#gojoxreader

Im looking for a gojo x reader fic.

Reader and Satoru are married and have a kid named satoshi, theyre both sorcerers too..Last thing I remember from when I read it, there was a scene where satoshi is alone and is praying(?) that his parents get back safe bcs gojo and reader are headed off to shinjuku😔😔

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?"

temporary warmth

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satoru gojo x fl!reader

art creds: 5booosa, marudarts_

content warning: explicit sexual content with detailed consensual smut scene between adults, mild swearing and language, slow-burn romance, forced proximity, and lots of teasing and soft moments.

a winter school trip to the ski lodge sounded simple enough, until the students claimed every decent cabin and left you, the new teacher, stuck sharing the tiniest one with gojo satoru. at first it’s pure tolerance: cold walks, shared gloves, late-night talks by the fire. but the mountain chill has a way of forcing people closer… and what starts as temporary warmth slowly stops feeling temporary at all. slow burn. forced proximity. lots of teasing, stolen moments, and one very cozy cabin.

you stepped off the bus into the crisp mountain air at the ski lodge, snow crunching under your boots as the jujutsu high students piled out behind you like a pack of overexcited puppies. it was supposed to be a simple winter trip to blow off steam after all the recent missions. gojo satoru had pitched it as “team bonding with a side of hot cocoa,” and principal yaga had actually approved it because even he knew everyone needed a break. you were the new teacher, fresh off your own sorcerer training, still trying to figure out how to not get steamrolled by gojo’s endless energy while keeping the kids alive and somewhat educated.

the lodge was all wooden beams and roaring fireplaces, cute little cabins dotted around the slopes like gingerbread houses. yuji itadori was already yelling about snow angels, nobara kugisaki was demanding the best room with the biggest mirror, and megumi fushiguro just looked like he wanted to disappear into the snow. panda and toge inumaki were trailing behind with maki zen’in, arguing over who got the top bunk. gojo, of course, was at the front in his usual blindfold and ridiculous winter coat that somehow still looked designer, hands in his pockets like the cold didn’t dare touch him.

“alright kiddos, rooms are assigned by who calls dibs first,” gojo announced with that signature grin, voice carrying over the wind. “but fair warning—only so many cabins. teachers get what’s left.”

you watched in mild horror as the students sprinted off like it was black friday. yuji and megumi claimed one cabin. nobara and maki took another. panda and toge snagged the one with the game console. by the time you dragged your suitcase up the path, every other door was shut and locked with giggles echoing inside. the last cabin, the tiniest one, tucked at the edge of the woods, had its door cracked open. gojo stood in the doorway, holding two keys on a little wooden keychain shaped like a snowflake.

“looks like it’s you and me, teach,” he said, tilting his head. “one room. two beds. hope you don’t snore.”

you stared at him for a second, the cold already biting at your cheeks. “you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“nope,” he replied, popping the p. “students took everything else. guess they’re scared of sharing with the strongest. or maybe they just like us together.” he winked, even though you couldn’t see his eyes. “c’mon, it’s freezing. unless you wanna sleep in the snow with the curses.”

you tolerated it. that’s what you told yourself as you hauled your bag inside. the room was cozy enough. wooden walls, a tiny fireplace already crackling thanks to some staff, two twin beds pushed a little too close for comfort, and a window overlooking the snowy slopes. gojo flopped onto the bed by the door like he owned the place, long legs dangling off the end.

“this is temporary,” you muttered, unpacking your sweater. “just a few nights. we’re professionals.”

“totally,” gojo agreed, but his voice had that teasing lilt that made it sound like he was already planning how to make it not temporary. “professionals who are stuck in a cabin together while the kids run wild. what could go wrong?”

the first day was all tolerance and teeth-gritting. you hit the slopes with the group, trying to keep up while gojo basically floated down the black diamond runs like gravity was optional. yuji wiped out spectacularly every ten minutes, laughing the whole time. nobara kept yelling at megumi to “stop being emo and pose for pictures.” you stuck to the bunny slopes at first, legs wobbling, until gojo appeared beside you out of nowhere.

“need a hand?” he asked, offering his arm. his glove was warm, black and expensive-looking. yours were back in the cabin because you’d forgotten them in the rush.

you hesitated, then took it. “just until i don’t eat snow.”

his laugh was bright and annoying and way too close. “deal. but only if you admit i’m the best teacher ever.”

“tolerating you doesn’t mean i like you,” you shot back, but your fingers stayed in his glove a little longer than necessary when the wind picked up.

that night after dinner, hot pot and way too much laughter, the students crashed early, exhausted from the cold and sugar. you and gojo ended up by the main lodge fireplace because your cabin felt too small too soon. he was stretched out on the couch like a cat, blindfold off for once, those ridiculous blue eyes catching the firelight. you sat on the opposite end, nursing hot chocolate, trying not to notice how the cold had left his cheeks faintly pink.

“so,” he said after a long quiet minute, “new teacher. what’s your deal? you don’t flinch when i talk about curses like the others did at first. that’s rare.”

you shrugged, staring into your mug. “lost some people early. learned fast. figured if i could handle that, i could handle teaching idiots like yuji not to punch everything.”

gojo chuckled low. “he’s my favorite idiot. but yeah… cold nights like this make you think about stuff.” he shifted closer without asking, just enough that his knee brushed yours. “you’re not terrible company when you’re not glaring at me.”

“you’re not terrible when you’re not being a walking disaster,” you replied, but there was a smile tugging at your lips. the fire crackled. outside, snow fell soft and steady. it felt temporary, like the trip would end and you’d go back to separate offices and polite nods in the hallway.

day two blurred into more of the same. tolerance melting a little with every shared laugh. you lost your scarf on the lift; gojo wrapped his around your neck without a word, his fingers lingering at your collar. “can’t have my co-teacher freezing solid,” he said, voice lighter than usual. later, during a group snowball fight, yuji nailed gojo right in the face and you couldn’t stop laughing. gojo retaliated by scooping you up and using you as a human shield, your back pressed to his chest, both of you breathless and grinning while the kids cheered.

“this is cheating,” you protested, but you didn’t pull away.

“infinity’s off,” he whispered against your ear, breath warm. “fair game.”

that night the cabin felt smaller. the fireplace was dying down and the heater was old, so the room hovered just above freezing. you burrowed under your blankets in pajamas, teeth chattering a little. gojo, across the room in his own bed, noticed.

“you sound like a tiny angry squirrel,” he teased, but then he got up, grabbed an extra blanket from the closet, and tossed it over you. instead of going back to his bed, he sat on the edge of yours. “c’mere. body heat’s the best heater. no funny business, promise.”

you eyed him for a second. tall, messy white hair, that stupidly soft smile, but the cold won. you scooted over. he slid in beside you, fully clothed still, arm draping loose over your waist like it was the most natural thing. “see? temporary warmth,” he murmured. his voice was quieter now, almost gentle. you talked for hours about nothing and everything. missions you’d survived, dumb student stories, how he missed being a kid sometimes even though he acted like one. his fingers traced idle circles on your arm under the blanket. nothing more. just closeness forced by the cold.

by day three the tolerance had cracked wide open into something warmer. you snuck away from the group after lunch, claiming you needed “teacher planning time” while the kids went tubing. gojo led you to a quiet trail behind the lodge, snow untouched except for your footprints. the air was sharp and bright, pines heavy with white. you walked side by side, shoulders bumping on purpose now.

“admit it,” he said, kicking snow at your boots. “you’re having fun. with me.”

“i’m tolerating the cold,” you replied, but you grabbed his gloved hand anyway, lacing fingers. “and maybe you’re not the worst.”

he stopped walking. turned. the blindfold was down around his neck again, eyes soft and bright all at once. “good,” he said simply. then he leaned in slow. slow enough you could pull away if you wanted, and kissed you. it was light at first, cold lips warming fast, snowflakes catching in his lashes. funny how the strongest sorcerer tasted like hot cocoa and mischief. you kissed back, hands fisting in his coat, and when you broke apart you were both laughing because his nose was freezing against yours.

“temporary,” you whispered against his mouth.

“sure,” he answered, but neither of you believed it anymore.

that evening the students were wiped out again, movie night in the main lodge turning into snores by nine. you and gojo slipped back to the cabin early, door clicking shut behind you like a secret. the room was warmer tonight. someone had fixed the heater, but you didn’t need it. he pulled you close the second your boots were off, kissing you deeper this time, hands sliding under your sweater to find skin that pebbled from more than cold.

“still tolerating me?” he murmured, nipping at your jaw.

“shut up,” you laughed, tugging his shirt off. his body was ridiculous. perfect muscle, old scars glowing faint in the lamplight, and he let you explore like he had all the time in the world. you pushed him onto his bed, straddling his lap, and the slow burn finally caught. his hands were everywhere, gentle and teasing, thumbs brushing the curve of your waist like he was memorizing you. every touch made you shiver in the best way.

he flipped you carefully, hovering over you with that cocky grin that turned soft at the edges. “you’re cute when you’re not pretending to hate me,” he said, kissing down your neck, then lower, lips brushing the swell of your chest. you arched into him, fingers in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan. it was funny how he kept pausing to crack jokes. “hold on, infinity’s definitely off now,” but the laughs melted into soft gasps when you wrapped your legs around him.

when he finally slid inside you it was careful at first, both of you adjusting to the stretch and the heat and the fact that this was real now, not temporary. you rocked together lazy and deep, his forehead pressed to yours, blue eyes half-lidded and locked on you like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, hips rolling in a rhythm that built slow and sweet. every thrust drew little laughs and moans from both of you. him because you kept kissing his stupid grin mid-thrust, you because he kept murmuring dumb pet names between curses. the bed creaked softly. snow tapped the window. your hands linked above your head, fingers tight, and when you came it was with his name on your lips, body clenching around him in waves that made him follow right after, burying his face in your neck with a shaky laugh.

afterward you stayed tangled, blankets kicked half off, his arm heavy and warm across your stomach. he pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder, thumb stroking your skin like he couldn’t stop touching.

“still temporary?” he asked quietly, voice husky.

you turned, nose brushing his. “nah. i think we’re stuck now.”

you woke up slowly the next morning, the kind of warm that made you want to stay buried forever. gojo’s arm was still slung heavy across your waist, his face pressed into the crook of your neck, white hair tickling your cheek. the cabin was quiet except for the soft crackle of the dying fire and the distant laughter of students outside—probably yuji trying to convince everyone to build a snowman army before breakfast. gojo’s breathing was even, deep, but the second you shifted he tightened his hold like he’d been waiting for you to wake up.

