𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝
Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem
cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky.
You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely.
Total quiet.
“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?”
“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?”
“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?”
“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…”
“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?”
“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.”
“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.”
He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh.
“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated.
Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry.
“Spencer?” you ask quietly.
“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?”
“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?”
“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups.
“Where are you?”
After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him.
He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.”
Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?”
“Where was I?”
“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed.
“Still where?”
“Did you hit your head?”
“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.”
“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk.
“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.”
“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.”
“…What?”
You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.”
“I annoy people.”
“You don��t annoy me.”
You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here.
You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?”
“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection.
“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?”
“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly.
“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?”
“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.”
“Hi Milly,” a new voice says.
You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room.
Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark.
You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly.
“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!”
His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer.
“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask.
You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again.
“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.”
He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath.
“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers.
“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year.
He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.”
“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.”
“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.”
You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”
“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!”
You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.
Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity.
“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek.
“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.”
You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly.
“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says.
“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway.
“I don’t want to be alone forever.”
“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates?
In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess.
You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”
His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.”
“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol.
“She kind of looked like you.”
You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.”
“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.”
“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“I know,” he says.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”
“Is that why you make all your jokes?”
“What jokes, babe?”
“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.”
You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?”
“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.”
“Spencer, you remember everything.”
He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.”
You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him.
You’re happy to.
“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”
“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled.
“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse.
“You look so cute,” he says mournfully.
You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally.
“Can I come home with you?” he asks.
That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.”
— —
Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.”
“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.”
“So you want three?”
He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.”
Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time.
You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?”
He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him.
You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory.
He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that.
The avocado is making him feel sick.
“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?”
“I think I'm gonna throw up.”
“You’re okay.”
“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes.
You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button.
“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.”
“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.”
Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”
“But it’s you.”
“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”
“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now.
You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.
But you’re perfect, he’d said.
To you. And you’re perfect to me.
“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say.
You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again.
You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.”
He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do.
The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…
“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask.
Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.”
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️
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crybaby.
pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader
setting: modern au
genre: smut and fluff
contains: brother’s best friend gojo, protective older brother geto, use of pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart), unprotected sex, slightly mean gojo (but he ends up soft and sweet, I promise), dirty talk, overstimulation, mutual pining, dacryphilia, oral (f receiving), cheesy and happy ending <3
summary: satoru had promised suguru that there'd be no funny business while he takes care of his heartbroken baby sister... but he's never been the greatest at keeping promises.
“Stop being so mean to her, Satoru.” Satoru looks over at his best friend, who's clicking his tongue in disapproval, with a nonchalant grin.
“Not my fault she’s such a crybaby, Suguru.”
“Come on.” Suguru shoots him a warning look. “That’s my little sister you're talking about.”
“Hey, hey,” Satoru laughs, raising his hands in mock defense. “You gotta teach her how to grow thicker skin. Not my problem.”
“Every time you come over, she ends up crying.” The black-haired man sighs. “Don’t be a jerk just for one moment, won’t you?”
“Mmh, no promises.” Satoru grins. Sue him, he’s simply too addicted to the way your face scrunches up indignantly whenever he teases you, the futile yet endearing clenching of your small fists at your side, and most of all, the uncontrollable blubbers that leave your lips as tears roll down your cheeks.
Years later, you’re still the same. Just a little crybaby coming apart at the seams, completely at Gojo Satoru’s mercy.
-
“S-Satoru…” The high-pitched whine of his name only elicits a laugh from the man between your legs, sending shock waves of pleasure shooting through your body.
“Baby, you gotta stop movin’ so much.” Satoru’s large hands grip your thighs, holding them firmly in place as he continues to feast on your dripping pussy. “Gotta let me eat you properly.” He punctuates his point with a loud suck on your clit that has you mewling and twitching under his hold.
“T-Too much!” You sob, hands curling into the silky white stands on his head, tugging uselessly. “S’too much, S-Satoru…”
“You wanna take my cock later, princess?” He hums against your cunt, licking a hot stripe up your slit, chuckling as he watches your pussy clench around nothing. His gaze lazily travels upwards, greeted with the sight of you nodding furiously as tears stream down your cheeks.
“Yes,” you plead with wide, teary eyes. “N-need you.” Satoru smirks.
“Then be a good girl and let me prep you,” he coos, before diving right back between your folds, enjoying the broken sob that leaves your lips as he draws zigzags across your swollen clit.
-
“I really don’t understand you,” Suguru bristles, frustration evident by the way his eyebrows furrow as he eyes Satoru.
“Hmm?” Satoru looks at him with feigned innocence. “Whatever could you be talking about, dear Suguru?”
“You’re unbelievable.” He sighs. “Those gifts you bought her… they’re worth almost a million yen. What the hell is wrong with you, really.”
“Well, you told me I made her cry.” The white-haired man shrugged. “I had to make up for it, didn’t I?” Suguru squints suspiciously, at a brief loss for words.
