‘Childhood Reminiscing’

HE’S JUST SO BEAUTIFUL UGH

Solo Leveling

"It's All Your Fault, Isn't It?"

Yan! SatoSugu x Reader Sum: You've had the chances, why didn't you take them. In the end you'll always just lose the purest of love. Last part of: Can my friend join?, This is Love, Right? ** Can be read as standalone fics** TW: Yandere Behaviors (Obsession, Manipulation, etc), Death of Child Character, Blood, Toxic Relationship Dynamics, Depression, Dubcon, Lactation, Pregnancy themes, SatoSugu, Angst No Comfort. MDNI WC: 7.7k

A/n: I got supperrr stuck in the loop of editing, so I am just gonna post it, I feel like rereading it after the tenth time. I almost just pressed delete lol. :) enjoy!

It’s all your fault, isn’t it?

You did this to yourself. You should have walked away when the chance was there, when the door was still open, even just a crack. You should have screamed, fought, run—anything to reclaim a sliver of your freedom.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

Was it the security? The comfort of knowing you’d never struggle to pay bills or scramble to find work? Was it the way Satoru promised, over and over, that you’d never go unloved, never feel the ache of loneliness again?

Or was it something darker? Something you couldn’t quite admit to yourself?

You told yourself it was love. You told yourself you were lucky. How many women could say they had someone who’d give them the world? Someone who, with a flick of his wrist, could bend the rules of life itself to ensure you had everything you could ever need?

So, you stayed.

Even before Suguru became part of the equation, you stayed. You even stayed when Satoru would come home in the dead of night, his footsteps a faint echo through the silent halls before his hands found you. You’d stir from your sleep as he pulled your panties down with barely a word, his breath hot against your neck.

There was no tenderness in those moments, no love—just need. A raw, consuming need he claimed you had to fulfill. And you let him, didn’t you? You let him push inside you with barely any preparation, your body yielding to him because he knew it so well.

Satoru knew the places that made you crumble, the spots where your body quivered, the way your breath hitched when his fingers grazed just right. He knew you better than you knew yourself, didn’t he? His movements were deliberate, practiced, the wet noises filling the room a cruel testament to how thoroughly he’d mastered you.

You’d given him permission. He reminded you of that often, didn’t he? That you’d said yes. That he worked so hard, carried so much, and that this was his right. That he had needs only you could meet.

And you understood. You always understood.

After all, he was the strongest, wasn’t he?

So, you let him use you.

Like a doll.

You’d lay there, staring at the ceiling, as he buried himself to the hilt one last time, his loud groans of release cutting through the stillness. A pathetic little whimper followed, muffled by the darkness, as he spilled himself inside you. And then, as if the act meant nothing, he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, murmured something soft and indistinct, and rolled over to his side of the bed.

You stayed there, silent and unmoving, the lingering heat of his body beside you doing nothing to warm the cold ache between your thighs.

That’s when the thought would creep in. A sick, unwelcome whisper:

You didn’t even climax.

You hated yourself for thinking it. For letting it matter.

But still, you stayed.

Was it fear that held you there? Or was it hope—a desperate, foolish hope that one-day things would change? That one day, every day would feel like those rare, sweet moments when he pressed teasing kisses against your lips before dragging you out to get sweets. That he’d touch you with love, with the tenderness he so effortlessly showed to others—when he wasn’t breaking them apart piece by piece with that same teasing grin.

And now, looking back, you can’t decide what’s worse: that you didn’t leave when you had the chance…

Or that part of you still doesn’t want to.

You stayed, even when the small arguments started. The little spats about wanting him to open up more, to share pieces of his life with you, the pieces he always kept hidden. Perhaps it was selfish—maybe even naïve—but you wanted to know why he loved you.

Really, truly loved you.

But you never asked.

You saved that question, tucking it away deep into your heart, right alongside the cracks that had already started forming. You told yourself it wasn’t the right time. That maybe he wasn’t ready. That you shouldn’t push. Instead, you focused on the good times, clinging to them like lifelines.

Because they were good, weren’t they?

What other guy would give you the world like Satoru did? What other guy would bring you flowers every week—a different color each time, sometimes traditional, sometimes exotic, but always beautiful? What other guy would shower you with affection so openly, so shamelessly, pressing kisses to your skin, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded?

Satoru had told you he loved you. And maybe he did—in a way that wasn’t entirely built on desire, the need to keep you within his grasp, or the insatiable craving to hold you close for the rest of your days.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

That’s why you stayed.

Even when Suguru came into the picture—when those dark, calculating eyes lingered on you just a moment too long when his quiet, honeyed words wove themselves into your life like threads binding you to a tapestry you couldn’t escape—you stayed.

You had the choice, didn’t you? You could have said no. You could have walked away.

But you didn’t.

You stayed, and now there was no one else to blame.

So, truly, it is all your fault.

However, your heart’s at fault too, isn’t it? For leaning into Suguru's touches, craving his warmth, even when you knew deep down that he was a cruel and awful man. A man who veiled his darkness in sweetness, wrapping it in gentle words and tender caresses that made you doubt your own truths. He was a master of contradiction—soft hands and sharp edges, honeyed lies hiding an iron grip.

You could have left.

You could have said no to the whole relationship, shut the door before it ever opened.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

You told yourself that maybe this was the best you could hope for, the best kind of love someone like you deserved. Because it was love, wasn’t it? They loved you. Even if it was conditional. Even if you had to give and give, piece after piece of yourself, just to receive a sliver in return.

Love comes in many forms, after all. And this was love.

Or so you continued to convince yourself.

This is what you deserve. That you should have listened to your gut, back when every touch felt too heavy, too lingering, too much. Back when their words seemed to wrap around you like chains instead of promises. You should have left before the walls around you closed in. Before you realized that leaving wasn’t just difficult—it was dangerous.

You had your chances, didn’t you? If only you’d taken them.

You knew Satoru would tear the world apart to find you if you ran. He’d find you, no matter where you went, no matter how far. But… would he really?

If you’d left early enough, maybe it wouldn’t have been like this. Maybe it would have been nothing more than a bad breakup, a lesson in heartbreak you’d recover from in time. Maybe, if you’d left after Suguru’s return, Satoru would have leaned on him instead of spiraling further into obsession.

But you didn’t leave.

You stayed.

Such a stupid, stupid girl.

And yet…

It was never just about them, was it?

Because you craved love too, just as much as they did. You wanted it desperately—so much that you ignored the warnings in your heart, the creeping dread in your chest. You wanted to be loved, to feel wanted, to belong to someone in a way that was absolute, undeniable, and unshakable.

And that’s exactly what they gave you.

But love like that—it came with a cost.

And you paid for it in silence, in submission, in the pieces of yourself you’d never get back.

So now, here you are, locked away in the beautiful Gojo estate. A place so grand it should feel like a palace, yet it suffocates you like a gilded cage. Every corner gleams with wealth and power, every surface reflects the life you’re supposed to be grateful for.

The maids don’t meet your eyes.

To them, you aren’t Satoru’s wife. You aren’t a partner. You’re something lesser.

A pet.

Because you aren’t the one ensuring the estate runs smoothly while Satoru is away on his endless missions. That responsibility doesn’t fall to you—it belongs to Suguru, doesn’t it? He’s the one in charge. He holds the reins, commanding the household with a quiet authority that leaves no room for question.

And you?

You remain.

The pet. The wife. The child-bearer.

