you frown. it’s been exactly thirteen minutes and forty-two seconds since satoru looked at you last. he’s been on this stupid spreadsheet since class started, and it’s really starting to piss you off.

so you block his view.

“look at my fingers, toru,” you breathe, lifting your hand in front of his face. “i was in such a rush i forgot my rings. my hand looks so ugly.”

he lifts his head—just slightly, just enough that he can focus on the screen & not your hand in front of him—& replies without a beat. “looks pretty, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the back of your hand. “so gorgeous.”

oh, that’s enough.

“toru.”

“hm, baby?”

“kiss me.”

gojo satoru chokes on his tongue. he freezes, blue eyes leaving the screen only to dart around the crowded lecture hall in alarm. he lets his eyes drop to you, and perhaps he shouldn’t have, because you’re looking up at him with glossy lips & too-big eyes & lashes that flutter in that way that means trouble. gojo gulps.

“we can’t do that right now, sweetheart,” his voice catches. you’re pouting up at him but satoru only cups your cheek and tries to reason with you. “we’re in public. can you wait for me, angel?”

your brows furrow, lips wobbling into that pout that only spells out gojo’s demise.

“are you ashamed to kiss me in public?” you croak, fake sniffling. “am i that ugly?”

you’re not ugly. you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, you know it, satoru knows it, & he also knows you’re doing this on purpose. but your eyes are so glossy. your breathing’s all hitched. your shoulders shake like you’re about to sob—

gojo satoru folds under zero pressure.

he cups your face, thumb brushing faux tears off your lashes as he presses his lips to yours. you taste like strawberry candy & something too sweet to have a name. gojo sighs into your mouth. cocks his head. pulls back just to lean in again when your lashes flutter up at him all pretty. he lets his thumb tug your lip and tongue lick your teeth and—

“ahem.”

you both freeze.

in the row in front of you the nanami kento is there, frown on his face & completely unamused. there are pens littered on his desk & his laptop is wide open—is he reading semantic error?

he eyes you both, lips curled in disgust.

“this is not a love nest.”

you & satoru are blinking in disbelief when nanami turns back to his laptop. he slams it shut in embarrassment when he’s met with an inappropriate panel onscreen.

II. DISTRACTION #2: NETWORKING ❌ NOT WORKING ✅

time: 7:14 pm. location: Bergeron Center for Engineering Excellence

⎚-⎚

gojo satoru has five minutes until the most important meeting of his life.

an opportunity to pitch one of his latest projects to some high-class engineering recruiters—lucky him! he’s in a private office with his speech in his hands, and his beautiful girlfriend kicking her feet on the office table.

you’re supposed to be his supportive plus-one. and gojo does feel supported—how could he not when the love of his life is here for him, dressed up like a midsummer dream? but gojo thinks he’d feel even more supported if you weren’t bracketing his thighs & tugging on his tie every time he tries to speak.

“thank you all for coming. i’m honored to have this opportunity—“

“satoruu,” you coo. “i miss you.”

gojo satoru knows better than to sigh. he does it anyway, collapsing into your neck in resignation as he squeezes your hips. you’re pressing a glossy kiss to his jaw. “i’m right here, sweetheart,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “will you let me focus?”

you nod sweetly, patting his cheek dismissively when he presses a kiss to your neck in thanks.

“thank you all for coming. i’m honored to have this opportunity to present—“

“satoruu,”

thirteen words this time. fairs.

“yes, sweetheart.”

“my feet hurt,” you state, kicking your feet up to show him. for once, you’re not being totally dramatic. even with your heels on satoru can see the sides of your feet reddening, flushed & slightly swollen against the material. his brows furrow. “how’d this happen, angel…?”

he kneels down to slip your heels off. you pout: “i got new heels so i’d look pretty for your presentation. now my feet hurt and i’ve ruined everything.”

satoru frowns, but you’re still spiraling. dramatic as always, talking like it’s the end of the world with your eyes glossy & nose wrinkled in lament. but gojo’s heart only goes sticky in his chest. how could you possibly ruin everything when you are everything?

he reaches up to wipe a tear off your cheek. “look at me, baby,” he murmurs, other hand rubbing circles on your ankles. he looks devastating like this—hair messy, tie loose from all your tugging & knees on the floor for you even though he’s in his finest dress pants. “you didn’t ruin anything, okay baby? look.”

he slips off your heels, then his own leather shoes, & laces them onto your bare feet. “wear these.”

you blink as he lifts you off the table, kneeling back down to adjust the shoes better. you wiggle your toes. your feet don’t even reach the middle, and you almost fall trying to walk two steps, but the gesture alone has you beaming. you turn to him with your lips bent in a clumsy smile.

“they’re huge, toru,” you tease, twirling around for him to watch. satoru only smiles. his heart goes sticky in his throat. he pulls you into a soft kiss because trying to speak might make his chest hurt.

knock knock.

one of satoru’s classmates—nerd #1—peeks his head in, expression slightly terrified. “uh, gojo? they’re ready for you in the boardroom,” he gulps. “you’re up.”

satoru nods, gathers his speech papers. you’re practicing walking around in his shoes now, arms stretched out to help you balance as you strut around with a grin on your face. gojo satoru looks down at his feet. they’re in nothing but a pair of socks.

right.

he sucks in a breath, then turns to kiss your forehead. “stay here where it’s warm, okay?”

you’re still admiring yourself in his shoes, but you chirp out an okay! regardless. satoru bites his lip. it’s showtime.

——

the faculty is looking at satoru like he’s grown two heads.

have they never seen a shoeless man before? how rude. he’s standing on the boardroom’s stage now, clipboard in hand, projector lighting up the board behind him. some of the recruiters are nodding. the others are trying not to look at his feet so they can’t be accused of classism. gojo satoru is not even poor. a glance at his suit should tell you that.

but gojo doesn’t care. he presents without issue—even though the entire time, his mind is on you.

the boardroom door has a center made of glass. through the pane, satoru can see you back in the office—you’ve somehow found music controls for the office’s boombox, and you’re dancing—oh god, you’re dancing—twirling around with a clumsy smile & laughing when you stumble in his much larger shoes.

satoru’s heart swells. his lip twitches.

gojo turns his focus back to his presentation. he’ll work hard to keep you smiling for the rest of your life.

III. DISTRACTION #3 : WHY IS MY GIRLFRIEND IMMUNE TO TUTORING…

time: 6:14 PM location: The Quad, Satoru’s Apartment.

⎚-⎚

“who discovered the americas ?”

“Martin Luther King.”

You are going to fail this exam.

“that’s enough general history today,” gojo mutters, voice croaking in alarm when you give your answer. you’re tucked in his lap, fingers curled in his collar, nose in his neck & completely unbothered. your perfume is sticky in his lungs. “let’s try math. you like math, baby?”

“mhm,” you kiss his jaw. “love it.”

no you don’t. gojo flips open a book with one hand, the other rubbing circles on your thigh. “let’s practice some integration…” he scans the page for questions while you twirl the hairs on his nape. “okay, this one. can you try this for me, princess?”

your lips tug into a bored frown. “okay,” you lean up to glance at the page, “done.”

he blinks, “done?”

“yes,” you flop back against him, soft & pretty & tired & his. “i solved it in my head.”

satoru bites his lip, brows knit in concern. “baby, you can’t solve integrals in your head.”

“i have a very strong brain.”

satoru prays for some strength of his own. okay—okay. he purses his lip. “so strong, baby. do you want to walk me through your process?”

you frown in his neck.

“first of all,” you tug his collar, lashes fluttering, “i looked at the numbers.”

“good job.”

“then,” you tug his earlobe, “i got bored.”

“oh.”

satoru sighs—of course you did. he purses his lip, blue eyes flitting across the page as his spoiled pretty angel hugs his neck; dreary and tired and ‘bored’ in his lap. finals are coming up and things are not looking good for you. he prays for strength (again).

you seem to have found some strength of your own. gojo’s not sure when you pick up your phone (which he had confiscated from you earlier), but while he stares into the distance and laments your guaranteed failure, you scroll through your phone with a grin on your lips.

“toru, look at this bag,” you coo, pushing the bright screen to his face. “it’s so pink and pretty, just like me.”

“just like you,” he repeats, still staring into the distance.

“wow, nine-hundred-and-fifty dollars,” you kick your feet in his lap. “baby, can i buy it?” you coo, voice sweet.

satoru blinks out of his daze. he glances at the phone screen—then at you, suddenly sweet & bright & brimming with energy. his thumb brushes your inner thigh. “baby, you’re supposed to be studying.”

“i am studying,” you frown, and gojo wants to kiss it off again. “i’m studying consumer behavior. can i have your card?”

there are three reasons gojo satoru should not give you his card.

you are going to fail your exams.

you haven’t double-checked if the price is in CAD or USD.

you are going to fail your exams.

gojo lets you have his card.

you squeal, hopping off his lap to retrieve his wallet in the other room. satoru leans back against his desk chair. in front of him, his desk is a mess of opened books & littered pencils, a ‘get good grades!’ subliminal playing on your mini speaker because you insisted the whispered affirmations would guarantee your success. gojo sighs.

“thank you, toru!” you sing as you pad back into the room, a skip in your step. you lean down to kiss his cheek & flop onto his bed to open his laptop. you have his wallet in your hands, and gojo satoru already knows you will not double check the currency.

gojo closes your textbook with a sigh. better luck next time.

ac: (see alt text!) @ to00fu

DISTRACTIONS, end.

toru gojo doesn’t make it past rule number one.

he fails because he doesn’t know how to not bite his cheek & choke on the blood when you stroll in with four inch heels & glossy lips & nails that toru prays will gouge his eyes out. he can’t fucking think. his throat’s all achey & you smell like sugar & his tongue dries so hard he swallows blood to keep it wet.

he tries to say you look beautiful. the words dribble off his tongue & plunk into his drink.

“—earth to toru? it’s really rude to stare.”

how shameful of him! he should dig his knees into the tile. grovel & beg till your pout dissolves & you decide you can forgive him for making you even the slightest bit uncomfortable.

but instead he shifts his arm over the booth seat. clenches his throat. reminds himself of the training toji worked oh-so hard to give him & pinches his thigh so his foot stops tapping so hard,

“s’not much to stare at.”

what ?

in front of him you’re fawn freckled & doe eyed, lashes fluttering like—heaven forbid—you hadn’t even heard him.

so he says it again. “uhm, there’s nothing much to stare at—“

“i heard you the first time.”

your tone cuts him like a knife. toru’s not sure when you start packing, but suddenly your purse is half full & your fork’s on the table & say her name—say her name—”

he calls your name & screams an apology. you leave as the words plunk into his drink.

TOJI’S REMARK : SON, I AIN’T TEACH YOU ALL THAT.

PLAYBOY TACTICS #2: GOOD GIRLS LIKE BAD BOYS

taught by: sato gojo

“girls don’t care about that ralph lauren shit. take off that polo and get in this tech, man.”

