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cxckblxcker · 5 months ago

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HOW TO FAKE DATE A DOCTOR — SATORU GOJO

pairing — doctor!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary — for six months, you've watched dr. satoru gojo order the sweetest coffee on your menu every morning at exactly 7:15 AM. for six months, you've convinced yourself his intense stares must mean he's spotted something medically concerning about you—maybe a suspicious mole or concerning symptom. but when a desperate white lie about a fake boyfriend results in him volunteering to play the part at your family's christmas dinner, what begins as a simple pretend relationship might just turn into something real.

word count — 9 k

genre/tags — coffee shop AU, holiday romance, fake dating, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, fluff, idiots in love, reader is a med student and barista, gojo is a cardiologist, age difference (reader is 25/gojo early 30s)

warnings — 16+ ONLY. contains suggestive sexual content, non-graphic medical talk

author's note — hey lovelies, welcome to my first attempt at a holiday romance. this was meant to be a short drabble but somehow turned into this 9 k words of pure fluff and pining. it's my little christmas gift to you all hehe. whether you're celebrating with family, working holiday shifts, or just enjoying a quiet day, hope this makes you smile. thank you for reading, and merry christmas !! <3 (credit/art)

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You first noticed him six months ago.

It wasn't just because he was strikingly handsome, with hair the color of fresh snow and the bluest eyes you'd ever seen, though that certainly didn't hurt. It wasn't even because of his white coat and the stethoscope casually draped around his neck, marking him as one of the doctors from the nearby hospital.

No, what caught your attention was the way he looked at you.

Every morning, like clockwork, the bell above the door would chime at precisely 7:15 AM, and Dr. Satoru Gojo would walk into your café. He'd order the sweetest drink on your menu (always with extra whipped cream), and while you prepared it, his eyes would follow your every movement.

It wasn't creepy or uncomfortable. And it definitely wasn't flirting — at least, you didn't think it was. Perhaps he saw something, a suspicious mole you'd never noticed, and now he was trying to figure out how to tell the coffee girl she’s dying without ruining her morning rush.

That had to be it.

You’d catch his gaze lingering when he thought you weren't looking. Sometimes, he'd tilt his head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. It made you wonder what he was thinking. Was he judging your latte art? Probably. You were still working on that.

But when you turned around to give him his iced vanilla latte with extra whipped cream and three shots of caramel (it never varied, not once in six months), he'd break his smile to you, his gaze softening for a second, and then his fingers would brush against yours as you handed him the paper cup.

He always thanked you with “Much appreciated”. It made your heart skip a beat, if you'd be honest. Not that you read all too much into it of course. And so for six months, this had been your routine.

5:30 AM: Arrive at the café.

6:00 AM: Open up, prep for the day.

7:13 AM: Start making his drink because you knew he'd walk in exactly two minutes later.

7:15 AM: Heart fluttering slightly as your hand brushed his as you gave him his order.

10:00 AM: Shift end.

10:30 AM: Rush to classes.

Some mornings, he’d arrive in wrinkled scrubs, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to him. Other days, it was a tailored dress shirt, sometimes with a matching tie. But the routine never changed.

Same order, same time, the same easy smile that would soften slightly when you remembered his order without him having to say it. Not that it was hard to begin with.

“Someone’s got a secret admirer,” Maki would say, nudging you with her elbow as Dr. Gojo left. You’d roll your eyes, but a faint blush crept up your neck anyway.

Between customers, you'd try to squeeze in some studying. The early morning shift wasn't exactly ideal, but it paid better, and you needed every cent you could get for your pre-med textbooks. Those things cost more than your rent, it felt like.

Your anatomy textbook usually lay open behind the counter, hidden from customers' view but accessible during slower moments. Sometimes, when the morning rush died down, you'd catch Dr. Gojo's eyes flickering to the pages as you made his latte. His expression would shift slightly, but he never commented on it.

You wondered sometimes if he was judging your highlighting technique (chaotic at best) or your margin notes (mostly question marks). He must have gone through all this years ago, probably with much more grace than your current fumbling through medical terminology.

The café job barely covered your expenses — between tuition, rent, and those damn textbooks — but at least it was flexible with your class schedule. Your manager understood when you needed to switch shifts for exams, and the free coffee helped during all-nighters.

Your coworkers thought you were crazy for taking such early shifts. "No one should be awake at 5:30 AM," they'd say. But they didn't understand the quiet peace of morning prep, the satisfaction of perfect latte art, or the way certain blue eyes would crinkle at the corners when you got his order just right.

It was a small thing, a fleeting smile, a brush of fingertips, but it was enough to make the early mornings, the aching feet, the constant struggle, almost worth it.

Not that you stuck to this schedule just for him. Obviously not. The extra dollar per hour for opening shift was the real motivator. The fact that it coincided with Dr. Gojo's apparent coffee schedule was just... coincidence.

Sometimes, during chaotic study sessions between customers, you'd catch him watching you mouth medical terms to yourself as you steamed milk. His eyes would linger on your textbook, then flick back to your face with that same intense look that made you wonder if he was counting your remaining days or something—or still trying to figure out if that one mole on your cheek was turning malignant.

The morning you had your anatomy midterm, your textbook sat next to the register, full of sticky notes and frantic annotations. You saw him notice it, saw something shift in his expression as he took in the obvious signs of exam stress. That day, he left an extra large tip with a small note that just said "Good luck."

It was probably just pity. He'd been through med school. He knew the hell you were going through. That had to be it. Absolutely. No other explanation.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway, as you added the note into your wallet, shoving it down next to a crumpled grocery list and a faded movie ticket stub, as if burying it under a pile of mundane objects could somehow bury the flutter in your chest.

For six months, this had been your life. Balancing early mornings, late classes, endless studying, and the mystery of a doctor who looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

So when he finally broke pattern that random rainy monday morning, it wasn't with some dramatic revelation about your health you’d imagined. Instead, he tilted his head slightly while waiting for his usual and said, "You changed your hair."

You nearly dropped the caramel syrup. After six months of intense stares and loaded silences, after convincing yourself he was cataloging your symptoms or contemplating your mortality, he was commenting on your hair?

"Oh." Your hand instinctively went to the ends you'd trimmed over the weekend. "Yeah, just a few inches."

"It suits you." He said it so casually, like he hadn't just shattered half a year of mysterious doctor mystique with three words. Then, with that same matter-of-fact tone, "The pathophysiology textbook you were reading last week—Robbins, right? It’s really good. Especially the part about metaplasia. Interesting stuff."

And just like that, the spell was broken. No terminal diagnosis. No earth-shattering revelations. Just a doctor who apparently noticed haircuts and had opinions about medical textbooks.

The sudden normalcy of it all was almost jarring. For months, you’d been half-convinced he was silently cataloging your every freckle, every mole, every perceived imperfection, convinced he was about to deliver some devastating news. Now? He was talking about metaplasia. It was almot—anticlimactic.

And, if you were being honest, a little embarrassing. All those covert checks in the reflection of the espresso machine, all those frantic Google searches for “atypical nevi”—for this?

You almost wanted to laugh.

After that day, your morning routine shifted slightly. He still came in at exactly 7:15, still ordered the same diabetis-inducing latte, still watched you work with those intense blue eyes the color of glacial ice. But now he'd occasionally comment on your study materials, or mention an interesting case that related to whatever chapter you were currently highlighting.

"Cardiac arrhythmias today?" he'd ask, spotting your textbook. "Had a case of atrial fibrillation yesterday. The patient presented with…" He’d then launch into a quick explanation, sketching a diagram on a napkin that somehow made more sense than three hours of lecture on the same topic.

Your coworkers were almost disappointed by this development. "That's it?" Maki had said when you told her. "Six months of smoldering looks and he just... helps you study?"

But somehow, it felt right. The mysterious doctor with pretty eyes turned out to be just a man who noticed details and perhaps had a soft spot for struggling med students.

He still made your heart do that stupid flutter thing when his fingers brushed yours during the handoff, but now you had a perfectly logical explanation for that of course—the vagus nerve or some other equally fascinating cardiovascular phenomenon he'd just explained.

That had to be it.

Some mornings, when the café was quiet and you were stumped by a concept, he'd even linger a few minutes after getting his order. He’d lean against the counter, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, gesturing with his cup while breaking down complex medical theories into digestible pieces, somehow making autoimmune disorders sound as simple as iced latte recipes.

"You'll make a good doctor," he said one morning, completely out of nowhere and your cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

Your relationship—if you could even call it that—settled into something comfortably in-between. More than customer and barista, less than friends, but with a rhythm all its own. He'd quiz you while you made his usual, turning morning coffee runs into study sessions.

"Name three complications of chronic hypertension," he'd say while you pumped caramel into his cup.

"Increased risk of heart attack, stroke, and kidney disease," you'd reply, adding the extra shot of espresso he never actually ordered but always appreciated.

"Good. Now tell me about secondary causes."

One random Tuesday morning, however, the bell didn't chime at 7:15. You glanced at the clock, then back at the door.

7:16.

7:17.

A knot of unease tightened in your stomach. It was ridiculous, really. Why did you even care? He was just a customer. A regular customer, yes, but still just a customer. It wasn't like you were waiting for him or anything. You were just—used to the routine. That was all.

But despite your attempts at rationalization, a small, nagging worry began to gnaw at you. Had something happened? Was he okay? You found yourself staring at the door, your hand hovering over the espresso machine, your usual movements faltering slightly. You even messed up a latte, the foam swirling into a sad, lopsided blob instead of the usual pretty rosetta.

At 7:20, just as you were about to convince yourself he’d just overslept and that you were being completely ridiculous, the bell finally rang. He rushed in, slightly out of breath, his cheeks flushed. "Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice a little rushed. "Crazy morning at the hospital."

He looked like he’d run all the way, which was odd. Why would he run? It’s not like his coffee was that important. Right? And yet, your stupid heart did a little flip at the sight of him, a traitorous swell of warmth blooming in your chest. He made it. He was here.

He stayed extra long that morning. After the rush died down, he listened to you recite your flashcards, correcting your pronunciation of medical terms with a patience that made you wonder if he moonlighted as a professor. It was a strange sort of intimacy, this shared moment of slow study amidst the busy morning rush and the soft hum of the refrigerators.

And you never wanted that morning to end.

Your coworkers had stopped teasing you about him—mostly—and started asking if he could explain their own health questions instead. Then came the random stormy Wednesday that changed everything.

The morning had started normally enough—he arriving at 7:15 sharp, you already having his sugar latte ready. But the sky had opened up while he was waiting, rain drumming against the café windows. It wasn’t a gentle shower. It was a deluge, the kind that turned streets into rivers in minutes.

"Did you bring an umbrella?" he asked, watching you glance at the downpour.

"No," you sighed, already dreading the soggy walk to campus. "I checked the forecast last night—it said sunny all day." You internally cursed the weather app.

"When does your shift end?"

"Huh? Oh, uhm 10 AM. I have microbiology at 10:30."

His lips twitched into a faint smile and he left without another word. You tried not to feel disappointed—what had you expected? It's not like he could control the weather.

But at 10 AM sharp, as you were pulling your jacket tighter and preparing to make a run for it, you spotted him through the rain-streaked windows. He was standing outside the café in his white coat, holding a large dark blue umbrella.

Your heart definitely did more than flutter this time.

"Ready?" he asked when you emerged, as if waiting in the pouring rain for some barista was perfectly normal doctor behavior.

"You didn't have to—"

"Can't have my favorite barista catching pneumonia," he said. "Besides, I'm heading that direction anyway." You knew for a fact the hospital was in the opposite direction.

The walk to campus was suddenly—intimate. It was strange being this close to him. You’d seen him every morning for months, but always across the counter, a safe distance separating you. Now, you were walking side-by-side, the scent of his cologne so close it made it hard to focus on anything but his proximity, to say the least.

"So, what are you studying in Microbiology?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"We're covering bacterial pathogenesis this week," you replied, and the conversation drifted naturally to a discussion of how different pathogens could affect various organ systems like it was normal small talk.

As other pedestrians passed, their own umbrellas bobbing and weaving, he’d subtly pull you closer. Each time he did, your breath would catch in your throat, and a fresh wave of warmth would wash over you. You were grateful for his height, because you were certain your cheeks were flushed a deep shade of red.

It was absurd, how flustered you were by such a simple act, but the feeling of his arm occasionally brushing against yours, the shared intimacy of the small space beneath the umbrella, was enough to send your heart racing.

Desperate to focus on something else, you blurted out, "What kind of doctor are you, anyway? I never actually asked."

"Cardiology," he replied simply.

“Cardiology,” you repeated, the word lingering on your tongue. A doctor of the heart. When you reached the medical sciences building, he paused, lowering the umbrella slightly. The rain had begun to ease, but the air still smelled wet and clean.

"Thanks," you said, meeting his gaze. "For the umbrella escort."

"Anytime." That soft smile again, the one that made your heart do a stupid little skip again.

As you watched him walk away, umbrella tilted against the rain, you realized something had shifted. Maybe you weren't quite friends, maybe you weren't quite anything definable, but whatever this was—it felt like the beginning of something. Something more than just sharing an umbrella on rainy days.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

Winter arrived on a random thursday morning, transforming rain into snow and turning your early morning walks to work into arctic expeditions.

It was during one of these frigid mornings, while you were preparing Dr. Gojo's usual order and the steam from the espresso machines fogging up the frost-covered windows, that your phone rang. Your mother's contact photo flashed on the screen.

You answered with your phone pressed between ear and shoulder, still working the machines. "Hi, Mom."

"Sweetheart! I was just planning Christmas dinner. You're bringing someone this year, right? That nice boy from your anatomy class you mentioned?"

You winced, catching Dr. Gojo's raised eyebrow from where he stood at the counter. "Mom—"

"Because Aunt Marie's daughter just got engaged, and you know how she gets—"

"My boyfriend's actually busy with hospital rotations," you blurted out, immediately wanting to punch yourself. "He's, uh, very dedicated to his work."

"Boyfriend? Why didn't you tell me? What's his name? What does he—"

"Sorry, Mom, huge line forming, gotta go!" You hung up, letting your forehead thump against the coffee machine with a groan.

"That sounded stressful," Dr. Gojo commented, amusement clear in his voice.

You looked up to find him watching you with that slight smile that always made you shiver. "Just my mom being... my mom." You resumed making his latte. "She's convinced that at twenty-five, I'm practically a spinster."

"Ah." He tilted his head. "And this fictional boyfriend with hospital rotations?"

Your cheeks heated. "Seemed easier than explaining why I'm still single. Between work, classes, and studying, I barely have time to sleep, let alone date." You handed him his usual. "Plus, now she'll stop trying to set me up with every eligible male she meets through her book club."

"A creative solution," he said, taking a sip. "Though hospital rotations over Christmas? Sounds like a terrible boyfriend." A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Yeah, well, imaginary men are often disappointing." You started wiping down the counter, needing something to do with your hands. "At least this way I'll have a few weeks of peace before I have to tell her we broke up."

"Sounds like you've done this before," he observed, watching you attack an imaginary coffee stain with perhaps too much force.

"Is it that obvious?" You sighed, abandoning your fake cleaning. "Last year he was studying abroad. The year before that, he was sick. I'm running out of excuses, honestly. Pretty sure my mom's stopped believing me, but she plays along because it's less awkward than admitting we both know I'm lying."

He made a thoughtful sound, then pulled out his prescription pad (why did doctors always carry those around anyway?). You watched, confused, as he scribbled something down and slid it across the counter.

"Here," he said. "My number. Call me during Christmas dinner."

You stared at him. "What?"

"Well, your imaginary boyfriend should at least make an effort, don't you think?" His eyes held that familiar amusement. "I'll tell your mom all about my very important hospital rounds, maybe throw in some medical words. Make it convincing."

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Was he… offering to pretend to be your boyfriend? You couldn't quite process what was happening.

"You know," he said, after you'd probably been quiet for too long, "some of us actually do work hospital rotations over Christmas."

"I know, I just—" You stopped, realizing how her words might have sounded. "Oh god, I didn't mean to imply… I know you probably have to work during the holidays too, I wasn't trying to—"

"Someone has to make sure all those Christmas dinner caused heart attacks are properly treated," he interrupted, that familiar, almost-smirk back on his face, easing the tension in your shoulders. "Though I do get Christmas morning off this year."

You couldn't tell if he was trying to make you feel better about your lie, your accidental insult, or just sharing information. With Dr. Gojo, it was often hard to tell. After a moment of stunned silence, you managed, "Are you… sure?"

"Perfectly.”

"Thank you," you said, finally finding your voice as you picked up the slip of paper. "Really, thank you."

"Anytime," he said, that familiar, soft smile gracing his lips. "Consider it a Christmas gift. From your very dedicated, albeit fictional, boyfriend."

As you watched him leave, coffee in hand and snowflakes catching in his white hair. Even if he was probably going to tease you endlessly about your fictional, workaholic boyfriend for weeks to come, a small, stupid part of you was already looking forward to it.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

The Christmas dinner was a random Friday night.

The table, laden with enough food to feed a small army, was surrounded by the usual suspects and the dinner turned out to be exactly as excruciating as you'd expected. You'd barely made it through the appetizers before the interrogation began.

"So, this boyfriend of yours," Aunt Marie started. "What did you say he does again?"

"He's a doctor," you said into your mashed potatoes.

"A doctor!" your mother brightened. "You never mentioned that part."

Your cousin Sarah leaned forward. "What kind of doctor? Where did he study? How did you meet?"

You were considering faking a sudden illness when your phone buzzed. Dr. Gojo's name lit up your screen with a video call request. You hadn't even suggested a video call—he was truly committing to this.

"Oh, that's him now!" Your mother said, clapping her hands together. "Put him on speaker!"

Before you could protest, you were surrounded by a sea of curious relatives as you answered the call. The screen filled with Dr. Gojo's face, and—oh god—he was actually in scrubs, in what looked like a real operating room.

"Hey, my love," he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and the casual nickname hit you like a train, making you forget your own name. You felt your cheeks flush and it didn’t help that he somehow managed to look unfairly handsome even under the surgical lights. "Sorry I couldn't make it. We had an emergency valve replacement come in."

"Are you... actually in surgery right now?" you asked.

"Just finished!" He tilted the phone slightly to show a glimpse of a team of medical staff behind him, all of whom waved. One even gave a thumbs up. "Thought I'd catch you before dessert. Is that your family I see?"

Your entire extended family crammed themselves into frame, cooing and waving at your "doctor boyfriend" who was dedicated enough to call from work.

"Oh my god, he's gorgeous," your cousin said.

"Dr. Gojo," your mother pushed forward, "we're so disappointed you couldn't join us. Though of course, saving lives comes first!"

"Please, call me Satoru," he said, flashing that unfairly attractive smile of his. "And I'm more disappointed than anyone. I was really looking forward to trying your famous apple pie that your daughter keeps telling me about."

Your mother clutched her chest, delighted. You had never once mentioned her apple pie to him.

"Are those Christmas decorations I see in the OR?" your aunt squinted at the screen.

And indeed, there were actual Christmas lights strung up in the background. Either this hospital was very festive, or he'd gone to ridiculous lengths for this act.

"We try to keep the holiday spirit alive, even here," he said, then suddenly looked off-screen. "Oh, looks like we have another emergency coming in." Dramatic beeping noises increased in the background. "I'm so sorry, but duty calls. It was lovely meeting you all!"

"Such a dedicated young man," your mother sighed after you ended the call.

"So handsome too," Aunt Marie added. "Those eyes!"

You slumped in your chair, caught between mortification and amusement. He really didn't have to go that far—the Christmas lights in the OR? The perfectly timed “emergency”? The entire surgical team playing along? It was almost impressive.

Your phone buzzed with a text: 'How'd I do? The lights were my colleague's idea. They says Merry Christmas, by the way. Your family seems nice.'

Another buzz, a separate message: 'Also, I expect a slice of that famous apple pie at the café tomorrow. After that performance, I think I've earned it.'

You typed back: 'You are absolutely insufferable. That was completely over the top.'

His response came almost instantly: 'Is that any way to talk to your dedicated doctor boyfriend who just saved a life AND charmed your entire family? I'm hurt.'

Despite yourself, you smiled.

Your phone buzzed one more time: 'By the way, your cousin already found my hospital's public contact info and sent a friend request. Should I accept? I feel like a committed boyfriend would.'

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. He was absolutely loving this.

Way too much.

The next morning, you weren't surprised when he showed up at his usual 7:15, despite it being his day off. What did surprise you was that he was still wearing scrubs. They were rumpled, like he'd been wearing them for a while.

"Please tell me you didn't actually work all night just to make that video call more convincing," you said as he approached the counter.

"You know, I am a doctor in real life, right? This isn't just a cover for your mom." He smirked. "But anyway, just finished an actual emergency shift." He glanced at the paper bag you had waiting next to his usual sugary coffee. "Is that… what I think it is?"

"Your well-earned reward for yesterday's Oscar-worthy performance." You handed him both coffee and pie. "Though I still can't believe you got your entire surgical team to play along."

"Bold of you to assume I had to ask." He took a bite of the pie and his eyes widened slightly. "Okay, your mom's reputation is deserved. This is actually amazing."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts, because—" You hesitated, took a deep breath, and decided to just rip the bandage off. "She invited you to dinner. Tomorrow."

He paused mid-bite. "Oh?"

"I told her you're probably busy—"

"What time?"

You stared at him. "What?"

"What time is dinner?" He took another bite of pie, looking perfectly casual about the whole thing. "I actually have Sunday evening off, and this pie has convinced me your mom's cooking is worth experiencing in person."

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?" He shrugged. "I've already met them virtually. Might as well complete the experience. Unless you're worried I'll embarrass you?"

"I'm worried you'll be too convincing again," you said. "My mom's already planning our wedding, by the way. She told me this morning that your 'dedication to work' proves you'd be a good husband."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint a future mother-in-law."

"This isn't funny!"

"It's a little funny." He leaned against the counter, grinning. "Come on, one dinner. I promise to be slightly less charming this time."

"Somehow I doubt that's possible," you said before you could stop yourself.

His smile widened. "Was that a compliment?"

"That was a complaint about your inability to do anything halfway." You busied yourself with wiping down the already clean counter. "But fine. Sunday at seven. Try not to bring Christmas lights this time."

"No promises." He pushed off from the counter, taking his coffee and pie. "Oh, and by the way?"

"Hmm?"

"I accepted your cousin's friend request. She's already invited me to your family's New Year's party."

He was halfway to the door when he paused, turning back with an expression that was softer than his usual teasing smile. "You look pretty today, by the way. The new sweater suits you."

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn't even realized he'd noticed you'd changed from your usual work shirt into a cozy sweater for your afternoon classes.

He was out the door before you could stammer out a response, leaving you to wonder what exactly you had gotten yourself into. And why one simple, genuine compliment made your heart race more than all his dramatic boyfriend performances combined.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

Sunday evening found you pacing a worn path in the carpet by your parents' front door, checking your phone every two minutes. 7:15 came and went—apparently his almost unnervingly precise timing only applied to coffee runs.

You tried to convince yourself it was fine, that doctors had unpredictable schedules, but a nervous flutter had taken up residence in your stomach.

At 7:20, your mom’s worried, "Maybe he got called into surgery?" was interrupted by the doorbell. You took a deep breath, smoothing down your dress, and opened the door.

Standing there was Dr. Gojo—Satoru, you supposed you should call him now—looking slightly disheveled in a way that somehow only emphasized his unfairly attractive features. His white dress shirt, though slightly untucked at the waist, bore the clear signs of a hurried ironing, and he was carrying what looked like an expensive bottle of wine—definitely not the kind you’d find at the corner store.

"I'm so sorry," he said, running a hand through his already slightly tousled white hair. "Emergency consultation ran late, and then traffic was—"

"It's fine," you interrupted, a wave of relief washing over you. He’d actually come. "Really. You didn't have to—"

But the rest of your sentence disappeared into a surprised squeak as he stepped forward, closing the small gap between you. He leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to your cheek, his free hand settling naturally on your waist, just above your hip, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

"Hi," he whispered against your ear, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "Missed you today at the café."

You stood frozen, brain short-circuiting from the casual intimacy of it all. This wasn't part of the plan. You hadn't discussed... this. The way his hand felt warm through your dress, how his cologne made you slightly dizzy, how natural it felt to have him this close. It was as if your body already knew this was right, even if your mind was still scrambling to catch up.

"I... you..." Words. You needed words. "You're late."

He pulled back just enough to give you that familiar amused look. "And you're blushing."

Before you could even process that observation—or the fact that your heart was currently attempting to beat its way out of your chest—your mother appeared behind you. "Satoru! We're so glad you could make it!"

He smoothly stepped past you to greet your parents, all charm and apologies for his lateness, seamlessly weaving a plausible story about a last-minute emergency consult and unexpected traffic. He shook your father’s hand with just the right amount of respectful firmness and charmed your mother with a compliment about her festive decorations. All while he left you standing in the doorway, slightly dazed, trying to remember how to perform basic human functions like breathing and blinking.

The slight smirk he threw over his shoulder as he joined the others in the living room told you he knew exactly what he'd done.

Insufferable man.

The dinner was simultaneously the longest and shortest evening of your life. Satoru slipped into the role of doting boyfriend with an unsettling ease, weaving medical anecdotes (carefully tailored for a non-medical audience) and charming compliments into the conversation like he'd been rehearsing for weeks. He even managed to compliment Aunt Marie’s notoriously sweet cheesecake without visibly wincing.

He sat close enough that your legs brushed under the table, his hand finding its way to your knee during your mother's third attempt to bring up wedding venues (she was already browsing bridal magazines online, you’d noticed). The casual touch, which should have made you incredibly nervous, instead felt strangely good, like a shared secret between the two of you in the midst of the family chaos.

"And how did you two actually meet?" your aunt asked over dessert.

"She makes the best coffee in the city," Satoru answered smoothly, his thumb drawing absent circles on your thigh beneath the tablecloth. "Though it took me months to work up the courage to say more than my order."

You nearly choked on your wine. He was mixing truth and fiction so seamlessly you almost believed it yourself.

Every story he told had just enough reality to make you question your own memory. He mentioned how you study between customers, but added details about imaginary conversations. He even talked about your first "date" with such specificity that you found yourself half-believing it had happened.

His hand never left your leg for long, occasionally squeezing gently when your relatives’ questions became too invasive. Somehow, he’d effortlessly positioned himself as both the charming guest and the attentive boyfriend, deflecting awkward questions with a disarming smile. And you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life as you were for him breaking the pattern on that random, rainy Monday morning.

"He even helped me with pathophysiology," you found yourself saying, leaning into him slightly, enjoying it. Two could play at this game.

"She didn't need much help," he replied, his voice laced with a warmth that sounded genuinely proud. It made your heart flutter. "Just someone to hold her flashcards while she made my ridiculously sweet coffee."

Your father, who hadn't said much all evening, finally smiled. "She works too hard sometimes."

"She does," Satoru agreed, his hand sliding just a fraction higher on your thigh under the table. "Though that's one of the things I admire most about her." A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you quickly looked away, focusing on a particularly uninteresting spot on the tablecloth. This is getting out of hand.

As the conversation shifted to some other topic—something about your uncle's questionable golf swing—you leaned in slightly, whispering just loud enough for him to hear, "You're awfully charming."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower so that only you could hear. "Funny, you don't seem to hate it." You felt your cheeks burn even hotter now.

By the time dinner ended, your mother was completely smitten, your aunts were bickering over who would host the next family gathering (with Satoru as the guest of honor, of course), and your cousin had somehow convinced him to follow her Instagram—and had already tagged him in three separate stories.

It was all too smooth, too perfect, too real.

The way he helped you clear the table, his hand brushing the small of your back in a casual, yet intimate touch as he passed. How he effortlessly recalled every detail you’d ever mentioned about your family, from your grandmother’s obsession with crossword puzzles to your father’s love of bad puns. The soft, lingering looks he gave you when he thought no one was watching, filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

"You're very good at this," you said as you stood side by side at the sink, washing dishes after dinner.

"At what?"

"Playing pretend."

His hands paused for just a moment. "Who says I'm pretending?"

The wine glass you were drying slipped from your suddenly nerveless fingers. You managed to catch it before it shattered on the tile floor, but not before making enough noise to draw his attention.

"Hey." His hand was immediately at your waist, steadying you. "You okay?"

"Fine! I'm fine, just—" You set the glass down carefully, very aware of how close he was standing. When you turned to face him, you found yourself effectively trapped between his broad frame and the hard edge of the kitchen counter. "Slippery hands. From the... soap."

