Untitled

So here it is. All of it. 520 reasons. Three weeks of my life. Countless crumpled papers. Too many nights where I sat at this kitchen table, pen in hand, wondering if I was doing too much or not enough.

I'm still not sure. But I'm doing it anyway.

Because you deserve to know. Because I need you to know. Because if I don't say it — if I don't write it down, if I don't give you something to hold — I'm terrified you'll forget. Terrified you'll wake up one day and realize you could do better. Terrified you'll see me for who I really am and decide I'm not worth the trouble.

I know that's stupid. I know you're not like that. But I'm scared anyway. That's what love does to me, apparently. It makes me scared. It makes me want to be better. It makes me want to give you every piece of myself, even the broken ones, even the ugly ones, even the ones I've been hiding from everyone else.

So I'm giving you this. All of it. The good, the bad, the messy, the ridiculous. 520 reasons why I love you. And if you read all of them — if you actually sit there and read every single one — I'll know you really do love me back.

Because who else would sit through 520 reasons?

Just you. Only you. Always you.

1. I love the way you roll your eyes when I call you "shorty" — but you're still the tallest thing in the room to me. You always have been.

2. I love the way you laugh at your own jokes before you even finish telling them. Like you can't wait to find yourself funny.

3. I love the way you squint at your phone when you're reading something small. You look like a very grumpy kitten and I want to kiss your nose every single time.

4. I love that you found my keys in the refrigerator once and just... accepted it. Like that was normal behavior for me. Like you'd already decided I was worth the chaos.

5. I love the way you say my name when you're tired — slow, soft, like you're drawing out the syllables like a secret. Sa-to-ru. Like it's something you're savoring.

6. I love that you steal my hoodies and then act like you don't know what I'm talking about when I ask where they went. I know where they went. They went to you. That's where I want them.

7. I love the way you hum when you're cooking — off-key, completely unbothered, like you're the only person in the world. I stand in the doorway and listen. You don't even know.

8. I love that you brought back coffee beans from Kyoto and told me they were for "special occasions." I use them every day. They remind me of you.

9. I love that you never let me get away with my bullshit. You call me out, every single time, and I pretend to hate it. I don't hate it. I love that you see through me.

10. I love that you also never make me feel bad for having bullshit in the first place. You just... sit with it. With me.

11. I love the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. Like I'm a surprise. Like you still can't quite believe I'm real. I feel the same way about you.

12. I love that you're the only person who's ever made me feel like I'm enough. Not because I'm the strongest. Not because I can save people. Just because I'm me.

13. I love the way you defend me when I'm not there to defend myself. You don't even know I've heard you do it. You tell people I'm not cold. You tell them I'm soft. You're right.

14. I love that you don't flinch when I take off my blindfold. Most people can't even look at me without squinting. But you just... you see me.

15. I love that you see me. The real me. The one I hide from everyone else.

16. I love the way you talk to yourself when you think I'm not listening. Full conversations. Multiple voices. It's unhinged and I adore every second of it.

17. I love that you remember things I told you once, years ago. Things I'd forgotten I'd said. You hold them like they matter.

18. I love the way you bite your lip when you're concentrating. You don't even know you're doing it. I have to physically stop myself from kissing you every time.

19. I love that you're the only person who's ever made me feel like I can just be Satoru. Not Gojo. Not the strongest. Just... me.

20. I love that you look good in the morning. Stupidly good. It's actually unfair to the rest of us.

21. I love the way you steal the last bite of whatever I'm eating and act like you didn't. I always save it for you anyway. You know that. I know you know.

22. I love that you never ask me to be the strongest. You just ask me to be present.

23. I love the way you say "we" instead of "I." Like you've already decided I'm part of your future. I am. I want to be.

24. I love that you make me believe in a future. I didn't use to.

25. I love the way you push your hair back when you're frustrated. Like you're physically trying to push the frustration away.

26. I love that you forgive me. Over and over. Even when I don't deserve it.

27. I love that you stay. Even when I'm difficult. Even when I'm distant. Even when I don't know how to say what I need. You stay.

28. I love the way you say "come here" when all you want is a hug. You don't make me guess. You just tell me. You trust me enough to tell me.

29. I love the way you look at me when I come home. Like you were waiting. Like you always were.

30. I love that you make home feel like a person. Like you.

31. I love that you make me feel safe. Safer than I've ever felt in my entire life.

32. I love that you cry at movies. I love that you try to hide it. I love that you always fail.

33. I love the way you sing in the shower — badly, loudly, without shame. I stand outside the door and listen. You don't know that either.

34. I love that you know every word to every song on the playlist I made you. I made it because I noticed you singing them. I notice everything.

35. I love that you noticed me noticing.

36. I love the way you hold my hand in crowded places. Like you're claiming me. Like I'm yours. I am.

37. I love that you're not afraid to claim me. Most people are. You never have been.

38. I love the way you say "I love you" like it's easy. Like it's just a fact. Like the sky is blue and water is wet and you love me.

39. I love that you also don't say it when you don't mean it. You're honest with me in a way no one else has ever been.

40. I love the way you scrunch your nose when you're confused. It makes me want to kiss it.

41. I love that you make terrible puns and then act like they're genius. They're not. I love them anyway.

42. I love the way you defend strangers. People you don't even know. You can't stand injustice. It's the most beautiful thing about you.

43. I love that you fight for people who can't fight for themselves.

44. I love the way you look at me when I'm being vulnerable. Like it's not weakness. Like it's strength.

45. I love that you make me brave. You don't even know you do it.

46. I love the way you reach for me in your sleep. Even unconscious, you want me close.

47. I love the way you looked at me when you thought I wasn't paying attention. Like I was already enough. Just me.

48. I love that you let me hold you. That you trust me with your body. Your heart. Your everything.

49. I love the way you talk about your dreams like they're real. You make me believe they are.

50. I love that you include me in those dreams. Like you can't imagine a version without me. I can't imagine one without you either.

51. I love the way you make everyday things feel special. Grocery shopping. Folding laundry. Sitting in silence.

52. I love that you never take me for granted. Even when I'm being impossible.

53. I love the way you say my name when you're happy.

54. I love the way you say my name when you're mad.

55. I love the way you say my name like it means something. It does. You make it mean something.

56. I love that you text me good morning. Every single day. Without fail.

57. I love that you text me good night. Even when we're in the same room.

58. I love that you text me random things in between. Pictures of dogs. Complaints about your day. Things that made you think of me.

59. I keep all of them.

60. I love the way you eat your favorite food like it's the first time you've ever had it. Like you're discovering joy all over again.

61. I love that you share it with me anyway. Even when you want to hoard it.

62. I love that you never make me feel like I'm competing with anyone. You make me feel like I've already won.

63. I love the way you smile in your sleep. I wonder what you're dreaming about. I hope it's me.

64. I love that you don't try to fix me. You just... stay. In the dark with me.

65. I love that you're not afraid of my darkness. You sit in it. You hold my hand through it.

66. I love that you make me believe I deserve good things. Because you're a good thing. And you chose me.

67. I love the way you kiss my forehead. Like it's the most natural thing in the world.

68. I love that you don't judge me for needing reassurance. You give it freely. Without me having to ask.

69. I love that you make me feel seen. Not just looked at. Seen.

70. I love that you know me better than anyone. And you love me anyway. Because of it.

71. I love the way you whisper things to me in the dark. Things you wouldn't say in the light. I hold them close. I keep them safe.

72. I love that you trust me with those things.

73. I love that you trust me. Completely. Impossibly.

74. I love the way you tell me when I'm wrong. But you say it gently. Like you're protecting me from myself.

75. I love that you don't punish me for making mistakes. You help me fix them.

76. I love that you stand beside me. Not behind me. Not in front of me. Beside me.

77. I love the way you look at me from across the room. Like I'm the only person in it.

78. I love the way you saved the last bite for me. You think I don't notice. I notice everything.

79. I love that you make me feel like the center of your world. You probably don't even know you do it.

80. I love the way you laugh at yourself when you mess up. You don't take yourself too seriously. But you take us seriously.

81. I love that you take me seriously.

82. I love the way you smile when you see me after a long day. Like I'm the best part of it. You are the best part of mine.

83. I love the way you make sure I eat. The way you make sure I sleep. The way you make sure I'm okay. Even when I say I'm fine. Especially when I say I'm fine.

84. I love that you know me better than I know myself.

85. I love the way you stand up for people who can't stand up for themselves. Your strength isn't physical. It's everything.

86. I love your kindness. Your patience. Your generosity. The way you give without expecting anything back.

87. I love the way you love without conditions. The way you love me without conditions.

88. I love the way you laugh when you're trying not to cry. The way you cry when you need to. You don't hide from me.

89. I love the way you laugh when I do something stupid on purpose. It's like you're the only person who gets that I'm not actually an idiot. (Most of the time.)

90. I love that you feel everything deeply. And you let me feel it with you.

91. I love the way you talk about the future. The way you talk about our future. Like it's obvious.

92. I love that you can't imagine a version without me.

93. I love the way you call me first when you get good news. I'm the first person you think of. You're the first person I think of.

94. I love that you reach for me. Even when I'm unreachable. Even when I feel like I am.

95. I love that you stay. You always stay.

96. I love the way you say "I'm proud of you" like you mean it. You make me believe it.

97. I love the way you look at me when I talk about something I love. Like it's the most interesting thing you've ever heard.

98. I love that you pretend to listen to things you don't care about. But then you remember the details. You always remember.

99. I love the way you think about me when I'm not there. The way I think about you when you're not there.

100. I love the way you fill the space when you're there. The way you fill it when you're not. You're everywhere. In everything.

101. I love that you are the first thing I think about when I wake up. The last thing before I sleep. You're in my dreams. You're in my reality.

102. I love that you are my reality.

103. I love the way you make everything better just by existing. You don't even know you do it.

104. I love the way you blush when I compliment you. The way you try to hide it. The way you fail.

105. I love that you are so beautiful and you don't even see it. You are the most beautiful person I know. Inside and out.

106. I love the way you light up a room. The way you light up my life.

107. I love that you changed everything. The way you changed me. The way you made me want to change.

108. I love the way you made me want to live. Really live. Not just survive.

109. I love that you taught me what it meant to be alive.

110. I love the way you make me feel like everything is possible. Like I can do anything. Because you believe in me. Because you believe in us.

111. I love that you keep believing. Even when I give you reasons not to.

112. I love that you're the only person who's ever made me nervous. (I already said this. I'm saying it again because it's still true and I'm still terrified.)

113. I love the way you forgive me. The way you love me through my mistakes. The way you hold me through them.

114. I love that you never give up on me. Even when I give up on myself. You always find me. You always bring me back.

115. I love the way you make me feel worthy. Worthy of love. Worthy of you.

116. I love the way you look at me and I see forever. The way I look at you and I feel forever.

117. I love that you make me believe in forever. Because with you, forever doesn't seem long enough.

118. I love the way you say "we have time." The way you mean it. The way you make me believe it.

119. I love the way you make me feel like we have all the time in the world. Even when we don't. Even when time is the one thing we're not guaranteed.

120. I love that you make every second count.

121. I love the way you make ordinary days feel extraordinary. Like everything is a memory I'll look back on and smile.

122. I love the way you make me smile. Even when I don't want to. Even when I can't.

123. I love that you make me laugh. You make me feel. You make me feel everything.

124. I love the way you let me feel it with you. The way you don't run from it. The way you sit in it with me.

125. I love the way you hold my hand through it.

126. I love that you are my safe place. My home. My everything.

127. I love the way you say my name like you're praying. The way you touch me like I'm holy. The way you kiss me like I'm precious.

128. I love that you make me feel irreplaceable. Like I'm the only person in the world. Even when the world is full of people.

129. I love the way you look at me like I'm the only one. And I feel like the only one.

130. I love the way you make me feel chosen. Chosen by you. Chosen to be loved by you. Chosen to be yours.

131. I love that you make me feel like the luckiest person alive. Because I am.

132. I love the way you love me back. The way you love me fully. Completely. Unconditionally.

133. I love the way you love me like it's easy. Even when it's hard. Even when I'm hard.

134. I love the way you love me through the hard parts. The way you stay through them.

135. I love the way you choose me. Over and over. Every single day. You choose me. And I choose you. Every time.

136. I love the way you make me feel like I'm not too much. Like I'm exactly enough. Exactly what you need. Exactly what you want.

137. I love the way you make me feel wanted. Desired. Loved.

138. I love the way you make me feel like I'm everything. Like I'm home.

139. I love that you are my home. My peace. My chaos. My everything in between. My all.

140. I love that you are my reason. My reason to wake up. My reason to keep going. My reason to try. My reason to be better. My reason to be happy. My reason to live.

141. I love that you are my reason. Everything.

142. I love the way you make me believe in love. Real love. Forever love. The kind that doesn't end. The kind that lasts. The kind I didn't believe in before you.

143. I love that you make me believe in us.

144. I love the way you make the world feel softer. The way you make my heart feel fuller. The way you make my life feel brighter.

145. I love the way you make me feel alive. Human. Everything.

146. I love the way you make me feel seen. Heard. Understood.

147. I love the way you understand me. The way you know me. The way you love me. For who I am. For who I'm not. For who I'm trying to be.

148. I love the way you see all of me. The good. The bad. The ugly. And you still stay. You still love me.

149. I love the way you love me through everything. Through the darkness. Through the light. Through the in-between.

150. I love the way you pretend to hate my singing but request songs in the car. Your cheeks go pink when I catch you mouthing the words.

151. I love that you are constant. Steady. Mine.

152. I love that I am yours. The way that feels right. The way that feels like destiny. The way that feels like we were always meant to find each other.

153. I love the way that feels like you were made for me. The way that feels like I was made for you. Because I think I was. I think I was always meant to love you.

154. I love that I was always meant to find you. Always meant to be yours. And you were always meant to be mine.

155. I love the way that feels inevitable. Like fate. Like forever. Because with you, I believe in forever. I believe in all of it. Because of you.

156. I love that you're the only person who's ever made me feel small. Not in a bad way. In the way that makes me want to be bigger for you.

157. I love the way you make me brave enough to believe. Brave enough to hope. Brave enough to love. Brave enough to let myself be loved.

158. I love the way you make me feel safe enough to be loved. Safe enough to be me. Completely me. Messy me. Broken me. Healing me.

159. I love the me that I am now. The me I want to be. The me you help me become.

160. I love the way you help me grow. The way you help me heal. The way you help me love. Love myself. Love you. Love us. Love everything we are.

161. I love the way you make me excited for the future. For tomorrow. For every single day. Because every day with you is a gift.

162. I love that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. The best thing that ever will happen to me.

163. I love that you are everything I ever wanted. Everything I didn't know I needed. Everything I didn't know I was looking for.

164. I love that you found me anyway. Chose me anyway. Loved me anyway.

165. I love the way you love me anyway. The way you love me always. The way you love me forever.

166. I love the way I love you. With everything I have. With everything I am. With everything I could be.

167. I love the way I love you more every day. More every moment. More every breath.

168. I love the way I can't stop loving you. The way I don't want to. The way I want to love you for the rest of my life. And then some.

169. I love the way I want to love you in every life. Every version. Every universe. Every timeline. I would find you. I would choose you. I would love you. Every single time.

170. I love the way I would cross universes for you. Tear down worlds for you. Do anything for you. Anything. Everything.

171. I love the way you make me feel like it's all worth it. All of it. Every struggle. Every fight. Every hard day. Every long night. All of it was worth it. Because it led me to you.

172. I love the way you make me believe in everything.

173. I love the way you make me believe in love.

174. I love the way you make me believe in us.

175. I love the way you make me believe in me.

176. I love the way you laugh at my bad jokes. The way you pretend they're good. The way you make me feel like I'm funny.

177. I love that you steal the blankets. I love that you don't apologize. I love that you look so peaceful I can't bring myself to steal them back.

178. I love the way you make coffee in the morning. The way you bring me a cup without asking. The way you remember how I take it even though I change my mind every week.

179. I love that you talk to plants. I love that you think I don't notice. I love that you water them and whisper encouragements like they're children.

180. I love the way you stretch in the morning. Like a cat. Slow and satisfied. Like you're happy to be alive.

181. I love that you make me happy to be alive.

182. I love the way you check on me when I'm quiet. The way you know something's wrong before I do. The way you sit with me until I'm ready to talk.

183. I love that you don't push. You wait. You're patient with me in a way I've never been patient with myself.

184. I love the way you defend me to other people. The way you correct them when they say I'm cold or distant. The way you tell them I'm not like that with you.

185. I love that you're right. I'm not like that with you.

186. I love the way you make me want to be softer. Gentler. Kinder. Not because you ask me to. Because you deserve it.

187. I love the way you say my name when you're asleep. Like you're dreaming of me.

188. I love that you dream of me.

189. I love the way you look at me when you think I've forgotten something. Like you're reminding me without words. I haven't forgotten. I never forget. Not when it comes to you.

190. I love the way you get excited about small things. A good cup of coffee. A sunny day. A song you haven't heard in years. You find joy everywhere. You bring it into my life.

191. I love that you brought color into my gray world. That you brought me back to life.

192. I love the way you hold my hand when you're scared. Even when you're scared, you hold onto me. You let me be your safe place. That means everything.

193. I love the way you trust me to be your safe place.

194. I love the way you kiss me. Slow. Soft. Like we have all the time in the world. Like nothing else matters.

195. I love the way you touch me. Like you're memorizing me. Like you're trying to put me back together.

196. I love the way you look at me when I'm sad. Like you'd do anything to take it away.

197. I love that you'd do anything to take it away. And I'd do the same for you.

198. I love the way you hold me when I'm breaking. The way you don't try to fix it. The way you just hold on.

199. I love that you let me be weak with you. That you don't expect me to be strong all the time.

200. I love that you see my weakness and you don't flinch.

201. I love the way you trace the scar on my hip. The one I never told you about. The one you kissed without asking for the story.

202. I love that you didn't ask. That you just accepted it. Accepted me.

203. I love that you don't flinch when I take off my blindfold. Most people can't even look at me without squinting, but you just — you see me. Even when I'm not trying to be seen.

204. I love that you see me. Even when I'm not trying to be seen.

205. I love the way you looked at me that Tuesday morning. Making coffee. Humming off-key. And I stood in the doorway and thought: oh.

206. I love that oh changed everything.

207. I love that you didn't even know it happened.

208. I love that I'll never forget it.

209. I love the way you make the world feel smaller and safer just by existing in it.

210. I love that you exist.

211. I love that you exist in my world.

212. I love that you exist for me.

213. I love that you get me.

214. I love that you get me in a way no one else ever has.

215. I love that you get me and you still stay.

216. I love that you get me and you still love me.

217. I love the way you squinted at your phone that one time. When you were reading something that made you smile. You didn't know I was watching.

218. I was always watching.

219. I love the way you forgot your keys and found them in the refrigerator. Like your brain was too full of other things to remember where you put them. Like you were thinking about me.

220. I love that you were probably thinking about me.

221. I love the way you said my name when you were tired. Drawing out the syllables like a secret. Sa-to-ru. Like I was something precious.

222. I love that you made my name sound like a secret.

223. I love that you made my name sound like a home.

224. I love that you made my name sound like something worth saying.

225. I love the way you looked at me when you thought I wasn't paying attention. Like I didn't need to perform or dazzle or be the strongest sorcerer alive.

226. I love that you made me feel like I was already enough.

227. I love that you made me feel like regular Satoru was enough.

228. I love that you made me feel like regular Satoru was worth loving.

229. I love that you were right.

230. I love that you're always right.

231. I love the way you don't let me get away with my bullshit. You see through me. Every time. And you call me out. And I pretend to hate it.

232. I love that I don't actually hate it.

233. I love that I love it.

234. I love that I love you.

235. I love the way you save the last bite for me. You think I don't notice. I notice everything.

236. I love that you share your food with me. Even when you want to hoard it. Even when you're hungry. Even when you don't have to.

237. I love that you're generous with me.

238. I love that you're generous with everyone.

239. I love your kindness. The way you defend strangers. The way you fight for people who can't fight for themselves.

240. I love your stubbornness. The way you refuse to let me pay for everything even though I could buy the building. The way you insist on being equal.

241. I love that you're equal to me. In every way that matters.

242. I love the way you bit your lip when you were concentrating. Writing something. Reading something. Thinking about something. You didn't know I was watching.

243. I was always watching.

244. I love the way you pushed your hair back when you were frustrated. Like you were trying to push the frustration away. Like you were trying to be patient with yourself.

245. I love that you're patient with yourself. Even when you don't think you are.

246. I love that you're patient with me.

247. I love that you're patient with me in a way I've never been patient with myself.

248. I love the way you made me want to be better. Not for the world. Not for the mission. For you.

249. I love that you made me want to be better.

250. I love that you made me believe I could be better.

251. I love that you made me believe I deserved to be better.

252. I love the way you looked at me when I told you about the scar on my hip. The one I never told anyone about. The one you kissed without asking for the story.

253. I love that you didn't ask for the story.

254. I love that you just accepted it. Accepted me.

255. I love that you accepted all of me.

256. I love the way you made me feel like I didn't have to explain myself to you. Like you already understood.

257. I love that you already understood.

258. I love that you always understand.

259. I love the way you make me feel safe. Safer than I've ever felt in my entire life.

260. I love that you make me feel like I'm not alone.

261. I love that you make me feel like I'm not alone even when I am.

262. I love that you make me feel like I'm not alone even when I feel like I am.

263. I love the way you reach for me. Even when I'm unreachable. Even when I feel like I am.

264. I love that you always reach for me.

265. I love that you always find me.

266. I love that you always bring me back.

267. I love the way you stay. Even when I'm difficult. Even when I'm distant. Even when I don't know how to say what I need.

268. I love that you stay.

269. I love that you always stay.

270. I love the way you make me feel like I'm worth staying for.

271. I love that you make me feel like I'm worth staying for.

272. I love that you make me feel like I'm worth fighting for.

273. I love that you make me feel like I'm worth loving.

274. I love the way you look at me like I'm not just the strongest.

275. I love that you stay. Even when I'm difficult. Even when I'm distant. Even when I don't know how to say what I need. You stay.

276. I love that you look at me like I'm just Satoru.

277. I love that you look at me like I'm just Satoru and that's enough.

278. I love that you look at me like I'm just Satoru and that's everything.

279. I love the way you make me believe I might be enough.

280. I love that you make me believe I might be enough.

281. I love that you make me believe I am enough.

282. I love that you make me believe I am everything.

283. I love the way you make me feel like I'm the only person in the world. Even when the world is full of people.

284. I love that you make me feel chosen.

285. I love that you make me feel chosen by you.

286. I love that you make me feel chosen to be loved by you.

287. I love that you make me feel chosen to be yours.

288. I love that you're the only person who's ever beaten me at rock-paper-scissors.

289. I love that you're the only person who's ever beaten me at rock-paper-scissors. I let you win, obviously, but still. It counts. (I sulked for an hour after. Don't tell anyone.)

290. I love that you're the only person who's ever made me want to lose.

291. I love that you're the only person who's ever made me want to give up control.

292. I love that you're the only person who's ever made me want to trust.

293. I love that you're the only person who's ever made me want to let go.

294. I love the way you make me feel like I can let go.

295. I love the way you make me feel like I can be soft.

296. I love the way you make me feel like I can be weak.

297. I love the way you make me feel like I can be human.

298. I love that you make me feel human.

299. I love that you make me feel alive.

300. I love that you're here. That you choose to be here. Every day, you choose this. Choose me. I don't know why. I'm not going to ask. I'm just going to keep being grateful.

301. I love that you choose me.

302. I love that you choose me every day.

303. I love that you choose me even when I don't choose myself.

304. I love that you choose me even when I don't deserve it.

305. I love that you choose me even when I forget how to choose myself.

306. I love that you remind me.

307. I love that you always remind me.

308. I love that you're here. Right here. In my life. In my heart. In my everything.

309. I love that you're here and you're not going anywhere.

310. I love that you're here and you're mine.

311. I love that you're mine.

312. I love that I'm yours.

313. I love that we're each other's.

314. I love the way you make me feel like we're each other's.

315. I love the way you make me feel like we belong to each other.

316. I love the way you make me feel like we belong together.

317. I love the way you make me feel like we belong.

318. I love the way you make me feel like I belong.

319. I love the way you make me feel like I belong somewhere.

320. I love the way you make me feel like I belong with you.

321. I love the way you make me feel like I belong in your life.

322. I love the way you make me feel like I belong in your heart.

323. I love the way you make me feel like I belong in your future.

324. I love the way you make me feel like I belong in your forever.

325. I love that you make me believe in forever.

326. I love that you make me believe in us.

327. I love that you make me believe in love.

328. I love that you make me believe in everything.

329. I love that you make me believe in me.

330. I love that you were the first person who saw me cry and didn't look away. You held me. You stayed. You loved me anyway.

331. I love that you make me believe.

332. I love the way you make me feel like I can do anything.

333. I love the way you make me feel like I can be anything.

334. I love the way you make me feel like I can have everything.

335. I love the way you make me feel like I can have you.

336. I love that I have you.

337. I love that I have you and I'm never letting go.

338. I love that I have you and I'm never going to stop loving you.

339. I love that I have you and I'm never going to stop showing you.

340. I love that I have you and I'm never going to stop telling you.

341. I love that I have you and I'm never going to stop.

342. I love the way you look at me when I come home. Like you were waiting. Like you always were.

343. I love that you're always waiting for me.

344. I love that you're always there for me.

345. I love that you're always mine.

346. I love that I'm always yours.

347. I love the way you make me feel like home.

348. I love the way you make me feel like I'm home.

349. I love the way you make me feel like I'm home with you.

350. I love the way you make me feel like you're home.

351. I love the way you make me feel like you're my home.

352. I love the way you make me feel like we're home.

353. I love the way you make me feel like we're each other's home.

354. I love the way you make me feel like I'm safe.

355. I love the way you make me feel like I'm protected.

356. I love the way you make me feel like I'm loved.

357. I love the way you make me feel loved.

358. I love the way you love me.

359. I love the way you love me like it's easy.

360. I love the way you love me like it's natural.

361. I love the way you love me like it's the most natural thing in the world.

362. I love that you're the only person who's ever seen me cry.

363. I love that you saw me cry and didn't look away.

364. I love that you saw me cry and didn't flinch.

365. I love that you're the only person who's ever seen me cry. Not even Suguru got that. Just you.

366. I love that you saw me cry and didn't judge me.

367. I love that you saw me cry and held me.

368. I love that you saw me cry and stayed.

369. I love that you saw me cry and loved me anyway.

370. I love that you saw me cry and loved me more.

371. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like it was okay.

372. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was still strong.

373. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was still worthy.

374. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was still enough.

375. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was still everything.

376. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was still yours.

377. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was still me.

378. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was still Satoru.

379. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like Satoru was enough.

380. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like Satoru was everything.

381. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like Satoru was loved.

382. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like Satoru was yours.

383. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was yours.

384. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was home.

385. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was safe.

386. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was protected.

387. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was held.

388. I love that you saw me cry and made me feel like I was loved.

389. I love that you saw me cry and loved me through it.

390. I love that you saw me cry and loved me after it.

391. I love that you saw me cry and loved me always.

392. I love that you saw me cry and loved me forever.

393. I love that you saw me cry and loved me anyway.

394. I love that you saw me cry and loved me.

395. I love that you saw me cry and loved me.

396. I love that you saw me cry and loved me.

397. I love that you saw me cry and loved me.

398. I love that you know.

399. I love that you know all of me.

400. I love that you're the only person who's ever called me out for being full of shit. Most people just laugh or nod or pretend I'm not a disaster. But you? You know. And you still stay.

401. I love that you know the worst of me.

402. I love that you know the worst of me and you still stay.

403. I love that you know the worst of me and you still love me.

404. I love that you know the worst of me and you still choose me.

405. I love that you know the worst of me and you still see the best in me.

406. I love that you know the worst of me and you still believe in me.

407. I love that you know the worst of me and you still make me believe in myself.

408. I love that you know the worst of me and you still make me want to be better.

409. I love that you know the worst of me and you still make me want to be better for you.

410. I love that you make me want to be better for you.

411. I love that you make me want to be better because of you.

412. I love that you're the only person who's ever made me want to be better. Not for anyone else but you.

413. I love that you make me want to be better with you.

414. I love that you make me want to be better.

415. I love that you make me want to be the best version of myself.

416. I love that you make me believe I can be the best version of myself.

417. I love that you make me believe I deserve to be the best version of myself.

418. I love that you make me believe I deserve to be happy.

419. I love that you make me believe I deserve to be loved.

420. I love that you make me believe I deserve to be yours.

421. I love that you make me believe I deserve everything good.

422. I love that you make me believe I deserve you.

423. I love that you make me believe I deserve this.

424. I love that you make me believe I deserve us.

425. I love that you make me believe in us.

426. I love that you make me believe in love.

427. I love that you make me believe in forever.

428. I love that you make me believe in everything.

429. I love that you make me believe.

430. I love the way you make me feel like I can believe.

431. I love the way you make me feel like I can trust.

432. I love the way you make me feel like I can hope.

433. I love the way you make me feel like I can dream.

434. I love the way you make me feel like I can have.

435. I love that you wore my blue shirt that one time and I couldn't stop staring at you. You looked better in it than I ever have.

436. I love the way you make me feel like I can keep.

437. I love the way you make me feel like I can hold.

438. I love the way you make me feel like I can love.

439. I love the way you make me feel like I can be loved.

440. I love the way you make me feel like I can be yours.

441. I love the way you make me feel like I can be me.

442. I love the way you make me feel like I can be Satoru.

443. I love the way you make me feel like I can be just Satoru.

444. I love the way you make me feel like just Satoru is enough.

445. I love the way you make me feel like just Satoru is everything.

446. I love the way you make me feel like just Satoru is loved.

447. I love the way you make me feel like just Satoru is yours.

448. I love the way you make me feel like I'm yours.

449. I love the way you make me feel like you're mine.

450. I love the way you make me feel like we're each other's.

451. I love the way you make me feel like we're forever.

452. I love the way you make me feel like we're infinite.

453. I love the way you make me feel like we're everything.

454. I love the way you make me feel like we're enough.

455. I love the way you make me feel like we're more than enough.

456. I love the way you make me feel like we're the only thing that matters.

457. I love the way you make me feel like we're the only thing that's real.

458. I love the way you make me feel like we're the only thing that's true.

459. I love the way you make me feel like we're the only thing that's right.

460. I love the way you make me feel like we're the only thing that's good.

461. I love the way you make me feel like we're the only thing that's beautiful.

462. I love the way you make me feel like we're the only thing that's worth fighting for.

463. I love the way you make me feel like we're the only thing that's worth living for.

464. I love the way you make me feel like we're the only thing that's worth dying for.

465. I love the way you make me feel like we're the only thing that's worth everything.

466. I love the way you make me feel like you're the only thing that matters.

467. I love the way you make me feel like you're the only thing that's real.

468. I love the way you make me feel like you're the only thing that's true.

469. I love the way you make me feel like you're the only thing that's right.

470. I love the way you make me feel like you're the only thing that's good.

471. I love the way you make me feel like you're the only thing that's beautiful.

472. I love the way you make me feel like you're the only thing that's worth fighting for.

473. I love the way you make me feel like you're the only thing that's worth living for.

474. I love the way you make me feel like you're the only thing that's worth dying for.

475. I love the way you make me feel like you're the only thing that's worth everything.

476. I love the way you make me feel like you're everything.

477. I love the way you make me feel like you're my everything.

478. I love the way you make me feel like you're my reason.

479. I love the way you make me feel like you're my purpose.

480. I love that you drool in your sleep. You're going to kill me for writing this down. It's adorable. I love it. I love you.

481. I love the way you make me feel like you're my home.

482. I love the way you make me feel like you're my peace.

483. I love the way you make me feel like you're my joy.

484. I love the way you make me feel like you're my love.

485. I love the way you make me feel like you're my life.

486. I love the way you make me feel like you're my everything.

487. I love the way you make me feel like I'm your everything.

488. I love the way you make me feel like we're everything.

489. I love the way you make me feel like we're each other's everything.

490. I love the way you make me feel like we're meant to be.

491. I love the way you make me feel like we're destiny.

492. I love the way you make me feel like we're fate.

493. I love the way you make me feel like we're inevitable.

494. I love the way you make me feel like we're eternal.

495. I love the way you make me feel like we're forever.

496. I love the way you make me feel like we're infinite.

497. I love that we're everything.

498. I love that we're forever.

499. I love that I know you're going to make me sit here while you read all of these. I planned for this. I want this. I want you to know exactly how much I mean it.