⎚-⎚

toru gojo’s room reeks of fratboy & paint thinner.

there’s two pizza boxes & a beer can rotting; sugar in sato’s molars & suguru’s piercings glimmering in the heat. & sukuna is here; lately he always is, laid up in toru’s bed with his phone raised over his head & palm inching dangerously towards his waistband. toru gojo knows better than to comment.

“you’ve got no game, twin. how are we even related?”

sato speaks with a mouthful of popcorn. beside him suguru’s snacking too, shoving things in his backpack & parting lips so sato can feed him the occasional kernel.

suguru scoffs, teeth sticky. “it’s a miracle she even lets herself be seen with you. poindexter looking ass.”

“i know, right? mr. bean ass closet. he won’t spend money on clothes and wears the same shirt in different colors everyday.”

“that’s not true—“toru grips his neckline. “—i’m not even wearing the shirt right now!”

he gestures to the material but geto only wrinkles his nose.

“can you please stop moving? i can hear the polyester in your hoodie..”

sato snorts. sukuna grunts & it’s not due to the joke.

suguru’s done packing now. he kisses sato’s cheek. ruffles toru’s hair. turns to dap up ryomen sukuna before deciding he probably shouldn’t. he takes his exit with a palm waving goodbye.

sato turns to his twin. “you know what you really need, man?”

“the ability to set boundaries? i don’t know why ryomen thinks it’s okay to fap in my sheets.”

“that,” sato nods, ignoring the wet sounds that leave toru’s bedside, “and a new fucking wardrobe.”

ⵌ SHOW TIME ! tw: satirical references to suicide.

toru gojo looks like a fucking idiot.

glasses half-foggy. nose cherry pink. dark jeans with too many rips & chains dangling everywhere. sato’s jacket has zippers that don’t actually zip anything, and the nicest thing about the outfit are the ugly birkenstocks that show his flushed pink toes.

toru greets you with a smile. eyes bright, just happy to look a mess.

“hey, y/n!”

“Hello. Are you mad?”

your tone is clipped & makes toru flinch. he swallows, blood sticky in his jugular. your nose is wrinkled & lashes fluttering & your gaze flits to the library exit like you might run away.

he won’t let that happen. not again.

so he clears his throat. pinches his wrist. pretends his brother’s jacket doesn’t fit too loose & itch at his chin: “nope, just trying something new! shall we get started on the project ?”

his smile stretches like plastic. there’s sweat on his chin & you think he has too many teeth.

—-

toru gojo keeps tap tap tapping.

birge-carnegie library is oakwood old & glimmering with glory. the air is heavy with heat & coffee shells & the bitter realization that toru gojo is never getting the girl.

at least, not at this rate.

it’s been twenty minutes & yet all toru can do is stare. god, you’re so pretty. swollen cheeks, pretty gaze, cherry coke lips pressed into a pout & clicky nails that stab toru in the gut as you tap at your keyboard. you’re so pretty & it’s fucking killing him because you’re pouting & toru swears you don’t even want to be here.

toru can only bite his lip. mind racing, heart aching.

you’re shivering now.

and it’s not quite obvious, & if toru wasn’t staring at you like you were girl turned god he probably wouldn’t have noticed. but he sees it. the way your lip quivers. the way you tug your sleeve over your wrist & pout when it flicks back into place. the way your shoulders squeeze like they’re clinging to the heat.

you don’t even know how you make toru’s chest hurt.

& before he can think it through he’s leaning over to place his—well, sato’s—jacket over your shoulders. he can only pray it doesn’t still smell like suguru.

“this smells like suguru.”

oh, well.

but you’re softening now; settling into your seat. lashes fluttering as you push your arms into the holes & turn back to him with gentle gaze & eyes star-achingly bright.

“thank you,”

your voice is too soft. his heart is too sticky.

sato’s jacket swallows you whole.

toru thinks it’s cute. you think it’s annoying. it’s been five minutes & you’re still shifting it over your skin, pulling & tugging & pouting when you discover yet another zipper.

you frown. “i feel like a jingle bell.”

“merry christmas.” “it’s a tuesday in may..”

it is. toru doesn’t know why he said that. he’ll likely hang himself when he gets home.

but the embarrassment doesn’t end there. you stand up—just to tug the jacket over your thighs, just to straighten it out—but toru gojo doesn’t know any better so he fucking lunges—

“toru!” you gasp, startled.

toru freezes; glasses tilting off his face, mouth part open. & he looks at you, eyes wide & cheeks flushed & so fucking startled, & he thinks he’ll definitely be seeing that noose when he gets home.

“sorry—i’m sorry—i didn’t mean to—“

“you scared me.”

you’re gripping the hem of your jacket now—his jacket, sato’s, whatever—and god, he’s such an idiot. so fucking stupid & can never do anything right & will likely die knowing he was born into this world just to leave as his brother’s shadow. and worst of all, that he will never, ever, get the girl.

“i’m so sorry,” he trembles. he doesn’t look at you, he can’t & he doesn’t deserve to, so it’s fine. “i wasn’t thinking. i just saw you standing up and i thought—i thought—“

he swallows. looks away.

but you don’t let him off that easy.

“you thought what ?”

he doesn’t answer. god, he looks ridiculous. curled into himself, palms on his knees all stupid & polite. cheeks flushed, glasses foggy. lips half-bitten & a flushed gaze that never meets yours.

giving you his jacket left him in a wife beater two sizes too big. he looks small & scrawny & you think you want to kiss him.

“toru.”

he exhales, long & slow. he still doesn’t look at you. you wish he would.

“i thought you were gonna leave again.”

“what ?”

he continues, “like at the restaurant. when you—when you stood up. walked out,” he swallows. “i didn’t want you to leave again. i didn’t want to watch you go.”

god. your throat is far too tight. your nails itch at your wrist like you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself.

“i’m not gonna leave,”

your voice is too sweet, too gentle. it sounds like honey & it spoils in the heat.

“you promise?”

you only sigh, walk over and slip into the seat beside him. you don’t say you promise but toru thinks he’ll be fine for now.

SATO’S REMARK : KINDA PITIFUL, BUT HEY, IT’S SOMETHING !

PLAYBOY TACTICS #3: NEG NEG NEG

taught by: geto suguru

“it’s all about the mystery, man. you gotta lower her value to make her see yours.”

⎚-⎚

“so how do you neg?”

“well personally, i’d start with calling her a monkey,” geto has his tongue in his cheek, desk chair groaning with a creaaak as sato spins him playfully. “unless she’s black. you shouldn’t say that if she’s black.”

“i don’t think i should say that either way..”

sato rests his chin on the chair head, cheeks peach-tinged & grin clumsy.

“probably shouldn’t!”

geto shrugs, tapping at toru’s keyboard. it’s 12 PM monday & the gang’s all here: suguru’s playing the sims 4 on toru’s new PC. sukuna is asleep with his dick in his hands. sato is whining because suguru doesn’t want to have a gay love story with him in the sims. and toji’s not here—12 PM monday means a new shift at his new job. toru hopes skai jackson will take it easy on him—working as her personal AI prompt writer must certainly be exhausting.

“the logic is simple—” suguru smacks sato’s hand away from the keyboard, “if you subtly insult her, she’ll feel the urge to prove herself. and her trying to prove herself—” another smack to sato’s stubborn hands, “tricks her brain into thinking you’re worth impressing.”

“and eventually, that she likes you!” sato cheers. “woah, sugu—when did you install wicked whims?”

“huh—? what the hell? why does my sim keep trying to fuck bob pancakes!”

“make him fuck mine instead.” / “please slit your throat.”

toru breathes, drags a palm over his face. his brother & best friend are fighting now—god knows about what—but he’s more concerned about the fact that he’s got a movie date with you in two hours and today’s game plan is far from complete.

“suguru’s right. and for a feisty bitch like y/n ? negging is even more crucial.”

sukuna’s voice is close to guttural & has all eyes snapping towards him. he’s awake now, cheeks flushed & bleary gazed & eyes half-lidded. his cock is sticky on his stomach & his palm strokes it lovingly.

toru frowns. “don’t call her a bitch. i’m serious.”

“and don’t talk with your dick in your hands. i’m disgusted.” suguru snarks.

sukuna shrugs, still lazily palming himself for the world to see. suguru wrinkles his nose in disgust & turns his head back to the game. he rage quits when he turns to find his sim palming himself too.

“neg her as much as possible,” sukuna breathes, toes curling. “humble her, make her second guess—shit.” he’s pumping faster now, gasps short & breath heavy. “make her—fuck! m’gonna cum—!”

sukuna blows his load. suguru & sato have long left the room, & toru is still searching for that noose.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

cineplex at yonge-dundas is too-bright screens & overpriced popcorn. even now, toru’s got caramel sticky in his teeth & palms crossed in a silent prayer. there’s blood in his throat & an ache in his ribs & he’s got a tie on his neck for no fucking reason.

you walk in looking like a midsummer dream.

toru really does think you’re girl turned god. after all, most girls his age aren’t honey-mouthed or starry-eyed or flush-cheeked like you are. you walk in in tight top & short skirt, lashes fluttering as you glance around the room in quiet search of him. your eyes are all big & your lips all pouty & toru bets you don’t even notice. bets you don’t even know how you leave him sweat-soaked & feverish.

“toru!”

you’ve sauntered up to him now, purse in your hands & grin on your lips. your smile is clumsy & satoru’s heart must be too because it swells over & bursts like overripe fruit. his vocal chords slosh against his throat like blood.

“hi,” he blurts. “you look pretty.”

you tilt your head & look up at him all warm-cheeked & doe-eyed. “thank you.”

it’s silent for a beat; toru’s eyes boring into yours with two cracked teeth & a kernel in his mouth. you’re so pretty & you look so sweet & he wants to kiss you so fucking bad.

you break the silence. “you like my outfit?” you step back, voice soft. “i went shopping yesterday.”

toru wants to ask if you did that just for him—just for today’s date with him—but he doesn’t. he knows better so he doesn’t.

instead he drinks you in. he looks like a butterfly trapped in a hazy addiction: pupils blown & bleary eyed, jam smeared cheeks & a quickly reddening nose. his lips are half-parted / his mouth is half-dry.

your outfit’s simple but oh-so effective: denim skirt too short on your thighs, black off-shoulder with ruffles on the sleeves, kitten heels to match your top. god, you’re so fucking cute.

and because you’re so cute, toru can’t fuck this up. so he decides it’s time to implement suguru’s lesson from earlier in the day.

“you look incredible,” he swallows, knuckles shaky. “did you—uhm. did you pick black to hide your stomach rolls?”

toru gojo shouldn’t have said that.

he knows because your lips part immediately. cheeks flushed, eyes wide. you’re frozen in front of him, lips quivering with something toru recognizes as embarrassment.

oh jesus—ya allah—great universe—what has he done?

before toru’s joints can unfreeze you’re already turning away, & toru swears there are tears in your eyes. he’s sworn he’ll never let you leave again without a fight so even though his vocal chords slosh against his throat like blood, he manages to speak.

