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⋆˚࿔ SYNOPSIS When your boyfriend is too chicken to break up with you, he sends his nerdy twin to do the dirty work. The leather jacket is a decent touch, but the personality is a dead giveaway. Instead of getting mad, you make him your personal tutor. As the lines between you blur, you realise you're falling for the man behind the glasses, leaving your ex to wonder exactly who is getting replaced.
⋆˚࿔ nerd!satoru x figure skating!reader
⋆˚࿔ cw: college au. idiots in love. academic stress. hurt/comfort. suggestive themes. smut. dry humping. tags will be updated.
ˋ°•*⁀➷The Peregrine Project. A mission made to train a specialized individual to take down Robin. There are quite a few flaws in this system though. Firstly, the girl being trained is not ready to take down Robin. Secondly, she can't help but to become friends with that same Robin. Thirdly, she thinks she falls in love with that Robin.
It's your mission to kill him but you love him.
OC Insert Stories
DC Universe
⌖ Jason Todd ꞋꞌꞋꞌ. ୨୧ .ꞋꞌꞋꞌ
Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call
ˋ°•*⁀➷It's the holiday season and Danny has been going through it all alone in the dangerous and infamous Gotham. Little does she know, a little bird is still watching over her shoulder, even though he can't be part of her life anymore.
Jujutsu Kaisen
୨୧ Kento Nanami ˗ˏˋ⭑ˎˊ˗
You'll Wait If I Have To Make Sure
ˋ°•*⁀➷Akari is going through quite the rough patch after losing her friend, Haibara, on a mission. Kento Nanami, the only other person in her grade now, and the person she has feelings for, tries to comfort her.
Warnings: contains depictions of violence, anxiety
Title Song: Hayloft II - Mother Mother
Dividers: @/kthice
Chapter 2 She Really Didn't Wanna Make It Messy
The night was perfect for a hunt.
The sky decided to allow a brief reprieve of the usual heavy downpours, with just a light sprinkle currently falling down. The usual howling wind had calmed to just a light breeze. The clouds still blocked out the night sky, allowing for a cover of darkness that could increase your stealth.
You and Sal had gone out a couple of nights, practicing maneuvering from building to building. It definitely took a toll on your body every time you jumped across from one rooftop to another, but it was the best place to possibly catch Robin. There had been reports of increased activity occurring in The Cauldron on Bleake Island; conveniently your dad's building was located right in the center, so you did not have to travel far. These are the buildings you are most familiar with after all.
Currently, you had a stake out set up on the Fire Station, not too high but enough to allow you a vantage point for viewing the area. You were still trying to catch your breath from traversing the rooftops and climbing countless fire escapes. Not to mention your suit did not have much breathing room and carried much more weight than your normal clothes. Thin plates of armor decorated the outside of your black suit, adding to your protection but weighing you down significantly.
You leaned against the wall of the roof access, being careful to stay out of reach from nearby lights. There would be no point in jumping around rooftops all night, that would leave you weak and unable to fight Robin. So you had no choice but to sit and wait, at least for a while.
You had no idea how much time went by on that rooftop. It was enough time for the clouds to blow by just enough to allow the moon to peak through and shine on Gotham. Your gaze instinctively moved up to take in the moon. It was nothing so impressive like a bright full moon, more like a waning gibbous. But the sight was so rare in this city you could not help but to look in awe up at the moon.
You were still gazing up at the moon when another set of footsteps landed on the other side of the roof. The surprise caught you off guard and you stumbled silently, thanks to your slight grace in movement. You crouched down further into the darkness, allowing you time to assess the current situation.
You could hear a male's voice from around the corner, muttering words quietly but with a slight hint of anger to them. You presumed he was alone due to only hearing one voice and one set of footsteps. You crept to the edge of the wall and slowly peered around to get a visual of the new voice.
Red, green, and yellow filled your vision as you gazed upon your target: Robin.
You had assumed this rooftop would be the best and easiest one for you to spot Robin; what you had not considered was this was apparently the best rooftop to find him in the flesh, right in front of you.
The opportunity to take him down was practically gift wrapped to you. He landed on your rooftop, on the side that you were not located, and best of all, with his back currently turned to you. If you were careful, this could not go wrong.
You took in a couple deep breaths, trying to push out the growing anxiety in your chest. You clenched and unclenched your fists, hoping to drive out the shakiness that had cursed you. Your legs were no help either, the crouched position tiring your legs more easily, mixed with the current anxiety you were experiencing.
You had to push forward though. To prove your place.
You readjusted the mask covering your face, ensuring it fit snug against your cheeks and chin. It made breathing slightly harder but was absolutely necessary to keep you and your dad's plans off the Bat's radar.
Finally, you began making your way over to Robin as silently as possible. Your legs extended carefully, reaching as far as you could with each step without making as much as a shuffling sound from your shoes. Your eyes locked in on him the entire time, except for the occasional glance to the ground to check your footing. You could faintly hear Robin muttering to himself still, but with the low volume in which he spoke and your heartbeat pounding in your ears, eavesdropping would be impossible.
You eventually positioned yourself right behind Robin. Lucky for you, he had decided to continuously gaze out at the Gotham skyline in favor of turning around to fully check his surroundings. There was no guarantee he would continue to do so though. You had to disorient him quickly to provide yourself with ample time to take him down.
Your mind goes back to Sal and the first time he had knocked you unconscious during training. It had truly been an accident, but a very effective accident that quickly ceased the sparring session the two of you were doing. Sal had intertwined both of his hands and raised them above his head, the action accompanied by a dramatic swinging sound caused by rushing air. Once his hands reached their apex, Sal swung them back down and collided them into the side of your head, right above the temple. You remember your vision had quickly filled with black dots for a brief moment before you passed out entirely.
Your other take-down moves were more suited for in the middle of combat, so that move would have to be your best attempt at a more stealthy attack. You would need to change some of the movements, however, due to Robin being taller than you, causing his head to be at a less-than-ideal angle.
You took in a deep breath as you intertwined your hands and swung them above your head. The momentum must have caused a slight shift in Robin's cape, since he began to turn before your hands even stopped at the apex. You heard him mumble some kind of confused statement as you immediately swung your clenched fists down into his head. Due to his turning motion, your hands had collided more with his brow rather than closer to his temple.
Robin yelled in pain, clutching at the right side of his face, and fell to his knees to recoil from your attack. However, he did not quickly succumb to the blow like you had expected him to, and instead he kept hissing and cursing under his breath. He had not turned to look at you fully yet. You were grateful for his hesitancy to confront you since your body was in complete and utter shock right now.
Your sneak attack was not going to plan at all and the panic was really starting to settle in.
Not thinking clearly, you sprang into action and went to push Robin onto the ground. The moment your hands made contact with his right shoulder, his left hand swiftly moved to catch your wrist. You gasped and attempted to wrench your wrist from his grasp to no avail.
"What is wrong with you?!" Robin angrily ranted, his right hand still pressed to his brow in recovery. He had moved the hand enough that you could see his eyes through the domino mask; his blue eyes met yours, burning with anger, but with a sad undertone that grayed him.
You were unable to say anything in response as Robin jerked your wrist forwards, sending you hurtling towards the floor. You gasped yet again as the sudden movement caused you to lose your footing, sealing your fate for collision. Your back slammed into the floor, knocking the air out of your lungs for the second time today. Your head lurched forward as a protest of pain slipped out of your mouth.
You had barely registered that you had made impact with the floor when another pressure was put on top of your body. Your eyes focused on Robin, who was now using his body to keep you pinned to the ground. His left forearm pressed down on your torso and his legs prevented yours from moving much at all. Your arms were free but using them required a bit more energy still due to your disorientation.
You tried to be careful and things still went very wrong.
"Who are you?" Robin interrogated, clearly still trying to recuperate from your initial strike at him. His eyes would close and a wince would fully form across his face; you caused him some damage but not nearly enough to reach your goal.
You refused to give him anything as an answer and instead you began attempting to pry his arm from off your chest. You wrapped your hands around his forearm holding you down. With all the might you could muster, you began pulling his arm away from your body. As soon as you started pulling though, Robin pushed back in defiance to hold you in place. His other hand ripped yours from his arm and he instead seized the opportunity to hold each of your individual hands down to prevent you from escaping further.
"What's with the whole vigilante get-up?" Robin questioned, a large amount of confusion laced in his tone as he finally paid attention to the suit you wore. "You're just a kid."
You scoffed at the statement, especially at the hypocrisy he carried with that statement. The irony of being fully detained and scolded for your vigilante get-up by someone your age in their own vigilante get-up did not befall you. Instead it caused your teeth to grit and your hands to push back against his even harder.
"Are you gonna answer any of my questions or are we playing the quiet game?" Robin remarked in a sarcastic tone, his brows lifting in entertainment but also annoyance at your lack of cooperation. It irked you that now there was no wince in his expression when he moved his right brow.
"Fuck you," You spit out, gritting your teeth and shifting around to throw him off his balance. Robin tensed up in response and effortlessly held you in place, irritating you even further. Even with your outburst, Robin's facial expression morphed into a cocky smirk as he let out an entertained laugh.
"Wow! She speaks!" He enthused, shrugging his shoulders, which caused the long, flowing cape on his back to shift and fall to his side. "So why are we attacking random strangers on random rooftops in the middle of the night?"
"'Could ask you the same thing," You retort, rolling your eyes at him for trying to make you feel foolish. It works well though, as you feel your cheeks begin to redden in response to being embarrassed that you had failed so miserably. You become incredibly interested in looking up at the moon, anything to avoid the intense gaze of Robin above you.
"Oh, so we're being funny," Robin states but nothing in his speech would lead one to believe you are being funny at all. He sighs and lets his head hang low but his grip does not loosen. "Look, I'm not into the business of beating up kids, even if they start it. And I've got a busy night ahead of me, ya?"
You refuse to say anything as a response, opting for letting your frustration speak through your actions. Your breathing picks up furiously through your nose and your mouth sets itself in a fine line. Your teeth begin to grind as your eyes continuously dance around his form, avoiding anything even close to eye contact with the person you intended to kill.
"You're obviously not gonna answer any of my questions and I'm not interested in trying to get you to talk," Robin begins suggesting a possible truce it seems, which significantly peaks your interest. Finally, your eyes decide to meet his. Blue eyes. They look like they could read your soul. "If I let you go now, I better never see you again, got it?"
His gaze is filled with empathy, like he is staring at his own reflection in a mirror when he looks at you. That confuses you, leading you to want to look away from him again. You stay strong though, stronger than before, and continue meeting his gaze. You cannot help but notice in your periphery how soft his hair looks though.
You shake your head to forcefully push the thought out of your mind. Your face heats up again, this time out of embarrassment from your own impulsive thoughts. "This is not the time for that!" You think to yourself, needing the reminder that this person in front of you is indeed your enemy that you intend to take down yourself.
"I'm not a kid," You reply to Robin's offer, emphasizing the word "kid," and hitting him with another signature eye roll to show how not interested you are in being in this situation. He gives a short, mocking laugh in response and shrugs his shoulders.
"Yeah, and I'm Batman," He replies with an even thicker sarcastic tone, his grip finally starting to loosen on your arms. Robin lets out one last sigh, briefly looks up at the sky, and looks back down at you expectantly. "So, do we have a deal?"
"Fine, whatever you say," You huff out, still looking up at him but you stop fighting against his grip. Instead, you stare and wait for him to let you go. You have to focus on how irritating you find him to stop yourself from thinking about how soft his hair looks. That just irritates you even more.
"Alright then," Robin agrees and quickly lets go of you, leaping away up and off your body. He stands a few feet away, watching and still clearly on guard. His entire form is rigid, like he expects to need to spring into action at any moment. The sympathy seems to have left his eyes. His domino mask seems to harden his gaze. The long yellow cape starts to blow in the wind dramatically. Robin really does look like a symbol of justice, and you wholeheartedly hate it.
You slowly sit up from the floor, rubbing at your sore wrists from being held down for what felt like hours. You glare up at him as you stand, your hand reaching up to ensure that your mask is still fit snugly on your face. When you are fully standing up straight, you cannot help but to attempt intimidating him still. You try to intensify your own gaze, having a stare down with Robin across from you. You hold his gaze for a few seconds straight but it does nothing; he does not back down and does not harden his stare more to match. He stays constant, as if you present no threat to him at all.
Suddenly, the hairs on your arms stand on end and you realize you are not the more powerful one here, far from it. You run off, back to the fire escape you used to climb onto the roof in the first place. You run so fast you could be likened to a frightened dog escaping with its tail tucked in shame. You jump onto the fire escape and almost fall down due to the speed you escape with. You do not stop running once you make contact with the ground, instead you begin to sprint away. Adrenaline pumps through your body, changing the literal course of blood flow to your organs. Your heart rate picks up drastically and your breathing matches.
You are unsure of how long you had spent running from the Fire Department.
Once you do stop, you have no clue where you ended up. You lean against the closest building, stumbling over your feet as you try to find support. A heavy weight sits upon your chest as your lungs burn from a lack of adequate air flow for a longer period of time. One of your hands brushes against the bricks of the building you lean against, the other hand presses into your sternum to feel air flowing into your lungs.
Your vision is blurry, it creeps in from the edges and fills the entire picture. Your head feels light, the dizziness increasing the nausea in your stomach, which you had not noticed until now. You force your eyes shut, trying to ground yourself to your surroundings but to no avail. The anxiety only grows stronger inside you the more you try to deny it.
"I'm so stupid," You think to yourself, feelings tears begin to brim your eyes. "No wonder they thought I wasn't ready!" You punch the wall, causing new physical pain to spread through your limb rather than the debilitating mental battle raging in your body. Your body slumps against the wall and slides down to the concrete. The tears still have not fallen from your eyes.
You feel weak. You haven't felt weak like this in years.
"I hate him!" You yell out into nothingness, as thoughts of your target begin to flood your head. Robin was stronger than you, much stronger than you would have expected from your training. He recovered quicker from your attack than you ever have from one of Sal's finishing punches.
You open your eyes and look towards the sky. Your vision slowly begins to clear as your breathing calms down. The moon is peaking through into the alleyway you had ended up in, as if she was watching over you herself. The glow of the moon is soft and calming, allowing your mind to clear and the self-deprecating thoughts start to slow down.
You have been trained for this. This has been the end goal for years of your life and you have always known it would not be easy. Trial-and-error will fine tune your skills. You just need to keep trying. If you keep throwing at the wall, something is sure to stick eventually.
"I may get my ass kicked if I don't do better next time," You whisper to yourself, thinking out loud as a grin spreads across your face. You had made a deal with Robin but you have no moral qualms with breaking a temporary deal with your enemy. Not if it stands between you finally making a place for you and your mother.
"Maybe he'll just forget about me," You jokingly wonder, still gazing up at the sky. You can feel a plan begin to formulate in your head. "Sneak attack him again."
Famous last words.
"So where did you go last night?" Sal questioned from across the room, taking a drink of water while you two took a brief break. Your eyes widened as you looked over at him, frozen in place just before you could take a sip of your own drink. He raised one eyebrow at you when you did not immediately answer. "Your suit was missing when I left. Where did you go?"
An awkward chuckle came out of your mouth, trying to make it seem that you have no clue what he is referring to. You rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly feeling a lot warmer than before, even with the drills you two had already done. He was not letting up though, still staring at you very intently.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," You brushed it off, hoping he would let it go or change the subject. Sal instead crossed his arms and kept the same interrogating stare going. He spoke your name aloud in a stern tone, equivalent to one a parent would use with a child. "Fine, I was doing some… investigating."
"Investigating?" Sal's voice was filled with disbelief, knowing there was some other piece of information that you were reluctant to share. He ran his right hand down his face, collecting his thoughts before he continued asking you questions. "I did not realize that investigating required wearing your suit out in public."
That comment made your face turn beat red out of embarrassment. You felt like a child trying to hide a mess you made. You carded your fingers through your hair, busying yourself from having to look back over at Sal's confrontational stance. You continued to look away from him until you heard him clear his throat.
You worked up the courage to look back over at Sal and once your eyes met his again, you regretted it immediately. His brows were nearly raised to his hairline out of expectation for a response. His right hand is gesturing towards you, as if he is reaching for you to hand him an answer to all of his questions.
You let out a huff before giving in.
"I fought Robin last night…" You muttered the answer, trying to keep your voice hushed out of shame. You pressed your hands into your face, afraid to look back up at Sal again. You could only wonder what face he would be making right now. His continued silence tells you he heard you loud and clear and is expecting more of an explanation. "It didn't go well." Your voice is significantly muffled by your hands still on your face but Sal hears and scoffs in response.
"I put that together when you took the dramatic pause," Sal jokes but his tone still sounds annoyed, holding back the usual lecture on making "dumb decisions," as he would normally say. Sal sighs and sets the bottle of water he had onto the floor and begins making his way over to sit next to you. "What did you do?"
You move your fingers just enough to peak out with your eye and glance over at him. There is no amused grin or furrowed brow on his face, just Sal's usual monotony; the face he would make when solving a math problem in school is the same expression he would have in the middle of a physical fight.
You realize he isn't going to scold me, he wants to find a solution.
"I snuck up behind and tried to knock him out with one hit," You briefly explain, running your hands down your face and finally making direct eye contact with Sal. He gestures for you to continue explaining. "I swung from above with my hands and hit him in the side of the head. It disoriented him, but wasn't enough to fully knock him out."
"I am… not surprised," Sal's response slightly trails off as he starts to think about the likelihood of your plan actually working. "Starting a fight like that would be rough, you probably would have needed a metal bat or crowbar… That might have outright killed him though."
The thought of having to kill someone leaves the taste of iron in your mouth.
"What happened afterwards?" Sal questioned, done regarding the details of how your encounter started in his head. He brings a hand up to his face now and rubs at his chin in thought, stills staring at you expectantly.
"I tried to push him over…" You sheepishly explain, the words themselves are difficult to get out of your mouth. You see Sal's brows briefly scrunch in confusion, clearly not where he expected this to go. "But he grabbed me and pinned me to the ground instead." Now Sal's brows are raised and his eyes are widened in surprise.
"So, when you said you fought Robin, you meant you surprised him and he kicked your ass," Sal spoke out of pure sarcasm, which you cannot actively recall the last time you heard him use such a tone. Your hands go back to covering your face, unable to look Sal in the face. You shake your head, as if trying to deny it, but you know that you cannot. Sal sits in silence for a minute, letting you marinate in your embarrassment unfettered, before sighing and deciding to continue on.
"How did you not get put in a jail cell for the night?" Sal interrogated, now thoroughly confused about how you spent your night. However, out of all the questions so far, that may have been the worst one he could have asked.
"He let me go…" You mutter into your hands and purposely try to make it so that Sal cannot understand you. It works and Sal questions you again, only in a sterner tone than before. All these questions are causing a weight to build on your chest. "I said, he let me go!" You yelled, an attempt to relieve some of the pressure building in your chest. It doesn't work.
"Wow, this story just got better and better," Sal awed, bewildered by how abnormal your night had been. You felt the same, now that it had been about 12 hours later, clarity and realization slowly coming to you while you slept last night. "I am trying very hard to believe you."
"If I'm lying, why would all that be my lie?" You shoot back at him, your arms flying out to your sides. You look back up at Sal quickly, only to find that his expression has barely changed from the surprised one he wore moments earlier. "I would've said something like, 'I showed him not to mess with Peregrine' or 'I completely rocked his shit'! Not all that!" You had used a deep, gruff voice to imitate a strong brute, quite the opposite of how you normally spoke.
Sal raised his arms in surrender but his expression still showed that he was completely baffled by what you explained. "That is a fair point," He accepts that explanation and folds his hands in front of him, resting them on his lap.
The two of you sit in silence for a while: you wrap your arms around yourself and cower down to make yourself as invisible as possible, while Sal looks off to the side and still seems to be deep in thought. You replay the events of last night repeatedly in your head. Robin overpowering you and tossing you the ground, the pain that radiated through your back because of it, the soft look of his dark hair-
"What is wrong with me? Why am I thinking about that so much?" Your thoughts keep trailing back to the physical features of Robin that stood out to you. You feel nothing but boiling irritation for being shown that Robin is better than you, but your thoughts keep leading back to that one thing about him. It only serves to anger you more. His entire attitude was unlikeable and he carried himself with an air of overconfidence that just rubbed you the wrong way. You cannot deny that he is stronger than you though.
You have no clue how you will overcome him to reach your goal.
"Stand up." Sal commands, standing abruptly and walking over towards the mats that the two of you were practicing on. You looked up at him but did not stand yet. You were taking in his stance and body language to try and determine why he moved on from the previous conversation so suddenly. You meet his eyes, and he beckons you over with a tilt of his head. "We have to get you ready for the next time you go out," He explains nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious answer. Your jaw drops slightly, completely taken aback by that response.
