Threes Better. Masterlist.

three’s better. masterlist.

୨୧˚ pairing ⇀ eren jaeger x fem! reader x armin arlert

୨୧˚ synopsis ⇀ you and eren finally let armin join in on the fun. alternatively, the one where you’re sandwiched a blonde and a brunette.

୨୧˚ cw ⇀ boys kissing , threesome , eiffel tower , spit , p in v , dick sucking , crying .

୨୧˚ an ⇀ eren has a crush on armin because i said so.

THE room was stifling, air thick and stained with the heady scent of sex. armin sat at the foot end of your queen sized mattress, dressed from the collared shirt buttoned around his toned chest, down to his khaki slacks and black socks. he was knelt, sat back on his hind legs, and you couldn’t help but admire the way the pants material strained against his thighs. nothing looked out of the ordinary, save from the brown, leather belt that had been popped open, its excess length dangling from the belt hoops at his waist.

“eren, c’mon.” armin’s voice was soft, yet so very stern it made your lungs quiver with unshed breath. through blurry vision, you could vaguely make out the blonde’s form, a single hand thumbing open the button of his slacks and sinking past the waistband of his cerulean briefs. “go a little faster.”

the opposite end of the bed was occupied by eren and yourself. he had you on your hands and knees, two pillows stacked beneath your tummy. eren was completely nude, at armin’s request, but you were instructed to keep those, in his words, “sexy little panties on.” the black, lacy thong always seemed to rile armin up. eren, too, always seeming to hold the thin material to the side with his thumb while he fucked into your cunt from behind.

“fuck up,” eren grunts, bringing a wrist up to his forehead, wiping at the beads of sweat pearling along his temple. “don’t tell me how to fuck my girl.”

armin let’s out a quiet huff, and you’re able to see the way his forearm flexes with exertion as he stroked himself within the confines of those irritably tight pants. “why can’t you ever just listen to me?” he asks with a humorless chuckle.

“you’re never—hah—fucking satisfied.” eren uses a brute palm, pushing it against the small of your back. he loves to see your spine bend and mold to his adjustments, and slams his cock excitedly back inside, earning himself a sexy mewl and a weeping gush from that pretty lil’ pussy. “ain’t it enough that i let your weird ass watch?”

armin licks his dry lips, letting his free hand walk up his flat tummy. his thumb brushes over his own nipple, making a show of how truly turned on he was. “no.” armin approaches you and eren, shuffling on his knees with his hand still buried in his pants. “can she suck me off?”

they discussed this like you weren’t laying right there. eren halts, shoving himself to the deepest part of you before pausing to shoot armin the meanest mug. “hah?”

“y/n,” armin clarified like it was obvious. blonde brows furrow in desperation, “please let her…”

eren stared at armin with such vigor, you feared he might throw a left hook to armin’s jaw. “eren…” you choked out cautiously. what you weren’t expecting was the brunette to snatch armin’s hand out of his pants, replacing it with his own.

“jesus, you’re like fuckin’ diamond down there,” eren laughed breathlessly, raking his unoccupied hand through his lengthy, sweat-soaked locks.

armin’s cheeks were pink, but he leaned his groin into eren’s palm shamelessly. “yeah, well,” ocean eyes dragged over the expanse of your twitching back, zeroing in on the glistening area of eren’s navel, sheening with your slick. he felt his mouth water, a nasty urge telling him to lick eren clean. “your girlfriend is really pretty.”

“she is,” eren whispered with a teasing smile. with a hint of reluctance, eren withdrew his hand from the warmth that was armin’s boxers, holding up his fingers to admire his precum-glazed fingerprints. “messy,” eren tuts, wiping the semen on armin’s disheveled button down. the latter let him, already making a move to unbutton the garment anyway.

finally, you had been included in the conversation when eren pulled you up to him with a painful grip on your hair. he’d collected your locks in a makeshift ponytail, as to not yank any of your roots and hurt you any more than he knew you could take. you arched, back bowed wickedly as eren brought you close. “you wanna suck ‘min’s dick? he’s pretty big.” eren rubbed a calloused hand up your stomach to blanket over your tit, giving it a healthy squeeze. then, a sweet kiss to the back of your ear. “up to you, babe.”

armin already had his shirt off, discarding it on the floor of your bedroom. he was panting already, chest heaving, pert nipples pink and flushed. he didn’t verbally push you, but armin had the worst case of puppy eyes you’d ever seen. “is… is it really alright with you?” you wanted confirmation that this wasn’t some sort of trick, lest you say yes and eren gets pissed off at your readiness to suck another man’s cock.

“mm,” he hummed in confirmation, nuzzling the point of his nose against your jaw. “i trust armin. he’ll be gentle with you.”

in the background, armin’s nodding. “i’ll be so gentle, i promise.” and you’re inclined to believe him. armin had always been the sweetheart of the friend group, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t found his kindness towards others a little attractive.

“okay,” you agreed with a small grin. armin’s face lit up the tiniest bit, and with clammy yet confident hands, armin brushed his knuckles over your damp cheekbones, an intimate gesture that warmed you up inside.

eren was quick to smack armin’s hands away from your face. “aht aht, none of that sweet shit,” he scolded, petting his hand over where armin’s touch had tainted your precious cheeks. “no kissing, either. you hear me?” eren squished your face with one giant hand, turning your head to the side so he could look you in the eye. “don’t kiss him, only me.”

“only you,” you said through your puckered lips, drawing a proud smile from your boyfriend. he pecked your lips before releasing your face, pushing you back down to rest against the mouth of pillows.

“‘min, pull it out.”

“yeah, yeah okay.” armin nods, shoving his thumbs into the waistband of his slacks before slowly slipping them down his hip bone. not bothering to take them all the way off, just enough to release his bulge. that clammy hand found residence underneath your jaw, angling your head up to look you in the eye. “you wanna see it?” armin breathed, head tilted as his free hand massaged over the bulge in his blue boxers.

his lewdness was horrifically shocking, but you swallowed that emotion down in favor of gnawing at your lower lip. “yes please.”

armin swore he died for a second. “isn’t she so polite?” eren asked cockily, revving up his hips again in slow, languid strokes. not enough to inebriate you, but still enough to keep up the pleasure. you preened, lips parted in quiet moans.

“so polite,” armin agreed quietly, trancelike, as he fished his erection out from the confines of his briefs. eren wasn’t kidding, armin was a decent length. all pink and veiny and smooth.

eren watched intently from his place behind your ass, unable to stifle his laugh. “holy shit, bro do you wax? how the fuck are you so smooth?” ever the extrovert, eren reached across your small body, running the back of his palm over armin’s pubic bone, only to gawk at the creamy texture of bare flesh.

armin lets eren touch, almost like he’s used to the man’s hands, and blushed. “i like the clean look,” he manages a shrug, swatting eren’s hand away. armin let’s his palm graze over your nape, sliding up to weave those long, pale fingers into your tresses.

“suck him, baby,” eren coos from behind, giving a little squeeze of encouragement to your ass. “or i might.”

armin rolls his eyes, “‘ren, shut—oh.” you’re down there, ever so gently taking his appendage into your small hands and pressing feverish kisses up the underside of his pretty cock. the fingers in your hair tighten for a nanosecond, his blunt nails scratching against your scalp.

unbeknownst to you, too busy spitting on armin’s dick, eren is smiling wolfishly at the sight before him. “yeah, there we go,” he groans, sending a smack to your ass in between thrusts.

“mmfph—!” muffled through armin’s flesh, you cry at the sting of a steel palm against your ass cheek. the vibrations from your hymn have armin gasping.

“oh, that felt really nice.” he announces through a quivering voice.

“she’s good, right?” eren asked.

armin nods, “the best.”

eren likes that answer. amidst the dicking down he’s giving you, eren finds a grasp on the back of your skull, his hand flat atop armin’s that already resided there. armin shoots eren an incredulous look. the brunette just licks his teeth.

“c’mon, make him moan,” eren demands, suddenly forcing your head deep into armin’s lap. the both of you are caught off guard. you’re choking around the satin-covered rod that lodged into the depths of your throat, and armin equally sputtered on his own spit, releasing a bitchy moan of his own. eren looked at you two with hearts for eyes, too turned on to think. “take him deeper, y/n. to the f—hnn, fuckin’ balls.”

you gagged, saliva bubbling past the barrier of your lips and leaking down to wet armin’s khakis. he couldn’t give less of a shit, too busy steeling his stomach, focusing his entire being into not cumming down that tight, wet throat of yours. “e-eren, she’s choking,” armin said between hiccups and whines, pawing at eren’s wrist that was attached to the hand planted on the back of your head. “ease… up!”

eren sneered, “she can take it. jus’ a little more.” eren felt himself get close. the heavenly feeling of your sopping cunt in tandem with the sexy scene of you gagging on armin’s cute cock… jesus, he really was about to cum. “c’mere,” eren ordered to armin, not even getting a chance to form a thought before eren was reeling him in with his free hand on the back of his neck.

the men met, their lips crashing roughly against one another. eren grunted into armin’s cavernous mouth, dragging his nails down the side of his delicate neck. “fuck,” eren hissed, decimating the latter’s mouth with his long tongue. armin desperately tried to keep up, but as his orgasm approached, the delirium only grew. armin let his jaw unhinge, allowing eren’s tongue ti mesh against his own.

spit dribbling down his chin, stringing down to stick against his sweaty, beet-red chest. “er…” armin whimpered, eyes rolling back in his skull. armin’s hand grabbed blindly for eren’s hair, yanking it without any of the delicacy that he’d treated you with. “i’m c-close…”

“cum in her throat,” eren whispered against armin’s swollen lips, kissing him again. “y/n, y’ hear that? drink it.”

you could barely breathe down there, not with the way eren was so adamant about you swallowing down every inch of armin. all this time, eren had been the one concerned about whether or not armin would treat you gently, just for him to be the rough one all along. he knew you loved it, though. “hngg,” was all you could say with seven inches in your throat and eight in your cervix.

“good fucking girl,” eren praised, giving armin one final sloppy kiss. “n-nut in her mouth.”

the idea sounded so delectable, but armin was apprehensive. “will y/n—”

“she loves it ‘min. nut in her goddamn mouth.” the brashness of eren’s nasty words had sent armin full throttle into his impending orgasm. those wide eyes screwing shut, lips parted and the girliest moans ripping from deep within his chest. armin gripped onto eren’s hair and broad neck for dear life, digging his nails into the sweaty flesh there.

at the same time, you’d felt your own orgasm burst at the taste of armin. his flavor was inexplicably clean, like water paired with a hint of salt and tang. the musky liquid had shot so deep into your throat, the little bucks of armin’s hips had involuntarily pushed the semen out through your nostrils. you cried, forcing your hips back to meet eren’s relentless movements and riding out your intense orgasm.

“she’s cumming,” eren called out in a moan-laugh hybrid, still ruthlessly slamming his hips against your wobbling ass. he snatched a chunk of blonde hair, ripping armin’s head out from when he’d buried it in the brunette’s neck and forced him to look down at your writhing, pathetic body. “look, my girl’s creaming all over me.”

armin watched, hazy and exhausted but still conscious enough to admire the attractively feminine lure of your hips as they twitched from pleasure. “wow…” was all he could stupidly say, invested in the way your asscheeks valiantly bounced off eren’s chiseled hips.

speaking of, eren was on the cusp of his own ferocious climax. he tended to get giggly when he was close to bursting, and you couldn’t miss the way his cock throbbed inside of you. “fuck,” eren pulled out hastily, slapping your ass. “on your back, quick.”

with armin’s gentle help, you maneuvered yourself one hundred and eighty degrees, kicking the pillows out of the way to lay perfectly flat. armin knelt beside your head, whilst eren shifted himself to straddle your tummy. reaching an impatient hand up towards armin, eren snapped a finger. “hand.”

it was a simple demand, one armin was quick to fulfill. he lended eren his limp hand, knowing exactly what it was about to be used for. you watched as eren curled armin’s fist around his cock, breathlessly telling armin to stroke. “squeeze it tighter, i’m not gonna break.”

armin chirped out an apology, adjusting his grasp on eren’s dick. eren grabbed the man’s shoulder in one iron-clad grip, the other one pinching your nipple. eren’s eyelids flutter shut, expelling grunt after grunt. “close,” he uttered, tossing his head back, “aim it at her tits.”

armin did so, picking up the pace and making sure every drop of eren’s cum collided with your satin chest. the corded muscle of eren’s thick thighs flexed, back arching as he reamed himself into armin’s soft hand. “oh my god fuck yes!”

after coming down from his stellar high, eren assessed the damaged. armin was spent, looking exhausted as all hell, but blissfully content. you, his perfect girl, were sheening with sweat, hair mussed and breasts drowning in a thick layer of his seed. “look at this mess,” eren hummed, rubbing his cum into your skin like moisturizer. “you’re all sticky.”

“i don’t mind,” you smile weakly, more than happy to be doused in your boyfriend’s baby batter any day of the week. but eren tsked, shaking his head frivolously.

“i mind.” those narrow, seafoamy eyes of his flitted over to the only other male in the room, “armin, why don’t you come clean her up. slowly, i wanna watch.”

the umpteenth bashful smile tugged at armin’s lips, spit-soaked lips curving gracefully around his words.

“i’d love to.”

my first and last. . . ⇢ satoru gojo

˗ˏˋsummary: satoru thinks he was always meant to meet you, but you entered his life at such a precarious time he often wonders if that’s the reason he clings to you the way he does 

˗ˏˋwc: 6.5k (🧍‍♀️ it got longer every time i edited it)

˗ˏˋcontains: gn!reader x gojo, angst (with a happy ending), very gojo centric it's essentially a character study, implied satosugu, mentions of canon character injuries/deaths, whatever the opposite of a meet-cute is, confessions, first kiss, hurt/comfort, gojo has a mild panic attack but i promise the description is suuper brief

˗ˏˋa/n: the stsg shipper in me jumped out a little bit with this one 🫣 we love our bi king gojo 🩷💜💙 i also wrote him to be neurodivergent coded in some parts out of pure self indulgence heh.. anyway happy birthday to our blue eyed princess <3

since day one satoru’s life has been a series of puzzles and winding paths that he navigates with ease. donning the title of the strongest is no simple task, and it’s not unfounded at that. he’s simply always been the strongest, with never a moment of respite. but there was a time where he used to share that title — where he used to share the burden of the weight of the world on his shoulders.

his relationship with suguru geto was… complicated. he surely didn’t like him at first, finding the latter to be self-righteous to a fault. yet he stuck to his side, always in his general vicinity. but like a moth to a flame — he flew too close and he got burned.

you could attribute it to his low empathy, or a subtle inability to pick up on social cues… or maybe just the mere fact that he was 17 years old and a stubborn brat. but he can’t recall ever noticing when things started to go downhill. sure, he still knows when they did, knows all too well what the catalyst of this downwards spiral was — the hand that pulled the plug on the drain so that the water could spin around the stopper as it slipped underneath and down into the plumbing, completely out of his control.

but the more he thinks about it, the more slippery it gets. because even now, 10 years later, he can’t wrap his head around why he never noticed what suguru was going through. why he had so poorly assumed that the both of them being the strongest meant that suguru would be able to cope with everything in the same exact ways that he did. why he assumed it meant suguru was fine, even though he knew for a fact that he wasn’t — neither of them were.

but that was the nature of their relationship with each other. made complicated with silent agreements and conversations never had, words never spoken, and satoru often wonders — had he said something, had he swallowed his pride and just communicated with suguru… could things have been different?

surely not, right?

nevertheless, satoru never noticed until it was too late. or if he did, he thought nothing of it at the time. it was subtle things like wondering why suguru seemed thinner — have you lost weight, suguru? — or why the dark circles under his eyes got deeper as the seasons changed — suguru, did you stay up all night reading again? — or why the distinct amount of solo missions they were both sent on only drove the wedge between them further and further. but satoru was managing as best as he could, and he turned out just fine he thinks… so why didn’t suguru?

but really, try as he might, it was hopeless the very moment they got back from okinawa. the very moment he dropped his infinity after he’d been tiredly using his technique nonstop for days, allowing himself a mere second to let his guard down before the force of a katana had torn through his abdomen from behind him. the very moment that the same man who had stabbed him had killed him, and then killed the star plasma vessel they were supposed to protect, and then nearly killed suguru.

it was hopeless the very moment satoru came back from the dead, completely enlightened with a new sense of his techniques, a new perspective on his own life and his prowess. the very moment suguru stopped saying they were the strongest together, and started to just refer to satoru solely as thee strongest. full stop.

when you share the weight of the world with someone else, it suddenly feels a lot heavier when they decide to let it go without warning you in advance. but then again, the signs were always there — the sweat on his brows, wobbling knees threatening to buckle as he struggled to hold it up. satoru selfishly brushed aside the warning signs until suguru grew so tired, that even if satoru had tried a little harder to coax him back in, the fatigue in suguru’s muscles was too strong to even bother lifting anything back up onto his shoulders.

so all he could do was watch. watch as suguru turned around and left, disappearing into the crowd of people walking all around them. people who were probably having the most boring, average day of their lives. oh, how he so craved the mundanity, the simple things of a human life that were always too out of reach for a god.

his breaths were shallow and coming out in quick puffs, hands clenched tightly at his sides and twitching with the urge to use his technique, to take out suguru like he was supposed to. because that would have meaning. but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger on the first person he’d ever felt like he truly loved, in a sense. he allowed himself to hold someone so close to his heart because he thought he didn’t have to worry about him leaving… up until he actually did.

his heart was a jigsaw puzzle, and a piece of it went missing the day suguru left. what he hadn’t expected to happen next, was for you to enter his life with a piece of an entirely different puzzle, one that was still somehow a perfect fit.

not at first, at least.

