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tonycries · 7 months ago

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Cake or Fake - G.S.

Synopsis. The only birthday gift your brother’s best friend wants? You. And not just for fake-dating…

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, brother’s best friend! Gojo, annoyances to lovers, fake dating, PINING, jealousy (Gojo’s side), past Sukuna x Reader, matíng presses, vírgínity loss (Gojo), oraI (fem rec.), PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, size kínk, cervíx kíssing, he’s such a tease, cúmplay, p talking, making him WHÍMPER, spítting, pánty-steaIing, slight chokíng, reader is Geto’s sister, matchmaking, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.1k

A/N. In honor of my hubby’s birthday!!

“Wait, who’s coming to your party?”

“It’s not just a ‘party’, it’s my surprise party-”

“Satoru, it’s not a surprise party if you’re the one organizing the surp-” You’re cutting yourself off with a heaving sigh, massaging your throbbing temples. “Anyway- continue.”

Growing up, you didn’t suffer through years of endless torment from Gojo Satoru to hope that he’d ever use logic. No, of course not.

Instead, he’s brandishing the oversized birthday banner he’d bought himself, softly smacking the top of your head. “Besides- it’s not like everyone’s going to be there. Just our group, Nanami’s troupe, some Kyoto people, I invited Yaga but he kicked me out of his office- oh- and Sukuna.”

Ah, there it was.

The one person you didn’t want to see just as much as you didn’t want to be roped into your brother’s best friend’s “surprise” party planning for his own birthday. But, alas, here you were.

And here tumbled the next few words that would likely haunt you for the rest of your life.

“I need you to date me.”

“Oh? Okay.”

“Listen I know it’s stupid and I know-” Wait…what? Cutting yourself off with a choked-up wheeze- for the first time since he’d barged into your life, Gojo had truly and absolutely stumped you. “Wait- you agreed?”

He’s shrugging one broad deltoid, tinted glasses that you’d bought for his last birthday sliding down that high nose bridge of his. And the grin you’re graced with is blinding. “Well, I knew it was about time before you fell for my charms~” Before one strong arm swings its way around your shoulders, manhandling you against the thin black t-shirt wrapped around his sculpted body. He wiggles his cloudy brows, “What was it- the hair? The eyes? The body? Y’know I’ve been hitting the gym more-”

“Gojo Satoru.” you’re gritting out through tight lips. “I need you to date me- just for one night.”

“So it was the body-” he’s gasping dramatically, beefy arms frantically wrapping around your middle. You could feel the curves of his washboard abs against your palm. Purring voice pitching up into what almost sounded like a whine, “At least take me out to dinner first–! To think that you just want me for a one night stand-”

In a split-second, your palms slap over his nonsensical mouth - hard enough that you almost spy a stinging stamp of red on his skin.

And yet, Gojo doesn’t complain. Doesn’t display anything but a brazen gleam in his gaze that practically screamed out kinky~!

“Shut- up- my brother’s in the next room.” You’re hissing, eyes flickering behind Gojo’s toned figure and towards the kitchen door for any looming sign of Geto. “I need you to date me-” Your digits tighten over his mouth as soon as you feel it moving to prattle away once more. “-just for tonight- no, not as a one night stand, put that banner down- We just need to ah- pretend?”

Damn, it sounds more of a garbage idea out loud - and you didn’t even know that was possible.

At the question in his summer blue eyes, your hopefully explanatory words spill out a mile a minute. “S-so Sukuna has been getting around since our little break-up a few months ago- if you can even call it that…”

Ah, melding into such a big group with your brother’s friends and your own in university had always meant that there would be a few bumps along the way.

From explaining to an overeager Haibara that no, you and Gojo were definitely not dating, to making sure that your brother and his best friend didn’t make Nanami suffer from an aneurysm too early in life, to perhaps the biggest of them all - your fiery, yet short-lived fling with Ryomen Sukuna.

The most dramatic bump, according to Shoko.

Sukuna wasn’t a close friend, but it’d taken work to get over the worst of the awkwardness after he’d dumped you without a moment’s notice. And you weren’t exactly dreaming up a wedding with him…sort of, but you certainly did skip out on a few invitations to hang out if you knew that he’d show his smug face.

And right now it left you ironically wishing you’d heeded Gojo’s words when he’d first warned you that Sukuna “wasn’t right for you.”

Though, you think part of it came from his own unexplainable love-hate animosity with the man.

“-but I’ve still been painfully single since the last time I saw him, and you know how he is. I can’t face him like this.” You, in particular, knew too well. “You two still have that weird rivalry thing going on, right? So help me show him up just for tonight- then later we say it fizzled out and everything goes back to normal. It’s a win-win really if- eugh!”

You snatch your hand back as far as it would go the very second you feel the sodden drag of something against your palm. Staring in horror at your clammy skin…he licked you.

And Gojo almost winces at the loss of your touch - he almost drags your hand back himself.

But oh, it was worth it just to see the way your gorgeous features get scrunched up into an even more gorgeous glare - one that said if looks could kill, then he’d already be six feet under and having his surprise party thrown on his grave already.

Truly the way to a man’s heart, he swoons internally.

“Fine.”

And when has that particular tone from Gojo ever boded well for you?

“Fine?”

You find yourself gulping at the slight bob of his smooth Adam’s apple, the flex of his back muscles when he hunches downwards to crowd your space. Mere inches away. Somehow, he seemed too close and too far away at the same time. Too intoxicating with his cold, pinewood scent.

“Fine I’ll let you- heh, use me for my body.” Tone intentionally dipping into a low, rumbling territory. Gojo’s batting his long snowy lashes in a way you’d almost deem innocent - if it wasn’t for the next few words that tumble urgently from his mouth. “-only if you give me something back. A kiss.”

You jolt, “What?”

“I’m the birthday boy, and I say-”

Cutting him off with a thoroughly practiced scoff, “Well, I have common sense. And I say I should just ask Nanami instead-”

“Is the common sense in my five-star getaway cabin with us right now?”

“Okay! You two!” Geto’s roughened hands clap down on your shoulders with a little more force than necessary. His voice is patient - used to this. “Please try not to make this a funeral before we can make it a birthday party, Satoru’s decorations are non-refundable.”

Oh, shit.

How long had he been standing there?

Judging by Geto’s slight shake of your shoulders as if scrambling the practical part of your brain back into functionality - and the way he wasn’t lecturing your ear off just yet - you guessed that the two of you had been lucky this time.

Face burning, you pray you didn’t look as guilty as you were. Swatting your older brother’s well-meaning hands away. “Speaking of, for a busybody hosting his own surprise party, I’m shocked you didn’t want any gifts.” Quirking a brow, “Is there even anything you want? Anything else?”

Gojo knew what you meant - you weren’t just talking about the party anymore.

And, well…he avoids your eyes. Yes. Yes, there is .

You.

But, woe, even the utterly shameless Gojo Satoru couldn’t possibly say that out loud - especially in front of his best friend, and your brother - so he settles on an obnoxiously dragged-out, “Awww- Trynna make my birthday special f’me, sweetheart~?”

And even that was toeing the line.

He can’t help the way his rosy lips curl smugly at the edges when you’re hissing out a heated, “S-see if I try and have a civil conversation with you ever again, Gojo.”

“Ouch!” Gojo’s clutching dramatically at his heart with a willowy faint that leaves him hanging off of Geto’s shoulders - and it wasn’t too hard to fake with the way his heart lurches uncomfortably at the sound of his last name on your pretty tongue. “Right for the jugular- is this your way of throwing the towel on our truce?”

Truce…is that what he’s calling it?

You catch your own brother - that traitor - stifling a bout of laughter behind his hand when his towering best friend seems to cower in your mere presence. Because, really, who was Gojo Satoru against you?

Sighing with that slightly infuriated pout you haven’t lost since you were a whiny, teary-eyed brat meeting him at his Digimon-themed birthday party many, many years ago.

Gojo takes the moment to truly appreciate how you’ve grown since.

He hadn’t technically invited you back then - but what else was there to do when your older brother was off making friends in kindergarten already and being invited by his “new best friend”?

You’d been pouty the entire evening at that, he remembers, and his mother had gotten a ton of photos just of your bickering duo. A year younger and just barely an inch shorter than him, but to a freshly six-year-old Gojo that made all the superiority - enough to tease you badly enough that you’d left him with a tiny, throbbing pink handprint across his cheek, and his poor heart in your palm.

“No.” Your voice rips him out of his reverie, as it always seems to do these days. “So you better k-keep up your end of the truce, too.”

With you stomping your way back to your cabin suite, Gojo finds his twinkling eyes straying right after. Hot on your heels. Unable to tear away. You really have changed since then, all grown up - as is he - and yet-

“That’s after a truce?” Geto wonders out loud for the both of you.

Well, he’s eyeing his best friend. And Gojo was nothing if not a good- well, he was good at everything, quite frankly. Everything except for when it came to you. “Suguru, we might have to plan a surprise engagement party tonight instead of a surprise birthday party.”

“Huh?”

Because he still feels as much the bumbling six-year-old with his first-ever crush as he was back then.

---

“Matching colors?”

You sigh, “Check.”

“Matching backstories?”

“Check.”

“Kiss me?”

“Ch- wait not yet-” you’re managing to shrill out, fingers curling even tighter around where Gojo had insisted you latch onto his bicep. And you feel him flex boastfully under his velvety button-up, “And do we really need to make some grand entrance? You literally planned the entire party.”

He’s flicking your forehead - softly, you’ve seen Gojo roughhousing with your brother before and he didn’t use even half his strength on you. “Surprise party- the birthday boy has to make a dramatic entrance with his girlfriend. How else will we make a statement?”

You’re grumbling to yourself about why you needed to make a statement at all - but you can’t argue, this was your idea after all.

And Gojo seemed well and fully intent to excel in his role…perhaps too intent.

Now, you always knew that his family was disgustingly wealthy; but Gojo practically dragged you to the nearest high-end mall this morning. Insisting on the latest twinkling bracelets and bejewelled necklaces to match his fitted shirt. Cooing that you looked “absolutely gorgeous” in every single one.

Was this official girlfriend treatment from Gojo Satoru himself? You’ve never known him to have had a long-term relationship in all the years he’s been your brother’s friend but…but it was all so much for just one night of acting.

And when you’re twirling that flowy silken fabric of your dress around your fingers, you wonder if that’s all he was thinking.

“Hey?” The rounded pads of his fingers skim over your cheeks, “Nervous?”

“A little.” you admit, trying oh-so-desperately to escape from his blazing sapphire gaze.

And Gojo crushes you close to his body, one massive palm resting firmly on your hips, hardened front pressing up against yours. Warm. Steady. Voice so close now that you could catch every slight crack towards the end, the heat of Gojo’s feverish breath - practically burning - against your ear.

You wanted to feel his hands more - everywhere.

Woah. You’re shaking your head, thankful it simply looked like you were gathering your wits. Maybe you were more tired than you thought.

“We’ll be alright. Trust me, it’ll go smoothly.” Was- was Gojo Satoru comforting you? He’s cracking a smile, like the thought just occurred to him, too. “And if it doesn’t then I can beat up that b-”

SLAM!

“Why are you taking so lo- What. The. Fuck.”

Your first instinct is to wrench away from Gojo’s hold - but unluckily for you, his first instinct is the exact opposite. And you find his firm digits tensing to dig into the plush of your hips, both of your heads snapping towards that gravelly new voice.

Catching a jaw-dropped Shoko with her half-burnt cigarette dropped to the floor, she looked nowhere near even thinking of picking it back up. You could practically see the gears curdling around in her head.

“Ah-” You’re gasping out in what you hoped was believable scandal, fingers latching around Gojo’s own cold ones. Not to remove - no, Gojo almost has a heart attack when you intertwine them with yours. “Hope we’re not too late, Sa- Toru here wanted to go shopping.”

“Wait-” Shoko runs her hands through her silky locks like she was pleading to the skies above. “Wait wait wait- wait- when did this happen no-” She’s baring you with her most aghast look, “Why did this happen?”

Gojo comes to your rescue, face falling into the crook of your neck with a grin. “Told ya she would fall for my charms eventually~”

“Yes, but I didn’t think she was that stupid-”

Yes! You have to fight to hide your smile, despite the blatant insult. One down - if you could get everyone at this party to believe in your little act, then Sukuna would have to.

“Still here–” You’re deadpanning, hoping that your friends didn’t catch the slight tremors in your voice. Damn- why did Gojo have to be so warm. “-and uh- maybe we should head inside? After it is a certain someone’s-”

“Shhh! You’ll ruin my surprise.”

It all goes according to script - well, your entrance with Gojo and his entrance into the party.

As soon as your duo steps in, the dim lights flicker on and you’re deafened with the cheery yell of surprise! Blinking your startled gaze to adjust to the blinding decorations upon decorations that Gojo himself had put up, you can’t help but let out a chuckle at the smiling faces that meet you.

Geto and Haibara holding exploded party poppers, the rest of the group from Kyoto standing around a brightly lit cake you’d baked, Nanami the one turning on the lights - the farthest away from the birthday boy. Purposefully so, you imagine.

And there - in the center of it all - Sukuna.

Arms crossed, a pink brow raised as he drinks in the sight of you - all of you.

As was the rest of the room, eyes widening in true surprise.

Gojo’s clutching the front of his shirt with almost-frightening theatrics. “You guys- You did this all for me? You’re the absolute best-”

“Eugh.”

“What did you blackmail her with?”

“Congratulations on your relationship!”

Your eyes latch onto Geto - who only takes a long look at you and cackles.

Gojo’s huffing ever-so-slightly as he gets cut off, and that’s what it takes for you to realize that you still had his fingers looped undeniably with yours. In fact, he’s tugging you even close to wrap one heavy arm over your shoulder, the very picture of sappy devotion when he nuzzles his cheek into your own. “They’re bullying me~”

He was laying it on thick.

He’d barely steered you into the living room before you catch a flash of white and two firm arms curled around your neck - away from your supposed boyfriend.

“My lovely!” Utahime cries, cocktail abandoned somewhere to wrangle you free from Gojo’s treacherous grasp. She’s cupping your face with visible concern, “Is your head okay? Did you knock it somewhere? I know a good doctor that can help with-”

“Hey! She’s my lovely-”

“I’m fine, Utahime.” You’re subtly stepping on Gojo’s toes before things can escalate any further. Eyes meeting red ones from across the room, “-I promise. We’re just ah- giving it a go. It’s very new and we didn’t want to make such a big deal out of it, honestly.”

Lies. The entire point is to make a big deal out of it.

Shoko crosses over in a flash, droopy eyes flickering between you and a sheepish Gojo. “Giving it a-” Slicing their way over to the decorative blush on his cheeks, “-go…huh.”

And as you’re surrounded by the tittering crowd, you’ve never felt more like one of those cell samples that Shoko would dissect in medical school and proudly show your reluctant self pictures of.

Ogling everything from the weight of Gojo’s hand on your shoulders to that soppy smile on his face when he smushes his cheek into yours like some overgrown cat. And you can’t help but wear a grin of your own.

Can’t help but feel relief when she cracks a wicked smile, “Fucking finally.”

Haibara gathers your hands in his own, “I-I’m so proud of you two! Nanami and I have been hoping for this for the past five years-” Flitting his strangely wet eyes to a Nanami who couldn’t have looked more disinterested if he tried. “-isn’t that right Nanami?”

“No it’s not.” he’s rolling his eyes, but you catch the slightest hint of a twitch at the corners of his lips. And it hits you that he’s happy for you.

Really, truly happy.

“Right right!” Haibara plows on, and you have half the mind to wonder if the obliviousness was a skill. “It’s been more like the past seven years-”

Geto slaps! his hand on Gojo’s shoulder, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “So he finally grew the balls, huh?”

“Eh? I mean-” you’re strangling out at your brother’s sudden comment. “-I mean of course. Had to practically force it out of him though, y’know?”

Shoko nods, eyes far away like she’s remembering something you can’t. “Of course, you did- pining fool.” And in the corner of your eye, you sneak a glimpse at the way Gojo’s sharp jaw clenches. Grinding ever-so-lightly as she calls out, “Well, I was almost at my wit’s end with your horrible taste in men. No offense, Sukuna, not that this one’s any better- let me know if you ever need his balls chopped off in his sleep–”

Utahime’s narrowed glare stays locked on Gojo, “Hurt her and it’ll be more than your balls.”

Sukuna, notably, says nothing.

Gojo Satoru was a liar.

The guestlist for his birthday wasn’t simply your friends - it was damn near the entire campus by the time the cake had been cut and you’d all settled into your usual conversations.

Body after body filtering in through those towering mahogany doors of his. Invitation or not. Rapidly and steadily, it was growing into another one of Gojo’s famed parties. Honestly, you wouldn’t even be surprised if you’d actually bumped into Professor Yaga somewhere in there.

“Eheh- whoops.” His apologetic words hit hotly against your ear over the thumping music. Your body jostling precariously where you were sat all prettily in his lap on the overpriced living room couch. “I don’t even know half these people.”

And, yet, more than half the people seemed to know you - or, at least, your relationship with Gojo.

Sure, you were aware that your brother and his best friend were amongst some of the most popular students on campus, but this was ridiculous. You couldn’t pass two minutes without a few guests sauntering up to wish the two of you well and leaving Gojo with a “congratulations for finally growing the balls.”

“They sure know a lot about your balls, huh?” You’re raising a brow, back pressed up against the massaging ridges of his abs. And some part of you felt guilty for deceiving all of these people - they really did look curiously happy for the two of you.

Gojo’s bemoaning, “I can assure you that you are the only one allowed to talk about my b-”

“Ugh, couples.” Comes your brother’s voice to the side of you, the cushiony couch dips as he takes his seat. “Though, it is much better than having him mope around.”

“Suguru…” Gojo murmurs. Low.

“What? Scared I’ll embarrass you in front of your girlfriend?” Geto was such a provocateur despite that serene expression he’d constantly wear on the outside. Taking a long swig of his beer before musing, “Remember, she’s my sister, Satoru. And I think she should know about that book of pick-up lines you bought for her. And that picture in your-”

Immediately, two engulfing hands find their place on either side of your head, covering your ears so blatantly. Gojo’s strained screech is only slightly muted when he drags out, “W-we haven’t gotten to that stage yet!”

“Oh, I see I see-” And Haibara - dear, sweet Haibara - always chooses the worst times to pop up from behind the two of you. Ringing voice commanding the attention of about half of the room nearby when he’s humming, “So you two are still in the honeymoon phase, then? How romantic!”

“No.”

“Yes.”

There’s such dangerous possessiveness in Gojo’s limbs when they tangle in a mess with yours. One arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other gliding its lecherous pathway up and down your exposed thigh. Slowly. Savoring.

Gojo’s fingers twirl over the short hem of the dress he’d bought, lips pressed up against your throat as he mutters. “Aw, c’mon– no need to be shy, sweetheart.”

And you’re sure whatever strange little flip your heart did showed on your face - because immediately, you’re being showered with awww’s and squeals from all around you two- when did you even draw in a crowd?

“Then why dontcha give ‘er a pretty peck to prove it.”

But of course, Sukuna was in it, too.

“What?”

You try not to let your true feelings bleed into your words when you take a long look at that unchanged smirk, the way he’s tilting his tattooed neck in defiance. Shrugging up sculpted shoulders, “M’just saying. If you were my girl, I’d want to prove it to everyone here.”

Damn.

Geto nudges his best friend, and you grit your teeth - because proving it was exactly what Sukuna did when you two were dating. Often these parties found you sneaking away if he felt generous, and Sukuna’s lips hot against yours right on the dance floor if he didn’t.

All in front of a fuming Gojo.

And, hell, if he could be petty then so could you.

You’re ignoring the boiling in your veins to run a few stray fingers through Gojo’s angelic hair. Soft. It drags his steely gaze from Sukuna over to you with a gulp, “S’that okay, Toru–” Oh god, that nickname has Gojo wondering whether he’s in heaven. “-wouldn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“Tch, are you kiddin’ me-” He recovers quickly, and you didn’t know whether the raw awe in his voice was part of the acting or simply just Gojo being himself. “-provin’ to losers than I’m yours is the best birthday gift I could get.”