“y/n, wait!” he gasps, already moving. “i didn’t mean that—! your body is tea! your body is tea!”

GETO’S REMARK : MAN, CALL YOUR FUCKIN’ UBER.

PLAYBOY TACTICS #4 : GET YOUR GAME FACE ON !

taught by: ryomen sukuna

“you know your problem, man ? you’re not taking this seriously, not locked in at all. let me put you on, friend.”

⎚-⎚

sukuna sighs, flops out of toru’s bed with his dick hanging out of his boxers. he has his elbows on his knees & a palm on his chin & precum sticky on his abdomen.

“i think it’s time i stepped in and gave you some advice.”

“you have a porn addiction. i think i’m good.”

PLAYBOY TACTICS #5: OR MAYBE…BE YOURSELF ?

taught by: nanami kento

“you’ve been taking advice from those idiots all this time? oh…”

⎚-⎚

in the men’s bathroom of birge-carnegie library, toru gojo has his pulse in his teeth & his heart in the sink.

4PM today toru gojo walked into the library with too many books in his hands & glasses begging to tilt off. you sat at a table near the center, & when toru walked past he saw it: your gaze meeting his before burying itself between a thick book. the bite of your lips & the way your nose crinkled with disgust.

did you pick black to hide your stomach rolls?

how embarassing! toru gojo should hang himself now—or at least after returning his library books. the overdue fees were no joke. his life was one however, & the heavy realization has his knuckles rousing white on the bathroom sink as he sheds his nerves by the pint.

his eyes are red tinged. cheeks bloody. nose too red & throat too sticky so when he tries to breathe it comes out as a hiccup. toru gojo is truly pathetic. he’s known it his whole life but now the fact has chewed him up & won’t spit him back out.

“hello. what is your problem.”

kento nanami has a tone too clipped. he’s standing at the bathroom door & his mere presence has toru gojo startled. toru jumps back, face contorting in alarm, tears still sticky on his lashes. “kento!”

“in the flesh,” nanami pushes up his glasses. he’s in pressed suit as always, looking years older than toru & his age mates. “why are you loitering in the bathroom? this is very unsanitary.”

toru sniffles, wipes his eyes. “i’m sorry—” he tries for a swallow but it comes out as a hiccup & his eyes are burning all over again because he can’t even fucking breathe right. “—i’m sorry, i’m sorry for everything. i fucked up like i always do and i should’ve used that noose ages ago and i, and i—“

nanami’s brows knit in alarm. toru’s sobbing now, and kento joins him at his side.

“toru,” his voice is soft. “tell me what’s going on.”

if you told nanami kento that going to the carnegie library today would mean comforting one of the gojo twins in the men’s bathroom instead of picking up the new BL manhwa he’d requested the library to stock, he would’ve looked you in the face & laughed.

but here he is, awkwardly patting toru’s back & not reading the latest volume of nerd project.

in his shaky distress, toru recounts everything—the lessons with the sigma-chi boys. sukuna’s refusal to stop jerking off in his bed. him pointing out your stomach rolls—& kento can only shake his head. how ridiculous. he should be reading about andrew young & luke davis right now!

but kento gently wipes toru’s tears. he’s always been rather fond of the younger twin anyways. “have you tried being normal? as in, being yourself?”

toru’s eyes swell, big. he looks stunned—why didn’t he think of that?

but he quickly deflates. he had thought of it. but he’s much too uncool—scrawny & weak & only good for reading textbooks & mediating fights between geto & his dumb brother. he had no choice but to lean into the larp.™

“i can’t—“ he gasps. “—she wouldn’t like me. i’m not cool—“

“and you think the others are cool?” kento raises a brow. “toji, whose a deadbeat dad while in college and sells himself to earn money—“

“he doesn’t do that anymore,” toru gulps. “he works for skai jackson now.”

nanami nods. “and sato, who has a gambling addiction and loses thousands to hakari every week,” toru flinches.

“suguru, who’s addicted to the sims and is in a homoerotic friendship with your brother.”

another flinch.

“sukuna, who is—“

“i didn’t take any advice from sukuna.”

kento nods, “well done. but you know he has a porn addiction and an exhibitionist kink.”

toru gulps, “yes.”

“so no more listening,” kento claps his back. “you apologize. explain to her what you’ve been doing all this while, but also take accountability. you’re smarter than this. you should’ve known better.”

“i’m sorry. she makes me stupid.”

“i know,” kento sighs, softening. toru’s wiping his eyes now. “but you shouldn’t be apologizing to me. go out there and make things right. and wash your hands first.”

toru nods eagerly. he doesn’t even remember to wipe his hands dry, and nanami can only shake his head half-fondly as he watches the younger twin go.

—————

when toru finds you, there’s a pen in your teeth & you won’t meet his eyes.

toru knows you see him standing there beside you. but you don’t flinch. your lashes flutter & you blink slow like you’re totally engrossed in whatever you’re reading. is that percy jackson?

toru shakes his head. then wishes he didn’t, because he must’ve looked really stupid physically shaking his thoughts away. “y/n.”

you don’t respond. his throat folds.

but he keeps going anyways. “y/n, i owe you an apology,” he clears his throat, & he thanks god because he doesn’t hiccup this time. “i’m sorry. i’m really truly sorry. especially for yesterday,” he gulps. “—and your body is tea.”

irritation rises in your features & quickly dissolves.

“uhm,” he’s still standing there, arms behind his back, feet shuffling. “i didn’t—i don’t actually think you have stomach rolls.”

you shut your book with a bam! “can you please stop talking about my stomach?”

“i’m sorry! oh my god i’m so sorry, i’ve been taking advice from my brother and the others on how to be cool and make you like me back but i just ended up being a total idiot! and it’s stupid! it’s so stupid and i should know better but i like you so much that i can’t fucking think and i’m so sorry for hurting you and i’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it if you’d let me and—“

“toru. you’re rambling.”

“i’m sorry!” he panics. “please forgive me!”

“oh my god,” you sigh, palm dragging over your face. “can you please sit down first?”

he sits across from you; hands digging into his knees, back too straight to be healthy.

“so you’ve been taking advice from sato and the others all this time?”

“uh, yes.”

“in what universe is that wise?”

he deflates. “i don’t know how to be wise when it comes to you.”

your tongue’s in your cheek. right now, toru gojo is something akin to a kicked puppy. he’s got a gaze that won’t meet yours & his neck is rash red & you think he might explode.

you click your tongue. “i had my suspicions.”

his head snaps up. “you knew?”

“no, i suspected it,” you tuck a book into your bag, then another, and another. “i first thought so when you showed up at the library looking like ken carson. sato set you up, by the way. even he left his opium era back in 2023.”

“he said girls like guys who dress like that..”

“he lied,” you hum, “i prefer your usual button ups anyway. you look all smart and sexy.”

“thank you. wait—what?”

“mhm,” toru’s not sure when you get up, but now you’re sitting beside him; and god, you’re in a skirt again, and toru wishes you wouldn’t wear skirts. his brain acts all funny when you wear them. he gulps.

“for a smart guy, you’re awfully slow,” your thighs are touching his & your perfume’s in his lungs & fuck, his heart is doing that funny thing again! “do you think i would’ve asked you to dinner that first night if i didn’t like you?”

“the night i said you weren’t much to look at and you left?”

you grit your teeth. “yes, toru. that night.”

he swallows, pupils shifting because he can’t handle your pretty eyes glaring at him. “i thought you did it for a dare.”

you poke his temple & he winces. “i would never do that. you idiot, i’ve liked you since you bumped into me at the library and accidentally said ‘pretty’ instead of apologizing!”

“oh.”

“‘oh’ is right,” you sigh, falling into his shoulder. you don’t miss the way he freezes under your skin. “you’re such an idiot…”

“i really like you.” toru blurts, cheeks pink. “and uhm, i’m happy you like me back. and i think you’re beautiful. so beautiful. you’re probably the most beautiful girl in the world.” he swallows. “and i’m happy you like me back. did i say that already?”

you tilt your head to look up at him from his shoulder. his gaze is trained on his knees, neck flushed, ears pink. & you’re a devil of a girl so you stroke his arm when you purr:

“look at me when you confess. please?”

toru squeaks. because you sound so pretty when you say that in his arm. because the heat of your touch sends shockwaves to his spine & his sleeve is likely sticky from your gloss but he doesn’t care. he doesn’t fucking care.

he turns to you, slow. and you’re already gazing up at him, cheeks flushed, lashes low, sun-soaked & bleary eyed. your lips are so pretty. you’re so pretty. he can’t believe he almost wanted to kill himself. what an idiot.

he clears his throat. “i like you. i wanna kiss you so bad.”

toru’s eyes widen. he didn’t mean the last part—well he did, but he didn’t mean to say it & oh god he’s fucked up again & he felt you tense against him & he’s made you so uncomfortable & you’re gonna leave him again and—

“kiss me,” you breathe. “please, toru?”

his heart hammers. you sound so pretty when you say that. why do you sound so pretty when you say that?

& more importantly, who is he not to obey? so he does as you ask—cups your cheeks oh-so softly with rouge knuckles & gentle hands. and your lashes flutter shut, & oh my god he’s really doing this.

he presses his lips to your own. you sigh into his mouth.

——-

oh, but the story doesn’t end there.

four bookshelves behind & a corner to the right, the gang’s all there. sato & suguru are leaning over the corner, stacked over each other like this is some sort of cartoon. sukuna has a granola bar in his hand instead of his dick. toji’s still not here, still slaving away typing AI prompts for skai jackson’s snapchat stories. nanami kento is here though, standing just enough to the side so no one can mistake him as friends with these idiots.

“what the hell,” sato whispers. “did he just kiss y/n?”

“no way. i think he actually did.”

“why are you guys whispering? you look fucking stupid.”

“says the guy who talks with his dick in his hands.”

“i’ll put it in your mouth next, bastard. or you only like sato’s cock in it?”

“ayoooo. you right but not too much, not too much.”

“who the hell said he was right?!”

nanami takes his leave. that’s enough stupidity for one day.

SIGMA-CHI’S REMARK: HEY, HOW’S HE DONE THAT ?!

𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𖨆𐀪𖠋.

CASANERDVA, end.

you were satoru’s go-to, his reliable, the only person he texted at midnight with nothing but an address or a you up? and you’d show up, or he’d show up, and there was no pretense, no performance, just the two of you, falling into each other like it was the easiest thing in the world.

satoru knew by heart the pretty little sounds you made when you were trying to stay quiet, satoru knew the way your hands fisted in his sheets when he hit the right spot, satoru knew the way you’d shove at his chest afterward, laughing, telling him to go get a towel, you menace.

and he knew — he knew — that there was no one else.

not because you’d ever promised each other anything; you hadn’t, that was the whole point. but somewhere along the way, it had just become… understood. you were his. not in a way that required words, but in a way that was simply true.

so when nanami mentioned, so casually it almost didn’t register, that he’d seen you at that café on fourth street with some guy from the business school — tall, dark hair, looked like he was trying way too hard — gojo didn’t react.

really, he didn’t react.

he just stood there in the doorway of nanami’s apartment, a red solo cup dangling from his fingers, and blinked.