“...You are not normal,” he finally scoffs.
“Of course not,” Satoru agrees, unfazed.
“You can’t keep doing this. You’re gonna end up spoiling her.”
“And what’s so bad about that?”
-
“Gimme another one, baby.” He’s faintly aware that if he makes you cum again, you really might pass out. However, he can’t really bring himself to be too concerned about that, not when he’s quickly becoming addicted to the taste of your dripping cunt and cries of pleasure.
“C-Can’t, I can’t — “ You sob, entire body shaking around his mouth; you’re so sensitive.
“You can,” he insists between hungry slurps, not letting any of your arousal go to waste. “Fuck…” You’re so sweet. Just how did he survive this long without having a taste of you?
“Please…” You’re still shy, trying your best to stifle your cries even as they fall in a steady stream from your trembling lips. Each loud squelch of your sopping pussy still has you cringing a little, not to mention the embarrassment that washes over you every time you catch a glimpse of your juices all over Satoru’s face.
“Don’t hold back anymore, sweetheart.” He reaches up to grab your wrists, pulling them away from your mouth even as you blubber out a weak protest. “Wanna hear you this time, say it loud. Say my name when you cum.” One more combined thrust of his fingers, deep into your hole with a flick of his tongue across your clit has you creaming on his lips for the fourth time.
“S-Satoru!” You’re unable to control the beautifully loud whine of his name as Satoru greets your orgasm eagerly, savoring every last drop of your release on his tongue.
-
“You made her cry again.” Suguru says, rolling his eyes as he approaches his best friend at their meeting spot.
“Huh?” Satoru raises a brow. “Haven’t even seen her since two weeks ago. What’d I do?”
“She’s sad you’re moving away.” Suguru tuts. “Can’t imagine why. Probably because she won’t be able to use you for your wallet anymore.”
“You implyin’ I’m just a wallet to her?” Satoru exclaims, a little offended. The black-haired man shoots him a deadpan glare.
“You know you’re not. But even you’re not enough of an asshole to use that against her.”
“It’s just college,” Satoru muses. “Kid thinks I won’t be back for her?”
“In two years she’ll be going off to college too.” Suguru shrugs. “She’ll get over you.”
“What a cruel thing to say.” Satoru laughs it off, ignoring the small flicker of jealousy that flares to life deep in his chest.
-
Satoru watches as your chest heaves up and down, in your effort to try to recover from the multiple orgasms he had just given you. You’re lying limp on your bed, unable to move save for the periodic twitching of your thighs.
“Sorry, princess, was that too much?” He’s teasing, but there’s a genuine edge of concern to his voice as he cups your cheek in his hand. You nod, a few tears falling down your face. “Aww, forgive me. You’ll forgive me, right?” In response, you tug weakly on his shirt collar, asking him to come closer. He relents, allowing you to drag him down towards you. Satoru’s about to ask what you need, before you suddenly tilt your head upwards to kiss him.
Satoru lets out a small noise of surprise as your soft lips press against his, hesitant at first, but deepening once your fingers find further purchase in his shirt, gripping tightly. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you up into his lap.
You kiss him a little clumsily, still boneless from your release but Satoru doesn’t mind. Doesn’t mind at all, of course, when your lips are so soft against his, and he can swallow every quiet whimper that escapes you.
“Satoru…” Your voice is raspy and small, but your eyes are wild as you cling helplessly to him. “A-Am… Am I ready yet?” His jaw goes slack in awe at the adorable, troubled expression on your face. Your lips are swollen into a permanent pout now as you look up at him with those wide doe eyes that always had him weak.
“...Think you are,” he heaves, realizing that he’s just as fucked out as you are. It takes everything in him to hold back the urge to just take you.
-
“She’s grown up.” Satoru raises his eyebrows in pleasant surprise at the pictures that Suguru shows him. Your family had recently gone on vacation, so Suguru had been gone for an entire week, leaving his best friend and roommate all alone.
“That’s what you’re looking at?” Suguru shoots him an annoyed look.
“Oh,” says Satoru, glancing back at the picture. “Uh, nice waterfall.”
“One of the seven natural wonders of the world and all you can see is my baby sister.” Suguru exhales deeply.
“What? You can’t blame me too much. Kid’s changed,” the white-haired man shoots defensively.
“She’s twenty, not sixteen anymore. Of course, she’s changed.” Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I know that, I just…” Satoru pauses, glancing back at the picture. You’re still tiny, only reaching up to your brother’s, and by extension his, chest. Your face has matured, though, baby fat gone from your cheeks. That didn’t stop you from being any less adorable, though — your smile is as radiant as ever. He can’t help but let a small smile of his own slip onto his face.
“Hopeless,” Suguru mutters in disbelief. “Hopeless, the both of you.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
-
Satoru lets you unbutton his shirt, watching in amusement as your eyes narrow with focus as each button pops open, slowly revealing more and more of his skin.