Barefoot and pregnant, with a swollen belly to show for it, you shuffle through the estate like a ghost. Your body aches, weighed down not just by the child growing inside you, but by the chains of a life you can’t escape.

Suguru sees to it that the estate runs like a well-oiled machine, all while maintaining his title as the second strongest. His responsibilities never seem to tire him, never seem to dull his devotion. If anything, they only make him more overbearing.

He adores pampering you.

He drapes you in the softest blankets, ensuring you’re always warm. He dresses you in the finest clothes, silks and satins that cling to your growing belly, showcasing the proof of your usefulness. He loves the way your independence has been stripped away, loves the way you’ve been forced to rely on him for everything.

When did you become so dependent?

When did you start accepting his affection like a loyal dog, start leaning into the way his rough, calloused hands would trace the curve of your stomach? When did you start craving the way he’d gaze up at you with that lovesick smile, his voice low and honeyed as he murmured sweet words about the future?

“I hope the baby looks like Satoru,” he’d say, his eyes dark and soft as they met yours. Then, after a pause, “I hope it’s a girl.”

The words always made your chest tighten, made your stomach twist.

You know he must miss the twins.

It’s not just the weight of their absence—it’s the way he’s filled that void with this child, this unborn life. You can see it in the way he touches you, the way he watches you. He’s more excited about this pregnancy than you are.

And that’s the cruelest part, isn’t it?

Because to him, this isn’t just a child. It’s a legacy. A purpose.

To you?

It’s another chain.

And yet, you hate how loving he is. How he’s always there to hold your hair back when you’re bent over, heaving in the dead of night. How his large, warm hands find every knot in your aching limbs, massaging away the tension with a tenderness that makes your heartache.

It’s cruel, how gentle he can be. How he disarms you with care just when you think you might muster the strength to fight back.

There’s a constant mantra in your mind, a desperate hope that the baby won’t resemble either of them.

Because the thought of seeing their features reflected back at you stirs a fear too heavy to bear.

The thought of seeing their features reflected in those tiny, innocent eyes is terrifying. It brings the fear that every decision will feel like a mistake, that allowing any of this to happen will become an unbearable regret.

You tell yourself you hope, but it’s hard to ignore the possibility, isn’t it?

What if the child inherits Satoru’s piercing blue eyes—so crystalline they seem otherworldly, glowing even in the faintest light? The same eyes that burn and freeze you all at once, stripping you bare and exposing every secret, every hidden part of you.

Even his grin—boyish, sharp, too wide—lingers in your mind. A grin that could charm and cut in the same breath, leaving you unsure whether to lean closer or step away. What if that grin appeared on a smaller, softer face, just as devastating?

Or worse—what if the baby inherits Suguru’s gaze?

Those dark, soulful eyes that pull you in like the tide, gentle at first glance, inviting even, but hiding endless, churning storms beneath their surface. Eyes that promise escape is not an option. Unlike Satoru’s, Suguru’s smiles are quieter, softer—but no less dangerous. His smiles feel deliberate, like they’re slipping past every defense you didn’t even know you had.

Would the baby inherit Satoru’s arrogance? Suguru’s patience?

Or worse—would the child inherit both of their possessiveness?

The thought makes your skin crawl.

But the fear doesn’t end there.

Because it’s not just about the baby, is it?

It’s about you.

About how they’ve already carved themselves so deeply into your soul that you can’t even imagine a world without them. You hate that truth. Hate the way it festers inside you, a bitter root growing into every part of you.

You hate Satoru’s smirk when he strides into the estate after a mission, brushing off the exhaustion and blood as if it’s nothing. How he towers over you, his white hair catching the light in a way that seems almost ethereal, his fingers tilting your chin up with a mock tenderness that makes your breath catch.

You hate how he always knows exactly what to say to make you crumble, his voice dipping into that teasing lilt that makes your heart flutter in spite of yourself.

And Suguru—oh, you hate how he lingers. How his touch lingers. His hands are always warm, always deliberate, tracing paths across your skin as if he’s claiming you, piece by piece. Every stroke of his fingers feels like a silent reminder that you are his, that you belong to him. His voice, low and soothing, is a cruel contradiction—a balm against your nerves, even when his words are laced with quiet threats you pretend not to hear.

You hate them.

You hate the way they consume you, the way they’ve woven themselves into the fabric of your life so tightly that even your thoughts feel tangled in their presence.

And yet, as you sit in the vast, lonely expanse of the Gojo estate, the weight of your belly grounding you, you know the truth.

You’re not just afraid of the baby looking like them.

You’re afraid of what that child will mean.

Because if they look like Satoru, with his arrogance, his fire, his brilliance, how will you deny the pride swelling in your chest? How will you stop yourself from feeling that flicker of awe, even when you know you shouldn’t?

And if they look like Suguru, with his quiet strength, his steadfast devotion, how will you deny the love? How will you stop yourself from melting beneath those familiar eyes, from imagining them crinkling with joy or softening with affection?

You can’t.

And that's horrifying.

You won’t be able to ignore how Satoru has changed, how he’s become softer, more attentive in ways that make it harder to hold onto your resentment. How he lingers closer to you than he ever did before, as if the mere distance between you might undo something fragile inside him.

How he’s started resting his head in your lap as you sit together in the serene gardens, his white hair catching the sunlight like spun silk, almost ethereal. His long lashes cast soft shadows over his cheeks as his half-lidded gaze flickers up to meet yours, brimming with a tenderness you don’t know how to process.

He murmurs lazy words of affection, his voice low and warm, the kind of sweetness that drips like honey and sticks to your skin. His fingers trace absentminded circles on your thighs, soft patterns that feel far too intimate, far too easy.

And you hate how much you crave it.

You hate the way his presence soothes something raw inside you, even when you tell yourself it shouldn’t.

You hate how he’s begun helping you with the small, intimate things you wish you could keep to yourself. Like the unbearable ache in your swollen breasts, the pressure building so much it leaves you trembling, whimpering in pain. How he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even ask.

The way Satoru's lips wrap around you with loud, deliberate suckles, the sound echoing in the quiet as he eases the pressure with almost clinical precision. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t falter. His hands grip your hips to steady you, his thumbs pressing reassuring circles into your skin.

You hate the sound.

You hate the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way it prickles, a constant reminder of just how close he always is—too close.

When he’s finished, he pulls back with a satisfied hum, his lips brushing against your collarbone with a lingering kiss. His voice low, almost tender, as he murmurs, “I love this version of you.”

The words settle into you like stones. His lips, still soft from the milk, press against yours, and the faint sweetness lingers, almost cloying. Satoru murmurs more words—gentle, saccharine things that would feel kind if not for the way his hands start to roam as they wrap around your waist.

“How nurturing you’ve become,” he whispers, his tone carrying a dangerous sort of reverence.

That’s what he loves. That’s what he says.

And the way he looks at you when he says it—those bright blue eyes glinting with something dark, something that sinks its claws into you—makes your skin crawl. Because you know exactly what he means.

He doesn’t love the nurturing in and of itself. He loves how it ties you to him. How it binds you to this role, this life, this carefully constructed world where you are his and only his.

The version of you he loves is one that has no room for defiance, no space for resistance—only the space to give, to sacrifice, to bend under the weight of his love.

And that’s what makes it so much worse.

Because even as you hate it, even as your stomach churns and your skin prickles, there’s a part of you that leans into his touch. A part of you that longs for the softness, for the fleeting moments when it feels like love instead of control.

