The L Word

The L Word

Miya Osamu x f!Reader

summary: Love makes people stupid. Osamu knows it firsthand.

warnings: minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, established relationship, love confessions, fluff with a teeny hint of angst, happy ending, small miscommunication bc Osamu is an idiot but it gets cleared up, Atsumu to the rescue, Osamu being the dumber Miya twin for a change, Osamu really goes through it in this fic but it's all okay bc you love him

notes: literally wrote this entire thing today bc Osamu just does something to me. this takes place earlier on in the Meet the Miyas couple's relationship and you don't have to read the other fics to get this one, but I sure would like you to.

words: 3.6k

part of the Meet the Miyas series

Osamu’s date with you was meant to be a quick dinner. If he was thinking more clearly, he wouldn’t have suggested seeing each other that night at all. It’s been a hectic week for the both of you and he knows that you have to catch an early morning train for a meeting out of town the next day. 

But he can’t think clearly when it comes to you. Because he loves you. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened, but he knows it was probably after only a couple of dates, which he also knows is crazy. 

Again, he can never think clearly when it comes to you.

It means that he’s spent the last few months in a love-induced haze of happiness as your budding relationship has progressed. It’s even been enough to dull the irritation he would normally feel at how smug Atsumu has been about being the one to set the two of you up in the first place.

Of course, none of that is on his mind now. The only thing he can currently think about is how much he doesn't want your evening together to end. 

It’s a desire of his that you’re more than willing to indulge in as your time at the restaurant stretches on long past dessert. When he offers to walk you home even though you live in opposite directions, you don’t even bother to give a perfunctory protest. You merely nod with a wide grin, happily accepting the arm he wraps around your shoulders as you curl into his side. 

And what began as a sweet kiss goodnight outside of your building is now bordering on something inappropriate for a public setting, even on an empty street. 

Your soft lips move against his and his tongue slips into your mouth to taste you. One of your hands rests against his neck, while the other runs through his hair, making him shiver at the sensation of your fingernails gently running against his scalp. Both of his are tightly holding onto your waist, holding you as close as he possibly can so that the only thing separating you two is the clothing you both are wearing. 

“Come upstairs,” you breathe as he begins to trail his lips from yours to the spot just below your ear that always has your knees feeling weak whenever he lavishes it with attention. 

Unfortunately, Osamu has just enough of his sanity left to know what the responsible choice is.

“Ya need to sleep,” he murmurs against your skin before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck that makes you sharply inhale. “Yer meeting tomorrow is important. Gotta be well rested.”

“So thoughtful,” you tease as you guide his lips back to yours to give him another heated kiss, only to pause for air a moment later. “I promise. No funny business. We can just sleep.”

He can’t hold back his snort at your suggestion or his laugh when you pout at his reaction. He rests his forehead against yours, looking at you with a fond smile on his shining and slightly swollen lips. 

“We never ‘just sleep’ when I come up,” he reminds you and your pout deepens.

“But I don’t want to say goodbye yet,” you tell him, and damn if his heart doesn’t ache with how full of love it is for you.

“Okay. We don’t have to say goodbye,” he agrees and your expression lights up. However, it falls as he continues to speak. “We’ll just say goodnight instead.”

“Osamu,” you whine and he presses a soft kiss to your lips before you can say anything else.

“Goodnight,” he says.

When you open your mouth again, he gives you another smiling kiss.

“Goodnight.”

You open your mouth again, a smile of your own tugging at your lips, which he kisses again.

He loves you. 

“Goodnight.”

You playfully open your mouth as you pretend to say something. He kisses you.

He loves you.

“Goodnight.”

Another attempt on your part to protest. Another kiss to silence you.

He loves you.

“Goodnight.”

Your mouth opens. He gives you a kiss. 

He loves you.

“I love you.”

He freezes, but not because he’s accidentally spoken the words that have been on his mind these past months. 

It’s because the words don’t come out in his voice. They come out in yours.  

His eyes snap open to find you gazing up at him with a small hint of nervousness, but otherwise nothing but pure affection and fondness and love. It’s everything he’s been dreaming of — literally. He has literally been dreaming about this exact scenario.

But in his dreams, he gently murmurs that he loves you in return and softly runs his thumb along the apple of your cheek. The two of you then kiss beneath the first soft snowflakes of winter or the floating spring cherry blossoms or a drizzle of summer rain.

Reality is much worse. Because in his shock and disbelief, all he can do is open and close his mouth, struggling to put all of his joy and excitement and love in return into words. And the longer the silence stretches on, the touch of hesitation that was initially present on your face slowly begins to morph into sheer horror.

Your embarrassment is visible at his lack of a response and when you force out a small, self-conscious laugh, he knows that you’re regretting ever speaking those three beautiful words aloud.

“Sorry,” you wince and a cold shard of ice pierces his heart.

No, no, no. Don’t apologize. Never apologize. Not for loving him. Not when he loves you, too. 

You clumsily try to extricate yourself from his hold and he’s too wrapped up in his own mortification over how stupid he is that he easily lets you. 

“I don’t…s-sorry!”

Your voice breaks as you stumble over your unnecessary apology and even while you refuse to meet his gaze, he can see how quickly your eyelashes are fluttering as you try to blink back the tears that he’s caused.

“Night, Osamu,” you manage to say through a soft sniffle before hurrying towards the steps of your building.

The only thing worse than the panic and anger that he’s feeling towards himself is whatever it is that you’re feeling. You opened yourself up to him, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and trusting that he would keep your heart safe.

And he was too much of an idiot to be able to offer his own heart in return. 

He just needs to get the words out. Just get the words out.

Just get the fuckin’ words out, ya big fuckin’ pussy.

Relief floods through his veins when he’s finally able to blurt your name as he calls after you. He can fix this. He can tell you that he loves you and that he was just so elated that he was physically incapable of putting any words together. 

You stop, your foot on the bottom step as you turn towards him. While your eyes are shining with tears, he can also the hope in them as you silently plead with him to continue. 

