zozu

The video started with you trying to wriggle out of Satoru’s grip, the two of you a mess of giggles as he hugged you tighter.

Today you were going to give your followers a tour of your boyfriend’s frat house — at least you were trying to.

“Toru — Toru, enough!” You wheezed through a laugh, finally escaping his grasp. Your boyfriend pouted, resting his chin on your shoulder and eyeing the camera as if it was the problem.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Sorry about that guys, someone is a little clingy —” Satoru interjected immediately, “— am not! God forbid I want to show my girl some affection.” You both knew that was a lie, well of course he adored you, but he also wanted to make sure your viewers knew that too.

“Anyway…” you continued, “At last, you guys are going to see the frat house! Isn’t that exciting?” You began to walk along the upstairs corridor, panning the camera around, making sure your viewers got the most out of this tour.

On your journey you met Suguru who gave a well… let’s just say you might have to blur out his hand gesture during editing. Satoru barked out a laugh, dapping his friend up to your disappointment, “Satoru!” You hissed, “Don’t encourage him!”

“I didn't do anything!” Satoru defended, trying to force down the grin that spread across his face. You looked between him and Suguru, “You’re literally laughing!”

He shrugged, “It was funny.”

You sighed dramatically before turning the camera back to yourself and deadpanned. “This is what I have to deal with on a daily basis."

Suguru appeared behind you, “Hey, at least I’m not as bad as him.” He nodded forward where lo and behold he emerged from his room.

Oh great, the comments are going to go crazy again.

“You better not be recording again,” a deep voice grumbled. The camera turned just in time to catch Sukuna leaning against the doorframe, face unreadable as he eyed the camera.

Gojo’s the type to make you believe you’re the one with the striking, crystalline blue eyes the way he yearns for your gaze.

When you’re the last to wake up, the first thing you’ll see is him staring at you with his head propped up by his arm against the pillow, almost as if seeing your eyes gives him permission to move. He can’t even hide the full smile somewhat covered by his hand.

“It’s not good to stare,” you tease groggily.

“I can’t help it,” he responds swiftly, resting his head back down on the pillow, eyes still on yours. “The morning doesn’t feel right until I see you.”

If you’re simply reading a book on your sofa, or watching another episode from another selection of your binging conquests, he leaves a trail of kisses up your arm, just waiting for you unlock your gaze and channel it in his direction.

“Need something, Toru?” You ask, a chuckle seeping through your curiosity. Your eyes remain on the flashing screen.

“I just—need to—leave—my baby—a few—kisses,” he spoke in between each peck against your skin.

“And I love that. But what do you really need?” You ask once more, eyes still fixed on the television.

He pauses. You almost turn to him at the sudden lack of pecks across your skin, but you refuse to give in just yet.

“I need you to look at me,” he finally admits softly, almost pitifully.

And just like that, you turn your attention to your crybaby boyfriend, who has his chin resting up against your arm with his bottom lip pulled out.

“For someone who says I’m the spoiled one, you sure do get whatever you want all the time,” you jeer.

But he doesn’t respond to you. He just stares into your eyes.

“Satoru?”

You could feel the hairs on your arm raise when you see the sparkle in his eyes. His orbs wide, just looking up into yours, as if he’s studying every detail there is to offer in your pupils. He looks as if time has just stopped itself for this very moment, granting him his long-awaited wish.

“Satoru?” You called again.

He blinks repeatedly and shakes his head, knocking himself out of his trance.

“You okay?” You ask, reaching to cup his face.

“Perfect, baby,” he responds, resting his cheek in your hand.

And when you’re both getting ready for bed that night, brushing your teeth at the shared mirror in your bathroom, you ask him:

“You do realize you have like—the most one of a kind eyes of all time right? Like by far the most beautiful eyes on the planet?”

He simply spits out the remaining bit of water and toothpaste into the sink bowl and shrugs. He looks at you in the mirror, smiles, and says:

“Maybe, but they’re not yours.”

take a look at Satoru's life after his wife passed.

꒰ angst, wife!f!reader, major character death, grief/mourning, loss, hurt no comfort i guess, satoru's in denial, wc 1.3k, art by 5booosa on twt! ꒱

MONDAY ⋆˚࿔ mess.

a day after your passing, the apartment is still exactly as you left it.

it happened too fast.

too fast that even Satoru still expected to hear your footsteps somewhere inside the apartment.

he'd pause in the middle of the living room because he heard you moving around. sometimes it was the faint creak of the floorboards that made his head turn instinctively.

the apartment still looked like you.

your cardigan remains draped over the couch, your mug still sits on the table, your book lies face-down on the bedside table, and your shoes are still waiting by the front door.

Satoru tried cleaning it yesterday.

tried.

he picked up your cardigan, his fingers tightening around the soft, warm fabric before stopping himself. for a long moment, he stood there staring at it, because the faint scent of your perfume still lingered.

and suddenly, it felt like he was erasing the evidence that you were ever here.

So he put it back exactly where he found it. and since then, the apartment remained untouched.

he stepped around your things carefully. the stuff you left had become something sacred for him. proof that you lived here, that your presence once filled the apartment.

maybe that's why Satoru couldn't bring himself to clean the mess you left behind.