500. I love that you're reading this right now.

501. I love that you're holding this letter.

502. I love that you're holding my words in your hands.

503. I love that you're holding my heart in your hands.

504. I love that you're holding me in your hands.

505. I love that you're holding us in your hands.

506. I love that you're holding everything in your hands.

507. I love that you're holding everything and you're not letting go.

508. I love that you're holding everything and you're not running away.

509. I love that you're holding everything and you're staying.

510. I love that you're staying.

511. I love that you're here.

512. I love that you're mine.

513. I love that I'm yours.

514. I love that we're each other's.

515. I love that we're everything.

516. I love that we're forever.

517. I love that we're infinite.

518. I love that we're us.

519. I love that we're in love.

520. Because if I get a thousand versions of this life, I'd look for you in every single one.

Okay. There they are. 520 reasons. I told you it was excessive.

I know this is ridiculous. I know this is excessive. I know you're probably rolling your eyes right now, and I can already hear you saying "Satoru, you didn't have to do all this."

But I wanted to. I needed to.

Because words have never been my strength. Not the kind that matter. Not the kind that make people feel seen. I can talk circles around anyone, perform confidence like a second skin, but when it comes to the things that live in my chest like living things — I choke. I perform. I deflect.

I don't want to deflect with you. I want you to see all of me. Even the parts I'm scared to show.

So I made you flowers that wouldn't wilt. I gathered the things you wanted but wouldn't give yourself. I wrote down every reason I could think of — and then I kept going. And going. And going. Until my hand cramped and my eyes burned and the sun came up and I was still writing.

Because I couldn't stop. Because every time I thought I was done, I thought of something else. Another reason. Another memory. Another piece of you I wanted to hold onto.

You probably don't realize how much I notice. You probably don't realize that I've been paying attention since the very beginning. The way you laugh when you're really surprised. The way you hum when you're thinking. The way you look at me when you think I'm not looking.

I notice everything. I notice everything about you.

And I love everything about you.

That's not an exaggeration. That's not me being dramatic. That's just the truth. I love you. All of you. Every single part. The parts you love. The parts you hate. The parts you hide. The parts you don't even know exist.

I love you.

Not because you're perfect. Not because you make my life easier. Not because you're the best thing that's ever happened to me — though you are, you are, you are.

I love you because you're you. Because you see me. Because you stay. Because loving you has made me into someone I actually want to be.

I love you because you're the first person who ever made me feel like I could just be Satoru. Not Gojo. Not the strongest. Not the one everyone needs. Just me. Regular Satoru, who leaves his socks on the floor and sings off-key in the shower and can't cook anything that doesn't come with instructions on the back of a box.

You make me feel like regular Satoru is enough.

That's everything.

So here it is. All of it. Every reason I could think of. And if I missed any — and I know I did, because there aren't enough words in the world to capture everything you are to me — I'll write them down later. I'll keep writing. I'll never stop.

Because you're worth it. You're worth all of it. You're worth everything.

I know I don't say it enough. I know I hide behind jokes and smirks and the mask I've been wearing for so long I almost forgot it wasn't my real face. But with you, I want to take it off. I want you to see the real me. The messy, broken, terrified, hopeful me.

The me that loves you.

The me that can't imagine a life without you.

The me that would cross universes for you. Tear down worlds for you. Do anything for you. Anything. Everything.

I mean that. I mean all of it.

So if you ever forget — if you ever doubt — if you ever wonder if I really love you — come back to this letter. Read it again. Read it a hundred times. I don't care. I want you to know.

I want you to always know.

520 is "I love you" in Chinese internet slang. Wǒ ài nǐ. Very romantic. Very me. But it's also more than that. It's 520 reasons. It's three weeks of my life. It's every piece of my heart, scattered across pages, waiting for you to put them back together.

I hope you understand what I'm trying to say.

I hope you know how much you mean to me.

I hope you never, ever forget.

I love you.

Full stop. No conditions, no asterisks, no fine print.

Just you. Just me. Just this.

Forever.

— Satoru ♡

A/N. the irony of the letter being longer than the fic it's featured in.. 😭💔 if i ever repeated smt, IGNORE IT. im too lazy to re-read ☹️

“Well, If it isn’t Suguru’s pretty and better little sister.” Satoru had announced his arrival quite loudly to Suguru’s and your penthouse, throwing his football bag on the floor . “Please don’t call her that.” His best friend groaned as he tossed his car keys in the pile on the counter filled with keys, coupons and sticky notes, placed his own neatly beside the counter and followed behind Satoru, where he was diving onto the living room’s couch.

You had been standing on the kitchen counter with your laptop and phone as you were trying to study, and had looked up before smiling at the two arrivals. “Is that your new way of greeting me, Satoru?” You teasingly asked. “What? If you don’t want it I’ll call you somethin’ else..” he winked. 

“No, you’re just going to call her Y/n. Y’know,Her name.” Suguru intervened, as you tossed him an apple from the fruit bowl close to you. “Yeah yeah, loosen up, man.” Satoru snorted, giving you a chaste wink before acting like he was on his phone. 

“If Satoru is here, don’t tell me you guys are hosting another party here. You guys better clean up and get your sweaty bags away from me.” He sleazed a grin. “Why can’t I hang out with the two of my favourite people?” Then he put a hand beside his lips to loudly whisper to you. “And it’s Not Geto..” you giggled, whispering back and matching his facade. “Then who’s the other person?” “Me.” He smugly said and Suguru threw another apple at his head.

Satoru grumbled but jumped up when Suguru hissed loudly. “Shit.” You turned to him, who was staring at his phone. “What? Did we lock someone in the locker room again? Oooor Is it the frat?” “Great. Fucking Fushiguro gambled half the frat’s savings away again.” He cursed under his breath, grabbing his keys again. 

“You coming?” He called Satoru. “I’m tireddddd,You’re on your own! I Almost killed Fushiguro once, remember? Come to think of it,I think it was for this exact reason. ” He replied way too jaunty for someone who almost committed murder. You could hear him curse under his breath before he called to you. “I’ll bring back wingstop, don’t cook anything.” “Okay!” 

And when the front door slammed shut, it was just you and Satoru. He perked up from the couch, and made his way to sit on one of the counter chairs across from you. “Still studying?” You nodded, sighing. “Not all of us ditch our classes, Y’know.” He raised his hands and dramatically gasped. “You’re so cruel!” “I thought I was your favourite.”

He leaned in, resting his chin on his hand propped up on the table. “Yeah, you are.” You rolled your eyes but slightly blushed, and turned away, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He did. “Aww, someone’s bluushiiing!” “Am not!” “Sure,sweets. You’re cute.” He pulled out his phone and pretended to be on instagram.

“Your phone’s upside down. You’re blushing too.” 

“It’s a new trend.” 

Despite Suguru promising food was coming, it was nearing 11 at night, and you were hungry. Satoru, who had shifted from the couch, back to the table, and then to the couch again sat up when he heard you sighing, opening a cabinet to find the instant Ramen stash, the one Suguru hated you eating after all the lectures you were given for eating something processed like that.

He let you keep the stash, but being his petty self, made it unreachable on the top shelf for you. You huffed, frustrated before you felt a warm chest behind your back and the scent of expensive cologne and ocean breeze. Satoru nudged your hand before easily reaching to the top shelf, grabbing, coincidentally your favourite ramen and another flavour.

You turned towards him, who grinned while handing you your ramen. “Shortie.” “You can’t be talking, you were two apples tall when you were ten.” You retorted. “Nah, you’re imagining it.” He wriggled his fingers and waved them around you while “oooohing” 

You slapped his hands away before turning towards the kettle and turning it on. “How’d you know I liked this flavour?” You smiled. “Lucky guess.” He put his hands in his pockets as you set up the ramen, your back towards you. “Really? You picked the mildest one?” You scoffed when you threw away the packaging and the seasonal packets.

“Oh come on! You pick the spiciest one! Are you even human?” He argues back. And you turn towards him and cross your arms. “Are you just a pussy?” You gave him a mischievous glint and he widened his eyes in realization.

“Oh fuck no, you aren’t catching me dead eating that concoction for living hell!” You gave him a wide smile, leaning in and raising your eyebrows. “Huh, the most feared quarterback can’t handle a little spice? And besides,I thought I was your favourite!” You sang, recalling his words a few hours before. He scratched the back of his neck before sighing, and flicked your forehead. “What do I even do with you?” You cheered and he smiled, sweat beading at what he was just coaxed into.

It was around one when Suguru had stormed back home, in such annoyance that he didn’t even get wingstop. But he noticed yours and Satoru’s laughs from the couch, where some reality tv show was playing, the both of your talking drowning out the intro.

“I’m just saying! If I was there, I’d always be swimming in that big ass pool!” Satoru remarked about how unreal the show seemed. “Can you even swim?” He gasped dramatically. “With a floatie, I can!” You burst out laughing, swatting his arm.

Suguru briskly cleared his throat and the both of you turned around to where he was standing behind the couch. “Hey! Was there a fight?” Satoru cheerfully asked. Suguru sighed. “No, but the funds are gone. Fushiguro’s luck doesn’t exist, leaving us with more than half of our assets gone. If the university finds out, they’ll take this out of our own funds, and won’t grant us permission to do anything for the fraternity.” He then looked up where Satoru quickly took his arm off of you, and then the ramen bowls on the living room table. 

“Didn’t realize you two were so.. friendly..” he muttered. You reached out to punch your brother’s arm. “We had to fend for ourselves, it was forced.” Suguru hummed and walked off. “I need a shower. Are you crashing for the night, Satoru?” “Nah, I’m heading out.” 

He stood up, grabbing his keys, football bag and phone. You stood up as well, walking him to the door out of respect. “I already know the way, sweets.” He chuckled. “I know, just making sure you don’t die.” “Yeah?” He patted your head, and you realized that he could technically use you as an arm rest because of his height. 

“That was fun, apart from when you tried killing me.” He added. He gave you a wave before closing the door into the apartment’s hallway. When you turned around, Suguru was right behind you, and you shrieked, almost running into him.

“Jesus! You scared the shit out of me.” “Was he being an idiot to you?” “Isn’t he always one?” His eyes darkened. “I’m being serious y/n. He didn’t do anything to you, right?” You pushed him away. “Sugu, I’ve no clue what you’re talking about? We were just watching that stupid love island show and eating ramen. That’s it, now I need to go, he’s a bad distraction for studying.”

You walked off to your room, across from Suguru’s. You didn’t want to listen to your older brother’s lectures. “He sure is one, isn’t he..” Suguru muttered.

Rumours of the frat’s little ‘mishap’ spread across campus like it was wildfire during the night. You knew that Suguru would be spending all his free time outside of classes, sorting the mess out as the president of the frat house. Satoru, who was the vice president, didn't take his role seriously.

Around campus they were called the duo, where Suguru, although partied, made sure nobody died during parties, while Satoru was the reason someone almost died, usually a random guy who had even the tiniest bit of ego. 

Despite being high on the popularity hierarchy and constantly attending and hosting frat parties, Suguru was strict with you and went to those parties. Any party he wasn’t attending or any party that wasn’t hosted by any of his close frat friends were off limits to you. 

“I can’t trust you alone at some party without me watching.” He had argued once when you were upset when you couldn’t party with your girlfriends. “I’m not gonna die if I’m alone for one night!” “How do you know that?” He sharply retorted, and you quietened, looking down at the floor. 

He had sighed, before ruffling your hair, in the way he always had comforted you with. “Look, I just wanna keep you safe. You’re all I have left.” He looked away. “If something happened to you, I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself. You’re still my baby sister.” “I’m not a baby.” You rolled your eyes, but smiling. “You’re always gonna be a baby to me.” And he shoved you playfully.

He had another rule for you. Under no circumstances could you ever date anybody in the frat. Or anyone in general. 

“So you’ve never gotten laid or anything because of his weird ass rules. Got it.” Nobara, your best friend said the next afternoon after that night. “Nope.” You sighed, popping the ‘p’. “What kind of uni year old hasn’t ever been kissed before?” “And you’re sexy, on top of that.” She winked. You grinned. “Not as sexy as you.” “Aw I’m blushing.” 

“You guys can’t flirt anywhere else?” Yuji groaned as he approached the cafe’s booth where your friend group was hanging out for the day. “Move over, we have three other people to fit inside.” “We were actually enjoying our ‘date’ until you showed up.” Nobara stuck her tongue out at him to which he stuck his tongue out as well.

“Where’s everyone else? You’re actually early for once.” You asked, checking the group chat and time. “Megs is defending his older brother from the whole frat drama, Inumaki probably got lost and Maki went to go and find him.” 

“Oh yeah, Megumi’s brother is Toji. That must be great for a bitchless emo like him. Ow!-” Nobara hissed at your punch. “-Oh, hey Fushiguro.” “Bitchless emo, huh?” Megumi sat beside you, hands in his pockets and rolling his eyes. 

“Whatever, anyways, your brother must be pissed at the whole situation.” Yuji who sat across you and beside Nobara turned the attention back onto you. You stirred the melting ice cube in your empty drink with the straw as you sighed.

“Yeps. Gojo’s basically useless- " 

"hey, no I’m not!”

You turned to the tall ivory haired man with a compressed T-shirt and black cargos, was he always that defined? His arms were pretty beefy too, veiny all the way to his fingers. “Eyes up here, sweets.”

“Oh, hey Gojo!” You snapped back to him, slightly flushed about..checking your brother’s best friend out. “Where’s Suguru?” 

“Pissed at Fushiguro again, apparently his brother was trying to cover for him, bitchless emo…oh, hey Fushiguro-.” “Literally Fuck all of you guys.” “-but yeahh, anyways, I was bored. Oh, you comin’ to the party?” 

You raise an eyebrow, confused. “What party?” Satoru clicked his tongue and grinned, giving you a folded lined piece of paper. You unfolded it, where in Satoru’s messy writing, and a bunch of doodles everywhere, was the invite.

“So did everyone get an invite as pretty as this?” “Nopes, only you sweets.” “You’re tung tung tung sacool enough to get this invite. Really?” “Kamo suggested a higher entry fee to get some money back, but the party’s gonna be more than big. This is a free way in. “Hey wait! Choso didn’t say I could get in for free!” “That’s because you’d eat all their food budget.” “I wasn’t talking to you!”

“Suguru didn’t say anything about a fundraiser…” you murmured. And you heard Satoru kiss his teeth. “Yeah.. well.. he kinda doesn’t know.” “What?!” Your whole group exclaims loudly before settling back down, realizing the disturbance you all made in the otherwise calm atmosphere and muttering a few ‘sorrys’

“Geto plans all these parties though!” Nobara countered. “Welllll, sometimes, I do. He just makes sure we don’t get arrested and we have money, which we don’t.” “So how the hell are you pulling this off?” Maki strolled in much too late but listening in, shoving Yuji to make space at the booth seat. 

“Heyy Zen’in, you cut your hair? Looks sick.” “Gojo!” “Right right.. sorry. Anyways, this morning I stole his charger, then his knee pads, then his deodorant, and instead of him yelling at me like always, he didn’t even notice. Sooo, the whole day we made plans and since he’s already busy enough with Nanami distracting him, we just moved around.”

Gojo’s phone buzzed then. “You guys should come, it’s in two weeks. Friday night.” He said to the whole group, yet he never broke eye contact with you and he gave you a smile before bouncing off, saluting off and taking his phone call. “Yeah yeah, I know Ryo-“

“So are you going?” Megumi asked, staring at the poorly written invite. “You get in for free.” He added. “Have you not seen my brother?” You groaned. “It’s fine, I guess. I can always go to another party, it shouldn't be that special. Oh, Maki?” “Hm?” “Where’s Inumaki?” 

————

You kept the letter folded and underneath a stuffed animal on your desk. The act was cute, and Satoru did say that the invitation was only for you, although you weren’t too sure how you would get past security with such an “exquisite” invitation. 

It was a shame for a vip offer to be wasted, you thought. But knowing Suguru, he’d kill you before you could even try to go. Your phone buzzed from two texts from Suguru. “Sorry, I’ll be late. Order some food and save some for me.” 

You scoffed, replying with a thumbs up and was about to close your phone until you got a call. “Gojo?” “Heyyy sweets, is Suguru there? He isn’t responding to my texts, bastard.”

“No, he said he was gonna be late. Why, what’s up?” “You wouldn’t mind opening the door for me would’cha?” You strode to the door, where Satoru was leaning on the door frame, his azure eyes half covered by his sunglasses as he hung up the phone when he met you, giving the same grin he always did to you. Seriously, did he just always have that smile?

“What’re you doing here? I just told you he wasn’t here?” He closed the door behind him, slipping off his sneakers. “Practice went late, my car’s in the shop and your bastard brother just left for Nanami's without me. You wouldn’t mind if I crashed with you, yeah?” He shrugged off his wet varsity jacket to reveal the compressed shirt from earlier. You looked out the living room window where it was pouring. 

His hair was damp, and he shivered slightly. You frowned. “Did you have any backup plans? Suguru probably doesn’t know you’re even here..” you trailed off, but he took your wrist, his hands were freezing. “I..I couldn’t. My roommate got a girl over so he kinda kicked me out, and you know how my family is.. please?” 

You sighed. “Fine, but Suguru can’t get mad at me, I’m helping a friend out.” He gave almost a soft smile, he was so close to your face, towering over you. His lashes were damp and long, as they blinked over his eyes. He took off his glasses slowly; almost as if he didn’t want to, and pulled away. You knew Suguru hated people coming over unannounced, especially when it was just you and one of his fraternity members but Suguru seemed to hate everything, it seemed. 

“Are you gonna make me eat that buldak thing again?” He teased. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Sounds enticing, but my brother said to order food. You know how he is with processed foods and basically everything.”  Satoru chuckled. “He runs a strict program at the frat and stricter here, what can you do?”

His words rang in your ears. What could you do? Because of Suguru, you had never even held hands with a boy. Any time a guy would ask you out, Suguru would know. And he’d chase them off. But what could you do? Countless arguments with his stupid rules and babying you always ended up in a constant loop of getting nowhere. 

Satoru had noticed you slightly spacing out, so he clapped his hands together and caught your attention. “Okay! You want me to order? I guess I owe you?” “Nah, it’s nothing. You don’t have to..” but Gojo refused to listen, already opening up DoorDash. “What are we in the mood for? Sushi? Pizza, Burgers..?” 

“Pizza’s fine.” “With or without pineapple?” “Are you serious?” You deadpanned. “Dead serious.” He said, with a straight face to match you. 

The pizza arrived not long after, and you grabbed a slice before sitting on the sofa as Satoru followed suit. “So, you coming to the party?” He asked absentmindedly. You groaned. “My brother doesn’t even know about it! He won’t let me go since I’ll have nobody to watch over me.” You mimicked his exact words.

“But I’ll be there, I can keep an eye on you.” Satoru said, a little more serious. You stopped, and looked at him. “You’ll be busy though, you won’t even pay attention to me.” You laughed awkwardly. “Who said that? I do pay attention to you. And why would I be busy?” You raised an eyebrow. Was he dumb?

“Seriously? Won’t you be.. I don’t know.. managing the party or hooking up with someone? You know, your whole title, Gojo the fuckboy?” He slightly flinched at the title. He was infamous for that name. Who wouldn’t resist someone as handsome as he was? Tall, lean, and not only on the football team and defined but a flirt.

Yet it was always the fuckboy, never Satoru Gojo, wasn’t it?

“I can last a night without sex. Doesn’t Suguru trust me?” He half joked. “Well…” “okay fine, maybe not. But, if it’s for your sake..” he leaned in a little closer. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, alright?” Your breath slightly caught.

He knew how to do that, you reminded yourself. You couldn’t feel anything towards your brother’s bestfriend. You should know this! But you nodded, fully believing him, because there was something in his voice that made you want to trust him. To believe in him so badly.

He leaned back onto the couch. “Are we watchin’ something?” You picked up the remote. “Guess so, there’s this not so new movie I’ve been wanting to watch, finally came on Netflix..”

While the movie had played, you were so engrossed on the film that you didn’t notice how Satoru wasn’t even watching. Instead, he was watching you come subconsciously close towards him on the couch, slightly shifting towards him as you ate your pizza. 

And suddenly you felt his scent, and realized how close you were to him, pulling away.“Oh my gosh! Sorry!” You were about to retreat back to where you were before he chuckled. “It’s fine, I don’t mind. C’mere.” You hesitated before slightly moving towards him again.

Twenty minutes must’ve gone by, and Satoru’s mind was elsewhere. Away from the movie and onto you. How you were so..innocent, not wrapped in a world like this, because of his best friend, who was clearly the polar opposite of you. 

You never smoked a day in your life, and Satoru knew that Suguru always gave you snacks and drinks from parties, staying close by and multitasking, as he socialized and made sure nothing happened to you. Just like he always had done since he knew you as kids.

Your bond with your brother was close, seeing as you had moved in with him after your parents finally drove you out. Suguru had always advised you and occasionally begged you to stay with him instead, yet you really did try to tolerate them, but eventually, it was too much. Without Suguru defending you after every fight you had with them.

And he realized as the three of you grew up, that you may have just called him a brother. Despite all the years he’s liked you. Yet Suguru would always keep you away. He didn’t need to say it out loud to know that you were off limits to Gojo. And it should’ve been that way, Satoru thought. Someone like you didn’t need to be with someone like him. The university fuckboy. 

Satoru had always liked you. With a soft spot for you, and when he could, he’d try to get close to you. That’s why even though Sukuna was staying at his girl’s place, he pretended that he couldn’t go to his frat’s room. Not like you’d ask questions anyways. He also had hoped that you didn’t realize he purposely got himself soaking after shoving his football bag in his room. 

Satoru felt something slightly nudge his chest. As the movie continued on, you felt drowsy. Maybe it was because of Satoru’s scent and warmth. You fought to keep your heavy eyelids open, but closing them felt so easy. 

Satoru looked down, where you were breathing softly, unaware that you rested on his chest. His arm that was behind you and perched on the top of the sofa found its way to envelop and curl into your shoulders, slightly patting them. 

God, you were so beautiful, with the tv light flickering on your sleeping face. Your lashes were like a blanket for your eyes that he always searched for every reaction after his antics to make you laugh. Your lips slightly parted as you let out a satisfied sleepy hum. 

He should’ve pulled away. Should’ve left, or pushed you off. Should’ve woken you up or just anything, but he didn’t. Just kept his arm around you. “Thought you wanted to watch this movie, sweets.” He murmured, softly. You curled into him, and Satoru swore his heart skipped a half beat.

The movie was ending, Satoru could tell because the lead couple were finally reunited for a ‘happily ever after’. He didn’t follow along with the movie at all, all of it being background noise while he listened to your breaths. He felt drowsy, yet stayed awake. In case you needed something.

He heard the sound of keys jingling and the knob twisting before the door opened. Then the heavy footsteps and a frustrated sigh. “Fucking Fushiguro..” 

Suguru stopped for a second, watching the tv and then, the back of Satoru’s messy hair on the couch? What the hell was he doing here? and as he moved closer.. he saw you leaned against him?

“What’s going on here?” He sharply raised his voice. Satoru immediately retracted his arm, moving it to scratch the side of his neck while you woke up, confused about the lack of warmth on your waist before pulling away. “What were you doing sleeping on him?” 

You rubbed your eyes, still confused. “Hm? I didn’t notice I fell asleep.” You mumbled. Suguru turned back to Satoru. “What about you? What, you just let her do that? That’s my sister.” “Chill out man, what am I supposed to do? Shove her away?”

“Yeah? you guys should have some boundaries, y’know.” He seethed. “Why are you making it so weird? It’s not like I meant to fall asleep on him.” You argued, still sleepy. Your big brother pinched the sides of his nose before storming to his room. “Look, I already have enough bullshit to deal with. I don’t have time for this.” 

You heard him slam the door and you looked at Satoru, who was also looking back. He gave a shrug. “I think I should leave now..” he said quietly, and then walked to his sneakers. “What? It’s still raining? Just sleep on the couch.” You followed him, but he stopped you and patted your hair that was messy from leaning on him. “It’s fine, sweets. I’ll uh.. I’ll crash at Kamo’s. Don’t worry about your pretty little head.” He gave himself an excuse to give you a smile before waving and opening the door. “See ya.”

When you closed the door, making your way to your own room, and changing into pajamas you were frustrated with your brother. Why was he being like this? Since the whole money loss thing, he had been so busy, and now he cared about you this much? 

You let out a sigh, getting in bed after checking your phone one last time when you heard a knock on the door. You sighed, knowing who it was. “Door’s open.” You called. 

You expected and wanted an apology from him, but instead the bastard just gave you a dead serious face, eyes darkened and brows furrowed. “You wanna tell me what I witnessed twenty minutes ago?” You sat up. “What you saw was Satoru, y’know your best friend,the kid I’ve known my whole life and I watched a movie.”

“And you just had to cuddle each other?” “I wasn’t cuddling him!” You exclaimed indignantly. “I fell asleep! That’s literally it! Why are you being so dramatic?”

“Listen, Satoru is my best friend but that doesn’t mean I’ll defend him when he breaks hearts. I don’t know what the fuck you two are doing behind my back, but you should stay away from him.”

“Kind of hard when he comes here almost every couple days, and I’ve seen him as a brother my whole life.” You sighed. “Look. Nothing is going on between us. To me he’s another brother. Dumber, but still there when you aren’t.”

You were lying through your teeth. Brother my ass. The afternoon earlier you were checking him out through his shirt. But Suguru sighed. “Y’know I’m here, just shit’s on my mind.” He said before storming off, not closing the door after you because of course he wouldn’t. You felt bad for lying to him. But you really didn’t mean to fall asleep on him. 

That same night, Satoru went to his room, that was empty as his roommate was having the time of his life with his girlfriend. Odd as it was, he kept his room specifically neat. Nobody was allowed to be in his room unless it was him and whatever girl he brought up, only to never remember their name again.

But you were an exception. He remembered yours obviously, and your birthday. He remembered how you smiled at his stupidity then and still now. He remembered how in Highschool he liked you so much, half the time he didn’t even come for Suguru. You were shy of him back then. He was just some random guy with a bad hair cut and a shirt and shorts with mud all over his face, waving to you goofily as Suguru would smack him. You would wave slightly before playing with your dolls again. 

He also remembered the first time he had witnessed you getting yelled at by your parents. “Just stay there, man. I’ll be back up in a sec.” Sixteen year old Suguru had rushed downstairs, throwing his controller somewhere. Of course Satoru didn’t stay there. 

He took a peek by the stairs, where he saw you, thirteen and puffy eyes as your mother screamed at you. Suguru had gone down and yelled back at them. “Give her a break! She’s just a kid! It’s my fault, I should’ve been watching her.” 

He had seen his friend bring you upstairs, to hang out with him and Satoru. You had tried acting cool in front of your big brother’s friend, stifling sniffles. Satoru, not knowing what else to do, gave you his controller. “I think you’ll be better at this than me, huh?” He grinned.

You obviously wouldn’t. But you weren’t going to refuse him, since of how cute he looked. 

He remembered when the three of you once you reached highschool, would walk together home. You and him teaming up to annoy Suguru, one time making him scold the both of you. And he remembered the time when during your last year of highschool, Suguru made you move in in his apartment. Satoru and your brother had helped you paint your walls and set up fairy lights and big posters.

But he knew he couldn’t have you. Not when your brother had been shielding you your whole life. So he tried drowning his feelings in parties and random strangers. Hoping that he could move on. But he couldn’t. Even during a haze of pleasure, was he thinking of how you were probably studying, so docile. 

The amount of times he had to hold his tongue to not slip out your name while he was balls deep in another girl. And how he dreamed that instead of briefly helping whichever girl he fucked, for somewhat of aftercare, that it was you, and it was him doting on you.

Not any one of his one night stands ever had any love or second meetups. He wouldn’t even remember what she looked like. And the only girl he truly wanted was someone he couldn’t have. Why did he have to make things so difficult for himself? 

No doubt would his best friend, despite all the things he had put up with, wouldn’t enjoy the idea of fuckboy Satoru Gojo having a thing for his sister. 

He thought of not indulging in any of your shenanigans, just to assure Suguru that his childhood and life long crush for his sister wasn’t there at the bottom of his heart. He didn’t want to be someone who relied on one night stands for the rest of his life.

The big party that your brother still was somehow oblivious to was at the end of the week. It was Wednesday and you were dying to finish your thesis statement before the weekend.

Your friends, despite protests and “we’re not going without you” eventually gave into your reassurances that you’d be fine. You’d doomscroll and hang out with them the next day. You hated the feeling of missing out, but what could you do? “Fucking Suguru Geto.” You muttered to yourself. 

You were in the library, after desperately needing a different scene other than your room with Megumi. If only he wasn't actually a good study buddy, and he studied. 

“Fushiguro.. Fushiguro..” you nagged. He grumbled. “What.” “Have you asked out Itadori yet?” He elbowed you. “Alright, what are you blackmailing me for this time?” You hummed, satisfied, knowing that the same blackmail trick would work for probably the rest of eternity if he never would grow the balls to ask out his highschool crush.

“Do you know anything about the party?” He set down his pencil he was flicking around. “Go ask your brother?” “God, you’re stupid.” “Yeah, yeah I am now let me study.” You rolled your eyes before having a wonderful idea.

“Hmm, I wonder what if I just called Yuji and told him some juicy gossip.” You purred. “Fuckin hell, okay fine, what?” “I just wanna know what your older brother told you!” 

“I mean, he has to be a security guard as punishment, but we all know he’s not doing that. Nanami is supposed to keep your brother away; I’m still not sure why he’s in the frat anyways. And Toji said that technically according to Suguru and conduct shit, that if Suguru finds out, not only is he gonna beat everyone’s ass, but mainly Satoru’s regardless if he planned it or not.. then something else, probably snitching to the administration.”

“Damn, my brother’s a snitch.” You muttered. “Yeah, but then again, if he didn’t manage the parties, they’d probably get arrested or some shit.” Megumi hummed. Then he picked up his phone before hissing. “Shit. Sorry y/n, I gotta go. Itadori just said he got injured during practice. Won’t let anyone else-“ “see his injuries?” You finished, slightly smirking.

Megumi blushed. “Shut up. You got a ride home?” He tossed his car keys. “Suguru’s driving me back home.” You called after him. “You sure?” “Go take care of your boyfriend, buh bye!” 

You worked a little more, highlighting notes and scratching them out from the sleepiness that was taking over. You looked out the large window, where it was a storm. You had texted Suguru twenty minutes ago, to which he said he’d be there in five. 

“Library is closing.” You turned and took off your headphones to see the middle aged lady with a really bad haircut sneer at you. “Oh, my ride isn’t here-“ “too bad, it’s closing time.” 

And now suddenly you were kicked outside. The librarian really didn’t like you or something, you muttered to yourself. The brisk air made you shiver through your thin hoodie and soggy sweatpants. You tugged the sleeves to cover your trembling hands. 

You tried calling suguru. But every single time resulted in. The same voicemail of his stupid voice “call you back soon!” “Call me back my ass.” You spat out through chattering teeth.

You should’ve just taken Megumi’s offer before naively believing your busy brother would find the time or remember to take you home. The buses wouldn’t run so late, at eleven at night, unless you wanted to hang out with high and drunk people.

You tried calling one more time before groaning out of frustration, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.Why out of all days would your supposedly protective brother leave you outside to fend for yourself? 

You watched your phone battery drain even on low power mode. All those missed calls drained it further all the way to five percent. You could try calling one more time. Or… suddenly, a notification from Gojo’s highlights on instagram reminded you of him.

Your fingers trembled as you opened the app and texted him. He was probably partying right now. Probably across the city. 

You:

“Hey, u free?” 

Satoru: 

“Damnnnnn, someone’s bold.” 

“What’s up sweets?” 

You:

“Do you think you could pick me up? From the library?”

Satoru: 

“Isn’t the library closed?”