“morning, teach,” he mumbled against your skin, voice all sleepy gravel and smugness. “still tolerating me or did last night upgrade us to ‘barely putting up with each other’?”

you laughed softly, elbowing his ribs half-heartedly. “shut up. you’re heavy. and your hair is in my mouth.”

he lifted his head just enough to grin down at you, those bright blue eyes unfairly pretty in the morning light filtering through the frosted window. one of his socks had come off in the night and was dangling from the edge of the bed like a sad flag of surrender. “admit it. best heater you’ve ever had. infinity can’t compete with this.”

“infinity doesn’t drool on my shoulder,” you shot back, but you were smiling too wide to sound annoyed. his hand slid lower, palm warm and lazy over the curve of your hip, thumb brushing slow circles that made last night’s memories flash behind your eyes in the softest way.

he kissed you then, slow and morning-soft, no rush at all. lips moving like he was savoring every second, tongue brushing yours with gentle mischief. you melted into it, fingers threading through his messy hair, tugging just enough to make him hum against your mouth. the kiss stayed sweet and lingering, breaking only when you both needed air. he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

“you look cute all sleep-rumpled,” he whispered, thumb tracing your cheek. “makes me wanna keep you in this bed all day.”

“we have a bus to catch,” you reminded him, but your voice was soft and your hand stayed cupping the back of his neck. “and students who will notice if their teachers disappear.”

gojo sighed dramatically, flopping back against the pillow but pulling you with him so you ended up half-draped over his chest. “ruining my plans already. fine. but i’m claiming at least three more kisses before we have to pretend to be responsible adults.”

you gave him one. then another. then a third that turned into a fourth because he tasted like leftover hot cocoa and something that felt dangerously like home. when you finally pulled away, both of you were grinning like idiots.

“okay, we really have to get up,” you said, laughing as he tried to tug you back down. “the kids are probably destroying the lodge by now.”

he let you go with exaggerated reluctance, watching as you hunted for your clothes. every time you bent over he made a little approving noise that had you throwing a sock at his head. “pervert,” you muttered, but you were smiling.

“only for you,” he replied cheerfully, finally rolling out of bed. he helped you find your missing scarf (it had somehow migrated under his pillow) and even tried to fix your bed-head with his fingers, though it mostly just made it worse. you returned the favor by attempting to tame his wild white hair, which ended up sticking up in even more ridiculous directions.

standing there in the tiny cabin, fully dressed but still stealing quick kisses every few seconds, it hit you how close you felt. not just physically—something warmer, steadier. the cold that had forced you together at the start of the trip now felt like it had melted into this quiet understanding. gojo wasn’t just the annoying strongest anymore. he was the guy who wrapped his scarf around you on the slopes, who talked nonsense with you by the fire until 2 a.m., who made you laugh even when you were trying to stay professional.

“you’re staring,” he said, tilting his head with that signature grin, but his eyes were softer than usual.

“you’re tolerable now,” you teased back, bumping your shoulder against his arm. “barely.”

“high praise,” he laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in for one last hug before you had to open the door. his chin rested on top of your head for a moment, voice dropping quieter. “seriously though… last night wasn’t temporary for me. just so we’re clear.”

you hugged him back tighter, face pressed to his chest. “yeah. me neither.”

the walk to the main lodge was short but felt different now. snow crunched under your boots in sync, shoulders brushing on purpose. the students were already chaos. yuji waving wildly with a half-built snowman missing its head, nobara yelling at megumi for “ruining the aesthetic,” panda and toge trying to start a snowball fight with maki as the unwilling target. gojo slipped into teacher mode effortlessly, clapping his hands and calling out dumb instructions like “no cursed energy in the snowmen, yuji! we’re not summoning mahoraga today!”

you hung back a bit, watching him with the kids, that fond feeling blooming bigger. every once in a while he’d glance over at you, blindfold back in place but the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile meant only for you.

breakfast was loud and messy. you ended up sitting across from gojo at the long table, knees accidentally-on-purpose knocking under the wood. he kept sliding little things onto your plate. extra marshmallows in your hot chocolate, the last piece of toast, while pretending it was totally normal. when nobara asked why you two looked “weirdly smiley today,” gojo just shrugged.

“fresh mountain air,” he said innocently. “does wonders for the complexion. right, teach?”

you kicked his shin lightly under the table. “something like that.”

packing up the bus felt bittersweet. the students chattered about their favorite moments. yuji’s epic wipeouts, the hot pot nights, the snowball war where gojo had dramatically “sacrificed” himself by letting everyone pelt him. you and gojo loaded bags together at the back, moving slower than necessary so you could steal a few more private seconds.

as the last suitcase went in, he leaned close, voice low so only you could hear. “so… when we get back to school, my office has a really nice couch. just saying. for ‘lesson planning.’”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the grin. “you’re impossible.”

“and you’re stuck with me now,” he replied, pinky hooking yours for a quick, hidden second before letting go. “cabin buddies. trip buddies. maybe more buddies if you’re feeling generous.”

the bus ride home was filled with sleepy students and quiet humming. you sat a row behind gojo, but every time the road curved he’d turn just enough to catch your eye, making silly faces or mouthing dumb jokes that had you biting back laughter. the mountain disappeared behind you, snow giving way to familiar roads, but the warmth in your chest stayed.

by the time jujutsu high came into view, the trip felt like it had shifted something permanent. the cold nights, the forced closeness, the late talks and shared blankets, they’d turned “tolerating each other” into something real and soft and yours.

gojo caught you one last time as everyone unloaded, students already scattering toward their dorms with tired goodbyes. he bumped your arm lightly, blindfold hiding his eyes but not the warmth in his voice.

“welcome back, teach. ready for more ‘team bonding’ soon?”

you smiled, shoulder brushing his as you walked. “yeah. i think i am.”

and just like that, the winter trip ended, but whatever had started between you in that tiny cabin? that was only getting started.

extra shot of tension

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satoru gojo x fl!reader

art creds: sugu_ruu

content warning: slow burn romance, mutual pining through handwritten receipt notes, detailed barista life and closing shifts, cute/fluffy moments mixed with teasing humor, eventual explicit smut (consensual, intimate, detailed), light alcohol use, fingering, oral sex, penetrative sex, slight dirty talk, aftercare cuddling. no major dark themes, just soft tension turning heated.

every time gojo satoru orders his usual iced americano, he leaves more than just a tip. he leaves a handwritten note on the receipt. what starts as silly jokes and smiley faces slowly turns into real conversations, quiet confessions, and growing tension between the tall, sunglasses-wearing regular and the barista who writes back. after months of this secret back-and-forth, he finally asks her to dinner. one rooftop meal, a few glasses of wine, and an invitation to his sky-high apartment later, the slow burn that began behind the counter finally ignites into something intimate, heated, and smutty.

gojo satoru became a regular sometime in late autumn. at first he was just another tall guy in expensive sunglasses who ordered the same thing every time: a large iced americano with an extra shot, light ice, and three pumps of vanilla. he always paid with card, always left a generous tip, and always flashed that blinding grin that made the other baristas whisper behind the espresso machine.

you didn’t think much of him beyond “cute but probably trouble.” he came in three or four times a week, usually mid-morning when the rush had died down. sometimes he sat by the window scrolling on his phone. sometimes he chatted with the older lady who owned the place about the weather or the new pastry selection. he never lingered too long, never tried to flirt outright. just ordered, smiled, left.

then one tuesday the receipt notes started.

he had scribbled on the back of his copy before sliding it across the counter with his usual lazy grin. you didn’t notice until after he walked out, the little slip of paper catching your eye when you cleared the counter.

“extra shot hit different today. you’re a wizard with that machine. have a good day :)”

it was written in surprisingly neat handwriting, a tiny smiley face at the end. you laughed under your breath, crumpled it, and tossed it in the trash. harmless. cute, even.

the next time he came in, another note waited on the receipt.

“that vanilla smells better when you make it. or maybe i’m just imagining things. dumb joke: why don’t baristas ever get lost? because they always follow the grounds. see you around.”

you snorted so hard you almost dropped the milk pitcher. when you looked up, he was already halfway out the door, waving over his shoulder like he hadn’t just left you a dad joke on official cafe paper.

you started replying on his next receipt, small and careful at first.

“the joke was terrible but the extra shot was perfect. try not to trip over your own ego on the way out.”

he came back two days later, eyes brighter behind the sunglasses, and the game was officially on.

the notes got longer, slower, more personal. he’d comment on the way you hummed while wiping down the steam wand, how you always rearranged the pastry case so the croissants faced the door like they were greeting customers. one day he wrote:

“you looked tired today. not in a bad way, just… like you stayed up reading again. the book with the blue cover? hope it was worth the eyebags. my treat next time if you want something stronger than coffee.”

you stared at that one for a long minute after your shift, heart doing something stupid in your chest. you wrote back on the next receipt:

“it was worth the eyebags. and yeah i was tired. thanks for noticing instead of just ordering like everyone else. your turn: what keeps you up at night, mr. extra-shot?”

his reply came the following morning, tucked under the lid of his to-go cup so you’d find it when you cleared his table.

“honestly? thinking about what you’ll write back. also curses and existential dread but mostly the first one lately. your handwriting is cute when you’re teasing me.”

the tension crept in so quietly you almost didn’t notice until it was already wrapped around your ribs. the cafe became a silent conversation between the two of you. you’d leave little observations about how he always ordered the same thing but his mood seemed lighter on sunny days. he’d ask questions he never voiced out loud: whether you liked working the closing shift, if the new cold brew recipe was too strong, if you ever got lonely behind the counter when the shop was empty.

you answered every one.

clean-up time after closing became your favorite part of the day, strangely. the lights dimmed to a soft glow, the espresso machine hissed its last steam of the night while you wiped down every surface with the citrus-scented cleaner that always lingered on your hands. you’d count the tips, restock the syrup bottles in neat rows by flavor intensity, sweep the crumbs from under the pastry case, and finally lock the door with the heavy set of keys that jingled like wind chimes. the city outside felt quieter after hours, just the distant hum of traffic and the occasional laugh from late-night walkers.

one thursday night you stepped out into the cool air, apron still tied around your waist because you’d forgotten to take it off in your rush to leave, hair a little messy from the steam and the long day. the street was mostly empty. you were fishing for your phone to check the time when a familiar voice called out from the bench across the sidewalk.

