everything that is bold + italicized is nsfw. minors are not to interact with any nsfw posts

all links are in chronological order. it is recommended you read in this order for the best experience. please read all warnings on individual fics

not a date - gojo thinks he has you, you disagree

closer - gojo and his sunglass collection

attention - gojo loves attention too much

satoru, not gojo - gojo just asks for one chance

afternoon after - waking up next to gojo

honey - gojo learns to make pancakes for you

upper hand - it’s rare to have control over gojo

silence - gojo asks what you like about him

clingy - cutely annoying and clingy gojo

opulence - you and gojo have your first fight

spoiled rotten - gojo always gets what he wants

all for me - gojo loves seeing you in your new dress

finals week - gojo hates when you study

proud - the first time gojo hears certain words

wounded pride - gojo is just a bit jealous

baby - gojo, you, his mother, and baby pics

i wanna fuck you - gojo makes you a playlist

no heart - gojo finds out his contact name

meet ugly - the first time you meet gojo satoru

02:09 am - gojo comes to your apartment drunk

before & after - you knock on gojo’s door stressed

i know you still think about the times we had - you call, gojo always comes (5.2k words. break up + make up)

refollow - suguru makes you refollow him on socials

security - gojo visits your job—it doesn’t go as planned

paternity test - you and gojo are now co parents to a cat

yours, always yours - you plan on being gojo’s forever

goodbye kiss - you leave gojo without a kiss goodbye

saetoru do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

The cameras turn toward the stars as Gojo and Y/N celebrate their film’s success and revisit the moments that made it unforgettable.

The studio was quieter than most interview sets. There were no screaming fans outside the entrance, no flashing cameras waiting beyond the doors, no rush of people trying to capture a single moment before it disappeared.

❝ HOW TO BA(N)G A NERD IN 10 DAYS ❞ .ᐟ ‘ 呪術廻戦 .

゛★ nerd ! satoru gojo is your best friend’s older brother.

# NERDJO AU ⋆ 14k words ⋆ 3 years younger!reader ⋆ not your typical nerdjo ⋆ toru has nipple piercings ⋆ smut, p in v the whole shtick ⋆ reader is a HORNDOG ⋆ side character: lia, gojo’s sister & reader’s best friend ⋆ uni setting ⋆ skip to day 9 if ur just here for the smut you perv ⋆ 18+ MDNI NSFW . art by zeilorene0

HOW TO BA(N)G A NERD IN 10 DAYS

(or: your completely unhinged, totally foolproof plan to make Satoru Gojo fall in love with you and hopefully rail you into next semester)

DAY ONE

You’re not proud of yourself.

Okay, that’s a filthy lie. You’re extremely proud of yourself. The kind of proud that has you smirking at your own reflection in the spoon like a gremlin who just discovered the cheat code to the hottest man alive.

Because you’ve just cooked up the single greatest idea of your horny little life.

It started with a text from Lia—your roommate, your ride-or-die (who you’ve known for less than a year), and the biological sister of the man who has been living rent-free in your ovaries for three straight months.

Lia: do you want to come over this weekend? my brother’s gonna be home and he’s making his famous carbonara. i swear to god it’ll change your life

Your thumbs betrayed you instantly.

You: i’ll be there with bells on

Lia: please don’t actually wear bells i live in an apartment

You: no promises

You sat there, chopsticks frozen halfway to your mouth, and the realization hit you like a freight train made of pure, throbbing lust.

Satoru Gojo.

Fourth-year genetics god. Certified nerd. Unholy levels of hot.

The man who wears wire-rimmed glasses while buried in textbooks but also has fucking nipple piercings. You know this because you’d accidentally walked in on him shirtless that one time and your brain blue-screened so hard you saw the pearly gates. Silver bars through both pink nipples, perfect lean muscle, that stupidly narrow waist, and a happy trail that made your mouth water like a Pavlovian whore.

He’d just looked at you with those glowing blue eyes, raised one eyebrow, and said, “Wrong room, kid.”

Kid.

He called you kid while you were having a religious experience over his pierced tits. Rude. And devastatingly… attractive.

You’d immediately fled, texted Lia YOUR BROTHER IS JACKED AND HAS HIS NIPPLES PIERCED WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!?!?!? and she’d replied lol yeah he works out. it’s the autism.

To which you’d replied ??? and she’d elaborated with: he’s not actually autistic he’s just psychotic about his routines. anyway don’t be weird about it

Too late. You were very weird about it. You’d spent the rest of the night with your hand between your thighs imagining what those pierced nipples would feel like against your tongue.

So here you are at 2 AM, eating sad instant ramen, and you’ve finally accepted the truth: Satoru Gojo is not a normal man. He’s a nerd. And normal flirting bounces right off his beautiful, dense skull.

You need a plan. A filthy, calculated, 10-day siege on that man’s self-control.

You snatch your phone and start hammering into your notes app like a woman possessed (a very horny possession.)

HOW TO BA(n)G A NERD IN 10 DAYS

Step 1: Research

• Find out every single one of his nerdy interests

• Learn what makes his brain (and hopefully his dick) tick

• Memorize his schedule so i can “accidentally” keep appearing in his line of sight

Step 2: Infiltrate

• Become a permanent fixture at Lia’s apartment

• Force him to notice me in increasingly slutty outfits

• Make it impossible for him to ignore the horny roommate-shaped problem in his house

Step 3: Engage

• Talk to him about genetics like i give a fuck (i don’t, i just want to watch his mouth move)

• Drop strategic nerdy compliments that slowly transition into “I want you to bend me over your genetics textbook”

• Deploy feminine wiles at maximum power (respectfully. kinda?)

Step 4: Execute

• Confess (horribly so. who the fuck’s good at confessions??)

• Kiss him

• Let him destroy you in every position known to man (and maybe a few new ones he can genetically engineer)

• ???

• Profit (multiple orgasms)

You lean back, cackling quietly to yourself in the dark kitchen like a madwoman. This was an inexplicably terrible plan.

Ten days. That’s all you need. Ten days to turn Satoru Gojo from “Lia’s hot jacked nerd brother with nipple piercings” to “the man who folds you in half and calls you a good girl while those pierced nipples drag across your skin.”

You swipe out of notes and into messages, fingers already typing out a message to Lia.

You: what time should i come over on saturday

Lia: are you okay ?? since when do you need a timeframe

You: i've never been better. i need one today. now. what time

Lia: idk like 6?? he usually starts cooking around then

You: i'll be there at 5

Lia: why?

You: no reason

Lia: you're going to be weird around my brother again aren't you

You: i'm never weird around your brother

Lia: you literally stood in our kitchen staring at him for 10 minutes last week while he was making a sandwich

You: i was admiring his sandwich making technique

Lia: i don’t think you blinked once

You: that's just how i show respect

Lia: you're going to marry my brother aren't you

You: i'm going to do a lot more than marry him

Lia: ew shut up, i'm telling mom.

You: don't you dare

Lia: i’m afraid she’d love you actually

You: i know. it’s perfect for when she’s watching us walk down the aisle

Lia: you’re insane. like actually crazy

You throw your phone on the bed and grin at the ceiling.

Saturday can't come soon enough.

DAY TWO

You’re not stalking him.

You’re conducting reconnaissance. Big difference. Stalking is creepy. Reconnaissance is strategic, horny, and completely justified when the target has arms like that.

So when you “casually” plant yourself at the library on Thursday afternoon—perfectly positioned with a direct line of sight to the returns desk—it’s not because you memorized his genetics lab schedule (2-4 PM) and know he always swings by here afterward. No, you’re simply a dedicated scholar who loves knowledge.

And penguins. Apparently.

You’ve been pretending to read an article on penguin mating habits for thirty minutes when he finally shows up. Gray henley stretched across that stupidly broad chest, white hair looking like it was styled by sex itself, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose while he carries a textbook that probably weighs more than you do.

Your cunt clenches so hard you nearly drop your phone.

Get it together, you thirsty gremlin.

He returns his books, flashes that devastating smile at the elderly librarian (who actually blushes—same, grandma), and starts to leave. Then he pauses like he’s trying to look for somewhere to sit.

His eyes find you. Mission successful.

And he walks straight over.

“You’re Lia’s friend, right?” His voice is low and smooth, like warm sin sliding down your spine. You want it whispering filthy things against your neck while he’s—jesus, stop.

“Yep… that’s me,” you manage.

“Lia talks about you constantly.” He nods at the empty chair across from you. “Mind if I sit? Got a break before my next class. Need to review some stuff.”

Your brain short-circuits. Your ovaries throw a full-on rave. The logical part of you that still exists is screaming say yes, you idiot.

“Sure,” you squeak. That was not cool. That was the opposite of cool. “Go ahead.”

He doesn’t seem to notice (thank fuck) as he drops into the seat and you catch a hit of his cologne—clean, masculine, expensive. It makes you want to crawl across the table and bury your face in his neck.

“You’re reading about penguins?” he asks, glancing at your book. The one you forgot you even had opened. Penguins pale terribly in comparison to the specimen who just sat across you.

“Uh, yeah. Just… curious.” You’re not even pretending to be normal anymore.

He nods seriously, completely unaware he’s two seconds away from being mentally undressed. Two seconds passed. “Emperor penguins are fascinating. The males can hold their breath for up to twenty minutes underwater. Females lay one egg, then the males incubate it for two months while the females hunt. They huddle together for warmth, rotating positions so no one freezes. It’s actually pretty efficient.”

You’re nodding like you give a damn about penguins when all you can think about is how those long fingers would feel stretching you open, how that deep voice would sound groaning your name while he fucks you slow and deep.

“That’s really sweet,” you say.

He shrugs. “It’s evolutionary. Not about being sweet—it’s mostly just survival.”

“Can’t it be both?”

He looks at you then, like he’s studying you, and something flickers behind those ridiculous blue eyes. You wonder if he can tell you’re soaking through your panties just from listening to him talk about bird foreplay. Ugh, you’re pathetically horny.

The conversation shifts easily after that. You tell him your major is undeclared (true) but you’re leaning toward psychology (also true, specifically the psychology of why you want this man to ruin you). He talks about genetics like it’s the hottest thing on earth, and honestly? The passion in his voice is doing more for you than most guys’ entire bodies.

By the time he checks the clock and sighs, you’ve collected vital intelligence:

Favorite color is a very specific sky blue (you’re already planning outfits).

Morning person (disgusting, but you’d wake up at 5 AM if it meant getting him to screw you eventually).

Thinks The Expanse is the best show ever (you’re downloading it tonight).

Has a rigid morning routine and gets genuinely cranky if it’s disrupted (noted—do not fuck with his routine until he’s addicted to waking up next to you).

Looks even better up close. Unfairly so. The kind of hot that makes you want to climb him in public.

“I should head out,” he says, gathering his stuff. “But it was nice talking to you. You’re not nearly as annoying as Lia described.”

He’s grinning. Teasing. That smile should be illegal.

“I’m telling her you said that,” you shoot back.

“Please don’t. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Too late. Phone’s already out.”

“Damn.” He laughs, low and warm, and your brain immediately files it under sounds to masturbate to later.

He stands up and you let yourself stare as he walks away—those long legs, that perfect ass, the way his shoulders fill out the henley. You want to sink your teeth into his back while he fucks you from behind. You want to watch those pierced nipples tighten when you ride him. You want him to lose that calm, nerdy composure and absolutely wreck you.

You’re in deep.

So fucking deep it’s embarrassing.

DAY THREE

You’re lying on Lia’s floor in her childhood bedroom, staring at the ceiling and trying (and failing) not to think about the fact that Satoru Gojo is sleeping just down the hall.

It’s Friday night. You’d texted Lia I’m bored, come over and she’d hit you with I’m at my parents’ house? so you’d immediately replied cool I’ll come there like a completely normal, non-desperate person. Now here you are, in the Gojo family home, wearing tiny sleep shorts and a thin tank top that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide how your nipples are already perked up just from knowing he’s nearby.

Lia is sprawled on her bed, scrolling on her phone. “So,” she says without looking up, “you gonna tell me what the hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been extra unhinged all week.”

“I’m always unhinged.”

“Weirder than usual. You got all slutted up to go to the library yesterday. You hate the library.”

“I was expanding my horizons.”

“You were stalking my brother.”

You sit up so fast you almost concuss yourself on her bed frame. “I was not stalking him.”

“Uh-huh.” She gives you a flat look. “So you just happened to be at the exact table with the perfect view of the returns desk where he always goes?”

“It’s a public library. Lots of people study there.”

“And you just happened to be wearing lip gloss and a low-cut top?”

You deflate. “Fine. Maybe I was strategically positioning myself. It’s not stalking, it’s… tactical thirst.”

“Tactical thirst,” Lia repeats, deadpan. “Jesus Christ.”

You shrug. “I want him to notice me, okay?”

Lia puts her phone down. “Why? Because you want to bang him?”

“I don’t just want to bang him,” you protest.

“Oh? So you want to date him? Marry him? Have his kids?”

Your brain immediately supplies a vivid image of Satoru behind you, big hands gripping your hips, those long fingers digging in while he fucks you deep and growls about breeding you. You squeeze your thighs together.

“…Maybe eventually,” you mutter.

Lia starts laughing so hard she nearly rolls off the bed. “Oh my god. You’re actually down bad. You want to date my brother.”

“Is that so weird?”

“Yes! He’s the biggest nerd on planet Earth. He has a beaker collection. He watches hour-long documentaries for fun. He once spent an entire dinner arguing with Dad about the ethics of gene editing.”

“That sounds hot, actually.”

“You have issues.”

“I have a crush. Big difference.”

Lia sits up, suddenly serious. “Look, I love him, but he’s… a lot. He hyperfixates. He forgets to eat when he’s in research mode. He’s obsessive about his routines. He’s not exactly easy boyfriend material.”

“Maybe not for most people.” You grin. “But I like the weird. I like how passionate he gets when he talks. I like that he’s smart as hell. And I really like that he’s jacked.”

“Okay, that part is fair,” Lia admits. “He’s got an insane body. I hate saying it because he’s my brother, but yeah… he works out like a maniac.”

“I know. I’ve seen it.”

Lia’s eyes widen. “Have you seen him shirtless?”

Your face burns. “Lia—”

“That’s a yes. When?!”

“It was an accident! I opened the wrong door in the dorms when i was trying to get to yours and he was changing. Shirt off. Just… standing there.”

“And?”

You bite your lip. “I saw them… the piercings.”

Lia loses it again, cackling like a hyena. “You saw his nip piercings and now you’re feral. That explains everything. No wonder you’re trying to move in.”

“I’m not obsessed—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Name three reasons you want him that aren’t the piercings.”

You pause. “He’s smart. He’s really tall. And he has huge hands. Like… long fingers. You know what those could do—”

“OKAY STOP!” Lia slaps her hands over her ears. “I get it. You want to bang my brother. Congratulations, you’re the first girl who’s ever shown genuine interest after realizing how weird he is.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously. A couple girls have tried, but they bail when they realize he’d rather talk DNA than make out.”

“Their loss,” you say, already imagining pushing him against a wall and shutting him up with your mouth on his.

Lia sighs. “If you’re really doing this, you’re gonna need my help. He’s dense as hell when it comes to flirting. You’re going to have to be obvious. Like, ‘I like you please marry me ’ obvious.”

“I can do obvious.”

“You’re going to be so weird about this, aren’t you?”

“Probably.”

She groans but smiles. “Fine. I’m in. Let’s make a plan before you embarrass both of us.”

You launch yourself onto her bed and tackle her in a hug. “You’re the best.”

“I know. Now stop fantasizing about my brother while you’re in my room, you whore.”

Too late. You already are.

Hours pass and you can’t sleep.

Lia passed out an hour ago, snoring softly with her phone still glowing on her chest. But you’re wide awake, mind racing with dirty strategies and the knowledge that Satoru is sleeping just down the hall. Shirtless, probably. Maybe in nothing but those ridiculous novelty boxers he seems to own.

Your throat is dry. Your brain is horny. So you slip out of Lia’s room in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts that could double as underwear because of how little they hide anything, tiptoeing toward the kitchen like a woman on a mission for water… and maybe a glimpse of the nerd who’s been ruining your sleep.

The house is dark except for the soft glow of the fridge light when you round the corner.

And there he is.

Satoru Gojo, standing in front of the open refrigerator in low-slung gray sweatpants and no shirt, the silver bars through his nipples catching the light like a fucking invitation to grope him. His hair is messy from sleep, glasses nowhere in sight, and the way those sweatpants hang on his hips shouldn’t even be allowed.

He’s reaching for something on the top shelf, back muscles flexing, that narrow waist tapering into the most biteable ass you’ve ever seen.

Your brain short-circuits so violently you make a small, embarrassing noise that was supposed to be you clearing your throat.

He turns, blue eyes landing on you instantly.

“Oh. Hey,” he says, voice rough with sleep. It goes straight between your legs. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

You try to play it cool. You really do. But your eyes keep dropping to his pierced nipples, then lower, following the faint happy trail disappearing into those sweatpants. You can see the outline of his dick through the fabric and your mouth actually waters.

“Water,” you croak. “Just… needed water.”

He steps aside, gesturing lazily at the fridge. “Help yourself.”

You move past him, hyper-aware of how close he is. His body heat. That clean, masculine scent. The way his arm brushes yours when you reach for a bottle.

You turn around too fast and suddenly you’re chest-to-chest with him. Well, chest-to-stomach. He’s so fucking tall.

“Sorry—” you start, but the word dies when you look up and realize he’s staring down at you.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he says quietly.

You glance down. The oversized tee has some faded genetics pun on it. You stole it from Lia’s laundry pile earlier without realizing.

“Shit. I didn’t— I can change—”

“Looks better on you,” he murmurs, and the low timbre of his voice makes your nipples tighten against the fabric.

Your brain supplies a very vivid image of him bending you over the kitchen island, yanking your shorts down, and fucking you until you can’t remember your own name. Those big hands gripping your hips. Those pierced nipples dragging against your back while he rails you from behind.

You swallow hard.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

He leans in just a fraction, eyes dark. For one electric second you think he might kiss you.

Then he straightens up, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Night, Lia’s friend.”

No no no no don’t go… you were having such a good time just staring at him.

“I have a name, you know,” you blurt out and you’re not sure where that came from.

He pauses, turns to face you with that subtle smile on his face—the one that does terrible things to you.

“I know.”

He walks out, sweatpants riding low enough that you get a perfect view of the dimples at the base of his spine.

You stand there clutching your water bottle like a lifeline, thighs pressed together, heart hammering.

Yeah.

This sleepover is definitely a sleepover. And you are so screwed.

DAY FOUR

You wake up stupidly early—barely past 6 AM—because your bladder has no respect for your sleepover plans. The house is dead quiet. Lia is still snoring softly on the bed. You slip out from under the blanket in your shorts and his shirt, hair messy, eyes half-closed, and shuffle down the hall toward the bathroom.

You push the door open without knocking (big mistake) and freeze.

Satoru is already in there.

Fresh out of the shower.

A towel slung dangerously low around his hips, water still dripping down his bare chest. Those silver nipple piercings catch the light like fucking bait. His white hair is wet and pushed back, glasses off, and the steam in the air makes everything feel way too intimate.

Your brain short-circuits so hard you can hear the dial-up tone.

He turns his head, blue eyes meeting yours in the mirror. For a second he looks surprised, then that lazy, amused smirk slides onto his face.

“Morning,” he says, voice still rough with sleep. “Didn’t know I had company this early.”

You’re standing there like an idiot, thighs pressed together, suddenly very aware that your nipples are visible through your thin shirt and your shorts are barely covering anything. Your gaze keeps betraying you—dropping to the defined lines of his abs, the sharp V disappearing under the towel, the way the fabric clings to his hips.

You want to drop to your knees right here on the bathroom tile and see what’s under that towel. You want to tug on those pierced nipples with your teeth while he fucks your throat. You want him to bend you over the sink and make you watch in the mirror while he ruins you.

Instead you squeak out, “Sorry— I didn’t— I’ll just—”

You start backing up but he chuckles, low and warm, and reaches for his toothbrush like this is completely normal.

“You’re fine. I’m almost done.” He glances at you again, eyes flicking down your body for half a second before returning to the mirror. “Sleep well?”

Your face is burning. Your down there is throbbing. “Yeah. Great. Perfect. You?”

“Same.” He starts brushing his teeth, completely unbothered by the fact that he’s mostly naked and you’re two feet away looking like you want to devour him. “You sticking around today?”

“Uh-huh.” You can’t stop staring at the water droplet sliding down his chest, right toward one of those fucking piercings. “Dinner. Carbonara.”

He rinses his mouth, turns around fully, and now you’re getting the full frontal view—broad shoulders, lean muscle, happy trail, and that towel that looks like it’s one deep breath away from falling.

“Good,” he says simply. “See you then.”

He steps past you in the doorway, close enough that his bare arm brushes yours and you catch the clean scent of his body wash. Your knees nearly give out.

He disappears down the hall toward his room, leaving you standing there like a horny statue.

You close the bathroom door behind you, lock it, and immediately lean against it, pressing your thighs together.

Holy fuck.

You’re never going to survive ten days if every morning starts like this.

Later that morning, after you’ve (barely) recovered and Lia has woken up, the two of you are sprawled across her bed with snacks, turning this into full war council mode.