“what?”

“your friend,” nanami said, unbothered, because nanami was always unbothered, which was probably why gojo kept him around. “the one you’re always with. she was on a date.”

a date?

the word landed somewhere in satoru’s chest like a stone dropped into still water, and the ripples spread outward before he could stop them.

“it wasn’t a date,” he heard himself say, and even he didn’t believe it at all.

nanami just raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his beer.

“she was laughing at his jokes. he paid. and she let him walk her to her door.”

satoru’s jaw tightened.

he didn’t even ask how the hell nanami knew about the door part. actually, he didn’t ask anything. he just stood there for a beat too long, then laughed — a short, sharp sound that didn’t reach his eyes — and said something dismissive, something about good for her, and walked away.

but the feeling didn’t go away.

it sat in satoru’s chest for the rest of the night, heavy and hot, and by the time he got back to his own apartment, he’d convinced himself it was just… surprise. yeah, that was all. you’d never once mentioned going on a date. you’d never mentioned anyone else. and okay, fine, you didn’t owe him that, you didn’t owe him anything, but—

but…

satoru woke up the next morning with that same weight pressing down on him, and it didn’t lift; not when he went to class, not when he sat through a lecture he didn’t hear a word of, not when he pulled out his phone and stared at your name in his messages; his thumb hovering over the keyboard, typing and deleting and typing again.

hey, you free tonight?

what are you doing later?

heard you went on a date???

satoru deleted that last one before he could send it.

it sounded crazy. it sounded jealous. and gojo satoru didn’t get jealous; no, gojo satoru was the one who’d set the rules in the first place. gojo satoru didn’t do complications.

so why did it feel like his chest was caving in?

he told himself he wasn’t going to say anything. he told himself it was none of his business. he told himself that whatever you did, whoever you saw, it didn’t matter, because you weren’t his, and that was exactly how he’d wanted it.

but, three days later, satoru saw you walking across campus.

you were smiling. not at him — you were smiling at your phone, your thumbs moving fast over the screen, your cheeks a little pink. and you were dressed differently, too. not in the sweats and oversized hoodie you wore when you came over to his place, but in a pretty skirt. a pretty skirt. with your legs bare and your hair down and something soft and open about your face that satoru had never seen before.

or maybe he had, maybe he just hadn’t been looking.

oh.

the realization hit him like a freight train.

satoru was in love with you.

not the casual, comfortable fondness he’d let himself feel. not the you’re fun, you’re hot, we work well together kind of affection, but something real. something terrifying, something that had been growing in the spaces satoru purposely hadn’t been paying attention to, rooting itself deep, and now it was way too late to pull it out.

satoru stood there in the middle of the quad, simply watching you walk away, and for the first time in his life, gojo satoru had no idea what to do.

he spent the next two days trying to talk himself out of it.

it was just habit, he told himself. you’d been around for three years, of course he’d miss you if you weren’t there anymore. it didn’t mean anything. it was just—

but every time he closed his eyes, he saw you in that skirt, smiling at your phone, laughing at some other guy’s jokes.

and the thought of someone else’s hands on you, someone else’s mouth, someone else waking up next to you in the morning, made something in him go white-hot and feral.

satoru couldn’t eat, he couldn’t even sleep; the boy was pacing his apartment like a caged animal, running his hands through his soft white hair until it stuck up in every weird direction, and when his phone buzzed — your name lighting up the screen — he nearly dropped it.

hi, you okay? haven’t heard from you in a few days.

satoru stared at it.

and then, before he could think better of it, he was grabbing his keys and walking out the door.

satoru didn’t knock.

actually, he never knocked — you’d given him a key ages ago, back when it was easier than you having to get up and let him in at 2am — but this time, when he pushed the door open, there was nothing easy about it.

you were sitting on your couch, a textbook open on your lap, a pen prettily tucked behind your ear. your hair was up in a messy bun, and you were wearing those ridiculous fuzzy socks you loved so much, and you looked so normal, so you, that his chest physically ached.

“satoru?”

you looked up, eyebrows drawing together. your eyes swept over him — at the wild hair, the dark circles under his blue eyes, the tension in his jaw — and something shifted in your expression. now there was concern, and confusion.

“what’s wrong? you look—”

“don’t go.”

the words roughly came out before satoru could stop them; cracked at the edges, not his voice at all.

you blinked. “what?”

satoru stood in the doorway, completely frozen, his hand still on the doorknob. he’d imagined this moment a hundred times in the past two days, and in every version, he was smooth, he was charming, he found the perfect words, the perfect smile, the perfect way to make this easy.

but that wasn’t what happened at all.

what happened was that satoru’s hands started shaking. what happened was that his voice cracked in the middle of your name. what happened was that he stood there, six-foot-three and undone, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

“i heard you went on a date.”

your mouth opened before closing again.

“how did you—”

“it doesn’t matter.”

satoru stepped forward, then stopped, like he wasn’t really sure he was allowed to come any closer. his hands were shoved in his pockets now, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was working, the way he couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

“just—don’t go on another one.”

“satoru…”

“i know,” he laughed, but it was hollow, nothing like the easy, carefree sound you were used to. “i know i don’t have the right to say that. i know what we are. i know i’m the one who said no feelings, no complications, no—”

satoru’s voice broke.

he stopped, slowly swallowed, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were bright, his usual arrogance stripped away until all that was left was something raw and desperate and so achingly human it made your chest tighten.

“don’t go,” he said again, softer this time. “please.”

you set your textbook aside slowly, your heart pounding.

you’d never seen satoru like this. hell, you’d never seen him anything less than composed, less than perfectly in control, and the sight of him right now — messy, shaking, his carefully constructed walls crumbling around him — made something twist in your stomach.

“satoru,” you said carefully. “what are you saying?”

he crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of the couch.

your breath caught.

satoru’s hands came up to rest on your knees, his fingers curling into the fabric of your sweatpants like he was holding on for dear life. he was looking up at you now, and there was nothing playful in his gaze, nothing teasing, just heat and fear and something that looked terrifyingly like love.

“i’ll do anything,” satoru said, and his voice was low, rough, cracking on the last syllable. “i’ll be whatever you want. whatever you need. just—just don’t—”

satoru couldn’t even finish the sentence.

his forehead dropped to your knee, and you felt the shudder that ran through him, felt the way his hands tightened, and your heart, your stupid, traitorous heart, was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

“i’ll stop being an idiot,” he mumbled against your leg. “i’ll stop pretending i don’t—that i don’t—”

he lifted his head, and his eyes were wet.

gojo satoru, who literally never cried about anything, who laughed in the face of anything serious, who had spent three whole years keeping you at arm’s length so he wouldn’t have to feel this — was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“i love you,” he said, and the words came out broken, desperate, nothing like the smooth confession he’d probably imagined. “i love you, and i’m an idiot, and i know i don’t deserve to ask you for anything, but please. please. don’t go.”

you stared at him.

and then, before you could think, before you could second-guess or talk yourself out of it, you were leaning forward, cupping his face in your hands, and pulling him up.

satoru came easily, eagerly, his huge hands sliding up your thighs as he rose to his knees, then higher, until his face was level with yours. his breath was warm against your lips, his alluring eyes searching yours for something you weren’t sure you knew how to give.

“say something,” he whispered. “please. i’m losing my mind.”

you simply kissed him.

and this kiss was three years of pretending you didn’t want more, three years of biting your tongue and telling yourself it was fine, three years of loving him from a safe distance — all of it poured into one desperate, messy press of lips.

satoru made a sound against your mouth, something between a gasp and a groan, and then his hands were in your hair, pulling you closer, tilting your head back so he could kiss you deeper. his tongue slid against yours, and the taste of him, the feel of him — familiar and yet completely new, now that there was nothing held back — made your head spin.

“i really thought—” satoru broke the kiss, his forehead pressed to yours, his breathing ragged. “i thought you were going to—some other guy, and i really couldn’t—i couldn’t breathe, i couldn’t think—”

“there was no other guy,” you said, and you heard your own voice crack, heard the tears you hadn’t realized you were holding back. “i went on one date, and i spent the whole time wishing it was you.”

satoru’s hands tightened in your hair.

“say that again.”

“i wished it was you, satoru,” you whispered. “i’ve always wished it was you.”

the sound he made was almost pained, and his mouth found yours again, hungrier this time, and his huge hands slid down your body — your shoulders, your arms, your waist — like he was relearning every single inch of you, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“i’m sorry,” he breathed against your lips. “i’m sorry i was so stupid. i’m sorry i made you think—”

“satoru.”

“—that i didn’t want this. that i didn’t want you. because i do, i want you so much it scares me, i want—”

you kissed him quiet, and satoru completely melted into you, his weight pressing you back against the couch cushions, his body covering yours like he was trying to shield you from the rest of the world.

“show me,” you said, pulling back just enough to look at him.

satoru’s pupils were blown wide, his lips kiss-swollen, his hair a complete mess; he looked wrecked, he looked beautiful.

“show me how much you want me.”

his breath stuttered out of him.

“fuck,” satoru whispered.

and then the boy was kissing down your jaw, your neck, the hollow of your throat, his huge hands pushing up under your shirt, his palms flat against your stomach, your ribs, the undersides of your breasts.

“i’m gonna make you feel so good,” he said, and his voice was low, rough, and reverent. “i’m gonna make you forget anyone else ever existed. i’m gonna make you mine.”

satoru looked up at you then, still on his knees between your legs, his face flushed, his eyes dark, and there was nothing playful about him; just a man who’d spent three whole years running from something he should have been running toward, finally, finally done pretending.

“tell me you want that,” he said. “tell me you want me.”

you reached down, cupped his face in your hands, and pulled him up until his lips were a breath away from yours.

“i’ve always wanted you,” you said. “i was just waiting for you to catch up.”

he kissed you like a man drowning, and you let yourself fall.

satoru’s mouth was desperate, hungry, like he was trying to make up for three years of holding back in a single kiss. his hands were everywhere — your jaw, your neck, your shoulders, your waist — like he couldn’t decide where to touch first, like he needed to feel all of you at once or he’d forget how.

you kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space left between you. satoru’s weight pressed you into the couch cushions, and you could feel his heart pounding against your chest, or maybe that was yours, or maybe it was both of you, tangled up together and beating out of sync.