You: 

“I got kicked out and Suguru isn’t here.”

Satoru:

“You’re kidding.”

“Where are you.”

“Stay there I’m coming in ten”

You: 

“Please hurry, it’s cold and I’m scared” 

Satoru: 

“I’m coming sweets.”

In less than ten minutes (more like three minutes and five seconds), you saw Satoru’s Mercedes approaching somewhat fast before slowing down and reversing to your exact spot. He got out of the car and rushed towards you standing on the sidewalk, beside a street lamp.

“Oh my God, you’re fucking shivering.” Without hesitation, he took off his Varsity jacket, the jacket he was infamous for, and draped it on your shoulders. It was warm, and smelt like him. 

He stretched an arm out, and you walked into it, only for him to pull you into his embrace. He felt so warm, so comforting, and so safe. You didn’t even notice tears slipping from you until you tried and failing to hold back a choked sob. 

“Aw, sweetheart, it’s alright. Shh, I’m here. C’mon, let’s get you home, m’kay?” You let him guide you to the front door, him opening it and letting you crawl inside.

When he was inside, he turned on the heater. And drove off. 

“Fucking hell, what were you gonna do outside like that?” He gritted his teeth, and gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles whiter than their pink undertone.

“Suguru said he’d pick me up when I texted him.. then that librarian bitch kicked me out and I was stuck here.. I was gonna walk home..” 

“Dude, your apartment building is like, a whole twenty minute drive away, you could’ve DIED!” You snorted weakly. “No I wouldn’t. Just be sick for a few days.” 

But Satoru was dead serious. “I’m actually gonna kill your brother, seriously. What kind of guy promises to take his sister home, and let the rain almost kill her?” 

“I’m really tired, Gojo.” You whispered hoarsely. He stopped at an upcoming red light, and watched your eyelids droop heavily. God in the red lighting on a night like this, you were irresistible. “Alright sweets. I’ll get you home.” He murmured. 

As you rested, you didn’t notice when the car had made its way to the underground parking of your complex, and hadn’t noticed when it stopped, Satoru watched you for ten minutes. 

He hesitated before slowly reaching for your cheek. Just to feel it with his finger. God he just wanted you for himself, like this, except instead of sleeping because your brother forgot about you, you falling asleep, in a dress he bought for you, warm and safe, with his jacket draped onto you.

That’s how it just felt it should’ve been. He brushed your cheek and swept away damp strands of hair from your face. 

He couldn’t have you, that’s what hurt. But he could live off of this, right? You had innocently ruined him. Sleeping so safely in his car, in his jacket. You weren’t just a little sister to him, because a normal sane person didn’t think about their best friend’s little sister every waking moment.

He waited for a few seconds of silence before gently rubbing your shoulder. “Hey, we’re home…” he whispered. It took him a few more nudges before you finally woke up, mumbling. “Gojo?” “Y’know, if you slept any longer I might’ve just kidnapped you!” He joked, grinning back into his usual self, like he wasn’t just plain worried for you and mad at your brother. 

“That wouldn’t be too bad if it was you.” You murmured, rubbing your eyelids, and indifferent to the mascara being smudged on and underneath your eyes. Satoru pretended those words didn’t mess up his mind for a moment, and helped you out of the car.

“You need me to walk you to your door?” Satoru asked, wary of your brother and his mood at the both of you together. “It’s alright, don’t party too hard, Gojo.” You called after, waving to him before heading inside the apartment basement. 

Satoru sat back in his car and hit his head on the steering wheel. He wanted to hit it on the horn and listen to it blare across the quiet parking lot, but he knew better, sort of. He just needed to have you once, just once and he’ll be fine. Maybe it was just some phase. Like he needed to ask you out, you slap him and he goes back to normal fuckboy. 

You trudged upstairs, slightly staggering from your dazed and sleepy state. You clung onto Satoru’s jacket, feeling how warm it was and reminiscing the smell of him when he hugged you, like you were delicate. 

You unlocked the door and slammed it shut once you went inside. Suguru was standing on the counter, and he ended the call he was trying to reach (yours it seemed like) and stared at you before sighing. 

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” “Yeah I do, y’know why? Because I was nonstop calling you and you decided to leave me out there in the rain.” You laughed tiredly, with no joy to it. “Look I didn’t even notice, I’m sorry, but you could’ve told me where you were, I was calling and calling-“ “my phone died, okay? I was stranded outside because the stupid library kicked me out, and I was stranded for almost twenty minutes at eleven at night. Happy?”

Suguru exhaled, closing his eyes where his fists were clasped together and propped by his elbows on the marble counter. He looked up again and his pupils dilated. “What’s that you’re wearing?” “A jacket.” “I know that! Why are you wearing Satoru’s jacket?”

You shrugged. “I was freezing, he gave it to me.” And Suguru chuckled darkly. “Ah, so that’s where you’ve been. With Satoru?” His jaw ticked, he didn’t need an answer. “Why? Why not any one of your friends?” 

“Because he was the first person I thought of- I don’t know?” You spluttered. Why did it matter? You were back in one piece. You wanted to go to your room, curl up in blankets and drown out Suguru’s droning. “Do you know how stupid you sound right now? The first person you thought of was Satoru, really?”

You wanted to cut in, but he kept going. “You think Satoru’s paying any actual attention to you? Do you think you’re special? He’s probably out right now fucking some chick right now. He doesn’t care about you.” “I never said I thought I was special. I just said that he-“

“Y’know, Y/n? Maybe if you stopped doing whatever you wanted, and stopped throwing yourself at my friends, and thinking you’re special, I wouldn’t have to treat you like a fucking child. Because all you are to Satoru is my little sister, and it’ll always be that way.” 

You froze, the words to defend yourself dying on your tongue. You did whatever you wanted? You threw yourself at his friends? You couldn’t even yell or anything. 

Suguru wanted to eat his words. He rubbed his forehead. “Look, Y/n I didn’t mean.” “Fine. I won’t. I’ll just let my brother control my life from now on. Because at least Satoru showed up for me. Even if he pretended that I was special.” 

You slammed your door to your room shut, and locked it, not wanting him to burst the door open. You threw the jacket onto your bed in a rage, only then to pick it up and neatly hang it, so you could iron it and give it to him the next time he came over. 

While you were in the shower to get rid of the rain and the day, those words Suguru had bitterly said to you rung in your ears like a mantra while Gojo’s sweet voice whispered to you, bringing you comfort. If he truly was a fuckboy, then he was a sweet one.

But Suguru was right, you probably weren’t special to Satoru. He was just treating you nicely because you’ve sheltered him from the rain. It was like he was returning the favour. You were probably just a kid to him. He could never like someone like you. Yet you longed for his touch. Almost thinking of what if he was just behind you right now, your head on his chest like it had been so many other times.

But you quickly shook those thoughts away, thinking that it was just the outcome of never having even a sliver of a chance to date someone. All because of Suguru. But what did it matter to him? He says he was trying to keep you safe, but clearly not if he left you in the rain to fend for yourself until Satoru.

You stepped out of the shower, and you heard Suguru’s knocks. “Come on, look, I went a little far but you know how I feel about-“ you drowned the rest of his plea out, a pretty bad one so far it seemed. 

You threw the towel in your hamper, with the intent to put it in the washing machine when Suguru stopped pestering you. As you brushed your hands off, the corner of a piece of paper caught your eye. Underneath your stuffie. 

All these years of Suguru not letting you do anything, and you had listened. But you were sick and tired of him always ordering you around. None of your other friends had to deal with that. Hell, it wasn’t like he was a saint himself, he was a frat bro for fuck’s sake. 

You unfolded the piece of paper, where there was Satoru’s scrawled writing with bad doodles everywhere along with cheesy jokes. You grabbed out your phone, now charging on your bedside table and instantly went to Satoru’s contact. 

You:

“Has my free entry invite expired yet?”  

Satoru:

“Hmm, I’ll let it slide this once.”

“I’ll see you there, I assume?”

You:

“What do I even do? Show Toji this letter?”

Satoru:

“That be hilarious.”

“Nah, I’ll wait for ya”

A day and a half later, after successfully sneaking out of the house, with a black mini dress paired with large hoops and bold makeup, you and Nobara had found Gojo standing outside, leaning against a wall and teasing his friend, and the makeshift bodyguard for the night.

As you got closer you could see that Toji was going to explode at somebody. “Aw come on Fushiguro, someone’s mad they can’t get some titties?” Satoru mockingly cooed. “I’m gonna fucking kill you one day,” he muttered, lighting a cigar. “Aw, what? Don’t have a hole in your heart or somethin, jeez.” 

Satoru looked up and bounced towards you and Nobara. “Hey! Damn, you two! Yo, Toji! They’re good!” He gave a very optimistic thumbs up to which Toji sneered but let you two through. 

The fog and blaring laser lights made it hard to see. You could see on one corner people dancing and making out, and the other was where there was a circle of people chanting around on whatever dare it was for spin the bottle. 

“Y/n! I’m gonna look for our friends!” Nobara yelled over the loud music. Satoru was nowhere to be seen for now, due to your limited vision, so you went with her through shoving the crowd to find the kitchen, where Inumaki, Yuji Maki and Megumi were lounging like the meet up spot for every party. 

“Oh good! Did you get Suguru’s permission or something?” Yuji said. “He doesn’t even know the party is happening.” Maki snorted. “What on earth are you wearing?” Nobara stared down. Yuji’s shirt. “Hey! Megumi said I looked good in it.” He shouted, while Megumi faintly blushed before shoving his best friend, “didn’t say that, just said that’s the only wearable thing you had.” 

“Seriously? A “two seater” arrow t-shirt?” You chuckled. “At least Megs said it looked good!” Yuji pouted. “Is the food here drugs or actually food?” “I wouldn’t eat it if I were you guys.” Gojo suddenly popped out of nowhere.

“It literally isn’t hard to buy chips from the dollar store or something.” You argued. “Hey! Kamo’s got a side hustle. He needs money for this. His girl bakes while he just sprinkles in some of this, some of that.” 

He stepped closer to you, giving you a thumbs up. “You alright?” You nodded. “Yeah, just used to my brother here I guess.” Satoru leaned down to meet your face, brushing away some hair. “If it gets too much, come find me. I’ll be nearby, alright?” You could feel your ears turn red when his fingers lightly grazed your cheek, all you could do was nod again.

You hated how he made you feel like this, like you were special. You weren’t, were you?

He ruffled your hair, and you complained, swatting his arm as he cackled away. 

It was the middle of the party, late at night and more people, if that was possible, had showed up. It was mainly drunk and high people so far. You had danced and played ping pong with your friends, and carefully dodging weirdos around the party with ease.

Well, almost. As you were dancing with Nobara, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around, to see it was one of another frat members, you didn’t remember his name, but he looked awfully like someone Suguru had outwardly disliked. 

“You wanna get out of here? Name’s Naoya.”You placed your hands in front of you and waved, to politely tell him no, but he was fucking persistent. “No? C’mon, playing hard to get? I’ll show ya a great time, y’know.” “Please, I’m okay.” He rolled his eyes and was about to grab your hand before you felt a protective arm on your waist.

“Back off, Zen’in. She’s a Geto.” Satoru sneered. You curled into him, seeking safety into him. The blonde man scoffed and crossed his arms. “What? Not like he’s here? It’s free game here man.” “Nah, she’s my girl.” Satoru casually said, with such ease you had to force yourself not to whip your head to him. 

“You don’t do ‘my girls’, Gojo.” He tossed his hair. And Satoru’s grip on you tightened. “Fuck off Zen’in, I do now.” You watched the blonde walk off, storming and heard Satoru’s seething. “Hey, do you need a break? You alright?” 

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. “Yeah, just need a change of scenery I guess.” Satoru gave you a boyish smile, and it reminded you of his smile before he was a frat member. “You’ve never seen my room before, right? It’s pretty sick.” 

With your approval, he guided you upstairs away from the party after you texted the group where you were going. You walked through the hallways until Satoru stopped at a door, with his and Sukuna’s name and swear words all over it from an old prank.

When you stepped into Gojo’s separate room, the air felt clearer, and more breathable. You placed your bag down and walked around his room, where posters and albums decorated the walls, and blue led lights lightly flickering. He threw himself onto his bed before sitting back up. “Whaddya think?” 

“It’s.. a lot more neater than I expected.” You admit. He shifted his weight onto his knees on the mattress. “I try and clean it up whenever there’s someone important coming.” You moved closer towards the bed. “Yeah? Who’s that someone?” You teased, but a lilt of expectancy that it wasn’t- “well, you..” Satoru said softly.

“Are you just saying that?” You joked. But his expression stayed the same. “Nah, I mean it.” He patted the spot next to him and you hesitantly sat down, crossing your legs. He leaned over a little to reach the mini fridge on the ground beside his bed. “What juice box you want? I got apple, assortment, mango..I probably should throw that one out..""you don’t have drinks or stuff?” You asked surprised. 

“Nope!” He said, popping the ‘p’. “I hate alcohol, period.” He gave you the juice box of your choice and he downed his in seconds before sighing, and throwing it, and it perfectly landed inside his small metal trash bin across the room. “Hey, can I tell you something?” You nodded, sipping the straw. 

“I don’t really like my fuckboy title.” You straightened your back. “Its like part of your whole persona, though.”  He chuckled, no true happiness to it though. “It means that a lot of people can’t trust me. Like your brother.”

“You’re his best friend, how would he not trust you?” He looked directly into your eyes, and raised his hands to your head, smoothing down some loose strands of hair. You leaned into it without realizing. 

“He trusts me with a lot of things, just not with you. He never has, and never will.” “What.. what do you mean?” But you had somewhat of an idea he was hinting at. And he knew you knew. He grinned and tilted his head to the side before dramatically sighing. “Do I really have to spell it out for ya?” 

His hand that rested on your head found your hand to guide it to his chin. You slightly gasped at the bold gesture. “Gojo-“ Y’know, I don’t like it when you call me Gojo. Like you don’t know me..” he murmured. He nuzzled into your hand and let go of his hand, and yours just stayed put, slightly caressing how soft his face was. 

He sighed, his breath warming your palm. “I want you to call me Satoru.. I need you to call me Satoru.. or anything. Just stop acting that we’re just friends. Or we’re just mutuals. I can’t do this anymore.” 

“Satoru…” you whispered, his name so foreign yet felt so right on your tongue. He groaned. “Fuck, sweets you don’t know what you do to me.” “Satoru if my-“ “I know.. but you’ll let me be greedy, yeah?” 

You shifted a little, nodding eagerly with a little hesitancy. “You haven’t done this before, right?” He asked. You shook your head, not trusting your voice. He cradled your face, rubbing your cheek. 

“It’s alright, you trust me, right?” And once you nodded, his lips found yours. You were frozen, unsure on what to do, until you felt him shift slightly to tell you to move with him. You pressed your lips back to him, letting out a tiny sigh. 

His hands never left you, but moved from your face to your shoulders, then to your waist where his thumb slightly kneaded the skin. You pulled away to grasp for air. And to meet his face that gave you a reassuring smile. You blushed at his gaze, wanting to look away, but his index and thumb guided your chin back to him.

“If anything feels weird, tell me, alright?” And he kissed you again, but this time his tongue were prying your own open. You gasped but let him invade your mouth, meeting your tongue and swirling around.

You grabbed his shoulders for balance as he guided you down towards his soft mattress, and his hand creeping up your thighs and played with the hem of your small dress. You felt your skin rise slightly as his warm hands felt you. 

He pulled back from the kiss, making you slightly whine. “Shh, yeah, I know, sweetheart.” You noticed the string of saliva connecting the both of you together, and he made no action to try and wipe it away, just letting it pull him close back to your mouth again to hover near your face. He toyed with the hem of your dress. “Can I?” 

———

“Yes.” He pulled down your thin straps and tugged from there, leaving you in only a bra and soaked underwear, the black fabric even darker. You jolted when he rubbed the damp cotton with the pad of his two fingers. It was embarrassing how sensitive you were next to a pro.

“This for me?” He gave a smirk as the red on your face deepened. He moved to your thighs to kiss and nip at the skin, and made his way up, from your hips, to your waist and collarbone. Your legs were trembling as he held onto them. Finally, he unhooked the back of your bra and slowly took it off, like revealing a delicate gift. 

The sudden cold air on your nipples made you shiver and hardened, while Satoru squished them, making you elicit a mewl you have never made. He flicked your nipples as your pupils widened, and mouth hung open. His hands were so soft and gentle.

“Sa..Satoru!” “So sensitive aren’t you?” You pouted and he laughed. “Fine fine, I’ll be nice, sort of.” You grabbed his shoulders and pulled him in to tug on his T-shirt. “Yeah? Want it off?” “Shut up.” He raised his hands, still giggling before taking it off himself to reveal his abs. 

He didn’t waste time by pulling your soaked panties off, and stuffing them in his pocket since you were too dazed to notice. He stuck his two fingers and rubbed your clothed clit inside your now bare pussy. You yelped as they sank down further before wriggling a little bit, and scissoring the gummy inner walls. 

He could feel how wet you were, poor thing hadn’t been touched properly. “You don’t touch yourself or anything?” He rasped, in awe how someone could be this delicate. You shook your head fervently, head bobbing up to meet his eyes, filled with nothing but pure lust. “Never felt good…shit!”

He kept scooping around for your juices, and delving in deeper as your walks greedily sucked him in, causing him to groan. “Fuck, baby.. so soaked and all f’me?” You nodded, whimpering.

“Oh.. Sa..Satoru! Please! I.. feel weird!” “Nah, that’s normal. You’ve never had an orgasm before?” You were so close, buckling your hips to chase the feeling before it went away. “Please! Gonna cum!” “Then cum for me pretty girl.” 

His words magically undid you, as you leaked on his sheets and coated his hand. You were almost mortified as he slowly retracted his fingers, thinking of how embarrassing it was to cum all over your brother’s best friend’s hand. But Satoru rubbed the liquid together on his fingers before sucking on it.

“Huh, sweet.” You were too high from bliss to fully realize how crazy he sounded. “Ready for round two?” 

He unzipped his jean zipper that had hidden a massive bulge outline, but once he pulled his boxers down with his jeans, his massive cock sprung out, slapping his torso right in front of you. It leaked slightly, glistening while his tip was flushed an angry pink.

Your eyes widened, and his own glimmered in your distress. “Toru.. it’s not gonna-“ “it will. I’ll make sure of it sweets. You just lie there, and let me do all the work. 

He shimmied off his pants and underwear before crawling on top of you, just to feel your lips again. You bit his lip almost so hard blood drew out, yet he didn’t care. Your hands roamed around his torso, tracing the lines of his defined body all the way to his hips. 

He looked like a Greek god, with how perfect he seemed. His long lashes looked down at you, slightly covering the oceanic eyes that seemed calm until the storm. 

“Tell me, you want this cock?” He whispered in your ear. You nodded. But he tutted, clicking his tongue, “ah ah. I need words.” And it felt like your whole vocabulary had been thrown out the window. “Need it! Need it so bad, Toru!” He groaned at the nickname and caressed your cheek before he lined up his cock into your whole.

You jolted when you felt his tip slightly touch around your puffy clit before finally hitting bullseye, and when it did you almost screamed. He was so big that it felt like he was going to tear you apart. You moaned sinfully loud, but the music downstairs was loud enough that nobody probably heard.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m only just startin’. Gonna kill me here.” His ivory damp hair covered his vision and he blew on it to see you better. You swore you must’ve looked like a mess. But all Satoru saw was the girl of his dreams, finally here with him after almost two decades of yearning for you.

Your face was bright red, mascara smudging on your eyes as tears from pure pleasure fell down your puffed cheeks. Your lips were parted, letting out beautiful moans like it was a melody. He brought your legs onto his hips as he sank down further. 

Once he bottomed out, he moaned your name out, “fuck, baby, tell me I can move. I can move, yeah?” “Please!” He gripped your ass and slowly (almost painfully) moved up before slamming back down into you like a freight train.

You almost screamed there. And he moved into a better rhythm of going and and down, the sound of his cock slipping in and out of you jiggling. You felt the bed rock, and you gripped the sheets. You arched your hips up instinctively to chase the feeling.

“Fuck, you’re sucking me in, can barely move here.” He panted while your walls just greedily sucked him in, like it had no intention of letting him out. Your hair was tousled and spread all over his bed, while he slammed into you and retracted out. 

Drool fell from your mouth and before you could even realize, Satoru caught it and kissed you again. He couldn’t get enough of your lips, the cherry lipgloss seeming like a drug to him. 

“Toru! M’ so close… so so close..” “yeah? Fuck-me too..” “pull out!” You almost screamed from the overstimulation. You wanted him to stuff you, but you knew he couldn’t. “I will, don’t worry.” As he went in deeper and faster his grip on your thighs and ass tightened.

He kissed the side of your temple, cooing praises at you while you whimpered, nuzzling into his cheek. “So pretty, so cute, so perfect for me. You are aren’tcha?” 

Your orgasm crashed down on you, leaving you half sobbing in pleasure and half screaming. Satoru pulled out quickly, and had his cum paint your stomach and his. 

——-

The room was quiet other than your pants to recollect yourselves and the heavy bass music downstairs. Satoru watched you and admired how blissed out you were, lips swollen and cheeks pink.

He leaned in to litter soft kisses all over your forehead, cheeks and chin before your lips again, but not as rough. Only sweet, almost innocent compared to what you just did. 

“So proud of you..” he murmured as he laid beside you, pulling you close into his embrace, into his chest. You curled inside of him, and he pulled his blanket up to cover your shivering body and his, although his warm heat radiating off of him was warming you up enough. 

You tilted your head on his shoulder blade, and he brushed out your hair before nuzzling the top of your head again. He really liked nuzzling you, you noticed. 

“You alright?” You hummed, too tired to form words. You laid there for another ten minutes, wanting to fall asleep, but kept fighting the drowsiness. Gojo watched you fight this losing battle before kissing your hairline.

“I’ll clean you up, you rest.” You felt the warmth leave you, as you turned your body to watch him stretch, and pad over to his closet and then bathroom, before coming back with lazily shrugged on sweatpants, a wet towel and a tshirt. 

The mattress dipped with his weight as he crawled up to you, pulling off the blanket covering you and pressing the warm towel on you. You whimpered before getting used to the texture. He rubbed your stomach stained with his cum and then between your legs before lifting your back up to pull on his baggy shirt for you. 

It smelled like him, despite how worn out it was. He laid you back down with him, and placed you on top of his bare chest. He hummed with satisfaction.

“I’ve always liked you, Y’know. Since we were kids.” He admitted quietly. “But all those girls..” “that was just me stupidly trying to get over you. Never worked, by the way.” You giggled, swatting his chest weakly. 

“Your brother had one rule for me, and that was to not date you. Especially when we got into college.” “Why?” He sighed. You looked up at him. “Thought I was a bad influence. That I’d break your heart. And honestly, I thought I wasn’t for you either..” 

He exhaled before speaking again. “I hang out with my group, have fucked more girls than I can count,  I’ve said shit to girls, and.. you’re.. good, different.” 

“I just don’t wanna fuck this up.” He said, almost scared, and unlike the cocky Gojo you’ve known your whole life. “But what about Suguru?” He ran his hand through his damp hair..

“I.. I don’t know. I can’t betray him like that.. but..” your heart sank. “Oh..” of course, he knew Suguru more than you did. That was his ride or die. So obviously, he’d pick Suguru over you, wouldn’t he? Stupid you for thinking you were special.

“I don’t wanna choose, Y’know that, sweetheart?” You didn’t wanna keep talking about it. “It’s fine. I’m sleepy..” you murmured. Satoru grimaced. He knew he shouldn’t have said that. But he held you a little tighter, covering your body until your neck as he pressed lazy kisses all over you to lull you to sleep.

He wanted you. So badly. And then.. there was your brother. He couldn’t have you. Satoru shouldn’t have you. You were right here with him, yet far far far out of reach. 

He watched your body relax, soft breathing the exact same when he’s seen you trust him around your vulnerable state. Now this time, naked, in his bed.

He hated how he shouldn’t have done it. Because his heart said he should’ve, yet it hurt. For now, he just held onto this moment of cuddling you. Feeling every part of your body to remember. Inhaling your scent mixed in with his. 

You didn’t notice all the calls that you missed from being on do not disturb. Neither did Gojo and his calls. Suguru was livid. He stared at the amount of calls that didn’t go through, almost like the calls you desperately tried making to him a few days prior.

You were woken up instead, by banging on the door. Heavy and angry knocks. And then, the door burst open, the light outside coming into the dark room. Satoru was awake, and immediately covered you with his body as you peeked from behind him. Suguru was there, panting, hair messed up and veins about to pop out of his skin.

“You wanna tell me why the fuck is my best friend and my little sister in bed together?” He asked, gritting his teeth. Your heart pounded in your head, and your grip on Satoru’s broad shoulders weakened. “Hey man, it’s not what you-“ “it isn’t? I mean, it’s pretty clear what I see.” 

“Suguru, don’t-“ “you have no right to talk, Y/n.” He snapped. He never had snapped at you this way. It slightly scared you how his actions had drastically changed since this whole incident had started. 

“Her dress is on the floor, The jacket she was wearing, she’s in your bed, the missed calls I’ve been making all night. It all makes sense Now.” You were mortified. Your older brother who had just put two and two together, and came to the conclusion that you and Satoru had sex was already gross enough.

Satoru stood out of bed, shirtless and tousled hair, while you followed suit, thank fuck for the oversized t-shirt he gave you. You nervously played with the hem of his shirt, legs still weak and your chest hurting. You could tell Suguru felt betrayed. You betrayed him. And that was the worst part.

“Why?” That’s all he said, Suguru was clearly too stunned, and hurt to say anything else. “I thought you two were my family. But now I don’t even know anymore.” He turned around. “I can report this for unregulated and illegal activity because I never gave actual consent to this, as the frat president. Let’s go, Y/n.” 

He walked off, and your chest was still beating fast. It felt hard to swallow. You looked at Satoru who slumped his way and sat on the side of his bed. “Fuck.. this was a mistake.” He ran his fingers through his tangled hair. And those words struck hard. 

“A mistake? I thought.. I thought you liked me?” You said hoarsely. “Just go home now. I fucked up, I shouldn’t have done it in the first place.” He was speaking in vague fragments right now. “So.. you’re saying you regret it? You regret what we just did?”

“Fucking go home, Y/n.” He repeated again, louder. He never said your name like that, nor was he ever mad at you. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. “I see. It was all fake. You didn’t like me. Just needed to get laid or something.” You grabbed your dress and heels from the floor and snatched your purse on the bed. 

“It was my fault thinking I was special. You just used me.” You choked, broken and with no filter. Satoru said nothing. Just heavily inhaled and exhaled. He couldn’t look at you. And you didn’t look back either. You closed the door quietly.

The party seemed to have scrambled after Suguru’s appearance. He was like a monster, it seemed. Suguru was in the car, eyes closed and head leaned back as his hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were pale. 

You were so naive to think you were special. 

You couldn’t even face Suguru so you opened his car door to the back seats. You watched his eyes flick over you through the rear mirror. “Fuckin’ Hell.” He murmured before driving off. The drive back to the apartment was too quiet.

You could tell that he kept staring at you like he didn’t know who you were. With stained makeup but the dewy afterglow, messed up hair, and hickeys littered all over your body. 

He didn’t open the door for you, why would he? But he didn’t stay for you. He slammed his own door when you arrived in the underground parking and walked to the elevator. You followed suit, and refused to look him in the eyes, or even the face.For the first time in a while, you didn’t see him glued to his phone. Instead, he was gazing at the unappealing ground, deep in thought clearly.

The second the heavy door to your apartment opened and shut automatically, you knew you were done for. 

He opened his mouth but closed it again, only sucking in some air and started laughing like this was all some joke. You felt like a little girl again, about to get yelled at by your parents. 

“I’m not stupid.” 

“I never said you were.” You mumbled out, refusing to let him walk over you just yet. “Yeah? Then why? Why after I’ve told you countless times to not talk to boys, to not go to parties without me, and most of all, to not stay close to Satoru?”

Nothing. Silence. You had broken every single one of his rules he had laid out and indented into you since you were sixteen. With Satoru who the realization slowly crept onto you.. maybe you weren’t special. But you tried putting it aside, your stubbornness shining.

“And out of all the assholes you could’ve fucked, you chose Satoru.” “I know.” “-My best friend since forever.” “I know.” “The guy who I’ve warned you about your whole life. “I know.” You raised your voice slightly. “You don’t know!” He roared.

You stood there, Satoru’s shirt still draped over your body. You wanted to hide in it. “Do you realize how much I’ve done just to try and keep you safe?” He exhaled, fists clenching and unclenching in time with his deep breaths. “I wasn’t making you follow these rules for fun, or to distance you. I was doing them for you.” You couldn’t take it anymore. “How was this for me?!” You dropped your heels. 

“Every single guy on campus knows I’m your sister, and that you’ll chop their heads off if they try getting close to me! I’m always the left out person who can’t go to parties or date in my friend group, and I listen to them laugh about the shit Itadori does, while I just try and smile and pretend that I wasn’t wishing I was there!”

You kept going, words and pent up emotions that had boiled in your turmoil of your head tumbling out of your mouth. “Guys my age and hell, older than me are scared of me because of you! So when one guy is finally giving me attention? Making me feel important? All of a sudden you can’t be happy for me?” 

“Satoru doesn’t think you’re important. That’s the truth. He says that he’s liked a girl since whatever, gives her a deep talk, fucks her stupid and ghosts her not even a day later.” Suguru spat out. “When will you realize that he gives everyone attention? He’s the campus fuckboy, not your true love, not someone who likes you, and not someone who will ever like you.”

His words hang in the air. The buzz of the heater heated nothing but background noise so the pain didn’t seep in the apartment. “Thanks. Thanks for thinking I’m not capable for a guy like him.” You laughed, nothing funny to it, except your naivety and humiliation tied to you.

“Why now do you care when all you’ve done is confine me then completely hate on everyone when you had to deal with Fushiguro and his gambling?” 

It was his turn to have nothing to say. You knew you were done. You picked up your heels, silently wincing at your strain on your legs, a haunted reminder of your poor decision for the night and headed to your room.

The next day of classes, it rained again. Not strong like a passionate love, but gloomy, with a gray sky and the way that made everything feel dull. There was no Satoru to drive you, not like you should want one, you suppose. 

You hadn’t actually talked to Suguru the past weekend. Short and curt conversations met with one word answers. He had offered to drive you to school, and you were too tired to argue. 

Suguru was stubborn. You knew this because it was always you who would have to break the silence. And it seemed like during the car ride to school, he was waiting for you to say something. But you just stared out the window, watching the raindrops hit and then leave your window.

“It’s gonna rain in the next few weeks. Make sure you wear warm clothes.” You hummed in dismissal, not wanting to entertain his light, strained conversation. He sighed. “Look, you can’t be mad at the whole world. I shouldn’t have said some things, but I don’t take back my words.”

“I’ll be mad if I want, or do you control my feelings too?” You snarkily retorted. “Let me be. I’m not talking to Gojo. That’s what you wanted, right?” 

He parked in his reserved spot, that was at least one good thing riding with him. Your spread out campus caused you to have to take transit to your department, so you gave Suguru a muttered ‘don’t wait up’ and walked to the bus that was waiting for students.

Another two minutes passed, and you scrolled on your phone mindlessly, not registering anything you saw on your feed. All the words were held meaningless when you just read the word by itself. 

Slowly, the bus piled up with students, and when the bus was about to drive off to its daily routine of around the campus and dorms nearby, it was suddenly halted by one more student, in a wet hoodie and damp hair.

You looked up instinctively and almost gasped audibly when you realized it was..Satoru?! You hoped that he wouldn’t notice you, but of course, the seat beside you was the ONLY seat available. Unless he’d stand..

“This seat taken?” You didn’t look at him. Just moved your bag to your lap and let him sit. “Hey, y/n..” “not now.” “Come on, please?” “No.” “Can you let me-“ “stop Gojo.” “I just need to explain-“ you whipped your head to him.

“Look, You don’t even take the bus, you have your sports car bought with daddy’s money. There’s nothing for you to explain. You’re just some rich brat who relies on one night stands and your looks with no personality just to get laid. You think it’s funny toying with girls and pretend nothing happened.” You snapped.