A deep breath releases from his lungs. He hasn’t ruined it yet. You’re willing to listen to him. You’ll give him a chance to make things right and prove to you that he deserves you. He’s so fucking grateful to you. 

“Thank you!”

He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Maybe a car will pass by and run him over. Could he be lucky enough for a freak thunderstorm and to be struck by lightning? When nothing happens, he contemplates dropping to his knees and banging his head repeatedly against the concrete sidewalk. 

All of it would feel better than watching how quickly he’s shattered the last remaining pieces of hope that you were desperately clinging onto. You stay still just long enough for him to see your lower lip tremble before you dart up the stairs of your building.

And because of how the stupid apartment buildings in this country are designed, he gets a perfect view of you racing up the exterior staircase and then towards your apartment, pausing only to unlock the door, which then slams loudly shut behind you. The sound echoes through the quiet street, reverberating against the pavement and buildings, but also in his mind. 

Osamu takes a slow, deep breath and holds it before exhaling. He then buries his face his hands, his fingers tugging at his hair, and lets out an unintelligible scream that’s filled with a nauseating mixture of frustration and embarrassment. The noise is louder than the slamming of your door and a dog starts to bark in the distance. 

In a daze, he somehow manages to make it to his bus stop. Likewise, his phone is now somehow held up against his ear. And somehow, Atsumu’s screeching voice answers on the other end.

“Thank you?” he greets angrily and Osamu loudly groans as he slumps forward so far that his head is practically between his knees. “My best friend, the woman yer totally in love with, says she loves ya and all ya can do is thank her?”

“I was just so excited, I couldn’t think straight. I’m a fuckin’ idiot. I know, okay?” he mumbles. He hears a bus pull up to the curb but he’s too distraught to even look up and see if it’s his as he lets it pass. “She already told ya?”

“She’s on the other fuckin’ line right now, crying because of you, ya scrub,” Atsumu bites back and somehow, after everything that’s happened in the past ten minutes, Osamu manages to feel even worse. 

There’s a long pause and his guilt and mortification must be so bad that his brother can hear it through the phone because Atsumu gives a sigh of pity.

“Look, just make it right. We share the same DNA. Ya must have gotten a little bit of my ability to be romantic.” 

In any other situation, Osamu would scoff and roll his eyes. But right now, he doesn’t have the right to make fun of anyone, not even his twin. Instead, he simply nods even though Atsumu can’t see it over the call. 

“Can ya find out what time her train gets in tomorrow?” he asks pitifully. 

“Okay, sure,” the setter offers before sighing again. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah, don’t keep her waitin’.” 

He wonders if you know that it’s him Atsumu is talking to. You must. But Atsumu is a pretty good liar, much better than Osamu anyway. He’s had plenty of practice lying over every little thing under the sun since they were young. Surely, he can convince you that it was a teammate or his agent or anyone else but the man responsible for your distress.

“Same goes for you, Samu,” Atsumu warns him, but there’s at least a gentle undertone of sympathy in his voice that he probably only extends because they shared a womb.

“Thanks,” he says, feeling truly grateful to his brother in a way he hasn’t felt since he set the two of you up.

“I think ya said that enough tonight, ya scrub.” Atsumu then ends the call and Osamu’s gratitude dwindles. 

But Atsumu does come through for him, texting him the information on your train, which Osamu reacts to with a mere thumbs up, knowing that any form of thanks will have him being called a scrub for the third time that night. 

The next day, Osamu closes the shop early. It’s for the better as he keeps getting orders wrong and has to offer so many discounts in apology that if he stayed open any later, he would probably end the day at a loss. 

His mind has been so preoccupied that there’s no room left in it for onigiri. All he’s been able to think about is his plan to make it up to you. He’ll go home and change into his nicest suit. He’ll go to the florist and buy the nicest bouquet they have. He’ll stop by the bakery near your apartment on the way and order a slice of your favorite cake. 

And then you’ll come home to find him waiting for you outside of your building, where he’ll give you the speech he spent all day on. He’ll tell you how sorry he is and explain how much of an idiot he was and tell you that of course, he loves you. He’s even written down exactly what he wants to say on an order sheet from the restaurant so he doesn’t forget a word.

But apparently, the universe has decided that it wants to laugh even more at his expense. 

Everything starts smoothly. Despite not having worn it in over a year, his suit fits as perfectly as it did when he bought it. And after a quick iron, it looks like he just picked it up from the dry cleaner. When he arrives at the flower shop, the kindly older woman working there helps him make a custom bouquet filled with flowers that all represent some form of love and apology. 

It’s at the bakery where things start to go wrong. 

First, it’s so late in the afternoon that the display window is picked clean over. Your favorite cake has sold out entirely and all that’s left are a variety of croissants, donuts, and croquettes. He stupidly decides to buy a donut anyway, because although the image of him giving you a donut is much less romantic, he’s always believed that food is the best way to show you care about someone. 

Then, just as he’s finished paying and in his rush to make sure he gets to your apartment before you do, he runs right into a teenager holding a bright green melon soda, which spills all over the front of his clean, white dress shirt. The girl gasps in horror and immediately begins to apologize, repeatedly bowing as she offers him the napkins in her hand.

However, he knows it was his fault and that he can’t make another girl cry in less than 24 hours. He assures her that she wasn’t to blame and after patting his shirt dry to the best of his ability, he buys her a new drink and then helps the employee clean up the spill. He leaves the bakery with a squished donut and an obscenely green, large stain on his shirt. 

And of course, he gets one block away from the bakery when it starts to rain. It’s not the soft, romantic drizzle that he’s imagined might color such an important moment in your relationship. It’s a true downpour that has people ducking into stores and under doorways. For just a moment, he considers stopping at a konbini and buying an umbrella but he’s already drenched and when he sees how long the line is, he decides that it wouldn’t be worth it if he has to miss you. 

It’s another block away from the konbini that the bag holding the donut breaks, dropping the baked good into the gutter where it’s quickly washed away by the rainwater. As he looks at the soggy remains of the bag in his hand, he decides not to worry about it and shoves the mess into his pocket. The flowers are enough on his own.

