#gojoxreader

Synopsis: The morning after spending the night at Satoru's house, you find a small problem: None of the lights are working. Ship: Satoru Gojo x Reader Warnings: There is no smut, just fluff. GOJO. Author's Note: I don't love Gojo a lot, but this comes to mind and I can't do anything. Important: English is not my first language; if you see a mistake, please tell me. Number of words: 465

It's most common for you to wake up before Satoru, because this man will only wake up if you miss his 182,636th turn in bed. No matter what time you wake up, Satoru is asleep. He used to have a slightly more rigid schedule, but that was because he had no reason to stay in bed. Now he does, and it's you. The sunlight doesn't wake you because the curtains are tightly closed. You simply wake up in complete darkness with Satoru holding you close, his arm pressed against yours.

You just sigh, because it wasn't part of the deal that this man would use you as his favorite stuffed animal. Carefully, very carefully, you move his arm, get up, and make sure he's now hugging a pillow so he doesn't notice you're gone. You fumble around the nightstand for your phone and then remember leaving it on the kitchen counter just before this man decided to carry out a quick kidnapping and take you to bed. You frantically wander around the room, arms outstretched, flailing them like a bird in full courtship. When you reach the bedroom door, relying solely on memory, you couldn't be happier. But that happiness is extremely short-lived.

You step out into the hallway and close the door. You carefully slide your hand along the wall, searching for the light switch, and when you find it, you flip it. Nothing. Darkness. Only darkness.

There's another one next to it, so you press it. Darkness. Now you don't know what to do. You grope your way across the cold wood, following like a blind person.

And, unfortunately, luck isn't on your side this time, so you trip over Satoru's shoes, the ones he took off last night laughing. Your balance gives way, and you can already feel the floor hitting your face.

But a blue trail surrounds you, and you levitate. Then a force I couldn't possibly understand pulls you in, and you bump into something. That something is called Satoru Gojo, and he catches you again.

"Satoru, I think the power's out." Satoru doesn't say anything, he just kisses your cheek and bites it.

"No, it's not out, it's just that the fuses aren't connected to the lights in the house," he murmurs as he continues kissing you and pulls you back onto the bed.

You blink repeatedly, because the fuses not being connected means your man lives like a blind man.

"And that's because of…?"

"The Six Eyes." "Oh, okay, that makes perfect sense."

You fall onto the bed without realizing it, crushed beneath the giant body of a man who wants to spend hours with you.

"Satoru."

"Yes?"

I KNOW DADAAA😛😛😛

Vid not mines!!

you only say it when you’re drunk (18+)

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

frat!jo x fl!reader

art creds: m3yunzu/secremeyun, aransmind

content warning: explicit sexual content (smut), heavy alcohol use, drunk confessions, jealousy, strong language, enemies to lovers tension, lots of heated arguments, college au, frat gojo, 18+, fluff,

gojo satoru is everywhere you don’t want him to be. loud, smug, and annoyingly hot, the frat president spends half his time pushing your buttons and the other half pretending he doesn’t care when you push back. everyone swears you two are basically dating. you both deny it instantly. until the nights he gets drunk and the filter disappears. “i don’t actually hate you, you know.” suddenly the arguments feel like flirting, the jealousy burns hotter than it should, and one sober morning after a chaotic party changes everything. because hating him was easy. wanting him? that’s the part neither of you saw coming.

you’ve known satoru gojo for exactly eighteen months, three weeks, and two days. not that you’re counting. it’s just that the universe keeps shoving him into your orbit like it’s got a personal vendetta. same lectures where he sits in the back row with his long legs stretched out, sunglasses on indoors, somehow still acing every quiz while you grind in the front row taking meticulous notes. same mutual friends who throw you together at every group study session or late-night food run.

same stupid campus events where everyone pretends they’re not here for the free booze and the drama. he’s the frat president with the white hair that somehow never looks messy even after three keg stands, always in the center of every room, laughing too loud, drawing every eye like he was born for the spotlight. you? you’re the one who keeps getting dragged along because your roommate is dating his vice president, suguru geto, and apparently that makes you part of the ecosystem now, whether you like it or not.

at first it’s just eye rolls across the quad when he walks by with his usual crew. then it’s passing comments at parties. “you always look like you’re one bad song away from calling the cops on all of us,” he says once, leaning against the porch railing with that smirk that makes you want to smack him and ruin his pretty face.

you fire back without missing a beat, “and you look like you’ve never had a single original thought in your life. you’re just coasting on pretty privilege, aren’t you?” the crowd around you laughs like it’s prime entertainment. he just tilts his head, eyes bright behind those stupid designer shades even at night, and says, “cute. keep going, i like it when you get all fired up. makes my night more interesting.”

it escalates from there. every time your circles collide he finds a new button to push. you call him out for showing up hungover to a group project meeting, reeking of last night’s regrets while everyone else actually prepared. he teases you relentlessly for being the only person who actually reads the syllabus front to back and color-codes her notes. your friends start placing bets on how long it’ll take before one of you snaps or finally hooks up.

shoko just lights another cigarette, exhales slowly, and mutters, “you two are basically dating at this point, you know that right? all that bickering is foreplay.” you both deny it instantly, voices overlapping in perfect sync “absolutely not!” and “as if.” and the denial only makes everyone laugh harder. geto just shakes his head with that knowing smile, like he’s been waiting for this trainwreck for months.

the arguments feel like foreplay and neither of you will admit it, even to yourselves.

tonight is the big spring party at the his house, the one where the music is too loud and the lights are too low and the kitchen is the only place that isn’t completely packed with bodies grinding to whatever playlist the sophomores threw together. red solo cups litter every surface, the air thick with cheap beer, weed smoke, and too much cologne. you’re there because your roommate begged you not to be a hermit again, and because you’re trying (and failing) not to think about the fact that gojo’s been staring at you from across the living room for the last twenty minutes.

his gaze cutting through the crowd like he can’t help himself. you weave through the chaos, dodging a game of beer pong that’s already gotten way too sloppy, and end up in the kitchen grabbing a bottle of water when he stumbles in, taller than everyone, hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed from whatever he’s been drinking all night.