“hey, barista.”

you froze. gojo satoru was sitting there in the low glow of the streetlamp, long legs stretched out, sunglasses pushed up into his white hair like he didn’t care who saw his eyes tonight. he looked softer than usual, less larger-than-life, just a guy waiting outside a closed cafe with two paper cups in his hands.

“you… waited?” you asked, voice quieter than you meant it to be.

he shrugged, that crooked smile tugging at his lips. “figured the notes were getting a little too real to keep hiding behind receipts. brought you something. not from the shop this time.”

he held out one of the cups. it was still warm. when you took it, the scent of vanilla and something richer drifted up, not quite the usual americano.

“i asked the place down the street for their best non-coffee option. chamomile with honey and a splash of that fancy oat milk you like steaming. thought you might want something gentle after a long close.”

you blinked at him, then at the cup, then back at his face. the streetlight caught the blue of his eyes and made them look almost glowing. “how did you know i like oat milk?”

“you make my drinks with it when i ask for light ice. and you always test the temperature on the back of your wrist like it matters. little things.” he tapped the side of his own cup. “also i may have eavesdropped once or twice. sue me.”

you laughed despite yourself, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly. it felt strange hearing his voice say the things he usually wrote in tiny handwriting. “this is… kind of creepy in a sweet way.”

“i was going for charming but creepy works too.” he stood up, towering over you but keeping a careful distance, like he didn’t want to crowd you. “been wanting to say some of that stuff out loud for weeks. the notes were safer. easier to be honest when i could just slide the paper across the counter and run.”

you took a sip. the tea was perfect, warm and soothing, the honey cutting the slight bitterness of the herbs. “i liked the notes,” you admitted softly. “made the long shifts feel less… routine. you noticed things no one else does.”

his expression shifted, something serious flickering behind the usual playfulness. “because i like watching you work. the way your hands move when you pull a shot, how you talk to the regulars like they’re old friends even when they’re rude. you make the place feel alive. and yeah… i started looking forward to your replies more than the coffee.”

the air between you thickened. you could feel the slow burn that had been simmering for months finally licking higher, intimate in a way that had nothing to do with rushed confessions and everything to do with all those quiet, handwritten truths.

you set the cup down on the bench and stepped a little closer, close enough to smell his cologne mixed with the night air. “so what now? we just… talk like normal people?”

gojo’s gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second before flicking back up. his voice lowered, teasing but rough around the edges. “normal’s boring. but we could start with me walking you home if you want. or we could keep doing the notes thing tomorrow and pretend this didn’t happen. your call, barista.”

you smiled, slow and a little nervous, heart hammering in that delicious slowburn way. “walk me home. but only if you promise the next receipt has something even better than chamomile.”

he laughed, bright and genuine, offering his arm like an old-fashioned gentleman. “deal. and maybe one day i’ll tell you what i really wanted to write when the notes got too real.”

the two of you started down the quiet street, the city lights stretching long shadows ahead of you. the tension hummed between every step, cute in the way he bumped your shoulder on purpose, funny when he made another terrible joke about barista puns, and serious in the way his fingers brushed yours once, twice, like he was testing how far this new honesty could go.

later that night, after he left you at your door with nothing more than a lingering look and a soft “goodnight,” you found one last note tucked into your apron pocket when you finally untied it.

“thanks for writing back every time. been falling for the girl behind the counter longer than i meant to. see you tomorrow. — satoru”

you pressed the paper to your chest, smiling into the dark of your apartment, already imagining what you’d write on his next receipt.

the slow unraveling had only just begun.

over the next weeks the notes kept getting bolder. what started as smiley faces and terrible puns slowly turned into real confessions written in tiny handwriting on the back of receipts.

gojo would leave things like “your laugh when you’re trying not to laugh at my jokes is my favorite sound in this whole shop” or “you always fix your hair behind your ear when you’re concentrating on latte art. it’s distracting in the best way.”

you wrote back just as honestly. “i look forward to your order more than i should. the shop feels quieter when you’re not here.” or “stop noticing so much. it makes it hard to focus when you’re watching me steam milk.”

one friday afternoon he didn’t just leave a note. he waited until the shop was almost empty, leaned across the counter with that signature lazy grin, and said out loud for the first time in weeks, “hey. instead of another receipt tomorrow, how about actual dinner? my treat. no coffee puns allowed… unless they’re really good.”

your heart did a stupid flip. you wiped your hands on your apron, trying to play it cool even though your cheeks felt warm. “dinner? like… a date?”

“call it whatever you want as long as you say yes.” his voice was light but his eyes behind the sunglasses were serious. “i’ve been flirting with you through paper for months. figured it was time to use my actual voice.”

you laughed softly. “okay. yes. but only if you promise not to order an americano.”

he grinned wider. “deal.”

he picked you up after your shift the next night. you had changed out of your work clothes into something simple but nice, a soft sweater and jeans that made you feel comfortable. gojo showed up in a black button-down that looked unfairly good on him, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messier than usual like he’d run his hands through it too many times.

dinner was at a quiet rooftop restaurant with string lights and a view of the city lights sparkling below. the kind of place that felt expensive without trying too hard. you sat across from each other at a small table, wine already poured, and the conversation flowed easier than you expected.

“so,” you started, swirling your glass, “what does the mysterious gojo satoru do when he’s not terrorizing baristas with bad jokes on receipts?”

he leaned back, smirking. “mysterious? i like that. mostly i teach. well… more like i babysit a bunch of loud teenagers who think they can fight curses. it’s chaotic. rewarding. exhausting.” he took a sip of soju. “and you? besides making the best iced americanos in the city and writing secret messages that make my day better?”

you shrugged, smiling. “i read a lot. try new drink recipes at home. clean the shop every night and pretend the espresso machine and i are best friends. sometimes i talk to the plants in the window because they listen better than most customers.”

he laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “plants are excellent listeners. way better than my students. one time i caught one of them trying to microwave a cursed tool. don’t ask.”

the conversation turned softer as the night went on. you told him about the long closing shifts, how you loved the quiet after the last customer left, the ritual of wiping every surface with citrus cleaner, restocking syrups in perfect rows, polishing the steam wand until it shone. he listened like every detail mattered, eyes never leaving your face.

“you make it sound peaceful,” he said quietly. “i like that about you. everything you touch feels… cared for.”

you felt your face heat up. “stop. you’re going to make me blush harder than when you leave those notes.”

“good. i like when you blush.”

dinner stretched into dessert and another glass of wine. the alcohol settled warm in your veins, making everything feel softer around the edges. you felt a little drowsy in the best way, eyelids heavy but mind still buzzing with how close he was sitting now, how his knee had brushed yours under the table more than once.

when the check came, gojo paid without letting you even glance at it. outside the restaurant the night air was cool, but you still felt flushed from the wine.

“my place is close,” he said casually, but his voice had dropped lower. “sky-high apartment with a ridiculous view. i’ve got tea that’s better than the stuff i brought you that night. or coffee if you’re feeling rebellious. you seem a little sleepy… wouldn’t want you walking home like that.”

you looked up at him. his expression was gentle but there was heat behind it, the same slow-burning tension that had lived in every receipt note for months. “are you inviting me over because you’re worried about me getting home safe, or because you want to keep talking?”

he stepped closer, fingers lightly brushing your wrist. “both. mostly the second one. no pressure though. i can call you a car right now if you want.”

you thought about all the handwritten confessions, the way your stomach flipped every time he walked into the cafe, the way his notes had slowly peeled back layers of both of you. “take me to your place.”

the ride up the elevator to his apartment was quiet, charged. his apartment really was sky-high, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the glittering city below like a sea of stars. it was modern but surprisingly warm, soft lighting, a big couch that looked ridiculously comfortable, and a kitchen island that probably cost more than your rent.

he poured you both a small glass of something lighter than wine, just enough to keep the warm buzz going without pushing it. you kicked off your shoes and curled up on the couch while he sat close, not quite touching but near enough that you could feel the heat from his body.

conversation continued, softer now. he told you funny stories about his students, the ridiculous things they said during training. you told him about the time you accidentally made a customer’s drink with lavender syrup instead of vanilla and they loved it so much they came back every day for a week. laughter came easy between you, but underneath it the air grew thicker, heavier with everything you hadn’t said out loud yet.

you felt drowsy again, the combination of good food, wine, and the long day catching up. your head tilted toward his shoulder without thinking. gojo didn’t pull away. instead his hand came up, fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“you’re really here,” he murmured, voice low and rougher than usual. “after all those stupid notes… you’re actually on my couch.”

you turned your face toward him, close enough that your noses almost brushed. the urge hit you suddenly, warm and insistent in your chest and lower. all those months of slow tension, every careful word written on paper, every lingering look across the counter. you wanted to touch him. really touch him.

your hand moved first, resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under the soft fabric of his shirt. “i’ve thought about this,” you whispered. “more than i probably should have while making your drinks.”

his breath hitched. that lazy grin faded into something darker, hungrier. “yeah? tell me what you thought about.”

you shifted closer, straddling his lap slowly, giving him every chance to stop you. he didn’t. his hands settled on your hips like they belonged there, thumbs stroking small circles through your clothes.

“i thought about what your hands would feel like,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper as you leaned in. your fingers traced the line of his jaw, then down his neck. “about kissing you right after you left one of those notes. about whether you’d be as teasing in person as you are on paper.”

gojo’s grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer until you could feel him hardening beneath you. “i’ve been hard just reading your replies sometimes,” he confessed, voice husky. “you have no idea how many times i wanted to jump over that counter and kiss you stupid instead of walking out with another receipt.”

the kiss started slow, intimate, like everything else between you. his lips were softer than you imagined, warm and patient at first, tasting faintly of wine and something uniquely him. then it deepened, tongues brushing, breaths mingling as months of restrained tension finally cracked open.

your hands slid under his shirt, palms mapping the firm planes of his stomach, the way his muscles tensed under your touch. he groaned softly into your mouth when your nails lightly scratched down his sides. his own hands roamed, slipping under your sweater to caress the bare skin of your back, fingertips tracing your spine like he was memorizing every inch.

