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b3ach-bunn7 · 9 days ago

Text

STILL LOVE YOU

You, a senior at Jujutsu high, are just trying to enjoy your last year in your schools theatre team. And then Gojo gets cast at your lead and love interest, and everything takes a turn for the worse

Highschool au, (one sided) enemies to lovers, slight nsfw, sooo theatrey

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Gojo Satoru is the annoying kind of person that’s good at everything.

And you wish you were being dramatic, but you are unfortunately not. You’ve seen him dominate a basketball court in the gym, and your whole school has seen him winning awards for always being top of the class. He’s popular, too. Probably due to skin that is so unfairly clear for a teenager, and the fact that he looks good enough to be a model. You think he might actually be one. He’s rich enough to have his family pay him into a Versace show.

Everyone loves Gojo, but the thing that makes you hate him most is that, of all the talents in the world, Gojo had to have the voice of an angel.

It’s no secret that you’re a theatre kid. You accept that title with pride, and you’ve never been embarrassed of it. Of course, you’ve considerably calmed down from your younger years, which you are kind of embarrassed by. You doubt anyone would ever find the videos of you horribly singing defying gravity on YouTube now, though. You’re a senior and you know the social suicide it is to be too outwardly obsessed with anything.

But theatre was your safe space. You were good at it and you loved the little community you’d built up with all your fellow castmates. Every year the school would put on a show and you were in every one, and for the past two years, your seniority above the younger students made sure you always got a part. It did also help you were quite a good singer. If you were being modest. It’s also your last year before you’re off to college, so you need to make sure this year is your best.

You knew everyone too. All the tech guys, the estate managers that set up the stage every year, and every single person who auditions. Which is why you have not a single clue why Gojo is currently talking to the head of drama at the front of the hall.

You cross your arms and scowl. There is absolutely no reason for him to be in here, in your safe space. You nudge Choso’s arm and he looks up from his phone. He’s one of the tech guys, and also your best friend, but he always comes to rehearsals to keep you company.

“What?”

“Why is he here?” You mutter, and Choso turns towards the front.

“Why is who here?”

“Gojo. Doesn’t he interfere enough in this school? Now he has to be here? Theatre is mine, Choso.”

He tilts his head a little. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“It does in my head.” You sigh and sit down. The plastic chairs of the auditorium stick to your thighs and you pull your school skirt down and huff.

The show this year is Grease. So not only is this definitely your year, because you think you might burn this school down if you don’t get Sandy, but you need it to be perfect. The only problem is is that the theatre lovers at Jujutsu High are quite limited. That, and Yuta, the usual lead for these sorts of things, has taken to sport this year, so if a guy like Gojo auditions there's no way he won't get Danny. You tell Choso as much and he snorts a laugh.

“Is that what’s got you so annoyed?”

“Yes. Don't say it like it's stupid.”

Choso hums. His attention is back on his phone, where his fingers swipe leisurely on Subway Surfers. “It kind of is.”

“Imagine if- If Gojo suddenly barged into your tech room and started doing all the lights for the show.”

“I’d be grateful for the help.”

You shove his shoulder and he tuts as he hits a train. “Hey.”

“It’s just so annoying. Isn’t there a test for him to ace or a basketball court to bother?” You mutter.

Gojo is smiling brightly at Mrs Jones, the head of drama, a strict lady who always favoured the drama kids. Something you’ve never minded. You love the private smiles and soft voice she just saves for you guys. So you have no idea why she’s looking at Gojo like he’s hung the stars. It can’t be good.

“The boys and girls audition separately, so I won't even see his.” You shake your head. “I’ll just be bombarded with it when the cast list drops. And if he gets the lead I’ll crash out.”

“Oh, however will you survive.” He deadpans.

“I might not.”

Choso chuckles. “Why do you even hate him so much?”

You watch as Gojo bows, writing his name down on the audition list. He saunters over to his equally attractive friend, Geto, and gets clapped on the back.