"Hmm." His eyes searched your face, and for a fleeting moment, you thought—you could have sworn—his gaze flickered down to your lips before returning to meet your eyes. "You know, for someone who spends all day handling hot liquids, you've seemed very clumsy tonight."

"Maybe I'm just… distracted.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face as he leaned infinitesimally closer, his eyes fixed on yours. One hand came up to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingertips grazing your skin, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. "By what?"

"You're doing it again," you whispered.

"Doing what?"

"Being too convincing."

A slow, almost hesitant smile spread across his face. It was a smile that reached his eyes, a smile that felt utterly real, utterly intimate, making your heart stutter in your chest. "Perhaps," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin, "maybe I'm not trying to convince anyone anymore."

You could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, the slight tremor in his hand where it rested on your waist, the way the kitchen suddenly felt too warm, too small, too—

"Who wants coffee?" your mother's voice carried from the dining room, making you both jump apart. Satoru cleared his throat, taking a hasty step back, his hand dropping from your waist.

The rest of dinner passed in a surreal haze, neither of you quite able to forget the charged moment in the kitchen. What was that? You kept replaying the scene in your mind. His hand on your waist, his breath on your lips, the sudden shift in his eyes. It had felt… different. More real than any of the playacting.

It wasn't until your aunt, after a drawn out round of goodbyes and air kisses, finally got up to leave that anyone noticed the shift in the weather. "Oh my goodness," your mother gasped, pulling back the curtains. "When did it start snowing?"

Outside, the world had transformed into a winter wonderland that would've been charming under different circumstances. At least a foot of snow covered everything, still falling heavily in thick, white sheets.

"The weather alert says it's going to continue all night," your father reported, checking his phone. "They're advising against any travel. Roads are already getting bad."

Your mother immediately switched into hostess mode. "You absolutely can't drive in this, Satoru. These roads won't be plowed until morning, at the earliest."

"I'm sure I can—" he started.

"Absolutely not," she interrupted. "You'll stay here tonight. Both of you."

You nearly choked on air. "Mom—"

"Don't be silly, dear," she said, already bustling towards the hallway. "You can take your old room, of course. It's all made up. Satoru," she called over her shoulder, "I'll go find some spare cloths for you." Then, turning back to you, she added, "And honey, you still have some things in your old room, so it'll be just like old times!"

Old times? What old times? Your childhood bedroom with those old embarrassing school photos and faded posters of your first boyband crush that you’d somehow never gotten around to taking down? This was not part of the plan. This was definitely not part of the plan.

He wasn't supposed to see that side of you.

As you counted down the seconds until you completely died from embarrassment your parents bustled off to prepare the rooms, leaving you and Satoru alone again. He leaned against the window, watching the snow fall, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Convenient weather we're having," you said suspiciously.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying I somehow arranged a snowstorm?"

"At this point, I wouldn't put it past you."

His laugh was soft and warm. "As flattered as I am by your faith in my abilities, even I can't control the weather." He glanced at you. "Though I have to admit, this is working out better than my original plan of pretending my car wouldn't start."

"You're impossible," you groaned.

"So I've been told." He pushed off from the window, moving closer. He stopped just inches away, until you could feel the heat from his body. His gaze dropped—or you thought it did, your pulse quickening at the mere possibility—to your lips for the briefest of moments before returning to meet your eyes. You blinked, trying to clear your head. No, it couldn't be. "Though I notice you're not exactly complaining about the situation."

Before you could formulate a witty retort (or even a coherent thought, for that matter), your mother’s voice rang out from upstairs, effectively putting an end to whatever was about to happen. "I found some spare clothes, Satoru! And honey," she called down, "your old band t-shirts are still in your dresser!"

You covered your face with your hands. "Please forget everything she's about to show you."

"Now how could I possibly pass up the chance to see teenage you's fashion choices?"

You peaked through your fingers to find him smirking, looking far too delighted by this turn of events. This was going to be a very long night.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

"I really can sleep on the floor," Satoru offered for the third time, shifting his weight awkwardly in the doorway of your childhood bedroom. He looked around, taking in your teenage decorating choices, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"Don't be ridiculous." You tried to sound casual as you smoothed down the NASA bedsheets you'd had since high school on your small bed, that suddenly looked barely big enough for one, let alone two adults. "We're both adults. We can share a bed without it being weird."

He was quiet for a moment, and when you glanced up, you found him studying your teenage self's wall decorations with poorly hidden amusement. It was a chaotic mixture of faded movie posters (mostly featuring heartthrobs from your early teens), band posters (an ambarrasing One Direction poster taking center stage), and a poorly crafted periodic table, complete with hand-drawn elements and color-coded categories.

"Nice periodic table," he finally said.

"Shut up," you muttered, throwing a pillow at him. He caught it easily, because of course he did. "Some of us were nerds before med school."

You turned to your old closet, pulling out one of those oversized band t-shirts you'd lived in during high school. You gripped the hem of your sweater, suddenly very aware of his presence in the small room.

You could feel his eyes on you, a weight on your back, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You paused, your fingers frozen on the soft knit. "Um… could you…?" you trailed off, not wanting to meet his gaze.

He didn't say anything, didn't move. You could practically feel his gaze burning into your back. Finally, you turned, holding your band t-shirt protectively in front of you. "Seriously. Turn around."

He blinked. "You know, I am a doctor. I've seen it all."

"Still," you insisted, your cheeks flushing. "Turn. Around."

He sighed, but finally turned his back, though the lingering amusement in his eyes told you he was still enjoying the situation immensely.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered, pulling the t-shirt over your head. You smoothed it down, then took a deep breath.

"I would never," he said.

"You can turn around now."

He turned, his face carefully composed, though a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. His eyes traveled from the hem of the shirt to your face, making your heart stutter. "You look… cute."

"You're a terrible liar.”

You both settled into bed with careful movements, lying rigid as boards, backs facing each other in a vain attempt at maintaining some sort of personal space. The mattress, however, had other plans. It dipped under his weight, creating a subtle slope that kept trying to draw you toward the center—toward him.

Your childhood bed, which had seemed perfectly adequate when you were sixteen, now felt absurdly small. You pressed against the edge, but it was no use, there couldn't have been more than a few inches between your back and his. You could feel the heat of his body, warming the small space between you, his every breath, the subtle shift of the sheets when he moved.

The silence stretched, filled only with the sound of falling snow outside your window and your own heartbeat. It felt so loud, you were certain he could hear it.

"Thank you," you finally whispered into the darkness. "For tonight. For all of it. You didn't have to do any of this."

The bed shifted as he turned over. After a moment's hesitation, you did too, finding yourself face to face with him in the dim light of the streetlamp filtering through your old curtains. His hair was disheveled from the pillow, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it.

"It was fun," he said simply, his breath warm against your cheek.

A small laugh escaped your lips. "Fun? My mom interrogated you about your entire medical history, my dad made you look at his coin collection for an hour, and my cousin tried to show you every embarrassing photo of me from middle school."

"The braces years were particularly charming."

You kicked his shin lightly under the covers. "Shut up."

He grinned, the warmth in his eyes visible even in the dim light. "I mean it, though. Your family is… lively."

"That's a polite way of saying chaotic."

"They care about you. It's nice."

You studied his face, searching for the truth in his words. "Why did you really come tonight? You could have easily found an excuse to avoid this disaster of a family dinner."

"Would you believe me if I said I wanted to?"

"No," you said. "Nobody wants to spend their evening being questioned by my parents and subjected to my aunt's weird baking."

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious. "Maybe I wanted to understand you better. See where you came from. Meet the people who made you... you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "Why would you care about any of that?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

You stared at him, suddenly very aware of how close you were, how little space there was between you in this too-small bed. "No," you whispered. "It's not obvious at all."

"Then I must be doing a terrible job of showing you."

Your heart was racing now, your voice barely audible. "Showing me what?"

Before you could respond, he shifted, until he was hovering above you. Your breath caught at the change, at how his white hair fell forward framing his face, at how his eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies in them.

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was nothing like the casual touch of lips from before. It was soft, sweet, and achingly tender at first. He moved against you slowly, his lips parting slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You met his silent invitation, your own lips parting in response. One hand cupped your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, while the other braced against the mattress, supporting his weight.

Then, with a soft sigh, he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a gentle urgency that made your heart ache with a longing you hadn’t known you carried. He pulled you closer, just a fraction, the kiss becoming more urgent, more demanding, yet still laced with a surprising tenderness.

You could feel the rapid thump of his heart against your own chest but then, just as suddenly as it began, he pulled back, breaking the kiss. He didn't move far, though, remaining close enough that you could still feel his breath on your face, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Still think I'm just playing pretend?"

This time, you didn't hesitate. You were the one who moved forward, your hand sliding into his hair, the soft strands tangling around your fingers, pulling him back down to you. His surprised intake of breath was quickly lost as your lips met again.

This kiss was different—deeper, more urgent, six months of watching and waiting poured into a single moment. He made a low sound in his throat as your fingers tightened in his hair, urging him closer.

His own hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing gently into the sensitive skin there. The weight of him pressed you into the mattress, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your band t-shirt.

"I've wanted to do that since the first time you rolled your eyes at my coffee order," he said against your lips, his voice rough in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

"That long?" You tried to sound teasing, but it came out breathless instead.

He smiled against your lips. "Longer, probably." He pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to your jawline. "Though watching you try to diagnose yourself with every terrible disease I mentioned was pretty entertaining, too."

You groaned, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your temple. Then, quieter, more intimate, "But I've got plenty of time to make it up to you."

His lips trailed down your neck, each gentle press sending shivers through your body. When he reached the collar of your t-shirt, he paused, his fingers toying with the hem. "Can I?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and he slowly, teasingly, pushed the fabric up, revealing your stomach inch by inch. The first brush of his lips against your bare skin made you gasp, your fingers tightening reflexively in his silky hair.

He took his time, pressing kisses to your belly, your ribs, the valley between your breasts. His tongue darted out, tasting your skin, leaving trails of fire in its wake. Your back arched, subtly at first, but with increasing urgency as his lips and hands explored your skin.

His fingers, still toying with the hem of your shirt, finally slipped beneath the fabric. He traced the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his thumbs brushed over your nipples, you couldn't suppress the moan that escaped your lips. "More," you whispered, the word barely audible, but he heard it, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you breathed. "Please."

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your sleeping shorts. Your heart raced, your skin flushed, every nerve ending racing with the promise of what was to come.

He dragged the fabric down your legs, the cool air hitting your heated skin making you shiver. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider, and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, his kisses trailing down your inner thigh. And then his mouth was on you, and the world fell away.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

The next morning felt like stepping into a dream—a world where Dr. Satoru Gojo, the man you’d spent six months convinced was silently diagnosing you with rare diseases, was actually just a man utterly smitten with you.

It was as if a blurry lens had finally snapped into focus, revealing a picture so obvious you almost laughed. All those intense stares, the carefully timed coffee shop visits, the way he’d linger at your counter, even helping you study—it had never been about mysterious illnesses or professional concern.

He’d simply been trying to be near you, and you’d been too busy inventing medical mysteries to notice.

And the most embarrassing part? How obvious it had been to everyone else. Your coworkers’ knowing looks finally made sense, as did your mother’s immediate acceptance of him as your “boyfriend.” Even his colleagues had been in on it, helping stage that ridiculous Christmas video call just to make you smile.

When you later confessed your obliviousness to your coworkers, their reactions ranged from “Finally!” to a bewildered “Wait, you mean he wasn’t actually your boyfriend this whole time?”

Over breakfast, as he effortlessly charmed your mother into accepting a third helping of pancakes he casually dropped the bomb to your mom, “I actually rearranged my entire consultation schedule to match her shifts. I don't even like coffee."

Your mind went blank for a moment. He… what? Then, the implications crashed down on you. He’d rearranged his entire work schedule just to see you. And he hated coffee. He’d only ever ordered those sugary lattes because… because of you.

A blush crept up your neck, and you couldn't believe how adorably dense you’d been.

He met your gaze then, his blue eyes softening in that way that always made your heart flutter. Only now you understood what that look truly meant. He hadn’t been studying you. He’d been cherishing you with his gaze. He’d wanted to see you, to be near you, to simply be with you. And the realization made you ridiculously, undeniably happy.

Satoru walked over to you from where he stood next to your mom and leaned down, his breath warm against your temple, and pressed a soft kiss there. You closed your eyes, savoring the simple touch. God, you wanted more. You wanted him closer, his arms around you, his lips on yours again, just like last night.

You'll probably never get enough of that.

He pulled back slightly, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. His gaze held yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. Then he whispered three words that made your world stand still, "I love you."

Three little words.

But those three words little changed everything.

It felt as though time itself had stopped. He loves me, the thought echoed in your mind, a fragile, beautiful sound you couldn't quite believe was real. You’d imagined this moment countless times in secret, tucked away in the quiet corners of your heart, but you'd never truly believed it could happen.

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his hand, the sweet scent of pancakes, and the soft morning light filtering through the kitchen window, you knew you’d never been happier in your entire life.

And most importantly, you didn't have to pretend anymore. He wasn't just someone you were pretending to date for your family's sake. He was actually your boyfriend. Really, truly your boyfriend. And what had once felt like a performance suddenly felt very much like coming home.

But the best part? At exactly 7:15 the next morning, he still walked in, ordered his usual diabetes in a cup, and watched you work with those intense blue eyes. Only now, when you handed him his drink, he'd pull you close for a kiss that tasted of caramel and cinnamon.

"You know," he said one morning, watching you make his order, "for someone smart enough to get into med school, you were remarkably dense about this whole thing."

"Says the man who spent six months staring instead of just asking me out."

"I was building suspense."

"You were being creepy."

"Maybe," he said, then smilled. "But it worked, didn't it?"

And really, you couldn't argue with that. Though you did make his next latte extra sweet, just to watch him pretend to enjoy it.

After all, some things were worth suffering through overly sugary coffee for.

masterlist + support my writing

author's note — if you're familiar with a certain story on my blog, then no you didn't see this story, and this is definitely not a healthier version of another couple, and i absolutely do not have a thing for medical AUs, okay thank you.

anway, this was supposed to get spicier, but time got away from me because i really wanted to share it with you all for christmas so this is only suggestive, but i hope you enjoyed it either way. & thank you so much for reading this far !! your support means everything to me.

wishing you all a very merry christmas !! hope your holidays are filled with sweet coffee, warm embraces, and maybe even a handsome doctor of your own <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @snowsilver2000 @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff

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cxckblxcker · 5 months ago

Text

Losing Control Now

Pairings: Mobster Gojo x bartender F!reader

Summary: Something about running the Gojo mafia just makes Satoru so bored. Boring, boring boring. Sure, he loves money, he loves women, he loves snorting snowy powder off their bodies. He loves the power that comes from it- but he's just bored. That is, until he stumbles upon you, the brand new bartender that makes him pause, falter, and then soon he becomes obsessed, with knowing you, in every single way. Paying off your mom's debts and working two jobs, you're exhausted, but something about this pretty Mob boy just makes you... excited again. How far in are you, and how far is Satoru in the mafia world? All he knows, is he must have you.

CW: Sexual tension, eventually explicit sex, mafia themes, drug themes, violence, obsessed Satoru Gojo, oral sex, possessive Gojo, drug use and drug dealing - lowkey Yandere fkn Gojo hehe. Light angst, some fluff, heavy smut, lots of teasing. This part- Lots of plot. drinking, making out, oral sex (M recieving) swallowing, fingering, some choking, light angst, sexual tension, whipped Toru- WC this part- 8.2k wc

That Gojo art is by michi_ia on X, divider be @cafekitsune, based on Satoru from Pour it Up (Sukuna's story) -set right at part 6 of that fic- You can read it alone, but I think it enhances this- Reblogs//comments appreciated if you enjoyy!

<<<part two - masterlist - playlist- Part four>>> (coming soon)

Part three

“They’re ready for you.” You hear your friend’s soft voice even over the blaring music, as you’re mixing up a drink. Sukuna’s girl now, they were just about inseparable, she is smiling brightly at you. “Satoru really has it bad.”

“No, you think so?” You flush a bit as she nods, helping open a couple of beers for the rest of the patrons sitting, entering numbers on the screen for you.

“Oh I know so, he’s pouting that you’re not there already.” Through all your exhaustion you can’t help but feel excited. “Also… talking about Mei.”

“You know now?” You ask her, frowning, while she takes your hand gently, pulling you away from the bustling bar as someone else takes over.

“I do, and I am so sorry, I didn’t know it was that bad, baby.” She has tears glistening in her eyes, even under the strobing red lights of the club, and you shake your head, brushing a hand on her bare arm.

“I wasn’t ready to tell you. But Satoru… I don’t even know him but…”

“You feel safe with him.” She finishes, and you smile, nodding then.

“That. Can you find if they have any drink orders? I’ll whip a couple up before I walk in. I know Satoru’s mix already.”

“Yeah, you know his flavor hmm?” You giggle and shake your head. “No way, not yet?”

“He wanted to… be very giving.” She’s grinning big, nudging at you now.

“Sukuna is too, my gosh though I owe him. My kid kind of…” She leans closer, conspiratorily holding a hand up. “I got off but… well…”

“Oh no!” You laugh just a bit, and she sighs.

“Mhm. He’s mad. I’ll get drink orders and help bring them!” She bounces off, before running back and helping you mix a few up. “Sukuna just likes to sip on whiskey, Toji it’s beer. Suguru is a little fancy, he likes a nice cosmo - Satoru loves anything that will give him diabetes as you well know. Now Mr. Choso…”

“Who is he?”

“He’s new. He said anything, so I’ll let you whip up something special.” She takes the shot for Sukuna and the beer for Toji and winks. “See you in there, baby.”

“Got it!” She’s giggling as she runs off, someone so upset before you remember, now she’s glowing being with Mr. Sukuna. Seeing the two of them just fuels how badly you want to have that with Satoru, but it seems insane. It seems too fast, but the man had just drank you an hour ago, how can you not go insane?

You mix up a classic rum and coke for Choso, grabbing his drink, Satoru’s and Suguru’s, heading into the huge VIP room, Satoru’s eyes light up bright when you walk in the intense atmosphere. You hand him his drink, smiling, then handing Suguru his, which he winks up at you.

“Thank you, love.” He murmurs, sipping and sighing. “So good.”

“You must be Mr. Choso?” You ask the other man in the room, who smiles sweetly at you, nodding, he’s without a girl in his lap like the other men, a little out of place you notice. “I made a rum and coke, is that okay?”

“It’s perfect, thank you pretty.” You flush at the sweet words from the man, but Satoru is standing and yanking you, making you gasp as he throws you on his lap, to the laughter of the room.

“My pretty bartender.” He grumbles, pulling you close, and you can’t help but giggle as your arms wrap around his neck.

“All yours hmm?” You whisper, he just nods, big hands taking over your waist as they begin talking, it’s constantly impossible for you to focus on shit when you’re in his arms, and he’s taking a blunt from Toji, inhaling it into his lungs, making even that action look sexy.

His lips around a blunt addle your already exhausted brain, reminding you of where they’d just been, making you heat up and shift. “Do you smoke, sweetheart?” He asks softly, coughing just a bit, and you shake your head.

“I haven’t before.”

“You little goody good. Girl scout.” You glare a little, just earning his pretty white grin across his handsome face. “Want a hit?”

“I’ll try.” You inhale the smoke barely, coughing out, and you hear Suguru and Satoru chuckle.

“You’re a horrible influence Satoru.” Suguru teases, you hand him the blunt as he smiles at you. “Don’t end up like him.”

“Excuse me!?” Satoru scowls at his friend, while he inhales the blunt, blowing it into the dancer’s mouth on his lap with ease. “Shit, why didn’t I think of that?”

“It’s hot.” Satoru glares now, and you giggle. “If you did it, I mean.”

“You better mean that. I’ll get jealous.” He pouts as you brush a thumb over his cheek, the scent of marijuana, cigars and Satoru’s cologne filling the air, swirling around you both, so heady.

“I mean it.” You press a kiss on his cheek as Satoru tenses, while Sukuna begins to speak.

“We deal with Mei, she’s likely collecting debt for the Zenin.”

“I want to deal with her, personally.” Satoru says then, his jaw locked as he grips you so tightly squeezing your ribcage, you can feel his fury at her, making your brows knit with worry.

“Satoru, you can’t go running around provoking everyone without backup.” Suguru says, in between another hit, and Satoru scoffs now, as you feel the eyes of everyone on the two of you in the room.

“We have history.” Satoru mumbles, and Sukuna laughs then, shaking his head, as his girl scowls at his next words.

“Well who hasn’t fucked Mei?” Sukuna says amusedly.

Fucked Mei…

“You fucked Mei!?” You hiss, and Satoru flushes a bit, pulling at the knot on his black skinny tie.

“Maybe?”

“I did too, I think I was eighteen.” Suguru admits next to you, as Satoru stares at them all with an open mouth.

“I fucked her with Shiu Kong, threesome.” Toji says as he shrugs, sitting across from you all, a big hand on each stripper in his lap as they’re holding another blunt to his lips, and he’s exhaling, smirking with that scar on his lip stretching just a bit.

“Okay so everyone fucked this Mei lady, so can we make her stop being a bitch to my friend?” Your friend’s words touch your heart, and you feel Satoru relax just a bit, looking at her and nodding.

“We sure will, pookie, don’t worry.” Satoru says to her, before looking back at you and cupping your face. “But I wanna go alone.”

They try to argue about it, you even try to talk him out of going alone, but it’s no use, when Satoru wants something, he clearly will do it. He’s running his fingers up and down your back when it’s bare, sipping the fruity concoction as the plan to deal with who you’re hearing is the Zenin, which you know a bit about in stories, but it’s all so clearly real.

You had no clue your mom was in with such scary people, shit you didn’t even realize Mei was as scary as she was, and apparently… had slept with the entire room of men aside from Choso. The thoughts that she’s had Satoru make you burn with anger, not at him, but that she had him at all, possessive wild thoughts you shouldn’t be having yet, right?

But how can you not, when he’s fast becoming everything.

You were all alone before he brightened your sad, gloomy world.

“You alright baby girl?” Satoru murmurs to you softly, you blink just a bit, nodding. “Zoning out?”

“I’m just thinking about a lot.”

“About me?” He grins, and you bury your face against his neck, making him chuckle a bit, when the next words make you tense.

“We should take him the fuck out.” Toji’s gruff voice speaks of Naoya Zenin now.

“Let’s take Mei out too.” Satoru says, making you pull back with a gasp, eyeing his feral, insane grin and eyes that are too bright.

“Satoru!” You admonish, earning his cute little pout, like he’s some sweet baby and not speaking of murder. “No killing.”

“Do you know what a mafia is, baby?” You sigh, shaking your head.

“The solution can’t be taking people out.” Choso chimes in, Satoru sighs, leaning back and faking a yawn.

“Boring.” He mumbles, to the agreement of the room. “Let’s try to threaten them.” Satoru says then, and the room all reluctantly agree. “I’ll deal with Mei, Choso can deal with the Zenin before we get Sukuna involved.”

“What why!?”

“You’ll kill him, that’s why. Not that I disagree.” Toji says with a chuckle, and soon the room is dispersing, leaving you and Satoru again, just like that first time, and he’s eyeing you curiously.

“Do you mind if I kill her so much?”

“Oh god!” He’s grinning again, looking batshit insane, as you turn in his lap, straddling him now, watching his expression shift as he holds you in his lap, pressing you against his length. He’s feeling your heat, remembering the sweetness of your arousal all over his mouth, dying to fuck into you. “No killing.”

“For now.”

“Satoru!”

“I’ll try not to?” You sigh then, but that sigh turns into a gasp when he pulls you down further, and you’re grinding against his cock, whining out, his huge hands gripping your hair, lips hovering an inch from you. “I’ll try to negotiate first.”

“D-don’t pay for me, promise?” He frowns then, shaking his head.

“Don’t ask me that.”

“Please, I can’t take charity f-from- mnh…” He’s kissing you again, as you’re grinding on him, and he can’t think of anything but killing anyone who’s ever fucking touched you, your mom included, he doesn’t care.

He needs you to be his.

You’re soaking his slacks, earning his little smirk against your lips, hands slipping up the curve of your waist and hips. “Just trust me baby girl, can you?”

“I do.” You whisper, watching his snowy lashes lower, when his timer starts to go off from his pocket, and he winces.

“Can you get it for me? I hurt.” You laugh breathless, hand slipping into his pocket, making your cunt lift off him for just a moment, as his cock is pulsing, ready to fill your tight little cunt so good he can’t take it. You hand him the phone as he curses under his breath. “I have to go, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, of course!” You go to get up, but he’s pulling you back down, your arms wrap his neck, a hand brushing his snowy locks back then. “What is it, Satoru?”

“A date. Can we go on a date?” You feel your heart race at his words, god when is the last time you have had a date? And with Satoru!?

“Yes! I mean… yes.” He’s got a big grin on his pretty face, cupping your face with his long, slender fingers.

“I’ve never been on one?”

“What!? How!”

“That’s a story for the date, hmm?” You nod shyly, so fucking adorable Satoru can’t take it, the excitement making your tired eyes glitter. “Perfect, then I’ll have it all set for tomorrow, after I… take care of the situation.”

“Without killing.”

“Psh.” You nudge at him, and he rolls his baby blues. “Oh fine, yes. But, a date, you’re really down for it?”

“How couldn’t I be? I’d love to.” You feel a blush heat on your cheeks as he stands you up then, bending low and cupping your face with his huge hands, your own hands grip his wrists, looking up at him, seeing his pupils dilate, feeling the intensity of your emotions overwhelming.

“You deserve a good night’s sleep. And to relax, to have some fun, shit to just… live, okay? I want you rested up for the date.” He kisses your lips so sweetly, before it’s more passionate, and he barely resists picking you up and slamming you right against a wall, fucking into you until you pass out from how hard he’d have you cumming.

“I’ll need my energy, huh?” You tease against his lips, but he’s very serious as he pulls you against him in the room, still cloudy with smoke, but all you can breathe or feel is Satoru.

“You’ll need all your energy, baby.” He tilts your chin up, pressing another kiss, swiping off his phone when he pulls back. “You have yummy drinks to make, don’t you pretty?”

“I do!” He walks you towards the bar, the club is filled to the brim with men everywhere, women dancing, smiling, serving drinks, but Satoru’s eyes are only on you when you take back over the bar, and he leans forward.

“If you need me, you have my number, any time. Okay?” You nod and tuck your hair behind your ear, making his heart ache with affection. “You’re so cute.”

“You’re too sweet.” He leans forward, kissing you again, in front of curious eyes of the club goers and workers, murmuring about the notorious head of the Gojo family with a pretty bartender. You feel just a little frisky, yanking on his tie, deepening the kiss, and he moans into your lips. “Taste sweet.”

“Not as sweet as you.” He’s sighing when he pulls back, he doesn’t want all these stupid responsibilities, he wants to spend every moment with you.

Inside you.

Fuck his dick hurts, and he did it to himself.

“Will you text me when you get home safe?” You ask softly, so caring and sweet you melt him, he brushes his cool thumbs under your eyes carefully, watching you sigh in relief.

“I will. Good night, pretty bartender.”

“Good night Mr. Gojo.” He’s walking outside then, finding Suguru waiting on him once more, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the building.

“Gonna admit you’re obsessed now?” Suguru asks, and Satoru snorts, shrugging a broad shoulder.

“I am, okay, so what? But… Mei…”

“Yeah, I know you want to go alone, but let me at least wait in the car tomorrow when you see her?” Satoru nods, as his friend flicks the cigarette and puts a hand on Satoru’s shoulder.

“I would appreciate it. You really fucked her too?” Suguru has the grace to blush in the dark night, while the two of them lounge in the back of the limo now.

“Right at senior year.”

“Shit me too.”

“Have you two…” Suguru wiggles dark brows, and Satoru grimaces, pulling out a water bottle from the limo cooler and gulping the cool liquid, sighing.

“She tried to suck me and I turned it down.”

“You turned it down, a bj? You!?”

“Yeah.” Suguru’s chuckling, and Satoru glares. “What?”

“You’re down bad, shit.”

“Fuck if I don’t know that.” He swipes a hand across his face. “Blue balls like a mother fucker.”

“Satoru, having feelings, this is a new development.” Suguru gets a smack from Satoru, and smacks him back, as the two of them head to their destination, and for a moment it’s like it was back in school, before the two of them took on so many responsibilities.

