#gojou x you

[kthologue]

operation: get over your childhood crush! — gojo satoru

synopsis. in an attempt to move on from your childhood best friend—who definitely doesn’t see you the way you want—you hatch a series of plans to help you get over him. it doesn't go as planned.

contents. hurt/comfort, fluff, nerd!gojo, college au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, unreliable narrator, miscommunication, insecurity, dorky references bc u make him go dumb and digimon inaccuracies probably

notes. i did not proofread this monster!! enjoy :P

The hum of the air conditioning fills the room as night settles in, the light from Satoru’s bedside lamp casting a soft glow over his mess of a room. You’re both sprawled out across his bed, limbs entangled like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Because, for the two of you, it is.

Satoru’s Nintendo Switch is balanced on his stomach, hands lazily tapping away as his little Digimon charges into battle on screen. You’re curled into his side, one leg hooked around his and a blanket thrown haphazardly across you both. The half-abandoned textbooks sit at the edge of the mattress, tragically ignored. Another study session: failed. Not that Satoru needed it. He passed everything with flying colors. It was more of an excuse for you to come over.

“Your room still smells like that cheap vanilla air freshener,” you mumble, nose scrunching.

“That’s because you bought it,” he replies without looking up, thumb expertly guiding his character through an attack.

“Because your room would end up stinking with sweat and whatever freaky stuff you do in here.”

“Hey!” He whines. “I shower everyday and you know it. The stink is all you. Have you ever sniffed yourself, princess?”

You swat at his stomach, and he lets out a dramatic grunt. “Rude. I brought that candle to add ambiance.”

“Ah yes,” he deadpans, “nothing like artificial sugar scent.’”

You snort, settling your head back down on his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft beneath your cheek. There’s a long pause before you say, “You know, if we fail our exams, I’m blaming your Digimon addiction.”

He grins. “I’m raising digital warriors, thank you very much. And I’ve never failed an exam, don’t wound me now!”

“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”

He gasps, clutching his heart. “They’re champions, you monster.”

You laugh, letting the sound dissolve into something quieter as your fingers absentmindedly trace a pattern into the blanket. His hand rests near yours. Not holding it. Not not holding it.

His glasses are tilted again. Of course.

You reach up and straighten them with a sigh. “Honestly, you’d be lost without me.”

“Not true.” He says it reflexively, then pauses. His voice softens. “Okay, maybe. I’d probably just let them slide down until I walked into a wall.”

You smile faintly. “And there’d be no one there to patch you up.”

“Tragic,” he agrees. “Would bleed out on the floor, probably.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re so bossy,” he counters, shooting you a sideways look. 

“Admit it,” he says, voice full of faux-smugness, “you’d miss me if I died tragically and left you all alone.”

You hesitate for a second too long before mumbling, “Don’t joke about that.”

It’s quiet. The game music loops in the background as his Digimon wins the battle with a triumphant fanfare.

He doesn’t say anything.

You suddenly feel too warm under the blanket. The joke had been harmless, stupid even.

But something inside you twists, the same something that’s been unraveling lately every time he mentions another girl.

Another type. That’s not you.

“You know,” you say slowly, eyes peeling from the screen to his phone, which lights up with a notification, revealing one of his favorite gravure model’s latest issues as its wallpaper. “You could probably date any girl you wanted. Why do you partake in freak stuff like this? It’s anti-girl repellent.”

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”

“I don’t. You’ve got that whole genius-who-doesn’t-realize-he’s-hot thing going on.”

He glances at you, skeptical. “Is that a thing?”

“It is. Annoying, but effective. Girls love it.”

He hums, clearly amused, cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, good to know I have options.”

You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat.

You shouldn’t ask. You really shouldn’t.

But you’re lying in his bed. Wrapped up in him like you belong here. And some part of you aches to know the answer.

So you pretend it’s a joke. You tilt your head against his shoulder, voice airy, teasing. “Hey, be honest—do you think I’m cute?”

He goes still.

His hand tightens slightly on the Switch. You think you’ve pushed too far, so you try to backpedal before he can respond.

“Not like… like that,” you say quickly. “I just meant, like, in general. Compared to those girls you’re into. Say, Waka Inoue. You know, long legs, shiny hair, cute face?”

His jaw tightens.

You’re still trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m not fishing for compliments. I just—was wondering.”

He finally turns to look at you.

His gaze lingers. And for the first time all night, he’s not smiling.

You feel your breath stutter in your throat underneath his gaze.

Then he shrugs.

“…Nah.”

It slices through the air with quiet finality.

Your heart drops. You don’t let it show. Not fully. But it must flicker in your face, because he quickly looks away.

You laugh. It sounds forced.

“Yeah, that’s fair. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a yes or anything.”

He’s silent.

You shift away from him slightly, giving him space. “I should head home soon. We didn’t really get any studying done, anyway.”

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Usually, you’d accept his offer with a smile, but you really wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity.

“It’s fine, I have something to do anyway,” the lie slips out of your mouth easily as you begin to pack your things.

And you miss the way he watches you—guilt in his eyes, frustration on his tongue. 

You knew it was time. Twenty years of hopeless, fruitless pining had done enough damage to your heart.

It had started the day your parents moved next door. Satoru had been the loud, obnoxious, too-pretty-for-his-own-good boy on the playground who shoved candy in your hand and asked if you wanted to be friends.

You’d been doomed since day one.

And to make things worse, you’d both gotten into Japan’s most competitive university—together. Same neighborhood. Same school. Same train route. You weren’t just stuck with him. You were haunted.

But you were young and hot. And allegedly in your prime. You couldn’t keep orbiting around a guy who still thought microwave gyoza was a food group and used your shampoo because it “smelled like you, so why not?”

You were sipping coffee with your two closest friends, and today’s topic was—unfortunately—your love life.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been stuck on Gojo for this long,” Utahime said, disgusted, as she stirred her latte like it personally offended her. “You could do so much better.”

“It was kind of cute in high school,” Shoko added “but now it’s just sad.”

You sighed, blowing on your drink. “I know, okay? It’s not like I haven’t tried. But he’s literally the only guy I’ve ever been close to. I don’t even talk to guys besides him.”

“That’s because he’s been gatekeeping you since the two of you met,” Utahime said flatly. “I swear, every time someone so much as glanced at you, he pulled that overprotective act.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That doesn’t sound like ’Toru…”

Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look. One of those knowing glances.

Utahime cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is you are hot. You’ve got the face, the body, the grades, the personality. You just need the confidence.”

You peeked up at her, unsure. “You really think so?”

Utahime leaned forward, smirking like she’d just won a war. “I know so. And that’s why I’ve come up with a plan.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”

She slammed her hands down on the table, eyes alight. “Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru.”

You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”

Shoko blew a slow stream of smoke. “It’s either this or pine until you die and haunt him as a love-sick ghost.”

You stared into your cup, sighing. “Fine. I’m in. What’s step one?”

Utahime grinned.

“Whatcha doing?” 

Gojo’s voice drifts lazily over your shoulder, followed by the soft rustle of his hoodie as he leans in. He’s far too close, obnoxiously so, his breath tickling your ear and his chin was nearly resting on your shoulder.

You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”

The two of you are supposed to be studying— finals loom overhead like a guillotine, but as usual, very little academic progress has been made. Mostly because your study partner is a six-foot-something genius who insists on sitting sideways in the booth, long legs tangled in yours under the table like it’s second nature.

He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”

You hum noncommittally, thumbing through the dating app Utahime suggested with vague disinterest. The guys blur together: not tall enough, too cocky, too bland, too not Satoru. One makes a joke suspiciously close to a Gojo classic, and you immediately hit unmatch with a scowl.

“Wait,” Satoru says slowly. “Are you on a dating app?!” He practically yells the last part. Half the cafe turns to glare at the source of the disruption.

You hiss under your breath, mortified, swatting at him. “Keep your voice down, idiot!”

His eyes widen dramatically, hands thrown up like you’ve stabbed him. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re already planning a life with someone named ‘Keita, aspiring poet and spiritual healer’? I’m wounded.”

“You weren’t supposed to read that far.”

“I’m a speed-reader,” he says with a smug grin. “It’s part of the whole ‘genius’ thing.”

Before you can argue, he snatches your phone with a level of ease that tells you this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He grins like he’s won a prize.

“Satoru!”

“Relax, I’m not texting anyone,” he says, fingers flying across the screen. “Just optimizing.”

Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”

“Nothing~”

You make a grab for your phone, but he effortlessly leans back, holding it above his head with those ridiculously long limbs. You glare at him from across the table, arm outstretched like a furious cat trying to swat at the moon.

“Give it back!”

“Patience.”

“Gojo Satoru—”

“Okay, okay!” he relents with a dramatic sigh, finally placing your phone face-down on the table like he’s done you a huge favor.

You snatch it up immediately, eyes scanning for damage. No weird messages. No unsolicited likes. No new matches.

“…What did you do?”

“I didn’t message anyone,” he assures, too innocent to be trusted. “I’m not that cruel.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

“But,” he adds with a grin, “I didn’t know you were dating.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, clicking your phone off. “Just considering it. Trying. It’s not going well.”

“Good.”

The word comes out too fast. Too sharp. And his face doesn’t match the light tone he’s trying to play off.

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

He shifts, leaning back in his seat, suddenly very interested in stirring the foam in his overpriced coffee. “I mean, it’s good you’re not settling. You should be picky. Guys are the worst.”

You snort. “You are a guy.”

“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”

You smile despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you think you’re the exception.”

“I know I am,” he says, winking. Then he sobers slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m just… looking out for you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You wish it was more than just him being protective in that big-brotherly, annoyingly loyal kind of way.

You take a sip of your coffee to cool your nerves. It doesn’t help. The words come out before you can stop them.

“You know with the way things are going… maybe you should just date me at this point.”

Silence.

It’s a joke. Supposed to be. But the second it leaves your lips, it tastes real.

Gojo freezes.

You panic. “I didn’t mean—like, I was just joking—”

But he turns toward you, eyes unreadable behind the fringe of snowy white hair. “Maybe I should.”

You blink.

And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.

“Anyway,” he says quickly, swiping your phone from the table again before you can stop him, “Yuto here looks like the type to ghost you after three dates and a karaoke duet. You can do better.”

You gape at him, completely thrown off, your heart slamming in your chest.

You don’t even notice what he’s done until later—until you get home and open your app to find that your bio has been changed.

Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.

You want to scream.

Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?

Yeah. Not going great.

Not at all.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.

Maybe it was the look in Utahime’s eyes, so determined and hopeful. Maybe it was Shoko promising she would help you find true love. Maybe it was the quiet part of you that wanted to see yourself through someone else’s eyes. Someone who wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Today,” Utahime had declared, curling the last strand of your hair like she was threading a spell, “is the first day of your Gojo-less future”

You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of your skirt. It wasn’t your usual style—not the dewy makeup you weren’t used to seeing in the mirror, not the new haircut that made your eyes look almost too bright, not the blouse that left your shoulders bare in a way that made you feel strangely noticed.

But when you caught your reflection, your heart fluttered. You looked beautiful.

When you stepped onto campus, the sun was out, the wind teasing your hair. You spotted him immediately—Gojo, slouched against the wall outside your lecture hall, nose buried in his Switch as he muttered something under his breath about evolving stats and attack modifiers.

He didn’t notice you at first.

Then he looked up.

His game froze mid-battle. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like someone had unplugged his brain.

“Wha—” he said eloquently. “Wh—what did you do.”

You blinked. “Hi to you too.”

He stared, unabashed. His glasses were slightly crooked, his ears glowing scarlet. He looked like someone had just told him Digimon was real and living in your shoes.

He blinked. “You look like… like you skipped two evolution stages overnight. Straight to Mega. Like if Angewomon fused with… I don’t know, some kind of rare, limited-release goddess-type Digimon that only spawns on a lunar eclipse.”

You blinked.

Utahime’s voice in your head: You’re hot. Unstoppable. He’s going to be speechless.

And Gojo was. But not in the way you wanted.

You tried to laugh. “So I look like a cartoon?”

“A beautiful cartoon,” he said, serious now. “Like the kind of boss character they only show for two frames because animating her costs too much.”

Your heart stuttered. It was the sort of compliment only Gojo could give: clumsy and dorky, yet brilliant in its own way.

But the moment passed.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, sunglasses slipping slightly as he muttered, “You just… you look different. That’s all.”

Different.

Not better. Not prettier.

Just different.

You swallowed. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d try something new.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” he added quickly, but the words felt unsure. Flimsy.

“I should… use the restroom,” you mumbled, turning before he could say anything else.

In the bathroom, you stared at your reflection. Your lipstick looked too bold now. Your lashes too heavy. Despite the change, you were still painfully you— the you Gojo teased during study sessions, the one he let borrow his hoodie when it rained, the one who sat next to him during endless all-nighters. And maybe that was the problem. You weren’t like those girls on the magazines. 

What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t see, was Gojo still standing outside the lecture hall, staring after you, Switch forgotten, game over screen blinking on the screen.

He didn’t even notice.

“You good, Satoru?” Shoko asked, walking by.

He blinked. “I think I just saw my best friend… and my final boss… and my future wife… all at once.”

Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”

Gojo just sighed, shoulders slumping as he muttered, “I’m so doomed.”

It’s a mild Friday evening when you meet him—Kazuya, the guy from your psychology class. He’s polite, articulate, and kind of cute. The kind of guy who asks if you prefer cats or dogs before ordering his drink, and actually listens when you answer.

Utahime and Shoko had insisted you say yes. “A change of pace,” they called it. “You need a baseline. Not every guy is going to be Gojo Satoru.”

Exactly. That was the point.

You’re sipping a matcha latte and nodding along as Kazuya explains his thesis on cognitive development when a very familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Your stomach drops. You look up, and sure enough—

Satoru.

In all his tall, obnoxiously eye-catching glory, wearing a white t-shirt that was inside out and a grin like he just won the lottery. He's holding a bottle of ramune and standing directly next to your table, like he’s been there the whole time.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”

“At this café? On this side of campus?”

“Yeah,” he says, tone innocent. “Weird coincidence, huh?”

Kazuya offers a polite smile. “You’re her friend, right? Gojo?”

“Oh, best friend. Lifelong. Practically her shadow.” He plops into the empty seat beside you without asking, casually tossing his ramune onto the table. “What’s your name again? Kaname?”

“…Kazuya.”

“Right, right. I always mix those up. You look like a Kaname, though. Or maybe a Yusuke.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”

But he’s already leaning over, squinting at the book tucked under Kazuya’s arm. “Ooh, Piaget. Bold move. Love that for you.”

Kazuya blinks. “Do you… like developmental theory?”

“I like being correct,” Gojo says with a cheeky smile. “Also, [Name] hates Piaget. She called him ‘the Freud of toddlers’ last semester.”

Kazuya turns to you in mild surprise. “Really?”

“I—I mean, yeah,” you mumble. “Sort of.”

Gojo beams. “Told you.”

Kazuya makes a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to safe, neutral ground.

“So, you mentioned you're interested in behaviorism, right?” he says, offering a gentle smile. “I thought Dr. Takeda's lecture on conditioned responses was kind of fascinating—”

“Oh, riveting,” Satoru cuts in, lounging back in his chair like he owns the café. “Nothing like bonding over Pavlov’s dogs to spark romance. Did she tell you she cried during Inside Out because the depiction of core memories was ‘psychologically resonant’? Real charmer, this one.”

You shoot Satoru a look. “I was twelve!”

Kazuya blinks, trying not to smile. “I actually thought that was pretty moving, too.”

“Wow,” Satoru deadpans. “A match made in neuroscience.”

Kazuya laughs politely and continues, undeterred. “So, uh, any research plans after graduation?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Satoru beats you to it again.

“She used to want to be a vet. Cried when she had to dissect a frog in middle school. Tragic day.”

“Is that true?” Kazuya turns to you, amused now.

“Technically, yes,” you mutter into your drink.

By the time your cup is empty, you realize you’ve laughed more at Satoru’s interjections than you have at anything Kazuya’s said. Not because Kazuya wasn’t interesting—he was. He was calm, thoughtful, well-read, and clearly trying. But next to Satoru, whose entire presence seemed impossible to ignore, Kazuya didn’t stand a chance.

Still, to his credit, Kazuya maintains a steady, if slightly strained, expression as he sets down his cup and finally says, carefully,

“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”

The question hangs awkwardly.

You and Satoru answer at the same time.

“No,” you say quickly.

“Yes,” he says with a smile.

You both turn to stare at each other.

“I mean—no,” he corrects, waving his hands. “Just a joke. Hah. Obviously.”

Kazuya blinks. “Right.”

You can’t meet either of their eyes. Your drink is finished, your palms are damp, and the café is suddenly too warm, too small. You push back your chair and stand.

“I should go. Early lab meeting tomorrow.” It’s the weakest excuse, but neither of them calls you on it.

Kazuya stands too, polite as ever. “Thanks for meeting up. You seem like a really cool person.” He hesitates, then adds, gently, “I just think maybe you’ve already got someone.”

You freeze. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s nothing to say.

Outside, the cold air kisses your cheeks like a reminder. It stings a little, or maybe that’s just the confusion burning in your chest.

Satoru’s already waiting for you. Of course he is. He’s leaning against the lamppost, silver hair catching in the wind. But his eyes are downcast, trained on the sidewalk.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you.

You exhale, watching your breath curl white in the air. “You didn’t have to crash it, y’know.”

“I didn’t crash,” he replies without looking at you. “I was invited.”

“By who?”

“Fate. Karma. The gods of poor decision-making.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes, but it tugs a laugh from you anyway. Stupid, annoying, charming Gojo.

“So,” he says after a beat, nudging your arm gently with his elbow, “how’d it go?”

You glance at him. He still won’t meet your gaze. His lips are pursed like he’s holding back a hundred words and none of them are funny.

“He was nice,” you admit. Despite being rudely interrupted by the white haired idiot beside you.

“Nice is boring,” he mutters, kicking at a loose stone on the pavement.

You laugh, soft and tired. “You’re the worst.”

He finally looks at you then, lips quirking into that smug, too-knowing smile. “But you like me anyway.”

You look away, cheeks burning, heart thudding like a traitor in your chest.

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

Despite Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru failing in every imaginable way, things were starting to feel bearable.

Almost good, even.