His jaw dropped slightly at your words. He slumped back on his seat. “Wow..” he quietly laughed. “Damn.. didn’t know you were carrying all of that hate for me. I came here to talk to you but I guess you don’t wanna talk.” He sounded hurt, and a part of you wanted to take back those words.

“I didn’t-“ “you did, y/n. I get it. You think I was just messin’ with you. But you don’t like me anymore.” He put his hood up to cover his damp hair. “Don’t blame you..I don’t like myself sometimes..” 

The rest of the bus ride was silent, and uncomfortable. He got off on a stop before you, grabbing his bag and leaving without saying anything to you, except a look of hurt, and like he didn’t know you anymore. You didn’t know him anymore, or maybe even ever. 

Your words replayed in your mind, and his face slowly fading by the second. He knew you knew his situation with his parents constantly kicking him out and switching up on him. The amount of times he’s had to crash at your place or the calls he tried taking in the closet where you could hear through the phone his parents yelling at him, was concerning, to say the least.

Meanwhile Satoru, he thought that you could resonate with him, due to your own parents.

Unlike any other day, he didn’t entertain or talk much during his walk to class. He gave slight waves to everyone who waved at him but didn’t go on. He settled in class beside his frat brother; Choso, who was always on time and always asleep. 

“Fuck.. got way too high last night.” Choso groaned, getting up from his sleep and turning to Gojo, and ran his fingers through his black locks. 

“My baby brother got laid last night.” He sleazed a grin. “They grow up so fast.. didn’t realize he swung the other way though.” 

“Wait what?” 

“Yeah, Toji’s younger brother. At least he’s a good influence on Yuji.” “Huh, good for him.” Satoru murmured. “You don’t.. you aren’t mad at your brother?” Choso frowned. “Nah, why would I? He can handle himself. S’long as he doesn’t touch my weed. Why?”

Satoru leaned back on his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I think I fucked up.” “Why? What’d you do?” “I fucked Suguru’s sister.” 

Choso straightened. “Are you insane?” He hissed. “That’s why he found out about the party, right?”

Gojo sighed. “Y’think he’s mad at me?” Kamo snorted. “Gee, I don’t know. He’s only made one of the biggest commotion in the fraternity that his sister was off limits.” Satoru shoved Choso. “Alright, chill! Yeah, he’s mad at you. What about her?”

“She probably hates me. I don’t blame her.” “I don’t either.” Nanami walked in, actually prepared for his class. “Dude, you were supposed to distract Geto. What happened?” Kento rolled his eyes. “I was supposed to distract him from the party. I couldn’t do anything when my girlfriend was worried about Y/n Geto and called me frantically. She sees her as a little sister.”

“Respectfully, this wouldn’t happen if it wasn’t for your girl, Nanami.” The blonde clicked his tongue. “No, it wouldn’t have happened if you slept with her. My girlfriend was just scared.” And he walked off, sitting far far away from them, with good reason. 

“How’s he still in the frat..” Kamo muttered. “No, he’s right. It is my fault. But God knows when the Getos want to talk to me again.” 

——

“Yuji, please don’t tell them..” Megumi groaned, face buried in his hands and mortified as Yuji giggled about the ‘things’ that they did, slinging an arm around his now boyfriend’s shoulders. 

“Yeah, you guys all owe me bubble tea. I told you it was gonna be at a party.” Nobara smirked triumphantly. “Tuna mayo.” Inumaki sighed, pretending to open his wallet, and realizing nothing was in it.

Megumi rolled his eyes but met where you were being too quiet. “What, you haven’t teased me this whole time. You doin’ alright?” “M’fine.” You mumbled. 

Nobara grabbed your face dramatically. “You’re the worst liar I’ve seen.” “I lie better than Yuji.” You half heartedly protest. “We all do, he’s not part of the contest. But come on, tell us.” Maki pressed.

“Yeah, I want to change the subject.” Megumi raised his eyebrows and you give a sheepish smile. “Well, it’s still about getting laid…” you took an inhale for moral support. “I may or may not have had my first time with Gojo but my brother hates me now and I’m pretty sure Gojo was leading me on.” You said all in a mouthful.

There was pure silence until.. “the fuck did you just say?” 

After explaining again about the recent weeks and about Satoru, you took a sip of your room temperature iced coffee. Ew. 

“Damn, Suguru must wanna kill Satoru now.” Maki muttered as the rest of the group all processed it. Yuji seethed his teeth. “Listen, I’m telling you this because you’re my friend, but you do realize he is considered the fuckboy..right?”

You groan outwardly, slightly hitting your head on the wooden campus cafe table and burying yourself. “He said he’s liked me since childhood! And he told me he didn’t even like the frat life sometimes. Who stoops that low?” 

“I mean I guess it’s weird why he specifically wanted you instead of the other chicks and hell, famous influencers at that party.” Kugisaki mused. “Salmon?” Inumaki asked. 

“No, I still haven’t given back his jacket. But I already hated on him on the bus today, he doesn’t wanna hear from me again.” You sighed, blowing a messy strand of hair from your face.

“What’d you say?” “Nothing, just the fact that he’s an egotistical spoiled brat. Which is half true, but still kinda mean. I don’t know what to do.” “Do you still like him?” Maki asked quietly. You paused. Did you? “He probably doesn’t like me.”

 “But I’m asking if you like him.” 

“I’m.. I’m not sure anymore.” 

——

Satoru knew his practice was shit, with Coach Yaga ridiculing him into doing wind sprints across the field. He didn’t even care, or make any joke the whole two hours. Your words from earlier had chanted in his ear like a mantra, and every time the meaning cut deeper. Not because he’d ever heard those words associated with him before, but because they came from you.

You were supposed to be Suguru’s baby sister. Not part of his world. And he dragged you in. No wonder you definitely loathed him. And there was someone else who must’ve loathed him at that moment. He could feel your brother’s sharp gaze on him as he ran across the field in front of the rest of the team. 

Suguru’s jaw was ticking. The only time he’s seen his ‘best friend’ the whole day. And how he wanted to smash Satoru’s fucking face. If he was angry at you, he was absolutely seething at the thought of that sleazy grin beside a fucked out you. 

When Yaga called the practice short, muttering off about ‘hopeless dumbasses’ the rest of the team, sweaty and covered in grass marks walked off, laughing while Satoru tried blending in the whole group. Suguru stalked behind, his fist clenching so hard his veins just might pop off. 

Satoru was taking longer than the rest of the team, they all had yelled at him to hurry up before leaving. Satoru just stood at his gym locker, looking down at his shirtless torso. There was a hickey near his pec that was fading away, like it was also your way of leaving him. It was your hickey, well, you in your panic just held onto his pec a little too hard. 

And before Satoru could register anything, he was punched right in the face by a flying fist. Satoru braced himself from falling off balance, being caught off guard and was met with Suguru who was red, eyes sharp and narrow as his eyebrows creased in an unusual shape for him. 

Suguru grabbed his friend by his silver chain and slammed him against the lockers. 

His usually calm expression was gone, replaced by bloodshot eyes and a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

Suguru seized the silver chain around Satoru’s neck, fisting the fabric of his shirt with it, and slammed him hard against the row of lockers. The metal rattled loudly through the empty locker room.

“Tell me I went insane,” Suguru hissed. Satoru’s lip split against his teeth. “…You didn’t.” Suguru’s grip tightened. “You slept with my little sister.” There was Silence, maybe in the background a shower head leaking slightly for water drops to fall, to either break or increase the tension. 

“Answer me!” “I slept with her, happy?.” And Another punch landed across Satoru’s cheek.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Suguru shouted. “She’s my sister!”Satoru wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, refusing to look away. “You think I don’t fucking know?” “Clearly not. You knew and you still did it?”

“Yeah.”

Suguru shoved him into the lockers again. “Were you high?” “No.” “Don’t tell me..Was she?” “…No, I didn’t let her near any of Choso’s shit.” Satoru answered too calmly for someone bleeding.

“So you both knew exactly what you were doing, and what you were doing to me.” Satoru stayed quiet. That silence was all Suguru needed. 

His fist connected with Satoru’s ribs this time, Satoru suppressed his winces, refusing to back down. “Say something!” Suguru yelled and Satoru finally snapped.

“What do you want me to say?” “I don’t know, That it was a mistake!”

“It wasn’t.”

Suguru froze for half a second. Then he swung again.Satoru caught his wrist before the punch could land.“Enough.”

Suguru ripped his arm free.“Don’t touch me.”

“You came here to hit me, not to listen.”

“Yeah, that was my sister you fucked around with.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her or you.”

“But You already did. She’s not talking to me, I’m not talking to her.”

Satoru’s jaw clenched.

“And whose fault is that? She made her own choice, Suguru.”

“Don’t stand there and act like this is some love story.” Suguru growled, patience waning.

“I’m not acting.” Suguru laughed bitterly. “Then we’re done.”

“Suguru—”

“Its like I never fucking knew who you were.”The words hung in the air, heavier than any punch he’d thrown. Your brother stormed off, leaving Satoru bruised and with a punctured lip. 

“Fuck..” the ivory haired boy exhaled, sliding down the wall of lockers. What was he supposed to do?

What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t take back those words. And you refused to talk to Suguru. Not like he could help you anyways. 

Thank goodness for your friends, since they practically barged  into your room as you were wallowing in misery and regret  and dragged you out of there, to Choso’s car, where he was in the front seat, tossing his keys. 

“Hey Choso.” You waved at him. “Sheesh, you look higher than me, you alright?” You gave a tired smile. “Never been better. How’s Yuki?” He blushed and looked away, scratching the back of his head. 

“Uh… well, you know what? The whole purpose of college is to learn and make friends and memories, not just love and you know-“ “she’s lesbian isn’t she?” “Fuck all of you.”

When you got to the mall, Nobara decided to drag you (and maki) towards a large clothing store. “See you guys on the other side! We’re going shopping!” She yelled to the others who were left behind. “I feel bad for Toge, he’s a third wheel now.” You murmured. “Toge will be fine, let’s talk about you! Retail therapy you know?”

Maki already went to her type of section so, it was just you and Nobara, who was making you try out clothes as she looked for more clothing. You stood in the booth, staring at yourself in the mirror. Nobara had picked out a light pink dress. The straps tied in bows and the ruffles barely to your thighs. It looked too small. “Nobara?” You called for her, hoping to ask for a bigger size.

You huffed after no response, drawing the curtain out where Nobara should’ve been sitting on the tiny seat across from your booth. You looked around, leaning a little. “Nobara?” You heard a low and predatory whistle behind you and you whipped around.

“Damn, ain’t a pretty thing like you so bold,I’ve seen you around .” A blonde haired man and unfortunately familiar face grinned. You crossed your arms around your chest, suddenly realizing how much cleavage the tiny dress had dared to expose. “Hey, don’t be shy now..”

“Fuck off.” You snapped, though a hint of your voice quivered. “Chill, what don't you remember me? I’m Maki's cousin?” He dared to step closer, and you stepped into the booth. But he drew the curtain to expose your booth.

“Get out!” You tried pushing him, but he held onto the doorframe. “Damn, someone’s feisty.” “Yo Zenin, she said to fuck off.” The blonde haired turned his head, to the familiar voice. “You again? What’s it to you, Gojo?” “That’s Geto’s sister there.” Satoru warned.

The Zen’in barked out a laugh. “Oh shit, she’s one of the girls you slept with? Fuck, no wonder Geto hates your ass.” You winced at his first sentence and Satoru’s fist clenched before shoving him. “Fuck off Naoya.” Naoya raised his hands, still flashing a cocky smile. “Yeah? It's not like she’s yours.”

“He’s with me.” You jumped in. Satoru’s grip on Naoya’s shirt loosened slightly. “So can you leave?” Naoya shoved Satoru before walking away, muttering “can’t get bitches nowadays.” 

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, before looking up at Satoru, who seemed to have caught your eyes at the same time as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You alright?” “Yeah. Thanks..” “yeah, sure thing.” He looked away and that’s when you noticed a large bruise formed on his eyes, with his sunglasses covering them. “Hey, what happened on your eye?”

He slightly chuckled, no real laugh to it. “This? Got into a fight with Suguru. Nothing really.” “Satoru..” “y/n, it’s fine..” “no, I wanted to talk about what I said the other day? When I called you a rich-“ “hey, seriously, it’s fine. You’re right.” He turned around a little to not fully face you.

“You know what? I am cocky, I am a playboy, and you and Suguru has every reason to hate me.” “Satoru..” “I’m sorry, I should leave.” And before his back faced you he said one last thing. “You look beautiful as always.” And he walked off, hands in his hoodie pocket.

 “Heyy! Oh my gosh, this dress looks-“ “I’m not buying it.” You interrupted your friend who finally came back. You were too drained, even retail therapy made you wake up.

You wanted to go home and cry. 

Satoru wanted to go home and cry.

You wanted to have touched his bruise.

He would’ve let you.

You would’ve cradled his face, and scolded him.

He’d nuzzle in and chuckled at your banter.

You would’ve let him kiss you.

And he would’ve said everything that he wanted to say for the both of you.

Satoru couldn’t feel this way about a girl, he was Satoru Gojo the fuckboy. The king of parties. Yet he didn’t want to crash at a party today. He didn’t want to feel anyone else, if they weren’t you. All other girls he’d slept with were experienced, rough, and stupid on his dick.

You made it feel intimate, soft and loving. Not just sex, but every time he snuck around to talk to you. Going out of his way just to interact with you. It was raining again. Of course it was. 

He was blocked on all platforms from you. Or Suguru. He didn’t know.  Just knew that it was too quiet. He didn’t have his best friend to annoy, and he didn’t have you to keep awake on a Friday, now Saturday 2 am. He had his varsity jacket back, after you gave it back through a chain of people directly to him, though he wished you could’ve kept it.

He watched heavy rain land onto his window before sadly sliding down despite trying to grasp onto the glass. It oddly reminded him of his state. Just a couple days ago had he been hugging you on this bed. If he was crazy enough, he could faintly smell your scent on his bedsheets. No other girl’s perfume scent lasted this long. 

Satoru’s phone beside him buzzed and he snatched it before sighing, realizing that no, it wasn’t who he was looking for. Just another instagram dump, and tags of people wishing that the party master was here. 

Then, Satoru’s stomach growled. Loudly. He hadn’t eaten anything all day, he couldn’t fathom to eat anything. But he forced himself up. Nothing would probably be open right now, and he didn’t feel like driving. Well, the convenience store a few hundred meters down was. 

He took the longer way out of the fraternity, not interested in interacting with the party and being held up. He took the slow elevator ride down, and put his hood up, despite the rain being not as gentle as he anticipated. 

The walk was only a few minutes, he could survive. He popped an AirPod in and walked out of the building, with flashing lights and loud rave music that annoyed him at the moment.

He shivered, wishing he brought an umbrella, but didn’t turn back, didn’t let himself turn back. And finally he got to the 24/7 store. The sliding doors opened for him and jingled while the old lady on the register smiled at her. Satoru forced a smile and walked off before she could say anything. He felt bad but he didn’t want to entertain her. 

He wandered around the sections, the sounds of the door sliding and the jingle it made followed along with the lady’s welcome as he walked around. Trying to find something easy to make.

Gojo went into the Ramen aisle, with countless types of brands and flavours until he found the pink Buldak one, your favourite-“Huh, I thought you can’t handle spice.” He whipped his head and his eyes found yours. You reached in to grab the packet you wanted. 

“You’re still addicted to that hell?” He responded. You slightly smiled. “Careful, maybe I’ll make you eat it again and watch you cry.” “You wound me.” You looked up to see his damp hair, the part that wasn’t covered by the his hoodie from the rain. 

“You’re soaked. What’re you doing here this late anyways? Isn’t there a party?” You added the last part with a mutter. “I.. I didn’t want to be there.. and I couldn’t sleep.” Satoru admitted sheepishly. Your eyebrows raised. “You.. you didn’t wanna go to a party.” You repeated. And Satoru shrugged. “Just couldn’t. What about you?”

You sighed, looking at the singular pink Buldak packet in your basket, along with a few other snacks, “same.. and I guess I just wanted some comfort food.” He nodded. “Fair enough. Is it too much to eat with you? Not that flavour though, hell no..” you chuckled, and Satoru’s heart missed a beat. 

The two of you after paying sat down onto the stools the store provided. It was silent, as the two of you stirred the noodles from your bowls. His presence was comforting to you, but it felt so strained. “Hey..” Satoru broke the silence . You looked up at him.

“Are.. are we gonna keep pretending we’re strangers?”

You paused, staring into his eyes. Swirled like a tsunami in confusion, sadness, who knew? He then coughed, before sniffling into his hoodie sleeve. “God, you didn’t even bring an umberella or a car?” 

He smiled tiredly. “Didn’t think it was too bad out.” Reluctantly you raised a hand out. And you hovered it near his face before you knew what you were doing. You searched his expression for a yes, before placing your warm hand onto his cold and damp cheek, slightly pink from either you or the chilliness.

And Satoru didn’t even notice himself nuzzling into your palm, releasing a relieved sigh. Droplets of water from his ivory locks dropped onto your hand, and you made no sign of pulling away.

“Are you gonna answer my question?” Satoru asked. You paused again, hand still on his cheek as he scooted closer. “Gojo..I.. I shouldn’t have said things like that.. I.. I was mad. Mad because I thought you were leading me on.” 

“You had every right to.. I don’t blame you.” Satoru looked away. “Everyone I know, they told me to stay away from you, that I’d just get hurt. But I thought that maybe, maybe you saw me differently. It was stupid, but-“ 

“you were different. You still are. Who else have I let them stay in my room to get away from the party? Who else do I randomly pick up on the side of a highway? Who else makes me feel so numb I can’t even go to a fucking party?”

He leaned in closer. “Y/n, you don’t understand how long I’ve liked you for. How long I pretended that it was just a phase, despite the fact that I’m still not over it ten years later.” His hands found your thighs, his thumb rubbing your sweatpants. His hood fell off his hair, and his head found your shoulder, burying himself inside of it.

“Your brother hates me. I bet he’s always known I’ve had a crush on his sister. And I don’t blame him, since I’m just a fuckboy. Don’t hate me too.” “Toru..” his wavy hair dampened the shoulder of your hoodie, yet you could care less.

 “Look at me.” You whispered. He rose up to meet you, and you could notice how his eyes were glossed as he bit the inside of his cheek. “I love you. Fuck, I’ve loved you for years. I’ve only wanted you, and I just couldn’t figure out how to deal with it. Don’t hate me. Please..” “I couldn’t ever hate you, Toru.” He sniffled, the bottom of his lips quivering as he nodded. 

“God, I don’t know how to date. I haven’t done this before.. just hookups and the end, but I don't want an ‘end’ with you. I want to try for you..” you cradled his face before kissing him. 

He immediately melted into the kiss, the same cherry lipgloss meeting his tastebuds again. Your hands found and wrapped his neck while his own found its place on the dip of your waist and behind your head, cradling it. 

You finally pulled away, wanting to look at him. “Suguru.. he’ll fucking hate my guts. He won’t ever-“ “no.. I’ll talk sense into him. We can talk sense into him, I promise, sweetheart. I love you..” and he kissed you one more time. In the rain, inside a convenience store, over spicy ramen and hoodies at two in the morning. 

The great hall feels almost suffocating as you quietly step in, footsteps drowned out by the sound of kimonos rustling and conversation as clan members drifted past in clusters. The lanterns hung, casting a glowing golden light over the polished wooden floors, light catching the wooden frame of carved screens. The air hung heavy with expectations and clan politics, something you’ve grown used to from years and years of attending similar events. A glance up at the railing along the stair landing reveals banners of crests hung, a heavy reminder of the bloodlines that are present tonight as the most powerful sorcerer clans in Kyoto met in this building. 

You anxiously smooth the fabric on the sides of your kimono, inhaling a sharp breath as you begin to make your way through the crowd of elders. Most of them were involved in their own conversation, while you were already searching for an escape route before you could even hold a full conversation. Familiar faces of distant family members pass by, offering the very typical questions that always got the same rehearsed responses. A bow, a smile, a side hug while they bombard you with questions.

“Wow, you’ve grown up so beautifully.”

“Thank you,” accompanied by a respectful bow.

“How are your parents? Are they here tonight?”

“Yes, they are.” An excuse for an escape, “I’m actually looking for them now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“I haven’t seen you since you were thiis small.”

“It has been a long time,” they saw you no less than six months ago at the last clan gathering, but you offer a small smile anyway.

These questions were tamer in comparison to the,

“And have you found a suitor yet?” No

“Are you planning on settling down soon?” Definitely not

“You shouldn’t be taking all those solo missions, don’t you get lonely?” Not really no

Every question pricked under your skin like a tiny wooden splinter, just irritating enough to be difficult to dismiss, forcing you to hold your expression steady and tight and spit out some diplomatic yet vague answer. 

Everything had always been decided for you from when you were young. When your clan discovered you had cursed energy during your adolescence, a switch had flipped, and suddenly the world felt like it was heavier around your small shoulders. The same sentiment followed through your teenage to young adult years, which led to where you found yourself now, running away to any extended assignments available to sorcerers of your level, anything that would relieve the feeling of being under the l/n clan’s thumb.

You hadn’t realized the tightness in your shoulders or the pursing of your lips until you found reprieve in the landing above the ballroom, shoulders dropping back and facial muscles relaxing. You lean against the carved railing, breathing out a slow, measured sigh as you watch the whirl of movement below, the taste of unspoken words sitting on your tongue. It felt heavy to be back in this room, the weight of familial pressure laid on your shoulders, and you were already looking forward to another assignment that would hopefully take up a decent amount of your time. The hall shimmered beneath you, full of laughter and calculated smiles. The exhaustion of being amongst the clan members hung over you like a dark cloud, but from up on the staircase landing, it felt easier to pretend this was all just a painting–flat, harmless, and far away. 

A flicker of white catches your eye, and you glance over to your left. Six–maybe ten feet away– stood Gojo Satoru in a similar position, leaning over the railing. He raises his left hand in a lazy wave, barely flicking his wrist for the movement. You rest your cheek on your own shoulder and sigh, lifting your own hand back with hardly any energy. Social exhaustion had already set in, and you certainly didn’t have the energy to entertain Gojo Satoru at this moment. As if he can sense that fact, he saunters over in about three long steps. 

“Madam l/n,” he drawls, grin crooked and voice teasing. You glance up at him as he occupies the space by your side, head tilting in mock formality, “Escaping your familial duties already?”

Your patience–already worn thin from the bombardment of personal questions in the hall below you–began to fray more than it already was. You purse your lips, “Don’t you have more important things to do, Gojo?” Your tone a bit more biting than you had initially intended.

If he noticed, he did nothing to show it, already tilting his head downwards at you, bright blue eyes glancing over the edge of his dark sunglasses frames. His grin widened, curling at the edge of his lips as he was ready to toss something flippant back until a shrill, familiar voice cut through the low hum of the crowd below.

“Oh! Is that my dear Y/N?”

You stiffened, turning halfway. Your aunt beams at you, rapidly approaching with a tall man at her side who is already moving towards Gojo. He claps a strong hand on the sorcerer’s shoulder that would have made you flinch but Gojo remains still, offering a warm smile to your aunt and to who you presume to be his relative. The man announces himself as a distant uncle to him and earnestly shakes your hand.

“What an unexpected–but lovely–couple!” his low voice booms. 

You blink. The implication regarding just how unexpected your pairing would be almost makes you roll your eyes because you presume it has absolutely nothing to do with Gojo so much as it has everything to do with you. 

A man chooses not to be involved in a relationship and throws himself into his work, he’s seen as an independent leader who’s focused on his career but when you do it, you’re a reckless, immature girl who’s probably gonna die alone, or even worse, won’t pass on inherited clan techniques. 

Your aunt clasps her hands together, nodding along eagerly, ”Truly, what a beautiful couple!” Then, in a lower tone as she leans into you, “Posture, dear.”

The urge to roll your eyes comes back along with a sharp snap of irritation that burns your throat–which you swallow down and will your shoulders back and your spine straight– until you realize the context of the conversation. Couple. Your first instinct is to vehemently deny until a thought pops up in your head.

From the corner of your eye, Gojo lifts both hands in an easy denial, fingertips pointed toward the coffered ceiling and a respectful smile on his mouth, uttering the words, “Oh, no, you’ve got the wrong ide-”

Before he could finish, your arm shoots out, looping through the crook of his arm and taking just the smallest step closer to his body. An unnaturally wide and tight smile on your face as you chirp, “Thank you!” You will your eyes forward and glance between both his uncle and your aunt, who have a pleasantly surprised expression on their faces. “It’s … um … a new development?” Your voice cracking against your will. 

You risk a glance over and up at him and find that he’s already peering down at you behind his sunglasses. You look up at him with almost pleading eyes, still tightly attached to the crook of his arm and stiff as ever. You almost miss the way his stiff smile fades, his expression faltering before a wide grin finds its way on his face easily, delight glinting in his gaze. 

He effortlessly pulls you just the tiniest bit closer, “Thank you, Miss L/N, Uncle,” he says smoothly, “We haven’t had the chance to properly come out as a couple yet, so tonight seemed perfect, didn’t it?” 

Your pulse stutters at the sudden closeness, the heat from his arm searing into the hand you had wrapped around his bicep. Gojo easily steers the conversation, laughing with his uncle and trading polite quips with your aunt, who briefly places a hand on his arm while laughing at a joke he made. For once, you’ve found yourself quiet, watching how they were both so easily charmed by his confidence and relaxed demeanor. 

It’s not until your aunt pats your arm, cooing at you both, that you realize you’ve tuned out the entire conversation. “It was so nice to see you both,” she smiles and reaches to pinch your cheeks and you begrudgingly let her, “especially together,” she tacks on with a sly wink at you. 

You blinked, a beat too late, before chirping back, “Nice to see you both as well!” As your aunt and his uncle drift back and blend into the crowd, you hesitantly turn your head up towards the sorcerer to your right. Gojo is already looking at you with a crooked grin and blue eyes glinting with mischief. A beat. You immediately move to untangle your arm from his like he was on fire, heat prickling your face. 

“Wooww,” he draws out, voice teasing, “Who knew little Miss L/N has been secretly in love with me this whole time?” 

You huff in response, smoothing down the material of your sleeve as if brushing off the contact and returning to your usual posture. You’ve known Satoru your entire life but you could hardly count him as a family friend or even someone you grew up with. You saw him at the occasional clan gathering, similar to the one tonight, and it became less and less frequent as the two of you got older. Your training got more and more intensive, especially once you started reaching your teenage years and from what you heard, he was shipped off to Tokyo to study at a specialized Jujutsu school. But, on the rare occasion when you did see him, he was nothing short of the worst migraine you’ve ever experienced. 

Gojo leans back against the railing again, clearly unbothered, tucking his hands into the wide sleeves of his haori. “Y’know,” he starts and the urge to roll your eyes comes back. You should really stop that. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but I’m not really on the market for a wife right now,” he pauses to look down to make eye contact with you, grin curling a bit wider, “And, trust me, I get it and I’m sure you’re devastated right now which, in all fairness, makes sense. I mean, I’m tall, the strongest sorcerer, strikingly handsome, charming—“ 

You wrinkle your nose, scrunching up your face in disgust. “Ew, be serious,” you mutter, allowing yourself to roll your eyes for the first time tonight. “I just needed them to leave me alone.” You cross your arms over your chest despite the restraint from your kimono. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in, your shoulders relaxing with the exhale. 

A beat.

“Thank you,” you say a little quietly, struggling to make eye contact with Gojo. 

He blinks at you, presumably a bit surprised by the sudden change in your rather tense attitude. “You’re welcome.”

-

Soft sunlight peeks through the blinds of your Tokyo apartment as the violent buzzing of your phone vibrating against the nightstand pulls you from your sleep. After a long night of fighting a rather difficult curse, it would be nice to be allowed to sleep in. Your eye is already twitching from irritation as you groggily fumble for your phone. You squint at the brightly glowing screen, tapping the answer button before pressing it into your ear. 

“Hello?” Your voice rasped, thick with sleep. Squinting again, you pull it from your ear to double-check the caller ID when the sound of your mother’s voice blaring through the phone speaker shocked you. 

“Y/N!” 

You wince at the sound, jerking the phone further from your ear. You peel some hair stuck to your cheek from sleep as her words begin to blur together in a tirade far too fast-paced for your still half-dreaming brain to comprehend. You rub your free hand over your face again, attempting to rub the sleep away so you can at least try to make sense of the noise. It sounds like a jumble of nonsense to your half awake consciousness, something about your father and the clan, something else about—

“—seeing Gojo Satoru—“

And that causes your eyes to snap open. You’re fully awake and shoot up in bed, blanket slipping from your shoulders onto your lap. “What?” you ask almost incredulously. You’re simultaneously shocked and confused, unsure of where she could’ve heard something so outrageous. “I’m not—“

Oh. Oh.

You think of the chandelier-lit ballroom, your aunt’s shrill voice and his uncle’s booming laugh. You had honestly only planned to use Gojo as some sort of scapegoat, an out to the otherwise nagging conversation you would have had with your aunt. It was such a ridiculous conversation that you had honestly completely disregarded the entire situation the second you walked away rather awkwardly.  And now it’s all coming back to bite you in the ass. 

You press the phone mic to your shoulder to cover your childlike tantrum as much as you could while you groaned and kicked the blanket off your body. You look at the time. 8:12 am. Definitely too early for you to deal with all of this right now. 

“Y/N, are you listening?” your mom’s voice snaps, drawing your attention back to the conversation, utter disbelief in her tone, “I just cannot believe you didn’t tell us you were seeing Gojo Satoru out of all people!”

“Yeah, Mom,” you clear your throat, trying to will the rasp from sleep away. “I- um- it’s really nothing serious. I don’t even know if you could call it … seeing each other.” 

Which, technically, wasn’t a lie. You definitely couldn’t call it seeing each other. 

“Don’t be silly, y/n,” your mother shot back immediately. You start to tune her out again while she rattles off. Something about settling down, finding a suitor, having an heir, passing on the clan’s cursed technique. You stare at the space on your wall, mostly focused on how you’re planning on handling the Gojo situation while your mom continues on about clan politics sandwiched between personal criticism. 

You sigh, breaking her lecture, “Okay, mom, I have to go.” Your fingers absentmindedly rub your temples as they threaten to split open. 

“Alright, sweetie. Bye, love you! Don’t forget!”

You blinked. “…Forget what?”

“Dinner with the Gojos!”

The line went dead before you could protest. You fall backwards onto the bed, dropping your arm with the heavy weight of the phone onto the bed, both arms fully extended. You comb your fingers through your hair in an attempt to tame the mess that sat on top of your head, letting out a deep exhale. You stare at the ceiling as if it would offer some sort of divine intervention and at this point, you really hope the sky would open up and swallow you whole. 

Dinner. With the Gojos.

You sit up again as an almost outrageous idea came to you. Not quite divine intervention, but you’ll take it.

-

The cafe was overstimulating to say the least. The pastel colored walls, decorated with hand-painted fruit, were enough to give you a headache, but paired with the little white lace doilies under the plates, it was all a bit overwhelming. The display case near the register was littered with intricately decorated cakes, and the smell of sickeningly sweet desserts clung thick in the air. Yet somehow, you were not surprised that this was Gojo Satoru’s meeting spot of choice.

You sit across from him at a small heart-shaped table that hardly has enough leg room for you, let alone a six-foot-three freak. You look at the plate in front of Gojo, a white and baby blue elaborately frosted cake slice, adorned with sliced strawberries. He’s already got a fork in hand. You glance down at the drink in front of you, colorful swirls and whipped cream stacked high in one of those warped, wavy milkshake cups. You absentmindedly begin to use the plastic straw to swirl the drink around, mixing the bright colors into something muddy. 

You blink at Gojo across from you. “You like this place?” you mutter, unable to hide the genuine surprise behind your voice. He’s practically beaming at the slice of cake in front of him, and you watch as he moves the piece of cake on the fork to his mouth. He lets out a dramatic hum of pure enjoyment and you can tell his eyes are shut behind his sunglasses.

“Oh yeah,” he manages to get out between chews, nodding as he’s still chewing. “Had a girl take me here once.” 