And you hate yourself for that, too

Because you know how it goes. You’ve seen it now. Lived it.

How one pregnancy ends and another begins.

The cycle repeated itself after your firstborn, didn’t it? Barely a year after you gave birth, they had you pregnant again. You didn’t even have time to recover, to heal, before they decided it was time for another.

But they love you, don’t they?

Satoru’s affection is impossible to miss—the way he grins at you, almost childlike, as he cups your face with hands that can destroy worlds but hold you as though you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. How he showers you with gifts, flowers in every shade imaginable, rare treasures that sparkle as brightly as his endless energy.

How many times has he told you, in his low, teasing voice, “You’re my world, you know that? I could do anything, have anything—but none of it would matter without you.”

It sounds like love, doesn’t it?

And Suguru—Suguru loves you too, in his quiet, steady way. You see it in the way he watches you, his dark eyes softening when you enter the room, the weight of his gaze feels suffocating. He’s the one who stays calm when you cry, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

And you believe him, don’t you?

They love you. That’s why they insist on keeping you close. Why Satoru kisses your forehead every morning, why Suguru runs his fingers through your hair as he whispers sweet nothings you’re too exhausted to resist. That’s why they ensure you’re taken care of, why they never let you lift a finger, why they promise they’ll always protect you.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Satoru once said, kissing your swollen belly as he grinned up at you. “Just stay here with us. That’s all we need.”

“It’s not just for us,” Suguru added, his voice softer, more measured. “It’s for you too. We want you to feel safe. Loved.”

And in moments like that, when the weight of their words settles in your chest like a lullaby, you almost believe them.

You tell yourself that no one else would love you this much. No one else would care for you so completely, so unconditionally—because this is love, isn’t it?

The maids barely acknowledged your struggles. Their gazes were cold, dismissive, even as your body ached and your mind screamed for reprieve. They would gently pry your child from your arms with hushed whispers.

“You need more rest,” they’d say, their voices soft but unyielding. “We’ll take care of them. Don’t worry.”

And what could you do? You’d watch helplessly as they carried your baby away, leaving you empty-handed, empty-hearted. As if you were nothing more than a vessel, an incubator meant to bear and birth heirs for the Gojo family.

Your firstborn was a boy.

A son.

An heir.

He looked just like Satoru.

Those piercing blue eyes stared back at you from his tiny, cherubic face, wide and curious, already holding a glint of brilliance and confidence you couldn’t deny. His hair was the same stark white, impossibly soft beneath your trembling fingers as you brushed it back, memorizing every perfect strand. Even the little smirk he gave in his sleep mirrored Satoru’s—a playful, almost mocking curl at the corners of his mouth that made your heart ache with emotions you couldn’t unravel.

You loved him.

You hated that you loved him.

And when Suguru would cradle him in his arms, his dark eyes soft and filled with a devotion that seemed to crack the carefully constructed walls around your heart, you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming in your chest. He’d whisper promises to the child—vows of protection and guidance.

When Satoru would swoop in, effortlessly spinning the boy around with an energy that filled the room with light, the sound of your son’s uncontrollable laughter echoing like music, that warmth would return. It would swell in your chest, suffocating and undeniable, a cruel reminder of the chains you wore willingly and unwillingly all at once.

This is what they wanted, wasn’t it?

This is what they’d planned all along.

And now, with another child growing inside you, you realize something that terrifies you more than anything else.

You’re not sure if you stayed because you had no choice.

Or because you wanted to.

Again, it’s all your fault.

For trying to run, again.

For thinking, just for a moment, that you could escape them.

You were far too pregnant. Belly too far swollen, body heavy and slow, every step a reminder of how deeply tethered you were to this vast estate. But the thought wouldn’t leave your mind. The desperate hope of freedom burned too brightly, too wildly, even as your body betrayed you.

Even as you were dragged back to that sickening place, back to the people that you convinced yourself—desperately, foolishly—that this was love.

You’d screamed at Suguru, the words spilling out like a torrent you couldn’t stop. You told him the child was yours too, that you had the right to hold them, to sleep in the same room, to be more than a vessel. Your voice cracked, raw with frustration and desperation, as you hurled your defiance at him.

You remember the way his gaze darkened.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t snap. That wasn’t Suguru’s way.

Instead, he stepped closer, his movements slow, calculated, as though he were approaching a frightened animal. He tilted his head, his expression calm, disarming, the warmth in his dark eyes a stark contrast to the undercurrent of control they held.

“You’re upset,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. His hand reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaking your face. “And that’s okay. You’ve been through so much, haven’t you?”

The quiet warmth in Suguru's voice made it hard to breathe, made the frustration clawing at your throat turn to something else—something like shame.

“You need to calm down,” he continued, a warm calloused hand slipping down to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I don’t want you to hurt us.”

His words lingered, heavy with meaning, as he pulled you closer, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I know it’s hard,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “But I love you. We love you. Everything we do—everything I do—is for you.”

You wanted to push him away, to scream that it wasn’t love, that this wasn’t love. But as his arms wrapped around you, strong and unyielding, pulling you into his embrace as though Suguru could shield you from the very world they had trapped you in.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, soft lips brushing your temple. “Don’t you see that? You don’t need to run. You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

A voice that was so tender, so achingly sincere, that it almost broke you. Suguru's words were enough to extinguish the fire of defiance burning in your chest, to leave you standing there, trembling and helpless in his arms.

The maids saw it, didn’t they? They whispered about you, their quiet voices slipping through the halls like ghosts. They called you ungrateful. Sick. They said you didn’t understand how fortunate you were.

“You should be enjoying this,” they murmured, their words laced with thinly veiled judgment. “No responsibilities, no struggles. A carefree life. Everything is taken care of for you. What more could you want?”

What more could you want?

No choices.

That’s what they meant, wasn’t it? No choices. No freedom. No you.

Was something wrong with you? Maybe.

Maybe there was something wrong with wanting more. For wanting to feel like a person again, instead of a vessel, a doll, a beautifully dressed incubator meant to carry their legacy.

It really is all your fault, isn’t it?

Because when labor came, it dragged you into hell.

Thirty-three grueling hours. Each contraction ripped through your body like a punishment, an unrelenting reminder of every fleeting thought of rebellion, of every moment you dared to imagine a life beyond them.

The emergency c-section was chaos—a flurry of hands, sterile lights, and voices rising above the incessant ringing in your ears. You were losing too much blood. Fever scorched your skin, your body trembling as the edges of the world blurred, your thoughts slipping between consciousness and darkness.

You couldn’t make sense of what was happening. You weren’t even sure whose tears streaked your skin as they fell—were they yours? Satoru’s? Suguru’s?

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know what happened after that.

All you remember are the words.

Suguru’s voice, low and steady, cutting through the haze. He leaned close, his hand resting on your clammy cheek with an almost painful tenderness. His dark eyes bore into yours, soft yet heavy with something that made your stomach twist.

“You shouldn’t have run,” he whispered. His tone was calm, soothing even, but the edge beneath it was sharp enough to draw blood. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself. You should’ve listened.”

And for a long time, you didn’t have the strength to argue.

The days that followed blurred together. Feeling like a ghost in your body, too weak to move, too tired to speak. Satoru and Suguru hovered, their gazes flickering between concern and something you couldn't quite place. The maids continued to whisper on with their rumors, their eyes darting to you with pity or disdain, as though you’d done this to yourself.