You and Lia spend most of Saturday morning working on what you’re calling “Operation Bag and Bang the Nerd.”

“Well, first we need to figure out what he likes,” Lia says, scrolling through her phone. “He’s got a lot of interests.”

“I already know some of them. Genetics, The Expanse, the gym…”

“Okay, but you need specifics. What kind of genetics? Favorite episode? Gym routine?”

You shrug helplessly.

“Exactly. Research time.” She pulls up a document titled Satoru Intel like the unhinged best friend she is. “I’ve been collecting this for years. It’s a little creepy but extremely useful. I do it for my parents too.”

“You’re a good sister.”

“I’m the best. Okay—population genetics, especially the genetics of blue eyes for his thesis. Favorite He’s a big fan of those self help books, has a bunch. Gym at 6 AM sharp every day.”

“6 AM? Gross.”

“Right? But it means he crashes early. Evenings are prime territory for you.”

“Can I just… come over whenever?”

“Obviously. But you need to make him want you around. He’s not exactly Mr. Social.”

“So I make him want to spend time with me.”

“Bingo.”

“How?”

“Pretend to be interested in his research.”

“I am interested. I want him to explain it while I sit on his lap.”

Lia snorts. “Then ask him about his thesis. Let him nerd out. That’s the fastest way to his heart.”

You grin. “And his dick?”

She smacks your shoulder and you giggle shamelessly, “gross, woman!”

“Also, get physically close. He’s oblivious as hell. Touch his arm. Sit right next to him. Brush against him. Wear something slutty.”

“Revealing clothing?”

“Obviously. He’s dense but he’s not blind. Weaponize the tits.”

“Already planning on it.”

“And be patient,” she warns. “He’s not going to fold overnight.”

“Ten days,” you say, dead serious. “I’m getting him in ten days.”

Lia raises an eyebrow. “Ambitious.”

“I’m an ambitious slut.”

She laughs and holds out her hand. “Ten days. Starting now.”

You shake it. “Oh, I’m on day four already.”

“What?!—“ she blurts out, confused as hell. “You think you can do this in six days?”

“Just trust me, okay. I have my ways.”

Lia shrugs and lets out a chuckle, “alright then. If it doesn’t work you owe me coffee every day for a whole month.”

“That’s not fair!”

“You were so confident a second ago?”

“Fine... you’ll see.”

“One day you’re gonna get that ego checked.”

“Not today.”

You’re already mentally picking out your outfit for dinner—something tight, low-cut, and guaranteed to make those blue eyes linger.

After this morning’s bathroom encounter, you have a feeling he’s at the very least noticed your sexual appeal. You just need to keep pushing.

DAY FIVE

You spend an embarrassing amount of time getting ready.

Four outfit changes, two complete hair redos, and so much makeup reapplication that you’re starting to look like a different person which you start to hate and then remove entirely and settle on mascara and lipgloss. You settle on pants that make your ass look great and a tight black top with a plunging neckline (per Lia’s very helpful suggestion).

Your phone buzzes as you’re leaving the dorm.

Lia: are you coming or what

You: omw

Lia: good bc satoru is already cooking and if you miss his carbonara i will personally end you

You: you’d fight me for missing pasta??

Lia: it’s that good

You: fair

The second you step into the Gojo house the smell of carbonara hits you like heaven. Creamy, garlicky, sinful. Lia lets you in with a wicked little grin.

“He’s in a good mood,” she whispers. “Thesis breakthrough. He’s feeling generous.”

“Perfect timing.”

“Just… don’t be too obvious. He gets weird about it.”

“I’ll be subtle.”

“You’ve never been subtle in your life.”

“I’ll be my version of subtle.”

“That’s what terrifies me.”

You walk into the kitchen and there he is—Satoru Gojo in a “Kiss the Cook” apron, looking unfairly domestic and hot as hell. The apron strings are tied around that stupidly narrow waist, and you immediately picture untying them with your teeth.

“Hey, Lia’s friend,” he says.

“Hey, Lia’s brother,” you fire back.

He glances up with a smirk. “Satoru. You can call me Satoru.”

“You know my name and you still call me Lia’s friend.”

“Good point.” He stirs the pasta, muscles flexing under the apron. “Staying for dinner?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. I made enough for a small army. Lia always invites strays.”

“I do not,” Lia protests.

“You literally just did.”

The carbonara is obscene—rich, silky, perfectly cheesy. You moan around your first bite and don’t even care how it sounds. Satoru’s eyes flick to your mouth for a second.

“Holy shit,” you say. “This is better than sex.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “High praise.”

You spend the rest of dinner complimenting him shamelessly and then steering the conversation to his thesis. The second you ask about the genetics of blue eyes, his whole face lights up. He launches into a passionate ramble about OCA2, HERC2, melanin production, and ancient mutations while his hands gesture wildly.

You don’t understand half of it, but you’re riveted anyway—mostly because watching him get excited makes you want to climb him like a tree and ride him while he keeps talking nerd shit in your ear.

“Most people zone out when I talk about this,” he admits at the end, looking almost shy.

“Nope. I could listen to you talk about genetics all night.”

He blinks, then gives you a real, soft smile. “You’re weird.”

“Good weird, I hope.”

“Very good weird.”

Lia watches the whole exchange like a proud mother.

After dinner she claps her hands. “Movie time. The Expanse. Season one, episode one. No skipping.”

Satoru perks up immediately. “You haven’t seen it?” he asks you.

“Nope.”

“We’re fixing that right now.”

The carbonara plates are cleared and dropped into the sink, compliments thoroughly given, and the three of you migrate to the living room. Satoru takes his usual spot on the big sectional couch while Lia claims the armchair so you two can sit together. You deliberately sit right next to him instead of leaving a polite gap—close enough that your thigh almost brushes his.

He doesn’t comment on it. Just queues up The Expanse and starts explaining the premise, talking with his hands the way he always does when he’s excited. You watch him more than the screen.

Lia lasts about twenty minutes before she fakes the world’s most obvious yawn.

“God, I’m wiped. All that science talk drained me. You two keep going—I’m tapping out early.” She shoots you a quick little smirk behind Satoru’s back and vanishes down the hallway before either of you can protest.

Now it’s just the two of you.

The episode plays on, but you’re barely paying attention to the plot. You’re too busy watching Satoru’s face light up every time something interesting happens on screen. He keeps pausing to explain details—Belter culture, the physics of space travel, the political tensions—and you find yourself actually leaning in, not just because you want his hands on you, but because the way he gets lost in it is weirdly endearing. Cute, even. This giant, jacked nerd with nip piercings rambling about fictional solar system politics like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

It’s hot. And sort of adorable.

You shift closer under the pretense of getting comfortable, letting your shoulder press against his. He doesn’t move away. If anything, he relaxes a little, arm stretching along the back of the couch behind you.

“So the Belters,” you say, genuinely curious, “they’re basically space miners who got screwed by Earth and Mars, right? That whole ‘we were born in space, you were born with gravity’ thing?”

His eyes flick to you, surprised you actually seem into this. “Yeah. Exactly. It’s this whole class and resource struggle layered on top of incredible sci-fi worldbuilding. Most shows would make it black and white, but this one actually shows how everyone’s kind of right and kind of wrong at the same time.”

You nod, letting your knee rest against his thigh now—body slightly tilted towards his on the couch. “That’s cool. I like when stories don’t treat the audience like idiots.”

He turns his head to look at you properly. Those ridiculous blue eyes are softer in the dim TV light. “Most people just nod and wait for me to shut up when I start explaining stuff like this.”

“I’d like to think I’m not most people.” You tilt your head, letting your shoulder settle more firmly against his chest—he stiffens for a second before relaxing, letting out a soft breath he thought you wouldn’t notice. “Keep going. What happens after that scene?”

He launches back into it, voice dropping into that low, enthusiastic register that does terrible things to your insides. You listen, asking real questions, but your mind keeps wandering to filthier places—imagining that mouth against your neck while he explains genetics, those long fingers sliding under your top, pinning you down while he rambles about melanin between thrusts.

At one point he laughs at something on screen and the sound vibrates through his chest into your shoulder. You have to press your thighs together.

“You’re actually paying attention,” he says after a while, sounding almost impressed. There’s a flirty little edge to his voice now, playful. It’s so hot and so distracting. “Most girls pretend to be interested for about five minutes before they start checking their phones.”

“I am interested,” you say honestly. “It’s well-written. And I like how passionate you get about it. It’s… cute.”

The second the word leaves your mouth his eyebrows shoot up. “Cute?”

“Shut up. You heard me.” You nudge his side with your elbow, but you don’t pull away. If anything you sink in closer, letting your head tilt toward his shoulder. “Don’t let it go to your head, nerd.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “I’ll think about it.” His arm shifts slightly behind you—not quite around you, but close enough that his fingers could brush your arm if he wanted. “You’re weird, you know that?”

You look up at him through your lashes. “You’ve mentioned, but weird how?”

“You listen. Ask surprisingly good questions. Wear tops like that.” His gaze drops to your cleavage for half a second before flicking back to your face, a little guilty, a little heated. SCORE!! He noticed your tits this is going beautifully. “And you smell really good. It’s distracting.”

Your pulse spikes. Heat pools low in your stomach. You want to straddle him right here on the couch and see how fast that nerdy composure cracks. Instead you smirk.

“Good. I like distracting you.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind those eyes. Then he turns back to the TV, but his arm settles more deliberately along the back of the couch, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder.

The episode keeps playing. You keep leaning into him. And for the first time, it feels like he’s actually seeing you—not just as Lia’s friend, but as something a lot more interesting.

You’re still going to fuck his brains out the second you get the chance.

But damn if the nerdy rambling isn’t growing on you too.

DAY SIX

You wake up at 5:30 in the morning like a masochist.

Your phone alarm is blaring. Your body is begging for mercy. But you drag yourself out of bed anyway because the mission demands it.

Satoru Gojo works out at 6 AM sharp every single day. And today, you’re going to “coincidentally” be there too.

You spend way too long picking an outfit: black leggings that hug your ass, a matching padded sports bra that gives excellent lift and cleavage, and a loose tank top that keeps slipping off one shoulder. Your ponytail is artfully messy. You look like the kind of girl who lives at the gym.

In reality, the last time you ran was to catch the bus in high-school.

You walk into the gym at 5:55 AM and immediately spot him.

Shirtless.

On the bench press.

Holy fuck. You might be here every day from now on if it means getting front row seats to him in all of his glory.

Sweat is already glistening across his broad chest and down those ridiculous abs. His arms flex with every rep, veins popping out, and those silver nipple piercings catch the harsh lights like they’re kindly asking you to stare. You nearly walk straight into a weight rack.

He racks the bar and sits up, towel around his neck, catching sight of you.

“You?” He blinks, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

You try to sound casual. “Working out. New fitness journey and all that.”

“Since when?” He wipes sweat from his forehead, muscles shifting in a way that should be illegal before breakfast.

“Uh… since recently. I’m turning over a new leaf. Becoming a morning person.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused by your new goal. “You told me two days ago you hate mornings.”

“I’m evolving,” you deadpan. “It’s a process but hey, I managed to get out of bed and come here. Good progress.”

He nods, studying you for a second, eyes drifting down your body—leggings, sports bra, the way your tank top clings to your skin—before flicking back to your face. “Alright. Treadmills are over there if you’re running. Good view of the TVs.”

“Thanks.”

You climb onto a treadmill and start at a light jog, trying not to look like a complete and utter fraud. Your heart is already racing and it has nothing to do with the speed—okay it has some to do with the speed.

A couple minutes later he appears beside your machine, still beautifully shirtless, towel slung over one shoulder.

“Your form’s off,” he says without preamble.

“My what?”

“You’re heel-striking. It’s gonna wreck your knees long-term.” He steps onto the side rail of the treadmill. “Can I fix it?”

“Please.” You slow the treadmill to a stop and stand there with your heart beating against your chest as he reaches down and taps your ankle, guiding your foot placement. His fingers are warm and firm against your skin through the thin legging material. You clench involuntarily.

“Land on the ball of your foot,” he instructs, voice low. “Like this.”

Then his hands move to your hips, adjusting your posture with gentle pressure. He’s so close you can smell his sweat mixed with that clean cologne, feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. Your brain floods with vivid images: those big hands gripping your hips harder while he fucks you from behind, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours. Maybe those biceps putting you in a chokehold. You have to snap yourself out of it before you forget where you are.

“Lean forward just a little,” he murmurs, right next to your ear. “Not too much. There… yeah. That’s it.”

Fuck, you’re pretty sure you’re soaking through your leggings.

“Better?” he asks, stepping back but not far.

“Much better,” you manage, voice a little breathless. “Thanks, Satoru.”

“No problem.” He gives you that crooked, flirty smirk. “Always happy to help pretty girls with their form.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Pretty girls?”

He shrugs, casual, but there’s a spark in those blue eyes. “What? You look good. The outfit works. Just… don’t push too hard if you’re new to this. I don’t want you sore tomorrow.”

Too late, pretty boy. I’m already sore in all the right places.

“I can handle it,” you say, turning up the speed a notch. “But if I die, you’re carrying me home.”

He laughs—low, warm, genuine—and the sound shoots straight down in between your legs. “Deal. I’ll spot you on the weights after if you want.”

You spend the rest of your (very short) workout stealing glances at him. Watching him load plates onto the bar, muscles bulging, sweat dripping down that perfect V-line into his shorts. You want to lick the sweat off his chest. You want to see how sensitive those nips are. You want him to pin you against the mirror and fuck the “morning person” energy right out of you. Or into you. Whatever, potato potahto.

But underneath all the raging lust, you’re also weirdly into how focused and disciplined he is. The way he tracks his reps, the quiet intensity on his face—it’s hot. And impressive.

When you finally step off the treadmill on shaky legs, he wanders over again, handing you a spare towel.

“Not bad for a new morning person,” he teases.

“You watching? High praise from the 6 AM regular.”

He lingers for a second, eyes flicking over you again. “Making sure you don’t fall over and hurt yourself. You coming back tomorrow?”

“Maybe. If my legs don’t fall off.”

“I’ll be here.” He gives you one last slow smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Hard to when I’m basically a resident at Lia’s.”

You watch him chuckle and walk back to the weights, that glorious back and shoulders on full display, and feel a rush of triumph mixed with pure, aching want.

Day six is a huge success. You’re sweaty, exhausted, and hornier than ever. But he noticed you. He touched you. God you’ll be thinking about that all day.

DAY SEVEN

You’re at the Gojo family home again. At this point you basically live here. Lia has started making jokes about charging you rent, and you’re starting to worry she’s only half-kidding.

You’re sprawled on the couch with her, pretending to watch some trashy reality show while mostly scrolling on your phone, when Satoru walks in from the hallway looking annoyingly good in just a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats.

“I’m making coffee,” he announces casually. “Anyone want some?”

“I’ll take one,” Lia says lazily.

“I’m good, thanks,” you reply.

He nods and disappears into the kitchen. A few minutes later he returns with two mugs. He hands one to Lia, then turns to you and holds out the second.

“I made you one anyway.”

You blink. “I said I was good.”

“I know.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “But it’s got hazelnut creamer. You mentioned you like it that one time.”

You freeze mid-reach.

He remembered. Not just that you drink coffee, but the specific creamer you like. From a passing comment days ago.

You take the mug, fingers brushing his, and feel a stupid little flutter in your chest. “Thanks. That’s… pretty thoughtful.”

“It’s just coffee,” he says, but there’s a small, pleased smirk playing on his lips.

“It’s not just coffee. It’s thoughtful coffee.”

He leans against the doorway, studying you with those oh so pretty blue eyes. “I pay attention to things. Especially people. I like figuring out what makes them tick.”

Your pulse kicks up. You take a sip to hide how much that affects you. The hazelnut is perfect.

“And what makes me tick?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

He holds your gaze for a long moment. “Still working on that one. But I’m getting there.”

Then he pushes off the doorframe and heads back toward his room, leaving you staring after him like an idiot.

The second he’s out of earshot, Lia whips around on the couch, eyes wide.

“Oh my god.”

“Shut up.”

“He’s so into you.”

“He’s not. He was just… being nice.”

Lia snorts so hard she nearly chokes on her coffee. “Nice? My brother doesn’t do ‘nice’ like that. He forgot my birthday three years in a row. He barely remembers to make himself coffee most days. But he made you one with your favorite creamer? Unprompted?”

You look down at the mug in your hands, the steam still curling up sweetly. “Maybe he’s just trying to be a good host.”

“Please. He doesn’t give a shit about being a good host. Half the time he ignores people who come over. But he remembered your creamer preference and brought it to you anyway?” She pokes your arm. “That’s practically a confession for him.”

You laugh, but your face feels hot. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right. And the way he looked at you when he said he’s ‘figuring you out’? That was flirty as hell.”

You shift on the couch, thighs pressing together as your mind immediately goes to images of him figuring you out in much more hands-on ways—those long fingers between your legs while he murmurs nerdy observations about what makes you tick.

“He does have a habit of paying attention to details,” you admit.

“Exactly. And right now all his attention is on you.” Lia grins excitedly. “Operation Bag and Bang is working. My brother wants you.”

You take another sip of the perfect hazelnut coffee, warmth spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the drink.

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe he really is starting to like you back.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re not only in this for the filthy fantasies anymore. The way he listens when you talk, the way he remembers little things, the look he gets in his eyes when he looks at you… it’s doing something stupid to you. Makes your heart flutter, makes you blush like a lovesick girl.

Doesn’t mean you aren’t going to still absolutely fuck him senseless the second you get the chance, though.

DAY EIGHT

You’re in Satoru’s room.

His room.

You’re sitting cross-legged on his bed, physics notes, textbooks, and crumpled practice problems scattered everywhere. He’s leaning against the headboard looking unfairly hot in a loose black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, glasses perched on his nose as he flips through your messy notes.

You’d asked him yesterday to help you study because you’re genuinely shit at physics and the test is in two days and you’re sure you’re going to flunk. He’d agreed immediately, telling you to bring everything over. You told Lia and she encouraged you and said she’ll leave the house so you two can be alone (best wingwoman and best friend ever btw) Now here you are—surrounded by his nerd clutter of books, beakers, and posters—trying (and horribly failing) to focus while the sexual tension threatens to burn the room down.

“Alright, pay attention,” he says, voice casual but firm as he taps your paper. “This free body diagram is still fucked. You keep forgetting the normal force direction. If you do this on the test you’re gonna lose a ton of points.”

You nod, but your eyes keep drifting to the way his t-shirt stretches across his chest, the faint outline of those nipple piercings visible through the fabric. You want to push him back on this bed and ride him until he forgets every equation he’s ever learned. Maybe you’ll make him solve some while he’s buried inside you just to see him struggle. God you’re getting horny just thinking about it. That’s until he rudely interrupts your fantasies.

“Hey.” He snaps his fingers lightly in front of your face, smirking. “Focus. This test actually matters. I’m not letting you bomb it because you’re too busy staring at me.”

“Sorry,” you say, not sorry at all. “You’re distracting.”

“Yeah, well, get used to it. We’re staying here until you can do these problems without thinking.” He scoots closer, large muscular thigh pressing firmly against yours as he leans in to redraw the diagram. His arm brushes your chest and you have to bite your lip. “See? The force arrow goes this way. Not that way. Mess this up on the real test and you’re pretty much screwed.”

You try again. He checks your work, nodding when it’s better but immediately pointing out the next mistake.

“Better, but still not perfect. Come on, you’re smarter than this. I know you are.” His tone is light, but there’s real concern underneath it. And fuck if that doesn’t turn you on because what the hell’s hotter than a dude actually caring? “I don’t want you stressing out the night before because you half-assed it. Let’s do the next one.”

The tension is unbearable. Every time he leans in to correct something, his knee stays glued to yours. Every explanation comes with casual touches—his fingers brushing your hand when he passes the pen, his shoulder pressed against yours, his breath warm against your ear as he talks through equilibrium problems. You swear he’s doing it on purpose just to torture you.

You keep getting distracted by your uncontrollable filthy thoughts—his hands gripping your hips, that deep voice in your ear explaining exactly how he wants you to move while he fucks you.

“Focus,” he says again, gently flicking your forehead. “I’m serious. This shit builds on itself. If you don’t get the fundamentals now you’re gonna be fucked for the rest of the semester.”

“You’re really invested in my grade, huh?” you tease, shifting so your thigh slides more firmly against his.

“Yeah, I am.” He looks at you directly. “I like when people actually learn stuff. Especially you. So stop looking at my tits and solve the damn problem.”

You laugh but actually try this time. When you get it right he gives you a pleased little smirk and ruffles your hair.

“There we go. See? You’ve got this. Just need to stop getting distracted by how hot your tutor is.”

“Impossible,” you mutter.

He chuckles, low and warm, but immediately dives back into the next concept. “Torque next. This one trips a lot of people up. Pay attention— I’m not explaining it three times.”

You spend the next couple hours like that: bodies pressed close on his bed, heavy tension crackling between every word, while he stays surprisingly focused on making sure you actually understand the material. He’s casual and flirty, throwing in teasing comments and lingering touches, but he never lets you derail the session for too long.

“Last set,” he says eventually, handing you more practice problems. “Nail these and I’ll be impressed. And maybe… reward you somehow.” His eyes drag slowly down your body before flicking back up, heated. Holy shit. Is he implying what you think he’s implying? “But only if you actually get a decent grade. Deal?”