"You're gonna help me?" You question, squinting your eyes suspiciously as you begin to stand with your arms crossed defensively. You take a few steps closer to him but you are still wary of what the goal is here. Sal only shrugs in response before positioning himself on the mat into a fighting stance, bringing his fists up, ready to throw punches.
"You are my student," He explains, now bouncing on his feet, prepared for when you enter into the sparring session. "I rely on you to hold up my honor in an actual fight."
"You make it sound so regal," You laugh, still reeling from the very sudden turn in his behavior from disappointed to optimistic. You finally walk onto the mat, mirroring the stance that Sal has taken, and bounce on your feet as well to stay reactive to any sudden movements.
Sal nods and starts to circle around you, you do the same to him. "You do better at this," He gestures to his fists, and as he does so, his expression briefly changes to one of amusement instead of seriousness. "We can find something for you to mess around with after." He moves his hands to grab onto an imaginary weapon, swinging it dramatically to represent a step up in your training: fists to weapons.
You grin in response and start to close in on Sal. "Let's get to work then," You swing your right arm at him excitedly, a new fire burning in you to improve.
You need to get better so you can finally take down Robin.
I'd say that decking your potential love interest in the side of the head could be considered a meet-cute :0
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: You're a talented sorcerer and you join Tokyo Jujutsu Tech, eventually becoming inseparable from their most infamous trio. After the slow unraveling of Suguru Geto. You begins to break under the weight of grief and expectation, until Satoru is forced to confront how deeply you matter and to step in before he loses you too.
Content warning: Self harm, implied SI (suicidal ideation,) grief, depression, intense confrontation, slightly detailed description of cutting, blood, psychological trauma, description of Haibara's death, also this follows canon events so Satoru and U r around 17-18 , this rlly hurt to wrote. I rewatched HI for ts so be happy whores
MDNI
It was your first year at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech when you met them. The courtyard was warm, sunlight pooling over stone and steps like nothing bad had ever happened there. You had just been told you were being transferred into a class with “exceptional students in Tokyo,” said in that offhand way that made it sound like it wouldn’t change anything. It really did.
Satoru Gojo noticed you first. You didn’t even have time to take in your surroundings before he was right there, stepping into your space like it belonged to him, like everyone’s space did. His sunglasses had slipped just enough for you to catch the sharp blue of his eyes, bright and curious in a way that felt more like a challenge than anything else.
“You’re the new one, right?” he said, tilting his head slightly as he looked you over. “You look weak. You aren't weak like Utahime right?” You stared at him for a second, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief. “That’s how you introduce yourself?!”
For a moment, there was silence. Then he broke into a grin, wide and unrestrained, like you had just said exactly what he was hoping for.
“Oh, I like you already.”
Behind him, Suguru Geto let out a quiet sigh that sounded practiced, stepping forward to offer something resembling a normal greeting. Shoko introduced herself without much interest, barely looking up, already over the entire interaction.
You should have been put off by them, all of them in their own insufferable ways. But you weren’t.
❀✿❀✿❀
You were a good sorcerer, there was no denying it. People recognized it early on. It just never felt like enough, not when you stood beside power like theirs.
By sixteen, you were already semi grade one. Your control over cursed energy was precise, your instincts steady even under pressure, your technique flexible in a way that let you adapt without overthinking. You didn’t freeze. You didn’t second guess. You handled things. In any other generation, that would have made you stand out above the rest.
But you weren’t in just any other class, you stood beside Satoru and Suguru. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that you were overlooked. Not your own, not your peers or teachers. It was simply inevitable when one of your classmates was a once-in-a-generation special grade born into a non-sorcerer family, and the other’s birth alone reshaped the course of jujutsu society itself.
You’d finish a difficult mission and earn praise for it, only for the two strongest to one up you by clearing something twice as hard with barely any effort at all.
The only place it stopped mattering was when it was just the four of you. After all, it didn’t take long for Satoru to get used to you. Or maybe it didn’t take long for you to get used to him. He had a way of inserting himself into everything. Sitting too close. Talking too much. Reaching for your food like it belonged to him and acting offended when you stopped him.
“You don’t even like spicy food Satoru,” you groaned out once, pulling a box back before he could steal anything. “That’s not the point,” he said, already trying again. “The point is that you have it.”
That was how it started. Small, almost meaningless moments that kept happening until they weren’t small anymore.
Late nights on the dorm floor where conversations drifted from stupid arguments to things that actually mattered without either of you noticing when the shift happened. Missions where he would fall into step beside you without being asked, where the two of you learned each other’s rhythm without needing to say anything out loud. The way he would glance at you after something difficult, not asking if you were okay, just checking, like he already trusted that you would tell him if you weren’t.
Shoko noticed before either of you did.
“You two are annoying,” she said one night, watching the way Satoru had his arm slung across your shoulders like it had always belonged there. “Just date already.”
You both denied it immediately. "Shut the hell up Shoko! It's not like that!" Satoru snapped, his face an unusual shade of red you'd never recognized. Meanwhile you rolled your eyes, pouting at her. Suguru only smiled into his drink, quiet and knowing, and despite it all, you didn’t think about it too hard about her words.
As time passed, being around them all felt easy in a way nothing else in your life did. Especially being around Satoru, who could be surprisingly sweet. You had grown to care about your friends deeply, which was why it hurt so much when things began to change for the worse.
You all had already made plans for summer. Beach trips, shopping, the whole thing. The lowest curse activity of the year, the kind of stretch that was supposed to feel almost normal. A time to make memories, to pretend just for a little while that you all didn’t have to bear the world in your shoulders. Of course, that was before Yaga called Satoru and Suguru into his office to escort the plasma vessel Riko Amanai for Master-Tengen.
The mission with the Star Plasma Vessel left something behind in all of you, even if you weren’t at the center of it, even if you had never met the girl herself. You saw it most clearly in Satoru. After defeating her assassin, Toji Zenin, Satoru came back louder, sharper, and stronger than you ever remembered. Like he was trying to compensate for something you couldn’t quite name, something that lingered just out of reach whenever you tried to understand it.
And oh God, you remembered how your heart had practically clenched into a knot that night. The world narrowing the second you heard Satoru had apparently been killed. It didn’t make sense, not in any way your mind could accept, just something cold and wrong that refused to settle. Then, he and Suguru returned. Standing in front of you like nothing happened.
“Hey, I’m fine,” he exclaimed out to you, almost too easily. “See? Not even a scratch.”
You closed the distance before he could say anything else, grabbing onto him like he might disappear if you didn’t. Your hands gripped his uniform, your face pressed into him as everything hit at once. “Don’t-....please don’t do that again,” you managed, your voice breaking. “Do you have any idea how scared everyone was?”
“Yeah...everyone..." He repeated knowing damn well nobody made him feel half as cared for as you did. "I told you, I’m okay,” he murmured, softer now, one hand settling at your back, the other coming up to steady your head. “I’m right here.”
But you couldn’t stop. The tears ran down your cheeks as you let out uneven breaths. Quiet uncontrollable tears that soaked into his shirt while he just held you there, unusually still, unusually quiet.
After a while, your grip didn’t loosen, and neither did his.
“…hey,” he said under his breath, not pulling away. “I’m not going anywhere.” You didn’t answer, just held on tighter.
He let out a quiet exhale, his hand pressing more firmly against your back, like he was grounding himself as much as you. He didn’t say anything else after that, but something in him shifted all the same. The way he held you lingered longer than it needed to, like he was committing the feeling to memory.
Like he had already decided he wasn’t going to let you go through that again.
❀✿❀✿❀
Eventually another year went by. Suguru had changed as well. Though at first, it was subtle enough to overlook. But with each passing day, more of him seemed to slip away, fragment by fragment. He found himself questioning how he could discard his own life, and risk losing those he cared about, for people who didn’t even recognize their own inferiority.
He drifted slowly into a depressive state, worn down by one duty too many, until there came a day when nothing was left to anchor him to doing good. When Riko Amanai died, things were far from easier. Missions only grew heavier. You could barely remember the last time you truly saw him. And when you did, he looked exhausted. It was painfully clear he had chosen to bury himself in exorcisms, but you didn’t know how to reach him, or why he kept pushing himself this way.
Since then, you’d been assigned more often with second-years now that they were older. Kento Nanami and Yu Haibara. Both Grade two sorcerers with potential. They were different from your usual group. Nanami was only 16 yet treated every mission like a 9-5 job he resented.
Meanwhile Haibara was the complete opposite. He smiled too easily. Talked too much on the way to missions. Asked questions like everything was still normal, like this world hadn’t already started taking things from people who got too comfortable in it.
You never would've expected you'd lose that. Especially since the mission itself was supposed to be a simple 2 curse in some suburban area. A clean extraction.
Haibara was the one who said, “This is actually kind of nice, isn’t it? Feels like we’re just doing patrols or something.”
Nanami didn’t respond. You remember that clearly. You remember thinking 'he's always so serious, he should trust his abilities by now.' That was when something bad happened fast, too fast.
One moment Haibara was still talking, mid sentence, still smiling, and the next, the curse moved. Slicing his body in half.
When the two of you had distraughtly exorcised the special grade, it didn’t feel like a victory. Nanami was the first to lower his now-calloused hands. His breathing controlled but sharp at the edges. Eyes fixed on Haibara’s body like a goddamn trainwreck. You tried to move toward them, but your legs barely cooperated. Before you knew it everything when blank.
❀✿❀✿❀
By the time you woke again, it was the infirmary. White light, antiseptic air, the dull ache of Shoko’s healing still settling into your body like a delayed consequence. She didn’t say much, just finished her work efficiently, cigarette already unlit between her fingers like she hadn’t decided whether she was done yet.
Satoru was there too, slouched in a chair that didn’t quite fit the his frame. His sunglasses were off, leaving his eyes too bare for someone trying so hard to seem unaffected. When your attention finally settled on him, he hesitated, just a beat too long before looking back.
“You and Nanamin cleared that curse, y’know? We’re all really glad you’re okay… I’m really glad you’re okay,” he said, his voice low, like the words carried more weight than he knew how to show.
Then, after a pause that stretched past anything casual, he confirmed that Haibara hadn’t made it.
Satoru knew how devastating that was for you as well as Nanami. And because of that, he didn’t leave your side for the rest of the day. Stayed close in small, careful ways. Like pressing trays of your favorite foods into your hands, and tucking your hair gently behind your ear.
Out in the hallway, Suguru sat motionless, staring straight ahead. It looked like whatever had been holding him together had finally snapped, leaving behind nothing that resembled sanity. He had failed to protect Riko, Haibara was gone too, and all that remained for any of you was grief and unrelenting trauma.
Suguru Geto could only blame those God-forsaken monkeys.
The rest was history. He started with his parents. Maybe so he wouldn’t have to hesitate, or so he wouldn’t have to look back. By the time it was over, his entire town was swallowed in blue flames.
The report reached you one afternoon as you and Satoru walked within the campus halls. Yaga stopped the both of you, his voice steady in a way that made everything feel worse. You remember turning to Satoru after he finished, waiting, hoping, for something. Anything that could make sense of what you were hearing.
But he didn’t understand what was going on. Like hell Suguru would commit such atrocities. Like fucking hell he did.
After that, everything unraveled.
Sleep stopped coming properly. Food turned dull, tasteless. Missions became something you drifted through rather than lived in, your body moving on instinct while your mind lagged somewhere far behind. The world itself felt distant, like it had been blunted at the edges, as if none of it could quite reach you anymore.
Satoru was still there. Still loud, still present, still trying in his own way, but there was a tension in him now that hadn’t been there before. Like he was holding himself together too tightly.
And you didn’t want to add to that.
So you didn’t say anything.
You found something else to numb the pain instead. Something that made everything quiet for a little while. You told yourself the cutting was temporary. That you had control over it.
You didn’t.
❀✿❀✿❀
About a few weeks went by. The mission in Kyoto was supposed to be simple. The train ride there was quiet in a way that felt wrong. Not loud and filled with laughter like missions used to be with Satoru. Just...empty now. At some point, he looked over at you, his expression sharper than usual.
“You doing okay?” he asked, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t been watching you for the past ten minutes.
Satoru had never meant to push you away. If anything, it was the opposite. You mattered more to him than anyone ever had. He just didn’t know what to do with that, not when everything felt like it was slipping out of his hands.
You let out a quiet, tired huff of a laugh. “Of course I’m okay. I’m not the one who gets pissed every time I walk past a KFC, Satoru.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, waving it off, though there was no real bite to it. “You would too if you last saw him there.”
You glanced at him, the humor fading as quickly as it came. “Yeah… I probably would. Sorry, Toru.” The nickname left him much softer than you expected.
His smile slipped, just slightly. Not gone, but thinner, like it took more effort to hold in place. “It’s alright,” he said after a moment, quieter now. “He made his choice.”
You watched him for a second, like you wanted to say something else, like you almost could. Neither of you did.
It was late by the time you were sure he had fallen asleep. His words from earlier lingered, stuck somewhere you couldn’t ignore. The way his smile had faltered, the way his voice had softened when he said it. It kept replaying in your head, over and over, until the silence of the room felt too loud to sit in.
You slipped out of bed and into the bathroom.
Suguru was gone. That was what you were supposed to accept. Whatever he had been to you before, whatever he had been to Satoru, it didn’t matter anymore.
At least, that was what everyone kept saying.
The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as they flickered on, too harsh, too unforgiving. You stood there for a long moment, staring at your reflection like it belonged to someone else.
The dark circles under your eyes had settled in deep. Your expression looked… wrong. Tired in a way that sleep wouldn’t fix, your mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a frown, but wasn’t anything close to normal either.
You barely recognized yourself anymore.
“What the fuck?” Satoru stood there, his expression tight in a way you had never seen before. Not just angry. Something worse.
“Nothing,” you said quickly, turning away.
“Give me that now...” He was already moving toward you, already reaching for your arm before you could step back. You tried pulling away but of course, you were never any match for him.
The blade clinked against the tile floor. When his gaze dropped to your skin, the shift in his expression was immediate. His grip tightened, then faltering, like he didn’t know whether to hold on or let go.
Satoru stood there, and the look on his face wasn’t just anger. It was something sharper, something that made your chest ache before he even spoke again.
“Nothing,” you rushed, trying to pull your arm back.
“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, already moving toward you. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me!”
“I said it’s nothing!”
“Bullshit!”
He grabbed your wrist hard enough to make you wince, pulling it into the light, and whatever he saw made his expression twist.
“Since when?” he demanded. “Since when have you been doing this? Are you out of your mind?”
“Let go,” you said, trying to yank away.
“No,” he shot back immediately. “What the hell is wrong with you?” The words landed hard, and something in you flared up in response.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” you repeated. “Are you serious right now?”
“You’re cutting yourself!” He snapped. “Do you have any idea how stupid that is? Or do you just not care anymore?” That was when your stomach dropped. “Wow...That’s what you think this is?”
“I think you’re making a fucked up choice,” he said, voice sharp and relentless. “I think you’re acting like nothing matters.”
“So what?! At least I’m not pretending everything’s fine,” you fired back. “At least I’m not walking around like I didn’t lose someone too.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It is to me,” you said, your voice breaking despite yourself. “You don’t get to decide how this feels for me.”
He opened his mouth to argue again, already halfway there, already ready to say something else harsh, something that would cut deeper.
Then he stopped.
You saw it happen in real time, the exact second it hit him. The way his expression shifted, the anger cracking just enough for something else to push through. Realization. Horror.
He looked at you like he was seeing the damage he was doing.
“…fuck,” he muttered, barely audible.
The grip on your wrist loosened, not completely, but enough to stop hurting. His shoulders dropped just slightly, like something in him gave way.
“I’m not helping,” he said, more to himself than to you. “I’m making it worse. I’m… shit, I’m being an asshole.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. You were still shaking ever so slightly, still caught between anger and something much more fragile.
He let go of your wrist completely then, but he didn’t step back. If anything, he moved closer, like he was afraid of putting any space between you now.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and it sounded wrong coming out of his mouth, unfamiliar but real. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean any of that like that. I just…” His voice faltered as he continued, “I’m scared. Really fucking scared.”
“I already lost him,” he added, eyes fixed on you like he needed you to understand. “I can’t… I can’t lose you too. I can’t watch that happen again.”
The anger drained out of you, leaving something raw and vulnerable behind. “I’m still here,” you assured, your voice unsteady.
“Then stay with me,” he said immediately. “Please just… stay.”
“Look, whatever's going on...I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice rough against your ear, quieter than you had ever heard it. “Okay? I’ve got you. You’re not dealing with this alone. Hell, I’m not letting you go through this alone.”
Your throat tightened, the words catching somewhere on the way out. “It doesn’t feel like it’s going to be okay., Toru”
“I know,” he replied immediately, like he wasn’t going to argue with that. His hand pressed more firmly against your back, steady, grounding. “I know it doesn’t. But we’ll figure it out any way we can. We always do, don't we? I’ll make it all okay, I promise.”
You didn’t know if that was true, but you believed that he meant it. For now, that was more than enough.
This is much darker than what I usually write. I’m not a mental health professional so I really hope despite my lack of knowledge or experience in these topics, this oneshot serves its purpose
@sstaygoldenponyboy I hope you like this!! It’s not my best but I hope it’s what you were looking for <33
It’s his fault tonight, as is most times. He loves you. He wishes he could do whatever you asked of him. But, Jujutsu society has other plans for him sometimes.
Work. It’s always work that takes immediate priority. Time and time again.
It’s two in the morning. His brain feels like it’s been scrambled fifteen times over and cooked on medium heat, then refried again and finally lit on fire. The cursed spirit he spent the last eight hours exorcising—with a technique of immediate reincarnation—left him to utilize hollow purple in rural-side Japan to avoid casualties, his reversed curse technique to heal himself constantly when he was exhausted, and then teleport way too far of a distance just to get back to you.
Even if it was hours after the date night you had planned for him.
It makes him wince when he tries to envision it all—candles and rose petals decorating the penthouse. Takeout since you can’t cook for the life of you. Waiting at the dining table in that pretty red dress he bought for you last month, hair and makeup done, practically begging to be ruined by him afterwards. Eating dinner by yourself when you realize that maybe he isn’t showing up and heading off to bed.
He wanted to text you, really. But that fucking curse knocked his phone from his pocket mid-air and sent it into the brush of the prairie—the screen cracked and device completely unusable.
“Sweetheart,” he starts softly, his voice echoing in the uncomfortably empty space. He recalls when he left the place practically vacant aside from his mattress, not even caring to furnish the place until he met you. Made a home with you.
He toes his shoes off and tosses his uniform jacket on the couch as he passes the threshold. His bandage hangs loosely around his neck, his Six Eyes barely able to ascertain anything while a grimace of pain passes his face. His cursed energy reserves are running low, and he doesn’t have the power to heal himself right now.
He can only recharge with you.
He makes his way to the bedroom, stumbling and trying not to trip over his own feet. Exhaustion hangs heavy under his eyes, weighing down his limbs. You’re probably asleep seeing as it’s the middle of the night, but a part of him hopes you’re awake. Even if you yell at him, or hit him.
Pushing your bedroom door open, he sees your form under the sheets, facing away from him. Your breaths are slow, rhythmic.
His chest tightens.
He doesn’t have the battery power to even undress himself, slipping into the sheets beside you. He smells like curse, and he has a feeling you’ll cuss him out in the morning for sleeping without getting cleaned up.
His head hits the pillow, milky hair creating a halo of white around his head. The need for sleep hits him quickly, before you stir.
“I don’t want to do this anymore, Satoru.”
Despite how soft and careful your words are, they hit Gojo like a truck. Air is stripped from his lungs as he stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, despair leaving him to spiral. “Okay. Okay,” he turns over to stare at your back, even though it feels like his ribs are being split. “Uhm, I’m sorry, baby. I know how much this date meant to you and—.”
You push air from your nostrils and Gojo stops talking, his gut churning violently. He can taste bile on the back of his tongue. You then turn to face him, and it’s alarming how composed you look. This decision has probably been weighing on you for quite some time, seeing as this wasn’t the first date where he’d had to stand you up. Letting you down, time and time again.
“Just— stop. I was well aware of your role in the Jujutsu world when we started dating, even if you introduced me to it all. I still am now. I just thought… I’d be able to handle it. I guess I was wrong.”
You aren’t even looking at him, slowly appraising the charred holes in his black compression shirt revealing slips of skin. At some point, Gojo couldn’t hold up Infinity and exorcise the curse simultaneously. So, he lowered it, taking a great number of hits trying to kill the fucker. He’s never looked this disheveled before—his hair a mess and perspiration clinging to his skin. It makes your throat close up.
There’s an awkward moment where you pick at your nails and Gojo can’t peel his eyes from you.
Fuck, he hates this. Hates that he has to contest with both his personal and work life. Again. And again.
If only the fate of the world didn’t hang between his fingers.
You’d never make him choose, either. Abandoning his position to make time to grow the life you both want. Which is why you took the choice from him.