In their eyes, you were lucky.

Lucky to have survived. Lucky to have them.

And lucky, in their eyes, to not have another pregnancy until your first two boys turned five.

Five years of peace. Or something that resembled it.

Five years of watching your sons grow, of hearing their first words, of feeling their small, warm arms wrap around you as they giggled into into your neck. Five years where it was almost believable that this was normal, where you could almost convince yourself this was love.

Because it did feel like love, didn’t it?

Until the day you overheard Suguru speaking to them.

His voice was hushed, but not hushed enough.

“Mommy is sick,” he said, tone calm and soothing like he was explaining a simple fact of life. “Sometimes she says things she doesn’t mean. Sometimes she gets confused. But that’s okay. We love her, don’t we?”

A pang sent through your chest, breath catching as you froze in the hallway. Those cruel words lies carved like knives, each one slicing deeper than the last.

He was planting seeds, wasn’t he?

Teaching them to see you the way he wanted them to see you. Fragile. Dependent. Broken.

However with fists clenched, nails pressing into palms with a sting sharp enough to ground the swirling emotions within. The urge to scream hovered at the edge, to cry and storm into the room, demanding explanations with the desperation of a cornered animal. Words burned on the tip of the tongue—protests that it wasn’t true, that sickness and confusion weren’t the chains binding this existence.

But what would they believe?

Suguru’s steady, patient voice, rich and even, always laced with quiet authority? The father whose dark eyes always seemed to understand everything, who carried himself with calm, unshakable control, even when his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes?

Or you?

The mother who had tried to run, who had collapsed and bled and screamed, who had been scolded for her defiance. The one they saw as weak, frail, and ungrateful.

You wanted to run again. The thought burned in the back of your mind, relentless and wild.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

Because, in the end, what choice did you really have?

But by the time your third child—a sweet boy who looked like a perfect blend of you and Suguru—turned three, the illusion of peace began to crack.

Suguru was already leaning close, his voice soft and coaxing as he murmured into your ear, “I think it’s time we try for a girl.”

Satoru, of course, was on board almost immediately.

After all, your third child was different. A nonsorcerer, just like you, showing none of the abilities your first two boys possessed. Those two had cried in the dead of night, their small voices trembling with fear as they described the horrors only they could see—things you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

But that wasn’t why your husbands looked at Kiyoshi with quiet disapproval.

It wasn’t his lack of cursed energy that made them see him as an anomaly.

It was his heart.

From the moment Kiyoshi was placed in your arms, red-faced and wailing, he clung to you with a desperation that never faded. He didn’t want the maids to hold him, didn’t toddle after Suguru’s composed steps or reached for Satoru’s strong arms. He wanted you. Always you.

He was a mama’s boy through and through, and that was love.

A love so pure it felt like a lifeline in the suffocating world you’d been forced into.

While you loved your first two boys deeply—how could you not?—there was always a distance there, a reflection of the walls your husbands had built around you. The first two cuddled into your lap, their small hands clutching yours as they whispered things that broke you.

“Mommy, we want you to get better.” “We don’t like it when you yell at Daddy to let you leave.”

They were too young to understand, too innocent to see the chains tightening around you.

But Kiyoshi understood, in his own way. Even as a toddler, he refused to leave your side, refused to let the maids or his fathers pull him from your arms. He was always on your hip, his little hand clutching your clothes, his head resting against your chest.

“Kiyoshi,” Satoru had said once, his tone laced with false amusement, “means ‘pure sadness.’ Don’t you think that’s fitting?”

He smiled as if it were a joke, but you could hear the bitterness beneath it.

And maybe it was fitting.

Because Kiyoshi only stopped wailing when he was in your arms, as if he already knew the world outside of you was too cruel, too cold.

By the time he turned three, Kiyoshi would toddle after you in the gardens, small, sturdy legs working hard to keep up. His face—a blend of Suguru’s gentleness and your warmth—would brighten with the purest smile. When his eyes crinkled at the corners, just like yours, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell.

“Look, Mommy!” he’d say, holding up a flower he’d plucked from the garden, his tiny fingers dirt-stained and clumsy. “For you!”

You’d crouch down, brushing his dark hair back as you took the flower, your voice soft and tender in a way you hadn’t heard in years.

“Thank you, my sweet boy.”

And for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you.

Like you could breathe again.

But you knew better.

As the sound of approaching footsteps always shattered moments like these. Heavy and far too familiar. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Suguru.

His softspoken voice broke the fragile silence, calm and even, as always. “Kiyoshi,” he said, warm and affectionate, though laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You’ve been keeping your mother all to yourself again, haven’t you?”

Kiyoshi stiffened at your side, the little hand tightening its grip on your kimono as he glanced nervously toward Suguru.

Suguru stepped closer and crouched down to Kiyoshi’s level, dark eyes softening as they met his son’s. “Come here, son,” he murmured, holding out a hand. His tone was gentle, coaxing, but there was an unspoken expectation beneath it. “Let Daddy hold you for a little while. I’ve missed you.”

But Kiyoshi didn’t move. His small fingers curled tighter into the fabric of your kimono, his face pressing into your side as though trying to make himself small, invisible.

Suguru’s gaze flicked to you, lips curling into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So shy,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of amused affection. “But you don’t have to be, Kiyoshi. Daddy just wants to hold you. You know that, don’t you?”

You felt your heart clench, torn between the instinct to shield him and the weight of Suguru’s presence. The tenderness in his tone, in the way his hand remained outstretched, made it all the harder to breathe.

“Kiyoshi,” Suguru said again, his voice dipping into a firmer edge, calm but unyielding. “Come.”

Reluctantly, your little boy let go of you, his steps slow and hesitant as he moved toward his father. Suguru’s smile widened, soft and reassuring, as he scooped Kiyoshi up effortlessly, cradling him with a gentleness that felt too deliberate, too controlled.

“There’s my good boy,” he murmured, brushing Kiyoshi’s hair back with careful fingers. His touch lingered, as though committing the texture to memory. “You love your mommy very much, don’t you?”

Kiyoshi nodded silently, his small face burying itself in Suguru’s shoulder.

Suguru’s gaze lifted to meet yours, a gentle smile, his tone almost playful. “You’ve spoiled him,” he said, a note of amusement threading through his words. “He’s too attached.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say something, but the words caught in your throat.

What could you say?

That you were the only warmth in a world that terrified him? That his attachment wasn’t a flaw, but a desperate grasp at something safe?

Satoru appeared not long after, his presence impossible to ignore as he strolled into the garden, hands in his pockets and a grin that seemed too bright for the moment. His eyes, however, betrayed something softer—something that lingered only when they landed on you.

“Kiyoshi giving you trouble again?” Satoru's voice came out light, tinged with curiosity.

“No trouble,” Suguru replied smoothly, a hand still resting on Kiyoshi’s small back. “Just a little too fond of his mother.”

Satoru chuckled, shaking his head as he moved closer. His cerulean gaze flicked briefly to Kiyoshi before returning to you, that playful grin softening as he moved to brush a kiss against your temple. “Well, can you blame him?” he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you. “You’re hard not to love.”

The warmth of his affection made your heart twist, and your stomach flutter. For a moment, it was easy to forget the way his words often carried double meanings, easy to believe he was simply being sweet.

He straightened, turning his attention back to Suguru with a teasing smile. “But we’ll fix that soon enough, won’t we?”