“look who it is,” he says, voice lower than usual, a little rough around the edges. “miss uptight herself. come to lecture me about responsible drinking again? or are you finally here to have some actual fun?”

you snort, twisting the cap off your water. “someone has to keep you in check. you’re one shot away from face-planting into the punch bowl again, like last month when you tried to crowd-surf and nearly took out the whole coffee table.”

he laughs, but it’s softer this time, almost fond instead of mocking. he steps closer. way too close, the way he always does when he’s past tipsy. the counter digs into your lower back. his eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide, but he’s still got that signature smirk tugging at his lips. “hey, you know i don’t actually hate you, right?”

the words hit like a record scratch in the middle of the bass-heavy music. you laugh, sharp and disbelieving, trying to play it off. “yeah, okay, gojo. you’re drunk. save the heartfelt shit for someone who believes it.”

“i’m not that drunk.” he leans in even more, one hand bracing on the counter beside your hip, caging you in without quite touching. you can smell his expensive cologne mixed with beer and something sweeter, maybe the cherry shots he was doing earlier. “i notice shit about you. like how you always twist that little silver ring of yours on your finger when you’re pretending not to be nervous in a crowd. or how you quote that one pretentious philosophy book when you’re trying to win an argument and shut everyone up. you’re the only person who actually challenges me. makes everything… interesting. makes me want to be better, even if i act like i don’t.”

your heart does something stupid and traitorous in your chest. you shove at his chest lightly, but there’s no real force behind it. “stop. you’re going to regret this tomorrow when you’re sober and back to your usual asshole routine.”

he doesn’t move an inch. his free hand comes up, fingers hovering like he wants to touch your cheek but isn’t quite brave enough yet. “i think about you more than i should. way more. even when i’m in class pretending to pay attention. even when i’m supposed to be running shit here. you’re always in my head, trouble.”

the kitchen spins a little. not just from the alcohol in the air. someone walks in, sees the two of you pressed close like this, and immediately backs out with a knowing grin and a muttered “finally.” you brush the whole thing off as best you can, tell him he’ll regret every word tomorrow, and slip away before he can say anything else that might crack your walls wider. the next morning he’s back to normal. teasing you across the brunch table like the words never left his mouth, sliding you an extra pancake with a wink. “morning, princess. sleep okay after saving me from myself again?”

you hate how much it stings. how much you wish the drunk version would stick around.

it becomes a pattern after that. every party, every late-night gathering where alcohol loosens his tongue, he seeks you out like a magnet. gets too close on the house couch, fingers brushing your knee “accidentally” while he murmurs, “you’re prettier when you’re mad at me. makes me want to keep pushing just to see that fire.” another time, outside under the string lights with the bass thumping faintly through the walls, he admits quietly, “i wait to see if you’ll show up every time. it’s annoying how much i look for you in every room.” sober him never acknowledges any of it the next day. he just smirks like always and calls you “trouble,” like the confessions were nothing but drunk nonsense.

your friends won’t shut up about it. geto claps him on the back during one of their house meetings and says, “dude, just ask her out already before someone else does.” gojo flips him off with a laugh that sounds a little forced. you deny everything louder whenever shoko brings it up, but the tension is thickening, slow and unbearable, like honey dripping into your veins and sticking everything together. his insults start sounding suspiciously like compliments. he remembers you hate olives on pizza and always picks them off your slice without being asked. he saves you the last slice of cake at group events. he ends up next to you every single time, shoulder brushing yours, like gravity itself insists on pulling you together no matter how much you bicker.

then there’s the jealousy that cracks everything open wider.

it’s at another party mid-april, the air thick with smoke and bass and too many bodies pressed together on the makeshift dance floor. you’re in the corner talking to a guy from your psych class. nice enough, funny in a low-key way, the kind of chill that feels like a vacation from gojo’s constant high-energy bullshit, when gojo appears like a storm cloud rolling in fast. he doesn’t interrupt at first. just stands a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched, those blue eyes locked on the way the guy laughs at something you said and leans in a little too close to hear you over the music. you can feel the shift in the air, heavy and electric, like the moment before lightning strikes.

later, when the guy steps away to grab fresh drinks, gojo corners you by the staircase, voice low and edged with something raw and ugly he usually keeps locked tight behind that effortless smirk. “didn’t know you were into guys who wear cargo shorts and talk about their gpa like it’s some kind of foreplay. real catch there, princess. hope he recites the textbook while he’s trying to impress you.” the words drip with jealousy he doesn’t bother hiding this time. his eyes darker than the dim party lights should allow, shoulders tense like he’s fighting the urge to drag you away right there.

you snap back that it’s none of his damn business who you talk to, that he doesn’t get to act possessive when he’s the one who pretends every drunk confession never happened, when he leaves you hanging every sober morning wondering if any of it was real. he laughs, but it’s short and bitter, no real humor in it, and for the first time the argument doesn’t feel like your usual charged flirting. it feels like something cracking wide open, like he’s one second away from admitting how much it actually bothers him to see you give anyone else even a fraction of the attention he craves. you both storm off in opposite directions, hearts pounding harder than the music, leaving the party early and separately for once. the awkward sober morning after that one is the worst yet. texts ignored on both sides, glances carefully avoided in the dining hall, the silence between you heavier and more loaded than any insult you’ve ever thrown.

the shift finally happens on the last friday in april, another frat rager that’s somehow even louder and messier than usual. this time you’re the one who’s had too much. shots with your roommate turning into dancing in the living room turning into the world going soft and spinning around the edges. gojo is stone-cold sober for once, playing designated driver because geto’s out of town for the weekend. you find him in the backyard, away from the worst of the chaos, leaning against the wooden fence with moonlight catching in his white hair like it was painted there just to make him look unfairly beautiful and calm. suddenly everything you’ve been swallowing down for months spills out in a messy, slurred rush.