“Um…” You’re nervous. It’s plain as day from the way your lip wobbles as your eyes sweep down the view of his chiseled chest and torso, only to end at the prominent bulge in his slacks.
“You sure you’re okay with this, princess?” He cups your chin in his hand, gently tilting your face to look straight at him. “Need to rest?”
“N-No!” You protest immediately, shaking your head. “I…” You glance back down at his erection, a flicker of desire in your eyes. “I need…” You trail off, unable to say it.
“Okay.” If he was feeling meaner, he would make you tell him exactly what you want. But he wants to be nice today, especially since you’ve already cried so much for him. “Okay, baby. Don’t worry, you’ll have it. Can you unzip me? Can you do that for me?” You hesitate for a moment. Satoru briefly wonders if he’s perhaps pushed you a bit too hard.
But then you’re reaching for him, small hands finding the top of his pants and slowly undoing the button. Your fingers close around his zipper, slowly tugging it down.
“Good girl.” He pecks your forehead. “Take me out of my boxers, alright?” As his angry, swollen cock springs free from his underwear, you can’t contain your gasp.
“Oh…” The soft sound leaves you almost involuntarily as you stare and wonder at how the hell that’s gonna fit in you. He’s thick and long, rock hard and dripping with pre-cum. You slowly wrap your own hand around his cock, lips parting as your fingers fail to meet in the middle. Your own pussy clenches in a combination of fear and excitement.
“See why I needed to prepare you, now?”
-
“Sorry to spring this onto you all of a sudden, especially since you just got into town.” Suguru sighs over the phone.
“Don’t worry about it. If you’re not around to take care of her, duty falls on me,” says Satoru as he reverses his car out of the parking lot, heading to the location Suguru had sent him.
“Let me know when she’s home safe. Tell her I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Yeah, will do.”
A pause.
“And… no funny business, got it?”
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“I’m serious, Satoru. She just confronted her asshole cheater ex. She doesn’t need you drooling all over her right now.”
“Relax, dude. I’m not that desperate.” Satoru rolls his eyes.
“Good. Keep it that way.”
-
His conversation with Suguru lies in the back of his mind, forgotten, as Satoru places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Lay back and relax for me, sweetheart.” You immediately obey, laying yourself down on your bed, heart beating fast in anticipation.
“S’gonna hurt, right?” you ask softly.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve gotten you ready, see?” Satoru comforts you, brushing his fingers against the wetness still soaking your entrance.
“Oh.” Tears suddenly well in your eyes. “Um, s-sorry, it just always hurt with him…”
“What?” Satoru’s eyes darken, unsure if you mean what he thinks you do.
“He just…” You bite your lip, trying not to let your tears fall. “H-He just p-put it in, y’know?” His heart drops in his stomach. Two years, two whole fucking years with that asshole, and he had never given you proper foreplay? No wonder you were so sensitive and responsive to his touch, your body had never received the attention it’s always deserved.
“Baby.” Satoru squeezes your hand, fighting down the urge to find that asshole and beat him up. That could come later. Right now, he has to focus on you. “It’s not gonna be that way this time. Not with me. Okay?” You nod, squeezing his hand in return.
“O-Okay.”
-
It’s the first time he’s seen you in person in four years, and here you are in the passenger seat of his car, crying your eyes out.
You feel absolutely humiliated. You had called Suguru to ask him to pick you up from your ex-boyfriend’s house after you dumped him, but he had told you he couldn’t.
“I’ll send someone to get you. Hang tight,” he’d said.
You just didn’t know it was going to be Gojo Satoru, who hadn’t returned to your hometown since he graduated high school.
“I’m gonna bring you home,” Satoru had told you, getting out of the driver’s seat to open the car door for you. “Relax, okay? You’re safe now.” He had buckled your seatbelt for you before settling in himself, starting the engine without another word.
The car ride back to your house is silent, save for the continuous sniffles that wrack your body as you try your best to stop your tears. Satoru silently puts a box of tissues in your lap at some point, and your heart stutters at the action.
You’ve known for many years now, that you never got over your first love.
-
Clothes fully discarded, Satoru lowers himself on top of you, enamored with the way you shyly glance down at`his cock, gaze wavering for a moment before slowly looking back up at him, eyes begging for him to do something.
“Tell me if you want to stop.” He brushes his fingers, tender and gentle, across your cheek. You nod, hand curling around his bicep.
“Kiss me,” you request, and he gladly obliges, leaning down to peck your lips.
“M’gonna go slow,” he tells you. “You want me to stop, hit me real hard — “ He smacks his own chest. “ — Right here. Got it?”
“I won’t,” you say bravely, eyes glimmering with determination. “I… I can take it.” Satoru laughs quietly.
“Alright, princess. Don’t act all cute, you’re just rilin’ me up now.” You smile, a little mischievously.
“Oh, you caught me.”