They didn’t mean to hurt him, you told yourself. They wouldn’t.

But you knew better.

Because Kiyoshi was different. He didn’t fit into their world the way your first two boys did. And in their eyes, difference was something to be controlled.

For now, they let him cling to you. They let him toddle after you in the garden, offering flowers and dirt-streaked smiles that made your heart ache with both love and dread. For now, they allowed him to stay close, to hold onto the warmth you gave him, to believe he was safe in your arms.

But you knew it was only a matter of time.

Because your sons didn’t belong to you. Not really. They never had.

And no matter how much you wanted to shield Kiyoshi, no matter how fiercely you loved him, you knew one simple, devastating truth:

They’d let you have this for now.

But they would take him, too.

Because, after all, it’s all your fault.

For fleeing in the middle of the night.

The day was supposed to be perfect—a rare moment where Satoru and Suguru had taken the older two boys to the school, their voices filled with excitement as they promised to teach them more about the world they were destined to inherit. Your sweet boys kissed you goodbye with a tenderness that felt almost cruel, leaving you behind with Kiyoshi in the quiet, sprawling estate.

You had been on your best behavior. Smiling more, laughing when Satoru teased you, letting Suguru hold you a little longer than usual. You’d made them believe you were finally settling, finally accepting your role in their carefully constructed world.

And it worked.

So when the sun set and the house fell silent, you made your move.

You bundled Kiyoshi up in the softest blanket you could find, the small body warm and sleepy against your chest. He stirred only slightly as you slipped out of the estate, his tiny hands clutching onto your clothes.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t make a sound.

It was as if he understood. As if even at three years old, he knew that silence was the only thing keeping you safe.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his soft breaths warm against your skin, and you couldn’t help the tears that welled up in your eyes.

The highway stretched out before you, an endless black ribbon under the faint glow of the moon. The lights of the city sparkled in the distance, a beacon of hope, a promise of sanctuary.

You walked for miles, the cold night air biting at your skin, legs aching with every step. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not with the faint echoes of paranoia whispering at the back of your mind.

Were they already looking for you? Did Satoru sense you slipping away even from miles away? Did Suguru wake in the middle of the night with the suffocating weight of intuition, already calling for their forces to track you down?

You didn’t know.

And you didn’t care.

The city limits were closer now, the glow of neon lights growing brighter, sharper. The faint hum of life and sound buzzed in the distance.

Kiyoshi stirred in your arms, his little head lifting just enough to peek out at the world around him. His dark eyes, so much like Suguru’s but filled with an innocence his father could no longer claim, glanced up at you with quiet curiosity.

“Mommy,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the wind.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, your tears wetting his soft hair. “We’re almost there, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice trembling under the weight of hope and fear. “Just a little farther.”

Sanctuary was so close you could taste it.

But it’s all your fault, isn’t it?

Born a nonsorcerer.

Blind to the horrors that lurk unseen. Powerless to fight them off. Too weak to keep that sweet little boy safe.

You always imagined curses as massive, grotesque creatures—monsters so obvious that the very air would change in their presence. That the world would stop, that everything would smell of death and decay as they loomed closer.

But when a curse appears, nothing changes.

There’s no warning. No shift in the wind.

The only thing you feel is the sudden weight of your child going limp in your arms.

And then the blood.

And then the blood.

It coats the ground—dark and endless, pooling around your knees and seeping into the cracks of the earth. Sticky and warm, it clings to trembling hands, staining your kimono, your skin, your very soul.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe.

Your little boy—your Kiyoshi—lies limp in your arms, his small body growing colder with every agonizing second. Tiny fingers, once so eager to cling to you, now dangle lifelessly. His dark lashes rest softly against pale cheeks, unmoving.

He looks like he’s sleeping.

You tell yourself that, over and over, as if saying it enough times will somehow make it true. Shaking hands brush back his dark hair, trembling as you whisper his name. Softly at first, then louder, your voice splintering with every syllable.

“Kiyoshi… wake up, baby. Please.”

But nothing changes.

The world around you feels wrong—too quiet, too still. The city lights in the distance mock you, their glow a cruel reminder of the sanctuary you’d been so close to reaching. You’d promised him, hadn’t you? Promised that everything would be okay. That you’d make it there. That you’d keep him safe.

You lied.

“Kiyoshi,” you choke out again, pressing a desperate kiss to his cooling forehead. Hot tears streak down your face, wetting his soft hair as you clutch him tighter, as though you could anchor him to you—keep him here, with you.

A wail tears through the night, raw and broken, shattering the oppressive silence. The sound is unrecognizable, guttural and full of despair. It takes a moment before you realize it’s coming from you.

The blood stains everything—your hands, your clothes, the ground—but it’s the loss of his warmth that destroys you.

How did this happen?

Your mind races, replaying the moments in broken fragments. You’d been walking, your legs aching, his small body cradled against your chest. He’d been so quiet, so trusting, his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You were almost there.

Then the air shifted—just slightly—a subtle wrongness you hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

You didn’t see it.

You didn’t even know it was there until his body jerked in your arms, a sharp, unnatural movement that stole his breath—and yours.

And then he went limp.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.

You rock him back and forth, tears falling freely, your voice hoarse as you beg him to wake up. Leaning to press your cheek against his, murmuring his name over and over, as if the sound alone could bring him back.

Because you failed him.

Because this is your fault.

Suguru’s arms wrap around you, their weight unbearable. His warmth presses against the chill of the night, suffocating in a way that makes the air harder to pull into your lungs. He cradles you like something precious, something fragile—like he cares, even as his words twist the knife deeper into your chest.

“We’ll take care of this, just like always,” he says, his voice soft, almost gentle. His lips brush against your hair, lingering, and the tenderness in the gesture makes your skin crawl. “You just need to stop fighting us. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Satoru stood frozen, head bowed, white hair catching the faint glow of the city lights. Kiyoshi’s lifeless body was pressed tightly against him, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he held him close. For a moment, you thought you saw something crack in his expression—something raw, something human.

But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.

When he finally turned his gaze to you, his blue eyes were as hollow as you’d ever seen them. “You shouldn’t have done this,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. “Why couldn’t you just stay?”

The question stabbed deeper than you thought possible, the shame and guilt coursing through you like poison.

Why couldn’t you just stay?

The image of Kiyoshi’s bright smile flashed, his tiny hands offering you flowers from the garden, his laugh ringing out like music in the suffocating silence of the estate. He’d been your light, your tether to something good.

And now he was gone.

Because of you.

You sagged further into Suguru’s hold, the fight draining out of you entirely. The tears wouldn’t stop, falling silently now, soaking into the front of Suguru’s shirt as he held you tighter.

“There, there,” he murmured, his hand stroking your hair in slow, deliberate motions. “That’s better. You don’t have to fight anymore. We’ll make it right.”

But there was no right in this.

The car waited nearby, its door open like an unspoken command. Suguru’s grip on you didn’t waver as he began guiding you toward it, his movements gentle but unrelenting. Satoru followed behind, cradling Kiyoshi’s small form like he was made of glass.

Your legs moved on instinct, numb and heavy, the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.

The city lights grew fainter as the car doors shut behind you, locking you away from the world you’d been so close to reaching.

You told yourself you’d tried. That you’d done everything you could.

But deep down, you knew.

You’d never escape them.

And as Suguru’s fingers intertwined with yours, as Satoru’s empty gaze lingered on the horizon, you realized something that hollowed you out completely.