Satoru still hovered a little too close, always with that same half-smile like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe, just maybe— his constant sabotage, the teasing, the jealousy, the way he looked at you like he was about to say something important but never did. Maybe it all meant something.

You let yourself believe it, just a little.

And that was your first mistake.

It happens quietly, without fanfare or warning. Just a throwaway line between sips of lukewarm coffee and the soft shuffle of paper. You’re both at your usual spot in the library, surrounded by open notebooks and highlighted packets, pretending to study more than you actually are.

You’re halfway through underlining a term in your psychology notes when Satoru leans back in his chair, stretches like a cat, and says far too casually:

“So, guess who asked me out?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”

“Ayane.”

The name hits you like a slap.

You freeze, highlighter paused mid-sentence. “…Ayane? From the biochem track?”

“Yeah,” he says, practically glowing. “You know her, right? She's in your study group sometimes.”

You do know her. Of course you do. Everyone knows her.

She’s beautiful, with this effortless, clean kind of elegance—long legs, perfect posture, and that quiet, poised confidence that makes professors adore her and guys fall over themselves. The kind of girl who posts one blurry bookshelf photo and still racks up a thousand likes. The kind of girl Gojo always jokes about marrying.

But he’s not joking now. He’s beaming.

“She asked me out to dinner this Friday. She’s so smart, too. I didn’t even have to pretend to know what quantum entanglement was. It’s wild.” He laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d never go for a guy like me, y’know?”

You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Too much, I guess? But she said I was ‘refreshing.’” He grins. 

Your stomach sinks.

This is what you thought you wanted—for him to move on, so you could finally do the same. For Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru to succeed, for real this time.

But now that it’s happening, it feels like someone’s slowly pulling your ribs apart.

“Oh,” you manage, smiling like you’ve practiced it. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

He doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks on happy. He just keeps talking, rambling about restaurant reservations and how she likes contemporary poetry and used to live in France. You nod in all the right places, but your thoughts are already slipping away.

Because it isn’t just that he’s going out with someone else.

It’s that he chose her.

Her with her flawless skin and quiet charm and the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to try. Her, with everything you’re not. And more than that, it’s that he made you believe you could have meant more to him, when really, he’d been searching for someone else all along.

You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.

He doesn’t follow.

You don’t cry until you’re halfway home, the cold air biting at your cheeks as your vision blurs.

For the first time in years, you don’t text him goodnight.

You don’t wait for a meme. Or a dumb joke. Or his usual, “Hey, genius. Sleep.”

You go silent.

And when he texts the next day, you don’t reply.

You skip your library meet-up. You don’t sit next to him in class. You even duck into the stairwell when you see his ridiculous white hair from across campus.

It’s not because you’re mad. It’s because you’re heartbroken.

And you can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter—that he doesn’t matter.

You weren’t just losing your best friend.

You were losing the love of your life.

And he didn’t even notice.

It takes him three days to notice you’re gone.

Well—no. That’s a lie.

He notices immediately. The moment your usual seat in the library stays empty. When your laugh doesn’t echo in the café line. When your name doesn’t pop up on his screen at 2AM with some stupid meme captioned, “this reminded me of you, idiot.”

But he tells himself you’re busy.

Midterms, right? Stress. Coffee. You get like this sometimes, and he gets it. He really does.

So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.

But then Friday comes.

And he's sitting across from Ayane in some expensive, quiet restaurant where the napkins are folded like origami cranes and the water tastes filtered. She’s telling him about her research internship in Osaka, about enzymes and international grants, and all he can think is—

You’d be making fun of me right now.

You’d be kicking him under the table. Whispering some dumb pun about digimon. You’d be pulling faces every time he tried to pronounce the items on the menu. You’d be you.

Ayane is lovely.

But she doesn’t laugh when he says something stupid. She just smiles politely.

She doesn’t ask about why his glasses are always crooked (it’s so you could fix them). Doesn’t tease him for double-knotting his laces like a paranoid grandma. Doesn’t call him “Sato” like it’s some private joke only the two of you get.

He walks her home. Thanks her for a nice evening.

Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.

And he sees your favorite snack on the shelf and buys two out of habit.

He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.

No new messages.

Just the last one you sent days ago:

“Laundry. Rain check?”

And nothing since.

He waits. Another day. Then two.

You don’t show up to class again.

You don’t like his latest meme.

You don’t comment on the Digimon pun he texted you out of desperation.

You are silent.

And Satoru Gojo—brilliant, blind-sighted, the golden boy of theoretical physics, always five steps ahead realizes, too late, that he’s been a fool.

That he didn’t just lose a study partner.

He lost the one person who knew him better than he knew himself.

The one person he couldn’t replace with rare Digimon pulls, half-solved physics equations, or overly sweet desserts.

And for the first time since he was a kid—

He’s afraid.

It’s been a little over a week.

A little over a week since Gojo Satoru has heard your voice. Since you shoved your coffee at him without asking, muttering “too sweet for me” when you really meant “I got this for you.” Since you poked fun at his stupid sock choices, or knocked your foot against his under the table like it was nothing.

And Satoru is suffering.

He's tried everything. Showed up to your house with excuses too weak to be called plans (“Hey, I brought your favorite snacks. I just... figured maybe you forgot you liked them?”). Waited outside your lecture hall until a security guard asked if he was lost. Took detours between classes hoping to catch a glimpse of your ponytail, your laugh, anything.

But you were always one step ahead.

You stopped answering his texts. Blocked him on that stupid dating app (which—ouch, even though you hadn’t used it seriously). You didn’t even show up to the library anymore. And even Shoko started looking at him with thinly veiled pity and a you really fumbled the bag look in her eyes.

Gojo Satoru is just tired.

Miserable.

So when he finally finds you—not because he’s chasing you down this time, but because he’s walking the long way home, and there you are, sitting on the old swings at the park where you first met—it knocks the wind out of him.

You don’t look surprised to see him. Just tired too.

“I figured you’d find me eventually,” you say quietly.

He swallows. His hands curl at his sides like he’s preparing for a fight.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “Why?”

You look away. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”

Gojo looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and stinging. The playground is empty except for the wind dragging a soda can down the sidewalk and the faint creak of the swing chain.

Then he exhales, ragged and unsure. “Look, I can’t—I can’t take this anymore.”

You glance up.

“I can’t either.”

Hope flares too fast, too naive in his chest. His shoulders drop like he’s been holding up the world. “That’s good,” he breathes, stepping forward. “Because the silent treatment— God, I thought I was going to—”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

The words stop him cold.

“What?” he breathes.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. Like something already broken. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be friends with you and pretend that nothing’s changed. That I’m okay just being your best friend. I’ve been in love with you for years, Satoru.”

His heart stutters. You don’t stop.

“And I love myself too much to keep hurting for someone who doesn’t even look at me that way.” Your voice cracks, but you push through. “Do you know how humiliating it feels? To love someone so much it aches, and still feel like you’ll never be enough?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You never even thought I was cute.”

He looks like he’s been hit.

“I’ve been chasing scraps. Leftovers. Mixed signals and stupid inside jokes. I—I can’t do it anymore.”

You finally meet his eyes, and that’s when he sees it: the hurt you’ve been hiding behind every smile, every brush-off, every joke you cracked to keep the silence from swallowing you.

And for once, Gojo Satoru can’t find a single thing to say.

Not yet.

Not until he stops you from walking away.

“Where did you get an idea like that?” His cerulean eyes search yours desperately. “I-I don’t think you’re just cute, are you kidding?” he blurts, eyes wild.

“Y-you’re breathtaking! Everything I’ve dreamt of and more! That night when you asked me if I thought you were cute, I only said no because it would be a divine crime to reduce to such. All of my fantasies have been centered around you since we first met on that playground—since you tripped over your shoelaces trying to race me to the monkey bars!”

Your breath catches.

He continues, desperate now, like every second of silence might kill him.

“I love you! And not like a brother. Like—I want to marry you. Like, small wedding in Okinawa, barefoot on the beach, you wearing that soft blue dress you like. I already planned it. Our firstborn would be a daughter, with your eyes, my hair. She’d be the boss of the house.”

You gape.

“Wait—”

“I’m not done!” he says, hands thrown up. “Then we’d have twins. Boys. Chaos gremlins. One would look like my twin and the other yours, and they’d absolutely terrorize us—but their sister keeps them in check, she’s fierce like you.”

You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.

“I want to move to Kyoto,” he says, softer now. “Buy a house with a dumb little garden. Grow tomatoes we’ll never eat. Live out the rest of our lives where it’s quiet.”

You cover your mouth, stunned. “You… really thought all that out?”

“It’s easy,” he breathes, “when all I can think about is you.”

He steps closer. The wind tugs his white hair into his eyes, but he doesn’t blink.

“I go to study nonlinear quantum field theory and all I see is your face. I try to cool off and play Digimon, and even that’s ruined—my lineup is garbage now! I only keep the ones you said were cute!”

A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.

“You idiot,” you murmur.

“I am,” he nods solemnly. “I’m the world’s biggest idiot. And I’m in love with you.”

Another tear slips down. He wipes it away before you can.

“Is it too late?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him, this man, this brilliant, ridiculous boy who had held your heart long before you ever admitted it.

“It’s not too late,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just steps closer. Gently and carefully, like he's handling something sacred, he cups your cheek in his hand.

Your nose bumps his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for years,” he whispers.

And then, finally, he kisses you.

It’s not perfect, your cheeks are still wet, his nose bumps yours again, and his hand trembles just a little, but it’s warm and sweet and soft. It tastes like home..

When he pulls away, his smile is sheepish. “So… are we still doing the whole ‘Operation: Get Over Gojo’ thing, or?”

You laugh, heart full, forehead pressed to his.

“Mission failed,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good.”

And then he kisses you again.

art by leimiruu on x!

[chosove]

18+ mdni | belated birthday boy :p

an. happy bday to my pretty boy, ily toru

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

“f-fuck ‘toru…always forget how big you are…” your voice trembled as you struggled to take him fully, cunt seeping copious amounts of slick to adjust to his size.

he chuckled at your admission, cock swelling at the sight of your pussy lips splitting open to accommodate his massive size. “cant say shit like that p-princess, fuckkk baby, how are you getting even tighter?” gojo gasps out, your warm walls clamping down on him as you feel the back of your thighs finally set themselves down on his lap.

“ngh…can feel you s’deep already” grabbing his much larger hand, you guide it from where it rested on your ass to the spot just above your navel, applying pressure as your hips started to grind against his. “all the way up here ‘toru…”

“y-yeah?…shit angel…” satoru whined, free hand caressing your sides as a way to ground himself.

placing your hands on his chest for stability, you sped up your ministrations, giggling at satoru’s eyes rolling back. “does that feel good? tell me what to do birthday boy” you whispered into his ear, finishing your words with a bite to the lobe, soothing the area by sucking on it after.

“sh-shit anything, y’can do whatever ya fuckin’ want baby jus’ don’t stop” satoru whined, hips bucking up to meet your cunt. “p-please angel, jus’ use me however you want”

your walls clamped down on his cock at his words, the small bit of drool escaping his lips only turning you on further. swiping your tongue against his lip, you began to move your hips once more, the sight of the strongest begging you to absolutely ruin him encouraging you to ignore the burn in your thighs.

you moaned out, losing yourself in the way his cock managed to hit every sensitive spot inside you, body going limp when satoru’s hands gripped at your hips to hold you in place as he thrusted into you with a new ferocity.

“f-fuck ‘toru, slow down!” your sweet voice sang, the whines behind each word only pushing him to fuck into you even more desperately.

“love when ya call me that princess” satoru groaned, his body beginning to shake with desperation. “love this p-pussy, love you, fuck i love you angel, love you, love you, love you s-so much-” his voice continued to cry out, head thrown back as his cock jumped inside you, cum spurting out in a way that you swore felt like forever.

“g-gonna cum ‘toru” you whined, his orgasm throwing you into yours. it only took a few more seconds of his cock pulsing inside you to push you over the edge, cunt repeatedly clamping down on him, the overstimulation causing satoru to whimper.

it only took a few minutes before you started to feel his hips move under you once more, your head lifting from the crook of his neck to gaze at the sight of your lover in absolute bliss, mouth wide open with his brows creased.

“gonna make me cum for each year, right baby?”

[baepsays]

High School Oblivion ⸻ Gojo Satoru x reader

description ᯓ★ while going through his high school yearbook when helping his mother clean out their storage, Gojo's hands get stuck on a page with a picture of this one particular person. he cannot help but reminisce about the past as now a 30 year old and wonder how things could have turned out if everything went down differently.

cw ᯓ★ fluff, sfw, implicated angst, really mild angst, enemies to friends, one sided love, pining, academic rivals, lowkey bully Gojo, teasing and name calling—nothing really extreme, high school au, frenemies really, usage of fem oriented pronouns, reader is depicted as a fem presenting person, reader is depicted shorter than Gojo, written basically from Gojo's pov, time skips, nosebleed, sorry but use of y/n l/n i know that can be cringy but whatever.

𐙚 Playlist I used while writing this.

Satoru is a good son. In fact, he's kind, diligent, genuine, obedient, and- "Stop trying to slack off and get back to work." Well, his mother might disagree.

"You cannot be asking me to help you and also boss me around mom." Satoru says with a signature pout. Having Gojo Satoru as your son and raising him, doesn't really immunize a person to his pouts. Or maybe his mother is biased because he looks exactly like his father when he's trying to sway her as well and he pulls out what seems to be a Gojo family weapon. But naturally she has her own defenses. 

"I'm only making you do this because you left all this behind yourself Sato, why didn't you take some of this or clean it when you moved out?"

"Wow just because I am a grown adult I cannot believe my own mother is treating me like one. Wow, what has the world come to." Satoru exclaimed like the drama queen he is. 

"Stop being dramatic and help me properly you know I can't lift up all these boxes you have essentially filled with garbage. Clean out these last 3 boxes piled up in categories of what you need and what to throw out, I'll go check on your father."

It seems his whining doesn't always work on his mother the way it does on his father. Oh well. Though this has been such a nostalgic Sunday, being back in his childhood home, well second one, the neighborhood he grew up in for the better part of his teenage and young adulthood, getting forced into helping out his mother, and the smell of his father's cooking  on a weekend. Time might as well revert back.

While cleaning out one of the, what seems never ending, boxes of childhood belongings— Gojo Satoru stumbles upon something he hasn't seen in probably 12 years. His high school yearbook.

It is a natural thing to go into the realm of nostalgia when stumbling upon things like this. Flipping through the pages he really grasps how much he has already forgotten. I mean that is given, it's been 12 years since he graduated. It takes him 12 months to find his lost socks.

Looking through the pictures he realizes how much everything has changed. The length of Suguru's hair has changed, as well as Shoko's. Nanami has gotten more chiseled or tired; he cannot say exactly, Utahime finally has a decent haircut.  And look at him! Oh how naive he was, look at those big blue eyes with nothing behind them, covered by those obnoxious pairs of shades. Maybe some things haven't changed, never mind. He's probably never letting go of his obnoxious collection of shades.

As he flips through the pages his fingers get stuck on a particular page. And the memories just come flooding in without any effort.

[BACK IN HIGH SCHOOL, fifteen years ago]

Gojo Satoru saw you for the first time at the school gates on his first day during first year, at a new high school. 

He was not very fond of the idea of going to school in a new city, away from the place he grew up in, unfamiliar people, and joining in the middle of the year when everyone has already somewhat settled down, it unnerved him. Unfortunately, throwing a fit about staying in a house his parents already sold and made all the arrangements to move to another place, couldn't help him much.  

Some random kid showing up in the middle of the year is just a recipe to be bullied, or at least be prone to such jabs. He had decided prior to his first day, that he would go in with a stone cold face and be brave through this. Or, plan B.

While he was heavily contemplating standing in front of the main gate, the last bell already rang, he was officially late for his first day. Well he arrived a lot earlier, then somehow everyone passed by him and the final bell rang and he just stood there. And he was thinking about making a run for it, that was the plan B, taking a train back to Tokyo, and from there on he will figure it out. His parents will definitely know, find him, maybe this ordeal will finally make them understand how serious he was about not settling in here, even if that came at the cost of being grounded for life. 

Satoru almost turned around to walk away from his new high school, his new city— his new home essentially— that is when a breeze of air gushed past him. When he looked forward, past the gates of the school, there was a fluff of hair, in the said school's uniform with a bag in her hands; dangling and teetering to fall on the ground, a key chain bouncing by one of the zippers— cute little orange cat, bouncing on her bag. She was running with all her might to make it, unlike him. That is all he saw of her, but he smelled much more. The lingering smell of her perfume, or soap or just- whatever it may be. 

Lemons? Bergamot maybe. Distinctly citrus, not the sour kind, or the room freshener kind— a sweet smell of ripe citrus in the summer sun, kind of citrus. And flowers, peonies to be exact, that was very apparent. 

Satoru, to this day, has never smelled that kind of tantalizing fragrance. To this day, he still remembers exactly how he stood there dumb; eyes wide open, mouth agape, and nothing but citrus with peonies haunting his chemoreceptors.

That day he tried to run after you, to put a name and face to the fragrance that in an instant hypnotized him, and to return that orange cat. Unfortunately, the teetering little cat keychain did fall off your bag, and when he ran after you to return it, he couldn't catch up to your haste. And since that day he didn't see you until a whole month passed. 

That month he met his lifelong circle of friends, his best of friends. But it wasn't easy for neither of the sides to become acquainted, he was in a broody depressed rage about shifting and had already made up his mind that ‘well everyone must hate me’ — teenagers. Anyway, the first day he sat beside Geto Suguru he barked at Suguru for no reason, poor suguru was just being friendly and kind. So yes that broke into a little kerfuffle, got a lot of scolding from their homeroom teacher, Mr. Yaga. Later Suguru still dragged Satoru with him to eat lunch with his friends. 

This is important to the story because, nostalgia and well, Satoru realized you were literally in the class next door, because of Shoko.

One day, when Suguru and him were irritating Kento, with a giggly Haibara, it took him only 2 weeks to drop his ‘you don't understand mom’ & ‘i am above you people’ act.

don't get it wrong, he still thinks he's better than most people, which isn't entirely wrong but god is it annoying. And that is exactly how you felt about Gojo Satoru upon your first impression of him. 