Desperation starts to claw at the edges of his mind, his pulse roaring in his ears. He’s not thinking clearly, lips curling downwards. “Baby, please. I-I know I fucked up, but I’ll make it up to you. I love you. Please, just. Don’t leave me?” his voice, barely a whisper now, wavers with each syllable.
Finally, you look up. You’re both crying. Tears run down his pale cheeks, his eyes a deep crimson red. You’re sniffling, your heart wound too tight.
This hurts. It’s hurt for a while now, and you’re certain it won’t stop hurting. You can’t keeping living like this.
“I don’t think I’ll stop loving you, ‘Toru,” you hiccup. You lean forward, cupping his cheeks in your hands. Your palms are warm against his icy skin. Then, you press tender kisses against his cheeks to erase the tears. “And that’s why I have to leave. I have to. You’re hurting me,” you mumble, chewing against the inside of your cheek.
A sob punches itself from his chest. You’ve never seen him cry before—your pretty boy that teases you incessantly, tugging at your hair and kissing you until you’re flustered. Spoils you like he’s got an endless chest of funds, which he probably does. Finds immense comfort in coming home to you. He’s been adverse to vulnerability since the day you met him, and you can sympathize why. When it gets dark for him, it’s really dark.
His arms, bulky and heavy, ensnare around your waist as he buries his face into your chest. He doesn’t stop crying for a while, your name on the tip of his tongue, the fabric of your chemise damp.
“Stay with me tonight,” he mutters after a while, fingers curling against you. “Please.”
You nod quickly, wiping your tear-streaked cheeks with the back of your hand. “Okay.”
You already feel selfish enough, staring at your packed bags tucked in the dark corner, ready to head out in the morning.
If he needs you for one last night, you’ll give him that. Even if it’s the last thing you’ll give him.
🍾࿔*:･ you finally work up the courage to confess your love to fratjo, the party animal you've only seen twice in study hall that he always skips for some reason, he says yes. as it turns out, he's a lot more than you bargained for... | 4k words mdni
cw: smut, protected sex (wrap before you tap), oral (f&m receiving), character cameos, reader is birdbrained, reader's lowk a stalker, lowk toxic!fratjo (duh), idk anything about frats, readers canonically pretty fratjo's just blind, dumb!frat!gojo, shy!sassy!reader, drugs and smoking, cliches, kiiinda crybaby reader, slight banter, not proofread
@aransmind for the photo
gojo sato would never date you.
not now, not later. he's all muscle and looks, arrogance and passion. tight compression shirts, chains and gold jewelry always adorn him. he's been with more girls than you can count, which you only know because he's always bragging about it online (and every where else)
jo_sigmakappachi: on my 5th girl of the week and it's wendesday. if any of u ladies wanna be the 6th... come to to my party 2nite ;)
you're quiet beauty and book smarts, wondering how you'll pull this far fetched crush.
now you're walking out of study hall, eyes red and tired from another sleepless night of studying (and stalking your crush's accs)
as you lumber out, you catch a glimpse of him, sato, with his nerdy twin brother whose name you can't be bothered to remember.
god, he looks even better in person. you've only seen him up close a handful of times. you're not a party person, and no one inviting you probably doesn't raise your chances of being in sato's natural habitat.
for the past few months, watching him from afar has been enough. you're the first to comment, like, and repost all of his most scandalous party moments, on a burner account, of course. somehow he's never realized that you always have a seat next to him at basketball games.
he considers himself unlucky, wondering why the same, uninterested girl is sitting next to him instead of a new hot bimbo for the week. lately, this sit and watch game is getting boring. your feelings are too strong, too passionate for him.
maybe now's the time to confess, tell him how you really feel. it's not like anythings actually going to happen. at best, he rolls his eyes and shoos you away with a "are you serious?" at worst, he's telling his fratbros about it and causing your social death. that's why you're doing it in private, under a sakura tree by his frat house, but not without messaging him first. what could go wrong?
shyestangel: um, hey sato! im ur secret admirer! meet me under the southernmost sakura tree by ur frat house tonight @8:30 <3 jo_sigmakappachi: geto is this u??? not funny bro
shyestangel: this isnt a joke😭 pls just come to the tree
jo_sigmakappachi: ok but idk what southernmost means
your legs nearly give out as you walk to the tree. half from the cold, half from the somewhat skimpy skirt you put on. he only listens to 22 inch waists and long lashes, neither of which you believe you have, so this is your way of compensating.
being the responsible student you are, you showed up 10 minutes early. that quickly backfired when he was 20 minutes late, because of course he was. now you're freezing, wishing you at least put tights on. it isn't until you see two bright, flaming blue eyes in the distance that you're knocked out of overthinking.
sato stalks toward you, nonchalant and unbothered. he's wearing a shirt that says "blink if you want me" with a backwards crimson hat and jorts, ethikas peaking out. before he even reaches the gnarly roots of the tree, you can smell his cheap cologne. still, he's magnetic, confident exterior pushing you towards him.
"whadd'ya want?" he asks, smacking on gum in your face. it's clear he's not looking at you, yet he's barely a foot away. stumbling, you barely manage to choke out your rehearsed confession.
"oh, i just wanted to t-tell you… i'm in love with you! i have been for so long! i see your cool parties, your hot thirst traps- ugh i mean posts!" you take a deep breath, making eye contact with the ground. "um, what i'm trying to say is, can i be your girlfriend?"
you look up to see him, somewhat stunned, eyes even brighter than before. he's stopped chewing, mouth pressed in a firm line. his silent response is deafening. now would be the perfect time to run away in embarrassment, but he speaks before you can.
"wow. thought you were some shy girl, didn't know you were into me like that."
it's not a no, at least. your ears perk up.
"so does that mean-" "but i'm not ready for a relationship right now. you're not my type either," he adds, like he's trying to say 'leave me the fuck alone' without actually doing it. he says it like he's said it a 1000 times before, words familiar in his mouth. what did you expect? he probably has a line of girls asking him out every day, all with much prettier faces than yours, you bet.
"please!" you shout, clenching your hands together in prayer, as if god will suddenly will this frat boy to change his ways and love you. "pretty please! don't even date me, just please talk to me! i'll give you all the homework answers for a week, promise!"
this makes his indifference waver. he looks at you with newfound sexual interest, like maybe you're not so insufferable.
"on second thought, why don't you come to my next party? we can talk about "homework" there, in my bedroom, if you don't mind." he finishes the sentence off with a wink, innuendo shining through.
you're jumping for joy. yeah, he basically just fuckzoned you, but that's better than nothing. he promptly leaves with a wave, eyes pausing on the hem of your skirt.
you can barely sleep, excitement pumping through your every vein. just as you're putting on your bonnet, a dm from sato launches you out of bed.
jo_sigmakappachi: 11pm, come through the front door. dont tell anyone ur coming, and wear something shorter. luved ur skirt
your heart skips a beat. 'he liked my skirt!' your bird brain thinks. thankfully, you're too tired to take another scroll on sato's private story, so you go to sleep.
it's tomorrow evening, pitch black out when you pull up to the party. the nauseating vapor of berry-blast 3000 vapes hits you before you even walk inside. you're on the front lawn, watching in goody two shoed-awe at the shenanigans taking place. there's half naked girls, an arm wrestle that looks to turn into a fight, and swaying bushes that are sure signs of couples getting up to no good.
ignoring it all, you walk up the front steps to the massive manor, heels clicking on the pavement. the bouncer barely acknowledges you, eyes glued to everything but your own.
it's sweaty and filthy inside, even worse than on the lawn. smells of cheap whiskey suffocates you, courtesy of people's breath fanning down your neck. there's shirtless guys hanging out with near shirtless girls pawing at their sides. definitely not your ideal saturday night, but interesting nonetheless.
you walk through the crowd, searching for sato. he's nowhere to be seen. what you do see is some pink haired man surrounded by other guys.
"c'mon, kuna! do it!" one shouts. a 6 foot god knows what guy bends over a table, nose to the cold plastic. there's some white stuff on the table, powdered like sugar. wait, is that guy snorting- y'know what, nevermind.
led by intuition, you end up finding yourself at the back of the house near the staircase. by the looks of it, this is where the white haired demon normally takes ig photos. luckily, he's there in all his sleazy glory.
turned away, he's monolouging to geto, the goth dude that's running your fav garage band. he's shouting about his last hookup for all to hear. "i was literally digging in her bro." suddenly, the black haired giant swivels towards you, violet eyes peering down.
"hey, you need somethin'?" he asks, pointing to his friend. "this girls been watchin' you for a while." you freeze, not expecting anyone to realize you were there. but he does, turning to you in disbelief.
for the first time ever, sato's red, and not because of alcohol or sex. his eyes damn near cross. "fuck, look at you… have we met before?"
"sato! we met last night, don't you remember?" you can't tell if you're more shocked or offended that he doesn't remember the girl he met barely 24 hours ago.
"no way! that was you? shit, that dress is working wonders." he's biting his lip, blue eyes floating down your figure. your admiral blue dress is skimpy, barely covering your ass and chest, and the cutouts on the side aren't leaving much to the imagination. your matching purse has you looking like a 90s wet dream. geto scoffs.
"is this that girl you were talking about earlier? thought you said she was a lame nerd-" his white haired friend karate chops him in his chest before he can continue, face bright red. he pushes his hair back, a nervous tick. "um, anyways, about that "homework," he drawls, recollecting himself. geto rolls his eyes.
"oh yeah. that." your eyes glance towards the staircase. sato's ushering you up them soon as the opportunity shows. he grips tighter once you're upstairs, other drunk frat guys barking obscene cheers when they see him leading you to his bedroom. the odd interaction between the men distracts from any anxiety you previously had. some of them fist bump. gross.
the room is surprisingly secluded, being on its own landing. "it's soundproofed, y'know," he informs, winking. your cheeks warm, a quiet "i know" coming out.
his room is surprisingly nerdy for a frat boy, other than the numerous playboy cutouts on the wall. it's decked out in comic posters, but the bed is simple and black, like something out of a porno. there's also a suspiciously placed mirror above it.
he throws himself on top of it, spreading his legs wide with an expectant look. "are you gonna get on your knees or what?"
"geez, pushy much," you mumble. he's pulling his pants off before you've even fully bent down.
his dick springs free, tip leaking and red. girls said it was big, but this is outrageous. it's curved and long, just like the porn stars you like that share a scary resemblance with him.
a shit eating grin is plastered on his face, like he knows he's the biggest you've ever had. actually, the only guy you've ever had. nows a great time to tell him that.
"wait! i've- i've never done this before. i'm a virgin." his eyes grow dark and low, predatory. if he was horny before, the way his dick throbs is putting that to shame. "fuck," he groans. "not like i haven't done one of y'all before." one of y'all, like you're a specimen. you slap his thigh.
"ouch, sorry!" "you better be," you mumble. "i'll guide you. i guess," he says, irritated. his hands are still planted to the bed. maybe he's expecting you to do all the work.
slowly, your tongue reaches his tip, licking the pre straight off. it's surprisingly yummy, encouraging you to take more. he's wasting no time in bucking his hips up, trying to stuff your face.
before you know it, half his cock is in your mouth. your only experience is from porn, and you know it's fake, but sato's loud ass moans are telling you to be even more eager, paint him with more spit.
you grab his thighs for leverage, nails digging into his skin. mascara is running down your face, eyes watery from the monster cock in your throat.
huge hands wrap in your hair. "shit-slow down-!" "thogh you likd this," you slobber out. it’s unbelievably nasty how your spit clings to him, dripping down to his balls. your lips are doing the same, kissing the base while your pink tongue licks at his nuts, trying to get a taste.
he's honest to god whimpering, moaning like a bitch in heat. his hands are trying to tug you off his dick, but they're so weak all he can do is hold onto your hair, praying he doesn't cum too quick.
"fuck-ngh- gonna cum, stop!" salivas dripping down his balls onto his spiderman rug. "shit, you're gonna pay for that!" you don't care, too focused on coaxing more moans out of him.
you're hollowing your cheeks, slurping all over him. it's hard not to hit him with your teeth, but his guiding hands make it easier. while his whines are heavenly, you only stop because your throat is getting tired of being filled. with a wet pop, you stop suckling, letting him free of your heavenly mouth.
birds are circling around his head, completely dazed. you take the opportunity to get on his bed, spreading your legs wide for him. there's a confused expression on his flushed face.
"what? aren't you gonna return the favor?" "i normally skip this part," he chuckles. "most girls don't really ask for that." he's surely lying.
"eat my pussy or i'm leaving." he stiffens, like he didn't think you were serious. "fine," he grumbles. his meaty forearms cage you in, head dipping down to your barely clothed cunt.
"matching panties, hm. i like that." his crassness makes you cover your face in shame. before you can utter another threat, he's ripping the lacy fabric off, bare flesh exposed to his warm breath. the way you shiver excites him, evident by the way his tongue starts lapping. "fuck, tasty ass pussy." for a guy who tried to avoid it, he' surprisingly good at pussy eating.
he's giving you a long, slow lick, from your hole to your clit, stopping to suckle on it. he never breaks eye contact, obsessed with your reactions. "mmph, feels good," you whimper. your praise spurs him on, turns languid licks into passionate tongue fucking. "i know it's good, baby. that's why i'm doing it."
his face is pressed against your pussy, nose grinding on your clit just right. fat globs of wetness trail down his chin, mixtures of his spit and your essence. it's dripping down your ass, shiny and obscene. hot pleasure is building in your tummy, threatening to spill all over his face.
now you're fully arched off the bed, hands curled in the sheets. his pretty lips are grinning against yours, reveling in the pleasure he's giving you. "you like when i suck on this clit?"
bed sheets crinkle as you feverishly nod, not in any place to answer. one of his thick arms moves down to your pussy, rubbing a long finger around your hole. you whine, not used to the sudden intrusion. "what, baby? thought you wanted this?" with a mouth full of your cunt, he finds a way to be snarky.
"s-shut up, ahh!" you're cut off by two slender fingers filling you up, curling in your hole deliciously. for a frat boy, he makes quick work of finding your g-spot.
once he does, he's fingering you hard and relentlessly. choked moans fill the room, along with the sound of sato's messy eating.
his free hand's pinning your thigh down, stopping you from squirming. it pauses to snake up your torso, grabbing greedy handfuls of your tits. the sting of his pretty fingers pinching your nipples hurts so good, makes you arch your back further into him. he's taking the opportunity to press his lips on your clit, eating you like he's starved.
"fuck, i'm gonna cum!-" "no you won't." cool air fans on your pussy as he takes his mouth and fingers away. he's stifling a laugh, eyes crinkling. "you're only cumming on my dick," he explains. "not wasting it on my tongue."
the air is knocked out of you when he flips you over on your back, forcibly arching it towards his dick. he's already lining his tip up with your hole, heat radiating off it. "wait! put on a condom first, at least." there's a low huff behind you.
begrudgingly, he gets one out of the bedside drawer, wasting no time in putting it on. with a harsh thrust, he fills you, immediately going into a relentless pace.
his length is dragging in and out deliciously, tip hitting that spongy spot inside that makes your toes curl. the bed frame is starting to creak and rock forward, making an even bigger dent in the wall in front of it.
"shit, you're tight," he grunts. "god, wished i woulda met you sooner, coulda fucked this pretty pussy ages ago." he's groaning through clenched teeth, trying not to whimper again.
"s-slow down, sato! too much!" he tries, he really does, to slow down, but it's more of a run than full gallop like before. "aww, can't take this dick?" he coos. by the way his hips smack into yours, angled and quick, it's obvious he's getting off on mocking your inexperience.
"no, it's just-ah-my first time." no one can deny that he has good dick, but you want to enjoy this. you're not risking losing a night of studying for a guy to fuck you and be done in 10 minutes.
finally, he slows to a gentle rock. maybe he's taken pity on the newly stretched cunt he's abusing. in the mirror, you can see him blushing, biting his lip trying to contain himself. now it's your turn to tease.
"never fucked a girl slow, huh?" you get why he's such a tease. it's fun. "shut up," he hiccups.
with the new slow pace, you can feel all of his veins dragging against your insides, hitting just right. your tight pussy clenches around him, a gasp coming from behind you. "oh my fuck. it's s' good, so good." sato's hunched over you, panting, praying he doesn't cum now.
meanwhile, your pretty pink walls are fluttering around him, causing his hips to stutter. his once steady pace is jagged, hips sporadically fucking into your doughy ass. "oh, c'mon!" you whine, knowing what's about to happen. "shit-mm sorry. feels too fuckin' good, 'm gonna-"
the last word is stuck in his throat, being choked by a loud sob. thick ropes fill the condom, threatening to pop it. his pretty blue eyes are squeezed shut, mouth agape, moaning your name. he's saying every curse in the book, and making some up.
the way his pelvis grinds into your ass is almost uncomfortable. he crumples in a wet heap on top of you. if it weren't for your quick thinking, he would've squashed you. you turn your head to see his eyes crossed like an anime girl.
"fuck, i'm sorry. i've never came that quick in my whole life." "i know," you deadpan. impossibly, he gets redder, blushing profusely. the 24k gold watch on his wrist says it's been barely 5 minutes. making a man twice your size pussywhipped is fun, but it's not so fun when you don't get a chance to cum. "didn't get mine," you mumble.
"i can uhh fuck you again, if you want. just gimme a sec."
surprisingly quickly, he regains his strength. he's on top of you again, fucking you deep like before. the main difference is it's slow, passionate. instead of fucking you prone, he has you folded up in a mating press, staring into your glossy eyes.
lost in the moment, you find yourself pressing light kisses all over him, lipgloss staining his skin. "f-fuck, sato. feel so good like this." he doesn't push you away when you grab his nape, forcing him deeper into the kiss.
hungrily, he presses into it, moaning into your mouth. his thrusts are deeper and deeper, hips rolling forward to meet yours. his white pubes are gracing your mound, rubbing your clit ever so slightly. there's an intimacy in his movements that you didn't expect. he's not fucking you to get it over with, he's making love to you.
it doesn't take long for you to finish. your orgasm is somehow more explosive than his, pretty legs wrapping around him, pushing him deeper while your walls suck his dick in.
you both sit in silence for a while, bathing in the afterglow. the room reeks of sex and your perfume that's currently covering sato.
"shit, that might've been the best fuck of my life." he's saying it like he can barely believe it himself. "sorry for being such a dipshit earlier. at the tree. i didn't mean any of it." he's avoiding your gaze, instead focusing on the bed. 'it's okay. i know you're used to that, being a fuck boy and all."
he laughs. "i mean, yeah. it's part of my brand, after all. but i swear i'm not that mean, especially not to pretty girls." heat grows on your cheeks. a cheeky smile plasters your face, abashed and wide. "thanks."
there's a beat of silence. he pauses, a puzzled look on his face like he's thinking about something. "got something on your mind?" you ask. "y-yeah. yknow, there's something i wanted to tell y-"
"bro, what's taking you so long? pool game starts in five."
the voice of an obviously inebriated man booms outside the door, cutting off the white haired man on top of you. "shit, that's eren. c'mon, get dressed," he whisper yells.
in a hurry, you both manage to get dressed and look kinda decent in a matter of seconds. unfortunately, sato has no trash can in his room, so he had to throw the condom out the window. you pray for the poor soul it landed on, a loud "what the fuck?!"coming stories below.
with a wobble in your gait, he walks you out of the room. eren's eyeing his friend, like he knows what happened. he probably does, judging by his friend's messy hair and bruised neck. frat guy #1 and #2 are laughing, slapping him on the back for a job well done. "he totally had her screaming, bro."
in your daze, you've ended up back on the front lawn. it's just you now, except for sato. he's digging his feet in the dirt, ruining the fresh turf. your car is parked in the same spot you left it. "this is where you go home, i guess." it's hard to tell if he wants to make you leave as soon as possible, or if he's just too flustered to say it nicely.
you do want to leave, escape this sweaty party, but there's a nagging worry inside you. tears are threatening to spill. you know it's stupid to catch feelings for a frat boy, especially not the biggest one on campus. still, the way he was in the bedroom felt special, like he meant it.
"um, sato?" "yeah?" shaking, you ask "am i just another hookup? like, is this it?" he stares like you've grown an extra head. his unexpected roaring laugh makes you jump. curled over in laughter, his hair is whipping around, making the scene like something out of a cheesy rom-com.
when he finally catches his breath, he wipes a tear from his eye and speaks. "are you crying? no way! you're actually pretty cool." he trails off, adding "plus, i don't want my friends stealing such a pretty girl away from me."
the gojo sato thinking you were cool was not how you expected this night to end. leaving you soon as he got his rocks off, sure, but this must be too good to be true. reading your mind, he says "i can prove it, but maybe not when i look like this." he gestures to his disheveled appearance.
you take it as your sign to part ways, stepping into your ride. before you lock the door, he's running up to the car. "hey. i wanted to give you this." you're looking around, because there's absolutely nothing he could have. "what do you m-" smooch.
it seems the nonchalant, crass, fuckboy sato gojo has kissed you. on the lips. he pulls away, a string of spit connecting your lips. unable to get words out, your jaw is parted slightly in shock.
