Chapter Text
Like a zoo animal, everyone is excited to meet the six-eyes boy. The older students cast a little crowd around him and the other members of staff have a fascinated glint in their eyes that first day. Just about everyone has asked Shoko how she feels about being in a class with him, and she'd shrugged, not knowing what else to say.
Regardless, upon meeting him, her eyebrows shoot up, where they stay for several seconds as their existences collide. He's got a darkness in his eyes, young as they are, staring her down in away that erects her skin with little shivers, as if upon first introduction, he has already seen every single thing about her.
"Creepy," she thinks. Maybe she says it, because his head tilts her way as she approaches a seat.
She's still reeling mentally, undergoing an existential revelation, spurred on by his realism. She's always been one for logic over sentiment, but in the face of eyes like endless blue galaxies, she finds herself confronting the spiritual. She finds herself concretely acknowledging that there must actually be a God out there, governing over all things alive. Where else could such a thing as 'Gojo Satoru' have emerged from?
She's half put off with concern that he can somehow read minds as a part of his technique but...
"Hello," he says, leaning towards her and fixating his intense gaze on the lollipop at the corner of her mouth. For anxiety.
His scrutiny exhausts her. She's already in above her depth as she slightly nods her chin and hums. In no time at all, his elbow invades its way onto his desk and rests there, just a little too close as he gawks. "Are you scared I'm going to beat the crap out of you in a fight?"
He's reading her expressions, not her mind.
He's doing it too well. She narrows her eyes. "Don't be," he answers himself before she even has a chance, "I don't go out of my way to do real harm to girls. Especially not pretty girls."
He says it with a grin like he's cute and charming.
He's already so much.
"Ugh," she mutters without meaning too, and his lips pin flat. She decides to just look away, focusing down on her the notebook she puts out on her desk. "That kind of arrogance never ends well."
Naturally, he makes her eat those words. On their very first training match, he pins her effortlessly to the gym mat, where he holds her still with her palms spread. His grin is sharp above her. His eyes glisten with a thrill, not even needing to count the seconds that tick slowly by. She spends them helpless to worm her way out, dead still and at his mercy. Her brows furrow and her determination melts into exhaustion. Then silent irritation as his expression continues to mock her with unspoken taunts, eyes and grin voicing it loudly enough.
"Screw you," she scowls.
He laughs, jumping up in one go, dusting his hands and grinning over his shoulder.
"Suguru~!" He winks at her, "time to squash more ants."
He doesn't know just how much he's just mentally pummelled her. Physically, she's fine, but mentally, she feels as if at the bottom of a stairway to the heavens, only capable of looking up. She doesn't get up, lazily, almost comfortably staying on her back with her neck tilted to watch the other two boyishly fight. When the lesson ends and they're supposed to change, she's still lying there in a defeated slump.
"Shoko-chan, I'm sorry," Gojo pleas without losing a single hair of his arrogance. They're both standing beside her as Yaga's dolls clean the rest of the large gym. Their words won't pierce the daze she's in. She curls her lip a little in disgust at their attempts, quiet and calm. Gojo's toes tap her as he speaks. Then, his toes curl annoying under her side, nudging up to half lift her torso. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shatter your soul."
Suguru tuts sharply in offense. He's far calmer, one hand in his joggers' pocket, even though he's still red in the face from the intensity of the sparring.
"What he means is...in exchange for putting up with him... as an apology for your trauma, let the rich boy buy you an ice-cream to make it up."
That's how it begins. A beautiful, blissful friendship. A defining one, if she were ever to look back on the twists and turns of her life.
It all seemed to simple, so easy, the way they fit together. Gojo Satoru's physical prowess attracts Suguru's admiration, and Suguru's noble intelligence earns the former's devotion. She sits between them, calm and comfortable, never needing to break her introversion with such a pair around to keep themselves occupied.
Time only intensifies the sacred simplicity of it all. It starts with ice-cream after school, then shifts into Suguru making breakfast for her, a routine late evening tea in the kitchen, then in one of their rooms. Then in only a few weeks, when Satoru's cold, he invites himself to her bed and declares it more comfy than his own. He shifts the whole thing with a few wiggles of his ass, t-shirt riding up and long limbs spread so far she occupies only a corner. He grabs her pillow and squashes it under his chin as he hums with content.