On that fateful day you went to look for Shoko, and found her, as usual at the school basketball court with her friends, with an addition of white fluff. You had heard of Gojo Satoru a lot at that point, the girls in your class went to gather out of their class to check him out, from what you heard he picked a fight with Suguru that day. Off the get go you did not think much of him, probably some pretty face with connections and money to spare by getting into unnecessary trouble. 

Satoru didn't see you entering the basketball court that day, but he smelled you. In the past month there had been few instances where his nostrils would be randomly engulfed by that citrusy peony smell, and he would halt in his pace to whip his head around to find the source. But alas, by the time he would turn around, you'd be nowhere to be found, and your perfume would slowly fade out. 

And here you were, in all your physical tangible glory, for a second Satoru was taken aback seeing you there—somewhere somehow, before your fragrance could reach him, something about you struck him right in his throat. Maybe it was his subconscious, but he halted right where he was, mid match with Kento and Suguru. When was the ball snatched away from him, or when your bergamot and peonies perfume took over his senses; neither could be pinpointed. All he knew was that— it was you. 

It was the girl with messed up collars and messy hair. Who smells divine. And the orange cat keychain!— Which has been sitting on his desk for a month. Satoru couldn't care less about Suguru egging him on about making a basket, nor did he see Kento slowly retire to the audience benches with Haibara— he stood there, staring at you, giving back Shoko some notebook; not important. He needed to go up to you. He needed to introduce himself! He couldn't let you slip away now. 

So right before you told Shoko you'd be taking your leave, he rushed over there, and haphazardly blurted out— “you smell.” 

“Excuse me!?” you looked at him flabbergasted. 

“Satoru, why are you trying to pick a fight?” Shoko had to intervene. Because what a horrible way to introduce two of  your friends to each other.

“Listen Gojo, I do not know what your problem is, but I'd advise you to keep yourself and your opinions to yourself.” You warned him before storming out of the basketball court with furrowed eyebrows and red ears.  

“Damn dude, do you even know her? Why would you even say that?” Suguru was honestly very entertained by this exchange that day, as he was thoroughly entertained by you two's interactions throughout high school. 

Satoru didn't mean to start off on such a contemptuous note with you, he didn't really mean it. I mean- he did mean what he said, it's just his phrasing was poor. He has always been reprimanded about this problem by his mother since he was a kid, his father did find it extremely funny. At times, he too found his poor choice of vocabulary funny, unfortunately it wasn't one of those circumstances. 

Later he had explained this to Shoko, telling Suguru anything was useless, he was too preoccupied with reenacting his failed attempt at making a good first impression on you. He then only revealed why he has been looking for the girl who smells like bergamot and peonies—which he didn't use as a descriptor of you, that much detail and all of them are on his neck about being a little obsessed creep. He didn't go into any details, he just told them he met you on his first day, at the school gates and you were late, also about how you dropped your keychain. After all that is why he ran after you that day to find you and give it back to you, but unfortunately he got blind sighted by your perfume, right? Well that is what he is willing to tell others and himself. At least he knew your name now.

And surprisingly you also knew him? Did you also see him at the gates that day? Or did you see him in the hallways? Or with Shoko? Or-Why was he so concerned anyway? All he needed was to return the keychain and get over this whole thing, you didn't seem like a very easygoing person. But maybe that had to do with his poor sentence structuring.

Next time Satoru saw you, you were in your class. It was before the morning bell rang, he showed up at the door by the end of your classroom, to seem more inconspicuous. He was looking around to find you in the midst of the flock of girls gathered around him to enquire about his sudden visit, so much for being inconspicuous. Fortunately, he saw you soon enough at the front of the classroom in a seat by the windows — “Y/N!” 

and everyone turned to stare at you, ‘great’—wasn't exactly what you were feeling. When you walked up to Satoru, you couldn't help but narrow your eyes at the guy. “Did not think we were on a first name basis.” 

“Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot, i-” Gojo tried to explain. 

“I think we got off on exactly the right foot, I mean who just gets all up into someone's face and calls them smelly?” Your voice was already going up quite a bit. 

“No, listen, that was a misunderstanding. I mean I did mean what I said, but-” he tried to, horribly, explain himself. 

“Seriously, your audacity is immense, not only did you call me smelly, but now you're showing up to my class to pick a fight!?” you definitely lost some cool at that point. Everyone who wasn't already congregated, also gathered around, inside the classroom and outside in the hallway. 

“First of all, will you stop cutting me off? I am trying to explain the situation here!” And now Satoru was also losing it. 

“Explain? Explain what? Explain how you are above everything and literal incarnation of God or something? Oh did my lowly perfume perhaps irritate your nose hair?” The sarcasm clearly entailed what kind of image you have already built in your head about him. Perhaps it was from all sorts of exaggerated rumours about him. Though you didn't seem like one to fall for such petty rumours, like how he was an undercover actor or prince. But he was sure what kind of a person you thought this guy was—an arrogant asshole. 

“Do you even know me?” said Satoru, now starting to become really irritated by your—in his opinion—unnecessary attitude. The last month has been hard enough as is. It took him time to settle down and not let people’s stares or baseless rumors get to him—some of them might have been funny if he was being honest. It was the friends he made in his first week who held him back from getting into more fights than he already did, and had his back against all the whispers. 

“Do you know me well enough to shout my first name in front of my entire class!?” Well Satoru didn't have a comeback to that. “Exactly. So why don't you keep yourself and your arrogance out of my sight.” You grimaced.

“Arrogance? Oh please shortcake. You sure have a lot of words to spout with that height of yours.” Now he was just being petty.

“Oh because being a streetlight is so gratifying!” 

“At least I don't cut people off mid sentence then talk shit!” and he has completely lost his cool.

“Oh don't put on pretence! Like you are some saint!? For who? The girls who flock you like some shiny stone?” 

“Oh don't be salty just because I didn't give you some attention shortcake.” He was trying to get under your skin. He's now losing sight of his actual motive.

“Yes, because I am dying to be acknowledged by your highness, and how my smell is bothering his expensive nose!” 

“Listen. That was entirely a misunderstanding, and you're not even trying to hear me out. You are the one picking a fight!” 

“Oh I am sorry, I just can't stand pretentious people.” you stab your last quip with a glare, stabbing right through his chest, all while maintaining perfect eye contact. 

“You know what. Nevermind shortcake, this was a waste of time.” 

“I didn't even ask for your presence in the first place.” Your eyes deadpanned, remained trained on him, bored yet bothered. Both of your faces mere inches away, when did it get there? No idea. He was cranking his head down to glare back into your eyes, losing all motivation to return your keychain. And before he could come up with any further retort, the bell rang. Thankfully.

Word of this interaction spread through the entire school like wildfire. 

A few things were instantly established in the passing months since Satoru’s arrival—he was going to be popular, he is good at almost everything, and that he got along with almost everyone; even the people he did not have a good rapport with at the beginning, now he seemingly got along with them perfectly. 

But, there was one person who could not stand him. And that person happened to be you. And everyone was aware of this. The students, respective and common friends, the teachers, heck even the principal knew.  

Yet in the next 6 months since Satoru joined the school, he found himself crossing paths with you quite often. First he really did just avoid you; he gave up on giving back the keychain, that he did out of pettiness. He really did want to return it, but unless and until you dropped your attitude he was not letting the cat chain go, but he did take good care of it— it sat nicely on his desk, gave it a little bed made out of a soft napkin he got from his mom. Once in a while he would dust it and give it pats, and also speak to it. Yeah, after dinners when he would be studying he would speak to that little guy. He was feeling real friendly with it, which made him feel more bad for it, because at the end of the day it belonged to you. 

In the instances where Satoru and you would run into each other; you could be laughing out loud and having a fun time and then, you would see him across the hallway and your face would morph into a scowl. It irked him, in a good way, it made him feel excited that he had such a sway on you. Even if he was convinced it was not that one single—incorrectly interpreted—comment about your perfume, which made you have such a poor opinion of him; there has to have been a deeper reason. From what he has gathered, you are the highest scoring student in the entire year, the teachers have a very good opinion of you, and you are helpful towards your peers— a straight A’s student, and their sophomore student body council secretary, a real model student. Even though you would mostly keep to yourself, you were still pretty well known by others. 

Yet when you saw him, you would lose your cool. In fact from what he heard, the biggest takeaway from the fight you two had was that, ‘woah she can be like that?’, because people apparently had never seen you speak over a certain decibel. That stroked his ego. Made him feel sort of special, got him all giddy. 

He was yet to realize the gravity of those feelings. The impact of the rush he felt when he smelled your sweet and citrusy fragrance when you passed by him, speeding up to lose sight of him faster. And he would always be left behind, to stand still, taking it all in.  

His little teasing remarks, pranks, and fight initiators started soon after the fight you two had that day; started small really. Calling you shortcake constantly, interrupting you when you would go to their class to make some announcement on behalf of the student body. Trying to get better grades than you. Going over to the student body room, using his class president Kento as an excuse, to annoy you. Stealing your spectacles on days you would not put in contacts, trying it on and copying your mannerisms. His personal favorite was to snatch away any books, notebooks, or papers in your hands; to then hold it over his head. The whole thing about you jumping to try and get it out of his hands—which was an impossible task for you—gave him the opportunity to smell your scent much better. 

During one of such instances, where he was holding one of the student council papers over his head, prolonging your work, he got a whiff of your shampoo. It smelled like fruits, strawberries and more citrus—it smelled like orange this time. This was fatal. The notes of bergamot and peonies were threatening his sanity as is, and now there were strawberries. He got so trancened by your presence that when his hand lowered involuntarily, you took the chance to grab onto his shoulder, to use him as a support to reach for your papers—he stood there looking into your squinting eyes as you retrieved the papers from his hand, until you walked off muttering curses at him. 

And he just stood staring at your back. His eyes lingered on you long enough to see you turn back and throw a glare at him as you made a turn to disappear from his line of sight.

This went on, the teasing and squabbling, the name callings, use of the words shortcake and streetlight became significantly more frequent in your respective lexicons. Satoru loved using his pretty privileges to get the girls in your class to do his bidding, and had them sending you off somewhere without mentioning his name, the naive enchanted girls would abide with no questions asked. And when you would show up, he would throw a fake snake at you, or jumpscare you—though this was a more rare occurrence than his regular teasing, just so you would not get too used to this sort of pranks that it would lose its effect on you. 

To him the idea of you was like this puzzling question nagging and straining on his mind, much like your physical self. But you got him excited and riled up. Also a little annoyed at the fact that you do not think of him worthy enough to spare any time. Which is why he came up with these mischievous ideas to elicit reactions out of you. 

Nothing was more satisfying than to see you break under his little ventriloquism.

The dynamics took a slight turn when you two became second year students.

On the fateful morning of the day when the results for first year’s finals came out—you found yourself standing dumbfounded, looking at your full name on the bulletin board, in second place. 

You came in second. 

Which is big! An amazing achievement. But it didn't feel like it. Especially when your name was displayed second to Gojo Satoru. He outdid you, he really did. Getting better grades than you in random tests and what not was one thing, then outranking you and ruining your plan for a perfect streak—was another thing. The horror and embarrassment of standing in front of the huge display of the grades, surrounded by everyone, having your failures announced in broad daylight, hearing everyone whisper about you—had you standing there like a cold unmoving statue.

So when Satoru got around to finally stroll in with ease, way after the results were announced, to come up to stand directly behind you—because as always the first person his eyes wander to find in a crowd is—you. He couldn't figure out why you glared at him differently, there was this underlying somber and a tilting glaze in your eyes. It was as if any moment you were going to break down into tears and his presence was anything but welcomed. 

Praise his tongue, because thankfully that day it held itself back. Thankfully his senses caught on to what was happening. Coming in first or second or last did not matter much to him, because what mattered most to him was to simply  get under your skin, essentially the very reason why he ended up on the top of the list—but you did not find this funny or amusing. And it wasn't your usual annoyance and dismay of his antics, he really felt like he had done something to actually hurt you. 

And which in return hurt him tenfold. Knowingly or unknowingly, Gojo Satoru bled himself a wound that he didn't know how to stitch close. 

He didn't know what exactly hurt more, the fact you ran away from there that day after he arrived, without a single word. Or the fact that you've been completely ignoring his existence since that day. It has been really painful for him, because everytime he would get a glimpse of you or a whiff of you—you'd disappear from his sphere, as soon as humanly possible. He made every effort to try to speak to you. The rejoice he felt about being assigned to the same classroom as you this year, was starting to wear off. Especially when you made it explicitly clear through your actions that you had no intention of speaking to him or acknowledging his existence, more than ever. If you were helping out class president Nanami Kento with distributing papers, you would hand over his papers as nonchalantly as possible. In one of such several instances, he gave up on giving you space to get back to your usual self, and grabbed your wrist to explain himself. 

“L/n, listen, i am really sorry alright. I don't know how it happened. I swear I did not mean to hurt you like that, I swear! I was just-” he blabbed on without making much sense, whispering as discreetly as possible. Even though the entire school was aware you two were not on even speaking terms anymore. He did not want to put you in a position where everyone made a spectacle out of you.

“I have better things to do, Gojo.” as always you would cut him off, without even sparing him as much as even a glare, then yank your wrist out of his grasp to go on your merry way. 

He really did whatever he could, following you around like a kicked puppy, leaving notes on your desk, which was fortunately assigned right before his own desk—he was not sure if it made things a little easier for him, or a hundred times harder. It stung to find those notes crumbled up and sitting on his own desk later. Stung to sit behind you, when you refused to spare a glare or two his way, even some sharp remarks, or curses directed at him. The smell of sweet citrus and peonies did not help. The teachers would call him out more often than not for being distracted in class. Poor guy was really going through it.

The nail in his coffin was, when it had already been three weeks since the new year started. Three weeks and three days of you completely ignoring his pathetic attempts at saying sorry to you. On the fourth day of the fourth week, he found you in the teacher's lounge, speaking to one of your subject teachers;

“Goodness L/n. The year just started and you are already slacking off? Forgetting to submit the student council work on time, then forgetting your class assignments!? Is there something going on? No surprise Gojo surpassed you, do you understand the gravity of that? That careless guy outranked you. And you are making no efforts to rectify that! If things go on like this, next year you might come second from last.” he really crossed a line there.

If it was in Satoru’s capacity, he would’ve probably gone in and punched the man straight square in the jaw. He never really liked him to begin with. It was not about the fact he called Satoru careless, or the fact he always finds the flaws in Satoru—it was entirely about how he treated you. And it was not just in this instance, the guy has always been harsh and judgemental towards you, from what he heard it started since one day you corrected his mistake during class. And he was known to be not tolerant of anyone being better than him, especially students. 

Satoru almost broke into the room, when his eyes locked with yours. You stood in front of the guy with your hands tightly gripped by your side, facing the door. Your already glossy eyes started to almost overflow with tears when your gaze fell on him, your body was slightly trembling. How you managed to blink away those tears, is beyond him. In the brief moment where you looked at him and looked away to control your emotions, making an effort to not break down into tears in front of the room full of teachers, the teacher who was scolding you, and your homeroom teacher Mr. Yaga who was giving you pitiful glaces—he knew interrupting will only make things worse for you.

More than anyone, you did not want to cry in front of Satoru. And Satoru was cognizant of that fact better than maybe even yourself.

So, he did the most sensible thing he could in that moment, for once, he simply stood outside with his back to the wall outside of the teacher’s room, and did not dare to look inside. And he just waited while remaining unnoticeable. Waiting for you to come out, he did not care for the looks thrown his way by the students roaming in the hallways, as long as they did not spare a glance towards you and try to snoop. What did he even want to say to you when you came out of there? He had no idea, and he knew he was the last person you would want to see right now, but for him you are the first person he wants to see everyday after he wakes up—so he could not just let you be on your own in this condition. Because he knew better than anyone, you were not one to wear your heart on your sleeves. 

Satoru essentially blended in there, to the point you did not even notice him standing there when you left the room in a hurry, and headed the opposite way from your class. Recess was already over, that guy kept you in there for the entire recess period. ‘Goodness did you even eat?’ was something that crossed his mind among various spiteful and angry words he was muttering under his breath directed towards that teacher. 

You were never one to miss a class, cutting classes without any valid reason was out of the question. But honestly if you tried to go in the class right now, he would have probably dragged you somewhere else himself. So he did the next best thing—followed you from a distance to wherever you were going. No one is going to care or notice if you two were gone at the same time, right? Well at least he could make up some excuse and take all the blame himself. He was not exactly known for his attendance record anyway, the sole reason why he made sure not to miss school was because you barely ever skipped school. 

That is how he found you in the school yard at the back, near the flower patch the students planted, against the big Momiji tree. Where you are found most times during free periods, reading whatever book you may be reading at the moment. This time you were just crying, well it is not that he could see you, but he could tell. You were sitting with your knees to your chest, face buried in your hands, your entire figure was clearly trembling even from afar. Soft sobs jabbed his ears as he got closer and made his chest hurt. He slowly walked up to the tree trying not to scare you. 

“Stop lurking like a creep.” You said with your head still down.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you.” He said softly, and went to take a seat beside you, unsure if you were going to run away from him again.

You laid your legs flat on the grass and rested your back against the tree when he made his way over to you. When you looked up at him, eyes bloodshot red, glassy with tears, and more tears running down your cheeks, pooling at your chin— with your lips slightly jutted out and eyebrows bunched up in a frown, he just fell on his knees in front of you. Happerhazadly pulled out his handkerchief, and offered to take it. 

“Is this funny to you?” you said with a frown. He knew you were upset but he couldn't help but think, and mindlessly said it out loud—

“Cute.” 

“Ah so this is cute to you!? You are finding my misery and embarrassment cute. You seriously-” he cuts you off mid sentence.

“Will you ever actually let me speak!?” He takes a second and continues “Goodness shortcake, I meant you are cute. The tongue you've got on you, could wound thousands of soldiers and that brain of yours could beat Usain Bolt in a race.” He let out a short chuckle as he shook his head slightly and wiped your face with his handkerchief. 

He gingerly wiped away the tears falling down your cheeks and chin, and the accumulated tears in the corners of your eyes. With utmost gentle touch he cleaned you up, which was characteristically contradictory.