“Fuck…” Satoru groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re gonna kill me.” His fat tip taps against your clit once, twice. You gasp, eyes going glossy as you feel your swollen pussy clench desperately around nothing.
“Satoru,” you plead. “P-Please…”
“I’ll give you what you need. Relax for me…” He aligns his tip with your entrance, prodding between your folds. Inch by inch, he sinks his cock into your warm, throbbing cunt, almost blacking out himself at the sensation of your tight, velvety walls clamping around his cock.
“A-Ah…!” You whine, gripping his bicep and squeezing your eyes shut. The stretch is almost too much, but the delicious sensation of being filled to the brim has you seeing stars.
“You okay?” Satoru pants, willing himself to stop from splitting you open on his cock to check on you.
“Yes,” you whimper. “Yes, a-ah, please k-keep going…” Satoru rests his head in the crook of your neck as he continues to push himself in, enjoying the soft, labored whimpers as you take more and more of him, deep into your sopping hole.
“Almost there,” he coos. “Almost there, princess…” After what feels like an eternity, he finally sheaths the last of him in you, biting at your shoulder as he finally, finally feels exactly the sensation of being one with you.
-
“Drink. You’ll feel better.” Satoru places a glass of water in your hand as he leads you to your living room couch. You stubbornly refuse to look at him, letting the glass sit uselessly in your hand as you stare down at your lap.
He sighs, not sure what he should do. He’s never been good at comforting others, let alone his friends’ kid sisters. He knows you’re not a kid anymore, you’re a full grown adult, but the way you’re sulking and ignoring him says otherwise. Still, his fondness for you wins above all else as he takes the water back and puts it on the coffee table, letting you sit in silence.
”You gonna be okay by yourself?” he asks instead. Satoru doesn’t want to leave you alone, but he’s not sure if his presence will even help. He hasn’t been an active part of your life in years, and he has a feeling that this incredibly vulnerable moment isn’t the best time to barge back in. You don’t reply, twiddling your thumbs.
“Call me if you need anything,” Satoru says hesitantly. “You have my number, right?” No response. “I’m gonna write it down for you.” He finds a spare stack of Post-Its and does just that. You don’t react even when he sticks the note right on top of your forehead, in a shitty attempt to lighten your mood. Your deadpan glare, so much like your brother’s tells him it did not work.
“Suguru’s gonna be back tomorrow,” he tells you, taking the note off and soothing the annoyed crease between your eyebrows. “Go get some rest now, yeah?” You look away. Satoru sighs. Seeing you upset like this hurts him way more than he would like to admit. “M’gonna leave. Get to bed soon.” He pats the top of your head, just like he always used to do, which always made you whine when he messed up your hair. You’re quiet now, not a peep of complaint leaving you.
He really misses hearing your voice.
“Bye, then.” Satoru’s about to turn around and leave, but you do something that seems to shock both of you. Your fingers curl and grab onto the hem of his collared shirt, stopping him in his tracks. He stares down at you in surprise, trying to process the sight of your small, thin fingers holding onto him for dear life.
“Stay.” The one word was enough to crumble his self-control.
-
You’re struggling to adjust to his size; he can tell from the way you’re digging your nails into his arm and the trembling of your thighs around his waist. Satoru stays still, waiting for your permission to go any further, right hand rubbing soothing circles on your hip.
“Don’t stress yourself, baby, just tell me what you want, when you want it,” he murmurs against your neck, waiting patiently, torturously, for permission to move.
You’re so overwhelmed by the sensation of being stuffed full; Satoru is much bigger than your ex-boyfriend and yet, the feeling isn’t painful. It’s so good, a throbbing ache that extends outwards from your core all the way to the top of your head and the tip of your toes. You can hardly form thoughts, let alone words, as your pussy stretches around him, trying to accommodate the sheer size of his cock.
A few more moments pass, and you feel like you’re going crazy. The feeling of being so, so full is one that you’ve never felt before, but you think you’re already addicted. Your thighs flex instinctively, closing tighter around Satoru’s waist and pushing his cock even deeper, pressing right against your sweet spot. You mewl, wrapping your arms around his neck, silently begging to be closer to him.
Satoru leans into the kiss you give him, groaning as your walls suddenly clench once around him, brain filling with nothing but white noise. “Fuck,” he grits out against your lips. “Fuck, baby, I don’t know how much longer — “
“Move.” Your command is quiet. Satoru almost wonders if he’s misheard you. But one look into your pleading, begging eyes confirms what you want. Unable to hold back any longer, he pulls his hips upwards, snapping right back into you with one long, hard thrust. You cry out, nails sinking into his shoulder blades.“M-More,” you whisper. “Need more.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
-
Satoru’s at a loss for words and actions as you stood on your tiptoes, reaching up and bringing his head down to kiss him. His arms instinctively wrap around your waist to steady you, craning his neck to allow you better access — oh shit, what the hell is he doing?