“I don’t know. He’s- He’s annoying. So good at everything. Drama is mine.”

“Ah.” Choso nods understandingly. “It’s jealousy.”

“Shut up and play your game.”

You were right. You were right that he’d get the lead and you were right that it would fill you with insurmountable rage.

“You see this? Oh my god. He got Danny!” You yell.

The halls bustle with students rushing to class, but you're rooted right in front of the information board. You’ve dropped your backpack on the floor in your rage, and you snatch it up and hoist it onto your shoulder. Choso leans forward to look at the sheet. He points to the line where your name is written in bold.

“Yeah, but you got Sandy!” He smiles encouragingly.

“Yeah, duh. I sang ‘Hopelessly Devoted’ perfectly.”

Choso rolls his eyes. “So modest, too.”

You smile sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry.”

It’s okay. You can live with this. You guess it’s not that much of a big deal. At least with a guy like Gojo on the cast, the show will get more sales, more publicity. He’s got enough little fangirls that will be dying to see him in even a slightly romantic role that you’re sure this year the show will be sold out. Though you’re unsure how that bone white hair will work on a greaser.

Maybe you’re just dramatic. It’s sort of built into your genetic code. Maybe this will be fun, meeting new people and all that. You rub at your eyes.

“It’s fine. It can’t be that bad. I-”

“Hey! Sandy!”

You turn at the sound of a voice you’ve never spoken to. Gojo is taller than he looks when he bounds over and stands right in front of you, bright blue eyes peering at your over tinted sunglasses.

“Congrats on getting the lead.” He grins. “Excited to be my lover?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Yeah, scratch that. This guy is insufferable.

“We’re indoors. Take the sunglasses off.” You drawl, and walk off, dragging Choso behind you.

You wish that had been the last time you spoke to Gojo. But instead, you start seeing him every single week.

Your annoyance only grows as he starts to frequent the places you usually hold so dear to you more and more. On Mondays you meet up in Mrs Bergman’s room to practise the songs in the show. She’s your favourite music teacher, young and excited about everything she does. It turns out he does have an amazing voice. Which he loves to make known with the litany of very unnecessary riffs he loves to use while signing. You can see him snicker whenever your voice falters slightly or you miss a note, and all it does is piss you off more.

And then you see him on Wednesday and Thursdays after school, where you and the rest of the cast rehearse all together. You have two months until the show, a fact Mrs Jones doesn’t hesitate to remind you all of every second of every day. And he gets on so well with all the cast and the teachers. He brings snacks on the days where things run too long and he is always happy and smiling. You want to throttle him.

You sigh heavily and drop your bag down on the floor. The backstage of your school's little auditorium isn’t too big, but you’ve claimed a far corner for yourself. It's a small rickety table and a chair stolen from the audience but you call it home. You pull out your water and take a sip. You should probably start warming up but you just got out of a chemistry exam and your brain hurts. You need a few minutes to yourself.

“Hey, Sandy.” You cringe as two arms come to rest on your shoulders. “How’s my beautiful costar doing today?”

You shrug him off. “Your beautiful costar wants you to kindly fuck off.”

Gojo pouts, pulling up a chair beside you. He sits too close and you can smell the heady scent of expensive cologne. He’s unbuttoned the first three buttons of the school assigned white button-ups, and he pushes his sleeves up his forearms. The black sunglasses he can't seem to live without are pushed up on his head, white hairs falling around them.

“That’s not very nice.”

“Good thing I wasn't trying to be.”

He laughs loudly, and you roll your eyes. The worst part about Gojo is for all your anger towards him he just seems to find you hilarious. “Why are you here? Don’t you have to run lines, or something?” You snap. Your much needed break has ended suddenly, so you take to pulling out your script.

“Yeah, I was thinking we could run lines together.”

You pause where you were digging in your bag. “What?”