Suguru was Satoru’s left hand, without him he couldn’t do all of this. “I do have feelings, I wanted her to just… feel good.”

“I taught you well.”

“Pshh, you’re younger than me? I knew how to eat pussy before you.” Suguru rolls violet eyes, leaning back and pulling out his phone then.

“You asked me for advice, I’ll never forget.”

“Oh whatever Suguru, you asked me for advice.”

“Pshh. She looked… pretty happy though.” Gojo grins big then, patting himself on the back big time.

“Yeah she did. I want her to… always look happy? I know, I know. I’m down bad.” Suguru just smiles, saying nothing, but seeing his friend lit up for the first time in seven years was something he enjoyed. “You’ll help me with Mei?”

“Of course, anything you need.”

“Good.” Satoru starts plotting in his mind then, hoping he can hold back just a bit of the terrible things he wants to do.

He’d do anything for a girl who he barely knows, but wants so badly to know every little part of.

*****

That night, you never get a text from Satoru, it’s late and you shouldn’t call him, right? You’ll seem clingy or weird or…

But you’re worried.

You’re laying in bed, exhausted as you pull out the phone, dialing his number, hearing his hushed whisper. “Hey baby girl, sorry we’ve had a situation.”

“Anything bad!?” You whisper in fear, heart hammering in your chest.

“We’ll be fine, it’s about Sukuna’s girl. But I’m okay, don’t worry about me, you get some sleep.”

“I wanted to know if you were fine or… I’m sorry I…” You’re turning on your side as Satoru leans closer to the phone, stepping away from his friends.

“No, no please. Thank you for checking on me? It’s really sweet and… you can’t bother me, okay?” You exhale in relief, in your past you’ve always felt like… a burden, an annoyance, and just his soft words of reassurance make you tear up.

He makes you ache for him.

“You know what I wish?” You say then, and Satoru’s own heart is pounding at your sexy little voice.

“What is that, pretty bartender?”

“That you were here, in bed. Shirtless.” His cock aches again, and he still hasn’t taken care of it, making him curse softly, hearing your breathless giggle.

“You’re torturing me, cruel, cruel woman. Shirtless hmm?” He’s walking further away, until he’s locked in the bathroom, hopefully out of earshot. “Why do you want me shirtless in your bed, what would you do?”

“I’d kiss and lick every part of your body. Slowly.” Satoru moans then, rubbing his cock over his slacks.

“Shit… You’re gonna kill me, y’know that?” His hoarse voice just brings out more from you, making you feel so daring.

“I’d kiss him too.”

Fuck.

“You brat.” You’re giggling once more, the sound making him smile alone, as he pictures you in that bed of yours. “Just kiss him?”

“Every inch, lots of kisses.” Satoru’s head falls back on the door, as you torture him with images of your pretty lips all over his length, your mouth open wide for his cum, before he fills every hole you have.

“You’ll be making this up to me tomorrow.” He whispers out, lost in the thoughts of you, and you’re snuggling under your blankets, he brings something out in you, this is not something you’ve said or acted like. But with him? It’s like he makes you want to have fun again.

“I sure will make it all up to you.” You’re picturing it, what does Satoru’s body look like, his cock felt huge and…

Fuck.

You’re torturing yourself too.

“I’ll hold you to that you know, all that talk, are you going to be a good girl?”

Good girl, shit, he’s fucking with you right back.

“Y-yes. I will. I can’t wait.”

“Then get some sleep, missy. You’ll need energy. Remember?”

“Got it. Good night, Satoru.”

“Good night sweetheart.” He hangs up the phone, longing to be with you, but he has to push you deep in his mind for now, focusing, while you fall asleep, not realizing the impending danger surrounding you both, nor how willing Satoru is to fix this for you.

*****

“Gojo, what an unexpected surprise.” Mei’s voice practically purrs the words, sauntering over to him in her fancy office, decorated with the finest gold and blues all over, every inch of it oozing wealth, too much wealth, even Satoru does not go on such a display, and he knows he’s richer than anyone in this city.

“Mei, how are ya?” Satoru puts on an easy grin, he knows how she moves, how to play her, even though disgust fills his stomach at knowing what she’s done to you, he shuts the door behind him with a resounding click, perching his signature Gucci shades down his straight nose just a bit.

“Been a long time…” She perches on her desk, crossing her legs and tossing back her light blue braids, slightly falling in front of an attractive face. Surely eighteen year old Satoru was all for Mei’s attention, but now it feels wrong to even act as he’s going to, when all he wants is you.

But he knows how to play this bitch.

“Aren’t you looking good, shit.” He whistles a bit, earning her flattered laughter, throaty and full, while Satoru waltzes in, hands in his pockets, until he’s right between Mei’s spread thighs in her business slacks. She raises a thin brow, slipping a hand up and down his tie then.

“You look pretty good yourself.” Mei brushes her hands against his cheek, and he tries to keep a calm demeanor, his own hand sliding up her back, watching as her barriers lower for him. “Miss me so much?”

“I’m here on business, I fear.” His hand entangles in her hair, as his lips hover an inch from hers, his other on her waist, watching as her expression changes, her hips shift just so.

“Just business?” She teases, pulling him closer.

“I need to know about a girl you’re getting money from, Mei…” He’s slipping a hand further up her waist, looming over her on the desk, as she gets visibly turned on from him, nipples pressing against her thin blouse, as he palms her under that dark blue blazer.

“A girl, hmm? Should I be jealous, Gojo?”

“I need you to stop the interest, cut her a break, as a favor for me, hmm? Could you do that sweets?” Satoru asks, voice humming softly, she blinks long light blue lashes, her hands slipping to his belt buckle then.

“A personal favor, what’s her name?” Satoru speaks it then, your name off his lips, making her pause a bit. “What’s she to you, is she so special?”

“I’m asking you to back off. I’ll pay off the interest, just don’t charge anymore, can you do that, hmm? For me?” He pouts at Mei, but her expression shifts then, to one of irritation, her body tensing now.

“You wanna pay her interest? No, sweetie, that won’t do. Her mother owes the Zenin a massive debt and that interest goes to me.”

“Then you’ll get it in your pockets quickly, don’t you love lining them?” His words turn to a low hum, grinning as he brushes fingers down her neck, and she sighs then, eyes icy as they stare daggers at him.

“Who is she to you?”

“A girl I’m taking on a date that’s so tired she can’t keep her fucking eyes open, and so much red bull she’ll have a goddamn stroke.” Mei laughs then, and Satoru loses it, squeezing her throat and cutting the laughter short. “I didn’t joke here, did I? Let me rephrase this shit, I’ll cut off any money from the Gojo family, if you don’t at least back off the interest. Got it?”

She’s pulling at Satoru’s wrist, but he’s squeezing harder, leaning over her now, and seeing a file with your last name right on her desk. But not your first. He pulls the file as he keeps squeezing, blue eyes narrowing as she’s sputtering for breath, not that he could care less. He smirks while she struggles, but then releases her, letting her cough shakily.

“Shit…” He whistles, as he reads through a gambling addiction that makes Toji Fushiguro’s look casual. Mei pulls a knife on him, which he casually knocks out of his hand with a little flick of his wrist, grabbing her wrist then as he bends it behind her, earning her grunt of frustration. “Ah, ah, you’re getting sloppy, what happened?”

“Oh fuck you.” He sighs, clicking his tongue as he holds her down with ease, like it’s nothing when he stumbles further on your file.

Twenty-Five.

Born right here.

How’d he never see you? Three years older than you, he wonders what your life was before, pursuing further to find you had just shy of a full psychology degree. What were you… doing here then, working some admin job and bartending? Did you give up college for this woman?

A woman with a rap sheet that makes him whistle, ignoring Mei’s struggles until she starts disturbing his reading, making him glare. “You’re lucky she is a sweet girl, or you’d be dead.”

“You’re threatening me?”

“Promising. Take the interest or I'll take care of this.”

“It’s not just me, you know it.” He lets go of her then, rolling his eyes as he snatches your files up for himself. “The Zenin-”

“The Zenin are on their last leg.” He smirks then, pulling out his phone, flashing a picture of their leader for her to gasp at. “Did you fuck him too? Aw…”

“What have you all done?” She demands, with horror affixed on her face, a face Gojo did find pretty before, but now it’s all you, and he can’t find an attractive feature on this woman’s greedy body.

“It’s none of your business, but considering the Kamo’s are now with us, you may consider a change of employer, hmm?” He grins now, as she takes off her blazer in a huff, throwing it on the back of her enormous desk chair.

“You’ll pay all her interest right now?”

“Give me a number.” She does just that, it’s nothing for Satoru but he knows you don’t want him to pay…

But he hopes you’ll forgive him for that too.

He needs to buy time.

“She’s not protected as some girlfriend, she’s not your wife or a member of the Gojo family, so they can keep coming after her.” Mei says then, while he transfers the obscene amount of money to her over the phone, and she plops down in her seat, lips curling up a bit.

“Money gets you so wet, doesn't it.” She glares, opening her mouth, he snorts then, shaking his head. “I don’t wanna know, actually. What do you mean by that?”

“If you actually want her left alone by others, not just me, then you’d have to marry the girl, or she’s not in your family.” Satoru falters at that, earning her nasty little smile. “I was the least of your problems, lover boy. But, she won’t hear from me or get more interest on my end.”

“They want her mom. I get that, but why her?”

“Collateral damage.” She says calmly. “It’s what you do too, don’t be mad because it happens to be some girl you want in your bed.”

“That is not all I want.” She blinks a little, standing up once more, coming up to him and trailing her fingers down his body, humming a bit.

“Maybe hate sex would be fun?”

“Not with me, sweets. Maybe one of my friends, I heard you were really catching these high school seniors like Digimon.” He shoves her off him with a grin now, slipping his sunglasses back up, while Mei looks at him furiously. “Kinda creepy, the barely legal thing Mei.”

Her face contorts into a scowl. “Oh just get the fuck out. Go have fun with your little girlfriend, she still will owe us the rest though.”

“For now. Pleasure doing business, Mei.” He winks and dodges a flying projectile, which shatters against the wall, exhaling as he leaves and shivering with disgust with having touched her.

What is this feeling?

He feels like you already are his, and you have a date tonight, it’s brand new, but he loves it, this feeling, the one where he wants to protect you, learn you, and make you feel so good you forget you ever had these problems. He would have paid the entirety of the debt, but he knows that’s too far for you right now.

He checks the time now, meeting Suguru in the car, handing him the file, which Suguru studies for a moment, whistling, his dark brows lowering. “Shit, this is her mom, huh?”

“Yeah. We have a lot more trouble than Mei.”

“How’d that go?” Suguru’s flipping through the file curiously, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes as he reads about you.

“As good as it can be, paid the interest, gotta hope she’s not mad about it, she told me no money…”

“Like you listen to shit.”

Satoru shoves Suguru, but the laughter dies as Suguru pulls up a particular page, where he sees your brother, who Satoru hadn’t made it to yet. “Shit, look at his criminal record. And he owes debts, is she paying them too?”

“Not that I know of. I know she said he begs for money.” Satoru’s jaw locks, studying them further.

“You can’t just kill her mom and brother, Satoru.”

“It’s tempting, they’re trash. But no, a conversation is all I’m thinking, hit the brother, offer him some money, figure out more what’s going on, how they got on the Zenin’s radar.”

“Surprisingly smart.”

“Hey now!” He scowls at a smiling Suguru, as his phone starts blinging, and his face gives it right away.

“She text you?”

“Yes.” He can’t stop his dopey grin. “Almost time for our date.”

*****

“Don’t be mad, pookie, mmkay?” Is the first thing you hear when you step into Satoru Gojo’s limo, and his eyes swoop down your body, hugged in a form fitting dark red dress, showing far too much of your perfect breasts, making his mouth drop open, cock already straining.

“Mad at what, Satoru?” You ask, but he’s staring at your body, exhaling then, pulling you against his hard frame, making your mind go haywire. “Satoru?”

“Shit, you’re gorgeous. Fuck, this dress…” He’s running fingers down it, swiping the soft velvet, having you trembling in moments.

“Mad at what?”

“Shit…” He’s kissing your neck, a hand gripping your breast, eliciting a cry as his other finds purchase at your waist. “Taste yummy, smell good, look fucking-”

“Thank you, very much but… mnh, mad at what?” He pulls back then, frowning just a bit. “Did it go bad?”

“I mean, as good as we can hope.” He’s taking a breath, pulling back just so, trying to remember what he even meant to say. “Well, I paid your interest-”

“You can’t do that!”

“Baby it’s nothing-”

“But I… you… why…” You’re sniffling then, so touched but also you feel horrible he’s had to do this. “I’m too complicated for you, Satoru, I-”

“Complicated is good. I don’t want boring, yeah? Don’t want perfect. I want this pretty little mess right here, who looks so beautiful I can’t stop thinking of ripping this dress off.” You’re melting, breasts heaving, only making his hands grip them again, you bite your lip not to moan out loud. “I want all of you.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this. It’s not okay. It’s not fair.” You’re shaking your head, and Satoru cups your face now, leaning over you, it’s all him.

And you’re falling for him, so hard, so fast, it’s like falling off a cliff, a free dive with no fucking gear. Feeling more than you have in your entire life, for someone you’re not sure you deserve. Who is little you compared to Satoru Gojo?

“It’s not fair what happened to you, and I’m going to fix it, but for now, it gets that part gone, and that’s something, yeah? I didn’t pay it all, enough to get them all the fuck off you for now. Please, you never have to give it back. Ever.”

“Oh, Satoru…” You’re so exhausted then, it all hits you, all you’ve been dealing with alone, as you lean on him, on Satoru, and he’s pulling you into his arms so tightly, wishing to never let go. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You deserve so much more than what you have. Okay? I wanted to help, please don’t refuse it.” You’re kissing him, over and over, until your back is on the limo, and Satoru could take you then and there.

You’ve never wanted anything more, eagerly yanking on his shirt, deepening the kiss, while you feel his length hot and heavy against your inner thigh, even under his slacks. He gasps a bit for a breath, cupping your cheek, watching your eyes flutter shut in pleasure when he’s got his cock snug against your clit, hearing your every whine, cry and whimper.

“Thank you, Satoru.” He exhales in relief, shaking his head.

“Don’t thank me. I also… may have had to flirt?” You look away a bit, making him turn your face back. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I hated it. Disgusting.” You can’t stop the flush creeping from your cheeks, the fullness of your heart, how he looks at you, with those endless azure pools he calls eyes, so dilated now.

“What all did you have to do?”

“I flattered her, acted like I wanted her.”

“What now?”

“Aw, you’re jealous baby girl?” Satoru whispers, husky toned while his sweet cool breath brushes against your skin, and his hand slides up your collarbone, resting right at the base of your throat.

“That you touched her, yes.” Your admission is so soft and genuine, but you can’t help but express it.

“I choked her.” You glare and he grins. “Not sexually, she wishes, shit.”

“Sexually?” He sees it then, the curiosity in your pretty expression, in your lidded gaze and dilated pupils, while his free hand slips down your body, the other tightening its hold on your delicate neck.

“With you, it would be slow, deliberate…” He’s trailing off as he squeezes just a bit, pressure on your beating pulse. “Get you fuzzy and lightheaded, but never enough to hurt your pretty neck.”

“Mnh!” You’re crying out as you feel it, the pressure increasing, all while Satoru looks at you under those snowy lashes, licking his lower lip when he presses his fingers against you now, slick pooling so quickly it’d be embarrassing- if you could think right now.

“Feels good, hmm?” You nod just a bit in his hold, while his fingers gather all your sticky arousal, and he’s slipping them between your lips, up and down until he finds your hole, aching to be filled. The combination of his squeezing of your throat and his finger now curling inside your cunt are too much, your every sense heightened.

“Ah!” You’re crying out while he works your spot, increasing that pressure, vivid eyes watching your every movement, you’re clinging to him then, arching your hips while everything gets faded, fuzzy.

“You’re so pretty, fuck…” He’s murmuring more to himself than anything, watching the flush of your face as he squeezes, as he hears the clicking sounds of your soppy little pussy, just for him, releasing you for a moment. He sees his hand prints as you gasp for breath, pretty breasts heaving from your dress.

“That was…”

“Intense?”

“Yes but, I’d like more.” You’re burying your head against his chest as you whine out, while he crooks that finger up again, chuckling.

“Adorable, I swear. Want it a little more?” You nod eagerly, neck already sore, and he slips another finger inside you now, curling just so in gummy walls so slick, muscles so tight you’ve got him like a fucking vise. “Cum f’me, would you? Let me watch you.”

You shatter as he squeezes your throat tighter, fingers working you so good, you see fuzz all over, it’s black damn near, like a circle closing on a picture perfect face, with Satoru’s feral face hovering, fading. You scream out silently as he presses your throat so tight, you’re gasping for air while he chokes you through it, making you feel like you’re floating in the back of this limo.

“Gorgeous little neck, so tiny compared to my huge hands, huh?” Your eyes roll back as he thumbs your clit with his two fingers in, feeling all your aftershocks, finally releasing you bit by bit, until you eagerly suck breaths in. He’s pecking kisses all over your forehead, as your numb hands flex, trying to get life to them. “Oh, you really like that.”

You cough gently, rubbing your throat. “I’m apparently freaky.” You look up at him with a pout, and his grin just grows wider, easing his fingers out then with a wet pop.

“Open.” You do just that, sucking your sweet, tangy taste off his thick digit, watching as his nostrils flare from the sight. “Do you think I’m freaky?” You nod, as he kisses your lips softly. “You really haven’t seen shit yet, baby.”

“More freakiness hidden, hmm?” You’re so wet against the thigh that now presses between yours that you can scarcely function, blinking rapidly as your senses are skewed, engulfed in him. “Will you show me?”

“When you’re ready, yes. Are you not very…”

“No, not really.” You admit, you’ve done things but the way Satoru consumes you, touches you like he knows you, it’s hard to compare anything prior.

“You’re not a-”

“No, not that innocent. Do I give virgin vibes?”

“Kinda. It’s cute though.” You huff a bit then, pushing his chest, moving under him and making him groan out.

“I have done things, just they were… nothing like with you.” Your words make his heart hammer, as his cock is straining against his slacks, dying to be surrounded by your heat. “They weren’t anywhere close to what you did the other day.”

“I’m the best at eating pussy.”

“Clearly.” You both laugh, as he kisses down your body, over your dress, nipping and licking your breasts, then lower, feeling your thighs tremble on either side of his narrow hips, your hands entangled in his hair.

God he needs you.

“I want to please you, too.” You say as he’s slipping up the dress high, until it’s up on your hips, and he’s breathing against the pale blue lace of your panties, with a growing dark spot by the minute.

“So eager to suck me off?” You’re a little blushing mess again, when he licks your inner thigh, pressing a kiss on it. “Words, baby.”

“Yes, I want to.”

“And have you?” He’s kissing your other thigh, pulling your panties up so the lips are revealed on either side, making you squeak.

“No, but I’ve watched a lot of…” He pulls up a bit, grinning.

“Go on.”

“Oh man.” You’re covering your face now, hips jerking as he breathes against your pussy, making it pulse.

“Nuh- uh, spill.”

“A lot of porn clips, okay?”

“Naughty girl. Were you doing that before our call?” You refuse to remove your hands, until he bites your panty clad cunt, teeth sinking in until your hands drop, gripping his hair as he smirks up at you. “Gonna answer me?”

“Maybe.” He laughs softly again, tickling you to no end, you’re so sensitive and needy you almost cum from his damn breaths on you, releasing his hair just a bit, trying to calm your breathing.

“Got horny from porn then called me?”

“Got horny from you, then watched porn. Then called you.” He moans then, leaning back over your body, as the limo stops at a light, watching as the leds dance across your skin, your face, making his breath catch.

“You can suck me any time, I just wanted you to relax, not put in more work.”

“Is it gonna be so much work?” You tease, raising a brow, Satoru’s smirk speaks for itself. “It will be fun not work.”

“You’re underestimating him.”

“I am not, I am sure he is…” You’re giggling now as the car moves again, and he’s sitting you both up, brushing a thumb on your lips. “Huge.”

“Come find out then, so eager, huh? You’re slutty just for me?” His whisper excites you, and you can’t help but nod, when his hand entangles in your hair. “Get on your knees then, baby. We have a few minutes before we get there.”

You eagerly do just as he says, fuck you’d do anything he asks, the way he speaks, the way he looks at you, tilting your chin up, his blue eyes bright under his snowy lashes. You unzip him carefully, he watches as you do, as you slowly pull out a thick, veiny cock, so long it makes you nervous now, curved up with a blushing tip, leaking precum.

“You’re-”

“Huge?”

“Pretty.” He blinks then, women have told him how big he is, certainly, he’s a little conceited about it, but the way you look at it, touching his sticky tip with the milky precum and rolling little circles around the ridge, he bucks up in your hand from that.

“Pretty?” He murmurs, as you lap your pink little tongue along his slit, tiny hand trying to wrap his length, eliciting a soft cry from him that makes you ache more.

“Very pretty.”

“Shit…” He’s pulling your hair gently, watching you circle your tongue around his tip, just a bit unsure, torn between fucking into your throat and taking it easy on you, warring as his hands tense, your mouth sucking his tip in. “Oh my god… can you take more, baby?”

You just exhale, slipping more of his thick cock into your open mouth, eyes looking up at him, so sexy his cock twitches against your tongue. He’s leaned back for a moment, eyes fluttering shut, whispering filthy words as he guides you down further, your drool pouring down every vein, wrapped around his pretty cock.

Pretty, yes it was pretty.

“That’s it, sweetheart… f-fuck… t-take it, please, s-so good.” He’s whimpering now, a sound that surprises you from a six foot four mobster, one so conceited and sure, but he’s letting go while you suck him deeper and deeper. Your cheeks hollow when you suck hard, pulling up, and his hips thrust. “Fuck you don’t need lessons, you suck it so good, perfect f’me- ah!”

Satoru’s lost now, in your motions, of a cock he’s been stroking to the thought of you since he met, watching as tears form in your pretty eyes, as your nails press against his thighs, making him hiss when you go deeper. As you all hit a bump his cock is shoved even deeper, while you’re balancing yourself, he feels it, the back of your tight throat.

“Oh f-fuck… there, baby, you’re taking me so well… can you take it if I… fuck this tight little throat?” You pull back with a pop, shifting your thighs, the friction alone eliciting a cry of pleasure that just makes him crave you more. “It’s okay if not yet.”

“I want it.” He’s lost then, sitting up and forcing his cock in your throat so deep you choke for a moment.

“Breathe out your nose, relax baby.” You do as he orders, Satoru Gojo still in that suit with a pretty cock slamming up your throat, stretching and burning, you feel him thicken inside your throat as the tip hits your uvula, you’re clinging to him, struggling to take more. “That’s it, not even gonna be able to talk, that throat is mine.”

Satoru descends into madness when you’re gagging just a bit, drool making his cock slicker and slicker, while the sounds of you sucking him wetly fill the limo, and he’s so close. The car stops and soon he hears it open, but it’s already too far, one or two more sucks and he’s busting, and you also have no intention of stopping, even as pretty tears smear that mascare.

“Where do you want it, baby?” You pull back as the door has a rap of Kiyotaka’s knuckles.

“We’re here Mr. Gojo.”

“I’m coming…” He chuckles as you giggle, covering your mouth with your palm as you do, and he’s brushing drool off your chin. “One sec.”

“My mouth.” You whisper, so daringly, he blinks before he’s got his cock back in your mouth, and you’re sucking him eagerly, swirling your tongue along every ridge, vein, every bit of him.

“You are going to be such a naughty girl f’me, look how pretty you fucking are like this.” He’s fucking your throat fully now, sitting up as your knees press into the soft mats of the floor, and you’re struggling to act calm, when you’re so nervous. “Pull back a little.”

You do as he says, earning his soft moan.

“Good girl, m’gonna cum, f-fuck can you… take me baby?” His voice is just a quiet whisper, and at your answer- sucking him deeper, he busts his creamy load so much it’s hard to swallow it all. “Oh m-my… that’s it, drink it all, like a good girl.”

You’re drinking Satoru’s milky cum down your throat, bit by bit, gulping him down while he pulses from aftershocks, biting his own lower lip to muffle his guttural groans and soft whines. He’s murmuring your name, over and over, you’re easing back just a bit, licking the rest of him up, saliva and the remnants of his sticky ropes dripping from your lips.

“God, look at you.” Satoru’s pulling you up then, yanking you to sit on his lap, as your eyes lower shyly. “Perfect, fuck I’ve never felt that good.”

“Really?” You ask softly, and he exhales, nodding, cupping your face.

“Is it normal to keep thinking how pretty your eyes are during it?” He’s speaking more to himself than you, brushing his thumbs in circles over your cheeks, which are burning.

“I thought it when you ate me out.”

“Yeah?”

“Your eyes… surely you know how beautiful they are. Also… you came a lot, you know- that was a lot to swallow, Sir.” You’ve got him laughing then, as he kisses your lips, tasting himself on them, and you shift just so, over his cock that’s still glistening with you.

You’re worth every bit of money in the world, worth it all, to have this moment with you, not just cumming - and fuck he needed it - but your laughs, your blushes, your cute little motions. Worth any fight or anything Satoru will have to do in order to keep you safe.

For the first time since he took over at age eighteen, he feels light, he feels so good, to think he’d do anything but spend time with you makes his heart clench. “Think I’m falling, shit.”

“Satoru… please don’t say that if you don’t… it will hurt if you don’t mean it.” You say, tears swimming now, while you press your lips against his again, softer, and he’s slinking a hand up your waist. “Because so am I.”

Satoru’s heart thuds now, gulping, throat dry at the sincerity of your words, not a woman who wants him for his money, his power, his looks, position… no you want him. And fuck he wants you.

“It’s insane.” You say, and he sighs, eyes darting back and forth across your gorgeous face.

“It is, but baby I’m insane, don’t you know?” You bite that lower lip, making him tut, pulling it from the grip. “I won’t say anything I don’t mean.”

“Neither will I, ever. I mean every word… of how much I feel. How my mind is racing, however… well it’s dirty.”

“Is it now?” He’s wiggling his brows, as you laugh softly. “The thoughts?”

“Um…” You’re whispering in his ear, like it’s a secret. “Could you choke me again, when we…”

“Oh… oh. Fuck yes I can. You liked it so much?” You’re nodding against his neck, he pushes your chin up to face him. “Choke you harder?”

“Yes, please.”

“Fuck do we need to go on this date? I can take you home, shit.”

“But you’ve never been on one!”

Satoru sighs, adjusting his cock now, and you eye it, seeing it’s already getting hard once more. “I want to go, I just also wanna fuck this perfect pussy.”

“We have time. No work tomorrow, remember?” He’s sighing, pulling you close against his chest.

“You deserve many more days off. Now, let’s go hmm?” You nod eagerly, ever curious where he’s brought you, when he finally opens the door, the cool breeze hitting both of your overheated bodies when you step out, eyes taking in the beautiful marina, along with a giant, beautiful boat bobbing up and down the water, lit up in the evening with soft white lights.

“What’s this? It’s beautiful.” You hold his hand then, as the breeze gently blows your hair back, and for a moment he forgets all the danger, forgets anything but how you look in that moment.

“It’s my boat. Just bought it.”

“Huh?”

“For the date.”

A/N- hehe- yes he bought a boat for that dattee. Still a lot more to go with these two, but Toru got some relief. This ties heavily into Pour it Up part 6 but I tried not to copy it verbatim and show a diff POV. I hope you all enjoy!!

Taglist #1- @thejujvtsupost @moonchu @thikcems @yenayaps @luvmichu @antisocialinlw @sukunadckrider @gojoslefttoenail @genticcs @sukuxna0 @saitamaswifey @monster-effer @gradmacoco @bounie1 @bestelizabeth1 @alygator77 @arabellasolstice @naina326 @1satoruu @silvarys @feliaeae @jkslaugh97 @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @simp-plague @ladyneisa @distractionforyourthoughts @erintaro @ninikrumbs @yesdere @stargirl-mayaa @wstaley2 @just-lilita @lady-of-blossoms @genshingeeksworld @yaoishipper19 @angryflowerwitch @strawberrysluttt @emochosoluvr @bluebrry05 @trishiepo0 @gina239 @bunheadusa @hazelll-trisk @simperisksksk @jud3thedude @breadsbasket @shhhhhhxoxo125 @gojosoups @starpachinko

#satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #mob gojo #jjk x reader

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cxckblxcker · 5 months ago

Text

sunday morning

chapter thirty-two | prev<< | chapter index

a favor for a friend fiancè?

pairings: roommate!Choso x f!reader ft. ex-bf!Nanami + fwb!Gojo

content: angst and fluff and then more angst, gojo is our favorite green flag!, silly gojo related shenanigans, emotional hurt/comfort, the men are FIGHTING over you, jealousy, pretend(?) relationships, idiots falling in love, pining

art by @aransmind divider by @petalpxl !