TUESDAY ⋆˚࿔ dinner for two.

dinner used to be loud.

you used to fill the apartment with noise. complaints about his eating habits, stories at work, your laugh echoing from the kitchen while Satoru cooks for you.

now, it's silence that sat across him.

Satoru arrived home late, exhaustion heavy in his bones. The apartment greeted him with darkness, unchanged from the night before.

he lets out a sigh, he should eat.

he strides to the counter, setting down the takeout he picked up on the way home, barely paying attention to what he ordered.

he busies himself unpacking the food, ignoring the way his chest tightens whenever he sees your belongings still scatterred around the apartment.

containers placed on the table, drinks set down carefully.

drinks?

Satoru paused. his eyes lingered on the second drink, condensation slowly sliding down the plastic. it's your favorite, extra ice, extra creamy, sweet, exactly how you like it.

the realization came slowly. he bought your order.

a tired laugh escaped him, soft and humorless. somewhere between grief and routine, his body still moved like you existed beside him.

Satoru stared at the untouched drink and the container of your favorite food for a long moment before finally sitting down. the chair across him stayed empty while the food slowly turned cold.

despite knowing better, some part of him still fohnd itself listening to footsteps that never came.

WEDNESDAY ⋆˚࿔ laundry.

the washing machine runs long past midnight.

Satoru sits on the floor silently, leaning back on his arms while the quiet hum fills the laundry room.

he should've done this before.

instead, the laundry basket had sat abandoned in the corner until it's overflowing. his shirt tangled with yours, your socks caught between his uniform, an evidence of life that once fit together.

now that he thinks about it, Satoru reaches into the basket again, pulling your hoodie.

his favorite one, or it used to be.

it was his, but you stole it months ago and never gave it back. he remembers pretending to be annoyed while you laughed, god he misses your laughter.

the hoodie was too big you looked like a burrito, sleeves hanging past your hands as you wandered around the apartment wearing it.

the memory settles painfully in his chest.

Satoru just stares at the hoodie resting on his lap while the washing machine continues spinning in front of him.

he pulls the hoodie closer unconsciously, eyes shutting briefly as if he can still find your trace somewhere in the fabric.

but your scent is fading away, little by little.

THURSDAY ⋆˚࿔ voicemail.

Satoru finds the voicemail by accident, while he was scrolling through his call logs.

he's not even looking for it.

the voicemail was sent two weeks ago, twelve seconds long.

Satoru stares at the screen longer than he should, thumb hovering the play button.

he doesn't remember missing your call. but maybe he was on a mission, or asleep, or he saw your name but ignored it with the thought that he'll call you back later.

that makes something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

without any further thinking, he presses play.

"Satoruuu," you sigh dramatically, amusement in your tone. "Where are you? Pick up your phone for once!"

his breath catches, he doesn't even notice that he's crying until a tear slips past his jaw.

Satoru's grip tightens instantly.

your voice continues playing softly through the speaker as Satoru plays it over and over again. he sits there motionless, shoulders tense.

he presses the heel of his hand against his eyes, laughing under his breath despite the tears slipping past his lashes.

you sounded so alive. Satoru could almost picture you standing somewhere in the apartment, phone pressed to your ear while waiting for him to call back.

the apartment remain silent except for your voice looping endlessly through his speaker.

at some point, Satoru lowers his head into one head, letting out a quiet sob, his phone still clutched tightly in the other.

FRIDAY ⋆˚࿔ tell her.

Yuji said something ridiculous mid-conversation, like always, dramatic enough that Satoru laugh despite himself.

his hand hovers over his pocket instinctively, ready to text you about something ridiculous Yuji had said earlier.

but his motion stops halfway.

right, no one's waiting for my texts anymore. slowly, Satoru's expression falls.

the noise around him fades while the realization settles in his chest.

no unread messages from you. no more ridiculous emojis you loved spamming him with. no teasing replies. no nothing.

just an empty chat sitting pinned at top of his phone.

the students continue talking around him, unaware of the way grief is slowly eating Satoru alive. he stares ahead blankly, jaw tightening slightly as he forces himself back into the present.

it's strange how something so small still catches him off guard.

SATURDAY ⋆˚࿔ your name.

Satoru isn't paying attention at first, half-listening to Shoko ramble as he sips quietly at his morning tea.

then someone says your name.

not you. just another person with the same name somewhere across the hall.

but Satoru reacts anyway. his head lifts instantly, his attention snapping toward the voice.

wrong person, of course.

hope is cruel like that.

Shoko notices immediately, her eyes flicker toward him briefly, something knowing passing through her expression before she looks away again.

Satoru laughs softly under his breath, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.

"Can't even hear your name normally anymore," he mutters quietly, hoping that Shoko doesn't hear it.

Satoru finds himself getting terrified of forgetting it someday, forgetting your name.

so later that night, standing alone in the living room beneath dim lights, Satoru says your name out loud just to hear it exist somewhere again.