Gojo leans an elbow on the table. “Run lines with me, baby. It’ll be fun.” “Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, okay. Just- I don’t know anyone else in the show.”

You look at him incredulously. “You don't know me! We have literally never spoken before!”

Gojo looks slightly offended. “Rude. Who have you been talking to for the past month of rehearsals?”

You falter slightly. You shake your head. “That’s not talking, that's- That’s rehearsing. Something completely different.”

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Right. Okay, fine. Can we start talking then? We’re practically friends anyways.”

You scoff a laugh. “That’s bold of you to say. It takes a lot for me to tolerate the presence of you and those stupid glasses.”

Gojo pouts once more. He slips the glasses off his head and twirls them between long, slender fingers. “Hey. I have sensitive eyes.”

He blinks rapidly, bright blue, and you raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t care.”

“You will.” He singsongs and you wave him away.

It’s been a week. That's all you need to learn that Gojo Satoru is a very persistent person.

He waits at your locker after class. He uses that charming nature to make the guy you’re supposed to sit with in history move two rows over so Gojo can pester you as easily as he’d like from right next to you. He interrupts your lunches in the cafeteria with your friends, he is just everywhere.

And all so that you’ll run lines with him, and practise outside of your scheduled times. It’s dumb. It’s annoying. You have no idea why he wants it so bad. Maybe he takes pride in how frustrated you get at his insistence. You and Gojo had never even spoken once before all this, so his eagerness to become friends is just weird.

It’s even weirder when he's dressed like a greaser.

“Come on, sweetcheeks. The show is in like, a month and a half. Don’t you want to practise summer nights?”

You cover your mouth, struggling to stifle your laughter. Today is one of your first dress rehearsals. He’s got a leather jacket on and his hair has been slicked back with way too much gel. “You look so fucking stupid.” You giggle and Gojo slumps.

“Right.” He smoothes the side of his head and you watch as a strand of crispy hair curls around his face. “I look hot as fuck.”

It is kind of working on him. But you will never tell him that.

“Sure.”

“Like you look any better.” He mumbles.

You think you look cute. The long yellow maxi skirt and matching cardigan looks good. Your hair is still not styled but you're sure the ponytail will suit you.

“I do look better. I look cute.”

Gojo looks you up and down. “I can agree with that.”

You scowl. “Pervert.”

You’re saved from hearing a response because Miss Jones calls for attention at the front of the room. Luckily for Gojo and unluckily for you, today is the day to run over summer nights. Mrs Jones directs the freshmen she's chosen as her assistant for this show to prep the stage. You warm up, practise some runs, and then you see it out of the corner of your eyes.

Gojo is chatting up MeiMei. At least that’s what it looks like from where you’re standing. She’s leaning against one of the fake cardboard cars in the back of the set and he is standing with his arms crossed, a stupid half smile on his face as he makes her laugh. Gojo is not that funny. She giggles again and nudges his shoulder. You watch her hand linger and slide down his arm, resting on his bicep. Is this a porno? You’re in school for god's sake. He catches your eye and you turn away before you can see his reaction.

You suppose that’s just how Gojo is. It’s not a surprise to anyone that he’s flirting with MeiMei. Gojo flirts with everyone and everything. He’s the kind of person that knows exactly what he’s doing, how alluring he is, and does it regardless. It’s rude. Really. The way he can call you cute and then make MeiMei look like he just proposed to her.

You hate him.

“Alright! Gojo and Y/N, please head to the front of the stage. We’re going from Act 2 scene 4.” Mrs Jones yells from the front of the room.

You all shuffle into position. Gojo clears his throat.

“You ready, Sandy?” He whispers, raising an eyebrow at you.

You shoot him a glare. “Shut up. Stop calling me that.” You whisper as loudly as you can.

Gojo falters a little, and you watch as, for maybe the first time ever, a little flicker of annoyance crosses his features.

“What’s up with you?” He questions and you brush him off.