You want to roll your eyes. Of course, he had. You could practically see her now–head over heels and hopeful, probably so excited to take him to what was likely one of her favorite cafes in Tokyo just for him to eventually dump her. And then, in typical Gojo fashion, he stole it from her and claimed it as his own. That poor girl probably never set foot in here again, nursing her wounded pride every time she unfortunately had to pass this street corner. All because the cafe was forever branded with his name now. Like a man would. You feel bad for the girl.

You watch as he shovels another bite of cake into his mouth, blissfully unbothered, and let out a sigh. “Word got out that we’re dating,” you lower your voice, raising your fingers to do air quotations, “Which, by the way, was probably from your uncle.” That just gets you a nonchalant shrug from Gojo. “Anyways, I was just thinking-”

“Ooh, dangerous,” he teases, mischief glinting in his eyes over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Look,” you continue, ignoring his comment and crossing your arms over your chest, “And please don’t let this go to your head but I feel like this may work.” He sets his fork down with a soft clink, one eyebrow tipped upwards. “I just,” you glance around the cafe, refusing to make eye contact, “It just gets a little exhausting, y’know? Everyone’s so focused on clan politics and passing on cursed techniques. I just kinda want everyone off my back and it worked in that conversation with my aunt so maybe if we just.. I don’t know,” you take a sharp inhale, “pretend to date–just for a little while–they’ll back off.” 

You purse your lips as he looks at you, expression almost unreadable, nodding silently while you talk. You start fidgeting in your seat a little, hands toying with the lace doily placed under your slowly melting drink. “And only for a short amount of time. And then we can have some crazy natural-disaster-level breakup and they’ll never bother us again.” You add the last part for drama.

Surprisingly, he listens without interrupting and you almost want to make a comment but decide to bite your tongue. He leans back in his chair, relaxed and shrugs, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

You blink, a little caught off guard, fully expecting some theatrics from him. “That’s it…?”

“Mm,” he hums, shrugging and draping an arm over the back of his chair. “Simple enough.”

“It’s not simple.” You scoff, a little defensive.

“Isn’t it?” He suggests easily, eyebrows raised in mock curiosity.

Something about his response causes irritation to prick under your skin. You tighten your crossed arms around yourself, “Well, no, it’s not. There’s… um,” you purse your lips again, glancing down at the table before making eye contact with him again, “I have terms and conditions.”

A lopsided grin finds its way onto his mouth, “Okay. Shoot.”

“No touching,” you state firmly.

He hums again, tilting his head to the side a bit, finger tapping his chin as if he were in deep thought about a world-shattering problem. “Kinda hard to be fake dating if we can’t touch.”

You open your mouth, and then close. You hadn’t thought about that. Frankly, you hadn’t really put much thought into any details about this entire situation. “...Fine. But don’t go getting any ideas.” You narrow your eyes at him accusingly.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn't.” He practically drawls his words mockingly and the irritation is back. You almost want to snap at him, asking what he meant by that, but instead you choose to roll your eyes, which, unfortunately, gets a chuckle out of him.

“And we only appear at clan-related events together. No extra stuff.”

“Okay,” he replies easily, too easily, that same playful smile tugging at his mouth.

“…And I get to break up with you.”

That earns a real laugh out of him, bright and unrestrained. “Is that really realistic? C’mon.”

You scoff, refusing to even dignify that with a response and take an angry sip from your straw.

“Alright, alright,” he lifts both hands in mock defense, fingertips pointed to the ceiling, “I suppose you can break up with me.”

“Okay,” you say, chin tilted high, satisfaction curling in your chest for some reason.

“Alright.”

“Okay.”

“Do you always need to have the last word?” he asks in that same teasing tone that you’re really starting to hate.

“Yes.”

-

The first time you and Gojo play couple is at your family home in Kyoto, a month after your scheme. You’ve honestly been trying to figure out how to get out of it for weeks but to no avail so there you find yourself sitting beside Gojo at the long, low table on a zabuton cushion. The shoji screens had been pushed open to reveal the carefully manicured gardens outside, allowing a welcome breeze to enter the room. Every elder, clan higher-up, even distant relatives with any sort of valuable opinion sit lining the table, stiff posture furthering the heaviness of formality in the air.

You sit on your knees, hands placed in your lap, twiddling your fingernails to anchor yourself somehow. Meanwhile, beside you, Satoru is fully lounging, long legs stretched out comfortably under the table and one elbow propped up lazily on the edge, supporting his chin. His sunglasses catch the warm glow of the lantern light, hiding his eyes but you can practically feel his stare. The first course comes out, a clear soup with vegetables, and you accept it graciously, hoping that it gives your nervous hands something to do. As you raise the soup spoon up, the voice of an elder cuts through the quiet clinking of porcelain.

“y/n, didn’t you grow up with Satoru?” he questions. Technically, you had but you would hardly consider each other acquaintances. Even now, as you sit practically shoulder to shoulder with him, you wonder if you could even call yourselves acquaintances. “What brought you two together so suddenly?”

You pause, lowering the bowl back to the table. Your brain is scrambling for anything even remotely acceptable to say. “Uh,” you manage to squeak out, “It was pretty sudden for me too. I guess, when you know, you know?” You glance over at Gojo who still has a lazy tilt to his head, hoping for rescue from your weak answer.

“Mm,” Gojo hums, tipping his head back like he was considering the question seriously, “I like to think she’s had a crush on me since we were kids, but it took her until now to come to terms with the fact that she’s been in love with me this whole time.” 

Your pulse spikes and you whip your head toward him. He has nothing to offer you but a lazy, playful grin. You give the elders a tight-lipped smile in agreement and return to your bowl. You hear some soft murmurs echo around the table and you’re unsure what the general consensus is.

You’re nearly finished with your soup by the time another elder speaks up, “Do you think your kids will inherit limitless like Gojo or the l/n clan’s technique?” 

The question about kids has you almost choking on your soup but Gojo answers smoothly, “We’ll be happy with either one.” You nod along, not trusting your voice after nearly swallowing a carrot.

By the time the second course arrives, the conversation has drifted from you and Gojo and there’s now the low hum of everyone engaged in their own private conversations. The servers bring out a new set of plates with slices of sashimi. You reach for your chopsticks and unfortunately, make the mistake of making eye contact with Gojo next to you. He’s already got a happy smile on his face, chopsticks in one hand. 

“Open up, my sweet princess,” he commands, far too loudly. Your eyes widen in surprise as he begins to lift a piece, moving it towards you with exaggeration. You worriedly glance around the table where all eyes are now locked on the two of you, silence falling on the room. You can feel the heat pricking at the back of your neck, rising to your ears, a nervous smile twitching your lips. More murmurs are going around the table. You hesitantly allow him to feed you the piece of sashimi, pursing your lips as you chew. You can hear your mother’s delighted aww from a few seats down but you’re more focused on the rather disapproving look on the elders’ faces.

You pinch his leg under the table, hard. He doesn’t flinch.

As conversation begins to pick back up around the room and the elders return to discussing training reports and cursed technique theory, the room begins to buzz again with low, polite chatter. You lean into Gojo, eyes darting around the room, voice low and sharp, “What are you doing?” You grit out.

“Getting them to disapprove,” he murmurs back, chewing happily. What a glutton. You frown. “Working great though, don’t you think?” You figure it’s a decent plan. If the elders think the two of you are inappropriate and disapprove, it’d be a much easier out than staging some elaborate breakup. Gojo gives you no time to respond before he’s curling up his thumb and pointer finger to pinch your cheek. He coos at you loudly, which earns more stares from everyone seated at the table. You jerk back, eyebrows furrowing at him which only earns you an obnoxious laugh.

You settle back into your seat and go back to eating the meal in front of you, a little frustrated. You really feel like he’s enjoying himself far too much and suspect he may be having more fun messing with you than actually following through with his plans.

The third course comes out and at this point, you’re more focused on what outrageous scheme Gojo may have planned next rather than the actual food. The next plate of food is placed in front of you and as you’re leaning in to take your first bite, Gojo leans over and places a wet, sloppy kiss on your cheek, paired with an obnoxious smooch noise. And there it is, he is definitely having too much fun with this. 

But you figure it must’ve done its job because the table immediately ripples with scandalized murmurs and you’re sure you hear the word “improper” being thrown around somewhere. You throw him something of a fake smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and you know he understands the sentiment behind it when he flashes back a crooked smile, teeth showing. 

Once the table had been cleared, both you and Gojo seemed to be under the impression that you had acted just the perfect amount of provocatively to stir some troubling thoughts with the clan elders in both of your families. That is, until you’re approached by an elder bearing a bright smile, “I have never seen a couple so perfectly balanced.” Your smile fades. You shoot Gojo a look. “How sweet of you to feed her, Satoru. Usually it’s the woman who cares more about the man but it’s clear that it goes both ways. You really are the yin to her yang.”

Your smile is fixed, tight, and as respectful as you can make it, until the elder rejoins the crowd. You’re surprised to be approached by several others who are practically singing your praises. 

You ground him. He’s so attentive, feeding you and fussing over you. He brings out your responsible side. Your love feels so authentic and natural. How promising a match you two are. How wonderful a union between the two clans must be. Everyone is so hopeful for an heir from your union.

You turn to face Gojo once the dinner guests stop approaching the two of you. He has the audacity to look rather pleased with himself meanwhile your pulse is thrumming in your ears. You let out a slow exhale through your nose, forcing your shoulders to relax. You’re a bit more than mildly annoyed that Gojo’s plan backfired, which is really your fault for listening to him in the first place.

But… maybe this would be better. If everyone really thought you were this dazzling couple then hopefully the “breakup” would be so devastating and messy that your family would be kept at bay for years.

-

The Zenin estate is ornate and maybe even gaudy to say the least, with polished stone walls and a courtyard garden with gravel raked into harsh, perfect lines that brought you more anxiety than peace. If your family home seems to be suffocating with expectations, the Zenin home would have asphyxiated you. A few weeks following the Gojo and l/n clan dinner, the Zenins are hosting their own banquet of sorts. You slip into the estate, peering at the guests who have already begun mingling. You’re hardly a few steps in before a porcelain sake cup is handed to you, giving you something to do with your hands. You down the drink the second it’s in your hand. You need something in your system if you’re planning on getting through tonight.

You’re lingering near the edge of the room, nursing your second beverage, eyes glancing around the room. The hum of conversation fills the room, everyone speaking in low voices and you can’t seem to tell if they’re just pleasantries or complicated clan politics. You feel the shift in the air before you hear the voice.

“y/n.”

You turn to find Naoya Zenin approaching, unhurried steps and a sharp smile. Almost fox-like.

“Naoya,” you acknowledge, lips curving into the most polite smile you could manage. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You’ve really grown into yourself,” he says. You feel his gaze sweeping over you and you suddenly feel exposed. Gross. Your eyes glance over to the exit, wanting to leave. “Beautiful, really. I almost didn’t recognize you at first.” 

You purse your lips as he takes a step closer. You resist the urge to take a step back to put some space between the two of you. His posture is casual, relaxed, but the way his gaze lingers, floating on your figure makes your skin crawl. An attendee passing by replaces your empty cup with a new one. You sip on it awkwardly.

“Strange, isn’t it?” he speaks smoothly, “You’re here alone–er, with me rather and Gojo is nowhere to be found.” You curse Gojo for his habit of always being late. You awkwardly shift your weight on your feet, watching as his smile deepens. 

Before you’re able to respond, he lets out a low chuckle. “So sudden though, you and him.” He leans in a little closer. “Wouldn’t you say?” Your body stiffens and you’re scrambling to find something–anything to say in response when a familiar voice cuts clean through the air from behind you.

“Sorry, I’m a bit late.”

Relief slams through your body and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. Gojo’s presence left the room significantly quieter than before as you watch him approaching you and Naoya, moving through the crowd as though everyone bends around his existence. He slides into place beside you effortlessly, as if he just belonged. His arm finds its way around the small of your back, his hand resting firmly on your waist, steady and grounding. You don’t think you’ve ever been so relieved to see him before.

He looks down at you from behind his dark sunglasses, peeking over them. His eyes, pale blue and warm, were almost a comfort after your rather agonizing experience with Naoya.

“You look stunning,” His voice softens, gaze locking with yours. His thumb rubs against your waist. “Did you wait long?” Your pulse stumbles, for some strange reason. You’re hoping the dim lamp lighting would do a good enough job at concealing the heat rushing to your neck and ears before you could steel it. You open your mouth but nothing comes out so you just shake your head, dumbly. 

He finally averts his gaze ahead of you, a small grin present on his face. “Naoya.” 

“Satoru.” Naoya acknowledges, his smile shrinking and his eyes narrowing just slightly.

“I really hope you weren’t saying anything untoward to y/n.” Gojo’s tone comes off as easy, almost playful and you wouldn’t have thought anything of it if it wasn’t for his hand tightening on your waist just the slightest bit, still gentle but did not go unnoticed by Naoya if his eyes flickering downwards meant anything.

Naoya lets out an easy chuckle, low and dismissive. “Of course not, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The silence that follows is deafeningly loud. A clash of ego, sharp and invisible, their gazes are locked in a battle of wills that makes the air feel taut. You could practically cut the tension with a knife. You clear your throat, unsure of what to do and settle on shifting awkwardly where you stood.

Gojo breaks the silence with a light pat of his free hand to Naoya’s shoulder, casual grin returning to his face. “Good talk, bud. y/n and I have a few more people to check in with.” His hand still firm at your waist, he steers you away, effectively tucking you into his side like it was your assigned spot. His touch is practically a searing heat through the layers of fabric of your clothing. With your pulse hammering, you down your second drink. You’ll definitely need more of these with the way the night was going so far. You take another drink from a passing by attendee and tip your head back, ignoring the sting of the sake in your throat as you let Gojo lead you into the crowd.

The two of you were making easy small talk with passing clan members, which you will attribute to Gojo. As much as you hate to admit it, he actually could be very charismatic despite his arrogance and his tendency to make everything a joke. A majority of the questions revolve around both of your latest missions, inquiries about your relationship with Gojo, those ones mostly you handle because you don’t trust him after what happened last time, and updates on your family. You try to give as vague and polite answers while Gojo keeps the conversation light, throwing in quips here and there and you notice that everyone seems to find him quite charming. The stiff conversations begin to feel a bit suffocating so you find yourself sipping at sake simply to relieve some tension. 

“Slow down,” he whispers, teasingly, leaning down so close you can feel the ghost of his breath against your ear. You stiffen, heat crawling up your neck that you write off as a result of the alcohol. You nudge him with your elbow, hearing him hum at your lack of response, and turn your attention back to the conversation at hand. 

The sun set outside some time ago and while the alcohol is doing its purpose in making you feel somewhat lighter in the stuffy environment, your shoes are currently pinching at your feet, causing painful, grating steps as you become tense from the repetitive conversations. 

“C’mon,” Gojo murmurs, tilting his head toward the garden just beyond the open shoji screens. You let him lead you outside, hand still floating on your waist. You’re grateful he noticed your discomfort. The cool night air feels heavenly against your flushed skin, the gentle breeze more than welcome. 

You both step off the veranda into the soft grass of the garden. You slip out of your shoes, leaving them abandoned in the grass beside you. Instant relief floods your feet and you’re too happy to feel your toes in the grass. You reach over, lifting a foot to rub at your arches.

“Here,” Gojo says, extending an arm out to you.

You grab on automatically, using him to steady yourself as you knead at your foot. “Thanks,” you respond, glancing up at him briefly, “for this. And for saving me. Again.” 

He throws back a grin, tilting his head up to the sky as a light breeze passes by, “All in a day’s work of a fake boyfriend.” He shrugs casually. A laugh slips out of you, looser and freer than you normally would be sober. You watch his grin grow a bit wider at the sound of your laugh.

You remove your hold of his arm, satisfied with the work you’ve put into relieving the aching soles of your feet. As you straighten to place both feet on the grass, you nearly lose your balance, whether it’s from the alcohol or the uneven ground.

Gojo’s hand is instantly at the small of your back, steadying you, his touch warm and firm. Your breath catches and you freeze, looking up at him. His warm hand felt like it was practically burning a hole into your already flushed skin. 

A beat.

“You can… let go of me now,” you speak softly, voice lacking the usual bite that comes with speaking to him.

His eyes widen for a second before he retracts his hand. He recovers with a teasing grin, “So clumsy, I thought I told you to slow down on the sake.”

You huff in response, feigning annoyance but the rapid heartbeat in your chest is betraying you. You make a vow to never drink around him again if this is how you’re going to be around him under the influence. Your eyes wander over to the hall, glinting brightly into the night through the open screens where you notice a few groups of clan members looking out into the garden at you and Gojo. 

Gojo’s eyes follow your gaze and he takes a step closer to you, hands on your hips, urging you forward. He pulls you into him, just enough that your bodies are nearly brushing, the sudden movement has you bracing against him, both palms resting flat on his chest. You ignore the firm muscle you feel under your hands and focus instead on the steady thrum of his heartbeat. That doesn’t help.

“They’re watching,” he murmurs to you, voice pitched low. Your eyes are on him now and even in the darkness, you can still see his bright blue eyes. You nod in response, a bit breathless. From the alcohol, you tell yourself.

One of his hands remains on your hip, anchoring you there while the other lifts to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek. You’re certain you must be absolutely flushed and you’re more than thankful it’s so dark outside.

“I- The rules- No touching!” you barely manage to squeak out. This earns you a chuckle from him, low and warm.

“Okay,” he responds easily, dropping his hand from your cheek to your hip. But he doesn’t make any movements to remove his hands from your hip.

You flick your gaze sideways, back towards the hall where there are still watching eyes. Naoya is among them, his stare sharp and smug, watching from the shadows. You think of the audacity he has to insinuate that you and Satoru were lying about your relationship, regardless of how true his assumption was. You also think of his disgusting, lustful gaze, objectifying you like you were a piece of meat. The thought makes your blood boil again, the memory of his smug smirk burned into your mind and hot in your chest, judgment clouded by liquor and pride.

“Kiss me.”

Gojo blinks. “What?” he asks, incredulously.

“Don’t make me say it again,” you mumble, lifting your chin stubbornly.

You use your grip on the fabric on his chest to gently tug him down, closing the distance by getting on the tip of your toes and pressing a kiss to his lips. It’s all very clumsy and maybe even a bit awkward. Since you pulled him into it, your lips aren’t quite aligned and you almost fall into him but he steadies you, both hands tightening their hold on your hips. Once he has you steadied, he leans down into the kiss and deepens it, one hand traveling from your hip to the small of your back where he splays out his hand to press your body to his. Your hands slide up his chest to loop around his neck and you almost want to open your eyes to take a peek into the estate to see if there were still any prying eyes. 

You finally pull back, settling back flat on your feet and suddenly you’re no longer feeling the effects of the alcohol. You clear your throat, afraid to make eye contact so you avert your gaze over to the hall where everyone has seemingly scattered from where they were gathered, watching the two of you. 

“They’re gone now.”

-

The inside of your Tokyo apartment is currently in a state of disarray but you choose to blame it on the back to back missions you’ve been getting, which has also been affecting your sleep. You’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, half-heartedly packing clothes. You know that you should have started packing sooner but you’ve been running on fumes for the last two weeks and to be quite honest, you didn’t even feel like thinking about the onsen trip your mom sprung on you. 

You will admit you regret procrastinating especially because—you glance at the clock, it reads 8:02am—Gojo is supposed to be here any minute now. You can also admit that another reason you’ve been burying the trip in the back of your mind is because you and Gojo left off on a rather awkward note—at least for you. You had kissed. You could only be thankful that he acted so nonchalant about it after that it diffused some of the tension. Besides, it was your idea and it made sense in the grand scheme of things. That along with the fact that it was nearly two months ago brought you some semblance of peace.

You fold a set of pajamas into your bag. Aside from the kiss, you aren’t absolutely dreading having Satoru there like how you’re dreading a family trip. He can be funny sometimes, despite annoying you the other half of the time. Even though he’s a headache, he’s been making these clan events a lot easier on you. People like him and that means he took up a lot of attention in a room, which meant less of it smothering you. 

Your familiar ringtone goes off from the living room so you trudge over there, barely having the energy to make it. Gojo Satoru. Of course he’s someone who would rather call than text. 

“Hello?” You pick up your phone, holding it to your ear. 

“Your chariot awaits!” Gojo’s voice blares through the phone. You’re too tired to berate him about yelling so early in the morning. 

“The chariot will have to keep waiting,” you sigh into the phone, moving towards the bathroom with the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder. “I’m still packing.”

“And you say I’m not punctual,” he teases. 

“You can wait inside,” you suggest, before adding, “if you want.” You hear some shuffling in the background that you ignore, turning your attention to packing your toiletries into a pouch. 

There’s a knock on the door that you hear echo through your phone. You pad over to the door, swinging it open to find Satoru leaning casually against the door frame. You end the call and slide your phone into the pockets of your sweats, stepping aside so he can come in. He toes off his shoes at the door. 

“I’m almost done, I’ll be quick.” you state, “You can, um, have a seat on the couch.” And then shuffle over to your bedroom. Again, inviting him in was technically your idea but something about having him in your apartment felt so unexpectedly… intimate. 

He sat on your couch, sprawled out, taking up the entire space with his long legs stretched out beneath your coffee table. You glance at him as you’re moving around your apartment, gathering everything you’ll need to pack for the weekend. It seems like he’s playing Temple Run or something similar, volume up so you’re able to hear the theme music. He would play games with his volume up. 

You mentally go over your packing list, making sure you weren’t forgetting anything before you’re lugging the duffel out into the living room from your phone. When you finally zip it out and start moving towards the door, Gojo pops up easily to follow you. You shut the door behind the two of you and start fumbling with your keys to lock the door, duffel weighing heavy on one shoulder. He plucks the bag from your arm, swinging it over his own shoulder. 

“Thanks,” you say automatically, locking the door and pocketing the key. You realize the word is so familiar now, that you’ve been saying it a lot around him. It’s almost replaced your urge to roll your eyes around him all the time. 

Downstairs, the morning air is still crisp and the sun is getting a bit higher. The city moves loudly around the two of you. You watch as he sets your duffle bag into the trunk beside his as you slide into the passenger seat. 

“Thanks for driving,” you offer as you reach over to buckle your seatbelt. “You really didn’t have to.”

“And what kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?” he shoots back, grinning at you as he takes his place in the driver’s seat. You snort, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. 

The first half hour goes back fairly quickly. The hum of traffic mixing with whatever playlist Gojo has playing in the background keeps the the time flowing and by then, you’re ready to catch up on some much needed sleep. You have your chin resting on your fist and your head leaned against the window. The city is now melted into stretches of highway and the sun is higher in the sky now, warming the car through the window and your eyes begin to feel heavy. 

You swear your eyes were only closed for a second before—

“Let’s play a game.”

Your eyes snap open. There’s that urge to roll your eyes again. You lift your head from the window and turn it the slightest bit, just enough that you’re able to glare at him from the corner of your eyes. “I’m tired, Satoru.”

“You can have your rest and relaxation at the onsen,” he responds cheerfully. For some reason you highly doubt that to be true. “The game is: name all the things you like about me.” 

A laugh rips through you, bursting out before you could even try to stop it. “Oh, you cannot be serious.” 

“Go on,” he encourages, tilting his head towards you. “I’ll even start the list if you need help—number one, devastatingly handsome.”

That gets another laugh out of you and this time you do roll your eyes at him. “Hmm,” you pretend to think. “I like when you’re quiet,” you tease, settling your head back against window and closing your eyes. 

He barks out a laugh in response and you peek your eyes at him. “That’s never happened before, you can only say things that are hard, true facts.” You make a mental note that means he thinks that being “devastatingly handsome” is a hard, true fact. 

-

The rest of the car ride goes by fairly quickly once Gojo decides to focus instead on the playlist he has playing. The quiet ryokan lobby smells like polished wood. The woman behind the counter smiles politely as you approach the desk. She slides a lacquered key across the counter after you give her the reservation details your mom had sent you earlier. You murmur a thank-you, slipping the key into your palm. You turn to walk towards the rooms and you can feel Gojo’s presence behind you, duffle bags slung over each shoulder. He walks behind you, his slow long strides making up for your fast smaller ones.

“I can carry it myself, y’know,” you mutter, glancing back at him. He’s very committed to this boyfriend bit.

“I know.”

The hallway stretches out, long and quiet, with sliding doors on either side. You can feel the warmth from the faint steam curling from somewhere deeper in the inn. You find your room number and slide the door open, stepping onto the tatami. You toe off your shoes and leave them by the door. A low table sits in the middle of the room, a teapot resting between two teacups, and two cushions below the table. Gojo leaves the duffels near the cabinets and starts to circle around the room.

You kneel next to your duffel, fishing for your toiletries bag, while Gojo starts opening up every drawer and cabinet in the hotel room. Once you’ve found the bag, you pad over to the bathroom, sliding the doors open. You hear the sound of the veranda doors sliding open.

“Ooo–look, we get our own onsen,” you hear Gojo calling from just outside the doors.

“Nice,” you call over your shoulder absentmindedly, distracted by unpacking your toiletries bag. Once you place your toothbrush and shower products in their respective areas, you peek out from the bathroom to see what he was talking about. You see steam rising from a private stone bath from behind the doors. You blink. The image of sharing the onsen with him flashes through your mind. 

“Don’t go getting any ideas.” 

You disappear behind the bathroom door to get ready for the planned dinner banquet that your mother had told you about. You tie yourself into the pale green yukata that was provided, sash snug across your waist. Once you think you look presentable enough for your prickly family members, you slide the door open, smoothing down the folds in your yukata. 

You’re met with Gojo on the other side of the door, facing the other way so he can adjust the sleeve of his matching dark blue yukata. He tugs on it lazily, collar gaping just enough to show his collarbones. A grin twitches on his face the second he turns to see you.

“Cute.”

You shoot him a flat look. “Don’t.”

You move around him, stuffing your feet into the provided sandals. You see him grab the room key from the corner of your eye before shutting the door behind the two of you. You make your way through the polished hallway with him following closely behind. As you approach the banquet hall you pause, mostly to collect yourself but when you look up at him, he extends his elbow toward you. You blink and take his arm, feeling grateful to have him here to calm your nerves.

The room is buzzing with conversation as the two of you step past the open shoji doors. The low long tables stretch across the room, porcelain bowls with broth placed at every seat. The smell of incense mixed with food fills the air and you don’t realize you’re actually starving until your stomach growls as a reaction. You take a seat on one of the cushions, Gojo sliding into the one next to you. You smooth your yukata over your knees to give your hands something to do. 

Your aunt from across the table leans forward, “How was your last assignment, y/n?” She offers you and Gojo a small smile.

You blink, expecting a question with a little more bite. “Oh, um, fine,” you’re careful with your response because you’re a bit caught off guard. 

“That’s good,” her eyes soften as she glances between you and Gojo. “I’m glad you’re keeping busy.” While you’re sitting stiffly, Gojo is beside you, nonchalantly picking up a piece of food with his chopsticks. “And you, Gojo? Keeping yourself busy?

“Oh yeah,” he nods, leaning back easily. He sets his chopsticks down on the rest. “Lots of exorcisms, paperwork, and now I get dragged along to family trips.” He grins, teeth flashing, and puts his free hand over the one you had resting on the table, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. For some reason, this felt more intimate than the kiss even. You look up at him but his eyes aren’t on yours; they’re looking around the room, holding eye contact as he’s engaged in conversation.

The meal unfolds with a rhythm that you aren’t used to–calm, almost pleasant. The constant questions regarding your relationship have dwindled; no one is reprimanding you for not settling down, for constantly going on long missions, it was–for the first time ever–not stressful.

After the dinner ends, you and Gojo shuffle back to your room, bidding everyone a good night. He slides the shoji door shut softly behind him, muffling the chatter of your family members down the hall. The room is quiet now, dark since the sun has long set so the lanterns cast warm, glowing light against the tatami and pushed-together futon. You blink when you see it, one large blanket spread across the whole thing. 

“Cozy,” Gojo says from behind you, his tone teasing. You turn sharply and you’re unsure what the look you give him holds but he follows with, “Uh–I can sleep on the tatami mat if you want.”

You huff at the suggestion. “It’s fine,” you start tugging your pajama set from your bag, “We’re both adults.” Once you free your pajamas from the duffle and start moving toward the bathroom, you glance over your shoulder, “No touching!” You warn, narrowing your eyes at him as you slide the bathroom door shut.

“Don’t worry,” you hear his low voice come from some distance behind the door, paired with a chuckle, low and soft, the kind that curls around your ribs for some reason. “I wouldn’t.” You roll your eyes at that.

You take your time in the shower, letting the steam fill the small space and the hot water melts some of the stiffness from your muscles. You have your hair pulled back with a fluffy headband as you step out of the shower, wrapping yourself in the ryokan’s soft towel. You step to the mirror to do your skincare, applying the moisturizer to your skin when you figure it would be a shame not to use the private onsen. 

You peek past the bathroom doors once the towel is secure around you, “Gojo?” you call out softly. The room is empty, the futons remaining untouched.

Silence.

He probably left to grab some sweets since there weren’t any desserts at the dinner. That glutton. You pad over across the tatami, pushing aside the door to the veranda letting steam drift into the room. You look down and see him, leaning against the stone edge of the bath, facing you. His white hair was damp, curling lightly at the ends, and you watch as a droplet falls from his hair and cascades down the sharp plane of his shoulder. It looks soft.

You blink. “Hey–I was gonna use it.” You tighten your grip on your towel instinctively.

He looks up at you, his nonchalant demeanor seeping through his words, “Well, I got here first.” You’re sure he just enjoys messing with you at this point.

“Okay.” You respond, glancing around the veranda. You choose to focus your vision on the bamboo wall built to close off the onsen from the rest of the inn. “Get out.”

“Wow, harsh,” he chuckles, as if truly surprised you were being so demanding. He leans back further against the stone edge, “We’re both adults, right?” His tone is playful, like he’s looking to get a rise out of you by using your words against you. You refuse.

You press your lips together in a thin line, “Fine.” You close the sliding door behind you and take step further near the onsen. “But close your eyes.”

He sighs dramatically. “Yes, ma’am.” For once, he’s not wearing his sunglasses and you watch as he raises his hands to place them over his eyes. “See? Perfect gentleman.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you and you place your towel to the side, heart pounding in your ears as the cool night air kisses your bare skin. You slip into the steaming water, grimacing as the heat wraps around you. You sink down, allowing the heat to rise up to your chest and shoulders, soothing your muscles. The surface of the water laps at your collarbones as your move into the onsen, finding a seat across from Gojo.

“You can look now,” you mumble, grumpily, once you’re sure the water is fully covering your body. You fold your arms across your front for extra security.

A chuckle comes from him before he drops his hands lazily from his face. The dim lamplight cast shadows along the planes of his chest and shoulders and even worse, his pale blue eyes seem almost different beneath the light. You feel your stomach twist. You shift against the stone edge, tearing your eyes away from him and towards to surface of the water, like you’re suddenly very interested in the ripples. 

After a moment, you swallow hard and drag your gaze back up, willing yourself to stare off into the distance, admiring the greenery. 

The steam curls around the two of you in lazy ribbons, softening the lantern light as the sound of cicadas fill the night. Your body is lowered, tucking your knees to your chest and the water is grazing just below your knees. You rest your chin on your knees, glancing at Gojo from across the bath. He’s sprawled wide, both arms outstretched resting on the edge and his damp hair sticking up in all directions, defying gravity. 

“Hey,” you say, voice low, “when I asked you to fake date me—“

Gojo’s face snaps into a sly grin instantly, “Oh, you mean when you begged and pleaded and cried for my hand in marriage?”

You snort, rolling your eyes and you move your knees from your chest to splash water at him. “No, you freak.” Laughter bubbles out of you, slipping before you can contain it. He shifts to dodge the splash of water. 

The smile on your face settles a bit and you lean by against the stone again, looking up into the sky, “Why did you agree so easily?”

His grin softens, he’s silent for a second before, “To be honest? I don’t know.” You give him a deadpan look. “I guess…” he starts tapping his fingers lightly on the stone where his arm rests, “You just seemed so—serious about it. And it’s really no sweat off my back to help you out.”