SUNDAY ⋆˚࿔ grief is.. weird.

grief is.. weird. really.

that's the thought sitting in Satoru's head at three in the morning while he stands in the kitchen, staring at the refrigerator light spilling.

not devastating. just.. weird.

people talk about grief like it's something dramatic, like it should always look obvious.

but it's not, at least for Satoru.

sometimes he still talks out loud before remembering you aren't there to answer. sometimes he catches himself moving aside in crowded space for you. once, he almost called you at work because he wanted to hear your voice.

the strangest part is that the world keeps moving anyway.

sun still rises, students complain, people still laugh loudly on crowded streets like nothing important has been lost.

meanwhile, Satoru feels stuck between memory and reality.

your cardigan still hangs on the couch, your book still rests unfinished on the table.

Satoru exhales softly before leaning back against the counter, exhaustion flooding back.

even now, after everything, some stubborn part of him still hoped that you'll come back someday.

゛★ jock ! satoru gojo pretends to be your boyfriend.

oneshot .ᐟ ⋆ 6k words ⋆ highschool 12th year au ⋆ nerd!reader ⋆ childhood friends to lovers ⋆ fake dating ⋆ rugby player!satoru ⋆ not slow burn ⋆ art by ?

Third period calculus at Tokyo Metropolitan High School was usually a nightmare. You were nose-deep in your notebook, scribbling down the last of the derivative problems Mr. Tanaka had thrown up on the board, your brain already three steps ahead of his explanation, as per usual. It was your happy place. The scrape of your pencil, the neat rows of numbers, the satisfying click of the mechanical pencil. For a nerd like yourself, this was better than any Friday night party.

The problem was, you couldn't seem to get a moment of it in peace anymore.

A familiar shadow fell over your desk, blocking the light from the window. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Your shoulders tensed, your grip on the pencil tightening just a bit. You knew that shadow. You had a damn Pavlovian response to its appearance now, a mix of annoyance and creeping dread.

"Hey, you," the voice was a low, try-hard baritone that was meant to sound smooth and instead just came off as greasy. "You busy tonight?"

You forced yourself to look up, a practiced, polite smile plastered on your face. Kenji Sato. He was… objectively decent-looking, you supposed. He played soccer and had that whole ‘tousled hair and permanent smirk’ thing going on. But he was also terribly relentless, painfully dense, and had zero concept of the word ‘no.’

"Just studying, Kenji. Got a big test next week," you said, your tone flat, hoping the monotone would convey your complete and utter lack of interest in whatever he had to say.

"Forget studying," he said, leaning a little too close for comfort, his cologne practically triggering a chemical warfare alert in your sinuses. "I was thinking we could grab some ramen. My treat. You’ve been working so hard, you gotta relax sometime."

"Yeah, I relax," you said, turning back to your notebook, hoping he’d take the hint and vanish like a bad smell. "By studying."

He laughed, but it was a very hollow sound. He wasn’t laughing with you, he was laughing at your rejection, which he apparently found oh so amusing. "Come on, don’t be like that. Just one night. You won’t regret it." He reached out and put his hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing a circular, overly familiar pattern on your collarbone. You fought the urge to flinch away. It was a gesture that was meant to be intimate, but felt like a violation. A greasy and unwanted violation.

"I said I’m busy, Kenji." Your voice was sharper this time, a little edge of steel creeping in that you foolishly hoped would deter him. The pencil in your hand was now a weapon you were very tempted to jab into his hand. "Maybe another time."

His smile faltered for a second before snapping back into place. "I’ll hold you to that," he said, giving your shoulder a squeeze that lasted a a second too long before finally, mercifully, walking away.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The sheer effort of just existing in his vicinity was exhausting. It was like a low-grade fever you couldn't shake. This had been going on for weeks now. It started with a simple "hello" in the hall. Then it was sitting next to you in the library. Then it was finding your number from the class group chat and sending you… you shuddered… "good morning" texts that were always followed by question marks when you ignored them. And now it was this. The full-court press.

You were a master of deflection, but Kenji Sato was like a barnacle. A really persistent,shitty cologne-drenched barnacle.

Later, at lunch, you sat with your small group of friends in the courtyard, trying to decompress after that borderline stalker-y interaction. The sun was out, and a cool breeze was the only thing that made the whole experience of high school bearable. You were picking at your bento, the appetite you'd had earlier completely gone.

"Oh, he’s back at it again?" Shoko asked, not even looking up from her phone. She had a sixth sense for your suffering. "Sato’s been circling you like a vulture all day. Did he corner you in calc like last week?"

"Yeah," you groaned, letting your head thunk down onto the cool metal table. "He asked me out for ramen. Again."

"For the eleventh time this month?" your other friend, a guy named suguru, mumbled through a mouthful of rice. "That guy’s got a one-track mind. And it’s a very, very short track."

Shoko finally looked up from her phone, her expression a mix of pity and exasperation. "You need to get rid of him."

"I've tried!" you exclaimed, lifting your head and throwing your hands up. "I've said no. I've said maybe another time. I've said I'm busy. I've even tried ignoring him and pretending I'm a statue. He doesn't get it."