You adjust the waistband of your skirt. You’re a good actress. You can put aside your anger to portray the perfect in love teenage girl.

Or at least you thought you could.

It turns out it’s much harder when the person you’re supposed to be in love with is who you’re so angry at. Your lines feel stilted and your voice sounds off. All your failed acting just makes you even more frustrated. You’re supposed to be good at this. And it makes it worse that everyone can notice it around you. It takes three runs before Mrs Jones stands from her seat at the front, script flying in the air as she shakes her head.

“No, okay, what is going on with you two?” She snaps. “You look like you hate each other!”

“It’s not my fault! It’s her!” Gojo points at you and you scowl.

“It’s not my fault, it’s so hard to work with him!”

“Me? You're the one with the mood swings!”

“Alright!” Mrs Jones' voice booms across the room. You both shut up immediately.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what has gotten into you two today, but you’re both done. I’m going to call this a one off and practise some other scenes today. You two go sit down and get over whatever petty squabbles you’re in.”

You nod tersely and storm off the stage. You snatch up your uniform and huff your way over to the changing room. Changing room is a stretch. It’s actually an old storage closet you all use because the toilets are way across the school and none of you could be bothered to walk all the way there. You prop your shoe in the corner of the door. This room doesn't open from the inside for whatever weird reason, so you have to remember to leave it open so you can actually get out. You start pulling out your uniform when you hear the door creak open behind you.

You turn quickly and watch Gojo stride in.

“We need to talk.”

You watch as he kicks your shoe out the way. Lets the door start swinging shut. You reach forward, quickly, but you know you’ll be too late.

“Wait, Gojo, don’t-”

The door clicks shut and you groan. Gojo looks at you, confused.

“What?”

“The door. It doesn’t open from inside, which means I am now stuck in here with you.”

Gojo frowns. “You. What- Why do you say it like that? What did I ever do to you?” He asks, incredulous.

“No. We are not having this conversation.”

“Why?” He steps forward, and you frown. “We need to settle your little one-sided beef now.”

You frown. The room is small, empty apart from shelves stacked with toilet paper and old junk you think should probably be thrown out. You back hits the only table in the room. You feel slightly cornered with the way Gojo is staring you down,

“It’s not one-sided, I-”

“Oh, but it is.” He laughs. “You hate me, Sandy. And I don't hate you back. That sounds pretty one sided to me.”

You furrow your brows. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I will if you’re being stupid. You’re going to ruin the show over this.”

You push past him and walk to the door. You rattle the doorknob and curse under your breath.

“Think it’s locked.”

“Oh, shut up!” You yell. “You just think you’re so much better than everyone!”

“I kind of am.”

You groan, frustrated. “See? You’re so-”

“Confident? Charming?”

You throw the school shirt that’s still in your hand at him. He catches it easily.

“So vain. It’s so annoying!” You breathe heavily.

Gojo studies you carefully. He takes one large step towards you, and you try to back up but you just hit the door. The room is small and every time you try to back away from him you’re remind of that fact.

“You know, I don’t think you hate me.”

Gojo looks smug. He crosses his arms and the leather jacket stretches over his arms. The light above you two is small and barely illuminates the room, but it seems like his eyes are lighting up as they stare you down, lips tilted into a smirk.

“What?”

“I said-“

“I heard what you said.” You snap. “I very much do hate you.”

Gojo tilts his head. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Lying doesn’t suit you, sweetheart.”

You feel anger flare up in your chest. “You’re wrong.”

Gojo scoffs. “I’m never wrong.” He takes another step closer. You’d wish this interaction could’ve happened when you and Gojo are not dressed like you’ve just stepped out of the seventies. You swallow roughly and his eyes dart to the lines of your throat that sinks beneath the collar of your shirt.

“I’m very smart. And I’m also very attentive.” He says.

“And you’re also very up your own ass.”

He doesn’t reply to that. Just takes one little step closer.