“need—” satoru gasped against your mouth, pulling back just far enough to breathe, and his voice was wrecked, barely there. “need you in your room. now.”

you didn’t have time to respond before he was pulling you up, his huge hands sliding down to grip your thighs, lifting you without apparent effort. your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and his mouth was on yours again before you could even register that you were moving.

satoru didn’t break the kiss.

not when he stumbled slightly in the hallway, not when his shoulder bumped the doorframe, not when he slowly lowered your body onto your bed and followed you down, his body completely covering yours like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go for even a single second.

your back hit the mattress, and satoru was there, everywhere, his lips never leaving yours. his tongue slid against your lower lip, then into your mouth, slow and deep, and you moaned, your hands coming up to tangle in his white hair, pulling him closer even though there was nowhere left to go.

“satoru,” you breathed, and he made a sound; low, almost pained, against your mouth.

“say it again.”

“satoru—”

his hips pressed into yours, and you felt him then, already hard and so so so desperate through his jeans, and the way he shuddered when you instinctively rolled up to meet him sent a thrill through your entire body.

“fuck,” satoru whispered.

his lips trailed away from your mouth, down your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“i’ve got you. i’ve got you, okay? just let me—”

satoru’s hands were shaking as he pushed up the hem of your shirt, his palms sliding against bare skin, and he pulled back just enough to look at you; and oh, his eyes were dark, pupils blown so wide there was barely any blue left.

“you have no idea,” he said, and his voice cracked. “how long i’ve wanted to do this. for real.”

you reached down, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and tugged it; satoru helped you pull it over his head, and then he was bare above you, with broad shoulders and lean muscle, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon.

you let your hands trace down his collarbone, his chest, the lines of his abdomen, and he shivered under your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a second.

“you’re so pretty,” you said without thinking, and he let out a breathless laugh — the first real laugh you’d heard from him all night, soft and surprised and a little embarrassed.

“that’s supposed to be my line.”

satoru dipped his head, pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat, then lower, his lips dragging down your sternum as his fingers found the hem of your shirt again. he pushed it up, slowly, uncovering you inch by inch, and when his mouth reached the lace of your bra, he paused.

his breath was warm against your skin, and you could feel him trembling again as he looked up at you through his lashes.

“can i?”

you nodded, not trusting your voice, and satoru smiled before hooking his fingers under the fabric and pulling it down.

satoru’s hands were so careful as he bared you, reverent almost, and the way he looked at you completely made your stomach flip; like you were something precious, something he couldn’t believe he got to touch.

“god,” the boy breathed, and then his mouth was on you, hot and wet and so perfect, his warm tongue circling your nipple before sucking gently.

your back arched off the bed, a gasp tearing out of you, and his hand came up to cup your other breast, his thumb brushing over the peak in slow, deliberate circles.

“satoru—”

“i know,” he murmured against your skin, switching to the other side, his teeth grazing lightly before his tongue soothed the sting. “i know, baby. i’ve got you.”

the words sent a rush of heat through you, pooling low in your belly, and you could feel yourself growing wetter by the second, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

satoru must have noticed, because his hips rolled into the mattress, a soft groan escaping him, and his mouth started moving lower again; down your ribs, your stomach, your hipbone, his lips and teeth and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake. he paused at the waistband of your sweatpants, his fingers hooking into the elastic, and looked up at you.

“okay?”

well… you were pretty sure you’d never been more okay in your entire life.

“fuck, yes,” you said, and your voice came out breathless, desperate. “please.”

satoru’s eyes darkened.

he pulled your sweatpants down slowly, dragging them over your hips, your thighs, your knees, his knuckles brushing against your skin with every inch. when he reached your ankles, he tossed them aside, and then he was just staring at you — you, laid out beneath him in nothing but a pair of thin cotton panties that were definitely already soaked through.

satoru’s hands slid up your calves, your knees, the insides of your thighs, pushing them gently apart. you let him, spreading for him without hesitation, and the noise he made when he saw the dark spot on your underwear was almost animal.

“fuck,” he breathed. “you’re already so wet.”

your face burned, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed — not with the way he was looking at you, like you were something he’d been starving for.

satoru hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down with the same agonizing slowness; you lifted your hips to help, and he slid them off, discarding them somewhere on the floor, and then—

then he was just looking at you. all of you. his gaze so intense it made your thighs twitch, made you want to close them, but satoru held them open, his hands firm on your knees.

“so pretty,” he said, echoing your words from earlier, and his voice was rough, reverent. “so pretty, and you’ve been right here the whole time, and i was too stupid to—”

he cut himself off, shaking his head, and then he was lowering himself, his shoulders spreading your thighs further apart, his breath hot against the inside of your leg.

“satoru—”

“i’m gonna take my time,” he said, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, just inches from where you needed him. “i’ve waited three years. i’m not rushing this.”

satoru pressed a soft kiss to your thigh, then another, then another; each one higher, closer, until you were squirming beneath him, your fingers twisting in the sheets, a whine building in your throat.

“please,” you gasped. “satoru, please—”

“tell me what you want.”

“you know what i want.”

satoru hummed against your skin, and you felt his smile, his lips curving against your thigh.

“i want to hear you say it.”

your face was burning, your heart pounding, your entire body pulled taut like a string about to snap.

“i want you to—” you swallowed, your voice dropping to barely a whisper. “i want you to taste me.”

satoru’s exhale was shaky, almost surprised, like even though he’d asked for it, hearing you say it hit him harder than he expected — even though it’s not the first time.

“yeah?” his voice was low, a little rough. “you want my mouth on you, baby?”

you nodded, unable to form words, and he made a guttural sound before finally, finally lowering his head.

the first touch of his tongue was so light you almost thought you’d imagined it; it was a slow, flat lick from your entrance to your clit, broad and warm and unhurried, and your hips jerked off the bed, a cry tearing out of you.

“god,” satoru breathed, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “you taste even better than before.”

he did it again, slower this time, dragging his tongue through your folds like he was savoring you, and your hand flew down to tangle in his white hair, holding him there.

he groaned against you, the vibration shooting straight up your spine, and his arms slid under your thighs, hooking over his shoulders, opening you up even more.

“stay still for me,” satoru murmured, and then his mouth was on you properly, his lips closing around your clit, his tongue circling in slow, deliberate strokes.

you couldn’t have stayed still even if you tried.

your hips rolled against satoru’s face, chasing the pressure, and he simply let you, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady enough for him to work. he sucked gently, then harder, then released with a soft pop that made your breath hitch, before diving back in.

“satoru—”

“i know,” he said against you, his voice muffled, and the vibration made you moan. “let go. i’ve got you.”

satoru’s tongue flattened against your clit, pressing down just right, and your vision went white at the edges, but then he pulled back, switching to something slower, softer, and you whined in protest.

“patience,” he said, and you could hear the smirk even if you couldn’t see his face. “i told you. i’m taking my time.”

he kissed your inner thigh again, then your other thigh, then back to the center, teasing you with the lightest flick of his tongue before pulling away again. you were shaking now, your thighs trembling against his shoulders, and he seemed to sense that you were at your limit, because he stopped playing.

satoru’s mouth covered you again, his tongue working your clit in tight, focused circles while one of his hands slid up your thigh, his fingers brushing against your entrance.

you were so wet that he slid inside without resistance — one finger, then two, curling up just right, and your back arched off the bed, a broken cry escaping your lips.

“there she is,” satoru murmured, his breath so warm against you. “there you go, baby. that’s it.”

his fingers moved slowly at first, matching the rhythm of his tongue, in and out, curling against that sweet little spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.

you could feel yourself tightening around his long fingers, your climax building low and deep, and satoru must have felt it too, because his pace quickened, his tongue pressing harder, his fingers curling faster.

“come for me,” he said, his voice rough, desperate. “wanna taste it. wanna taste you when you fall apart.”

his mouth closed around your clit again, sucking gently, and his fingers pressed deeper, and the combination was too much, too perfect, too everything—

you shattered.

your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your hips bucking against satoru’s face, your hands fisting in his hair, a scream caught in your throat, but he didn’t stop; satoru kept licking, kept sucking, kept his fingers buried deep inside you, working you through it, drawing it out until you were gasping, trembling, completely undone.

and then, when you thought it was over, when you thought he’d finally let you breathe—

satoru didn’t stop.

his tongue was still moving, slower now, gentler, but still there, still circling, still pressing, and your overstimulated nerves lit up like fireworks, too much and not enough all at once.

“satoru,” you gasped, tugging at his hair. “satoru, i—”

he hummed against you, and the vibration made you whimper, your thighs trying to close around his head.

“shh,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. his chin was wet, his lips red and swollen, his eyes dark and half-lidded. he looked drunk. “i’m not done with you yet.”

“i can’t—”

“you can,” satoru lowered his mouth again, pressing a soft kiss to your clit that made you jolt. “you’re gonna give me one more. i know you can.”

his fingers started moving again, slow and deep, and his tongue went back to your clit, lighter this time, barely there, just enough to keep you teetering on the edge.

“you taste so fucking good,” he said, his voice muffled, and you could hear how much he meant it, could feel it in the way his hips were grinding into the mattress, desperate for friction he wasn’t giving himself. “i could stay here all night. i could eat you out until you forget your own name.”

your hands pushed weakly at his head, but he didn’t budge. if anything, he pressed closer, his tongue flattening against you, his fingers curling deeper.

“t-toru, please, it’s too much—”

“it’s not,” satoru said, and his voice was thick, almost reverent. “it’s not too much. you’re doing so well. you’re so good for me. just one more, okay? just one more, and i’ll stop.”

his thumb found your clit while his fingers kept working, rubbing slow circles that had you seeing stars, and you could feel the pressure building again, faster this time, sharper, too intense and too perfect and you couldn’t—

“that’s it,” he breathed. “that’s it, baby. let go. let go for me.”

your second orgasm hit before you could brace for it, ripping through you like a wave, and you did cry out — a broken, sobbing sound, your back arching off the bed, your hands shoving at his head, trying to push him away because it was too much, too much, too much—

but satoru didn’t move.

his mouth stayed on you, his tongue gentler now but still present, still tasting, still drawing out every last shudder until you were lying there, limp and trembling, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

only then did he lift his head.

satoru looked wrecked; his lips were slick, his chin wet, his hair a wild mess from your fingers. his chest was heaving, and when you looked down, you could see the obvious strain in his jeans, the way his hips were pressing into the mattress like he was trying to get any kind of friction.

but he was smiling, like he’d just been the one to come.

“hey,” he said, his voice rough, and he crawled up your body, his weight settling over you, his face hovering above yours.

satoru reached up, softly brushing the tears from your pink cheeks with his thumb, his expression tender in a way you’d never seen before.

“you okay?”

you couldn’t speak, so you just nodded, your breathing still uneven, your legs still shaking.

he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose.

“you were so good,” satoru murmured against your skin. “so perfect. tasted like heaven.”

you let out a shaky laugh, your hands coming up to rest on his chest; you could feel satoru’s heartbeat under your palms, racing as fast as yours.

“you’re insane,” you whispered.

satoru grinned — that familiar, cocky grin, but it was softer around the edges.