"You need to make it so he cannot get it. Shut that door, lock it, and burn it," Shoko said, pointing a chopstick at you for emphasis.

"How, Shoko? Do you want me to fake my own death? Change my nameand flee the country?"

"No," she said, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her face. "You need a bigger threat. A guy he’s actually afraid of."

You frowned, not following. "Who would he be afraid of? He's on the soccer team. He's got his own clique of mouth-breathers. He's not scared of anyone."

Shoko’s smile widened. It was a knowing smile, the kind that made you instantly suspicious. "There is one person," she said, enunciating each word slowly, as if revealing some grand secret she knows you won't like. "One guy who even the soccer team steers clear of. One guy who could look at Kenji Sato and make him soil his little sport shorts."

You felt your stomach do a weird little flip-flop. You knew exactly who she was talking about now. There was only one person who fit that bill at Tokyo Metropolitan. "Are you insane? No. Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on!" Shoko insisted. "It’s perfect! He's the best player on the rugby team, he’s huge, he's cocky, he's terrifying on the field, and he’s got that whole... aura of invincibility thing going on. If Sato thinks you're with Satoru, he'll back off immediately."

You shook your head vehemently. "Shoko, I can't. We haven’t been friends like that for years. We barely talk. It would be so… awkward. Not to mention, desperate."

It was true. Satoru Gojo and you had a history that pre-dated your ability to form complete sentences. Your parents were best friends from college, which meant you two were forced together for playdates, birthday parties, and family vacations from the time you were both in diapers. You’d shared a kiddie pool, fought over toys, and he'd been the one to hold your hand when you got your first set of shots at the doctor’s office. He’d been a loud, obnoxious, supernova of a kid, and you were the quieter, more studious little girl who followed him around.

You were his sidekick. He was your hero. You’d build pillow forts, have epic Nerf gun battles, and he’d always, always defend you when the older kids at the park were being mean. It was a given. You were his, and he was yours.

Then high school happened.

It was like a switch flipped. He hit a growth spurt that turned him into a towering, broad-shouldered titan, his scruffy hair turned into something more artfully disheveled. He joined the rugby team and became an instant star. His natural charisma, which had always been part of his charm, was now honed to a point, making him the undisputed king of the social scene. His laughter echoed across the hallways, and his feet were constantly surrounded by a flock of admirers, a kaleidoscope of cheerleaders, and other jocks.

And you… well, you found your own tribe. You discovered that the peace` of the library was far more appealing than the noise of a party. You found that academic achievement was a high that didn't need a hangover. You threw yourself into your studies, seeking the clear-cut approval of a perfect score on a test. You were the top of the class, the one teachers loved, the one everyone came to for notes and tried to bribe for answers. The "nerd," a label you owned with a weird sense of pride.

The drift wasn't a big fight or some dramatic falling out. It was a thousand small things. He’d get swallowed by his crowd after school, leaving you to walk home alone. The inside jokes started to feel dated, never landing the same way they used to. You’d see him at a mutual friend’s party, and he’d be surrounded, his eyes scanning the room but never stopping on you. A casual "hey" in the hallway replaced the goofy nicknames and comfortable chatter you used to share since you were kids.

He'd stopped holding your hand. And you didn't know when or how to ask for it back. So you just… didn't.

"We used to be close," you admitted, your voice quieter than you meant for it to be. "But that feels like a ages ago."

"Exactly!" Shoko leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "That's what makes it so perfect. It’s the most believable lie. No one will question it because you actually did have this entire life together. It’s just rekindling a childhood friendship, right? With some... fake benefits."

Suguru, who had been quietfor the last few minutes, finally chimed in. "She does have a point, you know. It's a solid plan. Sato's a coward. He won't go up against a guy who can literally snap him in half with his legs."

The mental image of Satoru’s long, powerful legs—which, okay, you may or may not have noticed on occasion—doing that to Kenji was... not unpleasant. You bit your lip, warring with yourself. A huge part of you recoiled at the thought. You’d built your whole identity around being self-sufficient. You were the one who had her life together. You didn't run to anyone for help, least of all a guy you’d been trying so hard to forget you had any feelings for at all.

But Kenji wasn't going away. He was a persistent tick you couldn't shake off. And the thought of him putting his hand on your shoulder, rubbing that same gross circular pattern... it made your skin crawl.

"No," you said firmly, shaking your head again. "I'll just tell him I'm... dating someone from another school or something."

"Yeah right. I don't think Sato is going to care about a faceless guy," Shoko countered with a pfft and a snort. "He needs to see a face. A familiar face. A face he knows could absolutely destroy him."

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and you were grateful for the well needed interruption. But the seed had already been planted by the very evil Shoko. As you gathered your things and walked to your next class, the idea gnawed at you, a persistent little demon whispering in your ear. It was a terrible idea. It was pathetic. It was using him.

But what other option did you have?

Over the next couple of days, the situation with Kenji escalated. He started showing up at your locker. He’d wait for you after your last class, trying to walk you to your bus stop. He even turned up at the library once, the most sacred of your spaces, and sat down right across from you, asking if you needed help with your "homework" while his eyes kept wandering down to your chest. It was the final straw. You were officially at your breaking point.