There's only so much she can tense away, before her energy gives in, as per usual, and she accepts the warmth of a few faint touches to his side. He calls for Suguru, who's never far behind. They bring their own blankets at first, but later on, they huddle like penguins, so normal about it, she never has to overthink. She sleeps beside them both, safe. She wakes up just as content, someone's arm under her cheek and Suguru's hair spread around them all.
It's raining that day.
Suguru's off on a job. Alone. Satoru's high off mastering yet another skill. He's yapping about it, relentless like bad music assaulting her ears. He's a radio that won't turn off; only one that calls her name and varies its tone and walks up and down the empty classroom over the heavy pattering of raindrops on the glass.
They got the memo that class might be on; or it might not. Typical Jujutsu stuff, not anything too alarming to be questioned. She's antsy from staying up all night in the infirmary, trying to heal complex brain lacerations on a dying bunny.
She hears the croak of wood as his weight shifts off the desk he'd leaned on, pattering her way. "Can I use you?"
As always, he only asks as forewarning, taking her hand and touching the skin.
That surprises her.
It's his actual skin she comes into contact with, a warm, soft feeling that entirely takes her by surprise, and so she's looking up at him now with questioning eyes. Right away, she can feel it's different. Maybe he doesn't make full eye contact with her unless they're alone? It must be that, because she feels it twice as intense now that they are alone. It's almost like he's never looked at her directly before, because she is now sucked into his gentle smile, and the cloud-like waves of blue behind his vivid eyes.
Her head tilts in quiet fascination. The moment for her to object his instigation passes. He smells good. She realises it just as her heart rate becomes obvious to her. She doesn't know how to control it - how to slow her breathing so it's not too erratic but not too obviously controlled. It won't listen either.
"Tell me how this feels."
His warmth is pushed away. She reaches towards it, feeling a dip in the air like the opposite end of a magnet. He connects their hands then puts up infinity again. He caresses her knuckles and palms with a confident assertion of his warm skin, then holds her, even through the invisible layers that separate them and lifts her hand.
"It's kind of gross," she muses around her lollipop. He turns it on and off several times, concentrating on practised control.
His nose scrunches. The two of them are alone in the empty class though. The rain seals them in. The hallway is dark outside. Of all places to stand, he's between her knees where she sits atop a desk. She can feel something stirring and it paralyses her.
She doesn't miss the intimacy that he's exposing to her, the declaration of trust his little action is saying. Will he ever have the courage to say it in actual words? To Suguru, maybe? But to her?
Gojo calmly explains his technique, talking physics, sounding focused, intense, phrasing the universes mysteries so casually, so easily, she's pulled in to his existence.
She holds on to this moment, an insignificant whisper of a memory, standing out against all the intensity of things to come...
Her bedroom door clicks open and closed as it often does.
She doesn't even bother to lift the blanket off her head at the slight croak of weight approaching her bed. His smell precedes him. His body is warm, springs creaking as he drops himself right behind her and selfishly clings an arm around her like she's a teddy.
"You okay?" she mumbles sleepily.
He says something to her hair. If he were to crane over her any more, it would be another barrier broken. He doesn't do it, staying in that comfortable pit of trust they're always at.
"Suguru not coming?" she asks a while later, in and out of a doze.
A pause wakes her up a little.
"Door's locked."
Is all Satoru says. It wakes her up some more.
She turns. "Come here."
If she's learned anything about Satoru over the last year since meeting him, it's that he's sweet. He's helpless really; kind, uncertain, devoted and in need of directing. Emotionally, he hurts very easily. She pulls him into a hug and shifts herself up the bed so her lips are in his white hair, and even presses a kiss to it as she rubs over his back. He clings to her like a needy pet, healing from the insult and injury of the locked bedroom door.
She doesn't breathe easily until he is, chest rising and falling against her stomach, grip on her just as tight.
She cares about him.
She doesn't want him to feel hurt.
She can't do much to stop it though. No more than this.
When Suguru's gone, they're always alone in their classes together. It's different, however, intimacy stripped away and a cloud of darkness silencing the sweet boy she'd befriended into something worrying. He's very intense. He puts up his act of joyful, energised and curious. His ego spurns everything around him and his temper snaps into desperate, eye-rolling barks of irritation at a breath's notice.