The last thing you see is that tiny, curvaceous dimple at the end of Gojo’s grin before he’s smashing his lips onto yours. It’s messy. Disorganized. The very beginnings of a sodden French kiss.

Sheer teeth and lips and need as he suckles lightly on your lower lip, pearly white canines sinking in ever-so-lightly until you keen. Lost into the wolf whistles erupting from the party-goers - it seems to knock some sense into you two.

And Gojo breaks the kiss with a panting pah! sugary sweet taste of his birthday cake lingering on your tongue - over as soon as it started. “Happy birthday to me.”

“You are so corny-” you’re croaking, more so because you didn’t know what to say than anything. Because all your mind was whirling with weren’t words - it was the feeling of wanting more more more-

Shit. Your eyes widen, peering down at Gojo’s half-drunken gaze - even though you’re sure his lightweight self hasn’t had a single drink tonight. You wanted to kiss him more.

“I-I think I’m going to get a drink.” you’re mumbling out, hastily standing on two unsteady feet. Mere moments away from stepping into the kitchen - from making your escape - before long digits clasp around your wrist. With a plastered smile, you turn to Gojo, gaze flickering down between his begging eyes and that vice-like grip of his. “You need anything, babe?”

“Ah-” Gojo lets you go as if your skin scorched him - as if he didn’t even realize that he’d been holding onto you this way. “No no, nothing for me- don’t take too long, m’kay~”

Every step you take, Gojo’s watching after you like it couldn’t be fast enough.

Because after that? That kiss that had him feeling like a pathetically melty puddle of teenage hormones? Shit, he’s almost on the verge of getting out of his seat and running after you like a maiden himself-

“So…ugh- was that part of the truce?”

“Huh?”

“Was that- dammit, Satoru fuckin’ look at me- she’s not even in your line of sight!”

“Oh- what?” Gojo’s veering his eyes over to his best friend, gaze still trailing after you like a lost puppy even when he registers the other man talking to him. Your little audience had mostly dissipated by now, leaving him to act as much of a fool as his idol-like persona on campus didn’t allow.

Geto lets him stew in the strobing silence of the party music for a little longer, before heaving out a sigh that was much too worldly for a young man of twenty-something. As a younger sister, you really did give him grief - and he finds himself almost wishing he hadn’t interrogated Gojo after overhearing your strange agreement earlier today. “Man, you really are stupid, huh?”

“I know.”

“And this charade of yours is even stupider.”

“...I know.”

“And you realize that you might just be helping her back into the arms of that Sukuna all over again, right?”

“WHAT?” He’s so desperately loud that a few guests in the vicinity jump. But Gojo didn’t care - he didn’t give a shit about anything other than grasping onto Geto’s collar, shaking him stupid. “Have you lost your mind- I’m supposed to be the nonsensical one in our duo-”

“I-I’m just saying.” Geto’s putting his hands up as if a shield, “Getting an ex-boyfriend jealous using the same man he was threatened over when they were dating? Sounds like the textbook recipe for jealousy sex if you ask me.”

Oh, Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone. Brows marrying together, he only wobbles his best friend harder. “B-but no- that can’t be- they hate each other, don’t they?”

And, ah, he hated how Geto always knew what to say.

Hated how he already knew by the devilish curve of Geto’s lips that nothing that was about to fall out of it was going to do his sanity any good.

Gojo flails, “No wait-”

“Don’t you two claim you ‘hate each other’? And yet, here you are.” Geto’s patting his best friend on the back as if consoling him, shaking his head with the patience of a mother with a few problem children. “There there, you complete imbecile. Now you might want to stay here sulking with a singleton like me, or- you might want to go over there and avenge the honor of your fake relationship, because I see an ex-boyfriend coming in hot.”

“What?”

He’s jerking his head around so urgently that Gojo’s vision blacks out for a bit - and that’s exactly the excuse he’ll use for years to come when he shoots up to his full height. Snatching a glass of liquid courage from Geto-

“Satoru, that’s-”

Knocking it back within seconds before storming off to just where he could just peak your beautiful self in the kitchen being crowded by Sukuna. That adorable furrow in between your brows betraying your thoughts, lips moving furiously with a frown.

“Do you think he knows that what he drank was just water and not alcohol…” Geto tilts his now-empty cup at a lounging Nanami nearby, head bowed like he couldn’t give a single fuck if this party burned with him in it.

“No.”

“Do you think he realized the ‘jealous sex’ was a bluff?”

“No.”

Geto lets out a slight huff of laughter, “And do you think he realizes that more than one person in our group knows it’s pretend?”

“No.” Nanami didn’t care if he risked sounding like a broken recorder, after spending almost a decade with you two dancing around each other, he thinks he’s owed that privilege at the very least. “I don’t think he realizes that had your sister so much as looked his way, let alone date his sorry self, then the entire campus would have been hearing about it for the past month.” For the first time since he’d found himself accidentally dragged into Geto’s conversation with him, Nanami raises his head to catch the tail end of Gojo’s lanky legs disappearing into the kitchen. “After all, Sukuna did break up with her because they were in love with each other. Just too stupid to see.”

Now, you might not exactly be his yet like he’s wished on every single birthday candle since he was six - but Gojo Satoru was to be damned if was going to let any other bastard steal his fake girlfriend.

“Sukuna-”

“Awww…what happened to ‘Kuna’, baby?”

You snort, arms crossing over each other while you fixate your glare on Sukuna’s leering form. God, the kitchen just seemed too small for the two of you. “I think you lost that privilege when you dumped me.” Attempting- failing - to sidestep, “Now if you’d excuse me, my boyfriend is-”

Scoffing, “Girl- what boyfriend?”

Sukuna looked to be on the very verge of laughter, and you were on the verge of breaking into a nervous sweat. He’s rasping out a rumbling snicker at that look on your pretty face, “Oh come on, now- you can’t really expect me to believe that sorry excuse of a kiss came from the same man that’s been wantin’ you for years, right?”

Shit.

Wait…years?

Your fingers curl tighter around the beer bottle, “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

And you watch as Sukuna’s mouth drops - now fully laughing in your face. “Damn- not even a hint? You really did downgrade after me, ma. At least I was honest.”

“Honestly an asshole, that’s for sure.”

But the rest of your fire swims down the drain as he inches closer. And closer. Heat radiating off the rippling muscles of his body when a big, beefy arm of his cages you against the polished marble counter. Head inclining slightly towards the door, “Well- why don’t you and I-”

“Take your fuckin’ hands off my girlfriend.”

“Satoru?”

But the sight you’re met with seems anything but - gone is that softly teasing demeanor, vanquished is Gojo’s easy smile. His pretty features are twisted into such a feral snarl; and where his tone was ice-cool, his eyes were blazing with raw fury.

Gojo looked like he didn’t even hear you as he echoes, “I won’t say it again.”

“Well alright then, Mr. Boyfriend.” Sukuna lets go of the cool counter surface with a knowing chuckle, walking horrifically towards a seething Gojo himself. The two stand eye-to-eye, glare-to-glare. “Are ya sure you and your third-rate acting wasn’t interrupting anything between myself and my girlfriend?”

“Satoru, ignore him–” You’re pleading, trembly voice jolting Gojo out of his hypnotized stupor, and making him drag his heavy legs around to you. Fuck, that was close. You didn’t know what-

“That’s right. Comfort your friend the only way you know how- s’not like you can do anything other than pine for decades until the next one comes around to steal her away, anyway.”

CRASH!

In a split-second, Gojo has Sukuna pinned against the wooden cabinets by his cotton shirt. Ego and desperation wafting from the two men as his feet dangle a few centimeters off the floor. Gojo had his teeth bared - eyes wild, looking like he was seconds from foaming at the very mouth. And Sukuna’s own lips quirked upwards into a grin.

“You better watch your fucking mouth.” Gojo hisses.

“You wanna tell her or should I-”

“What is happening here-” Shoko’s sharp voice snaps the three of you from your little bubble of violence, and it’s like all of a sudden the music and the party comes pouring back into the kitchen. Strangers and friends alike hot on your heels to watch the drama unfold, being pushed back by a frantic Haibara. “You’re acting like children.”

Sukuna shoves the other man off of him, and makes his way out. “Well, I know one of us hasn’t grown up.”

And Gojo is just about to stride forwards- until you catch him with a hand hooked around his elbow. Feeling the washing sense of deja vu from not too long ago. Hastily spitting out, “N-now- oh! Look at that, let me get that bruise cleaned up-” There was no bruise, and there was no reason for you to drag Gojo from the kitchen as fast as you did. Yet, you did anyway. “We’ll be upstairs–”

“Man…Sukuna.” Geto whistles lowly, watching you lug his 6’3 mess of a clingy best friend up the stairs and into what he assumes to be Gojo’s bedroom. “I know you wanted to set them up together badly but wasn’t that a little much?”

“Oh shut up- I don’t give a shit if they get together or- or if she’s happy or not.” he gruffs, stalking off.

Yet, Geto guffaws at the angry rouge that colored the very tips of his ears, and the slight wobble in Sukuna’s lower lip when he stops to watch you two make your escape.

Yeah. “Didn’t give a shit” his ass.

“Ugh.” Utahime rolls her eyes, signalling at the DJ to raise the volume on the music just a tad louder. She had a dreading feeling they’d strangely need it. “Men.”

Ugh, men.

You roll your eyes, the soft pads of your fingers tracing over where Gojo’s knuckles were slightly reddening after knocking against the cabinets. You were only glad that it didn’t escalate into something even worse - damn this stupid idea.

“I’m sorry.”

Gojo breaks the thickened silence between you two, his sullen voice echoing across all four wide corners of the master bedroom. But all you can hear is the thundering of your own pulse when he blinks his eyes up at you, “I didn’t…didn’t think it would go this far.”

The two of you are sitting on the edge of his king-sized bed, practically sinking into the plush mattress. And you can’t help but notice how much the room smells like him.

“Ah, well- y’know…” you’re trailing off, and the way you look at him - so soft and raw will forever be etched into his honeyed mind. You were comforting him…what a night. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. B-beside- it’s over now, isn’t it?”

He can only nod.

And you feel your fingers twitch where they were cradled in his much larger ones. Fuck. Here goes nothing…

“So that means I have to hold up my end of the bargain now, doesn’t it?”

Oh.

Gojo blinks.

Oh.

“Wait- so was it the body or the char-”

“Unless you finish that sentence right now. In that case I’m never speaking to you again.”

And shit, if you knew that this was the way to shut Gojo Satoru up then you’d have been wielding this power much, much sooner. Breath hitching when his plump, pinkish lips instantly zip shut, and he’s scrambling off the bed to kneel in front of you.

Kneel.

Gojo was kneeling in front of you, knees clacking to the floor so hard that you think it must hurt. But all that he wears on his expectant face is the rosiest of blushes, and the slight pucker of his lips when he leans in. “I-I’ll shut up- but can I have my kiss now?”

You couldn’t gift an answer even if your dizzy mind could somehow conjure up one.

Because with the slightest nod of your head - barely motioning even a few millimeters - Gojo’s crashing his lips onto yours like he was starved.

Like he didn’t want to breathe - didn’t need to - when his mouth was meshing against yours. Addicted from that faux kiss downstairs. Keening out a low whine at the very back of his throat, he’s gulping in steady heavals of your essence. Greedy hands circling your body-

“O-oh shit.” he kisses, mouth parting from yours ever-so-slightly because fuck, he had to breathe. But he’s completely and utterly sure that he could die happy right here and right now, lips firmly pressed against yours.

You’re half-heartedly sputtering, “We should– the party–”

“D-don’t talk to me about a fuckin’ party, pretty.” His teeth pull lewdly on your lower lip, “One more- that was a practice run. O-one m-”

This time, it’s you cutting him off.

Swallowing up the rest of Gojo’s sentence and forcing his body to wreck with a sudden bolting of lightning. And Gojo swears he tastes heaven on your lips, thumbing open your jaw further to pry out your lolling tongue and suck.

You moan out what sounds like a slurring string of his name over and over - praying that these walls were as soundproofed as they looked.

Fingers nimbling their way over to the first few open buttons of his shirt - the very graze of your skin down his burning one sends shots of electricity down Gojo’s body. It makes him jolt. It makes him drag in a heaving lungful. It makes his heavy palm drop its way to the curve of your ass and squeeze.

“Wait-” he’s drunken. Seething. Silvery strings of rope snapping in the heady lack of space between you two when Gojo pulls away. “-what’s it that they say- one more for luck?”

One more. And another. Another. Another and another and it’s still not enough even when Gojo’s mouth was throbbingly red and raw from crashing against yours, whimpering at the slightest wet glide of your candied lips across his.

Meshing in a sodden pucker he’s trailing his plumpened lips down the splatters of dribble that’d made its way down the corner of your mouth.

As lazy as his hands were, long digits drawing circular massages up, up, up your thigh. You’re gasping when the fat curve of his thumb nudges in through your drenched panties, drawing a sopping wet line down your teary slit.

“I think…” Cutting himself off to let his tongue slide out and lick a languid stripe down your drivel. “...think I needa hah- kiss those other lips of yours for good measure, sweetheart.”

Oh.

Fuck.

He looked like he was seconds from drooling at the very thought. Nervous energy bleeding into his words, making them sound almost like a whimper. Gojo Satoru wasn’t asking - he was begging on his knees right before you to eat out your pretty cunt.

Sharp inhales being sucked through his drunkenly parted lips when you slide your fingers through his sweat-soaked hair and pull. “Th-then you better make it worth all the trouble, Toru.”

Oh, his head tumbles backwards at the sound of that nickname on your lips once more.

Chuckling - chuckling - all humorless and crazed. Bleary eyes locked on you and only you, he doesn’t move them a singular inch once all the while dipping his fingerpads into the hem of your panties and pulling. Dragging out the drenched excuse of your panties, they’re splotching a glistening coating of your sweet, sweet juices down your thighs.

And Gojo only turns to look once he brings them eye-level - up to his face and-

“Toru, you’re so nasty–”

“Ya think?” Gojo huffs out through the slicked-up fabric of your underwear, breathing in your essence like it was his favorite scent. And you swear you catch him sneaking in a few droplets of your syrupy juices that splatter onto his mouth. Groaning, “Oh, sweetheart- m’gonna make you realize just how nasty I really am.”

Without any apologies, without any warning, your thoroughly hypnotized self is being shoved down roughly onto the mattress. You bounce a few times against the navy sheets, legs hiking up on autopilot - exactly the way that Gojo wanted them.

You really were made for him.

Mewling, “Wh-what-”

“Shhh sh sh-” he’s whispering out in ragged rasps, still pressing a few pretty pecks against the mound of your translucently glossed panties. It was taking everything in him to part- to set them down…Well, perhaps not that far. Gojo stuffs your panties mindlessly into the back pocket of his pants, tongue swiping a moisturized coating over his lips when he takes back in the sight of you. “M’talking to her.”

All splayed out on the bed for him - it was like all his dreams materialized into real life.

Literally.

“Oh, look how wet she is–” His creamy fingertips push up your dress to make such a slurring mess all over your pursed lips. On purpose. Swirling the edge of his manicured thumb over and over in the tiniest of circles over your pulsing clit. And Gojo snickers at how greedy she was for his attention…how cute. “-whaddaya think she’s ngh- tellin’ me, pretty?”

Rubbing your fists over your eyes, you’re seeing stars when Gojo’s rude digits give your clit a sudden pinch. “I-I don’t know–”

“Awww- are you sure?” You’re being showcased the most innocent pout you’ve seen him plaster on his entire life, lower lip jutting out and looming so dangerously close to kiss the drizzling trail at your puffy folds. “Because she’s so talkative to me- might jus’ be nicer than you.”

You wish you could snap back as you usually would - oh, how you wish.

But you’re sure that any and every noise that showers out from your dazed mouth wouldn’t even be heard. Because for one infuriating time in your life, Gojo was right.

Those sugar-coated squelches from your dripping cunt replayed in your ears over and over. Every teasing pattern of Gojo’s fingertips has you rambling in a saturated song that sticks to your ears like cotton. And Gojo couldn’t get enough.

He couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t falter no matter how much he wanted to keep up this ever-cracking facade of being suave. Heeding to practically every word from your pretty pussy when his heated mouth gruffs closer and kisses you.

Slow. Filthy.

“T-Toru–” you’re whining, your fingers entangling with his snowy locks. And no matter how hard you tug, Gojo doesn’t move even an inch. “-make sure you ngh- b-breathe- fuck-”

“Don’t need to..don’t- don’t need it…” Gojo’s slurring out into your saccharine pussy lips, intentionally dragging out his words so that they vibrate all down your spine.

Button nose massaging against your ample clit, the decadent room rings! with a sultry squelch. And you’re peeking down at that sinful sight of Gojo’s tongue smearing your puffed-up pussy lips agape. Swiping around and around the circular hole of your entrance before plunging in-

Oh.

Gojo looked like he was so in bliss.

Eyes sliding all the way to the back of his head with one taste of your bawling cunt on his tongue- shit. Shit.

Shit shit shit. He’s out of control when he gasps, two hands curling under and around your thighs to haul you down the bed. Maw hanging ferally open when he’s gashing your poor pussy with the most sodden French kisses - Gojo’s never kissed a person like this before. And he doesn’t think he ever will - other than you.

Doesn’t think he’ll ever feel as feverish as he does right now when he’s craning his deft fingers into his mouth. Sucking. Tasting. Each and every one with a messy pop! pop! pop!

He really was nasty.

You gape at the way your slick hangs all down his lips and coats a sparkling glaze that drips down his chin and forms a little pool at his neck. His collarbones. Trickling down with pearly beads of sweat that sift between his perky pecs so mouthwateringly.

“F-fuuuuck-” Gojo’s hissing, brows scrunching together like he couldn’t even believe what he was seeing. “You jus’ got ngh- wetter. S-so much wetter…”

It’s said like a prayer.

Like a plea because your cunt was driving Gojo crazy.

“It’s all because of ah- you–” You squirm at the way that these were the words tumbling from your mouth. And you already know that Gojo was about to tease you for this for the next few years - if he even remembered, that is.

Because just about the only thing that he can do right now is twirl the edges of his fingers over your winking hole. Once. Twice. Before feeding you inch by long inch of his middle finger - in your lusty haze you think you manage to count about six inches from his staggering size.

And it only had you imagining his size down below.

“Don’t squeeze around m-me- fuck who am I kidding-” Gojo’s sleazy pumps of his hand has your cunt slobbering all down to his working wrist. Adding in one more, two. “-drool all over me- make a mess- hah- fuckin’ ruin me.” Mouth bumbling a mile a minute when his drives build up sloppily, swiveling around your gummy walls to nudge over all your tenderized sweet spots. “Yeah- heh- yeah suck me up like that. S-such a slutty girl, aren’t ya?”

“S-stop being so-”

So what?

Talkative with your cunt? So greedy when he shovels his face back in between your tottering thighs? So heated when he utters. Like a death sentence. All that he could. “I-I can’t stop- do you know how long I’ve ah- imagined this? Dreamt of this?”

Your palm constrict on his silky strands and Gojo’s so pliant when he lets himself be rummaged even deeper against your pussy. So ready to be used. “Th-think I like you better when you ngh- shut up–”

And even through it all, Gojo finds it in himself to roll his eyes - though, you think it’s a way to disguise the way he’s agonizingly swimming in euphoria more than anything. Chuckling out wetly, “Th-think I like it better when you’re ah- actually on m’tongue and n-not jus’ in my fuck- dreams when I have my cock in hand.”

Shit.

He’s so shameless.

Fingers jackhammering in and out in and out in and out-

“Where is it-” he’s spitting out into your squirming pussy, the lower half of your body being pinned to the mattress with one of his strong arms. You’re feeling the way his biceps bulge against your skin. Getting faster. Faster. “-where is it where is it where-”

“What are you even ngh- looking for, Toru?” you’re crying out - it was all so much now. So close.