“you’re such an asshole,” you tell him, words tumbling over each other but honest in a way sober you never allows. “you say all that shit when you’re drunk and then pretend it never happened the next day. you notice things about me that no one else does. you think about me. you get jealous like you have any right when i talk to other people. and i—god, i care what you think of me. i hate how much i care. i hate that i look for you in every single room too. i hate that i want you so bad even when you’re driving me fucking insane with that stupid smirk and your endless teasing.”

he goes very still against the fence. the usual smirk is completely gone. just those ridiculous blue eyes, wide and unguarded for once, moonlight reflecting in them like stars.

“say that again,” he says quietly. no teasing. just raw need in his voice.

you do. you step closer on unsteady legs, swaying a little into his space, and repeat every messy, vulnerable truth. he catches your elbow gently to steady you, and this time his touch lingers like it means everything. the air between you feels electric, charged with months—years, almost—of bickering and almost-touches and half-confessions finally snapping taut and breaking.

“i don’t hate you either,” he admits, voice rough and low, like the words have been fighting to get out for ages. “never did. not even close. i just… didn’t know how to say the rest without sounding like a complete idiot. sober me is a coward, apparently. always has been when it comes to you.” he laughs once, soft and self-deprecating, and reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with surprising tenderness. the gentleness undoes you more than any drunk confession ever could. “i think about you all the time. even when i’m pretending i don’t. especially then. you make everything better. louder. brighter. more fun. i don’t know how to do any of this without you anymore. you challenge me and it makes me want to be someone worth challenging.”

you kiss him first. messy and desperate, tasting like cheap vodka and months of relief and want. he makes a soft surprised sound in the back of his throat before his hands slide to your waist, pulling you flush against his tall frame like he’s been waiting lifetimes for permission. the kiss deepens fast, turns hungry and heated, all the tension that’s been building between you exploding at once. when you finally break apart for air, foreheads pressed together and breaths mingling, he whispers against your lips, “stay with me tonight. no take-backs in the morning. please. i don’t think i can pretend anymore.”

you stay.

the walk upstairs to his room is a blur of stumbling steps, shared laughter that bubbles up between kisses, and more heated presses against the hallway walls where his hands slip under the hem of your shirt like he physically can’t wait another second. once the door clicks shut behind you the rest of the world disappears completely. his hands are everywhere. reverent and greedy at the same time, peeling off your clothes like he’s memorizing every inch of skin he reveals. “been wanting this for so fucking long,” he murmurs against your neck, nipping softly at the sensitive spot below your ear, then soothing it with his tongue. you arch into him, fingers threading through that stupid perfect white hair and tugging just enough to make him groan like the sound alone could ruin him completely.

he’s surprisingly gentle at first despite the hunger, all long limbs and whispered praises as he lays you down on his unmade bed that still smells like his cologne. “look at you,” he breathes, eyes dark and reverent as they rake over you, kissing a slow trail down your stomach. “so fucking pretty when you’re not yelling at me. so pretty when you are, too. god, i love how you never back down from me.” then that familiar smirk returns, but it’s softer now, warmer, full of affection instead of arrogance, and he spends what feels like hours teasing you open with his fingers and mouth. slow, deliberate circles of his tongue around your clit until your thighs shake around his head, until you’re begging with his name like a prayer, hips bucking up desperately. he hums against you like he’s savoring every moan and gasp, like he’s been starving for the taste of you for months and finally gets to indulge.

when he finally slides into you, slow and deep at first, eyes locked on yours the entire time. the stretch is perfect, overwhelming in the best way. you both gasp at the same time, foreheads pressed together. “fuck,” he mutters, voice strained as his hips roll in shallow thrusts that make you see stars. “you feel… god, you feel like home or something. that’s stupid, right? but it’s true. you’re it for me.” it’s not stupid. you tell him so by rolling your hips up to meet his, nails digging into his broad shoulders, and the pace shifts harder, faster, deeper, the kind of desperate, relentless rhythm that only comes after months of denial and tension. he fucks you like he’s making up for every single argument, every ignored confession, every time he walked away sober and left you wondering. his mouth stays on yours or on your neck, murmuring filthy praises mixed with soft ones—“so tight for me, baby. taking me so well. been dreaming about this”—until you cum first, clenching around him hard with his name breaking on your lips. he follows right after, hips stuttering as he buries himself deep, burying his face in your neck like he never wants to leave, whispering your name like it’s the only word that matters.

afterward he doesn’t pull away even for a second. he tugs you against his chest, one arm slung possessively over your waist, fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles on your bare skin while the other hand strokes gently through your hair. the room is quiet except for your slowing breaths and the occasional soft kiss he presses to your temple, your shoulder, anywhere his mouth can reach. “no more hiding,” he says softly into the dark, voice warm and certain. “i’m done pretending i don’t want this. don’t want you. all the time. even when you’re calling me an idiot and threatening to report me for noise violations. especially then.”

you smile into his collarbone, pressing a lazy kiss there, your body still humming with aftershocks. “good. because i’m done pretending i don’t like when you push my buttons. i like all of it. the teasing, the drunk confessions, the way you look at me like i’m the only person in any room who actually matters.”

he chuckles, the sound rumbling warmly through both of you, and pulls the blanket up over your tangled bodies. “we’re still gonna argue, you know. i’m still gonna win most of them.”

“dream on, gojo.”