You looked away from him without any retort. Too occupied with the fact he called you cute, to even notice that little gesture. So you further leaned back onto the tree as if it'll engulf you and make you not sit here with him and confront this heavy air hanging between you two. But also, who is stopping you from getting up and walking away? 

Things have always been odd when Gojo Satoru was involved. Somehow after everything, time and time again you found yourself breaking down all your walls to let this guy have a peek at your most authentic self—someone who is envious, easily irritable, not the patient and tolerating soft-spoken girl everyone knows. And it irks you. It claws at your skin that he has been nothing but himself since day one; even before entering the gates of the school, he didn't think of the consequences but just turned his back to it and almost walked away. Yet you were rushing to make it on time, to not have any smear on your perfect record. Even if you were late only because you were up studying until late for the midterms looming over, you could not excuse one slip up.

Why didn't he run the opposite direction of the school but instead chased after you?—you couldn't pinpoint the answer. Everything about him just simply made your head scramble, enough so you didn't even realize you lost your beloved cat keychain until later during lunch. Even when you searched around everywhere, traced back your steps, and looked for it on the route back home; it was nowhere to be found. You cried yourself to sleep that night thinking how you lost the keychain, which had a cat who looked exactly like the cat you once loved and cherished. It was unfortunate enough to have lost him at such a young age, but the key chain helped to have his presence as if guiding you through obstacles.

And without him, things have been a mess. The only explanation you could rationalize was that Gojo Satoru was the one to blame for everything. If he hadn't turned back and ran in after you, you would've been more receptive to your keychain dropping instead of this giant guy running behind you, and wouldn't have lost it. If only he didn't become friends with Shoko and the others you wouldn't have to possibly interact with him. And then he wouldn't know of your existence and try to make it his mission to have your life fall apart. 

“I'm sorry.” 

What surprising words even for him. There have been very few people in his life he has ever genuinely apologized to. He could count them all on all his fingers, but he never expected to be where he was currently.

“I am sorry for saying that you smell, which I did not mean in the way it came off, I am just really bad with my words. I meant you smell really nice.” His face was completely serious and there was no trace of mockery or jest. 

“I just- not to be a creep, I saw you on my first day here. At the school gates.” His eyes softened and his body started to fidget. He almost seemed—nervous? 

“I almost ran back to Tokyo that day. I wasn't really, well to put it simply, happy about the whole moving thing. And if you hadn't rushed past me that day, I probably would've gone with my plan.” He throws an easy smile in your direction. “If you hadn't dropped this—” He digs around his pockets and encloses something in his fist. 

“Maybe it would have been much harder for me and my parents to start off here. I am almost glad you dropped this little guy that day.” When he opened his fist, in the space between you two, there rested your lost keychain with the cat who reminded you of your dead pet cat. 

Upon the sight of your beloved cat (keychain), your mouth opened a little with an audible gasp. Your hand went up timidly to touch it on his palm, actively sending shivers down his spine at the brush of your fingertips. All he could focus his eyes on was your hand, not even daring to look up at your face, afraid of the state of his own face.

He was sure the heat he felt rushing up to his cheeks and ears, must have evidently turned his pale skin into a blushing mess. If only he was not so preoccupied with his own emotions, he would have noticed the first speck of tear forming yet again in the corners of your eyes, before it could even fall down. Which he only felt when he saw the droplets of water that landed on the palm of his hand, effectively making him snap his head back up to look at your weeping face. 

If he asked you then why were you crying? You would have probably just cried harder. So you were thankful that he did not ask. 

He did not bother to ask any questions but simply took you in his arms, burying your face in his chest, actively soaking his shirt in the shivering winds of spring—letting you cry about nothing and everything, in the arms of the guy who has been the source of your annoyance since the day he arrived. 

“You make no sense to me” your sobs became muffled through the fabric of his shirt and sweater vest.

“That is a weird way of thanking someone for returning the keychain which you clearly care a lot about.” he let out a soft giggle, trying to put you at ease. You pulled away from him, much to his dismay, looking only at the keychain he returned in the palm of your hands. 

“Well you did take over my rank, and eavesdropped on me getting humiliated.” if it was in his power, he would kiss away that frown and pout.

With that one passing thought, Gojo Satoru had the first epiphany of his life that day. The answer to the inclination he felt towards hogging away all your attention.

“Satoru?” He finally heard from the haze of realization and panic that suddenly hit him. What was he supposed to do now? How was he going to ever face you with these confusing feelings?

“Are you alright?” you seemed genuinely concerned for him. Which melted him. Again, if only he was not so preoccupied with the mess in his head and chest, he would have realized much earlier you just called him by his first name. For the first time ever. 

“Did you just call me by my first name?” he asked in genuine awe. While you shied away from him a little, which he found more endearing—this is an entirely biased perspective. 

“Also! I really did not mean to outdo you! I swear! I didn't even try that hard, and I was sure you were going to do way better than me. Believe me it was just a fluke.” he blabbered on in a frenzy. “Wow, way to show off Gojo.” you said playfully with an eye roll and half smile, just impressed by the lack of imperious tone in his voice. 

“No, I swear! Also i mean you have been looking really exhausted these days, maybe that is why, or else how can i ever beat you? I don't know, maybe because I am new. So they were like—’let’s give him this so he does not go around picking fights again’. Also come on you just called me Satoru what happened! No take backs.” you let out a big laugh at his silly rambling. “Goodness. Alright Satoru.” 

And he's all smiles with the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. 

“I will be taking back my spot from you. Keep it warm until then.” With those final words you stood up and walked away, the hand you used to give him a final pat on his shoulder—dragged off his shoulder with each step enlarging the distance between you two. The agonizingly lingering heat that it left behind, surely left a mark on his skin. It burnt, or perhaps shocked him—he was unclear which was worse.

One thing was clear as he watched you walk back into the building—he is in deep waters. And unfortunately he doesn't know how to swim.

It is truly beyond current Satoru, how teen Satoru's thought processes worked. Because how do you come to the conclusion that ‘i need to do everything in my power other than confront these feelings eating away at me.’ 

So after the confrontational and very heartfelt conversation with you, Satoru felt more powerless than ever at the mercy of the feelings you provoked within him. His head would feel light, chest would feel heavy, feet would go numb, and every moment he would get a whiff of your scent he could feel a threatening nosebleed. 

Actually once during PE you sat beside him after running, sweaty and out of breath. You had simply leaned over him to grab the water bottle by his side—and his nose started bleeding. Until then he never believed in the whole thing about getting a nosebleed because of being overwhelmed, he genuinely believed one needs to be punched real hard in the face or hit something face first with good impact to get a nosebleed. 

And now he stands corrected.

He wasn't sure whether it was the citrus, peonies, or the new found smell of your musk and natural odor which triggered the whole thing. Or maybe it was the worry you showed, scrambling to stop the blood dripping down his nose with your sweat soaked towel, tilting his head back with your hands and shouting for your PE teacher to come and help him—if only you knew all of it helped less and less. 

The whole thing made him realize that he needs to get a grip! 

And how did he execute that— by confiding in his friends? Making an effort to confess to you? No. He decided that it would be a brilliant idea to accept every confession he got and date as many girls as he could—to forget you, of course. 

In his defense, he liked what you two got going right now. He gradually grew really close to you; started with simple conversations and jokes to then a fully established friendship. At least he liked the thought of being your friend. 

He liked when you’d lean back in your chair to whisper little jokes to him, how the teacher completely fumbled that sentence. Or when you would give him candies, because you always carried some with you, or when you would come to him first before going to anyone else if you did not understand a lesson. 

He particularly liked when you would share a rambling synopsis of the books you were currently reading or recently finished, it did not matter how little he cared about the books itself. Mr. ‘could not stop yapping for the love of god’, went completely silent when he stood before you. He loved when you would bring him your latest creation in the kitchen, because you were trying to learn how to cook and it did not matter to him how salty or half cooked and fully burnt the food would be. It was the effort you put into asking him about his favorites and tried making it. Like the effort he put into not letting you get a clue about how much of a digimon guy he was, because he would rather hear you talk about pokemons to him for hours. Did not matter that he thought digimon was superior. 

Satoru might have been a popular guy since he joined; being extremely good looking, witty, academically gifted, part of the basketball team and having friends who were equally well known worked in his favor of being probably the most sought after guy in school. But that never made him a ‘player’, as one would assume. Often he would return the gifts he would get or politely decline confessions. So to everyone's surprise when he accepted the first confession, rumors went around—’maybe he was waiting for her to confess this entire time?’ Well, the rumors steered a different direction when she broke up with him within a week, and the next girl also broke up with him within a similar span of time. And when this pattern repeated for the rest of the year, people started labeling him as a cliche popular guy.

Around his sixteenth relationship, you happened to see him getting slapped real hard by the girl he was going out with at the time. They were talking behind the gardening shed, close to the Momiji tree you loved oh so dearly. All that shouting and cursing she did before slapping him, reached your ears, and as a diligent member of the student’s council you could not ignore it. The slap was echoing. She really left a mark on his cheeks, others have slapped him before for being so apathetic about everything, to get a one last satisfactory reaction out of him. But they have all failed at that. But this girl slapped him harder than anyone else had before her— while calling him a piece of shit for leading her on and wasting her time. So he got broken up with again. And he did not seem even a little bothered by this, his face only started contorting in a panic when his eyes landed on you standing the opposite way from the route his ex took to storm off.  

Which ended up making him run away from you, a new occurrence for both of you. And this time you had to be the one to chase after him. You found him in the stairwells, where you silently just sat beside him. This must be what they call deja vu. 

“So. long day huh?” you dragged each word awkwardly. 

“You don’t have to do this Y/n.” he said without even looking at you, just looking down at his hands intertwined with each other, on his lap. 

“Unfortunately for you, I want to. We are friends aren’t we?” you asked him expectantly. 

And Satoru only ever wished to be your friend. He liked being friends with you. If you called him your friend the day he went to your class to return that keychain he would have been ecstatic, but right now? Being called your friend felt like yet another hit to his heart. He wants to leap out of the bounds of friendship and hold you, tell you how much he loves you. “Yes we are.” Those three words felt like gravel ripping his own skin. 

“Then just hear me out won’t you?” and how can he say no to you looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes, and smiling lips. You can ask him for anything and he would not dare to deny. So naturally he nodded a yes wordlessly. 

“You don’t seem like yourself these past few months. I am worried about you— we are all worried.” he stared at you as you took a pause to continue, assessing whether or not he was getting pissed off. “I know how much it sucks to hear that you have changed or something like that. But I do not mean it like that—you have been more distant, and just- well, you seem off.”

“You do know that you can tell me anything right? Is there anything bothering you? Are some kids bullying you? Tell me their names, I will take care of them.” you said with squinted eyes and a raised fist like you were ready to beat up some kids for him. And the sheer idea of that image tickled a laugh out of him. 

“Sure you will shortcake.” he said in a fit of laughter. And you have never been more glad to hear him call you by that nickname. It has grown on you, similarly as he has grown on you. 

“I am fine, at least now that I am sure about something, I am fine.” he said with a sigh, like something heavy lifted off his shoulders. “You sure right?” you enquired again just for confirmation. 

“Yesssss, now stop furrowing your eyebrows, you are bound to get wrinkles before you are even thirty.” he was helpless to the smile that grew on his face, “wow way to thank the person who just cheered you up.” 

“Stop trying to copy me shortcake.” he bumped his head slightly on yours, causing you to gasp and bump your forehead to his—some sort of retaliation if you will. Cannot let him get away with the last word, can you? “Don’t bump your big head with mine! What if I catch your dummy disease!?” you said with your forehead still on his forehead. Faces mere inches away from one another. 

“Uh huh? And what are you gonna do about it?” Satoru has no idea where this was coming from or where this was going. But having you in such close proximity was definitely messing with his head. 

“I will-” you cut yourself off, staring back into his eyes, unable to continue whatever you were trying to say—something about his eyes, the shades of blue, lapis and cerulean, making you incapable of continuing. It is as if there dwelled an ocean in his eyes, and unfortunately you never took your swimming lessons seriously.  “What are you going to do, shortcake?”

Well, no one found the answer to that question, as the bell rang and made the both of you flinch away from one another. In a moment of awkwardness about whatever that inexplicable tension was, you both did the most expected thing— laughed it off and headed towards the classroom. 

Rest of the year passed with Satoru coming to terms with his feelings for you, hyping himself up to confess to you, and spending time with you. And somehow the both of you ended up getting the exact grades at the end of the year, ending up on the first rank together—something that was bound to happen when you are studying together, giggling in class together, eating together, feeding the cats who took a nap behind the school, together. Even when he was more of a dog guy. 

And, Satoru really liked the idea of being together with you. 

When senior year rolled around and he was determined to make you his by the time you guys graduated high school. Which is easier said than done.

Especially when he is not making any efforts other than just moving his pupils frantically between your lips and eyes, as you go on and on about the student body president’s new dumb mandate. His mind is probably looking at you with heart eyes, lying on its stomach, kicking its feet. Because it keeps repeating,

 ‘everyday baby, please say you're mine.’

It is a little embarrassing when he has to hide behind the bookshelves when you turn to look his way, because he would be piercing his longing gaze in the back of your head. Why did he not go up to the seat you were occupying at the library? Strike up an easy conversation; and have you offer him a seat with a smile, or get annoyed at him for talking too much and too loud in the library—he does not have the answer himself. All he knew while peeking at you from between the books in a nearby shelf, that his heart was palpitating like it may burst out of his chest any moment, and have the librarian come scold and shush it. 

Walking by the hallways near your favorite Momiji tree, to catch a glimpse of you under it, by skipping on practice was the usual at this point. His teammates and coach have given up. Does not mean he doesn’t have to face consequences for these acts of stupidity. Especially on the off chance you visit one of his matches and he goes full statue in the middle of running up to the basket, then as he gains his composure back, he goes full throttle on his opponents. To show off his shots and dribbles during the match. The team and the coach let it pass sometimes, only because it guarantees that they will win the match. But they always make sure to lecture him about abandoning them to push past the hoard of people congratulating him, to only get to you. With groans of collective clamour going, “just confess already.”

Satoru, to this day, still wishes it was that easy. It is not that he never tried.

First time he tried to confess, you two were simply sitting in class, at your desks. Your chair was turned around, so you could sit facing him. He had stayed behind with you after classes ended, to help you with council work. But the yellow, orange and pink hues of the setting sun on your face, was leaving his usual talkative demeanor to be tongue tied. And when you leaned forward on the desk to snap your fingers in face to hopefully get him out of the trance where he was drowning—in those milliseconds between you moving off your seat, looming over him, and looking straight into his eyes; he almost blurted it all out. If only it was not for Kento to walk into the class and enquire about the progress you made on the work, he would have laid it all out for you. 

That was not the only time he was teetering over the edge. One time you dragged him to the garden behind school during PE to feed the cats who take naps around there. He actually blurted out “I am in love.”

Which naturally had you snap your head in his direction, your surprise also had the cat lying in your lap surprised, that it also looked in his direction. So he backpedaled, defending his words by rephrasing them, “No! I mean, I am loving this. As in, like, not having to do PE class!” you laughed it off, joking that his poor choices of words and phrasing will definitely get him in deep trouble one day.

There had been so many instances he just almost verbalized his feelings, almost found that serenity in having you know the reason behind the ache in his chest, and the foggy fuzz clouding his judgment around you. But he only wishes he actually followed through with his emotions. Often he found his emotions to be stuck in a battle between his tongue and brain. 

After many such (failed) attempts, he finally decided to just lay it all out after the graduation ceremony. As he could not burden you with his feelings when he spent the entirety of the year dilly dallying so much that the finals and entrance exams were near enough to have students lose sleep.

Sometimes in his dreams, Satoru still dreams about the day of his high school graduation ceremony. He dreams of the very events that took place that day, and different possibilities.

He woke up much earlier than usual that morning. He did not want to be late at any cost. Not because he wanted to be there to hear the principal give the same old speech she gives every year or hear the student body president, Kamo Noritoshi, give out yet another speech, he has had enough of his boring speeches as well. He really just wanted to hear your valedictorian speech. 

He was glad he did not earn the highest GPA in his year— no, it was not because he did not want to give some stupid speech, though it was part of the reason. He was beyond happy for you, instead of gloating over his own GPA which made him come in second to you, he was more thrilled over you beating him to the first spot. He was so happy that day he literally hugged you so tight, your inner organs almost spilled out from the looks of it, going as far as to lift you up in the air and making a whole show out of it. Honestly from afar it would be confusing to conclude who exactly did better, though anyone who has lingered their eyes a bit too long on Gojo Satoru knew better, which was practically the entire school, it was not surprising to see him act as such. It was rather surprising he did not tie ranks with you, considering his capacity to ace anything and everything, especially academics. But it was ordinary to see him celebrate your wins much more loudly than everyone combined.

When you asked him the question how he did not get a higher GPA than you, later over celebratory ice cream with your friend groups. He just shrugged it off and simply told you that, “Eh. I just goofed around and had a fun senior year, considering these are the most memorable years of one’s life.” with a smug smile stretched across his face, accompanied by his raised shoulders. 

“Sure, it was totally not because you were feeling too lazy.” at this point you were all too familiar with Gojo’s pattern. And unlike in the past, you found it more fun to banter with his silliness than getting angry at his conceit. It was still annoying, but not as annoying as it used to be.

“Tch. Tch. Shortcake, you just do not get the concept of fun as well as you get the concept of natural selection. ”

Despite his claims he knew why he did not surpass you, well not because he granted you that position out of pity or his obvious feelings towards you. He respected you too much to one day have you find out your achievements were not well earned, it would eat him up otherwise. Though the reason still was you, or perhaps it was his pathetic attempts at winning you over and expanding the definition of your relationship with him. 

Anyway, currently he was sitting unsteady in the back of his father’s car, stuck in a jam, not giving ear to either of his parents reassuring him from the front that they will get there in time. But unfortunately for the Gojos, their son was not the patient kind. 

Which is exactly why they didn't object much other than a few shouts when Satoru ran out of the car, with his gown and graduation hat tucked under his armpits. Thankfully they were not stuck too far from the school, but Satoru was unfortunately late for his own graduation ceremony. When he ran inside the auditorium, the hall full of parents, students, teachers, and peers alike, were staring him down— maybe for rudely interrupting the principal's speech, or for looking drop dead gorgeous while sweating buckets; it was unclear.