“slow,” he murmured against your lips, even as his hips rolled up gently against you, letting you feel how much he wanted this. “we’ve waited this long. i want to take my time with you.”

you nodded, kissing him again, deeper this time, grinding down slowly into his lap. the friction was delicious, building heat between your legs as you rocked against the growing bulge in his pants. his hands guided your hips, helping you find a rhythm that had both of you breathing heavier.

he pulled your sweater over your head carefully, eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you in just your bra. “beautiful,” he whispered, leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, then lower, tongue tracing the edge of lace. “been dying to see you like this.”

you tugged his shirt open, buttons popping in your haste, revealing smooth skin and the lean muscle underneath. your mouth followed your hands, kissing down his chest, tasting him, feeling the way his breath stuttered when you grazed a nipple with your teeth.

the couch became a mess of wandering hands and soft sounds. he unclasped your bra with skilled fingers, mouth closing around one breast while his hand palmed the other, thumb circling the sensitive peak until you moaned his name. the sound seemed to snap something in him. his hips bucked up harder, pressing his clothed cock against your core in a way that made you both gasp.

“fuck… keep saying my name like that,” he groaned, voice wrecked.

you reached between you, palming him through his pants, feeling how thick and hard he was. he hissed, head falling back against the couch as you stroked him slowly, teasingly, the same way you’d tease the tension out of every note you wrote him.

“want you,” you breathed, grinding down again. “want to feel you inside me, satoru.”

his eyes flashed with heat. in one smooth motion he flipped you so your back was against the cushions, hovering over you. he kissed you deeply while his hand slid down your body, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping inside. his fingers found you already wet, stroking through your folds with deliberate slowness.

“so wet for me already,” he murmured against your neck, nipping lightly. “all those months of notes and you’re this worked up just from sitting on my lap?”

you whimpered, hips chasing his touch as he circled your clit with perfect pressure, then dipped a long finger inside you, curling it just right. he added a second, pumping slowly, thumb never leaving your clit until your thighs started to tremble.

“that’s it,” he whispered, voice sweet and filthy at the same time. “let me take care of you. been dreaming about making you come on my fingers for weeks.”

the orgasm built slow and deep, coaxed out by his patient touch and the way he kept kissing you through it, swallowing every moan. when you finally came, clenching around his fingers, he groaned like it was affecting him just as much.

he didn’t rush after that. he kissed down your body, peeling your jeans and panties off with reverence, then settled between your thighs. his tongue replaced his fingers, licking broad stripes before focusing on your clit, sucking gently while two fingers slid back inside you. he took his time, bringing you to the edge again and again, backing off until you were begging, hands fisted in his white hair.

only when you were shaking and whispering please did he finally pull back, shedding the rest of his clothes. his cock was flushed and leaking, thick enough that your mouth watered at the sight. he rolled on a condom with steady hands, then positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the head through your slick folds.

“look at me,” he said softly, waiting until your eyes met his. the sunglasses were long gone, blue eyes intense and vulnerable all at once. “we can stop anytime. but i really, really want this.”

“i want you,” you answered, wrapping your legs around his waist. “all of you.”

he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open with a delicious burn that had both of you moaning. when he bottomed out he stayed there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. “fuck… you feel perfect. so tight and warm.”

the pace stayed slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that hit every sensitive spot inside you. every thrust felt intimate, like he was pouring all those unspoken words from the receipts into the way he moved inside you. you clung to him, nails digging into his back, meeting every thrust with your own.

“satoru… faster,” you gasped eventually, the slowburn finally tipping into something more urgent.

he obliged, picking up the pace, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit again. the new angle and the added stimulation had you spiraling fast. your second orgasm crashed over you harder than the first, walls fluttering around him as you cried out his name.

gojo followed soon after, burying his face in your neck with a broken groan, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you.

afterward you stayed tangled together on the wide couch, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare back while your head rested on his chest. the city lights twinkled outside the windows like a private show just for the two of you.

“so,” he murmured, voice sleepy and satisfied, pressing a kiss to your hair, “think you’ll still write me notes tomorrow?”

you laughed softly, nuzzling closer. “only if you promise to leave even dirtier ones on the receipts now.”

he grinned against your skin. “deal. but next time i’m writing them while you’re sitting on my lap after closing.”

the notes that started with simple “have a good day” notes had finally ignited into something warmer, deeper, and deliciously intimate. and neither of you planned on letting it end anytime soon.

shortstack (and the brother who wasn’t annoying anymore) (18+)

satoru gojo x fl!reader

art creds: mochikuyo, aliyartss, thatsallitchief

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

shoko’s your best friend, literally since elementary school. you two have been INSEPARABLE since the day you met. but theres just someone who’s never really caught your eye until now. her older brother, satoru gojo. what happens when the two get too close to one another?

content warning: this fic contains explicit smut (including oral, fingering, and penetrative sex). there’s heavy sneaking around and multiple near-misses with shoko catching you. lots of fluff and soft moments mixed in.

you’ve known satoru gojo literally forever.

like, since you and shoko were in elementary school and he was that tall annoying kid who’d show up to pick her up after class, blindfold already on even back then, tossing mochi at your head and calling you shortstack while laughing like it was the funniest thing ever. he was just shoko’s older brother. loud. cocky. always eating sweets and dodging responsibility. harmless background noise.

shoko was your person though. your best friend since forever. the one who’d sneak you into her room for late night talks, share her earbuds, complain about curses and exams and how her brother never shut up. you two were tight. she was protective in that quiet way. rolling her eyes at anyone who looked at you too long, always making sure you got home safe, texting you “you good?” even when she was buried in med stuff at school.

satoru? he was just there. part of the furniture. you’d roll your eyes when he ruffled your hair too hard or stole the last pocky from your bag. “grow up, gojo,” you’d mutter. he’d just grin wider, those stupid blue eyes flashing even through the blindfold.

but then something shifted.

it was subtle at first. you were all hanging out at their place one random weekend. shoko was half-asleep on the couch after a long shift helping at the hospital, cigarette smoke still lingering in her hair. you were in the kitchen grabbing drinks when satoru walked in, fresh from a mission or whatever secret strong sorcerer shit he did. his hair was messier than usual, jacket slung over one shoulder, and when he reached past you for a bottle of water his arm brushed yours. nothing crazy. but you noticed how warm he was. how tall he actually was when he stood that close. how his voice dropped a little when he said “thanks, shortstack” instead of the usual loud tease.

you shook it off. stupid. it was nothing.

except the next week you caught yourself staring at him during movie night. he was sprawled on the floor in front of the couch, long legs everywhere, laughing at some dumb scene while shoko threw popcorn at him. his shirt rode up a bit when he stretched and you saw the line of his hip, the faint scar there from who knows what. your face got hot. you looked away fast, pretending to check your phone.

shoko noticed though. she always did. “you zoning out?” she asked later, nudging your shoulder as you both brushed your teeth before bed. her eyes were sharp even when she was tired. “or is my idiot brother annoying you more than usual?”

“same old,” you lied, spitting toothpaste. “he’s harmless.”

she hummed, not fully convinced, but let it drop. for now.

the texts started innocent.

satoru had your number from years ago. group chats, emergency pickups, whatever. but now they came more often. random memes at midnight. a picture of him with a mountain of kikufuku and the caption “jealous yet?” you’d reply with an eye roll emoji, but you smiled every time your phone lit up.

then one night he sent “you still awake? shoko crashed early. come downstairs if you want real snacks instead of her healthy shit.”

you shouldn’t have. but you did. crept down the stairs in your oversized off-shoulder tee and shorts, heart beating a little too fast. he was in the kitchen, blindfold off, those eyes glowing soft in the low light. he held out a mochi for you, fingers brushing yours when you took it.

“you’re gonna get me in trouble,” you whispered, glancing toward the stairs.

“only if we get caught,” he said, voice lower than usual, smirk playing on his lips. he leaned against the counter, watching you eat like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “you’ve been looking at me weird lately, shortstack.”

your cheeks burned. “have not.”

“liar.” he stepped closer, just enough that you could smell his cologne mixed with whatever sweets he’d been eating. “it’s cute.”

you shoved his chest lightly and bolted back upstairs before shoko could wake up. but you lay in bed after, replaying the way his eyes had lingered, the warmth of his fingers. fuck. this was bad.

the almosts piled up after that.

one afternoon you were all at a café near campus. shoko stepped outside for a smoke, leaving you and satoru at the table. he immediately slid his chair closer, knee pressing against yours under the table. “missed you,” he murmured, even though you’d seen him yesterday.

“we live in the same circle, idiot,” you whispered back, but you didn’t pull away.

his hand found your thigh under the table, thumb stroking slow circles through your jeans. your breath hitched. he just smiled innocently when shoko came back in, chatting about some patient like nothing was happening. you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom to calm down, heart racing the whole time.

another time he drove you home after shoko got called in last minute. rain was pouring, wipers going steady. he parked a block away from your place “just to talk.” talked turned into him leaning over the console, hand cupping your jaw, lips inches from yours.

“tell me to stop and i will,” he said, breath warm.

you didn’t. the kiss was slow at first, testing, then deeper when you kissed back. his tongue brushed yours and you made a soft sound that had him groaning quietly. his hand slid into your hair, tilting your head just right. you were both breathing hard when you finally pulled apart, fogging up the windows.

“we can’t keep doing this,” you said, even as you leaned in for one more quick kiss.

“sure we can,” he grinned, thumb wiping lipstick from his mouth. “just gotta be careful. shoko would kill me if she found out i’m corrupting her best friend.”

you laughed despite the nerves. “she’s protective for a reason. you’re a menace.”

“your menace now,” he teased, but there was something softer under it.

the sneaking got bolder but the close calls got scarier.

you started “studying” at their place more often. shoko would be in her room cramming or napping after shifts, and satoru would text you from downstairs. you’d slip down and end up on the couch with him, his arm around your shoulders, fingers playing with your hair while you pretended to watch whatever show was on. he’d lean in during quiet moments, kissing your neck soft and slow, whispering “you smell good” or “been thinking about you all day.”

one night shoko almost walked in. you were in the laundry room of all places. satoru had pulled you in there for “two minutes” after you helped fold towels. his hands were under your shirt, mouth on yours, hot and hungry, when you heard shoko’s voice from the hallway. “yo, anyone seen my charger?”

you froze. satoru pressed a finger to your lips, eyes sparkling with mischief even as his other hand stayed warm on your waist. he waited until her footsteps faded, then kissed you again, deeper, like the risk made it better.