But the only answer you get are your ankles being tugged to wrap around Gojo’s fervent head, pinned with one hand behind his back. “Lock it.” Keeping you held there until the ends of your feet knot as vice-like as possible to mash his face into your drooling cunt.

Gojo wraps his rose pink lips around your weepy clit and sucks through furrowed brows when his thorough digits surge upwards at a bruising pace into a bulbous magical spot. That spot.

“Found it.”

And you find yourself cumming with such a loud yelp of Gojo’s name - throat rubbing sore with every peak of your high. Your orgasm crashes into you over and over as he laps up every bead, every splatter, every drop that you’re giving.

And he’s still parched.

Spitting out a wet slew of saliva into your quavering hole, Gojo’s making such a mess of you. Absolutely ruined when he sucks up every wet smear that waterfalls from your cute cunt - so thirsty.

It’s only when your high has died down to a few tingles, when your limbs twitch with overstimulation, that Gojo finds himself pulling away. His lips stinging rawly, nose slicked and dripping with your sweet, sweet juices - you’re hearing the most pained grunt from between your legs as he pulls away.

It hurt him to.

“Oh, w-would ya look at that—”

You weren’t sure if you trusted him enough to look - already knowing that whatever it was would have your mind reeling.

But how could you not when Gojo’s fat fingertips squeeze your cheeks together into a pathetic pout, opening your glazed mouth just wide enough for him to salivate. A thick wad of spit hitting your lolling tastebuds, his thumb swipes over the stray slops that’d made their home on the corner of your slack jaw.

He grins, “I said look, sweetheart…”

Groaning, your eyes blink downwards - and you weren’t even sure what you were witnessing at first. Not even sure if you were daydreaming - because Gojo had his black dress pants unbuttoned. Shoved down until his thick, milky thighs just enough for you to witness his massive length.

Yeah, his fingers were definitely an indicator of something.

Because Gojo was so big that you felt nervous. His length swollen and thickened to an incredible girth. All pretty with a red, rotund ruby tip that blushes a cute strawberry pink all the way down, down, down until neatly trimmed tufts of white at his base. Saddling his tight, hefty balls that looked much too heavy.

He made your mouth water.

But that wasn’t all - no, what really catches your eye and snaps you from your orgasmic haze and into a half-lucid state were the creamy rings upon rings that laminated his shaft. Frosting-like dredges of cum sliding lazily down his angry cock, spurting out a few more from his weepy divot at the very end at your unwavering attention. Did he-

“Yes.” Gojo gasps out in a condensed puff, his voice sugary and embarrassed. Shit, did you just say that out loud? “I-I came just from…you’re just so-”

Damn, he curses his stupidly babbling mouth. So drunk on you that he can’t voice all the sinful thoughts sprinting through his melty head right now - all the thoughts that have been already for years now.

It was impossible - even for his big fat mouth.

So without another word, Gojo tuts as he’s rolling his shoulders as if on instinct to pop a few joints; in one, fluid motion your body is being sidled into such an easy princess carry.

Patting you down right into the cushiony middle of the bed, he looms over you - stalks over to you. And you can’t deny that the absolutely feral smile twisting his features makes your cunt twitch.

“Too many clothes.” Gojo tugs on your dress - that darkened glint in his eyes not boding well for you or-

RIP!

-for this dress.

At the sight of your jaw dropping in adorable surprise, he chuckles out a rough, “Don’t worry- I’ll buy ya that again. I’ll buy ya the ngh- whole fuckin’ store jus–” And oh with a few masterful flicks of his fingers on your bra, you’re left in nothing underneath him. Nothing to hide your perfect body away from the way he was fucking you with his half-lidded eyes. “-just let me f-fuck this cute cunt, please?”

It takes you a few sloppy seconds of Gojo nibbling down your neck for you to realize that he’s waiting for you. For anything.

Huffing, your shaky fingers clench around the glaringly open lapels of his button-up. “S’unfair th-that you’re the only one in clothes-”

And, well, who was Gojo Satoru against you?

You’re demandingly helping him shrug off that branded shirt, buttons hitting the ground, his pants hitting the floor-

“Whoops.” Gojo grins sheepishly when his pants and those tight boxers collapse onto the floor in a tatter of fabric and your panties. “Jus’ consider it a uh- birthday gift, pretty–”

No longer having his flaps of fabric to reel him in by, your fingernails dig neat little patterns of crescents on his heated skin as you drag him down to you. Heady breaths mingling with one another, “You said no gifts, remember? If you ngh- really want those panties- y-you’re gonna hafta earn it, Toru.”

And earn it he will.

Because as soon as the bulging spherical shape of his fat head swipes a sopping kiss down your pussy lips, you feel yourself already moan. He was so hot.

Already so pussydrunken when he says, “Hope ya don’t mind–” Teeth sinking into your tender earlobe, “-this is my first time.”

Fuck.

You barely even have the mindpower to register those words before you’re being split apart - gasping at the almost-unnatural feeling of being so thoroughly full. Of having our steamingly hot insides being fucked open with just the simple tip of Gojo’s staggering cock.

“C’mon- c’mon–” He’s lunging up in slow, mindless gyrations trying to force his thick length inside. Powerful arms keeping your wrangling legs spanned wide open for him, they barely even let you budge. Biting down on his lip in frustration, “F-fit inside- shit, your pussy’s so tight, sweetheart– s’it too big for you?”

Stubbornly, “No-”

And Gojo only has to glissade the curves of his palm down to that inflationary nudge of where he was drilling into your cunt. “No?”

“...no.”

Pressing down. Hard. “No?”

“Fuck- yes- you’re just too big-” And you meant it as a complaint - you really did. But those words only have every ounce of blood remaining in Gojo’s shivering body galloping down to his gluttonous cock. Pushing at the seams to make him expand even fatter, bigger- “Why are you getting bigger?”

Shit, you really needed to watch that mouth of yours.

Because it has Gojo’s hulking body falling onto two elbows on either side of your head, like a heavenly cage you didn’t ever want to get out of.

Sweat-simmered forehead bumping into yours, you feel his large fingers interlace dangerously on top of your head. “You need to-” He’s crashing his lips against yours in such a filthy open-mouthed kiss. “-s-stop talkin’ outta ya ngh- pussy. Leave that to her.”

Her.

And you’re so utterly distracted by all his little ministrations that you didn’t even realize the way he was snugly fitting himself into your cunt.

The stretch is impeccable when it hits you like a train at full speed, feeling the tiny nooks and crannies of your magical spots being brushed up against the thrumming upright curve of Gojo’s cock. He’s leaving no millimeter of your elastic walls unturned, unstretched. Untainted.

Gushing out a sweltering hot wave of buttery pre that sloshes all the way against your womb. “Oh- oh what the fuck-” Gojo hisses, chest heaving. And if you didn’t know any better you’d have wondered if he was in pain. “-what the fuck- th-this is what you feel like?”

Right - shit. In all the chaos, you’d forgotten those words he’d confessed just earlier - Gojo Satoru was a virgin. Because of course, he was. Don’t make him laugh, who else would he have ever wanted to see him like this other than you?

A virgin that was currently pacing his slender hips back and forth to instrument the most syrupy squelches from the very gooey bottom of your cunt. His drooling mouth spreading wider and wider with every sultry half-thrust.

You mewl, “H-how does it feel, Satoru?”

“I-I feels so- so–” But the words are failing him - the words are escaping him with every gummy squeeze of your walls like you wanted to swallow down more and more of his solid inches. And hand on your hips swirls your hips around ever-so-slightly to feel his sobbing tip paint tiny circles of gluey precum inside you. Gojo snaps his eyes open - wild. “-is it even l-legal to have ya cunt feel this good, sweetheart? This- oh! Heavenly?”

And he was sounding genuinely concerned. Genuinely worried for his sanity once Gojo manages to feed your needy cunt all of his length.

Now in.

Fully.

And it feels too good - too blissful to have almost every single prayer in his life finally answered that Gojo can’t help but scrunch his eyes shut and cum.

Loudly. Pathetically.

One hand dancing downwards to give your plump clit a punishing little squeeze as if it was your fault. The other curling around your throat to have you meshing your mouth with his panting one, you can feel it in the vibrations how his voice cracks at the very same second your gooey cunt is filled with such copious dumps of his seed.

There’s so much.

As if he’s cumming and cumming harder than he has in his entire life, every splatter of stifling hot cum managing to paint the bullseye of your g-spot in pure white. Ounces of his seed creaming around his hefty base, it smears and slide around your thighs as Gojo continues to fuck you into the mattress. Pound after pound that make him see overstimulated stars.

And it makes Gojo giggle - giggle - head lolling deliriously into the crook of your neck, now covered in a slather of his drool. Every slow ram into your splurging cunt has him grunting out the tiniest ah! ah! ah!

“Shit- fuckin’ embarrassing-” You hear him groan into your neck, licking a languid column from his tongue before biting. Hard. Hard enough that you’re wondering whether he’d draw blood, “Can ya believe- s-saved my virginity for the ngh- girl of my dreams n’ m’cumming already~?”

He leaves a few final pecks against your lips, “Th-this pussy’s got me too haaaah- addicted, pretty–” As he’s moving to part sloppy ways, you’re gasping at the splatter! of something warm. Wet. And only then do you register the literal tears crinkling at his eyes from overstimulation. Crying.

“A-are you okay– Satoru?” You’re whining, limp fingers skimming away the strands of white that cling to his prespired forehead.

“No.” Comes the answer, comes the heaving gasp when Gojo’s fatigued limbs force themselves through his trembling muscles to heave back upright. “One m-more. That was a practice run.” Throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, you feel his flexing deltoids underneath you when Gojo brings one ankle up to his mouth and kisses. Muttering - more to himself than anything. “B-but m’gonna make y’feel good- oh- fuck- m’gonna make you t-take this big cock.”

His words have you just as stupidly fucked as his fat shaft does.

Those lightning bolts of his veins thump down the upperside of your goopy channel, massaging your sweet spots over and over and-

“Th-think it was here-” Gojo’s palms feel everywhere and anywhere down your tummy for the vicious back and forth of him inside you. To feel that bulging opening, the way your snug channel clenches every time his bouncy tip recoils back from your cervix. Wanting more more more- “-or w-was it- here.”

“Fuck!” The entire expanse of your spine arches off of those thoroughly and filthily dampened sheets now, meshing up sluttily into Gojo’s body until his prespiry-glossed abs cushion your front, plush pecs so comfortably collapsing on top of you. “There- there there hngh- more-”

“More-” Gojo chuckles, hitting that precious spot over and over. His chubby head mashes in slurping soppy collisions until he was out of breath. Dizzy. “More she says- Greedy girl, wh-when you have me already ngh- dripping out of you. Shit- squeezin’ me so. Oh-”

And his vigorous fingers scoop up such lecherous volumes of his own milky cum, toying with the gushing waves of white your poor pussy leaks with every pound.

He’s bullying them between your lips - cerulean eyes dilating, mouth sagging unsealed when you eagerly suck on his digits. Tasting his candied self, tasting you. Somehow managing to muffle out, “M-m’not greedy.”

Gojo can only grin, “S-say that to me when this oh- cunt of yours isn’t sucking the fuckin’ soul outta me.”

And Gojo would love to tease you more for this - to mouth away for hours on end into your ear about how drenched you were getting and muse out loud whether you’d dreamt of this just as much as he has, too.

But instead, he’s pecking a flurry of lovely kisses all down your face. Gasping into your lips, “M-move that pretty hand f’me-” So rudely swatting those fingers of yours that’d snuck their way down to toy with your neglected clit, Gojo’s taking over himself to rub steady, methodical circles. Thumb peeking pressure on the hood of your clit just the way he’d read online. “-I’ve always w-wanted to ah- do this. To fuck you raw. T-to ruin you and ngh- fill you up-” As his words spill, so do a few ropey wads of pre. More. Frequent. “-a-and eat you out all over again. See how you taste like mine…”

“Y-you’re gonna-” You can’t even bring yourself to say it. “Again?”

“Of course, sweetheart- why? Scared I- oh.”

That’s when he does it - the mistake of peering his barely-open eyes down.

His weightily smacking balls that smooch against your ass with each thrust clench oh-so-painfully at the vision of your puffed-up pussy lips gaping around him. Drooling. Swallowing. Accommodating his ruthless cock for all you can, practically broken in half and still yearning for more.

Shit, the sight’s so hypnotic that Gojo doesn’t even realize when he’s letting his thoroughly overwhelmed body lock into yours like a puzzle piece. So hefty and sculpted.

His abs practically melting into your body, and his sloppy hips pistoning into you even deeper. Harsher. Every raring grind of Gojo’s lengthy shaft probes into your g-spot so hard. Like he wanted to leave widely battered bruises of his circumference on your sweetened spots, your cervix, anywhere and everywhere he could reach. Like he couldn’t stop.

Doesn’t even know the very word right about now in this filthy, filthy mating press. “C’mon- c’mon one more for ah- luck?” Whimpering, “My sweetheart, I-I’m gonna-”

Gojo sees white when he cums once more this night - and you do, too.

You’re not sure if it’s because of the violent streaks of electricity that run down your entire body, or because of the treacly spurts of cum that overspill from your poor cunt. But fuck- did it feel so good.

Your entire body tingles all the way down from your toes up to your bleary head - and the entire room feels like it’s fucking spinning at this point.

Black tinging your vision with ever overfilling thwack! of Gojo’s tight, cum-filled balls as they empty out, out, out into your depths. It’s coating your insides like a sticky second skin, leaving stringy drizzles of seed seeping from between your slit. Adding to the ever-growing puddle before.

You’re feeling it swashing around you with every drivel of his hips. Overstuffing your elastic walls until you felt like they were about to burst.

And all you can do is simply grapple your nails into the bulging muscles on Gojo’s back, whimpering out a broken, “T-Toru–”

“M’here I-I’m here–” Yet his voice sounds airy, hitching like he was on cloud nine. A beefy arm wraps around your body and manhandles you close to him like some sort of ragdoll, “M’here- shit-” His lips graze against yours in what you assume must be a kiss, too oversensitive to even perk his head up and peck you senseless like you knew he wanted to. “Never lettin’ ya go- haaah- never- ah-”

Whatever promises Gojo always imagined whispering into your ear can be said and done later.

Right now, the only thing he can streamline his body into doing for him is to search blindly for his discarded pants by the side of the bed. Searching for that bulge in the back pocket- no, not the panties he’d swiped right in front of you - instead, he’s feeling for the shape of his wallet.

Pulling your tired body back into his, Gojo’s carding it lazily open to show you that.

Exactly what they were talking about.

Splayed out proudly in the front and center of his wallet was a picture of the two of you. Years and years ago exactly on this date, the aged photograph showed a smiling Gojo Satoru in front of a candlelit birthday cake, tiny cheeks all pinkened. A small, surly you standing by his side - eyeing his Digimon hat more than you were eyeing the camera.

But that didn’t matter, because Gojo wasn’t looking at the camera, either.

He was looking at you - exactly the way he was right now.

Glowy eyes half-lidded, a mysterious little smile playing on his lips. Gojo nuzzles his face against yours and breathes out a tiny, “I…I might have loved you ever since then, y’know that?”

You’re gasping, eyes shining with…something. And Gojo’s heart stutters as he wants to find out. Wringing your hands to wrap around his broad chest, you’re coiling your legs together until you’re unsure where one ends and the other starts.

Whispering three lovely words into his ear - and three more into the honeyed air.

“Happy birthday, Satoru.”

---

Gojo’s one wish was to wake up next to you - like this. Under soft blankets, with your sleepy breath puffing softly into his collarbone, your body tucked safely into his.

And he never wants to let go - could never even dream of anything that could ruin this precious moment-

“Mind explaining who ordered wedding decor last night on MY account?”

Ah, that would do it.

Bleary blue eyes wrench open, taking Gojo every shred of will in his body to not jolt at the unwelcome greeting of Shoko peering down at him…while he was all wrapped up with his best friend’s sister in a bedroom that could almost be mistaken for a crime scene.

Would it really be too late of a birthday wish to hope that she hadn’t noticed your tattered clothes on the floor, the ruined state of the sheets, and the way that the bedframe sagged suspiciously on one side?

Gulping, he’s pressing your body even tighter into his, careful not to let you stir - well, at least it couldn’t get worse than this-

Footsteps.

Close.

And an unmistakable few voices - and laughter. “Is that my sist- SATORU, YOU BASTARD-”

“Eugh.”

“WHAT did you blackmail her with?”

“Woahhh- congratulations on your relationship!”

A/N. Lowkey has the spirit of a crackfic, I fear. This was SAUR fun.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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deathofacupid · 1 month ago

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★ STRAWBERRIES AND CIGARETTES. all the times gojo desperately wants to kiss you, and the one where he finally does.

ft. satoru gojo x reader.

warnings — loser!reader / popular!gojo. smoking, kissing + making out. consumption of alcohol, mentions of sex, lots of cheesy banter. sato is a man down bad ! slow-burn kinda but mostly just very sfw fluff :p

(呪術廻戦) : note — 7k words + in my fluff era again awooga

୨୧ ⌞ act one: strawberry shampoo. ⌝

gojo rarely sees you. not often, truly. in class is different, but even then, it's infrequent.

you always wear a bored, distant look, as if you'd rather be anywhere but here. he suspects you simply don't care. the professor's words wash over you, in one ear and out the other.

most people don't notice your frequent absences. gojo does. he always does. the empty seat at the back of the room never escapes his eye.

it feels emptier, too, despite your quiet nature. he's unsure why. why he's so captivated by you. but when you are present, he stares. trying to be subtle, yet desperate to memorize every detail: the curve of your lashes, the perceived softness of your lips.

perceived softness, he should clarify. gojo isn't a creep. he doesn't spend every waking moment fantasizing about kissing you. (only every other waking moment.)

he knows you know he exists. you've exchanged words a few times, straddling the line between acquaintance and stranger. it's odd, but he finds a strange peace when you converse.

you're funny, kind, caring. a good listener, with a voice like honey he could listen to all day. god, he loves your voice. he wishes you'd speak more. if you did, people would listen. there's a lilt in your voice that makes him.

he's your opposite. you keep to yourself, wired earbuds always in. gojo has friends — many friends. he thrives on company and conversation.

he's got his whole crew: nanami, shoko, geto, haibara, utahime. even toji and sukuna, on a good day.

academically, he's a powerhouse. top of the class, loaded with extracurriculars, tests always returned with a perfect score.

and you? you're number two. he's certain you could be first, but you simply don't care. no ambition to be the best, no need to prove yourself.

you're just… there. you show up, ace your exams, and leave. he'd be threatened by the competition, but you don't seem to want it. he doubts you even realize how close you are to taking his spot.

it's infuriating. so much potential, so little drive.

yet, it's utterly enticing. you're enticing.

it's a shock when he pulls into the gas station in the dead of night, needing kikufuku because geto devoured the last of it, and there you are. perched on the ledge behind the worn building.

he doesn't see your face at first, but he recognizes the leather angel kiss bag you practically live with, adorned with sonny angels and charms.

the grocery bag falls limply in his hand. he takes a few steps, stopping just behind you. he calls your name out, quiet and hesitant, a rare tone for gojo. there's a crinkle of foil from you, and you turn, startled.

"gojo?" you inquire, head tilted.

"uh, hey," he manages a gentle smile. "what're you doing here?"

a small smile touches your lips. "hi. i could ask you the same."

the white-haired boy chuckles. "dickhead roommate ate all my snacks."

your quiet laugh is beautiful, he thinks. "yeah? well, i ran out of cigarettes." you place one between your lips. sliding over on the ledge, you offer a silent invitation, which he accepts.

you're close. the scent of your saccharine strawberry shampoo fills his senses.