“what the—“ the frustrated cry slipped past your lips, a groan of disdain when satoru had turned around to leave the scene of the worst day of his life, only to crash into you as you tried to maneuver around him, making you spill your drink all over your shirt. the drink itself was a frozen one, sweet like strawberry and sour like the green apple you mixed into it at the slushie machine from the gas station down the block. you’d have really enjoyed drinking the whole thing, had it not spilled all over you instead. “watch where you’re going, asshole!”

he blinked at you, dumbfounded and stammering as he tried to mumble an apology. but really, he wasn’t all that sorry. he was so numb to just about anything right now, he couldn’t find it in him to feel sympathy for a total stranger when his heart was just so broken the way it was.

you scoffed and looked up at him then, and your eyes widened a little in surprise when you met his. a pair of blue eyes, the brightest blue you’d ever seen, brighter than the sky on a clear and sunny day. eyes that held more in them than every ocean on the planet, with waves crashing around the irises and threatening to spill over his lash lines, glossing his eyes in a way that made him look ethereal. he was crying, but why did he look so, so…

“c’mon, let’s keep walking,” your friend’s voice cut through your thoughts, tugging lightly on your elbow as she shot a narrowed look at satoru before redirecting her attention back to you. “we’re gonna be late to catch the bus.”

you tore your gaze away from satoru, wordlessly moving past him as your friend dragged you along, walking in the same direction suguru had gone just minutes prior. satoru was still a little caught off guard, blinking rapidly before wiping his eyes with his sleeve and walking off.

it wasn’t the most ideal meeting, but on such an unforgettable day, it was burned into his memory nonetheless.

so when he saw you again a few weeks later, by yourself this time, sitting at the window of a crepe cafe he frequented, he felt his heart rate pick up a little bit. maybe it was just the reminder of the day suguru left him, or maybe it was the way the afternoon sun was shining across the window, casting a dispersion of colors from the spectrum of light onto your face. a bright white light shining through a glass prism and refracting, revealing a rainbow on the other side.

he lingered outside for a moment, clammy hands stuffed in his pockets as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze flitting between the door to the cafe and the small table you were sat on. maybe he could just pretend you weren’t there at all, just walk in and order his usual and then leave, just like he’d intended. but the moment he stepped inside, the bell jingling above his head announcing his arrival, and you looked up at him, he cracked under the pressure. with a tightlipped expression he abruptly spun on his heel and left the shop, confusing yourself and other patrons alike.

he walked about 20 feet away from the shop before exhaling the breath he’d been holding. and then he thought, what the fuck am i doing? so he turned around once again, swallowing down his pride and the potential for humiliation as he stepped inside the cafe once more, this time avoiding your curious gaze entirely.

you thought you recognized him for a moment. there aren’t many lanky, freakishly tall boys with snowy white hair like his. what was throwing you in for a loop was the glasses he adorned — a black pair of lenses with round frames. when he walked in the sun you couldn’t make out his eyes behind them at all, it made you wonder if you could even see anything through them.

he stepped up to the counter and placed his order, and while he waited he couldn’t help it, he had to take a peek. it was this natural curiosity bubbling up in his chest, he just had to satiate it before it boiled over and got out of control. he turned his head a little to the side, subtly glancing over his shoulder at you seated in the corner. you were looking down at your hands, but the flush that reached your ears told him you’d almost been caught staring at him.

he pursed his lips in thought, humming to himself as he turned back around when they called his name at the counter. he wordlessly grabbed his crepe, nodding curtly at the worker before he started to walk back towards the entrance. but just before he walked through the door, something stopped him. like an invisible force field cast by the only person in the building that caught his attention, and from that point he felt drawn to you, all of a sudden. he chewed the inside of his cheek, turning and facing your general direction. you were caught this time — your head swiftly turned the other way, just barely making eye contact with him, but he’d already seen the way your hair moved when you turned your head. how it fell over your eyes for a moment, and how your hands twitched on the table with the urge to move it out of the way, only you tried to seem entirely nonchalant at the moment so you held back. how cute, he thought.

he lingered at the doorway, and then he took a step forward. and another. and then he was standing beside the small table, tilting his head curiously when you refused to acknowledge his existence. he seemed much taller up close, especially since you were sitting down. it was almost intimidating.

“yo,” he waved a hand in front of your face, beckoning your attention. you blinked in surprise, finally moving your own hand up to swipe the bangs out of your eyes as you looked at him. those pesky strands of hair that you hate. you’re trying to grow it out, so you can’t do much about it right now. “you were staring at me?” he says this like a question, like he doesn’t know how else to address the obvious elephant in the room between you two. you gulped then, looking around the room as you thought of an excuse, but you didn’t find one.

“i was.” you conceded, nodding a little awkwardly. he already caught you so there’s no point in lying, you think to yourself.

“…why?”

“your glasses.”

“what about my glasses?”

“they’re funny.”

he snorts, unsure if he was offended or amused. “what’s so funny about ‘em? they’re just glasses.”

you giggled then, a soft sound that trickled into his ears like sprinkles on a cupcake, colorful and of intrigue for satoru’s own sweet tooth. “i dunno, i just think it’s a little silly that you’re wearing sunglasses indoors.”

he hums, the corners of his lips almost threatening to curl up into a smile. almost. “i have sensitive eyes.”

“right,” you giggled again, a sound he was quickly learning tasted as sweet as the dessert in his hands. “can you even see anything through them when you’re standing inside? they look so dark.”

you’d be surprised what i can see, is what he almost replies with. but what leaves his mouth instead was uncharacteristic, if he’s being entirely honest with himself. “wanna see for yourself?”

you hesitated for a moment, but then nodded slowly. you were curious, after all. he put down the crepe in his hands, setting it down near your clasped hands on the table. he lifted his hands up to his frames, and for a moment he almost stopped himself. why am i doing this again? but he removed them anyway, extending his hands forward to hand them to you. your eyes followed the frames the whole time, reaching forward to grab them, your fingers brushing against his. but when you looked up at him again, you saw a familiar stark blue ocean in his eyes, and—

oh.

“you’re the guy who knocked over my slushie.” you stated bluntly, carefully starting to retract your hand again. satoru’s shoulders dropped a little bit, and he had half a mind to apologize, but he just extended his hand further and waved it in front of you, urging you to take the glasses and try them out. he’s not sure where this surge of insistence is coming from, but it seems to rub off on you, since you narrow your eyes a little curiously before gingerly accepting the lenses.

you bring them up to your eyes, holding them at a reasonable distance, and you’re surprised to see— well, nothing. just pitch black. you gape a little bit, muttering something under your breath. he almost expects you to freak out, maybe even awkwardly return his glasses and excuse yourself to leave the establishment. but you do none of that. you handed his glasses back with a snort of a laugh, a confused yet oddly amused grin crawling onto your face. “you must have really sensitive eyes, then. now i feel bad for calling you an asshole.” you mumbled, and he can’t stop the way his own smile mirrors yours. your reaction was even sweeter than he’d anticipated.

“it was an asshole move, to be fair.” he mutters a little quietly, putting the glasses back on his face and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. he picks up his crepe again, glancing at the door as he considers leaving. but then he looks back down at you and you have this look in your eyes that he can’t quite place. and suddenly he feels drawn to you again.

“maybe one of these days i could buy you another one to make up for it?”

that’s how it began. you entering his life and crawling inside of a hole in his heart right as it emptied out. a vacancy that was available against his own will, but you filled it out anyway. exchanging phone numbers and having short but meaningful conversations through the flip phone you despised texting on (it was 2007 after all, technology was not quite at it’s peak), but you put up with it anyway, because you found that talking to him quickly became a part of your day you looked forward to.

he thought the same of you, but it took him a while to admit that to himself. shoko had made a throwaway comment one day, saying he was just coping by befriending you as quickly as he did. she meant nothing bad of it, merely jesting, but it weighed heavy on his heart. he felt guilty, felt like he was replacing suguru somehow. no one could replace suguru, even if he doesn’t quite hold the same place in his heart anymore, he’d always be there.

suguru leaving was the first time satoru felt scared in his life. that’s a feeling one could only invoke in him after burrowing themselves so deep in his skin that the heartbreak of going separate ways tore him up from the inside out. that’s something he could never get over; he never will get over it.

but you, you were something else entirely. the feelings of guilt quickly changed into fluttery, warm feelings when he heard the ringtone he’d specifically set for you. it turned into rapidly beating hearts when you’d both met up after school, satoru going out of his way to walk down your route with you even though he lived on school grounds. it turned into waiting in anticipation whenever he sent you a text, biting his lip nervously as he stared at the tiny phone screen, somehow trying to will it to load your response faster. staying up at night talking over the phone, pacing around his dorm or looking out the balcony as he did, a huge grin on his face that he couldn’t wipe off for at least half an hour after you’d both gone to bed.

you never replaced suguru. but he often thinks to himself about it, pictures a life where fate was kinder to him. a world where he has both you and suguru around, at the same time. suguru would’ve loved you, he thinks. the two most important people in his life, a consistent reminder that it’s okay to love and be loved back. a warm spring after a harsh, bitter winter.

a year or two goes by, you both graduate high school, and to him your life seems so… normal, while his life is anything but. for a while he doesn’t tell you, doesn’t tell you about his job as a jujutsu sorcerer. a title he was born into, as a user of both limitless and six eyes — a combination the likes of which the Gojo clan hasn’t seen for hundreds of years. a ticking time bomb.

it was innate for him, embedded in his dna. his fate was sealed the moment he opened his eyes. he had no choice at all in how he got to live his life, it was all outlined for him the moment he was born. december 7th, 1989 — a momentous day for the jujutsu world and the world of curses. he was standing for something before he even learned how to walk.

what he did have a say in was your involvement in it. he always thought the lesser you knew the better, so he kept it to himself. when he got busier you would ask more questions, trying to figure out what kind of job he had, but he never answered them honestly. it drove you both apart a little for a few years, and it broke his heart, but he thought it was better this way. it was easier to keep you out of the hot mess that was his world as the jujutsu sorcerer gojo, safer to keep you at arms length so that your precious life didn’t get tangled in the ugliest parts of his.

and yet he also wanted nothing more than to hold you closer, to nestle you in the cavity of his heart and never let go of you. because to you, he wasn’t the strongest jujutsu sorcerer — the six eyes and limitless user with the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. to you, he was just… satoru.

but he couldn’t hold you closer to his heart without risking the semblance of normalcy in your life, one that was so fragile, he would never forgive himself if it shattered. if the glass shards cut into the palms of his hands, his own blood slipping through his fingers while he desperately tried to piece it back together.

worst of all, he thinks you would never forgive him, for some reason. he can’t explain why he thinks this. it’s all an emotional and irrational mess in his brain that he would rather ignore instead of trying to untangle the cords.

maybe it’s the 17 year old in him, the one that lost his best friend — his one and only — in the very same world he wants to keep you out of.

suguru geto was the first person he ever cared so deeply about, and the first person who left him. you’re the only other person he’s cared for so much since then, and right now you’re the last person he wants to lose. his first and last, representing completely different parts of satoru’s soul that he clings to like a lifeline. if he lost you too he’d be inconsolable.

and that thought was what drove him to his limit when suguru died. you’re taken by complete surprise when you hear a frantic banging on your door. it’s the night of december 24th, you were just about ready to go to bed early in preparation for christmas the next morning when you opened the door to see satoru, completely disheveled and in a cold sweat. he was always careful about the parts of himself that he showed you, always made sure he didn’t worry you too much by being so emotionally vulnerable around you. but right now, after the night he just had, he can’t do it anymore. he can’t always be the strongest.

“can we talk?” he had asked you the moment he met your eyes. he was breathless, overwrought — at his wit’s end. you’ve never seen him like this — at least, not since that fated day in september 2007 when you both first met.

when you invited him in he stumbled past you, his breathing erratic and his usual bright blue eyes were currently a dull gray, they were almost lifeless. the light he often held in them was dimming with the weight of his emotions and he needs to say something to you, he needs you. he can’t keep himself together anymore.

“satoru, come,” you gently grabbed his elbow, a touch unobstructed by his infinity that he so desperately craved. “sit, and take deep breaths for me, okay?”

he wasn’t aware that his hands were trembling until you grabbed them, and he squeezed your hands so tightly it almost hurt. the moment you sat down next to him on the couch he dipped his head forward and dropped it on your shoulder, burying his face in the crook of your neck and closing his eyes, his lips pressed together in a thin line as he tried not to sob. a man so much bigger than you — in height namely — was shrinking into your side and you hadn’t the slightest idea what could have possibly brought him down like this.

“what’s wrong, hun?” you asked him sweetly, and your voice was so soothing to his soul he just couldn’t take it anymore. he whimpered weakly, his lips trembling as he pulled his head back to look in your eyes.

“i’ve been lying to you.” he blurts out, making your eyes widen in surprise. “i- i know it sounds bad, fuck— you don’t even know what it is i’m going to say to you, you have no idea how badly—“ he cuts himself off when his voice cracks, clamping his mouth shut and swallowing the lump in his throat before continuing. “just… just promise me. promise me you won’t freak out. just let me say everything i need to say first and then you can react, but please— please understand why i did this.”

you’re not sure how to respond to this at first, his words are loaded with something you don’t recognize. and there’s this perceptible fear in his eyes that concerns you more than anything else. you inhale deeply for a moment, studying the trembling in his expression, and then you nodded slowly. you’re not sure why, but you trust him. “okay… i promise.”

and so it goes. he unloads everything — the world of jujutsu and curses, his upbringing, his one and only. he tells you about his teenage years, his near death experience (or well, more like an actual death experience, but he holds back on those specific details for now — figures he doesn’t need to tell you just yet how reverse cursed techniques work when you’re already getting an information overload), how he lost suguru. he tells you about suguru’s cult, the war suguru declared on jujutsu society, on him. he tells you about his students and how he fought to protect them, tells you about the night parade of a 100 demons, and finally, finally — he tells you how he had to ultimately kill his best friend. just hours prior to seeing you.

“…wow.” was all you had to respond with. what else could you even say in that moment?

it takes a good 15 minutes afterwards for the air between you both to settle again. for satoru to feel like he can look you in the eyes and not get these intense pangs in his chest that make him feel like you’re pulling away from him. takes him 15 minutes to grab your hands again, all with an intense urge to hold them close to his chest so you could just feel how hard his heart beats for you.

“so… all this time…?” you trailed off. you’re not really sure what you’re asking him, but somehow he knows. he’s learned to read you so well over the years, so many unspoken words from you where he’s filled in the blanks, like a crossword puzzle. sure, it makes him come off presumptuous, often even feeling like he’s putting words in your mouth before you’ve even opened it. but he’s never been wrong, either.

he knows you like you know your favorite book — you could recite the first few pages with your eyes closed. and you thought you knew him, too… you still do, just not as well as you’d thought after a decade of friendship.

he can practically see this thought process playing out in your head, kind of like a tape reel displayed through a projector. he sees it in your eyes, in the way your expression falls a little bit, brows furrowing with the realization that you’ve never truly known him. and he feels like that desperate 17 year old all over again, watching his best friend turn his back to him and feeling completely helpless to it.