The flowers, which he’s just now realizing aren’t in his hand and weren’t with him at the bakery. The flowers that he remembers setting down on the bench at the bus stop but doesn’t remember picking back up when he got onto the bus. 

The voice in his head is frantic as it tries to assure him that everything is fine. If you really love him then you don’t need flowers or baked goods or him in a dry, unstained suit. You’ll love him just as he is when you find him waiting to greet you after a long day.

He’s thankful that the sound of rain falling is loud enough to mask the panicked, high-pitched whine he lets out when he turns the corner onto your block to find that you’ve beaten him to your place and are already standing on the bottom step of your building’s staircase, protected from the rain as you shake the worst of the water from your dripping umbrella. 

There’s the smallest part of him that wants to just go back home and hide beneath the blankets like he used to do after losing a volleyball match. 

But then, without his consent, your name leaves his lips and his feet begin moving on their own to meet you. You freeze mid-umbrella shake and look up at him in shock, clearly not having expected him, and definitely not in this state if the way your eyes widen is anything to go by. 

Your senses come back to you quicker than his did to him last night and you open your umbrella back up and rush out to meet him, hurrying to finally protect him from the rain.

“Osamu, what are you doing? It’s pouring,” you say with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. You look him over from head to toe and frown. “Why are you so green? You look like you spilled a melon soda all over your shirt.”

It’s okay. He still has his speech. He’ll win you over with his words. Whether it was volleyball or opening his own restaurant, when has he ever given up?

Instead of answering you, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out the order slip. He’s relieved that it’s held up better than the bakery bag and vows to keep buying order pads from the same supplier for the rest of his life. 

At least until he unfolds the paper and finds that the ink he wrote in has run because of the rain that soaked through his jacket. His shoulders sag as he sighs in defeat. 

“Osamu?” you ask with a timidness he hasn’t heard from you before and it’s enough to snap him from his own wallowing. His idiocy left you in tears last night.

The flowers, the suit, the pastry, the speech, this entire big, grand gesture he was trying to make all boil down to one thing.

“I love ya,” he says and it feels so good to finally be able to say the words aloud to you for the first time. It feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest, leaving room for how big his heart has grown with all the love it holds for you. “I’m so sorry about last night. I’ve been in love with ya since, like, our third date but I knew I’d seem crazy if I said it that early. And when ya said it first, I just couldn’t believe it and I was so stupidly happy that I just couldn’t say anything.” 

Now that he’s started talking, the words won’t seem to stop. But from the way you’re looking up at him with so much warmth and affection and love, he doesn’t think you want him to.

“And then I started to panic because I couldn’t say anything, which made it harder to say anything else. So, I came up with this big plan to win ya back with flowers and cake and a big speech but literally everything went wrong.”

“Osamu,” you try to gently interrupt him, but by this point, he couldn’t hold anything in even if he wanted to.

“I forget yer flowers at the bus stop and the bakery was out of cake. Then I almost made this teenager cry so I had to make that right. And of course, this fuckin’ monsoon had to sweep in outta nowhere. And my speech got all ruined, too,” he complains, holding out the order sheet for you to see the proof. 

“Osamu,” you try again. Only he’s too wrapped up now in this bizarre, stream-of-consciousness monologue to even take in the adoring way that you’re looking at him.

“If it was gonna rain, couldn’t it at least have been a soft, romantic type of rain? But I guess nothing says romance like a flash flood warning. It’s a good thing ya live on a higher floor with how much it’s comin’ down,” he continues. “All this little love confession is missing are some warning sirens—”

“You love me?”

The question finally shuts him up. But it’s a different kind of silence than the one from last night. Because you look so utterly happy as the three words occupy the space between you. His own expression softens and he crumples up the paper in his hand before shoving it into his pocket. 

His hand now free, he tenderly cups your face and presses the softest, sweetest kiss to your lips as the rain continues to come down in sheets around you, only your small travel-size umbrella keeping you both safe. 

As his lips part from yours, he rests his forehead on yours, an almost mirror image how you two were wrapped up in each other last night. 

“Yeah, I love ya,” he whispers as he affectionately brushes his nose against yours. You smile back at him and his heart pounds with excitement at hearing you repeat the sentiment back to him. 

But then, your eyes begin to sparkle mischievously as they always do when you tease him.

“Thank you,” you say and he thinks he’s somehow managed to fall even further in love with you.  

Woofsley 🐺

I think about them often

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.

╰─▸ ❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑! ❞ ──── 𝐟𝐭. 𝐒. 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: “i’m boyfriend material!” he cries indignantly, offended despite the fact that he’d never kept a relationship for more than a few months out of sheer boredom, and you pause before looking him up and down. / “…mhmm.”

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: jujutsu kaisen | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: satoru gojo/f!reader, mild sukuna/reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 6.25k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: college au, fem reader, fuckboy satoru, protected sex ( wrap it up cumsluts ), jealousy, attempted hand-holding, brief nanami cameo, satoru gets hard attached and then is O.O when reader is like ‘nah imma dip now’, slight angst, unrequited love, previously established relationship ( just not w gojo 💀💀 ), cheating ( by reader ), bf sukuna.

𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬: hmmm gojo’s not suffered enough, let’s do THIS 👹👹

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

Gojo Satoru was not nervous. 

All he had to do was ask a simple girl in his Philosophy course out so he could take her home and sleep with her. He’d never asked any of the girls in his Philosophy course out, though, so he was a little hesitant. As odd as it would seem, he enjoyed this class, and he didn’t want anything awkward to happen — which was why Suguru had directed him your way. 

‘“She won’t make it weird,”’ he’d said, though how he’d known when Satoru knew every person that his best friend had ever slept with ( and you had not been one of them ) was beyond him. 

Remember, he thinks to himself, glancing over at you a few times in a way he thinks isn’t noticeable, She’s gonna fall all over you, just like all the others, as soon as you ask her out. Easy lay. 

And he wasn’t nervous. 

