for more, he withdraws his hand. The loss makes you whine but he hushes you with a gentle kiss to your forehead, reaching over to the nightstand and searching through his messy drawers for a condom.Â
The foil crinkles under his fingers as he tears it open and positions himself at your entrance. You're still slick, heâs made sure of that, but the anticipation makes you clench, nerves building up. He notices your sharp inhale and lets his tip nudge your slick folds, parting them teasingly though he pauses there to let you feel the pressure without pushing in.Â
âHey, eyes on me, sweets,â he murmurs, voice steady despite the way his chest heaves, his cock twitching against you. âYou still okay? Tell me if itâs too much, Iâll stop, I promise. But fuck, Iâd be lying if I said I didnât want to be inside you.â
âIâm okay,â you whisper breathlessly, fingers curling into the sheets below. âJust⌠go slow?â
He notices and slides a hand down to interlace your fingers, bringing your hand up to his lips and placing a soft kiss to your palm. âOf course. Whatever you want.âÂ
The stretch is immediate, a slow burn as he guides himself in, sinking bit by bit. His cock is much thicker than his fingers but the warmth of him, the way he watches every flicker of your expression with that twitch in his jaw, makes it bearable.Â
âFuck, youâre so fucking tight,â he rasps, eyes shutting briefly. âGripping me so good already. Easy, sweets, just relax into it.â
His voice cracks a little on the end, his fingers digging into your skin as he holds himself still once heâs halfway in.Â
It aches, but the fullness is intoxicating, waves of pleasure chasing the discomfort as your body yields. You gasp, squeezing his hand and he coos softly, stroking you with his thumb.Â
âCan I keep going?âÂ
You nod and even before your next breath, heâs already sliding in and bottoming out with a shared gasp, hips flushed against yours. His forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling in the humid air.Â
"How's that feel? Too much?â He asks softly.Â
âFull⌠so full,â you whimper, rocking experimentally and he hisses through his teeth, hips bucking up just a fraction before he catches himself.Â
âFuck, want me to move, sweets?â He shifts beneath you, guiding your hips in a gentle circle to grind against you, his praises making the movement slick.Â
âPlease,â you gasp out as the fullness sparks pleasure deep inside and he rewards your honest words with a slow roll of his hips.Â
âGood girl,â he praises, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper as he starts to move, shallow thrusts that build a steady friction. Each slide in and out drags against your inner walls, drawing out filthy whimpers and sighs as he hits that sweet spot with precision born of his experience.Â
Soon, your toes are curling and your back bows off his mattress, desperate to meet his thrusts.Â
âListen to those sounds youâre making,â he coos, emphasising his words with a deep thrust. âYouâre taking me so well, sweets. Makes me want to stay buried in your forever.â
The pace gradually quickens, his control fraying at the edges as your moans encourage him. He shifts the angle, one leg hooking over his shoulder to deepen the penetration, and the new position has you crying out, pleasure coiling tight in your core.
Sweat beads on his skin, dropping onto your chest and he leans down to capture a nipple between his lips, sucking gently as he thrusts harder, the wet slap of skin echoing softly.Â
âThatâs it, let go for me,â he urges against your tits, teeth grazing the peak before soothing it with his tongue. âI can feel you squeezing, you close for me already? Come on, sweets, chase it.â
His words weave through the haze, dirty and devoted, spurring you higher as his freehand slips between you to circle your clit in time with his hips. The dual sensations overwhelm, building to a peak that has you trembling beneath him.Â
When it hits, itâs blinding, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, walls clenching rhythmically around him and pulling him deeper. He groans your name like a prayer, thrusts stuttering as rides it out with you, prolonging the bliss with expert rolls of his hips.Â
Only when you slump, sweaty and panting, does he let himself follow, a filthy groan escaping his lips as he buries himself deep one last time and spills into the condom, body shuddering as he struggles to hover over you.Â
He doesnât pull away immediately, instead pressing his hips closer to ensure youâve gotten everything before collapsing half on top of you, peppering lazy kisses along your neck.Â
âYouâre amazing,â he whispers. âMy perfect girl, did so good for us.â
You whimper against the ticklish sensation. âYou're too heavy.â
He chuckles and rolls off you, slowly pulling out to pull the condom off and discard it. you watch him with sleepy eyes, eagerly nuzzling into his arms when he settles back beside you.Â
âNeed anything? Water? Cuddles?âÂ
You hum, feeling the satisfaction morph into a drowsiness that has you melting into his arms, only feeling his warmth.Â
âYou?â
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your cheek. âIâm so glad I stole you away. Youâre so fucking perfect for me.âÂ
You lean into his side, feeling a sense of indescribable completeness that fills you with certainty.Â
Geto Suguru may have been everyoneâs first love but Gojo Satoru is the one you choose.Â
And judging by the way his arm tightens around you, the way his grin softens when he looks down at you, he knows it too.Â
Geto Suguru is everyoneâs first love.