“you’re insane,” you hissed when you finally slipped out separately.

“you love it,” he shot back, winking as he passed you in the kitchen later like nothing happened.

shoko started commenting more. “you and satoru have been getting along weirdly well,” she said one evening while you two were making dinner and he was “helping” by stealing veggies. she eyed you both over her cigarette. “he’s not bothering you, right? i can tell him to back off.”

“he’s fine,” you said quickly, focusing on chopping onions so she wouldn’t see your face. “annoying but fine.”

satoru just laughed from behind you, close enough that you felt his breath on your neck for a second. “aww, sis, you jealous i’m stealing your bestie time?”

shoko narrowed her eyes but dropped it. still, you could feel her watching sometimes. like she knew something was off but couldn’t place it.

the tension built and built. stolen kisses in the car. his hand slipping into yours under blankets during group movie nights. late night texts that turned flirty “can’t stop thinking about how you sounded when i kissed your neck last time.” you’d reply blushing, telling him to behave, but you never wanted him to.

one weekend shoko had an overnight shift again. the house felt too quiet, too empty. you were supposed to just hang out and watch movies, but the second the door shut behind her satoru looked at you different. hungrier.

he pulled you onto the couch first, slow this time. no rushing. he kissed you soft and deep, hands roaming but patient, like he wanted to savor every second now that you had real time. “been driving me crazy,” he murmured against your lips. “all these almosts.”

you straddled his lap, fingers in his hair, kissing him back with weeks of built-up want. his hands settled on your hips, guiding you to grind slow against him. you could feel how hard he was already, but he didn’t push. just kissed you until your lips were swollen, then trailed down your neck, sucking lightly at the spot that made your breath catch.

“satoru…” you whispered, rocking against him.

“not yet,” he said, voice rough but gentle. “wanna take my time tonight. wanna make sure you know this isn’t just messing around for me.”

that made your chest feel warm. you pulled back a little, looking at him. hair messy, eyes soft and bright, no blindfold, no cocky mask. just satoru. your satoru now, somehow.

you kissed him again, slower, pouring in all the fluff that had been building under the tension. “i like you,” you admitted quietly between kisses. “like, a lot. more than i thought i would.”

he smiled against your mouth, big and genuine. “good. cause i’ve been gone on you for longer than you know, shortstack. used to tease you just to see you get all flustered. now i do it cause i can’t help it.”

you spent hours like that. making out on the couch, then moving to his room when it got too heated. clothes came off gradually. he peeled your shirt off like unwrapping something precious, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. you did the same, tracing the muscles on his chest, the old scars, loving how he shivered when your nails dragged lightly.

when he finally laid you back on his bed he took forever with his mouth between your legs. slow licks, teasing sucks, fingers curling inside you until you were trembling and moaning his name. he looked up at you the whole time, eyes locked, like watching you fall apart was his favorite thing.

you came once like that, thighs around his head, hand over your mouth to stay quiet even though the house was empty. he kissed his way back up, murmuring “so pretty when you come for me” and “my good girl.”

then you flipped him, wanting to return it. you took him in your mouth slow, learning what made his hips jerk and his breath stutter. he groaned your name, fingers gentle in your hair, praising you soft and sweet between curses.

when he couldn’t take it anymore he pulled you up, rolling you under him. condom on, he pushed in inch by inch, both of you groaning at how good it felt. he fucked you deep and steady, hips rolling perfect, one hand holding your thigh open, the other braced beside your head. every thrust hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. you clung to his shoulders, nails digging in, whispering his name like a prayer.

“look at me,” he said, voice rough. when your eyes met his, something shifted. the cocky smirk was gone. just raw, open want. “been yours for a while now, y’know.”

your heart flipped. you pulled him down into a messy kiss as he sped up, both of you chasing release together. you came again with a broken moan, clenching around him, and he followed right after, burying his face in your neck as he spilled inside the condom, hips stuttering.

after, he didn’t pull out right away. just held you close, pressing soft kisses to your sweaty skin, murmuring fluffy nonsense that made you giggle.

“you’re staying the night, right?” he asked, voice sleepy and warm.

“what if shoko comes back early?”

“i’ll hide you in the closet,” he teased, but his arms tightened around you like he never wanted to let go. “kidding. we’ll figure it out. i’m not letting you go now.”

you traced patterns on his chest, feeling safe and warm and a little scared all at once. “this is gonna get complicated.”

“yeah,” he said, kissing your forehead. “but i’ve wanted you for longer than you know. worth it.”

you fell asleep tangled up in him, his heartbeat steady under your cheek.

morning came with shoko’s key in the door way too early. you both scrambled — clothes flying, giggles muffled, him shoving you toward the bathroom while he played it cool in the kitchen.

shoko walked in, took one look at satoru’s messy hair and your “just woke up” face, and raised an eyebrow. “you two look suspicious.”

satoru just grinned, sliding a cup of coffee your way, fingers brushing yours under the counter again. “morning, sis. coffee?”

you squeezed his hand quick before letting go.

shoko sighed, lighting a cigarette even though she wasn’t supposed to inside. “if you hurt her, i’ll dissect you myself, satoru. she’s my best friend.”

he laughed, but his eyes were soft when they flicked to you. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

you smiled back, heart full despite the nerves.

it was still sneaky for now. still risky. still a million close calls ahead probably.

but the way he looked at you — like you weren’t just his sister’s friend anymore, like you were his — made all the tension, all the waiting, all the almosts completely worth it.

and maybe, just maybe, shoko would understand eventually.

for now though?

you were keeping this feeling all to yourself a little longer.

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shoko didn’t let it go easy.

she stood there in the kitchen, arms crossed, cigarette smoke curling around her like a warning. her eyes bounced between you and satoru, sharp and tired from the early shift. “seriously. spill. you two look like you just rolled out of the same bed and i know i left you on the couch last night.”

satoru leaned on the counter like he owned the world, popping a piece of candy in his mouth. “sis, your imagination is wild. we were just watching movies. late night snack run. innocent stuff.”

you stayed quiet, stirring sugar into your coffee way too long, cheeks burning. shoko’s gaze landed on you heavier. “you’re my best friend. if he’s pulling some shit on you, tell me. i’ll handle him. reverse cursed technique can hurt in creative ways.”

“he’s not,” you said softly, forcing a smile. “promise. we’re good. really.”

she stared a second longer, then sighed and stubbed out her cigarette. “fine. but i’m watching. both of you.” she grabbed her bag and headed out for whatever next errand, but the warning hung thick in the air.

the second the door closed satoru pulled you into a hug from behind, chin on your shoulder, laughing low. “close one number fifty-seven. you okay?”

you turned in his arms, burying your face in his chest. “terrified. but… yeah. worth it.” he kissed the top of your head, soft and fluffy, holding you tighter than usual. “we’ll tell her when it’s right. or when she catches us. whichever comes first.”

that day turned into a careful one. shoko came back earlier than expected again, so you and satoru stuck to innocent stuff. playing cards on the living room floor while she napped on the couch nearby. every time his fingers brushed yours reaching for a card your stomach flipped. he’d catch your eye and smirk, mouthing “later” when shoko wasn’t looking. the tension sat low and warm, building even when you couldn’t touch.

the next few days blurred into sneaky heaven and hell.

one afternoon you “helped” satoru with grocery shopping while shoko was at the hospital. the store aisles felt like a game. him cornering you behind the cereal display for a quick kiss, hand sliding down your back. “missed this,” he whispered, nipping your ear. you giggled and pushed him away before an old lady could see, but your whole body buzzed the rest of the trip. in the car on the way home he parked in a quiet spot, pulled you into his lap, and kissed you deep and slow until the windows fogged. no sex, just heavy making out and his hands under your shirt, thumbs teasing until you were panting. “wanna take you right here,” he groaned, but shoko texted asking where the milk was and you had to rush back, flushed and laughing.

nights were the hardest. when shoko crashed early you’d sneak into his room or he’d come to yours. not full on every time. sometimes just cuddling under the covers, his long body wrapped around yours, whispering fluffy stuff that made your heart ache. “you make all the loud shit in my head quieter,” he admitted one night, fingers tracing your spine. you’d whisper back how you used to think he was just the annoying brother, and now he was the person you couldn’t imagine days without. he’d get all soft-eyed and kiss you slow until you both fell asleep tangled up.

another close call came during a group hang at the park. shoko, you, satoru, and a couple others from school. everyone was sprawled on blankets, eating takeout. satoru sat next to you “by accident,” his thigh pressed firm against yours the whole time. when shoko got up to grab drinks from the cooler he leaned in fast, whispering “wanna ditch them later? my car’s parked close.”

you nodded before you could think, heart racing.

later, when everyone was distracted by some argument about curses, he grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the parking lot. you ended up in the backseat of his fancy car, windows tinted dark, making out like teenagers. his hands roamed under your shirt, thumbs brushing your nipples until you were squirming. you palmed him through his pants, feeling him throb, and he groaned your name low and wrecked.

“fuck, i want you so bad,” he panted, forehead against yours. “been hard all day just from sitting next to you.”

you were about to pull his zipper down when your phone buzzed. shoko texting “where’d you two go? don’t make me come find you.”

you both froze, then burst into quiet laughter. “rain check,” he said, kissing you one last time, sweet and promising. “but soon. i’m not waiting forever.”

the tension kept stacking. every almost made the want worse. you’d catch him staring during dinner, eyes dark and hungry even while shoko ranted about work. he’d send voice notes late at night, just his voice saying “can’t stop thinking about how you taste” or “imagine my mouth on you right now”, and you’d touch yourself listening, biting your pillow so you wouldn’t moan too loud.

shoko’s protectiveness ramped up too. she started asking pointed questions. “you’ve been staying over a lot. everything okay at home?” or “satoru’s not flirting with you, right? he does that with everyone but i’ll end him if it’s you.”

you’d laugh it off, heart pounding. “no boy trouble. and satoru’s always weird. you know that.”

she hummed, not convinced. “just… be careful. he’s strong as hell but he’s an idiot with feelings. if he hurts you i’ll kill him and hide the body with cursed energy.”

you almost choked on your drink. “he’s not. promise.”

but he wasn’t harmless anymore. not to you.

the night it finally boiled over was another overnight shift for shoko. she left around 8pm, kissing your cheek and telling you “text me if my brother annoys you too much.” the door barely closed before satoru had you in his arms, lifting you onto the kitchen counter like he’d been holding back for years.

this time there was no slow teasing at first. he kissed you desperate, tongue sliding against yours, hands everywhere. “need you,” he growled between kisses. “can’t do any more almosts tonight.”

you nodded, legs wrapping around him. “bedroom. now.”

he carried you there, kicking the door shut behind him. clothes came off faster this time but still with care. he peeled your shirt off slow, kissing down your collarbone, sucking marks along your chest that you’d have to hide with hoodies tomorrow. you tugged his pants down, wrapping your hand around his cock, stroking him until he hissed and bucked into your fist.