You swallow, already thinking about everything. “Deal.”

He leans back against the headboard, arm stretched behind you, fingers idly playing with the hem of your shirt while you work. The concern for your success is weirdly attractive—mixed with all that casual confidence and the constant undercurrent of want.

You’re definitely passing this test.

And you’re definitely going to fuck your tutor senseless the second it’s over.

DAY NINE

(except it’s actually day eleven because the last two days were just non-stop tutoring and you finally crushed that physics test)

You don’t mean to confess.

It just slips out.

It’s late. The house is quiet. Lia passed out on the couch an hour ago, and Satoru suggested the two of you keep watching The Expanse in the living room. Now you’re alone with him on the big sectional, sitting so close your thighs are pressed together and your shoulders keep brushing.

The show is on, but neither of you is really watching anymore.

Your heart is hammering. His hand rests on the cushion between you, fingers twitching like they want to close the last inch of space between yours and his. The tension has been building for days—those long study sessions where he’d scold you to focus while his eyes lingered on your mouth and legs.

“So,” you say, breaking the charged silence. “I got my physics grade back today.”

He turns his head, blue eyes sparkling with interest. “And?”

You smirk. “A solid B+. Would’ve been an A if someone hadn’t kept distracting me with his hands and voice the whole time.”

Satoru lets out a low laugh, but there’s heat in it. “Told you to focus. I take my tutoring duties seriously.”

“You also promised me a reward if I did well.” You shift closer, letting your hand rest on his thigh. “I did well, Satoru.”

His breath catches. The tension snaps tighter. He looks down at your hand, then back up at your face, eyes darker now.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” His voice is rougher. “What kind of reward were you thinking?”

You lean in until your lips are inches from his. “I think you know exactly what kind I want. I think you’ve known for a while now. Unless you’re just… super dense. Which Lia told me you are, but I think you’re smarter than that.”

He swallows hard. The air between you feels electric. “You’re really not subtle anymore, huh?”

“Nope. I’ve been trying to be subtle for a while now.” Your fingers trace slow circles on his thigh, teasingly high. “So… about that reward.”

He exhales sharply, hand finally moving to cover yours, squeezing. “You’re killing me here.”

“Good.” You tilt your head, lips brushing his jaw. “Because I’ve been dying for days. Sitting in your room, letting you play teacher while all I could think about was climbing onto your lap and shutting you up with my mouth.”

His grip on your hand tightens. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. That’s the idea.”

He turns fully toward you, free hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. The show is completely forgotten. “You really want this?”

“I’ve wanted this since I walked in on you shirtless that first time.” Your voice drops and you bite your lip. “Since I saw those piercings. You’re gonna need to tell me the story behind those someday. Preferably after I’ve had them in my mouth.”

His eyes flare and he chuckles nervously—breathlessly. The tension is so thick it’s suffocating in the best way. He’s breathing harder now, thumb stroking your neck.

“I’ve been trying to be good,” he mutters. “Trying to make sure you actually passed that test instead of just thinking about bending you over my desk every time you leaned over your notes.”

You grin against his mouth. “And now?”

“Now?” He leans in, lips hovering just above yours. “Now I’m thinking about collecting on that reward too.”

You close the distance first.

The kiss starts hungry—three months of built-up tension exploding all at once. His mouth is hot and demanding, tongue sliding against yours as he pulls you closer. You moan into it, and he swallows the sound greedily, hand sliding into your hair.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing hard.

“Well,” he says, voice hoarse, “that was a long time coming.”

“Too long.” You nip at his bottom lip. “And we’re nowhere near done. I still want my full reward, tutor.”

He laughs, low and filthy, forehead resting against yours. “Greedy.”

“You have no idea.”

He kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense, hands roaming your sides like he’s been dying to touch you. The living room feels too small, too public, but neither of you cares enough to stop.

Satoru pulls back from the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing ragged. “We can’t do this here,” he mutters, voice low and rough. “Parents are upstairs. Lia’s literally passed out on the couch. If anyone hears—”

“Then take me to your room,” you whisper against his mouth, nipping his bottom lip. “Now, please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He stands up, grabs your hand, and practically drags you down the hallway, both of you moving as quietly as possible. The second his bedroom door clicks shut behind you, he pushes you up against it, kissing you hard again. This time there’s no hesitation—his hands roam down your sides, gripping your ass as he grinds against you.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he groans quietly against your neck. “You have no idea how many times I had to stop myself from bending you over my desk during those study sessions.”

You laugh breathlessly, hands already sliding under his shirt like you’ve imagined a thousand times over the course of the past ten days. “Then stop stalling and show me, nerd.”

He tugs your shirt off first, then his own, and there they are—those perfect, lean pecs with the silver bars through both pink nipples, already hard from the cool air and the tension. You stare like a woman starved.

“God, I’ve been so fucking obsessed with these,” you admit, running your palms over his chest, thumbs brushing right over the piercings.

Satoru hisses sharply, hips jerking against you while his abs clench abruptly. “Sensitive— fuck— they’ve been extra sensitive since I got them done.”

“That’s to my advantage.” You push him back toward the bed, watching him sit on the edge as you climb onto his lap. “I’ve honestly wanted to play with them for months.”

You lean down and drag your tongue over one pierced nipple, flicking the bar lightly. Satoru’s head falls back with a choked groan, one hand flying up to cover his mouth, teeth digging into his fingers.

“Shit— easy,” he hisses, voice strained. “Parents are right upstairs. You’re gonna get us caught.”

You smirk and suck the other nipple into your mouth, tugging gently on the piercing with your teeth. His cock twitches hard against your thigh through his sweatpants.

“Fuck, you’re so evil,” he pants, trying to sound cocky but sounding wrecked instead. “I’m trying to be all cool and collected here and you’re— ah— sucking on my tits like you’re trying to milk me.”

“I wish i could,” you murmur, switching sides and rolling the other bar between your fingers while you lick and suck. His chest is flushed, nipples puffy and oversensitive from the attention. Every tug and flick makes him shudder underneath you. “They’re so pretty. Look at how they get all hard for me.”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he groans, chest heaving, biting his fist to stay quiet. His face is so red he’s hard to recognize. You’ve never seen him lose his composure this hard but damn if you’re not getting off on it. “I’m supposed to be the one ruining you, not the other way around.”

You grind down on the very obvious bulge in his sweatpants, still lavishing attention on his chest. “Who says we can’t do both?”

He finally snaps, flipping you onto your back on the bed with surprising strength. He hovers over you, sweat dripping down his chest, hair messy. “My turn. Shorts off, baby… please.”

You obey, shimmying out of your shorts and panties while he kicks off his sweatpants. His cock springs free—long, thick, and already leaking. You gasp—audibly so—at the sheer size of him. You knew he was big because you’d seen him in those sinful grey sweats but you never could picture it in your head. But now it’s right here… fuck, you’re soaking. You reach for it but he catches your wrist.

“Not yet,” he says, voice cocky but with that nervous edge underneath. “I’ve spent too many nights jerking off thinking about this. I’m not rushing it.”

He kisses down your body, mouth hot and eager, but you pull him back up by his hair. “You’ve jerked off to me?” You ask breathlessly, a little cocky smile on your lips. “I’m flattered.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes right at you, licking his lips. “Don’t act like you haven’t done the same, pervert.”

“Never acted like anything.”

“Good.” He’s about to go down on you, his lips finding your neck and then gradually moving lower but you can’t help but want to toy with his nips again. Your fingers gently coax him up to your face again by his hair and he groans. “C’mon…gimme’ a chance to make you feel good.”

“No. I want these again.” You cup his chest, thumbs circling his swollen nipples. “They’re so fucking sensitive. Look at you—shaking just from me playing with them.”

Satoru buries his face in your neck to muffle a moan as you pinch and tug on the bars. “You’re— fuck— such a brat. I’m trying to be a good tutor-turned-lover here and you’re using my piercings against me.”

You laugh softly and lick over one again, sucking harder while your hand strokes his cock slowly. “They’re pretty much mine now. I’ve earned them after all that studying.”

He shudders, hips bucking into your fist. “Yeah? Then keep earning them. Just— quiet, baby. I swear if my mom hears us I’m so dead.”

You keep teasing his chest relentlessly—licking, sucking, tugging on the piercings while your hand works his cock in long, slow strokes. He’s panting into your shoulder, trying so hard to stay quiet, occasionally letting out these choked little whimpers whenever you twist the bars just right or squeeze him a little tighter on the upstroke.

“God, you’re so hard,” you whisper. “All this from me playing with your tits?”

“Shut up,” he groans, embarrassed but clearly loving it. “They’ve always been sensitive but you’re making it so much worse. Or better. Fuck, I don’t know anymore.”

You push him onto his back again and straddle him, rubbing your soaked pussy along his length while you continue lavishing attention on his chest. He grips your hips hard, biting his lip bloody trying to stay silent.

“You gonna fuck me now, sir?” you tease, grinding down. “Or do I need to keep playing with these until you beg?”

He lets out a shaky laugh. “Don’t—don’t call me that, it does things to me,” he groans, cock twitching against you. “Come here— I need to be inside you before I lose my mind.”

He reaches over to his nightstand, grabs a condom with trembling hands (still nerdy enough to be prepared), and rolls it on. Then he pulls you down onto him in one slow, deep thrust.

Both of you moan—his muffled against your shoulder, yours against his neck.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “So tight. Been thinking about this for days.”

“Try three months,” you groaned into his neck, breathing heavily. You start riding him slowly, still playing with his oversensitive nipples, tugging and rolling the bars while you bounce on his cock. Every time you pinch them he thrusts up harder, trying desperately to stay quiet.

“Quiet, Satoru,” you tease breathlessly, echoing his earlier words. “Wouldn’t want your parents knowing their genius son is getting his pierced nips played with while he fucks his sister’s best friend.”

He groans, hips snapping up. “You’re evil. Absolutely evil. I’m never— shit— gonna recover from this.”

You don’t let him recover. You keep the pace torturously slow and deep, spoiling his chest with attention while the pleasure builds and builds for both of you. His cock fills you perfectly, stretching you with every downward grind. The room is thick with the sound of skin on skin and muffled breathing and held back moans.

Satoru’s hands slide up your waist and cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples with deliberate pressure. He’s not gentle about it—pinching and rolling them between his fingers while he thrusts up to meet you.

“Fuck, these are perfect,” he mutters, voice low and rough. His eyes are dark, needy, but there’s that cocky edge as he watches your face. “Been wanting to get my hands on them since you kept leaning over my notes in that tank top.”

You moan softly and he immediately covers your mouth with one hand, the other still tugging on your nipple.

“Shh,” he whispers, a little smirk playing on his lips even as his hips snap up harder. “Parents are literally right upstairs. You want to get caught, hmm?”

You shake your head, but the way he’s playing with your tits makes it hard to stay quiet. You lean down and take one of his pierced nipples into your mouth again, sucking hard while you roll your hips.

He groans into your hair, the sound needy and broken. “God— you’re like an addict.”

You pull off with a wet pop, still riding him slow and deep. “Why’d you get them pierced?” you ask breathlessly, fingers tracing the silver bars. “They’re so sensitive. Was it for pleasure purposes?”

Satoru’s hands tighten on your hips, guiding you faster for a few strokes before he forces himself to slow down again. Dominant and needy all at once. “Got them after I lost a bet in second year. Didn’t realize how fucking sensitive they’d make me.” He thrusts up sharply, making you gasp. “Now every time you touch them it’s like they’re wired to my dick. It’s torture. I fucking love it.”

You clench around him at that, riding him a little harder. “What about your cock?” you tease, voice low. “Ever think about getting that pierced too?”

He laughs, the sound shaky and turned on. One hand leaves your hip to slap your ass lightly—playful, teasing—before gripping it again and pulling you down with a soft whine. “Thought about it. A lot, actually. Prince Albert maybe. But I chickened out. Figured I’d rather have someone else decide if they want to decorate it.” His eyes lock on yours, needy but cocky. “You offering to help pick one out?”

You moan at the image, grinding down harder. “Maybe.”

His hands are back on your tits, squeezing and playing while he fucks up into you with controlled, deep thrusts. He’s the perfect switch—letting you ride and tease him one second, then taking over the pace the next, pulling you down onto his cock like he owns your pussy.

“What about you?” he asks, voice husky as he pinches both your nipples at once causing you to moan. “You ever think about getting these pierced?”

You arch into his touch, riding him faster now. “Thought about it. Especially after I saw yours. Thought it’d be hot to have you play with them the way I play with yours.”

Satoru groans, the sound muffled against your shoulder as he buries his face there. “Fuck, don’t say shit like that while I’m inside you. I’m trying not to lose it.” He flips you suddenly—smooth, easy—putting you on your back without pulling out. He hooks your legs over his arms and starts fucking you deep and steady, eyes locked on yours.

“I’d love it,” he admits, voice rough and needy again as he leans down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. “Love watching you get all sensitive and shaky for me. Love marking you up.” He bites gently, then soothes it with his tongue. “We could match.”

You’re close—both of you are—but he keeps the pace deliberate, drawing it out. His mouth moves between your tits while he fucks you, occasionally lifting his head to kiss you hard, swallowing your moans.

“You feel so good,” he pants against your lips. “This is insane… I’m so into you.”

You tug on his nipple piercings again and he shudders, stomach clenching and hips stuttering. “Keep doing that and I’m gonna come,” he warns, but he doesn’t stop you. He just fucks you harder, switching between needy groans and cocky little comments.

“Yeah? Gonna come from me playing with your tits while I ride your cock?” you whisper.

“Shut up, you brat,” he laughs breathlessly as he pins your wrists above your head with one hand and keeps pounding into you. “You’re gonna come first. That’s an order from your tutor.”

He keeps you right on the edge—slowing down when you get too close, speeding up when you beg, all while his mouth and hands stay on your tits and his cock stays buried deep inside you. Every thrust drags his cock against that perfect spot inside you, but he’s not letting you race to the finish. He’s controlling the pace—slow and grinding one moment, sharp and punishing the next.

His mouth is on your tits again, sucking one nipple while his fingers pinch and tug the other. You’re arching up into him, one hand fisted in his white hair, the other still toying with his nipples.

“Fuck— pull harder,” he groans against your chest, voice muffled but needy. “Yeah, like that. God, you’re gonna make me lose it.”

You yank on his hair and he moans, hips stuttering. At the same time you scratch your nails down his back—hard enough to leave marks. He shudders violently, a full-body reaction that makes his cock twitch inside you.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, doing it again. “You like that? You little masochist.”

He lifts his head, eyes glassy but still cocky. “Yeah. I like it when you mark me up. Pull my hair, scratch me, bite me— fuck, I’m into all of it.”

You laugh softly and bite his shoulder, then suck a mark right next to it. “So the nerd’s a little pain slut, huh?”

“Shut up,” he laughs breathlessly, thrusting harder to shut you up. “You’re the one obsessed with my chest. I’ve been edging you for ten minutes and you’re still playing with my nips.”

He suddenly pulls out completely. You whine at the loss and he smirks, kneeling between your spread thighs. He takes his cock in one hand and slaps it against your soaked pussy—wet, obscene sounds filling the room as the head smacks your clit, your folds, dragging through your slick.

“Look at this mess,” he murmurs, voice low and dominant again. “Dripping all over my cock. You were so cocky earlier about your reward. Where’s that energy now?”

You reach down and spread yourself open for him. “Still cocky. Just desperate. Put it back in.”

He slaps his cock against your clit again, harder this time, then rubs the head up and down your slit without pushing inside. “Ask nicely.”

“Satoru—”

He pushes just the tip in, then pulls out again, teasing. “Nuh-uh. Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

You glare up at him, pouting. “I want you to stop being a tease and fuck me properly. Or I’m gonna flip us and ride you with my hands on your tits until you’re the one begging.”

He chuckles, low and filthy, and finally sinks back into you in one smooth thrust. “There she is, atta-girl.”

He fucks you harder now, one hand braced by your head, the other sliding between your bodies to rub your clit in tight circles.

“Been thinking about this every night after tutoring,” he admits between thrusts, voice rough. “You leaning over my desk in those shorts, asking me about torque while I was imagining bending you over it. You have no idea how many times I had to adjust myself because you kept playing with your hair and biting your lip.”

You moan and pull his hair again, making him curse. “I knew. Why do you think I kept doing it?”

“So mean,” he pants, but he’s grinning. He pulls out again, flips you onto your stomach, and yanks your hips up. Doggy this time—deeper, rougher, nastier and so fucking hot. One hand grips your hip while the other reaches around to play with your pussy, two fingers rubbing your clit while his cock slides back in. He lifts one arm and pulls you upward so his chest’s pressing right up against your back. He puts you in a chokehold, bicep against your jaw as he leans in to nibble on your ears.

“Touch your tits for me,” he orders, voice strained. “Play with them while I fuck you. I wanna hear you.”

You do as he says, pinching your own nipples while he pounds into you from behind. Every time you clench around him he groans and fucks harder. When you start getting too close—thighs shaking, moans getting louder—he slows down dramatically, almost stopping, just grinding deep and circling your clit lazily.

“Not yet,” he whispers against your ear, chest pressed to your back. “I’m not done with you. I edged myself for hours thinking about you. Turnabout’s fair play.”

You whimper into his arm, hands coming up to grab onto it for support while he fucks you so torturously slow from behind. “Satoru, please—”

He bites the back of your shoulder, then soothes it with his tongue. “Please what? Use your words, pretty.”

“Please let me come. I’ll be good. I’ll stop teasing your nipples— for five minutes.”

He laughs, the sound warm and wrecked, and starts fucking you properly again. “Five whole minutes? That’s generous of you.”

He keeps you right on the edge for what feels like forever—changing angles, pulling out to slap his cock against your cunt again, fingering you open while you’re empty, then slamming back in. Every time you get close he eases off, kissing your spine, murmuring filthy praise.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he says, voice husky. “All desperate and dripping. My smart girl who aced her test and now can’t even form sentences because my cock’s inside her.”

You reach back and scratch down his thigh, then up to his ass. “And you’re the one who gets hard from having your hair pulled and your back scratched.”

“That makes us a perfect match,” he agrees, flipping you onto your back again so he can see your face. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and folds you in half, fucking you deep and slow while his thumb circles your clit.

“Come for me,” he finally says, voice cracking with need. “I’ve got you, baby. Come for this nerd.”

You do—hard. so hard it’s life changing—clenching around him with a muffled cry into his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck and fingers tightening in his hair. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he comes with a low, broken groan followed by a few shorter ones. Your insides grow warm with the weight of his load-filled condom.

For a long moment neither of you moves, just breathing hard, sweat-slick and tangled.

Satoru lifts his head, hair messy, lips swollen, looking thoroughly fucked out but still smug.

“So,” he chuckles breathlessly, voice hoarse. “Same time tomorrow for round two? I still have more physics notes to go over.”

You laugh weakly and tug his hair one more time. “Only if you let me play with your tits again.”

“Deal,” he murmurs, kissing you slow and sweet. “Brat.”

“Pain whore.”

He grins against your mouth. “Sure, but I’m your pain whore.”

DAY TEN

You wake up tangled around Satoru like you’re trying to fuse with him.

Legs hooked around his waist. One arm slung across his chest. Face buried in the warm curve of his neck, breathing him in—skin, faint sweat, that clean scent that still makes your brain lag. Your other hand rests on his narrow waist, thumb brushing the sharp cut of his hip bone, resisting the urge to slip underneath his pants and squeeze that gorgeous ass.

Holy fuck. You actually fucked Satoru.

And it was filthy. Perfect. The kind of night that ruins you for anyone else. The way he’d switched between pinning you down and letting you play with his oversensitive nips until he was shaking. The way he’d edged you for what felt like hours, cocky and needy at the same time. You’re sore in all the right places and already thinking about round… whatever number you’re on now.

You squeeze your thighs around him tighter, pressing your body closer. God, you’re obsessed with how he feels. All that lean muscle, the way his skin is stupidly soft over hard lines, the little shivers he gives when you accidentally brush his piercings.

Satoru stirs, letting out a low, sleepy groan. His arm tightens around your back, hand sliding down to palm your ass possessively.

“Morning, clingy,” he mumbles, voice rough from sleep. “You gonna let me breathe anytime soon?”

“No,” you answer without hesitation, lips brushing his neck. “I earned this. Ten days of plotting and I finally got the nerd in bed. I’m collecting my trophy.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. One hand comes up to scratch lazily at your scalp. “Trophy, huh? That what I am now?”

“Yep. Property of me.” You drag your nails lightly down his back, right over the very obvious scratches you left last night. “These marks are cute, by the way. Very ‘I got banged’ esque.”

Satoru hisses softly but presses into your touch. “You’re such a shit. I told you my back was sensitive and you still went crazy on it.”

“Ehh.. you liked it.” You nip at his neck, then soothe it with your tongue. “You liked it so much you almost came just from me tugging your hair and playing with your piercings.”

“Shut up,” he says, but there’s a grin in his voice. He shifts his hips, letting you feel that he’s already half-hard against your thigh. “You’re the one who couldn’t stop sucking on them. Thought you were gonna give me a hickey on my fucking nipple.”

You laugh quietly and flick one of the bars with your thumb, making him twitch. “They’re too pretty not to. I’ve been obsessed with these things since the first time I saw them. Still can’t believe you let some random person stab metal through them.”