He lets go of you like he’s touched something on fire, pulling back from the kiss. As your heels land back on the ground with a soft thud, he’s greeted by the sight of you looking like you’re about to cry again. “Wait — “ He reaches for you, but retracts his hand; he’s not sure if he can trust himself to stay in line. His heart is beating so fast, you had just kissed him, completely out of the blue.
Satoru knew about your crush on him when the two of you were younger. You started having feelings for him when you were thirteen and he was fifteen, making it painfully obvious. You followed him and Suguru around like a lost puppy whenever he came over, despite Satoru’s constant teasing.
He thought your actions were funny at first, becoming the root of his continued teasing. Despite still making you cry all the time, you always came right back to greet him with a smile upon his very next visit. After a while, Satoru looked at you with fondness, in the way that one would gaze at a small animal. You were harmless, sweet, and so very adorable.
Satoru didn’t return your feelings at the time. You were just Suguru’s kid sister that he liked to toy with sometimes. You were awfully cute when you were mad.
But now, as you look up at him with desperation and longing, his heart clenches faintly in his chest. You’re so, so beautiful — the pictures Suguru had showed him hadn’t done you justice in the slightest. You somehow look so enchantingly gorgeous at this moment, even with tears glistening in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.
Would you hit him if he tried to wipe away your tears?
He never gets to find out, because you speak his name softly, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Satoru leans down to carefully listen to what you have to say. “W-Want you.”
-
“So good, so fuckin’ good for me, princess,” Satoru groans, reveling in the dizzying heat of your pussy as he drags his cock in and out of your walls, fucking you at a steady pace. “You feel me in there? You feel me in your little cunt?”
“Y-Yes,” you manage to sob out between moans, each rough snap of his hips into you melting your brain into jelly just a little more.
“What a perfect lil pussy,” He chuckles as you squeal after a rather rough thrust, the loud squelch of your hole sucking him in echoing through the room. “No sane person in this world would ever give this up this tight wet cunt.” You whine at his filthy words, drool dripping out of the side of your mouth as Satoru continues to ram into you, faster, harder.
“Satoru!” You’re crying out his name over and over, legs wrapped firmly around his waist, pushing him deeper and deeper. “S-Satoru, I-I — “
“You likin’ this, baby? Tell me how much you like this,” he coos into your ear, hand reaching down to rub at your swollen clit.
“I l-like it s-so much, i-it’s so ahh…! I-it’s so good,” you sob out. You never thought sex could feel like this — you never understood why the people around you were so obsessed with it, especially with the treatment you received from your ex.
Now, though, as each rut of Satoru’s dick into your cunt kisses your sweet spot, you get it. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forget this feeling of being filled by cock so brutally sweet.
-
“Hold on.” Satoru had tried to protest, he really had. You’d just broken up with your boyfriend. Like Suguru said, the last thing you needed was any funny business. “Listen — “ He sighs out your name, making your bottom lip wobble. “You have to go rest, don’t be reckless.”
“Please.” You tug at his sleeve, staring at him with that puppy-eyed look that always gets you what you want. He really had spoiled you, hadn’t he?
“Not now,” he tried to reason with you. “You’re still hurting, you’re not in the right mind.” You glare at him.
“Who’re you to say m’not in the right mind?” you whine. “I…” You suddenly seem to lose your confidence, staring down at the floor. “...I only ever wanted you.”
“What?” Satoru stares, wide-eyed, at your confession.
“Know you don’t want me that way,” you continue, voice small. “But I… don’t care.” You sniffle. “Don’t care, Satoru. Just want you.”
And when you tug desperately at his shirt again, this time, Satoru is too far gone.
-
“Fuck, I’m close.” He growls into your neck, his pace picking up as he chases after his release, He coaxes you to join him, thumbing at your clit and cooing for you to “Let go, cum for me, c’mon. Cream all over my cock, princess.”
The only sounds in the room are a symphony of your moans and the slick sounds of his cock pushing in and out of your hole as a coil forms deep in your gut, threatening to snap at any moment. You feel tears stain your cheeks as Satoru’s pace increases, pounding into you so deep you can practically feel him in your throat.
“S-Satoru, I’m g-gonna — !” You cut yourself off with a loud, lewd moan, cunt clenching down hard around him as you come undone for the fifth time just this night. You swear you lose consciousness for a second, lost in the euphoric feeling of your release as your swollen pussy throbs in satisfaction.
“Shit..“ A few quick, shallow thrusts later, Satoru finishes as well, thick ropes of cum splurting into your womb, filling you with a warm sensation.
“A-Ah…” you whimper out, pussy fluttering weakly around his softening cock, which is still fully sheathed inside you. A white ring remains on his dick as he gently pulls himself off of you, cum dripping from your spent pussy onto the sheets. Satoru tuts, placing a pillow under your hips so you won’t leak.
You’re only faintly aware of what he’s doing as he leaves briefly and returns with a warm, wet towel, gently asking you to open your legs for him. You obey, but you’re so exhausted you can’t help it as your eyes droop shut. The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Satoru leaning forward to peck your forehead, praising you for taking him so well.