Class ends, and he waits for everyone to make their way out. From experience over the last semester and a half, you were one of the last people to leave, taking your time considering you didn’t have any more courses after this one ended at noon on Tuesdays until 5pm. Once only a few stragglers are left, he grabs his books and saunters over, plastering on one of his most breathtaking grins ( if he did say so himself ), then leaning against your desk. You don’t look at him, blatant disinterest emanating off of you, but he forges forward. 

“So… I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner tonight?” he asks, preening over how quick all the past yeses came. Men and women fell all over him like water rolls over stone in riverbeds, 

“No.”

“Great, I was thinking maybe that new Italian joint—,” Satoru pauses. Blinks. Registers your words. “…What?”

“No. Is a two letter word so difficult for you to understand?” Satoru is… shocked, for lack of a better word. He’d never actually been told no before. 

“But… why?” His question is whinier than he’d intended, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. You narrow your eyes up at him. 

“I don’t have to explain myself to you — but if you must know, I  go on dates with the man I intend to be in a relationship with,” you say honestly, and Satoru fights back a snort. “I don’t date someone who’s only  good for a quick fucking session.”

“I’m boyfriend material!” he cries indignantly, offended despite the fact that he’d never kept a relationship for more than a few months out of sheer boredom, and you pause before looking him up and down. 

“…Mhmm,” is your only reply, and he pouts. You go back to finishing up, and he thinks for a moment, drumming his fingers against the surface of your desk before shrugging. 

“Interested in hooking up, then?” he asks, and you glance up at him questioningly. “We don’t have to date, we could just have sex.” Not that you’d want to keep him as ‘just a fuckbuddy’ for too long, Satoru thinks. 

You hum softly, seeming to think it over, then give a slight nod. “Sure, we can fuck,” you say with a lazy shrug, then sigh. “But no feelings. I’m not interested, especially not with someone who has a reputation like yours.”

“You say that now, but you’re gonna be beggin’ for me to be your boyfriend,” Satoru chuckles, and you roll your eyes. 

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply, sounding amused as you cross your arms, and without missing a beat he waggles his eyebrows at you, and you raise one of your own. “What?”

“Wanna get started on this friends-with-benefits thing now? My car’s in the parking lot,” he grins, and you look completely unimpressed. 

You resume picking up your notebooks and textbook, shoving them in your backpack and steadfastly refusing to look at his goofy expression. “I’m not fucking in your dirty-ass backseat,” you reply grumpily. “I might catch something.”

“I’ll have you know my car is amazing and clean and perfect,” Satoru retorts, acting as if his feelings are hurt, and you scoff. 

“Not with you as a driver. Didn’t you hit a sorority mailbox last month?”

He’s silent for a moment. “We’re in philosophy class, you know. Most philosophers say that it’s ‘unwise to root yourself in the past’.”

You just blink at him, then roll your eyes again and slide your laptop into your bag. “That alone tells me everything I need to know.”

“Y’know, you’re really mean,” he pouts, and you have to fight off the urge to smile. Sometimes he was amusing, even though you didn’t want to admit it. 

“I know. It’s one of my best traits,” you reply, swinging your bag over your shoulder. “See you in class.”

One week later, Gojo finally picks you up — that is, your shared Philosophy course ends and you both head to his car. You’ve both tossed your bags in the back and are sitting in the drive-through of a fast food place waiting on your coffees with you tapping away at your phone while he hands his card through the window so he can pay for the drinks you’d gotten along with his own. 

He pulls forward after getting his card back, then brightens a little as he remembered the question he’d wanted to ask before he’d forgotten after asking if you wanted a drink. 

“Do you want to type your address into my GPS so we can—“ Satoru starts, and his eyes widen when you interrupt him almost immediately. 

“Not at my place. Never at my place, Gojo,” you snap, and he nods almost dumbly. He’d not expected you to be so stern about it, nor for you to deny him heading to your apartment or house or whatever ( especially considering his hookups typically didn’t care as long as they ended up with him in their bed. In the back of his mind an alarm bell rings, but he dumbly chose to ignore it. 

“That’s — That’s fine, no problem, we can go to my place,” he replies, pushing a fake grin on his face. He watches you visibly relax back into the passenger seat, and relaxes himself before pulling up to the second window and taking your drinks. He hands you your drink then pulls away while sipping at his own Diet Coke, glancing at you every now and then as he drives back to his apartment rather than wherever you lived. 

Part of him was nervous; he never really ever brought hookups back to his apartment — hell, he’d only brought like two of his prior girlfriends there, so this was a big break from his normal meet-up for sex. Still, he’d talked so much shit to Suguru when he’d said he’d manage to fuck you, so he couldn’t back out now. 

He’d taken out the trash yesterday, right?

He pulls into the parking lot of his apartment, easing into his spot and putting the car in park before taking a breath and leaning back. You aren’t paying him any attention, still in your phone apparently texting someone from what he could see from the corner of his eye, and once you’re done you lock your phone before turning your body to face him in his seat. 

You ask quietly, “Gojo… are you sure you want to do this?” and he pauses as he starts unclipping his seatbelt. 

“Yeah, of course! Why would I, uh — Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, nodding with a smile. You raise an eyebrow. 

“You’re acting nervous.” You deadpan, and he laughs. 

“Nervous? I’m not nervous! Let’s fuck, babe,” he says brightly, opening his car door and hopping out as you shrug and unclip your own belt. 

“…Don’t call me babe, but whatever. If you’re sure,” you say lazily, then add, “By the way, three of my friends know I came home with you, and I just dropped a location pin in a group chat, so… it’d be easier if you weren’t some creepo murderer.”

Satoru laughs again, this time actually amused. “That’s great, they’ll know the location of the best dick in Japan! Second floor.”

You scoff, but follow him up the stairs, stopping only as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and works on getting them in the lock. Eventually it pops into place, and you follow him inside, toeing off your shoes and following him quietly, eyeing him as he takes his loose coat off and tosses it on the back of his couch before following his lead to the bedroom. He lets you come in before turning to close the door, and is surprised when he turns and your shirt is already on the floor and you’re working on wiggling out of your tight skirt. 