“yeah,” he said, his hips pressing into yours, letting you feel exactly how much he’d enjoyed himself. “but you like it.”

and you didn’t deny it.

you just pulled him down by the back of his neck and kissed him, tasting yourself on satoru’s lips, and felt him smile against your mouth.

“i’m not done with you yet,” the boy said when you finally broke apart, his forehead resting against yours. “but we’ve got all night. yeah?”

you smiled, your fingers tracing down his chest, over his stomach, to the waistband of his jeans.

“yeah,” you said. “all night.”

satoru’s grin softened into something warmer, something that made your chest ache in the best way ever.

he kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to pour every word he’d said tonight into the way his lips moved against yours. your fingers found the waistband of his jeans again, fumbling with the button, and for a moment he let you, his breath hitching when your knuckles brushed against the hardness straining beneath the denim.

but then satoru’s hand gently caught yours, his long fingers lacing through yours and pressing your palm flat against his stomach instead.

“wait,” he murmured against your lips. “wait.”

you blinked up at him, confused. “i thought—”

“i know what you thought,” his voice was low, rough, but there was a softness underneath it that made your stomach flip.

satoru brought your joined hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“and i love that you want to. but not tonight.”

“satoru—”

“tonight,” he said, releasing your hand only to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “you’re the one getting taken care of.”

you opened your mouth to protest — you really wanted to touch him, you wanted to make him feel as wrecked as he’d made you — but he simply shook his head, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“let me,” he said, and his voice cracked just slightly on the words. “please. i need to show you. i need to—” he paused, swallowing, his eyes searching yours. “i spent three years pretending i didn’t want this. pretending i didn’t love you. and i can’t—i don’t want to be selfish anymore. not with you.”

your throat tightened. “toru, you’re not—”

“let me do this,” he whispered. “let me love you the way i should’ve been loving you this whole time.”

you couldn’t argue with that; not when satoru was looking at you like that, like you were something so precious, something he was afraid to break. you nodded, your hand coming up to rest over his on your cheek.

“okay,” you breathed. “okay.”

the smile he gave you was radiant — not the cocky, practiced grin he wore for the rest of the world, but something real, something so raw.

and then satoru was kissing you again, and this kiss was different from all the others; it was way slower, and it was way deeper. his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that made your toes curl, his hands sliding down your sides, your hips, your thighs, relearning every curve.

when he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. he sat up, kneeling between your legs, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he reached for the button of his jeans.

satoru didn’t rush; his fingers worked the button open, then the zipper, and the sound of it seemed impossibly loud in the quiet of your room. the white haired boy pushed his jeans down his hips, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes dropped, couldn’t help the way your breath caught when you saw him — the thick length of him straining against his boxer briefs, a dark spot already forming at the tip.

“fuck,” you whispered.

you reached out, your fingers brushing against satoru’s, and helped him push them down.

he was — god. you’d seen him before, of course you had, three years of this arrangement meant you knew every single inch of him, but this was different. this was satoru, your satoru, kneeling above you with his heart in his throat and his cock now heavy against his stomach, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that really mattered.

you’d always known that satoru was big, but seeing him right now, flushed and leaking and so hard it had to be painful, made your mouth water.

“you’re staring,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, but there was a tremor underneath it.

“you’re worth staring at.”

satoru’s cheeks flushed — a pretty pink that crept up to the tips of his ears — and something warm unfurled in your chest. you reached for him, wanting to touch, wanting to wrap your hand around him and feel the weight of him, but he caught your wrist again, gentle but firm.

“i told you,” satoru said, lowering himself over you, his forearms bracketing your head, his hips settling between your thighs. “tonight’s about you.”

you could feel him then — the heat of him, the press of his cock against your inner thigh, so close to where you were still slick and sensitive from before.

your hips twitched involuntarily, seeking friction, and he let out a low groan, his forehead dropping to yours.

“so impatient,” he murmured, but there was no teasing in it, just wonder. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

satoru shifted his hips, and then he was there — the head of his cock sliding against your wet folds, nudging against your sensitive clit before dragging back down, coating himself in the wetness that was still there from when he’d had his mouth on you, and the sensation made you gasp, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders.

“satoru—”

“i know,” he breathed. “i know, baby. i’ve got you.”

he did it again; a slow roll of his hips that had his cock sliding against your entrance, but not entering, just teasing, just feeling. the friction was maddening, the heat of him searing against your most sensitive parts, and you could feel yourself clenching around nothing, desperate for him to fill you.

“please,” you gasped. “please, satoru, i need—”

“what do you need?” satoru’s voice was strained, his jaw tight, and you could see the effort it was taking him to hold back; his arms were trembling on either side of you, his abs tense, every line of his body drawn taut. “tell me.”

“you,” you said, and your voice cracked. “toru, i need you inside me. please.”

his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, a shudder running through him, and when he opened them again, they were dark, pupils blown so wide there was barely any blue left.

“yeah?” he reached down between you, his hand wrapping around his cock, and the sight of him — the way his fingers didn’t quite close around the girth of him, the way his knuckles brushed against your wetness — made your thighs tremble. “you want this? want me to fill you up?”

“yes. god—yes.”

satoru guided himself to your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against you, and for a moment he just stayed there, not pushing in, just letting you feel the stretch of him. you were already so wet, already so ready, but he was so big that even the pressure of him made you gasp.

“breathe,” he whispered, and then he was pushing in.

slowly. oh, so slowly you could feel every inch of him; the way your body had to open up to take him, the way he had to pause halfway to let you adjust. his jaw was clenched, his eyes squeezed shut, and you could feel him shaking again with the effort of not just slamming into you.

“f-fuck,” satoru gritted out. “fuck, you’re so tight. you feel—” his voice broke, and he pressed his forehead against yours again, his breath coming in ragged pants. “you feel so good. so fucking good.”

he kept going, inch by inch, until finally — finally — his hips were flush against yours, and you were full, so full you could barely breathe, could barely think. satoru was buried inside you to the hilt, and the weight of him, the heat of him, the way he was stretching you so perfectly made your eyes water.

“okay?” he asked, and his voice was wrecked. “are you okay?”

you couldn’t speak properly, so you simply nodded, your hands sliding up into his soft white hair, pulling him down until your foreheads were touching.

“move,” you whispered. “please move.”

satoru pulled back slowly, the drag of him against your walls making you whimper, and then he pushed back in, just as slow, just as deliberate; the rhythm he set was unhurried, almost lazy, his hips rolling against yours in a way that made every nerve in your body light up.

“look at me,” he said, and you did, your eyes meeting his.

satoru’s face was flushed, his lips parted, his hair falling into his eyes; he looked so beautiful like this, undone, all his carefully constructed walls stripped away.

“i want to see your face when i make you cum.”

his pace picked up, just slightly, each thrust pressing him deeper inside you, harder, until you could literally feel him in your throat. satoru’s hands slid under your hips, tilting you up, changing the angle, and when he hit that sweet little spot inside you — that spot that made your vision go white — you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“there?” he asked, and there was a desperate edge to his voice. “is that the spot, baby?”

you couldn’t answer, hell, you couldn’t do anything but cling to him as he drove deep into you, each thrust hitting that same spot over and over again. satoru was kissing you everywhere now — your mouth, your jaw, your throat — his lips and teeth leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough. “so fucking beautiful. i can’t believe—” he thrust harder, and you moaned, your back arching off the bed. “i can’t believe i almost lost this. almost lost you.”

his mouth found your collarbone, your shoulder, your breast; satoru took your nipple into his hungry mouth, sucking hard, and the combination of that and the way he was deeply fucking you made you sob.

“satoru—satoru, i’m close—”

“i know,” he said, and he sounded drunk, drugged, his words slurring against your skin. “i can feel you, baby. you’re squeezing me so tight. fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

satoru reached down between you, his thumb finding your clit, and the touch, even through the overstimulation from earlier, sent a jolt through you so intense that you nearly screamed.

“cum for me,” he said, his voice breaking. “cum on my cock. let me feel it.”

satoru pressed down on your clit in slow, tight little circles, matching the rhythm of his hips, and the pressure built and built and built until—

you completely shattered.

your orgasm ripped through you like a wave, your body arching off the bed, your walls clenching around him so hard that he groaned, his hips stuttering against yours.

“fuck—fuck, i’m—”

satoru came with a broken cry, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, his hips grinding into you as he emptied himself inside you, hot and thick. you could feel it — the pulse of him, the warmth of him filling you up, and the sensation was so intense, so intimate, that you felt tears slip down your cheeks.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

his weight was heavy on top of you, his breath hot against your skin, his hands still gripping your hips like he was afraid to let go; you could feel his heart pounding against your chest, or maybe it was yours, or maybe it was both of you, tangled together and beating as one.

“toru,” you whispered, your fingers threading through his hair.

he lifted his head slowly, his eyes dazed, his lips red and swollen; he looked wrecked, completely undone, and when he saw your tears, his expression crumpled.

“hey,” he said, his voice hoarse. “hey, what’s wrong? did i—”

you shook your head, pulling him down until your foreheads were touching again.

“nothing’s wrong. i just—” you laughed, the sound watery. “i love you. i’ve loved you for so long.”

satoru’s breath caught, and then he was kissing you again, soft and slow, his lips moving against yours like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

“i love you too,” he said when he finally pulled back. “i love you so much it scares me.”

you smiled, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

satoru pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the spot just below your ear.

“i love you,” he said again, like he was testing the words, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to say them. “i love you. i love you. i love you.”

you could feel him still inside you, softening but not fully, and when he shifted his weight, you winced —nsensitive, so sensitive, every nerve in your body still humming.

but satoru didn’t pull out.

instead, he lowered himself onto his elbows, his face hovering above yours, and started moving again; slow, shallow thrusts, barely pulling out before pressing back in, and the drag of him against your overstimulated walls made you gasp.

“satoru,” you whimpered, your hands pushing weakly at his chest. “i can’t—i’m too—”

“shh,” he murmured, and there was a wildness in his eyes, something desperate and hungry. “you can. you can take it. you’re doing so well, baby. so good for me.”

his hips kept moving, that same slow, torturous rhythm, and you could feel yourself growing wetter around him again, your body betraying you, responding to him even when you thought you had nothing left to give.

“i’m not done with you,” satoru said, and his voice was low, reverent. “i told you. all night.”

his hand slid down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again, and you actually sobbed, the sensation too much and not enough all at once.

“you feel that?” satoru asked, his thumb circling, his hips grinding. “you feel how wet you are? you’re dripping, baby. you’re dripping all over my cock.”

and you were. you could feel it, the mix of his cum and yours sliding down your thighs, soaking into the sheets beneath you; the filth of it, the intimacy of it, made your face burn, but you couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t do anything but cling to him as he fucked you slow and deep.

“i want to feel you cum again,” he said, and his voice was shaking. “i want to feel you squeeze me again. can you do that for me? can you give me one more?”

you shook your head without even thinking, but satoru just give you that soft, devastating smile.