You feel your chest tightening and you hum, breaking eye contact with Gojo to trace mindless patterns on the stone. “Yeah,” you breathe out, “it just gets really exhausting sometimes?” You can’t seem to look him in the eyes, “Just feels like there’s so much pressure to settle down, produce an heir–it’s all just so… old-fashioned. It feels like I’m just my ability first, someone to maintain the gene pool, a sorcerer second, and… myself, last.” Your voice cracks so you look away again.

Your words hang heavy in the mist. For a while, the only sound is the faint ripple of water between you. You wonder if you just overshared, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed.

When you finally glance back at him, his eyes are already on you, soft and unguarded.

“I get that.” And it sounds sincere.

You clear your throat, still feeling a little awkward. “Anyways,” you splash at the water, trying to clear up the tension, “Enough trauma dumping.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Gojo grins, “At least you weren’t crying on my strong, broad shoulder.” You snort and flick water at him. You look down at your hands and see that the skin at your fingertips is starting to wrinkle.

“I’m gonna start getting ready for bed,” you start moving towards the edge of the bath, “No peeking.” You narrow your eyes at him pointedly. He grins and puts his hands up in mock defense then goes to cover his eyes. You climb out of the onsen, unable to hide the smile creeping up on your face. 

By the time you step out of the bathroom, fully dressed in your pajama set, Gojo is already moving around the room, towel hanging loosely around his neck. He uses to towel to rub at his damp hair. You stand there, arms limp by your side, lifting up one foot to rub at the other ankle. You pad over to the side of the futon furthest from the door and start shuffling under the covers, laying flat on your back, tucking the fluffy blanket under both arms.

You hear him snort from across the room, “You sleep like a vampire.”

“I just haven’t gotten comfortable yet,” you shoot back defensively. You hear some shuffling, the towel hitting the tatami flooring as he drops it onto the floor in a careless heap, and then he’s sliding under the covers beside you. You’re a little nervous to make eye contact so you keep your focus on the ceiling. You feel him stretching beside you, extending his limbs out obnoxiously before he tucks himself in with a long, content sigh.

For a while, it’s quiet aside from the sound of cicadas humming outside. 

“Sooo,” Gojo drawls, “you ever fake break up with someone before?”

You don’t turn your head, just huff through your nose in amusement, lip twitching. “What kind of question is that?”

“I’m just saying,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “If we’re doing this right, we should go all out. Something really dramatic, like in public, tears, maybe I should throw myself on my knees.”

You snort, “Such a performer, you’re enjoying this too much.”

“I’d be such a good fake ex too,” you can feel him nodding, the rustle of his damp hair against the pillow, “The best, actually. You’d definitely come crawling back.” 

You let out a small laugh at his confidence. “Yeah right, you wish.”

You hear the futon rustling beside you as he shifts positions. “I’d get flowers delivered to your house everyday, huge, ridiculous bouquets. Everyone would think I was obsessed with you.”

“Yeah and obnoxious,” you add. “They’d probably wonder how horrible of a boyfriend you were to me too.”

He squawks at that, defensive, “Fake news. I’m the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“You’re the only fake boyfriend I’ve ever had, Satoru.”

“See? The bar is mine to set.” he says in response. That gets him a laugh, one that bubbles out from your chest. 

There’s another moment of silence, only the sound of his gentle breathing filling the air. “Y’know,” you start, “I used to think you were really annoying.”

“Oh yeah?” 

You nod in response, “We barely saw each other and everytime we did, you would always mess with me.”

“Hey! You used to steal my Digimon cards, you were just jealous.” he sneers, teasing you.

You laugh again, “That was only once! And it was only because you stole my kikufuku.”

He hums beside you, probably thinking about how delicious your stolen dessert was. “And what about now?”

You pretend to think about it, humming, “Still pretty annoying.”

He lets out a laugh from his belly and you can feel his shoulders shaking with his laugh. 

Another beat of comfortable silence. You shuffle a bit to get comfortable, pulling the blanket over your shoulder and roll over to your side, only to find him already facing you. Your eyes widen for a second. His pale hair is tussled, falling haphazardly across his forehead and even in the dark, it seems like his eyes are glowing.

You blink. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispers back, voice low.

He’s so handsome like this, in the low light of the night. He looks so soft like there’s no Gojo reputation here, no expectation of being the strongest, just Satoru. He looks almost boy-like.

Your mind flickers, against your will, to the younger version of him. The boy who you only saw every so often but would tease you relentlessly, annoy you with his arrogance from across the room. Such a pest.

And he’s still doing it. Your thoughts are interrupted when his long fingers reach out and pinch at your cheek.

“Hey!” You protest, jerking your face away simultaneously as you shove his arm away, “I said no touching!”

You angrily jab a finger into his cheek. “You said no touching!” he moves to swat your hand away and you push him again in retaliation, hoisting your body up on your elbow for leverage. He shoves you again, using his entire upper body for momentum, laughing in your face obnoxiously as you fall backwards. You rise so you’re balancing on your knees, eye level with him again and place both arms on his shoulders to shove. His hand grabs onto your elbow for support and you’re falling forward with him. You catch yourself from toppling over him against the futon, grinning in victory once you have him pinned down.

He’s looking up at you, eyes widening a bit in surprise, messy hair falling onto his forehead and the pillow below him. You have your knees caging him in at either side of his hips, arms on either side of his head. Your breath stutters and you push yourself up so you’re in a seated position, sliding back a bit until you feel something beneath you.

“I-uh,” you stammer, eyes wide to match his. You’re in a very compromising position and you try to ignore the heaviness beneat you. “Sorry.” You breath out and you’re almost frozen in place. You both stare at each other for a second, chests heaving and you’re not sure if it’s from the fighting or from where you’ve both found yourselves. 

His hands raise to your hips and he pushes himself upwards, capturing your lips with his. Your body stiffens for a second, heart racing and you wonder if he can feel it when you both fall back, your fronts pressed together. His lips are warm and soft. The sheer intent in the way he’s kissing you is enough to make your head spin. He tilts his head, his hands tightening their grip on your waist as he deepens the kiss. Your hands curl at his chest, gripping onto the fabric of his t-shirt like it’s a life line.

The kiss is hot and insistent, messy in a way that makes your stomach lurch and you’re clinging onto him desperately. The futon shuffles as he moves beneath you and as your hips sink flush against his, you feel him. You rock against him without thinking about it, mostly because you’re a little curious and his hands on your hips encourage the movement. His tongue slides against your lips and you tilt your head, allowing him in. He hums into the kiss, clearly pleased, and the sound shoots straight through you to your core. One hand leaves your waist and slides up to the small of your back, fingers splaying to press you closer to him, your bodies flush.

You roll your hips again, purely experimentally and it suddenly makes sense why he acts the way he does when you feel him, hard under the thin layers of fabric separating you. The friction is almost blinding. A broken sound comes from your throat and he swallows the sound eagerly. His hands travel down until they’re over the plush of your ass and you feel him squeeze, groaning into your mouth, the sound raw and unrestrained. 

Your head gets a little bigger with the thought that Satoru Gojo, probably one of the hottest people you’ve ever seen, is getting this worked up over you. His hands are everywhere, squeezing gently at your thighs before moving up over your ass and up your back. 

Your pulse is roaring in your ears. He sits up a bit, moving you with him as you continue moving your lips against his. He moves the two of you until you’ve got your back pressed against the futon. He pulls away, breaking the kiss, foreheads knocking together clumsily as your breaths hit each others face, warm and rapid. His eyes, blown wide and vibrant blue, search yours for a second. He pulls back a bit further, watching you now splayed out underneath him, your chest heaving as you’re still trying to catch your breath. 

You only give yourself a few more second to breath before your arms are looping around his neck, pulling him back down to catch his mouth in another kiss. 

He starts dragging his lips along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of wet kisses. The air feels cold on your flushed skin as he moves along your neck. Each kiss he leaves sends a shockwave of heat, sparking low in your stomach. One of his hands rest on your thigh while the other slips under your shirt and higher, skimming along your ribs and wrapping around, right under your tit. 

He groans, the low sound vibrates against your skin. Your back arches into him as he kisses and nips at the exposed line of your collarbone, lips travelling down the edge of your pajama neckline. Heat shoots through you.

You move your hands down from his neck, palms sliding against the expanse of his back, feeling the solid muscle moving under thin cotton, then up past his defined biceps to his broad shoulders, the fabric bunching with every shift. He’s a lot more muscular than you had thought, strong muscle hidden under his usual baggy clothes. You feel the need to feel him without the layer of fabric in your way. 

“Satoru,” you barely manage to get out, voice quiet and breathy, tugging at the hemline of his shirt, “Take it off.”

You hear the mischievous grin before you see it, feeling the edges of his lips curling against your skin and he stills for a second, “Oooh bossy,” he lifts his head from your chest, “Kinda hot.”

You roll your eyes and almost say something snarky in response but he sits back on his heels, the air nipping at your skin where your bodies were flush, and in one smooth motion, peels his shirt over his head. The fabric drops forgotten to the floor and he’s bare above you, hard muscles illuminated by the low light from outside the room window.

Your breath catches. Long lines of muscle cut sharp and you watch as the hard planes of his chest rise and fall steadily with his breathing. You swallow, eyes dragging over him before you could stop yourself. You force yourself to tear your eyes away, leaning your body upright to tug the thin fabric of your sleep shirt over your head and you toss it to the side. 

Gojo’s gaze drops instantly and you feel the heat rising up your neck. “My eyes are up here,” you say as dryly as you can muster.

He hums in response, his strikingly azure eyes drag up slowly, “Don’t worry, I like those too.”

You don’t have time to come up with a snarky retort because his mouth is back on you, your words catching in your throat. The both of you fall backwards onto the futon, his hand pinned beneath your back and the futon since he had tried to soften your fall. 

His mouth travels down again, leaving hot and wet kisses in its wake, to the swell of your chest, teeth nipping lightly at the skin. His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, causing you to arch your back into his body. His free hand slides higher, palm cupping firmly around your breast, thumb brushing over the nub. Each flick of his tongue sends sparks shooting through you as you clutch helplessly at the strong lines of his back, feeling the flex of muscle under your fingertips. 

His hand slips lower, dragging down your bare stomach, past the waistband of your pajama shorts. Your breath hitches as he pushes aside the fabric of your panties, calloused fingers spreading you open. Your entire body jolts when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, delibrate circles. His thumb drags from your opening and then back up to your clit. “Fuck,” he groans against your tit, teeth grazing on the sensitive skin as his thumb works you lazily, “you’re so wet.”

You writhe beneath him, “More,” you gasp into the air, hips curling up to meet his hand.

“So demanding,” he pulls back from your chest just enough to glance up, lazy grin on his face, “Maybe ask nicely.”

You groan at that, jerking your hips again, “You’re really gonna make me ask?” 

His thumb slows until it’s barely moving, the sharp absence makes you whine, head tipping back against the pillow. You want to strangle him. He’d probably like that, masochistic bastard.

“Fuck–” you groan again, “I hate you.” You squeeze your eyes shut, “Please, Satoru.”

“Please, what?” he teases, tone smug with delight. He starts moving his thumb again, painfully slowly.

“Please, more,” you’d be embarrassed if you weren’t currently completely overcome by the agonizing need to cum right now. “Please make me cum.”

He hums in response, grin widening against your skin and his hand shifts lower, one long finger presses inside you, sliding out at an easy pace. The stretch is delicious. You let out another whine, arching into him. His mouth returns to yours, catching your whine in a deep, hungry kiss, drinking in the sound. You moan into the kiss as he curls his finger, dragging against the spot inside you that makes your thighs clench. His thumb circles your clit, moving faster, more deliberate than before.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, his voice rough and shaky. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.” His words go straight to our core and you whimper, digging your nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent shaped imprints in his smooth skin as you grind down against his hand. He slides a second finger into you and you welcome the stretch as he quickens his pace, thumb rubbing stars at your clit. You openly moan, unable to hold back, and he swallows the sounds you make. Your body trembles against his as his body covers yours wholly.

“Satoru,” you breathe out, “I’m gonna–”

“Yeah?” he pants into your mouth, kissing you harder, lips moving against yours. “Let me feel you, baby.”

Your back bows from the futon, toes curling as pleasure rips through you. Your legs threaten to clamp shut, he uses his other arm to curl under your leg, pinning it where it is. You break the kiss, head tipping back, eyes screwed shut as your orgasm tears through your chest and down your spine. He slows down as your body shudders against him, your death grip on his shoulders loosening. 

He slides his fingers out and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. Your vision is still coming back when he brings his hand up to you, two fingers glistening with your release. He has that lopsided grin on again.

“Open.”

You mindlessly do so, his fingers slide past your lips, and your tongue swirls around them instinctively, tasting yourself. Your cheeks heat under his gaze. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, satisfied smile on your face when he finds they’re now clean. Your chest is heaving as you look at him–really look at him, lips swollen, pupils blown wide, hair sticking up in all directions, he looks so desperate for you and it’s really doing something for your ego. 

“Satoru,” you pant, “I need you, now.” He freezes for a second, eyes widening before he moves quickly, fumbling with the waistband of his pajama pants, nearly falling over in his haste. Meanwhile, you’re faring no better as you shimmy out of your shorts as fast as your trembling body allows, pulling your panties down with them. 

Your heart is hammering in your chest as he falls forward above you again, bracing himself on his elbows, the warm skin of his body pressing on yours. Your gaze drops helplessly, your breath catching as he pumps himself, thick and heavy in his hand. Oh. Suddenly every cocky, arrogant joke he’s ever made makes complete sense.

He drags himself along your slit, groaning lowly as he collects your slick to coat himself. Your entire body shudders as his tip catches along your clit and you bite your lip to keep from releasing a sound. He pushes slowly into you, the stretch welcome but has you gripping onto his bicep regardless. Your thighs tighten instinctively around his hips as you continue to adjust to his size. He presses a kiss to your shoulder then another behind your ear as he pushes himself in slowly, hips flush to the inside of your thighs.

“Fuck,” his mouth brushes against your ear and you feel his teeth catching, “you feel so good.” The stretch eases until it fades into the feeling of fullness, the burn turning into a pulsing heat. He starts to pull back, slow at first, dragging it out and groaning as he pushes back in. 

His pace begins to pick up as his hips start snapping faster into yours, your broken moans spilling out shamelessly. Each thrust hits deeper, sharper, sending you spiraling further into the heat curling low in your belly. You hook your ankles around his waist, pulling him deeper as each drag of his body pressed flush against yours. 

“Fuck,” he moans against your kiss-bitten lips, “You’re so–fuck–pretty like this for me.” He pants against your mouth, kissing you rough and wet between his words. Even during sex, he still couldn’t stop talking. You want to tease him but instead, you whimper into the kiss, unable to form a coherent sentence.

You’re clinging onto his sculpted muscles, every single nerve ending in your body is lit up, your entire body still sensitive from your last orgasm. You throw your head back, vision hazy as you let out small cries with each movement of his body against yours. Your head lolled back, eyes hazy, your cries echoing off the paper walls. 

His arm loops under one of your legs, hoisting it up so it rests on his shoulder. The stretch from the new angle has you seeing stars. “Oh my god,” you manage to get out, “Sa-Satoru.”  You feel him grinning against your mouth again.

And then, his mouth is back by your ear, voice breaking between ragged breaths. “You have no idea–” he grunts, pace faltering for a second, “how long I’ve been wanting to do this.” He punctuates his words with sharpened, faster, harder thrusts.

His words catch you off guard and it takes your brain a second to register his words through the roar of blood in your ears but your eyes fly open when you do. The drag of his cock hitting deep has your back bowing off the futon again and you can barely manage a broken, “W-what–?” but you’re interrupted by your body clenching around him, his warm breath at your ear.

He shifts a bit, pulling back just enough to slide his strong hand on the underside of your thighs, pushing them up to your chest. The new angle is doing absolutely sinful things to your brain as he hovers over you, watching himself sink back into you. His grip tightens on the backs of your thighs, pinning you open beneath him. At this point, all you can manage to say between moans and cries is his name. 

Heat shoots down your spine as he lets out a guttural groan, moaning your name, voice ragged. Each thrust drives into you further, relentless and all you can do is claw at the futon beneath as your body jolts underneath him, your hands searching for purchase. He’s digging into you, the feeling overwhelming, toe-curling, every nerve sparking.

“Fuck,” he curses, “I’m about to cum.”

You slip your hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. You draw little stars against it, fingers quick and desperate, trying to keep up with his pace. The added friction sends a broken moan spilling from your lips. You watch as his eyes snap to where your fingers are moving where you’re both connected, jaw clenching. He curses again, voice cracking as sweat beads at his temples.

He picks up his pace again, rhythm faltering, rougher, sharper. You feel yourself fluttering, tightening around him, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with each slap of his hips against your thighs. 

“Satoru–” you gasp, voice cracking, “I’m about to–”

“Fuck, wait–” he manages to choke out, hips stuttering, “Are you on birth control?”

You nod, frantically, eyes squeezed shut. A groan tears from his throat, raw and wrecked, and your second orgasm rips through you, body clenching hard around him, vision blurring around the edges. Your back moves to arch but he’s still got your trembling thighs in his grip, keeping you pinned down to the futon. You bite your lip in an attempt to hold back your broken cries, drawing blood. 

The sight of you cumming beneat him along with the feeling of you fluttering around him is enough to push him over the edge, his rhythm faltering then breaking. “Fuck,” he curses again, hips jerking, each thrust desperate and uneven until he slowly stills, pulsing as he releases inside of you. He balances above you for a moment, the room silent aside from the sound of your ragged breaths. You feel him pushing in and out of you again, shallowly, fucking his cum back into you before he’s pulling out. You whimper at the feeling. 

He’s still got his hands pressing your knees to your chest though his grip is looser, using his hold on you to gently push him back up onto his knees and he’s watching the mixture of both of your fluids slowly leak out of you. He uses his pointer finger and middle finger to push it back into you and the corner of his lip quirks a bit.

“Maybe we should give them an heir.”

you both freeze.

gojo pulls back just enough to glance down, and you follow his gaze to his smartwatch, glowing innocently in the dark.

“abnormal heart rate detected.”

you blink. then bite your lip.

gojo glares at it like it betrayed him personally. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

you burst out laughing. “are you okay?” you sputter between giggles. “no, actually,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “this thing’s a snitch.”

“you’re really that worked up over a kiss?”

“i’m really that worked up over you,” he mutters, clearly not meaning to say it out loud. he covers the screen with his palm like it’s embarrassing. “no, i’m just—” he clears his throat. “—very fit. obviously. peak condition.”

your eyes flick back up to his—his ears are a little red. “right,” you say, smiling. “so this had nothing to do with the kiss.”

gojo stares at the watch for a second. “…it’s broken. has to be.”

you raise a brow. “you sure? you looked a little...flushed.”

he scoffs. “flushed? me?” he waves a hand. “please. my heart rate didn’t even budge. if anything, i’m probably clinically dead. that’s how calm i am.”

without another word, you reach up again, hands curling around the collar of his jacket as you pull him back in. this kiss is slower. a little deeper. you don’t rush it—and you feel the exact moment he melts into it, hands settling on your hips like he’s forgotten all about trying to act composed.

beep. beep.

you pull back just slightly and glance down. the screen glows again. gojo lets out the quietest “oh my god.”

you bite your lip, trying not to laugh. “still very chill?”

he drops his forehead to your shoulder. “i’m never gonna hear the end of this, am i?”

“nope,” you say brightly, arms winding around his neck. “but i do appreciate the honesty. from you and your watch.”

“i'm breaking that thing first chance i get."

author's note. inspired by this

The lamp on your nightstand was still on, casting a warm pool of light that didn't quite reach the doorway. Your phone had slipped from your fingers, screen still glowing with some article about attachment styles you'd been reading, something about love languages and emotional availability that had made you hum thoughtfully and then drift off mid-sentence.

Satoru sat at the kitchen table in the dark, a single desk lamp throwing his long shadow against the wall like a second self, and stared at the A4 sheet in front of him.

It was midnight. Maybe later. Time had become slippery, unimportant, ever since he'd started thinking about this. About you. About the way you looked at him sometimes, like he was already enough, like he didn't need to perform or dazzle or be the strongest sorcerer alive. Just him. Regular Satoru, who left his socks on the floor and sang off-key in the shower and couldn't cook anything that didn't come with instructions on the back of a box.

Regular Satoru, who was apparently terrifying.

He picked up the pen. Set it down. Picked it up again.

The blank page stared back at him, patient and terrible.

He'd written letters before. Mission reports with their clinical precision, formal requests to the higher-ups that he drafted with biting sarcasm and then edited into something approaching professionalism. The occasional note to Shoko, usually something stupid like "You're welcome" after she'd patched him up, or "Buy your own damn coffee" when she was being particularly annoying. Nothing that mattered. Nothing that required him to be seen.

But this was different.

This was you.

He started writing.

"I don't know how to start this."

The words looked wrong as soon as they hit the page. Too apologetic. Too small. He crossed them out with a single violent slash, the pen digging into the paper hard enough to leave an impression on the sheet beneath.

"I've been trying to find the right words."

Crossed it out. Worse. Pretentious. Like he was writing a movie script instead of a letter to the person who'd seen him cry twice and hadn't told anyone.

"I love you."

He stared at it.

It was true. It was insufficient. It was three letters that couldn't possibly contain everything he felt, everything you'd become to him, everything he was terrified of losing. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

So he kept writing.

The first page took him three hours. He wrote and crossed out, wrote and crossed out, until the paper was more scar tissue than sentence, until the words were buried under layers of revision and doubt. Finally he crumpled the whole thing into a ball and threw it toward the trash can. It missed, bouncing off the rim and rolling under the table to join the growing collection of failed attempts.

He started over.

The second page took him two hours. Better, but still wrong. The tone was off — too formal, like he was addressing a colleague instead of the person who knew about the scar on his hip from a curse he'd never told anyone about, who'd kissed it without asking for the story behind it.

Crumpled. Tossed.

By the end of the first week, he had twelve crumpled papers on the floor and one page that almost felt right. Almost. He'd written about the way you laughed, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn't paying attention, the way you made the world feel smaller and safer just by existing in it.

But when he read it back, it felt flat. Like he was describing a stranger. Like he'd captured the shape of you but missed the weight, the heat, the impossible reality of you.

He kept the page. Set it aside. Started over.

He kept going.

It happened gradually, the way important things often do. He was making coffee one morning — the good kind, the beans you'd brought back from that trip to Kyoto, the ones you saved for special occasions while he secretly used them every day because they reminded him of you — when he realized he wanted to give you more than just words.

Words were his weakness, always had been. He could talk circles around anyone, perform confidence like a second skin, but when it came to the things that mattered, the things that lived in his chest like living things, he choked. He performed. He deflected.

He wanted to give you something you could hold.

Something that would stay with you even when he couldn't be there, when missions pulled him away for days, weeks, or maybe even months, when the distance felt like a physical weight between you. Something that wouldn't dissolve the moment he stopped speaking.

So he started gathering things.

Small things. Things you'd mentioned in passing, your voice casual, unaware that he was memorizing every word. Things you'd looked at a little too long, your gaze lingering before you remembered to be practical, to be sensible, to be the person who didn't expect grand gestures from the strongest sorcerer alive.

The bracelet, first. You'd pointed at it in a shop window three months ago, your finger hovering over the glass for half a second before you moved on, said something about it being pretty, kept walking. He'd gone back that same afternoon, bought it with cash so there'd be no record, hid it in his sock drawer beneath a pile of mismatched pairs you were always threatening to organize.

You'd never mentioned it again. He wasn't sure if you'd forgotten, or if you'd convinced yourself it didn't matter, or if you were simply waiting to see if he'd been paying attention.

He had been. He was always paying attention.

The candies next. The ones from Harajuku, the shop you'd dragged him to on a rainy Saturday, your hand in his, your hood pulled up against the drizzle. You'd bought three boxes of the strawberry-filled ones, eaten them all in one sitting while you watched some documentary about deep sea creatures, and then claimed they were "too sweet" when he asked if you wanted to go back.

He'd memorized the shop. The color of the packaging, soft pink with gold lettering. The way your eyes lit up when you found them, the way you hummed while you walked, swinging the bag like a pendulum of contentment.

He bought five boxes. Hid them in the back of the pantry, behind the rice he'd never learned to cook properly.

The candles came after that. You'd been browsing online one evening, your laptop balanced on his thighs while you scrolled through pages of scented candles with names like Midnight Garden and Rain on Warm Pavement. You'd paused on one — vanilla and sandalwood, simple, clean — and made a soft considering noise before clicking away.

He'd memorized the brand. The scent. The way you'd looked at the screen like you wanted it but wouldn't buy it for yourself, some voice in your head saying it was too indulgent, too unnecessary, too much.

He bought three. One for the bedroom, one for the bathroom, one for the living room where you spent Sunday mornings reading on the couch. He imagined you lighting them, the soft glow on your face, the way you'd smile without knowing why.

The makeup was harder. He knew nothing about makeup — had never paid attention beyond the way you sometimes traced dark lines around your eyes that made them look even more devastating, the way you'd press color onto your lips and then complain about having to be careful not to smudge it.

But he'd seen you. In the mirror of a department store, testing a lipstick on the back of your hand, making that same soft considering noise you'd made with the candles. You'd looked at the price and put it back, smiled at yourself in the mirror like you were reminding yourself you didn't need it, and walked away.

He went back the next day. Stood in front of the display like an idiot, overwhelmed by the rows of color, the foreign language of shades and finishes and formulas. A saleswoman had helped him, mercifully unimpressed by his hesitation, and he'd left with the lipstick you'd tested — Ruby Velvet, the name printed in gold — and a small palette of shadows in warm browns and soft golds that the saleswoman said would "bring out your eyes."

He'd wrapped them in tissue paper, tucked them into the basket, and hoped you wouldn't think he was trying to change you. He just wanted to give you the things you wanted but wouldn't give yourself.

The playlist was accidental, almost. He'd started a note in his phone on a whim, adding titles in the dark while you slept beside him, while you showered and sang under your breath, while you cooked breakfast in his too-big t-shirt and didn't realize he was listening. Songs you hummed while folding laundry. Songs you requested in the car, claiming they were "just catchy," your cheeks pink when he caught you mouthing the words.

He didn't know what he was building yet. He just knew he was collecting pieces of you, hoarding them like treasures, and that eventually he'd need to give them back in some form that made sense.

But the flowers.

The flowers were where everything changed.

He bought real lilies first. White ones, your favorite, from the florist two blocks away that you always stopped to smell when you passed. They were beautiful, perfect, and they would die in a week. Not that he wouldn't buy a hundred more just for you.

He stared at them on his kitchen table, their petals still wrapped in plastic, and felt something twist in his chest. Temporary. Everything was temporary. Missions and moments and the fragile peace between disasters. He wanted to give you something that would last.

The idea came from nowhere and everywhere — a craft he'd seen in a shop window once, maybe, or a tutorial he'd half-watched while waiting for a mission briefing, or simply the desperate need to build something with his own hands that wouldn't fade. Something he could control, could shape, could make permanent in a life where permanence was rare.

He'd never been good at making things. At creating. His whole life had been about destruction — cursed energy and violence and the weight of being the strongest. But this was different. This was for you. And somehow that made his clumsy fingers feel capable, his uncertain hands feel steady.

Pipe cleaner flowers. He could make them. He would make them.

The first attempt was a disaster.

He bought white pipe cleaners from a craft store in Shibuya, feeling ridiculous and conspicuous, the strongest sorcerer alive purchasing art supplies like a middle schooler with a diorama due. He watched a tutorial on his phone, following along with fingers that had killed special grade curses but couldn't seem to bend wire into anything resembling a petal.

The first lily looked like a sad weed. Crooked petals, uneven stem, the whole thing listing to one side like it was drunk. He stared at it for a long moment, then carefully set it aside and started over.

The second was worse.

The third made him want to throw something.

He kept trying. He bought more pipe cleaners, different gauges, different colors. He stayed up late, bending and twisting until his fingers hurt, until the pads of his thumbs were raw from the metal edges, until his eyes burned and his shoulders ached from hunching over the table.

He wanted to make you something that wouldn't wilt.

Something that would last. Something he had built with his own hands, imperfect and real, the way he wanted to be for you.

By the end of the week, he had seven pipe cleaner lilies that looked almost like flowers. The petals were still slightly uneven, the stems a little wobbly, but they were recognizable. They were his.

He arranged them in a small basket, tucked among the real lilies he'd bought, and felt a strange pride mixed with terror. You would know. You would see the uneven petals, the places where his fingers had slipped, and you would understand what he was trying to say.

He hoped.

He started the letter over again.

The gathering had changed something, shifted his understanding of what he was trying to build. It wasn't just words anymore. It was a world, a collection of moments and objects and feelings that he'd assembled like a shrine to the fact that you existed, that you chose him, that you stayed.

He wanted the letter to match. To be perfect, yes, but also to be endless. Something you could keep unfolding, discovering, returning to. Something that felt like him: messy, excessive, unable to stop once he'd started.

He wrote 520 reasons.

He knew it was ridiculous. He knew it was excessive, the kind of gesture that would make Nanami sigh heavily and Shoko make some comment about his ego. But he wanted you to see proof - to hold proof - that he loved you in a way that couldn't be undone.

"520 is "I love you" in Chinese internet slang," he told himself, late at night, surrounded by paper and pipe cleaners and the quiet of an apartment that felt empty even when you were sleeping in the next room. "Wǒ ài nǐ. Very romantic. Very me."

The paper piled up. He bought A4 sheets in bulk, the good kind, heavy enough to feel substantial in your hands. He wrote and wrote, the numbers marching down the margins like a private army of confessions.

1. I love the way you roll your eyes when I call you "shorty" — but you're still the tallest thing in the room to me. You always have been.

89. I love the way you laugh when I do something stupid on purpose. It's like you're the only person who gets that I'm not actually an idiot. (Most of the time.)

He wrote about the tiny things. The way you squinted at your phone. The way you forgot your keys and then found them in the refrigerator. The way you said his name when you were tired, drawing out the syllables like a secret.

112. I love that you're the only person who's ever made me nervous. (I already said this. I'm saying it again because it's still true and I'm still terrified.)

He stopped there, pen hovering over the paper. The apartment was too quiet. He could hear his own heartbeat, the distant hum of the refrigerator, the city waking up beyond his windows. He thought about your face when you read this, the way you'd probably laugh at number 47 and get stuck on number 112, demanding to know when he was nervous.

He kept writing.

156. I love that you're the only person who's ever made me feel small. Not in a bad way. In the way that makes me want to be bigger for you.

His hand was shaking. He set down the pen and went to make coffee, needing the ritual of it, the mechanical motions of filter and water and waiting. The sun was fully up when he returned, painting his kitchen in gold, and he sat back down to continue.

203. I love that you don't flinch when I take off my blindfold. Most people can't even look at me without squinting, but you just — you see me. Even when I'm not trying to be seen.

He wrote through the morning. Through the afternoon, skipping meals, skipping calls from Nanami that went to voicemail with increasingly terse messages. The numbers blurred together. He wrote about your morning hair and your terrible puns and the way you bit your lip when concentrating. He wrote about your kindness, your stubbornness, the way you refused to let him pay for everything even though he could buy the building.

289. I love that you're the only person who's ever beaten me at rock-paper-scissors. I let you win, obviously, but still. It counts.

300. I love that you're here. That you choose to be here. Every day, you choose this. Choose me. I don't know why. I'm not going to ask. I'm just going to keep being grateful.

He stopped again. His eyes were burning. He'd been awake for thirty hours and he still had two hundred twenty reasons to go, but his hand was cramping and his chest felt too full, like something was trying to escape.

He thought about giving up. About throwing the whole thing away and buying you something instead — jewelry, probably, something expensive and easy. Something that didn't require him to be this exposed.

But then he thought about your face again, really thought about it, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn't paying attention. Like he was already enough. Like he didn't need to be infinite or strongest or anything at all.

He picked up the pen.

365. I love that you're the only person who's ever seen me cry. Not even Suguru got that. Just you.

400. I love that you're the only person who's ever called me out for being full of shit. Most people just laugh or nod or pretend I'm not a disaster. But you? You know. And you still stay.

412. I love that you're the only person who's ever made me want to be better. Not for the world. Not for the mission. For you.