"want one?" you offer. he shakes his head. gojo doesn't smoke, rarely drinks. instead, he watches you inhale, then exhale, wispy gray curls dissolving into the dark.

the silence between you is mellow, not awkward. in the dim streetlamp glow, your lips look coated in strawberry-red gloss, leaving a stain on the white of the cigarette.

"sure you don't want a hit?" you ask, sensing his heavy, focused gaze.

and because he'd do anything at the sound of that voice, he nods, changing his mind.

satoru gojo has game, no doubt. one hundred percent. he's smooth with women, but you're not just any woman. you're you, and with you, his game dissolves. all his past charm feels irrelevant, meaningless.

it's just you. you and him. he's not sure how to navigate it, and his attempt only leaves him embarrassed.

his eyes fix on the red smudge. he presses his own lips directly onto that spot. this isn't even a kiss, but an odd euphoria floods him, as if he's never kissed anyone before.

gojo's eyes flutter shut. he takes a quick, deep inhale, lasting only seconds before he's spluttering, coughing. a dry, charcoal-like feeling enters his lungs, leaving his throat dry. "jesus," he winces, handing it back.

you giggle, not teasing, but amused. he echoes the sound, and you both dissolve into laughter.

at two in the morning, everything's funny. your hands brush his as you take the cigarette.

"a— are you okay?" you ask, trying to compose yourself.

"yeah!" he clears his throat. "i mean, yeah. yes. i'm good."

"never smoked?"

"nah. coach would kill me," he chuckles, and you hum. sometimes, he forgets he's that picture-perfect, well-rounded student. in these moments, everything else fades.

"yeah," you say, meeting his gaze. his eyes are already on you.

"yeah," he repeats, smiling.

and then he remembers your closeness. his heart, if it ever slowed, races. should he do it?

should he kiss you?

you're so sweet, so pretty, right there — so close. he leans in, instinctual, like his body is drawn to yours.

and maybe you're leaning in, too?

just like that, gojo doesn't have time to tell, because his phone rings, a bleary call from his confused roommate.

just like that, the moment shatters. gojo pulls back, farther than before. the sweet scent of your shampoo vanishes, the press of his thighs against yours, knees knocking, gone.

you wave goodbye. he waves goodbye.

and just like that, you're back to being the girl in his class. the girl behind the gas station.

୨୧ ⌞ act two: pro-bono deals. ⌝

gojo doesn't see it coming. he knows you're here often enough, a quiet fixture in the library's familiar hum. there's not much he knows about you, not really, but what little he's gathered, he clings to like scripture.

he knows you like to read. that's a given.

he knows the cute thing you do with your nose when you're deep in thought, a slight scrunch, lips pursed just so.

he knows you hate writing in pen. he offered you one once, when you were caught without anything to write with, but you’d asked for a pencil instead. something about being accident-prone, you'd said.

he knows your handwriting is god-awful, an illegible scrawl that makes him abandon any idea of feigning interest in your notes as an excuse to talk. he figures it’s because your brain moves faster than your hands can keep up.

he knows you like flowers, sometimes catching you pausing by the daisies near the fountain on the way to class.

these little things, these quiet quirks you have, he catalogues them meticulously. they're important to him, these small habits you might not even notice yourself.

it's what makes it so real, so tangible. it makes him feel like he knows you, as pathetic as that might sound.

what you don't like is studying. so, when he sees your nose buried deep in the familiar green shade of a physics textbook, he's got every right to be a little lost. for the entire two and a half years he's known you, gojo has never seen you go out of your way to study.

he shifts his weight, from one foot to another. he could let you be, let you work. or, he could… work with you? would that even be okay? after a dreadful moment of hesitation, he slides into the seat beside you.

you’re surprised to see him; it seems like you always are, when it’s him. nonetheless, a smile touches your face, so it’s a pleasant surprise. "gojo, what's up?"

"just… reading through things, studying for finals," he says, watching you close the book. "you don't mind if i sit here, right?"

"no, not at all," you assure him, waving off his mild concern. "i might go crazy reading this dumb thing alone, anyways."

gojo laughs, and your heavy sigh turns into a little chuckle. "don't like physics?"

"don't like science," you correct, slumping in your seat. you click and un-click your pen, groaning, "it's so boring."

"sounds about right coming from a literature major." he hopes you don't focus on how he knows your major. it seems to be alright, though, because you know his.

playfully, you raise your brows. "seriously, i have no idea how you're planning on doing that for the rest of your life."

"you're not bad at it, are you? i mean, based on, like, your scores and… stuff."

"no. i guess not. all my absences are catching up to me, though, and i'm a little behind."

he supposes it makes sense for you to be struggling a little, at least. he's not sure how you do it in the first place, managing to pass at all without any visible effort. sure, gojo's smart, but he's not that smart. he wouldn't say he's envious, but he wishes he had that ability.

the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. "well, i could help you out," he offers. it comes out as more of a question, which he hates himself for. he also wishes he were more confident around you.

your eyes light up. "really? because field theory's kinda killing me." your gaze flickers from your notes to him, a little skeptical. you’re just not sure why he's hanging out with you in the first place, much less willing to, like, tutor you.

"yeah. if you want," his voice is a little less tentative, this time around.

"like… pro-bono?"

gojo chuckles. "sure. if you're up for aiding me in psychoanalyzing othello."

"you know what?" you ask, sticking your hand out. "deal."

he can't help the grin that spreads across his face, and he accepts your handshake. "deal."

your hand feels soft in his, and the mere touch makes him shiver. gojo inhales quietly, his eyes briefly glancing down to your lips.

it's the same strawberry-colored gloss. like a man down bad, all he can wonder is if it tastes like it, too.

୨୧ ⌞ act three: to get or not to get (some). ⌝

"i think we need to get you laid," shoko remarks, rather casually, the words cutting through the bass and chatter of geto's party. it makes gojo choke on his drink, a cheap beer in a red plastic cup, his grip tightening around it.

geto seems entirely too amused by this, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. "shit, sho, look at him, all red."

"shut up," he seethes, an unnatural flush creeping up his neck. he can feel the heat on his cheeks, a testament to his unexpected embarrassment.

she sighs, a faux melancholy. "poor guy. the clenched jaw tells me all i need to know."

"i don't— alright," gojo groans, quickly giving up. it's useless to argue with them when they're like this. "go ahead, abuse me like the great friends you are."

swirling her vodka with a straw, shoko snorts. "we are good friends, trying to save you from your newfound virginism."

"she's right," geto says pointedly, leaning forward. "you're like a male nun."

weakly, gojo repeats himself, "shut up." just as he’s reaching for his phone, a girl walks by. short dress, long legs, a smile that’s less friendly, more predatory, aimed straight at him. at some point, she would’ve been his ideal type, the kind of easy distraction he gravitated toward.

now? now, he doesn't even bat an eye. shoko looks at geto, a silent communication passing between them. geto looks at shoko. gojo glances up from his pocket, catching the sly, knowing looks his friends are giving him.

"or… maybe he's already getting some," geto nods, a mix of betrayal that he wasn't told and grudging impressment in his voice.

"you dog," shoko chuckles, nudging his arm with her elbow. "c'mon, who?"

"it's not— i'm not—"

geto sighs, "i didn't know we'd be around for the 'someone tied him down' era."

"guys—" he tries to interrupt, but then you walk by. his world narrows, the party noise fading to a dull hum. as if on instinct, his eyes get dreamy, following your path. his world stops, along with time itself, and gojo freezes, completely captivated.

they follow his line of sight, their gazes landing onto where he's looking. no, staring.

if he wasn't caught so off guard by shoko's low whistle, a sharp, clear sound in the sudden quiet of his world, he would have had a second to figure out why you were even here. "damn," she laughs, a genuine, unburdened sound. "if you fumble her, i call dibs."

"...didn't expect that. how do you even know her?" geto asks, a note of surprise in his voice.

"uh, she's in humanities with us," he says, a little annoyed that his friend, who shared classes with you, hadn't noticed you. he can’t imagine that possibility, especially not when you’re all gojo can seem to notice.

shoko squints, like she's trying to recall a distant memory. "oh, yeah. i think i've seen her, sometimes. doesn't she ditch, like, a lot?"

gojo shrugs. "i guess."

"i'm with geto. i wouldn't have pegged that, but congrats."

"it's not like that! we're just…" he’s about to say friends, but the word feels foreign, ill-fitting. he’s not even sure if you're that.

"no, no," geto shakes his head, a knowing smirk on his face. "sex is always great, man."

"we're not—"

the brown-haired girl cuts him off, her attention already elsewhere. "speaking of sex, i think i'm gonna have a go," she murmurs, vaguely gesturing to a pretty, curvy redhead across the room. downing the rest of her drink in one gulp, she's off before either of them gets a word in.

and, because god is good, a group of people walk in through the front door, and geto, ever the host, goes to greet them; it is his party, after all.

gojo sighs, weary, the weight of his friends' teasing momentarily forgotten. then he remembers: you're here. he’s practically racing away from the spot he's in, a desperate, though he hopes nonchalant, attempt to find you. had he been hallucinating? was he so crazy about you that he was now seeing you everywhere? oh, god.

gojo doesn't get any further with his worries, because someone runs into his back.

oh. oh, wait. the familiar, faint scent of strawberry shampoo. he turns around, heart already beating faster, a frantic rhythm against his ribs, when he sees you.

"jesus, i'm sorry. i didn't even see you." you look up, your eyes meeting his, and your apologies vanish into thin air, replaced by a soft, surprised expression. "oh, my god, hi."

"hey," he says, his voice a little breathy, holding his breath as if he’s scared to move, worried you'll simply vanish like a mirage.

"isn't it crazy how we keep running into each other?" you giggle, a light, melodic sound, blowing a strand of hair out of your face.

"yeah, um, small world," gojo nods, straining a smile that feels more like a grimace. you give him a funny look, a slight tilt of your head, but thankfully leave it. "i didn't think this was really your scene?"

your shoulders slump, and you sigh, a familiar weariness in the sound. "it's not. my friend dragged me here, and then left to go have trashy sex with a trashy guy."

"oof," he winces, a sympathetic grimace. "that's alright. you can always stick with me, you know." the words tumble out, hopeful and a little desperate.

you put a hand on his arm, a feather-light touch that sends a jolt through him, sighing in relief. "once again, you're my savior. i'm stuck here until she's," you pause, a flicker of distaste on your face, "done."

"ah, well, if it's trashy sex with a trashy guy, it'll probably not be too long." he rubs the back of his head, a nervous habit. "i wouldn't mind if it isn't, though. i like talking to you," he admits, the confession coming out a little sheepish.

"oh," you say, your cheeks flushing so slightly he almost misses it. "thanks. i mean, me, too."

"yeah." there's a beat of comfortable silence between you two, the thumping of bass from downstairs filling the quiet space. "say, uh, wanna go upstairs?"

your eyes go a little wide, a startled deer caught in headlights, and gojo quickly backpedals. "to talk. it's— it's just loud, here."

you nod, a slow, deliberate movement, sighing in either relief or disappointment (he can't tell, but he desperately hopes it's the latter).

his fingers tentatively lace with yours, a hesitant connection, and he pulls you gently past bodies of people swaying to the music. he leads you into a less crowded room, a quieter haven, and shuts the door behind him. the muffled bass is a distant thrum now. "isn't this much nicer?"

"definitely, yeah." you take a seat on the edge of the bed, a quick, almost imperceptible glance around to ensure it's clean. "so… how's your day been?" it sounds awkward, a little stilted, and he's glad that he’s not the only one.

taking a seat beside you, a comfortable, close distance, he smiles, "good. very good. you?" he looks right into your eyes, letting the sincerity of his words reach you.

you return the smile, a soft, hesitant curve of your lips, debating whether or not to scoot closer. "s'okay. better, now."

"i know you don't like parties, but on that scale, how's this one been? be nice, i helped set it up," he warns, a playful glint in his eyes.

"it's good. i appreciate the lukewarm beer."

he holds his hands up, defensive. "see, i told geto to get more coolers. that part's not on me."

"okay, then, what part's on you?" you ask, crossing your arms, a hint of playful challenge in your tone.

"uh, i did the…" he frowns, trying to remember his own contributions to the party prep. "i taste-tested all the snacks. does that count?"

you snort, a small, endearing sound. "did you eat all of them, too? 'cause there weren't any left when i got here."

"i," a pause, a hint of guilt in his voice, "might have had a little more than i was supposed to, but those cookies were really good. so was the kikufuku."

"there was kikufuku?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"not anymore," he admits, a wry grin on his face. "that, i did finish."

laughing, a genuine, unforced sound, you tilt your head, "what parties have kikufuku?"

"the really, really cool ones."

"is that right?"

"would i ever lie to you?" his voice is teasing, but there's something else there, too.

"hm, maybe not," you hum, making a show of inspecting his features, your gaze lingering on his eyes. "you do have a really honest face."

"you have a really pretty one," he retorts, the words escaping before he can think better of them. it takes you a second to process, a faint blush dusting your cheeks. him, too, because… did he just say that? was that bad? he can't, for the love of god, read your face.

your mouth opens, a soft parting of your lips, but you're robbed of a chance to respond, because a couple barges into the room, their laughter loud and jarring. gojo flinches, startled. huffing, he says, "occupied!"

it's shoko and the redhead. shoko's eyes flit from you to gojo, a silent apology passing between them before she quickly steers the redhead back out of the room, shutting the door. god, out of all his friends,

he wouldn't have expected her to be the cock-block. well, at least someone's getting some.

୨୧ ⌞ act four: nepo-baby v. broke barista.⌝

the gentle chime of the bell above the door echoes through the quiet café, a familiar melody that always brings a sense of calm to satoru.

he pushes the door open, the scent of rich, freshly brewed coffee washing over him, a comforting aroma that instantly eases the tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying. he lets out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of contentment.

this, to him, is the best place to be.

his sunglasses, a constant fixture even indoors and in the dead of winter, are perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. he knows he probably looks a little eccentric, a touch out of place, but he doesn't care.

gojo’s soft, white hair, perpetually threatening to fall into his startling blue eyes, drifts gently across his forehead. with a practiced flick of his wrist, he rakes it back, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth of the café.

he steps towards the counter, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm against the smooth, polished surface. his order was always the same, a creature of habit in a world that constantly shifts and changes around him, a small anchor of predictability.

“hi,” a soft voice says, breaking him out of his reverie. gojo’s eyes fix on the meticulously arranged cookies in the display case, and he’s caught between the choice of chocolate chip or macadamia nut.

chocolate, duh.

“hey, could i—” his gaze finally shifts up, and he locks eyes with the barista. but, because god really does have favorites, it’s not just any barista, it’s you.

he’s caught off-guard, seeing you, though he really shouldn’t be. not after having run into you unplanned this many times, already. it’s almost comical at this point.

“damn,” he shakes his head, a smile of disbelief slowly spreading across his face. “are you playing a trick on me?”

“god, no,” you laugh, a clear, bright sound. a few stray strands of hair escape from beneath the café’s branded hat, and you brush them out of your face with a practiced motion.

your smile is a little lopsided, charmingly imperfect, and he notices your apron is slightly askew, a testament to what must have been a busy morning.

“i come here all the time. don’t tell me i’ve been missing you… somehow, like, every single time,” he pouts, a playful whine in his voice.

“no, no. don’t worry, i’m new. i started yesterday. apparently, i’m more broke than i realized,” you confess, a wry smile touching your lips.

he nods in understanding, giving you a look of genuine sympathy. “yeah, i get it.”

“oh, do you, rich boy?” you tease, your gaze playfully raking over his expensive sunglasses, then his wrist to his watch, and finally the glint of a gold chain peeking from beneath his shirt. i

t’s not a secret that gojo is loaded, the son of gojo enterprises’ founder. he’s always gone out of his way to be humble about it, part of why he works so hard.

“yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, a dismissive flick of his hand. "speaking of, you gonna mess up my drink, newbie?"

"oh, haha. did you lose your stick? because i think i know where it went." you quip back.

gojo snorts, motioning to the register. “caramel macchiato, please. extra sugar.”

“aw, elitist baby can say please.” you pause, a faint wrinkle forming between your brows. “wait, did you say extra sugar?” you ask, making a face as you reach for a plastic cup and a sharpie. he nods, feeling his face flush under your intense, slightly disgusted gaze. “you know it’s already, like, super sweet, right?”

in return, he nods again, a little sheepish. gojo watches you scribble his name down on the side of the cup, your handwriting the same scrawl it always is. he shuffles to the end of the counter, waiting to receive his order.

your movements are a little clumsy, a novice’s hesitation in your hands, and you have to pause to remember the steps for making the drink. he even sees you gag, just a little, when adding the extra thing he’d gone out of his way to tell you.

“enjoy the, uh, macchiato.” you can't help the slight grimace as you push the cup across the counter. the smell alone was overwhelmingly sweet, amplified tenfold by the extra sugar he’d requested.

“you’re laughing. don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he grins, a flash of white teeth against his pale skin, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“nah, i think i’ll be knocking,” you giggle, shaking your head, a slight shiver running through you. “but, if that’s what you like, you do you.”

there's a beat of silence, and gojo watches you attention momentarily shift to a spilled sugar packet near the display. "we really should start planning our run-ins," he chuckles, his fingers brushing yours for a fleeting moment as he grabs the cup.

"they wouldn't be run-ins, then," you correct, a sly lilt in your voice.

"i… wouldn't mind that." the words are soft, almost a murmur, but loaded with intent.

the universe has a weird way of pulling people together, doesn't it?

୨୧ ⌞ act five: she loves me, she loves me not.⌝

gojo goes out of his way to plan this. he knows it's not a date, and he probably shouldn't pretend it is one. you had taken him up on his offer to hang out sometime, and he wanted it to be perfect.

you don't deserve anything less than that.

to anyone on the outside, he's sure it does look like a date. it feels like one, at least, if that counts. gojo picked you up, he dressed nice, you dressed nice, and he drove you to the park for a nice picnic. all of it sounds date-like, especially the part where he told you that you looked very cute today.

and, especially the part where he frantically back-pedaled, telling you; wait, you look cute today, but you look cute everyday. he doesn't just mean today.

and, especially, especially, how you'd teased him about it after. so, yeah, forgive him if he's having a hard time differentiating a platonic meetup and a not-so-platonic date.

gojo's picking off the petals on the daisy he's holding, hoping you don't notice how he's mentally playing she loves me, she loves me not. he glances at the small pile of discarded petals, then back at you, a soft smile playing on his lips.

you weave the stem of a flower into another, your brows furrowed in concentration on the crown you're making for him. "how long should i make this? you do have a really big head."

"hey, that's insulting. my head is perfectly normal-sized," he huffs, feigning offense, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. he leans closer, trying to get a better look at your handiwork. "are you sure you know what you're doing over there?"

"positive," you retort, not looking up. you wrap what you've got so far around his head, the cool petals a gentle press against his temple. "yep, definitely needs to be longer. see?"

"okay, rude." he pulls away slightly, inspecting the half-finished crown. "i'm starting to think you're just trying to wound my feelings."

you sigh, a dramatic, mournful sound. "truth hurts, right?" you glance up, your eyes locking with his, a gentle warmth in their depths. "this is really nice, by the way. i'm really glad we're doing this."

"me, too. feels a lot less rushed, compared to just seeing you around. not that i mind seeing you around," he quickly adds, the words tumbling out a little too fast, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

you smile, a soft, genuine curve of your lips. "yeah, i get it. you picked a nice spot. the gardens are so beautiful, i can't believe i've never been here before," you say, looking around at the vibrant roses beside you, your gaze lingering on their soft petals.

"you just wait, then, i've got a whole roster, baby." he means the pet-name as a joke, a casual endearment, but the sudden flicker in your gaze has his breath hitching, a silent question forming in his mind.

"you make me sound like your girlfriend," you laugh, the sound light and airy, a small puff of air escaping your lips.

"i bet you'd like that, huh?" he teases, pushing his luck, and you respond by playfully throwing a torn-off stem at him, which he easily dodges.

rolling your eyes at him, you scoff. "i just meant all this. you're really nice to me." your voice softens towards the end, a subtle shift in tone that he notices.