“i- i know it’s a lot to take in, but please don’t feel like-…” he cuts himself off, chewing his lower lip nervously as he searches your expression. “i’m still the same person you’ve known all these years. the parts of me that i did show you are still real… i’m still satoru.” i’m still your satoru, is what he actually wants to say, but he’s not sure if he should. he feels like he’s in murky waters right now, and even with his six eyes he can’t see the bottom.

if it’s one thing he’s learned it’s that trying to use his techniques to understand you is like a child trying to shove a square block toy into a triangle shaped hole. what you experience in your life just can’t be explained with cursed energy, or years worth of knowledge as a jujutsu sorcerer. when he’s with you it’s the closest he’ll ever feel to being human.

you lifted your eyes to meet his own, that dimmed blue color that was shining with a layer of tears he struggled to fight back. the sight made you frown, your thumbs running over his knuckles in a way that made his shoulders relax a little bit. “i know, i just…” you chewed on your lower lip, trying to put your thoughts into words. “you know i can take care of myself, right? why didn’t you just tell me sooner.”

he’d expected that response from you, if he was being honest with himself.

“it’s not that i think you can’t take care of yourself,” he started, his voice soft and wavering with the fragility he felt in his heart. “it’s that you— you just…” he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and inhaling sharply. he opened his eyes again after a short moment, his gaze firmly holding yours now.

he looks at your life and he sees something so beautiful. he sees normalcy and appreciation for the mundane aspects of living — like stopping to smell flowers while on a walk, or petrichor in the morning. bees buzzing about and birds chipping at the crack of dawn. all things he never had the time for; a man who was given his life on a silver platter when he was born doesn’t have everything he actually wants.

so he tells you this. he tells you how important you are, how important it is to him that you stay the way you are.

“…i would never forgive myself if i ruined any of that.” he concludes, his hands still tightly grasping yours in an attempt to keep himself grounded.

you took another deep breath, and this time you saw something new in his eyes. it felt familiar, a splash of something he always feels when he’s around you. it made your heart flutter, as if your soul recognized it for what it was before your mind even registered it happening.

you brought your hand up, letting go of one of his to cup his cheek, and the way he leaned into your touch without hesitation made you want to close your eyes and savor the warmth he radiated. with snowy white hair and icy blue eyes on pale skin, it’s almost as if one would expect his body to run a lot colder than it actually did. it was always a pleasant surprise when this assumption was proven wrong.

the truth of the matter was that he held the warmth of the sun in his heart, shining so brightly just for you.

“you said you’re the strongest, yeah?” you murmured after an extended moment of silence, and his eyes fluttered briefly as he nodded his head. “so… why are you worried you’ll ruin it? you could never ruin anything for me.”

he wants to dispute that on pure instinct — he has ruined something before. he’s ruined someone before. and carrying the weight of that guilt in his heart does not ease his nerves right now, because what’s to say it wouldn’t happen again?

but the sincereness in your voice, the simplicity in your answer. the way you look at him as you caress his cheek. he can see you firmly believe this to be true, that he could never ruin anything for you. and for once, he just wants to allow himself to be vulnerable. you know he’s the strongest now, but that doesn’t change anything between you both because he’s never really had to be the strongest when he’s around you.

the thought then crosses his head. it's a unique feeling, one that could only parallel how he felt about suguru, but it's not quite the same either. it's special for you.

“i care so deeply about you… i think i always will.”

the words leave his mouth before he can stop them, but it’s not like he would’ve tried to. he’s already poured so much of his heart to you tonight, what’s a little more from the jar in his hands? the one he so carefully passes on to you for you to hold and keep safe; a glass jar tinted with the colors of his emotions, swirls of pinks and purples and blues like the evening sky outside the window.

and you, naturally, reciprocate. handing him your own glass jar, one that’s much smaller than his but open and willing to be filled with all the extra love he harbors. when his hands find your cheeks, he feels the warmth in them; or maybe it’s the warmth from his own palms. but it doesn’t stop him from pulling you close, shrinking the gap between you two until your lips meet in a slow and tender kiss.

the first he shares with you, and one that hopefully won’t be the last.

you pull away after a moment, and he has to fight the urge to chase your lips with his. when he opens his eyes he sees yours are still closed, and he almost panics until his gaze lands on the prominent blush on your cheeks. it reached the very tips of your ears, and he was convinced he must’ve looked equally as flushed if the way his heart clenched in his chest told him anything.

when you didn’t open your eyes one of his hands slid off your cheek, his index finger gently tracing the shape of your face, all the way up to your forehead. you’d grown out your bangs by now, a process he’d witnessed over the years. how you always fought the urge to cut them when they were just long enough to go over your eyes but too short to tuck behind your ears. it was easier to brush to the side now, so he did that, his finger trailing over the arch of your brow before he carded his fingers into your hair. he brushed it back a little bit, a smile slowly creeping onto his face when your eyes fluttered open with the action.

“satoru?”

“hmm?” he hummed, unable to stop his smile from growing when your hand went up to his, placing your palm on top of his hand and holding it against your cheek.

“you’re not just doing this because you feel like you have to, are you?” you murmured, the question making him stop running his hands through your hair as he stared at you intently, his hand sliding down to your shoulder now. “i don’t— i don’t want this… us… to only be something done out of convenience for you.”

he hesitates in his answer, not because you were right, but because he was worried that you are. you entered his life at such a precarious time, it’s easy to assume he clings to you because of that. a decade and more could never undo the damage left in his soul by suguru geto, but holding you — feeling the warmth of your lips on his. he thinks it might be the closest he’s ever felt to mending his heart.

“no, it’s… it’s not…” he mumbles after a moment, shaking his head slowly. it’s a short response, but there’s a battle waging behind his eyes when he says it. he grips your shoulder a little tighter, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath — he reminds himself that you’re still here. reminds himself that you care about him, as he does you.

and he can’t think of anything that feels more right to him that that.

“it’s not.” he repeats again when he opens his eyes, his tone firmer now. “what i… what i feel for you…” he swallows nervously. exposing your raw feelings is hard, talking about your emotions is hard. but if there’s anything he’s learned it’s that simply communicating with the people he cares about will take him a long way. he still needs some practice cementing that habit. “what i feel for you is real. it has been for a long time. it’s more than i’ve ever felt for anyone before, maybe even more than…” he trails off again, but this time he doesn’t need to finish his statement. you know exactly who he’s talking about now.

you nodded slowly, your eyes carefully searching his as he spoke. you mulled over his words, tossing and turning them in your head before you formulated your response. but then the corners of your lips twitched upwards, the slightest bit, and you couldn’t to stop the quiet giggle that left your lips first. his favorite sound. “okay…” you murmured softly, inhaling deeply before nodding your head a second time. “okay, yeah, i… i believe you… i feel the same way, then.”

his smile grew wider than ever and he stroked your cheek with his thumb, his eyes scanning your face before landing on your lips again, and then, “can i… kiss you again?” it was cute to you how nervous he looked, his lower lip sucked in between his teeth as he chewed on it. when you nodded your head he had the urge to throw himself at you with the sudden surge of joy that erupted in his chest, but he wasn’t trying to seem too eager right now — he didn’t want to overwhelm you, after all.

(you sensed he was eager regardless; you never told him this but when he gets really excited his eyes shine just a little bit brighter than normal, a phenomenon you always found strange but never questioned. and right now, they were pretty much glowing. but now that you now about his… powers, were they? ‘techniques’? you could probably reason it to that; you’ll ask him about it one of these days.)

he leaned in again to meet your lips with his, and the small squeak that left your mouth when his hands cupped your face again made him chuckle heartily against your lips. no, really — he was giggling now, pecking your lips repeatedly until you were giggling, too. he was so incredibly happy in this moment.

there’s still a lot that he has to deal with in an emotional sense. he’s mourning the death of his best friend, someone he hasn’t truly known for 10 years but it doesn’t make the current loss any easier. suguru had been gone for a decade already, but now he was actually gone.

ironically, however, that loss was met with a gain. twice, now. when suguru left he met you, and when suguru died it opened the doors satoru kept locked in his heart and allowed you to settle in there. maybe it is convenience, but you being there for him in both scenarios has to mean something.

in a way, it’s as if the universe was trying to tell him that he was never meant to be alone. when you’re the strongest it’s easy to feel lonely, but at the end of the day satoru isn’t a god. of all the people he’s known in his life, suguru was the first person to introduce this idea into his head — this idea of his existing humanity. but you were the one to really cement it into his very being, tying it off with a bow and tucking it into the cavity of his heart that suguru left behind. a weight that keeps his feet planted firmly on the ground, keeps him from floating away into the heavens. it keeps him down on earth, with you at his side.

there’s a first for everything, he thinks. but now that he has you, he hopes that the pain he experienced because of suguru is the last he’ll ever have to endure. he’ll treasure you for the rest of his life, however long he has left of it.

TRY HARD

SUMMARY: Need to get rid of some junk? Well these college hunks will haul YOUR junk! Give us a call at xxx-xxx-JUNK and we’ll haul YOUR junk for FREE! (limited time offer)

GENRE: smut, crack, fluff, minimal angst

PAIRING: Lee Juyeon x afab!reader (ft. sangyeon, sunwoo, and chanhee)

WC: 8.7k (oops)

SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @winterchimez @juyeonszn

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

WARNINGS: name calling (reader calls Juyeon stripper boy, baby, and pretty boy. Juyeon calls reader pretty girl), swearing, mentions of college parties, Y/N roasts Juyeon like a lot, Juyeon stops a door with his foot, one bed trope (for like two seconds), sunwoo slander (learning from Fawn <3) Juyeon is not god's strongest soldier, masturbation (m and kinda f), p in v sex, implied unprotected sex, restraints are used, dom!reader kinda, bratty!Juyo kinda, really poor attempts at humor, i think there's more but that covers the big stuff

A/N: This was NOT supposed to be almost 9k. It was supposed to be 3k at MOST but i will not lie i will prolly end up doing this again for most of the fics I'm putting out for this collab oops. Anywayyyyy let's kick off the collab with arguably my funniest fic.

The first time you meet Lee Juyeon, you’re dressed in sleep shorts and the biggest sweatshirt in your closet. He’s standing at your door, and for a moment you can’t help but be confused by the fact that yes, there is a hot man in a white tank top and cargo pants leaning against your doorframe. And yes, he is, in fact, there for you and not the girls living down the hall from you. 

And, to be fair, it wasn’t your fault that you thought he was a stripper. Really, it wasn’t. It’s not every day that you see a guy with a body to die for and the face of an angel. 

“Are you some sort of stripper?” For a moment, the two of you are quiet. There’s a look of pure astonishment on his face that eventually turns into him fighting back a grin. 

“Do you want me to be?” His tongue brushes over his lower lip while he scans you up and down and you scoff. 

“No. The girls you’re probably looking for are down the hall, the last door on the right.” You begin to shut the door. “Have fun.” 

“Wait!” His foot catches in the door before you can slam it shut and you hear him swear loudly. “Shit, that did not feel good.” 

“Are you fucking stupid?” You swing the door open again, scowling at him. “Why would you try to catch this heavy ass door with your foot?” 

“I thought it would look cool!” He winces, one hand gripping your door frame and the other cradling his aching foot. “Like in the movies!”

“I don’t know if you know this…” you trail off, squinting at him and realizing you have no idea who this man is. “Stripper boy,—”

“Juyeon,” you can practically hear his teeth grinding as he speaks. You hum.

“Stripper boy,” you bob your head. “That’s what I’m gonna call you.”

“Please don’t—”

“Anyway,” you interrupt again. “I don’t know if you know this, but romance movies are fictional. Of course, it’s not gonna look like the prop door and they’re gonna catch it like it’s nothing. This, however,” you hit your fist against your door, “is solid metal. Not gonna feel good when you catch this shit, dumbass.”

“Whatever,” Juyeon rolls his eyes and straightens his body out. “I was just making my rounds across campus, wanted to see if you’d be interested in supporting your local fraternity.”

You raise an eyebrow, reaching your hand out to take the flier from his hand. 

College Hunks Hauling Junk!

Need to get rid of some junk? Well, these college hunks will haul YOUR junk! Give us a call at xxx-xxx-JUNK and we’ll haul YOUR junk for FREE! (limited-time offer)

Scan HERE to book your appointment!

“College hunks hauling junk,” you can’t help but laugh at the name and take the flier from Juyeon’s hands. He grins at you. “People are actually paying you guys to haul their shit away?” 

He shrugs. “It’s free, technically. You’re allowed to donate, but we’re really just doing it for free. You know, help out fellow students and spread the word.” 

“You sure it wouldn’t be easier to just do some stripping if you can’t pay the rent?” You ask. “Also, what do you mean spread the word?” 

“I’m glad you asked.” Juyeon points a finger at the bottom of the flier, completely disregarding the first part of your sentence. Fuck, his hands are big.

This ad also doubles as your invitation to Tau Beta Zeta’s parties for the rest of the semester. Cash this in at any time and get into ANY parties for free! (Code word will be given at the time of flier being cashed in) (Girls get in for free, Guys $5 @ the door)

“We’re having a little competition with the sorority down the road from us,” Juyeon explains. “Whoever has more people by the end of the semester gets to host the end-of-the-year party and the other frat or sorority has to buy food and drinks.” 

You stare at the paper for a second, pondering your options. Then you smile, look up at the man that you are still pretty damn sure is a stripper, and hand back the flier. 

“I’m good, thanks.”

The door shuts, and you turn to go back to bed. The sound of paper sliding across the ground stops you, and you can see in the faint light that streams under your door that Juyeon slipped the flier into your room. 

Fucking try hard.

The second time you see Lee Juyeon, he’s handing out fliers again. Only he isn’t walking around random apartment buildings with a weird seductive look that you honestly don’t doubt was working. This time, he’s in a hoodie and jeans and walking around the center of campus with people that you can only assume are his frat brothers. 

At first, you almost don’t recognize him, but then his eyes meet yours, and you can see the corners wrinkle when he smiles. Again, you’re confused. Is he smiling at you? 

Your head whips around, trying to find someone around you that he might be looking at, and when you turn around again, Juyeon is approaching you.

“Have you thought about it, pretty girl?” He asked and you stared at him dumbly for a moment. Did he just call you pretty girl? 

“Thought about what?” He holds up that flier again, placing it in your hands similarly to the other night. “Oh.”

“Did you think I was kidding?” He leans down slightly, keeping eye contact. Your free hand places itself on his chest— which you hadn’t realized before was very solid— and pushes him back. He barely moves. In fact, you are the one who gets pushed back. 

“Listen, stripper boy—”

“Juyeon—” 

“Stripper boy,” you mimic the exasperated tone he uses with you. “If I wanted an invitation to a stereotypical frat party with a bunch of drunk 20-somethings and cheap beer and bad pizza and try-hard men like yourself, I would’ve gone by now.” You fold up the flier, smoothing out the edges before holding it out to him. He doesn’t take it, and you can see the gears turning in his brain. 

“So what you’re saying,” he starts to smile and steps toward you again.”

“Stripper boy,” you warn.

“…is that there’s a chance?”

“Absolutely not, there is not a chance in hell that I’m gonna call some college hunks to haul junk out of my college apartment that I can barely afford to live in let alone pay you to take things out of.” Juyeon shrugs.

“Like I said, payment is optional and can come in…” he wiggles his eyebrows at you, “many different forms, pretty girl.”

“That’s gross, stripper boy.” You scrunch up your nose and he laughs. “Also, why are you calling me that?”

“Calling you what?” his smile only grows and you huff. 

“Pretty girl.”

“Because you are a pretty girl.” 

“No, I’m—” You catch yourself in the sentence when he leans forward onto the tips of his toes, ready to stop you. “You know what, fuck you. I know that was a dirty little trick and I’m not gonna fall for it just so you can swoop in and say something like oh nooo, don’t say that about yourself! You’re so pretty! And then you’ll tuck my hair behind my ear and you’ll try to kiss me and then—” You stop yourself again. Juyeon’s smile is almost scary at this point, stretching all the way across his face as if this had been his plan all along and you walked right into it. 

“And then…?” He teases. 

“…fuck you and your frat, stripper boy. God, you guys are such try-hards.”