This is much of their relationship, and as he spirals in his own way, she smokes as a way to cope with the equal pressure of what Suguru has done. They're learning more about the world around them and its cruelty, its power structures. Gojo is playing basketball without his favourite teammate and rival, and it's left him bitter, vengeful.
He's bullying the students from other years with his pace and his mirthless goading, snapping and demanding that they fix up and making harsh faces at them, spitting insults. He looks ready to punch someone. The younger years don't deserve this, having lost Haibara to death - not desertion. She's always had a soft spot for them and felt oddly protective of them, especially now that she's the only one left who's Gojo's age.
Maybe that's why her irritation psychically radiates to him, and Gojo suddenly stops mid game to look right at her with his all-knowing eyes.
He's panting, dripping sweat down his jaw that he wipes up with a lift of his jersey, tight abs and branded boxer-briefs clinging to ever ab as he studies her with quiet contemplation in his eyes. Whatever he sees, he turns to her and bounces the ball off to someone else.
He flickers - actually flickers - to her, the drama queen. She yelps at how suddenly he's there standing over her on the grassy banks, not even bending to look down at her, just leering from his full height.
"What are you doing?" he scolds, yanking the cigarette right from her mouth. She accepts her fate readily, shrugging because she's only got bolder about where she smokes lately, barely hiding it. Why bother, with so many real dead bodies piling up on her surgical desk each night? She isn't expecting the indirect kiss though, as Gojo puts the cigarette curiously between his pursed lips.
In the next second, his heaving up his lungs, dropping forwards so dramatically, his shoulders check hers, and he's curled on top of her. She tuts, gripping him for support, knowing it's a fake, dickish show of him being 'okay' and 'humoured,' when her gut feeling is telling her that he isn't.
"No way," he coughs out authoritatively, twisting her cigarette it so it warps out of existence. She hears herself make a noise of complaint, of disappointment. If he's going to subject her to this, the very least he can do is let her have her unhealthy coping mechanisms.
"The price of those adds up," she warns him.
"How do you like this?" He enquires. She raises one brow, unamused.
The longer she stares, the more her frustration simmers into enjoyment. Him too. She can tell their brief interaction has brought some of the tension back out of his shoulders. Not bottled deeper down, actually pushed away as if it's not the weight of the entire world he has crushing over them.
He looks to the sky, smiling.
As he does, he pulls a lollipop from his back pocket and raises it as an offering, peeling the wrapper off himself. Her eyes follow it; the dark grape flavour that's her current favourite has her mouth watering to itch her oral fixation, and her mind fantasizing about the flavour, mouth opening up and lips tilting his way.
He's about to pop it into her lips when he changes his mind and says, "wait," cruelly plunging it into his own.
"Gojo," she groans.
His tongue encircles it, no infinity around just his tongue, so there's an audible pop as his mouth peels off. The first layer of flavour is now coated on his tongue, some of him on it in exchange as he puts it right against her lips, so her tongue accepts it without thinking.
"There," he says.
Her heart or body does something. There's a deep shiver running through her, a trembling pleasure at the slight difference in taste on the lollipop. Satoru's taste.
By third year, it's only natural that things get more physical.
He comes to her more or less every night she's actually in her bed, not out working, and he's not out doing unethical labour for the higher ups that run their lives. Thus, these nights are sacred. The time between them only makes them more potent.
His thigh will nudge between her legs and she'll see stars briefly before they get into a comfortable position and sleep. A week later, his mouth will end up near her chest and his breath will vibrate into her in a way that has her spacing out, and they'll both pretend their not briefly hyperaware of their bodies and their touching and their heat.
Another time, she wakes up to his hand clasping so firmly on her left breast, his breathing even, his mind dead to the world, and she falls into a near psychosis of hormones.
At last, it happens where she wakes up and Gojo is hard. He leaves quickly the 'first time.' They're quiet and blushing, she's wide-eyed, he's ashamed. She'd had a feeling it had happened before a few times, but with all three of them around, it had been easier to hide, to cover up with a pillow and hide behind casual convo and amicable jokes.
Things are just different when it's only them. The second time she notices it, he jokes, "morning wood," and makes another quick escape. Then it becomes a sort of inside joke that they understand and excuse, because it's a 'natural reaction.' Though it so often leads to her first smoke of the day, as she catches herself trying to sneak a look at the anatomy he's so eager to hide.