"well, yeah, we're," he hesitates, the word catching in his throat, "friends." sure, he's glad that you're even that, that you tolerate his presence, but it's still disappointing, only that.

"mm, friends," you repeat, the word echoing his own slight disappointment. he wonders if that's a similar ache he hears in the tone of your voice.

"what? you fallin' for me?" he asks, playing it off as a joke, a lighthearted jab, but, god, he wishes. he so, so desperately prays that a tiny part of it is true.

"oh, shut up," you huff, but the warmth on your cheeks contradicts your words, a tell-tale flush that brings a hopeful flutter to his chest.

he tilts his head at you, intently studying the familiar sparkle in your eyes, the way they crinkle slightly at the corners when you're amused.

taking one of the remaining daisies, he gently tucks it behind your ear, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of your neck. "you should call me satoru."

"yeah? okay, then, shut up, satoru." the corners of your mouth quirk upwards, a small, knowing smile.

he plucks off the last petal. she loves me.

୨୧ ⌞ act six: stay, little valentine, stay.⌝

"i hate valentine's day, you know," you frown, slumping down in the bakery's chair. the place smells sweet, a comforting blend of buttered croissants and something faintly fruity, like berries.

"of course you would. you're single," he remarks, casually, playing with the crinkly wrapping paper of his straw.

"you're single, too, gojo."

he points a finger at you, raising his perfectly sculpted eyebrows. "yeah, but that's different. i'm at peace with it."

shoving his index finger away, you whine, "what, like you aren't sick of seeing love-sick couples sucking each other's faces off, all day?"

well, he won't admit it (to you, at least), but he's mostly just been imagining what it would be like if those love-sick couples were you two.

before he can come up with a lame excuse, an employee, a young guy with a chipped name-tag stops by, checking in to see if you need anything else. "just letting you know, it's all half-off for couples today," they say, their tone far too cheery for your liking.

you say, "oh, no, we're not—" at the exact same time gojo says, "sure. another blueberry muffin, please. two, actually."

"are you crazy?" you whisper harshly at him, leaning across the table, your eyes wide with disbelief. "we're not even a couple." unbothered, he shoves your face away, a playful flick of his wrist.

instead, he smiles brightly at mark, and audaciously winks at you. "a couple of those strawberry tarts, too. my girlfriend here has a real sweet tooth."

your voice is strained, a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. "he's exaggerating. just the muffins, please."

with a click of their pen, they're telling you that you're an adorable couple, then walking off, already distracted by another customer.

"see? adorable. i'm already winning 'em over." gojo leans back in his chair, a smug look on his face.

you shoot him a look, a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. "winning who over? the employee? or me, into wanting those things? besides, i didn't even need any."

"first, who said it was for you?" he retorts, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "second, it's half-off. it'd be a shame if we didn't take advantage of it."

"right," you laugh, shaking your head. he might be going crazy, but he's really fond of the idea that at least one person thinks you're dating. and, sure, that doesn't make it real, but it's a step closer.

"you know," he says, taking a sip of his smoothie (your smoothie, he stole it from you and you said nothing, which he considers a victory), "i think we'd make a good couple."

"oh? what makes you so sure?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

"think about it. i'm the brains, you're the… well, you're pretty good at complaining. we balance each other out," gojo claims, with a confidence that has you kicking his shin from under the table.

"ow! seriously?" he yelps, rubbing his leg.

"oh, is that your sales pitch? my top quality is complaining? how charming." you deadpan, crossing your arms.

"it's a very enthusiastic quality. plus, you'd never have to open jars again. or reach for things on high shelves. i'm basically a human step-stool with great hair." he gestures to his impeccably styled white locks.

"so, your criteria for a good relationship is purely utilitarian? i'm good for complaining and you're good for opening jars?"

"and looking good. don't forget that. i'm the eye candy. every couple needs eye candy. you can be good at appreciating my eye candy."

you fight the urge to stick a fork in his eyes. "right, because all i do is sit around and appreciate your god-given good looks."

"besides," he continues, ignoring your sarcasm, "that guy bought it. means we look pretty couple-y, right?"

you stare at him, a flat, unimpressed look on your face. "or, it means he's being paid minimum wage, and couldn't care less."

"you would know, broke ass." another swift kick, and he hisses, pouting exaggeratedly.

"excuse me?" you huff. "minimum wage or not, that man is doing his job. unlike you, who's just freeloading off my good reputation."

he nods, as if he's genuinely considering this profound statement. "good reputation? for hating valentine's day? that's quite the legacy."

defensively, you sit up straighter. "it's a very respectable stance! and i'm not broke. i just appreciate a good discount. like you, apparently, considering you just scammed a bakery employee into thinking we're an item."

he choose not to address you, taking a moment to meticulously tear the paper of the straw in half. "on the other hand," gojo says, eyes fixed on his paper dissection, "if you weren't single, you'd be far less grouchy all the time."

"you already said that," you huff, deadpan.

"it still holds true," he nods, finally looking up, a serious expression on his face.

snorting, you tilt your head up, looking at the cracks in the ceiling. "so… you're suggesting i need to get a boyfriend? are you also suggesting the boyfriend is… you? just to not be grouchy? okay, well, what if i prefer to be grouchy? what if that's, like, my thing?"

"not necessarily." he almost says yes, but catches himself. "but you should know, i'd make a gas boyfriend," he insists, puffing out his chest playfully.

"good to know," you hum, snatching your drink back. when you take a sip from exactly where he did, his heart does a little flip in his chest, a secret, happy flutter.

gojo clicks his tongue. "and, also, impossible. no one prefers to be grouchy. you're just… unfulfilled. a boyfriend would bring joy, sunshine, spontaneous acts of adoration. less frowning, more smiling."

"these are high standards to hold to yourself. or, like, this hypothetical boyfriend. also, i like the grouch. i think it's kind of like my core trait." you tap your chest, a definitive statement.

"that is such a sad, sad trait to base yourself off."

"oh, please," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "like the rich daddy's boy thing you have going on is any better."

he holds his hands up, defensive, but a grin splits his face. "well, one of us is paying for lunch, and the other isn't. you know, because she's broke." mildly offended, you kick him. again.

"hey! quit doing that. anyways, my point is, i've got all day to change your mind about valentine's."

"all day? what if i'm busy?" you challenge, a playful glint in your eye.

"nah. you wouldn't be here with me, if you had plans." he says it with absolute certainty.

he doesn't know it yet, but, yeah, even if you did have plans, you'd still ditch them for him.

୨୧ ⌞ act seven: strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you.⌝

gojo's phone died a little while back, and he has no idea what time it is. it doesn't really matter, though, not when he's walking in the dim-lit street with you, not when it feels like this moment will last forever.

he pulls you behind that same, tattered, gray building, the gas station he saw you at just a couple months ago. it looks the same, save for the dumpster that's against the bushes instead of the wall.

"oh, shit," he laughs, the sound a little breathless. "it smells rank back here."

you plop down on the familiar concrete ledge, scrunching your nose in agreement. "don't even start, you're the one who dragged me here. for your stupid matcha cravings."

pulling him down next to you, his shoulder bumps against yours. "wait, wait," you murmur, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. holding a flame to the end, you cup your hand to keep the tiny light from going out in the faint breeze.

there's an odd feeling that passes through him, not quite nostalgia, when he sees that identical stain of strawberry-colored gloss on the end your lips are over.

"remember the last time i tried to smoke one?" he asks, a small, knowing grin on his face.

"yeah," you giggle, your shoulders shaking slightly as the smoke hits your lungs. "you almost died."

he's a little flustered, denying it immediately. "i did not almost die."

"close enough, you started choking and everything. wanna try again?" you ask, holding it near him, the lit tip glowing orange in the dim light. he eyes it, then looks back at you, a challenge in his gaze.

"damn, you tryna kill me?" he teases, but his voice is softer than he intends.

you lean closer, a pretty smile on your face that makes his voice catch. "would i get your money, if i did?"

his lips part, a hesitant breath escaping him, and you slip the cigarette between them. he can faintly smell the sweetness of the red. it's barely there, a ghost of a scent, but it's enough.

"relax," you hum, your voice a low, soothing sound. "you don't need to be so tense, it's just me."

but that's the thing — it's just you. just you and him, here again, alone in the quiet hum of the night. you're so close, invading all of his senses, leaving him breathless. how is he even supposed to think straight?

he, hesitant, inhales the smoke. he lasts hardly any longer than last time, turning away and breaking into a coughing fit, his shoulders shaking with the effort.

"oh, my god," you wheeze, patting his back, a mixture of concern and amusement in your touch. "careful. you're not supposed to suck in that much. just a puff, sato." the nickname, soft and intimate, has him blushing, and he has to duck his head, hiding his flushed face.

"one more time, or are you tapped out?" you ask, your voice still laced with laughter.

"one more," he breathes, tilting his head up to take in a smaller stroke. it's easier this time, irritates his throat less. he has to clear his chest, a low rumble, but he doesn't start writhing on the floor, so it's a win.

"oh, look! you did it," you smile, your eyes sparkling, and you gently pat his cheek. he wants to respond, but all he can manage is to lean into your touch. you don't move your hand, but stay cupping his face instead, your thumb stroking his cheekbone.

"hey, pretty," he whispers, his voice thick, feeling his breath mingle with yours in the cool night air.

you scoot closer, virtually pressed flush against him, and the sudden warmth of your body sends a jolt through him. "hi." his heart is beating loudly against his ribcage, a frantic drum, and he's afraid you can hear it.

gojo watches your eyes glaze over, a hazy, soft look, and how your long lashes flutter against your skin. you clutch his shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric, and your noses brush against his. and in a moment of a burst of raw courage, he presses his lips against yours.

it's not patient, but it's still loving, desperate in its urgency. it's clumsy, rather, messy, because both of you have been waiting too long for this to happen. your teeth clash against his, a soft click, as your lips, almost silkenly soft, move against his.

he tastes the faint sweetness of strawberries, a hint of something smoky and intoxicating. his hand, warm and firm, cups the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

the other hand fixes on your waist, keeping you there, pressed flush against him, as if he fears you might disappear.

it's awkward at first, tentative, because he's all too focused on the frantic butterflies that loop through his stomach, a dizzying swarm. it's like he's never kissed another person before, like he's forgotten how to. it was like his first one. his right one.

when he pulls away, you're panting little breaths, needing air, foreheads pressed together, your eyes still hazy. gojo presses another gentle kiss to the top of your hair, his nose nuzzled there, inhaling your scent.

you taste like strawberries and cigarettes.

unofficial permanent taglist: @jeonwiixard, @mia-can-yap-too did u guys know this is the longest fic ive ever written i should get head in the gc <33 big thanku to @mia-can-yap-too for beta reading i cannot be trusted to go back and do that myself i will cry also tagging myleslover @shokocide bc ur long fics inspire me + idk how u do it but share the talent !!! gatekeeping is bad incorrect buzzer

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 9 months ago

Text

Giving the nerd a chance

tags: nerd!nanami/fem!reader, college!au, stsg, nsfw, dirty talk, asphyxiation, size kink, mdni!!

a/n: this one’s a long one :) pace yourself and enjoy!

Kento Nanami is a social enigma. He is a total outlier but in the weirdest way possible.

This man is conventionally attractive. Some would even go as far to say Nanami’s handsome, almost in a filthy way. His looks are sneaky too. He’s not someone you’d immediately notice in a room, but once you did…

You would notice his sculpted jaw line first. Then, his naturally high cheekbones that gave way to his soft hazel eyes. He had a serious look on his face always, but his eyes told a different story. Maybe you’d notice his blonde hair that sat neatly on his head, styled with an undercut. Yeah, Nanami was fucking hot.

But that’s not the weird part. No, you haven’t heard him utter a single word except to answer the professor’s unanswered questions once the silence was unbearable.

That’s not exactly weird either. There are tons of people who go through college without the intention of making friends… but Nanami has friends. He doesn’t just have like one friend. No, he’s apart of a friend group.

The weirdest part was he seemed to be close with the most popular guy in your university, star quarterback Satoru Gojo. Gojo was seemingly every college girl’s wet dream. He’s the type to stand out in a room. His looks and personality demand attention.

He’s the complete opposite from Nanami.

Then, there was Suguru Geto… Geto was also a strange friend for Nanami to have. Geto was smart, funny, and well-mannered… when he was in class. But you’ve seen how Geto acts at parties. He smokes cigarettes, shotguns whiskey, and keeps up with all of Gojo’s antics. Shoko was the exact same way, except she didn’t care enough to keep up with Gojo’s buffoonery.

They were the complete opposite from Nanami as well.

Yu Haibara was a cutie patootie. He’s also a sweet social butterfly. Another one of Nanami’s friends that just didn’t seem to be his type.

You caught yourself staring at the friend group as you’re sitting on a couch at a frat house. Your college team just won the game, so Satoru had invited a whole slew of people over. You somehow made it on that list. Your friend, Utahime, is begging you to leave, but something is telling you to stay.

“Go on without me, Uta. I’ll be fine, promise.” You say over the music as you flash her a small smile to assure her.

“I really, really, really don’t want to leave you here alone, yn. I don’t want you to end up on the front page of the news.”

“Don’t wish that shit upon me.” You laugh as you gently nudge her arm, urging her towards the door.

“I’m serious, yn. Please text me. If you’re not back in the dorm by midnight, I’m calling the cops.” She says as she grabs your shoulders, forcing you to face her directly.

You admire your friend’s caring demeanor, but she was being a total cock block for you right now.

“I will text you. I promise.” You assure her once again. “Go back to the dorm. Love you.”

She sighs deeply as she lets you go. She’s still not comfortable with the idea of leaving you here, but she can’t force you to leave. “Love you too. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Oh, that’s all I’m gonna do.” You smirk as she flips you off and leaves the frat house.

You take a drink from your red solo cup to gather your nerves. Nanami has been sitting in the corner of the kitchen all night. He’s alone, but he doesn’t look lonely. Sometimes, Satoru will drunkenly slouch his weight onto the blonde and slur something inaudible to him. From what you can see, Nanami just rolls his eyes and shrugs his friend off his shoulders.

You want to approach him, but you’re still too afraid he won’t talk to you. As you sit down your cup, an intoxicated Satoru is standing over you.

“I’m sorry- I don’t remember your name.” He gives you a slanted smile as he crouches down a bit so you two are face-to-face.

“That’s okay. I don’t remember yours either.” You snip back with a small grin. Something sparkles in his eyes as you give him a little bit of a challenge. He finds it to be endearing.

“Cheeky. Give me your number.” He demands, keeping his smirk on his face.

“Why should I give it to you?”

“Because it’s not for me.” He slurs as he leans in close to you. He nods his head towards the kitchen. “I’m doing this for my pussy friend over there.”

Your eyes dart towards Nanami. His eyes are glaring holes into Satoru with more anger and emotion than you’ve ever seen from him. Your stomach swirls with butterflies.

“That is a really good reason.” You murmur as you quickly type your number into Satoru’s phone.

*** *** ***

It had been days since the frat party and not a single word from Nanami. Your excitement had honestly fizzled out into sulking. Were you not good enough for him? Did Satoru lie? Was it all a sick prank?

Not even Utahime could get you in a good mood.

“Yn. This is so ridiculous. If you like him that much, just go up and talk to him.” She chides

“Noooo.” You groan into your pillow as you turn onto your stomach in your bed. “He’s too cool. Out of my league.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Kento Nanami? The nerd who barely ever talks? The know-it-all in class?”

“Utahimeee.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Let me wallow in my self pity.” You gripe before you hear your phone buzz. The sound of your phone notifying you doesn’t even excite you anymore. It’s always some lame ass notification.

Unknown Number: Is this yn?

Your eyes widen as you stare at your phone in disbelief. Your body involuntarily sits up in bed, startling Utahime.

“Jesus Christ. What? What happened?”

“He texted me!” You beam proudly. You are embarrassing. Utahime scoffs and walks away from you, unable to take the second-hand embarrassment.

Yn: Yeah, that’s me :)

Unknown Number: This is Kento Nanami. I’m sorry Gojo felt the need to disturb you at the party. ��

Yn: No need! He didn’t disturb me too much.

Nanami: That’s good to hear.

God. Now, what do you say? Of course Nanami is a dry texter. You stare at the text conversation for a while, trying to think of something.. anything to break the ice.

Yn: Did you ask him to get my number, or did he do that on his own volition?

Nanami: Gojo does things on his own volition.

Yn: Ah.. I see.

He left you on read.

Goddammit.

You had your chance, and now, you blew it. Sighing, you lock your phone and try to forget he even ever texted you in the first place.

*** *** ***

I mean, who even needs Nanami? He’s really not even that handsome or mysterious. You keep telling yourself as you get ready to go to another party Gojo invited you too.

Oh, also, Gojo kept your number for himself as well. He mostly asked to copy your notes when Nanami refused to let him copy his notes. He would also send the occasional invitation to one of his signature parties.

This one was apparently labeled as “exclusive”. You had no idea what that meant, but you weren’t allowed to bring a plus-one this time.

Luckily for you, Utahime was visiting back home for the weekend, so she couldn’t scold you for going out to another party this weekend.

Black eyeliner was smeared across your waterline, and you puckered your lips as you carefully applied some sheer gloss. You decided to be casual with your outfit, wearing a basic off-shoulder black top with some jeans.

As soon as you got to the frat house, you quickly understood what “exclusive” meant. It was only their closest friends in the house. Satoru and Haibara were on the couch, lounging. Suguru and Shoko were sitting by the window, sharing a cigarette. Nanami was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, looking as stoic as ever. Immediately, you were grateful for going with a more casual look.

“Yn! So glad you made it!” Satoru grinned in a more sober voice than the last time you spoke with him.

“Am I imposing on something?” You ask as you close the door.

“Of course not, silly. I sent you an invite for a reason.” Satoru says casually as he pats the spot between him and Haibara on the couch. “Come have a seat. Get comfortable. We’re just hanging out tonight.”

You stare at the seat between Gojo and Haibara, and you decide to sit in the open chair next to them instead.

“Afraid that we might bite?” Gojo grins as he leans over the arm of the chair towards you.

“Stop it, Satoru. You’re going to scare her away.” Shoko scolds before taking a drag off her cigarette.

Your phone gently buzzes in your pocket as Satoru and Shoko begin to bicker about his social skills. You sneakily check your phone.

Nanami: You look pretty tonight.

OH. We are so back, baby.

Yn: Thank you :) You look as handsome as ever.

Nanami: Oh yeah?

It is so small and insignificant, but that little “oh yeah?” makes your stomach flutter with excitement.

“Yn?” You snap your attention up to Shoko and realize she has been trying to talk to you.

“Shit- sorry. What’s up?”

Your phone lightly buzzes again, and you quickly glance down to check.

Nanami: You’re blushing.

“I was asking what your major is.” Shoko smiles calmly as she’s sat upon the windowsill. She flicks her cigarette outside before blowing out a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore how your heart is skipping beats right now.

“Oh, I’m just in general studies right now. I’m kind of indecisive. What about you?”

“I’m pre-med right now.” Shoko answers.

“I thought you swapped to nursing.” Haibara asks as he shifts his body to face her. The two start conversing together, giving you a chance to check your phone.

Nanami: Are you ill, or do my words just affect you that much?

Yn: I’m actually ill.

Nanami: You’re also apparently a liar, sweetheart.

How the fuck was this man so bold over text, but wouldn’t speak to hardly anyone in person?

Yn: Sweetheart? I didn’t know we were on that sort of level yet.

Nanami: Does that make you uncomfortable?

Yn: No

Nanami: Good. Then don’t complain.

The throb your cunt just did should’ve been illegal. There was no reason for you to be so turned on by that, but you were.

Yn: What would you have done had I said that it did make me uncomfortable?

Nanami: I would’ve found you a nickname you were more comfortable with.

He was being sweet, and you were over there clenching around nothing like a whore.