You hold onto the flier this time, whether too embarrassed to give it back or genuine curiosity, you aren’t sure. You do know that you can’t stop the pounding in your chest, or the heat rising in your cheeks. 

“Who was that?” Sunwoo slings an arm over Juyeon’s shoulder, both men watching you walk away with the flier held tightly in your hand. Juyeon smiles. 

“Just someone I know.” 

“Didn’t look like she was too happy to see you.” Sunwoo snickers and drops his arm down to stand straight. Juyeon turns to the younger man, the smile he had when standing with you now gone and replaced with a permanent scowl. 

“Who even asked you, Sunwoo?”

The younger raises his hands in defense. “I’m just saying! It looked like she hated you. Oooh, maybe you’re finally gonna get that enemies-to-lovers arc that Eric is always— WHOA, HEY—” Sunwoo nearly trips over himself trying to get away from Juyeon as the older frat brother swings his arm out in his direction. “Don’t hurt this pretty face! How else is the soccer team gonna get their funds?” A hand in the shape of a finger gun finds its way under Sunwoo’s chin, and the star soccer player smirks. 

“I think they’ll manage,” Juyeon swings his arm out again, wincing when Sunwoo lets out an ear-piercing squeal. 

It’s like you’re seeing him everywhere. Every class you go to, it’s like he’s always there handing out fliers or chatting with his friends. And, unfortunately, every time you see him, he sees you too. He animatedly waves at you, calling your name or running over to you. Every time, you somehow end up with another flier to add to your collection.

For weeks you’ve been seeing him in places that you swear you’d never seen him in before. You swear that he’s not in your environmental course. You swear that he’s not in your sociology course. He just has to be following you. 

That, or you just have shitty luck with Lee Juyeon.

It must be bad luck, you think as you watch the fire department evacuate your flooded building. It must be, you tell yourself as you stand there in the pouring rain in pajama shorts and a sweater, sans an umbrella. There’s nothing else it could be.

Your eyes narrow at the sight of Juyeon standing near a group of girls with those damned fliers in one hand and some umbrellas around the wrist of the other. Your hands tighten around your arms, body shaking from the cold of the rain. Your lips twist into a deep frown when he approaches you, his eyebrows knit together and his lips pursed at the sight of you. His mouth opens to say something, and you hold your hand up to stop him. 

“Save it, stripper boy. I don’t want your fucking spiel right now.” His shoulders slump a little.

“I was just going to ask if you wanted an umbrella.” He holds one out, the last one on his arm. “You have to be freezing right now, and you’re absolutely soaked.” Your hand wraps around the umbrella, your eyes still narrowed with suspicion.

“Thanks…” he smiles and backs up to give you space to open it. You would never admit to his face that he was right. That you were freezing your ass off in this godforsaken weather. 

“Are you okay?” You look up at him, sniff, and shrug.

“I mean, my home is currently flooding which leaves me homeless for at least a few days. It’s piss-pouring rain out here, I’m in my pajamas with all my clothing inside the flooded building, and now here you are probably trying to get me to buy from your stupid fundraiser thing.” You take a deep breath, finally looking him in the eye. “So no, I don’t think I’m okay, Juyeon. Thanks for asking.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then a small smile breaks onto his face.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve called me Juyeon.” You bite your tongue and turn to walk away from him. “Wait, fuck, Y/N it was a joke. I’m sorry.” He grabs your arm, pulling you back to him. You can see a little bit of panic in his gaze. 

“Yeah, well it was a shitty joke.” You scoff. 

“I know, poor taste, I was just trying to lighten the mood.” He pulls his hand from your arm, and you almost feel bad. It’s quiet between you two, and you think that this is the first time it’s ever been completely silent. Well, save for the chatter of other tenants and incoming sirens and the yells of officers. 

“This fucking sucks,” you grumble, and Juyeon huffs out a laugh.

“Do you have anywhere that you go?” 

You shake your head. “Nah, none of my friends have space for another person in their apartment or dorm.” 

“You could stay with me.” He says it so fast, so suddenly, that you thought you misheard him at first. 

“Excuse me?” Juyeon clears his throat, his cheeks and ears flushing and you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or embarrassment. 

“I— I mean you— I’m just—” he stumbles over his words and you smile. 

“Is the Lee Juyeon embarrassed right now? In front of little ol’ me, nonetheless?” 

“I’m not embarrassed,” he snaps, pressing the back of one of his hands to his neck in a poor attempt to cool himself down. “I’m just— I—”

“Juyeon,” your hand comes up to his arm and he flinches. You let your arm drop down to your side. “Are you trying to ask me to stay with you while the building is being repaired?” 

You’re smiling at him, and it’s like that tiny action brings back all of his previous confidence. He’s smirking again, leaning down under the tiny umbrella he gave you. It’s your turn to blush now, but your eyes don’t leave his.

“Because,” your voice nearly betrays you. “That would be a little…odd…wouldn’t it? A girl living with, what, ten men? People would talk.” He hums.

“But they would also find it odd if I just…left you to live in your car for god knows how long, wouldn’t they?” His hand is on your waist, and the breath in your lungs hitches. 

“That’s true…” you hum and pull away from him. “I don’t have any clothes, though. I’d need to find some before doing anything.” Juyeon clicks his tongue and leans back, a thoughtful look taking over the previous…you don’t even know what to call what you were doing. Was he flirting with you? Were you flirting with him?

“That’s true,” he nods his head. “We can grab some from the store tomorrow? And for now, you can borrow some of my stuff— I mean, if you’re comfortable with that.” He stumbles over his words again, and you can’t help but laugh. “Kevin’s clothes might fit you better but— you’re laughing. Why are— why are you laughing at me.”

“You’re just—” You break into another fit of giggles, covering your mouth with your hand to try and muffle the noise. “God, you’re so dumb.”

“How am I dumb?” Juyeon pouts at you, and you know he just wants you to be comfortable. 

“Never mind,” you wave him off, “let’s just get going. I’m tired and wet.” Juyeon raises an eyebrow, and you roll your eyes. “Not like that, stripper boy.” 

“I know,” he grins at you and tugs you by the sleeve to get you to start walking. “I just wanted to mess with you a little bit.”

“Seems like that’s all you do.” You roll your eyes. “And please tell me you drove here. I am not walking to the house in shorts and slippers.” Juyeon clicks his tongue. 

“As if I would walk anywhere in this weather.” He reaches into his pocket and you hear the click of a button, and then the lights of a car in front of you light up. He jogs forward, grabbing the handle of the passenger side door for you with a bright smile on his face. “After you, m’lady.”

“What a gentleman,” you shut the umbrella and duck into the vehicle. 

“Only for you, pretty girl.” He winks at you and shuts the door.

Juyeon is quiet when you exit his bathroom. Your hair is wrapped in a towel, your body swamped in Juyeon’s clothes. He’s lying flat on his back on his mattress, his legs dangling off the edge and his fingers drumming on his stomach. Your feet shuffle against the ground, the fabric of his sweatpants covering your feet entirely and dragging behind you. His t-shirt is almost like a dress on you, hanging down to your thighs and the sleeves baggy along your arms where it would be formfitting on him. 

“Where should I put these?” Juyeon lifts his head, and you hear a sharp inhale. He’s staring at you, and the gaze is heavy with something you can’t place. 

“You—” his voice cracks and he sits up fully, resting his elbows on his knees. “You can just toss them in the basket next to you. I’ll— I’ll wash it tomorrow.” You hum, doing as he says and tossing your clothing into the basket. 

His room is…weirdly clean. At least, it’s cleaner than you expected it to be for a frat boy. There’s a bit of laundry scattered across the room, sure, but you don’t feel gross just standing there. The floor is clean, the bed is made. 

The bed.

The one bed in the room. 

“Where— where should I set up a spot to sleep?” You wring your hands behind your back.

“What?” Juyeon stares at you dumbly, his eyes blank and jaw dropped slightly. If you look closely, you swear you can see a puddle of drool on the floor in front of him. Unintentionally, you snort and immediately slap a hand over your mouth. 

“I just— I mean this is your room, stripper boy.” You shrug, trying to keep the air as light as possible. “Where should I set up camp for the next three days?”

“You are not sleeping on the floor.” Juyeon shakes his head and pushes off the edge of his bed.

“Then where am I gonna sleep?” 

“The bed?” He says it as if it’s obvious. “The fuck? You really thought I was gonna make you sleep on the floor?” 

“Stripper boy, I am not sleeping in your bed.” You click your tongue.

“Yes, you are, pretty girl.” He takes a step toward you. “I’m not gonna let you sleep on the floor! First of all, you’re a guest. Second of all, I’m a gentleman. Third of all, I’m—” he cuts himself short again and you raise an eyebrow.

“Well, then I’ll sleep on the couch downstairs. That’ll solve it.” You move to the door, but he grabs your upper arm and pulls you toward him. “Dude, you have got to stop grabbing me like that. It’s kind of annoying.”

“Sorry.” He exhales and lets go of your arm, brushing his hand across the skin he grabbed as if to soothe it. It sends sparks of heat through your arm, and you fight back a shiver. “I just— what if we share my bed?” 

You stare at him for a moment.

Then another.

And then another.

And then Juyeon is wincing and stepping away from you. 

“I was just— that was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“I mean…” you purse your lips. “If it solves the problem, then sure.” 

“Wait seriously?” His eyes bug out of his head and you laugh. “You’re comfortable with that?” 

“Stripper boy, if you thought I was gonna kick you out of your bed, then you have a whole new thing coming.” He rolls his eyes. “We can just…I dunno. Put pillows between us?” 

“Yeah, that works. That works just fine.” He sighs heavily. Just fine. He’s gonna be just fine these next few days.

Juyeon realizes very quickly that it will not, in fact, be fine. He realizes this when he wakes up in the middle of the night, the pillows between the two of you thrown to the edge of the bed and your body wrapped around his like a vice. One of your legs is hooked around his, the other strewn across his hip to lock him down. You have one arm tucked under his, holding his shoulder while your free arm has slipped around his waist, under his shirt so your fingers are splayed across his abdomen. Your head is seemingly strategically placed on his chest, and he can feel every breath you release. He can feel every pulse of your heartbeat against his leg—

Wait.

…

Oh, this arrangement is not going to be good for his heart. 

He tries desperately to shift away from you, to gently pry you off of him, anything to get the pounding in his chest to go away. Anything to stop the blood from rushing to his dick like some goddamn virgin. It’s a normal thing. It’s not something to get fucking hard over, Lee Juyeon. Pull yourself together.

It feels like ages before he’s able to pull himself free, nearly falling out of his bed to get away from you. He freezes in place when he hears you shift, a quiet moan leaving you when your sleeping self finds the spot Juyeon once lay frozen is now empty. His heart is pounding, his feet padding quickly against the floor to get to his bathroom. He’s quick to shut the door, cringing at the squeak of the hinges. Gotta get those fixed, he notes. For future reference, of course.

He’s hard in his sweats, his dick straining against the fabric, and his body feels like it’s on fire. Juyeon leans against the counter, tapping his foot anxiously while he stares at himself in the mirror. His cheeks are flushed, his hair a mess, and his pupils are blown out. He grips the marble counter, squeezing his eyes shut and praying to god that he softens soon because he cannot and will not jerk off to you. Not when you’re right there, one thin wall over. 

Thinking that was a mistake. His dick twitches in his pants at the thought of you waking up and finding him in the bathroom, cock in hand, and frantically trying to rub one out. 

Oh, he’s so fucked, he squeezes his eyes shut as he shoves his sweatpants down just enough to be able to grab himself. Just enough for him to spring free and let the cold air wash over him. 

Juyeon is completely, royally fucked, and he knows it as he spits on his hand. He knows it when he wraps his hand around his cock. Juyeon knows it when his body shudders from the first pump of his hand, the brush of his thumb across his tip. He knows it when he fights the whine trying to erupt from his throat. 

He knows it when he cums in his hand, ropes of white covering his palm when he places his hand over his tip to minimize the mess. He knows it when all he thought about was you. You and your pretty face. You who calls him stripper boy, who hasn't hesitated to shoot him down every chance you get. You who he’s pretty damn sure is into him in the same way he’s into you.

It’s hard for Juyeon to get back in his bed and lie down next to you knowing that just a few minutes ago he came in his hand to the thought of you. It’s even harder for him to fall back to sleep when you wrap yourself around him again, relaxing against his body and releasing a contented sigh. He tries so, so hard to relax with you, to steady his pounding heart. 

God, he’s so fucked.

"When did you get here?” There’s a boy— a man, really— standing at the counter when you and Juyeon walk into the kitchen in the morning. The man is holding a ceramic Garfield mug that you assume is filled with coffee, and he’s got his phone in his free hand. You give him a short wave, and he nods back at you. 

Juyeon had been odd the whole morning. Or, at least, the two hours you had been awake and the one hour since he’d woken up and immediately rolled to his feet to get away from you. Something about morning wood. Since then, he’d been keeping a healthy distance from you, flinching away from your touch and giving short responses to your questions and statements. It makes you nervous. Were you intruding? Did he regret asking you to stay? 

“Last night,” Juyeon answers for you, leading you to the bar counter and pulling out a chair for you to sit in. “Y/N, this is Sangyeon. He’s the Tau Beta Zeta president. Sangyeon, this is Y/N. She’s gonna be staying with us for the next couple of days.” 

Sangyeon squints at you, gnawing at his lip in thought. 

“And you guys are…what? Friends? Lovers? Fuck buddies?” You scoff and Juyeon whips his head around, nearly spilling coffee onto his hand. 

“None of the above,” you wave your hand and almost miss the flash of emotion in Juyeon’s eyes. “Just someone who needed a hand, and strip- Juyeon happened to be there.” Sangyeon turns to Juyeon with an inquisitive look on his face. Juyeon shakes his head and turns back to you with two mugs in his hand. 

“I didn’t know how you take your coffee so I just threw some cream and a bit of sugar in there.” The mug he slides over to you is shaped like a ladybug, and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the sight of his mug. Normal, compared to yours. Just plain white with text that says ‘Stupid people shouldn’t breed!’. “What’s so funny?”

“Just the…interesting arrangement of mugs you all have here.” You smile at Juyeon, but he just scoffs. Sangyeon excuses himself and pats Juyeon on the shoulder before making his exit up the stairs.

“I’ll have you know that I picked these all out.” He defends, but you can see the embarrassment in the flush of his cheeks, the dark color spreading to the tips of his ears. “You got a problem with them?”

“No, no,” you smile into your mug and take a sip. It’s bitter, and a bit watered down, but you’re grateful for the caffeine boost. “It’s cute, really. You made some great choices, stripper boy.” 

“That sounded sarcastic,” Juyeon pouts at you and you shake your head.

“It wasn’t!” You reassure him, leaning your torso onto the counter. Juyeon stands near you now, on the shorter edge of the counter and he scoffs. 

“Sure it wasn’t. Because you’re the most supportive person in the world of my decisions.” He turns away from you, staring at the magnetic words on the refrigerator instead of at you and you rise from your seat to stand by his side. 

“Juyooo,” your voice is sing-song in tone and Juyeon fights every instinct inside of him that screams to pin you to the counter and fuck you senseless. “Are you mad at me?” 

“Of course I am,” he rolls his eyes and tilts his chin up when you come to stand in front of him. 

“Why?” You frown, but the corners of your lips fight to turn up.

“You made fun of me!” 

“Yeah, but it was all in good fun!” You protest. “I think your choice of mugs was cute!”

“No you don’t,” he scoffs and crosses his arms. “You think they’re stupid.” 

“No,” you shake your head. “I think they’re adorable.”

“Bullshit,” Juyeon says. “You think they’re stupid.”

“I do not.” You groan. 

“You do!”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do no—” 

Juyeon’s lips are on yours, and you let out a startled gasp, your hand flying up and finding purchase on his chest. 

You try to push him off, you really do! You think about it, you tell your body to push him off, and then somehow you end up pulling him closer, allowing your eyes to slip closed. Isn’t it so weird how that happens?

Your hand is holding his shirt tightly, keeping him close to you while your lips mesh in a sloppy kiss. His lips are rough against yours, his teeth nipping at your lower lip and then his tongue slips out and soothes the bites. The repeated actions have your legs trembling, your breathing becoming shaky, and your hand that isn’t in his shirt rises to the back of his neck to tangle in his hair and pull him impossibly closer to you.