Was there anything better than Gojo Satoru on his knees?

Probably not.

Your laugh was cut short when you realized he was only down on one, his hands reaching for his pocket instead of your thighs, pulling out a small box. A dangerous glint in his eyes as he held it out in his large palm.

He wasn't.

Was he?

He popped it open, a diamond the size of a fucking rock in the centerpiece of the ring. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But that thing just looked like it cost what you made in a year. All sparkly and shiny, reflecting the lights from his bedroom and glittering as he plucked the dainty band from the crushed velvet.

He wasn't saying anything.

Why wasn't he saying anything? Why weren't you saying anything?

You numbly caught a brief look behind him at yourself in his mirror, sitting on his bed in the white dress he'd bought for you to wear tonight, a gesture that suddenly had an entirely new meaning now. All dolled up for the mysterious favor he had yet to explain. Although, you had just sort of assumed it was just a date in disguise.

There was no way he was being serious. He couldn't be. You weren't dating him to begin with.

But what if he was?

“I, uh, didn't think you'd let me get this far,” He chuckled, a flicker of nervousness betraying his overconfidence.

Your tongue wouldn't move.

He raised a brow, his freshly-pressed shirt creasing when he tossed the empty ring box to the ground so he could grab your left hand.

Stopping him would be smart.

It'd be easy to smack his arm or hiss at him to put it away and ask what the fuck he was thinking. But those thoughts weren't leaving your mouth, your lips parted in what might not have even been a protest.

“Would you do me the honor of being my fiancée tonight?” The blue of his eyes burning into you, the cold metal of the ring grazing against the tip of your finger while he waited for your reply.

“Just for tonight?” Your voice was hoarse. It felt like someone had stuffed cotton down your throat, every syllable scratchy. On what planet was this considered a favor?

“Don't tempt me,” He murmured, his gaze flitting from your probably still-stunned face down to your hand in his. Kind of funny coming from the guy who just pretended to actually propose for the bit. “Is that a yes?”

“Yeah,” You barely managed to choke out.

He slipped the ring on your finger, twisting a little past the knuckle and readjusting until it was perfectly centered. It couldn't have fit any better. Any distant hopes you had that maybe it was a fake, a gag for whatever show he was about to put on, disappeared now that you could see it up close. It was obvious he picked it out. Even more so that he had you in mind when he did. You had no idea where to even begin cataloging this in your brain.

“Pretty,” He quietly said, still holding your hand.

You couldn't tear your attention away to see if he was talking about you or it.

“Satoru,” You heard yourself say. His fingers squeezing your own at the sound of his name. “What are we doing?”

“We're going to dinner,” He casually said, standing up and brushing invisible dust off his slacks, pointedly ignoring what you were really asking. He walked over to where your heels were sitting by the messy assortment of stuff you'd brought over to get ready, makeup bags and extra clothes and hair products thrown haphazardly in a pile next to the mirror. When you hesitantly mentioned staying with him for a few days, he accepted before you could even tell him the reason. Even suggested both of you ask off work the next day and go do something fun.

“And?”

Scrambling to come to your senses, regain some control of yourself as he slid your heels on, extending a hand to help you to your feet.

“It’s a work dinner,” He admitted.

Relief? Disappointment? Some weird mixture of both hit you as you nodded, thankful for the shock that hadn't yet faded for not betraying how you really felt.

“Okay,” You softly agreed.

“The higher-ups are assholes, but I can handle them,” He assured you, or maybe himself, as you stared ahead blankly at the wall, willing yourself to start moving again when your legs felt like jelly. “You don't need to do much.”

“It's fine,” You said, the weight on your finger feeling more like an elephant than an ant while you absentmindedly fiddled with it. “I don't mind.”

“Thank you,” He barely grazed your cheeks with a kiss as he handed over your purse, a guiding hand on your back and leading you out to the lion’s den.

The car ride was mostly spent in comfortable silence, the radio turned up, him singing along in a voice you suspected was terrible on purpose, like he was trying to make you laugh.

“I've been thinking about moving out,” You mumbled, looking out the window, storefronts and people blinking by. Unsure of what exactly spurred the confession as you fiddled with the hem of your short dress.

Gojo laughed, the sound abruptly cutting off.

“Wait, you're actually serious?” Disbelief dripped off every word.

“Yeah,” You admitted. “The lease will be up in a few months anyway.”

“Have you told Yuji?”

“Not yet,” You bit your bottom lip on instinct, forcing yourself to stop before you ruined the makeup you’d spent so long on. “I don't really know how he's going to react.”

“You’re gonna get your own place?”

“Yeah, I guess,” You nervously chuckled, rustling through your purse and flipping down the little mirror to reapply your lip gloss.

How were you supposed to stay there when Choso was always just a room away? When every time he looked at you all you found was longing and regret? Sometimes it just felt like you were living with a carcass that had been left out to rot. Or maybe you were the corpse. Something dead he couldn't stand to bury.

Your relationship might not have been fair to Yuji. But whatever it was now wasn't fair to you or Choso. If you left before it was too late, some scraps could probably still be saved, salvaging your friendship from the rubble.

“You know, if you want,” Gojo paused, like he was testing the words out on his tongue before he said them out loud. “You could always just stay with me until you find a new place. If you're uncomfortable living there right now, I mean.”

It's not like he was that off. You were uncomfortable living there. But were you really capable of just living with Gojo? Even if you hadn't had sex or really even kissed since the night you spent with him and Choso, you’d be lying to yourself if you said it was platonic. The cuddling, the casual touches, the long stares. The quiet understanding that something was there that neither of you had acknowledged outright.

Honestly, you trusted him more than you trusted yourself. How long would it take before you found yourself doing more than just sleeping in his bed? And how long after that until something happened and he revoked his invitation or threw you away or decided you weren't worth it?

Wasn't that the natural order of things?

“Just think about it, okay?” He proposed, turning right into a pay by the hour lot. Smiling to himself as he pulled out his phone to follow the instructions on the sign posted by the space.

“You think Yuji’s gonna be upset?” You tucked your purse under his seat, not really sure if you should bring it in as you opened the door and started to get out. Gojo was switching off the car, locking it behind you as he walked around to slip his hand in yours.

“Stop worrying so much,” He teased. “You’ve gotta put yourself first sometimes.”

It was weird to hear that directed towards you. How often had you said the same to Choso, just to get frustrated when he refused to listen?

“Thanks,” You murmured. “I guess you're right.”

“Always am, sweetheart,” He laughed.

Your heels were rubbing uncomfortably against your heel by the time you reached the restaurant, Gojo's long strides annoyingly hard to keep up with. He chattered the entire way there, bouncing from topic to topic, an even more enthusiastic energy than usual pouring off of him. He was up to something. Anyone who knew him would know that.

“Can you slow down?” You pouted, his warm hand in yours tugging you along.

“We’re almost there,” He tutted, not even looking where he was going.

“You already said that,” You complained with a sigh.

“Fine,” He suddenly stopped, his grin only getting wider. “Want me to give you a piggyback ride then?”

“Could you at least try to be serious?” You were giggling though, picturing what his bosses would think if he showed up carrying you like that. He was squatting down like he'd really do it too, refusing to budge when you tried to pull him back up under his shoulders.

“I'm not hearing a no,” He pointed out.

“I'm going to leave you here.” For as stern as you tried to sound, you were stifling laughter as you started walking ahead of him, barely able to keep it in.

It didn't take him more than a handful of seconds to rejoin you.

“You're pulling the car around front after dinner,” You told him, interlacing his fingers with yours first this time.

“Bossing me around already?” He whined, despite looking absolutely delighted.

“You like it,” You rolled your eyes.

“It’s cute when you do it.” He pinched your cheek with his free hand, avoiding your attempts to swat him away.

Whether it was a flirt or a taunt, you were about to protest until he gestured towards a small restaurant tucked between a few other storefronts, a small crowd of people clustered outside it, cigarette smoke lingering in the air.

“We're here,” He leaned down to mutter in your ear.

You let him lead the way again, people parting naturally for him and making a path to the front door. He held it open for you, waving casually at the hostess before tugging you through the narrow paths between tables towards a private room in the back. The interior was a bit plain, although you got the impression it was meant to be minimalist. It felt cold almost, from the bright white lights to the empty walls, no picture frames or artwork taking up space.

“Are we late?” You whispered to him, practically clinging to his side as he paused in front of the room, intermingling voices coming through the thin wall.

He just shrugged, offering a semi-apologetic smile. Only letting go of your hand so we could wrap it around your waist instead, yanking open the door with his other one like he wanted to make a grand entrance.

You would've thought the grim reaper showed up.

It seemed you might've been the last ones to show, only three seats left grouped together in the middle, drinks and menus littering the glossy wood, appetizers already out. It was almost entirely men - with the exception of one familiar face.

Yuki popped out of her chair on the opposite end, clasping her hands together as she started walking over.

“You're here,” One of the men sighed, his irritated gaze flickering from Gojo over to you, hesitating when he saw the ring on your left hand. “Who's this?”

“My fiancée,” Gojo grinned, squeezing your side as you leaned into him.

Yuki snagged your left hand, holding it up to her face and laughing.

“Holy shit,” She laughed. Someone had clearly had a few drinks. “I haven't seen you in a few months and you go and get engaged to Gojo?”

“Do you know each other?” You didn't think his asshole of a boss could sound more disgusted.

Yuki was ignoring him.

“I didn't know you'd be here,” She smiled, pulling her phone out of her back and actually snapping a picture of your ring, typing something before putting it back up. “I've just been doing some consulting for these guys and heard drinks were free.”

“Yeah, Satoru begged me to go with him,” You giggled, thankful to have at least one more friendly face here. You’d tell her the truth later. Considering how openly she seemed to dislike the rest of attendees, you doubted she'd hold it against you.

“Listen, I'm going out to this club nearby after this, you guys should definitely come,” She leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in your ear.

“Sure,” You nodded.

She was going back to her seat, leaving Gojo to lead you to yours. Letting you take the middle one of the empty trio and putting himself in between you and of the nearly identical-looking miserable old men. All of them looked like they couldn't decide if they should be diverting their attention to you or him.

“I didn't know you knew Tsukumo,” Gojo murmured, hanging an arm around your chair as he ran his fingers along the edges of the drink menu.

“You really think you already know everything about me?” You hm-ed, your initial nerves started to subside. It would be a little silly to say he had a soothing presence, since it wasn't quite that. Rather, he just was so open with his affection, so steady in showing up for you. He wouldn't leave you to fend for yourself.

He released some of the tension in his face, relaxing his jaw seeing you relax a little.

“Guess not,” He murmured.

“I didn't think you were the type to settle down,” The first man from earlier spoke up, now making a point in only addressing Gojo.

“That was before I met her,” He delivered the line like it was the truth. Did it sound ridiculously cheesy? Sure. But you still liked hearing it.

All Gojo received back was a scoff.

“What would you like to drink?” A waiter interrupted.

“Anything in particular you want, sweetheart?” Gojo looked to you for the answer, his thumb rubbing little circles on the bare skin of your shoulder next to the strap of your dress.

“You can pick, honey,” You reached under the table, resting a hand on his firm thigh and squeezed.

He didn't falter though, much to your disappointment, just holding up his menu to the waiter and seemingly picking out a bottle of wine at random.

“Are you really going to drink?” You nudged him with your foot, curiously searching his face for how he was feeling.

“Just a glass.”

You'd never seen him have so much as a shot before. Although, given his height and size, his tolerance was probably much higher than yours.

“Promise I won't spill it on you this time,” He teased.

“You better not,” You spoke quietly, enjoying your little conversation for two even among all these people you didn't know. “I like this dress.”

He picked it out for you, after all.

It didn't take long for the waiter to return, a bottle of wine in hand, hurrying to take everyone's orders and scurry back out. You couldn't blame him. Most of the table was busy pelting Gojo with questions, picking arguments over petty corporate politics with him, all of which he shrugged off just as easily.

A few of them turned to you, asking how you met and when the wedding would be, throwing out digs that you were probably just hanging around him for his money that they clearly thought you were too stupid to pick up on. Feigning polite smiles and lying through your teeth, knocking into Gojo's elbow with your own every time you needed him to pay attention to whatever story you were spinning so he wouldn't contradict it later.

Being partners-in-crime was fun if it was with him.

When you were around so many people, it felt like Gojo was in his natural habitat.

Born to show off, every few words punctuated by big smiles and loud laughter, so casually cool. Little touches here and there like he was reminding you he hadn't forgotten you were there, his legs crossed and an arm slung around you.

You weren't even listening to half of what he was saying, just studying his face.

It was hard to look straight at him.

Maybe it was because he burned so bright, shone so much, you never could really focus on all of him at once. Always breaking it down to the curve of his smile or the line of his jaw or the way his eyes caught the light. All the little details that you had to piece together.

But watching him now, his head turned to the side, talking so expressively with his hands as he chattered about something to his neighbor's immense displeasure, it was harder to look away.

His head turned, and he caught you staring.

You blinked, blushing a little as you looked down at your plate.

“Are you checking me out?” He leaned in to whisper it, easily abandoning his conversation. Although, it was probably to the relief of his companion.

“Hm?” You tried to look innocent, stabbing at your food with the fork. “Was I?”

“You were,” He was taunting you. But you wondered if you'd ever seen him so happy. His wine glass was nearly empty.

“Am I not allowed to look at my fiancé?” You pouted, slowly sipping your own. It was sweeter than you were used to, but it was warm going down, your chest fuzzy with the feeling.

“I'm going to drag you to the bathroom if you keep looking at me like that,” He warned with a low chuckle, his lips a little too loose after just a hint of alcohol.

“I'll be waiting,” You shrugged nonchalantly, your glass clinking as you sat it back down on the table.

A little thrill tingling down your spine at the thought that Gojo was the sort of man who might actually follow through on his threat.

“Sorry I'm late.”

On the list of voices you didn't want to hear, he was probably close to the top.

“Nanami! Glad you could make it,” You watched with horror as the idiot two chairs down from Gojo stood up and waved your ex-boyfriend over, belatedly realizing the only empty seat left was next to you. “Have you met Gojo's fiancée yet?”

You wished you could hide under the table.

Watching the gears turning in his brain as he locked onto you, his attention lasering in on the pretty diamond glittering on your ring finger, the way Gojo's hand was clasped over yours.

How clinically he composed himself, not a trace of any emotion on his face as he nodded politely.

“He was actually the one who introduced us,” Gojo chimed in, grinning mischievously like he sincerely hoped he'd piss his junior off.

“How’d you let that slip by you?” The obviously-inebriated man slapped a greasy hand on Nanami's shoulder, throwing a skeevy look your way. Gojo let go of your hand to pull your chair closer to him, your leg jostling against his.

You were just Gojo's pet to them.

A pretty accessory to hang off his arm, a piece of meat to look at.

“What dessert do you want?” Gojo purred in your ear, sharing the small menu in front of him and slinging his arm over your shoulder.

“Whatever you want is fine,” You answered, knowing all you'd be able to stomach anyway was nibbles as Nanami slid in the seat next to you, the wooden legs of his chair scraping against the floor.

The man next to Gojo asked him another question, drawing his attention away.

“Fiancée?” Nanami muttered, only audible to you as he slid his chair into the table. Out of the corner of your vision, you watched him pick up the menu, tapping the table in short little bursts.

You pretended not to hear him, pressing your thigh harder into Gojo's in the hopes he'd interrupt.

“Is this not childish?” He sighed.

His tone stung. The immediate dismissal in it.

“Don't,” You whispered back, looking down at the table. Gojo was toying with a loose strand of your hair, oblivious as he yapped about something inconsequential next to you.

“You're not pregnant, are you?”

Your head snapped to him faster than you thought possible, jaw slack as you scoffed.

“You didn't seriously just ask me that,” You hissed under your breath.

Wordlessly, his gaze flickered from your hand to your stomach and finally up to your face. The irritatingly logical part of your brain dredged up the painfully awkward memory of the morning after pill boxes Gojo so openly tossed at you. “Didn't you just say you weren't even dating him?”

“I'm not pregnant,” You gritted your teeth. “But why would it matter to you if I was?”

“Is Nanami bothering you?” Gojo whispered in your ear, breath cool against your flushed neck. “We can switch seats.”

You stood up, smoothing the ends of your dress while he slid into your seat and pulled you into his.

“Nanami!” Gojo reached up to ruffle Nanami's neatly-styled hair, a few loose strands falling forward before Nanami slapped his hand down with a harsh smack.

“Don't touch me,” Nanami icily replied.

Your new neighbor cleared his throat, offering a distraction from the mess to your left.

“So, have you two started thinking about kids?” He asked, readjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“She wants two, but I told her if we're having two, we might as well have a third,” Gojo interrupted, pressing a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

You were not going to let him have another glass of wine.

“I hope they're just like you,” You cooed, using your best saccharinely sweet voice.

Nanami ordered a whiskey, making a point to look at anyone other than the two of you.

He had gone through two more glasses before dessert was served, not saying a word to Gojo despite how many times your fake fiancé tried to get a reaction out of him.

People had started to disperse, a few left at the table, others standing in little groups chatting between themselves, Nanami talking next to Yuki and two men in the corner. The four of them were looking over at you and the star of tonight's show.

Yuki waved bye to the others, stopping by where you were still sitting as she polished off the last of her wine.

“I've got a stop to make real quick, but meet you guys later?” She pulled a pen out of her purse, scrawling an almost illegible word on a napkin and passing it to you, the name of whatever club she’d be at, you guessed.

“Sure,” You smiled.

“You ready to go, baby?” Satoru rubbed your shoulder, a soft whisper in your ear. When you nodded, he got up, pulling out your chair for you and offering a hand to help you stand.

“Mhm,” You let yourself lean against him as he walked you back out through the now mostly empty restaurant.

The air was crisp, a little cool, pausing under a street lamp, a car honking in the intersection.

“That wasn’t so bad,” You said. Even if Nanami was there.

“Only because you were there,” He flirted, already looking down the street in the direction you'd came from.

“Hold on one sec,” You murmured softly, reaching up to fix a crease in his collar, carefully smoothing it back down. One hand on his chest as you paused, glancing up to find him staring down at you.

Adoration.

You didn't want to believe it before. But what else could it be?

“There you go,” You softly said, and before you could second guess yourself, you were getting on your tiptoes and pressing a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth.

It wasn't an act. Or an excuse to find comfort in anyone who'd offer it. You just wanted to kiss him. You could see the confusion swimming in the blue of his eyes, trying to work out the why for himself. But then his gaze drifted down to your lips, like he so badly wanted to taste you for dessert.

“Well?” You dared him.

He cupped your face, his hand cool against the heat of your cheeks as he kissed you back. Drawing out the moment, his wine-stained lips pressed firmly against your own. The sort of touch it'd be easy to lose yourself in and only exist in that little bubble with him, the street and the stars and the cars forgotten around you.

Even when he pulled away, you couldn't catch your breath.

“I’ll bring the car around,” He talked quietly, nearly whispering, his thumb grazing along your cheekbone.

“Okay,” You smiled.

Your skin missed his touch the second he slipped away, glancing back at you every few seconds. He was almost jogging, looking a little silly in his nice outfit before his tall frame hesitated just before he needed to turn at the intersection. His hand going up to his mouth to blow you an over-the-top kiss. Laughing to yourself, you reached out like you could really catch it, pressing two finger tips against your lips in response.

It was still warm outside, streetlights basking everything in a yellow glow. Chewing the edge of your thumb nail, watching the ring glimmer a few fingers down, a little voice echoing in your head that you should've just gone with him.

“I need to talk to you,” Nanami called out from behind you, his voice clipped to say the least.

Reluctantly, you turned to him.

It was easy to see how he was feeling for once.

The bristling irritation radiating off of him, all his intensity focused entirely on you.

“Now's not a good time,” You frowned. Looking back over your shoulder, your faux fiancé was nowhere in sight. Shit, could he hurry his ass up and get back already?

“You can't spare a minute or two?” He followed your attention, clearly clocking the unfortunate fact you were currently on your own.

“What is it?” You hadn't realized it, but you had automatically been moving further away, putting more distance between yourself and him, and the restaurant unintentionally.

“Is this supposed to be some kind of prank?” Nanami wasn't laughing. His brown eyes freezing you out as they bore holes into the side of your head. “Getting engaged to Gojo when you couldn't even move in with me?”

“It's not like that,” You felt embarrassed, staring at the cracks in the concrete sidewalk while people cast uncomfortable looks your way passing by.

“Yeah, I've heard that before,” He sighed. When you glanced back up, he was only a couple steps away.

“Nanami,” You started, grasping at straws, mouth hanging open when he interrupted.

“Why would you bring up all of that stuff last time just to do this?” He kept pressing, every question a dagger in your already guilty conscience. “Are you trying to hurt me?”

“Of course not,” You were stammering, wide-eyed and panicked. Holding out your hands in a protest of your innocence, knowing he probably wouldn't buy it anyway.

“Of all people-”

“I told you, it's just not,” You paused, the words stuck in your throat. Bile threatening to rise up and swallow them, nausea swirling around in your gut. The amber eyes that used to look at you so fondly empty now as they pierced through you. “Can we please not do this here?”

A few of the other dinner guests had stepped out, talking between each other. They hadn't noticed your argument yet, but surely, they would soon. You weren't really sure what Gojo's goal was in this charade, but you didn't want to accidentally fuck it up for him.

Nanami already thought you betrayed him.

“Satoru is going to be back in a minute,” You quietly said, digging your nails into your palm hard enough to hurt.

“Satoru?” He scoffed. Nanami shook his head, puffing out a sharp exhale like he couldn't fucking believe what he was hearing.

You couldn't look at him anymore.

Watching the street, praying to see Gojo's car pull up and whisk you away from this god awful conversation.

He snagged your hand though, gently pulling you back to face him.

“Nana-”

“If you were trying to get my attention, it worked,” He murmured, his voice low and smooth as bridged the distance and crashed his mouth against yours.

You froze.

His lips hadn't changed, just as soft as you remembered, but the bitter taste of whiskey lingered on them. It wasn't needy, not really, but it was hot, heavy, like he was begging you to kiss him back.

His hand was on your back, pulling you in closer and too swept up in tasting you to realize your arm had gone limp in his, all the signals your brain were sending were scrambled and fried.

He tore away from you.

Or was torn away.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” You'd never heard Gojo so pissed. You didn't think you'd ever even heard him get mad.

“Our relationship isn't your business,” Nanami coldly replied. You were just blinking, stuck in place and trying to piece together what the fuck sort of misunderstanding landed you here.

“Because there isn't one,” Gojo snarled. You finally managed to get your eyes to focus on what was happening. His fist was wrapped around the collar of Nanami's shirt, mouth set in a hard line like he was forcing himself to keep it shut. There was blood trickling down Nanami's nose.

Did he hit him?

Nanami rolled his eyes, red smearing across his hand as he wiped it away and pushed Gojo off of him. You were stepping back again, the sharp edges of your ring digging into your forearm when you wrapped them around yourself.

“You’re only interested because I had her first.”

You flinched. All it took was a handful of words and he resurrected a fear you thought you already put to rest.

Were you just leftovers? Or maybe this all had been some stupid game Gojo came up with where Nanami was the loser and you were his pawn?

“And you just know so much about us, huh?” Gojo mocked him back, not phased in the slightest.

“I know that you only brought her because you knew I was going to be here tonight,” Nanami eyed you over Gojo's shoulder, somehow steady even now.

You didn't want to let that change anything, even if it was true.

“Is that what you think?” Gojo actually laughed. He shoved Nanami, hard enough to make the sturdy blond stumble back a few steps. “Sounds like you're just mad she picked me.”

“Did she?”

You wanted to say you did. Despite your fears and anxities, you still had faith in Gojo. But he was poking Nanami's chest, the white of his shirt wrinkled and dotted with blood now as Gojo forced his back against the brick exterior.

“That's my ring on her finger, isn't it?” He challenged, both of them glancing back at you now. There was an almost feral look in Gojo's eyes, barely restraining himself. He swept over your body, the way you were trembling even as you held yourself, the anxiety and apprehension clinging to you like a blanket. You weren't sure what it was, but some flicker of recognition or realization seemed to strike him as he held your gaze. “Baby, are you crying?”

Were you?

“Can we leave?” You choked out, forcing in a sharp breath.

“Sure,” He nodded, all those broken edges softening a little for you. He started to walk away from Nanami, just to pause and turn around to punch him square across the jaw when he wasn't expecting it. Nanami was grinding his molars, bitterly glaring at Gojo but refusing to engage further, rubbing the sore spot that was already pink. It'd probably be a nasty bruise by the morning.

A crowd was starting to form. They attracted enough attention just existing, let alone fighting in the middle of the sidewalk. Scanning the sea of faces, praying not to recognize any of them. You might not know exactly what the rulebook had to say about brawling but you doubted they would take too kindly to Gojo beating the shit out of his junior at a company dinner. You took a few tentative steps closer, grabbing the edge of his sleeve and pulling him to your side before it could escalate further.

“Satoru, come on,” You pleaded. Still shaking as he wrapped a protective arm around your waist, holding you against him as he begrudgingly walked you back over to his waiting car, the engine still running as he opened the passenger seat for you to get in.

You clicked the seat belt, pressing the lock on your door as he climbed in on the other side. He rested his bruised knuckles on the steering wheel, something slick and wet on your skin when one hand reached over to slide up your thigh. You didn't want to roll the dice to discover if it was blood or tears.

“What do you want me to do?” He muttered, shutting off the radio. The air in the car was charged, thick with some simmering tension hanging between you. All it'd take was a few words from you and he'd get out and finish what he started.

“Kiss me.”

“Sweetheart,” He was talking so low, every muscle in his face strained. You couldn't shake the fear, the feeling of being a failure and a fuck up for getting stuck in the situation, like everything was falling apart again.

“Are you mad at me?” You couldn't look at him, couldn't look at your lap, couldn't even look out the fucking window. Staring numbly at the car radio, swallowing the hot lump bobbing in your throat.

“Mad at you?” He sounded bewildered, disgusted almost at the prospect. “He was the one who kisssd you.”

“I should've pushed him away, but I-,” You were stammering, vaguely aware of how damp your cheeks were.

“He shouldn't have fucking done it in the first place,” He quietly said, reaching over to brush a few stray tears off your face.

“I’m sorry if I fucked things up for you at work,” You apologized. He reached over, his hand guiding your chin up so you could face him.

“You're not the one who should be sorry, got it?” He sounded surprisingly stern, fixing you in a serious stare. “I can take care of myself. We should be worrying about you right now.”

“You know that’s not going to make me stop worrying about you too,” You admitted, delicately grabbing his other hand to examine his bruised fingers, the first signs of swelling already starting. He punched someone he considered a friend, just because he wanted to protect you.

“We can just go back to my place,” Gojo suggested with a sigh. “Suguru wanted to meet up later, but I’ll cancel.”

“If you're still up for it, I wouldn't mind going to that club Yuki was talking about earlier,” You hesitantly proposed. “Maybe we could meet Suguru afterwards or you could ask if he wanted to come?”

Gojo murmured your name under his breath, obviously thinking this was a terrible idea. He'd probably be right.

“I was really looking forward to tonight,” You looked down at your lap as you said it, just to realize it was, in fact, blood on your leg. Whether it was from Gojo's hand or Nanami's face, you had no clue. You had to force yourself to keep talking. “Can't we just pretend things are normal for a few hours?”

“You'll tell me as soon as you want to leave?” He was yielding, an eyebrow arched as you quickly nodded. “Promise? The second you don't feel up to it-”

“I promise.”

He sighed like he was already regretting it.