You had been so caught up in your phone that you didn’t realize Yu had went and gotten everyone a beer out of the fridge. You decide to risk a glance at Nanami. He looked calm and composed. You wondered if he even knew the effect he had on you truly.

“Shoko, when are you finally going to get some bitches?” Satoru asks with a laugh. Your eyes widen as you notice Suguru is on his lap now. You had really been so distracted by your phone…

“At this rate, I think Nanami will beat me.” Shoko laughed as she took a drink of her beer. You shift slightly in your seat as Shoko cuts her eyes towards you with a small grin.

Nanami: I will

Yn: Will what?

Nanami: I will beat her.

Yn: Confident or competitive?

Nanami: Both.

Yn: You didn’t strike me as the type.

Nanami: You don’t think I can do it?

Yn: I never said that.

Nanami lays his phone on his lap, and you can feel his eyes trailing up and down your body. Feeling your heart skip a beat, you decide to look up at him. Your breath hitches in your throat as you glance over him. He looks relaxed. His head is propped up in his hand, and he’s almost giving you a lazy smile.

Knowing more about Nanami, you recognize it as a cocky smile now.

The rest of the “party” goes without a hitch. You decided it was time to leave once Suguru and Satoru were obnoxiously making out, Shoko was asleep on the floor, and Haibara wouldn’t shut the fuck up about the intricacies of anime.

“I’m gonna head back to my dorm now. Thanks for inviting me.” You say quickly as you stand from your seat.

“Hey yn-!” Satoru says as he tugs from Suguru’s lips. The dark-haired male made quick work of moving down to his neck. “Thanks for coming. You should come out here more often.”

“Oh um, I’ll think about it.” You smile politely as you head out the front door. The cold night air nips at your skin. The only light was from the moon high up in the sky. The dorms were a few blocks away.

You never like walking alone at night, but you try to remember that college campuses have security patrolling at all times. Taking a deep shaky breath, you step off the porch.

The sound of the door closing again immediately startles you. You quickly flinch and look towards the frat house. Nanami was calming walking up to you.

“Let me walk you back.” His voice was calm and steady, just like his presence. He really wasn’t phased at all by your subtle flirting earlier?

“Thanks.. I was actually kinda scared.” You mumble as you two walk side by side on the pavement. Your arms hug your body, trying to hide from the snippy air.

“Why didn’t you ask one of us to walk you home then?” Nanami asks as he slips his coat off from his shoulders. He then loosely drapes it over your shoulders. You feel your heart skip a beat as you mumble a quick thanks. Your body snuggled into his coat as it swallowed your frame whole. It was the first time you realized… Nanami is a big man. He’s not just some scrawny nerd. He’s actually pretty well built.

“I didn’t want to be a bother.” You answer quietly, noticing how Nanami shoves his hands into his pockets while you two walk.

“That’s foolish. We invited you. The least we could do is make sure you make it home safely.”

“We?”

Nanami goes silent, and he looks away from your shorter self. The wind blows harshly, making the leaves crinkle and hiss on the trees.

“Yes, we.” He finally answers your question. You smile softly as you look down towards the ground. It seems like Satoru wasn’t the only one who wanted you around.

Standing in front of your dorm door, you slowly slip the coat off from around your shoulders and try to hand it back to him. “I don’t want it.” He answers calmly, making no effort to take the jacket back from you.

“It’s yours, silly.”

“And?”

“Take it.” You gestured the coat to him once more

“No, I want you to have it.” He says as he towers over you. You subconsciously take a step back to create space, and your back hits the door. He leans over you, having to angle his back to see eye-to-eye with you. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over your cheek as he cocks his head towards your ear and neck. “Text me.” He murmurs lowly before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You were left against your door blushing madly as he casually sauntered away.

*** *** ***

You almost think you dreamt that kiss up come Monday morning. You hadn’t texted him all weekend, not even knowing what to say. You felt scared about messing things up and taking his advances the wrong way. He hadn’t reached out to you either.

You were sitting in Neurology, half-ass paying attention as the professor lectured about neuron pruning. Nanami sat a few rows over. He always appeared to he intently listening when you glance over at him. You perk up as you feel your phone buzz on your thigh.

Nanami: You’re not going to do well if you don’t pay attention.

Yn: I could say the same for you.

Nanami: Could you?

Yn: …. point taken

Nanami: You know, you could’ve at least texted me if you didn’t like the kiss.

Yn: Who said I didn’t?

Nanami: So, you disobey my request for fun?

Yn: Disobey is such a strong word. You told me to text you, and I just.. haven’t yet.

Nanami: We’ll come back to the disobedience topic. Why haven’t you texted me “yet”?

Yn: Nervous.

Nanami: You’re adorable. What’s there to be nervous about?

“Can anyone name an example of synaptic pruning?” The professor’s sudden loud voice catches you off guard. You hadn’t been paying attention at all, and you feel your heart start to race at the thought of being randomly called upon.

“Anyone?” The professor asks once again. “Yn-“ She almost says your first name before Nanami interrupts.

“Crown thinning.” He answers the question, saving you from total embarrassment.

“Very good. Thank you, Kento.” The professor praises as she turns back around to start lecturing from the powerpoint again.

Yn: You totally just saved me.

Nanami: Pay better attention.

Yn: Then stop texting me.

Nanami: No.

Nanami: Answer my question. Why were you nervous?

Yn: I just didn’t want to say the wrong things.

Nanami: You’re hopeless.

Yn: You’re starting to sound like Utahime :(

Nanami: Will you coo to me that you love me if I act like her?

You feel your heart start to race as you read his text over and over. He was way more observant than you gave him credit for. You couldn’t even think of a time where you told Uta that you loved her in front of him.

Yn: Is that what you want?

Nanami: That does sound nice. Though, I think I’d rather hear you breathlessly professing your love to me.

oh…

oh.

You sat your phone down. No way were you going to let some simple words over a screen let you get horny in class. You didn’t dare to glance in his direction as you suddenly decided to start paying attention and taking detailed notes on Neurology.

Nanami: You’re blushing again.

Damn him and his observant personality. Damn him and his filthy words that make you squeeze your thighs together to soothe the ache.

Yn: I’m well aware.

Nanami: It’s cute. Makes me want to say more things just to get a reaction out of you.

Yn: Please don’t

Nanami: Why? Scared you might like it?

Nanami: Scared you might like the thought of being beneath me, begging for more?

Jesus. There was no misinterpreting that. You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you stared down at your phone, rereading his message over and over. It painted a picture in your brain.

Yn: As if you could make me do that.

Nanami: I can, and I will. Come over tonight.

Yn: To the frat house?

Nanami: No, to my room. I’ll tell Haibara to not come back until late.

Yn: That seems rather rude.

Nanami: It’s far better than the treatment you’ll be receiving later.

Your head feels like it’s spinning as the professor dismisses class. The rest of the day drags by painfully slow as you feel every little heartbeat and flutter in your chest. Nanami talked big game for someone who seemed too shy to really speak to you. It made you feel intrigued. How could he be so confident in his ability to make you beg?

You took your time once you were back at your dorm: going through your everything-shower routine. You wanted to make sure that every inch of you was soft and smooth just in case! It’s not like he’s actually going to make you do anything.

Knocking on his door, you feel your stomach churn with anxiety. You two seemed to be doing better at keeping up a conversation, but you were still deathly afraid of that awkward silence sinking in.

The click of the lock gains your attention, and Nanami opens the door for you. “Come in.” He says flatly, moving out of the way of the door so you can squeeze past him. He’s wearing his usual button-up shirt with black slacks on. How does this man even relax?

Of course his room is completely clean. His bed was even made military style for crying out loud. What the fuck does this man know about making women beg?

“Your room is nice.” You compliment, trying not to sound too awkward.

“It’s a room.” He shrugs nonchalantly before his eyes travel your body.

“How did you tell Haibara not to come home?” You ask, and he gives you a slightly puzzled look.

“I told him the truth.” He says as he loosens his tie from around his neck.

You swallow harshly as you watch his slender fingers pull at the fabric. His jaw is perfectly sculpted along with his neck, and his adams apple bobs as he steps towards you.

“Which is?” You reluctantly ask.

“I told him not to come home unless he planned on watching me fuck a pretty girl to tears.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you stare up at him with almost a frightened gaze. His movement feels much more predatory now as if he’s been watching you for a while, sizing you up. He had observed and stood by, waiting for the prime opportunity to pounce.

“What is it? Cat got your tongue?” Nanami asks as he steps forward again. The back of your knees hits his bed, and his smile shifts to a lopsided grin.

“No. I just…” You had no idea what to even say to that! You weren’t use to a man so confidently bolstering about his skills without sounding like a total idiot. Nanami was a rarity. He could talk the talk and walk the walk.

“No. I just..” He mocks you. “You’re awfully nervous for someone I haven’t even touched yet.” His fingers gently caress over your collarbone, before he carefully nudged you back. You tipped over and found yourself sitting on his bed, looking up at him with big round eyes.

“Christ. Have you ever even done this before?” He asks as he leans over you. His hand press down on the mattress at both of your sides, effectively trapping you beneath him.

“Yes!” You exclaim with a huffy attitude that makes him chuckle. “Have you?” You ask, trying to even the score.

“No.” He responds before closing the distance between you two. His lips press against yours and move delicately. Your eyes widen before you realize what was going on, and you slowly melt into the kiss.

Lips smack together as he takes the lead on the kiss. His hands gently cup and caress their way down your body before resting upon your hips. His knee finds it’s way between your thighs, and he applies pressure to your core.

Stifling a small whine, you entangle your fingers through his blonde hair. It’s softer than you imagined it to be. His kisses are growing more and more demanding as he’s pushing you back onto the bed more and more.

He gently bites at your lip, and he applies more pressure with his knee. As soon as you let another another small whimper, he slips his tongue into your mouth.

He’s taking complete and utter advantage over your body while you’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact he said “no”. He’s claiming to have never done this before.

His thumbs dig into your hipbones before he makes you grind against his knee.

“That’s right. Use me.” He purrs lowly, encouraging for you to keep rolling your hips. Once you found a steady rhythm, rubbing yourself against his knee like a desperate slut, he releases your hips and grabs your wrists, pinning you down to the bed.

“Ken..” You gasp out lowly, and he immediately eats up your words, forcing his lips right back upon yours.

The grinding was slowly making you feel all dizzy in the head as you slowly start to mess up your rhythm. He immediately notices your messy state. His hands leave your wrists to grab back ahold of your thighs to make sure you don’t stop. If his slacks weren’t black, he was sure there would be a small damp spot on his leg from your delicious juices.

“Hah~” You gasp as you lean your head back.

“Does that feel good?” He questions lowly before carefully nipping at your neck.

“Yes… Yes, Kento.. more..”

“Oh, what was that, darling? I didn’t hear you.” He taunts as he bites his way down your neck.

“M-more!” You whimper out as you grow impatient.

“So greedy…” He murmurs before his sucks a small hickey on your neck all while he’s still making you grind your pitiful pussy against his thigh. “Beg.”

You feel that defiant nature wanting to kick in. You were needy for him, but you weren’t to the point of begging yet.

“Did you hear me? I said beg.” He demands as he forces you down on his leg harder. Your legs tremble around him as he’s making you rock hack and forth.

“Please-“ You finally choke out against your defiant nature. “I-I.. want more, please… I need you to.. to ruin me.”

“Ruin you, hm?” He asks as his hand carefully trails upwards to your neck. He applies just a bit of pressure. “A pretty girl like you asking for me to ruin her… How could I say no?”

He removes his leg from between your leg, and he quickly replaces it with his hand. His fingers rub firm circles around your clit through the cloth of your leggings. You immediately shudder from the new stimulation. You hold his gaze as he lightly chokes you.

“I think I want to see you come on my fingers first.” He says as he’s quick to shove your leggings and panties down. You gasp quietly as you look down at him. He shuffles himself down between your legs, and he has a determined look on his face. He was set on making you come with his hand.

You push your thighs together with a small whine as he gives your glistening cunt an amorous gaze. Nanami places his hands on both of your knees as he forces your legs back apart. “Now, you know why you came here. What are you running from?”

“I- … You’re looking at me like…” the words ‘like you want to eat me’ die upon your tongue. His aura is just so.. almost intimidating. Not in a scary way, just in a he’s-not-here-to-play way.

“You’re so pretty, but gods, you’re so confusing.” He shakes his head as he carefully drags his tongue up your slippery folds. “Just sit still and let me take care of you, darling.” He mumbles before he laps at your cunt again. He purses his lips and gently sucks on your clit. It almost feels like he’s making out with your pussy.

“Oh.. f-fuck..” You gasp as you lean your head back into his mattress. Your hands fist at the blanket beneath you, ruining his perfectly made bed.

Nanami continues to lick and suck. The sounds in the room were nothing short of erotic. The wet sounds of his lips and tongue smack and almost slurp at you. His hands hold your thighs up, practically wearing them as earmuffs as he eats you like a starved man.

His fingertip gently traced over your opening before he carefully slipped a finger in. He continued to lap at your cunt as his finger pumped in and out and prodded around.

“Oh my-! .. N-Nanami.. ah~” You pant out. In his eyes, your entire body was flushed. You were so subtly grinding yourself against his tongue. In his eyes, you were a goddess in touch with her sexuality and femininity. You just needed a small nudge to get there.

He adds a second finger, and he so carefully curls them upwards to gently press right on the spot that made you see stars.

Your hands abandoned the bed, and you grabbed onto his hair. His hazel eyes flutter up at you, and his glasses were pushed up onto his head.

Your orgasm was building quicker than it ever had before. “Nanami-! fuck, I’m gonna..” You try to warn, but he’s already a step ahead of you. His fingers start pumping a big more aggressively, and he’s pointed with his tongue, focusing all his attention on your clit. His tongue swirls in tight circles around the small bundle of nerves.

Your orgasm washes over you as you clench around his fingers, spasming on his face. He continues to thrust his fingers, letting you ride out your orgasm on his face and hand. Pressing a few more small kisses to your overly sensitive cunt, he slowly pulls away. “Good girl.” He praises lowly.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you recover from the best orgasm you’ve ever received. Your eyes flutter open weakly to see Nanami ditch his glasses. He uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth and chin dry.

He then places the fingers he so deliciously used to fuck you into his mouth, and he sucks them clean with a satisfied groan.

“You taste so sweet.” He mumbles as he slowly unbuttons his shirt. It falls to the floor as he starts to unbuckle his belt. You can already feel your arousal building up again as you see the absolute tent in his slacks. Of course the nerd was absolutely hung.

Without another word, his pants and boxers are on the ground. His dick stood hard at attention. It was too heavy to press all the way up towards his stomach. Speaking of stomach, he was absolutely fucking built. He had well-defined solid abs and a broad chest.

You watch carefully as he fists his length a few times. You admire the way the veins bulge from his hands and arms. He wastes no more time: climbing up on top of you. He guides your legs up onto his shoulders, and he leans forward, putting you in a mating press.

His hand suddenly covers your mouth. “Spit.” He orders bluntly.

“W-what-?”

“I didn’t stutter. Spit. Unless you want me to go in dry.”

The thought of that sounded like a nightmare, so you gathered as much saliva into your mouth as you could, and you spat into his hand.

He doesn’t look phased in the slightest as he lubes himself up with your spit. He lets out a soft breath as the wet sounds of him gliding his hand up and down his cock fill the room. He then wipes his hand off on the bed, and he covers your mouth tightly with his hand. “Try not to be too loud, darling. I don’t want anyone to come and bother us.”

He was so fucking confident that he was going to make you noisy. It almost pissed you off, but Nanami was a man of his word.

He aligned himself up with your entrance, and with one deep motion, he buried himself all the way to the hilt. You let out a silent scream into his hand, and your back arches up off the bed. His eyes darken as he lets out a guttural growl.

Your cunt was just too precious to him, squeezing him so perfectly. You were absolutely sopping wet and so goddamn warm. He actually had to bite his tongue to not come prematurely. Once he tasted the hint of metal in his mouth, the urge to finish subsided.

“Shhh, shh. Be a good girl. The pain will subside soon.” He assures you quietly as his hips gently rock back and forth shallowly.

“Mmmnnf~ K-kento!” You moan into his hand. He hates having to muffle your pretty noises, but he really can’t risk getting a noise complaint right now.

“That’s right, darling.. Take it..” His hips start to roll with a bit more conviction. His thrusts are slow but powerful. Each time he buried himself deep in you, you went all dizzy in the head.

“Oh fuck, you’re so pretty like this.” He praises as his other hand holds one of your thighs up for you. Your body is almost slack from how harsh his hips are snapping into you. His leaking tip was bruising your cervix with each brutal thrust.

Nanami wishes he could take a picture right now. Your eyes are all glossed over. Your face is flushed the prettiest shade of pink, and your lips are all puffy and slightly parted. Your babbling utter nonsense as your greedy pussy takes him in with each thrust.

“F-fuck..! So big.. can feel you right here~” You moan as you point towards your lower stomach.

Nanami looks to where you’re pointing, and as if this man needed anymore courage, he begins to fuck you harder.

Plap! Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Yeah? Y’feel me in your womb, darling?” He groans. Noise complaint can be damned. He lets your mouth go and grabs your hips as he continues to pound your pretty pussy.

Tears involuntarily spring into your eyes from the sheer intensity. When Nanami said he was going to fuck you to tears, you thought it was just a figure of speech. Nah, you were lying in his bed, crying because the dick was so good.

“Look at me.” He demands as he grabs your blushed cheek and forces you to look up at him. “This pussy’s mine from now on, understand me?”

“Y-yes!” You cry out to him. Your stomach starts to coil with white hot pleasure as your orgasm builds up again.

“Tell me you love me when you cum on my cock.” He demands lowly. You’re too fucked stupid to argue.

The bed squeaks and wails in agony as he his thrusts are growing more erratic and sloppy. You could feel him getting closer and closer to his release as he gets more vocal and noisier too.

Your eyes cross as you feel your body gyrate on him. Your second orgasm crashes over you so suddenly you didn’t even have time to warn him. Your soul nearly floats away from you as you feel warm juices flood out from you. “Fuck~.. I-.. I love you, Nanami!” You whimper out. In the heat of the moment, it does feel like love.

Such pure pretty words being uttered during such a lewd time. Nanami is instantly emptying himself into you. His dick throbs as he shoots ribbon after ribbon of cum inside of you. His hands are shaking as they hold onto your hips. “Ngh.. I love you, darling. Take it.. All of it. Don’t waste a drop.” He lowly growls.

The room is quiet as both of you pant softly. After a few moments, you realize you had professed a love to him that you weren’t even sure about. Yes, Nanami was attractive physically and mentally. Sure, he was apparently a god in bed, but love???

What if he wasn’t even being serious when he told you to say that? He probably didn’t even mean it when he said it back. What if you made things weird? Is that why he’s being so silent?

Nanami leans down and presses a small kiss to your forehead. “That was intense. Are you alright, darling?” He asks affectionately.

You nod weakly, not wanting to frustrate him with your insecure thinking style.

“Are you sure? I’m not only talking about physically.” He murmurs softly as he slowly allows for your thighs to slip down to around his hips. His hand carefully strokes your cheek.

“I told you I love you..” You murmur out quietly, avoiding his gaze.

He exhales softly in amusement. “You did do that. It was very sexy. Do you regret saying it?”

“I.. I don’t know.” You confess quietly. “You said it back too…”

“I did. Seeing your body in such a vulnerable state as you were trusting me with your very essence made me feel full with love.”

You look up at him as he just said the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard.

“I don’t think I regret it.”

“I’m glad. I don’t regret it either.” He smiles and presses another small kiss to your temple.

*** *** ***

“Was that really your first time?” You giggle as the hot water coats your body. Nanami’s fingers are attentively massaging shampoo into your scalp.

“It really was.” He laughs quietly. “Why is it so hard to believe.”

“You were too good for a virgin.”

“I’m glad my darling thinks so.” He smiles and carefully leans your head back, so the water can rinse the shampoo from your hair.