He silently walked up to where his class was standing and took his place in the empty space left behind for him. The principal resumed with a cough, continuing whatever faux inspirational speech she may have been talking about. His eyes roamed around frantically to land on yours, staring back at him, scrunching and raising your eyebrows in a comical way. While pointing at your watch, silently reprimanding him for his tardiness, all Satoru could do was smile and shrug like a helpless kicked puppy. But as if that has ever worked on you, so you rolled your eyes at him with the shake of your head and mouthed at him to focus on the speech.

After that very boring speech, and handing out the certificates, followed by another boring speech by Kamo Noritoshi, it was finally time for your speech. 

When you stood waiting in the left wing of the stage for your cue, he could clearly see you nervously playing with your hands. Fortunately his intense stares had you looking in his direction, so he waved his hand a little to get your focus, and just wished you a silent ‘goodluck, you got this!’ through exaggerated mouth movements.

Was it cute? Or weird? Either way, it made you smile and ease up, and that's all that matters to him. He was probably the one cheering the loudest for you among everyone in there, your parents or friends or anyone, couldn't have dared to match his voice echoing through walls, to the point the teachers had to shut him up by the very end of your speech. Because he kept clapping or whistling really loud in between every pause. 

“At the end of the day, these years we've spent here will always stick with us. For better or for worse, and all I want, is to thank those people who made it bearable through all of it. And I hope you all have a future filled with achievements, celebrated alongside those people around you, who make it bearable. Thank you very much.” 

Satoru did not cheer the loudest this time around, his silence was drowned out by the loud cheers or the flying caps around him. He was too busy standing there, a hostage to your teary eyes, and a smiling face coming down the stage.

After a few very busy hours of hugs and pictures with family and friends, and some supportive words as well as teasing lectures from the teachers; Satoru went off to find you surrounded by few people. 

“Hey!” he came behind you and spoke in a breathy whisper in your right ear.

“Ah! Satoru! Oh my goodness I've been looking for you!” You slapped his arm lightly as he tried to say, 

“Listen, I-” “I need to speak to you. Come with me. Sorry, will you excuse us?” You dragged him by his left hand, tangled with your own right hand. It is not that he has never held hands, he's done plenty more than that, but your hands meant more. And he hopes you heard his heart beating through his hands, as you held onto it and dragged him to a random empty hallway.

“I suppose this works, I was gonna drag you away myself.” He lets out a little chuckle as he settles opposite you, facing you, “I wanted to-”

“I am moving away.” 

“What?” 

“I am moving out of the country. I, um, applied to this university abroad and they accepted me. It was not confirmed until last week, I've told almost everyone but.” You take a pause and stare down at his blank face, rid off the little shy smile and blush adorning him just a second ago, before continuing, “But, I just did not- I mean, I could not just figure out how I was going to tell you.” 

Satoru lets out a dry chuckle. “What's so hard about that? Come on shortcake. It's just me.” 

“I, I know. I mean-” this time he interjects.

“Are you happy?” 

You blink twice and answer, “More than I thought I would be.” 

‘Then that's enough for me.’ Is what Satoru meant to say then, instead he said something different.

“I am really happy for you Y/n. Will miss you shortcake.” He cracks a genuine smile, despite the storm waiting to unleash in his chest through the waterworks of his eyes, regardless he was still happy in your happiness.

When you leaped into his arms with a tight grip on his back, mumbling a choked up “I'll actually miss you more dummy.” 

“Nope can’t let you have this one too.” with a chuckle he patted your head as you cried in his arms for the second time since you have known him, once was one too many times for you but here you are. Perhaps this was the last time, he thought.

“Also, I want you to have this.” you handed him a keychain, similar to yours, but instead of an orange little cat, there was a white cat attached to it. “When I saw it, it reminded me of you.” You placed the little guy on his palm, and he closed his fist around it with every intention of cherishing it for eternity. 

“I’ll see you soon right?” You asked him, as you looked up at him with tear stains on your cheek, matching the stain on his shirt, and he just nodded with a tight grip around the keychain. Maybe he was too scared to verbally give you any promises, otherwise he would start breaking down much harder than you. But one thing he was sure about,

“You'll do great shortcake, you always have.”

‘As I will always love you.’

On days as such, filled with nostalgia. Or on nights spent staring at his ceiling, wide awake, clock ticking closer and closer to the next day— he thinks of you. He thinks about the different possibilities and the most regrettable moments of his life, and thinks, what if?

What if he had chosen a different line of work instead of taking over for his father? What if he went to that pop up shop before they sold out of their limited edition creps? Or what if he chose to go to that school reunion five years ago with Suguru and everyone else. Would he have met you? 

What if he had told you he loved you that day? What if he did not wallow in his own self pity and made a better effort at reaching out to you when you suddenly stopped contacting him during second year of University? What if he swallowed down the resentment over your silence and flew across the globe to you? Would not have been the first time he did that. It was the automated voice telling him that the number he dialed does not exist anymore, and the complete refusal from mutual friends to let him know about your whereabouts—that irked him. What did he do so wrong for you to even remove the little pleasure he enjoyed from having you at the very least as a friend. 

Maybe if he asked you selfishly to not move away altogether, things would have been different. But how could he, when he never had any concrete dreams of his own other than pursuing in his father's footsteps, to now take over for him. The way your eyes always shined bright with aspirations, and the amount of hard work you put into achieving them, made him try for himself.  

Then how could he have been selfish with the one person whom he selflessly gave away his heart to? 

“Sato! Come eat! Finish that later!” his mother shouted from inside, breaking the trance of reminiscence. “Yesss mom!” he shouted back to let her know.

And when he set to go inside, he felt something heavy on his legs. While cleaning the boxes, Satoru had gone to sit on the edge of the patio, with his legs hanging from his edge. The height was long enough to have him lose his sight about where his legs were below the knees to his feet comfortably touching the ground. 

When he crouched down to look at what was weighing him down, he found a white fluffy cat; clearly well taken care of, lying comfortably, belly up, on top of both of his feet. Set of blue hued pupils peeking out of his blinking eyes. And a smug smile of contentment on his face, either satisfied with his nap or from annoying Satoru. As cute of a look alike  this cat may have been to the one on the keychain you gave him—which he still uses everyday to hold all his important keyes—Satoru could tell that this cat was one big menace. 

“Meowwww” the feline wailed, when Satoru moved his feet off the ground to take a proper look at the creature. The cat in search of his confiscated comfort, crawled up his legs, up to his lap and made himself comfortable. 

Satoru leans back to rest his weight on both of his palms, placed on either side of his torso. He lets out a dry huff “Huh. aren’t you one spoiled little guy?”

“Meow.” the cat quips as if agreeing with Satoru, his eyes were closed, trying to get back his lost sleep.

“And what is your name?” Satoru asked the cat and felt foolish that very next instance. Instead of waiting for the cat’s response—because that will obviously not answer his question—he goes to check the yellow collar adorned on the cat’s neck to check for a nametag.

“ICHIGO!” a loud familiar voice cried behind the hedges that protected the view into his parent’s front yard. 

Upon hearing the call, the cat’s ears sprung up and went back, going alert. In a blink of an eye the cat ran off of his lap, out of their main gate— in what seemed like mere seconds. And his parent’s house is pretty huge, the patio to the front gate takes well over thirty seconds to get to when you are in a hurry. 

So Satoru ran behind the cat, well after it was gone from his sight, worrying it might run into something or hurt himself. But just as he stepped out of the gate, he saw the cat cuddled up in a person’s arms, who was crouched down in relief, obstructing the view to their face. Though the shade of the hair is much familiar to him just as the voice, but the length now shorter than how he remembers it to be. But that same citrus and peony scent remained, infiltrating his olfactory sense before his eyes could fathom the figure in front of him. Or maybe he did not want to believe the reality of the situation to begin with. 

“Never do that again! Do you know how scared I was? Why would you run after a butterfly like that!? I am never letting you off your leash again!” You held the cat out, away from your embrace, finally standing straight. Dangling him in the air by his arms, like some sort of punishment.

“Meowww” the cat whined in a pitiful tone, moving his claws in a way as if asking to be held closer again.

“No Ichi. No amount of whining is getting you out of this mister!” while reprimanding the cat, you forgot to acknowledge the person standing upfront.

“Y/n?” 

You look up to see who called you out in the middle of scolding your cat. To only see another ball of familiar white fluffy hair, and cerulean eyes, the ones you’ve once loathed with your entire being, and dreamed of countless nights. Standing a few inches taller than what his previously already behemoth height during teen years used to be.

“Satoru?” 

Both of you stood there confused and mesmerized by one another’s presence, to have run into each other under such coincidental circumstances, how fateful. With a more confused Ichigo looking back and forth between you two, now standing on his own four legs on the ground. Probably trying to solve the mystery of the heavy silence and air hanging between you two. From the looks of the mirrored shock, and open mouthed gasps that left your respective mouths—seems like this unanticipated meeting was long overdue.

The beauty of fate truly lies in such oblivious encounters. And those who sneak into your life just as unexpectedly, as they fade out wordlessly.

FIND OUT MORE ABOUT HS!SATORU

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

tag list: @madamechrissy @cuntphoric @moonlitwitchdaisy @rriwyu @naomigojo @aishi-toru @cuntyji @arcanarix @fuwagojo @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @fushitoru @gojosoups @arcanarix @moonchhu @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67

a/n: the above used images are from Pinterest, the Gojo one is from the s2 ending and the other two images, i could not find any exact sources so if you know where they are from please kindly let me know. the dividers are by— @/aquazero, @/kodaswrld @/cafekitsune & @/oldgifs4coding, respectively.

thank you to the pookies for beta reading this <3 really my longest work yet. yes it is a bit cliche but oh well. took a lottt of time to finish, first it was finals, then mental and physical health was at all time low, then literally burnt my hand. the part of the valedictorian speech the reader gave, was part of my own speech i gave at my graduation as the head girl, so if you found it shit i better not hear about it.

named her cat Ichigo, because well he calls her shortcake, and ichigo means strawberry. so strawberry and shortcake :3c

happy to have him out ^^ i hope you had fun reading this!! i have a few drabbles and such related to this i plan on releasing. still not sure if i plan to expand their ending :3c ahhh this was not going to be an open ending, but here we areeee

anywayyyy hope your enjoyed your stay ^^ make sure to share your thoughts in the ask box and comments.

[shokocide]

pussydrunk!gojo satoru is as pussywhipped as they come but his ego is just too big to admit it.

pussydrunk!gojo who is always quick to fall to his knees infront of you at the mere sight of you, shoving his face in between your thighs and laving at your already dripping wet cunt.

pussydrunk!gojo who just can't help but tear up when your warmth envelops his aching cock. he has to bite down onto your shoulder just to keep himself from crying out loud because you just feel so good.

pussydrunk!gojo who you catch sniffing that one pair of panties you deemed missing a few weeks ago, eyes squeezed shut and his other hand palming the tent at his crotch.

he's quick with his excuses-

'it's not what it looks like!' 'didn't think you'd be home this soon!'

you see right though the act, though. and pussydrunk!gojo just can't do anything about it with the way you have him wrapped around your little finger.

that's how you end up bouncing on his throbbing shaft, hands flying to grab at anything to ground yourself. your little yelps are music to his ears and he grabs at your hips so that he could piston in and out of your heat, just so he could hear those beautiful cries of yours.

'so fucking perfect for me, love. gonna fill you up s'good.'

his filthy words are enough to make you climax right then and there, waves of pleasure deeming your body limp in such a wonderful way. he's quick to finish too, how could he not when your walls spasm around him so blissfully?

oh and he's blabbering nonsense afterwards-

'fuck, best pussy ever- never wan' anything else.'

pfft. how pathetic.

please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.

[thbbie]

༄ husband!satoru x f!reader

doggy isn't your position of choice. you'd much rather one that allows you access to kiss your dear husband more comfortably.

satoru had never complained, never before now — pretty blue eyes glassy and wide, his hands clasped together, the silver of his wedding band catches the light. lips jutted out in a dramatic pout. "please baby. i promise ill make sure you feel so so sooooooo good."

satoru bats his snowy white lashes at you in an attempt to sweeten the deal, "pleaseee wifeyyy~"

what brought this on you wonder? a clip he saw on his twitter timeline. a man with his hands on a woman's hips, gripping tight to help her meet his thrusts halfway. he's so convinced you'd look good enough to eat with your back arched for him like that.

when you do accept to try the position, he's ecstatic, bouncing off the walls in his excitement . your dear husband is too overcome with joy to have paid attention to your.. condition. you almost feel guilty. almost.

and that's how satoru found himself in this position; with his hands tied behind his back, a muzzle strapped to his gorgeous face, the thin black leather leash attached to it gripped tight in your hands.

its the only balance you've afforded him. his knees shaky against the plush mattress and his hands restrained, each little tug of yours catches him off guard, trying to keep a steady rhythm.

"mmmn~ right there- right there, doing so well for me puppy."

you peak over you shoulder when his hips stutter to see his silver brows pulled close in concentration, face sweaty, and oh he's panting hard behind the cool metal bars of the muzzle.

he looks so beautiful like this, you almost wanna laugh; burying your face into the soft mattress to muffle the sweet sounds. the movement pulls him forward, nestling making him collapse atop of you.

you're still giggling into the mattress, and despite his frustrations, satoru can't bring himself to hate this.

"you're sure having fun aren't you huh wifey" each word punctuated with a strong though clumsy snap of his hips. satoru means to sound teasing — in control, but really his voice just comes out in shallow shaky breathes. desperate and wanting.

he's about to say something else until you tug at the smooth leather, cutting him short before the words can fall of his tongue.

still he's buried in you still, hot hard and heavy; now though, his weight is leaning into the mattress right next to you — your faces smooched into it. both flushed and sweaty and glorious. being loved my satoru is such an incredible feeling, floating away blissfully, mindlessly on the endless clouds of his devotion.

placing a sweet kiss on the muzzle that satoru swears he can feel through the cool metal bars separating his lips from your own. the pale of his skin glows a romantic shade of red all for you. crystalline eyes so full of adoration it might just spill out of the confines of his irises, falling from his face in the form of fat salty tears.

it's an awkward position, your bodies will ache all day tomorrow, but for now satorus hand snakes around you body to press two thick fingers onto your sensitive clit, grinding his hips into yours at the strange angle to bring you to the pleasurable high you deserve.

he clasps his free hand over one of yours — the one decorated in a pretty band to match his. the cool metal of the ring on his skin makes butterflies erupt in his stomach. how could such a tiny delicate thing mean so much to me?

he pulls his gaze from it to look for yours, only to find that your eyes are already locked.

feeling like newly weds all over again, the two of you are rendered incapable of looking away from each other as the crisp air of your room fills with the scent of sex and soft laughs and two happy fools in love.

[princessmyth]

— 𐙚⋆°. Satoru and his little bimbo girlfriend

Satoru was never seen as a strict nor serious man. He was filthy rich, took impulsive trips, and liked being a bit careless. That was a perfect target for you.

It’s not like you purposefully targeted him— perhaps subconsciously— but mostly out of pure and genuine interest. It wasn’t a surprise to anybody how high maintenance you were, that’s why you took the job with jujutsu sorcerers in the first place. Good pay, hot men, and easy job. All you had to do was filing paper, keeping secrets, and driving with Ijichi.

Satoru was often off limits because he was a special grade sorcerer. You began working along side Shoko, following her around, helping with notes. It was interesting to see her dissect real human corpses and make the most out of it. She seemed to take a liking to you too.

Through her was how you met Satoru Gojo. He was so charming and awfully flirtatious. He teased your lack of direct intelligence and teased you deliberately. You were obviously clueless, not thinking much at all when his freakish blue eyes met yours. “You listening, pretty thing?” He spoke, poking your hip as you sat on the patient’s bed.

“Nuh uh,” You admitted honestly, look into his eyes shamelessly. Shoko figured what made you two so compatible was the lack of shame or dignity you both had. Satoru eyed you, played with strands of your hair, and made suggestive comments. In return, you’d press your pretty little body against his, flash your panties to him, and answer all his comments.

Eventually, work began bustling for him so you were assigned to his hip. Teaching, missions, anything of the sort, you were involved. He loved having company, you weren’t much help in any other way. “Uh, ‘Toru, what the hell is that thing?” You asked in a high pitched tone, tapping his shoulder to gesture towards a curse.

You weren’t very afraid when anywhere with him. He was the strongest, he wouldn’t allow you to get hurt.

At times, his possession of you would look somewhat like this…

“Babygirl, wear something a bit more… conservative.. today. I’ll make it up to ya’.” You truly wanted to reply with a petulant expression, crossing your arms, even stomping you feet. Yet the somewhat serious feeling was nerve inducing. You huff, averting your gaze away from his intimidating one.

“Why?” You challenge, cocking a brow but never directly looking at him. “Nanami is gonna be palming his hard on all the damn day if your tits are out.” Gojo said bluntly, not afraid of being upfront. You let out a little gasp.

“I’ll wear something less showy… sorry.” He chuckled another apologetic tone and kissed the top of your head. “Don’ worry about it.”

At other times, it’ll look like this…

The storage room was incredibly small, both of you cramped up in there. Your panties hung at your heel, one leg hoisted up against Satoru’s hip and he held it there.

Gojo was bullying his cock into your deepest spots, watching your eyes roll back in pure pleasure and mindlessness. “Fuckin’ dumb bitch,” He’d mumble into your ear and hear you whimper. His degrading words made you physically clench around his big cock, but they hurt!

He cooed softly, stroking your hair as he rammed into your g spot. “Sorry baby, you’re perfect, made to take my cock.” Those reassuring words made you feel so good, the tears had smudged your mascara already but you didn’t care. Your cunt was feeling so good, squelching and squeezing around his dick.

Satoru stretched you so damn good. It was a tight fit to get his whole girth and length inside your little hole, but now he was basically using you as his own little stress reliever. “Nghhh, Sa-Satoru—“ He laughed gruffly, his last few sloppy thrusts emptying his cum into you.

“You feel greatttt.”

Satoru also had to learn to deal with how easily you got pissed. Even if he ordered you two coffees, everybody flirted with him! It’s not his fault he’s charismatic and attractive, people naturally gravitate towards him. Or atleast he thought so.