499. I love that I know you're going to make me sit here while you read all of these. I planned for this. I want this. I want you to know exactly how much I mean it.

520. Because if I get a thousand versions of this life, I'd look for you in every single one.

He finished at 3 AM on a Thursday. His hand was cramping. His eyes were burning. But he looked at the pages spread out around him and felt something shift in his chest — a quiet satisfaction, a quiet hope.

He hoped you'd like it.

He hoped you'd understand.

The pages were done, but the letter wasn't finished.

He sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by 520 reasons, and realized he had no idea how to give them to you. A stack of paper felt wrong — too clinical, too much like homework. He wanted you to discover them, to unfold them like a secret, to feel like the words were endless.

He taught himself to fold.

Not origami — he wasn't patient enough for that, and his fingers were too clumsy from years of fighting. But nesting. Each page folded inside the next, creating a chain of revelations, so that when you opened one, another would fall out. He wanted you to feel like the letter was endless. Like his love was endless.

It took hours. His first attempts were bulky, the folds uneven, the pages refusing to nest properly. He started over, again and again, until his fingers remembered the motions, until the paper began to cooperate, until he had something that felt like magic.

He added three small envelopes to the back, each labeled in his careful script: 

Open when you miss me.

Open when you're mad at me.

Open when you need to remember.

He didn't know what to put in them yet. He'd figure it out. He had time.

He held the finished letter in his hands and felt something shift, some tectonic plate in his chest settling into place. This was it. This was regular Satoru Gojo, or as close as he could get — a man who spent three weeks on paper and pipe cleaners because he was too scared to say three words out loud.

He was terrified.

He waited three more days.

Not because he was having second thoughts — though he was, constantly, waking up at 2 AM convinced this was a mistake, that you'd think it was too much, that you'd finally see how desperately he needed you and run the other way.

He waited because he wanted the right moment. Not a birthday, not an anniversary, not any occasion that demanded reciprocation. Just... a Sunday. A regular Sunday where you had nowhere to be, nothing to do, no performance required.

He cleaned the apartment on Saturday, which you would notice and comment on, which would make him defensive and pleased in equal measure. He threw away the crumpled papers, the failed pipe cleaner attempts, the evidence of his obsession. He arranged the real lilies and the fake ones in a basket, added the bracelet in its velvet pouch, the candies, the handwritten playlist with its notes in the margins.

Track 3: "you sang this in the shower once, badly, I loved it"

Track 7: "you smiled when this came on at the convenience store, i bought the album"

Track 12: "you cried to this in the car and pretended you weren't, i didn't say anything but i wanted to pull over and hold you"

He wrote them late at night, hunched over his phone, your breathing soft in the next room. Each note was a confession he couldn't make in person, a piece of evidence he'd been paying attention all along.

Sunday morning arrived like a held breath. He woke before you, which was unusual — you were typically the early riser, the one who brought him coffee in bed and laughed when he groaned and pulled the covers over his head. But today his eyes opened at six, his chest tight with anticipation, and he lay there in the dark listening to you breathe until the sun finally crept through the curtains.

He bought your favorite pastries from the bakery three blocks away, the ones with the red bean filling you pretended not to love because you thought they were "too sweet." The woman behind the counter smiled at him — she recognized him now, had started setting aside the best ones when she saw him coming — and he felt a strange warmth at being known, at being regular, at being someone who bought pastries for the person he loved.

You arrived at noon, letting yourself in with the key he'd given you six months ago. The sound of the lock turning still made his heart stutter, still felt like a gift every time. You kicked off your shoes in the entryway, called out a greeting, and he stood in the kitchen with the basket hidden behind his back like a teenager with a crush.

"Something smells amazing," you said, rounding the corner, and he watched your face cycle through expressions: surprise at the clean apartment, delight at the pastry box on the table, confusion at the way he was standing, too still, too obvious.

"What?" You narrowed your eyes, playful suspicion creeping in. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're about to propose or tell me you're secretly a curse in disguise."

He laughed, too loud, and ran a hand through his hair. "Neither. I just— have something for you."

Your suspicion deepened, but you were smiling, curious, setting down your bag and accepting the pastry box he thrust at you like a shield. "Satoru, you look like you're about to throw up. Are you okay?"

"Fine. Perfect. Never better." The words came out automatic, his usual deflection, but his hands were shaking when he retrieved the basket from behind the couch. He'd arranged everything carefully that morning, the lilies nestled together, the pipe cleaner flowers tucked among them like secrets, the envelope heavy and waiting at the bottom.

He held it out.

You set down the pastry box, suddenly serious, and took the basket with both hands. The weight of it seemed to surprise you — you shifted your grip, feeling the bulk, and looked up at him with questions in your eyes.

"You made this," you said. Not a question. A statement of fact, delivered with the quiet certainty of someone who knew him, who could read through his performances to the truth underneath.

"Maybe." His voice came out steadier than he felt, his usual smirk sliding into place like armor. "Or maybe I just wanted to see if you'd notice the difference between a store-bought gift and something that actually required effort." He paused, couldn't help himself. "Spoiler: you always do."

You ignored him, peeling back the cloth lining he'd spent twenty minutes arranging. The white lilies came first — fresh, fragrant, their petals still dewy from the morning market. He watched your face soften, watched your fingers hover over the petals, and felt something loosen in his chest.

Then you saw them.

The pipe cleaner flowers, tucked among the real ones. White lilies, carefully shaped, slightly uneven, obviously made by human hands. His hands. He'd sat at this same kitchen table and twisted wire into flowers because he wanted you to have something that wouldn't wilt, something that would last, something he had built for you with his own clumsy fingers.

Your throat tightened. He saw it happen — the way your breath caught, the way your eyes went bright with something he couldn't name.

"Satoru," you whispered, and his name in your mouth still felt like a miracle, like something he didn't deserve but couldn't stop wanting.

You kept exploring. The velvet pouch, the bracelet sliding into your palm, your fingers tracing the chain he'd memorized for months. The candies, your favorite, the ones you'd claimed were too sweet. The CD case, the handwritten playlist, the notes in his messy scrawl.

Then — the candles. Three of them, wrapped in tissue paper, vanilla and sandalwood rising up to meet you. You pulled back the paper and stared at them, your breath catching, because you remembered this. You remembered scrolling past them, wanting them, telling yourself no.

"Satoru," you whispered, and he made a small nervous noise, not quite words, his hand finding yours.

You kept going. A small bag at the bottom, something heavier. You opened it and found the lipstick — Ruby Velvet in gold lettering — and the palette of warm browns and soft golds, the ones you'd tested in the department store mirror and put back because they were too much, because you didn't need them, because you were always telling yourself no.

You looked up at him, and your eyes were bright, wet, and he was pink and defensive and terrified.

"I didn't know if I got the right ones," he said quickly. "The woman at the counter helped me, I don't know anything about makeup, I just— you looked at them, and I wanted—"

You kissed him. Hard, sudden, the lipstick tube pressing into your palm like a promise.

"You were paying attention," you said against his mouth. "You were paying attention to everything."

"Always," he admitted, and his voice was small, honest, nothing like his usual performance. "I pay attention to everything about you."

And then — the envelope.

You looked back up at him. He was diverting his gaze now, his hands shoved in his pockets, his jaw tight. Every instinct screamed at him to perform, to deflect, to make a joke and retreat behind his mask. But he stayed still. He let you see him.

"Satoru..."

"Just—" His voice cracked slightly, and he hated it, hated how exposed he felt, how small. "Just open it. Please."

You opened the envelope carefully, like it was precious, like it mattered, and something in his chest ached with gratitude.

Inside was a single folded sheet of A4 paper. You unfolded it, and a smaller folded piece fell out. Then another. Then another. They were nested, each page folded inside the next, like he'd been unable to stop writing, like the words kept multiplying, like he had more to say than any single page could hold.

You spread them out on the couch. Page after page after page. His handwriting was messy, sometimes neat, sometimes so careless you could barely read it. He'd crossed things out, rewritten them, added things in the margins. Some pages had coffee stains. One had what looked like a tear drop, smudged into the paper — he hadn't known you'd be able to tell, hadn't thought about what he'd be revealing.

You started to read.

"I don't know how to start this. I've rewritten this opening seven times. You probably think I'm being dramatic. You'd be right."

You laughed, bright and surprised, and Satoru felt something loosen in his chest, something he'd been holding tight for weeks.

"But I needed to tell you things I can't say out loud. Things I've been thinking about for months. Things you deserve to hear."

You kept reading. He watched your face, the way your expression shifted from amusement to something softer, something deeper. You read about the first time he knew he loved you — not a dramatic moment, nothing cinematic. Just a Tuesday. You'd been making coffee, humming something off-key, and he'd watched you from the doorway and thought: "Oh."

You looked up at him, and your eyes were bright, and he wanted to look away but couldn't.

"You never told me," you said.

"I couldn't." The admission felt like pulling a splinter, painful and necessary. "I didn't know how."

You kept reading. He watched you read about the tiny things he'd noticed — the way you squinted at your phone, the way you forgot your keys and then found them in the refrigerator, the way you said his name when you were tired. The way you made him feel safe. The way you made him feel like he wasn't alone, even when he was surrounded by people who needed things from him, expected things, wanted pieces of him he didn't know how to give.

Then you reached the reasons.

I love that you make home feel like a person. Like you.

I love that you're the only person who's ever made me feel like I can just be Satoru. Not Gojo. Not the strongest. Just… me.

I love the way you say "we" instead of "I." Like you've already decided I'm part of your future. I am. I want to be.

You stopped reading. Your hands were shaking. He saw your eyes go wet, saw you blink rapidly, and he felt panic rise in his chest — he'd done too much, been too much, exposed too much—

"Satoru." Your voice was thick, heavy with something he couldn't name.

He looked up. His ears were red. His face was pink. He felt like he wanted to disappear, wanted to rewind time and give you something simple, something easy, something that didn't require him to be seen.

"When did you—" Your voice broke. "How long did this take?"

He shrugged, looking away. "A while."

"Satoru."

"Three weeks." The admission came out quiet, almost ashamed. "I kept messing up the pipe cleaners. I wanted them to be perfect."

You stared at him. Then you looked down at the pages spread out around you, the pipe cleaner lilies in their basket, the bracelet in your palm. Three weeks. He'd spent three weeks on this. Staying up late, folding and refolding, bending wire into flowers, rewriting and starting over. All for you.

"Read it to me," you said.

He blinked. "What?"

"Read it to me. Out loud."

"Wait, sweetheart—"

You held out the first page. "Please."

His face was red. His hands were shaking. But he took the page from you, cleared his throat, and began to read.

"I don't know how to start this..."

His voice was rough at first, hesitant. Nothing like his usual theatrical confidence. He stumbled over words, backtracked when he couldn't read his own handwriting, made self-deprecating comments under his breath that made you smile.

But as he read, it steadied. Softened. He read about the first time he knew he loved you — that Tuesday morning, the coffee, the humming, the "Oh," that had rearranged his entire understanding of himself. He read about the tiny things he noticed — the way you squinted at your phone, the way you forgot your keys and found them in the refrigerator, the way you said his name when you were tired.

"Sa-to-ru," he imitated, and you laughed, and he smiled — his gaze on you — small and private, the real smile he saved, just for you.

He read about the quiet moments. The way you made him feel safe. The way you made him feel like he wasn't alone, even when he was surrounded by people who needed things from him, expected things, wanted pieces of him he didn't know how to give.

"You make me feel like I can just be Satoru," he read, and his voice cracked slightly. "Not Gojo. Not the strongest. Just... me."

He kept going. The funny ones first — the blue shirts, the drool, the time you'd beaten him at rock-paper-scissors and he'd sulked for an hour. Then the tender ones — the way you saved the last bite for him, the way you pretended to hate his singing but requested songs in the car, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn't paying attention.

Then the heavy ones.

"I love that you were the first person who saw me cry and didn't look away. You held me. You stayed. You loved me anyway."

He stopped. Swallowed. You reached over and took his free hand, threading your fingers through his, and he felt something settle in his chest, something that had been wound tight for years.

He kept going.

"I love the way you made me want to be better. Not for the world. Not for the mission. For you."

"I love the way you stay. Even when I'm difficult. Even when I'm distant. Even when I don't know how to say what I need."

He reached the final page. His voice was barely a whisper.

"Because if I get a thousand versions of this life, I'd look for you in every single one."

He set the letter down.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. The afternoon light shifted through the window, gilding the paper in gold, and you thought about all the versions of him you'd seen today. The engineer, precise and frustrated. The writer, messy and vulnerable. The man who was terrified of being too much and not enough in the same breath.

Then you leaned over and kissed him.

Soft, slow, full of everything you couldn't say. His lips were warm and soft, and he made a small, surprised noise against your mouth before his hands came up to cradle your face, gentle, reverent, like you were something precious.

"I love you," you said against his lips.

"I know." His voice was rough, wrecked, nothing like his usual confidence.

"Say it back."

"I love you too." He kissed you again, deeper this time, and when he pulled back he was smiling — not the smirk, not the mask. Just him. The real him, the one he hid from everyone else, the one he'd built pipe cleaner flowers for and written 520 reasons for and was still somehow afraid of losing.

"Next time," he said, "I'm leaving the letter and running."

"No, you're not."

"No," he admitted, resting his forehead against yours, smiling. "I'm not."

You sat there together, the nested letter spread across your laps, the pipe cleaner lilies catching the afternoon light, and you thought about love as a physical thing. Something you could hold. Something that wouldn't wilt.

Something he had built for you, piece by piece, because he didn't know how to say it any other way.

"Hey," you said, after a while.

"Mm?"

"The pipe cleaner flowers are my favorite."

He laughed, bright and genuine, and pulled you closer. "Of course they are. I made those."

"I know." You kissed his cheek, felt the heat of his blush against your lips. "That's why."

You stayed there until the sun went down, reading the letter again, slower this time, asking him about specific lines, specific moments. He told you about the failed prototypes, the crumpled papers, the three AM research sessions on paper engineering. You laughed until your stomach hurt, until he was pink and defensive and happier than you'd ever seen him.

This was him, you realized. This was the person he was when no one was watching, when he wasn't performing, when he was just trying to love you in the only way he knew how: completely, excessively, without knowing how to stop.

"I want to read the envelopes," you said, reaching for the back of the letter where three small packets waited.

He caught your hand, brought it to his lips. "I didn't write them yet."

You blinked. "What?"

"I didn't—" He laughed, sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. "I got to 520 and my hand was cramping and I thought, I'll do those later, and then I never did."

"Satoru." You stared at him. "You gave me empty envelopes?"

"I gave you the idea of envelopes," he corrected, grinning now, his confidence returning now that the danger had passed. "Very romantic. Very mysterious."

"You gave me three pieces of paper with nothing on them."

"Potential," he insisted. "I gave you potential. And a promise that I'll fill them eventually."

You laughed, helpless, leaning into him. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm your ridiculous," he agreed, and kissed your forehead.

You sat in silence for a while, the letter spread across your laps, the empty envelopes tucked back into their pockets. You thought about the gesture of them — the intention, the promise, the admission that he would keep writing, keep trying, keep finding ways to tell you what you meant to him.

"Hey," you said, after a while.

"Mm?"

"Track 12 on the playlist." You were quiet for a moment, your thumb tracing circles on his palm. "You seriously wrote that I cried?"

"Of course," he confirmed, his voice soft. "I wanted to pull over and hold you. I didn't know how to say that either."

You felt your face heat. "You weren't supposed to actually write that down."

"I write everything down," he said. "Everything about you. I can't help it."

You turned to face him, this ridiculous, excessive, completely overwhelming man who had built you a mechanical love letter, left three envelopes empty out of exhaustion, and was somehow still afraid it wasn't enough.

"Read me one more," you said. "Just one. Your favorite."

He groaned, long and suffering, but he was smiling, and he reached for the pages, and he found the one he wanted.

"Number 300," he read, his voice steady now, sure. "I love that you're here. That you choose to be here. Every day, you choose this. Choose me. I don't know why. I'm not going to ask. I'm just going to keep being grateful."

He set the paper down. Looked at you, really looked at you, his blindfold askew and his eyes — his real, beautiful, terrible eyes — fixed on yours.

"That's the one," he said quietly. "That's the one that matters."

You kissed him then, soft and slow, and you didn't make him read the whole thing again. You just held him, and the letter, and the promise of empty envelopes that would one day be filled, and you thought about love as something endless, unfolding, always becoming.

"Hey," he whispered against your hair.

"Mm?"

"I'm going to write those envelopes," he said. "I promise. When you need them, they'll be there."

"I know," you said. "I'll remind you."

He laughed, bright and genuine, and pulled you closer, and you stayed there until the stars came out, two ridiculous people in love, surrounded by pipe cleaner flowers and 520 reasons and the quiet certainty that you would choose each other, again and again, in this life and any other.

A/N. a VERY very special thank you to my lovely @ver2xq for reading this fic b4 i posted cz i was overthinking whether i should post this or not <33

He stepped outside, sliding the door shut as softly as he could. The two of you simply stood beside one another, listening to the waves.

“They’re calling us back.”

“…yeah.”

“Are you scared?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your fingers fiddled with the silver ring that hung around your neck.

Your voice barely rose above the ocean. “…I thought I’d made peace with it.”

You laughed quietly. “…Then this week happened.”

Satoru looked at you. “…Yeah.”

You smiled sadly. “I think…I finally understand why people want tomorrow.”

The words hit him harder than anything you’d said before. Because he understood. He wanted tomorrow too. A tomorrow where none of this ended. Where you could keep adding pages to that notebook. Where you could keep saying his name.

“…Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“…Thank you.”

He frowned. “For what?”

“…For making me feel like I had a life.”

Silence filled the air. He stepped closer. He gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Just like he had before your first kiss.

“…Can I kiss my wife?”

The word made both of you smile, soft and warm.

“…You can.”

This kiss was nothing like the first time. It was slow and achingly gentle. Satoru’s lips brushed yours once, twice, before he kissed you fully deeper this time, full of quiet emotion. His hand cradled the back of your neck with the utmost care as he tilted your head slightly. After a moment, he licked your bottom lip with aching tenderness, a silent plea that made your breath hitch. The moment you parted your lips for him, the kiss deepened with sudden urgency. Like all the feelings the two of you had been holding back were finally spilling out without restraint.

Satoru kissed you like this might be the last time.

His tongue slid against yours, slow and deep, exploring you with raw emotion. One hand cradled the back of your neck, fingers threading tightly into your hair as he pulled you closer. The other hand at your waist slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his warm palm gliding over the bare skin of your lower back, holding you flush against him like he never wanted to let go. Your own hands were all over him, running up his chest, clutching at his shoulders, fingers threading desperately into his soft white hair as you kissed him back just as fervently. Every touch, every shared breath carried the weight of everything unsaid.

Soft, needy sounds slipped between your joined mouths as the makeout grew longer and more consuming. You poured everything into it: the love, the fear, the quiet desperation of knowing time might be running out.

When you finally parted, it was only because air had become a necessity. Your lips were swollen, breaths coming in shaky gasps. You stayed pressed close, foreheads resting together, eyes still closed as if opening them might break the moment.

Your heart felt too full to contain.

“…Can I ask for one more thing?” Satoru whispered, voice soft and low.

You hummed. “Hm?”

“…Can I hug my wife?”

A quiet laugh slipped from you. “…You can.”

The moment you said yes, he held you close with the same tender care. He slipped his other hand underneath your shirt, caressing your bare back and drawing circles absentmindedly. He pulled you as close as physically possible. You buried your face in his shoulder, breathing him in as his steady heartbeat thrummed beneath your ear and wrapped your arms around his neck. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence said everything.

“…I’m scared,” you whispered, voice cracking.

Satoru’s arms tightened around you instinctively. You closed your eyes.

“…I don’t want this week to be over.”

He swallowed hard. “…Neither do I.”

Another long silence. Then, almost too quietly to hear…

“I wish…” He stopped himself.

“What?”

He smiled sadly. “…Nothing.”

Because he knew wishing wouldn’t change tomorrow. So instead, he simply held his wife a little tighter. As though, if he memorized this moment well enough, he could somehow keep it forever.

The flight back to Tokyo was much quieter than the one to Okinawa. No one argued over snacks. Haibara wasn’t bouncing excitedly in his seat. Even Satoru had been unusually quiet. Every mile that brought you closer to Jujutsu High felt like another page of your notebook being turned. Until there were none left. The familiar gates of Jujutsu High came into view just before noon. For a long moment, no one got out of the car. Then Geto quietly switched off the engine.

“…We’re here.”

The words settled heavily over the silence.

Haibara forced a smile. “Well…” He scratched the back of his head. “I guess this is where we split up.”

Nanami adjusted the strap of his bag. “Our assignment ends here.”

Shoko walked over first. She stopped in front of you before reaching into your hands and placing a small paper bag there.

“…What’s this?”

“A souvenir.”

You looked inside. The pair of seashell hairpins you’d admired on your second day in Okinawa.

“Shoko…”

“You kept looking at them.”

“I figured you’d regret not buying them.”

Your eyes stung. “…Thank you.”

She smiled softly. “Don’t thank me.”

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you. It was brief but gentle.

“…I’m glad I met you.”

You hugged her back. “…Me too.”

When she stepped away, Haibara immediately rushed forward. “You don’t get to leave without a goodbye from me too!”

Before you could react, he pulled you into an enthusiastic hug. “I’m gonna miss you!”

You laughed through the tears threatening to form. “…I’ll miss you too.”

He beamed. Nanami sighed, though there was the faintest hint of one on his own face. Haibara finally stepped aside.

Nanami bowed politely. “It was an honor.”

You returned the bow. “…Thank you. For everything.”

He nodded once. Then quietly turned away. Satoru turned to you.

“…Ready?”

You looked toward the stone staircase leading deeper into the school where Master Tengen waited.

You took a slow breath. “…Ready.”

The three of you began climbing. The school grounds were strangely quiet. Every footstep echoed against the ancient stone. No one spoke. There wasn’t much left to say. Halfway up the staircase, there was sound. So faint you almost missed it. A sharp whistle through the air.

You turn around and your eyes widened. “…Satoru!”

Blood splattered across the stone steps. A blade protruded cleanly through his chest. Time seemed to stop.

“Satoru!” Geto’s eyes immediately shot behind Gojo.

A man dressed entirely in black and white trousers pulled the blade out of Gojo’s chest. His expression remained completely unreadable.

He laughed. “…Man.” He coughed once. “…You really got me.”

Your hands trembled. “Satoru, you’re bleeding—”

“I’m okay.” His voice was strained, but steady. Blood poured down the front of his uniform.

You stared in horror. He winced, then flashed you a grin that was far less convincing than usual.

“…Relax.” He pressed one hand over the wound. “…He missed my vital organs.”

Geto stepped in front of the two of you, eyes never leaving Toji. “Satoru.” His tone had become deadly serious. “I’ll handle the assassin.”

Satoru frowned. “You sure?”

“I’ll catch up.” Geto’s cursed energy surged around him. “You take her to Master Tengen.”

The two best friends looked at one another. Nothing else needed to be said.

Satoru nodded once. “…Don’t die.”

Geto smiled faintly. “You too.”

The next instant, Satoru bent down. Before you realized what he was doing, one arm slipped beneath your knees while the other supported your back. You let out a small gasp as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms.

“…Satoru?”

He adjusted his grip. “…Hold on.”

He ran. The world blurred into streaks of green and gray as he leapt from staircase to staircase with impossible speed. The wind whipped through your hair. You instinctively wrapped an arm around his shoulders to steady yourself. Only then did you notice the blood still soaking through the front of his uniform.

Your expression fell. “…Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“…Are you really alright?”

He smiled without looking down. “Mhm.”

“You’re carrying me while you’re injured.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“You shouldn’t be running.”

“I’ll survive.”

You frowned. “…You don’t have to carry me. I can run.”

He laughed quietly. “And make my wife walk? No chance.”

Your cheeks warmed, even in the middle of the chaos. “Satoru…”

He looked down at you for only a heartbeat before returning his eyes to the path ahead.

“You’re light as a feather.” He grinned. “Seriously. I’ve carried grocery bags heavier than you.”

Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped you.

“There.” He smiled. “That’s better.”

As long as you were still smiling, He could pretend everything was going to be okay. The corridor seemed to stretch on forever. Satoru’s footsteps echoed against the ancient stone as he ran, each stride sending another sharp throb through the wound in his chest. He ignored it. The only thing that mattered was getting you to Master Tengen. Just a little farther.

You tightened your grip around his neck “…Satoru. You can put me down now.”

“I’m good.”

“You’re injured.”

“So?”

“So…”

You frowned at the blood still staining his shirt. “…I’m worried.”

He laughed softly. “I’m supposed to be the one worrying about you.”

“I know, but I still am.”

He smiled. “…You’re cute.”

You immediately hid your face against his shoulder. “…Don’t say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because…”Your voice became smaller. “…I’ll get embarrassed.”

His grin widened. “Noted.”

A familiar clearing finally came into view. The great stone doors leading to Master Tengen’s chamber stood just beyond. Satoru slowed to a stop. Very carefully, he lowered you back onto your feet.

“…We made it.”

You stood silently beside him. Neither of you moved. The world had become strangely quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. You stared at the chamber for a long time.

“…Satoru.”

“Hm?”

Your fingers slowly found the silver ring hanging from the delicate chain around your neck. The chain glinted softly beneath the afternoon light.

“Do I…” Your voice trembled. “…Do I really have to go in there?”

His smile faded. He had known this question was coming. He just hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

“…You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

You looked down. “…Everyone keeps saying it’s my choice but…” Your fingers tightened around the ring. “If I say no…everything changes.”

He didn’t answer. Because he knew. You looked up at him. Your eyes had begun to shine with unshed tears.

“…I don’t want this to end.”

His breath stopped for a moment.

“I…I want to keep seeing you.” Your voice cracked. “I want to keep seeing Suguru and Shoko and Nanami and Haibara.” A tear slipped down your cheek. “…I want to keep adding things to my notebook.” Another followed. “…I want to see a meteor shower. I want to see the northern lights, the southern cross…I want to grow older.”

You laughed weakly through your tears. “…I want to spend more time with you.”

The words struck him harder than any blade ever could. Neither of you spoke.

“…Satoru…Is it okay…” You looked at him with eyes full of hope. “…If we run away?”

Silence filled the chamber. He looked toward the great doors. Then back at you. For the first time since this mission had begun, he stopped thinking like a sorcerer. He stopped thinking about Tengen, about the higher ups, about duty, about destiny. He only thought about you. About your smile on the beach. Your laughter at the arcade. The way you’d said his name. The way you’d looked at the ocean as though seeing the world for the first time. He smiled. Entirely unlike his usual grin.

“…Yeah.” His voice was almost a whisper. “…Let’s run away.”

Your eyes widened. “…Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

His hand found yours. He intertwined your fingers.

“We’ll leave.” He laughed softly. “I don’t know where but we’ll figure it out.”

He squeezed your hand. “C’mon.” He smiled at you with a warmth that made your chest ache. “Let’s go home, wi—”

Bang

The gunshot split the silence. The chain around your neck snapped. The silver ring flew into the air. A spray of crimson followed. Satoru felt warm droplets strike his face. Your body went limp. The light disappeared from your eyes before you even hit the ground.

Thud.

The world stopped. Satoru stared. The broken chain lay tangled across the stone. The wedding ring rolled before coming to rest beside your outstretched hand. He didn’t move. He couldn’t. His fingers still remained half curled, reaching for the hand that had been holding his only a heartbeat earlier.

Slow, measured footsteps echoed from the tunnel ahead. A man emerged from the darkness. A pistol still smoking in his hand. His expression was as indifferent as the weather. He looked from your body, to the frozen boy standing above it. Then spoke with the same detached calm as if commenting on the time of day.

“…That was a good show but it’s time to wrap things up now.”

Satoru didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His gaze remained fixed on you. The crimson spreading beneath you. The broken silver chain and the wedding ring lying just beyond your fingertips.

Toji clicked his tongue. “…Oi. You gonna stand there all day?”

Satoru’s head lifted slowly. His blue eyes met Toji’s. Gone was the warmth that had filled them only moments before. There was only silence. Only rage.

Toji smirked. “There you are.”

In an instant, the two strongest figures disappeared from the corridor. The impact of their clash shook the walls as they tore through the temple grounds, crashing through stone and trees alike. The sound of battle echoed farther and farther away until the corridor fell quiet once more.

Several minutes passed. Footsteps echoed through the tunnel. A tall blonde woman walked through the tunnel with one hand tucked into her pocket.

“…Huh?” She frowned. “That’s a lot of blood.”

Her eyes fell on you lying motionless on the stone floor. She immediately crouched beside you.

“…Kid?”

Your skin had already begun to grow cold. She placed two fingers gently against your neck.

“…”

Nothing.

“…Wait.” So faint she almost missed it. A pulse. Weak. Unsteady. But still there. “…You’re kidding.”

Without another second of hesitation, cursed energy flowed from her palms. Reverse Cursed Technique. Warm light enveloped your body as she focused entirely on closing the wound in your neck.

“…Stay with me.”

The bleeding gradually slowed. Your breathing remained shallow but it was there. The blonde woman exhaled quietly.

“…That was close.” She glanced toward the great doors ahead. “So…you’re the Star Plasma Vessel.”

By the time the sun had begun to sink lower in the sky the battle outside had ended. Satoru ran. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest. He ignored it. His only thought was you. He rounded the final corner.

“…”

The chamber was empty. His footsteps slowed. The blood remained. The broken silver chain lay abandoned across the stone floor along with the ring. But…You were gone. For one impossible heartbeat, hope surged through him.

“…She’s alive?” He bolted forward. “[name]!”

His voice echoed through every corridor. No answer. He searched every adjoining passage. Every empty room. Every staircase. Nothing.

“Where is she?”

He searched again and again. Until there was only one place left. The doors to Tengen’s chamber. He shoved them open with enough force that they slammed against the walls.

“Tengen!”

Satoru’s voice echoed through the vast chamber. Silence answered him. His breathing came in ragged gasps as he searched the room.

“…Where are you?”

His eyes darted from one end of the chamber to the other. Nothing. No Tengen. No you.

“…Gojo Satoru.”

His breath stopped. That voice. He knew that voice. Slowly, he turned. There you stood. Your white robes still stained with dried crimson. The wound on your neck was gone. Not even a scar remained.For one glorious, impossible heartbeat, the world returned.

His eyes widened. “…[name]?”A laugh escaped him, half sob, half relief. “…You’re alive.”

He crossed the room in an instant before stopping himself just short of reaching you. His hands trembled.

“I thought…” He swallowed hard. “I thought I lost you.”

You looked at him. Your expression was gentle. Peaceful. Yet…something was wrong. The warmth that had always greeted him was gone. The sparkle in your eyes whenever you looked at him…gone. The shy smile that would appear whenever he called your name…gone. You looked at him as though you had known him for centuries and as though you had never met him at all. A chill ran down his spine.

“…[name]?”

You smiled. It was your smile but it wasn’t yours.

“…Thank you, Gojo Satoru.” Your voice was exactly the same. “…for delivering the star plasma vessel.”

His smile slowly disappeared. “…No.”

You tilted your head ever so slightly. “The merger has been completed.”

“No…”

The word escaped him before he even realized he’d spoken. He took another step toward you.

His breathing grew uneven. “We were supposed to go home.”

Only those calm, ancient eyes looked back at him. Not uncaring. Not cruel. Simply distant. As though the girl who had laughed with him beneath fireworks, who had held his hand, who had carefully crossed dreams off in a little notebook, had become only one small drop in an endless ocean.

“…Please.” His voice cracked. “Come back.”

For the first time, something flickered across your expression. A sadness so faint it disappeared almost as soon as it came. When you spoke again, your voice seemed to carry another beneath it, older, immeasurably ancient.

“…It is too late. We had to do what needed to be done. Rest now, Gojo Satoru. The Star Plasma Vessel has fulfilled her purpose.”

The chamber fell silent. Satoru stared at you. At your face. Your voice. Your eyes. Everything that looked like you and yet… none of it was the girl who had promised to return to Okinawa with him.

His knees gave way. He collapsed onto the cold stone floor. Not too late to save your life. Too late to save you.

Twelve years later.