“already living the dream, baby.”

the next morning there’s no awkwardness at all, just sunlight spilling golden across the tangled sheets and his arm still heavy and warm around your waist like even in sleep he’s afraid you’ll disappear. you wake first, blinking against the light, and spend a long moment just tracing idle patterns on his bare chest, watching the way his face looks softer in repose. white lashes against his cheeks, lips slightly parted. he stirs after a while with a sleepy hum, eyes cracking open to find yours, and instead of pulling away he just smiles. wide, boyish, and genuinely happy, and pulls you closer until your legs tangle together completely.

“morning, trouble,” he murmurs, voice deliciously rough from sleep and everything you did last night. he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips like he’s savoring the fact that he finally can. “don’t even think about sneaking out or pretending this was a one-time thing. i made plans for us.”

those plans turn out to be him making you breakfast exactly how you like it. toast with bananas on top with sweet coffee on side while you steal one of his oversized hoodies that smells like him and curl up on his bed again, legs tucked under you. he brings the mugs over, sets them on the nightstand, and climbs right back in, wrapping around you from behind like a human blanket, chin resting on your shoulder. “so,” he says quietly, nuzzling into your neck and pressing soft kisses there between words, voice still a little shy in a way you’ve never heard from the confident frat president. “we’re doing this, right? for real this time. no more drunk-only truths. no more pretending the next day. you’re mine now. and i’m yours. all the stupid fights, all the late nights studying together just so i can annoy you, all the parties where i only show up hoping you’ll be there. all of it.”

you turn in his arms, cupping his face gently, thumbs brushing over his sharp cheekbones as you look into those impossibly blue eyes. “yeah, satoru. all of it. i want the real you. the smug frat boy who drives me crazy with his teasing and the guy who remembers i hate olives on pizza and who looks at me like i hung the moon when he thinks i’m not paying attention. i want the arguments and the make-ups. i want mornings like this.”

he grins, wide and boyish and so full of affection it makes your chest ache, and kisses you slow and sweet, like he’s got all the time in the world now that the walls are finally down. the kiss turns deeper after a while, hands wandering lazily under the hoodie, but it’s not rushed or desperate this time. just warm and affectionate and full of quiet laughter when his hair falls in your face and you push it back with a playful grumble. you spend the whole morning like that. tangled up in his sheets, trading soft confessions and inside jokes between kisses, planning nothing bigger than “skip our morning classes and stay in bed all day.” he feeds you bites of toast, whispering how pretty you look wearing nothing but his hoodie, how he’s been thinking about waking up exactly like this for months on end.

“i love how you challenge me,” he admits quietly later, forehead against yours as you both sip coffee and bask in the sunlight. “no one else does. it makes me better. makes everything feel worth it.”

you melt a little more, pulling him closer and kissing the corner of his mouth. “i love how you never back down. even when you’re wrong. especially when you’re wrong. it makes me feel alive.”

he laughs, bright and open and completely unguarded, and rolls you gently under him again. not for more heat this time but just to pepper your entire face with playful kisses until you’re both giggling like idiots, the kind of light, happy laughter that comes after finally giving in. the tension everyone around you had seen for months was never hate at all. it was always this. pulling you closer even when it looked like pushing away. your friends will never let either of you live it down, geto’s already blowing up his phone with a string of “finally, you idiot” texts and shoko’s sending memes about “enemies to lovers speedrun” but for once you don’t care at all. he calls you “trouble” this time and it sounds exactly like “i love you,” even if neither of you says the words out loud yet. when he says it you believe him completely, and you say it back in the way you kiss him like he’s yours now.

it feels like the start of something real, something loud and perfect that neither of you ever want to end.

Credits all to @reignpage i took a hugeee inspiration from her thank u!

Synopsis - For someone who's committed to us, they sure talk way too sweetly about another woman.

Others

Characters - gojo Satoru, geto suguru

Gojo Satoru

Toji fushiguro

Satoru Gojo x reader

CW: angst (with happy ending), emotionally constipated reader, fear of commitment, SMUT!! Satoru is really pathetic in this one (but there's payoff, i swear) 4.8k words

The music thumped heavily through the walls of the engineering frat house. The birthday party was pure chaos— red cups scattered everywhere, people grinding in the living room, and the air thick with the smell of weed. 

You were in the kitchen, leaning against the island with a gin tonic in hand. You weren’t trying to get blackout drunk, just wanted to forget the disaster that was your last final. 

Suddenly, a tall figure appeared beside you, reaching for a bottle of rum.

“Mind passing me that?” he asked in a smooth, confident voice

You turned and looked up.

Satoru Gojo.

Even under the shitty party lighting, he stood out. Tall, with that signature snow-white hair, striking blue eyes, and an aura of effortless charm that screamed trouble. Put simply, he was stupidly attractive.

You handed him the bottle without a word.

“Thanks,” he said, but instead of walking away he stayed, studying you with curiosity. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around much. Friend of the birthday guy?”

“Friend of his girlfriend,” you replied, taking a sip of your drink. “Only here because she dragged me.”

Gojo let out an amused chuckle, his grin widening “I like the honesty”

The conversation flowed surprisingly well. He was quick-witted, funny in the right way, and didn’t try too hard. One drink turned into two, then three. The flirting became more obvious — lingering looks, teasing remarks, his body slowly inching closer to yours.

An hour later you were both upstairs in one of the empty bedrooms. You pushed him against the wall the moment the door clicked shut, mouth crashing into his while your fingers tugged urgently at his belt.

The kiss was hot, messy, and intense, tongues sliding together as his hands roamed down your sides. You tugged at his shirt impatiently. 

“Off.”

He chuckled against your lips, pulling back just enough to yank the shirt over his head, revealing a toned, lean torso. You ran your hands over his chest as he worked on your clothes, peeling your top off and unhooking your bra with practiced ease.

“You’re gorgeous,” he muttered, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking and biting while his hands cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened.