It wasn’t just that you had nothing left.

It was that you no longer cared to try.

It really was all your fault.

birthday gift for my s/o!! a study that turned into Pharah I can’t draw abs oof

culture note ideas;

learning a language is like learning about a country’s culture. therefore, one should take some culture notes once in a while. if you need any ideas on what to research/study, take a look below! i might add more if i think of any.

general

countries that speak the language

common dishes/foods/drinks/alcohols

festivals

cultural tidbits (ex: why japanese uses kanji still)

world leaders/figureheads/etc

wars

history in gen

art

games

paintings

sculptures

instruments

music/genre-related

anything

pop culture

hit movies

celebrities

music

etc

history of the language

make a travel guide

recipes

traditions

holidays

places to see/go

sightseeing worthy/statues/etc

important people

common animals that live in certain country

cultural differences?

holidays they have that you don’t

do they celebrate (holiday) differently?

etymology of words – they can act make good history lessons

myths/fairy tales/ urban legends

dialects

provinces/states/etc

specific

whats it like driving there?

how does schooling work?

how does a typical family live?

common stereotypes

do they go about finding love differently? (ex: is it common for arranged marriages?)

typical sbjs one learns in school

college?

beauty standards

thinking about bullying nerd!gojo.

shoving him against lockers. punching him in the arm, tripping him whenever he walks past, throwing his textbooks in the trash.

you sneer at him for being a nerd (you're in the same advanced classes), steal his fancy bento box lunches, make him carry your books between classes, even force him to be your errand boy.

he's asking for it, really. with those stupid digimon keychains on his bag -

"how did you know it's digimon?" "shut the fuck up, nerd."

his anime stickers -

"neon genesis evangelion? how can you like that anime? all the characters are so messed up!" "hehe, asuka best girl~"

and how he loaded up his stupid fancy walkman exclusively with anime openings -

"you wanna listen?" "no! hand it over to me or i'm telling the teacher."

nerd!satoru gojo who could very easily fight you off.

even though he's a bean pole (as you frequently point out), he's a lot stronger than you realize - hidden by his long sleeves and sweater vests and loose ("comfortable!") clothing.

oh, he plays weak in front of you. suguru gets a real kick out of it, but you're not any nicer to him.

"satoru, what the hell are you doing? just walk past."

you shoot the goth a scathing glare, "nobody asked you, edgelord freak."

"at least i have a style," suguru bites back. he's more than used to getting looks.

"yeah, and it's shit. fuck off."

"you-"

suguru is about to release an especially pointed remark on your lack of friends, perceived financial status, and general shitty personality that somehow managed to be worse than his idiot best friends', but satoru gives him an absolutely withering glare. icy.

"yeah, suguru," he parrots, "fuck off."

"you shut up!" you snap immediately, "i wasn't done with you!"

suguru doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

this song and dance has been going on for years now, and you're all seniors.

"oh! yeah, of course, sorry," satoru beams at you, "you wanted to study together after school?"

you'd been threatening him to hand over his homework.

suguru supposes, in satoru's deranged mind, oversaturated with media references and calculus formulas, this might sound like a date.

"fine," you snap in exasperation, "however the hell you want to do it. just be there, all right?"

"of course! i'd never let you down!" he's nodding eagerly as you huff, release his collar, and stalk away.

"wait up!" satoru whines, gathering his books and trailing after you like a dumb puppy.

"fucking keep up, nerd, i'm not slowing down for you," you say, as you slow down for him.

for fuck's sake. it's a miracle two people this dense could even meet each other, and somehow, you're both in advanced classes.

if you don't fuck by the end of the school year, suguru thinks he's actually going to die.

Japanese board game “Shogi”

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Will be explicit and smutty (it's me!?) Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- his chap, mentions of sex/getting turned on, Gojo being a cute little nerd, embarssment level a million, this was gonna be a oneshot but... no, don't think it'll happen, so three parts maybe, welcome to part one

Based on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazinggg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙 - Masterlist

Part One

Eight years ago- Satoru Gojo - age eighteen

Satoru Gojo is wearing his finest polo, grinning at his reflection in the mirror, he finally got his braces off, wearing just this clear retainer, which his dentist had even made it Digimon, a little Lucemon embedded in that acrylic, he snaps it in and grins at himself now. He’s looking rather spiffy, if he does say so himself, talking to the mirror now.

“You can do it, just… tell her. Just tell her.” He’s grinning with newly straight teeth, putting on his glasses now so that he can see, spiking up silky white locks just a bit, Satoru singing to that mirror, his favorite song, the one that makes him think of you. “Yeah baby, hah- I know.” He is practicing winking at his reflection, trying to be cool, leaning this way and that.

The song continues, Satoru grabs his hairbrush, singing into the handle like a pro, as he pictures you, snowy lashes fluttering shut, a little grin on his face. He leans against the mirror now, picturing his hands barring you on either side, when he leans to the mirror and presses his lips on the cool glass.

“Oh… you want a kiss, hmm?” He’s whispering, he’s constantly been practicing his first kiss.

You’ll be his first kiss, he’s sure of it!

When his mom knocks on the door, right in the middle of this, he panics, swiping off his own spit from the mirror, shutting off his speaker and clearing his throat as he opens the door, his mom gushing now, hand on her chest. “Oh little Toru, you’re just so precious! Mwah!”

“Mom, stop!” She’s smacking kisses on his cheeks, over and over, relentless in her assault on his face. “I’m not a little kid mom, it’s graduation night!”

“Oh you’ll always be my baby.” He sighs, and she looks over at the pictures now, of Satoru and his best friend - future wife (you don’t know it yet) - decorated along his walls, mixing with various posters and pictures. “Aw, is tonight the night?”

Satoru blushes bright pink, looking back at the pictures, you’re both smiling, laughing, you’re kissing his cheek, hugging him. Shit, last time you kissed his cheek he avoided washing that exact spot, for so long, and once he had you luckily had bestowed another on him. You were his best friend, but…

He wanted more.

You were the most popular girl in the school, everyone just adored you, everyone knew who you were, but Satoru? He had a few friends, you, Nanami, Suguru, Shoko… that was it though, he was overwhelmingly annoying to just about everyone, constantly besting them all academically. He asked for extra credit to the groans of the room, he played Digimon to his heart's content.

He was…

Well, a nerd.

But you loved him how he was, there was a box just full of your little notes saying just that, you defended him against anyone who’d dare say a word, thus Satoru became somewhat popular by association. Moreso, they were terrified of the consequences of being mean to your ‘best friend furr-ever’ as you referred to him.

“You just be yourself, Satoru.” His mom says sweetly, pecking another kiss on his forehead.

He sighs then, frowning. Himself… isn’t who got the girls, no you’re in one break up after another, with football stars, with the popular boys, and Satoru holds you as you cry, as another one doesn’t respect you, doesn’t deserve you. Yet Satoru never, ever told you how he really felt.

He wants to be more.

*****

As Satoru Gojo weaves his way through the insane party later that night, Suguru and Shoko come up, smiling, handing him a red solo cup, he sips it and winces at the taste. “Where is she?” He asks, holding your yearbook you’ve asked him to sign, clutching it for dear life- because it has it all, the confession of his feelings.

“Saw her doing a keg stand over there.” Shoko says, Satoru looks over to see you flipped upside down, people cheering you on.

Suguru pats his friend’s shoulder. “You can do it man, don’t be scared, I’m sure she feels the same.”