The fear was starting to replace annoyance. It wasn't just annoying anymore; it was becoming... unsettling. He didn’t take a hint; he took your rejection as some kind of challenge.

And so, with a heavy heart and a churning stomach, you decided that maybe, just maybe, you needed to swallow your pride and face the awkwardness of talking to Satoru.

The next day, you knew exactly where to find him. After school, the rugby team had practice on the far field. You’d seen them from the library window countless times, a blur of motion and shouts.

You’d never walked down there before.

Your heart was hammering against your ribs as you pushed through the gate and walked towards the practice field. It felt like you were straying into enemy territory. The air was thick with the smell of grass, sweat, and... a shitload of testosterone. It was a world away from the sterile halls of your academic life. The players were a collection of humanified giants, grunting and slamming into each other with a ferocity that was both terrifying and weirdly... mesmerizing.

And in the center of it all, like a diamond in a pile of... well, large, sweaty rocks, was Satoru.

He was wearing a black jersey that was plastered to his body with sweat, and his white hair was even more of a disaster than usual. He was in the middle of a play, and he was moving with an unnatural fluidity for a guy his size. He dodged one tackler with a laugh, feigned another, and then plowed through a third, sending him flying back with a casual shove. The whistle blew, and he straightened up, grinning, that usual cocky, self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face.

He looked… in his element. Powerful. Unstoppable. It was a far cry from the small, scruffy kid you used to share snacks and toys with.

You hovered by the fence, suddenly feeling incredibly small and out of place. A couple of the guys on the sidelines noticed you. One of them, a big, burly guy with a shaved head, gave you a lecherous wink. You looked away, your cheeks burning. Great. This was already a disaster. You considered leaving but then Kenji's face flashed like an unwanted intruder and you dug your heels into the ground with a sigh.

The coach finally blew his whistle, signaling the end of practice. The players started to disperse, some heading for the water coolers, others collapsing onto the grass. You scanned the field for Satoru, and found him near the center, chatting and laughing with a couple of his teammates. He was the sun in this solar system, everyone drawn to his gravitational pull. Just as you were gathering the courage to approach him, a familiar, oily voice spoke up right next to you.

"Well, well, look who it is," Kenji said. He was leaning against the fence, a smug grin on his face. "Didn't know you liked the rugby boys. I'm a soccer man myself. More finesse."

Your blood ran cold. Of all the times. Of all the places. "I'm just passing through, Kenji," you said, your voice tight. "You should go."

"Passing through?" he echoed with a scoff, stepping closer. "Right. You know what, I've been patient with you, but it's getting a little old. I'm not taking no for an answer anymore. You're coming with me for dinner tonight. End of story."

There it was. The mask of casual flirtation had slipped, revealing something more entitled and aggressive underneath.

"Get lost, Kenji," you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts.

"Or what?" he taunted, stepping closer. "You gonna call your dad on me?" He reached out again, his hand about to land on your shoulder, and you saw that same smug, patronizing look in his eyes.

That's when the shadows changed. You didn't even see him coming. One second, it was just you and Kenji and the dying afternoon sun. The next, a tall, broad-shouldered figure had materialized right beside you, moving with a surprising silence for someone his size.

"Hey, Sato," Satoru's voice was a lazy drawl, but there was something dangerous humming underneath it. "Problem here?"

Kenji's hand dropped like he’d seen a ghost. All the color drained from his face. He looked up at Satoru, who was at least a head taller and twice as wide, and his bravado vanished instantly. "Gojo. Hey, man. No problem. Just talking to her."

"Really? Because it looked like she was telling you to get lost. And you weren't listening." Satoru's tone was still casual, but his pale blue eyes, hidden behind a pair of designer sunglasses, were fixed on Kenji with a cold and unwavering intensity. It was the look of a predator sizing up its prey. A predator who was very, very unamused.

"I was just... we're friends," Kenji stammered. "Just having a chat."

"Doesn't look like she wants to chat," Satoru said, his voice dropping a notch. He took a half-step forward, and Kenji practically flinched. "So why don't you go find someone who does?"

Kenji looked between you and Satoru, his brain clearly short-circuiting. He mumbled something unintelligible, and without another word, he turned and practically scurried away with his tail tucked in between his legs, disappearing back towards the school building.

The tension that had been coiling in your shoulders for weeks finally, mercifully, released. You let out a shaky breath you didn't even know you were holding.

"Wow," Satoru chuckled, turning to look at you. The intimidation was gone, replaced by that familiar, infuriatingly smug grin. "That guy is a total loser. Couldn't even take a hint. And he calls himself a soccer player? He gets tackled by a stiff breeze. Pathetic."

You blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. "You... you made him leave."

"Uh, yeah. That was kinda' the idea," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I was trying to be all mysterious and cool by the fence, waiting for the right moment to jump in. But then he was going to touch you, and I got a little impatient." He shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that was anything but. "Sooo. What's up? You never come down here. Did you finally decide to take an interest in my incredible athleticism? Or did you just want to see me in my element? I know it's a lot to take in. The sheer magnitude of my greatness."