You moaned softly, fingers threading through his white hair “Just fuck me already”

“Yes ma’am”

He lifted you effortlessly and dropped you gently onto the bed. Then he yanked your pants and panties down in one swift motion. You heard his belt buckle, the zipper, and the tear of a condom wrapper.

He rubbed the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance, teasing you for a second before thrusting in deep.

“Fuck,” you both moaned at the same time.

He was huge, just as the rumors said. Everything about him was big — that tall figure hovering over you, broad shoulders, and the way he stretched you so deliciously full.

He gave you barely a moment before he started moving. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he fucked you, one hand gripping your hip, the other reaching around to rub your clit.

“You feel so fucking good” he growled, pounding into you faster.

You were moaning loudly, pushing against him with every thrust. The pleasure built fast and intense, and your orgasm crashed over you without warning, walls clenching around his cock as pleasure ripped through your body. 

Gojo groaned at the feeling, fucking you through it before his own pace faltered. He buried himself deep and came with a low, rough moan.

For a few moments, the only sound was your heavy breathing.

He pulled out carefully, disposed of the condom, and collapsed onto the bed beside you, still catching his breath.

You, however, didn’t stay. You sat up almost immediately and started gathering your clothes.

“Already leaving?” he asked, his eyebrows slightly raised

“Mhm,” you muttered, pulling your top back on.

Gojo propped himself up on one elbow, watching you quietly as you fixed your clothes. Before you reached the door, he spoke again.

“At least tell me your name?”

For the first time since getting out of bed, you actually looked at him. “Maybe next time.”

And with that, you slipped out of the room, leaving him lying there naked on the bed, staring at the door with a furrowed brow

—

Three weeks later you were at your best friend’s apartment for a small get-together. You walked in carrying snacks and froze in the doorway.

Satoru Gojo was sitting on the couch, long legs spread, wearing a black compression shirt that should be illegal. Next to him was your best friend’s boyfriend… and apparently, Gojo had become pretty close to him. 

Your best friend grinned. “Oh good, you’re here!”

Gojo’s head snapped toward you, but didn’t say anything. The night went on normally, at least on the surface. You laughed with your friends and played stupid games. But you could feel his eyes on you the entire time. Every time you moved, every time you laughed, he was watching.

Later, when people started leaving, he caught you in the hallway.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly.

You raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About the fact that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night.”

“It was one night. We had fun. That's it.”

He stepped closer, towering over you, but his voice was surprisingly gentle. Almost cautious.

“What if I want more? You left without even telling me your name. I had to ask your friend”

You stared at him for a long moment, caught slightly off guard.

“I don’t do relationships. And I don’t do exclusivity. If you’re looking for something serious, I’m not the girl for you”

His jaw tightened, but after a second he shrugged, that easy smirk returning.

“Then I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me.”

You should have walked away right then. Instead, you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into the bathroom.

That became the pattern. Days turned into weeks before either of you realized it. You’d text him late at night, and he’d show up at your dorm or you’d go to his fancy off-campus apartment after classes. The sex was incredible every single time — sometimes rough and desperate, sometimes slow and teasing. But every time he tried to stay the night or asked to see you for something other than sex, you shut it down.

“I’m not looking for anything serious,” you’d remind him.

And every time, Satoru would smile like it didn’t hurt and say, “I know.”

But it did hurt. He was falling hard, and he knew it. He started turning down other girls without hesitation. His friends teased him about how whipped he was getting, but he didn’t care. He just wanted you — in any way you’d let him have you.

One night after you’d ridden him until both of you were shaking, you tried to get up and leave like always.

His arms tightened around your waist.

“Stay,” he whispered against your shoulder. “Just this once.”

You froze, then gently pried his hands off.

“I can’t.”

You got dressed in silence. When you glanced back before closing the door, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, head lowered, white hair falling over his eyes. He looked… defeated. And yet he still texted you the next day.

—

“So… there’s a university couple’s event next weekend. You should bring someone!” your best friend said

You laughed. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “What about Gojo?”

“We’re not together.”

“Right. Maybe he’ll bring someone else” She shrugged 

The thought of him showing up with another girl made something ugly and sharp bloom in your chest.

You hated that feeling. Because you weren’t supposed to care.

—

The event was louder than you expected. Couples were everywhere: kissing in corners, dancing way too close, feeding each other snacks like they were in some cheesy rom-com. It made your skin crawl a little.

You hadn’t brought anyone. Instead, you showed up in a tight black dress that showed just enough cleavage and skin. You told yourself it wasn’t for anyone in particular.

But when Satoru Gojo walked in wearing a loose white button-up with the first few buttons undone and black pants that sat low on his hips, you knew you were lying to yourself.

His eyes found you instantly. That bright blue gaze dragged slowly down your body, then back up. He didn’t even try to hide the hunger. He made his way over, hands in his pockets.

“You didn’t text me to come with you.”

“Didn’t think I needed to. We’re not together”

Something flickered across his face — quick, sharp, gone in a second. But his smile stayed.

“Right.”

The rest of the night continued like that. You talked with people, laughed, and danced a little. Gojo stayed nearby, always watching. Every time a guy approached you, you felt his stare burning into your back.

At one point, a tall guy from your literature class leaned in to say something in your ear over the music. You laughed at his joke. 

Later, you slipped outside to get some air. The backyard was quieter, only a few couples making out in the shadows. 

You reached a darker spot behind a tree when you heard footsteps behind you.

“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” Satoru said

You turned. He was standing too close, his eyes dark

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m just existing in the same place as you”

“Existing while other guys whisper in your ear?” He stepped even closer, towering over you. “While you laugh at their shitty jokes?”.

“We’re not exclusive, Satoru. I told you that from the start.”

“I know what you said.” His hand came up, fingers brushing your jaw. “Doesn’t stop me from hating it.”

The possessiveness in his voice should’ve annoyed you. Instead, your gaze dropped to his mouth.