“Regret nothing,” he says casually. His hand slides between your bodies, cupping one of your tits and lazily playing with your nipple. “Especially not after last night. You were real into it.”

You hum happily and press closer, face still tucked into his neck. “Best decision of my life. The sex was insane. You’re surprisingly flexible for a nerd.”

“Surprisingly?” He squeezes your ass. “Rude. I’ll have you know I’m very coordinated.”

“Yeah, yeah. Big talk from the guy who almost dropped me when we switched positions.”

He snorts. “That was your fault. You started playing with the piercings again and my brain shorted out.”

You smile against his skin, inhaling him again. The realization hits you somewhere deep in your chest when his fingers card through your hair—this isn’t just about how hot he is or how good the sex was. You actually like him. Him. The rambling, the routines, the way he remembers stupid little things, the way he looks at you like you’re entertaining as hell even when you’re being annoying.

You’re catching real feelings. You’re definitely going to marry this guy.

“Ten days,” you murmur. “Took me ten days to get you here.”

Satoru’s hand strokes down your spine. “Took me about three to realize I was screwed. You kept showing up everywhere looking like that and asking me questions about my thesis. You sure knew the way to my heart.”

You lift your head just enough to look at him. His hair is a mess, eyes half-lidded, that lazy smirk on his face. He looks stupidly good in the morning light.

“You’re not mad I basically stalked you into liking me?” you ask, half-teasing.

“Nah.” He leans in and kisses you, slow and easy. “Worked out pretty well for me.”

You settle back against his neck, legs still locked around him, arms holding him close. “Good. Because I’m not moving for at least another hour.”

“Fine by me,” he says, voice already drifting back toward sleep. His hand keeps stroking your back in lazy circles. “Just don’t fall asleep with your hand on my nipple again. Last night you almost twisted it off when you came.”

You giggle softly. “No promises.”

He squeezes your ass in warning, but he’s smiling.

You stay wrapped around him for a while longer, trading lazy kisses and occasional teasing touches, until your stomach starts growling loud enough for both of you to hear it.

Satoru huffs a laugh against your hair. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you admit, finally untangling your legs from around his waist. “We did burn a lot of calories last night.”

He smirks, sitting up and stretching. The morning light hits the scratches you left down his back and the faint hickeys on his neck and chest. You didn’t exactly do a great job hiding them. Neither did he—there’s a very obvious bite mark on your shoulder and bruises on your hips that ache in a weirdly pleasuring way.

You both throw on clothes quickly—him in fresh sweatpants and a t-shirt, you in one of his hoodies that swallows you and a pair of his huge sweats you had to tie really tightly because they kept falling.

As you’re about to head out the door, you pause.

“So…” you say casually, leaning against his doorframe. “What are we doing here? Like, are we actually a thing now? Or do we just keep doing… whatever this is and see where it goes?”

Satoru turns, one eyebrow raised. He looks a little rumpled and stupidly hot. “I mean, I’m down to make it official. If you want. I’m not really into the casual thing if it’s with you.”

You nod, keeping it light. “Yeah. Same. Boyfriend, then?”

He grins, walking over to pull you in for a quick kiss. “Boyfriend. Sounds good.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

The conversation ends as easily as it started. Wow. It really is that easy huh.

You head downstairs together.

The second you step into the kitchen, it’s immediate. His mom is at the counter cutting fruit. His dad is scrolling on his phone at the table. Lia is already stuffing her face with toast.

All three of them look up at the exact same time.

The silence is deafening. Terribly so. You want to sink into the ground.

You’re pretty sure the bite mark on your neck is visible even with the hoodie. Satoru has fresh scratches peeking out from under his collar and his hair is doing that freshly-fucked thing. You both tried to look normal. You failed miserably.

Lia’s eyes flick between the two of you, then she smirks around her toast like she just won the lottery. She doesn’t say anything—just goes back to chewing with this shit-eating grin.

His mom raises an eyebrow. His dad just stares for a second before clearing his throat.

Satoru, cool as ever, walks straight to the coffee machine like nothing’s weird.

“Morning,” he says casually, grabbing two mugs. “Oh yeah, we’re dating now, by the way.”

He says it like he’s announcing the weather. Like he’s making small talk. Like he didn’t just announce a relationship.

You freeze mid-step, eyes wide. Wait—right now? Just like that? You were still processing the conversation upstairs and now he’s dropping it on his entire family like it’s no big deal. Your face heats up but… you don’t really mind though. It’s very… him.

Lia snorts so hard she has to set her toast down. His mom pauses mid-slice, then just nods slowly like she’s processing. His dad blinks twice.

“…Since when?” his mom finally asks, fighting a smile.

“Since last night,” Satoru answers, pouring coffee like this is the most normal conversation in the world. “Pass the hazelnut creamer?”

You stand there awkwardly for a second, still a little stunned he just launched it like that, before grabbing a piece of toast and sitting down quickly. You take a big bite to give yourself something to do.

His dad clears his throat again. “Congrats. Try to keep it down next time. The walls aren’t that thick.”

You nearly choke on your toast. You start coughing hard, face flushing bright red as you reach for water. The memories of last night—moaning into Satoru’s shoulder, him telling you to stay quiet, the headboard—flash through your head at full volume.

Satoru just smirks like that didn’t even fucking faze him at all, sliding the creamer your way like nothing happened. “Noted.”

Lia is openly grinning at you now, kicking your foot under the table. His mom is pretending to be very focused on the fruit again, but her shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.

You’re mortified. His dad heard you?! THE WHOLE—

“Relax,” Satoru chuckles like it’s no biggie as he slides in next to you, arm resting on the back of your chair as he hands you your coffee.

“I told you be quiet,” he teases, whispering against your ear like he was sharing some sort of secret. Which technically he is—but now they all know so is it really a fucking secret????He lets out a low groan followed by a laugh when you jab at his side with your elbow, your mouth stuffed with said toast because you’ve been trying not to choke it down.

But despite it all, sitting here in his oversized hoodie, with your crush who’s now your boyfriend and having dinner with his family like he didn’t just fuck your brains out for hours last night, you can’t help but grin through the embarrassment.

This family is never going to let either of you live this down.

But… that’s not too bad, is it?

Because the plan worked and in the span of ten days (technically eleven but that’s not the point), you’ve managed to bang and bag the nerd you’ve been pining after for three months.

well that was fun and took ridiculously long to write this is my longest fic yet but yk what hell yeah. consider this a 1k special because i can’t get anything else out on time LMFAO. i will be continuing this as a mini series that isn’t really a series it’s just oneshots of this gojo x reader and some drabbles and shit idk anyway yeah i hope u guys enjoyed this !!! took me pretty much two days to write and i was writing like nonstop LOL <3 !! side note i had to do so much stupid ass research abt blue eyes and fucking genetics for this shit i am SICK

The very first time you slept with Satoru, you immediately knew he was a certified tit guy.

He’d spent what felt like forever massaging them, sucking on your nipples, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh—completely lost in it—while you were practically throbbing and dying for him to finally fuck you.

Two years later, nothing had changed. If anything, he’d only gotten worse.

He touched them every single chance he got: insisting on showering together just so he could lather your breasts with slippery soap and play with them under the hot water, absentmindedly teasing your nipples when he slung an arm around your shoulders on the couch, and even sucking melted ice cream straight off them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But your ovulation week? That was his absolute favorite.

Your tits always swelled up—rounder, heavier, impossibly more sensitive. And today was one of those days.

It was stupidly hot, so you’d skipped the bra entirely and thrown on your usual lazy outfit at home: tiny sleep shorts and a thin, loose tank top with spaghetti straps.

You hadn’t thought twice about it… until you felt Satoru’s gaze burning into you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, mouth hanging open, eyes glued to your chest. “They’re practically spilling out over the edge of that little top, baby.”

Before you could even respond, he closed the distance in five long strides. One large hand settled possessively on your waist, pulling you flush against him, while the other boldly traced slow, reverent circles over the full, heavy curve of your breast.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, voice already husky. “Look at you. So fucking full today.”

His thumb brushed over your nipple through the thin fabric, and it stiffened instantly, sending a sharp jolt of heat straight between your legs. A low, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.

He didn’t wait for permission. He never really did when it came to your tits. In one smooth motion, he tugged the strap of your tank top down your shoulder, freeing one breast completely. The cool air hit your heated skin, making your nipple tighten even more.

Satoru’s eyes darkened with hunger.

He leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue over it slowly, savoring the way you shivered. Then he latched on, sucking greedily while his hand continued kneading the soft, overflowing flesh of your other breast.

You could feel how hard he already was against your stomach

He pulled back just enough to speak, lips glistening, voice wrecked. “C’mere. I need both of them in my mouth.”

Without warning, he scooped you up like you weighed nothing and carried you to the couch, dropping down with you straddling his lap. He yanked the other strap down, fully exposing your chest, and buried his face between your tits with a deep, contented groan.

His hands never stopped moving—squeezing, pushing them together, thumbs flicking over your sensitive peaks as he alternated between sucking and licking like a man starved.

You were getting so turned on watching him play with your tits that you didn’t think twice. You slid off his lap, dropped to your knees in front of him, and eagerly pulled his pants down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out, hard and flushed, already glistening at the tip. The sight made your mouth water.

You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second, your body burning with need, the heat intensified by your ovulation.

“Oh god, you’re gonna spoil me rotten baby” he said softly, almost in awe as you pressed your swollen tits around his length.

You pushed them together tightly, enveloping him in soft, warm flesh. Then, looking up at him, you parted your lips and let your tongue hang out obediently, waiting.

“Fuck— that’s it,” he moaned, eyes darkening. “Such a good girl.”

He started thrusting slowly between your breasts, savoring every slide. With each upward thrust, the flushed head of his cock brushed against your waiting tongue, leaving a trail of salty precum on it.

“You’re getting so turned on, aren’t you?” he murmured, voice sweet and filthy at the same time. “I can see it in your eyes…Bet you’re already soaking those little shorts for me.”

He kept a steady rhythm, fucking your tits while his hands gently squeezed and played with them, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples and your own hands.

“Feels so fucking good… warm and soft,” he groaned, hips stuttering a little when the tip of his cock dragged across your tongue again. “You drive me crazy.”

Your cheeks were flushed, thighs pressing together as the ache between your legs grew stronger. Every thrust made you wetter, your body throbbing with need while he used your heavy, sensitive breasts exactly how he wanted.

Satoru’s breathing grew heavier, his thrusts a little faster, but he held back, clearly trying not to cum yet. He wanted to save it for your pussy.

“C’mon, baby,” he rasped, voice rough with desire. “I’ll fuck you nice and deep just like you need.”

He suddenly stood up, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you toward the bedroom, kissing you hungrily on the way. His hard cock pressed against your soaked shorts with every step.

Once he laid you down on the bed, he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and full of lust.

“I’m gonna cum so much inside you…” he murmured against your lips, voice low and filthy, “I’ll fill you up until it takes.”

You whimpered at his words, a rush of heat flooding your body as you imagined it — your belly swelling, your tits growing even bigger and heavier, and Satoru being even more obsessed with them, sucking and fucking them while you were pregnant.

He smirked, noticing the way your thighs squeezed together.

“Yeah? You like that idea, don’t you?” he teased, sliding his hand between your legs. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make sure to abuse these pretty tits even more when they’re full of milk.”

I needed to get this out of my system

taglist is open :3

gamer!bf gojo has you straddling him on the chair, like you’re just part of the chair.

he’s on his ps5, headset on with a cereal bowl balanced in one hand, and your pussy stretched wide on his cock. he leans back into you lazily, spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl, milk dripping onto his hoodie because he can’t be bothered.

“don’t move, baby,” he mumbles around a mouthful of frosted flakes, hips giving one casual rut up into you that has you throwing your head back, “i’m winning this round and if you fuck it up, you’re buying me a new controller”

your thighs tremble, hands digging into his chest for balance as he slouches deeper, cock pulsing inside like he’s not even paying attention. you whine, a desperate, needy little sound that makes his mic crackle.

“what was that?” his teammates laugh faintly in his ear, and satoru grins wicked, spoon clattering into the empty bowl, “oh, that? nah, just my girlfriend… yeah, she’s keeping me warm”. and then it hits you— he’s not even muted. his teammates can hear every word he says next.

satoru presses you down harder, voice dropping into a purr. “clenching around me like my perfect little cockwarmer. can’t even sit still, baby?”

you try to squirm, to bite back the moans bubbling in your throat, but he shushes you with a lazy kiss to your temple. “hush, baby, don’t wanna get me killed in-game, right? be good, let me finish this match, then i’ll finish you”

“y-you’re so full of it toru, at least mute yourself”, you manage to babble between broken moans, satoru thrusts deeper in at your words, amused, “and you’re so full of me. nobody’s got a problem with hearing your pretty whimpers, baby”

and every time he shifts, his cock drags against that sweet spot— kissing your cervix deeper and deeper.

milk drips down on the curve of your lower abdomen, satoru hums a “messy girl” before leaning down to lick it clean, hips pull back and the absence of his warm length almost makes you cry, just before he pushes in further than before with a sharp slide.

you swear you’ll go insane before he ever switches the console off.

𝜗◞ ♡ ꒱‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ˚.‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ gσ‎נσ ѕαтσяυ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎0.4k‎ 𝜚‎‎ ‎ ₊ ˚‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎cockwarming with gojo‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎˙ ̟‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎꒰ mdni ꒱ ‎‎ ‎‎‎⤷ 𖥻‎ ‎ ‎cw ‎： ‎ cockwarming ﹕making out ﹕creampie ‎. ‎‎˖ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎.

cockwarming with gojo always goes one of two ways and it entirely depends on his mood.

ƒιяѕт ωαу : he really means it, he wants you dripping wet and completely still around his cock. he wants to feel how you get wetter and wetter around him and grow desperate. hips trying to wiggle against him only to go nowhere because he’s holding you incredibly still, refusing to fuck you because he wants to sit and revel in the plush softness of your warm cunt.

you’ll cry a little and beg and he still won’t relent, though your rounded, sparkling eyes make his heart break a little. he’ll kiss you deep and slow, like it makes up for not fucking you. like his tongue filling your mouth and licking against yours soothes the ache of your need for him to fuck you.

gojo will make it worse by talking to you, all soft and sweet, “you feel so hot and gooey around me, pretty,” his voice pitchy, “can feel you twitching around my dick, begging me to fuck you nice and properly.”

and still he won’t fuck you, he’ll somehow lull you to sleep with him still inside. he’ll make up for it in the morning when he fucks you deep and hard. the slide of his cock in and out so smooth, you’re halfway convinced you had cum around him in your dreams.

ѕє¢ση∂ ωαу : it’s a halfhearted offer in the first place, wanting the intimacy and control but not possessing the willpower to follow through. trying his absolute best to hold back but his cock is jerking and throbbing inside your snug walls. veins thumping a loving tune of your name to your pussy.

it’s him that’s all wet eyed and beggy, head thrown back as he whimpers at you. his heart hammering in his chest as he continues to stay perfectly still for you. staying still because this is your revenge for the last time you’d cockwarmed him and he’d practically tortured you with your own need.

truly not long before he’s whining at you, “please, let– hnn– let me move, sweetheart?” shudders wracking through his body, “fuck– i can’t– ohhh, sweetie, you feel too fucking good.”

you’ll finally nod emphatically at him, never able to handle waiting for too long. too weak for him and his fat dick to deny him much. the most sinful moans leave him as he fucks you deliciously, depraved in how he drags his heavy cock through your creamy walls. he’ll thank you through breathless moans and open mouthed kisses and he’ll cum so hard that it’ll drool from your hole back into his lap.

either way, cockwarming with gojo is a real treat…

呪術廻戦 after overhearing you playing piano, satoru seems to have fallen hard for you. the only problem? he's not allowed to date. but who's to stop him.

TAGS ⎯⎯ pianist f! reader & soccer player! gojo ┆ 9.7k words . fluff , a bit of angst , unsupportive parents , geto will be ooc (?) college au , brief smut, gojo falls first and hard . fic reupload art by @thatsallitchief

If you were to tell gojo three years ago that he had fallen in love during college, the boy would have laughed in your face.

But it's true, Gojo is in love.

And not with a cheerleader from his games, a sorority he'd hooked up with or a stripper he'd have charmed with his stupid grin.

But with a pianist.

A very gorgeous and talented one who he would sit down next to hours on end, listening to the new song you had learned to play. a beauty he would die for. And most importantly, the girl that he is one minute away from getting down on a knee for.

And it all started with a forgotten notebook.

1.2k words, quick read 𝑓𝑡. byf!toru ( +18 )

Satoru tossed and turned for the fifteenth time in ten minutes. The mattress groaned under him, and honestly, so did you.

"If you don't anchor your ass down in the next two seconds, I’m sleeping on the couch," you muttered into your pillow, your voice thick with sleep and irritated as hell. Your acrylics clicked against your phone screen as you checked the time. 3:42 AM. Fantastic.

Satoru flopped onto his back, sighing like he’d just run a marathon instead of just lying in a climate-controlled room. He rolled over, propping his chin on your shoulder, his hair poking you right in the cheek.

"I can't sleep, babe. It’s a medical emergency at this point," he whined, his voice doing that annoying, high-pitched drag he used whenever he wanted something. "My brain is literally frying. You gotta help me out."

"Go count sheep or something, Satoru. Or better yet, go do some push-ups in the living room till you pass out." You shoved his face away, but he just slid right back, wrapping a heavy arm around your waist and pulling you against him.

"Sheep are boring. Plus, I have a way better solution," he said, a slow, cocky grin spreading across his face even in the dark. He gave your hip a suggestive nudge, flipping effortlessly onto his back and dragging you right along with him until you were sprawled over his chest. "Come on. Just a quick cockwarm. Just climb up and park it so I can drift off. You don't even have to do any work. Just lay on me and look pretty."

You let out a long, exhausted groan, staring down at his stupidly handsome face. "Are you for real right now? It is almost four in the morning and you’re tryna use me like a heated blanket?"

"I mean, you are warm," he teased, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, guiding you up his torso. "And you love me. And I’ll literally buy you those shoes you were barking at on Instagram earlier. The ugly ones with the spikes."

"They are not ugly, they're archive fashion, you uncultured brain," you snapped, though your defense lacked any real venom because, honestly, the shoes were expensive. You sighed, rolling your eyes. "Fine. Whatever. But if you start doing too much and wake me up completely, I’m biting you."

"Deal. You’re the best, seriously, a literal angel," Satoru cheered, already shifting beneath you and tugging his sweatpants down with zero shame.

He didn't waste any time. His hands stayed firmly on your hips, helping you lift yourself just enough to line things up before his fingers hooked into the fabric of your panties, pushing the lace firmly to the side so he could slide smoothly inside you. The sudden fullness made you catch your breath for a second, your hands coming down to rest on his broad chest for balance. You slumped forward, letting your forehead rest right against his shoulder.

"Uuugh, fuck," Satoru muttered, his arms immediately wrapping around your back, locking you against him. He let out a long, shaky breath, all that restless energy he’d been carrying for the last hour suddenly evaporating the second you completely enclosed him. He didn't move, didn't try to lift his hips, he just stayed perfectly still, letting out a deep, contented sigh that vibrated right through your chest. "See? Perfect. I'm already curing my insomnia."

"Mmm.. wrap it up," you mumbled, adjusting your legs so you were comfortably straddling his thighs, completely deadweight on top of him. Your nails lightly scratched at the skin of his chest, mostly just out of habit to keep him settled. "If you start twitching or doing that weird leg-shake thing you do when you dream, I’m getting off."

"I don't twitch," he mumbled, his voice already dropping an octave, thick with growing drowsiness. He tightened his hold around your waist, burying his face in your hair, his breathing already starting to slow down. One of his hands moved in a lazy, comforting circle on your lower back. "You're soft."

"I know that," you replied, closing your eyes and finally feeling the pull of sleep yourself now that he was anchored and quiet. "Don't forget the shoes."

"Mmm. Spiky shoes. Got it," he slurred.

Within five minutes, his breathing completely evened out, turning into heavy, rhythmic thuds beneath you. He was completely dead to the world, holding you secure against him while he snored softly into your neck. You gave a small, half-annoyed huff, melting completely into his chest, and finally fell asleep with his cock buried inside you.

᭡ kali’s notes ⸻ I’ve been thinking about writing about cockwarming for a while now… I’m just experimenting tbh guys, but yeah hope y’all enjoyed it ?? mwahh !

Satoru Gojo x Reader

part 1 . part 2.

Being loved by the strongest is complicated. Being married to him as a sorcerer from a despised clan makes you dangerous. But no one is foolish enough to cross the line of an utterly devoted man, right?

cr: @_3aem on X

CW / Fic tags: NSFW. Married couple/Established relationship. Plot & Smut. Possessiveness. Vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, praise kink, creampie, oral sex (f and m rec), inappropiate use of cursed technique, fluff, hurt/comfort. Satoru Gojo goes insane

The drive took a little over an hour. Nanami had never been particularly conversational during missions, and today you found yourself grateful for it. The steady hum of the engine filled most of the silence while the city slowly gave way to quieter roads and scattered industrial buildings.

You reviewed the mission file again anyway. Grade One curse. Abandoned manufacturing district. 

Across from you, Nanami closed the folder he’d been reading and adjusted his tie before glancing in your direction. 