“I saw you looking at me and MeiMei. You looked really angry, you know.” He nods and you shake your head. He drags out his syllables, his voice deeper and softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“No. I wasn’t angry, I was. I was- grossed out. You two were practically humping on the stage.”

Gojo laughs. “We weren't humping. Maybe you should’ve been looking a little closer.” He murmurs and you push past him.

But there's nowhere to go. Just a locked door and you and him behind it. Your phone is sitting uselessly back in the auditorium and Gojo makes no move to phone for help, so you also assume he’s done the same. You rub at your eyes and you hear Gojo sigh behind you.

“So. How are we going to fix this?” He asks and you shrug.

“I don’t know. I guess we just wait out for someone to come looking for us. Choso probably-”

Gojo holds up a hand to stop you. “Not that.”

There's a hint of impatience in his voice and when you turn back around he’s somehow shrugged off his leather coat and tossed it on the floor without you noticing. He’s starting to piss you off. Much more than he usually does.

“Fix what?”

“Your undying affection and lust for me?”

He says those words, those stupid and completely ridiculous words, with so much sincerity and seriousness that it takes a second for them to really sink in. And when they do, your mouth gapes and his grins and you shake your head furiously.

“What? You- You have lost your mind!” You yell, and he places a hand on his heart.

“Don’t worry. I’m not mad or anything, baby, I’m really flattered. It’s just getting in the way of the show, and all so, we should probably sort this out now.”

You have never met anyone so overconfident in your whole life. There he is, standing in front of you like he’s the best thing that ever happened to you. There with his hair that's sticking up where the gel has lost its hold, blinking bright white lashes at you that curve over blue eyes that you think can read your mind. And he licks his lips, lips that are plump and always glossy. Sort of always so kissable, if you’re being completely honest.

Okay. You don’t know where that thought came from. Because you don’t like Gojo. You hate him and his smooth, pitch-perfect voice that’s always running loops around your head. Especially that stupid accent he’s been trying to convince Mrs Jones to let him use for the play. It makes you laugh. He makes you laugh.

Oh God. Do you like Gojo? No. You don’t. You can’t. More out of principle sake. You’ve sort of spent the last few weeks running your mouth about him to Choso, so you might have to hate him so you can stand on business.

You realise you’ve been quiet for too long. You open your mouth to say something but you honestly have no idea what.

“Are you thinking about me? Is that why you’re so quiet?”

“Fuck you, Gojo.” He tilts his head to the side. “Really? You want me to?”

“I-“ Your face heats. “What?”

“You’ve been saying that a lot, you know.”

Gojo takes the glasses out of his shirt and tosses them on the table in the back. They clatter as they hit it and you jolt a little at the noise.

You don’t know if you want Gojo to fuck you. It’s really hot in here and you wish the collar of your shirt wasn’t so pressing into your throat and you wish Gojo wasn’t looking at you like that. It’s not how he was looking at MeiMei on the stage or anyone else you’d seen him flirt with. It looks hungry, and yet satisfied like he knows he's about to get what he wants.

“You wanna kiss me so bad that it makes you look stupid, Y/N.” He reaches close enough that he grabs two of your hands in his own. Hands that are bigger and warmer than yours. If you weren’t so dazed by this whole situation you’d push him off. He smiles at you softly.

“Don’t think I haven't noticed. It's cute. Watching you act all mad at me always. I think it's a whole lot of unresolved sexual tension.”

Your face is burning up. You try and tug your hands out of his but he tightens his grip and pulls you closer. Your chest bumps against his, and you look up. Has he always been this tall?

“It’s not unresolved tension.”

“So you don’t want me to kiss you?”

You bite your bottom lip. Gojo’s eyes follow the action.

You have two options here. You could slap Gojo in his smug face and spend however long it takes for someone to find you two in awkward stilted silence. Or. You could take him up on his offer. Pass the time. Maybe answer the very quiet, very incessant voice in the back of your head that has in fact been thirsting over Gojo for the past two months.