“I — oh! Like to do the work yourself, huh?” He jokes, and you scoff through a playful smile. 

“Please. If we fuck and you just lay there, the entire campus will hear about it before midnight, I promise,” You reply. Satoru just grins. 

“Who says we’ll be done by midnight?” He asks cheekily, and you laugh again. 

“Gojo Satoru, it is two in the afternoon,” you say, and he laughs and starts unbuckling his belt. 

“And?” he purrs, tossing it aside and kicking his pants away after they pool around his ankles, leaving his boxers on as you kick off your own skirt, leaving you in a mismatched bra and underwear set. He’s discovered he much prefers you this way — almost naked and ready to joke around with him — rather than the way you were cold and quiet in class. You actually seemed human here, and he was starting to understand why Suguru had said you were easy to be around; Satoru had thought he was lying just to fuck with him, but apparently you were typically this way in the bedroom and at parties after a few drinks. It was an interesting thing about you to learn in all honesty. 

He presses his front to yours, wasting no time and dipping his head down to kiss you, mashing your lips together hard and his hands snake behind your back and unclip your bra at the same time that you slip the condom you’d taken out of your bra between your teeth and hook your thumbs in the waistband of his own underwear and push them down. He steps out of them as you stumble backwards towards his bed, leading him along before falling back with him on top of you, both of you still kissing. 

You start to unwrap the condom. “You’re a good kisser,” you mumble into his mouth, reaching one hand down to shimmy out of your panties while the other tangles itself in his hair, tugging lightly. Once they’re over the edge of the bed they fall to your ankles and you just step out of them, reaching between your bodies and slipping the condom down his shaft with an experienced sort of ease that faintly amused him.

“Why the tone of surprise?” Satoru laughs, nipping at your bottom lip before starting to kiss a line down your throat, savoring the area over your pulse point as you let out soft, happy sighs.

“Mmm, kinda thought you’d have loser dick — but like, a real loser, not the sexy kind,” you reply honestly, and Satoru would have been offended if he wasn’t so fucking horny. He just laughs against your hot skin  and keeps kissing, about to kneel when you tug him back up. “Don’t need your mouth on my cunt, need your cock in me,” you grunt, and Satoru barely chokes back the whimper that threatens to escape him. 

“G-Gotta — Gotta prep you,” he argues as you reach between your bodies and grip his dick in an almost too-perfect grip. 

“Prepped myself before class, and I’m plenty soaked,” you reply, pressing his head in. He doesn’t bother trying to hide the low groan that tumbles from his lips at the thought of you fingering open the hot cunt he was so close to, then sitting in class with him only a few seats away, ready and waiting for him to fill you. “Plus I enjoy the stretch. Don’t pussy out now, Gojo.”

“Stop calling me Gojo when I’m about to be balls deep in you,” Satoru growls, and you just laugh with a defiant glint in your eye. 

“You gotta earn me saying your first name, loser boy,” you taunt, and he narrows his eyes before bottoming out in one go, watching in satisfaction as your eyes widen and your pupils blow further all at once… then the feeling hits. 

“God, you’re fucking tight,” he groans, letting his head fall. “Fuckin’ hot too.”

“Don’t tell me slippin’ it in is gonna do it for you,” you whisper, and Satoru forces himself to pull out, his eyes squeezing shut at the perfect friction in the glide of his cock slipping out of you, before thrusting back in. 

He starts a steady pumping of his hips, taking you over the edge of the bed like a beast on its bitch at a breeding bench. He can feel your nails digging into his back and scalp and it makes him make a tight fist in the sheets, soft moans falling from his mouth as he fucks into you desperately. 

“F-Fuck — Oh god, Satoru, you fucking bastard-!” you moan, holding tight as he ruts into you, and he laughs breathlessly through a moan of his own. 

“E-Earned it already?” he asks playfully, and you laugh through a moan yourself. 

“Again, thought you were a real loser. Now shut up and keep fucking me,” your words come out in a low purr as you toss one arm around his neck, amd he busies himself with doing as told, not bothered by taking a command to fuck your willing body like this. 

Soft groans of your name and his coupled with cursing and cries for God fill the room as the two of you fuck, your sweat and precum smearing across both of your bodies as you both get closer and closer to orgasm. “C’mon, just like that — gonna cum, gonna cum!” you whisper, and Satoru presses closer and keeps his pace and position the same, listening to the way your voice pitches. He’s been on the verge of cumming himself for the past fifteen minutes, but he’d be damned if he came before you the first time the two of you fucked — not when you still somehow thought he was a loser. 

“Cum for me, babe, cum for me—“ he half-begs lowly, and you huff through a moan. 

“What did I — did I say about calling me babe?” you ask, and he shakes his head. 

“Sorry, sweetheart — God, please, just fucking cum already!”

You laugh a little, a laugh that breaks apart like brittle ice at the end as your pussy starts clenching tightly around his cock and you dig your nails into his skin hard enough to leave marks. “Fuck — fuck, fuck — fuckfuckfuck, cumming-!”

Satoru’s eyes roll back in his head at the feeling of you clenching so tightly around him, and the sounds of your cries as you cum around have his own falling from his lips as he fills the condom wrapped around his cock and you slowly relax completely into the bed, unmoving aside from a couple stray twitches and a lazy hand against his chest to get him off of you. He falls bonelessly onto the bed next to you, tugging the condom off and tossing it into the trash can by his bed before returning to letting his legs dangle off of the side of bed with his feet flat against the floor like yours. 

He waits a moment, enjoying the silence between you both before asking, “Well?”

You make a confused noise and turn to look at him. “Well what?” you ask, amd he chuckles. 

“Am I a loser?” he asks cheekily, and you laugh brightly. 

“Oh, definitely. Big loser energy from you, Satoru,” you reply. 

“What?!” he exclaims, turning onto his side to look at you head on, and you laugh again and nod as you sit up and stretch with your arms over your head. 