He wasn't stupid. He'd noticed the way you'd gone unusually quiet whenever the subject drifted too close to certain conversations. He didn't know everything, and he suspected you preferred it that way.

His thoughts drifted back to the phone call you'd shared days earlier.

I want you to treat me like I'm not there.

You had sounded calm when you'd said it.

I can handle myself.

Nanami had never doubted that. What concerned him was that you seemed to underestimate the toll sustained amplification took on your body, especially when you’re amplifying a high-grade sorcerer.

A quiet sigh escaped him as he looked back out the window. Whatever concerns he had, the decision had already been made. You were here. The mission had been approved. And until given a reason otherwise, he intended to trust your judgment.

By the time Ijichi pulled the vehicle to a stop, the sun had already begun its descent behind the industrial skyline. Rows of abandoned warehouses stretched in every direction, their rusted exteriors stained by years of neglect. It looked exactly like the photographs in the mission briefing. 

As the two of you moved deeper into the industrial complex, your gaze swept automatically across rooftops, broken windows, elevated walkways.

Searching for cameras, of course. They weren’t the type to stand in the shadows and watch personally. If they wanted information, they had dozens of ways to obtain it.

The point was that someone would eventually read what happened here.

A few steps ahead, Nanami slowed. The smallest acknowledgment.

As you both were expecting, the curse ahead wasn’t a threat to him. Not with your amplification, and not even without it.

Bringing you here had never been about necessity. It had been about observation.

Nanami glanced back once, you held his gaze.

A few days ago, over the phone, he had offered you an exit. And you refused.

Treat me like I’m not there.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he looked away again.

You moved into position, the connection forming almost immediately. Your cursed energy reached for his, threading itself into the familiar pathways. Amplification had always felt less like adding something and more like removing obstacles. 

Most people assumed amplification was effortless. It wasn’t. Sustaining a connection to a powerful sorcerer for extended periods always came with a cost. By the end of longer missions, your own cursed energy tended to lag behind, slower to respond, slower to recover. 

The curse emerged from between rows of rusted machinery, its massive frame forcing twisted metal aside as it dragged itself into view. 

Nanami moved before it could fully reveal itself.

The connection between your cursed energies tightened instantly as he closed the distance. You felt the familiar pull of amplification settle deeper into place, sharpening his output, smoothing every movement until there was something almost effortless about the way he fought.

His blade cut across its arm with enough force to send the creature reeling backward, a distorted scream echoing through the warehouse as black blood splattered across the concrete. Before it could recover, he was already moving again.

Another strike. Then another. Each one landed with the same ruthless precision.

You found yourself frowning. The mission briefing had painted a picture of a Grade One threat requiring immediate intervention. Yet Nanami was dismantling it in less than a minute.

By the time the curse made one final attempt to attack, pieces of its body were already beginning to dissolve.

For a moment, everything went quiet. Not the natural quiet that follows the end of a fight, but something stranger.

Across the warehouse, Nanami didn’t lower his weapon.

The same thought had already occurred to both of you. Something about this felt wrong.

Suddenly, a pulse of cursed energy rolled through the warehouse. There was something deeper inside the complex.

A second presence. No. Not second

Realization hit a fraction too late.

The real one.

Satoru had never admitted this to anyone. Not to Shoko. Not to Suguru. And definitely not to you.

The truth was that for almost an entire year, he had been convinced you were in love with Suguru. Looking back, it was probably the most embarrassing conclusion he had ever reached. At the time, though, the evidence had seemed overwhelming.

One afternoon he found the two of you sitting beneath a tree near the training grounds. Suguru leaned against the trunk with a notebook in his lap. You sat cross-legged beside him, gesturing animatedly as you explained something.

“…amplification isn’t actually adding anything” you were saying.

Suguru nodded immediately.

“You’re removing inefficiencies.”

“Exactly” you said, pointing at him with a bright smile “I wish we were in the same year, Sugu. It would’ve been fun”

The comment was innocent. Satoru still hated it enough that he stepped forward and cleared his throat loudly.

Both of you looked up. 

“How are you doing that?” he asked, pointing between the two of you

Suguru sighed. You looked genuinely confused.

“Doing what?”

“The thing”

“What thing?”

“The weird thing where you both understand each other after three words.”

“We’re having a conversation, Satoru” you said, amused

Suguru looked at him for a long moment

“Are you jealous?” his friend asked, completely deadpan 

Satoru nearly choked on his own spit.

“What? No” he answered too quickly

Suguru didn’t even blink.

“You’re jealous.” 

“I’m not jealous.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I am literally the strongest sorcerer alive.” Satoru protested, crossing his arms like that somehow proved his point.

“The fuck does that have to do with being jealous?”

“I’m n—”

Your laugh cut him off, hand pressed over your mouth trying –and failing– to not laugh at him.

The sound followed him for the rest of the day. That was another problem. Everything about you lingered.

For a long time, Satoru convinced himself he simply enjoyed your company. That lie worked surprisingly well. Right up until the day you weren’t there. 

Nanami mentioned in passing that you’d gotten sick and wouldn’t be joining training.

By noon, he was in a terrible mood. By two o’clock Suguru threatened to throw him through a wall.

“You’ve managed to be even more unbearable than usual today. Impressive” Shoko said, and didn’t even look up from her phone. “Just go visit her.”

His entire body froze.

“What makes you think I want to visit her?” 

“Satoru.”

“What?”

“You’re pathetic.”

Suguru, who had been pretending to read a report, snorted loudly from the corner of the room.

“You should just tell her,” he added, voice calm but firm.

The room went dead silent.

Satoru stared at Suguru. Suguru stared back, completely unfazed. Shoko slowly lowered her phone, watching the exchange like it was the most entertaining thing she’d seen all week.

“Tell her what?” Satoru asked, his voice suspiciously casual, almost airy.

Suguru didn’t hesitate.

“That you’re in love with her.”

The words landed like a lighting strike.

For a second, nobody spoke, and he felt heat crawl up his neck. Then he laughed — sharp, defensive, the kind of laugh that gave everything away.

“You’re insane.”

Suguru simply raised an eyebrow, calm as ever.

“Am I?”

The horrifying part wasn’t that his friends knew. The horrifying part was that they were right. 

At some point, somewhere between missions and training and ordinary afternoons, being near you had stopped being a choice. 

It had become instinct.

The cursed energy struck like a tidal wave, and the pressure kept building — heavier, darker, rolling through the metal beams and concrete walls like something alive.

Across from you, Nanami moved without hesitation. His hand went straight to his phone, no discussion needed. If a Special Grade had somehow slipped into the area, protocol was clear: report immediately and prepare for escalation.

You were already doing the same, fingers flying across the screen. But when it lit up, the signal bar remained empty. No signal.

Behind you, Nanami lowered his own device with a slow, deliberate motion. His silence said everything. 

You had no way to report what you’d found. The realization settled heavily between you, and suddenly everything clicked.

This wasn’t a random encounter.

You had known this assignment was a test. You had known the higher-ups were watching, waiting for you to slip. But you hadn’t realized until this moment just how far they were willing to go.

Your jaw tightened, a slow burn of anger mixing with the dread curling in your chest. They hadn’t just sent you into a dangerous situation. They had manufactured one. Placing a Special Grade — or something close enough to feel like one — in front of Nanami, one of Jujutsu High’s most reliable Grade One sorcerers. All while knowing you would be here to amplify him.

A few days ago, sitting across from those elders, you had assumed there were limits they wouldn’t cross.

Naively, apparently.

Because somebody had looked at this operation, looked at the possibility of placing a Special Grade in front of one of Jujutsu High’s strongest Grade One sorcerers, and decided the risk was acceptable.

They were gambling with his life just to test you.

And worse, they were doing it on purpose. You were the real target. Always had been.

Retreat would have been the smart move. The logical one. But something told you that whatever was lurking further inside wouldn’t simply let you walk away. And if it broke free from this abandoned complex and reached the populated streets just a few kilometers away…

Civilians.

The thought cut through everything else. You couldn’t let that happen. Not when you had the power to stop it.

The guilt you’d been carrying pressed heavier now. If things went wrong here, if Nanami got hurt because of this manufactured trap…

No. He wouldn’t. You’d make sure of that.

You exhaled slowly, letting your technique settle under your skin like a second pulse,

“I’m going to amplify you every twenty seconds” you said, voice low but firm “Don’t hold back. Don’t look back. I’ll keep you at full power. Just focus on ending this quickly.”

Nanami’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of protest crossing his usually composed features. He opened his mouth — probably to argue — but you didn’t give him the chance.

“There’s no other way” you know it. If you didn’t amplify him, there was no chance of you exorcising that thing. And he know it too, but the weight of unspoken concern was heavy between you. 

Then he gave a single, sharp nod

The air grew colder. And from the depths of the warehouse, whatever was hiding back there had finally decided to stop playing games.

You were adults now. No longer students. Full-time sorcerers, taking on missions and carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

And still… Satoru hadn’t asked you out.

He had spent the last three years quietly, pathetically in love with you. Learning every little detail: the way you liked your coffee, the exact way your nose scrunched when you were trying not to laugh at his stupid jokes. He memorized every little thing. He waited. Patient in a way he never was with anything else. He savored. He let every small moment stretch out as long as possible.

One late evening, the two of you were alone in the common room of the faculty building. The lights were dim, and you were sitting on the couch showing him something on your phone. Satoru, however, wasn’t paying attention to the screen at all. He was staring at your face again — completely lost.

You noticed, of course.

“Satoru” you said, waving a hand in front of his eyes

He blinked slowly, then leaned forward with that signature cocky grin.

“Baby” he drawled, the pet name slipping out like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Stop that” you muttered

“Stop what?” he asked innocently, though his pulse was racing

“You know what. The staring. And the ‘baby’ thing”

Satoru tilted his head, smirking wider

“Does it make you nervous?”

You looked away for a second, then back at him with that soft, knowing smile that always made his brain stop working.

“Pretty sure you’re the one who’s nervous, Satoru.”

He opened his mouth to deny it, but you kept going, voice gentle but direct.

“For the strongest sorcerer in the world, your confession game is actually terrible” you said, lips curving into a playful, lopsided smile. “Just ask me out already.”

Satoru’s brain short-circuited. His heart was hammering so violently he genuinely thought it might climb up his throat and choke him. 

For a few long seconds he just stared at you, mouth slightly open, all his usual arrogance nowhere to be found.

You waited, watching him with fond amusement, before finally taking mercy on him.

“Satoru?”

“Yeah?” His voice came out embarrassingly rough.

You leaned in just slightly, eyes warm and certain.

“I’m in love with you too.”

Before your words could even fully settle in the quiet room, he reached out. His hands caught your face with a tenderness that almost hurt. His sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, exposing the brilliant, unmasked intensity of his eyes. He didn't say a word. He just pulled you into him, closing the distance between your lips in a kiss that felt like inevitability.

It was deep, desperate, and entirely consuming. Satoru kissed you as if he were trying to swallow the very air in your lungs, his thumbs wiping across your cheekbones while his entire body leaned over yours, backing you into the cushions of the couch, infinity completely vanished. He wanted to feel the heat of your skin, the frantic beat of your pulse against his fingers, the soft sigh that left your mouth into his.

When he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against yours. His breathing was ragged, his lips slightly bruised, and for the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru looked entirely defenseless.

"You have no idea" he whispered against your mouth. "You have absolutely no idea what you just did."

That night had changed everything. Three years of silent pining, three years of learning you, wanting you, waiting for the right moment… and you had been the one to finally push him off the cliff.

Even years later, he still remembered the way his world shifted the moment those words left your lips.

You weren’t just someone he loved. You had become the undisputed center of his world

The monstrous curse burst from the depths of the warehouse — a grotesque mass of twisted limbs, countless blinking eyes, and a pulsing core of volatile cursed energy. It was undeniably Special Grade.

Nanami charged forward without hesitation, his Ratio Technique flaring to life as he closed the distance with precise, lethal movements.

You stayed close, moving with him, keeping within striking range while dodging flying debris and lashing tentacles of cursed energy.

Twenty seconds.

You darted in during a brief opening, fingers brushing his shoulder blade. Your amplification surged into him like a second wind. Nanami’s strikes became sharper, faster, more absolute.

The curse shrieked and swung wildly. You rolled under a sweeping limb and sprinted to the side, keeping pace with Nanami’s footwork while the headache began to bloom behind your eyes.

Twenty seconds.

You weaved through the chaos, heart pounding, and touched his back this time. Another surge. Nanami pivoted instantly, using the amplified power to cleave deep into the curse’s defenses.

Your vision flickered.

The pain was building faster than you expected — a heavy pressure squeezing your skull. You shook your head hard as you dashed to a new position, staying just close enough to reach him when the timer reset. Dust and cursed energy residue stung your eyes, but you didn’t stop moving.

Twenty seconds.

You slid across the concrete, barely avoiding a crashing tentacle, and pressed your hand to his arm mid-strike. The amplification flowed again. Nanami pressed the advantage ruthlessly, but the curse was adapting, growing more frantic and dangerous.

Your head throbbed violently now. Each amplification felt like a hammer driving into your temples. You staggered for half a second, then forced yourself forward again, breathing through gritted teeth.

Twenty seconds.

You ran alongside him, lungs burning, and touched his shoulder once more. The pain spiked so sharply that you bit the inside of your cheek to stay silent.

Not yet.

You weren’t going to slow him down. Not when civilians were at stake. Not when Satoru was waiting for you to come home.

Nanami landed another devastating blow, but even as the battle raged, the pain in your head continued to build. You shook it off again, vision blurring at the edges, and kept moving.

Just a little bit more.

The office was silent, save for the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. Yaga sat rigid at his desk, staring at the phone in his hand 

"Damn it" he muttered. The report from Ijichi had arrived only a moment earlier, delivered in a voice strained with panic

The signature is gone, Director. We’ve lost connection. Both of them.  

He closed his eyes for a split second, a familiar weight settling in his chest. When she had stood in this very office and asked him to keep Satoru out of it, he had agreed. He had respected her judgment. Respected her right to handle her own battles. Now he wondered if he had simply handed her over to them. Because this was no longer a test.

If they had done what he feared… The thought died there.

Yaga opened his eyes and reached for his phone. For a moment, his thumb hovered over the contact.

There would be no undoing this. Once he made that call, events would begin moving toward a conclusion none of them would be able to stop.

He pressed dial. The line rang once. Twice. Then—

“Yaga?”

“Come back, Satoru.”

The battle dragged on far longer than it should have.

The warehouse had become a graveyard of shattered concrete and twisted steel. Dust and cursed energy hung thick in the air, making every breath feel like swallowing glass. The Special Grade curse refused to die, regenerating with hateful persistence.

Your technique was failing.

What once felt like a steady river of cursed energy now came in weak, stuttering pulses. Maintaining the connection with Nanami grew harder with every passing second. The pounding in your skull had become unbearable. At some point blood had started dripping steadily from your nose, warm and metallic, staining your collar and the back of your hand every time you wiped it away.

Nanami had noticed. Several times his sharp gaze flicked toward you, jaw tight with restrained words. He never spoke them. There was no point. Both of you already understood the cost.

A violent crash rang out as the curse slammed Nanami backward. His shoes carved deep grooves into the concrete floor as he skidded to a stop.

The curse’s energy signature faltered.

There.

A small opening. One single, fleeting chance.

You wiped the blood from your mouth with a trembling sleeve. When had it reached your lips? You couldn’t remember. Your hands felt numb. Your cursed energy felt like it belonged to someone else—distant, fraying at the edges.

Satoru.

His face flashed in your mind — that bright, lazy smile, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth slowing down for. The way he’d finally learned to let you stand on your own.

You took a slow, painful breath. Every last fragment of power left in your body gathered beneath your skin. 

You thought of his voice whispering “wife” like a prayer. Of the guilt you carried for keeping this from him. Of how much you loved him.

Nanami’s eyes met yours across the wreckage. The moment he realized what you were about to do, his expression fractured.

“No.” The word cracked out of him like a whip. “Don’t—”

You were already moving. 

“I’m sorry, Ken” Your hand slammed against his shoulder.

The connection detonated. It wasn’t amplification anymore. It was everything. Every drop of cursed energy, every ounce of strength, every second of endurance you had left surged into Nanami in a single, devastating wave.

The world violently tilted. Sound vanished. Your vision tunneled into white.

The last thing you registered was Nanami moving — faster and sharper than you had ever seen him, his Ratio technique blazing with lethal, absolute precision. A single, perfect strike.

The curse dissolved into nothingness, and for one suspended heartbeat, silence fell over the ruined warehouse.

Nanami turned immediately, and your body hit the concrete before he could catch you.

Satoru sat in the private jet, long legs stretched out across the luxurious leather seat.

Yaga didn’t tell him why he needed to return so urgently. The fact that he called him back so suddenly —even assigning Yuta as backup — set his nerves on edge. If I were something truly serious, he would have said it outright… right?

His phone rested in his hand, thumb hovering over your contact. He wanted to call you, to hear your voice, but the thought of surprising you the moment he landed was even more tempting. He was just minutes away, he could wait.

He exhaled through his nose, leaning back again, letting the idea settle—just for a moment.

Then something felt wrong.

At first, it was just a faint, itching unease at the back of his neck. Then, without warning, your cursed energy signature—the one he had memorized like a second heartbeat—flickered.

He froze.

It flickered again. Weaker.

In a single fluid motion, he ripped the blindfold off. His Six Eyes ignited, flooding his vision with overwhelming clarity that tore through the fuselage as if it weren’t there at all. The pilot nearly jumped out of his seat as the cabin pressure shifted violently, the air around Satoru warping under the weight of his unchecked power.

He reached for you desperately, pushing his senses to their absolute limit across the distance. For a brief moment he caught it — your energy, strained, burning far beyond safe levels. Then it began fading faster.

“No” The word tore from his throat, raw and broken.

He stood up so violently that the seat cracked behind him. Without another word, he teleported out of the moving jet mid-flight, leaving the shocked crew behind in stunned silence.

He reappeared exactly where he had felt the last desperate flare of your cursed energy — right outside Jujutsu High.

Once he was on the ground, everything became worse. Your signature was too weak. What used to be a constant, unmistakable warm light in his world was now nothing more than a fragile, flickering thread. Barely there. Fading in and out like a dying candle. He couldn’t get a clear lock on your exact location.

He stopped thinking in full sentences after that. Reality began to blur at the edges, and memory crashed into him.

Six years ago 

"How do you process it?" you asked, pointing to his eyes. "Filtering the flow of cursed energy from everyone… how do you manage to isolate a single signature in the middle of all that noise?"

He had paused, surprised by the clinical nature of your curiosity. He sat beside you, his gaze lingering on your face. "Your energy doesn't feel like noise to me. It’s the only consistent anchor in the static."

"So you're always tracking me?"

"I'm always aware of you," he corrected, his voice dropping into a rare, vulnerable cadence. "I don't have to look for you, Ataru. You’re simply a constant in my field of vision."

He shoved the memory aside, his long legs eating up the distance across the courtyard, white hair whipping wildly behind him. His mind was too chaotic, too frantic. Every time he tried to focus on your energy to pinpoint it, the signal wavered and slipped away like smoke. He was chasing a ghost of you. 

He followed the weak pulses instinctively, head snapping left and right, Six Eyes glowing with terrifying intensity. He ran like a man possessed — down the main path, past the training fields, changing direction every time your energy pulsed faintly. Almost animalistic.

Your signal stuttered in his perception, and something his mind betrayed him again 

Four years ago 

You were standing in front of him, your hands pinning his wrists to the mahogany desk, your eyes burning with a frustration that had finally boiled over. You were tired of the hovering, the shadow of his obsession looming over every mission you accepted.

"You have to stop, Satoru," you said, your voice low and trembling with the weight of the moment. "I'm not a curse you need to track. I'm a sorcerer—besides being your girlfriend."

He had stared up at you, his Infinity humming with a restless, jagged energy, but you hadn't flinched. You leaned in, forcing him to look at the reality he refused to see.

"You can't control everything. You can’t be everywhere at the same time.”

The memory hit him like a physical blow, grounding him for a terrifying second before he launched himself into the main building. He passed through the halls like a man standing at the edge of the abyss. His eyes burned an unnatural, violent blue. The air around him crackled with raw, unstable power. Sorcerers pressed themselves against the walls, terrified to even breathe. His Infinity was flickering uncontrollably, shattering windows and cracking the pavement with every step. He didn’t care. 

He was running out of time, and his brain felt like it was splitting in two, flickering between the present panic and the past failures.

One year ago

A mission had gone wrong, and you were bleeding from a shallow cut on your arm, shaking with adrenaline-fueled rage. He had stormed into the room, his aura so dense it made the furniture groan.

"Satoru, you need to calm down," you had said, stepping directly into his personal space, ignoring the way the air warped around him. You grabbed his wrists, forcing his arms down. "You’re going to level the entire complex if you don't breathe."

"They hurt you," he had spat, his voice vibrating with a primal, dangerous heat.

"I'm fine. Look at me. I'm right here, Satoru."

The doors to the medical infirmary exploded inward with a violent bang.

The first thing he saw was blood. Your blood. Dried under your nose, at the corner of your mouth, staining Nanami’s uniform where he stood stiffly by the wall.

Shoko was already there, her face drawn, her hands moving with practiced, frantic speed. “She’s going to be fine” she said flatly without looking up at him. “Don’t interfere.”