The urge to smack that stupid, perfect grin off his face warred with the sudden, embarrassing warmth spreading through your chest. Here he was, years of silence between you, and he was acting like no time had passed at all. The audacity.

"I need to talk to you," you managed, ignoring his questions. "About something serious."

His grin faded a little, replaced by a flicker of genuine curiosity. "Uh oh. That sounds ominous. You gonna tell me you're transferring to a rival school? Because I'm gonna be real honest with you, the science club at the school down the road is a bunch of posers."

"No, it's about... well, it's about Kenji," you said, your courage threatening to abandon you now that he was actually in front of you. "He's been bothering me. A lot. For weeks. He won't leave me alone, and I've tried everything."

"Ah, I see," Satoru said, nodding slowly. He looked over towards the direction Kenji had disappeared. "He's got a crush on the top of the class. I guess the guy's got taste, even if he's got zero game. Or brain cells. Or social skills. Or any skills, really."

"It's not a crush, Satoru, it's... practically harassment at this point," you corrected him, your voice sharp. "He won't stop asking me out. He shows up everywhere. Touches me whenever he gets the chance to like some perv."

Satoru’s whole demeanor shifted. The joking smirk vanished completely, and his face hardened a little. That old protectiveness he always harbored towards you resurfacing even after all this time. "He touched you?"

"It doesn't matter," you said quickly, feeling embarrassed by the admission. "The point is, I need your help."

"With what?"

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the humiliation. "I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend."

The silence that followed was deafening. Satoru just stared at you, his mouth slightly agape, his sunglasses having slipped down his nose so you could see his brilliant blue eyes—wide with shock. Then, a slow, incredulous smirk began to spread across his face.

"Come again?" he said, his voice pitching high with amusement as he leaned down a bit to level with you. "Did the top of the class just ask me to be her fake boyfriend?"

Your cheeks were on fire. "I knew this was a bad idea," you mumbled, turning to leave. "Forget I said anything. I should've just... gone to the principal or something."

"Hey, hey, heyyy!" He reached out and grabbed your wrist, his grip surprisingly gentle. "Hold on. I didn't say no. I just need a second to process the sheer audacity of this. You came to me. For this. The guy you’ve been ignoring for like, two years."

"I haven't been ignoring you," you lied, your voice defensive. "You've been busy. With your... rugby and your... followers."

His smile was back in full force. "Yeah, but you know, I'd always have time for you. You just never asked." He let go of your wrist and put his hands on his hips, striking a pose. "Okay. Explain. I need all the details."

You took another deep breath, and you told him everything. You told him about the texts, the library visits, the parking lot ambushes, the way he’d started making you feel uncomfortable and on edge. You told him about Shoko’s idea, and how desperate you were. You even told him that you’d only come to him as a last resort, which made his grin widen even further, if that was possible.

"Wow," he said when you finished. "So, let me get this straight. I'm basically your knight in shining armor. The one man who can make that loser squirm just by existing. The savior of the damsel in distress." He sighed theatrically, putting a hand over his heart. "It's a heavy burden, you know. Being this universally sought after."

"Are you going to help me or not?" you asked, your patience at its end.

"Of course I'm gonna help you," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't? Plus, this is going to be hilarious." He clapped his hands together. "Okay! We need to establish some ground rules for this whole fake-dating thing."

"Ground rules?" you echoed, confused.

"Yeah, obviously! This isn't just a lark. This is a serious operation. A strategic deception. We gotta be convincing. You think I got to the top of the rugby team by winging it? No. I had a plan. This is a plan, albeit a slightly more ridiculous one. Step one, we need to make our debut as a couple. The first official sighting. It has to be spectacular. We have to give the whole school a collective coronary."

You groaned, already regretting this. "Satoru..."

"Step two," he continued, ignoring you completely. "We need to establish our backstory. Everyone already knows we were childhood friends. We can just say that we reconnected and realized we've been in love with each other this whole time." He wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively. "Which is true, right? Deep down, you've always known you were secretly in love with me."

"In your dreams," you shot back, unable to help the small smile that tugged at your lips and the flush on your face.

"My dreams are excellent, thank you," he said easily. "Step three, we gotta sell it. That means we gotta act like a real couple in public. Hand-holding, the occasional kiss on the cheek, maybe a little bit of PDA. You okay with that?" He gave you a look that was half-challenge, half-genuine curiosity.

You swallowed. "I guess so. If it's just to get him off my back."

"Great! Oh, this is gonna be so fun," he said, bouncing on his heels. He was like an overgrown puppy, all energy and enthusiasm. "Okay, first things first. I'm walking you home. Starting tonight. Gotta establish the routine. And you, my dear, are gonna have to get used to my company all over again."

As you walked beside him, leaving the rugby field behind, it felt surreal. The silence that had stretched between you for years was filled with Satoru's non-stop chatter. He told you about a ridiculous play that happened in practice, about the terrible food in the cafeteria, and about the new girl in his English class who kept trying to get his number. It was as if he'd been waiting for this, just a chance to talk to you.