“Where to then?”

a/n: all the endings split off from here!

tags: @jasminelee324 @universal-s1ut @inthedarkshadows000 @airandyeah @carolinabeest @sukunasthighmarkings1 @imagoddessinmystories @tearshedder @sugar504 @nymphsdomain @sugurusfavemonkey @chsuguru @kenzieluvsnanami @ivyvenus333 @chaoticgood-munson @ravester @oceandriveab @pedropascalispunkkkk @saltyhansen @aldebrana @keliskamo @4-luver @shibataimu @drowsycows @elaynawrites @disaster-rose @username23345 @shutuppeter @des-todoroki @raedollsstuff @c-h-i-l @chosolovrrr @starriesworlds @dazed-lavender @tequilya @kikookii @seizecherry @fortunatelyfurrygiver @simplyraeblue @lennysnicket @experiencingm @reyzilla7 @vehuzzzz @krispywhisperswhispers @seroandloki

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk au

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cxckblxcker · 5 months ago

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I can’t keep up with all the socials help, heres some geto doodles hehe ! I will try to keep up with all the platforms I use 😈

#geto suguru #jjk #art

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cxckblxcker · 5 months ago

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<33

more geto with piercings

#jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #jjk

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cxckblxcker · 5 months ago

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THE MAN ACROSS THE STREET — SATORU GOJO

pairing — neighbour!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary — when you inherited your grandparents' victorian home, you thought the biggest challenge would be the renovations. what you weren't prepared for was satoru gojo—your insufferably perfect neighbour with his perfect smiles and unexpected talent for home repairs. but maybe, just maybe, he's exactly the kind of renovation partner you need. because four seasons might not be enough to fix a century-old house, but it might be just enough time to fall in love—moment by moment, season by season.

word count — 14 k

genre/tags — home renovation AU, neighbours to lovers, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn, domestic fluff, idiots in love, misunderstandings, found family, tension, happy ending, gentle romance, cozy vibes

warnings — 16+ ONLY. contains suggestive sexual content, small renovation accident, references to past family deaths (grandparents)

author's note — would you believe this fic has been sitting in my drafts since last year haha. but i finally finished it after months of adding scenes and expanding seasons. i wanted to keep it shorter but well, now it is what it is lol. hope you enjoy <3

masterlist + support my writing

When you inherited your grandparents' old Victorian home, you thought the biggest challenge would be the renovations. The sagging porch, the outdated wiring, the kitchen that hadn't been updated since the 1970s — these were all problems you could tackle with enough time, money, and YouTube tutorials.

What you hadn't counted on was Satoru Gojo.

Your new neighbour lived in the equally grand house across the street, though his was perfectly maintained with its pristine white paint and perfectly tended rose bushes. You'd noticed him the day you moved in, impossible not to really, with that white hair and those eyes in the colour of summer skies that seemed to find you no matter where you were.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

You'd first noticed him through your kitchen window one morning, still half asleep and clutching your teacup. He was at his mailbox, and for a disorienting moment, you thought you were still dreaming. No shirt. Sweatpants low on his hips. It was really way too early for someone to look that good. It felt almost unfair, frankly. But then he turned, caught you staring and flashed you a smile that could belong in a stupid toothpaste commercial.

You'd ducked under the counter so quickly you'd spilled tea all over yourself. It was ridiculous, really—hiding in your own kitchen.

Your first actual meeting came three days later, when you were balanced precariously on a ladder, trying to clear the gutters of last autumn's soggy birch leaves. You were reaching for a stubborn clump when a voice drifted up from below.

"You might want to secure that ladder before it slides."

You looked down. Satoru stood there, one hand casually steadying the ladder, the other holding a steaming mug. His white hair caught the spring sunlight, shimmering like spun moonlight, and his eyes were the kind of blue that made you grateful you were already holding onto something.

“It’s fine, really” you said, even as the ladder wobbled slightly.

“Famous last words.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “But humor me? I’d hate to call an ambulance before I know my new neighbour’s name.”

That had set the tone for everything that followed.

He had an uncanny ability to appear whenever you were struggling—or perhaps he was stalking you. Either way, he had a way of offering help in a way that somehow never felt condescending. It was subtle at first—the way he'd bring over coffee when he saw you starting an early morning project, or how he seemed to have an endless supply of useful tools that were "just gathering dust anyway", as he always said.

He never pushed, never overwhelmed, but he was always there, across the street and you found yourself looking over to his house more often than you'd care to admit.

You told yourself it was just practical. He knew the neighbourhood, understood old houses, and happened to be surprisingly knowledgeable about house renovation. The fact that he had a smile that made your chest tight, or that he looked unfairly good in everything he wore was entirely irrelevant. He's just a neighbour, you told yourself, even as heat rose in your cheeks. A ridiculously attractive neighbour—unfortunately.

But as spring melted into summer, and summer faded into autumn, you started to realize two very inconvenient truths: One, restoring this house was going to take far longer than you'd planned. And two, Satoru Gojo was becoming a much more relevant aspect of this restoration than you'd wished.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It all began with the pipes in spring.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Spring was supposed to be about fresh starts and birdsong or whatever stupid idyllic nonsense romance movies peddled. Your old Victorian home, however, had other ideas. Because on one peaceful Saturday morning, the pipe under your kitchen sink decided it had had enough of gravity and time.

You were making coffee when you heard it—a suspicious gurgle, followed by a crack that could only mean trouble. And suddenly, your cabinet was a fountain. Lovely, really, if it didn’t threaten to turn your kitchen into an indoor pool. You managed to shut off the water and were now flat on your back under the sink, surrounded by tools, muttering curses at the rusted pipe, when a knock sounded.

“Having fun down there?”

You jumped in surprise and, naturally, hit your head on the cabinet. Of course it was him. Of course your ridiculously, unfairly attractive neighbour would appear right when you were sprawled on the kitchen floor, soaked and probably looking like a drowned rat.

“Ha ha,” you called dryly, not bothering to move. “I’ve got this.”

“That’s why there’s water running down your driveway?”

You closed your eyes. Counted to ten. “Don’t you have your own house to maintain?”

“Much less entertaining over there.” A rustle of movement, and then Satoru was crouching beside you. His white hair fell forward as he tilted his head, those stupidly handsome blue eyes assessing the situation. “You’re using the wrong wrench.”

“I am not.”

“You are.” He reached past you, picking up a different wrench. “Pipe wrench, not adjustable. Unless you’re aiming for an indoor pool, in which case, carry on.”

You glared at him, which was significantly less effective from your position on the floor. "Don't you have someone else to annoy?"

"On a Saturday morning? Please." He settled onto the floor beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned in to examine the pipe. "Besides, this is a two person job. One to hold the pipe, one to remove the fitting. Unless you've grown extra arms?"

You hadn’t. Hence the problem. You'd spent the last hour trying to manage it alone and had only succeeded in getting thoroughly soaked and increasingly frustrated.

"Fine," you sighed, scooting over to make room. "But if you make one more smart comment—"

"Would I do that?" He gave you an exaggeratedly innocent look that almost made you smile.

Working together, it took only minutes to remove the damaged section of pipe. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing toned forearms, the sleeves bunching just below his elbows. You tried not to notice how he smelled faintly of sandalwood, or how his presence made your kitchen feel suddenly so much smaller.

"You'll need to replace this whole section," he said, examining the corroded pipe. "The hardware store opens in an hour."

"I know that." You definitely hadn't known that.

"Of course you did." His smile made you want to punch him. "Just like you knew about using the pipe wrench?"

"I will set your house on fire."

He laughed, the sound filling the small space. “No, you won’t. You like having someone around who knows a pipe wrench from an adjustable one.”

A strange warmth spread through you, followed by a healthy dose of suspicion. Was he…flirting?

No. Impossible. Satoru Gojo didn't flirt. Or better said, he flirted with everyone—the barista at the coffee shop, the elderly woman selling tomatoes at the market, even the hardware store clerk he’d charmed into giving you a discount the other day. It was just his way.

Still it did make the small space feel a little warmer. And the worst part was, he wasn't entirely wrong. You did appreciate his help. But you'd rather deal with a thousand broken pipes on your own than admit that and witness his self-satisfied grin.

“Don’t you have your own projects?” you asked, pushing yourself up, feigning a nonchalance you absolutely did not feel.

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’, looking far too comfortable sprawled on your kitchen floor. “My house is perfect. Which leaves me free to watch you struggle with yours. Better than Netflix.”

You grabbed a dish towel and threw it at his head. He caught it easily, because of course he did.

"Come on." He stood in one fluid motion that had no right to look that graceful. "I'll drive you to the hardware store. Unless you want water running down your driveway all day?”

You looked between him and your ruined cabinet, weighing your options. Pride demanded you handle this alone. Practicality pointed out that he actually seemed to know what he was doing, and you really did need that pipe fixed today.

"Fine." You sighed. "But I'm buying my own supplies." You blurted it out, remembering how he’d somehow paid the entire bill before you’d even reached for your wallet last time you'd run into him in the hardware store.

"Whatever you say." He was already heading for the door, keys jingling in his hand. "Though you might want to change first. Not that the wet look isn't working for you, but—"

You looked down at your soaked clothes, then back at him. Your white shirt clung to you like a second skin and was practically see through. Heat rushed to your face.

Why was he only mentioning this now?

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

After the Saturday sink incident, you'd sworn to handle the rest of the plumbing yourself. You weren’t entirely sure why—maybe it was pride, maybe it was the way he’d teased you endlessly about it, or maybe it was the strange flutter in your chest whenever he was near.

Whatever the reason, you’d plotted your renovation schedule around his presumed absences, binged YouTube tutorials until your eyes blurred, and even took your coffee breaks in the backyard, convinced he couldn’t possibly find you there.

But somehow, Satoru Gojo kept appearing anyway.

"That pipe threading looks wrong," he'd say, appearing beside you like some stupid house ghost. Or, "Those measurements seem off," right when you were about to make a cut. Or worst of all, saying nothing at all. He’d simply stand there with that look until you finally snapped and asked for help.

On one stupid cursed Monday afternoon, the bathroom pipes were your breaking point. You'd been at it for hours, surrounded by copper fittings and pipe dope, when his shadow fell across your work. You really needed to start locking the door.

“Don’t,” you warned without looking up.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it loud enough.”

“I was just admiring your work.” His voice held that familiar amusement that made your skin prickle. “Though if you’re planning on running water anytime soon—”

Your wrench clattered to the floor. “Fine. What am I doing wrong?”

“Would you believe me if I said everything?”

But the most infuriating part wasn’t just that he was right. It was the way he showed you. His large hands moving gently as he demonstrated the proper technique, his voice low and soft as he explained what you were doing wrong with such patience that made it impossible to stay annoyed with him.

By the time the bathroom was finished, you’d stopped pretending you didn’t need his help. By the time you tackled the upstairs pipes, you’d stopped pretending you didn’t want it.

It became a routine. You’d start a project, he’d appear with some tedious fact about old houses, and together you’d work until the sun dipped below the horizon. He never pushed, never took over, just quietly adjusted your grip on a tool or handed you the right fitting before you even asked.

“You know,” you said one evening, both of you tired and dusted with grime, “for someone with a perfect house, you spend a lot of time in my disaster zone.”

He was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer. Then, his voice, when it came, was different—softer, the usual teasing edge gone. “Maybe I like watching something beautiful come back to life.”

You looked up, a question forming on your lips, but he was already focused on the pipe in his hands again, his expression shadowed in the fading light.

The last pipe was replaced on a cool evening in late spring. You both stood in the basement and looked at your work.

“Guess you’ll have to find someone else to annoy now,” you said, trying for a light tone, though a strange heaviness settled in your chest.

“Your electrical panel looks pretty old.”

“Satoru—”

“And those windows definitely need reglazing before summer.”

“You don’t have to—”

“And don’t even get me started on that porch roof.”

You stared at him. “You’re not going to let me do any of this alone, are you?”

He smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”

And standing there in your basement, covered in dust and sweat, you finally admitted what you'd been fighting all spring—maybe you didn't want to do this alone after all.

Even if you’d never say it out loud.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Summer arrived like a slow exhale, bringing humid days and the kind of heat that made everything a sweltering ordeal.

The porch was your next project so that you could reclaim the space before the season completely slipped away. You envisioned lazy afternoons spent sipping iced tea in the shade, reading a book or simply napping. But looking at the porch now, with its peeling paint, crumbling railings, and warped floorboards, that vision felt miles away.

It had become normal to find Satoru on your porch in the mornings, armed with iced coffee and opinions about latest movies. You'd stopped questioning how he always seemed to know your schedule, or why he willingly sacrificed his free time to help you strip old paint from equally old wood.

“This is bad,” he said one stifling morning, poking a section of railing that crumbled at his touch. “How did it get this neglected?”

You swiped at the sweat trickling down your forehead, probably smearing paint stripper across your cheek. “Ask that my grandparents’ bank. Two years of bureaucratic hell before I could even touch the place.”

“I’m more concerned about what you’re doing there. You’re taking off more wood than paint.” His hands hovered for a moment before gently adjusting your grip. “Like this. Gentle but firm. Let the stripper do the work.”

Months ago, the correction would have annoyed you. Now you just moved your hands and noticed how the work immediately became easier. But the warmth of his breath on your neck and the familiar scent of sandalwood still sent a shiver down your spine. You swallowed, ignoring the flutter in your stomach. "Not all of us have a natural talent for restoring historic houses."

"No, some of us just inherited beautiful old houses and decided to learn through trial and error." His voice carried that warm amusement that had become familiar. "Mostly error."

You turned to glare at him, but he was already moving on to the next section, the muscles in his arms flexing as he worked. Not that you were staring. You definitely weren't staring. And if you were, it was purely to study his scraping technique.

So the days fell into a rhythm. Mornings were for demolition—tearing out rotten planks and stripping paint before the heat truly settled in. Afternoons were for repairs, matching new wood to old, rebuilding piece by piece as sweat dripped down your backs.

"My grandmother used to bring us lemonade out here when we were kids," you said one afternoon, both of you sprawled in the shade of the half-finished porch, and as you said it, you could almost smell the lemon, tart and sweet. Hear the clinking of the ice in the heavy glasses. "She had this really pretty set of vintage glasses."

Satoru lay on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes against the sun. “Let me guess��they’re still in the attic somewhere?"

“Along with about a hundred years’ worth of other stuff.” You took a long sip from your water bottle. “I’m almost afraid to look.”

He propped himself up on his elbows, the movement pulling his damp t-shirt tighter across his chest, revealing the faint outline of his abs and the curve of his bicep. A few stray beads of sweat trickled down his temple, catching the sunlight. "We should check it out. After the porch is done."

"We?"

"Unless you're planning to handle whatever horror show is up there alone?" He smiled. “Besides, I’m invested in this house’s resurrection story now.”

"Is that what this is?"

"Isn't it?" He gestured at the porch around you. “Old becoming new. Though hopefully with better plumbing this time.”

You threw a paint chip at him, which he dodged easily. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Never.” He stood and offered you a hand. "It's too good a story.”

You took his hand, and for a moment, you simply looked at him. It struck you then how familiar his presence had become—the easy banter, the shared work, the comfortable silences. It felt like you’d known him forever.

“Alright, let’s get back to it,” he said, his hand still holding yours. “This porch isn’t going to rebuild itself. Unless you’re planning on serving me lemonade on a pile of rotted wood?”

“Who says I’m making you lemonade?”

He tugged you closer, just a little, until you were almost toe to toe. You tilted your head, your gaze locked with his, and something playful flashed in those sky blue eyes of his. “Aren’t I entitled to a little refreshment after all this hard work?”

“You have quite the ideas.”

“Hmh. I have another one.” He released your hand. “You should have a party here when it’s finished. Lemonade and those vintage glasses of your grandmother’s.”

“To celebrate what?”

He glanced over his shoulder, something soft in his expression. “That good things are worth the work.”

You looked away first and focused back on your own section of railing. If your cheeks were warm, it was definitely just the summer heat.

The porch took two more weeks to finish. Every board was carefully replaced or restored, every detail attended to with a gentle care that would have made your grandmother proud. You spent the final evening painting together, working in silence as the sun set.

“It’s beautiful.” You stepped back to admire your work. The fresh white paint glowed in the twilight, making the whole house seem to breathe easier.

“It is.” But when you glanced over, Satoru wasn’t looking at the porch. His gaze was on you.

You cleared your throat, suddenly very interested in cleaning your paintbrush. "So, about that attic..."

His smile, when you dared to look back, was warm and genuine. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," you echoed, trying to ignore the way your heart quickened at the way he said it—like a promise, like there would always be another project, another reason to spend these long summer days together.

And it felt… good.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The attic turned out to be exactly the treasure trove you'd hoped but also feared it to be—a cavernous space choked with dust motes dancing in the faint light filtering through grimy windows. Air hung thick and still with the scent of dried wood and dust. Piles of furniture shrouded in white sheets were scattered among stacks of old books with brittle pages and dusty hatboxes tied with faded ribbons.

It was chaotic, let's just say that.

But it was also so familiar it tugged at the edges of your memory, a feeling of coming home to a place you hadn't seen in years.

The attic had started as a simple weekend project, mostly to fix the insulation before autumn. But each box you opened was like a time capsule of memories. You'd find yourself lost in old photo albums or mesmerised by your grandmother's book collection, renovation plans long forgotten as you sifted through the memories of their lives—and yours. And what you'd initially considered a "weekend project" had clearly been a wildly optimistic estimate.

You were so absorbed in sorting through another box that you didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs until Satoru's head popped through the access panel.

"Your door was unlocked," he said, as that would explain why he always appeared out of nowhere is your house. "I brought lunch."

"Normal people call first," you replied, not looking up from the box in your hands.

"Normal is boring." He pulled himself up without any effort, which was almost offensive considering how you'd stumbled up here earlier. "Besides, you skipped breakfast again. I heard your stomach growling from across the street."

"That's not even possible." But the gnawing in your stomach told a different story. You were hungry, but you hadn't even noticed between the years and years of memories coming back to life.

"And yet." He settled beside you, closer than strictly necessary in the cramped space, and peered into the box. "What's caught your attention this time?"

You held up a bundle of letters, tied together with a red ribbon. "I think they're my grandparents' love letters."

His eyebrows rose. "From the war?"

"Maybe?" You were surprised for a second, not expecting him to remember the little detail you had told him one lazy afternoon in the sun—that your grandfather had served in the army and had been separated from your grandmother for some time. You untied the ribbon, handling the aged paper like it might crumble. The first envelope was postmarked 1943. "Oh. They are."

Satoru leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as you pulled out the first letter. His body was warm in the cool attic air next to yours, and you caught a subtle hint of sandalwood—a scent that had become inseparable from these shared afternoons.

"My dearest heart," you read aloud, then paused, suddenly feeling like you were intruding on something private. But it’s been over half a century, you reminded yourself. They wouldn’t mind, surely. After all, they left all this to you. You continued, "The cherry trees are blooming here, and all I can think about is how we walked through the park last spring. Do you remember? You were wearing that blue dress, the one that matches the sky, and I knew right then I would marry you—"

"Your grandfather was a romantic," Satoru commented, a soft smile in his voice.

"Shh." You elbowed him lightly. "I carry your picture with me everywhere. The other men tease me about it, but I don't care. When things get dark over here, I just look at your smile and remember what I'm fighting for..." Your voice caught unexpectedly at the written words of your grandfather.

Satoru shifted closer and whispered, "Let me.” His chest brushed against your shoulder and his fingers slid over yours as he took the paper, the touch lingering for a moment longer.

“Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine I'm back home with you," he continued, lips close enough to your temple that you could feel the words as much as hear them. His usual playful tone was gone, replaced by something that made your heart melt. "Sitting on that porch swing, watching the sunset. Nothing grand or fancy, just you and me and the quiet. That's what keeps me going, the thought of coming home to you."

Satoru stood up, brefting you of his warmth and sat down on a dusty stack of boxes near the small window opposite you to get a better view of the letters. The afternoon light caught the silver strands in his white hair, making them glimmer like starlight. He looked younger, almost boyish in the soft light as he continued to read the letter. You watched him, struck by this unfamiliar sight.

"There are dozens more," you said after he finished, gesturing to the box. "Looks like they wrote to each other every week."

"Different time.” His startlingly blue eyes met yours, and for once there was no trace of his usual teasing smile. "People knew how to love back then. They took their time with it."

"You don't think people know how to love now?"

"I think we've forgotten how to do it slowly. How to let it build, letter by letter, moment by moment."

Your heart fluttered strangely, like a trapped bird. It was like glimpsing a part of him he usually kept hidden, a hint of the man beneath the playful nonchalance. Before you could process the feeling, before you could even form a coherent thought, he picked up another letter, breaking the moment with a small, almost apologetic smile.

“My darling," he read, "Today Mrs. Henderson's cat got stuck in our rosebushes again, and all I could think was how you would have laughed..."

You smiled and settled back against the old boxes as he read, his warm voice washing over you like a soothing dream. The afternoon light caught dust motes dancing in the air, and somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimed.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

August arrived with a heatwave so oppressive, even the cicadas seemed to fall silent. You suggested starting at dawn, hoping to get some work done before the worst of the heat set in, and to your surprise Satoru had no objection, even though you knew he hated early starts and loved sleeping in.

And you were even more surprised when Satoru showed up right on time and you didn't even have to wake him up, armed with paintbrushes and a concerningly large supply of water bottles.

"You really don't have to help with this," you’d told him. "I can do it on my own, really. It’s not complicated or something.”

He arched a brow. "When has that ever stopped me?"

The house was a dull greenish colour. It had originally been a soft sage green, but it had faded over time. It was a colour your grandmother had loved, a shade that reminded her of the rolling hills of her childhood home. So you decided to paint it sage again. But by midday the heat had become almost unbearable, pressing down on you. Air thick and shimmering.

"You need to take a break," Satoru said, watching you sway slightly on the ladder. "You look pale."

"I'm fine," you insisted, even as your head throbbed. "We're almost done with this section."

"The paint will still be here in a few hours." He was already taking the painbrush from your hands. "Go rest before you fall off that ladder and give me a heart attack."

You wanted to argue, but the world was starting to spin in a way that suggested he might have a point. "Just for an hour.”

"Whatever you say." His hand steadied you as you climbed down the ladder, swaying slightly. "Go. Sleep. I've got this."

You wanted to lie down for a moment, just until the throbbing in your head subsided. Instead, you woke to the first gentle breeze of early evening, carrying the distant hum of a lawnmower from a neighbouring garden. You stumbled outside, still groggy, and stopped dead.

The house.

It was finished.

Every inch of peeling paint had been replaced with perfect sage green and the trim was crisp white. It looked like a completely different house, restored to its former beauty.

Satoru was putting away the last of the brushes, his white hair darkened with sweat and plastered to his forehead, his clothes splattered with green. He looked exhausted, but a genuine smile touched his lips when he spotted you.

"You did all that?" you asked, still not quite believing it.

He lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, revealing a fleeting glimpse of his toned stomach with sharply defined abs that you quickly looked away from. He must have seen your reaction, but for once, he didn’t comment. When you looked back, his shirt was down.

“You needed the rest. And I had the time.”

"Satoru, this would have taken days—"

“A few hours with the right motivation.” He shrugged, as if it were nothing. “Besides, couldn’t leave it half finished. Would have ruined the aesthetic of the street."

You knew that wasn’t the real reason. Just like you knew he didn't spend every free moment helping you with this house because he was concerned about the aesthetic of the street.

It was absurd. He was Satoru, infuriatingly charming, impossibly handsome Satoru. There was no way he could—no, it couldn't be. But the evidence piled up. It was the way his eyes lingered on yours, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way his presence filled every corner of your attention. It was a ridiculous notion, a phantom feeling that had no place in reality. He was a neighbour, a friend, someone who was simply helpful.

That's all.

The setting sun painted everything in shades of gold, catching in the wet paint and making your house shimmer like a scene from a fairytale. Satoru was still putting away brushes, his movements slower now, betraying his weariness even as he tried to play it off.

"You didn't have to do this," you said. "Any of it, really. The pipes, the porch, and now this."

He glanced at you, then back at the house. “I wanted to.”

"But why?" The question that had been burning in your throat all summer, since spring, since the first leaky pipe, finally escaped. "You have your own perfect house. Your own life. Why spend every free moment helping me with mine?"

“Would you believe me if I said I just like restoring things?”

"Not really," you said, trying to ignore the way your heart picked up speed when he moved closer.

He reached out to brush something from your cheek. "You have a little…paint.” His thumb lingered against your skin, sun-warm and gentle. "Right here."

Time seemed to slow, the moment stretching like honey in the golden light. You could see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the fine lines at the corners, the way his hair curled at his temples from sweat, and the small smudge of sage green along his jaw. He was so close. Too close.

"Satoru," you breathed, not sure if it was a question or a warning.

"Besides, watching you love this house back to life, even without knowing anything about renovations—" He paused, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone. "It's unexpectedly cute."

You could feel his breath against your lips, could see the question in his eyes as he leaned slightly closer. His other hand came up to cradle your face, and you found yourself swaying towards him, drawn in by the gravity of this moment you'd both been circling since spring.

But then a car door slammed somewhere down the street and broke the spell. You both stepped back.

Had that…had that almost just happened? You blinked, trying to clear the lingering warmth from your face. It must have been the heat. Or the paint smell. There was no way—

"I should—" He gestured vaguely at the remaining equipment.

"Right. Yeah. Sure" You were babbling, your heart racing like you'd been running. You desperately tried to convince yourself that you’d imagined the whole thing, that the almost kiss was just a figment of your overheated imagination.

He turned to gather his things, nearly dropping his water bottle twice. You watched him, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't sound desperate or awkward, but your mind was stuck on the phantom feeling of his thumb against your cheek.

At the garden gate, he paused, turning back with that smile that never failed to make your stomach flip. "Try not to break anything else before tomorrow?"

You smiled. "No promises."

He lingered for a moment longer, as if wanting to say something else, but then just nodded and stepped out onto the street. Just before he reached his door, you found yourself moving, yanking open your garden gate without thinking. "Satoru!"

He turned.

"Thank you!" you called out, hoping he could hear everything else you couldn't say in those two words. Thank you for helping. For caring. For almost kissing me.

His smile softened into something genuine, something that made your heart stumble in your chest. "Anytime!”

You stood there long after he'd disappeared into his house, your fingers absently touching the spot on your cheek where his hand had been, wondering how you were supposed to go back to normal after almost kissing your irritatingly perfect neighbour.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You'd never felt more ridiculous than when you found yourself standing on Satoru Gojo's immaculate porch, holding a slightly lopsided stawberry cake in your hand. After three attempts to ring the doorbell without letting the cake fall to the ground, you were seriously considering just leaving it on his doorstep with a note and running back across the street. But before you could execute your escape plan, the door swung open, and suddenly all coherent thought left your brain.

Satoru stood there in low-slung sweatpants and a fitted dark blue shirt that clung slightly to his still damp skin. A towel was draped around his neck, and his white hair was darker with moisture, falling into his eyes in a way that should be illegal. Droplets of water traced down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar.

Not that you were staring, of course.

His eyes widened and a stupid, handsome smile lit up his face. "Don’t tell me your kitchen is underwater again?”

"No, no…no emergencies today.” You thrust the cake forward like it’s something hot. "I made this. To say thank you. For all the help." The words tumbled out in a rush. "It's stawberry. Though now I'm realizing you might not even like stawberries, which would be really inconvenient, and—"

"I love them," he interrupted your rambling and took the cake out of your hands. "Did you make this just for me?"

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late." He stepped back, gesturing inside. "Come in. It’s too hot to stand out here."

You hesitated at the threshold. In all these months of him appearing at your house, you'd never actually been inside his. It felt like crossing some invisible line you hadn't even realized existed.

"Unless you're scared," he added with that familiar teasing note in his voice.

You groaned and stepped inside. Where your house was still a work in progress, his was... perfect. Somehow both modern and classic, with original hardwood floors that gleamed and a fireplace in the centre of the living room. The furniture was clearly expensive but comfortable, and large windows filled the space with natural light.

"This is—"

"Not what you expected?" He walked past you towards what you assumed was the kitchen, and you caught another whiff of his shower fresh scent.

"I was expecting more mirrors, actually. You know, so you could admire yourself from every angle."

He laughed. "Those are all in the bedroom."

You felt heat creep up your spine at his words and tried very hard not to think about Satoru and bedrooms in the same sentence. You followed him into his kitchen that was equally perfect like the rest of his house. Without thinking, you hopped up onto the wooden island and watched him move around the room.

"Coffee?" he asked, already reaching for mugs.

“Please.” Your legs swung idly as you watched him slice the cake. "Though I should warn you, I don’t bake often.”

“Should I be afraid?"

"I take it back. No cake for you."

"Too late." He slid a plate across the counter. He leaned against the island opposite you, close enough that your knees almost brushed his. "So, I was thinking about your kitchen.”

"What about it?"