The words landed exactly where they were supposed to. Relief came first, and then something else took its place.

The roar in his ears—the frantic, animalistic panic that had fueled his run—suddenly died. It was a transition so seamless it was unnatural. His shoulders dropped. His hands, which had been clenched so tight the skin had split, slowly unfurled.

The chaos of his Infinity stopped flickering. It settled, hummed, and then froze into a terrifying, absolute stillness.

Satoru’s Six Eyes weren't glowing with fury anymore. They were cold. Empty. Like looking into the vacuum of space—devoid of light, emotion, or mercy.

He walked to the bedside, his movements perfectly measured, almost mechanical. He reached out, his fingers hovering just a fraction of an inch above your cheek. He didn't touch you. 

"Who?" he asked. His voice was a flat, dead thing. 

He turned his head slowly, looking at Nanami, who stood in the corner, his suit ruined, his expression a testament to the horror he had just witnessed. The Grade One sorcerer stiffened, feeling the weight of that gaze. It was the coldest thing he had ever felt—a heavy, suffocating pressure that made the air in the room feel thin.

"It was a trap" Nanami said, his voice strained. "The mission... it was an orchestrated—"

Satoru didn't let him finish. He just nodded once. It was a slow, deliberate motion; a confirmation of a death sentence.

Yaga stood by the doorway, his eyes dark, his hands balled into fists. He watched Satoru, and for the first time in his long career, Yaga felt a primal, shivering fear. He saw it in the way Satoru’s eyes tracked nothing, staring at a future that was already decided.

"Satoru, listen to me," Yaga started, stepping forward. "We need to handle this through the proper channels. If you—"

Satoru finally looked at him.

That single look carried more weight than any outburst. It was the look of a man who had already exited the human world to enter a different one.

"Proper channels?" Satoru repeated. The ghost of a smile touched his lips, but it never reached his eyes. It was a terrifying, hollow expression. 

He turned back to you, his eyes softening for a fleeting, heartbreaking second before the frost reclaimed them.

Then he turned on his heel and began to walk toward the exit. 

Yaga stepped forward, his jaw tight, his hand half-raised as if to reach out, but he stopped. He looked into Satoru’s eyes—the unshielded, infinite blue that held no recognition of his mentor, only the cold calculation of a judge about to execute a verdict. Yaga’s hand fell to his side, his shoulders slumping. He knew. He had spent his life watching Satoru hold back, but the dam had finally broken, and he knew as well as anyone that there was no force on earth that could stand in the way of this.

Nanami, still braced against the wall, merely looked at Satoru’s back. He saw the way the air shimmered around him, the absolute, lethal focus of a man who just witnessed his worst fear. He didn't move to intercept him. He simply let out a long, weary breath and bowed his head, an unspoken acknowledgment that the hierarchy he served had just signed its own death warrant.

Satoru didn't look back at them. He didn't demand they step aside, because he didn't even acknowledge them as obstacles in the first place.

The decision had already been made.

Eight months have passed since your breakup with Satoru. So why was he still thinking about you?

CW: NSFW. Dry humping, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, sexual overstimulation. Jealousy, mutual pining, light angst w happy ending. Fluff & smut.

10.9k words

Before you even suggested the breakup, he’d been thinking about it too. After a year together, university had pulled you too far apart. There was no more time for dates, movie nights, or mornings spent eating breakfast together.

You told yourselves it was for the best — that love wasn’t enough if you didn’t have the time to enjoy it. You were adults; you were going to move on.

Or so he thought, until he saw you walking a little too close to another guy.

He was making you laugh, and Satoru noticed you lean in slightly, playfully punching him in the arm.

Satoru frowned. It’s fine. You’re not together anymore. It was for the best. 

But then the idiot guy put his arm around your shoulders — too comfortable, too familiar, too intimate to be friendly.

Satoru clicked his tongue and looked away. He wasn’t jealous. He refused to be jealous. 

You were free to date whoever you wanted. You’d agreed to break up. You were adults. Mature. Rational.

So why did it still feel like you were his, even when you weren’t? Why did his heart feel like it had just been sucker-punched?

He glanced again — because he was just that masochistic. The guy said something else, and you laughed again. Louder. The exact sound Satoru had spent months trying to forget.

Oh, come on. That’s not even a good joke. You used to laugh WAY harder at mine.

The guy leaned in like he was going to whisper something in your ear — your ear, the one Satoru used to nip at just to hear that pretty sound— No. Nope. He does not need to think about that right now.

Then the guy’s arm slid from your shoulder to your waist, too natural. Too practiced.

How long had this been going on? Did you think about tell him? Did you even think about him at all? Did he have the right to ask any of that? No. Of course not.

He could leave. He should leave. That would be normal. Healthy. Responsible. 

But his feet didn’t move. In fact, he somehow found himself drifting closer.

He was simply being… civil. Right? You didn’t end on bad terms. You could have a nice chat.

Satoru adjusted his sunglasses, forced a smirk, and strolled forward with a confidence he definitely did not feel. Whatever. No one had to know.

You were mid-laugh when you finally noticed him approaching. Your smile dimmed just slightly — surprise flickering in your eyes— and he hated how fast he caught it. Eight months apart and he could still read you like a damn book. 

“Hey, you” he said, voice smooth as ever, hands shoved casually in his pockets. 

The guy — whose stupid hand was still comfortably resting on your waist — blinked, clearly confused by the tall white-haired intruder 

“Uh, hey” you said, fighting for a neutral tone.

His gaze flicked down to the guy’s arm again, then back to your face.

“You must be her friend?” the guy said, stepping forward with his free hand raised. 

“Ex,” Satoru corrected instantly, painfully calm. “I’m her ex.”

You closed your eyes like you wished the earth would swallow you.

Satoru continued, all sweet politeness dipped in poison. “But hey, don’t worry. I’m super chill about it.”

You shot him a look that screamed stop it, which he gracefully ignored.

The guy quickly removed his hand from your waist. Satoru felt a warm, petty satisfaction bloom in his chest.

“Oh,” the guy mumbled, realization dawning. “I’m gonna go grab us something to drink. You two… catch up.”

He gave you a look that silently asked, Is this okay?

You gave him a tiny nod.

The second he was out of earshot, you glared at Satoru. “What the hell was that?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Me? Being civil. I thought I could have a nice chat with my ex-girlfriend that I haven’t seen in a while.”

You narrowed your eyes, and he could practically hear your unspoken question: Why are you doing this?

Because I saw someone else touching you like I used to, and I realized I’m not over you at all.

But he had too much respect for himself, for you, for what you had  to say that. So instead he asked,

“So, is he your boyfriend?”

Your jaw tightened. “Satoru.”

“What?” He smiled lightly, deceptively harmless. “It’s a simple question.”

“It’s none of your business.”

For someone who towered over everyone, he suddenly felt very, very small.

Then you sighed, looking at him with a sad, familiar expression “Satoru… don’t misunderstand me. I’m glad to see you. I’m always…” You paused, searching for either the right word or the right boundary. “…happy to know you’re doing well.”

“I’m not doing well.” Shit. Why couldn’t he shut up?

You shook your head. “This isn’t fair. It’s been eight months. We both agreed on this. You even told me you were thinking about it before I put it on the table.”

He flinched — barely, but you caught it. He shook his head, forcing a breath out and sliding a hand through his hair 

“You’re right,” he said. “I just saw you and thought — hey, go say hi. I didn’t plan on…”

He gestured vaguely toward where the guy had gone off to. “…whatever that was.”

You crossed your arms. “You were jealous.”

Satoru swallowed “Jealous?” he echoed with a soft scoff. “No. I’m Satoru Gojo. I don’t get jealous.”

You held his gaze. Quiet. Patient. Unmoved.

Before either of you could say anything else, before the tension could turn into something more dangerous or more honest, the guy returned with two drinks, looking cautiously between you.

“Everything okay here?”

You stepped back from Satoru, and he watched the space open between you like it physically hurt him.

“Yeah,” you said, offering a small, polite smile. “Everything’s fine.”

Satoru pressed his lips together “I’ll get going,” he said, voice almost too casual. “It was nice seeing you.”

He turned before either of you had to pretend any harder. And you hated that something inside you was hoping he’d turn back around with some stupid joke, something to break the tension the way he always used to.

But he didn’t.

He kept walking, slipping between bodies and fading into the crowd. And maybe that’s why it stung — because you’d already lived this goodbye before.

It was ridiculous. Eight months, and nothing about the way he affected you had changed.

“So that was Satoru Gojo,” Kentaro said, pulling you back to reality.

You blinked. “Mmh.”

His eyes softened. “You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. That must’ve been weird for you.”

“I get it,” Kentaro said with a shrug.

You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath until you let it out.

Kentaro wasn’t dramatic. That was part of why things with him were easy. He’d shown up one night at a party, at a moment when your heart felt too heavy and too empty. It had started as a distraction — one you hadn’t been looking for — and instead of fading, it had softened into an easy friendship. No expectations. No pressure. Just two people keeping each other company while figuring their own shit out. 

You knew he wasn’t Satoru — and you never once fooled yourself into thinking anyone could fill that space; but you hadn’t been trying to replace him. You were just trying to breathe without your chest hurting. And from what you’d heard, Satoru had been doing the same. That’s how real relationships end sometimes — not cleanly, not neatly, just two people trying to survive the absence of the other. That’s the messy truth about real breakups.

“You’re not over him at all, you know that, right?” Kentaro said.

Your lips tightened. “Is it that obvious?”

He smiled, not mocking — just kind.

“I just… didn’t expect to see him today,” you admitted.

“I know,” he said. “And he definitely didn’t expect to see me either.”

You let out a weak laugh. “He was just jealous. Men things, I guess.”

“Mmh.” Kentaro raised a brow. “I’ve been in love once too. Trust me, that was not only jealousy. That boy was yearning.”

You stared down at your drink, fingers tightening around the cup.

“Yearning,” you echoed, like the word didn’t quite fit. “I don’t think he—”

“He was yearning,” Kentaro insisted, calm but certain. “I’m a guy. I know the face. If the world hadn’t gone silent for a second when he saw you, he deserves an award for acting.”

Your stomach flipped painfully.

“We ended things for a reason,” you said quietly. “Things weren’t working anymore.” You closed your eyes. “Shit Ken, I’m sorry. I’m such a downer.”

“Hey,” Kentaro said gently. “We’re friends, aren’t we?  You don’t owe me anything.” He nudged your shoulder lightly. “But… maybe you owe yourself a bit of honesty.”

You looked up at him.

“You still love him.”

The words didn’t stab, they just settled. Heavy. Familiar. Painfully true.

You exhaled, shaky. “I—”

“You just don’t know what to do with it” Kentaro finished

Silence stretched between you.

“And for what it’s worth,” he said, “I think he’s going to try.”

Your heart skipped. “Try what?”

Kentaro tilted his head.

“To win you back.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

And as the two of you walked away, you couldn’t tell if the hollow ache in your chest was the ghost of an old relationship… or the quiet realization that you never stopped waiting for Satoru to come back.

“When are you going to stop being miserable, Satoru?” Suguru called from the kitchen, the sound of a blender whirring behind him while he made himself a protein shake or some other gym-rat abomination.

Gojo slumped deeper into the couch, long legs sprawled out, and a caramel macchiato with extra caramel, extra cream, extra everything, clutched in his hand. At least his brain was getting the glucose it needed to make up for today’s humiliation.

“I’m not miserable” he muttered, even though he very much sounded like it

“Satoru, you came home with the emotional stability of a wet paper bag”

“Suguru, you’re being a little careless talking like that to a man who just saw his ex with a guy. A very touchy guy”

“It’s not like you took a vow of celibacy the day you broke up” Suguru shot back, closing the fridge with his hip as he walked over.

Satoru scoffed. “No. You don’t get it” His voice dropped “That asshole was clinging to her like a parasite. She was laughing. Leaning into him like—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “She looked comfortable” he paused “and happy” 

Suguru sat down beside him, shake in hand, a sigh leaving him through his nose. “You’re allowed to feel like shit, but..”

“She made a decision,” Satoru cut him. “I seconded that stupid decision.”

“Then make a new one,” Suguru said, calm but firm. “Because pretending you’re fine stopped working months ago.”

“I’m not a homebreaker. If she’s happy with her stupid new boyfriend, there’s nothing I can do. I shouldn’t even be—” he waved a hand helplessly “—thinking about it. She deserves to be happy.”

Suguru arched an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”

Satoru rolled his eyes. “I asked. And she said — quote — ‘it’s none of your business.’”

“Which you translated as: yes, he’s my boyfriend.”

“Exactly.”

“I think you need to figure out if that’s actually true” Suguru said. “We both know her. I don’t think she’d jump straight into a new relationship.”

Satoru let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You didn’t see them.”

“That’s exactly why I’m saying it.” Suguru took a sip of his shake, never taking his eyes off him. “You saw what you wanted to see.”

“I swear to god I did not imagine his hand glued to her.”

“You’re spiraling,” Suguru said simply. “You’re like this when it’s about her. You aren’t thinking straight”

Satoru dropped his head back against the couch, a long breath leaving him in one heavy exhale.

“Satoru,” Suguru said quietly, setting his shake down. “you two didn’t break up because you stopped loving each other. That’s why it hurts like this.”

He didn’t respond — he only frowned slightly, his gaze drifting toward the window.

“Before you assume she moved on… consider she might just be trying to cope.” He nudged Satoru’s arm lightly. “Same as you.”

He closed his eyes, letting himself feel the truth pulsing under his ribs: He never really stopped being yours.

Not even in other beds, the ones he looked for the shape of you, the ones he never stayed the night in. Not even in moments meant to distract him. Not even when he pretended he’d moved on.

He was always yours.

You were standing between his legs, your hips brushing his knees where he sat on the tall bar stool by the kitchen counter 

“Whose pretty boy is this?” you teased, holding a strawberry just out of his reach.

Satoru leaned forward, hair falling messily over his forehead, eyes bright with that stupid softness he only ever had for you.

“Mmh,” he mumbled, mouth full once you finally let him take it from your fingers, “Yours.”

You laughed “Cute”

He licked a smear of juice from his lip “Only cute?” he complained, looking down at you with that boyish pout that contradicted the heat in his eyes. “I’m being extremely handsome right now”

You rolled your eyes, but lifted another strawberry anyway. He leaned forward, nipped it from your fingers, and this time he didn’t let your hand go. He caught your wrist gently, pressed a slow kiss to the inside, then another higher, his lips warm and deliberate against your skin.

Your hand found his hair, carding through the soft white strands. He leaned into your touch instantly, like your fingers were gravity.

His fingers slid to the back of your thigh, caressing the skin softly. You felt the warmth of his palm, the lazy circles he traced there—mindless, possessive.

“Satoru…” you warned, though it came out a little breathless. “We have classes in thirty minutes.”

He dipped his head, lips ghosting over the side of your neck.

“Mmh,” he murmured, his nose brushing your skin, painfully slow. “We don’t need that much time.”

Your breath hitched.

He smiled against your skin and bit your earlobe—soft, teasing—as his hand tightened on your thigh.

You whimpered. “Satoru,” you said again, but this time it sounded like a plea.

He pulled back only slightly, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide. His fingers trailed up your waist, slow enough to make your skin prickle.

“Tell me I’m only cute again,” he murmured, voice a low rumble.

You couldn’t even roll your eyes properly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

You cupped his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth, and he looked at you like you were something sacred he didn’t know how to deserve.

“There’s a party next weekend. You should come.”

Satoru blinked, his friend’s voice pulling him out of his daydream. A nice daydream, actually. He could still feel it — your fingers in his hair, your voice saying his name. Eight months, and nothing had replaced that.

Yeah. He needed alcohol.

“Where?”

“At Rin’s.”

He turned to his friend, frowning. “Rin, as in the friend of the person who’s the reason for my entire existential crisis?”

Suguru rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

Satoru scoffed. “Do you hate me, Suguru?”

His friend laughed  “Sometimes”

He let his head fall back against the couch, the caramel macchiato long forgotten on the coffee table.

“Is she going to be there?” he finally asked, as if the answer wasn’t obvious.

Suguru raised a brow. “What do you think?”

He let out a humorless sound “Then clearly I should stay here”

“You’re acting like a coward. This is dramatic. Even for you”

Satoru clicked his tongue “Fantastic. I’m being bullied in my own home.”

“What are you exactly scared of?”

Satoru exhaled through his nose. “I just… I don’t want to show up and— I don’t know. Complicate shit.”

Suguru crossed his arms. “It’s already complicated when eight months have passed and neither of you has clearly moved on.”

Satoru’s jaw tightened. “We broke up for a reason.” That’s what he’d been telling himself every day since that night.

“Exactly,” Suguru said while standing,  hands loose at his sides. “You two didn’t have time. You both saw it slipping, and instead of dragging it out and letting it die slowly, you made the smart, painful decision to stop. Even if you don’t want to admit it, that was the right call.”

Satoru let out a humorless laugh. “Right. That doesn’t feel like the right word when it leaves me staring at her like an abandoned puppy.”

Suguru shrugged. “Sure, it hurts. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. That doesn’t mean you can’t… go back to being what you were. Do it the right way this time.”

Satoru dug his hands into the couch cushions. “And what if she’s moved on?”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, voice calm but sharp. “Perspective, genius. Do you really think she’s in love with someone else already? No. I’m sure she’s not. She’s probably just as confused, just as ridiculous as you are, and laughing with someone else doesn’t mean she’s in love with them. That conclusion? Stupid.”

Satoru stared at him, blinking. “Stupid?”

“Yeah, stupid,” Suguru said, mock severity in his tone. “You both are so stupid it’s giving me a headache. So stop being miserable and deal with your feelings like a big boy. You’re better than this.”

Satoru let out a long exhale. He wanted to argue, to insist, but… deep down, he knew Suguru was right.

“Think about it,” Suguru said, smirking. He started walking toward the door. “See you later”

Satoru watched him leave, the sound of the door clicking shut behind Suguru echoing in the apartment. Alone, he let the weight of his own thoughts settle over him. 

Eight months. Eight months of trying to convince himself that you had done the right thing, that stepping away before it all collapsed was smart, necessary even. And it had been. He knew that. Every rational thought told him so. 

But it had been enough time apart. He needed you. And if you needed him just a little, well… he was going to cling to that possibility.

He let himself feel it—anxiety, longing, frustration, and something sharper beneath it all: anticipation.

Fuck it. Fuck that stupid parasite boy. Fuck civil. Fuck smart, adult, mature, rational.

He was going.

Tonight could actually be fun, you repeated it again while fixing your hair in the mirror. And God, you needed it. After a week of your brain torturing you with Satoru’s face, replaying a thousand memories you really didn’t ask for, a party—alcohol and your friends—felt like the only reasonable cure.

Even better, it was just Rin’s place: small, full of familiar faces. Nothing out of the ordinary. And definitely nothing that involved him.

Your ex-boyfriend would never show up here. Not at Rin’s. And that was fine—safer, even.

You didn’t worry about the possibility of bumping into him. Why would you? He wouldn’t come.

So you didn’t think about him while getting ready. 

You slipped on your boots and checked your phone one last time before grabbing your jacket and stepping outside into the cool night. 

By the time you reached Rin’s house, you could already hear voices echoing down the hallway. You knocked once and let yourself in. The living room was dim, lit by fairy lights. People waved at you, someone handed you a drink before you could even take off your jacket. 

You let the noise drown out the week you’d had. You let your shoulders drop.

You didn’t think of him. Not until your brain decided to betray you in the one quiet moment you found—leaning back against the kitchen counter, your gaze drifting toward nothing.

It hit you then.

The last time a night like this didn’t feel fragile was before everything cracked.

The rain that night felt heavier inside your apartment than outside. 

Satoru stood in the middle of your room, hoodie half-zipped, shoulders curled inward, hair a mess.

You both looked exhausted. 

His classes, your internship. His tutoring job, your lab hours. Schedules that didn’t align. Everything was pulling you in different directions.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you said quietly, sitting at the edge of the big bed you bought just so the two of you could fall asleep comfortably together. Your fingers twisted the sheets. “We need to stop before we ruin this. Before we ruin us.”

Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but it landed with the weight of a confession neither of you wanted to make.

He closed his eyes like hearing it spoken aloud physically hurt him. 

“I know,” he murmured, almost soundless. The admission felt defeated. He’d been thinking about it for a while. It didn’t make the ache in his chest any less sharp. “I just… didn’t want to be the one to say it. Didn’t want to accept it.”

You didn’t mean to sob. It slipped out before you could swallow it, and the sound tore something open inside him. He swayed on his feet, chest tightening. He crossed the room in three steps and sank to his knees in front of you.

When he cupped your face, his hands were warm but trembling. His blue eyes—usually bright, teasing, full of summer sky—looked dim. Clouded. Like he was shoving every tear back where it came from because he didn’t want to make this harder for you.

You saw him do it. You saw the exact second he forced the pain inward, because that’s just who he was.

Your forehead touched his for a second, his breath shaking against your mouth. His fingers slid to your jaw, tracing you like he was memorizing every angle.

Your lips brushed once and his cologne, his shampoo, the faint caramel-sweet scent of his favorite coffee—all of it wrapped around you one last time.

When you pulled back, his hands lingered a second longer, reluctant, like they didn’t understand why they had to let go.