“you can,” the boy said. “i know you can. you’re so good for me. my good girl.”

the praise washed over you, warm and intoxicating, and you felt something loosen in your chest; your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and satoru groaned, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before picking back up.

“that’s it,” he breathed. “that’s my girl. take it. take all of me.”

satoru was moving faster now, his hips snapping against yours, his thumb still working your oversensitive clit in tight, focused circles, and the pleasure was building again, sharp and bright, and you could feel yourself climbing toward something that felt almost too big to contain.

“satoru—i’m gonna—”

“i know,” he said, and his voice was wrecked, desperate. “cum for me. cum again. let me feel you.”

you came with a scream, your body convulsing around him, your nails raking down his back; satoru followed you a moment later, his hips stuttering, his mouth finding your shoulder to muffle the sound of his own groan as he spilled inside you again, adding to the mess, to the heat, to the overwhelming fullness that had you trembling beneath him.

he collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his face buried in your neck. you could feel his pulse racing against yours, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps, and for a long moment, neither of you moved.

finally, satoru lifted his head.

his face was flushed, his hair a complete disaster, his lips parted and kiss-swollen; he looked like he’d been thoroughly ruined, and the sight of him made your chest ache.

“i love you,” he whispered again.

he smiled; that soft, real smile that you were starting to think was made only for you, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“this is just the beginning,” satoru said, his voice rough but warm. “i’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

“satoru— shhh!” you whisper frantically, voice all high and mortified even as your body betrays you with another helpless clench around him. “they’re literally right downstairs— geto’s probably laughing already and—and sukuna’s gonna yell through the wall any second—!”

he just laughs, bright and breathless, the sound turning into a delighted little whine when you flutter around his thick length again. “let ‘em hear, cutie. let the whole house hear how perfect my girlfriend feels.”

his big hands slide under your hips, lifting you just enough to change the angle, and the next thrust punches a wet, filthy smack into the air.

“nnngh— god, listen to how sloppy you are for me. all creamy and cute—” schlick, schlick, schlick “— making the prettiest sounds f’me, aren’t ya? yes, you aaaare.”

you bite your lip, mortified and melting simultaneously. “s’too loud… they’re all gonna tease me tomorrow,” you whine softly, but your hips still tilt up to meet his, traitorous little thing. “‘m never—a-ah!—never gonna show my face here again.”

satoru’s grin turns wicked and giddy. he leans down, nose brushing yours, and moans right against your mouth, shameless and obscene. it’s like he’s auditioning to be a pornstar. “ohhhmygod, baby, right there—yesyesyes—gonna make you cum so loud they’ll know exactly who’s fucking you stupid.”

“satoruuu,” you gasp, half embarrassed squeak, half needy moan, fingers scrambling at his shoulders. “you’re so—” another thrust cuts your sentence into a whimper.

“hm, what was that?” he sing-songs, voice syrupy sweet even as he drives in deep enough to punch another loud, broken whimper out of you. “c’mon, pretty, let ‘em hear you too. tell the boys downstairs whose name you’re screaming tonight.”

you shake your head, cheeks flaming, but he uses his grip to lift your hips to shift the angle and the next thrust rips a tiny, helpless “toru—!” from your throat anyway.

he giggles, like you may have been tickling him or something, and kisses your burning face all over. “thaaat’s my girl. louder, baby. don’t be shy. we both know i’m not~”

and he isn’t. not even a little. he just keeps moaning your name like it’s his favorite song, loud and proud and so in love with how shy you get when he is.

“s-so embarrassing,” you whine, but your legs wrap tighter around his waist anyway, heels digging into his back.

he nuzzles your neck, voice dropping into that sweet, teasing lilt even as he pounds harder. “but you love it, don’tcha? love your loud, shameless boyfriend who can’t stop moaning your name—saaatoru’s gonna cum so loud for you, baby, gonna let the whole frat know who owns this dick—”

you cover your own mouth this time, mortified giggles mixing with gasps as he keeps going, starting to find him a little ridiculous.

“c’mon, pretty, say it with me,” he teases, eyes half-lidded and sparkling. “tell them how good it feels—ahhn, fuck, ‘m so close—”

you shiver when he lets out the sluttiest whine you’ve ever heard, your own voice cracking into a similar sound despite yourself. “you’re—nghh—impossible!”

he just laughs, bright and happy and way too loud, pressing sloppy kisses all over your face while his hips never slow down.

“impossible and all yours, princess. now be a good girl and let me hear you too~”

oh, if he was going to be like that then the gloves were off.

"yes, did me wrong. all the times you came home late, dodged my calls…remember the time you spent our fucking rent money on horse racing? oh my god, toji fushiguro you really are a lying, sleazy son of a bitch."

you took another deep breath.

"fuck. you."

the line went dead for a moment.

shit.

was that too harsh? i mean, he did always make up for his mistakes by dropping his drawers and doing what he did best, and he did end up winning that bet and doubling the money, so maybe—

his voice cut through the noise of your thoughts.

"…if you come over, i could do just that."

☆

it couldn't have been more than an hour before you were at his place, knocking on the door wearing his hoodie; not missing the way his lips quirked up at the sight of you leant against the frame.

you knew what you were doing, very much so aware of just how possessive he could be; not bothering to hide the smile that tickled your lips.

"was wondering where that went," he teased, hand moving out to swat your ass on the way to his bedroom, touch insistent from the moment you'd breached the doorway.

"i'm still mad at you…" your voice was nothing more than a whisper, not yet ready to say what your body was already feeling—hoodie, sweats and underwear all removed within a few brief seconds.

he nosed at your neck, lips pressed against your collarbone.

"that's ok baby. you're right, i am a piece of shit."

you let your head fall back against his chest, large palm giving your hip a small squeeze.

"...but i'm your piece of shit."

ugh. he was always so nice (in his own, self-deprecating kind of way) when he had his hands on you, when he had things his way.

you let him mold your body just the way he wanted it, head buried into his sheets, spine curved into a harsh arch—already dripping from just the smell of him on the covers, not realising how much you'd missed this.

"you been letting other men touch my pussy?" his voice was low and teasing, drooling tip just about to push into your entrance when he paused to let you respond.

no point lying. "n-no."

"that's my girl." he smacked your ass again, soothing the sting with his palm before sliding up to hold your waist.

"so fucking wet f'me," he'd finally pushed into you, low groan leaving his lips at how easily he was still able to slip inside of you, pace building with each rock of his hips.

"you missed me that much? callin' me in the middle of the night like i'm some kinda slut—"

you just whined underneath him, mind too hazy to bother with refuting what was quite obviously the subconscious truth—more concerned with pushing yourself back against him, sliver of drool pooling out onto his pillowcase (they needed to be changed anyway…).

"well... it's okay with me gorgeous. cause i missed you too."

and you felt your heart do a traitorous little flip at his words, always seeming to get a silver tongue whenever he found himself sheathed inside of you. asshole.

"no-yes—didn't call—" you stuttered, slumping further into the mattress with each stroke.

"use your words, pretty girl. tell me how good this…what did you call me again?"

his grip on your waist tightened.

"ohhhh yes, tell me how good this 'lying, sleazy son of a bitch' is fucking you. go on. know you can do it. you were real chatty over the phone."

you wanted to hide your face in your hands, teeth digging into your lip as you burned with both shame and need—anticipation of being able to finally finish around the curved, thick cock that'd been plaguing your mind at almost all hours of the day overwhelming the little pride you had left.

"ohmygod, s'too good toji! you feel so, can't, i-i love it...i love you!"

did you just? oh fuck it.

you didn't need to look back at him to see the full-blown smile that was now probably lighting up his face, tip smushed up against your sweet spot with a consistency that almost felt like a punishment.

"promise me next time you'll just tell me you need me to fuck the shit outta you instead of pretending to be mad at me. that fair?"

"mooooooore—hic-than fair!" you mewled, already close and more than ready to feel that pure, unadulterated sense of bliss that you knew he was about to give you.

his strokes got faster and faster, chest tight and legs shaky as he pressed in one last time, burying your face in his pillow before you finished with a hoarse scream—tears spilling over your waterline from how intense your orgasm was; ears gone static as he continued to press into you, working you through the aftershocks and more, body feeling like it was just... floating on air.

he was evil. he was perfect. oh my lord, you were sure it was a sin to be that good at sex.

he slapped your ass again. owwww.

"stay with me beautiful. still need to get my nut off…"

bastard.

"and for the record, i also love your pretty ass. in case that wasn't already obvious."

what?

you turned your head to look up at him. "seriously?"

"only left cause i didn't think you wanted me there anymore."

he shrugged.

"seems like i was wrong."

"aww toji that's so—"

"can we save the mushy talk for after i cum or?"

what a piece of shit.

but at least he's your piece of shit.

☆

"and then he said 'tell me how good this lying, sleazy son of a bitch is fucking you'?! i mean, he's actually insane. think i may have actually told him i loved him..." you giggled into your drink, blissfully unaware of the unimpressed stares your friends were currently giving you over brunch the next day.

you got an elbow in your side from the friend closest to you. "girl. are you seriously saying that when we told you to read him to filth, you let him dick you down instead?"

you let your gaze fall down to the table.

"...but he said i love you back!"

you earned yourself a loud sigh from the end of the table and approximately three poorly hidden eye-rolls.

"you can lead a horse to water..." your friend muttered, already signalling the waiter for another round of drinks.

a/n :: did anyone else obsess over those 3am videos and killer clown pranks or was it just me and my cousins 😭

“I’ve got nothing.” You placed your hands to the back of your head, slugging back at your desk chair with a groan. Even after hours of thinking about your next issue, nothing came to mind. Utahime leaned over, peeking at the blank screen, watching as the cursor blinked. “Oh sweetheart, you’ve got writer's block?” You nodded, poking your tongue against your cheek. 

“I just wish I could write about something other than how to properly wax your armpits, or how to lose weight in 5 days. There’s real world problems out there that I would love to bring awareness to.” 

“Yeah well, this is a chic magazine, not a political magazine. Once you have your career and you’re out of this hell hole, write all about what you want.” Utahime reasoned. She was right, this wasn’t a job, it’s just a club that writes for the school. 

“Where’s Miwa when you need her?” Your voice came out in a whine, slamming your fingers at your keyboard. Utahime glanced around the room, looking for the familiar blue hair. “She’s late. The meeting began over half an hour ago.” 

She sighed, stepping back when you pushed off your desk. “Look what came into my mail this morning.” You grumbled. Utahume’s ears perked up, reaching for the envelope. Inside were two tickets to the world cup. USA versus Paraguay, middle seats, perfect view. “Woah ho-ho, what are these?” 

“Remember that editor from the sports magazine I had a drink or two with last week? Guess he mistook my kindness for flirting or maybe he really appreciated me being the sweet girl I am.” 

“Must be nice.” 

You both turned to the voice behind you, making you and Utahime jump in fear. 

“Miwa! Jesus.” Your hand grabbed onto your chest, feeling your heartbeat accelerate. There were dark circles underneath her eyes and the ruined mascara evidence of tears. “What happened to you?” 

