satoru gojo is the worst when it comes to journeys— no matter how long or short.
unfortunately for you both, today you had to drive three hours to visit your family. it's not even that long, but satoru is already pissing you off, and it's been twenty eight minutes. you've been counting. he started annoying you at four minutes.
maybe it's that undiagnosed adhd that he should've got checked out long before he met you. you still have no sympathy. he's a grown man. he should be able to sit still.
by nineteen minutes, his hand was on your thigh, but not in one of those ways that your past boyfriends have done casually and you got annoyingly turned on. satoru has clearly done it to distract you from driving and have to pull over because you will be so turned on. when you notice his intentions, it makes you smirk a little.
"hands off, 'toru." you try to not let the smirk seep into your words. "it's only been..." you check your watch. "twenty eight minutes."
he doesn't reply, just looks back infront of him, reluctantly retracting his hand, cracking his knuckles as if it was his hands did that, as if they have a mind of their own.
that's when you finally let out a chuckle.
he mumbles something incoherent.
oh, and mind you, he was supposed to be the one driving, but after approximately thirty seconds of having his hands on the wheel, he groaned.
you love him obviously, that's what the whole 'i do' was for. however, in moments like this, it makes you question that a little. whenever you try to tell anyone about how insufferable he is on journeys, you can't seem to quite explain it. it sounds so silly. it's not.
"how about we play a game?" you look over at him very briefly, obviously having to focus on the road.
"...does the game involve me fucking you?"
you don't even reply, but he gets the message— no.
"uh... the game involves... i spy." to be fair, it's the only game you can think of. it's a bad game, but a game, so whatever.
he stays silent for a few moments.
"okay, what if i win, i fuck you, you lose, i fuck you, yes?"
you're about to say yes— anything to shut him up— before you realise.
a groan of pure annoyance escapes you and suddenly both of your hands are on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as you try to not just show him how annoying he's being.
"okay, how about no fucking?" it's not entirely a question from you. there will be no fucking, as long as you can help it.
"i don't even want to fuck. i'm bored." he cuts you off.
"...really?" you ask sarcastically.
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