Satoru could tell when you were angry. When your arms crossed, when your responses were one or two words, when you were being snarky and a smartass. He truly hated it but instead just treated it like a little tantrum.

He knew getting serious about it would only make you cry, and your crybaby tears would truly break him. He’d hold you for hours and promise all sorts of clothes and dates just to get you to sleep for one night!

“I dunno Satoru stop asking me dumb questions.” He flicked your forehead once you raised your voice a bit too much, getting all up in your face. He’d tut before speaking. “Hey, play nice, silly girl.” Satoru would pout playfully. “What happened to “Toru I love you so much” huh?”

You rolled your eyes, tits bouncing every time you stomped your feet. You were doing it on purpose. “Toru is so sorry babygirl, what did I do huh?” He asked again, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and ruffling your hair. Your grumbles had become less firm, instead leaning into his touch.

“She was all over you, ‘Toru!” Your arms wrapped around him, head buried in Satoru’s neck. He let out a small, airy giggle before kissing the top of your head. You smelled like strawberries and his sheets, it was the perfect combination of home. “Sorry, didn’t even notice. Forgive me?”

He made you realize your anger was never even directed at him majority of the time. You were usually just pissed at the girls. “Yeah, sorry for being mean!” He shook his head, shrugging it off and hugging you back.

Satoru worshipped your body. It was perfect to him and just made him hard at a slight glance. When you two had some privacy, god forbid got home, he was jumping your bones.

“Pretty thing, let me taste you.” His voice was nearly at a whimper. He was inhaling your scent, needing to memorize the sensation of having you pressed up against him. You were slightly squirmy, tugging at his white, silky hair. “Uh huh, m’really wet ‘Toru.”

He groaned, kissed your nude tits, circling his tongue on your nipple. You pulled harder every time he pleased you, even bucking your hips up against his hard on. “Just eat me out already,” You weren’t afraid to ask for what you want, pleading for some relief.

He was quick to press his tongue flat on your slick cunt, lifting it and placing it back to see the long strings of arousal connecting his tongue and your pussy. He devoured it like a starved man, groaning in between suckling and thrusting his tongue into your hole. “Oh— shiitttt,”

He squeezed your thigh, silently pleading “language” to you. Satoru had no self control when it came to your wet pussy and his unquenchable appetite. He wouldn’t stop till you came atleast five times.

Satoru Gojo was fucking whipped.

© princessmyth | do not plagiarize or copy

[4berries]

just thinking ‘bout needy satoru … :>

warnings: 1.6k words of filth ig, gojo begging🙀?? , lots of pleadingggg, dry humping, outdoor party (at night), heavy pda & dirty talk, mentions of face sitting & cunnilingus 😺, slight sub gojo (?), slight dom reader (?), they’re both clearly switches tho, just reader calling gojo pretty & baby >>>, slight implications of rich gojo, mentions of bsf geto :))) tehhehh

note: inspired by bad bunny’s verse in his song “hibiki” … definitely recommend listening to it bc it’s the type of music i also think would be a perfect song for a party scene lollll

… ★

“please,” your boyfriend whispers softly, body pressing up against yours as his wandering hands roam all over your torso and his arms wrap around you tightly to keep you pressed on him. there’s a slight neediness to his tone, deep voice just edging desperation and the sound has you grinning madly.

you kept your eyes on the rest of your friends that seemed to be in their own world, laughing into night sky and talking in between having drinks, some of them already in the dance floor that you just returned from.

it seemed like your swift movements rubbing along his tall figure had his mind going elsewhere, his bright blue eyes trailing all over your lithe frame and gazing at the smooth way you whine your body against his. you noticed, of course, worrying your lip between your teeth before pulling him out the dance floor after whispering into his ear that it was getting too hot.

even if you were actually starting to heat up, both of you knew that it was obviously a doubt meaning, spoken in such a sensual tone.

you sipped on your alcohol, tongue playing around the plastic straw in between you lips before it pulling away and letting your drink rest on the bar counter next you both.

his large palms kept pulling you back, shamelessly feeling you all over the fabric of your black, body con dress and occasionally dipping to run over your other thighs. you leaned on him, leaning your head back onto his collarbone.

his lips were incredibly close to your ear, skimming closer to your cheek and down your jawline, hands now running upwards to your sides; it’s like he physically can’t keep his hands off of you.

all you could smell was his spicy vanilla cologne, scent as warm as his body heat as he continues to mindlessly and subtly rut his hips into your ass.

“baby,” he lets out a soft whine, clearly not caring about the others around you. he’s got tunnel vision. “please?”

the growing need was slowly becoming intolerable to him, mind reeling and body itching as he thinks about the way you moved your hips along his before, yearning to see you move just as sensual in the nearest room, just you two. he already knew which room exactly, his crystal blue eyes gazing around even before you pulled him out of the heated dance floor and into the fresh, cold air of the night.

“please what, satoru?” you mumble clear enough for him to hear you, feeling his hands grip tighter around your hips at the sound of your calm tone.

he’s intoxicated with everything about you. the way you know the affect you had on him, your confidence that attracted him from the very beginning, your playful tone that always seems to rival his, even the way you started to tease him by suddenly pushing your ass against his front ever-so- slightly.

he couldn’t help but whine in your ear, thick white eyelashes fluttering as he inhales the sweet coconut scent of your shampoo through his pointed nose. he’s so helpless, it’s absolutely cute. “please, baby, wanna fuck - need to fuck you so bad.”

if you weren’t relishing in his pure desire before, his evident neediness now had you purring, the sound of his voice increasing in pitch as he tries his hardest to keep his cool. he’s clearly failing and he clearly doesn’t care anyways. “or jus’ lemme lick you? or sit on my face? anything— god, anything ..”

your hands slide down over his forearms, rubbing the heated skin while you turn your head slightly towards his face. you’re nuzzling your nose into the side of his cheek, humming softly when he keeps leaning in closer. with each passing second, you can feel the need rolling off of him in waves, slowly bringing you down with him.

“you’re that needy, pretty?” you coo, letting your parted lips skim over his jawline and flushed neck.

“mm- mhmm,” he hums, sweet voice becoming lighter and more breathless as you nuzzle into him.

slowly, you’re falling into your own world, not giving a care about the other’s on the outside. he has that sort of affect on you; he pulls you in, making you fall for his trap into always getting what he wants. you know he’s utterly spoiled, you know you shouldn’t indulge in his constant want for more, but how could you ignore him when he’s begging so nicely?

and you can’t deny that he has spoiled you as well. there’s something magnetic between the two of you where you just can’t help but be greedy for each other’s full attention. he was starting to rub off on you, a yearning settling deep into your core as well.

you just needed one more push for you to snap, and that’s when satoru spoke up once again, lips grazing along your plumped cheek to murmur in his whiny voice. “just one quick fuck, please… nobody would know we’re gone.”

so so tempting.

“satoru,” you sigh out, turning your head away and press your lips together. the sound of your voice was laced with the same need, clearly giving away how truly affected you were and it only added on to the heated arousal pooling into his stomach. he moans softly into your ear, rubbing his hardening cock against the curve of your ass with more rush as his hands slide down towards your outer thighs, long fingers running through the hanging pieces of ruffles on the hem of your silky smooth dress.

now you both were a mess for each other, bodies slotted tightly together to get some sort of friction between the fabric of your clothes — it was all too bothersome and you wanted to do something about it already, your hands gripping onto his wrists.

“baby, i’ll fuck it in if you just give me permission…” you held tighter as his whiny words sank all the way down to your core — you had to bite onto your bottom lip to muffle your noises, eyelashes fluttering as you lower your unfocused gaze to hide your face. your dress was slowly riding up your thighs and you can’t decipher whether the goosebumps rising on your skin were from the cold air you felt licking on your inner thighs or from the sinful nature of his words flowing in your ear so naturally.

so shamelessly..

and still, he just kept going.

“wanna see you ride me and roll your hips on me again jus’ like that,” he murmurs, now pressing his soft lips onto your neck in between his words. “wanna see your mascara running, your eyes rolling back when i fuck into you harder— just how you like it, baby.” your chest heaved harder with every soft whimper he emits into your ear. “wanna pump you full then lick you clean…”

“wanna ruin this dress- gods, this dress, hugging your curves so well— you look so good in it, but i jus’ wanna rip it off.” he groans, smooth hands running along your plush thighs and over your dress before squeezing around your hips for emphasis.

you whimper at his heavy touch, suddenly feeling extra heated. and even though the idea was tempting, you couldn’t help but shake your head slightly with a slight pout on your plumped lips.

“don’t worry baby, i’ll buy you another, i promise- just please,” satoru immediately sensed your denial to the idea, reassuring you quickly with the promise of another shopping run, despite having a lust-clouded mind.

and even though he’s just rambling to talk and get you to relent to your own desires with his whiny tone, you knew he definitely meant it; he loves spoiling his baby, pulling out his black card for every single thing he saw your eyes lingered a bit longer on — one of them being the very dress you had on. even when he’s not able to go with you, he’ll hand you his card without another word or question.

sometimes you don’t like it, choosing to humbly decline almost every time but just the action of him doing that for you was so attractive. you are truly spoiled so you can’t help but finally succumb and spoil him as well, just this one moment.

he looked so good anyways; black, tight compression shirt outlining every muscle on his torso and arms, paired with slightly baggy black pants held up with a black belt and a single gold chain wrapped around his neck. you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist by the end of the night, you just didn’t think your resilience would crumble this fast.

“okay, okay,” you mumble, letting your head roll back onto his collarbone as he sucks a purple mark right below your earlobe. “gods, satoru, you’re so needy.”

he hums softly, tongue peeking out to lick over the bruise before he pulls away to purr into your ear. “only for you, baby. you know i’m always craving you.”

“c’mon, sugu’s room.“ he mutters in a hurried breath, then quickly pulls away, grabbing your wrist to pull you close with him as he pushes towards the entrance of his house, making a beeline towards the destination with a stumbling pace.

you were too far gone to even question or reject the idea now. satoru definitely chose his best friend’s room specifically cause it’s the closest room once you step foot into the house; no other reason.

and surely nobody will notice that the host of the party has disappeared..

right?

… ★

note: just something about seeing the strongest be so .. weak somehow AAAAAHHHHH yes :)

[sophiria]

Dulcis Amor

dad!Gojo Satoru x mom!Reader cw: 18+ themes, jjk manga spoilers, post-canon fix-it, references to babytrapping and mentions of birth control, a little bit of manipulation and deception, unmarried couple, twisted and fluffy feelings, vague mention of the reader's hair, implied that you're a little obsessed with each other words: around 900

Satoru was lounging on the Engawa, keeping a watchful gaze on your form inside the bedroom. As you slept peacefully under the blankets, your son fussed in his arms, and the hint of a smile appeared on his lips.

"Oh?" Satoru breathed out, shifting his child so he could rest better on his chest. "Is the little Gojo missing his mom?"

Your son wriggled slightly before going back to sleep. "Back to using me as a pillow, hm?" Satoru mused. "I guess your dad is okay too."

He had never thought a romantic partner was in his cards, let alone having a child. And yet…

He briefly closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. He had died. Murdered by Sukuna. And you made a Binding Vow to bring him back to life.

(Satoru had been furious with you—he had already accepted his death, and you had sacrificed something precious for him.

The Strongest had never known someone who cared for him as much as you did.)

His son stirred on his chest. Satoru looked down at your child. Fatherhood...who would have thought?

It only took one time, one burst of passion (and love, something Satoru could only acknowledge in his mind), and you were pregnant with his child, his heir.

As Satoru was lost in thought, you quietly joined him on the Engawa. Your expression softened as you gazed at your son sleeping soundly on his father's chest.

Satoru peered at you through his pitch-black glasses and motioned for you to join them. You did so and stopped beside the recliner where your lover and child rested.

You caressed your son's head before running your fingers through Satoru's hair, and he smirked softly. "You're such an affectionate mama," he teased, his voice low and hushed. "You're always spoiling us both."

You huffed before smiling, then gently picked up your son, who gripped onto your clothes with his tiny hands. He cooed, and you tickled his nose, making him laugh. Satoru's heart fluttered at the heartwarming sight, and he swallowed hard. He had to look away for a moment, taking a deep breath.

(That's his family. His beautiful little family. Something he never thought he'd have, something he never thought he'd wanted.)

You brought your little one inside, and he yawned as you placed him gently into the crib. 

Satoru followed you and wrapped his arms around your torso from behind. He nuzzled your neck, and his loose snow-white hair brushed against your skin. 

One of your hands found the nape of his neck and stroked it. He purred at your touch, relishing it. "I don't think I'm ever going to let you out of the Gojo estate."

You brushed your nose against his hair. "You won't, hm?"

Satoru lifted his head from the crook of your neck, and his sky-blue eyes found yours. "You're you and the mother of my child. Do you think I would allow any harm to come your way, especially now that you can no longer use Cursed Energy?"

You eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehensiveness. "Since when are you this overprotective?"

He briefly narrowed his eyes. "Since you decided it was a good idea to sacrifice your cursed energy to bring me back."

You heaved a sigh. "Here we go again," you mumbled. "Satoru, I did it for you, I—"

"I know," he cut you off in a deep voice, raising to his full height before cupping one of your cheeks and angling your face towards his. "I know. But you shouldn't have sacrificed your cursed energy."

Your lips parted as you gazed into his eyes, though before you could reply, Satoru leaned forward and took your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. Your noses brushed against one another, and you closed your eyes. He opened his own, looking down at you through his lashes while slightly tightening his hold on your cheek and waist.

Satoru wondered if you were ever going to figure out that him getting you pregnant wasn't a mistake—that he chose to deactivate his Infinity while the two of you had sex.

(He had to do it. You sacrificed your nature as a sorcerer to bring his soul back to life, and he wanted to keep you safe and bound to him.)

You leaned back to breathe in some air and looked at him through half-lidded eyes. "I need to tell you something," you said, bringing your hand to his face to cup his cheek. "About the pregnancy."

Satoru's posture stiffened, although he managed to keep his expression nonchalant. "What about it?"

You began stroking his jawline. "Me getting pregnant...it wasn't a mistake, nor a malfunction of your cursed technique."

He desperately tried to keep a straight face. "Oh really? So you're telling me it wasn't my Infinity acting up?"

You hesitated, and your hand left his face. You then wrapped your arms around his upper body, snuggling up to him. The tension began to leave his body, and he held you to himself. "I was never on birth control," you admitted, voice muffled by his chest. His eyes widened at your words—wait, what? Did you— "I'm sorry I lied about it, Satoru."

You sniffled and held onto him in what seemed to be a silent way to beg for forgiveness. His eyes twinkled, and Gojo felt something akin to butterflies in his stomach. "Shhh, it's okay," he murmured, caressing your back in a comforting manner. "It's okay. I'm not angry." He buried his face into your hair, inhaling your scent. "I could never be angry at how much you've always wanted me."

[gojosoups]

Open Your Heart and Swallow Me Whole ── teaser

gojo satoru x reader | college AU, 18+

ღ summary: your boyfriend breaking up with you before the start of a new semester was not on your 2024 bingo card, but who better to comfort you than your brother's best friend — or two?

a/n: I acc suck ass at dialouges and at smut, lord help me fr, also art credits to narutoss.ramen

taglist: open

series masterlist

“Has he touched you here?” your breath hitches as you feel a hand sneaking underneath your skirt, trailing up and down your thigh in anticipation. 

Looking up at him through dazed eyes, you shake your head no. A pathetic whine leaving your lips as you feel his hands stop their pursuit, cerulean eyes looking down at you. Satoru releases a shaking breath, trying to control his desire, not wanting to intimidate you. You look up, eyes locked with his pretty blue ones as you practically beg for him to continue.

"Has anyone touched you here?" he askes hesitantly, hands grabbing the fat of your thighs, spreading them wider as his eyes devour the sight of the growing wet patch between your legs.

You let out a soft no, only encouraging him further as you feel a finger hooking under your the strap of your panties and snapping them against your delicate skin making you yelp.

"Fuck—tell me pretty girl, do you want me," you eagerly nod, tongue numb in your mouth as your breathing increases, feeling his thumb teasingly circle your engrossed clit through your wet panties, "right...here?" a choked moan leaves your lips, back arching off the bed in his rundown dorm room as you feel the pressure of his thumb finally on your clit.

Who better to show you the ropes than your brother's best friend?

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐒 — do not copy, translate, repost or modify my works on any platform.

[v4mptel]

Break. Bite. Bang.

pairings: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

summary: What happens when you persuade your boyfriend to try the break bite bang challenge with you?

nsfw!

“Come on Toruuu. Just one bite, for me?” you pleaded softly as you looked at your boyfriend with your best puppy eyes. Satoru looked at the square piece of milk chocolate you were holding as if inspecting it. It was smooth apart from the diagonal line that connected the opposite corners of the square which implied that you had to cut it in half and share it with your partner.

This specific chocolate was viral on the internet, you'd seen it! Every couple would split it in half, eat it, and then they would fuck like they were in heat. It mesmerised you really, how a small piece of chocolate could be such a strong aphrodisiac. From the little research you'd done before you decided to buy it, it didn't always work but when it did? Oh boy, you'd read one comment saying it had been the best sex they ever had!

So it wouldn't hurt to try it just once right? Just out of curiosity. It'd be a fun little experiment.

Satoru sighed as he leaned back on the couch, his gaze now locking with yours. “Do we always have to try every little thing you see on the internet?” he questioned in a calm tone, with a hint of playfulness as the slightest smirk formed on the corner of his mouth. One of his hands toying with a lock of your soft hair.

You giggled softly as you straddled his lap, his hands instinctively resting on your hips. You smiled playfully at him. “Yeah because I'm your girlfriend and you love me?” you presented the chocolate to him again.

“Baby you're not even sure if it's gonna wor–” you cut him off, silencing him with a quick peck on his soft lips. “You won't know if you don't try it.” you practically shoved the chocolate into his face.

Satoru sighed in defeat. “Alright pretty, let's do it.” he gave a gentle squeeze on your hips before gripping the chocolate by the opposite corner you were holding. You both cut it in half at the same time and now each one of you held a sweet little triangle.

You both ate it. “Do you feel anything weird?” you mumbled impatiently as you kept chewing. Satoru shook his head. “It's probably gonna take some time to work, if it works.”