“on the bed,” he said, voice rough. he laid you down gently though, like you were something precious, then spread your legs and buried his face between them. his tongue was relentless. long licks, sucking your clit, two fingers curling deep inside you. you came fast the first time, thighs shaking around his head, moaning his name loud because the house was finally empty.

you returned it, taking him in your mouth until he was cursing and tugging your hair gentle. then he flipped you, condom on, sliding in deep from behind at first, then turning you so he could see your face. he fucked you deep and steady, one hand rubbing your clit, the other braced beside your head. “look at me,” he whispered when you got close again. you did. eyes locked on those bright blue ones and the moment felt huge. raw and open and real. “been wanting this. wanting you.”

you came together that time, clinging to each other, his face buried in your neck as he moaned your name. after, he pulled you down onto his chest, both of you sweaty and breathing hard. him stroking your back slow, pressing kisses to your hair, your temple, your lips. fluffy and warm and perfect.

“stay right here,” he murmured. “whole night. no sneaking out. i wanna wake up with you.”

you smiled against his skin, heart full. “what about shoko in the morning?”

“we’ll deal with it. or i’ll just tell her i’m keeping you.” he tilted your chin up for a soft kiss, lazy and sweet. “been falling for you for a while, shortstack. this isn’t just sneaking anymore for me.”

you kissed him back, whispering “me too” against his lips. it felt big and scary and perfect.

morning came too soon again. shoko’s car pulled in earlier than expected. some shift swap. you both scrambled, laughing quietly while throwing on clothes. satoru shoved you toward the bathroom to “fix your sex hair” while he played innocent in the kitchen.

shoko walked in, took one look at the two of you, and sighed deep. “okay. seriously. what the fuck is going on? you think i’m blind?”

satoru tried to deflect with sweets and jokes, but you saw the way he glanced at you. protective now too, like he’d take whatever lecture came if it meant keeping this.

you squeezed his hand quick behind the counter.

it was still risky. shoko was gonna be pissed when it all came out, probably threaten him with her reverse cursed technique in creative ways. but the build-up, the tension, the stolen moments and soft nights… it was all worth it.

satoru looked at you across the kitchen, eyes soft and cocky at the same time, and mouthed “worth it.”

yeah.

definitely worth it.

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shoko didn’t exactly give her blessing, but she stopped the death glares. mostly.

instead she started with the side comments. “if you two start moaning while i’m trying to sleep i’m blasting cursed energy through the wall” or “satoru, keep your hands above the table or i’m telling megumi you’re a bad influence.” you’d blush and satoru would just laugh, pulling you closer on the couch like he was daring her. it was weirdly comforting. your best friend still had your back, even if her brother was now tangled up in it.

the first week after the talk felt like testing new ground. no more full hiding, but the sneaking didn’t die. it just got sneakier in different ways.

one afternoon shoko was home studying for some advanced healing technique, notes everywhere. you and satoru were “helping” in the kitchen, which meant him pressing you against the fridge while you tried to make sandwiches, his mouth on your neck, hands sliding under your shirt slow and teasing. “quiet, baby,” he whispered when you let out a soft sound. “sis is right there.” his fingers dipped into your waistband, rubbing light circles that had your knees weak, but you heard shoko clear her throat from the living room and you both froze, then burst into giggles like idiots. he stole one last kiss before stepping back, adjusting himself with a grin. “later. promise.”

later came when shoko finally passed out on the couch around midnight. satoru tugged you to his room, door locked this time, and took his time undressing you. mouth everywhere. collarbone, breasts, stomach, murmuring how pretty you looked, how he couldn’t get enough even when he could touch you openly now. he ate you out slow on the edge of the bed, your thighs over his shoulders, fingers curling deep while his tongue worked your clit until you were biting your hand to stay quiet. you came twice before he even got inside you, then he fucked you deep and steady on your back, eyes locked, whispering “love you” every time he bottomed out. it was intense and fluffy all at once. his forehead against yours, hands intertwined, coming together with soft moans muffled in each other’s necks.

after he held you close, stroking your back, pressing lazy kisses to your hair. “this feels better than all the sneaking,” he said softly. “but the sneaking was hot as hell. we keeping a little of that?”

you laughed into his chest. “yeah. keeps it fun.”

shoko started warming up in her own dry way. she’d roll her eyes when satoru fed you bites of his mochi during dinner, but once she muttered “you two are disgustingly cute. don’t fuck it up.” you took that as progress. she even covered for you once when a mission call came in for satoru late at night. “tell them he’s busy with family stuff” while winking at you like she knew exactly why he wanted the night free.

but protectiveness never fully left. one weekend you all went out to a festival. lights, food stalls, crowds. satoru won you a stupid big stuffed animal at some game, then pulled you behind a stall for a quick makeout, his hands on your waist, tongue lazy against yours. shoko found you two minutes later, arms crossed. “public indecency? really? i’m pretending i didn’t see that, but if anyone from school asks i’m saying you’re just friends.”

satoru grinned, arm around your shoulders. “thanks sis. love you too.”

you squeezed his hand, heart warm. the three of you spent the rest of the night eating too much sugar, shoko complaining about the crowds but smiling when satoru bought her favorite cigarettes. it felt like family, messy but real.

the tension built again over the next days in smaller moments. satoru would text you filthy things during class. “thinking about how tight you were last night, can’t focus”, making you hide your phone and blush. at home he’d pull you into the laundry room for five minutes of grinding and heavy petting while shoko was on a call. “miss the risk a little,” he’d admit, voice rough, hand between your legs over your clothes until you were panting. but he’d stop before it went too far, saving it for when you had real time.

one night shoko had another overnight. the house felt like yours again. satoru didn’t rush this time either. he cooked actual dinner (ramen, but fancy with toppings), then slow danced with you in the living room to some dumb playlist, hands on your hips, foreheads touching. “never thought i’d get this with you,” he said quietly, that cocky edge gone. “used to tease you just to see you smile. now i wanna keep making you smile forever.”

you kissed him soft, melting into the fluff. “you’re stuck with me now, gojo.”

things heated when you made it to the bedroom. he laid you down, kissing down your body like he had all night. fingers and tongue worked you open slow. three fingers curling just right, sucking your clit until your back arched and you came with his name on your lips. you rode his face after, his hands gripping your thighs, encouraging you to use him until you came again, shaking.

then he flipped you, sliding in deep from behind, one hand rubbing your clit, the other braced beside your head. “feel so good,” he groaned, pace building steady and hard. “my girl. all mine.” you pushed back to meet him, moaning into the pillow, and when you came the third time he followed, burying deep and holding you tight through it, whispering praises and “i love you” over and over.

aftercare was amazing. him running a warm cloth over you, pulling you into his chest, feeding you leftover mochi in bed while you talked about nothing and everything. “shoko’s gonna kill us if we’re too loud next time,” you teased.

“worth it,” he said, kissing your temple. “everything with you is.”

the next morning shoko got home to find you both in the kitchen making breakfast, satoru’s arm around your waist while you flipped eggs. she sighed but there was a small smile. “you two are domestic as hell now. gross. but… cute. don’t make me regret not murdering him.”

satoru grinned, flipping a burnt pancake. “love you, sis.”

you leaned into him, feeling settled in a new way. there were still stolen kisses when shoko wasn’t looking, still risky quickies in random rooms because the thrill lingered, still protective lectures when satoru got too cocky. but the relationship felt solid. more dates (real ones, sneaking off to hidden spots or just lazy days in), more late night talks where he opened up about the weight of being the strongest, more moments where you realized this annoying brother had become your person.

shoko caught you kissing in the hallway one evening and just groaned “get a room—wait, you have one. use it.” then walked away muttering about “my best friend stealing my brother and vice versa.”

you and satoru looked at each other and laughed, then kissed again slower.

it wasn’t perfect. there’d be more close calls, more protective big-sister moments, more learning how to balance everything. but it was yours.

and yeah… still so worth it.

satoru caught your eye across the room one night during a quiet dinner with shoko, smiling soft and wicked at the same time.

you smiled back.

this was just the beginning.

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shoko started calling it “the gojo-ieiri household circus” and honestly it fit.

she’d walk into the kitchen in the mornings to find satoru with his arms wrapped around you from behind while you made coffee, his chin on your shoulder, mumbling sleepy nonsense about how you smelled better than any mochi. she’d just sigh dramatically, grab her cigarette pack, and mutter “at least make enough for three if you’re gonna be gross in my kitchen.” but there was less bite in it now. sometimes she’d even smirk when satoru fed you a bite of his breakfast and you laughed.

the protectiveness didn’t vanish though. it morphed into big-sister threats wrapped in sarcasm. “hurt her and i’ll heal you just enough to feel every second of pain,” she told satoru one evening while the three of you watched a movie. he just pulled you closer on the couch and grinned. “noted. but i’m too pretty to die.”

you squeezed his hand under the blanket, heart warm. it felt like the three of you were settling into something new — not just you and satoru sneaking, but a weird little family unit where shoko was slowly accepting that her best friend and her annoying brother were a thing.

still, the sneaking didn’t stop completely. it was too fun.

one afternoon shoko was buried in med textbooks at the dining table. satoru texted you from across the room “bathroom. now.”

you excused yourself casually, heart already racing, and the second the door clicked he had you pressed against the sink, kissing you deep and hungry. his hands slid under your shirt, thumbs brushing your nipples while he ground against you slow. “been dying to touch you all day,” he whispered, voice rough. you palmed him through his pants, feeling how hard he was, and he groaned quietly into your mouth. it was getting heated fast. his fingers dipping into your waistband, when shoko knocked on the door. “if you’re fucking in there i swear i’ll curse the lock.”