Even to this day, your friends will roll their eyes and insist that canât possibly be true. But from experience, that was exactly who he was, someone to admire from afar like a painting behind glass. Beautiful and alluring, and just out of reach.Â
You see him now up, sitting on the couches at the house party driving the murmur of conversation with ease, a red cup used to gesture. Laughter ripples outward in waves, people leaning closer, drawn in.
You smile out of solidarity, resting against the wall with content misplaced at a busy place like this.Â
âDid you wait long?â
You turn your head to find your boyfriend weaving through bodies with the casual confidence of someone who assumes space will make itself around him. Two drinks in hand, hair messy under his cat, grin already forming because heâs caught you staring.Â
You push off the wall, reaching automatically for whichever cup is closer but he pulls back to sniff both before handing you the opposite one.
You take it gratefully and when you take a sip, you realise itâs your favourite juice.Â
âWait time longer than the lines at Universal,â you tease.Â
He grins, leaning down to kiss your forehead. âNext time I'll get us the priority pass. Not that it looked like you minded the wait. Donât think I didn't see you eyeing Suguru like that. Do I have competition again?â
You shove him playfully. âPlease, like I'm the one whoâs been draping themselves over him for the past hour.â
Across the room, Geto laughs again, someone hanging off his shoulder while he tries to keep the liquid in his cup from spilling. He catches your eye briefly and lifts his cup in greeting. You return it with a smile.
Next to you, Gojo sighs dramatically.
âWow,â he says flatly. âRight in front of me too. Why canât I see any remorse in your eyes?â
âBecause there isnât any there,â you snort. âYou're the one who told him to come tonight.â
âWhere thereâs Satoru, thereâs Suguru.â
âI learnt that the hard way.â
He hums, arm sliding around your waist to pull you flush against his side. His thumb starts tracing lazy circles just above your hip, absentminded and affectionate, a touch so familiar you barely notice as you lean into him in return.
âStill,â he murmurs, quieter now, his breath warm against your cheek. âYou donât have to keep looking at him like that.â
âLike what?â
âLike youâre thinking about what you could have had.â
You tilt your head to look up at him. His expression isnât jealous, not completely, just searching, softer than the bravado he usually wears.
âI'm not,â you promise gently. âIt was always superficial. You know that better than anyone. I guess now, looking at him is like looking at a relic of a different version of me.â
He hums. âHe would have liked that sentence.â
You roll your eyes, ever so familiar with his dramatics. âYou have nothing to worry about, baby. I promise.â
âYeah?â
âYeah.â You reach up and adjust the brim of his cap slightly, smoothing down a piece of hair that refuses to stay put. âBesides, I think I traded up.â
âKeep talking like that and I'm going to start thinking you actually like me,â he grins, voice lowering.
You smack his chest but your other hand lingers in his hair, fingers slipping into the soft hair at his nape. "Don't get cocky.â
Too late. He's already smiling wide, not the loud, flashy grin everyone else gets, but something softer and almost boyish reserved just for you.
Gojo leans down and finds your lips. The kiss is slow and unhurried, deeper than something meant for a crowded room but not quite indecent, like heâs forgotten where you are or just doesnât care.
He pulls back just enough to talk. âHey, I have an idea thatâll solve this three way jealousy.â
âWhat?"
âWhy donât we just have a threesome?â
a/n: i had to repost this because i realised i could fit everything into one post but holy hell reformating everything made me wanna die so please smash that like button hit subscribe and don't forget to turn on that notification bell ++ shoutout to flatline and happy pokemon day to those who celebrate