"You need new countertops. And fresh paint." He took a bite of cake, his eyebrows rising. "This is actually good."

"Don't sound so shocked."

You tried not to focus on how silly domestic this all felt—you on his kitchen island, sharing cake and talking about future projects like you were some kind of … couple.

"I was thinking," he continued, "we could start on that next week? I know a good carpenter who makes really cool wooded countertops that would match the original—"

Your gaze wandered as he spoke, taking in the space. That's when you saw it—a framed photo on the windowsill above the sink. Satoru, looking unfairly handsome in what appeared to be a suit, and a stunning woman with pale hair pressing a kiss to his cheek.

They looked intimate.

Happy.

Like an actual couple.

Your stomach dropped.

"—and the marble could be saved if we—" He paused, noticing your distraction. "What's wrong?"

"Actually." You set down your cake, sliding off the counter, "I just remembered I have this... thing. I need to go."

"Now? But we haven't even finished—"

"It's important." You were already heading for the door, trying to ignore how low his sweatpants hung, revealing a bit of his perfect abs, how at home he looked in this perfect kitchen with its perfect photos of him and his perfect girlfriend. "Thanks for the coffee. And, um, good luck with... everything."

"Wait, what about your kitchen?" He followed you into the hallway. "Shouldn’t we talk about it first, before—"

"I'll figure it out," you said quickly, nearly stumbling in your haste to reach the door. "You probably have other plans anyway. With... people. Important people. I'll just YouTube it or something."

"Other plans? What are you—"

"Bye!"

You practically fled down his porch steps, not daring to look back at his bewildered expression. You made it across the street with lightning speed, slamming your front door behind you and sliding down against it.

"Stupid," you muttered to yourself, pressing your palms against your burning cheeks. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Of course he had a girlfriend. Someone that hansome, that charming, that annoyingly perfect—how could he not? And here you were, bringing him cake like some lovesick teenager, reading too much into things.

He was just being polite, probably feeling sorry for the disaster of a neighbour who couldn't even fix a leaky pipe without flooding her kitchen and you were making a complete fool of yourself. You wanted to melt into the floor and disappear.

You could never face him again. How were you supposed to look him in the eye knowing you'd been almost kissing him in your backyard while his gorgeous girlfriend smiled at him from picture frames in his perfect kitchen? How could you ever stand on your porch again without remembering how you'd practically fled from his house like a guilty teenager?

Your kitchen tabletops would just have to stay ugly forever. You'd learn to love them. You pressed your forehead against your knees and groaned.

And now you'd just have to avoid him for... oh, the rest of your life.

Easy.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Summer melted into autumn with surprising speed, the maple trees lining your street turning from green to orange and crimson. As the days grew shorter, your grandmother's herb garden was dotted with fallen leaves that crunched underfoot. Even the air felt different—crisper, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and the promise of colder days to come.

And you threw yourself into the next project—the kitchen, armed with nothing but YouTube tutorials, sheer stubbornness and the grudging advice of the grumpy guy at the hardware store (who, you were convinced, hid whenever he saw you approaching).

Things weren't exactly going smoothly. You'd managed to miscalculate the measurements for the new cupboards (twice), and you were pretty sure you'd cracked the new sink while trying to install the tap. But it was your mess, your project, and you were determined to see it through, even if it meant several trips to the hardware store and more withering stares from grumpy guy.

"Back again?" he'd grumble. "What'd you break this time?"

"Nothing's broken," you'd insist, even as you clutched a piece of pipe that was definitely not supposed to bend that way. "I just need... clarification."

Your kitchen was slowly, painfully coming together. Sure, the subway tiles weren't perfectly aligned, and maybe one cupboard door hung a little lower than its neighbours, but it was yours. Every imperfect angle and slightly wobbly shelf represented hours of YouTube research and grumpy guy's reluctant advice.

If sometimes, late at night, you found yourself staring at your uneven grout lines and remembering how easily Satoru had fixed your sink that first day—well, that was between you and your slightly tipsy reflection in the new (only somewhat streaky) backsplash.

You'd gotten good at avoiding him. Early morning hardware store runs, late evening painting sessions with your curtains drawn. You'd even mapped out his routine—when he left for work, when he usually arrived home, which days he typically did yard work. All so you could time your own activities to minimize any chance of running into his blue eyes.

This was all totally normal, of course. Perfectly reasonable behavior for an normal adult obviously.

Some days were harder than others. Like when you could hear him on his porch in the evenings, chatting with Miss Tanaka about the weather and whether he wanted to go out with her granddaughter. She's so pretty and can cook such good beef stew, she'd say. As if Satoru didn't already have a girlfriend. A perfect girlfriend who could for sure cook a fantastic, wonderful, amazing beef stew. While you ate burned toast.

But you were managing. Mostly. The kitchen was... well, "finished" might be a strong word, but it was functional. Sort of. If you didn't mind that one burner that heated unevenly, or the fact that the new faucet made a strange gurgling sound when you ran hot water.

Even grumpy guy had stopped wincing visibly when you showed him your progress photos, which you counted as a win. "Could be worse," he'd said last week, which was basically a compliment coming from him.

You told yourself it was better this way. Better to have a slightly crooked kitchen than to face the mortification of asking for help from your impossibly perfect neighbour with his impossibly perfect girlfriend. Besides, character was important in old houses. That's what all the renovation shows said. And your kitchen certainly had... character.

It happened on one of those perfect late autumn evenings, when the sky turned deep purple and the air smelled like pine and fallen leaves. You were trying to hang a lamp in your dining room—the sort of task that would definitely require two people, but stubbornness had convinced you otherwise.

The ladder seemed stable enough. The wiring looked mostly right. You stretched, straining to connect the final wire, when you heard it. A soft groan from above, followed by the distinct sound of old plaster giving way. Everything happened at once. The ceiling cracked, raining down decades of dust and debris. The lamp slipped from your fingers, and your balance followed.

You hit the hardwood floor hard, the light crashing beside you in a shower of glass and plaster. For a moment, you just lay there, staring up at the hole in your ceiling and questioning every life decision that had led to this moment.

The sound of your front door bursting open echoed through the house, followed by rapid footsteps.

"Hey! Are you—" Satoru’s voice trailed off as he appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening as he took in the scene—you sprawled on the floor, surrounded by debris, the ladder tipped against the wall, and the sad remains of what was supposed to be your new dining room light.

"Don't say it.”

"Say what?" He crossed the room in quick strides and knelt beside you. "That trying to hang a lamp by yourself is stupid? Or that you're lucky you didn't break your neck?"

"Both. Neither." You winced as you tried to sit up. "How did you even get in here?"

"Your door was unlocked. I was on my porch, heard you scream." His hands hovered near your shoulders, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to help. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine.”

You tried to push yourself up, but your ankle protested.

"Don’t be stupid." He moved closer, dust from your ceiling clinging to his dark sweater. "Let me see."

"It's nothing—"

"Let me take care of you.” His usual teasing smile was gone, replaced with genuine concern that made your chest tight. "Please?"

The 'please' did you in. You nodded weakly, and before you could process what was happening, Satoru slid one arm behind your shoulders and the other under your knees. He lifted you effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing at all.

"What are you—" you started, your hands automatically gripping his sweater.

"Kitchen has better light.” He carried you through the doorway, nudging it open with his shoulder. He set you down gently on the counter, careful of your ankle. His hands were warm where they rested at your waist, steadying you.

For a moment, he stayed close, closer than he had any right to be, and you found yourself level with those sky blue eyes that always made you weak.

"Stay," he whispered, finally stepping back. "Let me take care of this."

You wanted to protest, to maintain even a little bit of distance. But your ankle really hurt and you were really tired. So you sat there, perched on your counter (which was definitely not as level as you'd claimed to grumpy guy) and watched Satoru move around your kitchen.

He found a clean dish towel in the second drawer he tried and wrapped some ice in it. His movements were precise, practiced, like he'd done this a hundred times before. Probably for his girlfriend, you thought.

"Your cabinet organization is creative,” he said.

"It's a new system I'm trying out."

"Is that what we're calling chaos these days?" He returned, ice pack in hand. The counter put you at perfect height for him to—no. My god. Stop that train of thought immediately.

He carefully lifted your ankle, his touch impossibly gentle as he pressed the ice against it. The cold made you flinch, and his other hand came to rest just above your knee.

"Too cold?"

“No, it’s…” You swallowed, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand through your jeans. “It’s fine.”

He hummed, his attention focused on your ankle. He slowly rotated it, checking for damage. You studied his face—the slight furrow of concentration between his brows, the way his hair fell across his forehead, begging to be brushed back.

“Doesn’t seem broken,” he finally said, looking up at you. “But you should stay off it for a few days.”

“I have renovations to finish.”

“The renovations can wait.”

“Says the man with the perfect house.”

He frowned. "You know, for someone so smart, you can be surprisingly dense about—"

A phone buzzed loudly, making you both jump. His phone, you realized, as he pulled it from his back pocket with his free hand, the other still holding the ice pack against your ankle. Probably his girlfriend wondering where he was.

You pulled your leg back, ignoring the pain. "I should let you go," you said, trying to figure out how to get down the counter without falling on your face. "I'm sure you have... plans."

“No wait.” He kept you were you sat with his hand on your leg. He spoke briefly to the caller, then said, “Just work,” and silenced the phone. His hand returned to your ankle, adjusting the ice pack.

"Oh." You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, heart hammering. "I thought... maybe it was your girlfriend." The words came out small, hesitant. "I wouldn't want to keep you. From her, I mean. She probably wouldn't want you touching other women's ankles and all that..." You were rambling now, a nervous habit you'd never quite kicked. "Not that you're really touching my ankle, I mean you are, but medically, like a doctor, not that you're a doctor—"

"What girlfriend?"

“The one in the picture? In your kitchen? Pretty. Blonde. Kissing you?”

To your surprise, Satoru started to laugh. "That's my sister. From her wedding. Is that why you've been avoiding me the last few weeks? Because you thought I had a girlfriend?"

"Your... sister?"

"She'd kill me if she heard you thought we were dating."

"But you're so..." Your mind scrambled for words that weren't 'anyoingly attractive' or 'unfairly perfect.' Like, for real, how can he still be single?

"I'm so...?" He was definitely teasing now, thumb stroking your skin just above your ankle in a way that made it very hard to think straight.

"Annoying," you finally managed, which only made his smile widen.

"Annoying enough that you made me cake, then ran away?" He moved closer, until he was standing between your legs, still holding the ice pack but now definitely invading your personal space. "Annoying enough that you've been avoiding me for weeks because you thought I was taken?"

"I wasn't avoiding you," you said. "I was very busy. With renovations."

"Mhm." His free hand came up to brush some plaster dust from your cheek. "Is that why you tried to hang a lamp by yourself?" His fingers traced your jaw and you swayed towards him despite yourself, your heart pounding.

"You're insufferable."

"Some of us," he murmured, now close enough that you could feel his breath on your lips, "believe good things are worth waiting for. Worth doing slowly, properly." His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. "Letter by letter, moment by moment. Remember?"

Before you could respond, he stepped back. "Your ankle should be fine in a few days. Try to stay off it. And maybe..." He paused at your kitchen door. "Maybe next time you need help with something, ask your annoying neighbour instead of risking you life?"

You managed a nod, your mind still reeling.

"Oh, and by the way?" He looked back at you, his smile softening. "I really like stawberry cakes. In case you feel like baking again."

With that, he was gone, leaving you perched on your counter with a rapidly melting ice pack and the strange feeling that renovating this house wasn't the only project that was going to take time to get right.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Autumn fully arrived, bringing crimson leaves, cloudy skies, and more of Satoru's overbearing everything. Your renovation plans resumed, though now with significantly less chance of bodily harm as Satoru was helping you again. He'd show up at your door with brownies and supplies, his teasing somehow both more and less bearable now that you both knew why you'd been avoiding him.

The universe, however, had a sense of humour. It was on a warm Saturday afternoon, while you were both covered in paint from freshening up your living room panelling, that his sister showed up unannounced. She burst into your house, barely containing her glee at finally meeting the neighbour who had mistaken her for her brother's girlfriend.

You wanted to sink into the floor as she told you cheerfully how hard she'd laughed when Satoru called to tell her about the misunderstanding. Her amusement only grew as she took in the sight of the two of you, splattered with paint and clearly at ease in each other's company. She left you with her phone number and the promise of embarrassing childhood photos of her brother, while Satoru tried and failed to get her out before she could do any more damage.

The rest of autumn rushed swiftly into the frozen stillness of winter as the lines between your lives began to blur more and more—his tools mixed with yours in the garage, his coffee mug claimed permanent residence in your cabinet, and his presence became as much a part of your home as the creaky floorboards and old doorknobs.

It felt…natural in a way.

Natural that he'd show up at your house in the morning with fresh pastries and you'd make coffee for the two of you, and natural that you'd work on your house and do something fun at the weekends. Even the way your heart stuttered whenever he was near felt strangely normal, a natural rhythm in this new, unexpected something—something you never named. And yet, amidst the rush, there were moments when time seemed to slow, stretching out like taffy, each shy glance, each lingering touch, each shared laugh becoming a precious memory.

One of those moments was at the pumpkin patch. You'd been wandering through the rows of pumpkins, Satoru trailing behind you, searching for the perfect ones to decorate your house for Halloween. It was a tradition you loved since childhood, bringing back memories of visiting the local patch with your grandfather. You could almost feel the scratchy wool of his sweater against your cheek as he hoisted you onto his shoulders, hear his happy laughter, and feel the warmth of his hand in yours.

"Wait!" you called out, stopping so suddenly that Satoru almost bumped into you. "Look at that one!"

Off to the side sat perhaps the largest pumpkin you'd ever seen. It was definitely lopsided, one side bulging more than the other, and its stem curved at an odd angle.

"That's...quite a pumpkin." Satoru tilted his head. "Though maybe something a bit more manageable would—"

"It's perfect." You already tried to figure out how to lift it. The thing had to weigh at least twenty kilos.

"Perfect might be a stretch." His lips quirked up at the corners as he watched you circle the massive thing. "It's practically your size. And that's definitely not its best side."

You shot him a look. "Not everything needs to be perfect to be beautiful." Your hands settled on your hips as you studied your chosen pumpkin. "Sometimes the imperfect things are the best things."

"Like your crooked kitchen cabinets?”

You ignored his comment and attempted to lift the pumpkin, managing to get it about two centimeters off the ground before setting it back down. "It’s called character."

“Character?” He watched your continued attempts with clear amusement. "It's a safety hazard."

“Are you going to help me or just stand there looking pretty?”

“Oh, so you think I’m pretty?”

“Shut up and help me with this pumpkin.”

“As my lady commands.”

He stepped forward, effortlessly lifting the massive pumpkin like it weighed nothing. Show-off, you thought. Was there anything he wasn’t good at? Renovations, apparently, and now this.

Back home, he carried the pumpkin to your porch, the orange leaves rustling in the gentle wind. You carved the pumpkins on your newly renovated porch as neighbours raked leaves, the crisp autumn air carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Later, his pumpkin looked like some stupid sculpture out of a museum. Of course. Because apparently, Satoru Gojo was good at literally everything. Yours? Well, yours was…cute. You’d call it ugly. Satoru insisted it was cute, and you almost, almost, believed him.

“Why are you so good at everything?” you sighed, more to yourself than him, leaning back and gazing upwards. "Any other hidden talents I should know about?"

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually.” Your cheeks flushed as you quickly sat up, a nervous stumble sending you straight into his face, as he leaned in too. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

Something flickered in his expression, a subtle twitch of his brow as his gaze flickered down to your lips. For a heartbeat, you thought he might—but then a single leaf drifted down and the moment shattered. He cleared his throat and turned back to his pumpkin.

"So, where do you want to place them?" he asked.

You let him return to safer topics, frustration washing over you, trying to ignore the way your skin still tingled where his leg had brushed against yours. This had become your new normal—these almost-moments, these near-misses that were driving you absolutely mad. Were you imagining things? Reading too much into every look, every touch? Or was he intentionally playing some game, dangling the possibility of something more, only to snatch it away at the last moment? It was agonizing, a slow torture that was getting harder and harder to endure.

You placed the pumpkins on your porch. Satoru excused himself, saying he had some work to do. Apparently, he was working on something international, fielding calls from overseas offices at ridiculous hours.

"I've got that conference call at two," he said, already backing towards his house. "Dinner later? I'm trying out a new recipe."

It wasn't the first time he'd invited you over—these casual dinners had become a natural part of your... whatever this was. But was it just natural? Or was it something more? You'd thought, with every invitation, every lingering look, every almost-kiss—and at this point, with almost-kiss number 3000, you were starting to lose count—that this time would be different. But maybe, just maybe, it was all in your head. Maybe you were reading too much into everything, again.

"What time?" you asked.

"Seven? Bring wine. And maybe that stawberry cake recipe you've been perfecting?"

"You just want me for my baking."

"Among other things." Before you could respond, he was already heading back to his house, calling over his shoulder, "Don't be late!"

You watched him go, your heart stuttering, wondering if he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Dinner at Satoru's had become a natural part of your week, but something felt different that evening. Perhaps it was the early autumn darkness pressing against the windows, or the intimate warmth of the kitchen under the amber pendant lamps. Or maybe it was just how he moved around you in his kitchen, always somehow managing to brush past even though there was plenty of space.

He'd outdone himself with dinner, though you'd never tell him that—his ego was big enough already. But he was, you had to admit, a surprisingly excellent cook. Watching him plate the food with the same careful attention he gave to everything, you had to admit he had a talent for this too. Of course he did. It was starting to seem like there wasn't anything Satoru Gojo couldn't do perfectly.

The wine you'd brought paired perfectly with his cooking, because of course it did. He'd probably somehow predicted exactly what you'd choose and planned the meal around it. You wouldn't put it past him, not with how he seemed to anticipate your every move these days. Conversations flowed easily between you. He shared work stories, you gave updates on your projects, and somehow, your feet ended up on his lap beneath the table. He massaged them absently, after you complained about standing all day.

When he suggested a movie afterward, it felt natural to say yes. You watched him make popcorn on the stove and then moved to the couch. The movie was something neither of you really paid attention to, both too aware of how close you sat on his ridiculously comfortable couch. Every time you reached for the popcorn bowl between you, your hands would brush, sending little sparks up your arm. You caught him watching you more than the screen, but whenever you turned to catch him at it, his eyes were innocently focused forward.

As the evening wore on, the warmth of the wine and his presence made your eyelids heavy. You tried to stay awake, but when he gently draped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer, resistance melted away. You drifted off against his shoulder, the last thing you remember is the soft brush of his lips against your hair as sleep pulled you under.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

November deepened into December, and the air grew cold with the promise of winter. One morning, the first snow fell, lightly covering your porch and making everything look like a Christmas card. The holiday market downtown was in full swing by mid-December, stalls lined with evergreen boughs and twinkling lights that reflected off fresh snow. You'd been surprised when Satoru suggested you both go, casually mentioning it while helping you install new crown molding in your dining room.

"They've set up an ice rink this year," he'd said, measuring tape in hand, not looking at you directly. "Thought it might be fun."

Which is how you found yourself wandering between market stalls on a Saturday afternoon, your breath clouding in the cold air as Satoru walked beside you, unfairly handsome in a charcoal peacoat and blue scarf that matched his eyes.

"Have you tried the hot chocolate?" Satoru asked, nodding towards a stall where steam rose from copper pots. "I've heard they make it with real Belgian chocolate."

"Are you trying to fatten me up for winter?" But you were already moving.

He followed, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Just trying to keep you warm. Can't have you catching a cold before we finish that bathroom tilework."

The hot chocolate was rich and velvety with a hint of cinnamon, the warmth spreading through your chest as you continued to wander the market. Your fingers grew numb despite your gloves, and Satoru must have noticed because he suddenly handed you his cup.

"Hold this a second." Before you could question him, he removed his own gloves—expensive-looking leather ones—and handed them to you. "These are better insulated. Trade me."

"I can't take your gloves."

"You can and you will." His tone left no room for argument. "Besides, my hands run hot."

You reluctantly made the exchange, noticing how his gloves swallowed your hands but feeling instantly warmer. Something about wearing his gloves made your heart do a strange flutter. As it always seemed when you were near him.

As afternoon stretched into early evening, the market lights came on, making everything look magical. That's when you spotted it—the ice rink, lit up with fairy lights, skaters gliding in circles across the surface.

"Ready to try?" Satoru asked, following your gaze.

"I haven't skated since I was a kid."

"Perfect time to remember then. I'll make sure you don't fall."

Ten minutes later, you stood at the edge of the rink, wobbling precariously on thin blades while Satoru waited patiently beside you. He'd stepped onto the ice with infuriating grace, as if skating were as natural to him as breathing.

"How are you already good at this?" you said, clutching the railing.

"Can’t help it," he replied, like that would explain it. "Come on. I've got you."

Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand in his. His fingers closed around yours, warm and steady, as he pulled you onto the ice. Your legs immediately threatened to slide in opposite directions, but Satoru kept you upright.

"Small steps." His other hand came to rest at your elbow for support. "Don't think about it too much. Let your body remember."

You focused on not falling, even though all you could focus on was his hand in yours, his presence beside you as you slowly made your way around the edge of the rink. Other skaters whizzed past, some holding hands, others chatting to their friends.

After one cautious lap, you began to find your balance. Your death grip on Satoru's hand loosened slightly, though you weren't about to let go completely.

"See? You're a natural," he said, his voice warm.

"I wouldn't go that far. You're doing most of the work."

He smiled, adjusting his pace to match yours. "We make a good team."

The way he said it—so casually, so confidently—sent your thoughts spiraling. Did you make a good team? The evidence was certainly there—the beautifully restored porch, the new plumbing that never leaked, the kitchen with its even countertops that you'd finally finished together. But was that all this was? A renovation partnership?

Because holding his hand like this, skating side by side under twinkling lights with Christmas music playing softly in the background—it felt like more. It felt like a date.

Like something couples did.

Your mind raced as you made another lap around the rink. When had Satoru Gojo become more than just your annoying neighbour? When had his smug smile started making your heart race instead of your blood pressure? And why, despite all the lingering touches and loaded glances over the past months, had he never once tried to kiss you?

"You're thinking too hard again," Satoru said, interrupting your thoughts. "I can practically hear the gears turning."

"Just trying not to fall."

"Relax. I've got you." He squeezed your hand reassuringly, and you couldn't help but wonder if he meant it beyond the ice rink.

Was it possible you were imagining the whole thing? Maybe he was just being nice. Maybe this outing was purely neighbourly. Maybe he wasn't interested in you that way at all. Or worse—what if he was gay? No, that couldn't be it. You'd met his ex-girlfriend when she stopped by to drop off some mail that had been mistakenly delivered to her place. Besides, no straight man looked at a woman the way he sometimes looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention.

So what was it then? Was something wrong with you? Were you not his type?

"Ready to try without the railing?" Satoru asked, pulling you from your spiral.

"Um, I don't think—"

"Trust me," he said softly, and despite your better judgment, you did.

He guided you towards the center of the rink, one hand still firmly clasping yours, the other now resting lightly at your waist. The contact, even through layers of winter clothing, sent a jolt through you.

"You're doing great," he said as you wobbled slightly. "Just find your balance."

"Easy for you to say. You're apparently good at everything."

He laughed. "Not everything."

You didn’t believe him for a second.

Your right skate hit a rough patch of ice, and suddenly you were pitching forward, arms flailing. Time seemed to slow as you prepared for the inevitable crash onto hard ice. But instead of cold pain, you felt strong arms wrap around your waist, catching you. Satoru pulled you against his chest, steadying you both.

You found yourself pressed against him, your hands clutching his coat, faces inches apart. His blue eyes were wide, a few strands of white hair falling across his forehead. You could feel his heart racing—or was that yours?

"Are you okay?" he asked, breath warm against your cheek.

You nodded, unable to speak, certain that this was it—the moment he would finally close the distance between you. His gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there as one of his hands moved up to brush a strand of hair from your face. Your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, heart hammering against your ribs.

"You know," Satoru said, amusement colouring his tone, "for someone who managed to restore an entire Victorian house, you're surprisingly bad at staying upright on a little ice."

Your eyes snapped open to find him grinning down at you and the moment shattered. He set you back on your feet, though he kept one arm loosely around your waist for support.

"I think I need a break," you said, trying to hide your frustration. "My ankles are killing me."

"Of course." He led you to the exit, his hand returning to yours like it belonged there. "Hot cider? My treat."

As you made your way off the ice, you couldn't help but think that for someone so skilled at fixing things, Satoru Gojo seemed determined to leave whatever was between you two beautifully, frustratingly unresolved.

Despite your disappointment at the almost kiss, the rest of the evening at the market had been pleasant enough. You'd shared warm cider at a wooden table, watching children chase each other through the snow while Satoru told stories about his own childhood winters. He'd insisted on buying you a knitted scarf when he'd caught you admiring it, and wrapped it around your neck himself with aching tenderness. And it made you want to die that he didn't kiss you while he wrapped the scarf around you.

By the time you'd explored every stall, your earlier frustration had mellowed into a dull ache of confusion. Satoru seemed completely at ease, carrying your purchases and guiding you through the crowd with a gentle hand on your lower back—another gesture that felt so intimate, yet so casually offered.

The drive home was quiet, snowflakes dancing in the headlights as Satoru navigated the slippery roads. You stared out the window, watching the familiar streets of your neighbourhood change under the touch of winter, your mind replaying that moment on the ice over and over again. Why hadn't he kissed you?

He must have felt it—that perfect alignment of circumstances, that electric current running between you. For months now, you'd been dancing around this thing, this unspoken whatever it was.

"You're quiet," Satoru said, his voice breaking through your thoughts as the car came to a stop in front of your house. The snow was falling harder now, collecting on the windshield.

"Just tired." You forced a smile. "Thank you for today. It was fun."

"Are you sure that's all it is?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Before he could answer, you gathered your bags and pushed open the car door. "Goodnight, Satoru."

You hurried up the now perfectly restored steps of your front porch, fumbling with your keys as snowflakes clung to your hair and eyelashes, desperate to bury all those confusing feelings deep down, underneath a lot of chocolate and trashy romance Christmas movies. But then the sound of a car door closing behind you made you stop.

"Hey," Satoru called, his footsteps crunching through fresh snow. "Wait a second."

You took a deep breath and turned to face him. He was standing at the bottom of your porch steps, snowflakes catching in his white hair, his forehead furrowed. "Something's wrong. I can tell."

"It's nothing. Really, I'm just tired."

"After all these months, I'd hope you'd know you can't lie to me." He climbed the steps slowly until he was standing in front of you. "Did I do something? Say something?"

You shook your head. "It's not about what you did."

"Then what?" He took another step closer, and you could see the genuine confusion in his eyes. “What is going on?”

"It's about what you don't do, Satoru." The words escaped before you could stop them, tumbling out in a rush of frustration and longing. "What you never do."

He blinked. "What I don't do?"

You gestured helplessly between the two of you. "This. Whatever this is. You fix my pipes and paint my house and take me ice skating. You look at me sometimes like—" You paused. "But then nothing. You never... you never try to..."

"You think I don't want to kiss you," he said.

"Well, what am I supposed to think? You spend every waking moment at my house, you bring me coffee every stupid day, you watch movies with me and like, you buy me cute little scarves and, I mean—who does that?”

You were pacing now, your frustration building as months of confusion spilled out. Snowflakes swirled around you as you moved, melting against your flushed cheeks.

"Do you have any idea how confusing that is? One minute you're touching my face like you can't help yourself, the next you're acting like we're just neighbours working on a house together. Am I imagining things? Are you just being nice? Is there something wrong with me—"

Your rant was suddenly cut short as Satoru closed the distance between you in two quick steps. His hands came up to frame your face and before you could process what was happening, his lips were on yours. His mouth was warm despite the cold, his lips soft but insistent against yours, effectively shutting down every coherent thought.

You stood frozen for a split second before your body caught up with reality. Then you kissed him back, your hands fisting in his coat, pulling him closer as his thumbs gently stroked your cheeks. The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing yours as one of his hands slid to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard, little clouds forming in the cold air between you, his hands still cupping your face.

"For the record," he said, his voice deeper and rougher than you'd ever heard it, "I've wanted to do that since the moment I steadied your ladder that first day. Every time I've been in a room with you. Every time you've chewed your lip while concentrating on something. Every damn time you've worn my chequered shirt".

You blinked up at him, still dazed from the kiss. "Then why didn't you?"