“Fine. Do it and then shut up.”

His hand curls around your cheek and lifts you up. He leans in, close enough that his lips brush against yours as he speaks. “You nervous?” He whispers.

“I thought I said shut up.” You whisper back and he grins.

Gojo presses his lips against yours. He’s so tender with you. So soft as he pushes closer, his other hand squeezing your waist. His lips are as smooth as they look and he bites your bottom one and licks into your mouth. He tastes like mint and the too sweet milkshakes they sell in the cafeteria and you lean in closer. You think it would be smarter to pull back and away because you’re already starting to regret this. But then Gojo’s hand slides up your waist and over your chest and you whine in the back of your throat as your mind goes blank.

He smirks. “Love those noises you make, baby.” His lips and red and bitten as he presses them on your chin, your neck, fingers clumsily unbuttoning your shirt.

“Stop, Gojo.”

“Satoru. Call me Satoru.” He utters, licking the mark he sucks into the valley of your chest.

Your eyes flutter shut as his fingertips push your shirt open. Your bra is lacy and pink and Gojo raises his eyebrows.

“All this for me?” He slaps the elastic against his skin and you wince.

“Gojo-”

“Satoru.” He scolds as he bites down on the top of your breast.

“Satoru, please.” You whimper, hand grabbing his hair and pulling him back.

Gojo smiles, boyish and handsome as he presses a kiss to the red mark he left behind.

“You're so pretty, you know. I love it when you get all mad at me. I love it when you stare at me all the time.”

“I don’t stare at you, Satoru.”

He groans. “And the way you say my name. I could fuck you right here.” He kisses your neck once more.

“I’ve said your name like twice-”

“Say it more.”

“And I am not fucking you in a storage room closet.” You pull him back once more and he places one more hasty kiss on your lips.

He pouts. You’re sure you look a mess. Your shirt is unbuttoned and your bra lopsided where Gojo had been toying with the fabric. Your hair is ruffled just like his and you wonder if your lips looked as kissed out as his does.

“Boring. Would’ve made it real good for you.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. It’s not that you don’t want to. Because judging by the coil of need in your stomach and the embarrassing wet patch you're sure is on your underwear, you are not having sex at school.. Not only could anyone walk in, but your own head wouldn’t ever forgive you for it.

You take to fixing yourself up. Gojo leans against the wall and watches you. After you button up your shirt and smooth your hair down, you turn to him.

“Stop staring at me like that.”

He hums. “You love it.”

“No. You’re not even my type.”

“You kissed me like I am.”

You huff, busying yourself with packing up your uniform. You’ll just go home in this little get up. You are not getting changed in front of that horny man. You turn around, and prop yourself against the table. You keep the distance between the two of you because you’re not sure you’d be able to keep your hands to yourself otherwise.

“So. We really aren’t hooking up in here?” He mumbles.

You shake your head. “But. We can hook up later? At mine maybe?” He asks hopefully.

You feel your face heat. You shrug. And then you nod. Gojo grins widely, digging into his pocket.

“Perfect. Here, give me your number.” He slips his phone into your hand and you gape at the device.

You wave it in the air. “You had this the whole time? And you didn’t call someone to let us out?” Gojo has the decency to look a little apologetic. He shrugs. “Yeah, well. This place makes for a good confession room. You might not have kissed me if I did this in the auditorium. Close proximity, and everything” He explains, and you shove his shoulder.

“Dickhead.”

“Yeah, the dickhead you just made out with.”

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guys icl this wholeeee fic was me projecting my theatre kid dreams.. and my love for gojo and his overconfidence idk its kinda sexy...

also i love that all my fics r just enemies ot lovers like YESS give me that tension

and i WILL be writing a pt 2 where they get down and dirty.. the only reason its not in this fic is because this was already 5k words..

HOPE U ALL ENJOYED BBYS!!

PART TWO