“I’m gonna do it.” You are set back down on your feet, when you see him, jumping up and down and running to him, big grin on your face, he holds out an arm for you to cling to him.

“Satoru! You’re here!” You’re bouncing now, just making your tits bounce just so in that little bustier you’re wearing, pulling back and giggling like crazy, the alcohol having rushed to your head. “I’m so happy, ah if you missed it I’d have been so bummed! Come on!”

Satoru eyes his friends, who murmur a ‘good luck’ as you eagerly run up the stairs to your bedroom, the party is of course at your place because your parents are out of town. Satoru passes couples making out in the hallway, dancing all over, kissing on the stairs, as you open your door, glaring now.

“Ah - ah, out!” You shoo away two drunk friends kissing, sighing and shaking your head, leaving the door shut, as Satoru holds his breath. “Jesus, they’re all horned up, huh? My god!” You lay down now, plopping on your pretty white day bed, as Satoru sees just the color of panties you’re wearing, making him blush more, looking away from that pleated skirt.

“I… signed your yearbook.” He murmurs softly, you sit up now, a strap falling from your shoulder, and Satoru starts to feel…

Too much.

He’d been jerking it to you since he knew what that even was, but looking at you now, he had trouble holding back, so he started to blush and stammer, as you tilt your head curiously, legs swinging a bit while you study him. “What’s wrong? Do you need a little air, I can crack open the window!”

You hop up now, bending over to lift your heavy window, the breeze starts filtering in, billowing your pretty curtains, and Satoru has to ignore the reaction of his body, willing his cock to go down. He is shutting his eyes and thinking of anything else, when suddenly you’re cupping his face. He opens pretty blue eyes to look down at you, at the girl he’s been in love with since he was just a kid.

“You alright? Not your scene, is it?” Your voice is soft with understanding, Satoru sets the yearbook down now, his own hands brushing your arms, making you tremble just a bit. “You smell so good. You look so cute! Look at your teeth! Ah, you’re so handsome, yes you are!”

You’re pinching his cheeks, ending any thoughts of maybe kissing you, as you’re cooing over him. “Stop it.”

“Oh…” You pull back, sighing. “Is it too… it’s weird to be so close to you as we get older, isn’t it?” You frown now. “You’re going to freaking Ivy league, god you’re so smart. I’ll be at Community and…”

“What, no not that. I…” He brushes your hair back, or attempts to, only to accidentally poke at your eye.

“Ah, shit ow!”

“Shit, sorry…” He tries then to grip your chin, like he sees in the movies, making your lips purse just like a fish, and he stutters. “Oh my god I… shit I…”

“Satoru, what is wrong? You’re acting so weird.” You are rubbing at your eye now, as your other strap falls, and your tits nearly fall out, making him panic, turning away and covering his face. “What-”

The door opens now, as Sukuna waltzes in, grinning at you. “Sexy, look at those tits.”

“You’re so rude, Sukuna, ugh.” You cover them up quickly, and Sukuna laughs, throwing his head back, eyeing Satoru now.

“Aw, you two are so cute, why don’t you come dance, baby?” You roll your eyes, shoving him out of the room.

“Bye! I am not your baby.”

“I feel bad for you man…” Sukuna mumbles, roughing up Satoru now, hand ruffling up his hair, as Satoru shoves at him.

“Go on Sukuna.”

“Why little buddy!?” He says your name now, as Satoru sets the yearbook on the bed, and Sukuna plops on it, leaning on an elbow. “Wanna watch how to please a woman 101?”

“Sukuna fuck off please.” You’re yanking at the big lug of a man, who just pokes at your breast, grinning. “You’re such a child!”

“C’mere now.” He yanks you on top of him, right in front of Satoru, you heat up at memories of him, your experiences with him were not the reason you broke up, it was more so he was an ass. “I’m sorry I was such a dick, baby. Can’t orgive me? Shouldn’t the captain of the football team be with the head of the cheer squad?”

“No, they shouldn’t, and no pouting. I’m spending time with my friend.” You finally shove him off, springs creaking as his heavy weight leaves, and he snatches up his yearbook now.

“You won’t even sign mine?”

“No way. Out.” Sukuna pecks a kiss on your cheek, earning a smack and Satoru’s glare behind his tortoiseshell glasses.

“Shit, man.” Sukuna wraps an arm around Satoru’s narrow shoulders, huge in comparison, as Satoru grimaces. “Friend zone is a bitch.” You blink in confusion, shaking your head.

“Friend what now? Go on, we’re talking!” You shove him out of the room finally, sighing as you see Satoru clutching that year book, the music still vibrating through the room, quieter now. “What’s he mean?”

“How would I know? Sukuna’s not exactly a friend.” He rolls his eyes, and you giggle a bit.

“Yeah, he’s kind of a dick.”

“Just kind of? Why’d you date him.”

“Well… he’s also hot?” Satoru rolls his eyes again, as your cheeks heat up, covering your laughter with your hand. “Sorry, let me see this.”

You snatch up his burgundy and black yearbook, and Satoru’s heart races in his chest, eyeing your room nervously, when you sit on the bed with your legs crossed, flipping open the glossy pages now. Satoru hears laughter then, nearly breaking his heart, his eyes shut as his fingers brush along one of your stuffed animals, he was an idiot, right, no way you could feel the same.

“Satoru what’s this - had a badass time banging you in the ‘vette, baby!??! Is this a joke like…” He panics then, eyes wide open, snatching the yearbook from your hands, cursing now.

“Shit this is Sukuna’s… Oh no…”

“Oh, no big deal. Oh, Satoru, I haven’t given you that gift!” Satoru’s sweating now, he can’t handle anyone ever seeing what he wrote but you, surely Sukuna is too drunk to notice, right? “Here, do you love it!?”

It’s a bright pink shirt, you hold up two of them in different sizes, embossed pictures of the two of you sipping on milkshakes, with little cat bodies. “What the… what?”

“You’re the white cat, and look I gave him shades!” You’re bouncing up and down again, yanking the shirt over your head, revealing just your bra, making Satoru’s eyes nearly bug out as he sees your breasts damn near.

“Stop, shit…”

“I’m stuck!” You’re laughing, breathless, when he tugs the shirt down now, so close your breath catches. You bury your head against his chest, the soft silk of his polo against your skin. “You saved me!”

“Always.” His soft words have more meaning than you know, as you slip his shirt off now, blushing as you see his body, more defined and cut than you expected, he’d definitely gained some muscle this year it seemed.

“Damn, look at you, all cut huh? Hottest bestie ever!” Your words make him stutter, then you’ve slipped the matching shirt, he stares at it in the mirror with horror filled eyes. “Besties furr-ever! God you look so cute, Satoru, let's take a picture, we’ll show our moms!”

Satoru grimaces then, as the realization hits. “Oh god…”

Friend Zone.

He was stuck in the friend zone.

Furr ever.

Then he hears it, laughter down the halls, you rush after him when he runs out, and there Sukuna is at the top of the stairs overlooking the partygoers all around the house, reading it out loud. Sukuna and everyone sees Satoru then, in that bright pink shirt with dumb fucking kittens, pointing at him and laughing as you walk out, crossing your arms.

“Hey now! Stop it! Everyone can go, I swear!”