One hour passed and nothing happened. You eventually gave up on your hopes pouting in that adorable manner that Satoru loved. With a soft, teasing “I told you so.” he picked you up heading straight to the bedroom. It was time for bed anyway and you slept like a baby in his warm embrace.

–

When you stirred awake again it was still nighttime. The first thing you felt was the way your body was burning up. Your sensitive nipples were now hard enough to pierce through your thin cotton sleep shirt. Your pussy drenched with your slick juices, throbbing with need.

As you slowly opened your eyes and you came to your senses, that's when you felt Satoru's grip on your waist tightening. That's when you felt his hard cock grinding on your ass from behind. That's when you heard how whiny and how needy his moans were, right next to your ear.

“F-fuck…mmph! Baby? Please pretty, please wake up I– nngh! Need you…” he pleaded almost breathlessly as he kept grinding his dick between your ass cheeks.

And when you turned to face him over your shoulder? You swore the delicious sight could make you come untouched. More slick escaped your pussy as you saw his desperate gaze. His eyes were teary, his face and chest flushed with a beautiful rosy pink. Snowy hair all sweaty and sticking to his forehead.

You grinded back into him, a soft moan escaping your lips as your need increased by the second. “Toruuu! I think it- hmmp! It w-worked- ohh!”

“Ohh, baby…worked is an understatement. I'm so hard it fucking h-hurts!” he whined.

“Please Toru, please fuck–need you in me!” you pleaded with equal desperation. You didn't have to ask twice. In a matter of seconds your panties and pajama shorts were off, discarded somewhere on the floor joining your boyfriend's clothes.

His muscular arms held you from your soft plush thighs. In one hard, deep thrust he slammed home. “Baby!” his high pitched moans echoed all over the house as he thrusted into your tight heat again and again. The feeling of your warm puffy pussy enveloping his dick was an extraordinary feeling. One that he'd swore he'd never get used to.

“plap plap plap!” his balls slapped the bottom of your ass cheeks as he stretched you open. His girthy meaty cock hitting all the right spots inside your gummy walls. Your eyes teared up, the pleasure too intense.

“That damn chocolate– oh!!” Satoru moaned as he kept slamming into you. “Shit baby! Sweetheart you feel…” his heart eyes teared up again “so” thrust. “fucking” thrust. “good!” thrust.

Your brows furrowed in pleasure, your plump lips forming a slutty “O” as you finally cried out. “Toruuu! Toru there- hhmmp! Right- there, yes!” and when you thought his thrusts couldn't get any harder your boyfriend proved you wrong.

His pace was now absolutely brutal, hitting your most sensitive spot again and again. Your pussy eagerly sucking his cock like a champ. “Shit b–baby! You're gonna kill me!” poor Satoru whined as he felt your gummy walls clenching, a sign that your orgasm was near.

“I'm close! S’close Toruuu! Don't…stop.” he crashed his lips into yours as he kept up the pace. Your tongues tangled as his hands moved from your thighs to your soft hips, holding you tightly before bringing your whole body towards him to meet his thrusts.

Satoru pulled back, breathing heavily. “Cum for me baby.” he cooed as he licked the drool that had gathered in the corner of your mouth from your makeout session. And then he pulled all the way out before -plap!- slamming back inside in an extremely hard thrust jolting the whole bed forward, the wood hitting on the wall.

That finally undid you. Your orgasm washed over you like a hot white bliss. Your back arched like a cat, your toes curling. You let out the most pornographic moan as your pussy drenched your boyfriend's dick with your delicious juices.

Your fucked out, cock drunk face along with the way your cunt was spasming around his dick was Satoru's undoing. With one final thrust his mushroomy tip french kissed your cervix filling you up with his warm sticky seed. “Fuck…look at her taking it all.” he whimpered looking down with teary eyes at where your pussy milked his cock for all it's worth.

Satoru didn't move. He stayed inside you as you both took your sweet time catching your breaths. Both looking at each other with those lovey dovey eyes drunk in love and lust.

“See? I told you,” you took a breath “told you it was gonna work.” you smiled looking up at him with your soft gaze.

“You’re crazy…” he exhaled, his built muscular chest heaved as he attempted to steady his breathing. “I thought my dick was gonna fall off.” His admission makes you chuckle despite the situation.

“What are you laughing at, pretty? Hm?” He teased you as he gently pulled out of you and tickled your belly making you all giggly and squirmy.

It was only after all your laughing quieted down that Satoru looked at you with a worried expression.

“I'm hard again.” poor baby sounded horrified.

And that's when everything clicked. “Fuck” you thought as you stared at your boyfriend's cock that was indeed twitching with need once again. You probably should have payed attention to the back of the package, specifically the little red sign warning the customers about how many hours the effect of the chocolate could last.

It was gonna be a long night.

[kthologue]

if there was one thing at the tokyo jujutsu tech branch that would send the kyoto branch into a coma, it was the shameless pda. gojo satoru was a man in love — and absolutely nothing could stop him from broadcasting it, no matter how obscene it might seem.

where utahime ran her students with silent, disciplined rigor, gojo thrived in chaos. in fact, the tokyo campus always seemed to hum with the sheer force of his enthusiasm alone.

today was hand-to-hand combat training again. you stood at the sidelines, arms crossed, observing as your second years sparred with the first years — dominating them so well that you hardly needed to step in.

a familiar presence drifted up behind you. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. your husband had an uncanny talent for finding you exactly when he was supposed to be doing anything else.

“new uniform?” he whistled, low and appreciative. even with his blindfold, you could feel his gaze dragging over you. “seriously, it should be illegal for you to look this good during work hours.”

you didn’t answer, trying your best to steer him back to work by simply not engaging. after much trial and error, you’d discovered that ignoring him was the most effective method.

predictably, gojo pouted when you didn’t respond. then, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

“you know,” his voice drops lower, silkier — the kind of tone he thinks is persuasive. “the students are so busy right now. they won’t even notice if we sneak off to my office and have some fun.”

“satoru,” you warn, already bracing yourself.

he grins like a fox. “it’ll just be ten minutes.”

“you say that every time,” you mutter, shooting him a sidelong look. “it is never just ten minutes.”

“boo,” he pouts, blowing a dramatic raspberry before slinging an arm around your waist with zero hesitation. “you’re being so cruel to a man in love.”

“satoru—”

but he’s already nuzzling his face into the side of your neck, his blindfold grazing your jaw as he whines, “just one kiss, then. one kiss and i’ll go right back to doing paperwork.”

you sigh, pretending to resist — but you lean into him all the same.

of course, one kiss turns into two. then three. then gojo is spinning you around, arms wrapped around your waist as he dips you in the middle of the training field.

“don’t make me get a spray bottle,” megumi grumbles, sparking a chorus of laughter from the others.

gojo just beams as he pulls you back up, shameless and unbothered. “sorry, can’t help it! my wife’s too hot for me to act normal.”

you swat his chest, cheeks warm. “you’re the worst.”

“and yet, you still married me,” he says, kissing the tip of your nose.

“only because you tricked me into it.”

he grins, “one of my greatest accomplishments.”

[baepsays]

Cherry liqueur ⸻ Gojo Satoru.

cw: blood, to be more specific-period blood, oral sex, eating out (while reader is on their period), no use of specific pronouns, description of fem anatomy, fingering, m! masturbation, freak Satoru really, use of words like 'whore' 'slut' as a tease, use of terms of endearment, pussy slapping (sorry i love that shit), kind of some cum play :p, ye just nsfw stuff proceed with caution!, minors do not interact.

INSPIRED BY THE ART IN THE HEADER, BY: @/shimisstuff

Gojo did not care for the color red. He really likes the color blue, as self centred as it may sound, he loves it. But even with his antipathy for the color red some of his most beloved things were colored red— like red velvet cake, strawberry jello, red macaroons always attract his attention first; something about red being a visually striking color which stimulates excitement or something — what he read. 

He particularly loved cherry pies. Beautiful crusty exterior and red gooey, sticky, bitter-sweet cherries inside. Anyone would think it is probably because he might like cherries. Which is not half wrong, he found his affinity for cherry desserts— specifically cherry pie and cherry liqueur cake, because his favorite red dessert is not always available at his disposal. And to frankly explain what is it? Your cunt, specifically when you're on your period. 

How did he find this— let's say unusual — affinity? It was very sudden, he was enjoying your saccharin taste on his tongue, nothing out of the ordinary. He truly enjoyed eating you out, savouring your taste way more than any average person may enjoy. He is the true definition of munch, this man could eat you, lick you, just smother his face in between your thighs for hours. That specific day you were really tired and he oh so kindly offered to perform oral on you to put you to sleep. He had cleaned you up in the bath, dressed you in your pajamas, laid you down on his plush bed, and ate you out like a starved man— a few mins in he suddenly tasted a new flavor spreading through his mouth. It was an uncannily identical flavor of cherry liqueur, a little less sweet but exactly bittersweet, slightly tart, overall very cherry.

You were too tired to even be conscious throughout the entire thing. You had passed out and it was only when he came up to catch a breath he realized that you started your period. Surprisingly it didn't deter him. He did go back in and finish you then cleaned you up once again, put on a pad in your underwear, cleaned up the sheets and himself. He particularly liked the look of himself covered in your blood reflecting back into his eyes. And the taste he could not forget or recreate. 

Since then he went on to practically begging you to let him taste you when you're bleeding. He seriously jumped up to the bed the day after that happened and went “please let me eat you out again.” 

And honestly you wouldn't say no, how can you ever deny your poor toru, then you realize the situation. That you're on your period and you had your period yesterday, this request of his is basically because he ate you out with arousal, blood and all things nasty. So it took him some serious convincing, begging, and a really shitty day where your cramps were hurting so bad that even the meds didn't help— to let him eat you out again blood and all. So he eagerly offered a massage, then some whispering in your ears about how good it'll feel and how it'll help with the pain. Long story short you gave in. And he became an obsessed vampire.

This brings us here, where there is a big thick towel under you, and you are on his bed. Naked, back arched, thighs engulfing his entire head, his white hair pushed back with his black headband. One time he was eating you out in similar circumstances with his hair down and he looked like a white cat who attacked a jar of jam. 

One of your hands clawed down on his shoulder, the other gripping the edge of the pillow under your head— trying to hold onto any semblance of sanity. 

“Ugh sweets. So sweet.” He rumbles in between your thighs right on your pussy. 

You were armed wordless, rid off of anything more than moans, grunt, sighs and whimpers. It did help that he pried your thighs off his head, with much reluctance—you best believe he would not die anywhere rather than right between your legs, breathless — he sits up, the sounds of his breathing heavy to even your senseless ears. He puts one of your ankles up on his shoulders, the other leg he hikes up to wrap around his waist. With a smear of red all across his cheeks, chin, and lips, he starts licking a stripe up from your ankle towards your thighs.

“Such a messy fucking whore for your toru right angel?” He says as he reaches your thighs and bites down lightly. 

“No answer? Huh. Have I slutted you out too hard? Hmm?” He lets out a slight chuckle, then continues to lick your inner thighs clean. He gathers all the blood and cum glistening around there, neat and blank to paint all over again. 

“P-please toru.” 

“Please what sweets?” He heaves out, clearly he is also having a hard time over here. But for the sake of prolonging your empty hazed up state of mind, asking and begging him to let you find your climax— that's how he found his own pleasure. 

“Need more.” you push yourself up on your forearms to look back at him, staring up at you with both your legs now hanging from his shoulder, eyes glowing in the abyss between your thighs.

“More? I give you my all and you still want more? My little insatiable whore.” His hand comes down to slap your clit, he gives it a second and puts down two more slaps right on your entrance. And you give out a loud screeching noise and fall back down on the bed. Gripping on his hair, headband, his hand which just slapped your pussy—now rubbing and tugging on your clit. 

“Honestly sweets say the word and I'll put the world at your feet.” He frees his hand from your grip, landing another little slap on your clit then slowly sliding a finger inside you. While all you can do is frail around and jerk from the shivers running down your body. His other hand, pulls his dick out of his boxers, then goes to gather some blood and cum dripping down your entrance and aids it as lube to jerk off himself. 

“MORE SATORU!” 

“More? Aw but I am giving you my all sweetheart, you want more? More of me? My fingers? Anything? Tell me. Say it. Ask me, beg me. Look me in the eyes and command me.” And you do, somehow bring yourself to look at him. With a huge grin adorning his face, his fangs on display, ready to suck up every drop of blood you bless him with.

“Put another finger in toru. Please make me come.” 

“As you wish and more, angel.” And his grin widens as he pushes, another finger in. He really does give you what you wish and more — because he puts a third finger in you, then turns all three of them up to find your spongy walls with the rough pads of his finger. He speeds up the other hand running up and down on his cock as he finds the said sweet spot. He moves both his hands at a matched speed, imaging your walls gripping on his dick while he thrusts in and out of you with the said dick, instead of his fingers. 

You don't have much in you, words or patience to hold back and time your climax with his. “ I am gonna cum toru, I am gonna- please. Please. Oh my goodness, please Satoru.” you cry out, begging him to let you cum.

“Do it sweets. Come all over my- Ha. Fingers. Come on. Be my good little whore. Won't you sweetheart?” He talks you into your climax and you come undone on his fingers, gripping down on all three of his fingers, but his movements do not stop. The squelching noise mixed with your moans and his pants are obscene. Maybe not as obscene as your cum mixed up with your blood. 

He fingers you through it all, until you finish and even when you're getting aftershocks— he does slow down and focuses more on pressing down on your walls than ramming through you. Once you stabilize a little he pulls his fingers out, which elicits a whimper out of you. 

He sits up again, he changes the hand gripping his cock. He positions his cock on your cunt, and proceeds to jerk himself harder, chasing his own climax, with the hand he used to just finger you. Your cum and blood— sticky and coated all over his cock. 

You lean back up to grip onto his neck, your foreheads touching, panting and whimpering into each other's mouth—tongues twirling around each other, you taste your cum and blood on him. Metallic and nasty, but you'd never hold back from giving him everything, even if it means kissing him in such a feral state. 

You lick the blood clean from the corner of his mouth, and that does it for him. He shoots ropes and ropes of cum all over your cunt. On your entrance, on your stomach, on your inner thighs— mixing up with the previously mixed in cum and blood. And he moans into your mouth throughout it all. Eyes shut, orbs of glowing blue hidden behind all that red smeared across his face.

“You are just the best dessert ever.” he says upon calming down a little and looking right into your eyes, then looking down at the mess between you two.

“Should I get another towel? Come on my dick next.” Nevermind. Maybe you two are capable of much more obscenities.

Safe to say, maybe Satoru is not so apathetic towards the color red. Especially when it tastes so sweet to him. 

a/n: dividers by @/omi-resources & @/sister-lucifer. wasn't gonna write then aashi (@fushitoru) beloved sent that ask and how can i ever deny her <3 AND THANK YOU SM TO SHIMI FOR LETTING ME USE THE ART!!! please check out more of her art! it is so beautiful!!

to access more of my works-click here.

[whoskimii]

THE OTHER WAY 'ROUND !! - GOJO SATORU

yeah, sure, we all know about bratty reader but can we please settle down for a second and think about bratty 'toru ? thank you.

★ BRATTY! 'TORU who loves blinking his pretty blue eyes at you to coax you into having sex with him for the umpteenth time this week.

★ BRATTY! 'TORU who pouts whenever you refuse or give him an excuse. what do you mean you're too tired ?

★ BRATTY! 'TORU whose eyes light up whenever you finally give in into his cute little pleas. you're so good to him.

★ BRATTY! 'TORU who drools against your neck whenever you fuck him senseless and annoys you on purpose when you ride him 'cause poor baby wants you to fuck him out of his gushy mind :(

★ BRATTY! 'TORU who thanks you when you let him cum inside your soft pussy for the fourth time in a row.

"ngh !" satoru let out a slutty little moan as you rode him with enthusiasm. "mommy, s'too much..." you rolled your eyes at him. "s'not even been a minute yet." you replied, a bit annoyed by his behavior. he literally asked you to fuck him and now, he can't take it anymore ? aw.

he sniffed and buried his pretty face in the crook of your neck as his pale hands palmed at your tits. "mommy... sorry, m'so sensi— ugh !— sensitive... came three times already..." he mumbled, his shaky voice slightly muffled by your warm skin. "yeah ? aw..." you cooed and tugged on his white, sweaty hair to make him look at you. he whimpered before twitching inside your gummy walls, glancing up at you with hazy eyes. "y'like that, baby ?" you whispered. "mhm !" he nodded vigorously.

as your pace got lazier, your boyfriend huffed and lifted his head. "what're you doin' ?" he muttered with pink, swollen lips. "riding you, i thought it was obvious." you responded sarcastically. "too slow ! you're too slow !" he pouted, grabbing on your plushy hips. "shut up. i'm getting tired."

satoru's eyes squeezed shut as he thought about how he could make you ride him harder. maybe he was just a little bit too spoiled. maybe.

he hummed as an idea crossed his mind. "you can't even keep up with me," he scoffed. "maybe i overestimated you." your eyebrows shot up at the sudden display of brattiness. "oh, yeah ? you're sassy, huh ?" you scoffed. "m'not. you can't even ride my dick proper—"

his sentence was cut off by a whimper as you finally fucked him harder, your meaty ass slapping against his quivering thighs. his eyes rolled back. "there you go," you hissed. "you're just a brat at the end of the day. and a slut."

his lips parted and he had to swallow to keep himself from choking on his own saliva. "m'not...! just— mommy..." he whined, tucking his face in your neck. "m'coming, m'coming— ah !" he chewed on his bottom lip as he came again, cock pulsating inside you.

once he finally came down from his high, he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder. "mhm, thank you, mommy, thank you..."

what a brat.

- masterlists -

- smut masterlist -

⋆˚࿔ kimi 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[gurlwhaaa]

you had an argument ft. Gojo Satoru <3

btw this is adult Gojo

you had only ever had disagreements over childish things with Gojo, they had ended pretty quickly, most of the time with kisses. but, this time, it was slightly different. this was serious.

"you're overreacting!" he complained.

that was it. you immediately strode out of the house, down the stairs, fuming and hurt by his words. no matter how childish he was, he always cared about the words he had used.

out in the street you were, late in the night. it wasn't late until you'd hear frantic footsteps along with your name, following up to you.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"yeah. you shouldn't have. that didn't stop you though, did it?" you shot.