-
You wake up a few hours later to sunlight streaming through your bedroom window, making you squint a little as you sit up in bed. You immediately gasp at the ache between your legs, and the soreness racing up and down your body.
Memories of the previous night come flooding back as a sleepy groan sounds from next to you. Satoru stirs, awakened by your panicked sound, asking softly, “You okay, baby?”
Oh god. Shit. Fuck. You actually had sex with Gojo Satoru.
“Hmm?” He looks a little concerned at your lack of response, pulling you against him. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You in pain? Sorry, did my best to clean you up and everything.” Only then do you realize that the place between your thighs is no longer sticky, and that you’re wearing a fresh set of underwear with Satoru’s unbuttoned shirt wrapped around you.
“...What did we do?” You whisper in a muddled mixture of shock and amazement.
“You regret it?” he asks carefully, pulling back a little to gauge your reaction. You shake your head vehemently, snuggling back close to him. You breathe in his scent, eyes fluttering closed. You feel so right at home in his arms.
“No.” You ponder for a bit. “But it’s never gonna happen again, right?” Satoru’s breath catches in his throat.
“What?”
“I know last night might’ve given you the wrong impression.” You swallow hard, trying to contain the feelings bubbling up within you. Satoru just looks so beautiful under the morning sun, his crystal blue eyes glittering in the light. You know you’re not mistaken, you’ve never been so sure about it — you love him. “I don’t… do this. Thank you for being with me for this one night, but…” you trail off.
“Hey, hey.” You’re crying again, and this time, Satoru wipes the tears off your cheek, cupping your face between his hands. “What’re you talkin’ about?”
“Don’t want just this from you,” you continue vaguely, looking away shamefully. “But I don’t… I don’t expect you to want the same.” He stills at your words, trying to decipher them properly.
“You still in love with me?” He deciphered them spot on, but that doesn’t stop a humiliated squeak from leaving you. You’re huffing, face on fire with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment.
“F-Fine, whatever! You know already, so…” You look away, gnawing at your lower lip. “That’s w-why — “
“Don’t really know why you’re so upset, princess,” he cuts you off, pulling you out of the downward spiral he sees you’re about to fall into. “Think…” Satoru pauses to swipe at a tear at the corner of your eyes. “Still such a crybaby,” he can’t help but say, watching with amusement as you scowl at him with all the ferocity of an angry kitten.
“Ugh, jerk! Four years later and you still can’t take me seriously, God, why do I even bo — “ He cuts you off again, this time with a kiss. When he pulls away, he’s smiling gently, chuckling at your dumbfounded expression.
“Think I love you too,” he finishes. “So you’ve got nothing to worry about.” A few moments pass.
“...Are you fucking with me?” You look him dead in the eye.
“Technically, I already did,” he replies cheerfully. You look at him in disbelief. “Okay, sorry, sorry, sweetheart. Let me spell it out for you.” Satoru holds you close to him, tracing slow, comforting circles along your back. “Be my girlfriend?”
You answer him with a kiss of your own.
-
Suguru sighs, fishing in his pocket for his house keys as he approaches the front door. He’s worried about you; although the bastard had cheated on you and deserved to have you dump him, he knows you’re still probably heartbroken.
Or at least a little heartbroken. Suguru’s aware you never really that into your ex, if your drunk phone calls about how much you miss Satoru were enough evidence. Hiding those from his best friend was tough work; he would have to sit in the bathroom or the closet with his headphones and speak as quietly and carefully as possible to not rouse any suspicion.
Either way, he knows you definitely need some cheering up right now. He’s brought you a box of cupcakes from your favorite bakery, hoping it would be enough to at least get you in a talking mood.
Imagine his surprise when he opens the door and the first thing he sees is Gojo Satoru. Not only is Gojo Satoru standing in his kitchen, but he’s wearing Suguru’s apron, a gift from you many Christmases ago. To make things worse, he’s nearly butt naked under it, only wearing a pair of boxers that are — wait a second, are those Suguru’s as well?
“Oh hey, Suguru!” If Satoru is nervous or embarrassed, he plays it off well as he turns around and waves, flashing the stupid, faded picture of Remy from Ratatouille on his apron right in Suguru’s face. “You hungry? Was just makin’ some eggs.”
“What the actual fuck,” Suguru grits out, putting two and two together as you choose that moment to wander out into the kitchen, wearing nothing but an unfamiliar collared button down that reaches down nearly to your knees. Satoru’s.
“S-Sugu.” Your eyes go round, stopping in your tracks. No one speaks for a moment. Satoru’s still happily cooking eggs. Suguru’s expression is stone cold. You’re staring at your brother with embarrassment written all over your face.
“Baby, you ready for food?” Satoru steps away from the stove to wrap an arm around your waist, smooching you on top of your head. You make a stuttered noise under your breath, glancing back at your brother.