“Yep. But hey — you’re a loser with good dick,” you offer, standing on slightly wobbly legs, and start to get dressed. 

“What a comfort,” he mutters, acting annoyed, and you see through it just as he knew you would. 

“It should be,” you reply, zipping up your skirt then putting on the shirt you’d thrown over your forearm. “See you later, loser. My ride’s outside.”

Satoru’s quiet for a second, unused to girls just leaving, much less having already called cars to wait for them outside while he fucks them, “…Yeah, later…” And you’re out the door in less than five minutes with nothing but a wave and a yawn.

After a moment he stands and makes his way into the kitchen, peeping out the window to see you climb into the passenger side of a car driven by someone with short pink hair. He sighs. 

The sex was good — but today did not go like he’d expected. 

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦: 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐒. 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 — 𝟎𝟗.𝟐𝟏𝐏𝐌

𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐒. 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 dropped a pin!

meet me at starbucks

i’m getting a coffee

then we can fuck or wtv

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦: 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲 ! — 𝟎𝟗.𝟐𝟏𝐏𝐌

why r u getting coffee at 9pm

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐒. 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 — 𝟎𝟗.𝟐𝟐𝐏𝐌

don’t ask questions your tiny brain can’t understand the answers to

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦: 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲 ! — 𝟎𝟗.𝟐𝟐𝐏𝐌 

i literally only asked why ur getting coffee so late :(

ur so mean :((

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐒. 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 — 𝟎𝟗.𝟐𝟐𝐏𝐌

and yet u still like to fuck me?? lmfao loser

Satoru throws his phone down on the passenger’s side seat, pouting with a huff and drumming his fingers against the top of the steering wheel as he slowly follows the line of traffic towards the Starbucks you’d pin dropped, and he sees you before you see him. You’re texting someone, a large coffee in hand, and you look… happy. Satoru didn’t think he’d ever actually seen you smile a real smile before, not in class when you’d ignored him for months before he’d proposed being fuckbuddies and not even during the last couple months that the two of you had been hooking up. Every now and then in between fucking each other he’d catch you gazing down at your phone with a fond look in your eyes, but he didn’t really ask about it anymore; you always dodged his questions, and it always led to you being in a foul mood and leaving him. He learned quickly to just… not say anything and let you do your own thing so he could empty his balls and you stay happy and with him. 

Stay with him? God, what was the matter with him? He sounded like a clingy high-schooler, desperate to keep their first relationship. No, he was supposed to sleep with you once, get off, then go laugh about it with Suguru — not… whatever he was doing. It had been six months, why was he still here — fuck, who was he kidding? Satoru knew exactly why he was still here: he liked you. A lot. 

He’s in too deep, and now he can’t back out. 

You open the passenger side door, disrupting him from his thoughts. “Hmm, on time as usual. Desperate, huh?” you ask, sipping at your coffee, and it takes everything in Satoru to scoff at your words and start up the car as you clip on your seatbelt, because the answer was yes. He is desperate. He wants you, wants to hold your hand and take photos with you and brag about how beautiful you are to Suguru and his other friends, and wants for the world to know that you were each other’s partner. He wants to kiss you, not in the sloppy way that left your lipstick smeared across your face as he fucked into you, but softly and slowly so you can tell with each tiny shift how much he loves you. Yeah, you’re mean to him, you make fun of him all the damn time — but god, does he fucking like it. 

It’s a slow, careful motion when he reaches a hand over to first grasp at your thigh before moving over ever so slightly to hold your hand as he drives, and a pang bounces through his chest as you immediately tug your hand away and turn away from him. 

He doesn’t try to touch you again for the rest of the car ride, and before he knows it he’s once again back at his apartment, the motions of making his way to the bedroom with you at his back all a blur. You’re on him before he can remind himself to breathe as the sight of you bare and vulnerable before him takes his breath away as it always does — but you aren’t vulnerable, are you? You’re closed off, all sharp corners and twisted smiles, but maybe — just maybe — he’s blunting them a bit. 

“O-Oh God — oh, fuck-!” Satoru whimpers softly, his thick eyelashes fluttering as he fists his hands in the sheets beneath him while you bounce on his cock, tiny gasps falling from your lips as you swallow up all of his thick length. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes as drowns in the sensations of your sopping cunt taking him entirely, his fat tip slamming against your cervix with each rough drop down. 

“Fuck yes, Satoru!” You hiss sharply, clenching around him and digging your nails into his shoulders. “Y’fill me up so fuckin’ good, ‘Toru-!”

“Yes, yes — fuckfuckfuck, c’mon!” Satoru whines, bucking his hips up to meet yours as they drop down harshly. “You’re so fucking hot, sweetheart, so fuckin’ wet!”

Lewd wet noises and the slapping of bare flesh along with the crude banging of his headboard against the walk fill the bedroom, mixing with the sounds falling from your lips, as well as his. Satoru sits up, wrapping and arm around your middle as yours instinctively loop around his shoulders, your lips catching his in a searing kiss that sends a fond warmth from his mouth all the way down to his toes. 

“God, yes,” you moan into his mouth, “So fuckin’ good, Satoru — don’t stop, don’t stop-!”

“Won’t, can’t, won’t stop!” Satoru promises through a moan of his own, a deep groan following it triggered by the feeling of your tongue running along his. His fingers dig into your skin hard enough to bruise as you tear your mouth away from his in order to latch onto his neck and bite down, nipping and kissing and sucking as his head falls back in time with the feeling of the soft heat kindling in his belly start growing hotter and hotter. “F-Fuck — damn it, m’gonna cum!”

“Cum for me, Satoru,” you whine sharply, and he whimpers a little. 

“B-But you-?” he starts, his words devolving into a garbled moan as you pick up the pace. 

“I’m close too — c’mon, ‘Toru, cum with me!” You plead softly, and Satoru needs no further prodding. He clings to you tightly as he starts cumming, his own fingernails digging into your skin as his hips buck up messily into your welcoming hips with each new burst of cum. Your voice pitches in the way he knows it does during your own orgasm, and he forces the haze away just enough so that he can look at you and watch you fall apart on his lap. 