“I love you” he whispered one last time, his voice barely holding together.

Then he stood, turned, and walked out of your apartment. And you stayed there, heart in your hands.

When you finally snapped back to reality, you finished your whole drink in one go. Kentaro and Rin must have noticed your absence, because a moment later they were opening the door. You forced a small smile and lifted your hand in a half–wave

“Hey, why are you hiding over here?” Rin asked.

“I’m not hiding, I just came to get a drink” you said, half-true

“Sure. And I came here to major in economics. Let’s go, it’s better outside.” Kentaro said 

You rolled your eyes, set the empty cup aside, and let them guide you back toward the living room. The door swung open, and a wave of laughter and chatter spilled out. 

You were halfway down the hallway when Kentaro suddenly stopped.

Rin did too, so abruptly you nearly bumped into her. She lifted an arm in front of you, blocking your path.

“Okay,” she said too cheerfully, “you know what? The kitchen? Great vibes. Incredible vibes. We should definitely go back.”

“…What?” you said, confused

She didn’t answer. Kentaro didn’t either.

They exchanged a look— one of those wordless, loaded, oh-no looks.

You leaned between them and saw him.

He was there, leaning casually against the wall, looking like reality itself bent to accommodate him, like the space around him retreated before his presence. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair falling into his eyes with that infuriating, effortless perfection. A girl was saying something beside him—too close, too eager—but he wasn't listening. His gaze was fixed on you.

Rin whispered under her breath “Shit.”

“Told you,” Kentaro muttered. “That’s the yearning face” 

Your pulse jumped so suddenly you felt a pain in your chest. Seeing Satoru Gojo twice in seven days shouldn’t have been allowed — not for your nervous system.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the way he still occupied a room. Or the way he was looking at you now.

Not startled. Not smug. It was different from the look he gave you a week ago. 

It was focused. Like in a room full of people, he’d found the only thing he came for. 

You couldn’t take it—not this time. So you were the one to break the stare, your gaze slipping away first.

“We should go,” you said to your friends, and they didn’t argue.

The party kept spinning around you. You tried not to look again. You really did. But your eyes kept drifting across the room like they had a mind of their own. And every single time, Satoru was already watching you.

You grabbed another drink.

Then another.

Then maybe another.

Eventually, the noise got too loud, your thoughts too messy, and your heart too aware of every shift in Satoru’s direction. You slipped away, weaving through the crowd until you found an empty room at the end of the hall.

The door closed softly behind you.

You weren’t sure why you were there — to breathe, maybe. To steady yourself. To stop feeling like he was seeing through you, like he could read your mind.

You heard the door click open behind you.

You turned.

He leaned back against the door, cheeks flushed from alcohol. His eyes met yours and your throat tightened. 

He was the first to speak

“I told Suguru I didn’t want to make shit complicated.”

He moved away from the door and stepped closer, slow, deliberate “You’re making that impossible.”

Words were stuck in your throat. Maybe the alcohol, maybe because he was looking handsome as ever, maybe because he was wearing that cologne that drove you crazy

“Are you dating him?” The question sounded ripped out of him.

“Satoru—” You knew he meant Kentaro, once again

“I know I don’t have the right to be jealous. But I am. Answer me and put me out of my misery, please” he begged

“No” you said “I’m not dating him”

His shoulders dropped in a silent exhale — relief he wasn’t able to hide. Then, his voice softened — dangerously, intimately:

“You’re not dating him” he repeated, more to himself than to you.

“Why are you here?” you asked

“Because you were looking at me.”

You blinked, but you didn’t look away. Not even when he stepped closer. Not even when his chest nearly brushed yours 

“Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” His voice was low, truth loosening every word.

Your eyes flicked down — just for a second — to his mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes dropping to your lips. “don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to touch you.”

Your breath caught, sharp. But you didn’t deny it. And he saw that— the hesitation, the alcohol-softened truth, the pull you were both trying to ignore.

You didn’t even have time to think. He was the one who surged forward, his mouth crashing into yours with a kind of pent-up desperation that nearly made your knees buckle.

Your back hit the dresser with a soft thud as his hands gripped your hips. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound greedily.

You tugged at his shirt — the moment your fingers brushed his skin, he groaned, low and dark, pulling your leg up around his waist. His thigh pressed between your legs, and your hips jerked forward on instinct — his breath caught, sharp and obscene.

“Shit— I missed you,” he murmured between kisses “You have no idea—”

His hands slid under your shirt, slow but confident, fingers spreading over your waist like he was memorizing the shape all over again.

His head dropped to your neck, leaving wet, hungry kisses before he caught your earlobe between his teeth—just like he always used to.

You whimpered. He pressed into you, desperate, grinding just enough to make your knees shake.

Then—

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound yanked you out of the moment.

Fuck.

What were you doing?

The realization hit like cold water, your breath stuttering as the room tilted. This wasn’t right.

What were you two even thinking?

You tore yourself out of his grip so fast his breath hitched. You didn’t look at him—just turned, crossed the room in a rush, and pulled the door open before your mind could catch up. 

“Woah—” a familiar voice said as your shoulder hit a solid chest.

Suguru blinked down at you, surprise flickering across his face.

He opened his mouth—maybe to ask something—but you were already moving past him, fast, barely offering a rushed “sorry.”

You didn’t look back. You just kept going, down the hall, out into the cold air.

Your pulse was still erratic, your skin still trembling where his hands had been, and your thoughts a mess of what the hell you two were doing.

You flagged the first cab you saw and slid inside, breathless.

—

Satoru was still staring at the doorway where you’d just disappeared. His hands were in his hair, his breath unsteady.

“I fucked up,” he muttered to his friend.

“You just jumped straight into making out without even talking about your damn feelings first, didn’t you?”

Satoru shut his eyes, jaw clenching. “I’m an idiot.”

“Go.”

His eyes opened. “What?”

“Go after her, you dumbass.”

He didn’t waste another second. He bolted. 

He reached the entrance, swung the door open— Nothing.

“Shit” he breathed

Of course you were gone. Of course you ran.

He didn’t stop to think. 

He hurried out to the street, where his car was still parked, yanked the door open, slid into the driver’s seat, and headed straight for your apartment.

You hadn't been there long when you heard him on the other side of the door. A rough, uneven breath— like he was trying and failing to get himself under control. Then the knock, sharp but shaky, and—

“Please.”

Soft. Unsteady. Broken.

Your hand was already on the doorknob before your mind caught up.

You opened it.

He stood there with a crease carved between his brows, mouth parted, chest rising too fast — like he’d sprinted the whole way and then forgotten how to breathe. 

He didn’t step forward. Didn’t try to come in. He just looked at you, and something inside him snapped open, raw and unfiltered.

The words came immediately, spilling out faster than he could think them.

“I can’t— I can’t pretend that didn’t happen,” he said, voice rough, every syllable tumbling out in a rush. “I can’t act like it was some impulse or— or nostalgia or the alcohol, or whatever bullshit people say when they’re trying to downplay something that meant everything.”

You stayed by the door, fingers curling at your sides 

“I haven’t been okay. Not for a long time.” A breath, shaking. “Fuck— I don’t think I’ve been okay since that night.”

Your chest tightened, a slow, warm ache blooming beneath your ribs.

“I never moved on,” he said. “I don’t think I ever even tried to. Everyone tells you that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? You go out, you work, you laugh at the right moments, you pretend you’re fine. And it works— until suddenly it doesn’t.”

He shut his eyes, breathed hard through his nose, and when he opened them again, something sharp and wounded flickered there. Satoru didn’t cry, but this was close— painfully close.

“Last week,” he said quietly. “When I saw you with him.”

Your heartbeat stuttered.

“I thought you’d moved on. You looked happy. You were smiling, laughing. And I just—” His voice cracked, barely but unmistakably “I went home and stared at my ceiling, trying to convince myself it was fine. That you were allowed to be happy with someone else.” He shook his head, jaw tight.

“And then I talked to Suguru. And something lit up in me. A stubborn, stupid hope that maybe— maybe you felt even a fraction of what I’ve been feeling all this time.”

You stepped closer, drawn in by a pull neither of you could fight.

“And then I kissed you.” He laughed once, thin and humorless. “Like my body decided it didn’t give a damn about common sense or self-respect or the fact that we’re supposed to have boundaries now.”

He swallowed, throat bobbing. 

“But what actually wrecked me was that you kissed me back.”

He kept going, voice tripping over itself, desperate to outrun the panic rising inside him.

“Because when you kissed me back, I felt—” His mouth struggled around the word. “I felt like I had you again. Even if it was one fucking second, I believed it.”

You inhaled slowly. Your lungs felt too small. He stood rigid, arms stiff at his sides, as if touching you too soon would burn him.

“And when I saw you run away from me,” he whispered, “I knew I fucked up.”

You parted your lips to speak, but he shook his head sharply.

“Please let me finish.” Not demanding — pleading.

“We broke up because it was the responsible thing to do. Because life was too loud, and neither of us could breathe under it.” he blinked hard, steadying himself. “But I— I can’t be responsible anymore. I can’t pretend that kiss didn’t feel like oxygen after months underwater.”

Your throat tightened, your fingers slowly curling again at your sides.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said, voice trembling on the edge of breaking. “I just—”

He exhaled shakily, then let everything go in one helpless, frantic burst:

“I needed you to know that I never stopped loving you. Not for a single fucking day.”

The room went utterly still.

“I love you,” he said, voice raw. “I’m so pathetically in love with you.” 

His eyes searched your face like he was bracing for an impact he wasn’t sure he’d survive. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart slammed once, painfully hard. The words in your chest were too heavy to force through your throat. Inside you, everything trembled — because every piece of his pain mirrored your own.

The months pretending. The sleepless nights. Waiting for something inside you to quiet that never did.

He loved you.

He still loved you.

And the overwhelming truth thrummed through every part of you.

You drew in a slow, steady breath and stepped closer—small, deliberate steps—until you were standing right in front of him.

Your hands rose to his cheeks, guiding his face down until his eyes were locked on yours. His breath trembled under your thumbs, but you didn’t hesitate.

“Satoru,” you started softly “I didn’t run away because I didn’t want you. I ran because everything came back at once. The feelings, the ache, the weight of what we were .. and what we lost”

You swallowed, but your voice stayed steady.

“I wasn’t okay either. All this time I kept telling myself to move on, to forget. That it was the mature thing to do. But it wasn’t maturity. It was fear.”

Your thumbs brushed the curve of his cheekbones, grounding both of you 

“We thought leaving was the right choice back then. And maybe it was.”

A breath.

“But not anymore.”

His breath hitched—sharp, undone.

You leaned your forehead to his, your voice dropping to a whisper.

“I’m scared of losing you again. Terrified. But I’m more scared of pretending I don’t want this.”

You drew in a slow breath, a decision settling in your bones.

“So I’m choosing you. Fully. No excuses.”

His eyes widened— stunned, wrecked, hopeful at all once. 

And then you said it, steady and certain:

“I love you.”

His entire body reacted — a violent, shuddering exhale as he leaned into your hands like you’d just given him something he’d been starving for.

Every wall he’d built collapsed in a single, devastating instant.

A soft, broken sound escaped him— relief, disbelief, longing — everything he’d been holding back for months. 

“I love you, Satoru” you repeated, firmer, because he needed to hear it—and because you needed to say it.

And then you kissed him—slow, deep, sure—

A kiss that didn’t run away from the fear, but walked straight through it.

He melted into it with a shudder, his hands sliding to your waist and the back of your neck, pulling you in like he’d been waiting months for this exact moment.

You kissed him again, deeper this time, your fingers curling into his hoodie—and he answered with every part of him— like you were something he’d lost and finally, finally gotten back.

You didn’t break the kiss when you dragged him deeper inside, one hand tangled in his hoodie, the other pulling him by the nape. He followed blindly, stumbling a little as you tugged him toward you.

He kicked the door shut with his leg, not breaking the kiss, not even breathing properly. His hands tightened on your waist, then your back, then your hips — like he couldn’t decide which part of you he needed to hold just to believe you were actually real.

“Satoru—” you whispered against his mouth.

He groaned softly and kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand sliding up your spine like he couldn’t get you close enough.

By the time you reached the couch, your pulse was hammering. You pushed him back onto it and he fell with a soft grunt, looking up at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense.

You pulled your shirt over your head, letting it fall somewhere behind you, leaving you in just your black lace bra as you stepped closer.

He slid his hands to the backs of your thighs and drew you toward him until his nose brushed your lower stomach. He kissed you there, warm and slow.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin.

You smiled down at him and slipped off your skirt and matching black panties, his hands releasing you only long enough to let you strip.

“Take it off,” you told him, eyes flicking to his shirt.

He obeyed immediately, tugging it over his head, breath unsteady as his gaze returned to you.

Then you started to lower yourself between his knees, but his hand shot forward, cupping your jaw before your knees even touched the floor.

“No,” he said instantly — not harsh, but desperate.

“Not tonight.”

Your brows lifted as you slowly rose, and he took both your hips, turning you around and pulling you back until you were seated between his thighs — your back aligning perfectly with his chest.

“Just like this,” he murmured, his hands sliding to your waist.

You settled into him, breath shaky. His legs spread wider behind you, and you bit your lip when you felt him against your ass, hard and already straining against his pants.

He kissed your shoulder once — slow, warm — then ran his hands down the length of your thighs.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispered against your ear.

Your breath stuttered.

“Let me touch you,” he added, voice cracking, “please”

You parted your legs. Sitting like this, your feet didn’t even touch the floor; you were completely in his hold — and he knew it.

Satoru inhaled sharply and rested his forehead against your shoulder for a moment, like he needed a second to steady himself. You were spread open on his lap, warm and exposed, and he looked a second away from losing his mind.

His fingers slid up your inner thigh, slow and warm, drawing soft circles that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Easy…” he whispered, lips brushing your neck, one arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

His other hand moved higher until his fingers brushed the heat between your legs. The light touch made your hips jerk, a soft gasp slipping out of you before you could stop it.

“Fuck, baby—” Satoru moaned quietly into your skin. “You’re so wet for me.”

The tips of his fingers glided through the slickness easily, your hips reacting before you could hold them still. You felt his breath falter, his chest pressing harder against your back as if the feel of you was too much.

He dragged his fingers through you again, slower this time, spreading the wetness over your skin. Your head fell back onto his shoulder, a shaky inhale rattling out of you each time his touch circled deeper, firmer, slipping over your clit perfectly. He knew you so well it didn’t surprise you—he found the rhythm you needed almost instantly.

Your eyes rolled back and you clutched at his forearm. 

“Satoru—” you moaned.

“Hm?” he hummed, kissing your shoulder, then your neck, then the edge of your jaw. “Let me hear you.”

A soft whimper escaped you, and you felt his smile against your neck a split second before he slid two fingers inside you—slow, careful, deliberate.

Your whole body arched.

He held you tighter against his chest, curling his fingers inside you with devastating precision.

“That’s it… just like that,” he murmured, his free hand sliding up to cup and squeeze your breast, his thumb brushing your nipple through the lace in slow circles. “Let me take care of you.”

You were trembling now, unable to keep your breath quiet. He brought his hand to your throat, holding you gently as he licked and softly bit the side of your earlobe, his fingers inside you never losing pace—if anything, they grew more focused, more sure.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered against your ear. “So, so beautiful.”

You grabbed his thigh beside you, nails sinking into the fabric of his pants for something to hold on to.

“Satoru— I’m—”

“I know, baby,” he said, voice low and steady, lips brushing your ear. “Let go for me.”

His thumb pressed against your clit at the exact moment his fingers curled deeper, and your body melted back into him—heat flooding through you, aftershocks trembling through your thighs as a soft cry slipped out of you. He murmured your name into your skin, kissing along your neck as you came undone in his hand.

He kept holding you, grounding you, and when your breathing finally steadied, you slowly pushed yourself up, only to turn and straddle him.

You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing along his cheekbones, and kissed him —slow and deep, a kiss that pulled a low groan from the back of his throat. Then you trailed your lips down his neck, along the line of his jaw, to the hollow beneath his ear. 

Your fingers slid into his hair and tugged lightly. His breath stuttered; his eyes fluttered; his hands finally moved, traveling up your sides like he couldn’t stop himself.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. He was flushed, lips swollen, hair deliciously messy. Pupils wide and desperate. Completely undone.

“Lie back,” you whispered.

He obeyed instantly, sinking into the cushions like he was offering himself to you.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, voice hoarse, “how much I missed you”

You smiled, letting your weight settle on his lap, feeling the hard length of him press against your exposed cunt  “I think I do.”

A broken sound tore from his throat, something between a gasp and a curse. His hands clamped around your hips, fingers digging in like instinct, like he needed to hold on to something before he lost himself completely.

“Jesus—” he moaned, head falling back against the couch, chest rising in a sharp, trembling inhale.

You shifted just slightly—barely—and his whole body shuddered beneath you. His thumbs stroked your hips as he pressed his forehead to your collarbone, breathing you in like he needed it.

“Tell me what to do,” he murmured, voice low. “I’ll do anything.”

You dragged your hands down his chest, then lower, trailing until your fingers brushed the waistband of his pants and boxers.

A silent instruction.

His fingers moved fast, hooking into the fabric and shoving both his pants and boxer down his thighs, breath hitching when he freed himself. You bit your lip at the sight and reached behind your back, unclasping your bra.

The straps slipped down your shoulders, the lace falling away, and his reaction was immediate.

“You’re—” His voice cracked, eyes drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin “–too perfect for me”

You leaned in slightly, and he caught you by the hips, gentle but firm, desperate to keep you still.

“Don’t move yet,” he whispered, voice fraying. “Give me a second—just a second.”

His hands held you softly, reverently, fighting to hold onto the control he was already losing.

Then, wrecked as he looked, his gaze flicked up.

“Wait—” He reached blindly toward his discarded jeans, searching for his wallet.

But before he could even touch the fabric, your hand closed around his wrist

“We’re good,” you murmured, breath warm against his lips. “I’m on it. And I need you raw, please”

His pupils dilated so fast it looked like the air had been punched out of him.

You kissed him again, your hips rolling just slightly, enough to make his breath catch and his hands clench at your thighs.

He let out a low, desperate sound against your mouth.

“Fuck—” he whispered “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not planning on it,” you said, lips brushing his jaw. 

Your hand slid between your bodies, wrapping around him, and his hips were already twitching into your touch. You lifted your hips just slightly, guiding him to your entrance.

You moaned when his tip brushed against you, and with his fingers digging into your hips, you began to sink down onto him

“Holy—” He cut himself off with a strangled moan, his head snapping back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut  “God, you feel— fuck—”

“Satoru…” you murmured against his ear, your breath hot on his skin. “Look at me while I ride you baby.”

His eyes fluttered open—pupils blown wide, half-lidded, worshipping you like you were the only thing keeping him alive. 

God, he wanted to keep his eyes closed—just to survive you. But you smiled, and tugged his hair, dragging him like you owned him. And fucking hell… you did.

“Good boy.”

He tried to speak, maybe say something cocky, something clever—but the moment you started bouncing on him, every slap of your skin against his thighs knocked the thoughts clean out of his head, making him stupid for you. His mouth fell open, his chest rising fast as he failed to swallow a moan.

“Tch—fuck…”

You rolled your hips slow and punishing, and everything in his mind burned white.

His grip on your hips tightened, desperate, fighting not to fall apart. You were guiding the pace and he let you—god, he wanted you to. He wanted to give you every bit of control with his body, the same way he’d already handed you his heart.

He whispered I love you into your mouth over and over like it was the only truth he knew.

Your pace quickened, heat coiling low and heavy between you, pulling both your bodies tighter and tighter—

“Satoru,” you gasped, nails sinking into his shoulders.

He cupped your face, kissing you like he was falling apart.

You moved harder, deeper, both of you unraveling, kisses turning messy, hands grabbing whatever they could reach.

You felt him stutter beneath you — his body tensing, breath breaking apart —

“Baby— I’m— fuck—”

You kissed him hard, swallowing the noise that tore from his throat as he came inside you, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go.

Your own climax followed in a wave, heat crashing through you as you buried your face in his neck, shaking against him while he held you through it.

And then the world softened. He kept you pressed to his chest, kissing your shoulder

“I love you so fucking much,” he breathed, voice wrecked “Please don’t go”

“I won’t” you whispered, “I love you” 

—

Satoru brushed his fingers up and down your spine, the soap slipping warm and gentle over your skin as the steam curled around both of you.

The shower was quiet except for the water hitting tile. His touch was slow, careful—nothing like the desperation from minutes ago.

“You okay?” he asked softly, kissing your forehead.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your cheek resting on his collarbone. “Are you?”

He let out a small, breathy laugh.

“I am now.”

You cupped his jaw, your thumb brushing his cheekbone, and gave him a tiny peck.

He blinked once—slow— a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

When you stepped out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around you and dried you off before even bothering with himself.

He stayed in just his boxers, grabbed his hoodie, and held it open.

“Arms up,” he commanded.

You obeyed.

He pulled the hoodie over your shoulders. It swallowed you whole—warm, soft, smelling like him.

“Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, almost annoyed at how much he loved the sight.

You tugged gently at his arm.

“Come to bed?”

He hesitated only because he was staring at you like you’d just handed him the sun.

“Yeah. Yeah—‘course.”

Then he slipped an arm under your legs and another around your back.