"cat got your tongue, eh? c'mon, leave so you can pretend you weren't at this party. i've gotta start pool" he slaps the hood of your car, turning to leave with a wink. you swear he's giggling when you finally remember how to close your mouth again.
he watches you drive off, waving before you turn the corner. a giddiness is bubbling up inside, almost too much to contain. you end up screaming in your car, overcome with excitement.
walking to your dorm, heels in hand, a buzz in your purse nearly stops you in your tracks. you ignore it until you're inside, mind powering back up a little. the notifications almost make you drop the tiny talking device.
jo_sigmakappachi has followed you
jo_sigmakappachi: sooo, you gonna give me those hw answers orr👀
classic fratjo. he never changes.
a/n: and what if i told you reader only knows his room is soundproofed because she has the whole layout saved on her phone?
eeek, hard launch into writing for jjk! i've had this idea in my head for the longest, so i finally let it out. that's why i've been slacking on posting (also I had a fever), sorry. hope i did okay on the characterization. if i didn't, just politely lmk so i can improve! i really hope yall enjoyed, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!!!
Summary 🕸️ you were recently bit by a radioactive active spider and decided you wanted to use it for good. After a failed attempt at stopping a bank robbery, you were taken in by spider-man. He says he’ll show you the ropes, or webs, on how to be a hero. But how long until something bad happens?
Warnings 🕸️ guns, fighting, near death, talks of blood
Credits 🕸️ @/thecutestgrotto | @/sister-lucifer | art aliyartss on X
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Summary 🕸️ you were recently bit by a radioactive active spider and decided you wanted to use it for good. After a failed attempt at stopping a bank robbery, you were taken in by spider-man. He says he’ll show you the ropes, or webs, on how to be a hero. But how long until something bad happens?
Warnings 🕸️ mentions of death
Credits 🕸️ @/thecutestgrotto | @/sister-lucifer | art aliyartss on X
Part 3
You had woken up a bit earlier than your father did. It was Monday, which meant he started work a little later. You decided to make breakfast for the two of you.
Your mother before she passed taught you to make homemade pancakes, so you thought that’d make a good breakfast. You grabbed your ingredients, mixing your wet and dry ingredients separately. While you were mixing your wet ingredients, you knocked over the flour. Thankfully you had put on your new web shooters before you had started cooking. You pressed the button on your palm, grabbing the flour in a state of panic. But in your state of panic you failed to think what you were doing fully through- the entire bag of flour spilled all over the kitchen floor with a poof sound. You stood there for a moment, trying to process what an idiotic thing you just did.
You slowly knelt to the floor, holding the edge of the counter and hitting your head against the lower cabinets. You felt so unbelievably defeated you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself.
You picked up the now empty bag of flour and threw it away, grabbing your small hand vacuum. You cleaned up your spilled flour, thankfully without waking your father. You put your vacuum away and the ingredients you had finished using to avoid making the same mistake twice. You poured the two bowls together, mixing till combined.
You grabbed two pans, one for your pancakes and one for your eggs. You clicked the stove on, spraying it with non stick while it heated up. Once your pan was heated to temp, you did your best to pour decadent sized pancakes from the bowl you mixed everything in. Some were wonky, some were huge. As long as they taste good it doesn’t matter. You turned off the stove, moving the hot pan to the sink and rinsing it with cold water. You turned back around to put away the rest of your ingredients and clean the counters for your next step of breakfast.
You hummed softly to yourself as you finished up, setting your finished pancakes to the side. You spun on your heels to open the fridge, taking out six eggs and setting them on the counter next to you. Exactly like last time, an egg rolled off the counter- unlike last time, you were actually able to catch it with your web shooters. You let out a sigh a relief, closing your eyes. It was weird how heightened your senses suddenly were. It was like you knew that the egg was falling, abs you knew where it was in the air. You freaked you out a little so you decided not to dwell on the thought.
You cracked your eggs into a bowl, whisking them together with a fork. You clicked on the stove once again, letting your pan heat up. You were humming quietly to yourself, pouring your mixed eggs into the hot pan and letting them sit for a little. As you let them sit, you were scrolling on your phones web browser.
“Eat protein…” you read quietly to yourself, looking up what to do before working out. You pushed the eggs around in your pan with your spatula absentmindedly as you read through a few websites. Lots of stuff about protein and protein shakes- even preworkout whatever that was. You didn’t realize how intense people were about working out until that moment. You were an engineer student, you didn’t know the first thing about working out.
You father came in with a yawn, all put together for work already, “smells like mom in here-“ he said with a reminiscent tone. He walked behind you, ruffling your hair with his hand as he grabbed a coffee mug from the cabinet.
“Thank you, kiddo-“ he poured the rest of yesterday’s coffee into his mug, throwing it into the microwave to heat it up.
“Dad- ew-“ you laughed.
“It’s just day old coffee it’s not gonna kill me,” he chuckled back.
You had just finished up the eggs, clicking the stove off. You were about to ask your father for plates, but he was already putting them on the counter for you. You smiled, serving the two of you a few pancakes and eggs. You grabbed a container for the extra you made, putting them in.
“Who those for?” Your father questioned, knowing you weren’t one to overcook for the two of you.
Your face became flush, avoiding eye contact with your father. He raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?” He said simply, taking a bite of his eggs, “well whoever it is will certainly be lucky to have you- I’ll also be praying for them.”
“Oh stop it’s not like that-“ you mumbled, the container crunching closed, “and I’m not that bad either-“ you put your father’s coffee in front of him.
“Thanks-“ he chuckled.
You were having a hard time holding the container of pancakes and swinging at the same time, but somehow you had managed all the way to Satoru’s place. You pushed the window with one hand, crawling your way inside and shutting it behind you.
You had a stupid smile tugging on your lips, pulling your mask off. You turned the corner, “Satoru I’m- oh my god I’m so sorry!” You immediately turned around, your face and ears hot. Satoru turned to you, only wearing a pair of boxers. His hair was still damp from the shower, shaking his protein shake in his shaker. He couldn’t help but laugh at you.
“It’s ok you can look-“
“I don’t want to!”
“Do I look that bad?”
“No no no!” You spun on your heels to look at him, or around him, “you look great! I just- I-“ you let out an awkward breath, “I didn’t mean to walk in on you!”
Satoru’s face turned a soft shade of pink, shaking his head and continuing to laugh softly.
“This is for you!” You held out the pancakes in the container, occasionally glancing over at Satoru. His muscles were perfect in every way, his abs perfectly defined. Your heart was thumping loud in your ears, you were nervous he could hear it. It was impossible for you to hide your face, which only made it worse for you.
“Aw for me, rookie?” Satoru smiled. He took the container from you, “you’re to kind-“ he hummed, finding a plate to serve himself.
“Can you put a shirt and pants on please,” you squeaked out, still refusing to look at him.
“Only after I eat these pancakes-“ he hummed, not even bothering to reheat.
You don’t even know how you made it through the last few minutes- but you did. Satoru left the room to had changed into his spider suit and reconvened with you in his living room. You were looking at the old photos on his book shelf, filled sky different science text books. You didn’t wanna ask about any of the people in the photos- but you could tell who he was related to in a few. There were plenty of photos of him and a long, blacked haired man. He had strong bone structure and gauged ears- the two were laughing or smiling in every photo. It made your heart warm to see Satoru so happy.
“Ready to go, rookie?” Satoru broke the silence, startling you back to reality.
“Oh, yes-“ you turned to him, sliding your mask on.
The two of you swiftly swung from his apartment, the sun shining brightly in your eyes. Your spider suit began to automatically adjust to the sun, helping you see. The day wasn’t to hot, due to autumn being right around the corner. You were excited for cooler weather, just not for the snow that would follow after autumn.
You couldn’t help but stare at Satoru in front of you, watching how care free and smoothly he swung. He was of course flashy, like he’s always been as a hero. Satoru would do flips and spins. You thought it was cute. You had always admired spider-man, regardless of the guy in the press always shitting on him. You always thought to yourself- “he’s doing what’s right, protecting the people. A real hero doesn’t need to show his face.”
Though your father wasn’t a huge fan, for a few different reasons, but spider-man and the other heroes kept him busy. Buildings being destroyed- parks needing rebuilt. It kept the bills paid, but also hearing about how he was calling everyone in on a Sunday or a Saturday was tiring for him. He’s getting older, he should be more worried about retirement. That’s never how your father was, he was also equally concerned about the well being of the city and more importantly its people. You admired the care your father had.
“So uh- where are we going?” You yelled to him between swings.
He twisted around to look at you, somehow swinging backwards, “Oh you’ll see! Just promise not to hate me when we get there!”
Hate him? What the hell could that even mean? You felt anxiety creeping in, sending a shiver down your spine. A pit in your stomach growing.
Eventually the two of you stopped in front of a tall building. “Where are we?” You ask, absentmindedly messing with your palms and fingers.
“Patience, rookie. Patience.” He walked up to door, pressed a few numbers on the keypad, the door opening.
Satoru and you walked in, the door closing behind you. You scanned the concrete hallway, which was a sad beige color. You could hear the sound of grunting and leather on leather in the distance. You had eventually put two and two together. You were soon met with a huge gym, full of people working out.
“Welcome to the gym for heroes!” Satoru’s arms swung wide before falling back down to his. He pulled his mask off, you doing the same.
“This is insane-“ you were speechless, “just a week ago I was just- saving cats out of trees and now I’m here- in a room of heroes-“
Your heart began to race, a sense of panic settling in. Your breathing began to pick up, “I can’t do this-“ you were sucking in air, finding it hard to catch your breath. What if they made fun of you? What if they a looked at you and pointed? You had never worked out before and what if it showed? All these thoughts were running through your head, your anxiety taking over.
Satoru noticed you didn’t look excited, and you were staring off into the distance. He felt his head buzz, feeling like he needed to do something.
He placed a hand on your shoulder.
“Heroes of every age are here, Rookie- we’re here to help each other. No one’s gonna look at you funny. You’re not in highschool,” his bright blue eyes looked down at you, you looking up to meet his gaze. You were hit with a wave of calm, but you still were unable to catch your breath.
Satoru took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. You looked at him, your eyes getting lost in one another’s.
Your began to slow as you followed his breathing, eventually coming back to reality. “Sorry- I’ve just never been important like this before,” you sighed, hugging yourself as you looked at everyone working out.
“That’s why you’ve got me to help you out!” He nudged you with his elbow, “come on let’s get to it!” Satoru practically skipped away, you following close behind him. You hugged yourself as you walked, looking at everyone around you. Of course you didn’t know who was who, but it still made you nervous.
Satoru led you to a separate part of the building where there wasn’t many people, “so to start- when you’re a hero you gotta carry other people sometimes, so-“ Satoru picked up a weighted vest with ease, making you question how much it weighed. “So to start off we’re gonna do some back and core exercises!”
He helped you get the vest on, slowly letting go, “your powers have likely made you stronger, so don’t underestimate yourself,” he reassured.
As he set the weights on you, they felt heavy but not as heavy as you expected, “how much weigh is this?”
“A hundred pounds-“
“A hundred!-“ you realize we’re yelling, “a hundred pounds?” You lowered your voice. He laugh, “yes a hundred pounds, if you don’t believe me fine but I’m tellin’ the truth. Now let’s get started.” He pointed up to the ceiling, “I wanted you to crawl up and back. I wanna see how many times you can do it before failure. Let’s say today is evaluation day.” He took a step back, still looking at you. You walked towards the wall, taking a deep breath. “This is your chance to impress him- gotta do your best-“ you whispered to yourself as you stuck your hands to the wall. Slowly, you began to climb, each movement shaky but determined as Satoru watched silently. The weight was more while climbing than standing, but you managed. You eventually made it to the ceiling, resting there for a moment.
“Great work! Now come back down! If you make your movements slower, it’ll put your muscles to more work!”
“Ok!” You yelled back breathlessly, still needing another moment. You eventually started making your way back down, your muscles already tired. The wall felt higher going back, growing tired every step.
“How do you-huh… make it look so easy,” you asked as you made it back to the ground, leaning over onto your knees trying to catch your breath. Your mouth tasted like pennies as you heaved, you hated that taste. It felt like middle school gym class all over again.
He chuckled, “don’t give up yet, you’ve got a few more climbs in ya!” Satoru encouraged you, giving you the strength to go again.
Satoru watched you closely, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was quietly noting things- your form, your strength…the way your body moved up the wall- he shook his head, getting the thoughts out of his head.
You climbed the wall, surprisingly, four more times. The two of you had come a few more exercises with the weighted vest, each other hard than the last. You were beat.
Satoru clapped his hands together, "ok! Next we're gonna do some squats with the vest—"
You rubbed your face with you sleeve, sweat pouring down your face, "squats?" You like your body was on fire.
Satoru nodded, "yep! You heard me!" Satoru picked up another vest, putting it on himself. You could see what looked like the number 250 on the vest, but you couldn't tell. "I’ll do them with you."
when you had mostly caught your breath, Satoru began to speak, "to to a proper squat, you're gonna have your feet shoulder width apart—" He demonstrated, "you're gonna wanna dip low, I prefer to go hamstring to calf, but you can go however low you feel comfortable."
You looked down at your feet, shuffling them to be shoulder width apart. you took a deep breath, moving down into the first part of your squat. Satoru did the same.
You did your best to go as deep as you could, before struggling to get yourself into a standing position. You legs trembled, weak from your climbing. You squeezed your eyes closed, putting everything you had into it. Eventually you were standing again, more sweat pouring down your face.
"Great, again—" Satoru went back down.
You took another deep breath after letting a few go, before squatting back down with the same struggles.
The two of you had done a few more before you couldn't take it anymore. Practically collapsing to the floor from exhaustion.
You were on the floor, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, “are we done?” You nearly cried out, your whole body aching.
Satoru nodded, “yes, we’re done.” He reached out his hand to you, “Ice cream? My treat.”
You nodded eagerly, taking his hand and pulling yourself up. You groaned, letting the vest fall off your shoulders with a loud thud. You didn’t even care, you just wanted to get outside into the cool air.
The two of you walked, slowly catching your breath.
“So do you hate me?” He glanced over at you.
“A little-“ you replied.
“You did good today, you pushed yourself and I’m proud of that,” he gave you a gentle nudge.
“Thanks…but you’re not my friend right now-“ you were slowly catching your breath, taking one deep breath after another. They slowly became easier and easier. You felt stronger already.
You were currently sitting atop a tall building, legs hanging off the edge. You looked out over the city, enjoying how the sun painted the view in orange and yellow hues. You listened to the sounds of cars stopping and going, honking at one another. It all was home to you. Regardless of the slowly dropping temperature, you felt warm.
“Ok! One for you and one for me,” Satoru held to wrapped ice cream bars, handing you one before sitting down next to you, “I just got you vanilla,”
“Thats fine- thanks-“ you tore open the wrapper, shoving it into your little spider pocket. As you were about to take a bite, your phone began to buzz. You dug back into your spidey pocket and took out your phone. It was your dad.
“Hey dad what’s up?” You hummed, taking a bite of your icecream.
“Oh nothin, just checkin on you! You’re usually home by now so I wanted to make sure you’re ok.” You could tell there was some worry in his voice.
“Oh yeah- sorry I probably should’ve texted you. I’m ok though, I’m hanging out with that…”you glanced over at Satoru who was happily eating his ice cream, “friend I was telling you about this morning—“
“Oh are you now?” He chuckled, “well I’ll let you and this ‘friend’ of yours get back to whatever you two are doing! Love you, Kiddo,”
“Love you too, dad- bye.” You put your phone away, taking another bite of your icecream.
“You and your dad close?” Satoru questioned.
“Oh- uh yeah. Especially after my mom passed away earlier this year,” you felt slow rising sadness coming over you as you began to think more about your mother, “the pancakes I made earlier today were actually her recipe.”
“Well they were amazing, thanks again for those!”
You felt your face flush, “you’re welcome-“ you replied softly.
The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes as you two finished up your icecream bars. The sun eventually tucked his way behind the horizon, allowing the moon to leave her soft glow over you and Satoru.
You looked at Satoru to ask him a question, but his eyes were already fixed on you- admiring everything about you. You found yourself staring back, getting lost in the way the moon made his eyes look brighter. The moon danced across his skin, highlighting everything strand on his head and every feature on his face.
You felt like a magnet between you two, pulling your faces closer. You wanted to kiss him- to feel his soft lips entangled with yours. To know how he tastes…
You pulled away the second you realized what you were doing, your face heating up quickly. Satoru’s face also heated up, clearing his throat.
You stood up quickly, “I- uh- I gotta get going,” you stated, refusing to look at him.
“Ok- uh same time tomorrow?” He had never felt so awkward in his entire life.
“I can’t tomorrow- I have a really big final tomorrow.” You massaged the back of your neck, your heartbeat kicking your ribs.
“Oh ok- I’m sure I’ll see you in the meantime,” he smiled at you, making the feelings you were having much worse.
“See ya!” You quickly swung off.
Satoru sighed, running his hand over his face. He felt incredibly stupid. He leaned back to lay on the building, staring up at the sky and stars. Satoru groaned, “what’s wrong with me…” he whispered to him, “what’s wrong with me!” He yelled out to the moon and her glow. For the first time in his life, he wanted to curl up and disappear.
He thought about the first time he saw you, a few weeks ago. You were simply helping an older women across the street- so simple but he thought you were beautiful. He hadn’t seen you since that moment, until he took off your mask after you were shot at that bank.
Even though he never met you, he felt like he was losing something. Satoru hadn’t let go of that feeling. You felt important, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t question it either. He just continued to stare at the stars, looking for an answer he knew he wouldn’t find.
He was falling for you hard, and it terrified him.
You leg shook as you stared up at the clock. Every second passing slower than the last, your heartbeat kicking your ribs. The clicking of the clock filled the silent room.
Click…click…click…Your eyes didn’t remember the last time you blinked. You took a deep breath, realizing you hadn’t breathed either.
Every time Satoru was sent on a dangerous mission you were like this. It doesn’t matter how many times he reassures you, saying he’s the strongest. You knew that, but that’s never laid your anxieties to rest. Every second that past felt like it stretched longer than the last, your heart kicking your ribs.
Click…click…click…
Your leg was growing sore from bouncing for so long. Your mind telling you you didn’t give him a proper goodbye- that he’d never walk through those doors again. That’d you never get to hear his sweet voice say your name, or feel his touch. The way he looked at you, so obviously obsessed with you. The way he’d grab your hips from behind and sway, kissing the crook of your neck. You were so terrified to lose him.
“Oh love I’m home!” He shouted into the silent house, immediately feeling a sense of relief. You jumped off the couch, making your way to Satoru at he took off his shoes in the entry way. You jumped at him, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. Satoru smiled, everything from his day washing away just at the sight of you.
His hands instinctively fell to your hips, pulling you close to his waist. “Miss me that bad?” Satoru chuckled, swaying your hips against his.
“You know I always do,”
He hummed, his hand snaking its way behind your neck. Satoru leaned in close, his breath sending shivers all over your body, “May I?” He asked in a hushed voice.
You melted instantly, “you may-“ you spoke just above a whisper.
He kissed you gently, his soft lips molding to you. Satoru pulled you a little closer with his other hand, the hand around the back of your neck making its way into your hair. Every gesture he made sent you over the moon.
“You know I’ll always come home to you,” he whispered against your lips, looking at you with those blue eyes.
“I know, bluebell.”
“I’ll tell you as many times as I have to,” he reconnected his lips with yours, soft and full of love.
You always knew he’d come home if you were waiting for him.
five times gojo thinks of proposing to you and one time he does.
contents. gojo x fem!reader • tooth rotting fluff • a lot of i love you’s • some light angst • in yearner satoru we trust
i.
it’s raining. this is that miserable kind of raining that seeps through the seams of his jacket, plasters his white hair to his forehead and makes the fluorescent lights of the 24-hour convenience store flicker like they’re also tired of existing.
you’re standing in front of the instant ramen section, waddling around because your shoes broke three blocks ago and are heavy with water, shivering in his oversized hoodie that he’d draped over you the moment he saw your teeth chattering. your hair is damp and sticking to your cheeks, and you’re squinting at the different flavor packets like they hold the secrets to the universe.