His hands are all over you. They run up and down your waist, brushing under the waistband of the sweatpants he lent you, pushing into your back to keep you close to him. They run under your shirt, grazing the underside of your shirt, and he smiles when he feels you exhale shakily against him. 

You hesitantly, and ever so slowly, push your tongue out, letting it run across his lower lip and you’re a bit too pleased when he opens up for you immediately. He lets you push your tongue into his mouth, lets you explore, and is ever so patient with your hesitance. 

Gently, oh so gently, he sucks on your tongue while you try to pull it back into your mouth and you release the tiniest, almost inaudible whine. 

Apparently, to your complete dismay, this snaps Juyeon back into reality and he pulls away from you. He pulls away quickly, almost stumbling back and into some of the bar stools. You’re standing there, almost in a daze, and both of you just stare at each other for a moment. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, and Juyeon can tell that you’re regretting what the two of you just did. 

And it hurts. It really hurts when you open your mouth, going to speak and nothing comes out. He smiles sadly. 

“I should find a way to get to the store. You’re gonna need some clothes for the next few days.”

“Juyeon, wait—” You reach for him, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s fine, pretty girl.” He reassures you, but his voice breaks and betrays him. “No hard feelings. Let’s just forget it happened.”

“I don’t want to forget that!” You protest, but Juyeon just shakes his head.

“Like I said, pretty girl,” He grabs his mug and smiles at you. There’s no emotion behind it, at least not one that you want to recognize. “We gotta get you some clothes for the next three days.”

It’s infuriating how quickly he seems to move on. Three days pass by, and not once has he even hinted about talking about what happened. It was almost like he’d forgotten about it entirely.

Which, to your dismay, was exactly what he wanted you to do. It wasn’t as if you regretted the kiss, at least not in the way he thought. The regret that you knew you had let slip was from pulling away in the first place. You had only meant to come up for air, knowing that you would likely drown in him had you given yourself the chance. Now, due to your own stupid mistakes, the tables have turned for you. 

He’d been avoiding you since you moved back into your apartment two days ago. He’d avoided you in the classes you were now all too aware that you shared. It stung that he no longer sought you out, no longer yelled your name from across the room, and drew unwanted attention to you. He no longer pressured you to call the number on that damn flier that sat untouched on your desk.

“You could always just, I dunno,” Chanhee is lying on your bed, scrolling on his phone while you rant about his frat brother. “Call the number? I’m pretty sure it’s his number anyway.” 

“Wait seriously?” You spin around in your desk chair, turning away from the project you two are supposed to be working on together. 

“Yeah, it just happened to be really convenient that the last four digits of his phone number spelled junk. What do you think of this?” He flips his phone around to show you a coat. A black trench coat, nothing too fancy about it. 

“Eh. You have plenty of those, don’t you?”

“True.” He nods and lays back down.

“Should I really call him?” You lean your head back on your chair, lacing your fingers together on your lap. “What if he hates me, Chanhee?”

“Trust me, Y/N,” Chanhee exhales heavily, “that man does not hate you.”

“But how do you know that?” You ask. “If he told you that, he could be lying to you!”

“Girl,” Chanhee throws his phone down onto your mattress and sits up straight. “If a man hates you, he is not going to jack off at 3 in the goddamn morning— with his frat brothers in the other room that connects to his bathroom, mind you— to the thought of you. Trust me. He doesn’t hate you.”

“You don’t— I’m sorry, what?” Your eyes are bugging out of your head and Chanhee grimaces in a way that tells you that he was not supposed to tell you that. 

“Oops…” 

“What do you mean he— Chanhee, what are you talking about?” Chanhee is already rising from your bed, grabbing his laptop, and sliding his shoes on.

“I think it’s time for me to get out of here,” he tells you with a tight smile on his face. He comes toward you though, holding the flier in his hand. “But, I really think you should call this number. Could really help you both, I think.” 

When the door shuts behind your classmate, you sit in silence for a moment. A few moments, really, just holding the first flier that Juyeon ever gave you in your hand. There’s a little bit of water damage from the flooding, but the number in the middle of the page is still there. It’s almost ironic that Juyeon’s phone number is the only part of the advertisement that isn’t ruined, like something was telling you that you needed to call Juyeon. 

Your phone rings once, then twice, and you hear the line click on the other side.

“Thank you for calling College Hunks, what junk can we haul for you today?”

It takes Juyeon a little over an hour to get to your apartment. By that point, you’d gathered anything that you didn’t want into trash bags and set them in your living room. Each bag is organized to an extent. Things to be recycled, to be donated, or just thrown away. Most of the items that needed to be thrown away were damaged when your apartment building flooded, each damaged beyond repair. Almost like fate, isn’t it?

There’s a knock on your door. One, two, three. Your hands are shaking a bit when you grab the door handle. One, two, th—

You practically rip the door open before Juyeon can finish knocking. He’s standing there, wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open. The outfit he’s wearing is the same as the day he first showed up at your door. White tank top, cargo pants, and some worn-out sneakers. For once, his hair isn’t styled. He’s parted it down the middle, a little bit of gel used to keep it from falling into his face too much. 

“Hi,” you breathe out. It’s like Juyeon is stuck in a trance, his hand still frozen mid-knock and his mouth opening and closing like a damn fish. “You— do you want to come in?” Juyeon blinks. 

“Uh…yeah, yeah sure.” You step to the side, allowing him to walk into your apartment. It’s awkward, to say the least. When you shut your door, the click makes both of you flinch and suddenly you’ve forgotten everything that you wanted to say to him. 

“Is this—” Juyeon’s voice cracks a little bit, and he turns to face you but he doesn’t look you in the eye. “Is this everything?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, “yeah it is. Needed to get rid of some stuff after the building flooded, you know?” You laugh, but he doesn’t and you’re quick to shut your mouth. Say something, dammit. Anything. Your mind is screaming, whether at you or Juyeon you aren’t entirely sure. “Juyeon, can we ta—” 

“I should get started then,” he cuts you off and you grimace. “Got a couple of appointments today, so I can’t linger for long.”

“Right…” your voice trails off. “Yeah, I’ll get out of your way then.”

Plan A is a bust, then. 

Juyeon moves quickly. You don’t know if it’s work ethic or if he wants to get away from you as fast as possible, but it stings. You don’t say anything to each other the whole time, not that you staying in your bedroom the whole time did anything to help the situation. You can hear him moving around, carrying bag after bag down to his car, but not once does he come to talk to you. Not even about the junk he’s carrying out. 

Your forehead is against your desk, your eyes shut tightly as you try to block out the noise, knowing that he’ll be carrying out the last bag soon. The sound of your feet tapping on the ground is almost enough to drown out Juyeon, but not quite enough to drown out the knocking at your bedroom door. 

Your head snaps up, and you spin around to face Juyeon. 

“Hi,” he gives you a tight smile. “I just— I brought out the last bag so I guess— I guess I should go, huh?” 

Don’t, you want to tell him, don’t leave yet.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You stand up and clear your throat. “Here, what’s your Venmo? I can send you some money.”

Juyeon shakes his head. “I already told you that you don’t have to pay me.” 

“Yeah, you did,” you agree. “But I’d feel bad if I let you leave empty-handed.” 

“I’m not leaving emptyhanded, though!” He argues. “I have your junk! Which, surprisingly, all fit into the trunk of my car.”

“Go you,” you cheer halfheartedly. “That’s not gonna stop me from paying you.”

“Pretty girl,” he warns. “I’m not gonna let you pay me.”

“Then I’ll get Chanhee to tell me your Venmo.” You grin and Juyeon rolls his eyes. 

“You’re not gonna let this go, will you?”

“Nope,” you let the sound of the p pop when you say it and Juyeon lets out a dry laugh.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that right?” 

“That’s the plan.” you look at him, and this time he’s looking right back at you. The awkward air has cleared, and it almost feels normal. Like it was prior to the kiss. God, please let Plan B work. “Are you gonna tell me what your account is, or am I gonna have to find some other way to pay you?” 

There’s a spark of something in Juyeon’s eyes, and his eyebrows knit together. Please get it, please get it, please get it. C’mon Juyeon, don’t be dense.

“Some other way?” He echoes, and you mentally cheer when he steps toward you. 

“Mhm!” You bob your head. “Like you said, there are other ways to pay you, aren’t there?” 

He’s right in front of you now, and you swear you see him start to reach for you before he’s forcing his hands back down to his sides. 

“You’re not—” he inhales and squeezes his eyes shut. “Please tell me I’m not misinterpreting this.” 

“Depends on what you think I’m saying.” You smirk, and Juyeon starts to lean down, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your lips. 

“What I think you’re offering,” he speaks slowly and you can feel his breath on your lips. “Is not exactly…appropriate, pretty girl.”

“And I think you’re right.” You’re practically whispering, every movement from your mouth causes your lips to brush against his and you’re so close to caving and just yanking him down to crush his lips against yours. 

Thankfully, Juyeon moves fast and he’s grabbing you by the waist to yank you to him and your hands are in his hair by the time his lips are on your. 

This kiss is heavier than the first. It’s messier and sloppier and his tongue is in your mouth, pushing at yours and licking at every nook and cranny that he can reach. You walk him backward to your bed. You don’t separate your mouths, not when you push him down onto your mattress, not when you sit on his lap with your legs on either side of him. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving little crescents indented into his skin. 

Juyeon groans at the stinging feeling, sliding his hands under your shirt and gently pushing it up. He does it slowly, giving you time to stop him, but you get impatient and shove him back until he’s lying down. His hands are still on your waist, and he’s watching with a hazy gaze as you lift your shirt over your head and throw it somewhere across the room. 

“Shit, pretty girl,” he breathes out and tries to slide his hands up to your chest. You’re smirking when you slap his hands away. 

“No touching yet,” you tell him and he groans in response. 

“You can’t just do this and not let me touch you!” He whines. “It’s not fair!” 

“You should’ve thought about that before you ignored me for a week,” you retort and he falls silent. “It’s fine, though. I’ll just get you back with this.” Your hands reach behind your back and you swiftly unclip your bra and throw that in the direction you’d thrown your shirt in. Juyeon’s hands lurch up to touch you again but you’re faster, grabbing his wrists and pinning them down to his sides with a click of your tongue.

“Y/N please,” Juyeon begs, his breath hitching in his throat when you leave him completely, and he can only watch as you unbutton your jeans and tug the rest of your clothing off. He’s practically drooling as he sits up, watching you undress for him. He watches you walk to your dresser, digging through your drawers for a moment before returning with a long piece of silk. “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking joking.” 

You laugh at his reaction and toss the silk onto the mattress behind him. 

“Why would I be joking, Juyeon?” You stand between his legs, and you grin when he doesn’t even try to touch you this time. You can see the tent in his cargo pants and let your hands trace up and down his thighs. “Take off your shirt for me?” 

There’s a dangerous look in your eye, one that Juyeon can’t find himself wanting to disobey and he’s lifting his shirt over his head without a second thought. Your eyes widen ever so slightly and Juyeon can’t help but smirk. He knows he’s attractive, knows that his body catches people’s attention and he’s proud of that. 

With you, however, there’s something different about how you look at him. Something primal, like a predator looking at her prey and he shifts in his spot. 

“Pants too.” He nods and rises to his feet again, tensing when you raise your hands. “What are you stopping for? Get moving, don’t you have other appointments to get to?” Your hands are tracing the lines of his abs, feeling the way he flinches at your touch. You continue to trace his body as he bends down to lower his pants and boxers to the ground. Your hands raise to the backs of his shoulders, to the back of his neck, and let them slip down to his pecs when he stands straight again. 

You almost let yourself falter when you see his cock for the first time. It’s big, bigger than any you’ve taken in the past, and you can’t help but imagine what he’d looked like when he was thinking of you. Did he look as messy as he does now, eyes practically crazed, his breathing labored as he fisted himself? Did he watch himself in the mirror, imagining it was your hand instead of his own? 

“So pretty, baby.” You breathe out, letting your hand drop down to wrap around his cock. He sucks in a breath, letting it out when he whines at the feeling of you running your hand up and down, squeezing at the base, and rubbing your thumb along the tip. “So pretty.” 

You push him back again, releasing him from your grasp and following him as he slides up your bed. You take the silk in your hand, gesturing for him to put his hands above his head, tying the silk tightly around his wrists so he can’t get loose. Juyeon lets out another broken whine when you straddle him, running your fingers over your core and gathering the wetness on your fingers. You allow yourself to moan quietly, gauging Juyeon’s reaction to you touching yourself. He’s staring with his mouth hanging open, his cock twitching against his abdomen as he watches you sink two fingers into your core. He whines when your body shudders against him, when you curl your fingers up into you. 

“Is this what you think about, Juyeon?” You try your best to keep your voice steady when you speak. “Do you think about this when you touch yourself? When you lock yourself in the bathroom, jacking off to the thought of me like some little virgin?” He doesn’t respond, too lost in the sight of you riding your own hand. 

He doesn’t see you reach your free hand up, gasping when he feels you squeeze your fingers around his throat. Not too tightly, but enough to get his attention back on you. 

“I asked you a question, baby.” You pull your fingers out of your dripping pussy, gazing at the arousal covering your hand and humming in thought. “I guess I should give a reason to not answer, shouldn’t I?”

“Please,” Juyeon whispers out, and you smile when you raise your fingers to his mouth. 

“Go on then,” you tell him, “suck.” 

His head lurches forward, taking your fingers into his mouth and moaning at the taste of you. He runs his tongue along your fingers, and you inhale sharply, your eyelids drooping when he tries to open his eyes, trying to watch and gauge your reaction. 

“Cleanin’ me up good, hm?” You pull your fingers from his mouth and Juyeon takes this time to catch his breath, to gather himself. You don’t give him long though, no more than a few moments before you’re grabbing his cock in your dainty hand and lining it up with your pussy. 

“Fuck,” Juyeon throws his head back, his hands curling into fists, and groaning as you sink down on him. Your walls are squeezing so tightly around him, and he knows it has to be a stretch for you but you act as if it was nothing for you, as if he didn’t hit that sweet spot inside of you just by you sinking down on him. You let your eyes drift shut, fighting back the urge to start riding him until he has nothing left to give you. You can feel him twitching inside of you, knowing that he’s close just from your warm walls squeezing around him. “Fuck, pretty girl, please.”

“Please what, baby?” You coo, the hand on his throat squeezing gently. He whines and you grin. “Use those words, pretty boy. You can do it.”

“Let me fuck you,” he gasps out and you let out a yelp when he thrusts his hips up and sends you falling over his body. 

Your breasts are in his face now, and he doesn’t give you the chance to do anything before he’s bringing his arms down and trapping you against him as best he can. He thrusts his hips up, driving his cock into you at a pace that you couldn’t keep up with if you tried. He reaches his head up, his teeth latching onto one of your nipples and practically forcing you to follow him as he brings his head back down. Juyeon sucks at your breast, pinning your chest against his face with his arms that he’s brought to rest between your shoulder blades. Every one of his thrusts sends you up his body, but he does his damn best to keep you in place, sucking and licking and biting at both of your tits, groaning every time your cunt clenches around him. 

You feel like you can’t breathe, the air being punched out of you in broken moans and pitched whines. Juyeon is in about the same state as you, the noises he’s letting out are louder than yours, more frequent, and it brings a fresh wave of arousal washing over you. 

“Are you close, pretty boy?” You gasp out. “Gonna— gonna cum for me?” 

“Fuck, yes,” He throws his head back, his hips stuttering against yours. You bring one of your hands down to your clit, rubbing furious circles into it, letting your walls flutter around him and drawing both of you closer to your orgasms. 

When you cum, it has you seeing stars. Your orgasm has you crying out his name, has you clenching around him so tightly that he’s finishing not long after you. You sink your body back, rolling your hips gently over his and placing a firm kiss on his lips. Your tongue pushes into his mouth, swallowing the sounds he makes as he pumps white hot cum into your core. It’s less of a kiss this time, though, and more teeth gnashing together and biting at each other’s lips. 

His hips slow down after a minute or two, and you let your body relax against his, reaching up to untie the silk around his wrists. 

“Fucking finally,” he groans and lets his hands roam your sweaty body. “Thought I was gonna die if you kept me tied up any longer.” You laugh, letting your head drop to his chest. 

“That’s what you get for making me wait.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes at you. “And you called me a try-hard.”