“What didn’t happen?” She sniffled, dragging his hand over her stuffy nose. “He dumped me. Oh my god, he dumped me.” 

“Get her a cigarette.” Utahime whispered. You hurriedly digged into your purse, taking out the box of cigs, handing them over to Miwa. “You guys didn’t make it past two weeks.” You hit Utahime’s stomach with your elbow, making her wince. 

“I know. And it was the best goddamn week and a half of my life.” 

“What even happened girl?” You opened up your arms to comfort her in a hug that she happily accepted. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.” 

You nodded, rubbing her back. 

Then, she broke down again. “He said I was ‘too much’ and I didn’t understand because I thought everything was going great! It was great and I blew it all up because I moved too quickly.” 

“What do you mean?” Utahime rested against the desk after trying her long hair into a ponytail in hopes of escaping the hot weather. “Don’t tell me you said ‘I love you’, that’s common sense.” She snickered. 

“Well..” 

“Miwa.” You and Utahime scolded. 

“The sex was really beautiful!” Miwa added, as if that made matters better. “And I cried and I said it, it just slipped out!” 

“That’s why he ended it?” 

“I think. Or maybe it was because of the amount of times I called him while he was “busy” or y’know, it’s probably because I’m fat.” 

“You’re not fat.” Your voices came out in unison once again. As you continued scolding Miwa for her poor choices in the ephemeral relationship, a lightbulb turned on inside Utahime's head. She clapped her hands in order to get your attention. “There it is. There’s your page.” 

“My page?” 

“Uh huh. Think about all those girls on this campus who are struggling just like Miwa. Ones that have problems hanging on to relationships. You can write about these classic mistakes most women do that drive men away.” 

You stood up straighter, all kinds of ideas popping into your head. “That’s not bad at all. I can ‘date’ a guy and see how long it takes until he snaps.” 

Your friend nodded, squealing. “Yes!” She clasped her hands with yours, jumping up and down. “It’ll be titled ‘How to lose a guy in 10 ways..” Utahime looked over to her fourth wall, moving her hand to the side to picture the title. 

Miwa blew her nose loudly, reminding you that she was still here. 

“How about ‘How to lose a guy in 10 days?’ That’s the total you guys were together right?” You cringed when Miwa threw her used tissue on your desk. “Yes, that’s right.” 

“Perfect. Now all that’s left is to find the guy.” 

The windows in the classroom were open, letting the slight breeze pass in. Outside, a whistle blew along with some yelling. “I can’t focus with all the chatter, what’s even going on?” You all made your way towards the window, peeking out. The soccer team was lined up, some doing reps while others stood by, discussing some very serious matter. 

“They’re getting ready for an upcoming game.” You leaned forward, hair blowing all over the place. The field was buzzing with energy, cleats full of the freshly cut grass. Miwa walked away, crying once again. “I saw him just now.” 

“Oh my god Miwa.” Utahime followed after her. 

You stayed put, skimming through the small crowd until someone stood out. His white hair almost blinded you from the sun’s reflection. The guy was tall and well built, you could tell even from a distance. “What about him?” 

“Who?” 

“Number 10.” 

Utahime immediately groaned. “Oh absolutely not. He’d drive you insane before you even got to try your little experiment first.” 

“Do you know him personally?” Your eyes never left him. 

“Satoru Gojo. Went to high school with him, worst guy ever. He never knows when to shut up.” You finally left the window, deep in thought. “Then I guess I’ll be the one to change him up.” 

⋆˚꩜｡

The team was still outside having practice games, taking turns shooting at the net. A boy with hair thrown up into a bun kicked harshly only to miss, earning a groan from others. “Yo man, it’s like you've got two left legs!” 

“I’ll shove them both up your ass if you don’t shut the fuck up.” 

Yikes. You lingered a moment before going over to the bleachers. There he was, standing with both hands on his hips, getting ready to catch the ball. 

“How do you plan on talking to him?” Miwa leaned over to whisper into your ear. You hushed her, about to scold her for her attempt at whispering when suddenly, the ball came flying directly at you, hitting you straight in the face. 

A sharp pain struck across your nose, making you bring your hands up to cover it. 

“Oh my god!” Miwa’s voice jumped an octave, grabbing your arm to gently tug it off your face. “Hold on, let me see!”

Another voice appeared, one that was breathless and panicked. “Shit, I’m so so sorry! Are you okay? I have a super bad aim today for some reason.” Your eyes widened when they met him, it was Satoru, looking down at you with a worried look on his face. 

He was even more oddly beautiful up close. 

“Uh.. it’s fine.” You managed out. 

“Are you sure? You don’t look fine.” He chuckled, wiping the small drop of blood that dripped out your nostril. “That’s gonna leave a bruise.” If it wasn’t for your article, you would've punched him repeatedly to break his nose. “I’m sorry again.. Uh I can go get you ice-”

“No, no it's fine, seriously.” 

Miwa gave you a look, one that was urging you to ask him for his number or anything. “You can make it up to me some other way..” Your words slipped out suddenly. Satoru’s brows lifted. “Yeah? What way are we talking here?” 

A grin was slowly morphing its way onto his face. 

“.. By taking me out.” 

“Out?”

“On a date.”

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you ignore shoko & her bitter response. you’d rather die than argue with a bitch & her bad bob. you lean to rest your head on suguru’s shoulder, who’s much more empathetic & strokes your hair lovingly.

“isn’t he tutoring right now?”

and he is. somewhere across campus, in a cramped corner of the scott library, gojo satoru is bleary-eyed & suffering.

he’s supposed to be explaining calculus to confused first year yuuji itadori. but his phone, face-up & gleam-screened on the mahogany table, hums and vibrates with desperation.

1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗

satoru’s jaw is tight. there’s crescent shaped crevices in his palms & his knuckles rouse rash red. his focus flickers. he catches a glimpse of your latest message: the preview of a selfie, that low adorable angle where you’re peering at your phone from under your lashes & your lips jut out in a ‘where are youuu’ pout.

fuck.

“uhh, gojo?” yuuji’s biting his pencil again before he points it at the vibrating device. “aren’t you gonna answer that..? i dunno, it looks important.”

it is important. it’s you. but if satoru answers now, poor yuuji’s paid tutoring session would immediately be over.

“it’s fine, yuuji. let’s focus on finding the derivative.”

and it is fine. because gojo satoru is a man of logic. a man of discipline. a man of pa—

princess 🧸💗: i always knew you’d get tired of me one day

princess 🧸💗: it’s okay. thank you for everything toru 👍

gojo satoru grabs the phone faster than you can say go pandas! his thumbs fly over the screen, ever precise, ever trembling.

toruu: Baby, please don’t say that.

toruu: I’m almost done. I’ll be with you in ten minutes. I’ll buy you that Drake meal you wanted.

toruu: I love you. Please wait for me?

back at the mall you’re reading his text. and god, your heart bubbles up like soda pop. “he’s coming,” you murmur into suguru’s shoulder, scrolling past his text without a reply.

“great!” shoko cheers with fake enthusiasm, taking a puff of her vape (suguru’s complaining that the pineapple & kiwi she blows make his poutine taste sour-ish, & she shouldn’t be vaping anyway, but guess what? shoko doesn’t care!)

“now can we stop acting like it’s the summer hikaru died?”

“no.”

instagram’s algorithm is always on your side. you’ve opened the reels tab to find a video of a rainy window, a quote captioned over it: ‘if he wanted to, he would. silence is a choice.’ simple. short. effective.

you add it to your story. suguru catches a glimpse of your screen & chuckles.

“y/n,” he sings your name, tutting. “you’re gonna give the boy a heart attack before he even hits the common area.”

“he deserves it.”

satoru gojo has already viewed your story. he shows up within the next five minutes.

III. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #167: BABY, I’M BORED.

time : 3:58 pm. location: science & engineering building

there’s solution bubbling pink in a flask. in lab four, the air’s sticky with the sweat of too many boys with glasses & a half-drunk energy drink rotting in the corner.

gojo satoru is huddled over a circuit board with two other boys who look like they haven’t seen sunlight in days.

nerd #1 points at the monitor : “if we adjust the frequency here,” he’s muttering, “the entire wave function collapses. it’s an impossible solve, gojo.”

“it’s not impossible. you’re just missing the constant.”

gojo satoru is the god of lab four; formulas on his fingers & equations on his tongue. he’s leaning over now, fingers on the screen when the heavy steel door swings open,

“hi, toru!”

you’re all soft perfume & clicky heels & smile as sweet as sugar. satoru’s head snaps up instantly—his glasses slip down his nose, & he flicks them back upward, eyes glimmering in the fluorescent light.

“hi sweetheart,” he breathes, “you’re here early.”

the other nerds are staring now, and for good reason. how did gojo satoru—who’s paperbacks & friday nights spent bent over research papers—pull a pretty thing like you ?

“are you doing science ?” you’re already across the room, arms around his neck as his palms press you flush against him from the side. your perfume’s sticky in his lungs. “why’s that line so squiggly? you guys should make it straight. it’d be much prettier.”

nerd #4 winces. “actually, that’s a representation of—“

“you’re right, baby. it would look prettier. have a seat, okay?”

you hum an okay! & plop yourself down on his lap. nerd number 3 & 2 exchange glances. nerd #1 asks, god, me when ?

the group discussion starts up again. satoru is half-science half-yours—his thumb traces circles on your thigh as your feet kick in his lap, & you’re asking one too many questions while satoru tries—tries to pay attention.

“toru, what does this button do?”

“that’s the power supply, baby. please don’t touch it.”

“but it’s glowing. can you make it glow pink ? i think it should glow pink.”

“noted. you’re squirming, princess.”

and you are. nerd #4 wonders how you’re still balanced. the discussion continues but you’re a constant background noise of ‘toru, look at this tiktok’, and ‘baby, i think the lighting’s washing me out.’ you try to touch a wire. gojo catches your hand mid-air & cups it with a kiss.

you flop against his chest. “satoru, i’m bored.”

& satoru is tired. exhausted, really. he’s fighting the rash creeping up his neck as nerds one to four watch you pout in his lap like a spoiled child. “i want matcha. can we go get some?”

you can’t. because this is a project due in twelve hours. because satoru has only so much time to lock in—

“alright, let’s go.”

nerd #3 is distraught: “huh—?! gojo, you can’t leave now, we’re in the middle of a breakthrough!”

satoru doesn’t even look around. he’s smoothing your skirt after you hop off his lap, your bag already slung over his shoulder. he’s leading you out by the hand; “sorry guys. i’ll send my solution to the group chat. brief me on the updates later?”

the door swings shut. nerds one to four are in awe.

“holy hades. what just happened?”

“may God protect them from my jealousy.”

“wallahi i need a bad bitch on my lap.”

“you can’t say that, man. it’s ramadan.”

# UNIKAISEN

princess meltdowns , end.

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