That was all it took.

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him down into a hard kiss. He groaned into your mouth, hands immediately sliding down to grip your ass, his leg sliding between yours

Your breath hitched against his lips. 

“You drive me crazy,” he growled between kisses

You rocked your hips against his thigh, your panties already soaked. He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it around his waist, pressing his own higher to give you better friction.

“Satoru— fuck—”

“Come for me, soak my pants. I know you can do it”

His words sent a dark thrill through you. You came with a broken cry, walls clenching around nothing. He kissed you softly this time — slow, almost tender. His fingers brushed a strand of hair out of your face.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, his forehead resting briefly against yours. “My place’s closer.”

You looked up at him. Those beautiful blue eyes were wide open, vulnerable in a way that made your chest tighten. For a second, you almost said yes.

“I can’t. I have an early class tomorrow.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then you smoothed down your dress, turned around, and walked away.

He didn’t try to stop you.

—

The next weeks nothing changed; you’d have incredible sex that left you both exhausted and satisfied, then you’d slip out the door before either of you could pretend it meant something more

But then, jealousy crept in. You started noticing how other girls still flirted with him — especially a girl named Mei Mei from the business department who was bold and gorgeous. You hated how it made you feel.

So you did what you always did when feelings got too complicated: you pushed back harder.

You hooked up with someone else. Just once. A random guy. It was mediocre at best.

When Satoru found out — because of course he did — something in him cracked.

That night the sex was different — rougher, almost angry. He fucked you like he was trying to erase the memory of anyone else inside you. He had you on all fours, your back arching as he thrusted deep and hard, whispering filthy things mixed with soft pleas.

“Only me… fuck, please let it be only me…”

You came harder than you had in weeks. Afterwards, he didn’t try to make you stay. He just lay there, an arm over his eyes, breathing uneven. You dressed in silence, but before you left, you hesitated at the door.

“Satoru…”

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Just… go.”

You left. And it felt like shit.

—

The following week was hell. You threw yourself into classes, assignments, and parties — anything to keep your mind off the way Satoru had looked at you that night. The quiet defeat in his voice still echoed in your head. You hated it. You hated how it made your chest feel tight.

You didn’t text him. He didn’t text you. The silence was worse than the fighting. Your best friend noticed something was wrong and cornered you on campus

“Okay, spill. What’s going on with you and Gojo? He looks like shit and you’ve been acting weird.”

You shrugged, pushing food around your plate.

“Nothing. We’re just… casual.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Casual doesn’t usually make two people look miserable.”

You didn’t answer.

That night, around 10pm., your phone lit up.

He showed up at your dorm in fifteen minutes, wearing a black hoodie and sweats, looking exhausted.

“I try, I really try to stop thinking about you, to stop wanting to see you. ‘Cause you’re killing me” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Slowly, painfully”

You froze.

“I told you from the beginning what this was.” you said quietly, not looking at him

He let out a bitter laugh. He looked wrecked — hair messy, lips swollen, eyes glassy.

“Yeah. You did.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t stop me from being in love with you though.”

The words hit you like a slap. You stared at him, heart hammering.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” His voice cracked. “It’s true. I’ve been falling for you since that first night. And you know it. You’ve always known it.”

You felt panic rising in your chest. This was too much. Too real.

He stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed your cheeks almost tenderly.

“I know you’re scared. I see it. But I’m right here. I’ll keep letting you use me if that’s what you need… but fuck, it hurts.”

This time, the sex was slower. He took his time undressing you, kissing every inch of skin he exposed. When he finally pushed inside you, it was deep and deliberate, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“I love you,” he whispered as he moved inside you, voice raw. “I love you so fucking much.”

You closed your eyes, refusing to say it back. But your body betrayed you — clinging to him, nails digging into his back, legs wrapped tight around his waist.

He made you come twice like that — slow, deep, devastating — before he finally let himself finish.

Afterwards, he didn’t let you leave the bed. He pulled you against his chest and held you tight, even when you tried to pull away. He didn’t ask, but you stayed.

When morning came, you slipped out of his arms again while he was still sleeping. You left a note on the nightstand:

Lock the door when you leave

He read it three times, then crumpled it in his fist. For the first time in months, he didn’t text you. He didn’t chase. 

—

You spent the next five days pretending everything was fine. You went to class, laughed with friends. But nothing felt right. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart jumped, hoping it was him. It never was.

On the sixth night, your best friend dragged you to a big party. The moment you walked in, you saw him.

Satoru was in the living room, surrounded by people as usual. But something was different. He had a drink in his hand and Mei Mei practically draped over his arm, laughing loudly at something he said. Her fingers traced circles on his chest.

Your stomach twisted violently.

You told yourself you didn’t care. You grabbed a strong drink and forced yourself to flirt with the first decent guy who approached you. But your eyes kept drifting back to him.

When your eyes met across the room, his expression went blank for a second. Then he pulled Mei Mei closer, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle.

That was the breaking point.

You stormed upstairs, heart pounding with anger and something that felt dangerously like heartbreak. Two minutes later the door opened.

Satoru stepped inside and locked it behind him.

“You really moved on fast,” you snapped before he could speak.

He laughed bitterly, walking toward you.

“Me? You’re the one who left a fucking note telling me to ‘lock the door when you leave’ after I told you I loved you.”

“You were letting Mei Mei crawl all over you, that’s how you love?”

“Because you keep pushing me away!” His voice rose. “What the hell do you want from me? You fuck me, you leave, you tell me not to fall for you, but the second I give someone else attention you lose it?”

You were breathing hard, chest tight with emotions you refused to name.

“I never asked you to wait for me.”

“No, you didn’t.” He stepped closer until you were inches apart. “But I did it anyway. Like an idiot.”