“spicy or chicken?” you ask him, turning slightly. there’s a drop of water clinging to your lower lip.
gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer of his generation, a man who has stared down curses that would make lesser men weep, feels his heart do something stupid in his chest. it’s inconvenient, really. he’s supposed to be above this— above the mundane domesticity of convenience store runs and broken sandals and wet hair plastered to sleepy faces.
but you’re wearing his hoodie. you’re standing in a fluorescent-lit hellscape at 11:47 pm on a tuesday, and you’re asking him about ramen flavors like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
“spicy,” he says, his voice coming out softer he thinks it does.
you nod and grab two cups, and when you turn back to him, you give him a smile— small and tired and pretty— and he thinks i want to wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life.
the thought is so sudden and so loud that he almost chokes on his own spit.
he watches you walk to the counter, watches you fumble with his card. you’re so ordinary in the best possible way. you’re not a sorcerer, not a clan heir, not someone the world expects anything from except to live and be happy.
and you chose him.
the rain drums against the glass doors as you come back to him, holding out the bag. “let’s go home, toru,” you say, your voice muffled by the hoodie’s collar pulled up to your nose.
home. you call it home and he calls it home too. your small apartment, the one with the broken lock on the bathroom door and the neighbor who practices violin badly at 6 am. his home.
his hand twitches toward his pocket, where he absolutely does not have a ring because he hasn’t bought one, because this is insane, because you’ve only been together for a year and a half and that’s not even that long in the grand scheme of things.
but the word home echoes in his skull like a prayer, and he thinks— i could do it. i could ask her right now, in this ugly convenience store, with rain in my shoes and ramen in my hands.
he doesn’t, of course. he’s not that reckless. probably.
“let’s go home, baby,” he agrees, and he takes the bag from you with one hand and wraps the other around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. you’re warm despite everything, and you fit there perfectly, like you were designed for it.
the ring box stays imaginary in his pocket all the way back to the apartment.
ii.
it’s not even his injury. that’s the worst part.
gojo is fine— annoyingly, immortally fine— but you’d taken a hit for a civilian during a mission gone sideways, and now you’re behind a set of double doors with a concussion and three broken ribs, and he’s sitting in a plastic chair that squeaks every time he moves.
he hasn’t moved in forty-seven minutes.
shoko had looked at him with something between pity and exasperation when she’d examined you. “she’ll be fine, satoru. stop looking like someone killed your dog.”
but he can’t stop. his leg is bouncing, his hands are clasped too tight in his lap, and every time a shoko walks by he almost jumps out of his skin.
you’re fine. you’re fine. you’re fine.
the doors open and you’re wheeled out on a gurney, pale and groggy but awake, and your eyes find him immediately like they always do; they’re magnets and he’s north.
“toru,” you say. your voice is hoarse and so small that he wants to wrap you in bubble wrap and never let you leave the apartment again.
“hey,” he says, and he’s beside you before he remembers standing up, his hand finding yours. your fingers are cold. “you’re an idiot.”
“i know,” you say with a smile. it’s weak and wobbly and it makes his chest ache.
they move you to a room and he sits in the chair beside your bed, holding your hand while you drift in and out of sleep. the fluorescent lights buzz overhead. the heart monitor beeps a steady rhythm. you look small against the white hospital sheets, smaller than you ever look anywhere else, and he hates it.
at some point, you wake up properly, blinking at him with those eyes he’d drown for. “how long have you been here?”
“few hours.”
“you should go home. sleep.”
“not leaving.”
you sigh, but there’s no real frustration in it. your thumb traces circles on the back of his hand. “you’re so stubborn.”
“learned from the best.”
you laugh, then wince because of the ribs, and he immediately leans forward like he can somehow absorb the pain from you. “don’t make me laugh, asshole.”
“sorry. sorry.” he presses his forehead to your knuckles. your skin is warm now, finally. “you scared me.”
“i’m okay.”
“you got hurt.”
“i’m okay.” your free hand comes up to card through his hair, causing him to make a sound he’ll deny later. “i’d do it again.”
“don’t,” he says, and his voice cracks in a way that would embarrass him if he had any room for embarrassment left. “don’t ever do it again. i can’t—i can’t lose you.”
you’re quiet for a moment. the heart monitor beeps. somewhere down the hall, shoko curses.
“you’re not going to lose me,” you say finally, softly. “i’m right here.”
he lifts his head to look at you. you’re smiling at him like he’s not a mess and it’s not him who is sitting in a hospital chair with dark circles under his eyes and a crick in his neck. like the fact that he’s here and he’s satoru is enough.
he wants to marry you.
the thought is quiet this time, not loud and sudden but soft and settling, like snow. he wants to marry you. he wants legal documentation that says you’re his. he wants to be the one they call when you’re in a hospital bed. he wants to be family, not just boyfriend, not just partner, but yours completely.
his hand tightens around yours.
“what?” you ask, because you always notice everything.
“nothing,” he says. “go back to sleep.”
you do, eventually, your hand still in his. and he watches you breathe, in and out, steady and alive, and he starts mentally calculating how long it would take to get a ring custom-made.
iii.
the sky explodes in gold and crimson and you’re standing so close that your shoulder presses against his, your face tilted up toward the light like you’re trying to drink it in.
fireworks have never done anything for gojo. he’s seen more impressive displays of cursed energy before breakfast. but you’re happy— genuinely, your mouth curved into a soft smile, your eyes reflecting every burst of color— and he can’t look away from you.
the crowd jostles around them. children shriek with delight. couples hold hands and take photos. you’re wearing a yukata he’d helped you tie earlier, fumbling with the obi until you’d laughed and pushed his hands away and done it yourself.
“look, look,” you say, pointing at a particularly large bloom of green and purple. “that one’s pretty.”
“yeah,” he says, but he’s not looking at the sky.
you turn to catch him staring and raise an eyebrow. “you’re supposed to be watching the fireworks, dummy.”
“i’m watching something better.”
“that’s so cheesy.”
“you love it.”
you don’t deny it. instead, you lean your head against his shoulder, and he feels the warmth of you through the thin fabric of his own kimono. the fireworks continue to explode overhead, painting your skin in fleeting colors— blue, then pink, then white.
a group of children runs past, laughing, one of them bumps into your side. you stumble, just slightly, and his arm goes around your waist automatically, steadying you.
“careful,” he murmurs.
“i’m fine.”
but you don’t pull away, and neither does he. his hand rests on your hip, and you’re so close that he can smell your shampoo— floral, soft, something that makes him think of mornings and pillowcases and shared showers.
the fireworks finale begins, a chaotic symphony of light and sound that makes the ground vibrate beneath their feet. the crowd cheers. someone sets off a sparkler nearby, and the scent of gunpowder fills the air.
you turn your face up toward him, the light catching your eyes, and you’re so beautiful it hurts.
“thank you for bringing me,” you say.
“thank you for coming with me.”
you beam, and he thinks about the ring he’d looked at online last week— the one with the sapphire, because he’d want you to always carry something that resembles him in some kind of way, and he’d thought that’s the one but he hadn’t bought it because buying a ring online feels wrong, feels too impersonal for something that’s supposed to hold this.
but standing here, with your body warm against his and your smile soft in the fading light, he thinks he should have bought it anyway. he thinks he should get down on one knee right now, in the grass, with the last of the fireworks fizzling out behind him.
“hey,” he starts. his voice is strange in his own ears.
“hmm?”
he looks at you, properly, intently. the curve of your cheek, the way your hair falls across your forehead, the small scar on your chin from when you’d tripped over his shoes last month.
“nothing,” he says. “just happy.”
your expression softens into something so tender it’s almost too much for him to handle. “me too.”
he doesn’t propose at the fireworks festival. he doesn’t have a ring, and the moment doesn’t feel big enough— not because it’s small, but because he wants more. he wants you surrounded by people who love you, or maybe just the two of you in a quiet room, or maybe something in between. he wants it to be perfect.
but standing there, with your hand slipping into his and your fingers interlacing like they’ve done it a thousand times before, he makes a promise to himself.
soon. it’ll be soon.
iv.
you don’t cry often.
that’s the thing about you: you’re steady in a way he’s never learned to be. you take things in stride. you handle his chaos with a patience that borders on supernatural. you’ve seen him at his worst, hollow-eyed and trembling after missions that went wrong, and you’d held him without a single word of judgment.
so when he finds you in the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet lid with tears streaming down your face, something in him fractures.
“hey,” he says, dropping to his knees in front of you. “hey, what’s wrong? what happened?”
you shake your head, trying to wipe your face with the back of your hand, but the tears keep coming. “it’s stupid.”
“i don’t care if it’s stupid. tell me.”
you take a shaky breath. “that necklace you gave me, your first gift to me. i—i can’t find it anywhere, and i’ve looked everywhere, and it’s gone, and i know it’s just a thing and i have more, but you gave it to me and i always wear it, and—”
you break off with a sob as he pulls you into his chest without thinking. you cling to him, your fingers digging into his shirt, and he holds you as tight as he dares.
“it’s not just a thing,” he says into your hair. “it’s important to you. that makes it important.”
“i’m being ridiculous. ”
“you’re not.”
“i’ve been crying for twenty minutes over a necklace.”
“and i’d cry for twenty days if i lost something you gave me.”
you laugh wetly against his chest and he feels the vibration of it, feels the way your body relaxes slightly. he rubs your back in slow circles, the way you do for him when he’s the one falling apart.
“i’ll find it,” he says.
“you can’t just—”
“satoru gojo, master of the impossible. remember?” he pulls back just enough to look at your face, to thumb away the tears still clinging to your lashes. “i will find your necklace if i have to tear this entire city apart tile by tile.”
“don’t be dramatic.”
“i’m never dramatic. i’m perfectly reasonable.”
you snort. it’s such a normal sound, that he grins despite the tightness in his chest.
“i love you,” you say quietly, with your voice raw and wrecked and it hits him like a physical blow.
he thinks about the ring in his nightstand drawer.
he’d bought it last week, finally, after weeks of indecision. it’s simple— a thin gold band with a small diamond, nothing flashy because you’ve never been flashy. he’d held it in his palm for a long time before putting it in the drawer, and he’d told himself he was waiting for the right moment.
this isn’t the right moment. you’re crying on a bathroom floor, your face blotchy and your nose running, and you’ve never looked more human, more real, more his.
he wants to ask you. he wants to open his mouth and say the words and watch your eyes go wide. he wants to tell you that he’ll spend every day of the rest of his life finding things you’ve lost, fixing things that are broken, holding you when you cry.
but you’re vulnerable right now and he doesn’t want to take advantage of that. he doesn’t want you to say yes because you’re sad and he’s here and it feels like the right thing to do in the moment.
so he doesn’t.
instead, he kisses your forehead and says, “let’s go look for that necklace together.”
you nod, wiping your face one more time. “okay.”
you find it three hours later, wedged between the bed frame and the wall, and the way you light up when you see it— the way you clutch it to your chest like a lifeline— makes him think that maybe the right moment is just whenever you’re you.
but still. he waits.
v.
you’re making pancakes.
it’s such a mundane thing, such an insignificant thing, but gojo wakes up to the smell of batter and butter and the sound of you humming off-key in the kitchen, and he thinks this is it. this is what i want forever.
the sun is streaming through the windows, catching the dust motes floating in the air. your hair is a mess, sticking up in the back where you’d slept on it wrong. you’re wearing his t-shirt— the old one with the hole in the collar— and nothing else, your bare feet on the cold tile floor.
you haven’t noticed he’s awake yet. you’re too focused on flipping pancakes, your tongue poking out slightly in concentration, and he watches you from the doorway with something so big and so warm in his chest that he’s surprised he doesn’t burst.
“you’re staring,” you say without turning around.
“how do you always know?”
“i can feel your eyes on me. it’s creepy.”
“it’s affectionate.”
you turn then, spatula in hand, and you’re smiling at him— that easy, unguarded smile that’s just for him. “good morning, sleepyhead.”
“good morning, pancake princess.”
you roll your eyes and turn back to the stove, and he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. you lean back into him instinctively, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“how’d you sleep?” you ask.
“fine. you?”
“had a weird dream about a talking white cat.”
“was it cute?”
“very annoying, actually.”
he laughs into your neck, and you shiver slightly, and he presses a kiss to the spot behind your ear that always makes you melt.
“i’m trying to cook,” you protest, but you tilt your head to give him better access anyway.
“mm. you’re doing great.”
“you’re distracting me.”
“i’m supporting you.”
you elbow him gently, but he just tightens his arms around you, and for a moment the world narrows to this— the warmth of the kitchen, the sizzle of pancake batter hitting the pan, the softness of your body against his.
he thinks about the ring again. it’s still in his nightstand drawer, hidden beneath a pile of socks he should have folded weeks ago. he’s taken it out a dozen times in the past month, held it in his palm, imagined sliding it onto your finger.
but the moment has never felt right. there’s always been something— a mission, a bad day, a distraction. he’s been waiting for perfect, for the kind of moment they write songs about, for something that feels big enough to hold everything he feels for you.
and maybe that’s the problem. maybe perfect doesn’t exist.
maybe perfect is this. sunday morning, bare feet on cold tile, pancakes burning slightly because he’s distracting you. maybe perfect is the way you fit against him like you were made to be there. maybe perfect is the off-key humming and the holey t-shirt and the sun on your face.
“i love you, baby,” he says. the words come out different than usual, heavier with meaning. “i love you so so much.”
you tilt your head back to look at him, and your eyes are soft and curious. “i love you too.”
he almost says it. the words are right there, on the tip of his tongue, three words and a question and the rest of his life. marry me. marry me. marry me.
but then the smoke alarm goes off because the pancakes are definitely burning now, and you shriek and push him away and grab the smoking pan, and the moment scatters like startled birds.
he laughs, watching you fan the smoke detector with a dish towel, and he thinks soon. soon soon soon.
+ i.
it’s three in the morning and you’re both still awake for no good reason.
the apartment is dark except for the blue glow of the television, which is playing some terrible late-night infomercial about a vegetable chopper that neither of you is watching. you’re lying on the couch with your head in his lap, your legs draped over the armrest, and he’s been absently running his fingers through your hair for the past hour while you scroll through your phone.
neither of you has said anything important in a while. it’s just the comfortable kind of silence, the kind that comes after two years of learning each other’s rhythms, of knowing when to talk and when to just be.
on the screen, a man with too much enthusiasm is dicing an onion at impossible speed.
“we should get that,” you murmur, not looking up from your phone.
“the vegetable chopper?”
“yeah. think of all the time we’d save.”
“we don’t even cook that much.”
“we could cook more if we had a vegetable chopper.”
he snorts. “that’s the most ridiculous thing i’ve ever heard.”
you finally look up at him, and your phone’s light casts strange shadows on your face, making you look like something out of a dream or maybe a horror movie, depending on the angle. your eyes are tired but warm, there’s a small smile playing at your lips.
“you should spoil me,” you say.
“i already do!”
“not enough.”
“fine. but we’re not buying that vegetable chopper.”
you laugh, soft and sleepy, and close your eyes. his fingers resume their path through your hair, and he watches your face relax, watches the tension melt out of your shoulders.
and he thinks again— this is right.
not the fireworks. not the perfect sunset. not the grand gesture he’s been building up in his head for months. just this: three in the morning, terrible infomercial, your head in his lap, and the overwhelming, bone-deep certainty that he doesn’t want to spend another day of his life without being able to call you his spouse.
the ring is in his pocket.
it’s been in his pocket for three days now, ever since he’d stuffed it there on a whim, telling himself he’d find the right moment. he’d almost pulled it out at dinner. almost pulled it out on the walk home. almost pulled it out when you’d tripped over the welcome mat and cursed creatively.
but he’d talked himself out of it every time. too soon. too cliché. too much.
but now, with the infomercial guy enthusiastically demonstrating the vegetable chopper’s julienne function, and your breathing slowing into something that might be sleep, he realizes that the right moment isn’t something you find.
it’s something you make.
“hey,” he says softly.
“mm?”
“don’t fall asleep. i need to ask you something.”
you open one eye. “at three in the morning? about the vegetable chopper?”
“no.” his heart is pounding. his hands are shaking slightly, and he hopes you can’t feel it through his fingers in your hair. “something else.”
you sit up slowly, blinking at him, and the movement makes him lose contact with your hair. your hand finds his instead, your fingers intertwining with his like they’ve done a thousand times before.
“you look weird,” you say. “are you okay?”
“i’m fine. i’m great. i’m—” he takes a breath. “i’m in love with you.”
you raise an eyebrow. “i know, toru. you tell me that like five times a day.”
“i know. but i mean—” he laughs, a little breathless, and pulls his hand away from yours to reach into his pocket. “i mean it in a specific way tonight.”
your eyes widen as his fingers close around the small velvet box. you’re looking at his hand, then at his face, then back at his hand, and your mouth falls open slightly.
“is that—”
“it’s not a vegetable chopper,” he says, and pulls out the ring.
he’d spent weeks looking at rings, had even asked megumi for advice (which had been a disaster—the kid had just stared at him for a full thirty seconds before saying “i don’t know, just pick one”). but this one had felt right the moment he’d seen it.
“satoru,” you whisper.
“i had this whole thing planned,” he says, and his voice is shaking now, he can hear it, and he doesn’t care. “i was gonna take you somewhere nice. do the whole dinner-and-candlelight thing. get down on one knee like a normal person. but i kept waiting for the perfect moment, and it never came, because—” he swallows. “because every moment with you feels perfect. even the ones where we’re watching commercials at three in the morning.”
your eyes are wet. he can see the shine of tears in the blue glow of the television.
“so i’m not gonna wait anymore,” he says. “i’m not gonna wait for the right restaurant or the right weather or the right anything. because i don’t need any of that. i just need you.”
he shifts on the couch, turning to face you properly. he doesn’t get down on one knee— there’s no room, and honestly, he’s pretty sure he’d trip over the coffee table— but he takes both of your hands in his, the ring box pressed between your palms.
“marry me,” he says. “because i want to come home to you every day. because i want to argue about vegetable choppers with you for the rest of my life. because you’re the first person i want to tell when something good happens, and the only person i want to hold me when something doesn’t.”
you’re crying now, tears, rolling down your cheeks, and you’re laughing at the same time, which is such a you thing to do that his heart feels like it might burst.
“you’re proposing,” you say, your voice cracking, “while an infomercial is playing in the background.”
“that guy can be our witness.”
you laugh harder, and you’re nodding, you’re nodding, and he hasn’t even heard the word yet but your head is moving up and down and you’re squeezing his hands so tight it almost hurts.
“yes,” you say. “yes, you absolute idiot. yes.”
he kisses you before he even puts the ring on you. his hands cup your face, and you’re both laughing into the kiss, and it’s messy and wet and perfect in a way that nothing else has ever been.
when he finally pulls back, his forehead against yours, he slides the ring onto your finger. it glints in the television light, catching the blue glow and turning it into something softer.
“it fits,” he says, surprised.
“did you measure my finger while i was sleeping?”
“…maybe.”
you look at the ring, then at him, and your smile is so wide it crinkles the corners of your eyes. “i love you. i love you so much.”
“i love you too,” he says. and then, because he’s still him, because he’ll always be him: “so… we can get the vegetable chopper, i guess. as an engagement gift to ourselves.”
you shove his shoulder, but you’re laughing, and he’s laughing, and somewhere on the television the infomercial guy is still dicing onions with reckless abandon.
neither of you notices. you’re too busy looking at each other, at the ring on your finger, at the rest of your lives starting right here, right now, in this ridiculous, wonderful, imperfect moment.
and gojo thinks that he’s never been happier to be wrong about what perfect looks like.
[ an. hello hello!! permanent taglist spots are still open!! ]
Synopsis: You're childhood best friends with Satoru Gojo, who you've been avoiding ever since he got into a motorcycle accident. When your mutual friends force you to go to his birthday party, feelings arise, and clothes come off!
Pairing: Gojo x Reader
Content (MDNI): Biker!gojo, Scar!jo, childhood friends to lovers, gojo did almost die in a motorcycle accident, physical rehab, reader mentions being afraid to see gojo's lifeless body, but he's not dead, gojo is battered up (scar!jo), pwp if you squint for the first five hundred words, body worship, they're both pervs hk, p worshiping, p slapping, slight marathon if you also squint, idiots in love, filthy and i mean filthy dirty talk, fingering, creampies, man-handling...i think that's it
Word count: 10.2k...i got carried away. sue me.
A/N: I haven't published fan fiction in YEARS, mind you, but this one TikTok that talked about Scar!Jo being Biker!Jo, after an accident, and i just had to write it.
It was rare for you to hate anything. It was even rarer for you to hate anything related to your friends. You strongly disliked the way Toji would kick his feet up on your coffee table whenever he was over. You were agitated by how nitpicky Geto was whenever everyone went out to eat. You were irritated by the loud scream Yuji and Choso let out after they splashed you with water at Nanami’s last summer party.
You hated Gojo’s motorcycle. You downright despised the unnecessarily loud, clunky, piece of metal death machine that Gojo so happened to still proudly (stupidly) love. Your dislike for that motorcycle really started when he first showed up to your place at nine at night to pick you up for Shoko’s thirtieth birthday party. You walked for fifteen minutes out of the neighborhood before Gojo finally convinced you to get on, and you absolutely despised it. You especially detested the way your legs wobbled, both feeling so unsteady because of the motorcycle, and also from having to grip Gojo so hard that his cologne still hadn’t fully detached from your mind.