“Wait, wait, you should hear this. ‘When it’s me and you, it’s like our own little perfect world, just Satoru and-’ You listen as Sukuna reads off it in horror, as Satoru begins to shove at Sukuna, and he keeps holding it higher, laughing. “I love you so much, you’re so special to me, you-”

“Give it back!” Satoru shoves a drunk Sukuna out of the way finally, making the big man in his letterman’s jacket stumble, as you blink in confusion, words you never expected from him, hitting so hard.

It couldn’t be.

Satoru and you were so close all these years, and not once had you even had an inkling. “Satoru…”

“No.” He runs down the stairs, yanking off the kitten shirt, leaving him bare, as everyone sings the song lyrics he’d written in your yearbook, making kissy faces as you yell at them all. “Fuck this town.”

“Satoru!” Shoko and Suguru come out front with you, as he kicks on the pedal of his bike, and you’re rushing. “Stop, please.”

“No, I’m done, with everyone here. Fuck you all.” They’re still making obscene gestures, earning your scowl, as Sukuna and the other jocks just grow louder.

“Leave him alone! Satoru, don’t go, I’ll send them all home.” You’re touching his chest now, making him falter, embarrassment pouring in.

“No, you’re popular, right?” His words hurt suddenly, you pull back as if they wound you. “You’re always popular, and I’m not.”

“You’re my best friend, who cares what they think of you? I know you’re amazing.” Your eyes fill with tears now, but Satoru’s embarrassment has taken over, they’re all spread across your front yard making kissy faces, chanting ‘friend zone friend zone friend zone’ “God don’t listen. They’re stupid!”

“No, I’m stupid, I can’t wait to leave this town, and never come back.” You’re crying more now, shaking your head.

“Please, we can… go somewhere, like we used to. I want to know… is what you said in the yearbook…”

“No, it’s… it was a joke. Okay?” You sniffle now more, and Satoru hops back on his bike. “You’re all a joke! Gonna be burnouts, and watch me get… so famous!”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Sukuna earns Satoru’s flipping him off, shocking the crowd, the quiet nerd had never been this way. He takes one last look at you, brows together, lips trembling.

You’d never like him anyway.

“I’m gone, and not looking back.” He rides off, hearing you shouting his name, hearing the laughter, his couple friends also trying to get his attention. You blow up his cell phone all night, all week, fuck all summer, his facebook, shit you call his damn mother, but Satoru leaves.

He leaves and never looks back.

*****

Present day- Satoru Gojo- age twenty six

It’s a bustling party, spring break is here and what place is better than Hollywood, really? Satoru is the most famous up and coming model there is, and he may or may not also be a complete whore of a man. He’s in a three piece Givenchy suit, sipping a martini and winking at a sexy waitress, who blushes immediately, earning the glare of the girl he’s with.

“This is what I mean! You only care about sex!” Satoru snorts now, as the eyes of the party start peering curiously.

“Didn’t I have you cumming like ten times this morning?” He murmurs, tilting her chin up, she falters a bit, lips parting for a moment. “That’s what I thought, sweets, don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

He’s grinning brightly down at her, a beautiful model in her own right, but women were… easy, easy to get, fuck they flocked to him, and he just kept one major rule about them all. Never, ever, become their friend, he could not handle the heartbreak eight years ago, the girl who he never spoke to again, fuck you’d never recognize him now, would you?

“I do, of course but… I want something more serious.” Satoru pouts.

“That’s a shame, we were having so much fun, Michelle.”

“That’s not even my name, ugh! It’s Marie! How-”

She’s freaking out now, he must have got her confused with his other hook up, he just watches her with cold blue eyes, tapping an olive into his mouth and nodding, pretending to care. It’s just sex, but Satoru loves to fuck, he loves watching women cum for him, screaming his name, something the boy with pink kitten shirts, glasses and a retainer couldn’t dream of.

He wasn’t a skinny nerd now, he was buff, he was sought after, he bets now you’d fold for him too, but he never visited home again to find out either way. He flew his mom and friends out to Hollywood instead, the taste of the little town left in his mouth far, far too disgusting, but of course he wonders about you, but he’s never managed to find out, to ask.

Satoru shakes off the thoughts of you, realizing another girl has walked up, and she’s yelling now too. “What’s wrong with you? Who are you?” He asks curiously, making her mouth drop open, arms crossing under her breasts.

“You don’t even remember me!?” The blonde girl asks.

“Michelle?”

“No, I’m Britney! Who is Michelle!?” Satoru curses, he thinks he remembers fucking Britney in a bathroom stall, but he’s not sure.

“Um… I think I’m gonna go.” He pats their shoulders, grinning with those bright white teeth. “I have places to be, ladies.”

Satoru earns two smacks, wincing and touching his cheeks, as his friend snorts in laughter next to him. “You’re such an ass, Gojo.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shit…” His phone keeps ringing, and soon he sees it, his manager won’t stop calling. “What is it?”

“Satoru, you have connections back in New Hampshire, right?” Satoru frowns now, he never ever wants to think of his hometown again.

“Why?” He leans on the bar, as he gets another martini, winking at the bartender who can’t keep her eyes off him.

“An ideal slot for an impromptu show, and you’ll be the star! You can book a trip this week right?”

“No!”

“What do you mean no? It’s perfect, the hometown boy got famous, they’ll eat it up, money in our pockets.” Satoru’s panicking now, visions swirling in his mind, of leaving you that night.

Should he have stayed?

No way, he’ll never be in that ‘friend zone’ again, looking like an idiot. Let him go back, show them all what he’s become. “You know what… fuck it, I can.”

“That’s my Star. Alright, booking tickets!” Satoru hangs up the phone, thinking of you suddenly… surely you were long gone.

Just how were you?

Why did he care?

That life was long, long gone. He eyes the pretty bartender now, tapping his martini glass, blue eyes dipping low. “Guess I’m visiting my hometown.”

“Oh yeah, where from?” She asks softly, and he smirks, as she shakes the martini up.

“Small town, middle of nowhere. You watched me get slapped and did nothing, by the way!” She giggles.

“You look like you deserved it.” Satoru sighs, giving her the cutest pout, as she leans over, but instead of even being attracted, you’re swirling all through his damn mind, one phone call and…

He couldn’t get the memory of you to leave.

Did you look the same, were you married with kids like you always wanted, or did you have a career, did you ever end up teaching? That was your dreams, small dreams to him, but to you they had been everything. He keeps hoping the money, fame and women will fill this gaping hole you left, and he supposes he can pretend that it did, but it’s gnawing it’s way open in his chest.

He sighs, as the music fades, and his ears rush with blood, remembering you that night, so vivid it’s like you’re there, and he has to blink, to focus on the bustling, expensive party surrounding him. He contemplates it then, what would Nerd Gojo think of himself now?

“Maybe I did.” He mumbles, when he’s back home, preparing for the trip, packing his finest outfits in a Gucci suitcase, he stumbles upon that one picture of you and him that he kept then, touching it gently, withered a bit with age, with time.

He whispers your name, before shoving it deep in the suitcase and closing it, laying back on his bed.

The ‘nerd’ Gojo they knew was gone.

He was a fucking model now, he fucked models for fun, he was filthy fucking rich, and he’d show them all, right?

But… what about you, the girl who always treated him so sweet, the one he has to swallow down emotions thinking of the memory.

What about you?

Next part- Satoru comes home!! And you just so happen to be there, what will you think of the changes Satoru has made? Gonna be a lil emotional, mostly fun and sweet!!! Satoru gonna be an ass but it's okay he'll learn lol.

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