blu ᢉ𐭩

CTNS.

꩜ satoru gojo x reader in a situationship 🥹, sfw, hurt no comfort, angst, gojo & reader are in college, inspired by Never Getting Laid by Sabrina Carpenter !

wc: 1.5k a/n: this my first fic so bare with me cuties 🥹☺️ okii have fun reading!!

satoru gojo was the kind of problem nobody really warned you about in school.

not in the “he’ll break your heart” way people say about bad boys in movies. more like… he’d hand you your hoodie when the beach breeze got too cold, drive you home with one hand on the wheel and the other hanging out the window like he was in a music video, and then act like none of it meant anything the next day.

and somehow that was worse.

it was summer, the kind that felt endless in the worst and best way. the sun stayed up too long, the pavement stayed warm too late, and everything smelled like saltwater and gas stations.

you and gojo were not dating.

but you also weren’t not anything.

it was one of those situationships that had no official rules but somehow still broke all of them.

it started small. like it always does.

a beach trip with mutual friends where he showed up late, sunglasses on, hair already messy like he’d been driving with the windows down just to annoy everyone. he sat next to you without asking, like it was obvious, like it had already been decided.

“you always sit there?” you asked.

he glanced at you. “yeah. it’s a good spot.”

“…it’s sand.”

“still a good spot.”

that was the first time you noticed how he talked like everything was a joke he was in on but you weren’t.

and then somehow, by the end of that day, you were sharing fries with him like it was normal. like you didn’t feel your heart doing that annoying thing every time his fingers almost touched yours.

after that, it just… kept happening.

car rides became your thing.

no destination, just driving. gojo would pull up outside your house, honk once like he owned the neighborhood, and you’d come out pretending you weren’t already waiting.

“get in,” he’d say.

“where are we going, toru?”

he’d grin. “don’t worry about it.”

and somehow you never did.

music too loud, windows down, summer air rushing in like it was trying to steal your thoughts before you could finish them. sometimes he’d tap the steering wheel to the beat, sometimes he’d look over at you too long and then immediately act like he hadn’t.

the inside of the car always smelled faintly like him too. clean laundry, faint cologne, and something warm like sunlight trapped in fabric.

you started noticing the patterns.

he was always a little closer than necessary.

always looking like he was about to say something important and then swallowing it back down.

always leaving first.

like he was scared of what would happen if he stayed too long in one moment.

one night, you ended up at the beach again.

it wasn’t planned. it never was with him.

you were just “bored” and he was just “already out” and suddenly you were both sitting on the hood of his car, shoes off, feet in the sand, the ocean stretched out in front of you, dark and moving, air tasting like salt and wind.

the sky was somber but still warm, stars scattered like someone dropped them too fast.

gojo tossed a pebble into the water.

“you ever think about how big this is?” he said.

you looked at him. “the ocean?”

“yeah.”

“sometimes.”

he nodded like that answer meant more than it should’ve.

then he said, quieter, “people just act like things are simple. like you just… pick what you want and it stays.”

you laughed a little. “that’s not how it works?”

he turned his head toward you. his sunglasses were gone now, and his azure eyes looked different at night. softer.

“no,” he said. “it’s not.”

there was a pause after that. the kind that felt like something leaning in but not touching.

you almost asked him what he meant.

you almost asked him a lot of things.

instead, you said, “you’re being weird.”

he smiled. “i’m always weird.”

and just like that, it was back to normal. whatever ‘normal’ was supposed to mean.

but the thing about gojo was he never could stay consistent for the life of him.

one day he’d be calling you at midnight asking if you were awake just to talk about nothing. the next day he’d walk past you in the hallway like you were just another person.

it made you feel crazy.

like you had imagined all the moments in between.

like maybe you were the only one replaying them.

there was a day at the beach that felt different though.

it was hotter than usual, the kind of heat that made everything feel slower and more irritable. the sand burned your feet even though you kept pretending it didn’t.

gojo showed up with two drinks and didn’t even ask which one you wanted. just handed you the one he knew you liked.

you looked at him. “you remember that?”

he shrugged. “yeah.”

like it was nothing.

like remembering small things about you was just something he did by accident.

you walked down the shore for a while, waves coming up just enough to chase your ankles.

at some point, he walked closer to you than usual.

shoulder brushing yours.

not quite holding hands.

not quite anything.

“we should stop doing this,” you said suddenly.

he didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “doing what?”

you gestured vaguely. “whatever this is.”

he kicked at the water, fueled with a tinge of indignation. “why?”

because you’re acting like you want me and don’t at the same time, you thought.

but what came out was smaller.

“because it’s annoying.”

he laughed, but it wasn’t really a laugh. “you’re annoying.”

“you started it.”

he stopped walking.

that made you stop too.

the ocean kept moving like it didn’t care about either of you pretending.

for a second, he looked like he was going to say something real. like actually real. not his usual half-jokes and deflections.

instead, he said, “you always think too much.”

“well someone has to, toru.”

he exhaled, looked away toward the horizon.

you swear you saw it then. the hesitation. the thing behind his eyes he never let out for long.

like he was standing on the edge of something and refusing to jump.

“you know what’s funny?” he said after a while.

“what.”

“people think summer is like… simple. like everything happens in summer.”

you snorted. “that’s because movies lied to us.”

he nodded. “yeah.”

another pause.

then, quieter, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it too clearly, “i think some things are easier when they don’t happen.”

that landed weird in your chest. heavy but unclear, like something sinking before you could catch it.

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything at all.

instead, you bumped his shoulder lightly. “you’re so dramatic.”

he smiled again, but it didn’t reach all the way this time.

“you like it,” he said.

and maybe that was the problem.

because you did.

you liked the almost.

you liked the almost calls, the almost touches, the almost confessions that never made it out properly.

you liked him showing up like he belonged there, even if he never said he did.

but liking “almost” was starting to feel like standing in the middle of traffic and hoping a car wouldn’t hit you.

later that night, he drove you home like nothing had happened.

music low this time. no jokes. just the road and the hum of the engine and the way your thoughts kept trying to fill the silence.

when he pulled up, he didn’t immediately say goodbye.

he just sat there, hands still on the wheel.

you reached for the door handle, then stopped.

“are you ever gonna like… figure it out?” you asked.

he glanced at you. “figure what out?”

you looked at him properly this time.

the stupid hair. the stupid calm face. the way he acted like nothing could ever actually hurt him.

“us,” you said.

us.

that word hung there like it didn’t belong in the car.

he didn’t answer right away.

for a second, you thought maybe he would finally say it. whatever “it” was.

instead, he leaned back in his seat and smiled faintly.

“you should get inside,” he said.

and that was it.

no closure. no confession. no dramatic ending.

just summer air slipping through the cracked window and the feeling of something unfinished sitting between you like a third person in the car.

you got out.

the summer air hit you instantly, soft but heavy, carrying the sound of distant bugs and faraway cars.

and as you walked up to your house, you didn’t look back.

but you felt him there anyway.

still parked.

still not choosing.

still acting like wanting you was something he could laugh off until it went away.

still acting like wanting you was something he could sit next to until it disappeared on its own.

and the worst part was how quiet it all was.

like even the summer knew better than to interrupt.

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