"You know," he said, as you reached your front gate. "I thought about you. A lot."

You stopped, looking up at him. The evening sun was hitting his white hair, making it look like spun gold. "You did?"

"Yeah," he said, a little of the cocky bravado fading. "We used to be... you know. We were it. And then... things got weird. I got caught up in my own stuff. I just figured you were busy. With your books and your genius brain."

"Same," you admitted quietly. "I thought you didn't want to be friends with a nerd anymore."

"Don't be dumb," he said, flicking your forehead lightly. "You were the coolest nerd I ever knew." He smiled, and for a moment, it was just like old times. Just Satoru and you. "So. New plan. From now on, we're attached at the hip. I'll meet you at your locker in the morning. We'll walk to class together."

"And what if people ask questions?" you asked.

He flashed you a grin that was pure, unadulterated mischief. "Let them. More fun that way."

The next day, you walked into school bracing for the unknown. You had just opened your locker when a familiar presence appeared behind you. You didn't have to turn around. You could feel the shift in the air. The chatter in the hallway seemed to get slightly louder, a few people pointing and whispering. Inevitable when you're involved with the most sought after guy at school.

"Good morning, beautiful," Satoru's voice was a warm purr in your ear. He leaned over you, his chest practically against your back, and reached a long arm around you to rest his hand on the locker door above your head. It was a classic "caging in" move, but it didn't feel threatening. It felt protective. And it made your heart do a weird little skip.

"Morning, Satoru," you said, trying your best to sound casual.

"Couldn't wait to see you," he said, his voice loud enough for the whole hall to hear. "Did you sleep well? Dream about me, hmm?"

A few girls nearby giggled, and you felt your cheeks flush. "You wish," you muttered, biting back a smile.

He laughed, and then his voice dropped again, just for you. "He's watching. Straight ahead, by the drinking fountain."

You glanced up and saw Kenji. He was frozen, a look of pure disbelief on his face. He was staring at the two of you, his eyes wide. There was also a look of undeniable jealousy.

Satoru took the opportunity to up the ante. He straightened up, but instead of moving away, he bent down and pressed a quick, soft kiss to your temple. It was fleeting, barely a whisper of contact, but it sent a jolt through your entire system. For a second, the world went quiet. You could smell his cologne, a clean, fresh scent, and feel the warmth of his skin. Totally different to Kenji's overbearing one.

"Smooth," you managed to say with a roll of your eyes, your voice a little breathless.

"Had to make it look good," he whispered back, a hint of pride in his voice. "I told you, I'm a professional." He then flashed Kenji a cheerful wave. "Morning, Sato! How's it hanging?"

Kenji practically jumped out of his skin. He gave a stuttering, noncommittal wave and scurried off down the hallway, completely dejected.

The look on Satoru’s face was priceless. A grin of pure victory.

"Mission accomplished," he declared. "That was way too easy. I think he actually wet himself a little bit."

"You're impossible," you said, shaking your head, but you couldn't help the laughter bubbling up inside you. It was a weird, giddy feeling. The stress of the past few weeks was melting away, replaced by this ridiculous and yet thrilling game. The halls of school were no longer just a place for academic competition. They were now your stage, and Satoru Gojo was your co-star.

Over the next few weeks, the 'pretend' part of the relationship became less and less of a priority. The pattern was simple: Satoru would meet you at your locker, there would be some casual, flirty banter—which was quickly becoming second nature for both of you—and the word would spread like wildfire that the star rugby player and the valedictorian were officially a thing. It was the most talked-about couple in school, which was exactly what you'd wanted and needed to get Kenji off your back. And it was working. Kenji had become a ghost, avoiding you with the same fervor he used to pursue you.

But the thing was, you and Satoru weren't just pretending anymore. The lines had blurred so completely that you weren't sure where the act ended and reality began.

The hand-holding became instinctual. When you were walking to class, you'd reach for his hand without thinking. He'd intertwine his fingers with yours, his palm warm and calloused from rugby. It felt right.

The protective gestures became second nature. At lunch, he'd always make sure you had a seat, a slight frown on his face if anyone else tried to sit too close. He’d save you the last chocolate milk from the cafeteria, and you’d see the proud, almost childlike look on his face when you’d thank him.

The conversations, at first stilted and awkward, became as easy as breathing. You found yourself telling him about the nuances of your Chemistry project, and he would listen, his head tilted, actually paying attention, which was a novelty. He'd in turn tell you about the complex strategy behind a rugby play, making you see the brain behind the brute force.

"You know, just standing here is making me look extremely good," Satoru announced one afternoon, leaning against your locker as you gathered your books. "I'm like an accessory. A very high-end, designer accessory."

"Yes, I can see that," you said dryly, not looking up. "My life is so much more complete now that I have the physical embodiment of a peacock following me around."

"A peacock? I am so much more than a peacock. I'm more like..." he paused, thinking. "A phoenix. A majestic, unbelievably handsome phoenix who rises from the ashes of his boring, friendless past to become the dazzling star he was always meant to be."

"You were never boring and friendless," you scoffed softly, finally looking up at him. "You were just... you."