"Because I was trying to be a gentleman." His thumb traced your lower lip, still sensitive from his kiss. "Because I didn't want to complicate things when you were already dealing with so much. Because I wanted to be sure you felt the same way." A small, self-ironic smile touched his lips. "And because every time I worked up the courage, I'd get lost in those eyes of yours and forget how words work."

"So instead you taught me about crown molding?"

"I'm better with my hands than with words," he admitted, then immediately looked chagrined at the unintended innuendo. "That's not what I—"

This time, you cut him off, rising on your tiptoes to press your lips to his. He responded immediately, his arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you slightly so you fit perfectly against him as snowflakes continued to fall around you.

"For future reference," you said as you broke the kiss, "I'd much rather you kiss me than explain proper grouting techniques."

"Noted."

Without another word, he scooped you up in his arms, one hand supporting your back, the other beneath your knees, and carried you towards your front door with the same effortless strength he'd shown lifting drywall and moving furniture.

"The door," you reminded him, fumbling with your keys.

"I've got it." He somehow managed to balance you perfectly while taking the keys and unlocking the door. "I'm very good with my hands, remember?"

Satoru carried you over the threshold and kicked the door shut behind him. Snowflakes melted in his white hair as he set you down in the dim entryway, but he didn't step back, holding you between his body and the wall.

"You have no idea how many times I've imagined this." His hands slid up your sides as his mouth claimed yours once more. "How many nights I've lain awake across the street, thinking about you in this house."

And you nearly fainted as you imagined him in his house across the stress, thinking about you, his hand down his pants and—

"Every room in this house," he said, his voice rough as he pushed your coat from your shoulders. "I've thought about having you in every single one."

"We did renovate them all." Your voice faltered as his lips found your neck, trailing kisses down to the sensitive spot where it met your shoulder. "Seems only fair we should... test our work."

"I think I’d like that." His hands slid beneath your sweater, warm against your chilled skin as they traced up your sides. Your own fingers tangled in his snow dampened hair, pulling him back to your mouth for a kiss that quickly burned away any remaining cold.

"Bedroom?"

"Too far," you breathed, already tugging at his sweater. "Besides, we just redid the living room couch."

He smiled. In one fluid motion, he lifted you again, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you towards the living room. The last snowflakes in his hair melted as he lowered you onto the couch you'd spent three weekends reupholstering together. His body covered yours perfectly, like he belonged there, had always belonged there.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, covering your Victorian home in a pristine blanket of white, Satoru Gojo finally showed you exactly what his hands were capable of—proving once and for all that some things were worth the wait.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Spring arrived with a gentle persistence, coaxing crocuses from the soil and washing away the last traces of winter. Your Victorian house looked lovely in the morning light, its sage green paint gleaming, and its porch ready for the warmer days ahead.

The sound of knocking preceded Satoru's arrival, followed by a short pause and his usual sigh when he'd remembered he had keys, before his familiar footsteps echoed across the parquet floors you'd refinished together. You were in the kitchen, still in your pyjamas, going over the plans for the sunroom you'd decided to add to the back of the house.

"Morning," Satoru called, appearing in the doorway with his usual—two coffee cups balanced in one hand, a small paper bag of pastries in the other. His white hair was slightly dishevelled, as if he'd rushed out without taking the time to comb it properly.

"You know you don't have to knock anymore," you said as he handed you the coffee. "You have a key."

"Force of habit." He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before sliding into the chair next to you. "Besides, what if you were up to something scandalous?"

"At seven in the morning?"

"I distinctly remember yesterday morning getting pretty scandalous. And the day before that—”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as memories flooded back of the way he'd pinned your wrists above your head with one hand while the other explored your body with agonizing slowness. The way he'd whispered in your ear exactly what he was planning to do to you, his voice dropping to that low register that always made you shiver. The way he'd taken his time, so thorough in his attention that you'd been reduced to breathless pleas before he finally gave you what you needed and—okay, stop. Not now.

Three months into your relationship, and he still made you blush like a stupid teenager—among other things.

"Those were special circumstances," you said, trying not to smile.

"Oh yeah? What kind of special circumstances?"

"You brought croissants." You peeked into today's bag, ignoring his teasing. "Are these the chocolate ones from that bakery downtown?"

"Maybe." He smiled, watching you with that soft expression that still made your heart skip. "I had an early video call with our research partners about the new pharmaceutical trial. Thought I'd pick up breakfast on the way back."

You paused, coffee halfway to your lips. "Wait, you already had your meeting? I thought that wasn't until nine."

"Started at five." He shrugged, stealing a piece of your pastry. "The Munich lab had some promising results they wanted to discuss right away. Worked out, though—wanted to catch you before you got too deep into those sunroom plans."

Warmth blossomed in your chest. In the months since that snowy night on your porch, Satoru had slowly woven himself into every aspect of your life. He still brought you coffee every morning, still helped with renovations, still looked at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

The only difference was that he now often spent the night, his clothes gradually migrating into your wardrobe, and his shower gel suddenly appeared one day in your bathroom. Even his microbiology textbooks and research papers had found their way onto your coffee table, his lab notes sometimes mixed in with your renovation plans.

"Speaking of the sunroom," he continued, "I think the windows we recently found in the attic would look great in there. The original glass has that slight waviness that would catch the light beautifully."

"I was thinking the same thing." You slid the blueprints towards him. "I've been playing with the dimensions to make sure they'd fit."

He leaned closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. "This looks perfect. Though we might need to adjust the framing here to account for the original hardware."

You smiled at his use of “we”—so natural now, so right. Every project had become a shared undertaking, every decision made together.

"By the way," he began, "I've been thinking—"

"A dangerous pastime for you."

"I'm serious." He took a breath, suddenly looking uncharacteristically nervous. "The house is looking amazing. We've fixed almost everything that needed fixing."

"Except that creaky step on the back stairs," you reminded him.

"And the slight warp in the pantry door," he added.

"And the—"

"Okay, so there's still a list." He laughed. "But my point is, we've done so much work here. Together."

"We have," you agreed, wondering where he was going with this.

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. "Meanwhile, my house is just sitting there. I'm barely even there anymore except to grab clothes or check if anyone's stolen my mail."

Your heart began to beat faster as you caught his meaning. "Satoru Gojo, are you trying to say something specific?"

“What if we just... you know, focused on one house instead of two?" His eyes met yours, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. "Maybe focusing on just one house instead of maintaining two?"

"Are you asking to move in together?" You couldn't help the smile spreading across your face.

"Well, technically I'm asking which house we want to live in. Though I'm kind of partial to this one. We've put so much of ourselves into it."

You twisted in your chair to face him fully. "You'd leave your perfect house with its perfect kitchen and perfect view?"

"My perfect house feels empty without you in it." The simple honesty in his voice made your throat tight with emotion. "Besides, this house has better bones."

"Yes," you said, sliding your arms around his neck. "Yes to consolidating our renovation efforts. Yes to deciding which house. Yes to all of it."

"You sure? I know you like your space and I don't want to, like, suffocate you or—"

You cut him off with a kiss, soft and sweet and tasting of chocolate pastries. "Satoru, you've been in my space since the day you showed up to fix my stupid leaky pipe. At this point, it doesn't feel like my space without you in it."

He rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a moment. When he looked at you again, there was that softness, that tenderness that still made your heart flip.

"I love you," he said simply. "In case that wasn't clear."

"I figured that out somewhere between you painting my entire house during that insane heatwave."

He laughed, the sound echoing in the kitchen you'd rebuilt together. "And here I thought it was my extensive knowledge of old pipes that won you over."

"That helped," you admitted, fingers playing with his hair. "Though it was really your hands that sealed the deal."

"My hands, huh?"

"Mmhmm." You pressed closer, coffee and blueprints momentarily forgotten. "Very skilled hands."

"Well" he murmured, those hands already finding their way under your pajama top, "some things deserve special attention to detail.”

"Are we seriously still doing renovation metaphors?"

He laughed and pressed a kiss to your neck. "Some traditions are worth keeping."

Later, as sunlight streamed through your kitchen windows—windows he'd helped you restore months ago when you were still pretending to be just neighbours—you lay tangled together on the kitchen floor.

"You know," you said, tracing patterns on his chest, "your house does have that amazing bathtub."

"True." He pressed a kiss to your hair. "But this house has you."

You smiled against his skin. “We could always redo the bathroom here. Get an even better tub."

"I like how you think." His arms tightened around you. "Though we'd need to check the floor supports first, maybe upgrade the plumbing—"

You propped yourself up on one elbow to look at him, at this impossible man who'd somehow become your everything.

"I love you," you said simply. "Even when you're being a total renovation nerd."

His smile was soft, genuine, the smile he saved just for you. "Especially then?"

"Especially then."

Outside, spring painted the neighbourhood with fresh green. But inside, in this house you'd brought back to life together, you'd found something even better—a future you were building together, room by room, day by day, one cup of morning coffee at a time.

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author's note — omggg, we made it through all four seasons and a complete house renovation ! kept thinking while writing that the most unrealistic thing about this story is not satoru gojo being a perfect neighbour and fixing leaky pipes for us, but owning a house in this economy lol.

anyway, thank you so much for reading this silly little story and i hope it brought you as much joy as it did me while writing it. until next time ! <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here.

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @snowsilver2000 @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @sugurbo @janbannan

@bloopsstuff @ihearttoru @momoewn @yokosandesu @90s-belladonna

@fairygardenprincesss @juneslove21 @glenkiller338 @gojossugarcandy @wiserion

@moucheslove @nanasukii28 @sugucultfollower @leuriss @raendarkfaerie

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo fluff #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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cxckblxcker · 5 months ago

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Geto’s DM: babe, I miss you

Twitter: GRARTSS

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cxckblxcker · 5 months ago

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but daddy I love him her!

pairing: billionaire's son!gojo x farmer's daughter!reader word count: 10.7k content: angst, fluff, romeo and juliet retelling, hurt w/ comfort, implications of abuse, smut, 18+

gojo fan-art by @3-aem

The grating sound of fake laughter would be ingrained in your mind for the remainder of the week, you were sure of it. In the midst of your zoned out staring and eavesdropping (though even that was becoming mind-numbing at this point), the tray of hordeurves balanced in your hands began to tip ever so slightly. It only caught your attention when one of the caviar topped… whatever it was started sliding to the right. With a strangled gasp, you quickly righted your posture, your spine now stiff as a board.

You cast your gaze across the banquet hall of high profile, and thus high nose individuals, their glittering jewelery and lavish gowns nearly blinding you, and you assured that no one had seen your slip up. With a quiet sigh of relief, you mustered a polite smile for the goach woman before you, slipping off her glove to grab an appetizer from your tray.

God, you needed this job, but for the love of all that is holy, you didn’t expect it to be this agonizing. In truth, it could have been worse. You could have found a temp job that really had you breaking your back as you were used to, so perhaps putting up with some horribly privileged elites for the few hours of their… gala or fundraising event or whatever excuse they used to justify such lavish get-togethers, wasn’t as bad as you were making it out to be.

You didn’t get details of the event you’d be servicing until just an hour prior to its beginning when you were given a run down about the nature of the event as well as the importance of the clientele. Of course, you had already heard of the Gojo family long before your temporary manager explained them to you with sweat dripping anxiously down his forehead. They were the business tycoons of Tokyo, owning half the real estate that you’d likely ever stepped foot in in this city.

There was a slight unease in your stomach at the thought of being entrusted to work at an event so… high profile, but your subtle irritation for the gall of it all trumped that anxiety tenfold. Not only had you had a good understanding of who the family was due to good ole’ word of mouth, but it also didn’t help that they had been singlehandedly making your father’s life a living hell for the past few years.

Sure, they weren’t intentionally targeting the man, but as their franchises and real estate continued blossoming throughout the city, there were growing pressures for your father to sell his farmland with the intention of their company building more fucking skyscrapers filled with law firms or IV transfusion spas or whatever the hell it was that these rich people filled their pockets with. He had stayed resolute in his intention to keep the farm, but you knew the rising property taxes that came along with that Gojo family price tag popping up all around him was making it difficult for him to keep it afloat.

Which is precisely why you were currently pretending not to be creeped out by the middle-aged man leering at you from your peripheral— you really needed this money.

Clearing your throat, a wobbly smile graced your lips as you held out the tray to him in hopes that it was the caviar he was eyeing and not your… hordeurves. Perhaps that was the wrong move to make though, because he was taking one and staying with a look on his face that said he had an offer that you just wouldn’t be able to refuse.

“You do private events, sweetheart?”

You had half a mind to tell him that this was a private event, but the Rolex on his wrist told you that he had too much money to piss off.

“I-I’m contracted by the catering company, sir.” You explained with your eyes facing forward, gulping down the heartbeat that had manifested in your throat at the way he chuckled patronizingly and leaned against the wall you were standing by. “I work the events that they send me to.”

“Alright then, better question,” He grinned connivingly as he absentmindedly straightened the gold cufflinks at his wrists. “Can I contract you for a private event?”

Any hope of rebuttal got stuck in your throat, caught between your burning desire to defend yourself and the even greater need for this job to go well.

“I’m pretty sure your three ex-wives would agree that contracts aren’t really your strong suit, wouldn’t you say, Junto?”

Disguising your near instantaneous chortle as a cough, you quickly turned your head away from Junto and your knight in… Prada? Lord knows you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. The sleezeball scoffed, but it seemed he too felt the waves of dominating energy coming from the younger man that dared challenge him, because that scoff quickly turned into a strictly rehearsed laugh.

“You always did have a mouth on you, didn’t you, kid?” He gritted through his fake smile as he patted said kid on the back, who only offered a mocking aw, shucks in return. “You stay outta trouble, huh?”

The man promptly removed himself from the situation lest he be torn apart anymore by someone who appeared less than half his age. Biting at your bottom lip, you weren’t sure if it would be appropriate to acknowledge what you had just witnessed, so you opted to face forward, trying to ignore the scent of the woodsy cologne that just wafted an air far too expensive for you to even be breathing in. Despite your careful composure, you could feel his eyes on the side of your head.

“What a fuckin’ weirdo, amaright?” He broke the silence for you, a smug smile stretching across his lips when you failed to contain your laughter that time around.

“Oh my god, I thought he would catch fire standing so close to the candles with so much gel in his hair.” You whisper-shouted, absolutely reeling to get it off your chest after standing in silence for so long.

Your savior chortled next to you, hunching over himself ever-so-slightly as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his perfectly-tailored suit. Finally daring to look his way, you were almost knocked off your balance for the second time that night as you took in his striking, white hair and icy-blue eyes that seemed to twinkle supernaturally under the candlelight’s flicker. He looked to be your age, and you figured he was the son of one of these bigshots that was dragged here for the sake of networking.

“Maybe we should get him back over here then. We need something to liven this place up— a grease fire would do nicely.” He teased while straightening his posture once again to look out amongst the sea of people as you giggled along beside him.

“Thank you, by the way.” You expressed sincerely once your laughter had died down. “It was kind of an awkward position he was putting me in.”

The man only hummed, observing you with a mischievous glint in his other-worldly eyes that had you thinking the creep was onto something when he told him to stay out of trouble.

“Wanna know how you can thank me?” You felt a premature flush falling over your cheeks as he leaned down to be within your earshot. “Sneak me a piece of the cake that’s in the back, yeah?”

At once, the tension in your shoulders dissipated, and you smiled apologetically at him.

“I can’t cut the cake until the hosts give their speech.”

“Ah, see, therein lies my problem because that is assuming I would be staying for the entirety of this snoozefest.” He was promptly taking the tray from your arms and blindly handing it off to another unsuspecting worker who was passing by. “C’mon, I just want a little something sweet before I dip out of here. Please?”

Maybe it was the fact that you felt partially indebted to him, or maybe it was that irresistible pout he was directing your way, or, most likely, the fact that he was obscenely attractive. Whichever it was had you slipping into the kitchen where the lavish cake was waiting atop the counter, peeking around to assure the coast was clear before you grabbed a knife. With an unbelieving shake of your head, you turned it around so as to cut from the back and not make it so obvious.

Your heart was thumping wildly against your white-button down-clad chest as you promptly maneuvered it back to its proper positioning, grabbing a spoon before you made a beeline toward the hallway where he said he’d be waiting. Sure enough, there he was, just barely illuminated by the candle-lit lanterns hanging in the grand hallway as he leaned against the wall.

“Hah! You’re a total badass!” He cackled shortly as he pushed himself off the wall. Surveying the plate in your hand, his brows furrowed suddenly. “Just one?”

You shifted nervously on your feet, the corners of your lips twitching in uncertainty.

“You… wanted two?”

“No, where’s yours?” The question fell from his perfectly pink lips as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. With the reemergence of that incriminating pout, he presented the hand that had since been hiding behind his back. In it, was a bottle of champagne that looked like it cost more than what you were even getting paid for this stupid event. “Brought us some bubbly and everything— you know what, it’s fine. I can share just this once.”

At once, he was leading you by your free arm down the dim hallway until he reached an alcove that would be perfectly disguised to anyone looking straight down the hall.

“Wait, wait, I can’t be here—”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” You scoffed in bitter amusement at his oblivion as he sat crisscrossed against the wall. “Because I could lose my job, that’s why not.”

“Oh, please,” He waved you off as he nodded toward the spot beside him. Slowly, you begrudgingly took a seat next to him. “You’re not gonna lose your job.”

With a resignated sigh, you set the plate down on the floor before him.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Oh the—” He flinched back as he popped the top off the champagne, the abrupt rupture making you squeal. “—surest. What are you doing working this dick-measuring competition anyway?”

You tried not to get distracted by the way his lips settled eagerly around the cake-filled spoon, the smallest of moans leaving him in the process before he passed the plate to you.

“Need a new laptop for school.” You explained, though you knew it was only a fraction of the story, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t understand your financial struggles as he allowed drops of champagne to spill onto his freshly-pressed suit pants. Despite your better judgement, you took a bite from the cake as well. “Too many open coffee cups next to electronics got me too confident. So, I’m stuck as the Gojo family mule for the night.”

He huffed out a laugh through a mouthful of champagne. You two soon swapped, him taking the cake and you grabbing at the neck of the bottle. Leaning your head back against the wall, you tilted your head to look at him.

“You know, I heard this whole thing was actually a networking thing for their son.” You rambled, the slightest hint of alcohol clearly making you way too comfortable with this stranger. He only hummed beside you, the faintest of amused smiles on his handsome face. “Heard he’s a real disaster, too.”

“I heard he showed up an hour late.”

“Of course he did.” You snorted softly with a shake of your head. “If I had half the opportunities that dude had—”

“What would you do?”

You fell silent for a moment, smushing some icing around the delicate, china plate. In your peripheral, you saw the small, shiny triangle shaped logo at the base of his black tie, and it once again reminded you that even this man, as relatable as he might appear to you hiding from the party to stuff his face with cake and champagne, wouldn’t understand the petty issues of the working class.

“I wouldn’t be passing out caviar to a bunch of billionaires— that’s for sure.”

“Satoru!”

At once, the man was snatching the plate from your hand, juggling it along with the champagne bottle between his long fingers.

“That’d be my queue.” He quipped, glancing down at your name tag before testing how it sounded on his lips. You blinked owlishly at him, because you could have sworn that Satoru was the name of— “Sorry, you know me— real disaster.” He winked before swiping at the leftover icing at the edge of your parted lips and licking it from his thumb. “Try not to get propositioned while I’m gone!”

You watched with unreserved horror as he stumbled to his feet to race up the hall before anyone could come down to find you. In the quiet solitude of the secluded hallway, you could still just barely hear the host of the event introducing his son with some heartfelt speech about how proud he was of him that was most definitely written by someone else. A churning sense of mortification settled in your stomach as you looked up at the portrait on the wall behind you of the Gojos.

The Gojos and their son.

The Gojos and their white-haired, blue-eyed son.

Oh, you were so losing your job.

It seemed as though you couldn’t get enough air into your lungs no matter how hard you tried as you stood with the rest of the contracted wait staff for a final rundown of how service went overall that night.

Following Satoru’s abrupt departure, you begged a coworker to switch roles with you for the night— a change she was more than happy to oblige given she was on dishwashing duty, but you were just eager to be avoiding any possibile run-ins with the man you had just shit-talked right to his face. It was the only reason you made it through the night without vomiting, you were sure. Why had you opened your stupid mouth?

A call of your name pulled you from your self-depricating thoughts, and you lifted your head to meet the gaze of your manager. Through the blood rushing in your ears, his words sounded muffled to you as he handed you an envelope. Blinking a few times, you shook your head and called out to him just as he had moved onto the next worker.

“Sorry— what did you say this was for?”

“Long night, huh?” He chuckled at your supposed sluggishness. “One of the guests wanted to give you an additional tip. Guess you left an impression.”

You gulped, looking down at the envelope with the slightest of trembles in your fingers. It burned a hole in your pocket the entire drive home, and you were more so than usual frustrated at your run-down truck’s pathetic engine. It wasn’t until you had showered, cooled your nervous system even in the slightest, and gotten into your bed that you worked up the courage to open it. Flinching back as if it might explode in your face, you slowly tore it open.

“Holy shit.” You breathed out, clutching the envelope closer to you to inspect the stack of bills glaring back at you. Frantically thumbing through them— your head started to spin after you hit five-hundred. “He’s insane. Oh my god, he’s insane.”

Pulling out the wad of money, a small napkin you recognized as one you were offering the guests with the horderves fell onto your mattress. You snatched it up, frenzied eyes quickly skimming the sloppy penmanship.

Thanks again for the cake, and try to keep your coffee off of your new laptop.

— Satoru ‘Real Disaster’ Gojo

The money, along with the note, sat untouched at the bottom of your bag for nearly a week. It felt so unbelievably wrong to use it, but you weren’t exactly sure what to do with the thousand dollars you’d received in exchange for a slice of cake and an insult. So, it remained there as you pretended to forget its existence, continuing to work your actual job in the meantime as though you didn’t already now have more than enough for a new laptop.

It’s where you found yourself now, mindlessly reading over the notes from your previous class as you sat at the front desk of your campus library. Your days were typically slow like this, especially since it wasn’t anywhere near finals season, which is about the only time of semester you would see this place bustling with students. There were no complaints from you though, as you were able to study and get homework done so you’d be free to help your dad out around the farm when you were home.

The writer’s block you were suffering from was just on the cusp of escaping you as you finally began typing out an opening paragraph for the marketing paper you had been stuck on for nearly an hour. As if the universe was dead set on mocking your academic struggles, a student strolled up to your desk just as your fingers began moving across the keyboard on the library computer. With a barely disguised sigh of frustration, you looked up to offer your services, but your typical greeting died in your throat.

He looked different than when you had last seen him— out of his Prada suit and instead donning a university crewneck as he scrolled purposefully through his phone with furrowed brows of concentration. Satoru Gojo; maybe it wasn’t such a shock that he attended the same university as you, given it was what some would call a ‘prestigious’ university that you were only lucky enough to attend due to the scholarship you grinded your ass off to qualify for each semester.

There was a subtle hitch in your breath as he hummed triumphantly, zooming into something on his phone before leaning over the counter to show you. You hoped that perhaps he would have forgotten all about you, and you redirected your attention to the book he was showing you.

“Do you know if you carry this book? I ordered it for class, but it still hasn’t—”

You felt your stomach practically drop through your ass and onto the floor below you when he abruptly cut himself off. Daring to glance up from his phone, you found those intensely stunning eyes wide and trained on you. A slow smile spread across his lips, and the shock in his eyes morphed into that wicked mischievousness that seemed to come so naturally to him.

“Well that dinosaur certainly doesn’t look like a new laptop to me.” He quipped, clicking his phone shut to lean against the counter on his elbows. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“That’s because I didn’t buy a new laptop.” You explained with burning cheeks, reaching for the bag you had stored under the desk. Fishing around at the bottom of it, you procured the envelope that had been lingering in your possession for a week. You slid it over to him. “Nevermind the fact that I could have gotten three laptops with that kind of money.”

Gojo backed away from the envelope as though it might burn him to touch it, raising his hands defensively.

“So, I figured you could get a nice one. Sue me—”

“I’m not taking your money, Gojo.”

“Ouch— not the family name, princess! You wound me.” He clutched theatrically at his chest before letting his arms fall beside him with an aggravatingly charming smirk. Huffing out an indignant sigh, you moved to search the system for the book he had shown you.

“We’re not friendly enough for the first name basis, and we’re certainly not friendly enough that I’d accept this kind of money from you.” You emphasized with a few pointed clicks of your mouse before turning to face him once again. “That book is in the third row to your left.”

“Yeah?” He hummed, eyes assessing you pensively. The ever present smirk on his lips never faltered. “And what would you have done with it if you didn’t run into me?”

Pursing your lips, you narrowed your eyes at him in challenge, but it was one he was more than prepared to take on as he tilted his head mockingly.

“Who knows, I’m partial to animals— maybe a local shelter would have needed it more than me.”

“How very noble of you.”

“Well, you’re not the only one around here drawn to philanthropy.” Leaning in until he could feel your breath fanning against his nose, you smiled in feigned charm. “Of course, my efforts wouldn’t be contributing to a tax write-off, but giving is giving, right?”

But your biting accusations didn’t deter him, if anything, that fierce tongue of yours only intrigued him more after so long of everyone in his life blindly agreeing with him. You wondered if he could hear the way your heart was racing against your chest, because it was just your luck that the arrogant son of the family fucking your dad’s life over was breathtakingly handsome. He hummed softly, picking up the envelope from the counter to pat it teasingly onto your nose.

“And that’s what you thought I was doing? Charity work?”

“Well you certainly weren’t doing it because I left any sort of stellar impression.” The confidence in your tone faltered as you recalled that night, a flush falling over your cheeks. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

With a mockingly wistful sigh, he turned around, leaning back on his elbows against the counter as he tilted his head back to look at you.

“Well, I could hardly blame you. You don’t know me, after all.” His anticipatory tone told you that he was plotting something in that pretty, privileged head of his. “And that’s our problem, isn’t it? You don’t know me, I don’t know you— you said it yourself, princess. Can’t accept this kind of money from a stranger.”

You didn’t respond, not wanting to encourage whatever nonsense he was currently conjuring up. Standing from your desk, you walked around the counter and headed down toward the rows of books. Gojo was hot on your heels though, trailing behind you as he leaned down to use his ‘inside voice’.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to say, ‘Well what do you suggest then, Satoru?’.” His pitched impression of you almost made you smile, but, again, you didn’t want to egg him on. Instead, you headed down your intended row and began skimming the books as he leaned against the shelf. “Well, I’m so glad you asked, because I happen to be in need of a date for my lovely family’s… hah, whaddya’ know— charity gala this weekend.”

“And this concerns me how?”

“What better way to get to know one another than spending a few hours pretending to like each other, huh?”

“You’re delusional, Gojo.” You shook your head with an incredulous smile. Finally spotting the book he had shown you, you pulled it from the shelf and shoved it toward his chest. “Not happening.”

“C’mon, it’s a win-win for both of us. I get a night without my parents on my ass introducing me to every poor girl they sink their claws into, and you can keep the money knowing it was a gift from a friend.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, a bemused smirk taking over your features as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Let me get this straight.” You began with a pop of your hip, leaning back on the shelf across from him. “Satoru Gojo is having to rent a girlfriend for the night. Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Weeell, if you put it that way, that would make you a—” He quickly shut his mouth upon seeing the icy glare you shot his way, daring him to finish that sentence. With a subtle fear hidden behind those striking eyes, he mustered a sweet smile. “—a fool to not take me up on such a kick-ass offer.”

“Nice save.” You muttered with a roll of your eyes, pushing off the wall to get back to work. He stepped forward though, placing his arms on either side of the shelves by your head and effectively trapping you in. That cologne that you remember driving you crazy all those nights ago was once again making your head spin, and you struggled to find the courage to look him in the eyes.

“Live a little— it’ll be fun. Think of it as… as prom!” His eyes widened to emphasize his point.

“I went to prom— could’ve gone without it.” You whispered with a challenging glare.

“That’s cause I wasn’t your date.” He shrugged obviously, and you were beginning to see how it was that Satoru Gojo always seemed to get his way. “I’ll even steal ya’ your own piece of cake this time.”

This had you turning your head to the side to hide your tickled smile, shaking your head as he laughed triumphantly at the sound.

“Atta girl! Now come on and put your number in my phone before I retract my offer.”

“Don’t push it, Gojo.”

“Right— yes, ma’am.”