“Because you are, Juyeon.” You roll off of him, staring at your ceiling while you lay next to him on your mattress.

“Whatever you say, pretty girl,” he rolls his head to look at you with a cheeky grin on his face. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Your eyebrows knit together. He just keeps smiling. “What, stripper boy.”

“You know what all this means, right?” You shrug.

“That I have to go to all your parties now or you’re gonna hunt me down?” He laughs and you smile a bit.

“That, and I get to call you my girlfriend.”

“I never agreed to that.” You deny, turning on your side and facing him fully. 

“Sure you did! It was at the very bottom of the flier I gave you.” He tells you.

“No, it wasn’t.” You frown.

“Yeah, it was!” He sits up, reaching for the second flier he gave you that had been placed on your bedside table. “See? Right there at the bottom in tiny font that I knew you wouldn’t pay attention to!” You squint at the words he’s pointing at and let out a scoff.

“Seriously, stripper boy? If your name is Y/N L/N and you redeem this offer, you are legally obligated to become Lee Juyeon’s boyfriend, whether you like it or not. Xoxo.” You push the paper back into his hands. "When did you even put this on there? We hardly knew each other when you gave me this flier."

“I told you!” He beams and lays back down. “You’re my girlfriend now.”

"Cute, but that doesn't answer my question, stripper boy." He digs his fingers into your side, pulling you closer to him, and grins.

"Does it matter?"

"I mean...I guess not?"

"Exactly."

“Does this mean that when we break up, I get half of all your assets?” He glares at you playfully.

“Fuck, no.”

“Damn…” you sigh and lay down with your head on his chest. “I guess I’ll have to put up with you for life then, huh?”

“Mhm.” He cards his hands through your hair, gently combing through the knots. “You excited to spend the next 75 years with me, girlfriend?”

“Not at all, boyfriend.”

“Yes, you are.”

“…Try-hard.”

© itsbeeble. do not steal, claim, or repost.

new year, new choso. / choso nye fic

pairing: choso kamo x f!reader ( jujutsu kaisen ) word count: 1.9k summary: Choso Kamo has never been to a New Year's Eve party. Who knew chaperoning his kid brother to Gojo's Jujutsu High party would end up like this? tags: new year's eve kiss, nye party fluff, choso is a sweet baby angel goth, and he's wearing a suit, alcohol, mentions of cards against humanity credit: dividers by @saradika dedicated to @nube55 , @sixpennydame , and @chishiyasan xo

welcome to the final day of the twelve days of amymas !!

New Year’s Eve parties are typically not your thing.

Loud music, bustling crowds, crowded rooms with crowded strangers — the whole debacle always sounded like a recipe for disaster.

Ieiri claimed that this gathering would be different. Small.

Albeit still a party by Gojo Satoru’s standards as his entire penthouse is littered with tacky balloons, confetti, and endless amounts of blinking year-end sunglasses, but tamer than anticipated.

It’s probably something to do with the fact that said gathering included his students from Jujutsu High.

The teenagers all crowd in the dead center of the living room excitedly playing Cards Against Humanity while Gojo's colleagues and friends mingle about the main floor.

(There’s just something about watching a cursed panda argue that his cards are accurate to the prompt as opposed to the obscene and filthy winners — ironically, a silent kid with cursed speech tattoos holds the jackpot of black cards.)

You were once destined to become a sorcerer yourself, but you’d hung it up for a simpler life. Not unlike your best friend, Shoko, but not as close to the Jujutsu world.

Then again, you never really get away from this life. Not really.

(Only thirty minutes left until the new year.)

“Did you need a refill?”

The gentle question comes out of nowhere to your side, breaking your concentration of the rowdy game.

When you turn your head, you’re immediately taken by a dark-haired man with a thin, black strip covering the bridge of his nose like a blush. He wears a maroon button-up, satin to the eye, and a dark suit jacket to compliment his pale complexion. His shoulder-length dark hair is in a half up-do, fixed hastily in a tiny bun at the crown of his head.

Your first thought? He’s beautiful.

Your second thought? You find yourself staring for too long, lips parted with an answer you’ve all but forgotten.

The man blinks back at you, shuffling in the uncertain silence. 

“I, uh — sorry, I probably should have said ‘hello’ like a normal person and —”

“Uh, sure, I could walk with you?” you blurt, hating yourself for the way his eyes round with his own bout of confusion. “For a refill. I’m getting kind of stiff sitting against this wall.”

He’s a stranger, even if it’s technically a friend’s party.

You’ve been taught from birth that you should take care of your own drinks — but that doesn’t mean you can’t accompany someone as alluring as him to go grab a new mixed drink.

God knows Gojo bought out the entire liquor store despite how seventy-five percent of the party can’t drink and, the irony, Gojo doesn’t drink.

(An overachiever even in the art of hosting, Shoko joked before she dipped for a smoke break.)

Right.

You're dissociating.

Back to the guy in front of you.

“And hi,” you add lamely after a beat.

The stranger fights a smile, choosing to rush a small huff of air.

“Hi. Name's Choso Kamo,” he awkwardly introduces. “And yeah, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

He fidgets with a button of his dress shirt, popping it absently.

“Feels a little crowded here.”

"A little," you agree, gesturing for him to show the way.

Shoulder to shoulder you both walk to the drink table, not saying a word.

You note how the stranger — this Choso — keeps his eyes on the table of kids as they heavily debate which answer should win: the cold, dead fingers card dropped by a triumphant Kugisaki, versus the Daniel Radcliff’s delicious asshole card slipped in by a stone-faced Megumi.

“Dying to join in on the game?” you joke, trying to break the slow-building tension.

“Hmm? Oh. God, no. I’m not getting involved in that war.” The man blinks to you, his expression softening for a moment. “My kid brother’s over there.”

“Which one is he?”

Choso smiles small, clearly proud to point him out.

He fills his cup with a moderate amount of rum and soda, mixing it with a wooden stirrer.

“The pink-haired one. Yuji.”

Yuji isn’t hard to spot, not by a long shot.

He’s giggling between Megumi and Kugisaki, joyously playing moderator to the budding fight for who has the best card this round.

When you turn back to Choso, you see his smile has widened.

“He’s got his work cut out for him if he’s the Card Szarr this round," you say.

Choso laughs breathily and takes a sip. “Yeah, his friends are a little brutal. Good kids, but… opinionated.”

(As proudly displayed by the way the finalists shout at one another. Yuji laughs hard, shaking his head — only to pull a major upset by choosing the panda’s card instead.)

“He’s the only reason I’m here,” Choso adds belatedly, seemingly wishing to keep the conversation going. “I’m not exactly friends with the guy who threw this thing.”

“Who, Gojo?” you ask. He nods. “Me neither. My best friend managed to drag me out of my cave. Not sure if you know her — Shoko Iieri?”

Choso shakes his head. 

“Can’t say I do. Then again, I could say that about everyone. I only really came so my brother and his friends had a chaperone home." He straightens once he's done filling his drink. "I take it you don’t normally do these things, either?”

“That’s nice of you,” you comment, filling the rest of your drink before clinking the glass to his. “And no, I kind of hate parties. Way more of a quiet environment sort of person.”

“You and me both,” he commiserates. “Believe it or not, this is my first New Year’s Eve out.”

“Really? Your first, ever?”

He nods. “It’s a little complicated. Jujutsu shit.”

The words make you accidentally bark out a laugh, startling Choso.

He warms to it, however, and laughs with you. 

“Jujutsu shit is very much something I can’t seem to get away from,” you explain.

“Guess I found the one person at this party that gets me,” Choso admits with a dissolving chuckle, the black strip on his nose sprinkled with a gentle pink blush at his confession. “Yuji was pretty insistent on making it a big deal, given it’s my first real holiday outing. We spent Christmas just with the two of us this year — sorry, am I talking too much?”

You sip your drink and shake your head. “I like listening.”

It’s the truth: this man is interesting.

Clearly he’s not completely of this realm, that much you’re quite certain of, but he’s truly trying to be human.

Choso fumbles, but he’s honest about his experience.

It’s a refreshing taking on a world you’ve become so cynical about.

“I usually don’t talk this much,” he admits; his second confession of the night. He sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway, yeah. Christmas was solo, but he wanted to do this big party with his friends. Begged me to come along. New Year’s is an interesting idea, but the traditions… I don’t know.”

He squints at nothing in particular as he thinks.

“There’s so much I want to try now that I’ve got this life.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I have the drinking part down,” he tells you, glancing down at his glass and outfit. “I dressed up, though given what everyone else wore—”

Sweaters. Jeans. Nothing fancy — not like him.

“—I think I screwed that part up.”

“I think you look amazing, for what it’s worth,” you blurt, and he catches your eye with an appreciative glow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, suits always look good.”

Choso grins, albeit briefly, yet the growing confidence lingers.

“Party games, though I’m happier to watch than play right now. Then there’s that New Year’s kiss thing?”

Oh.

He turns to you for confirmation, but you damn well know your face is on fire from the implication.

“When the clock strikes midnight, you’re supposed to kiss someone," he explains like you're new to this, too. "Make a wish or promise or whatever so that the next year is going to be better.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He leans in a fraction further, dropping his voice to a murmur. “That's what I heard, anyway.”

You’re expecting him to have a but scoot into that sentence, but he pauses to search your face for the right or wrong answer.

“I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss,” you admit — it's now your turn to confess.

His brows furrow. “Really? Never?”

You shake your head. “Maybe that’s why my years have been so shitty lately.”

Choso nods with a grave understanding. “Could be.”

A few of the teenagers cheer, abandoning the game to turn on the main television.

The clock is only a few minutes until midnight.

Three, to be exact.

Suddenly the drink in your hand becomes your life line.

“I admit that I didn’t know if you needed a refill on your drink,” Choso pipes up, slow and careful. You turn your attention from the television broadcast to look at him. “I only came here to make sure Yuji had a good time with his friends, but then I saw you come in with that woman.”

Wait, he saw you come in?

When you say nothing, he sucks in a sharp inhale to explain himself. 

“I spent an hour working up the courage to come talk to you. I couldn’t think of anything to say. You’re so damn pretty, and you seemed fine hanging out by yourself or with her, and so I thought — I mean, I needed a refill and some liquid courage — so it — do you get what I’m saying?”

No, no you don’t and yes, yes you do.

“You’re very pretty yourself,” you tell him without thinking, causing his eyes to widen. Yours follow suit, rounding like saucers. “I mean — yeah, as soon as I noticed you, I thought you were attractive—”

“People go out for coffee, right?” he interrupts as if he’s been waiting all night to ask. “When they think someone is pretty, they… go out for coffee or dinner or walks.”

One minute remaining.

Choso pauses to stare into your eyes, earnest and true.

“I’d love to go out for some coffee, or whatever dinner you want, or even just a walk. Maybe. Some time. If you’re… free.”

A date.

Forty seconds until the new year, and you’ve already scored yourself a date.

“We could do one of those things,” you murmur. Choso’s face brightens. “Maybe all of them. And we could start it off with…”

Twenty seconds. 

“Making a wish?” the dark-haired man suggests when you trail off, rounding towards you so he’s closer.

For someone who says he has a lot to experience, you’re surprised that he seems to cage you in with experience. 

If it wasn’t for his eyes begging you to confirm that this is what you want, then you’d think maybe he was a liar.

“Yeah. For a great new year,” you explain, lifting your chin.

Ten seconds.

“For a great new year,” he exhales with a promise, leaning in.

His hand reaches to gently cup your face as though mesmerized by how soft your skin feels beneath his palm.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The clock strikes midnight, and a pair of plush, timid lips gingerly press to yours.

You meet with an eager kiss, and you swear you feel Choso’s mouth curve into a satisfied smile against yours.

(Maybe next year really will be better.)

☆༉ — YUUJI ITADORI. isn’t it weird? how love never changes.

about. no matter what anyone says, yuuji itadori’s love for you is unwavering and he hopes that you’ll never see a reason to change. not for anyone, not even him. (1K)

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, characters are aged up to 20s and in college, weird gf and jock bf, yuuji is a jock and has obnoxious teammates, reader is an introvert and wears glasses, selfship coded i fear, fem!reader.

“itadori, don’t you think your girlfriend is a little.. weird?”

the pink haired jock blinks once, then frowns  as he tugs a fresh shirt over his head — practice with his soccer team had ran a little longer than anticipated and he didn’t feel like coming home to you, his girlfriend, in a stinky old shirt. 

yuuji’s not sure when the topic of locker room talk had switched onto him and his love life but he cares enough to bite — not about to let his teammates talk smack about his girl. “where’d you get that idea from?”

another teammate speaks up. “when she comes to your games, she wears your sweatshirts but doesn’t cheer for you at all.” 

“she’s just shy, nothing wrong with that.” yuuji counters.

“whenever we hang out at the after partie she’s always… clinging onto you… doesn’t drink with any of us.”

“i told you, she’s a little shy,”  he stands up a little straighter this time, narrowing his eyes. “and parties aren’t for everyone. she might not like them but she’s there to support me. shouldn’t that be enough?”

“but dude…” someone else speaks up. “don’t you find any of that strange? like she’s just… weird.”

yuuji can’t get home fast enough after that. he almost falls to pieces when he sees you singing and shuffling your way through the cupboards in his dorm kitchen — making yourself a snack. he loves it when you stay over and he gets to watch you like this, so calm and at ease in his space. he feels grateful to even be sharing it with you.

weird isn’t a word that yuuji itadori would use to describe his girlfriend. 

he finds you intriguing. your relationship is still new, so all of the differences between you both interest him beyond belief. each time he discovers a new habit of yours (like the way you forget to take your glasses off when you sleep) or a fact about your life before college, or finds out something obscure relating to your hobbies and interests… yuuji can’t help but to fall in love with you all over again. like an astronomer who’s searching for the secrets of the universe, the pink haired jock wants to know every interesting little detail that makes you, you. 

that’s created the very person he loves today. 

“please never change,” yuuji breathes against the back of your head once he’s home. you can’t even comprehend the speed at which he’s dropped his gym back before he’s wrapped himself around you in the same manner that a boa constrictor would. only more affectionate. “and if you do, let me change with you.” 

being this close to itadori, you can smell his baby-fresh soap and the tinge of sweat from his work out. you can feel the strength of his arms as they squeeze you close from behind — like he’ll never let you go. he makes you feel loved even when it’s not on purpose, you go your every waking moment cared for and adored by yuuji itadori. it’s always subconscious, unwavering and steady. your love is stable like that, never dampened from those outside of the two of you — that much will never change. 

“that’s a big ask, yuu.” comes your contented hum, but you don’t stop your actions — continuing to make your snack while the pink haired jock squeezes you tight. as if to become one with you. “people change all the time.” 

you hold up a hand behind you and he sucks the peanut butter from your thumb eagerly. “i know, but i don’t want what anyone else says about you or us to make you change,” he mumbles petulantly against the shell of your ear, trying to find the right words as he tucks his face into your neck. “you’re perfect to me, as you are.” 

it’s cute that he reminds you of such a trivial little thing. those big brown eyes of yuuji’s see perfection in all of your flaws. he loves you so much you wonder if how much you feel for him even compares. 

“what’s gotten into you?” you giggle, spinning in his arms to stand on the tips of your toes — pressing a soft kiss to the point at which your boyfriend’s jaw meets his neck. it’s all you can reach. “did something happen?” 

yuuji hesitates for a moment, lips pursed and honey-glazed eyes cast to the side. he would never lie to you, that’s not in his nature — but he’d never want to hurt your feelings either. “the guys…the guys on the team said some stuff about us today,” his voice trails off and his hands trail upwards, dipping underneath the jersey of his that you wear to draw circles into your waist using his rough thumbs. he figures it’s best to tell you before one of his teammates  let it slip and hurt your feelings. he would rather die then let that happen. “they… they think you’re weird and that… that we’re too different.” 