you both froze, then laughed silently. satoru kissed you one last time, soft and quick, before you both fixed your clothes and walked out like nothing happened. shoko just raised an eyebrow and went back to studying. “you two are hopeless.”

the fluff kept sneaking in stronger too. satoru started staying over in your room more openly, or you in his. nights where he’d pull you onto his chest after missions, venting about the weight of being the strongest while you played with his hair. “you make it feel lighter,” he’d say softly, pressing kisses to your forehead. you’d whisper back how you used to think he was just shoko’s loud brother, and now he was the person you couldn’t imagine days without. he’d get all soft-eyed and kiss you slow until you both fell asleep tangled up.

one weekend he planned a real date. no sneaking around the house, just the two of you. he told shoko “we’re going out, don’t wait up” and she waved you off with “use protection and don’t do anything i wouldn’t do—wait, that’s nothing.” you laughed the whole way to his car.

he took you to a quiet spot outside the city. a hidden viewpoint with city lights twinkling below, blankets and snacks in the back of his car. it was fluffy as hell. he laid out everything, pulled you between his legs so your back was against his chest, and just talked for hours. about old days when he’d tease you as kids, about how he realized he wanted more when he saw you looking at him different that one night in the kitchen. “been yours longer than you know,” he murmured, arms tight around your waist.

you turned to kiss him, soft at first, then deeper when he cupped your face. the makeout got heated quick on the blankets. his hands roaming under your clothes, yours in his hair, both of you breathing hard. he had you straddling him, grinding slow while he sucked marks on your neck, whispering “want you so bad right now.” you were about to say yes when headlights flashed in the distance. some random car pulling up nearby. you both scrambled to look normal, laughing breathlessly. “date almost ruined by strangers,” he groaned, but he kissed you again anyway, promising “we’ll finish this at home.”

home meant back at the house with shoko already asleep. the second you were inside satoru had you against the wall in the hallway, picking you up so your legs wrapped around him. “been thinking about this all night,” he said, voice low and wrecked. he carried you to his room, kicking the door shut, and this time he didn’t go slow.

clothes came off fast. he laid you on the bed and kissed down your body, mouth hot and greedy, sucking on your nipples, then moving lower until his tongue was on your clit, two fingers pumping deep. you came once quick, moaning into the pillow, but he kept going, adding a third finger, curling just right until you were shaking and coming again.

you pushed him onto his back after, taking him in your mouth deep and wet, loving how he groaned your name and fisted the sheets. “fuck baby, your mouth—” he panted, hips twitching. before he could finish you climbed up, rolling a condom on him and sinking down slow, both of you groaning at the stretch.

you rode him hard, hands braced on his chest, his gripping your hips guiding you faster. he sat up halfway, arm around your back, thrusting up to meet you while his thumb rubbed your clit. “so good. love you like this,” he groaned, eyes locked on yours, bright and intense. you came hard around him, clenching, and he followed right after with a broken moan of your name, holding you tight through it.

after, the fluff hit soft and sweet. he cleaned you up gentle, then pulled you into his chest, stroking your hair and back. “best date ever,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “even with the almost-interruption. love doing normal stuff with you. love all the stuff with you.”

you smiled against his skin, tracing patterns on his abs. “love you too. even when you’re being a clingy menace.”

he chuckled, arms tightening. “your menace. always.”

morning brought shoko’s usual commentary. she found you both in the kitchen again, satoru making pancakes (badly) while you helped. she leaned in the doorway, coffee in hand. “date go well? you two look like you barely slept.” her tone was teasing now, less suspicious. “just don’t scar me for life with the noises next time.”

satoru grinned, flipping a burnt pancake. “no promises.”

you laughed and leaned into him, feeling settled and happy. shoko rolled her eyes but there was a small smile. “you idiots are cute. gross, but cute. just… keep treating her right, satoru. or else.”

he saluted dramatically. “yes ma’am.”

the days kept blending. more stolen quickies when shoko was distracted, more open cuddles on the couch, more late-night talks where satoru opened up about fears and you did the same. the tension never fully left (the risk still made everything hotter), but it felt balanced.

one evening shoko even joined you two for takeout without complaining too much, teasing satoru about “finally growing up” while you rested your head on his shoulder. it felt right.

satoru caught your eye later that night in bed, smiling soft and cocky. “told you it’d work out, shortstack.”

you kissed him slow. “yeah. worth every single close call.”

and it really was.

ego & equations (18+)

nerdjo/nerd!gojo x fl!reader

art creds: 3vangel1ne_,smokeigheh, chu-cho

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

you’ve always been that quiet girl, sitting near the back of the class, always keeping your mouth shut. until a certain egotistical someone with an incredibly recognizable face is forced to partner up with you for a project. what happens if you two get along?

content warning: slow burn romance, explicit sexual content (detailed smut toward the end), mild language, college au, emotional tension, fluff & angst-lite

the semester starts quiet for you. you slip into the upper-level econometrics seminar a few minutes early, claiming your usual seat near the side window where sunlight falls soft across your notebook. headphones half-on, pen already moving.

the hall fills with the usual rhythm. low chatter, laptops clicking open, chairs scraping. you keep to yourself. professors like your assignments because they’re thorough and clean, but you rarely raise your hand. you notice everything instead: the way certain students dominate discussions, the subtle patterns in the professor’s examples, the quiet pulse of the room.

satoru gojo is impossible not to notice. he strolls in right before the lecture begins, white hair catching the light, glasses on his bright blue eyes. he drops into the front row, long legs stretched out, already tossing casual jokes that make half the class laugh and the other half sigh. his voice carries confident, a little smug, always participating like the material is too easy. he’s rarely wrong, and he knows it. people admire the brilliance or find the arrogance annoying. sometimes both. he isn’t the party type, but everyone on campus knows his name.

you’ve seen him around before. grabbing coffee in the business building, sprawled at library tables with his usual crew. you’ve never spoken. your worlds don’t overlap much. you’re background noise in the side rows. he’s the bright spark at the front.

suguru geto is usually nearby when gojo is loud. dark hair tied back, calm expression, the kind of steady presence that balances gojo’s chaos. they’re clearly best friends. geto sits one seat over, occasionally muttering something dry that makes gojo laugh louder or elbow him. geto participates too, but thoughtfully, less showy. you notice how they bounce ideas off each other, geto reining gojo in when he gets too cocky, gojo dragging geto into debates with that playful grin.

the first few weeks settle into routine. the professor dives into heavy material. causal inference, advanced panel data, complex modeling. you absorb it quietly, working through problem sets late at night in your dorm, highlighting margins with neat notes. gojo keeps dominating class discussions, voice smooth and sure, tossing out answers before questions finish. sometimes you catch yourself watching the way he gestures, the easy confidence in how he leans back like nothing can touch him. his eyes occasionally scan the room, but they never linger on you. you’re fine with that.

mid-semester the professor announces the semester-long partner project like it’s no big deal. real-world application like collect data, build models, analyze, present findings. pairs assigned randomly. no switching. a ripple of groans moves through the room. you feel your stomach tighten slightly but stay silent, fingers still on your pen. when the pairing list flashes on the screen your name sits directly next to his.

satoru gojo.

he lets out a loud, theatrical groan that draws chuckles from the front rows. you see his shoulders slump dramatically before he recovers with the usual smirk. class ends and he doesn’t approach right away. instead he calls over his shoulder as he heads out, bag loose on one arm.

“library. third floor. twenty minutes. don’t keep me waiting, partner.”

you arrive exactly on time. he’s already taken the biggest table in a quiet corner, laptop open, notes exploded across the surface. glasses perked up in his messy white hair, blue eyes flicking over you once, quick and assessing, before he dives in.

“real talk. this is worth a fat chunk of the grade so i’m not carrying dead weight. i’ll handle the core framework and heavy modeling. you can do data cleaning, slides, formatting or whatever. we meet at least twice a week. doable?”

you nod, settling across from him. he launches into his plan, talking fast, explaining assumptions like you might struggle to keep up. the tone stays smug, a little condescending, like he’s already mapped the whole thing solo. you listen quietly. you take neat notes. you let him run.

the first couple meetings play out the same. he dominates. you observe. he pauses now and then, waiting for confusion that never shows on your face. you offer small, quiet input on sources or variables when asked, but mostly you watch how his mind moves. sharp, arrogant, usually right.

until the third meeting.

he’s sketching a regression setup on paper, lines confident, explaining why it’s “bulletproof.” you listen, then speak, voice calm and even.

“that won’t work.”

his pen stops mid-stroke. he looks up, genuinely thrown.

you lean forward slightly. “the variable you’re treating as independent correlates with the error term. it’ll bias the estimates. instrumental variables or a different specification would fix it.”

silence stretches. satoru stares like you switched languages, then lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. he pulls his laptop closer anyway, plugs in your suggestion, runs the check.

you’re right. obviously, cleanly right.

he leans back, arms crossed, studying you with new intensity. the smirk returns but it’s smaller, edged with reluctant respect.

“huh. you don’t talk much… but you notice everything, don’t you?”

you shrug, the tiniest smile curving your lips. “you were doing most of the talking.”

that’s the first real crack.

later that same evening satoru meets geto at their usual spot near the campus food trucks. geto’s already there, sipping something cold, dark hair loose for once. satoru drops down beside him with a dramatic sigh, stealing a fry off geto’s plate.

“this partner project is gonna kill me,” satoru complains around the food. “got paired with that quiet girl who sits by the window. she barely says anything. figured she’d just nod and let me handle it.”

geto raises an eyebrow, calm as ever. “and?”

satoru pauses, then grins but it doesn’t reach full strength. “and she corrected my whole framework today. casually. like it was nothing. she was right. threw me off.”

geto chuckles low, leaning back. “sounds like you finally met someone who doesn’t feed your ego. dangerous for you.”

“shut up,” satoru mutters, but there’s no real bite. he steals another fry. “she’s… different. listens to everything. then drops these precise little bombs when i least expect it.”

geto watches him for a moment, thoughtful. “maybe that’s not a bad thing. you get bored when everyone just agrees with you. could be good for the project. or for you.”

satoru waves it off with a smirk, but the words stick.

the meetings shift after that, slow and gradual, inch by inch.

satoru still talks plenty, but he starts pausing longer after explanations, glancing your way like he’s half-expecting the quiet correction. he catches himself mid-rant and mutters “yeah… you already knew that part.” one afternoon he shows up with two coffees, sliding yours across without fanfare, exactly how you take it.