"can we rationally talk this out. I know I was the one acting childish. I'm ready to listen to you. Please?" he pleaded

"maybe tomorrow. I'm overreacting today, is that right?" you said sarcastically.

"that was wrong of me to say. please don't go this late at night. you're capable enough to protect yourself but, I would sleep better knowing you're home, with me, safe." he begged

"I don't feel like seeing you right now OR being anywhere near you."

"then can I walk you home? I'll stay behind you, I'll stay quiet. Please?"

"like a stalker?"

"I just want to see you get home safe."

"fine." you gave in.

he walked you home that night safe and sound. he ended up staying the night and talking the issue out. ends with a lottt of kisses and cuddles

*confetti and jazz hands*

[princessmyth]

SATORU GOJO X SINGLE MOM READER

how they met 𐙚⋆°.

cw: v in p, creampie, breeding, aftercare

Satoru loved spoiling beautiful women. It was in his nature to spend money and love women, so what better choice was there than to give up his money for women of good taste?

He met you at the park, reading a book in a rather modest and feminine dress while a stroller was in front of you. He was curious, your expression seemed like that of a married woman but your hand lacked a ring of such.

With confidence, he walked over to you, sunglasses lowered so you could glance at his beautiful, sparkling blue eyes. “Ma’am.” He spoke with ease, making your eyes widen and angle upwards. A small chuckle escaped your lips, “Do I look that old?”

He was caught by surprise when you giggled and when you flashed that heartwarming smile at him. It was otherworldly and he had to claim it. “Definitely not, just think you deserve respect.” Your book had been set aside and Satoru removed his sunglasses.

Your eyes couldn’t resist to dart around, watching his beauty. “So, beautiful, are you married?” You shake your head, showing him the marriage hand and lack of any jewelry. He knew that.

“Single mother? Far too gorgeous to experience such a hardship.” He sat besides you, taking the book into his lap. “Beautiful woman don’t deserve to lift a laborious finger.” He praised, holding your delicate hand in his slender, pale one. Even your gasps were filled with warmth, his hand squeezing around yours.

“A pity you don’t have a strong man do lift the weight for you.” You were at a loss for words. He managed to sweet talk you and all your concerns into a date. For he was mesmerized by you.

You expressed worry for your daughter, who would take care of her? He immediately offered one of three of his students could babysit. What about your night shift? He’d pay for that and so much more if you just let him take over.

The first date was joyous, Satoru meeting your glamour with his own along with a side of honesty. He told you about his sorcery, even when you showed a bit of suspicion. He even offered to show and introduce you to his world.

Satoru was charming, charismatic. He knew what to do for a woman to fall in love and he knew this woman was the one he needed.

The night didn’t stop at a meal, he presented you with a gift and then took you home to what one would call “Wine and dine”. He laid it down on you, ensuring you wanted this and didn’t feel pressured because of the money you spent. “Are you certain—“ He was cut off by your eyeroll and desperate tone, “God, what will it take for you to fuck me, Satoru?”

His cock head was abusing your sweet spot, Satoru focused on pleasing you above all else. He was so concentrated, thumb rubbing circles on your clit at a perfect, simultaneous pace. “Perfect. Per–fect.”

He didn’t even realize when you gushed around his dick, still trying to give you pleasure. When you scratched at his back, whimpering the word “Cum, please,” he finally came all inside your walls.

He made sure you were okay before pulling out and collapsing besides you. “I’d ask if you’re on birth control, but considering your.. circumstances.. I’d guess no.” He teased, receiving a small pout and clingy animal that immediately latched on to him. “Needy.” He whistled into your ear.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap your legs around his torso and hoist you in his arms. He navigated over to the bathroom, setting a bath for both of you.

That baby and you were now his. His to take care of, his to spoil, his to comfort.

© princessmyth | do not plagiarize or copy

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"A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE" — Gojo Satoru

a/n : how i love gojo angst, but i think i did a bit too much with the angst now i cant stop crying content : HEAVY ANGST NO COMFORT. no jujutsu au. exes to strangers. failed marriage. bittersweet ending. 5k + words.

Three years after the divorce, your apartment still felt temporary.

It wasn’t small, but it never grew into you. The curtains were beige when you moved in and stayed beige, not because you liked them, but because you never cared enough to replace them. The furniture matched, vaguely. Nothing was uncomfortable. The plates were clean. The sink never filled. You paid your bills on time, and no one ever slept beside you.

It wasn’t a sad life. Not exactly. It was just simple. Predictable. Like living in parentheses.

You still worked in the same neighborhood—same train line, same bento shop across the street that started giving you discounts you never asked for. You saw friends when it was convenient. You spent holidays answering texts instead of writing cards. And eventually, the ache faded into background noise, something you didn’t notice unless you really stopped to listen.

The marriage had ended with less drama than you thought a marriage should. No yelling. No infidelity. Just… unraveling. Two people who had once clung to each other with everything they had, slowly loosening their grip.

You knew Satoru had loved you. That was a fact that you never questioned. And you had loved him back just as much. So much that it scared you. But loving someone isn’t the same as knowing how to stay.

The divorce paperwork had been signed in a small office with laminate floors and a malfunctioning air conditioner. You’d shaken hands with your lawyer, smiled at the clerk, walked out into the sun and waited for it to feel different.

But it never really did.

You told yourself Tokyo had grown too loud. Too fast. Too full of versions of yourself you no longer recognized. The convenience store near your place still carried his favorite energy drink. The sushi place where you’d once celebrated an anniversary now offered takeout, and you’d stood in line with your headphones in, pretending the door hadn’t made your chest tighten.

So when the opportunity came—something peaceful, something out of the city—you took it. A small town near Kyoto. Clean air. Slower days. A job that paid less but asked less too.

You didn’t call it running away. You called it starting over.

The morning of your departure, the train station was crowded. Snow had blanketed the platforms in a layer of hush, muting the city into something that almost ressemblant to a desktop wallpaper. You arrived early. Not because you were worried about missing it, but because leaving deserved space.

You stood under the flickering schedule board, watching orange text scroll across black, your suitcase handle warm in your palm from holding it too tightly.

Kyoto — Local Express, platform 5. Delayed due to weather.

You exhaled. Took a sip of vending machine coffee that tasted vaguely like metal. Adjusted the strap of your bag.

The air smelled like cold and concrete and faint electricity. You closed your eyes for a moment and told yourself, again, that this was good. Necessary. Yours. You didn’t feel ready. But you were leaving anyway.

When the train pulled in, it hissed like something alive. The snow had begun to cling to the windows, softening the edges of the world beyond the glass. As you managed to avoid bumping into people and lost tourists, you stepped into Car 3 with a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

The air inside was warmer than the platform, but not by much. Dim overhead lights buzzed softly above your head. The heat hadn't fully kicked in, and everything felt hushed—muted by the storm curling against the windows. You walked past the first row of seats, tugging your suitcase behind you, the wheels ticking softly over the gaps in the floor.

12B.

You found it. Aisle seat.

You shifted toward the aisle, ready to lift your suitcase onto the rack before settling in, your mind already drifting toward the hours ahead—how long the delay would be, whether you’d be able to sleep, whether the train would feel as empty inside as you did.

Then you looked up. And the world shrank.

He was sitting in the window seat beside yours, legs stretched out a little too far into your space, earbuds in but not playing anything. A book in his lap. A coat slung over his arm. Hair damp from the snow.

Gojo Satoru. Your one and only ex-husband.

He didn’t notice you at first. He was looking at the window, his reflection more visible in the glass than the scenery outside. His profile was the same—still sharp, still boyish in ways that never fit the depth he carried. You hadn’t seen him in years. Not in person and definitely not this close.

You blinked. Then he turned and your eyes inevitably met.

It was barely a second, but you felt it—the recognition. The flicker of old muscle memory. He froze just slightly, not dramatically, just enough to let you know that he hadn’t expected this either.

However he quickly regained his composure and threw you a half-smile. Soft. Careful. Not forced, not bitter.

“Hey,” he said, as if this were something normal. As if you hadn’t once been everything to each other. Your voice caught in your throat, dry and brittle.“…Assigned seating?” you asked. He lifted his ticket slightly between two fingers, his shrug casual. “Apparently.”

You glanced at your own ticket. 12B. Confirmed. You almost laughed, not because it was funny—but because it seemed like a cosmic joke. After years of living in the same city without crossing paths, after carving your life into a shape that no longer included him, here he was. Gojo Satoru. Assigned to your side on a snowbound train the day you decided to finally leave it all behind.

There were empty seats nearby. You could have asked to move. You could have walked away. But you didn’t. You lifted your suitcase onto the rack, took off your coat and finally sat down.

And now it was the two of you. Next to each other, with nothing but a folding arm rest and three years of silence between you.

The first twenty minutes passed with a kind of awareness that gave goosebumps. You stared out the window, watching the city peel away in soft layers. Buildings gave way to trees. Power lines dipped in and out of view. The snow grew heavier, thickening along the glass until the landscape blurred into smudges of white and grey.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

Not until the train passed by a rusted red torii gate on the edge of a small town, half-buried in snow. You remembered it from the dozens of trips you used to take together, escaping Tokyo for the weekend. Cheap inns. Local food. A private laugh between strangers.

“That gate still looks like it’s about to fall over,” Gojo muttered, voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure if he meant to say it aloud. You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you, just out the window, same as you.

You swallowed. “You used to try and convince me it was haunted.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You believed me.”

“You used to say it whispered your name.”

“It did. I stand by that.”

You huffed out a laugh. He didn’t, but you saw the breath catch in his throat. For a second, it was easy to forget the 3 years between you. The divorce. The paperwork. The apartment that stopped feeling like home before either of you had the courage to admit it.

For a second, it felt like being married again. Not the falling apart. The better part.

The train bumped lightly over a set of old tracks. You shifted in your seat, pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders. He spoke again, quieter this time. “You still drink that weird jasmine milk tea?”

You turned to look at him fully now. “I haven’t in a while,” you said. “They stopped selling it at the convenience store near my place.” He nodded, like that meant something. It probably did.

You hesitated. “You still forget to eat until noon?”

“I’m improving. I usually make it to ten-thirty now.”

A small silence.

Then—“You were the only person who ever noticed that about me,” he added.

You blinked, unsure how to respond to that. It wasn’t a compliment. Not really. It was just something said aloud. Something true. You looked down at your hands, then out the window again. Snow. Forest. Empty road running parallel to the train.

“We really thought that was going to be it,” you said, before you could stop yourself. “The whole life.” Gojo didn’t flinch. He just nodded. “We dreamed like everything would fall into place—like love would be enough to hold it all up.” You let out a quiet breath. “I think about that sometimes. How we were so sure.”

He looked over at you, eyes softer than you remembered, older too. “We were sure,” he said. “That was never the problem.”

You didn’t answer, you couldn’t.

Outside, the trees blurred in white streaks, their bare branches dusted in snow. The train hummed beneath your feet, a constant low sound that had long faded into the background.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting in silence this time. Five minutes? Fifteen? It didn’t matter. It never had with him. Even before the end, Gojo had been the only person you could be quiet with without feeling like you needed to fill the space. But this silence had weight. Not comfort. History.

When he spoke again, his voice was different, lower, measured. “I almost texted you last year,” he said. You looked at him slowly, your heart skipping for reasons you didn’t want to name. “Why?”

He shrugged, but it didn’t feel careless. “Your birthday. I remembered. I even had the message typed out. Just… never sent it.” Your mouth felt dry. “What were you going to say?”

He gave a soft laugh, bitter around the edges. “Something stupid, probably. ‘Hope you’re doing well.’ Like we hadn’t built a whole life together.” You didn’t answer right away.

You thought about your last birthday. It had rained. You’d spent it alone, not because you didn’t have options, but because it was easier that way. You’d bought yourself dinner, answered a few texts, and gone to bed before midnight. No candles. No cake.

You hadn’t expected him to remember. But somehow, knowing he had—that he’d typed your name again, even just with his thumbs—it hit harder than you wanted it to.

You turned toward the window again, leaning on the arm rest. “I didn’t know what to say to you,” you admitted. “After everything.”

“I didn’t either.”

“Isn’t that the worst part?” he added. “We spent years talking about everything. And when it ended, we didn’t know how to say goodbye.”

That landed somewhere low in your chest. Right where the love still lived, buried under layers of routine and resignation. You whispered, “We never actually did.”

Gojo didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Because you were right, you’d never said goodbye, you’d just… stopped.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. It was a posture you hadn’t seen in years, but one you knew. The one he always took when he was thinking too hard—when he wanted to say something that might not land softly.

“I used to think it was timing,” he said, eyes fixed on the table between you. “That if we’d met later—or earlier—maybe it wouldn’t have fallen apart.” You didn’t interrupt. “But it wasn’t timing,” he continued. “It was us. The way we loved each other. We threw everything into it like that would make it last longer. Like if we just gave it more, it wouldn’t collapse.”

You nodded once, slowly. “We loved like it was a solution.”

“And it worked for a while,” he said, voice almost wistful. “God, we were happy.” You swallowed, your throat dry. “Yeah. We really were.”

It wasn’t denial. It was memory. You had been happy. Genuinely, stupidly, safely happy. There had been Sunday mornings with pancakes that never turned out right. There had been toothbrushes beside each other in a cup. There had been warmth—the kind that settled under your skin and stayed there, even in silence. The kind you didn’t question, not once.

He’d hold you in the middle of the night like it was second nature, like sleep only counted if you were tangled together. Some nights you didn’t sleep at all. Just stayed tangled in each other, whispering sweet nothings, loving each other so hard it felt like its own kind of fever.

There had been days when just being near each other felt like proof you were still safe. You were in love. So deeply, so achingly in love. And still, it hadn’t been enough.

He leaned back, his hands running through his hair. It was a movement you recognized instantly. The way he used to touch his face when he was trying to hold everything in. “I think we didn’t know how to stop giving,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I stopped knowing how to ask for space. You stopped knowing how to need me without apologizing.”

You looked at him, and in that moment, he wasn’t Gojo Satoru, the man who broke your heart. He was just the person you once knew better than yourself. And maybe still did.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you admitted. “You were so much. You were always so much.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That was the problem. I never learned how to be without trying to be everything.”

Silence stretched again—but not the kind that asks to be filled. The kind that comes after a wound is finally named. You glanced down at your hands. “I kept thinking, if I could just love you right, it would all settle. That we’d stop spinning.”

He blinked and then looked at you, really looked for the first time since your divorce. “You did love me right,” he said. “We just didn’t know how to live inside it.”

After a moment, he train began to slow, the wheels dragging against the track, almost reluctant, as if the journey itself didn’t want to end. Outside the window, snow had turned everything into a blur of white, the world outside vanishing under the weight of winter.

The silence between you had settled into something familiar, the kind that only grows in the presence of years shared—too many words left unsaid and too many spaces between you to ever be filled.

You were nearing your stop. You could feel it—the finality of it, thick in the air. The train pulled into the station, the sign outside blurring as the train slowed to a stop. Everything seemed slower now, like time was dragging its feet on purpose.

You stood first. He rose with you. He pulled your suitcase from the rack without asking. You didn’t thank him. You didn’t need to.

The doors slid open with a low hiss.

The cold hit first—sharp and clean. You stepped off together, shoes crunching lightly against the snow-dusted platform. The sky above was a pale wash of gray, open and quiet. No announcements. No crowds. Just you, him, and the breath you were both trying to hold in.

You stood next to each other, but neither of you moved. That awful moment—the one that comes just before a final goodbye—stretched between you like a second heartbeat. And then, he asked so quietly you almost didn't hear it, “Do you regret it?”

The way he said it made your stomach twist. It wasn’t just a question. It was an invitation. To say no. To say yes. To say anything before this moment slipped away. It was the kind of question you only ask when it means now, and then, and always.

Do you regret it when you look back?

Do you regret it sitting here, knowing this is the last time?

Will you regret it tomorrow, once the door closes?

His Adam’s apple bobbed once, too sharp, like his body was trying to hold something in—something that had nowhere else to go. You didn’t look away. You glanced at him. His jaw was tense.

The sting hit your eyes before you could stop it. That familiar pressure. Heat gathering under your lashes like your body knew this was the last time it would be near his. “No,” you said. “Never.”

Then, before you could ask him the same, he answered anyway—soft, wrecked, true, “Me either, you were everything to me.” It knocked the breath out of you. Not like pain. Like closure. Like love wrapped in grief. You didn’t say anything else. You just stepped into him.

And he didn’t hesitate.

His arms wrapped around you instantly, like memory. You buried your face in his shoulder, and he held you like he knew exactly how long he had left. It wasn’t a hug meant to comfort. It was a hug meant to end something. Properly.

You held him tight. Long enough to burn it into your skin. Long enough to make sure you’d remember this version of him—not the one you divorced, but the one who once knew your body like it was his own home.

You finally pulled back from the hug, reluctantly, but you didn’t step away. Not yet. Your chest pressed against his just enough to feel how still he was. How hard he was trying to stay steady. The air between you was cold, but the space you occupied together was still warm. Still familiar.

And then—gently, like he’d done it a thousand times before—he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your cheek, hesitant, reverent. He cupped your face with both hands. And you let him.

You closed your eyes as his thumbs brushed softly under them, stroking the skin just beneath, like he was trying to catch the tears before they ever had a chance to fall.

You didn’t cry. But god, you wanted to.

You reached up, almost without thinking, and placed your hands over his. Just held them there. Anchored him to your skin. Your touch wasn’t pleading. It was quiet. Final. Like you were giving him permission to hold you one last time. To remember.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Until he did, his voice was soft. Steady. But behind it, something fragile. “Live a good life for me.” You nodded, lips trembling—not from fear, but from love that had nowhere left to go.

Then, gently and honestly you answered “You too Satoru. I’ll always be glad I got to be married to you.” That was it. That was everything. Eventually, he dropped his hands, and you stepped back. The space between you filled with cold air, and you didn’t try to close it again.

You turned, picked up your suitcase, and walked. Not fast, but forward. And when you reached the end of the platform, just before the stairs, you stopped. Only for a second. You didn’t look back. You just let the tears come, slow and full and quiet.

Not because you wanted him back. Not because it was wrong. But because what you had was real.

And real things are the hardest to leave behind.

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