Something snapped between you. You crashed into him at the same time he reached for you. The kiss was violent — teeth clashing, tongues fighting, hands grabbing desperately. He shoved you onto the bed, crawling over you and pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he growled, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave a mark. “I hate how much I need you.”

“Shut up” you hissed, but your voice cracked.

He ripped your dress open, buttons flying. He didn’t bother with gentleness. He shoved your bra down and sucked hard on your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive bud while his hand pushed your panties aside. Two thick fingers plunged inside you without warning, curling instantly against your g-spot.

You arched off the bed with a loud moan.

“So wet already,” he muttered against your skin. “Always so fucking ready for me.”

He finger-fucked you roughly, thumb rubbing fast circles on your clit until your thighs shook. When you were right on the edge, he pulled his fingers out, ignoring your frustrated whine.

He freed his cock — rock hard, flushed dark, already leaking precum. He rolled on a condom in record time and slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

“Fuck!” you cried out, nails digging into his shoulders.

He didn’t hold back. He fucked you like he was punishing both of you — deep strokes that made the bed slam against the wall. Every thrust dragged against that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through your body.

“Look at me,” he demanded, grabbing your chin. His blue eyes were wild, glassy with lust and heartbreak. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

You locked eyes with him as he pounded into you. The intensity was overwhelming. He leaned down, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged.

“I’ll say it again because I mean it,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I love you.”

Tears stung your eyes. You didn’t answer. Instead you pulled him down into a desperate kiss, legs wrapping tighter around his waist.

He changed angles slightly, hitting even deeper. Your orgasm crashed over you without warning — hard, shattering, leaving you sobbing his name as your walls clenched around him.

He groaned loudly, hips stuttering as he came right after you, burying himself as deep as possible.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. He stayed inside you, face buried in your neck. You could feel his tears against your skin.

He pulled out slowly and started dressing. When you noticed his hands were shaking you sat up, chest aching.

He looked at you one last time, eyes red-rimmed. “If you ever figure out what you actually want you know where to find me. But I’m done chasing.”

He left.

You stared at the ceiling for ten minutes, feeling emptier than you ever had, silent tears streaming down your face.

—

The next two weeks were the worst of your life. You avoided parties. Avoided friends. Threw yourself into studying until you burned out. Every night you stared at your phone, thumb hovering over his contact.

You missed him.

Not just the sex. You missed his stupid jokes, his voice, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

The denial finally cracked on a rainy Thursday night.

You showed up at his apartment soaked from the rain, banging on the door at 2 a.m.

When he opened it, he looked like shit — bags under his eyes, hair messy, wearing only sweatpants.

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped forward and kissed him. This time it was different.

The kiss was desperate and messy, rain dripping from your hair onto his bare chest. Satoru froze for half a second, then his arms wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d disappear again. He pulled you inside, kicking the door shut behind you without breaking the kiss.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured against your lips, but he didn’t let go. His hands slid under your wet shirt, gripping your waist like he needed to feel you were real.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were tired, guarded, but that familiar softness was still there underneath the pain.

“I’ve been scared. Scared of how much I want you. Scared that the second I stopped pretending I didn’t care, you’d have the power to break my heart. So I pushed you away. And in the process, I hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

He searched your face, as if trying to figure out whether this was real or just another moment that would disappear by tomorrow.

“I meant what I said. I’m in love with you but I can’t do the back and forth anymore. I need to know if you’re really here… or if you’re going to run again in the morning.”

You looked straight into those beautiful blue eyes and finally stopped lying to yourself.

“I’m here. I want you. All of you. No more running. No more pretending it’s just sex”

Your throat tightened, but for the first time, the words didn’t terrify you.

“I love you, Satoru.”

For a moment, he just stared at you.

Like he couldn’t quite believe he’d heard those words.

A shaky laugh escaped him, and he dragged a hand over his face. When he looked at you again, his eyes were bright.

“Say that again.”

You smiled through your tears.

“I love you.”

He pulled you into a deep kiss, holding your face between his hands like you were the most precious thing in the world. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I’ve waited so long to hear that.”

Without another word, he stood up, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to his bathroom.

He set you down gently on the edge of the large bathtub and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was perfectly warm.

Neither of you spoke while he helped you out of your soaked clothes. The wet fabric clung stubbornly to your skin, and more than once his fingertips brushed bare skin, making your breath catch.

He tossed the clothes aside and poured a generous amount of bath oil into the water, watching as fragrant foam slowly filled the tub.

“Come here, baby.”

He helped you into the tub first, then slid in behind you, pulling your back against his chest. The warm water enveloped both of you, soothing and relaxing.

Satoru’s hands started moving slowly over your body.

He began with your shoulders, his long fingers pressing firmly into the tense muscles, massaging them in slow, deep circles. You let out a soft moan as he worked out the knots you didn’t even realize you had. His hands traveled down your arms, then back up, rubbing gently.

Then he scooped up handfuls of foam and spread it across your chest, his palms gliding smoothly over your breasts. He massaged them tenderly, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. The combination of warm water, slippery foam, and his careful hands made your body melt against him.

His hands moved lower, rubbing slow circles over your stomach, then your hips and thighs under the water, massaging with firm, loving strokes. Every touch was gentle but deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

You were breathing heavier now, arousal mixing with the deep relaxation.

“Satoru…” you whispered.

He hummed against your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your skin while one of his hands slipped between your thighs. His fingers found your clit easily under the water, rubbing slow, teasing circles.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, voice husky. “All mine.”

The tension built quickly. You turned your head to kiss him, needy and deep. He groaned into your mouth as you shifted, turning around to straddle him in the tub.

Water sloshed over the edges as you sank down onto his cock in one smooth motion. Both of you moaned loudly at the feeling. He was so deep like this, the warm water making everything feel even more intense and slippery.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned, hands gripping your hips tightly.

“I love you,” you breathed against his lips as you started riding him slowly at first, hands braced on his shoulders, eyes locked on his.