The teasing grin on his face faltered for a second, replaced by a softer, more intense expression. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice quieter.

"Yeah," you said, a little self-conscious now. "You were always a lot. But I kinda liked it."

He stared at you for a moment, his blue eyes unreadable. Then he let out a slow breath and looked away, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "Dude, you can't just say stuff like that. I'm gonna get all emotional on you, and that's not a good look for me. I have a reputation to maintain."

That night, he walked you home as usual. The streetlights were starting to flicker on, casting long, dancing shadows. The air was cool and smelled of damp earth. "So," he said, kicking a loose stone. "Have you thought about what happens when this is all over? Once Sato gets a girlfriend or moves to another planet or mysteriously gets hit by a car."

You had, actually. You'd thought about it a lot. The idea of this ending, of going back to just exchanging casual hellos in the hallway, made your stomach feel hollow. "I dunno," you said, shrugging, trying to sound indifferent. "I guess we'll figure it out. It's not like I own you."

He stopped walking, and you stopped too, turning to look at him. "You know, you do, right? The childhood friend thing. It's a binding contract."

"What contract?"

"The best friend contract," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "The one we signed when we were ten and made a pact to always share our fries. The one where you said you'd never let me eat the last fry."

"Actually, I distinctly remember you stealing it from my plate and running away laughing," you corrected him.

"Details," he waved a dismissive hand. "The point is, you're my best friend. You've always been my best friend. And I'm sorry I forgot that for a while. I'm sorry I was an idiot and got caught up in the whole... popularity thing."

"It wasn't your fault," you said quietly. "We both drifted."

"Yeah, but I'm the one who did the drifting," he insisted. "I should have... held on tighter. I should've made sure you knew I was still there."

He was standing close now, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a nearby streetlight. His features were sharper in this light, his cheekbones more pronounced, his eyes a pretty, luminous blue. He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin.

"So," he said, his voice a low murmur. "What do you say we stop pretending?"

Your breath caught in your throat. "Stop pretending what?"

"This," he said, gesturing between the two of you. "The fake stuff. What if... what if we just made it real? No more act."

You stared at him, your brain short-circuiting. This was not part of the plan. This wasn't supposed to happen. You were supposed to fake it, get rid of the creepy guy, and then move on with your separate lives. "Satoru..."

"I know, it's crazy," he said, a self-deprecating laugh escaping him. "You probably think it's just me being a dumb jock. But I've been trying not to think about this for years. And now, with this whole fake-boyfriend thing, it's like... I got a taste of what it could be like, and I don't really want to let it go."

You tried to piece together a sentence, any sentence. "But... you're you. You could have pretty much anyone. Why settle?"

He let out a frustrated sigh. "It's not settling if I want you." He took a step closer, and you were frozen. "I've wanted this. For a long time. I was just too much of a coward to say anything until it was too late. You know me, the real me and not the jock everyone sees me as. And that's exactly what I want. Someone who knows me. Who better than my best friend slash fake girlfriend?"

Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. "I do know you."

He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that was so different from his usual smug grins. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," he said, his voice soft. "I'm gonna do something now, and if you want me to stop, just say the word."

Before you could ask what he was going to do, he leaned in. His hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face up. And then his lips met yours.

It wasn't a theatrical, fake-boyfriend kiss for the benefit of a crowd. It was gentle and warm, and surprisingly hesitant for someone as confident as Satoru. It was the kiss of a boy who had waited years to do this.

When he pulled back, he was smiling, his face a little flushed. "So," he said, his voice a little ragged. "That wasn't too bad, right? For a first try?"

You were too stunned to speak. All you could do was smile back. And then, on impulse, you grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him down for another one so hard he could only laugh into the kiss as his arms encircled your waist.

The next day at school, you walked in with Satoru, his arm slung around your shoulder. It was a common sight now, but this time, there was a new, undeniable layer of intimacy to it. The whispers followed you, but they didn't bother you. You heard the usual murmurs: "Are they actually dating now?" "I thought they were just a rumor." "He could do better." They didn't matter.

Because the only opinion that mattered was the guy whose arm was around you, squeezing your shoulder.

Later that day, Satoru had to run to rugby practice, and he dropped you off at the library. He leaned in and gave you a kiss on the cheek. "Don't have too much fun without me."

"I can't promise anything," you replied. "I have a date with a really thick book on macroeconomics."

"Book-lover," he teased, tapping your nose. "Alright, I'll see you after practice. We're getting that ramen you wanted."

As he walked away, you were feeling pretty good about life. You hadn't had time to think about Kenji in ages. He'd been out of your orbit for weeks, a faded memory now. You sat down in your usual spot near the window, pulling out your books. But you weren't alone for long because soon your boyfriend would come get you and you'd go out for that ramen dinner date he promised.

© torupng | all rights reserved.

Pay attention to me! (╥﹏╥)

── ⋆｡𖦹 ˚ What Satoru posted before dating you!!

(˶>⩊<˶) teen!gojo x teen!reader and it takes place in current day!!

I got the idea from @/i-kai & art: @/1L912Aa8UCLOIJG