God, you’re beautiful. 

The two of you bask in the moment for about ten minutes before you finally end it, pulling away and staggering into the bathroom in the hallway to piss. Satoru sighs and tosses the condom in the trash can after tying it off, falling back against his bed with an arm thrown over his eyes. He can hear you come back into the bedroom, can hear you moving around, assumingly so you can no doubt be ready to leave again — which is why he’s surprised at the feeling of the blankets beneath him being thrown back and the mattress dipping beneath your weight. 

He stares at you in surprise as you begin making yourself comfortable, fluffing your pillow and finding the spot on the side of the bed you’d chosen before you finally catch him staring. “Go to sleep, Gojo,” you mutter, shimmying around beneath the blankets as you try to get comfortable in a technically strange bed. 

His eyes widen in half-wanting shock. “You’re staying the night?” Satoru asks hopefully, and you sigh. 

“I’m tired,” you reply simply. “Now go to sleep.”

Sayoru nods wildly, his heart pounding. You were staying the night — you were staying. With him. “Yeah… yeah! Okay. Sleep. I can do that!”

You nod tiredly. “Good,” you say, amd you click off the lamp on the nightstand next to you as Satoru does the same. An odd silence fills the room as Satoru follows your previous motions of getting ready to rest before finally getting comfortable under the blankets. 

He rolls over to rest on his side, staring at the way you lay with your back to him. “…Goodnight,” Satoru murmurs quietly, lacing his fingers through yours. It doesn’t sting as harshly as before when you move your hand away, considering you do allow him to drap his arm over your waist while pressing his chest to your back. You’re silent for a moment, but you do eventually respond as his warmth begins to seep into you.

“…Goodnight, Satoru,” you say, and he hums drowsily. 

You’re both asleep within fifteen minutes. Neither of you comment on how well the two of your bodies slot together outside of sex. 

It’s 1am when Satoru wakes up, his vision blurry and the red numbers on his bedside clock more aggressive than he remembered. 

Blearily he pats the mattress behind himself, wondering why he’d turned away from you in his sleep, and finds nothing but cool sheets, which leads him to rolling over. He’s startled, almost certain he’ll find the bathroom light on in the hallway, but no — it’s darker than he’d like, even at twenty-three, and you’re not here. Snatching up his cellphone, a quick scan of it tells him all he needs to know. 

You left him. 

Again. 

Three days later, Satoru finds himself parked in front of the dining hall on campus, waiting for you to come out, likely followed by one or two of your friends. After waiting about ten minutes, you do just that — only you’re walking closer to an older man in a suit than he for some reason felt comfortable with, and he moves around in his seat a little to get comfortable while watching your interactions with the man with narrowed eyes. He grits his teeth for a moment when the man touches your arm in a too-casual way, then crosses his own when he sees you smile at him. The two of you stop on the sidewalk several paces from his car, then finally split off. 

“So… Who was that old guy?” he asks as you slip into the passenger seat, and you pause as you put your bag in the backseat. He doesn’t want to just foolishly believe that you’re genuinely confused, but he also doesn’t want to think ill of you without reason, so he ‘decides’ to withhold judgment for now. 

“What?” you ask, confused, and he sighs in blatant annoyance. 

“The old guy. The one you were literally just talking to,” he grouses. “The one who was getting so touchy.”

“‘Old guy’ — wait, the blond?” You ask, almost in a shocked way, and he nods. You snort; Satoru doesn’t know what’s so funny. “That was professor Kento — my History professor,” you reply, and Satoru can feel his cheeks heat up a little, but he refuses to look at you as you start laughing. 

“Oh my god! You were fucking jealous of Professor Kento?!” you giggle, and while he’s embarrassed he can’t deny that he enjoys the sound, even if it was at his own expense. What the hell was wrong with him? “That’s so fucking wild — like c’mon man, we aren’t even dating. If I wanted to fuck Professor Kento, it wouldn’t even fucking matter.” A lump settles in Satoru’s throat at your words. 

Yes, it would. 

“But… you aren’t, right?” Satoru asks carefully as he pulls the car out of park, and you sigh. 

“No, Satoru. I’m not going to fuck my History professor.” you say softly, blatantly amused, but it’s too late now — Satoru’s upset, and he can’t stop the words from coming out. 

“Because I just — I don’t want anyone else with you like me, y’know?” he asks, almost paranoid. He fails to notice the way you stiffen next to him and forges on, his heartbeat quickening as his panic picks up. “It’s just — really like you. Like a lot. And it scares me. But it doesn’t scare me enough to not want you to myself, you know? I just want you and want to be with you and—“

“Take me home.”

Satoru pauses. “W-What?” he asks, uncertain of the icy tone you’d taken on when interrupting him. 

“My address is in your GPS,” you say quietly, then repeat yourself. “Take me home.”

“But-“ Satoru whispers, but you shake your head almost violently. 

“Now. Or I’ll walk,” you threaten lowly, and that’s all it takes for him to listen. The rest of the car ride is spent in silence until he reaches your apartment. You’re out of the car before he can say your name, and he’s following you before he can even ask himself why. 

He’s right behind you as you go into your kitchen, watching in surprise as you pull out a large bottle of wine from the fridge while simultaneously throwing open a cabinet next to the refrigerator in order to pull out a wine glass. You pull the cork out, fill the glass, and empty it in one go before refilling it again.  

Tentatively, Satoru says, “Please, I just — I think I’m in love with you. Can’t we talk about this?” and you laugh borderline hysterically. 

“And say what?! What do you expect of me, Gojo?” you ask, your tone harsh enough to make him flinch, but he answers you anyway. 

“I… I want you to be my girlfriend,” he says softly, feeling smaller than he ever had before. 

You laugh again, this time less hysterically and more in disbelief. “No,” You say, and Satoru blinks in shock. 

“What? N-No?” He asks, voice shaky. 