“figured you’d need fuel. you always look half-asleep by hour three.”

you thank him softly. his ears go faintly pink. he shrugs it off.

one thursday the library stays open late. you’re both drained, empty cups everywhere. your eyes blur over dense tables when satoru reaches over and gently closes your laptop.

“break,” he says, voice softer. “you’re gonna melt your brain.”

he packs both bags. outside on the wide stone steps he pulls out a slightly crushed pack of strawberry mochi and offers you one.

“don’t tell anyone i share. ruins the lone genius image.”

you take it. sweetness melts slow. silence stretches comfortable. then he nudges your knee lightly with his.

“you’re not what i assumed,” he admits.

“what did you assume?”

“someone who’d let me steamroll and call it teamwork.” a soft huff of laughter. “instead i got someone who lets me talk myself into corners then quietly fixes it. humbling.”

your chest warms. you lean your head against his shoulder for a brief moment. he stills, then relaxes, letting it linger in the cool night.

another night heavy rain hits after a session. he walks you to your dorm anyway, opposite direction from his apartment. no umbrella. he holds his jacket awkwardly over both your heads, laughing when you both end up soaked. in the bright dorm lobby you drip on the tile, his white hair plastered flat, water tracing his jaw. he reaches out, thumb brushing a raindrop from your cheek with careful gentleness.

“you look cute all wet and quietly judging my umbrella skills,” he murmurs. his fingers linger a second too long.

your heart flips slow. the air feels heavier.

weeks layer on. small touches. his leg resting against yours under the table and neither moving away. fingers brushing when passing notes, slow on purpose. he starts calling you “quiet storm” with that grin, but his eyes have gone softer. one friday he texts you for the first time, a photo of your favorite late-night snack with “on my way to the usual spot. don’t be dead under the readings.”

you let him into your dorm with takeout. you eat on your small couch, knees bumping. afterward he stays, eventually dropping his head into your lap like it belongs.

“library chairs suck. your lap wins.”

you hesitate, then card fingers gently through his hair. he hums content, the sound warm against your thigh.

“you get clingy when tired,” you whisper.

“only with you,” he answers, barely audible.

satoru corners geto again a couple weeks later in their usual hangout spot, a quiet bench near the quad. satoru’s sprawled out, glasses on, but his foot taps restlessly.

geto eyes him. “you’ve been weird lately. project going that bad?”

“it’s not bad,” satoru says, then pauses. “she’s… good. really good. keeps catching shit i miss. and she doesn’t even gloat. just says it quiet and moves on. it’s annoying how much i look forward to meetings now.”

geto smiles faintly, the calm knowing kind. “sounds like you’re actually listening to someone for once. and maybe liking it.”

satoru groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. “don’t make it sound like that. she’s just… different. notices everything. makes the work better. makes me better, i guess.”

geto nudges his shoulder. “good. you need someone who doesn’t let you get away with the usual bullshit. just don’t scare her off with the full gojo charm too fast.”

satoru flips him off but laughs. the advice lingers.

the tension keeps simmering underneath. longer glances when you’re focused, his hand sometimes resting lightly on your back guiding you out of the library, the couch space shrinking week by week. he watches your profile when he thinks you’re not looking. you catch him more often. he doesn’t look away.

near the end, in his off-campus apartment with the project almost finished, the air finally grows too thick with everything unsaid. laptops aside. shoulders pressed close on the couch.

he turns to you, voice rough. “you’ve been driving me crazy for months. all calm and sharp, noticing every flaw without raising your voice. smiling like you don’t know how much these meetings matter now.”

your pulse thrums. “satoru—”

“say it again,” he murmurs, knee pressing warm to yours. fingers lightly brushing your shoulder.

you swallow. “satoru.”

he leans in slow, giving every chance to pull back. the first kiss is gentle, almost careful. months of restraint in the soft press of lips. when you make the smallest sound he deepens it, hand cradling the back of your neck, pouring quiet want into the way his tongue meets yours.

the kiss stretches. his mouth moves against yours with growing hunger, tongue sliding slow and deliberate, tasting every soft sigh you give him. his free hand settles on your waist, thumb brushing the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up, warm and steady. when you shift closer he makes a low sound in his throat and pulls you into his lap, hands spanning your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

clothes come off gradually, unhurried, like neither of you wants to rush what’s been building for months. he peels your shirt over your head first, eyes darkening as they trace every inch of newly exposed skin. his palms follow. warm, slightly calloused fingertips skimming your sides, your ribs, the curve of your breasts. he leans in to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, tongue flicking out to taste, teeth grazing lightly when you shiver.

“been dying to see you like this,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough. “so fucking pretty… soft… all mine to figure out.”

you tug at his shirt and he helps you pull it off, revealing the lean, toned lines of his torso. your hands explore him slowly — fingertips tracing the ridges of muscle, the sharp cut of his hips, the way his abs tense under your touch. he groans quietly when your nails scrape lightly down his back.

he takes his time with your pants next, sliding them down your legs along with your underwear, hands smoothing over your thighs like he’s memorizing texture and warmth. when you’re bare he sits back for a moment, blue eyes drinking you in with open hunger, pupils blown wide.

“look at you,” he breathes. one hand slides up your inner thigh, thumb brushing teasingly close to where you’re already aching for him. he watches your face as he finally touches you, fingers gliding through slick heat, circling your clit with slow, deliberate pressure that makes your hips jerk. he keeps the pace torturously unhurried, sliding one long finger inside you, then another, curling them just right while his thumb keeps working your clit. he leans down to kiss you again, swallowing every whimper and moan, murmuring praise between kisses.

“so wet already… been thinking about this for weeks… that’s it baby, let me hear you.”

when your thighs start trembling he pulls his fingers away, ignoring your soft protest. he sheds the rest of his clothes quickly, cock hard and heavy against his stomach. he settles between your legs, one hand bracing beside your head while the other guides himself to your entrance. he drags the tip through your folds, teasing, coating himself in your wetness before pressing in. slow, inch by inch, stretching you open with careful control.

the feeling is overwhelming. he’s thick, hot, filling you completely. he pauses when he bottoms out, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged.

“fuck… you feel perfect,” he groans, voice strained. “so tight… warm… been waiting so long for this.”

he starts moving then. deep, rolling thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. not fast, not yet. slow and deliberate, like he wants to savor every second. his hips grind in lazy circles on every downstroke, pubic bone pressing against your clit. one hand slips between you to rub tight circles there, the other braced so he can watch your face, every flutter of your lashes, every parted gasp, every time your lips form his name.

he angles his hips until he finds the spot that makes your back arch sharply, then keeps hitting it with devastating precision. your moans grow louder, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails leaving little crescents in his skin. he leans down to capture your mouth again, kissing you messy and deep while his pace gradually builds. still controlled, but harder, deeper, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the room along with your shared breaths and quiet curses.

“that’s it… come on, let go for me,” he rasps against your lips. “wanna feel you fall apart around me… been dreaming about it.”

when you finally tip over the edge it crashes through you hard. thighs shaking, walls clenching tight around him, a broken moan of his name spilling from your lips. he fucks you through it, pace faltering as your orgasm drags him closer. a few more deep thrusts and he follows, burying himself to the hilt with a low, guttural groan of your name, hips stuttering as he spills hot inside you.

afterward he doesn’t pull out right away. he collapses half on top of you, arms wrapped tight around your waist, face buried in the crook of your neck. his breathing is heavy, heart hammering against yours. he presses lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. clingy and warm and surprisingly gentle in the afterglow.

“you’re stuck with me now,” he mumbles against your damp skin, voice sleepy and satisfied. “quiet girl who sees through all my noise… and still stayed. dangerous combination.”

you laugh softly, fingers threading through his messy white hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp the way he likes. “you’re not as impossible as you pretend.”

he lifts his head just enough to look at you, blue eyes bright even in the dim light, a real, unguarded smile curving his lips. “good. because i’m keeping you. for real this time.”

the final weeks feel softer. study sessions ending in slow kisses and shared snacks. his head in your lap while you read, your fingers in his hair until he dozes. surprise coffees with a quiet “missed that face.” the way he looks at you now. unguarded, like you’re the only one who ever saw him clearly.

geto catches satoru one last time before finals, smirking as he notices the lighter mood.

“project done?” geto asks.

“yeah,” satoru says, grin wide but softer. “and the partner… she’s staying. turns out the quiet ones are the ones who stick.”

geto claps his shoulder once, steady. “about time you found someone who matches you. don’t mess it up.”

satoru laughs. “no plans to.”

the project earns an easy A.

but the real win is the quiet way he pulls you close in the hallway, the arrogance softening into something warm and real when it’s just the two of you, the long slow burn finally settling into something steady.

you smile against his shoulder and think every patient week made it sweeter.

gojo satoru x Reader

he caught you starring at his Arms

(English is Not my First Language.Please correct me if you Read any mistakes)

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The Meeting with the higher ups was boring.All they talked about was the vessel of Sukuna.They had a discurse about wether he was save in the school with gojo protecting him or if he should rather be isolated.Gojo sat across from me and I couldnt help but notice how he was also as bored as me .He shifted uncomfortable around in his chair and tried to make the Meeting as Short as possible. I began to lean back in my chair as the Sound of the voices slowly began to fade away.“gojo is wearing that damm Shirt again“ I thought.He leaned back and crossed his Arms infront of his chest.The Shirt hugged his figure well in this Position.I began to Look at his Arms before concentrating at the Meeting again.I always Found him attractive but since we were co-workers this would make things very difficult.I looked at his Arms for a second before I noticed gojo looking at me.

He has caught me.He smirked for a second and although he was wearing his mask i knew that he caught me looking at him.I concentrated on the meeting again and it was over soon enough.They planed to leave Yuji Itadori in Gojo‘s hands.I stood up and left the meeting room before gojo called out my name.y/n.He simply Said and began to Look at me. „You couldve Said something and I would have let you Touch my Arms“.He Said in a teasing Tone. „What do you mean?“. He answered „you know what I mean.dont be shy and admit it..I wont be mad“.i took a step back he was teasing me because of it. „Youre imagining things“. He began to smirk „oh really? So you didnt starred at me in the meeting?“.I paused for a Moment.“no I didnt“. The tension was thick and he came closer to me with every step he took my Heart pounded faster and faster.I was getting nervous.