“o-oh.”

a flash of pain comes with the territory of yuuji’s honesty, but he’s quick to soothe it as though he’s running your burn under a stream of cool water. “but i like you. like…really really like you,” the words rush out while his eyes stay serious and set in stone. your boyfriend grasps both of your hands firmly before you can even think to cry or pull away.

yuuji is there and he is constant and that is never changing. not for anyone, except for you. “and i like all of the funny things about you. that you’re a little quiet, that you’re always by my side, that you leave me notes in my gym bag or share your celebrity crushes with me. i like you for you. even if you’re a little weird — then…then i am too!” 

his hands, strong and yet so soft, traverse up to your round cheeks — tilting your head up to face him. “please don’t ever change because of what people say,” yuuji repeats tenderly, his lips finding the crown of your head in a gentle kiss. he stays there, like a magnet on metal and the world stands still for a moment. remaining the same, no longer changing, so that yuuji itadori can love you as is. “the way you are right now, it’s everything to me.” 

itadori only moves when you tip your head back to get a better look at him, he looks down at you through his unfairly long lashes — brown eyed gaze latching onto yours while your hearts sync up, beating to the same drum. “i’ll never change, as long as you promise to always love me like this.”

“i’ll love you the same way that i always have. like i’m the luckiest guy in the world, yeah?” he laughs and you smile — because it’s hard to be upset when yuuji is around, and protects your love so genuinely. 

you lean up and he meets you half way — pressing a slow and lingering kiss to the swell of your lips, wrapping his arms around you once again as you away to a silent tune in his tiny dorm kitchen. 

change is inevitable of course. the two of you will grow and become different people than you are right now — but you will always find your way back to the beautiful love that you hold. 

much like a butterfly that blossoms into something beautiful too.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

you are somebody that i want to keep ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you aren't sure what you have with satoru gojo, but you know that it’s good.

word count; 6.7k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, colleagues to friends to something unlabelled, you love each other though!!, fluff, hurt/comfort, very very soft, reader falls first but gojo falls harder, both of u are afraid of intimacy lol, a lil angsty if u squint, satoru gojo cherishing u for ~7k words straight <3

a/n; basically just a collection of moments between you and gojo throughout the years <33 (a significant amount of time has passed between each part!!) hes an emotionally repressed loser but i love him and he is smitten w u.

in the soft luminescence of daybreak, your kitchen looks something like a dream.

tainted with a hazy sunshine, simmering with warm colours and pleasant scents, it almost seems to sparkle in the peripheral of your vision. brimming with that feeling of home, a home you’ve broken your bones building, desperate to shape it into something safe. 

and you think you’ve done a pretty good job. all these comforting sensations bleeding into each other; hyacinths blooming by the windowsill, espresso-flavored steam wafting up to the roof, soft meows stemming from the cats by your feet. bliss.

indulging in a peace yet to shattered by the strain of the working world, you rub the sleep from beneath your weary eyes, blinking and yawning like a drowsy child.

beyond the translucent glass of your windows, glimmering with the light of a sun soon to rise, the world is painted pink and indigo — save for that one hint of gold, a streak of honey slathered across the surface of the sky. fluffy clouds drift through the chilly air, melting in the wake of a new day, and you think they look a bit like tufts of cotton candy. soft enough to sink your teeth into, if only the glass wasn’t in the way. keeping the cold out.

it’s a new day. a pleasant morning, sitting comfortably on the brink of dawn, before the city has a chance to rouse from its slumber. a kind of solitude you so rarely get to bask in. 

a false solitude, really. because, for once, there’s another human being in your home — one you don’t know nearly as well as you’d like, for him to be fast asleep on your couch, cheek smushed against the leather. snoring softly. 

satoru gojo.

like this, he looks very… human. vulnerable. hair just slightly tousled, from tossing and turning on your not-so-comfortable couch, blindfold only covering one of his eyes and close to slipping off entirely. his expression has melted into one of something vaguely resembling relaxation, as close to unguarded as you assume he can physically get.

even in his sleep, he looks a little stiff. not entirely at peace. like a stray cat sleeping under the hood of a car. 

(you’re curious. fascinated, maybe, by the loneliness that clings to the strongest person in the universe. by the paradoxical innocence of his grin.)

honestly, everything from last night is kind of a blur. you remember accompanying the strongest sorcerer on a mission, one long enough to leave you completely and utterly spent, fatigue nestled deep into your bones. remember gojo getting a sudden migraine, so earth-shattering that you thought he was going to keel over and throw up in the middle of the street.

then you remember bringing him back home with you. very hesitantly, only after he begrudgingly accepted the fact that he didn’t have much of a choice. because you were fucking exhausted, and so was he, and your apartment happened to be conveniently close. remember him practically passing out on your couch, still somehow managing to crack a bad joke you can’t recall, while you went to collapse into the comfort of your bed.

and now you’re here. dyed in half-transparent sunbeams, caffeine bubbling in your veins, gazing at your sleeping coworker from your spot by the kitchen table. waiting for the world to open its weary eyes.

it’s still early. some part of you expects him to sleep a while longer, but you can’t say you’re particularly surprised when gojo begins to stir.

a splotch of sunshine splatters across your living room window, staining the floorboards, falling over the contours of his pretty face. in the light, he looks positively holy; white lashes, pale skin, plump lips. like a goddess.

(when he opens his eyes, it’s even worse. a single iris cracked open, pooling with unbridled brilliance. eyes so blue they seem to cut through the stillness of the air.)

— and the world wakes up.

a little groan slips from his lips, barely audible. with groggy movements, he brings a hand up to his face, obscuring the grating light of the sun flitting in. you think you can almost see the gears of his mind turn, as he takes notice of his surroundings, remembering what transpired just hours before.

faster than you thought, he regains some semblance of composure. huffing under his breath, as he forces himself into a sitting position. 

it feels a little wrong, to see the closest thing this world has to a god act so human. be so human. morning-fatigued, just like you, wearing droopy eyelids and a soft, sleepy pout. a little disheveled. groggy with lost dreams.

when his gaze meets yours, you can’t control the breath that hitches pitifully in the back of your throat. a meek skip of your heartbeat, like you just saw something you shouldn’t have. oops.

gojo cracks a grin.

“.. watchin’ me sleep?” he calls out, cheeky. paired with a drowsy yawn. composed, unbothered, but there’s something almost performative about it, something you’re sure you’d miss if he wasn’t still in the process of collecting himself. 

“good morning,” is all you offer him. ignoring his teasing remark. he doesn’t push it, to your surprise. “sleep well?”

a hum. absentminded, jovial. one of his large hands goes to adjust his blindfold, the other to fluff up his hair. kicking off the blanket you just barely had the energy to throw over him last night. your fluffiest one, warm enough to protect him from the chill gnawing at the windows. hopefully.

“like a log,” he quips, stretching idly, muscles straining under his baggy uniform. they must be sore, after that mission. or maybe he’s above such things.

choosing not to comment on his obvious lie, you put your lips against the ceramic of your cup. sipping from the bitter brew, a tinge of hazelnut on your tongue. letting him gather his bearings without you scrutinizing him. a little favor, one liar to another.

“thanks for letting me crash,” he grins, lazy. toothy. stumbling to his feet with a low groan, gaze flitting around the room — looking for the exit. “i’ll get outta your hair,” he mutters, and you raise a brow.

“not staying for breakfast?”

gojo stills. your question rings out, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, into the living room.

his smile twitches, ever so slightly, in what you think must be surprise. then it’s back to normal; like putting on a mask, not allowing a sliver of weakness to slip through the cracks. he exhales a raspy chuckle, a sound that flows through the air and crawls down your spine.

”generous, aren’t you?” he hums, voice rich with amusement. dappling sunlight licks at the white locks of his hair.

you shrug. “i wouldn’t mind the company.”

the words climb up the walls of your throat, a little reckless, eager to catch a glimpse of the miracle before you. satoru gojo, framed by the simplicity of your home — somewhat hard to let go of. sunkissed skin, restless hands. a little out of tune. shifting from foot to foot, eager to get away.

(a little like a frightened fawn, you amuse yourself by thinking. he’s really more like the fox who scared it.)

you think he must be bit uncomfortable. forced to spend the night in a coworker’s apartment, one he doesn't even know that well, one he probably doesn’t have any intention of getting to know. still trying to politely excuse himself. persistent, stubborn.

maybe he didn’t expect this. maybe he was convinced he could sneak away, before you had a chance to wake up. maybe he thought you’d be all too eager to let him leave, and never speak of this again. maybe he’s not used to being wanted. 

“ha… i’m flattered, believe me, but —“

“what do you usually eat?” you ask. cutting him off, gently, tapping your fingertips against the edge of the table. “for breakfast, i mean. i’ll whip something up.”

a chuckle slips from his lips. you can’t put your finger on it, but something about it bothers you. “really, there’s —“

“if you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t be.” you pause, unsure of what to say. but the words end up spilling out of your throat, oddly honest. ”it’s been a while since i had the chance to make breakfast for someone else.” 

it’s strange, really, how intent you are on seeing this through. how much effort you’re putting into making him stay. you barely even know him. actually, you don’t know him at all — all you know is that his smile makes you happy and his strength makes you envious. that you aren’t afraid of him, even though you probably should be.

something about him just feels safe.

“i’m pretty good at making pancakes,” you hum, a small smile playing at your lips. polite, jovial. pale light flits in through the window and slips into its curve. ”do you want some? before we go to work.”

(something in his fingers twitch, when you say that tiny word; pancakes. a little tell. you just barely catch it, before it sputters out. before he reels it back in.)

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, a rubber band bound to snap.

gojo stands there, a very subtle contemplation etched into his features. behind him, your cats begin to scratch at the couch, but you don’t scold them. just waiting for something to happen. beyond the glass of your windows, the sun unfurls in the sky, stretching its arms to envelop the world.

he grins, suddenly. soft light reflecting off the white of his teeth. cocky, composed. not quite performative, a little more natural.

“well, if you insist.”

he strolls over to your side, just a tiny bit sluggish, lazy steps and comically long limbs. he must still be tired. but he takes a seat, right across from you, plopping down on the chair with an effortless air of confidence. lighthearted, leaning his elbows on the table, crossing his legs under it. comfortable. settling into his role.

you’re pleasantly surprised.

“how would you like them?” you ask, and you think some of your excitement may have spilled out with the question. if it did, gojo doesn’t comment on it. ”your pancakes.”

“with chocolate chips, please!” he shoots you a sweet smile. “and whipped cream on top.” 

so demanding. for some reason, it makes the corners of your lips quirk up. kinda like a bratty younger brother.

“got it.”

the smell of dark chocolate hangs heavy in the air as you get to work, shuffling around the open space. all while gojo waits, patiently, tapping his foot under the table and staring out the window. leaning his jaw on the heel of his palm. listening to the humming of nightingales on the branches of the apple tree down on the ground, and the buzz of your old radio.

the kitchen fills with motion, sounds, smells. life. splotches of sunlight, crinkled cartons of orange juice. the clinking of plates. two tired adults, seated at the same table, indulging in a fleeting peace and the promise of something new. something almost concrete.

a small, precious moment. enough to make your fascination shift into something you know must be fondness. or close to it. 

gojo grins at you, mouth full of pancakes, eagerly telling you about something the kids did last week. wolfing them down, chocolate smeared over his bottom lip. you laugh, and suddenly the world feels a little safer than it should. a little more intact.

you wonder what it means. where it’s going to lead. this feeling of something wonderful beginning, something you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.

a budding connection.

the city lays blanketed beneath a layer of thick snow. blurry pale dots dancing in the wind, obscuring the sky, frost engulfing every building in a bone chilling hug.

with a slight shiver, you dig your hands into the comfort of your pockets, seeking the fleeting warmth you find. admiring the frozen landscape before you, the hustle and bustle of people going about their day. the saffron light of the lamp posts, the glittering snow by your feet, the skeletal apricot trees and their bare branches. this monochrome city you find yourself in.

gojo exhales. strolling cheerily down the street, in tandem with you, a frosty breath to your left that scatters and melts into the open air. it smells minty.

today, he’s wearing black shades — like he usually is when you meet outside of work. it’s kind of nice. when you angle your face a certain way, you can almost see the blue pooling in his eyes, the white of his eyelashes. 

he’s beautiful. he always has been. but like this, you think his beauty is simply unfair, highlighted by the winter wonderland you find yourselves in. mesmerizing, the red flush of his cheeks, how he hums along to some jolly tune playing from a little corner store further down the street. all bundled up, in a stylish overcoat and a nice scarf, untouched by the snowflakes fluttering about. 

protected by his infinity, always. the silly god you call a friend.

he looks content, despite the cold that keeps nipping at your bare skin, smiling widely. blabbing on about the movie you’re about to watch, how he saw it back in high school but never thought it’d get a remake. how his friend thought it sucked but that friend always had bad taste so his opinion is irrelevant. how he has faith that you’ll like it.

(cute.)

distracted by the pretty man so close by, close enough to touch, you don’t look ahead. maybe just a little bit entranced. which would be fine, if you didn’t happen to be walking on the right side of the street — 

crashing straight into a lamp post.

”owch!”

it’s sudden. and it’s a harsh collision, enough to leave your nose stinging, an ache that makes you whine. cursing under your breath as you take a couple steps back, hands reaching for the part of your face that took the brunt of the hit. 

and gosh, is this embarrassing. you dance on the edge of death for a living, and here you are — whining over walking into a fucking lamp post. because you were too enamored by the beauty of your own coworker to pay attention to your surroundings. 

a coworker who is currently looking at you, silently. having failed to warn you in time, stuck in his own memories, caught up in his in-depth, spoiler-filled review of a movie he’s been waiting to watch all week. 

for a moment, all he does is blink. long eyelashes fluttering, like a dove flapping its wings. 

then he starts laughing.

scratch that — gojo is downright cackling, thoroughly amused by your clumsy mishap, like he just saw the funniest thing in the world. laughter ringing out into the cold air, white breaths to compliment the red of your burning ears.

asshole.

with a harsh furrow of your brows, you attempt to look angry; but before long, your lips are curling up. infected by his joy. a soft punch to his shoulder is all you manage, biting back a little puff of laughter. you’re embarrassed.

(so embarrassed you don’t even notice how he puts his infinity down.)

”don’t laugh, you piece of shit!” you hiss, grinning even still, flushing and trying to ignore the curious glances you get from passersby. ”it really hurt!”

but gojo doesn’t stop. doesn’t even attempt to. you think he just grew even more amused, if anything, practically bending over from how hard he’s laughing — clutching his stomach.

”sorry, sorry — ’m just…” he tries to speak, taking deep breaths in between bursts of giggles. ”how the hell — how’d you —” 

he stops trying. laughing, again.

and it’s a genuine laugh. a little wolfish, spilling out from his pretty parted lips, showing off his sharp teeth. from the very bottom of his gut, clear and bright, deep and infectious. melodic. shades close to slipping off the bridge of his nose, eyes tearing up behind them. trying to collect himself, muffled giggles turning to soft vapour in the cold air. dimples visible on his rosy cheeks.

and suddenly you can't think, can't speak, can only look at him and wonder how a human can be so very beautiful. how it’s metaphysically possible. like a crushed cluster of stars was given human form, a body of celestial light.

he looks so young, like this. a millenia younger, no weight on those broad shoulders, no immovable wall to separate you both. he looks like one of the guys you used to hang out with in middle school, running through corridors and play fighting and holding back shared laughter in the library. before the bite of the world left a mark in your skin.

he looks like himself. like someone pulled the mask off, and all that’s left is the human. none of the godhood he was saddled with at birth.

while you’re busy staring, gojo finally finds his composure again. wiping at his glassy eyes, a chuckle slipping out here and there. distracted by the breathtaking sight, you begin to forget the sting of your collision — until you feel something warm trickle down your chilled skin. 

searching for it with the pads of your fingers, you feel a trail of wetness beneath your nose. and when you bring them down, to get a look, all you see is red. 

”ah.”

gojo moves closer. maybe just a little alarmed, by the blood dripping from your nose, staining the white of the snow beneath your feet. a chilling contrast, one you’re frighteningly used to. it’s almost comforting. blood on your skin, that sting of pain clogging up your nose, enough for you to get lost in. colours melting together, memories rising to the surface —

when suddenly, something touches your cheek. 

one large hand goes to keep your jaw in place, gentle. smooth leather, sneaking under your chin, lifting your face up ever so slightly. warmth trickles from his fingertips through the fabric, and you can smell a hint of his perfume. strawberries and vanilla.

gojo looks at you fondly. wiping the blood from your nose, smudging his expensive gloves. from this angle, you can see his eyes, a blue shimmer in an evening painted white and gray — the sole flicker of colour in this monochrome city. they’re crinkled at the edges.

he looks awfully amused.

(you stay still, not breathing, like any slight motion could have him pulling away.)