Suguru’s smiling now, but not in the traditional sense. He looks almost maniacal as he slowly places the box of cupcakes on the table before locking eyes with Satoru. Finally, the white-haired man has enough shame for his casual grin to falter.
“What happened to no funny business?”
Satoru is forced to abandon the stove, running away from a fuming Suguru chasing after him with the first thing he could find on the dining table — a carrot.
“Sugu, stop, it’s okay — “ Your pleas fall on deaf ears as your brother is hell-bent on finding a way to murder his best friend with a vegetable. You sigh deeply, moving to go after them when you suddenly smell something burning. Your head snaps to where the eggs Satoru was cooking are now sitting blackened over the flame.
Needless to say, the first morning with Gojo Satoru as your official boyfriend was far from perfect.
Thankfully, you would have many, many more mornings with him, each more wonderful than the last, that this one quickly faded from importance.
But not from Suguru’s.
“I still remember,” Suguru says, clearing his throat for dramatic effect. “When I opened the door on that one morning, and you were not only in my house, but you were half-naked wearing my apron and my underwear — “
Satoru groans as the audience bursts into laughter at his best man’s speech, burying his face in your shoulder. You’re giggling right along with them, sparing your new husband a peck on the cheek as his best friend continues to tear him apart.
“Then you had the audacity to pretend nothing was wrong — “
Satoru knew he would never live this down, but he had zero regrets. Not when you’re sitting right next to him in a pretty white dress holding his hand under the table.
“Well.” Suguru looks over at him, raising a brow. “Got anything to say?” Satoru takes the mic from him, face splitting into a shit-eating grin as he says two words:
“Worth it.”
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Look at Him.
✩࿐ summary: your attempts at reentering the dating scene is foiled by your ex-husband.
warning(s): past relationship, clingy!gojo, ex-husband!gojo, co-parenting situation, crack fic. wc; 1.6k
pairing(s): gojo satoru x fem!reader
a/n: this is purely just a goof fic because i've put nothing but angst out there so far sooo have a laugh. hope yall enjoy :3
“So, what do you do for a living?”
"A teacher."
"Oh, wow! What grade, subject?"
"Uh, highschoolers and the subject kinda varies on the day."
"Like a substitute teacher?"
"Um....sure, yeah! Substitute teacher."
"That's awesome. Mad respect, kids can be demons."
You were quickly discovering that the dating field had changed in the five years that you had been married. An endless back and forth about what someone did, what's their favorite color, what's their hobbies. Boring questions that you would ask your students on the first day was used in over the table date conversation. Until, until, they got to that question they so desperately wanted to ask.
Would you want to take this back to my—
There was a vibration against your thigh as your date started to go onto a monologue about how much he disliked kids. In all honesty, you couldn't really remember his name. The introductions had been awkward and a little nerve wracking— you were almost sure he had no idea who you were either.
You tugged your phone out of your pocket and resisted the audible sigh that threatened to leave you when you saw the notification.
Satoru
please tell me why my beautiful, radiant, amazing, intelligent daughter just said her mommy is on a date.
feeling sick to my stomach, don't tell me this is true.
You rolled your eyes. Your ex-husband had always been so overdramatic. His main focus was always on the bit that could come from a situation. However, this was a quality you do used to admire about him. His ability to make any situation seem like it was a funny happenstance that you'd never encounter again.
Now, it was nothing more than a nuisance.
Satoru
oh my god, you left me on read. it's true. it's true.
i hope you know i just threw up. i threw up everywhere. i might die.
at least, tell me he's ugly. please god let him to be ugly.
A sigh, you typed out the quickest message you could without your date asking what's wrong.
You
I hope you're not ignoring said daughter to ask me about some date. I'll be home later, please refrain from texting me.
You were about to set your phone down when another text came through. This one appeared to more distraught than the last.
Satoru
o h your tone. it's over. it's really over.
i might just kill myself this is the worst night of my life.
y/n, i'm genuinely feeling sick.
please, is he ugly?
he must be boring because you're texting back.
You were almost inclined to remind Satoru you both had been divorced for a year already. That this was bound to happen and you two had, in fact, spoken about it months into the divorce. You had played with some 'what if's and there was a mutual agreement that the other wouldn't get jealous and be dramatic about the other getting in a relationship whenever the time comes. It was a surprisingly adult conversation.
You should've known better when Satoru proudly proclaimed he didn't care who you got involved with.
You
Satoru, we talked about this. We're adults and we're divorced. Please bother someone else, like Suguru.
Satoru
i don't wanna talk to suguru. i wanna talk to youuu (;﹏;)
i can't believe you've done this.
ten years. ten years of loyalty. im sick to my stomach.
You
You asked for the divorce.
"Is everything okay?"
You eyes snapped up from your phone and towards your date. He had the good grace to be wearing a relatively concerned expression, eyeing you wearily.