“Where did you even learn that stuff from?” You ask curiously, wondering if Nanami just had a secret raging porn addiction.

“I have the horniest friend group. They don’t understand the concept of too much information.”

Ah. That makes sense.

tags: @lemonlimecrystal-blog

#jjk #jjk fanfic #fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #drabble #jjk suggestive #jjk smut #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami smut #nanami kento #nanami x reader #smut drabble

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madamechrissy · 23 days ago

Text

Figure You Out

art in the center by @ahresprite!!

pairings - Satoru Gojo x F! reader

contents/warnings- College AU, Reader and Toru are both nerds tbh, FLUFFY and sweet, some sexual tension, lots of unspoken feelings, so fkn cute I'm sick aha, Gojo playing the guitar while you're studying, kissing, light smut so MDNI- fingering, orgasms, both you and Toru are down bad virgins and stay that way for now hehe - friends to future lovers?

the Gojo guitar art has been fkn me UP so here's a lil short oneshot of them being fucking adorable and Gojo composing a song for reader- 3k wc

Satoru is playing the guitar softly in the corner of your room, leaned back in your bright pink gamer chair, the sight is as cute as you'd imagine, his lanky big body laughable in comparison. And he's playing the only song you think he knows - Wonderwall. You've heard it about eighty seven times this week, but you never ever will get tired of it.

You're exhausted from your studies, your hair is in a messy excuse for a bun falling down, you have bags under your eyes, and Satoru is just watching you as he sits across from you in your dorm room, playing softly and smiling a bit. You smile back sleepily, the two of you have been friends since high school, and you both frequently study together.

Satoru is so smart, however, he barely studies and just aces everything he does, whereas you are smart but bust your ass for those sort of grades. You haven't slept for shit with finals coming up, and here he is, long fingers strumming that guitar, as you listen with a sigh, putting down your thick textbook for just a moment.

"Is that a different song, Satoru?" You ask softly, leaning back then, he eyes your thighs as your pleated skirt rises up just a bit, willing his heart to calm down.

There's something so sexy about you like this, those dark circles just fucking suit you, the disarray of your messy band tee all torn up - your comfort shirt when you study - and the scattered books all over just fit you. You're kind of a beautiful mess, honestly, busting your ass so hard, he'd love to just make you feel better.

In every way.

You've always just been his friend, maybe the guitar and the endless versions of Wonderwall were a way to distract himself, to keep fingers occupied that would die to trace up the gentle curve of your neck. He barely composes himself as you repeat his name softly, realizing you've asked a question.

"It is, did you think I only played Wonderwall? rude," his little pout makes you giggle, as does his narrowing blue eyes. "I am composing a song, missy."

"You are? I wanna hear it." You lay down on the floor now, on your tummy with your ankles propped up and crossed, resting your chin in your hand.

"Shouldn't we be studying?" He asks, raising a brow as you tilt your head and look at him, so pretty for a moment he gets nervous.

The song he's composing is for you.

"I wanna hear it, please? I need a break, look at me." You frown, undoing the bun and letting your messy hair fall across your shoulders. The sight almost does him in.

How long has he loved you?

"All right," he smiles a bit, so cute always you think.

How long have you loved him?

It feels like forever, since freshman year when you and all of both of your friends joined high school, Nanami, Shoko, Haibara, Geto and... Gojo of course. The six of you were as close as it got, the memories endless, and now you're all in college together, and the fear of not seeing Gojo in particular grips at your heart.

Maybe it's why you always ask him over, it's not that he helps you study so much as you love him around. He's so handsome - fuck he's pretty actually, he has a whole fan club that gathers around him when he starts playing that damn Wonderwall again in the pretty field in front of the university. Gojo eats up the attention, always, but you know you're the only one that gets the private show.

He starts to play something softer, slower, you watch long fingers strumming the frets of his old acoustic guitar- gosh he's had it since high school - mesmerized for a moment. When his lips part and his thin white brows go together in concentration, he begins to sing just a bit, something you've never heard.

A little hoarse and raspy, and a tiny bit off key, it's probably the sexiest thing you've ever heard, as he looks at you with those swirling blue storms that he calls eyes, as he sings to you. You almost feel like the song is for you, and only you. Maybe it's foolish, as you sit up now, on your knees, hands on your bare thighs, looking at him.

The sight makes him fumble the strings, makes his heart race and pound in his chest, those plush lips parting just so as he gathers more courage, to tell you with his song what he's never spoken. The love he has for the girl sitting right here in front of him, the only girl for him.

"Satoru, that's so beautiful," you realize you're emotional, as he ends the song slowly, clearing his throat and blushing. You then realize you're crying. He puts down his guitar, getting down on the floor with you then, cupping your face in his hand. "Sorry, maybe I'm tired, I'm usually not one to cry randomly."

"You're exhausted," he murmurs caringly, rather than teasing you like he usually does, a thumb swiping away a tear. "You're studying too much, too hard."

"I can't disappoint everyone." Your words hurt him then, for you this is a huge scholarship, your family back home is counting on you to do big things, Satoru has his own pressure, but he sees how hard you always work.

"You don't disappoint anyone, how could you?" His words and the way he looks at you, the way the lights of your dorm hit his white locks and show just a hint of lavender in them, they do you in.

Maybe you're just tired, maybe you're just exhausted of lying to yourself, of being afraid, maybe you're past giving a fuck if he knows how you feel. You lean up then, a hand over the soft silk of his white dress shirt, more expensive than a meal card for the year. He falters, and you feel his heart quicken under your palm.

"Satoru," you whisper his name, and your pulse quickens as you lean even closer. Everything fades away, the stress of the week with finals coming up, the pressure you're under, it's all just focused on pouty, glossy lips inviting you in.

"Sweets, you're very close, and if you don't back up looking like that right now..."

"Looking like shit?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "There's not been one day I've known you where you don't just look beautiful."

Now the words are out of his mouth, you both flush, cheeks burning as your breaths come faster. "Are you saying that to-"

"It's the truth. Messy hair," he brushes it back, feeling the tangles in his fingers, as your tummy clenches with desire. "dark circles," his cool fingers press against them gently, "this shirt you've had since I known you that's falling apart..."

He brushes his hands across it now, tattered with holes and just hanging on by threads, brushing the sides of your breasts and moaning softly when he sees the nipples press up. You bite back an embarrassing moan from that, eyes locking with his then, as he draws them away.

"Nothing makes you less beautiful, maybe you're even hotter like this," you giggle, shaking your head, tears falling for what reason you're not even sure. "I'm serious."

"What'd I do to deserve a friend like you?" you lean even closer, cupping his face now, as your breaths meld together, his is so sweet, like the candies he always sucks on, his hands now pressing against the small of your back.

"You're very lucky, hearing my exclusive song. The girls all over this campus would be very jealous." You smile again, feeling his touch slip under your tee, and send shivers up your spine.

"They'd be more jealous if..." you press a hesitant kiss to his lips, feeling him tense then. You pull back, flushed and overheated, breaths coming quicker. "Sorry, I-"

"No," he drags you against him, kissing you firmly, lips pressing against yours, moaning softly as he presses you so close. You gasp at it, and his tongue slips in, making you heat up everywhere. You're trembling with how much you need him, your arms wrapping his neck as you start meeting his kiss.

He shocks you when he just lifts you up, and you're straddling his lap then, you feel him, hard and thick against you, making you gasp at the sensation. You pull back, both breathless, his fingers pressing into your hips, and he drags your heat across his cock right over his jeans, the rough denim pressing against the soaked cotton of your panties.

"Satoru..." You whisper his name, and he kisses you again, moaning softly, a hand slipping up your spine to entangle in your messy locks, and you rock your hips, feeling more and more of him. "Mnh..."

"Fuck, I need to stop," he pulls back and gasps for a breath, and you look down.

"I'm sorry-"

"No, just... I've thought of this too many times for like six fucking years now. And I think I'll really do a terrible job if we..."

"You've thought about it?" You ask softly, eyes locking again, he sees your swollen lips, your dilated eyes, and it makes him throb under his boxers for you.

Maybe if he could go jerk off once or twice he could please you, but he's close to cumming from inhaling your sweet scent, feeling your heat on his cock. He nods, swallowing then, that prominent adam's apple bobbing up and down as he rests his head on yours for a moment, exhaling.

"Every day., the words are hoarse, forced, and you roll your hips again, making him suck in a breath, glaring. "If you make me cum in my new pair of jeans I'll be so fucking mad."

"Satoru!" You're giggling now, and he scowls as you wiggle some more.

"You're a brat." You stop your giggles when he drags you off him, and you pause for just a moment, breathless before he's laying you on the soft carpet of your floor, braced over you. You two look at each other, so much left unsaid still, your hand trails down his hard chest, his strong muscles, when he grips your wrist firmly.

"Let me touch you, please?" He whines out at it, shaking his head again. "I've never tried. I've never wanted to with anyone else."

"Never wanted to?" He looks at you curiously, and you blush, looking down at where he's got your delicate wrist in his huge hand. "Have you never..." you shake your head nervously.

"Have you?" He blushes again, shaking his head, and your eyes widen. "How... you're... really?"

"I've never wanted to with anyone but you." His soft declaration has you melting, both of your breaths coming quicker together. "Doesn't mean I haven't researched it."

"Researched it?" You moan softly as he pins down a wrist, pressing his weight on that elbow as his other hand slips down your body, pressing up on his knee then.

"Extensively," he touches your nipple over your shirt, before slipping lower, down the curve of your waist and hips, then to your thighs, slipping up one carefully as you whine out. "Should I show you what I've learned?"

You nod quickly, he smiles just a bit, touching you right over your panties, and you whine out, hips lifting. "Toru..."

"God, you're soaked," his words are not that of some virgin, they're far too fucking sexy, brushing the wetness that's gathered on your panties then, before tugging them to the side, long fingers calloused from the guitar sliding up your slit. "Fuck..."

"Mmnh!" Your free hand slides into his hair, carding through the silky, thick strands to tug him closer, lips against yours again as he finds your soppy little hole, teasing a finger inside. "Please..."

"You're so tight, so wet... so hot..." he's throbbing in his pants, leaking sticky precum as he slips his finger in your gummy walls, gripping him so goddamn good he can't stand it. "Sweetheart... you're so perfect."

You're kissing him again, feeling how long and thick his finger is inserted inside of you, much longer than your tiny, pathetic fingers can hit, he presses up on that spot then, the one you've never hit. You cry out, gushing down his finger, and Satoru groans at it, curling that spot again.

"I've researched thoroughly for this moment," he teases softly, blue eyes so bright it hurts to look at, squelching wetness loud in your little room while he fingers you right on the floor. "G spot is here, does it feel good baby?"

You nod eagerly, and he moans, kissing you again and angling his arm just so, slotting that finger in and out of your cunt over and over now, curling inside as you feel the pressure growing. You're soaking him, tummy pressure building and building, you're gasping out at it, thighs shaking around his hand.

"Satoru, it feels s'good," you whisper, tired eyes rolling back in your skull, when he slips a second in, and brings your attention back, his pretty face flushed. "Oh!"

"Too much?" You shake your head, the stretch is perfect, he's scissoring them in and out of you so deep, moving them up and down. "Can you cum f'me, pretty girl?"

"Fuck..." you're one step away from just blurting out you love him, biting down on your lip and whining out.

"Can you? Be a good girl, say yes," where is nerdy, silly Satoru right now? He's pure sex, hovering so fucking big over you, as your hand entwines with one of his, your other clinging to his expensive shirt, nodding. "Words, sweetheart."

"Yes, please..." he moans at that, kissing you and curling them up just so, heel of his hand grinding your needy little clit, having you cum all over him, you scream into his lips, drooling as your cunt gushes arousal all over his fingers. He moans at feeling it, as you're pulsing around his thick digits, the sounds filthy as your lips collide.

He sucks in every cry and whine as he feels you convulsing, his thumb brushing your twitchy clit and pushing your from one orgasm into another. He can't take it when he pulls back, watching your back arch, feeling you cumming again, making a mess of his hand, down to his fucking wrists, dripping across your pretty thighs.

He's whining when he feels it, he could almost cum here, but he wills his cock to listen to reason - that when he finally has the love of his life cumming on his fingers that would so not be okay. He closes his eyes for just a moment as you're shaking, cunt gushing more and more arousal, so fucking much, when he slips his fingers out with a suctioned, loud pop.

"Oh my god... Toru..." you whisper his name, face fucked out already, just making him wonder what it will be like to sink inside you for the first time. He sighs, pulling those fingers to his lips and sucking you off them, moaning as he tastes you, your mouth drops open, face decorated in the prettiest blush. "Are you..."

"Mmm, you're so sweet," his soft whisper has you burying your face against his chest, he chuckles. "You're cute."

"You just tasted me!" He laughs again, tilting your chin up, kissing you softly, his arousal dripping on his lips, making you whine out softly, as your aftershocks rock you.

"You taste so good, don't you?" You nod nervously, when he fixes your panties carefully, but not before taking a good look at your pretty pussy, knowing he's about to jerk off to it when he gets back. "The song, it's for you."

"It is?" He helps you sit, nodding and tugging you against his chest, his cock straining and aching, but he knows now you're not experienced and he wants to reassure you.

You melt into his embrace, tears against his neck. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

"It was so good, fuck. Sorry." He smiles in relief as you kiss up his neck, letting him hold you tightly. "It's for me?"

"Of course it is," he acts like you should just know, you can't stop the pounding in your heart. "You need a nap, you know. To rest a bit, you're working too hard."

"Will you um... nap with me?" You ask softly, he tenses, because god his dick just fucking hurts, but he sure wouldn't turn down holding the girl he's in love with.

"Of course I can." He is soon in your little twin bed, lanky body taking it over, tugging you against him, and you smile and snuggle, the exhaustion starting to set in as he strokes your hair.

"I really like the song, I never got tired of Wonderwall though." You tease, he chuckles then, burying his face against your neck and tugging you close.

"Good, I'll keep playing it for you."

"And the new one?"

"Mmhmm. Get some sleep."

Everything changed that day, the two of you falling into a comfortable nap, hoping soon you'll have the courage to say how you really feel.

This was so fluffy for me, I needed it after the angst I've been fucking with. Hope you enjoyedddd

perm tags - @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent

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saatorus · 21 days ago

Text

remember when?

pairing — satoru gojo x reader

synopsis — while cleaning the attic, you stumble across photos of your husband from his school days.

wc — 5.2k

warnings — mentions of scars (au where satoru survives shinjuku showdown), angst but in the yearning way, so much fluff, husbandjo, domesticity, not proofread! i also made hc's behind some of the photos hehe

author's note — the new illustrations from the jjk movie completely broke me :( so i had to whip up a little something from the jjk fold of my brain.

It was just some random Tuesday, and your husband Satoru wasn’t due home until after six — something about looking over a pile of reports on rising cursed energy in the Kanto region. Even with Sukuna gone, chaos liked to linger.

The thought alone makes your stomach twist, like it always does when your mind drifts back to that winter two years ago. The Shinjuku showdown. You’d been convinced you’d lost him — his cursed energy disappeared, his body literally split in two. The moment still plays in your nightmares: the blood, the silence, your own voice screaming. You remember clutching his hand — or what was left of it — while Shoko fought to bring him back. And somehow, impossibly, she did.

He survived. Scarred, different, quieter in ways only you can read — but alive.

Sometimes you still wake up and run your fingers across the long scar that traces the soft skin of his abdomen, as if to confirm he’s really still here.

After that day, everything shifted. You left your role as a teacher at Jujutsu Tech — too much pain, too many memories, and honestly, too much peace. Not many cursed spirits dared show their faces anymore. These days, you exorcise a lingering curse here or there, but mostly? You spend your time being what Gojo Satoru once joked about during a late night walk back when you were still just colleagues: a housewife. A relaxed one at that — sans the apron clichés.

And truthfully? You don’t hate it.

Your house — the one Satoru picked out, of course — is enormous. It sits just outside of Tokyo, nestled high enough to offer sweeping views of the city skyline on one side and forested hills on the other. Wide windows. Sun-drenched walls. Room for both quiet and chaos. "A house that can hold all of our egos," he’d grinned when you moved in, but when he saw you spinning barefoot in the sunlit kitchen, he’d gone quiet. You’d looked over and seen it in his face: this is home.

You decide to clean the attic today. Partly because it’s been ages, partly because the place is a mess of dusty boxes and half-forgotten memories, and partly because you just want to surprise Satoru with something useful. Maybe you’ll find that old vinyl player he swears he didn’t lose.

You spend a solid hour sorting through stacks of cardboard — some labeled with scrawled handwriting (Nanami’s, definitely), others with faded Jujutsu Tech stickers. There’s a whole box of broken sunglasses you recognize immediately. Another of loose-grade mission reports that probably should’ve been shredded, like, a decade ago. You toss what you can into piles — keep, ask Satoru, burn before someone finds it — and you’re wiping sweat off your brow when you find it.

It's in a box labeled “JJT archives”, a thick, heavy book tucked beneath a pile of old uniforms and loose cursed tools wrapped in cloth. The cover is cracked leather, and there’s a faint, almost unreadable embossing on the spine.

It’s not labeled.

Curious, you tug it out, brush the dust from its cover, and flip it open.

Instantly, you realize what it is.

Photos. Dozens of them. Smiling, chaotic, deeply youthful energy practically radiating off the pages. Gojo Satoru. Geto Suguru. Shoko Ieiri. Haibara Yu. Kento Nanami. Their classmates, their mentors, the Tokyo branch in all its raw, messy, golden-era glory.

You blink, and your throat tightens. There’s a warmth in your chest — fond and aching all at once.

You close the book gently, your fingertips resting on the worn leather for a moment longer. This isn’t something you want to rush through alone.

You set it aside carefully, ready to go through it together when he gets home.

He always said he wanted to show you what he was like back then.

–

The front door clicks open at exactly 6:14 p.m.

You hear the familiar jangle of keys, the rustle of his coat as it hits the entryway hook, and then—

“Honeyyyyy,” Satoru’s voice calls out in that signature sing-song tone, the one you always say makes him sound like a bored housewife in a drama. “I’m hooooome and emotionally exhausted!”

You can’t help the smile that breaks over your face. “Kitchen,” you call back.

A beat later, you hear his footsteps pad across the wooden floor — not quite heavy, but still loud enough to announce his presence. He never really learned how to walk quietly. Maybe he just doesn’t want to.

He leans into the doorway like he’s posing for a magazine shoot, white hair tousled from the wind, shirt wrinkled from too many hours slouched at a desk. His jacket’s half-off one shoulder, and his blindfold’s gone — replaced by tinted glasses that slide slightly down his nose as he tilts his head at you.

“Whoa,” he says, deadpan. “Who’s that absolute beauty in my kitchen?”

You snort, stirring the sauce on the stove. “She’s married.”

“Lucky bastard,” he murmurs, crossing the room and slipping his arms around your waist from behind.

His body is warm — always — and it fits against yours like muscle memory. You feel the hard line of his chest, the loose way he rests his chin on your shoulder, the way his breath ghosts against your neck when he exhales like he’s finally safe again.

“Hey,” he says more quietly this time. “Missed you.”

“I saw you this morning.”

“Yeah,” he hums, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “but that was twelve hours ago and I almost died again from boredom.”

You turn around and press a soft kiss to the spot just below his jaw. “You hungry?”

“Starving. For food and love. In that order, but barely.”

You flick his forehead and he pouts, but he lets go so you can plate the food.

Dinner is nothing fancy — rice, grilled fish, the sauce you were working on, a couple of side dishes you whipped up out of boredom. But Satoru reacts like you’ve served him a five-star meal, moaning dramatically with every bite.

“My beautiful, talented wife,” he groans, flopping sideways in his chair like he’s been slain by deliciousness. “You’re always spoiling me.”

“You spoil yourself,” you mutter, pouring him tea with the practiced grace of someone who’s done this a hundred times. “I saw your UberEats bill last week.”