“No!” you snap icily, turning back to your wine. You empty your glass again as Satoru begins to reflect on the situation at hand; it’s bitterly ironic, the deja vū he’s feeling. This conversation is brutally close to the first time he’d asked you out all those months ago with the sole goal in mind being getting in your pants and ditching you, whether that meant hurting you in the process or not. How poetically cruel ( and simultaneously deserved ) that he’s the one hurt in the end. 

“Can I ask why?” he finally asks, and you turn around tk face him again, your eyes wild and cold. 

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” you growl, and he lifts his hands in surrender while nodding in agreement. 

“I know that, I just—“ Satoru swallows hard. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Do something wrong? God, Gojo, yes! You asked me to be your fucking girlfriend — I literally said before we ever fucked that you couldn’t catch feelings, what is wrong with you?!

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispers, his chest filled with a stabbing pain he’d nkt ever expected to experience while in your company.

“What does that matter now?! This thing we’ve been doing is over,” you mutter, taking a long drink of your wine. Satoru’s eyes widen exponentially, and the panic begins to set in anew. 

“Over?!” he exclaims, shaking his head a little, and you scoff.

“Of course it’s over!” You snap angrily, pointing at him accusingly. “You ruined it! Feelings were never supposed to be involved!”

Satoru wilts completely. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, just as quietly as before, and you sigh audibly as you lean against the counter. 

“An apology won’t fix this,” you say bitterly. Satoru wants to argue, wants to assure you that he can be good and do better, that the two of you don’t have to stop seeing each other, but he’s instead startled when the door to the entry hall opens without warning, and he spins to glance at the doorway like whoever came in is intruding as you groan and cross your arms after putting down your wine, covering your eyes with one hand at the same time. 

“C’mon Yuuji, kick your shoes off under the coat rack,” a deep voice rumbles, and a man with pink hair strolls in like he owns the place. Satoru would be extremely alarmed if you’d seemed so yourself, but you made no move to react, apparently used to the man being in your apartment. “I’m gonna grab a beer from the kitchen and see if she’s home yet.” His eyebrows raise with ill-concealed interest when he finally lays them on Satoru. “And who are you?”

“Who are you?” Satoru parrots quietly, a sickening feeling twisting his stomach as his mind thinks up just what scenario could lead to a random man in your apartment — but was he random?

Roommates. Please, please just be roommates, Satoru finds himself begging in his kind, though no one could hear him. 

“I’m one of the two people on the lease of this apartment, and the boyfriend of the woman behind you,” the man says, narrowing his eyes; a jolt of nausea stabs through Satoru’s stomach. “I’ll ask again: who are you?”

“He’s no one, Sukuna,” you mutter, sounding annoyed. Yet another sharp pain shocks through Satoru’s chest, and he turns back to look at you in disbelief as you walk past him and wrap your arms around Sukuna’s waist, hugging him. Your voice is muffled by his chest when you say, “Welcome home, baby,” and he kisses the crown of your head and you let go, drifting over to the younger looking ( also very confused and clearly a little uncomfortable ) boy who resembles ‘Sukuna’. “C’mon Yuuji, help me set up the new console Sukuna and I got last Friday.”

The teenager follows without hesitation, the awkwardness on his face from the odd altercation fading as he starts talking to you excitedly about some boy in his Biology II class he thinks is cute, and suddenly Satoru is left alone with Sukuna. The other man is staring at him, and it's making him uncomfortable. 

“Y’slept with her?” he asks finally, and again Satoru is startled. He just slowly nods, and Sukuna shrugs and moves past him to the fridge, fishing out a beer and popping the top off before taking a large swig. “No big deal. You’re not the first she’s run around with.”

Satoru’s startled all over again. “You… don’t care?”

“Oh, I absolutely care! I’ll have you know I’m a damn jealous man — but I know I’ve got nothing to worry about,” Sukuna chuckles, looking completely unbothered as he shrugs again. “She’s my woman after all — has been since junior high.” He laughs, takes another drink, and continues while making his way over to the bottle of wine and the half empty glass she’d left on the counter. “Hell, she even officially adopted my kid brother with me when our grandfather died last year — Pretty sure she and I are set.”

Satoru feels sick, and he wants to go home. He understands now, he realizes that he never had a claim to your heart at all. God, he was an idiot. 

Sukuna hums slightly in thought, tipping his head to the side ever so slightly. “Her sleeping around every now and then makes the sex better though. Every now and then we’ll agree we wanna spice things up, and she’ll pick some poor idiot to fuck. It makes me angry, gets me all jealous and possessive, and since we both love it when I fuck her like I hate her — even if that couldn’t be farther from the truth — it’s a double win.”

“So you just — you cheat on each other just to boost your sex?” Satory asks, completely in disbelief. Sukuna just scoffs and shakes his head, knocking back the rest of his beer before chasing it with the remnants of what you had left in your wine glass before crossing his arms.

“Nah, she’s it for me — never been interested in anyone else. Besides, I know she’ll always come back to me. She’s proven that today, hasn’t she?”

That stung — but he wasn’t wrong. You had proven yourself to your boyfriend again, and Satoru looked like nothing but a fool. 

“Go home, Gojo,” Sukuna finally says, finally sounding annoyed. It seems his patience with Satoru being in his home has run as thin as possible. “She’s never going to love you, so leave. There’s nothing for you here.”

Absently Satoru wonders how Sukuna could possibly know his name when he’d never given it, until he registers that Sukuna must have known the entire time who he was because you’d told him about him, and didn’t that just make it worse? He’d been an idiot, had been so damn sure that you’d love him back. 

Fuck. Just like before, Gojo Satoru was not nervous. 

He was heartbroken instead. 

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

"are you implying you want israel to not exist" im not implying im demanding. pleading with God and everybody. explicitly stating. i dont want any fascist state to exist i dont want any ever settler colonial scar on the face of our beautiful earth to exist i dont want that genocidal left hand extension of a hideous sinister empire to greet another dawn israel is not subtle at all about its child killing and innocents killing palestinian killing it hasnt been subtle about its fascism in seventy and more years and im not subtle about wanting it to end and wanting it to never have a chance to spring back up again