You quickly tucked your phone back into your pocket, ignoring the insistent vibrations it gave to smile apologetically. "I'm sorry, my daughter had an accident and I had to, you know, send a quick text to her babysitter." It was easier to explain away a daughter than it was a clingy ex-husband who was well in his dissent into insanity. Really, you were doing this guy a favor keeping him in the dark.
However, his face still paled and he straightened. "You have a kidI'm so, so sorry. I just went on a two minute rant about how much kids are equivalent to demons." He seemed to spiral as he pressed his hands against his face, uttering curses to himself. "I get so nervous with these dates. I truly meant nothing by it."
You smiled in amusement, "It's no problem, really. I'm not exactly disagreeing." He peeked from between his fingers and blinked at you dumbly. "Just because I'm a parent doesn't mean I don't agree. I mean, my kid can be a bit much sometimes. I love her, but she's a lot like her dad in that way."
It always made your chest blossom. The way Saori was a carbon copy of Satoru. From the rambunctious personality, to the piercing blue eyes, and white hair. Your genes hadn't won in the battle, but you were almost grateful. Satoru tried to tell you that she had your smile and your wit, but you weren't entirely convinced. She was Satoru and Satoru was her.
You were extremely lucky that he was a good dad.
"Oh? Do you mind me asking if her dad's still around?" His tone was indication enough: a daughter and an ex of some kind was pushing it for him.
You tensed up, feeling deep regret already. "Uh, yeah." His eyes shifted away and you reached forward, taking his hand. "But, he's not, like, crazy or anything! He's just a good dad."
Your date chuckled nervously. "I-I just don't want to get involved in some, um, some family dynamic."
You thought it was a little presumptuous of him to think this would go that far, or he'd get in the way. But you were too focused on defusing the situation.
"Oh, no, it's not like that! We've got a healthy balance, y'know? He does his piece, I do mine— that's it!"
He scrunched his face. "So... an open relationship?"
"No!" You press your hands against your face with a huff. "No, we're not together anymore. We just co-parent."
He opened his mouth to further question you when your phone vibrated very audibly. His eyebrows raising. "Your daughter?"
You sighed. "Please give me one moment."
With jerky movements, you pull your phone from your pocket. The assortment of messages that came where spread over the ten minutes you decided to ignore him.
Satoru
okay, you've got me there.
but my big heart is breaking.
i hope he's ugly and he smells.
okay, i spoke with suguru and he said i'm an idiot who should apologize.
in my defense, i'm a little itty bitty drunk. and no, saori is not awake. papa put her to bed before bringing out the whiskey.
im so sorry my beautiful deity. that not ugly, not smelly man is so lucky to be in your presence and i hope you have a good date.
also i hope he gets hit my a car.
(^▽^)
You
I'm going to kill you with my bare hands. Genuinely, count your days, Gojo Satoru.
Satoru
hot, hot, hot!!! (●´□`)♡
did he actually get hit by a car?
You
Is there something you want?
Satoru
him dead.
and you home :((((
You
You don't want me home. I swear to god, if you're on my couch, drinking when I get home, I will ruin your life.
Satoru
promise??? ╰(✿´⌣`✿)╯♡
but, actually, i wanted to ask your opinion on something
You
For real?
Satoru
for realsies.
[Image Attachment]
Completely blinded by your irritation, you don't even hesitate to open the picture as it loads. Although you regret it the moment it does.
It's a picture of Satoru. He's at what seems to be the beach (must've been the fun activity him and Saori were going to join Suguru for), his sunglasses were on the top of his head, and he was grinning at the picture. One hand was resting against his pectoral and the veins in his hand was prominent. An obvious attempt at being charming and flirtatious. It was working too.
If it weren't for the fact that you knew him and were his ex, you might've just swooned.
"Oh, my god, is that him?" Your date was staring at your phone with wide eyes. His face even more pale than before. He started to shake his head as he stood, snatching his jacket from the back of his chair. "No way. I am not getting involved! I'm sorry, you're a nice woman, but I know when I'm not winning. And I'm definitely not winning against that."
Your eyes widened considerably, "What? No! Please don't leave. He's an idiot, I swear there's nothing—"
"He is... a hunk. I am not. In no shape or form am I at all comparable to that. Look—" He reached forward, grabbing your phone and holding the picture up to be beside his face. "Look at the difference! Model who has won Japan's hottest man at least eight times before he's 30 to me— Look at him!"
"It's not even like that!" You snatched your phone back and stared at him in frustration. "He's my ex, I do not want him!"
He waved his hands in front of your face. "I know how this will go. You think you like me and then your super hot and super sexy ex-whatever makes you realize the familiarity is good. Then I get dumped." He straightened, latching his hands onto the lapels of his jacket. "I just realized I am a side character. In my own life. Goddammit."
He barely glanced at you as he paid for the dinner, then left as quickly as he could. Still, you didn't even know his name.
Satoru
oooo taking you awhile to respondddd
still in love with me? (人◕ω◕)
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