The afternoon sun spilled through the classroom windows. Satoru reclined lazily in a chair, his head tipped back as soft snores escaped him. The classroom door slid open.

“Gojo-sensei.”

No response. Yuji leaned closer.

“…He’s actually asleep.”

Nobara sighed. “I can’t believe this guy.”

Megumi crossed his arms. “You’d think a teacher would at least pretend to work.”

Yuji grinned mischievously. “Should we wake him up?”

Nobara smirked. “I’ve been waiting for this.” She kicked the leg of his chair. “Wake up!”

The chair lurched. Satoru jolted upright.

“…Huh?” He blinked once before looking around the room. “Oh. You guys.”

Yuji frowned. “Were you seriously sleeping?”

“I was resting my eyes.”

“You were snoring.”

“That’s slander.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “You called us here.”

“I did?"

Megumi let out a tired sigh. “…You did.”

“Oh.” Satoru stood, stretching until his back cracked. “Well, since you’re all here…”

He checked the time. “…Actually...I’ve got somewhere to be first.”

Megumi looked up from his seat. “…Where are you going?”

Satoru slipped his hands into his pockets. “Gotta drop something off.”

The familiar halls beneath Jujutsu High hadn’t changed. Stone corridors. Ancient barriers. An endless silence. Satoru stopped before the great doors. He pushed them open. The chamber was just as he remembered.

“…Gojo Satoru.” Your voice greeted him. “What brings you here today?”

He smiled. Hidden behind the blindfold, no one could see his eyes. His gaze drifted to the silver chain resting around your neck. Hanging from it was a simple wedding ring. Years ago, he had asked Tengen for one selfish favor. To keep wearing it for your sake.

“I brought something.” He held up a small paper bag. “Kikufuku.” He scratched the back of his head with an awkward laugh. “I figured…you might want to try some.”

The chamber remained still. Your eyes looked at the bag.

“…Very well.”

He walked forward and gently placed it on the floor. Neither of you spoke. There wasn’t much left to say anymore. After a quiet moment, Satoru turned toward the exit. He didn’t say goodbye. He never did.

The doors closed behind him. As he walked down the corridor, another familiar figure approached from the opposite direction.

“Yo.” Yuki lifted a hand in greeting. “Long time no see.”

Satoru smiled. “Tsukumo.”

“Still avoiding paperwork?”

“As always.”

She laughed. “And you’re still visiting?”

He shrugged. “It’s on the way.”

“…Sure it is.”

A comfortable silence settled between them. Finally, Satoru glanced toward the stairs.

“I should get going. My students are waiting.”

He stepped past her.

“…Gojo.”

He paused. Yuki’s expression had become unusually serious.

“…Wait a second.”

He looked back. “What?”

She folded her arms. “…You know. One strange thing about Tengen. They’re never really alone.”

Satoru said nothing. “I can hear them...the Star Plasma Vessels…”

His smile remained in place.Though it no longer reached the rest of his face.

“…Can you?”

She nodded. “Sometimes. Their voices are faint. Like echoes.”

“…”

“There was one today.”

Satoru’s fingers curled slightly inside his pocket. “…Oh?”

He laughed softly. “and what did this mysterious voice have to say?”

Yuki looked directly at him. For the first time in years, she repeated your words.

“Satoru…please live well.”

She paused.

“…and don’t forget. We still have to go back to Okinawa.”

Silence filled the chamber. The corridor suddenly felt impossibly quiet. Satoru’s smile faltered. Only for a heartbeat. So brief that anyone else would have missed it. His throat tightened.

“…I see.”

He looked away, adjusting his blindfold out of habit. “…Thanks. Thanks for telling me.”

Yuki watched him for a long moment. “…You’re welcome.”

Without another word, Satoru continued walking. When he returned to the classroom…it was chaos.

“That’s my seat!”

“It was never your seat!”

“Fushiguro, tell Kugisaki to move!”

“I’m not getting involved.”

“Gojo-sensei!”

“She’s hitting me!”

“I hit you because you’re annoying!”

The room fell silent as he slid the door open. Three pairs of eyes turned toward him. He chuckled.

“You guys done?”

“No,” Nobara answered immediately.

“Alright.”

As the three of them resumed bickering, Satoru wandered toward his desk. His hand paused. Sitting in the corner was a tiny plush manta ray. Its faded blue fabric had begun to wear with age. He remembered it instantly. The aquarium. The gift shop. You had picked it up. Turned it over in your hands, smiled, Then quietly placed it back on the shelf.

“…It’s cute…But I don’t really need it.”

So, he had gone back later and bought it anyway. It had remained on his desk ever since. Satoru picked it up carefully. For just a moment, His thumb brushed over its worn fabric.

“…We’ll get there someday.”

His voice was almost inaudible. “So…Wait for me a little longer.”

Outside the office, his students argued loudly enough for the entire school to hear. A small smile returned to his face. He set the plush back where it belonged. Then turned toward the door.

smau taglist: @saturnsurn @cisseadven @angelica-115 @chosos-prettyprincess @chewiebee @renrenrenren17 @sug4rk1tty @seungkwansflower @henzypoo @dayhsdreaming @jinjoohaaa @godofstory @strawberryshortcakkitty @chloeee20 @anthy-jay-ander @winkii @claymoreshaze @sxpernova @serennovasworld @r0vena @ophirei @love-d-luxe @letis1a @msdarkshadow @duckie3801 @turtlefairyy @estrnrea @kurtcobaingirlie @tojiscreampie @kekeanna266 @ruiislove @floravyn @nina-from-317 @mimicosmos8 @ang3l10 @erenspersonalwh0re @elliegj-xx @emptypsycology @lcckedheart @riykya @duckie3801 @chosoprettygirl @maemeru @gonergirll @yourfavouritebedrotter

So it came out as quite the surprise for everybody, inside and outside the palace, noble or commoner, that at twenty years of age, you were to be wed to Prince Nanami—not to Crown Prince Gojo. It came out especially as a surprise to those who saw you two frolicking in the royal gardens, gathering around a hydrangea bush, watching a ladybug swallow down a soft, little, helpless bug. You had seen it and said how ‘pretty’ it looked. 

“You think it is pretty!? It is eating away at that poor thing!” Satoru exclaimed. As if you made the most outrageous claim!.

“But it is only the course of nature; if the ladybug does not eat them, they'll destroy the plants! It is the inevitability of life.” For once, eleven-year-old Satoru peered at you with something akin to respect that day.

“I shall call you Ladybug from now on then.” He had softly said while looking at you.

“Because I'm strong and pretty?” You had tilted your head and given him a big grin.

“No. Because you chew away at my brain similarly as such.” He had said, with a tint of rosy pink creeping up on his neck, walking away from the hydrangea bush and you. 

Everyone was surprised and taken aback, including the nobility, the neighboring nations, and even the peasants. But it did not come out as some big news to the prince. He knew what he had reaped, and karma had given him the bitter fruit of his deeds. Gojo Satoru may be the crown prince of the vast lands of the eastern nation, but he did not know how to equate his emotions with his gestures. That fact alone unfortunately came to bite him back ultimately today. 

The years of running away from you, from the tightness he felt in his chest in your presence, and how his eyes always wandered off in your direction—it all summed up to this moment, where his actions are reflecting the consequences he shall bear for life. Actions that have caused you immense hurt over the many years he has observed you from a distance growing into the gorgeous woman you are now. And now that things have progressed so far out of his control, he is left incapacitated to take back his rightful place beside you, the only coveted chair he desired more than the throne to the empire—which he took for granted. And that is his sin.

So he must atone.

He wrote about twenty-one letters addressed to you that night. As he was required to, as the crown prince, the commander-in-chief, and your friend—who wouldn't be able to attend your wedding physically. Instead, he shall send his blessings. He wrote over the letters and left blots of ink, crossed them out, crumpled up the papers, banged his fist on the desk, and even leaned back in his chair and let his tears flow. At the end, only one conveyed what he truly wanted to say. But it wasn't the letter he intended to send. 

Once he finished writing the entire thing in one sitting, without having to stop himself once to gather his thoughts—all he could do was maniacally laugh at his own words as though they were so ridiculous and blasphemous it was incomprehensible. Or perhaps the sheer and crude reality finally staring back at him in his own writing was what finally broke the illusion of his deterrence defense. The twentieth letter contained words plucked right out of his shut mouth and reflected his soul.

To my dearest ladybug,

I am writing to you with intentions, neither pure nor royal. I am writing to you selfishly, not as your crown prince nor as the commander-in-chief of the nation’s army soon to be at war with the southern nation. I am being selfish and asking you to undo the self-sacrificial service you've shouldered upon yourself in the reigning monarchy’s name, the civilians’ names, and this nation's name. I cannot place you on the chessboard of war to find an alliance with the western nation. I may be abhorrent, rambunctious, crude, and filthy at times even, but I too have my dignity. And over that, I hold your dignity as though it were more precious. So precious that I cannot sell it to Prince Nanami in exchange for arms and men. Your price cannot equate to no numerals nor materials. But more importantly and earnestly, I am asking this ‘favor’ out of my pure selfish desires. My sweet ladybug, my sweet hymns of the harp at the holy chapel, you must be aware how deep my affections run for you—thus, I cannot give you up to another man for my nation. I shall give up my rightful inheritance of the throne, my name, my crown, and my life, but I cannot give you up. Every inch of your skin, every fiber, is mine; it is meant for me. Every falling hair off your body has my name engraved on it, and every breath you take is for my sake. It is my right to have you all to myself, selfishly and profoundly. 

That dress you wore to that damned dinner when this proposition was brought up, the azure satin that fell softly as though a petal on your curves, had me enchanted. I had wanted nothing more than to drag you out of that room full of people, in front of our familiars and family. I wanted each individual to watch your hand entangle with mine as I snatched you away. To then find any place, appropriate or not, if we could not have reached my bedroom in time, which I'm sure we could not have—I am simply too impatient when it comes to you, my ladybug—it may have been the hallways, the sitting room, the pianoforte, or the library. It simply would not have mattered. I would have slammed you against the closest wall, torn that flimsy lace—which tried to hold the fabric of your dress with substantial difficulty—covering nothing of your sensual back, and slipped said dress off of you as though you were truly a siren emerging out of the ocean that surrounds our nation.

Now, what I may write further may sound crude, but that is who I am when it comes to you—a crude, miscalculating, fumbling lunatic. I would have had you where you belonged. Between my arms, pressed against the walls, holding onto me with barely any strength, as I would've done the heavy lifting of holding your legs tightly bound around my hips. And I would've kissed you as deeply, lovingly, and lustfully as I've always wanted to whenever you are in my near proximity. That sweet cunt of yours would've been drooling to have me inside of you, to stretch your walls to fit perfectly around my throbbing cock, all for you. I would've molded you perfectly in memory of my shape, so you would be empty in my absence. And I would've filled you up in the meantime so you would not feel as such. I would've filled your womb with my seed until you were bred well to carry the next Gojo. The next in line to the throne after me has to be our blood. If that child shall not bear your blood with mine, I shall not give that throne the right to brace any more rulers. It shall be blasphemy otherwise. You have always had me right in the palm of your hands, bewitched, despite what others may have to say or what you may think. I treated you imprudently in our childhood, and not a second goes by where I do not find myself wanting to rectify those previous foolishnesses. That day when you came up to me to take off that eyelash sitting on my cheek, I had to push you off; it burned and electrified the blood that ran in my veins to merely have your fingertips graze my skin. Or when you held my hand in that busy market, I had to run; I did not know any better. You blazed my soul in mysterious flames of desire and enchantment. Or when I kissed that princess in the gardens, it was neither my wish nor my first kiss. I kissed her out of spite in the zeal of my adolescent blood, and years of dejection I had built up broke my sanity as you had left me behind to converse with Suguru on matters of philosophy. 

And you must know, I've stolen at least millions of kisses from you when you have been in your most defenseless moments. The very first time I ever grazed your sweet lips, I would have had to have been twelve; you were merely eight. I still remember that listless spring afternoon when you tired yourself out after running through the flower fields and took repose with your head on my lap, under that willow tree by the lake. Everything happened by its own accord, as if it were inevitable, as if it were as simple as the bees bumbling over the spring blooms; my lips found yours. I have threatened men who've dared to turn in your direction, let alone put their filthy sight on you, as I am crude, abhorrent, and not above violence. 

I also threatened that man, the son of that merchant, to never return to our nation, all for dancing with you at your eighteenth birthday ball. How could I not? You finally became a lady; my mother threw you the most extravagant ball. I had tailored for myself a new suit that looked identical to the one you once told me made my eyes look brighter, and I was denied my right to hold you tightly pressed against my body. To hold you in front of a room full of people who mattered no significance to me, but they only needed to know who owned me. As I would have led you around on that marble floor as practice for our wedding, which I've repeatedly played in my head to the point I could recite the event to you from beginning to end with ease. I dream of our first night together. I often dream of how perfectly your breasts will feel in my hands and how your waist will feel at home under my touch. And I dream of what lies between your legs. I must confess, my sweetheart, I've seen ladies bare; the higher society might even call me a rake, but I am a mere pathetic fool in love whose affections are unreciprocated, whose reputation follows him from when he was a young simpleton who thought the hole you carved in his heart could be filled with just about any person. And yet with all of this experience, the mere sight of nothing more than your bare shoulders and back drives me into insanity.

Because I know your cunt is where I'll find home. That pretty cunt of yours must be akin to an orchid found only in rainforests far west, drenched in droplets falling off the clouds and shaped so erotically that one look alone must be lethal. I simply know that to be the solemn truth. Therefore, everyone is greatly mistaken about the factual reality of us, that you are the oblivious and helpless critter trailing behind me, but it is I who am being led on a leash by you. Your mere existence is an anomaly for my cognition, but it is also the finishing piece of my puzzling mind. You are the sole reason why I open my eyes each morning, and then I take out that handkerchief you gave me when you were ten to press on the open wound on my knee. It still lies under my pillows, smelling faintly of crimson rust. I run my fingers over your unruly and unfinished attempt at embroidering a rose. It makes me feel at ease. 

So please do not forgive me. For all the hurt that I've caused you and the pain I still continue to inflict upon you. I believe that I ought to die on the battlefield that takes you away from me than live to see another man make you the mother of his children and the empress of his nation. With my demise I shall atone for wounding my beloved ladybug. If by any chance I do not, there shall be a stream of blood, red as my affections for you. It’ll run all the nations and regions scarlet until and unless I have you. Rightfully by my side, where you belong. 

Yours longingly and lovingly, Satoru.

The crown prince may have written this honest letter to bear his heart out to you, but with years of bleeding heart and disappointment in regard to the current situation, he did not send it. He simply could not. Instead, he wrote the last letter, the twenty-first letter, in your name and finalized it as the appropriate letter to send to you. Because he remembered that if you do not send it, then it is not a letter but a diary.

a/n: dividers @/cursed-carmine and @/strangergraphics, first picture is from Atonement, art creds to @/loquatini on tiktok, and the last one idk just randomly got it from Pinterest.

i just wanted to share the letter part. cause idk this shit is wrecking me. so i hope some of you feel the pain with me.

taglist open<3

e liked autumn best because summer was a busy time for him as a pro hero and winter felt too lonely after all the holidays passed, so it was the "good in-betweener". his words. also— he was a sucker for halloween. he told you that his mother sent him home with enough containers of homemade curry to feed him and all the people he knew, which made you giggle at the mental image. he has two sisters, one younger and one older. he says he's never felt like the middle child a day in his life because they all have such a close bond. his family must be really sweet based on the way he detailed endearing memories of them, you think.

letters made you both say whatever was on your minds and then forget about it for a few days. it was mildly inconvenient, at worst. honestly, it was a little stupid given that you both lived in the same city with perfectly functioning phones. which was exactly why you ruined it by asking for his number. it was the end of letter eighteen (or twenty, you weren't sure). the ache in your wrist from annotating case law made the idea of texting feel nearly seductive.

his response arrived three days later like clockwork. you sat at your desk, unfolded the letter, and immediately got to reading.

you reread his letter a couple times, giggling at his doodles. 

"cute." you said to yourself, trying not to smile.

there was something so boyish about the way he wrote to you that you couldn't help it. he was a pro hero, which should have made him intimidating in theory. he was trained to fight villains, handle disasters, and probably lift cars or something equally horrifying. yet here he was passionately defending the beauty of sending letters back and forth. truly acting like the top ambassador of snail mail.

the worst part was that he was right. you had expected to feel a little disappointed by the refusal, but it was more like being reminded that the strange rhythm you had with him existed because it was this way. texting would make everything too akin to a casual talking stage. oh god. you already were getting ahead of yourself. the smile that was on your lips falters a little. 

neither of you had even defined this relationship you had. you trace the part of the letter with your finger… lawyer pen pal. 

as swoon-worthy as the entire situation was to you, you weren't too keen on getting ahead of yourself and misreading his intentions. lots of rejection and over-romanticization has taught you well and good over the years. despite that, it was hard to ignore the feeling in the pit of your stomach. you had told him things you hadn't told people you've known for forever. you shake the thoughts away.

you set the letter among the others in the old stationary box on your desk. the stack of cream envelopes inside was getting thick enough that you had to press the lid down a little harder to close it.

instead of responding, you forced yourself to shower and review more documents before bed because kami's case was unfortunately not going to be solved by you contemplating e's purely-platonic messages. 

when you finally crawled under your covers and stared up at your ceiling, tired as can be, your mind betrays you by drifting back to the anonymous pro hero. you were curious about what he looked like. you could deduce as an employed and self-proclaimed busy bee at his work, he's probably rather built. maybe tall, but you didn't care neither here nor there. mostly, you simply wondered what color his eyes were. back in your school days, a ton of your crushes had pretty eyes; your kryptonite.

but why would it matter—you didn't have a crush on him, so why were you thinking about it? you brushed off the daydream train as soon as it came. stop fawning over your pen pal's potentially mesmerizing eyes! you turned over in your bed with a small embarrassed huff to no one in particular.

you hesitated to sign it as you usually did after your mental spiral about his intentions with writing you. mystery girl made no sense anyways; you doubt many quirkless women with your name were lawyers in musutafu. 

his friends had ended up at kirishima's apartment after patrol, occupying nearly every available seat. bakugou had made the dinner that was slowly disappearing across kirishima's dining table. "someone's in love central."

he looked up. denki was pointing at him with his chopsticks.

"what? no."

"you're thinking about miss lawyer. i can feel it." sero snorts. "where, in your balls?" denki shoots a withered look towards him. "you're so weird, man."

kirishima rolled his eyes, reaching for another piece of grilled meat. "i was thinking about work, not her."

"liar," denki said immediately. "you've got the face."

"... what face?"

without looking up from her plate, mina chimed in. "it's the letter face."

bakugou clicked his tongue. "you idiots gave it a name?" 

mina nodded matter-of-fact-ly. kirishima's face pulled into a deadpan. "the what?"

"the letter face!" she finally looked at him. "you get all spacey and woo-woo, it's obvious you're thinking about your loooove letters." 

"i do not get all woo-woo!"

"you do," sero agreed.

kirishima gave up trying to defend himself. there was no point once they collectively decided on something. he reached for his drink instead, opting for silence.

"so," denki said. "what was her last letter about?" mina slaps him upside the head. "you can't ask him about his private stuff like that!" slowly, mina gives kirishima a curious grin. "but really… what did she write?"

kirishima rolled his eyes. "it was a lot of stuff about her private life, but she did ask me to trade numbers."

every conversation around the table stopped.

"...and?" mina asked. "i said i'd rather keep writing." sero and denki groan in unison.

bakugou nodded once. "good. no need for some random fangirl to leak your phone number to the internet." kirishima frowned. "she is most definitely not a fangirl."

"whatever dude. fangirl or not, you could've been texting a hot chick," denki whines.

mina snickers quietly to herself, shaking her head as she picked up her phone. the conversation drifted after that. denki started arguing that kirishima was intentionally making his own life more difficult, while bakugou insisted people survived perfectly fine before smartphones existed. sero contributed absolutely nothing useful beyond occasionally saying "that's crazy," regardless of which side he was pretending to support.

mina wasn't listening anymore. she had absentmindedly opened a browser while everyone argued, your first name still lingering in the back of her mind after seeing it on the envelope earlier. quirk discrimination lawyer, right? it couldn't hurt to see what kind of firm you worked at. her thumb hovered over the screen for a second before she typed. multiple results populated the screen. 

"hmm." nobody heard her, but she went on to the first link. the firm's homepage loaded almost immediately.

"hey, guys."

the conversation continued. she cleared her throat.

"AHEM, guys!"

denki stopped mid-sentence. everyone looked over. mina stared at her phone for another second before lifting her eyes mischievously toward kirishima.

"i think i found her," she says, sing-song like.

kirishima's brain short-circuited for a second. “found who, ‘her’?”

“miss lawyer! it's her, i'm ninety percent sure." mina held the sparkly pink phone up triumphantly. “mina, no.” he didn't move to take it. "you can't just look people up like that."

"she’s super gorgeous, by the way,” mina gushes, delighted at how easy it was. "totally could be a model." kirishima's frown deepened.

"oh my god—no way you're actually mad, are you?”

"i'm not mad, i just think it's weird to go looking for her before she wants me to see her!”

“you’re making it hard for the rest of us dudes, being so chivalrous,” sero said, "and also you’re lame if you aren’t a little curious.”

"i'm being a good person, sero. it's manly."

"you're being annoying," denki corrected, already leaning over mina's shoulder without asking anyone's permission. “c’mon mina, lemme see!”

"denki, move—"

"oh my GOD," denki said, way too loud for the room. “dude. she's so fucking pretty! i'm pissed. how the fuck does a random letter lead to this?!”

"it doesn't matter. she’ll show me when she’s ready.”

"you're the only man in this apartment who's ever turned down a glance at a pretty girl on principle. idiot," bakugou said, still not glancing up from his plate. kirishima's jaw drops at him. bakugo shrugs.

"kiri, even bakugou agrees," mina points.

"tch, i didn't agree with you! i said he's an idiot."

sero, who had clearly decided the debate portion of the evening was over, reached across the table and turned kirishima's whole head toward the phone by the jaw like he was adjusting a mannequin. "there. you've technically already seen it. might as well look properly now."

"you guys are so stubborn.”

“says you. look at the girl.”

his eyes flick to the screen.

it was just a staff photo. stiff, overlit, a photo every firm made its people take. ideally, it should make everyone look a little uglier than they were in person, but there you were: smiling, your eyes crinkling mid-moment, like someone off camera had said something funny right before the shutter clicked.

"yeah," kirishima said. "she's pretty." the table lost it immediately.

"THAT'S IT?" denki looked incredulous. "all you got is 'she's pretty'?"

"what do you want from me!"

"passion. feeling. use more words!"

"i have plenty of words, denki, i'm choosing not to use them right now!"

"veryyyy suspicious," mina said, already smug again.

bakugou ended it the only way he knows how. by chucking a fork at denki's head, enlisting a yelp from the poor blonde. "shut up! fuckin' irritating, the whole bunch of you. i'm eating."

denki rubs his head and sulks. "every single one of you is violent. violent i tell you."

mina slid her phone back into her pocket, entirely unbothered by having been yelled at. "i'm probs gonna find her insta later,"

"mina."

"keyword probably!"

kirishima went back to his food, ears warm, doing a very bad job of looking unbothered. it was going to be really hard to remove the image of you from his mind every time he's writing. he was already too smitten over you without knowing your face.

adjusting your pencil skirt exiting your car, you walk towards the entrance of the bright orange building. yuma told you this morning that fatgum's assistant emailed her back, and that he was ready to have a talk with you. 

you knew he was one of the best pro-heroes of your time. genuinely kind hearted, always involved in charity events and uplifting his fellow heroes. you were glad he was finally in good enough shape to come in to the office, at least. 

heroes and support staff were moving through the lobby like a whirlwind as you entered the complex. you were used to that atmosphere at hero-affiliated businesses. a couple minutes early, you decided to start reading over your notes while you waited at the front desk. suddenly, someone rounds the corner too fast and fully collides into you, knocking the documents out of your hands.

"geez, i'm so sorry!"

you stumbled backward, one heel slipping against the polished floor. you brace for the contact, but a large hand caught your upper arm before you could do so. the man had quick reflexes, whoever he was. "are you okay? i didn't hurt you, did i?" 

"i'm fine," you said automatically, looking down to regain your footing. then you looked up.

pro hero red riot was stood in front of you. arguably one of your favorite heroes but you weren't alone. children loved him. the elderly loved him. based on yuma's opinions, a terrifying number of women online loved him too. he was much larger in person than he appeared on television, which felt unfair considering he already looked particularly massive in interviews. his red hair was pulled away from his face in its usual sharp style, and he was dressed in black agency athletic-wear instead of his costume.

more notably, he looked horrified.

"i really didn't see you there," he continued. "not that you're hard to notice! you're obviously noticeable. i just meant i wasn't looking, which why would i be looking? wait, no—" the man was tripping over his words unlike anything you'd seen from him. wasn't he known to be a really charismatic guy..? oh well, pro-hero pr agents do work harder than the devil.

you blinked. "right."

"your papers!" 

he released your arm as if he had only just realized he was holding you and immediately crouched down. 

you knelt to help him gather the scattered documents, although he was moving with such frantic efficiency that there was barely anything left for you to pick up.

"you don't have to do all that," you told him. 

"no, it was my fault, i got it!"

he reached for one page at the same time you did, and your fingers brushed. red riot jerked his hand back hard enough to hit his elbow against the front desk, an audible thunk. the receptionist looked down at the commotion, mildly amused.

"ow, fuck!" you look at him with a concerned expression. count that the first time you heard red riot curse. "are you okay?" you asked.

"never better!" his voice cracked slightly.

you frowned, staring at him again. he seemed nice enough, if not a little strange. perhaps he was simply terrible around lawyers. then his gaze dropped to the front page of your files. your name and firm were printed clearly beneath the case heading, confirming his beliefs.

"thanks for helping. i wanted to know if you could show me to fatgum's office?"

something almost like understanding passed over his expression, although you couldn't imagine why. before you could question it, the elevator opened across the lobby and a sidekick called his hero name. red riot glanced over his shoulder.

“shoot, i’m sorry. i have to go lead patrol briefing," he said. “but hina will show you where it is.” he took two backward steps, towards the elevators doors. "and sorry again about nearly taking you out!”

you giggle. "i'll recover, big guy."

he smiled then, wide and warm enough that you finally understood some of yuma's ramblings. he does have some nice eyes. you watched him jog toward the elevator, narrowly avoid walking into a potted plant, and disappear behind the closing doors. what a strange man. 

you turned back toward the front desk. hina, the receptionist, was trying very hard not to burst out giggling.

“mr. fatgum is ready for you upstairs. just up and to the left." she said, pointing at the corridor.

you nod. "thank you."

fatgum's office was located on the highest floor of the agency, decorated with photographs, gifts from children, and framed newspaper clippings from his career. the man himself sat behind a wide desk, dressed casually with one arm still supported in a sling. he was in his normal form, a sharp contrast to the usual size of him you saw during villain fights. he looked a little thinner, probably due to the injury rest time.

"thanks for comin' all the way over," he greeted. "sorry i couldn't meet with ya sooner."

you give him a concerned smile. "please don't apologize. i'm glad you're recovering."

he chuckles. "slowly but surely, kid."

you took the seat across from him and opened your case folder. "your assistant mentioned the police returned the equipment."

fatgum's expression sobered. "yeah. they finished collectin' the forensics they needed from it. the thing's pretty torn up, but i figured you'd wanna see it anyways."

he pressed the intercom and asked someone to bring the evidence container in. "before we look at it, i'd like to go over the delivery," you said. "the report says the aegis frame arrived here two days before the accident." 

"that's right."

"who accepted it?"

"one of our support coordinators signed for the shipment, but i picked it up personally later."

you looked down at the report. "from hashima's courier?"

"not exactly." your pen paused.

fatgum leaned back carefully in his chair. "that's the strange part. i was supposed to get it straight from that young engineer that designed it. kami, i think her name was."

you looked up sharply. "but she didn't come."

"right. another email from hashima came the morning of the delivery sayin' the arrangement changed. told me to pick it up from another hashima employee at one of their satellite offices. i've never had to go out to get new equipment before."

a faint uneasiness crawled up your spine.

kami had never mentioned that she was expected to personally deliver the frame. according to her, the equipment had left her department after the final internal inspection. she believed it had gone directly to the agency through the usual shipping process.

"do you still have that email?"

he slid a printed copy across the desk. "my assistant pulled the whole thread for ya."

you scanned the first message. it appeared legitimate, right down to kami's professional signature and employee identification number. it matched the information that kami originally emailed you with her plea as well. so someone was using her credentials.

the second email, however, had been sent from a different internal hashima address. no name, just a jumble of letters and numbers. there was something oddly familiar about it. not the name itself. the department, perhaps. corporate relations and product reinforcement. you made a note beside it.

"did you speak with this employee?"

"briefly. he was a tall fella, dressed real sharp." he leaned towards you. "listen… off the record? the guy seemed like an asshole. he was actin' like he was in a hurry," fatgum recalled. "he said kami had been pulled into an emergency meeting and the team asked him to handle it."

"did he explain why the location changed?"

"nothing of the sort. was really in and out with giving me the gear. do you mind me asking why you're asking me questions if the police are investigating it already?" 

you give him a firm stare. "because i'm a quirk discrimination lawyer, i usually don't trust the initial investigation. i like to collect my own information, if that's okay."

fatgum raises his hands with a simple glance. "hey, i respect it. i'm willing to comply wherever possible."

the office door opened, and an agency member wheeled in a reinforced evidence case. fatgum nodded toward it.

"that's what's left of the frame."

once the latches were released, you stepped closer. the equipment inside hardly resembled the sleek silver structure from kami's blueprints and pictures. several sections had warped inward. the invisible plating had burned into a dark, glass-like substance around the joints, and internal wiring spilled out from the back of the structure. you pulled on the gloves provided by the police.

"which part failed first?"

"the left shoulder mechanism," fatgum explained. "it locked up when i used my quirk. then the chest plating started constricting instead of adjusting with it. the emergency releases didn't respond, and the rest is what everyone saw on the news." you crouched beside the container. something you noted while looking at the documents at home was that kami's original blueprints included three separate release systems. all of them were designed to function independently. even if someone had removed one during manufacturing, the other two should have activated. you examined the damaged control unit more closely. a part of the hardware control panel was blown open.

"was this panel open before the police recovered it?"

"as far as i know."

a row of screws along the edge caught your attention. most were damaged from the accident, the metal scratched and deformed. one was nearly untouched. newer than the others. you leaned closer. it was obvious someone had opened the control panel after the unit left kami assembled it.

"fatgum," you said carefully, "i'm going to need the original email files, not only printouts. the metadata is what i need. i also need security footage time stamps when you left the agency, the name of every employee who knew about the change, and the plate number of the car you used that day."

his face hardened.

"you think the handoff matters?"

"i'm telling you this because i trust you. but i know for a fact that kami didn't send either of these emails." you looked back at the second unfamiliar email. you shut the evidence case.

"and i think whoever gave this to you wanted everyone to believe she did."

fatgum's jaw tightened. "kid, i like you, and i want whoever did this to answer for it. but if what you’re saying is true..."

he reached into one of the folders on his desk and pulled out a business card, scribbling something before sliding it across to you.

"anything you need from my agency, you ask me directly. i don't care how inconvenient it is."

you looked down at the card before slipping it into your folder.

"thank you so much, fatgum."

"please, don't thank me yet." he shook his head. "i have a feeling you're going to need all the help you can get."

the man nods firmly after viewing the entirety of the footage clip. "thank you, hina. please send this to her as soon as you can." the little receptionist had a flash of mischief glimmer in her eyes. "mr. fatgum, can i show you something kinda funny?" 

he looks at her quizzically, but nods anyway. her fingers move rapidly and the time stamp from earlier this afternoon pulls up, where a certain red haired hero runs into you in the agency lobby. fatgum's eyes light up in recognition as he sees the awkward interaction of his second in charge bumbling about, trying to pick up the papers he spilled. 

hina's beside herself in a fit of giggles. "i don't know about you mr. fatgum, but i think kiri has a crush."

"huh. seems so."

guys i want fatgum

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