Satoru’s breath hitched. “I love you too,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “I love you so fucking much.”

The foam and water moved between your bodies as you rocked against him. Satoru’s hands roamed everywhere — squeezing your ass, sliding up your back, cupping your breasts again while you moved.

Soon the pace quickened. He thrust up to meet you, water splashing rhythmically as he fucked you deeper. One of his hands slipped between you again, rubbing your clit in fast circles.

“I got you” he murmured 

Your orgasm hit you hard, crying out his name as your walls clenched tightly around his bare cock. The feeling pushed Satoru over the edge right after you — with a deep, broken moan he buried himself as deep as possible and came inside you, spilling hot and thick into your pussy.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck. You held him close, fingers running through his damp white hair while the two of you slowly came back down.

Then he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest.

“No more running?” he asked quietly.

“No more running,” you promised, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “I’m yours. If you’ll still have me after everything I put you through.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I was always going to take you back. I’m pathetic when it comes to you.”

“You’re not pathetic,” you said, lifting your head to look at him. “You’re patient. And kind. And way too good for me.”

Satoru smiled — that real, bright smile you hadn’t seen in weeks — and kissed you softly.

“We’re going to do this properly. Dates. Actual dates. I’m taking you out tomorrow night. No excuses.”

You laughed, the sound light and free. “Deal.”

—

Seven months later

“Stop that”

Satoru looked up from his phone, where he had just taken yet another candid photo of you, and grinned unapologetically. That bright, boyish smile still made your chest flutter even after all this time.

“I have a hot girlfriend,” he said with a shrug. “Sue me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve taken like twenty pictures already. Delete some.”

“Nope,” he replied, leaning back against the couch with zero shame. “These are going straight into my ‘how did I pull this’ folder.”

You threw a pen at him. He caught it effortlessly, laughing.

“Well, actually, I know how,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Relentless dedication. Natural charm. Soft hair. Being more emotionally available. And my amazing dick, probably.”

“The fact that you think that’s the reason is genuinely concerning.”

“So you’re saying there was a chance even without the amazing dick?”

“Satoru.”

He laughed louder, clearly pleased with himself, and then he stood up and walked over, dropping down behind you on the floor where you were studying. He wrapped his long arms around your waist and pulled you back against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I love you,” he murmured, voice soft and warm against your skin. “Even when you pretend to be annoyed by my photos.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, smiling. “I love you too, Toru”

THE END

cr: @_3aem on X for the art used in Satoru's text :)

╰┈➤ "𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐌 𝐈" You lived like any ordinary person, each day repeating like a loop. But everything changed the moment you woke up in a world you never dreamed of seeing.

"𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎? "

"𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚖𝚎?"

"𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜?!? "

"𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙!"

*𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍*

⋘ 𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐... ⋙

"𝙷-𝚑𝚞𝚑?"

If you're interested, check out my wattpad account : animefan4life22

Satoru and u have been dating for a month. All have been lovely in your relation.

But you still called him 'Satoru'.

Now you're sitting on the couch watching a movie 'cause outside is raining so you had to cancel all your date.

That afternoon you made a small chocolate cake and Satoru bought sushi. You wanted a few chocolate cake that was on the table next to satoru, so u couldn't take it.

—Babe, can u give me the cake, please? —you said normally, but oh...

had u called him 'babe'? —you got nervous and your face got it a red color. Satoru who was staring u, started laughing after a few seconds of silence.

—What did u say, princess? —oh fuck, this man, You hate him (obviously no). You threw him a pillow.

—Stop laughing!

—So tell me what did u saaaay! I couldn't listen u very well.

—NO.

—Pleaaaaaseeeeeeee, one more timeee, just one.

—Babe... can u give me the cake, please? —you said finally and he left kisses on your face and finished with a softly kiss on your lips.

—Sure, princess —he answered with a soft smile.

Gojo x Reader, basically! :3 (Established RS)

( Sorry about the small text thing!! I don't really use the small txt but it suits this style better, lol...! )

Satoru, the man who would gleefully get down on his knees and hands to worship you — his beloved, precious, endearing, gorgeous, and talented woman. The thing he finds best about that part is that you're his.

Satoru, who would prefer to be the little spoon as he loves your touch — the way you hold him so lovingly, how could he not be intoxicated by you and your warmth?

Satoru, thought he'd never have the time or chance to ever find the “love of his life” till he met you. Completely altering that thought, twisting and bending it a 180° degrees when you just randomly slipped into his life at one point.

Gojo Satoru.

Is the man that loves you. The man whose fallen heads over heels for you. Not the “strongest”, but Satoru — Your “baby”, your “man”.

If you were to ever say you liked “poetry”, he'd all of a sudden also be into it and conjure up the most corny yet breathtaking poems.

If you felt like homemade desserts, he'd scurry to get an apron and get to work. Hes good at everything he does, anyway... so of course anything he bakes will probably be the best thing you've ever had.

You ever accidentally blurt out a “Ugh, I kinda feel sick...”, and he'd be gone the second you finish that sentence — only to return with a plastic bag filled with prescribed medicine in SECONDS.

Of course, you'd do the same things for him even if it'd mostly end up as failures — but that's exactly why he loves you. Because you treat him as an equal, because you don't see him any less or more than the average human being. Hes just him, in your eyes.

Though, he knew the world of Jujutsu would eventually cause your seperation together. He'll be selfish, for a bit more — as long as you're the reason, as long it's you.

He loves you. You love him.

And that'll never change. Even if the world were to be thrown against the sun, even if the largest meteor ever recorded were to suddenly crash through the earth, even if a million natural disasters were to occur at once.

This may or may not be the first and last time he'll ever be so greedy for another person's love, touch, warmth, and joy. As long it's you until the end of time, his soul and heart belongs to you — and will never stop being greedy.