However, the biggest reason you hated that motorcycle was that it almost cost you your best friend. It’s been months since you got that call from Geto telling you Gojo was in the hospital because of a motorcycle accident. Apparently, it was pretty bad; he had been unconscious from the amount of blood he lost. Surgery was inevitable if he survived, and by Shoko’s words, it was a miracle that he did. Now every time you see a motorcycle, a pit of disgust builds inside of you, and it takes every part of your rational mind not to bash the thing apart outside of a random store. So, as is normally the case, you silently seethe throughout the day until it’s been so long you just get over it, though a motorcycle wasn’t always necessary for that to happen.
“So are we going to talk about it?” Shoko’s words confuse the hell out of you. It must be obvious the way she sighs, and Geto laughs without looking up from his phone, probably texting another girl. “Are you going to continue to sit there and pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about?”
“So, I actually have no idea what you’re talking about?” Another bold-faced lie to two of the people you care about the most.
“Oh, c’mon, Y/N. Next week, not ringing any bells for you?” You retrace the days until you’re hit with an upcoming December 7th. Now Suguru's smugness makes sense. Instead of admitting that you know what they’re talking about, you slump back into the couch and pick the next best option— playing dumb.
“Hmmm, nope. Nothing’s coming up.” That finally pulls Geto away from his phone, and Shoko puts her unlit cigarette down, to just deadpan. Their stares linger long enough for you to finally give in with a sigh. You couldn’t ignore his existence forever. “Yeah, I know.”
“We’re throwing something for him. You should be there.” That uncomfortable pit in your stomach opened up again. It had been months since you last saw Gojo. You didn’t even see him when he was in the hospital; you couldn’t bring yourself to. Seeing him all managed up, tubes sticking out of him, face uncharacteristically unresponsive to you made you nauseous, but not seeing him all that time made seeing him now harder.
“I don’t think either of us wants to see each other, or else we would have by now.”
“You don’t want to see him for some reason, but he wants to see you.” Suguru’s words hit the dead center of your armor, stinging you a little.
“He asks about you all the time,” Shoko adds, another stinging sensation.
“It’s honestly starting to get annoying.” You can’t help but laugh at Geto’s words. If anyone was being forced to put up with Satoru, it’s Suguru. They’d been best friends for what felt like a lifetime. You’d know, you and Satoru had been friends for an actual lifetime. You remember when Suguru Geto first became friends with Satoru, after all, Satoru practically forced you two to get along. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed your shared obnoxious best friend.
You’d actually be doing more than lying, whatever is worse than lying. That's what you’d be doing if you said there wasn’t a Satoru-sized hole in your life.
Anyone in their right mind would miss their childhood best friend. Especially if they beat the odds against dying, but that feeling of seeing Gojo— stupidly walking around, talking, and somehow taking all the space when doing so, laughing loudly with no regard for volume—felt wrong. All you could imagine is his lifeless body on the operating table, and a bunch of words you wished you had said hanging on your lips. If you’re being honest, that’s the reason you won’t see him. You were too much of a coward to admit you were madly in love with your best friend, and after surviving, you don’t think you could hide it from him anymore.
If he didn’t feel the same, it might kill you on the spot. To know that the person you loved more than anything got the chance to live again, and you can’t be there because of something as potentially one-sided as feelings, was too much. The lump in your throat builds, and you’re blinking back tears, realizing the two other people in the room were watching you struggle.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s probably mad that I haven’t seen him, and I don’t blame him. Why would he even want me there?” Shoko sighs and turns around with a simple "whatever," but Suguru keeps his eyes on you, unmoved by your words.
“This is his first birthday after almost dying, and all he wants is to see you. I’m not saying you have to stay long, but…” His phone vibrates in his lap, a loud buzz filling the room and cutting him off, “…give the guy a proper goodbye if you’re set on not seeing him anymore. He deserves it.” With that, he hops up off the couch and answers whoever is on the other side of the phone.
You hate Suguru Geto so much. You hate how good he is at reading people and getting under their skin without all the information. However, you’re sure that he knows that you’re head over heels for his best friend. Which makes you standing inside of Satoru’s house dressed up, and almost about to pass out, even more sinister on his part. Shoko had warned you it was a surprise party, but you didn’t think sitting in Satoru’s place without him would make you feel so nauseated.
It was almost the same. The same art that you put up on his living walls still held in place, the couches you fell asleep on way too many times to count, even the busted KitchenAid mixer that Toji had gotten (stolen) from his ex (situationship) still sat on the polished marble counter—a perfect capsule of time, unmoved by the months of change in Satoru’s life.
You wondered if he had stayed the same?
“Nanami just texted me! Everyone in position!”
For those few minutes of you hiding alongside Suguru and Shoko, you felt the anxiety at its peak. Palms sweating profusely, heart about to break your ribcage, breathing rapid enough that it makes Shoko pull you towards her. Calming you down slightly enough to force a smile on your face when the lights come back on and scream surprise. For a moment, you forgot that you hadn’t seen your best friend in months until your eyes looked past his familiar white hair. His ghostly pale skin is covered in deep beige scars. They litter his body, one after the other, past his black top, and you assume the rest of his body.
That accident was written all over him. Seeing him didn’t make you as sad as you expected. It made you angry, angry at yourself for making him go through this change by himself. That anger almost completely takes you over before your eyes bounce to his— the same blue eyes that always make your breath catch. Gojo could never hide what he was thinking. The look of utter shock caught in his eyes pointed directly at you. He looked like he saw a ghost, and just as you were getting ready to say something, Haibara moved forward with his specially decorated birthday hat.
The party moved on as normal, or as normal as a party could while you’re actively dodging the host. Especially, after he stared you down whenever the group sang Happy Birthday. You managed to avoid the birthday boy at his own party. The getaway plan was even better. You’d go to the garage to grab another case of beers for everyone before saying goodbye. Fortunately for you, no one was nearby to see you sneak into the dark room. Clumsily, you look around trying to find the switch, praying you don’t accidentally open the garage door, before finding it.
Instead of your sweet ticket out of the party, you’re met with a motorcycle. Satoru’s motorcycle, specifically. In absolute pristine perfect condition. Something about seeing the motorcycle made you livid. Why the hell would he keep something like that around?
“If you were planning on never speaking to me again, I highly recommend not coming to my birthday party at my house.”
The words immediately freeze your anger into fear. Your heart drops to your feet when you turn to be met with a clearly very pissed-off Gojo. Arms crossed his broad chest, making him only look wider. Unlike most other people, Satoru's eyes get brighter when he’s angry, pissed, or irritated. Right now, two piercings, cold blue eyes stared down at you, locking you in place. You scramble for words to say, looking around for anything that could help you before you see it again, and your anger comes back.
“You still have the motorcycle?” The words come out with more bite than you mean, but right now, you really want to scream at him for being so reckless. He scoffs before laughing, almost maniacally.
“Are you kidding right now? You avoid me for months, and the first thing you have to say is some smart remark about the motorcycle? Seriously Y/N? No, how are you? No, are you okay? No, I’m sorry that I ghosted my childhood best friend during the hardest part of his life?!”
He’s right. You know he’s right. Anyone in their right mind would’ve cussed out. Screamed in your face, kicked you out of their home, and told you never to see them again. Yeah, that stupid motorcycle pissed you off, but he’s more right now.
“Gojo…”
“No! I’m not done.” He closes the door behind him. The music of the party muffled, leaving only you two truly in the moment. “You didn’t call. You didn’t text me. You didn’t let me know if you were okay. I’ve been up for months trying to get as much information about you as possible without crossing the random wall you put between us, Y/N.” He was beyond angry; he was livid.
“Gojo-“
“Do you know how awful it feels to have to learn how to walk again, all while worrying if the most important person in your life is okay? For the first person you think of when you wake up from almost dying, to not want anything to do with you?” His bright eyes start to redden with tears. Satoru was always sensitive, something you’ve always loved about him. “Every day, part of me hoped you would come through that hospital door, and every day you didn’t. My first friend, the last person I’d expect not to show up, did!”
“Gojo.”
“Why are you here now?! Why, after all this time, did you show up here? Especially if you were going to leave before I could say anything to you. If you were going to leave, haunt my fucking house and me, then you should’ve never come.” His voice cracks at the end, and that’s when he finally looks away from you. He’s right, you should’ve never come to his house or this party. You should’ve been a better friend. You should not have fallen in love with him. He was so upset with you in a way he had never been before; it felt like it was eating you alive. He shouldn’t be crying on his birthday. He should be laughing, making others laugh, annoying everyone in his general vicinity, being the Satoru Gojo you had the opportunity to fall in love with over the years.
You hadn’t even noticed your own tears building before they dropped. Throat tightening, you struggle with what to say. So you settle for the easiest option.
“I’ll leave.”
“No.” His head whips around, as if the two words startled him. “Not until you tell me why you disappeared?”
“Gojo.”
“I deserve to know why my best friend of almost three decades decided to stop talking to me for no apparent reason.” The misty-eyed stare between you is strong. Neither of you is backing down in silence for what feels like an eternity. Somewhere in between his anger and frustration, a pleading look flashes across his face. He needed the truth, and you were too scared to admit it. The words taste like bile just thinking about them. “Y/N please. You don’t have to stay. We don’t ever have to speak again. Please tell me.” The words come out so sweet, sweeter than you deserve, and it finally makes you snap.
“I couldn’t- I couldn’t look at you like that. I didn’t know how I could ever look at you as lifeless. No one wants to see the person they’re in love with barely grasping onto life. I didn’t have the courage to face you, and I couldn’t see you again without telling you that I’m in love with you. I couldn’t take it knowing I’d lose you after you got a second chance, because I can’t help but love you, Satoru. I know I’m a coward, and you deserve a much better best friend, but if you want an answer. I’m scared that knowing how I feel will make you not want to be around me, and I just can’t take that.”
You’re a mess. The makeup you had on definitely was ruined. The anxiety of the confession burns through your body, followed by the lightheadedness of the relief. If you don’t get out of here soon, you’re definitely going to pass out.
“You’re in love with me?” All you can do is nod.
“I’m so sorry-” Satoru cuts you off. More specifically, his lips are what cut you off, and it takes you a full second to register that Satoru Gojo was kissing you. When the second did register, you’re quick to follow through. Hands finding his chest, and slowly up to his hair. His lips taste like whatever fruity seltzer he’d been drinking before, but they were as soft as they always looked. Slowly, but surely, the anxious and timid kiss grew needy and feverish. Somehow, your back is pressed against the fridge, and you’re clawing at both his shirt and hair. Satoru’s no better; his hands are focused on keeping you close, but his foot kicks your legs apart enough to slot his thigh right against you. Lips locking slower and messier each time, both of you practically out of your mind.
A loud thud is what pulls you away from the rather starving man in front of you. You don’t realize how desperate you were for air until you see how heavy you’re breathing. Satoru just kissed you. You two just made out. He has you pressed against his fridge because you two were making out. Sixteen-year-old you is probably somewhere losing her mind right now.
Before you can question what that noise was, Toru is pulling your face back towards him. He’s holding himself a few inches away, close enough that if you could lean and close the gap, you would, but far enough for Satoru to keep you back.
“You love me?” The question barely comes out above a whisper. You attempt to nod, but his hand keeps your head from moving. “Uh uh. I need you to say it.” His words are quick, but soft, like he’s afraid to break the moment with his need to hear you say the four simple words, so you do.
“I love you, Satoru.” His brows scrunch together like the words almost hurt him. “Are you okay with that?”
“What do I have to do to keep you here?” Maybe it’s the blood coming back to his head, but his question catches you off guard.
“Huh?”
“What do I have to do?” he repeats, “to make sure you don’t stop loving me, Y/N?” You can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he sounds.
“I could never stop loving you, Satoru.” His eyes finally open to meet yours. He obviously was both amused and upset by your answer.
“Just tell me anything. I need you not to leave again. It’ll kill me.”
“Gojo. That’s not funny.” You try to move back to emphasize your seriousness, but the now warm stainless steel presses back against you.
“I’m not joking. I can’t have you leave again. I’ve been waiting since the day I met you for you to tell me you feel the same. If you leave me now, I don’t think my body can withstand that. So please.” Your eyes widened.
Gojo loves you back.
He’s been waiting on you this whole time, as you had. Two idiots dancing around the fact that you both were hopelessly in love with the other. You’re so happy you could cry, and the tears do start to come, but Satoru squeezes your jaw, pulling your attention back to him.
“Tell me what I need to do to make sure you don’t leave me again.” You try to think of anything, but you keep drawing a blank, until that stupid hunk of metal shines over Satoru’s shoulder. Your entire body freezes up, and you feel that irrational anger coming back.
“Get rid of the bike. That thing almost took you from me.” He looks behind him briefly before snapping back to you.
“Deal.” Before he can open his mouth to say another word, you’re putting your lips back on his, dragging him back to you. Just like a perfect match, it feels like second nature to kiss Satoru. He knows just where to put his hand without getting into deep water. Just a row of deep, slow kisses, until you go to pull him closer and he does the same. Leaving you to grind harder than expected on his thighs, a pathetic moan tumbling out of you. Satoru breaks the kiss, bright blue eyes peering down at you in shock.
“Sorr-” His hands drag your bunched-up dress across his thigh again, forcing another breathy moan out of you.
“You sound better than I could’ve ever imagined, and I’ve imagined a lot.” He does it again, this time flexing this strong muscle, making you fall forward in a shudder.
“Tell me what you’ve imagined?”
“Oh, my god.” The heat between your thighs builds as you gleam under Satoru’s gaze and shamelessly ride his thigh. “This. Turning you on. Making out. Making you feel good.” The way his soft lips lightly trail down your neck, kissing between the confessions. It’s dirty and pulls another moan from you. Grinding down on his thigh shamelessly harder this time. “Making you cum for me, and just for me. Over and over, just like how I’m going to now.”
It’s pathetic how much you’re chasing your own orgasm, but the high of the confession is lighting every nerve in your body on fire. He smells good, he tastes good, he feels good, and he’s all yours. As if he reads your mind, he presses his thigh into you, practically lifting against the fridge.
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you, Satoru.” You pant, eyes rolling back in your head, at a particularly rough drag. “I’m so close. Oh my-”
He snaps his thigh from you, and it practically hurts. You chase the feeling of the rough denim material, only for him to press your hips into the fridge. Pulling you into a sloppy kiss, tongues lazily meeting, almost your dying protest. You try to get his attention even though you could barely focus, by pulling his hair, but it just makes him moan unashamedly, hands squeezing at your waist. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are so low you’d think he was high if it wasn't for the obvious blush across his face or the swollen, spit-covered lips. He stares at your eyes, slowly bouncing between your lips and your eyes, questioning something.
“I was so close.”
“I know. I heard.” You’re sure your blush is now matching his. His chest shudders with anticipation. “Can I ask you a big favor?” At this point, you’re convinced you’d do anything for this man.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll get rid of the bike if you get on it.” Scratch that. You’d do anything but get on Satoru’s once highway ticket to death.
“No.”
“Y/N-”
“No! I’m not letting you take me out on a ride. I hate that stupid bike.”
“We’re not going out. I just-” His eyes avert from yours, looking up at that garage ceiling. Are his ears turning red? “-I just want you to get off on it.” A beat of silence passed, and then another. By the time the fourth passes, Satoru closes his eyes and swallows in obvious embarrassment.
“What?” How the hell does one get off on a motorcycle? Let alone one that tried to kill your best friend?
“It would be in park! You wouldn’t have to go anywhere, but here. It’s a thing I’ve had for a while, and I dunno...” He rambles on and on before he finally looks back at you with an absolutely hopeless look in his eye. Past the point of pleading, this is his entire ego on the line.
“Is it something you really want?” He nods before the sentence ends. You think long and hard about it before looking in his eyes and sighing. You’re just as hopeless as he is. “Fine, but don’t be hurt when this doesn’t end up working.” His entire body lights up with a new vigor, arms wrapping around you and lifting you easily over the bike. You knew Satoru was strong, but he lifted you like it was nothing, which shouldn’t be possible after all his body had gone through.
You’re pressed against the metal head of the bike, thanking your earlier judgment that you wore a skirt. Satoru looks like he’s about to explode from just staring at you sitting on the damn thing. He swallows hard again—it’s kinda cute. His eyes are locked on where your panty-clad cunt is meeting the cold black metal.
“Satoru?” You squirm at the intensity of his stare.
“Right, m‘sorry. You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this. I thought it would never happen.” His eyes finally look at yours, softening when he sees the worry in your eyes. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.” You mull it over for a second before letting the fear creep in.
“No. I want to do this for you.”
“Jesus, don’t say that.”
“But I do. I want to recreate every little fantasy you have about me locked away.” Satoru shuts his eyes and drags a hand down his face, bringing a cocky grin to your face. You’ve always liked teasing Toru. He shakes his head in some form of restraint before narrowing in on the start.
“If you’re uncomfortable at any point or want it to be over, you tell me, and I’ll toss the thing to the curb faster than you can blink.” He’s serious, and it is sweet enough to warm your heart and ease your nerves, but you can’t help but giggle at him. “You ready?” You give him a small nod, and the engine revs, filling up the garage.
Your question about how one gets off on a motorcycle gets answered as soon as the metal rattles against your swollen clit. Immediately, your body slumps forward.
“Oh my god-” The vibrations are so strong, you know your entire body is shaking with the bike. It feels so good. It feels even better when you lift your eyes to see Satoru staring down at you like you just set off his world. Another strong vibration has you loudly moaning. There’s no way you’re not going to cum fast. “Satoru, it's so good.”
“Yeah?” You nod, unable to say anything that’s not an incoherent mess. How you two can hear each other over the loud ass engine is a miracle you’re not going to question. This stupid motorcycle is pushing closer to an orgasm than you’ve been able to bring yourself to in months. The harsh shift of the metal against your clit is too much; you’re too sensitive, forcing you back searching for some reprieve, but Satoru is quicker. “Nuh uh. Don’t run from it, baby.”
Oh, he’s an evil son of a bitch. Hands forcing your hips to grind hard into the rapidly shaking metal, leaving you with no escape. You reach out to grab his wrist, hoping it would alleviate the pressure, but it doesn’t.
“Want you to cover it, baby. Need you soaked so I can lick you clean and give you another one. So I can get you wet all again when I sink into that pretty pussy, and make you cum all over again.”
“Wan-ahh to fuck me, Toru? Oh fuck!” He smiles and wipes the thin line of drool you have yet to notice.
“Yes. More than anything. I think I can cum from just thinking about it. I’ve gotten off more times than I can count.” If you were in a better state of mind, you’d probably ask him why, but instead all you can say is—
“I’ve gotten off you, too, Toru.” It’s rushed, and there was definitely some kind of curse word thrown in there, but it works. Satoru’s ears are burning red, and his mouth is gaped open, hands slowing their motion to a teasing rhythm. “Ngh- All the time.”
“Tell me more.” His words are just as quick as yours. “Y/N, please tell me more.” You’re trying so hard to focus on him and his words, but the way Satoru keeps pushing you into the vibrations is making you want to tip your head back and ride out the feeling that’s starting to cool in you. One of his hands holds your face, forcing you to look at him.
“I- I think about you touching me, Toru.” It’s all you can manage.
“Like how I am now?” You nod, or nod as best as you can in Satoru’s grip.
“Think about how good your hands feel when you touch me. H-oh, how- they’d feel better in me.”
“Want to know what I think about when I’ve gotten off to you?” You’re quick and eager to nod. “When we were sixteen, the first time I ever saw you in a real swimsuit, I wanted to lay you on my bed and eat you out until you were begging me to stop. I think I fucked my hand raw to the thought of it.” Your eyes widen at the confession. You’re sure there’s a huge sopping mark on the metal, from how wet you were.
“I still had braces-”
“And they were cute. You’ve never not been beautiful. There’s never been a moment when I haven’t thought you were beautiful.” What? The rush of emotions fills you, almost over-taking the lust-hazed brain you had. The tears in your eyes are becoming more out of the random sincerity, than the overwhelming pleasure between your legs.
“You think I’m beautiful?”
“Yes.” He’s quick with it. Mouth dropping right on your pulse point, and dragging his way to your ear. “Always will. Thought you were beautiful the first time I met you. I thought you were beautiful when you gave me that pity dance at prom. I thought you were beautiful at graduation. I think you’re beautiful now, riding my motorcycle in an inch of your life, and I know you’ll be beautiful when I take you upstairs and fuck you full.”
Everything is too much. His cologne, the sweetness of his words, the filth rolling off his tongue, the battering of the shaking metal against your clit. It’s no surprise when your vision starts to go white.