”careful,” he croons. so low you barely hear it, almost a purr. the word has a soft underbelly, something you don’t need to dissect to feel.

a sentiment that seems to simmer in the air around you, drifting past the little corner store, a dog tied to a lamp post, your reddened cheeks. past the blue of his eyes, a peripheral that stretches to cover the city before you. words too heavy to speak aloud.

stay safe for me, silly.

then he’s letting go. sudden, the bite of the air replacing his hand. it lingers on your skin, like a memory, like the ghost of a memory. but it’s there. strawberries and vanilla, leather and warmth. something kind. warm.

and it stays there, even as gojo takes a step forward, no longer facing you. walking confidently, the wind bending around his tall stature. long legs and large steps, leaving an imprint in the snow for you to follow. a northern star.

he turns his head, and grins. hair tousled by the breeze, white locks glittering with snowflakes. ”you coming? it’s starting soon.”

a moment passes. 

”or do you need me to call shoko?” 

you puff out a breathy laugh, at that, stumbling forward. reaching up to wipe more of the blood sticking to your skin. sniffling, but smiling, teeth peeking out between your lips.

”yeah, yeah,” a roll of your eyes. ”’m right behind you.”

gojo’s eyes crinkle, disappearing behind his shades when he straightens his back and raises his head. moving forward, while you follow; his back turned to you, snowy hair melting into the white all around you. like something out of a painting. 

with a pep in step, you catch up to him. eager to hear more of his voice, his memories. still basking in the warmth of his hand on your jaw.

a touch from the untouchable.

gojo’s lying on your couch.

he usually is, to be fair, so it shouldn’t be surprising. kicking his legs up, watching tv — or sleeping, snoring loudly, like the couch belongs to him. like your home belongs to him. like he pays rent, and doesn’t just laze around and devour all the sweets in your kitchen cabinets.

(he’s there so often that you’re starting to wonder if you should give him a copy of your keys, or something. but you have a feeling that’d be just a smidge too intimate for him to ever accept.)

this time, however, gojo is doing neither of those things. 

he’s on your couch, but he isn’t manspreading, or draping himself over the leather with a lazy grin. he doesn’t have that air of effortless confidence. and it’s palpable, in the air, the open space, enough that you can feel it. an itch on your skin, a lump in your throat. you could practically feel it as soon as you walked through the door.

he isn’t wearing his blindfold, or his shades. he isn’t even smiling. and gojo is always, always smiling.

you think he might be having a rough day.

even the cats are noticing that something’s off. jumping up in his lap, trying to comfort him, brushing against his legs. purring, when he cradles them close — always so gentle with them. hands petting down their backs, softly, the same hands he uses to rip out the throats of curses and curse users alike.

then they mewl and run away. and for once you wish they wouldn’t, wish they could keep clinging to him like they always do. just to make him feel better. right now, in the state he’s in, you wouldn’t even mind gojo’s usual smug declarations of how does it feel to know they like their papa best? 

you can’t help but feel unsure of yourself. gojo isn’t doing anything, and he isn’t saying anything. he’s just lying there, on his back, eyes closed. letting the darkness of the room engulf him. drowning in his own thoughts.

he must know that you’re there. he must have heard you come in. but he isn’t saying anything, and you wonder if that means he wants you to leave him alone.

you’re reminded of that one morning. when he woke up on your couch, and looked more human than you’d ever seen him. how you wanted to avert your eyes, how wrong it felt to see a god rouse from its slumber. 

(but you know better now.)

hesitantly, you begin to inch closer, step by step. quiet, floorboards barely creaking beneath your weight. tentative, as you settle down on the couch. brushing against the infinity between you.

gojo’s eyes flicker open. like an old tape beginning to play. they still shine with that same brilliance, they always do, but now you think they look just a little dull. a little red.

a moment passes. agonizingly slow.

before you can properly think it through, you’ve done it. almost on instinct, jumping the gun before he has the chance to cover everything up with jokes and laughter. opening your arms; a silent invitation.

gojo only stares. 

his gaze moves down to your outstretched arms, and then up to your face. your pursed lips, nervous eyes, worried crease between your brows. one second passes. two, five. you stop counting.

for a moment, you’re almost certain that he’s about to get up and leave. that he’ll flash you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, walk out the door and then never return. like you flew too close to the sun, just another icarus too mesmerized by the glow of his grin to notice your melting wings. like you stepped over the fragile line that separates his bones from yours, his heartbeat from your greedy hands.

— but then he sluggishly gets into a sitting position, and doesn't look at you.

when gojo collapses into your embrace, you’re so surprised that you almost forget how to breathe. almost forget your own name, forget whose home you’re in, why your arms are wrapped around a pale man. all you can think of is how warm he feels, how he’s like a weighted blanket against you. how he trusts you enough to come so very close. 

cheek pressed against your chest, arms loose around your waist. no infinity, no barriers. just a single touch shared between two damaged human beings. 

a brief inhale gives you the composure that you need. air flowing into your lungs, your brain, as you settle into a comfortable position. no words leave your lips; you just continue to hold him, one hand on his back, testing the waters. letting him hear the echo of your heartbeat. unsure, the both of you, but something about this feels right. close to right. almost there.

gojo is stiff. when you strain your ears, you hear a sharp intake of breath, and a full body shiver courses through him. a tremble of his spine. like he’s itching to run, like he doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. so painfully unused to a proper embrace. 

(a little like a frightened fawn.)

a tender something unfurls within your chest, and you feel almost devoured by the fondness rooting itself into your beating heart. delicate, as you begin to brush away his tousled bangs, leaning close. pressing a kiss to his forehead, glistening with sweat. letting your lips linger on his skin. 

he’s pale, shining in the bleak moonlight cast from the translucent curtains of your living room windows. pale like a ghost. and there are dark crescents beneath his dull eyes.

nightmares, you surmise. they haunt him too, don’t they? of course they do. 

eyes brimming with emotion, you gaze at him; quiet as a mouse, closing his eyes. leaning into your touch, ever so slightly, breathing out a sigh tinged with pure exhaustion. and a certain realization washes over you, akin to a tidal wave, sudden and inevitable. so obvious it’s funny.

you’re not a god at all, are you? 

a coo slips from your lips. barely a sound, more like a soothing breath. warm against his cold skin.

you’re just like everyone else. just as fragile.

one of your thumbs goes to smooth over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. so, so gentle. like one wrong touch could have him crumbling into little grains of stardust, spilling out over the worn leather of your couch.

there are so many things you wish you could say to him. so many things you’ll never be able to say, because you’re afraid that if you give him too much it’ll scare him off. like love could burn him if it were to leak out too fervently. like it’s burned him before. 

so you don’t say anything. but you think it, you repeat it inside your mind like a prayer, and some part of you thinks that’s enough. i’ve got you — a whisper that you don't dare to voice. 

one gojo still manages to hear, somehow, if the way he tugs you closer and snuggles into your neck is anything to go by. a shaky exhale brushing against your collarbone.

(if you feel something wet touch the skin of your shoulder, you don’t mention it.)

you simply hold him, and don’t even think the thought of letting go. even though it takes him hours just to fall asleep, hours you spend anxiously wondering if he’ll change his mind and pull away. but he doesn't leave, even though his body may want him to, and that's enough, and you don’t let go. not even once. he stays cradled to your chest the same way you’d hold a tiny puppy, something fragile. something you need to handle with care.

and when his heartbeat finally mellows out, when you hear little barely audible snores flow from his lips, you finally begin to relax. melting into the couch beneath you, watching him get the rest he deserves. praying that any nightmares of his will be given to you instead.

sleep comes, eventually, to the both of you. tangled up on the couch, him on top of you, comforted by the flutter of each other’s heartbeat. by the warmth of another human being. safe in each other’s arms.

(the next morning, through hazy sunshine and the clinking of coffee cups, he teasingly tells you that just satoru is fine.)

it’s barely daybreak when satoru wakes you up.

a rude awakening, to say the least. he pulls out all the stops, intent on not letting you sleep even a second longer; poking at your cheek, pinching them when that doesn’t work. tickling you, blowing cold air into your ear, flopping down on top of you like a big dog. anything to rouse you from your deep slumber.

and he just will not give it up. no matter how hard you try to ignore him, no matter how many times you swat him away with your duvet pillow or turn to bury your face into the sheets. that’s how satoru always is, how he’s always been, how he hopefully always will be — an absolute pain. one you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.

so, when he starts whining for you to just wake up already, voice tinged with a sadness that tugs at your heartstrings, you find yourself opening your tired eyes. all while he murmurs on and on about something unintelligible, still trying to bribe you.

”i’ll make you coffee, okay? just get up. c’moooon.”

”… what time is it, satoru?” is all you mutter, voice leaving your lips in a raspy, disgruntled fashion. stirring a little at the promise of coffee. 

he cracks a grin. ”don’t worry about it! just come with me.”

despite your grumpy attitude, and the ungodly hour at which satoru shakes you awake, you find yourself letting him scoop you up and set you down on the kitchen counter. placing a hot cup of coffee in your hands, made just the way you like it, before grinning mischievously in a way that has you feeling ill at ease.

and ten minutes later, you find yourself on top of a hill. overlooking the woods, and a big lake below you, no city lights visible no matter where you turn — god knows where he’s taken you, but it’s pretty.

breathtaking, even. all frost and wildlife and peace, sweet solitude, tiny flowers blooming on the patches of grass around you. a murder of crows takes flight in the distance, scattering into the indigo of the sky.

gojo grins, boyish and bright, excited breaths turning into vapour as he speaks. awfully proud of himself. 

”i can’t take you on vacation, but —”

he drags you with him, arm looped around your own, plopping down on the ground. not before taking off his jacket, to cover the ground beneath you. grass tickles the skin of your palms, as you comfortably spread your legs, making sure to sit as close to him as possible.

and your heart softens a little.

because he’s mentioned it, before; how it’d be nice to go on a road trip, someday, just the two of you. all around the world, wherever the wind takes you. basking in that feeling of freedom. it’s no more than a fever dream, though, with how busy satoru is, the responsibilities you both shoulder.

so this’ll have to do. that’s probably what he’s thinking.

”the sun’ll rise soon. it’ll be pretty, i promise,” he beams, so close that you feel his warm breath on your skin. that you can see the dimples on his cheeks, his barely visible freckles.

”oh, so that’s why you woke me up so early.” 

his smile widens. ”nice, right? i wanted to surprise you. d’you like it?”

a smile blooms on your lips, in tandem with his, honeyed and content. indulgent. gojo looks at it, and immediately knows your answer.

”yeah. it’s really pretty out here,” you face forward, taking a deep breath, fresh morning air entering your lungs. cool and crisp, stirring your sleepy mind. ”kinda nostalgic.”

satoru hums, and follows your lead. looking ahead, admiring the beauty of an empty world.

the big lake looks like a mirror, from here, glittering in the peripheral of your vision. the sun licks at the frozen sky, not quite breaking through, not entirely ready to rise — but it paints everything a rusty gold and you can almost feel spring shining through, taste it on your tongue, that promise of something better, something more concrete. a warmth you don’t have to question. 

a warmth that’ll stay with you for a long time to come.

it takes about ten seconds for the man by your side to start speaking, again, shattering the peaceful silence. but you don’t mind. his voice is nice, a mellow melody to your morning-fatigued brain.

side by side, you wait for the sun to rise. sharing hushed whispers and laughter, like two kids having a sleepover. like nothing exists but the space that cocoons you, wraps you up in a nostalgia so palpable the entire world feels like a fond memory.

(it makes you feel a millenia younger.)

satoru giggles like a child, telling you about something shoko said, or something megumi did, and you don’t miss a single word that spills from his glossy lips. hanging on to every word he’s willing to give to you. 

he looks so unbothered, like this. eyes crinkling, humming some tune you don’t recognize, like a little nightingale ready to take flight into the skies.

you part your lips, admiring his features. every patch of skin you can see. words making themselves manifest, hungry to see inside his brain, to know more about him. a fascination that’s never quite left you — though now you think it may be better described as love. ”hey, satoru?”

at the sound of his name, he turns to you. the weight of his eyes feels so light, like this. those blessed eyes staring into yours. he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips. ”mm?”

”if you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be right now?”

satoru blinks.

he looks at you, a mild surprise flitting through the lines of his face, as he takes you in. measures the weight of your words.

then he smiles, again. lopsided, almost a smirk, rich with amusement. a hum buzzes in his throat, like a butterfly itching to break out.

”.. you teasing me?” 

a huff fills the air. ”it’s a genuine question!” you insist, moving your leg to nudge his own. ”c’mon. anywhere in the world. i’m just curious.”

another hum. he narrows his eyes, playfully, biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle when that makes you grumble. pouting softly, tilting your head. he’s amused, you can tell. 

but he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering, glimmering with morning dew. and you can tell he’s taking you seriously. tasting the question on his tongue.

something shines in his eyes, when he opens them again; crinkling at the corners, soft lines of crows’ feet. you can almost see that burst of aquamarine, breaking through the black glass of his shades. like the laws of physics can’t contain it. and he smiles, as always, a smile so beautiful you wish you could live on the curve of his lips. flimsy, no teeth peeking out, no dimples to admire. but sweet. slathered with honey, as sincere as can be.

his voice comes out a little raspy, tainted with a tinge of fatigue, a smokey residue that sticks to the walls of his throat. but it's genuine, like he just woke up, like he's too sleepy to be dishonest. like every word he says can be no more or less than the absolute truth.

and when he turns to face you, tilting his head enough for you to see that shade of blue you love so dearly, his eyes shine with an honestly so palpable you feel like you’re being devoured.

satoru parts his lips.

”right next to you.”

a moment passes. silent, endless, no sound to be heard but the beating of your own heart.

at last, the sun breaks through that layer of frost, peeking up from the boundary of the world — and the morning begins to thaw. streaks of sunlight cascade down the contours of his handsome face, painting him a mellow gold, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the warmth of his hand finding yours. 

for a moment, satoru looks unsure. smile shifting in the light, into something slightly stiff, and you know that means he's nervous. silent, as he wets his glossy lips. pink tongue tasting strawberry chapstick. 

then he’s leaning forward. 

it’s chaste, the kiss he plants on your forehead, soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. but it lingers, even after he’s pulled back — a warmth on your skin. a silent declaration.

he doesn't have to say anything. when you look up at him you can see the red flush of his ears, and when you strain your ears you can hear all those unspoken whispers. the sentiment neither of you will ever have to say out loud, because you know. it’s there. and it means everything. 

and you know that for as long as you live, you’ll both have this. one single thread of normalcy, in your unorthodox existences, one single glimmer of something almost entirely good. something that heals, something that isn’t a blessing and a curse all in one. something soft to the touch.

there’s no need to find the right words for it. there never was.

”kinda looks like melted ice cream.”

the words pull you out of your stupor. satoru’s looking at the sky, and you follow his gaze, watching the sunrise in tandem with him. 

it’s beautiful. soft clouds melting into pinks and oranges, dappling sunbeams lapping at the trees, a saffron shade washing over the empty world in front of you. a world that may not be so empty, after all, because you hear crows in the distance, and someone’s fishing by the lake, and you think you spot a squirrel in the tree closest to you. 

and you have someone, right next to you, right by your side. someone who won’t ever leave.

sometimes, loving satoru gojo feels a little like strolling on the edge of a cliff. like one wrong step could have you tumbling down, a mess of broken bones and unspoken words. but if you do stumble and fall — you know he’ll be waiting at the bottom of the precipice. arms outstretched, wearing that same innocent grin, ready to hoist you both back up.

so you know it’ll be fine.

swallowing down a bout of fresh laughter, like a flower unfurling in your chest, petals brushing against your ribcage, you give in. opting to bask in the moment, in his presence.

”yeah,” you puff out a chuckle, head slumping against satoru’s shoulder. he makes a little noise of approval, and your grin grows. ”it does.”

he doesn’t say anything. smiling, wordlessly, admiring the way the sun kisses up your collarbone. lighting up your face. and you bask in his warmth, how right it feels to be tucked into his side. how safe he feels, even now. how safe you make him feel.

you look at the man to your left, and he looks back at you, and that wonderful unnamed something unfurls inside your chest again. and, without having to speak it aloud, you know it will continue to do so.

many, many years later, he’ll still be satoru, and you’ll still be you. the distance between you will be what it always was; breachable.

and that will be enough.