The two of you didn’t message much in the days leading up to the event. When you did, it was mainly Satoru not-so-subtly checking in to assure that you hadn’t changed your mind. He let you know that he’d pick you up, but a ride was the last thing you were worried about as you surveyed your appearance in the mirror.

Formal events hadn’t ever exactly been your scene, given the more modest living conditions that you had grown up in. You could only pray that you weren’t embarrassing yourself as you smoothed your hands down your old prom dress that you had miraculously managed to squeeze yourself back into. It was the only formal dress you owned, the glittering stone details on the bodice contrasting nicely against the noir, silk fabric. While it looked nice enough, you were sure you’d have trouble breathing the rest of the night, already fantasizing about how exhilarating it’d be to take it off after everything was said and done.

With an anxious sigh, you leaned forward to carefully color in your lips. You gave yourself one last look over in the mirror before leaving your bedroom. A subtle cringe shook your frame as your heels clacked noisily against the wood floor. The last thing you wanted was to be questioned anymore by your father than you had already been when he saw you poking through your mom’s old jewelery box. You had played it off as a fundraising event your university was hosting, but you weren’t sure that he was entirely convinced.

There was a firm knock at the front door that had you rolling your eyes in exasperation, because you had told him to just text you when he got here. You were grateful that it seemed as though your dad was still out and not here to witness Satoru Gojo of all people picking his daughter up as a date. With a final huff of self-encouragement, you pulled the door open.

Now, he had had a line prepared about the hell of a place you got here, what with all the acres of land extending out the back of the property, but his lazy joke dissipated from his mind at the sight of you all done up for him. You looked so different than the last times that he’d seen you, and it wasn’t just that your eyes were shimmering with intricately placed shadows, or that your dress hugged your frame sinfully.

No, it was the light in your eyes that had previously been overshadowed by the weight of your responsibilities each time you’d seen him. Gone was that lingering exhaustion that dared taint your features, and in its place was a hopeful glimmer that knocked the wind from him as you directed it up at him with fluttering lashes.

He no longer felt like the young-adult he had grown to be, resembling more so a fumbling teenage boy picking up the homecoming date that was far out of his league. Anxiously, fiddling with the knot of his tie as if it was to blame for his sudden labored breathing, he chuckled half-heartedly.

“You clean up nice for someone who didn’t even want to come in the first place.” Gojo quipped as he bowed theatrically with an outstretched hand.

“Well I sure hope I look the part with how much I’m charging you.” The wink you sent him as you placed your hand in his nearly had him falling to his knees, and he wondered how he would survive the remainder of the night without embarrassing himself.

Nearly the entire drive was dedicated to him giving you the rundown of the event— who would be there, who he was pointedly trying to avoid, the sequence of events for the coming night. It all somehow snowballed into him babbling about the reality show worthy fueds and shambled love lives of the city's most elite names. You wanted to keep up, but Lord could this boy talk.

Even with all his rambling, nothing could have prepared you for the hundreds of scrutinizing eyes that fell upon you as soon as you entered on the arm of the hosts’ infamously single son. There were already a myriad of guests here, drinks in everyone’s hands and people on the dance floor.

“Why do I get the vibe that we’re disgustingly late?” You muttered through a polite smile, your hand curling tighter around Satoru’s bicep as you two continued making your way in.

“Pfft, if they want me to stay till it ends, I sure as hell ain’t coming right when it starts.” He retorted with a scoff before leaning down to your ear-shot. “Learn the ways of the disastrous prodigal son, princess.”

There wasn’t a chance in hell that he was ever going to let you live that one down.

“Ooo, and there are those people I was avoiding. Remember the ones with the twin daughters— come dance with me.” You could barely keep up with his rapid fire, and you wouldn’t have the chance to ask him to reiterate because he was moving toward the center of the room like a man on a mission, because he was one, the mission being to get through this thing unscathed.

“Wait, Gojo, I don’t know how to dance.” You whispered-shouted as you tried to desperately dig your heels into the ground, but he was stronger than you and a hell of a lot more determined.

“Just stand there and pretend to be in love with me— I’ll do the rest.” He winked, the arm you had yourself wrapped around swooping down to scoop you against him with an urging hand on the small of your back. “Hand on the shoulder— atta girl.”

Through your flustered blush, you glared indignantly at his patronizing. He tutted softly, his other hand dancing down the silken skin of your arm to grasp at yours.

“That look isn’t screaming ‘love sick’.” Gojo informed through an amused smile. Before you could manage to huff out a response, he had spun around to dip you dramatically, the abrupt motion emitting a delighted squeal from you, much to his satisfaction. “There it is— keep looking at me like that. Talk to me— really sell it.”

You weren’t sure how he did it— how his effortless charm managed to break through even the strongest of resentments you held toward that last name of his. It was all around you though, enveloping you in his orbit and blanketing you in a warmth you were sure was radiating right off your incandescent cheeks. As you stared at the flickers of indigo that seemed to speckle throughout his otherwise icy irises, you nearly forgot what you were supposed to be doing.

“Right, um…” Your eyes fluttered dramatically as you racked your mind for anything to say to him. The dimple in his right cheek that winked at you with each of his ravishing smirks made it difficult for you to stay on track. “Physics.”

“Physics?” He repeated with unconcealed mirth, and you nodded.

“The book you checked out the other day— it was a physics book.” He hummed affirmatively as if questioning where the hell you were going with this. Truthfully though, he was too lost in the flustered twitching of your plush lips to care if any of what you were saying actually made any real sense. From so close, he could see the sun-spots lining your nose and cheeks like the most breathtaking of constellations. “It just surprised me. It’s not a required class for business majors.”

“It’s not, and I—” He paused his explanation to twirl you under his arm, reveling in the enraptured smile that graced your face as he pulled you back in. “—am not a business major.”

“Oh? The prodigal son dares not follow in his father’s footsteps? How scandalous.” There was an airy giggle lingering in your tone that fell upon his ears like the most harmonious of symphonies. “And what, pray tell, is the alternative that has led his little lamb astray?”

Those curved lips of his parted to indulge your curiosity, but the announcement that dinner would be served momentarily had a groan slipping past them instead. Just as he moved to guide you to the respective table with a hand on the small of your back, you tugged at his sleeve.

“Wait, I have to pee.” You whispered, hoping the guests bustling around you didn’t hear it.

“Oh— yeah, there’s a bathroom to the right of the entrance.”

He was about to walk away, leave you to do your business when you clutched tighter at his sleeve. Looking down at you with furrowed brows, you stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes that said please don’t leave me.

You heard Gojo’s head bumping impatiently against the door of the restroom as you managed to wrangle the zipper of your dress down. There was an embarrassingly long attempt of trying to simply lift the gown up as would have been far easier, but it was proven difficult with the stubbornly form fitting fabric. Now though, as the joints in your shoulders flexed painfully in an attempt to zip it back up, you realized you had an even bigger dilemma.

Mortified beads of sweat began lining your forehead as you panted at your reflection in the mirror, your zipper still barely halfway up your back.

“Did you fall in or something?” You heard him call out from outside the door, only making your heart pound more mercilessly against your chest.

“I-I’m fine! I’ll be right out.” But your voice was trembling ever so slightly in the midst of your subtle panic, and it made him push off the door, leaning in closer with furrowed brows.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” You stammered breathlessly, but you were rapidly coming to the realization that you wouldn’t be getting out of this without some help. Fighting back tears of frustration, you leaned your forehead against the door. “I— I’m just kind of… stuck.”

“Stuck?” The doorknob jiggled with his attempt to get in. “Open the door.”

The already stuffy air of the restroom seemed to grow ten degrees warmer in tandem with your crippling embarrassment as you hyped yourself up. Holding up the front of your dress, you timidly cracked the door open. Gojo was quickly shoving his face in through the small opening, assessing the situation with an incredulous expression. He almost laughed, but it died in his throat upon seeing your panicked face.

“Okay, alright, calm down. Let me in.” You moved back as he slipped inside.

“I-I can’t get it back up.”

“You’re fine. Turn around and let me try.” Gojo steadied his hands on your shoulders as you turned your back to face him. A brief sigh of relief fell from your lips at the sound of the zipper rolling up, but it halted midway. He paused, blinking a few times before attempting to tug it up again. “Okay— um…”

“Oh my god.”

“No, no, it’s— it’s fine.” But the laughter he was previously suppressing began to boil over to the surface. It came out as a controlled choke in his attempt to push it down, but you still heard it.

“It’s not funny!”

“I’m not laughing!”

“You’re laughing at me!”

His teeth were sinking mercilessly into his bottom lip to avoid pissing you off anymore, but the wolfish grin on his face was making it increasingly difficult. Falling forward until his forehead laid against your shoulder, he shook his head with a boyish cackle.

“Ohhh, you’ve made this night so much more entertaining for me.” He sighed wistfully before pushing you forward to dramatically haul his foot onto the toilet seat as if to brace himself. “Alright, deeep breath for me, let’s go.”

In spite of your humiliation, you too couldn’t help but begin giggling nervously at the absurdity of the situation. Gulping in a deep breath, you straightened your posture as stiff as you could as a theatrical grunt bubbled in his chest with his firm tug. The blasted zipper finally slid up the remainder of your back, leaving you both hollering in relief.

“See?” Satoru was clutching onto your arms lest you double over with the force of your belly laughs. “You just needed a big, strong— ”

“Satoru?”

Both your heads shot up to look at the now open door, and the woman you recognized as his mother now stood at the entrance with a less than impressed expression on her stern face. You could have strangled him for not bothering to even close the door, let alone lock it.

Mortified wouldn’t be a strong enough word.

Your fingers dug anxiously into your thighs as you sat at the painstakingly quiet table, sat right across from the woman who had just witnessed her son wrangling you back into your dress in the event’s restroom. At the very least, it seemed Satoru wasn’t fairing any better, staring down at his place setting as he took an absentminded sip of his wine. You had never seen him so… serious before. Though you had only known him briefly, it felt like a completely different man sitting next to you.

“So, I assume you two met at university?” His father’s stoic voice was finally the one to break the tension that he wasn’t even sure the reason of in the first place.

Glancing up with a fluttering gaze, you found the man’s familiarly striking blue eyes directed at you.

“Um, yes. We attend the same university.” You thought it best to not specify that that wasn’t where you two met, already having made an ill impression on his mother as it was.

“Oh? And what are you studying?” His mother opened her mouth for the first time since redirecting the both of you to the table. You looked up as the wait staff set a salad in front of you, though you felt far too anxious to eat right now.

“My major is in business.” You informed, picking up your fork in an attempt to at least look like you weren’t internally short-circuiting. There was a soft nudge on your thigh as Satoru subtly bumped his knee against you to get your attention. Peering over, you noted with flushed cheeks that he was tapping at the smaller fork at your placement, praying his parents didn’t make a comment to embarrass you any further. Gulping harshly, you moved to correct your mistake.

“Business, huh?” His father’s face seemed to light up marginally at your answer, and he looked toward his son pointedly. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into Satoru then. He’s been so stubborn about this… what is it again?”

You watched from your peripheral as his hand clenched at his silverware in response to his father’s not-so-subtle jab.

“Quantum physics.” He responded bluntly, stabbing at the tomato on his plate a bit more aggressively than necessary.

It was becoming clear to you the reason for his abrupt switch in temperament. You had only spent all of ten minutes sat with his parents, and it was evident how they seemed to drain that spark that was usually so easily present in his eyes. His response made your lips part slightly in astonishment. It’s not that you thought he was stupid, but you certainly had never pegged him as the type disciplined enough for such a rigorous field.

“Quantum physics!” His dad held his hand out with a bitter laugh before looking back at you. “Now what do you suppose he is going to get out of studying quantum physics that will be more fruitful than if he stayed within the family business?”

You wanted to defend him, already preparing a curt but respectful response about how he’d get more out of studying something he was passionate about, but the older Gojo continued talking.

“Is that what you’re doing?” He asked you as he took a sip of his wine. “Studying to stay within a family business?”

The mention of your family spilling from the lips of the very man responsible for ninety percent of their struggles made your jaw clench. Perhaps it was the forlorn expression that had overtaken Satoru’s once lively face that gave you the courage to not simply brush it under the rug.

“Actually, I’m studying business in hopes of buying my father’s farm from him in the future.” You clarified with your lips set in a firm line. Beside you, Satoru’s head slowly turned to face you as it seemed he had come to the realization faster than his parents were.

“A farm?” His dad scoffed with an amused smile. “That’s nonsense. No sense in wasting your efforts on a farm. You should hope to do better than your parents did, don’t you think? I certainly hope the same for my son.”

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks, cluching at the napkin in your lap.

“Dad, that’s—”

“Better?” You laughed bitterly, cutting off whatever attempt Gojo was going to make to defend you. “Perhaps, sir, my father’s farm would be doing better if your company wasn’t driving him off his own land.”

It seemed that the man was finally putting two and two together, your last name falling from his lips in recognition.

“I see what this is about.” He shook his head with a patronizing smile, wiping at his mouth with the stark white napkin. “Sweetheart, this is just the way society progresses. City’s grow, and—”

“As does your bank account, I’m assuming.” You bit back with a raised brow. “What progresses society is people who actually give a shit about that society.”

“A farmer’s mouth too to match her father’s. Boy, son, do you know how to pick them.”

“Dad! ” Satoru growled out in warning as his silverware clattered down onto his plate, and you weren’t sure if the flush in his cheeks was from anger or humiliation.

“Don’t bother.” You abruptly stood from your seat, hoping desperately that you could hold your mortified tears back long enough to not break down in front of everyone. “I think I’ve had my fill of playing dress up for one night.”

As you stormed toward the exit, the bottom of your dress bundled up furiously in your hands, you could hear Satoru calling after you. You couldn’t bear to look back at him though, the tears falling in angry, stinging streams down your cheeks as the fresh air nipped at your face. His long legs seemed to carry him much faster than you anticipated though, and his hand was soon curling desperately around your arm.

“Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

“No, but I did, okay?” You cried, swiping furiously at the mascara you were sure was staining your face right now. “I knew better, and I still let myself be— be humiliated. So, please just spare me the pity and let me go home, Gojo.”

“I’ll drive you—”

“Alone. I want to go home alone.”

His movements faltered, a hushed guilt striking his handsome face. The moonlight’s illumination seemed to bounce off his incandescent eyes as his gaze fluttered. With a solemn nod, he strode toward the sleek, black car parked just out front and knocked on the window. When it rolled down, a black-haired man peeked out in question as he adjusted the square frames on his nose.

“Take her home.” Satoru demanded simply before moving to open the back door for you. You kept your eyes focused on the ground as you ducked into the vehicle, but you could feel his solemn gaze burning a hole into the side of your head with every step. “I mean it— I’m sorry.”

After a pregnant pause with no response, he turned his head to the side, his Adam's apple bobbing with his strained gulp as he closed the door.

For the first time in what seemed like years, you went home and allowed yourself to cry in your father’s arms. Of course, this entailed your explanation of what had actually been going on that night, but you were too beside yourself to care anymore. In truth, you wished you could have told him how much you hated it, how you were counting the seconds until you could leave and forget about whatever idiotic agreement you’d made with Gojo. You couldn’t though, and that made your bitter tears that much worse.

Despite your rampant views on the lap of luxury these people draped themselves upon, it felt new and exciting to be at the front of it for the first time. As you desperately wracked your brain to explain your sudden change of heart, all clues pointed back to him, because it was exhilarating to waltz with him as though you had stumbled upon an ever gracious prince, and you could still feel the aching in your cheeks from the sheer force of the laughter he was able to pull from you even during perhaps one of the most embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions of your life.

You had come to the realization, and perhaps your father had as well, that it wasn’t the respect of the haughty company that had surrounded you two that night that made you feel so depraved as it was pulled from you— it was Satoru, and the way you couldn’t for the life of you find it in yourself to fault him for the impertinence of the masses, no matter how much easier it might have been if you did.

A tear escaped you for every memory of each smirk, each lingering touch and longing gaze— because it was the brash reminder of your glaring differences that stung worst of all. It was the realization that at your very core, you and Satoru were one in the same— in a desperate pursuit against the expectations set before you, yet forcefully pulled into the sickening orbit of their consequences nonetheless.

Satoru Gojo wasn’t at fault, you finally admitted to yourself as you stared up at your ceiling that night. You thought about the darkness that shrouded him with each insolent syllable that fell from his parent’s lips. You thought about how lonely it must feel in that grand house of his with no one around that didn’t have an agenda to push on him.

You thought about how many times he must have hidden in that little alcove in his vast hallway— not because he was the Gojo family’s disaster, but because however grating the silence his seclusion provided mustn’t have compared to the gruelling disquietude of belonging to family who had everything in the world except an ounce of care for their only son.

You had stopped crying for the shamed farmer’s daughter, and instead shed a tear for the forgotten prodigal son.

In the midst of star-lit dreams of dance floors barren of self-righteousness, you were pulled from your slumber by the distinct, sharp thuds against your window. It was proven difficult to pry your eyes open, given the countless streams that had stung them to sleep. Rubbing sluggishly at them in hopes of waking up enough to assess the situation, you slowly sat up in your bed. You paused for a moment, wondering if perhaps you had just been dreaming the offending noise, but it soon sounded once again.

Pulling yourself begrudgingly off your warmed sheets, you slowly made your way to the window, almost fearful of what you’d find as you peeked through the curtains.

“Oh my god.” You rasped out at the sight before you. Ripping your curtains aside, you wrangled your window open with a soft grunt. “What in god’s name are you doing, Gojo?”

He looked up at you as if surprised that you’d actually appeared, and the stunned expression made you wonder how many of the windows in your house he had assaulted before finally finding yours. His neatly tailored, sleek black suit still sat proudly on his frame as he huffed out a sigh.

“You were supposed to say ‘Romeo, oh Romeo—”

“Do you not remember what else Juliet tells Romeo in this scene?” You whispered furiously down at him, but he only blinked owlishly at you. “She tells him that he’s gonna get his ass beat if he gets caught. You’re not exactly my dad’s favorite person right now.”

“Then come down here.” He insisted pleadingly, holding up a bag for you to see. “I stole you a piece of cake.”

The two of you sat in the bed of your truck, shoulders slumped against one another as you passed a plate of cake back and forth. Neither of you were quite sure what to say, but you both knew it was comforting that the stars shining above you held nary an opinion about either of your paths. There was a blackening bruise lining his right undereye, the lid ever-so-slightly squinted shut. He didn’t mention anything about the way your eyes were still swollen from the tears you had shed, so you didn’t ask about his black eye or split knuckles.

“I’m sorry, Gojo.” It was the only thing you could think to say. Part of you was apologizing for the harsh manner in which you had prematurely critiqued him, the other part felt obligated to apologize for whatever had transpired between him and his father following your departure.

“Don’t call me that.” He shook his head, that tired expression haunting his face once again. “That’s not who I want to be— not right now.”

Gulping down the lump in your throat, you corrected yourself.

“I’m sorry, Satoru.”

It was silent for a few moments longer as you two finished your shared dessert. With a sigh, you leaned your head back to stare up at the myriad of stars shining down on you, and, from your peripheral, you saw Satoru do the same.

“There’s a theory in quantum physics that says objects don’t exist independently.” He began, his good eye working to count each star that caught his attention— willing them into existence. “In other words, if no one is around to see it, it just… doesn’t exist.”

Your lashes fluttered as you soaked in his words, the implications weighing down on your chest as you cast a sidelong glance his way, but he was too busy assuring that each star was observed, acknowledged and therefore real.

“I think it felt like that for me. Like the version of me I actually understood didn’t exist because no one was willing to acknowledge it.” He confessed, his head finally lolling to the side to observe you next. Each freckle and scar, each blink and trembling lip was confirmed under his watchful eye. “I don’t think anyone’s ever seen it.”

“I see it.” You reassured in a hushed whisper. A small smile finally curled at the corners of his mouth as he nodded softly.

“You see it.” He confirmed.

You hummed pensively, a modest smile of your own lighting your features ablaze.

“So if you closed your eyes right now— I would just cease to exist then?” You challenged his theory teasingly, wondering when the last time it was that he had gotten to speak about his passion to anyone who actually cared. Although he knew the partially philosophical theory ran much deeper than the laden explanation you were giving, he couldn’t help but indulge your challenge.

“Science is science, princess.” Satoru shrugged with a beguiled smirk.

“So, you’re saying— ” You leaned forward to tug on his already loosened tie until it came undone. The motion had a rushing heat swirling in his chest, taking note of the way the moonlight emphasized the mischievous glint hidden in your eyes. “If I tied this thing around your eyes— poof— I’m no longer here?”

“Well, a good scientist always tests his theories, of course.” He stammered breathlessly, his legs parting to accommodate your crawling between them. His lips parted as you slowly moved the tie over his fluttering eyes, your chests brushing together while you reached behind him to secure it around his head.

Moving away from him, you leaned back to observe your handiwork. Although blindfolded, you still tilted your head with a teasing smirk as though he’d be able to see it.

“Well?” You whispered, watching the way his chest heaved with anticipatory pants. “Am I still here?”

The aged truck creaked ever-so-slightly as Satoru shifted onto his knees, his hands reaching out blindly until they met your ankle. Using it as a guide, he carefully crawled forward, hands snaking up your body until he was hovering above you. The ends of the tie that hung from the back of his head brushed against your cheek as he leaned down closer to you.

“Not sure yet.” His hushed tone sent shivers down your spine, and you laid back to stare up at him.

Nimble fingers trailed up to search out your face, and a tickled smile fought its way onto his lips when he grazed your nose instead on his pursuit. Although it wasn’t his target, he still brushed a featherlight touch down the bridge of your nose before moving to cup your flushed cheeks.

“Your nose is still here, cheeks are still here.” Satoru murmured each checkpoint tenderly. Humming contentedly, he brushed a few lingering hairs behind your ears, thumbing against the delicate lobes in feigned assessment. “Hair, ears…”

His face was drawing closer with each confirmation, and soon the fingers that were still tucked behind your nape pulled your head up ever so slightly until his lips brushed against yours. It was barely a graze initially, a deliberate tease that he was quickly realizing he didn’t have the willpower to keep up, quickly abandoning it in favor of molding his mouth harmoniously against yours.

“Your lips,” He sighed wantonly against you, his voice almost falling into a soft whine. “Your lips are still here— thank god.”

You giggled against him, reaching up to run your fingernails down the short, velvety hairs of his neatly kept undercut. It made him shiver, a smirk curling into your frenzied kiss as he hummed appreciatively.

“Your hands.” Satoru continued as you pushed at his suit jacket, making him pull away from you for a moment as he shrugged it off. The very hands that he’d just confirmed the existence of didn’t pull him back down right away, instead surprising him as they worked quickly to unbutton his dress shirt, and it was soon joining his jacket in a discarded pile beside you. He clutched at your wrists maneuvering them to run your tender hands down his chest.

And so he disproved his own theory with the eager exploration of each heaven-sent inch of you, pulling your sweater over your head to confirm the way your breasts heaved against his chest, leaning down to brush his nose and lips across each one of good measure. You aided him with fumbling shuffles to pull down your sweatpants, his desolate moan nearly breaking the resolve of your patience as he carefully inched forward to lick a strip up your folds that glistened under the moonlight in a manner he wished he could see.

“All here, princess.” Satoru murmured near drunkenly, pressing a few sloppy kisses against your throbbing heat to elicit a few more of those bewitching whimpers from you before making his way back up to press his lips bruisingly against yours.

“And if you leave would I still be here?” You panted against his lips, reaching down to fumble with the buckle of his belt before pulling his bottoms down past the lean curve of his ass.

“I won’t leave— I’ll never leave.” He shook his head forlornly, glistening lips falling open as you grasped at his cock. Falling forward on his elbows, his clammy forehead pressed against yours.

“Swear it.” You gasped as his tip pushed blindly into you, your moans synchronizing in blissful tandem. Through his parted lips, you could still see the way his lips twitched up at your words.

“What shall I swear by?”

Your heels dug into the cool surface of the truck bed, driving your hips up, pushing him deeper into you as he ground down, the subtle impact sending his head reeling back up to face the stars.

“Not your parents, not your last name.” Your responses began to sound like mindless babbles, but he could swear he understood each syllable as he nodded desolately in raptured agreement. The blunt edges of your short nails dug into his nape to pull him closer to you, your lips brushing once again and sharing each exhale greedily into one another’s mouths. “By you, just you, Satoru.”

“I swear.” He gasped, his hips snapping up in a brutal pursuit of your mutual intoxication. Each of your saccharine moans sent tendrils of euphoric bliss twisting down his spine, and he clutched at your waist in an attempt to ground himself as he felt his own thrusts quickly losing their focus. “I swear— ah! I swear I’ll never leave, and you’ll— ” His rapturous moans cut rudely between his oath. “— and you’ll always be here.”

“I’ll always be here.” You confirmed, brows meshing up as you watched him fall apart with the reassurance of your promise. Reaching up, you pulled the tie down to fall around his neck, his eyes finding yours in an instant as though he would be able to pinpoint their warmth even blind, and he was sure he could— he was sure he could do anything as he spilled himself into you, riding out his high with slack-jawed, lanugid grinds.

“You’ll always be here.”

And it was true even as you two woke beside one another that next morning after you’d snuck him up to your room. The bruise around his eye had spread substantially, the injured lid now swelled completely shut, but he swore even with just one eye to behold you that you were just as stunning as you had been beneath the moon’s gracious light last night underneath of him. Sitting up on his hands, he allowed the sheets to fall down his chest as he observed the way you seemed to still shiver even under the protective layers of your sweater and thick bottoms.

Brushing the hair from your face, he leaned down to press his lips against your temple, each of his tender kisses pulling you farther and farther away from your slumber until you stirred beneath him. He smiled when you groaned in disapproval at his interruption of your coma-like state.

“Sorry, I just don’t want your dad to catch—”

But, much like the theory he rambled on about the night prior, his acknowledgment of the man seemed to will him right into existence with a careful knock on your door. You shot up into a sitting position, eyes wide and frantic as you moved to push against Satoru’s shoulders, attempting with fleeting hope to wrangle his large frame into the closet or perhaps under the bed.

No attempt would be fast enough though, not with your father’s burning desire to check on you following the state that you’d gone to sleep in the night prior, and the door creaked open.

“You doing okay, sweet—”

There in the cramped bed of his daughter was the very man you had cried against him for just mere hours ago— the son of the very family that had assured you’d never hope for your own aspirations in life, far too focused on fixing his that the Gojo’s had made their life mission to ruin. An unreadable mix of emotions swirled onto his stunned face in a way that had both of you holding your breath.

His lips parted, but he took note of the swelled, gruellingly dark bruise that surrounded his eye and branched out subtly onto the bridge of his nose. He watched the way the Satoru still clung to your hand, and how your fingers curled in uncertainty into the fabric of his open, button down shirt. He thought about how despite all that you had told him last night— you couldn’t find it in you to speak an ill word about him, only noting to your father how scared he’d looked at a dinner table with his own parents.

Your father’s tired shoulders slowly deflated as he sighed.

“Why don’t you two come down to get something to eat?” With that, he shut the door, leaving the two of you in stunned silence as his boots retreated down the stairs.

“Is that—” Satoru licked his lips anxiously, his good eye flickering frantically around the room before falling on you. “Is that code for something?

You could only silently shake your head, your gaze still fixed upon the door he’d just left through. Although your heart was still pounding relentlessly against your ribcage, it was beginning to settle with the assurance that your father was a far more merciful man than you had ever given him credit for.

The two of you slowly creeped downstairs after having gotten yourselves together, Satoru’s white hair still disheveled from your pillow as he hesitantly poked his head out to peer toward the kitchen. Your father’s back was facing him, working to flip what looked to be a pancake on the griddle before him, but he turned around upon hearing the creaks in the stairs.

You had to give him props, because even despite his nerves surrounding his life at the moment, he still stepped forward to bow to your father in greeting, a motion that had the smallest of smiles hinting at the man’s lips. With a hum, he turned back around to plate the pancake that had finished cooking.

“My daughter tells me you're a physicist, Gojo.” He commented, taking the plate of stacked pancakes to place them on the table.

It took him aback, as he wasn’t sure anyone had ever called him that before— ever even acknowledged the path he had chosen for himself. You watched with a soft gaze as his good eye fluttered rapidly while he blinked away the misty haze that seemed to involuntarily cloud it. With a growing smile, he nodded slowly, taking a seat in the chair your dad had pulled out for him.

“Trying to be, sir.” He explained breathlessly before looking up at you with a tender smile. “And it’s Satoru— just Satoru.”

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