“Satoru—” you squeaked, surprised.

“What?” he said, already carrying you toward the bedroom. “You think I’m letting you walk after that?”

You buried your face against his neck to hide your smile, but he noticed anyway.

He set you down on the bed carefully, then climbed in beside you. He lay on his back and opened an arm in silent invitation.

You moved instantly—curling onto his chest, your head rising with each steady breath he took. His hand slid into your hair, thumb brushing your scalp, while his other arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close.

Your legs tangled loosely with his.

He pressed one last kiss to your hairline, sleepy and soft.

“I love you,” he muttered.

“I love you too, love.”

His hand squeezed your waist—barely there, already drifting into sleep.

And for the first time in months, sleep came easy—for both of you.

You opened your eyes slowly, still half-asleep, and the first thing you felt was Satoru’s large hand resting over your waist. His hoodie was warm around your body, and the faint morning light spilled beautifully across the sheets. A smile tugged at your lips.

At some point during the night you’d ended up as the little spoon — not that you were complaining.

He seemed to be asleep, breath steady and his chin resting on your head, so you didn’t dare move too much. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed your phone on the nightstand.

Rin and Kentaro.

Your eyes flew open. Oh god. You’d run out yesterday and completely forgotten to text anyone.

Trying not to wake the heavy, white-haired menace behind you, you reached carefully for your phone.

Rin: Where are you? Rin: Are you alive? Rin: Nevermind, I found you. Rin: Thank god for Find My app, idiot. Rin: ARE YOU WITH GOJO, YOU LITTLE SHIT?? Rin: ANSWER ME Rin: Suguru already told me. Take care, lovebirds. Text me when you wake up hehe.

You rolled your eyes and typed a quick reply before switching chats.

Kentaro: heyyy Kentaro: you good? did you make it home? Kentaro: Rin told me ;) take care

You were about to type a response when a warm hand suddenly snatched the phone right out of yours.

You gasped and twisted slightly in his arms.

Satoru didn’t even try to hide that he’d been awake the whole time. His chin slid onto your shoulder, warm and heavy.

“Who,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep, “are you texting this early in the morning?”

He squinted at the screen. “Huh.”

“Satoru—” you reached for your phone.

“Don’t ‘Satoru’ me.”

He kept the phone out of reach, his arm caging you easily. “I wake up holding you, and the first thing I see is that parasite boy on your screen.”

“Parasite boy?” you frowned.

“Yeah. Your clingy friend.”

You rolled your eyes and tugged the device gently from his hand. “You can’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad,” he murmured—though the gravel in his voice suggested otherwise. His fingers slipped under the hem of the hoodie you were wearing—his hoodie—gliding slowly across your bare waist. “But I wake up with you in my arms, and then I see him on your screen.”

His palm flattened on your hip.

“And you were about to answer him,” he added quietly. “Before even saying good morning to me.”

“That’s not—”

He cut you off without raising his voice, lips brushing your neck.

“That does things to a man.”

You turned your head toward him, meeting heavy, possessive, half-lidded blue eyes.

“You’re jealous again,” you whispered.

“Maybe,” he admitted without shame.

“But also…” His gaze swept down your body, slow and deliberate, then back up. “I know exactly how to get over it.”

Your lips parted, but he leaned in first, murmuring against your ear:

“I was a good boy yesterday, wasn’t I?”

His hand slid up your side, over the hoodie, fingertips grazing your ribs.

“Now put the phone down,” he whispered, voice dropping into something dangerous.

His hand clamped around your hip, pulling you fully back against him—and that’s when you felt him. Hard. Thick. Pressed right against your ass.

“And be a good girl for me.”

Heat flooded through you.

The phone slipped from your fingers onto the mattress without resistance.

Satoru smirked—slow, satisfied—and lowered his mouth to your neck.

“Good girl.”

His hand trailed down your thigh, guiding it forward, parting your legs just enough. Then the warmth of him shifted behind you—his hand leaving your waist for just a moment—

—and you felt the soft rustle of fabric as he pushed his boxers down.

A second later, the bare length of him brushed against your backside. Hot. Heavy. Wanting.

“You feel that?” he whispered, reverent. “That’s what only you do to me.”

His fingers hooked the side of your panties and dragged the fabric aside—not off, just enough.

Just access.

You were already embarrassingly wet, and he felt it.

“So needy,” he murmured, one hand returning to your hip, grinding himself slowly into the curve of your ass.

You inhaled sharply, hips shifting on instinct—

And his grip tightened instantly. His hand slid down to your thigh, holding you still.

You tried again.

He didn’t let you move an inch.

“Stay still.”

A command. Soft. Absolute.

“You’re punishing me,” you breathed.

He hummed against your neck. “Not trying to.”

Your gasp slipped out the moment the head of his cock slid between your folds—no penetration, just the thick, deliberate drag of him gliding through your slick. The friction jolted through your entire body.

Satoru exhaled shakily behind you.

He rolled his hips once. Slow. Controlled.

His length fit perfectly between your thighs, dragging right over your clit in devastating pressure.

Your hand shot back to grab at his thigh, nails sinking in.

“Satoru—”

He thrust again—smooth and heavy—grinding the length of his cock along your soaked cunt. Your legs trembled.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “You’re doing so good, baby”

Your hips jerked involuntarily.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pinning you exactly where he wanted you.

“Be a good girl,” he breathed. “Take it slow. Let me make you come like this.”

You choked on a moan, clutching at his forearm.

His lips brushed your throat, teeth scraping lightly.

Another slow roll of his hips—harder, deeper—and the friction shot straight through your spine.

“Satoru—” you gasped.

He chuckled softly. “I remember my beautiful girl having a filthy mouth when she’s horny. So say what you really want to say, honey”

“Fuck. I need your cock inside me now. Fuck me stupid, cum inside me—give me your fucking babies.”

You felt him twitch violently.

“Shit,” he groaned, voice breaking with the effort of holding back. “I will. I’ll fuck you exactly how you want.” he said, voice deep and sinful against your skin.

Your breath caught.

“But first,” he continued, his lips dragging up your neck, “you’re going to come like this.”

His hand slipped between your legs again, slow and knowing.

“And then I’m going to take you from behind, and you’ll come again.”

His hips pressed forward, deliberate, teasing.

“And after that…” his voice dropped to a growl, “I’ll fuck you while looking at your pretty face, and make you come a third time.”

He rocked into you with devastating rhythm

Your breathing turned uneven, your body tightening around nothing, the ache unbearable.

Your hand clutched his forearm, trembling.

“Come for me,” he whispered against your skin, voice ragged. “Soak me.”

You fell apart.

Your knees tightened, your breath hitched, and pleasure ripped through you in sharp waves. Satoru held you through every tremor, whispering your name, steadying you until your body finally eased.

When your breathing steadied, he was already kissing your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, dizzy and spent.

He shifted behind you— and you felt him again. Still hard. Still throbbing. Still very much not done.

“Good,” he said, turning you gently onto your back.

“Because now,” he whispered, settling between your legs, eyes dark and hungry— “I’m gonna give my girl what she wanted.”

You barely had time to breathe before he tugged his hoodie off your body in one smooth pull. Then his fingers hooked into your panties and dragged them down your thighs and tossed them somewhere in the room.

He flipped you gently onto your hands and knees, pulling your hips up to meet him.

Your breath tangled in your throat as his palms spread you open, thumbs pressing softly into the swell of your hips.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick and already wrecked. “You’re the most beautiful thing my eyes have ever laid on”

His palm slide up your spine in one slow stroke and your stomach tightened.  “Arch your back, baby.”

You did—instantly—and the sound that tore from his throat was almost feral 

Then he lined himself up and he slid into you, slow at first, then all the way, filling you completely. The pace he set was relentless, devastating.

“You’re gonna ruin me.”

Every thrust dragged fire through your body, the pleasure coiling fast, too fast. You were slipping into that overstimulated, desperate edge again.

He pulled out almost entirely, then slammed back in—deep, heavy, claiming.

A cry tore from your throat. Your arms trembled.

“I can’t— it’s too—”

“You can,” he groaned, thrusting harder. “You’re already close again, aren’t you? My girl is so fucking sensitive this morning.”

You whined, your body shaking.

“You like it like this?” he rasped, fucking you deeper. “Me behind you, holding you open, fucking you until you forget your name?”

You nodded—too frantic to speak.

“Use your words.”

“Yes—” you gasped, voice breaking. “I love it—I love you—”

His hips faltered for a split second. Then he cursed under his breath, the sound raw and disbelieving.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

He groaned, head dropping to your shoulder blade as his pace turned messy, desperate.

“Come” he demanded, pressing a hand to your stomach “Give it to me again, please”

Your second orgasm slammed into you, shaking you apart from the inside out.

He held you through it—guiding you down onto the mattress with one hand on your back, the other squeezing your hip—keeping the thrusts deep and steady as you rode the aftershocks.

When your breath finally steadied, he slowed, pulled out of you with a quiet frustrated groan, and guided you onto your back.

He hovered over you, settled between your legs—hair messy, pupils blown wide, chest rising too fast. He looked wrecked. Beautifully, painfully wrecked. He was so hard it almost hurt just to look at him; he was holding back so much to make sure you came again and again. 

You cupped his cheek and kissed him softly, your thumb stroking his lower lip.

“You’re so good to me…” you whispered against his mouth. “My sweet boy.”

His breath stuttered, hips jerking forward just from your voice.

You brushed your fingers over his eyelashes, tender and slow.

“You have the most beautiful eyes in the world.”

He let out a soft, broken whimper.

“I love when you look at me when you’re smiling…” you said, kissing him again, biting his lip gently.

“And I love when you look at me when you’re on top of me… when you’re inside me.”

His hand fisted the sheets beside your head. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, guiding him in. He slid into you again in one slow, devastating thrust.

“You f— you f-feel too good,” he choked. “Baby, don’t— you’re gonna make me—”

“You fuck me so well,” you teased, voice warm, sultry. “So deep. So… right.”

“I don’t know how I survived these eight months without you.”

“No one compares to you. No one.”

“I’m so lucky… the most handsome man treats me so well… and ruins me so perfectly”

His eyes squeezed shut, a helpless groan ripping from his chest.

His hands framed your face as he kissed you—deep, messy, claiming—his hips moving with a pace he was barely controlling.

“I missed you,” he whispered into your mouth, voice breaking. “So much—so fucking much—”

You traced his jaw, your voice breathless “You’re perfect”

“D-don’t— say it like that—” he begged, thrust faltering. “Baby, I’m trying to last—”

“Why?” you whispered in his ear, kissing down his throat.

“I want to feel you fall apart for me. I want you to lose it.”

His hips stuttered violently.

“You’re so handsome…”

“So strong…”

“S–stop—” he gasped, the word falling apart in his throat, “I can’t— I’m gonna— I’m—”

You dragged your nails down his back, pulling him deeper, anchoring him to you.

“Come for me,” you whispered, breath hot against his ear. “Come inside me, Satoru.”

His breath hitched—his whole body tightening above you—and then the words spilled out raw, unfiltered, instinctive:

“I wanna marry you.”

Another thrust—deep, desperate, uncontrolled.

“Want you to be the mother of my children.”

His forehead pressed to yours, his voice breaking open completely.

“Wanna call you my wife— f-fuck— wanna wake up to you every morning, wanna fuck you just like this— every day— forever—”

You moaned, your walls clenching hard around him, pulling him in deeper.

“Satoru—”

“Come with me,” he begged, thrusting hard, messy, losing all control.

“Please—baby— come with me— I need it— I need you—”

You did. 

Hard.

Your orgasm hit like a shockwave, pulling his right out of him—

He groaned your name, long and guttural, and spilled inside you, hips pressed tight to yours as he came undone completely. 

You held him, kissing his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth as he shook through the last waves. He collapsed onto you gently, breath hot against your neck, still inside you, still trembling. 

He dropped beside you a moment later, chest heaving, one arm automatically pulling you into him like his body didn’t know how not to.

“…Jesus Christ,” he muttered “I think I saw God.”

You snorted, half-dead. “I think you became God for a minute.”

“That’s right,” he mumbled, eyes closing, “worship me.”

You nudged him weakly with your elbow. “Shut up.”

He smiled — wide, blissed-out, boyish — and kissed your shoulder like he couldn’t help himself.

“Shower?” he murmured.

You groaned dramatically. “If I move right now my legs might fall off.”

“That’s fine,” he said, scooping you up with zero warning, “I’ll carry you.”

“Satoru!” you squealed, grabbing his shoulders as he lifted you bridal-style. 

He laughed all the way to the bathroom.

—

By the time you stepped out of the shower, your legs had finally stopped shaking. You threw on an oversized shirt, and ten minutes later you were flipping eggs, humming to yourself, when a pair of big, warm arms wrapped around your waist.

Satoru dropped his chin onto your shoulder like a dramatic koala.

“What are you doing?” you asked, smiling.

“Making sure my breakfast doesn’t run away.”

You snorted. “You ate me alive half an hour ago.”

“And I’m starving again,” he said, squeezing your hips.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. He kissed your cheek. Once. Twice. A third time just because he clearly had zero self-control.

“It wasn’t the heat of the moment.” he said suddenly

You blinked. “What?”

He repeated it, firmer this time. “It wasn’t the heat of the moment.”

You turned your head slightly, frowning. “What are you even—”

“I wanna marry you.”

You choked on air so violently he had to grab your elbow before you sent the pan flying.

He laughed, delighted. “Relax. I’m not proposing. I’m not a simple man. I wouldn’t do it in the kitchen”

You narrowed your eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t. You’d probably hire a marching band, a parade, a helicopter, and a drone show spelling ‘MARRY ME’.”

He pointed at you proudly. “Exactly.”

You nudged him with your hip.

“I mean it. I want to call you my wife someday.”

Your chest tightened painfully sweet.

“Okay, husband,” you murmured, “but first we need to graduate.”

He groaned like you’d stabbed him. “Ugh. Why would you bring reality into my love confession?”

“Because it’s true.”

He swayed slightly with you in his arms.

“Well,” he sighed dramatically, kissing your shoulder, “if the rest of life is with you… I guess I’ll survive till graduation.”

You turned in his arms, cupped his cheeks, kissed him slow.

“I love you.”

He smiled — soft, bright, wrecking.

“I love you more.”

And after eight long months, everything felt right.

this was my first ever finished and published Satoru fic!! It’s crazy how after this, I just couldn’t stop writing. Definitely not my best work, but it holds such a special place in my heart 🩷

“sixeyeyn or rottensatoru? chat are you guys making a ship name? this was worse than last time…” 𓆩♡𓆪

suguru read the chat amused while he looked at the viewership on his stream increasing. why? because rottenyn and sixeyesatoru keep edging their fans on their “situationship” relationship thing that was going on, and the one and only streamer!satoru was there, in suguru’s stream.

suguru initially wanted to do a gameplay, but when he realized that he accidentally invited satoru prior, he realized he might as well profit off this situation his friend finds himself in.

“pay no mind,” streamer!satoru said. “they’ve done that in my tiktok and insta comments too.”

as much as he wanted to deny it and keep it cool in front of the chat, streamer!satoru had to keep his image—despite the fact that he dms you every night. he managed to get your number and play the occasional game pigeon, play some private 1v1 sessions, and even watch a movie on a discord call twice a week…however it would be preferable to do it in person, but you are just so considerate on getting clipped and taking to consideration streamer!satoru’s career. god you really were cool…

after sukuna’s streamer get-together, his feed went on fire due to the camera showing your interaction in the background. it got clipped all over social media and not to mention, people were now starting to pay attention to how satoru even interacts with your posts, always liking it in minutes and commenting “nonchalantly”.

and that…that was the best thing to have come out of the stream.

he didn’t want to admit it, but satoru loved the ship names spammed in the chat and even his fans coming up to him and asking about you. he got approached at a popmart store and clipped. then, his timeline went on fire, why? streamer!satoru said popmart was overrated; but who likes to open popmart figures? streamer!yn.

streamer!satoru couldn’t lie—he found it so funny when his fans asked you about him. because then he would come across clips of the stream on twitter and see how flustered you’d get, then give a response with a cute smile on your face. streamer!satoru loved sending those clips and teasing you.

“lmao he’s so invested in his phone i bet he’s texting yn. yeahhh i think so too.” suguru laughed, invested in the chat more than on his valorant session. “got any ship name ideas? how about sato-y/n? or maybe y/n-toru?”

he frowned. “shut up i’m buying something.” to which suguru leaned over to see. “a zimomo? hmmm interesting. what’dya gotta say about that, chat? personally, i think they’re fugly as shit but i know a certain someone really likes those…”

the ping! of the chat increased linearly, then suguru spoke again. “by the way, our special guest is coming soon. we can play like flee the facility or something.”

“who?” satoru asked, still scrolling on his phone for more trinkets to buy for your next 'unboxing stream'.

“dunno if you know them. but she should be—,” then the doorbell rang. “ah. she’s here.”

“she-?”— “get the door, satoru. i’m busy…”

satoru hummed, thinking that suguru got a streamer!yn of his own (but you’re totally wayyy better) and gasped when he opened the door. he sure as hell didn’t expect you..but he isn't inherently complaining about it either.

“oh! hey satoru!”

satoru froze, pouted, and let you in. “wait what the hell? i didn't know you were coming? why didn’t you text meeee? yn?”

you giggled and kissed his cheek—resulting in his face burning red like a tomato. “sorry toru, i’ll let you know next time. thanks for the sonny angels. i’ll be sure to shout you out next stream—,”

"toru, huh?" suguru’s gaming chair wheeled back and he cleared his throat. “guys, don’t forget that when you’re on stream, people can hear you. yeah. people have ears. get over here and let’s play flee the facility.”

once you and satoru pulled roblox up on your phones, suguru began laughing. you forgot that suguru was showing his screen so when viewers noticed the two matching roblox avatars next to suguru's customized one, the chat's ding-ing became more apparent.

“awh matching avatars? how cute.” he mocked.

it was safe to say that your entire feed went on fire with more possible ship names.

-

-

-

you’re phone had been buzzing non stop for the past 10min and you already knew who it was before you even picked up.

“girl, pleaseee” geto groans the second you answer,sounding unusually desperate “I am begging you, tell him to get his ass over here now! He listens to you”

on your end of the call, you’re trying but miserably failing to sound normal “I–I know, I’m so sorry,Sugu” you say, breath coming a little quicker than you’d like “I tried, I really did” you weren’t lying you did try to get him to go to that meeting but an army couldn’t pull him off of you when your plush thighs were squeezing his head like you did right now.

“I mean did you, really?” geto scoffs “and–why the fuck do you sound like…that?”

you glance down at the reason why you sounded like that, satoru, who’s smirking like he’s having the time of his life, his cap turned backwards so it wouldn’t get in his way, mouth opening wide to drag his tongue all the way up from your hole to your clit, eagerly collecting all your juices “Hm-fuck..mind your business,” you mutter, breath shaky and legs trying to close but your dear boyfriend effortlessly holds them open “Mmph… who is it?” he mumbles against your lips and you can’t help it, a whine escapes you, and your hand flies to your mouth to stifle it

“Hold on–nah, because I know that ain’t—”geto exhales sharply “put him on the phone!” he yells so loud that even gojo can hear him all the way down there.

“he’s-ha-he’s …busy” satoru’s grin widens. he very deliberately presses a kiss to nub, slow and teasing, like he’s got all the time in the world. like there isn’t a meeting in ten minutes and a vice president on the brink of losing his mind, but he doesn’t care, he’ll skip anything for you, for you sweet voice calling out his name so desperate “sato-please..” you cry out after finally hanging up on geto “suguru’s going crazy” you could already picture it, him pacing around the frat cursing both of you.

satoru finally detaches himself from your sweet cunt, head lifting, eyes low and clearly up to no good. you feel dizzy as you watch him climb back onto you, all his weight on you, warm and heavy. His arms slide around your waist, pulling you against him so tight, like he needs you close just to breathe right.

“Satoru…” you murmur, already weak when his lips start tracing up your neck, slow and wet kisses pressed on every inch of your exposed flesh. You can feel his warm breath against your neck and soft white hair brushing your skin.

His hands slide under your top, palms hot against your skin, softly cupping your tit and suddenly his thumb is brushing past your already hard nipple that has your chest caving in at the sensation. He pulls away just enough for you to catch the faint pink on the tip of his ears.

“yeah?” he teases, voice low “you want me to go be responsible, baby?” he asks, fingers playing with your sensitive nips, enjoying the way you squeezed your eyes shut.

sneak peak ! when a beach trip turns into a challenge; who can find out your phobia? gojo has seen you brave a shark cage and jump out of a plane without so much of an ounce of fear. so imagine his surprise when he found out you were scared of thunder. 

rina says ! if this plot sounds familiar its bc i rewatched ohshc >.< also double posting?? why am i such a boss taglist ! @cttelina @bunbun812 @kriitee @sailormarsinanotherlife @icebearcucumber @duckie3801 @alebrasil0101 @blogster-b33 @miaszt

gojo regrets posing the challenge to the group. it was a well known fact in the group that you had balls of vibranium forged in hell fire. but when gojo pulls out his black card and tells everyone, "first person to figure out yn's fear gets 24 hours with my card", it was hard to resist. well, hard to resit for everyone without a moral compass. aka everyone but shoko, utahime, and nanami.

for everyone else, you were fair game!