“S-Satoru. I’m gonna-”
“Yeah? You want that?” You’re nodding dumbly, as to be expected by now. “Baby, you’re dripping off the bike.” Were you? Oh well. “Gonna let me clean you up with my tongue before I take you inside and show you everything I’ve wanted to do to you for years?”
“Oh my god, Satoru.” Your hand flies on the bike onto one of Satoru’s forearms for leverage. Nails digging into his skin so hard that it would surely leave marks.
“I know, baby. Just say yes for me. You can do that, c’mon.”
“Yes-fuck. Yes! Please.” His face lifts from your ear, blue eyes focused on your face in just enough time to watch you fall over the edge. Eyes rolling back, mouth hanging open, surely nothing but obscenities and Satoru’s name coming out. You don’t know if you’ve ever cum this hard in your life, but it just won't stop. It’s probably embarrassing how pathetic you look on Satoru’s bike, the same bike that you hated for so long. That now you probably hate just a little bit less.
By the time you’re coming down, the motorcycle is off, and Satoru is peppering sweet kisses up the side of your neck. The sweetest of words leave him that are barely being comprehended. His face finally comes into view again, albeit a little hazy.
“You did great, baby.” That signature Satoru smile was there again, pointed at you. It felt great, almost better than that insanely strong orgasm you just had. You hadn’t realized just how desperately you needed a Satoru Gojo smile aimed at you until you finally got it again. The music inside the house cuts through the moment.
“Satoru, the party-” His hands leave your face, swinging your body towards him before he drops to his knees.
“It can wait.”
“Satoru-”
“I distinctly remember someone telling me I have a mess to attend to, and from the looks of it, I got a lot to clean up.” Curse Satoru and his height. There’s no way any normal man could get on his knees and still be taller than his bike, but Satoru Gojo has never been normal. His slow kisses up your still quivering thighs make you also want to forget the party. Hell, if you could make everyone in this house disappear right now, you would.
“Everyone is inside.” He leans in closer, with another sloppy kiss.
“I’m aware.” His breath tickles the inside of your sensitive thighs.
“Everyone wants to celebrate you.”
“They’ll want to celebrate me later.”
“Satoru, it's your birthday.” You hate the way your voice wavers.
“I’ll have other birthdays, but since it’s my birthday, why don’t you let me have my gift?”
“Be serious.” Satoru’s eyes flicker up to yours, a look so stern it snatches the air out of you. He is being serious.
“If you don’t want to do this, I will walk away right now, happily. I’d never make you do something or do something to you that you don’t want, but I’m not leaving unless you and you alone don’t want me.” The intensity in his voice makes a shiver go down your spine. “Because right now, Y/N, I couldn’t care less about this damn birthday party.”
That throb in your heart gets mistranslated somewhere down in the pussy, because you’re practically inching your lower half closer to Satoru’s face, forcing him to be face to face with your soaked panties.
“Fuck, you’re soaked.” Satoru’s eyes glistened over as he'd just seen something amazing. Before you can say anything, he pulls your legs closer and further apart before slotting his face right against your core and taking a deep inhale. Only to let out the most pathetic moan ever. “And you smell so good. Wonder if you taste just as good?”
You practically jolt at the long drag of Satoru’s tongue against your covered pussy. The sensation was almost too much; you’re still so sensitive from your orgasm from just a few minutes prior. Here he was eating you out through your panties like a madman.
“T-Toru!” Your body tenses at the unabashed groan he lets out, against you. When his mouth latches against your clit, sucking the sensitive bud, you damn near scream his name out. Your hands find their way into his messy white locks, tugging harder than you meant to.
“Haa— do it again.” Oh, Satoru was overly freaked out. His sharp nose catches your clit perfectly, long tongue stuffing itself into your core through the cloth, sure enough, your hands are pulling Satoru’s pale hair again, earning yourself a pathetic moan from him.
“T-Toru, are you, shit- gonna take them off?” Without a word, he yanks them down like he’s crazy. The fanning of hot breath against your core makes you twitch. He pulls away slightly enough before dragging two fingers through you; the loud pop of your wetness is almost deafening against the muffled music. You watch him gather your sex all down his fingers, watching your previous orgasm damn near run down his wrist before he drags his eyes to yours, and puts the fingers in his mouth.
Your jaw unhinges at the sight. Satoru Gojo is lapping at his fingers, greedily sucking and making out with them. Pale skin flushed, eyes so hazed over they could be mistaken for black, moaning like a porn star over the taste of your pussy. His other free hand comes down to palm himself over the jeans that seem way too tight for him, eyes rolling back. It was almost like he was alone, but it was you he was tasting. It was downright pornographic and depraved, and it was severely turning you on. Your body is turning into a furnace from how hot the scene made you.
This would be an image that would stick with you forever.
“Fuck you taste perfect. You are perfect.” Is he…pussy drunk?
“Satoru…are you okay?”
“Yes.” He pops the digits out of his mouth. “Gonna be better after I eat this pussy, and get her all ready and stretched for me.” Satoru’s mouth is back on you before you can do anything. If his hands hadn’t already locked your legs back into place, you surely would’ve fallen off the bike.
Satoru was starved. Lewd slurps fill the air enough to make your ears hot in embarrassment and pleasure. Satoru could’ve sworn he was in heaven.
That he ever actually got out of that hospital bed, and died right there on the table, but the very real sounds of your pretty moans, the feeling of your twitching legs around his head, the addictive taste of your wet cunt, it was all too real to be fake. So much better than all the filthy fantasies he had stored in his head for years. If the perfect rough drag of his scarred lips right before they latch to your clif again didn’t get you, then the feeling of his fingers pressing against your opening will.
“Toru, I’m s-so sensitive.” If he heard you, he didn’t say anything, instead letting out a high-pitched, muffled moan against your core that has you shutting your eyes. When those pretty fingers you’d always wished were in you instead of yours were, it takes everything in you not to ride them, as the work past the ring of muscle, stretching you so good.
Satoru is so close to cumming his pants. You’re just as fucking warm and wet as he knew you’d be, and it’s driving him insane. Well, he’d already gone insane when he watched you cum on his bike, eyes rolling back with his name on your swollen lips. If he were any less of a man, he would’ve gotten it on camera and watched it over and over again, have it etched into every part of his body until his wrist snapped in half, every fleshlight he owned was battered, and his dick fell off.
Squelch.
Squelch.
Squelch.
You had the nosiest fucking pussy, and it was making him weaker with every push of his fingers that you cunt greedily swallowed.
“Satoru, you eat it so good.” Had you even meant to say that? No, but Satoru was both so happy and angry when you said that. Happy because you couldn’t keep yourself together enough to keep those inside thoughts inside. He was eating it good; he had been practicing for this day since he found a stray thong you accidentally left at his dorm years ago. He put it on a Fleshlight and taught himself how to eat your pussy. Making his jaw ache until he knew that he’d have you crying out for him to stop because it was too good. Almost cumming in his pants the first fifteen times.
Now that’s why Satoru’s angry. All those fantasies don’t live up to the real thing. He could only imagine what you would say to him in those moments, but you’re here in real life, saying all the dirtiest words he could’ve prayed for. He knew how not to cum in his pants when practicing, but the real thing, oh, it was too much. Which is why he practically sobs into your soaked core, mouth, and fingers, desperately picking up speed to hide the way his hips pathetically fucked up into the tip of dangling foot for any kind of pressure like some ravaged animal.
“Hnng-ah fuck! Are you b-breathing?” Satoru Gojo couldn’t care less about air. He could go back on a ventilator for all he cares. He needs to make you come as soon as possible. His tongue circled your clit, desperate to hear those tantalizing sounds leave you. You were practically dripping down his wrist. When his long fingers graze that sweet spot, that’s when it unravels. “Satoru, I’m gonna-” You try to pull him away, tugging at his hair only for him to smack your hand away and push even further into you.
He needed to make you cum more than anything right now, and he’ll be damned if you don’t cum on his face after he worked so hard.
“So good, so good, so good, I’m- cumming. Satoru, I’m gonna-” Right over the edge you went again. This time, with so much intensity, you think you actually do black out. Satoru doesn’t dare let up, his eyes roll to the back of his skull, watching the thin line of drool hang from your lips as your head tilts back. Wet patch in pants growing as stream after stream of cum leaves his weeping cock right as your foot presses down in uncontrolled pleasure. Obscenely loud, moans escaping you both like you’re getting ready to fuck on camera.
It takes you, silently begging, and both of your hands to get Satoru to come off your poor, battered pussy. Neither of you says a word, just desperately staring at one another, breathing heavily. Satoru’s face is almost completely red except for the beige scars that almost look pink against his skin. Eyes low like eating, you put him in a daze. The entire lower half of his face is soaked, soft lips puffy and glistening, just begging to be kissed. Though you’re not fully down, after waves of your orgasm are still hitting you, you can’t help but lick your lips.
“Don’t.” Satoru’s voice is hoarser and deeper than it was when you two first walked in here. Something about him was laced with lust and want. It sent sparks down your body. He sounded so fuckable.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t lick your lips like that. Don’t look at me like you’re starving for me. I can’t-” He takes in a shuddering breath like he’s barely holding on before he pops up. One hand pulling you by your throat for a kiss, making you taste yourself on him, and damn, do you both taste good. Satoru’s hands are the only reason why your wobbly legs haven’t given out from underneath you.
Sloppy kisses that end with loud smacks, an inappropriate amount of whining, and the need to touch everything you could. The scene was enough to make someone look away in embarrassment. You two are stuck on each other, obsessed even. You pull away when the air supply runs out, shivers going down your body.
Have you ever been this turned on? The answer is obviously no. Even fantasizing about Satoru wasn’t enough to get you like this. Satoru has that effect on you.
“I can't resist you.” Seems you have the same effect on him. He can’t help but get a couple more small kisses in before trailing down your face again. “Are you okay?” Satoru’s voice is soft; it's almost sickening.
“I can barely feel my legs.” He laughs, eyes crinkling at the end. He’s still your Satoru.
“That’s a problem.”
“I know, how am I going to walk back in there without looking stupid?” Without so much as a grunt (or a warning), you’re being lifted off your feet, body held bridal style with no ease.
“Nah, I mean you shouldn’t be able to walk at all. Guess I got to fuck that mobility out of you?” Your hand swats his chest like an impulse. Cheeks feel as if they could turn red. He makes quick steps to get inside, but before he can open the door, you stop him.
“Everyone is still inside.”
“Then they’ll get out.” He says it like it's obvious.
“Satoru.”
“I’m serious. They’ll either get out, or they’ll hear us. I don’t care about them right now.” He’s insane. That accident took all the common sense out of his head.
“Sat-” It’s too late, the garage door flies open, and you close your eyes, hoping the dark lights hide your ruined makeup, disheveled dress, and loose ponytail. The music doesn’t stop, neither does Satoru, but he does laugh.
“You can open your eyes; no one is here.” What?
You do open your eyes only to be met with the fact that a single soul is in the house. Not even any on the balcony like they were before.
“Wait, does that mean-”
“Now we really don’t have to be quiet.” Satoru doesn’t even pay attention to the empty room, circling the apartment to find his bedroom. He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him, making quick strides with you in his arms before he gently tosses you on the bed. He’s almost immediately taking his clothes off, blue eyes almost glowing in the darkness of the room. Satoru practically rips his black shirt off his body before he goes for the belt.
“Wait.” His eyes widened in fear, halting immediately. “Can I take them off?” You think the question might’ve killed him because he stares at you in shock before nodding his head like an idiot. He’s rushing over to the side of the bed, and he has to hold his smile back when he watches you struggle to balance your weight on your knees.
Yeah, he needs one more round.
The moment you get your hands on the belt, it’s over. Heat zaps down Satoru’s spine. As crude as it sounds, he’s never had you this close to his dick before. He doesn’t know just how long he’d last if you were even to stare at it long enough. Before he can bring himself to tell you to stop, you’re already pulling his pants down, damp boxers on display.
“Did you-”
“Yes.” He answers embarrassingly too fast.
“You got off eating me out?” That blush creeps up Satoru’s neck all the way up to his ears.
“Yeah, I’ve gotten off from your perfume lingering in my bed.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but it makes your jaw unhinged enough to flash another sinful image through Satoru Gojo’s head. Making him visibly twitch.
“You’re such a perv, Toru.” The words are meant to be mean, but in all actuality, you’re not any better. The number of times you’ve gotten off to his cologne being stuck in your passenger side seat belt is one too many for you to admit. You shift closer, planting a kiss on his tip through his boxer, making his hips buck into your mouth.
“Don’t.”
“You can get a taste of me, but I can’t get a taste of you?” You drag your tongue across his print and the damp patch, watching his mouth drop slightly, a coy hum on your lips. “That’s unfair, don’t you think?” Toru nods dumbly, body unconsciously leaning into you. “Can I go down on you, Toru? I’ve thought about it so much.”
“Yes. Fuck yes, please.” Satoru knows this is a bad idea. He cannot cum again before he has sex with you, but as he made clear earlier, he can’t say no to you. So when you pull down his boxers only for his dick to smack right against his stomach pulling a weak moan from him, he just prays he has it in him to pull you off before he comes down your throat.
“Toru-” You’re in utter shock. Satoru’s dick is big. Not just big, it’s humongous, he’s fucking hung. No wonder he was so arrogant all the time; he had the size to back it up. “You’re so big.” There’s enough lubricant from his previous orgasm for you to stroke him comfortably.
“Fuck, you can’t say that.” He twitches in your hand as you let the spit from your mouth dribble down his oh so sensitive, bright red tip. He was so cute under your hand, slightly bucking up into your hand unknowingly.
“But you are, and it’s so pretty.” Satoru Gojo loved to be praised. Any person with working eyes could tell you that. “Need to taste it.” You don’t let him say anything before you kiss the tip, earning a soft whimper from him.
So he does whimper? Good to know.
One torturous, slow lick after the other has him clenching his fist by his side until they look like they’re going to pop. When you finally take him in your mouth, every thread in him snaps. Hands find purchase around the back of your head. He was right, you guys don’t have to worry about being quiet anymore. He’s practically moaning like a bitch in heat at every bob of your head. You’re not much better, loud slurps filling the room if it’s not your own pathetic moans around him.
“Shit! I’m- you feel so good-ahh. Hnng- please don’t stop.” Like you would ever, Satoru Gojo has you wrapped around his finger just as much as he’s wrapped around yours. You’re practically dripping all over his sheets at every thrust, gagging a moan every time he tip hits the back of your throat. Spit spilling at the corners of your lips like the Satoru only slut you are. Watching his eyes roll to the back of his head, his chest rise at a sharp breath, the way your name rolled off his tongue. It was breathtaking being the one to make Satoru Gojo fall apart like this.
Just a little more, and he’ll cum down your throat just the way you wanted. Your hand that was absent mindedly drawing rough circles on your clit, moves to cup his spit-covered balls, fondling them gently. The change made Satoru stop with a particularly rough thrust to your throat and rather loud broken whine. One hand gripping your hair with a tight lock, and the other holding your throat in place. His tilted head comes back down, his chest erratically heaving as he gives you an almost pained look.
“Don’t do that.” It’s quick, and thought it didn’t sound as assertive as it was meant to be you pause befoe pushing your luck, moving your hand again, which makes Gojo thrust forward again, a loud gag coming from you, your hand constricting your throat. His other hand knocked yours away. He looks almost lost, torn as he works your throat over him. “I’m not cumming anywhere that’s not inside of you. If you do that, I’ll cum all over your face and waste all of it. We wouldn’t want that now?”
Satoru was so close to coming that the corner of his vision started to turn fuzzy. If he hadn’t stopped when he did this night might’ve taken a different turn. Mouth still full of his cock you shake your head no, eyes hazed over in your own lust. He painfully removes himself from your mouth, cussing himself out internally the entire time. It’s taking everything in him not to pull your warm, wet, hot mouth back over here and fuck it raw.
“Take the dress off.” You scramble to pull the dress over you, moving to the middle of the bed and tossing it somewhere into the abyss. “You’re so good for me, baby. I love it.”
“Yeah?” Oh yeah, you’re gone. Who wouldn’t be looking at Satoru’s perfect body, even if all scared up, he’s still undeniably sexy. “You’re so good for me, Toru.” His weight shifts the mattress as he makes his way over to you.
“I always want to be good for my girl.” His hands grab your ankles, pulling you. towards him. “Need to fuck you good.” That fucked out look on his face is all you see before he’s pushing your hands into the mattress for another sloppy makeout. You could kiss Satoru forever. His tongue knows just what way to lock with yours in the most lewd way, like he was made to kiss you. He pulls back, grabbing the base of his dick, which his hand could barely fit around.
He slowly glides his jerky cock through your wetness, making you both twitch. Saying nothing but watching it slip through and gather more lubricants, the tip hitting your abused clit so sinfully it made your jaw drop.
“She’s so messy.” You couldn’t care less what he was babbling about right now. You just needed him to put it in already.
“Stop teasing Toruuu.” You whine only to get a cocky grin from him. He was letting up, picking up the pace, to watch you squirm.
“You want it that bad-oh.” All that squirming managed to slip the tip in, stopping you both. The smile is wiped clean off his face. Instead, one of awe replaces it as he watches himself fuck the same inch into you, sensitive head trapped between your warm, gummy, wet walls. “You- you- feel so-”
“Yeah, bet it would be better if you actually fucked me.” His eyes meet yours with a hard glare.
“Count.”
“What- oh my god.” Your mouth forms a ‘o’ as he sinks more into you.
“Count. C’mon, my smart girl can tell me how. How many inches are in her right?”
“T-Two.”
“There we go.” He pushes in more, holding back on his bodily urges that are telling him to quit with all the teasing, but he can’t.
Three follows with four, five with six, and by the time you’re at the last two inches, you’re practically shaking. There’s a line of drool hanging from Satoru’s mouth like he’s gone completely brain dead, eyes not disconnecting from where you two meet, like he’s hypnotized.
He is hypnotized.
“Just two more, baby.”
“Eight-ngh Satoru, please. I can’t!” Your body burned at the stretch. No one’s been as big as Toru.
“No. You can.” You let out a high-pitched whine when he finally bottoms out.
“Nine! Fuck Satoru, I’m so full.” Those words bounce off deaf ears. Satoru is falling off this plane of existence; the only thing keeping him grounded is the clench of your core around him, sending shivers down his spine. When he doesn’t move, you call his name, only to hear a muffled moan into your neck. It takes pulling him out of your neck to see what’s happening, finally.
He’s so fucked out he’s not comprehending right. His blue eyes are crossed in pleasure, line of spit rolling down to his thick neck, shaking body completely flushed red.
“Pussy so good. It’s gonna kill me.”
“Toru, I need you to move.”
“I can’t. Need a second. It’s too good.”
“Toru, please, I want you to fuck me. Need you to fill me up.” It’s those words that put Satoru out of his daze, or at least his body out of its daze. His hips roll into yours with a sinfully quick pace. His hands roam your body, trying to find something to feel.
“Want me to cum inside?” He grumbles in your ear with another fast snap of his hips. “Want me to fuck you full?” You nod as best as you can, mouth hanging open with pathetic noises coming from you, and another lewd squelch comes from you. “I think this pretty pussy wants that too. Just listen to her.”
Nothing but the nasty wet smacks filling the room makes your ears burn.
Plap, Plap, Plap.
“She’s practically begging me to pump her full of my cum. She’s so good. She’s so fucking addictive. So much better than anything I’ve used.” You’re half paying attention to him. More focused on how deep his dick is in you. Every thrust feels like the air is getting snatched from you in the best way. Besides, you’re not too far behind him in sounding incoherent.
“Toru, it’s so deep-ngh. I-hic” Were you crying? “Fuck don’t stop. Please don’t, don’t, don’t.”
“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it. Your pussy is so good to me, you’re so good to me.” One of his hands comes down, forcing your legs to wrap around his shoulders. “I need to fill you. Need to fuck you good. Need it. Need it. Fuck I need it.” The new angle, the stretch, the pressure, it has you seeing stars, and when Satoru hits that one spot, your entire body tenses.
Something’s different.
“Oh my god, Satoru!”
“Right there?” He whines out, head reeling back every time he hits that spongy spot inside. You nod, fat tears rolling down your body, it’s almost too much, but before you can even think about Toru’s already pinning your hips. “Don’t you dare think about running from me. Waited too long for this, for you.” Each bed shaking brutal smack brings you closer, but something is different.
More intense, it’s deeper. It makes your entire body tremble.
“Sssatoru I- something feels-”
“Nuh-uh. That’s not my name.” Fuck he’s hitting it so good you may not be able to tell him. Your back is starting to arch in, tasting your release, which makes your vision come in and out.
“Baby! Something’s different! I’m-” Your cut off entirely by the smack of Satoru’s fingers against your clit, making you jolt in pleasure. You’re so close.