“Hey,” he says, mouth still full of rice, “those were all emotionally necessary. There was a lot of paperwork. Such labor requires tiramisu.”

“Three separate orders in one day?”

“They were from different places. Variety is key to mental wellness.”

You shoot him a flat look as you sit back down. “Pretty sure buying four desserts doesn’t count as a balanced diet.”

“I got one of them for you.”

“No, you got it for you and said, ‘you can have half if you want.’”

“And you didn’t want it,” he points out smugly. “Which means it became mine by universal law.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. You always sit across from him — it’s become a quiet habit over time, a way to read his expressions even when he’s being dramatic. Like now, when he’s chewing with exaggerated slowness, eyes half-lidded like he’s in some kind of blissful trance.

Sometimes he nudges your foot under the table, tapping his toes against yours like a child trying to get attention without using words.

Other times, like tonight, you catch him staring mid-bite — not in a silly way, but in that strange, still quietness he gets sometimes. Like he’s memorizing you. Like there’s a part of him that still can’t believe this is his life now: a warm dinner, soft light, your voice in the kitchen, no curses waiting around the corner.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you set down your chopsticks.

“Hmm?” He blinks, then smiles, and it’s all teeth and softness. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

He kicks your shin lightly under the table. “Thinking about how I tricked the prettiest person in the world into marrying me.”

You scoff. “Yeah, still trying to figure that out myself.”

“Oh come on,” he groans, laughing, “at least let me pretend I’m a catch.”

“You are a catch,” you say, voice softer now, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “Just… a really expensive one with terrible food delivery habits. And you hog the bathroom a lot.”

He grins and laces his fingers with yours. “I’ll take it.”

After dinner, he insists on helping with the cleanup, which mostly means he dries dishes while doing an elaborate stand-up routine with a tea towel slung over his shoulder like a bartender. You’re halfway through rinsing a plate when you feel a cold splash hit your back.

You pause. Slowly turn.

He’s holding the sink hose, blinking innocently.

“…Did you just—?”

“Oh my god,” he gasps, “did someone get wet? That must’ve been a malfunction. Tragic, really.”

You squirt him back instantly. He lets out a squawk like a wet cat, and before long, the floor is a mess, one of you is definitely going to slip and die, and he’s trying to use his body as a shield while cackling like a maniac.

“I live with you,” you mutter, wiping water off your face.

“And what a gift that is,” he says grandly, leaning in to kiss your damp cheek, water droplets still clinging to his ivory eyelashes. “Totally worth the near-death experience.”

You shake your head, but let the moment linger, let him hold you there by the sink, his lips brushing against yours like a silent thanks.

Eventually, he drags you to the bathroom.

The shower is big — another Gojo-specific choice when you built the house. He said he needed “space to dance dramatically during hair-washing.” You hadn’t realized he meant it literally until you walked in one day to find him swaying under the water, humming some ballad with shampoo running down his face.

Tonight, though, it’s quiet.

You both strip down without fanfare. He steps in first, holding out a hand like a gentleman even though he’s already dripping wet. The steam fills the air as you join him, the water warm and soft as it runs over your skin.

You wash his hair, carefully, gently, nails scraping his scalp in slow circles. His eyes are closed the whole time, a rare expression of serenity on his face.

Next up is washing his body — an act you love a bit too much.

His hands are by his sides, water cascading down the large expanse of sinewed muscle and scarred skin. There's a glimpse of a jagged scar that runs diagonally across his collarbone — one of the many pale remnants of the battle that nearly ended everything.

Your fingers brush against it absently, and Satoru doesn’t flinch.

He never hides them anymore — the scars. They scatter across his body now: fine lines, brutal gashes, faded burns. A slash across his abdomen from where Sukuna’s curse split him in two. A jagged cut down his spine that he jokes looks like a zipper. An old puncture near his hip that Shoko sewed shut with her own hands, mumbling curses the whole time.

You’ve memorized each one. Some days you trace them like constellations. Some days he lets you.

He doesn’t talk, not much. Just stands there and lets you take care of him.

Later, he returns the favor — fingers combing through your hair, rinsing soap from your back, holding you steady with his large hands reverently roving across your body when you lean into him just a little too much.

When you’re both towelled off and dressed in pajamas (his: old Jujutsu Tech sweats and a faded tee; yours: one of his shirts and soft shorts), you crawl into bed.

He flops down beside you with a dramatic sigh, limbs sprawling everywhere. You make a sound of protest when his knee knocks into yours, and he just grins at you lazily.

“Can we watch that dumb baking show?” he asks, already pulling the blanket over the two of you.

“The one where they all sabotage each other?”

“Yes. It’s healing. Sorry that I said it was boring before.”

You roll your eyes but grab the remote anyway.

He shifts closer as the episode starts, arm sliding under your neck to pull you in. Your head rests against his chest, and you listen to the steady thrum of his heart, strong and sure beneath old wounds.

“Comfy?” he murmurs.

“Mhm.”

He kisses the top of your head. “Good. Stay right there. I had a long day of being the strongest and I need my beautiful wife.”

You laugh into his shirt.

This — the warmth, the closeness, the scent of his skin mixed with soap — this is the part no one sees. Not the world, not his students, not the remnants of the Jujutsu world that still whisper his name like a myth. Just you. Just him.

The baking show is halfway through an episode. Some poor contestant has just dropped their chiffon cake while another is sabotaging the whipped cream station. You’re tucked under the covers, your head resting on Satoru’s shoulder while his arm holds you close, fingers occasionally playing with the ends of your hair. The glow of the TV casts soft light over the room, flickering across the ceiling in pale pastel hues.

You’re warm. Safe. Your husband smells like your shampoo, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest is starting to lull you into that lovely, sleepy post-dinner haze.

But then — like a light flicking on in your brain — you remember.

“Oh!” you sit up suddenly, disrupting the blankets and causing Satoru to yelp, “I almost forgot. I cleaned the attic today.”

He groans like you’ve just committed a war crime. “Babe… why would you voluntarily enter the attic. That’s the one part of this house I refuse to enter.”

You ignore him, already swinging your legs off the bed. “No, listen — I found something. I think you’ll really like it.”

He props himself up on one elbow, squinting through his glasses. “Oh? What is it? Old love letters from your angsty high school boyfriend?”

“You mean the one who cried when he found out I liked Gojo Satoru more than him?” you smirk, heading toward the walk-in closet. “Yeah, no.”

You pad barefoot across the room and slide open the double doors. The closet is huge — because of course it is. Satoru insisted on custom shelving, backlighting, and enough hanging space for what he called his “seasonal drip.” But your things have taken over half of it by now, neatly folded sweaters, coats, your woven baskets for accessories. You had tucked the book on the upper shelf earlier after finishing the attic, too tired to sort through it just yet.

It takes a second of rummaging, but you find it: a thick, heavy photo album with a fabric cover that’s fraying slightly at the edges. You had found it in a box labeled with faded marker: JJT Archives.

As you walk back into the bedroom, Satoru’s sprawled on the bed like a lazy cat, hair wild, blanket pushed down to his waist. He raises an eyebrow when he sees the album.

“Oh? What’s this, a cursed object?”

You roll your eyes, climbing back in beside him.

He smacks your butt lightly as you settle under the covers again.

“Satoru!”

“What?” he grins. “You turned your back on me. That’s an invitation.”

You elbow him in the ribs, but you're smiling. “Figured we could look at it together. I think it’s a photo album of sorts.”

His expression softens instantly. “Yeah? Alright. Let’s see what kind of damage my past self got up to.”

You flip the cover open.

The first photo is grainy and a little off-center — a picture of him and Suguru pulling exaggerated faces at the camera, their expressions wild, faces contorted in a weird expression. Satoru snorts.

“Oh, wow,” he says. “Look at us. I told him I’d look better than him if we both pulled a dumb face.”

You study the image closely. Suguru’s hair is tied up, not unlike most of the photos you’ve seen of him, which were during his time as a wanted criminal.

Satoru’s laugh fades into something quieter.

“That was my old phone. Shoko looked at this picture and said we looked ‘ugly enough to preserve for future generations.’”

The next is a selfie — Satoru smiling into the camera in his black sunglasses, unlike the round ones he wears to protect his sensitive eyes. Suguru is beside him with sunglasses, and Nanami just barely in frame, scowling at the lens like he’s half being forced at gunpoint to participate and half wanting to do it.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, amused. “Kento looks so cute. His hairstyle… He definitely had an emo phase.”

“Because he was,” Satoru grins. “And he did have an emo phase. The amount of Visual Kei he listened to… We made him go shopping with us in Harajuku that day. Got the sunnies as a treat for doing well on the mission. And because they were on sale.”

You both laugh, the warmth lingering even as the sound fades. You flip the page.

This one’s softer: Nanami, Shoko, Suguru, and Satoru sitting at a dinner table at someone’s house, a dinner spread between them — looks very much like homemade food. It’s candid. Suguru’s laughing at something and posing with a peace sign. Shoko’s mid-clap, mouth open in laughter. Nanami looks slightly more relaxed than usual, a peace sign on his fingers too. Satoru’s grinning widely, and your heart melts at how lively his smile used to be when he was a teen.

“That was Shoko’s family house,” Satoru murmurs. “She invited us over after a mission. She lived nearby. We just… stayed. Slept in her living room. Talked until like, three in the morning.”

“She really was part of your trio, wasn’t she?” you say softly.

He nods. “Yeah. People always think it was just me and Suguru. But Shoko was there too. She was always there. Holding us together.”

You flip to the next: the entrance ceremony.

A selfie again — this time it looks like Shoko’s doing. They're all grinning like idiots. Principal Yaga is in a corner. Suguru is holding up a peace sign. Shoko’s teeth are out as she grins. Satoru, front and center, is glowing with the kind of cocky, pure-hearted energy only youth can give you, throwing a thumbs up, rounded glasses slipping down his nose.

“Your smile is so big in these, sweetheart. You look beautiful when you smile,” you say softly.

Satoru presses a kiss to your neck in quiet thanks, arm coming around your waist as you both continue flipping through the album.

The next photo is pure chaos: Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara standing in the bathroom mirror, toothbrushes in their mouths. Looks like they were having a sleepover of some sort.

You let out a startled laugh.

“Oh my god, you guys are so cute. Was it a sleepover?”

“It was,” Satoru says. “Haibara had to practically force Nanami to come. Too bad Shoko and Utahime couldn’t come. For some reason, dorm restrictions were actually quite strict — not that we’d ever do anything like that. We were like a family.”

You laugh, squeezing his knee under the blankets.

You keep going.

A photo of Suguru with his hair mussed, smiling into the camera like he doesn’t know it’s pointed at him. It's intimate — the angle low, soft light filtering in.

Satoru's voice drops. “I took that. We’d just woken up from a nap in the common room. He hated being caught without brushing his hair, but… he let me keep it. He never had a bad hair day, you know? Was always so particular about it. Only used a specific shampoo that he said his mother would buy for him in the countryside.”

He goes quiet for a long moment, hand flexing slightly on the luminescent film of the album page.

“He really loved his mom.”

You rest your cheek against his arm.

There’s a photo of Shoko tying her Converse, crouched down, her fingers deft and focused. It's an ordinary moment — a cute smile on her face — but something about it feels lived-in. Real.

“Shoko loved this pair,” he chuckles. “She wore them to annoy the elders. They claimed proper shoes were needed if we were to go on missions.”

You grin. “Respect.”

The next is crowded: all of them standing outside a classroom door. Nanami, Shoko, Suguru, Haibara, and Satoru — shoulder to shoulder, smiling like they’re just normal teenagers, not the weapons the Jujutsu world molded them into.

The key highlight of the photo is Satoru’s arms are around Suguru and he has this big, goofy smile on his lips.

“I can’t believe they’re all…” you trail off.

Satoru doesn’t respond right away.

You glance up.

His jaw is tight. His eyes are wet.

“They were… good. All of them,” he says at last, voice barely above a whisper. “They should’ve had more time.”

You nod, curling into his side.

Another photo makes you both pause. It's taken from behind: Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko in matching red soccer jerseys, standing on a field. They're holding up peace signs with their backs to the camera. You can almost hear their laughter, imagine the mud on their shoes, the heat of the sun.

You run your hand down the page.

You flip through more: snapshots of their friend group — sleeping, on trips, in classrooms, in ceremonies. Candid, fleeting, young.

And then — the final ones: close-ups of Suguru.

Photos taken with quiet intention. One where he's clearly caught off guard. One where he's looking out from the bridge. Another where his back is to the camera and he has a small bear keychain on his bag. The sight makes your stomach clench.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does Satoru.

The weight of the past settles thick in the room, like dust stirred from an old shelf. The baking show continues on in the background — a contestant shouting about a collapsed ganache — but it feels distant. Muted. Like it belongs to someone else’s life.

Your hand finds his where it’s resting on the bedspread. His fingers twitch, then curl slowly around yours.

You glance at him.

He’s quiet in that particular way he gets when he’s fighting to stay intact — jaw locked, mouth set, shoulders wound tight with grief. His eyes are glassy, tracking the same photo over and over, like he’s trying to memorize it before it disappears.

Nanami with his dumb emo haircut. His peace signs. Haibara’s joy, how young he looked when he laughed. Suguru’s sleepy, messy hair. That crooked smile. The ghost of laughter in his eyes.

It’s rare to see Satoru this still. Not just physically — but inside. No quip. No grin. Just silence, and the slow breathing of someone on the edge of something sharp.

“I used to think,” he says eventually, voice hoarse, “that we’d grow old together.”

You don’t interrupt. You let the words come, raw and aching.

“Me, Suguru, Shoko,” he murmurs. “Nanami and Haibara. I pictured it sometimes. Thought we’d be old and bitter and still calling each other dumbasses over desserts. Thought maybe… maybe we’d all be able to come back from the shit we did. Thought we’d last”.

He pauses, taking in a deep breath.

“Thought I could save him.”

Your thumb strokes his knuckles.

He blinks fast. Swallows hard.

“I see these pictures and I—I forget he’s gone. Just for a second. And then it hits me all over again. Every fucking time.”

You press your forehead gently to his shoulder. “He was your best friend.”

A hollow laugh escapes him. It sounds like it hurts. “He was everything. The only person who ever really… got me. Not the strongest. Not Gojo Satoru. Just… me.”

You wait.

You let the silence stretch — thick, aching, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“I hate that I still miss him,” Satoru finally says, voice raw. “I hate that he left. I hate that I couldn’t stop him. But I miss him. Every day. Like an ache in my ribs I forget about until I breathe too deep.”

You turn toward him, hand still wrapped in his. He looks like he’s trying to hold himself together with nothing but willpower — a man who’s used to keeping the world up with one hand, now struggling just to hold his own heart in place.

“I miss him too,” you whisper. “I never even met him — but with the way you talk about him, I miss him too. I miss him for what he meant to you. For who he must’ve been, to leave this much of a mark.”

His breath falters. A quiet shudder works through him. You lean up and kiss his cheek, slow and steady, then press another to his temple, just where his hair is growing back in, short and soft. He leans into it, like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded — like he’s been brittle for a while now and you’re the only thing keeping him from cracking open.

“He would’ve loved this house,” he murmurs, voice thick. “He’d pretend it was too flashy. Say I was compensating for something. But then he’d steal all the good tea and claim it was just to humble me.”

You smile gently, warm against the side of his face. “Well. You do have terrible spending habits.”

That gets a sound out of him — a real laugh, shaky and low in his chest. He presses his forehead to yours.

“He’d have hated the mirror in our bathroom.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says, the faintest curve to his lips. “Would’ve said it makes me look even more insufferable than usual.”

You laugh. “To be fair, you are insufferable.”

“Mm. Don’t forget stunning.”

“Of course,” you breathe. “That’s a given. My beautiful, insufferable husband.”

You kiss away some of the tears that have fallen down his pale, scared face, wiping away the tracks as you pull back.

The silence settles again, softer this time. You tug the blanket higher over both of you. His thumb is rubbing slow circles against the back of your hand now — absent, but insistent. Like he’s anchoring himself to you, to this moment, to anything that won’t vanish like the rest.

You watch his face, watch the way his expression drifts somewhere far away and comes back a little more worn every time. A man standing in the ruins of his past, trying to build something worth living in.

“Hey,” you murmur.

He turns, only slightly. But it’s enough. His eyes find yours — wide, blue, shining a little too much even in the low light. You see everything there. The love, the grief, the guilt, the ache. The part of him that never really left that bridge. That battlefield. That moment.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you say, your voice barely above a breath.

He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your face. Like he’s seeing the future and the past crash into each other in the shape of your smile.

And then, after a long beat:

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Me too.”

His hand lifts — trembling just faintly — and he cups your cheek. His thumb swipes gently across your skin, reverent. Then he presses a kiss to your temple, slow and careful, like he’s sealing something sacred inside you. A promise. A memory. A hope.

The baking show buzzes quietly in the background, someone yelling about a collapsed meringue, the absurdity of it all somehow making it feel more real — more here. More now.

Grief still sits in the room, thick like fog, but it no longer feels unbearable. It lingers, yes, but it’s softened at the edges by something gentler. Something like love. Something like healing.

You curl back into him, resting your head against his chest. His hand comes up to cradle your back without thinking. His heartbeat drums steadily beneath your ear — a rhythm that tells you he’s still here. Still trying. Still holding on.

You hold each other in that silence. In that ache. And in the quiet miracle of still being able to love, even when it hurts.

You close the album gently, smoothing your hand over the cover like it’s sacred. And maybe it is. The only reliquary you have left of those years — of who he was, of who they all were, when the world was still a little less cruel.

Satoru shifts a little closer, nosing into the crook of your neck like he’s trying to burrow into the safest place he knows. His hand finds your waist beneath the covers and rests there, thumb absently stroking small circles against your skin.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Mm?”

“Do you think we’ll still be like this when we’re old? All wrinkly and stubborn and falling asleep at nine?”

You smile into the dark. “We already fall asleep at nine.”

He laughs — a soft, sleepy sound. “Okay, fair. But I mean like… old-old. Like, arguing about soup and forgetting where we put our keys kind of old.”

You tilt your head to look at him. His eyes are lidded, lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, hair messy and soft and just barely starting to silver at the edges. You think about him with deeper lines around his eyes, laugh lines etched into his skin from years of grinning too wide.

“I think we’ll be annoying,” you say.

“Hell yeah.”

“Annoying and still obsessed with each other.”

“Obviously.”

“Still holding hands in public and making waiters uncomfortable.”

“I plan on kissing you in every checkout line we ever stand in,” he whispers, and presses a kiss to your shoulder to prove it.

You laugh softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love that about me.”

You turn in his arms until you’re face to face. His eyes are warm in the dim light, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

“I do,” you murmur. “I love everything about you.”

He leans in, kisses you — slow and unhurried. Not out of need, but out of affection. Out of something deeper. His hand cradles your jaw as he does it again, then again, softer each time, like he’s trying to say things he doesn’t have words for.

You kiss him back, just as slow.

He pulls back only slightly, just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I want it all with you,” he says. “The boring parts. The little arguments. Taxes. Grocery lists and laundry days and late-night walks when we can’t sleep. All of it. I want to grow old with you.”

Your throat tightens, but not from grief this time. From something tender. Something whole.

“You have me,” you whisper. “For as long as we both get.”

He kisses you again, this time on your nose. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth. Then your lips again, just because he can.

Eventually, you settle into the silence, warm and safe under the covers, his arm around your waist and your head tucked beneath his chin. His breathing evens out first, deep and steady, but his hold on you never loosens.

You stay awake a little longer, just watching him. Memorizing the curve of his mouth, the softness in his face, the way he looks at peace when he’s finally, finally allowed to rest.

And before you let yourself drift too, you whisper it one last time, just to be sure he hears it — even if he’s already asleep.

“I’ll love you when we’re old. And after that, too.”

And in his sleep, Satoru smiles.

u guys i'm genuinely sooo devastated over jjk it isnt funny i cried to sleep the other night thinking abt satoru :)

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