“Don’t call me that. That’s not what you call me. You want to cum, you want me to fill you up so good you’ll be dripping me for days? Then you call me by- FUCK-” Your cunt clenches around him, making his head pop from your ear to the air, making him look at you. He’s just like you—unfocused eyes, pathetic moaning, completely fucked out and pussydrunk to your dickmatized. “You-you call me by my name.”
“T-t-t-” You’re right there.
“C’mon, be good for me and say it.”
“Toru! I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna-” His fingers come down in a harsh rub of your throbbing clit, and you’re gone. Your warning is a faded memory of the past, as the tremors of your orgasm take over. Vision completely gone, ears ringing, in what is the strongest orgasm of your life, given to you by none other than your childhood best friend.
“Oh, my god.” Satoru watches you spray the entirety of the sheets beneath you, his hand, lower stomach, and most importantly, his cock. Never in his wildest dreams did he think watching the girl he loves the most squirt all over would happen, but when it does, it hits him like a bag of bricks. Making him cum so hard he slumps forward, letting out the most pornographic cries, eyes almost shut as he watches his seed mix in with your cum, and it sends lightning down his spine. “It won’t stop.” He doesn’t know who he’s talking about, but you still haven’t stopped. He fucks you through it, almost losing his fucking mind doing so, house full of sounds that would surely get him a noise complaint.
When you both come down from the mutual orgasms, neither of you dares to move an inch. Both of you are still shaking too hard to be fully conscious. It’s only when that tear hits your stomach that you start to come back. Satoru’s head is down, in shoulder trembling just like you.
“Toru?”
“Don’t move. I can’t- don’t move, please.” He sounded so weak, it damn near made your heart clench. “Listen, baby.” You almost yelp at the overstimulation when Satoru gives a few weak, shallow thrusts. A popping squelch rings through the room. “Sounds so beautiful.”
“Satoru, come here.” He doesn’t hesitate, meeting your lips one more time, with the shakiest and sweetest kisses of the night. He gently pulls out, and you groan at the big loss. Missing the fill now that it’s gone. How were you ever going to get anything done now that you know what sex with the love of your life feels like? His head falls to your shoulder, making sure to keep his weight off you. It’s silent for a little while, you two bathe in the post-sex afterglow, until the question in the air rings too loud in your mind. “So what does this mean for us?”
“Don’t ask such dumb questions.”
“I’m serious-”
“I am too. You’re not going anywhere, Y/N. Whether that's you being my girlfriend or, preferably, my wife, you’re here to stay. I’m here to stay. We’ve spent too much time avoiding the obvious to be picky about what we are now. We’re in love. Simple.” His arms sling around you, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body felt grounding.
“I love you, Toru.” You declare for the umpteenth time.
“I love you, Y/N.”
It’s your phone that wakes you up from your deep sleep with your boyfriend(?) at what had to be noon.
“Satoru.” You grumble against his chest, refusing to open your eyes.
“Ignore it.” He makes no effort to move. The ringtone faded for all of three seconds before it blares up again, making you sigh.
“I got it.” He pulls you against him again, weakly trying to hold you back. “Toru.”
“Fine.” He rolls over, allowing you to crawl over him to grab the blaring phone, but not before smacking your ass as you bend to do so. You shoot him a dirty look, and he shrugs. “What? It’s great ass, and it’s mine.”
“Yours?”
“Yeah, baby, that’s my ass, that's my pussy, that’s my heart, you’re my girl.” You have to bite back a smile at his words. The thought of finally being Satoru’s girl makes your chest all fuzzy.
“So does that mean that’s my dick and my heart?”
“You know it. Now I highly suggest you answer that phone, or else I’ll show you what else your dick can do.” You scoff, but it’s clear by the way your nipples perk up that you’re turned on. Satoru pulls you on top of him, pressing his half-hard dick against your bare cunt. Disregarding who can hear you two, as he kisses down your bare body. You press the accept button before you have half the mind to ride him and show him what his pussy can do.
“Hello?”
“Oh. My. God.” Geto and Shoko’s voices flood the other side of the phone. “This was better than we could’ve imagined.”
“What are you two going on about?” Satoru looks up at you through his pretty lashes, a confused look on his face.
“We called Satoru, not you.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Please tell me you two have finally sorted things out. I was plastered by the time Geto was kicking everyone out of the house.”
“I think they did more than just sort it out. I’m never touching that motorcycle again.” Your jaw drops in horror before Satoru grabs the phone from your hands.
“You two really need to get a life.” You make out the words “dumbass” on the other end of the phone. “Uh-huh. Anyway, I got some time to make up for. I'll talk to guys later.” He tosses the phone to the other side of the bed, pulling you closer to him. “Good afternoon, baby.” You giggle at his antics, heart swelling with joy. Everything feels perfect.
“Good afternoon, Toru.”
A/N: I wrote this over the cycle of two ovulation cycles...no regrets! I'm hella rusty too, this might be a mess potench. Also, this wasn't proofread... so my bad!
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currently thinking about husband!gojo who wants nothing more than to look like superman in the eyes of his pretty little wife <3
it’s not like gojo loves helping out around the house, but the awestruck look you give him when he fixes the loose floorboard in the upstairs attic is its own reward. it’s not like gojo loves helping out around the house, but the way you gasp and clutch his bicep when you wake up to find your microwave is suddenly fixed is quite literally its own reward. satoru thinks you’re so damn cute; truth be told, it took him three youtube videos & a reddit thread to do both but who said his pretty little wife needed to know that ?
you get especially amazed when gojo faces anything that has to do with electricity. when the power went out while you were cooking in the kitchen, you yelped like you had just seen a ghost. satoru was by your side only a minute later, phone flashlight in hand. he kisses your head with soft lips & tells you to stay right there because ‘don’t worry baby, your husband’s got it covered.’
minutes later he’s in the basement with a toolbox & you’re waiting for him at the top of the stairs, too scared to go down to the dim lit basement. more sooner than later the power comes back on, and excitedly you’re running down to join your husband who stands beside the power box, a smug grin plastered across his face.
“toru, you’re amazing ! how did you do that ?!”
gojo kisses your forehead. “didn’t i tell you not to worry, sweetheart ? it’s a bit complicated so don’t stress about it, alright ?”
truth be told, the circuit breaker had simply tripped off so all he had to do was flip a couple switches, reddit thread in hand—but once again, his pretty little wife didn’t need to know that.
HEARTKAJI. do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload.
Summary: When a visa issue puts you at risk of leaving Japan, you end up in a fake engagement with your assistant/secretary Satoru Gojo as a last resort. But after meeting his family in Kyoto and spending more time together, the line between performance and reality uncomfortably blurs.
Content Warnings: MDNI, plot w/no porn (for awhile hehe), mentions of deportation, brief mentions of infidelity between two individuals, work misconduct, n*oya z*nin, fake engagement, fake marriage, enemies to lovers, boss!reader x secretary!nerdjo, suguru, shoko, and nanamin cameo, yeah thats abt it
Chapter One:
Satoru Gojo’s mornings weren't built for urgency that came with tardiness.
They were built for repetition. For patterns that comforted him despite how belittling. For the quiet certainty that even when things went wrong, they would still somehow arrive exactly where he expected them to be.
Which was why the current situation felt almost offensive.
His alarm had already survived the seven times he slammed it shut before opening his eyes. By the time he actually got up, it was because someone else had decided he needed to.
A call from Suguru who was already in the office. His voice tight, "Where the hell are you Satoru?! The boss is in a total mood today and if you don't get your albino ass here in 15 minutes with her favorite coffee, you're screwed Gojo!"
Satoru sat up slowly, one hand dragging through his hair, the other already reaching for his phone like it had not betrayed him by ringing in the first place.
“Yeah yeah,” he yawned, voice still rough with sleep, “I'm late....”
".....it's 8:57"
“Shit shit shit! I'm fucking late!" Satoru hung up before they could argue further.
His first mistake of the morning was even answering that phone. The second was forgetting coffee. Luckily that one fixed itself quickly.
His apartment was too clean for how chaotic he was. Everything existed in a state of almost order. Shirts half aligned. Papers stacked with intent but no follow-through. His room decorated with Digimon posters and figurines that he chose to prioritize rather than non instant-ramen dinners.
He showered fast. Water crashing down his pale skin as he managed to rapidly scrub himself red. By the time Satoru was out he was tightening his tie before loosening it again like he was negotiating with it. Shirt buttoned with one hand while he checked messages with the other. Suguru, Shoko, and Nanami kept trying to reach him but he kept ignoring them.
Satoru grabbed his keys. Pausing and when the realization hit, he sighed.
“My glasses!” he groaned before dashing to his nightstand. Hrabbing his wobbly thick rimmed pair.
Then there was the coffee, that was the real priority.
The café downstairs knew him too well.
That was the problem with routine. It became recognition. Recognition became expectation. Expectation became something annoyingly close to responsibility.
The bell above the door chimed when he walked in.
“You're later than usual Gojo,” the violet eyed barista Hana teased immediately, not looking up yet.
“Morning Hana-chan, ” he replied.
She finally glanced at him, already reaching for his order without asking. Black coffee. Extra shot. No sugar. The same thing every day. Predictable enough to be insulting.
“I knew you wouldn't miss a day,” she exclaimed as she worked. "Got your order ready for you anyways Gojo."
The drinks slid across the counter.
Perfect as always.
He reached for it immediately.
“Have a good day,” she said.
“I always do,” he replied automatically.
And then, because he was already mentally somewhere else, already halfway into the building and out of this conversation, he left.
He did not notice what was written on the cup.
He rarely noticed things like that.
By the time Satoru reached your building, the city had already shifted into full motion. Glass reflections, traffic noise, the steady rhythm of people pretending they were not all trapped in the same system.
He moved through it like he was slightly out of sync with everything else.
The elevator ride was predictable. Someone avoided eye contact. Someone else looked at him twice like they were trying to confirm he was real. Satoru simply ignored both.
When he stepped out onto your floor, the air changed immediately.
It was all less noise. More pressure. The kind of silence that meant something had already gone wrong and everyone was waiting to see how badly it would land.
Down the corridor, voices carried too clearly. He slowed, curiosity always won against responsibility. And then he saw you.
You were standing in the center of it all, completely still. Not tense. Not reactive. Controlled in a way that made everyone else look unstable by comparison.
Opposite you stood a man Satoru vaguely recognized. Mid-level. Confident enough to be dangerous, not competent enough to survive it. Naoya Zen'in.
“You think you can just sit there and dictate everything?!” he yelled, “like you're untouchable? You do not even understand how things actually work in the field you fucking venomous snake!”
Satoru leaned lightly against the wall, coffee still in hand, watching.
“I asked for updated figures,” you replied finally, calm and precise. “Not your interpretation of my authority.”
The man scoffed. “You are impossible to work with! How would anyone know what a wishy-washy woman like you wants?!”
“Incorrect,” you replied. “I am impossible to work with incompetently, Zenin.”
His gaze drifted to his colleagues, as if they'd assist him in any way that mattered. A few people shifted under his glare. Satoru however couldn't hide his grin. He tilted his head slightly.
This was already entertaining.
“You know what your problem is?” Naoya spat, his face red with humiliation. “You're a tyrannical bitch! Nobody can fucking stand a sick woman like you!”
The room froze. Even Satoru paused for half a second.
That was not a common reaction.
You blinked once. Slow and measured, before stepping forward.
Oh.
That was when he knew it was over.
“Repeat that,” you asserted, rather cheerfully in a way that left everyone in unease.
The man, emboldened by poor judgment, did.
“You heard me. You are a vapid bitch.”
Silence sharpened. Then you nodded once.
“Understood.”
Something in your expression closed off completely. “Effective immediately,” you said, “you are terminated.”
A laugh broke out from him, sharp and disbelieving.
“You can't do that.”
“I already have.” That ended the argument right there. Then, without even looking away from him, you addressed HR.
“Escort him out.”
The man’s expression shifted rapidly now. Confusion collapsing into anger.
“You will regret this,” he snapped. “I will make sure your career collapses. I will ruin you!”
That made the air tighten.
Satoru watched you more closely now. You stepped closer, not aggressive, but final.
“Maybe if you spent more time managing your career,” you assured softly, “and less time managing your mistress, you would still have one.”
Security arrived by then. You turned away before they reached him. Like he was already irrelevant. Satoru straightened slightly as the corridor cleared. That was when he decided to move.
You were already back at your office when he arrived. Of course you were.
He knocked, but at this point it was more of an announcement with Gojo rather than a request.
He placed the coffee on your desk without ceremony.
“Before you say anything,” he said, “yes, I saw it.”
You didn’t look up.
“I didn't ask for your input Gojo.” You glared, your gaze controlled and flat, a warning almost. But he leaned against your desk anyway.
“I also brought coffee, per usual boss,” he added before passing you the cup. He didn't plan to have that prick Naoya manage to rile you up before Satoru's big request, but he was hoping the heavens could be on his side this time...
They weren't.
“Look, I've been thinking about that editorial expansion proposal.”
You exhaled, “no thank you, Gojo.”
“That was fast.”
“It remains no.”
He smiled much fainter than usual. “I would still like to pitch it properly.”
“You will not.”
“I'll try again then, Boss.”
“Focus on your job.”
He straightened slowly, like that answer amused him more than it should have. “Fine,” he uttered.
He turned toward the door to exist. Storming off with the door slamming behind him.
This didn't phase you, Gojo was always insistent.
You were holding your coffee now, expression unreadable, before your eyes flickered towards your cup. You walked out of the office and approached his desk
"Call me when you can Gojo-san!" you read out.
He blinked before quickly reaching towards the cup in utter confusion.
“Oh,” he murmured. “I don't know what that's about ma'am”
You paused before staring at him for a second longer. Then, almost dryly, you asked, “Are you collecting problems now or just ignoring the important ones in new creative ways, Gojo?”
You stepped out with your own coffee, already moving with purpose, already somewhere else mentally. Your eyes flicked once to his cup, then up to his face, then briefly back again like you were scanning something that required no further analysis.
“…huh,” he murmured, more to himself than anything else.
Then he shrugged faintly and kept typing away, already deciding this advancement was not important enough to file anywhere in his brain that required long-term storage.
Behind him, your office door opened.
You stepped out with your own coffee, already moving with purpose, already somewhere else mentally. Your eyes flicked once to his cup, then up to his face, then briefly back again like you were scanning something that required no further analysis.
Satoru relaxed into his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other still holding the now-cold coffee like it was the only stable object in the room. His phone lit up with messages he had no intention of answering properly, and he was halfway through ignoring them when the meeting alert appeared.
He sighed, stood again, and grabbed the coffee more properly this time, like it had officially been assigned the role of emotional support object.
If he was going to endure something tedious, he might as well be caffeinated while doing it.
The conference room was already full when he arrived.
He didn’t enter immediately.
Instead, he paused outside the glass, catching fragments of conversation through the thin corporate barrier.
“…visa risk escalating…”
“…no viable extension pathway…”
“…possible enforced departure within weeks…”
Satoru tilted his head slightly.
That was not standard corporate language. That was controlled panic disguised as procedure.
He pushed the door open.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, stepping inside casually.
A few heads turned.
You didn’t look up immediately.
Of course you didn’t.
He moved to the edge of the table, leaning slightly, coffee still in hand, posture relaxed in a way that always irritated people who were trying very hard to look serious.
“I need to flag something quickly,” he said, interrupting the flow without asking permission. “Suki is not available for the Kuroyanagi coordination.”
The room paused.
The publishing head frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Suki,” Satoru repeated. “She is getting married. Immediate transition. She will not be available to organize anything with Tetsuko Kuroyanagi.”
Confusion rippled through the table.
“Right now?” someone asked.
“Yes,” Satoru said. “Apparently it is quite urgent. I was not informed until five minutes ago, so I am also adjusting emotionally.”
No one responded to that part.
You finally looked up.
Expression neutral.
Completely unimpressed.
“Is that all,” you said.
“Yes.”
“Sit down.”
He didn’t.
He just stayed where he was, leaning lightly against the table edge, because sitting implied compliance and he was not feeling particularly compliant.
The meeting tried to continue. But it didn’t recover because legal cleared his throat, shifting tone.
“We need to return to the primary issue,” he said carefully. “The visa situation is becoming critical.” That immediately pulled attention back into place. Satoru stopped pretending to scroll on his phone.
“…risk of removal,”
“…no clean legal extension pathway,”
“…processing delay could extend up to a year for re-entry…”
That last part changed the air in the room.
A year.
That was not a delay. That was removal with paperwork attached. Satoru looked up slightly and you were still completely still. Which meant you were thinking. Despite how much of an obstacle you were to his dreams, this company wouldn't be much without you. At least not for long.
“We want you here,” the publishing head said carefully, turning toward you. “Your leadership is essential to ongoing expansion. Losing you would destabilize multiple strategic pipelines.”
“I understand,” you answered back.
“But we require a mitigating condition,” legal continued. “A recognized status anchor. Familial association. Marriage. Dependency classification. Something documentable under review conditions.”
Silence settled again.
Satoru slowly stopped moving.
Not because he understood yet.
Because he was watching you.
There was a shift in you now. Subtle, internal, precise. The kind of recalculation that meant a decision was forming in real time.
Then you spoke.
Calm.
Flat.
“I see.”
A pause.
Satoru tilted his head slightly.
That tone usually meant the outcome had already been selected.
You looked at him directly.
And said,
“I forgot to mention something.” The room waited, Satoru did not like that pause at all.
“I can't believe it slipped my mind! Luckily Suki's little dilemma reminded me, we are engaged.” You cheerfully announced, holding onto Satoru's arm.
Silence hit instantly.
Not gradual, immediate.
Someone dropped a pen. Someone else made a sound that suggested oxygen had briefly stopped being available.
Satoru didn't move. For two, painfully stiff seconds.
Then slowly, he turned his head toward you.
“…come again?”
You looked at him like he was the one failing to keep up.
“Engaged sweetheart,” you repeated through nearly clenched teeth.
Then, without changing expression, he returned,
“Sweetheart.” That landed differently than Satoru expected. He blinked once, then twice. Then, he leaned back slightly in his chair, staring at you like reality had just shifted without permission.
“Mhm, I wish this was a joke baby,” he almost chided.
“Oh dear, of course it's not!” You retorted.
The publishing head looked between both of you rapidly now. “This is… confirmed?” Like they wanted to believe it for themselves.
You nodded once.
Satoru exhaled slowly.
“…sweetheart,” he repeated under his breath, like testing whether language still worked correctly.
You didn’t respond.
The room, however, did.
Because hesitation began immediately at the board level.
There was movement. Small shifts. Uneasy glances between senior members. Then one of them spoke.
“Is this… ethical?”
Satoru turned his head slightly toward the speaker. You did not.
You just looked at them as the silence stretched. Then the publishing head cleared his throat Before you could answer, another board member spoke again, more cautious now.
“This could be considered misrepresentation of employment status,” he added.
A pause, then another voice, quieter.
“Legally, it is…sensitive I do suppose.”
All eyes shifted slightly.
Not to you.
To Hamada.
He stiffened slightly in his seat, immediately aware he had been pulled into proximity of responsibility.
“I am simply raising concerns,” Hamada rushed.
You finally turned your gaze to him.
Slow.
Measured.
Then you spoke. “Given your experience in this exact field, with your own office romance,” you commented, “I assumed you would not have an issue with procedural ambiguity.”
Silence.
Hamada gulped. The implication landed fully.
Satoru watched the exchange now with mild interest.
You continued.
“Unless your past involvement in similar cases has changed your perspective on what is acceptable when outcomes are favorable.”
That did it.
Hamada shifted slightly in his seat.
“Of course not,” he said quickly. “If it is… operationally necessary.”
Another pause.
Then the publishing head exhaled, rubbing his temple once like he had already decided this was not worth fighting.
“As long as the engagement is formalized,” he said carefully, “and leads to marriage within a reasonable timeframe, we can treat this as a valid mitigating circumstance.”
A few heads nodded slowly.
Not approval, not agreement. But rather acceptance of inconvenience.
Satoru stared at the table for a moment. Then leaned slightly toward you again, voice low enough to avoid the room.
“You just started a corporate loophole with one sentence,” he murmured. You still didn’t look at him.
“Focus,” you chided as you leaned in. He exhaled once through his nose, almost amused again despite himself.
“…this is going to be a very long year,” he muttered.
And for the first time since morning,
the entire room had decided to collectively look away from what they had just agreed to.
I never got to say thanks for 100 followers, now we're at 150 and that's rlly crazy y'all
anyways this is sort of a passion project of mine. I didn't proofread tho, it's really late and I wanted to wrap this chapter up. I'm planning on 5-6 chapters that focus more towards plot than smut
also the mean nerdjo oneshot will probs be out tmrw plz shall thy poetry blow up thy tumblr lords i think i failed chem for ts
anyways thanks to my pookie @whispersingojo for the idea of cocky nerdjo being the chosen gojo! gosh i love my albino king