Then one day, she does.
Her eyes are shut, but she feels it. It's hot, heavy, curious for her. She thinks he's asleep at first, but then hears him shifting slightly. She feels it move not long after, dragging along to the outside of her hip, accompanied by an inhale from the large lunge of the male behind her. She turns abruptly, half expecting to see him playing with himself, but he's only rigidly gripping it through his bottoms enough to get it away from her.
His eyes stay down as she faces him.
"Sorry, morning... reaction," he utters with a tired dewy look to his perfect skin, hair tilted up in every direction like an attractive birds-nest, if ever there was such a thing. She's still lying down but he sits up on his elbows, legs spread, looking for the covers that are half tangled in her feet, half on the floor. There's nowhere to hide. He goes still, almost scared. She half turns to ogle at the surprising size and width of the eager thing poking up from between her friend's legs. It's just another part of him that has to be perfect. She's never stared at it before, never really imagined how that part of Gojo would look, but now she can't quite look away. Her eyes follow the way the fabric tents, stretching the fabric so hard, he's gripping the edge of his pants at the hip as if uncomfortable.
His eyes are still puffy, tilting his head to the door, where she can faintly hear people somewhere outside.
Ah.
No hiding place, too early for his technique to flicker him somewhere unexpected while rock hard.
An involuntary bodily reaction seizes her. She's too focused on it to say something like 'ew, gross' so she says, "knock yourself out. My back's turned," doing exactly that.
He snorts ever so slightly. "You don't happen to have a porno mag?"
"I don't look at porn."
"Really? How'd you get off."
She furrows a brow at the genuine curiosity of it, but supposes this is the least of the shocking things she'd overhead him saying with Suguru. She shrugs and shows him her two finger pads.
"That's it? That's all you need?"
"I don't know... I guess I find something to think."
"That's kind of hot," he whispers.
Shoko's eyes widen. She turns to stare at him deadpan, a deliberate statement. Her attention is caught again by it though. The way he's looking at it. The monster she can't help but stare at, and Gojo's arousal jolts in his pants, as if her eyes have a physical touch. His brows raise. His lips press flat and he stares straight ahead, trying to stay still.
He throat is dry. Her insides are tingling.
The quiet is long.
"I'll look at it if that helps," she says, at the exact same time that he also says:
"Sorry Sho but you're really doing something for it," as if strangled.
He grabs it at last, squeezing it through his pants, fascinating her as she takes in the quick, practised way he touches it, massaging it and pulling it length to end. "Of course you would though," he adds in a whisper, palming himself frustratingly and...
It's really doing something to her.
"Just take it off," she instructs hastily, "I'm not judging."
He kicks his pants all the way down, boxers too and his cock is just beautiful. It's weird to say it but she's wet the moment she sees it, uncomfortably so as it stands between his toned thighs, his pretty hands clasping around it and pumping it with slow, insistent consideration. She feels her mouth open, her mind melt into a basic biological reaction. An instinct to suck on it and slurp the end has her turning onto her stomach, unable to look away, thighs squashing together so hard... it still does nothing to abate how intense her arousal is.
"Good - yeah - hn - just... keep watching it like that," he smiles a little, laughs at her a little at the end of it, amusement finding its way onto his lips even now as his tall erection gets longer and stiffer.
"Wow," she whispers, genuinely awed by how big it gets. He's pumping it faster, left hand gripping the sheets and right hand very quick around the tip. The look in his eyes gets her, drowns her. It's just that sound, just him touching himself and her vision blurring over with bestial lust. When he cums, he cums silently. His hands fist over his tip, going abruptly still and squeezing it slow, every muscle in his body so stiff, his veins are showing in his arms. He's a statue, dead still and lips parted in a look of pleasure.
Then his head falls back against her headboard and he stays like that, like some ancient Greek God painting, the mess spilling down from his tight palm. She's just as overwhelmed, breathless at how good it must have felt. She's shaking slightly from squeezing her thighs. She hasn't even noticed it yet. She can't move or think, or hide the expressions from her face as she feels her every thought filter through the wetness pooling between her legs, uncomfortably against her underwear.
It takes a while for her instincts to win the tug of war, and there's a moment where she thinks, 'fuck it.'
She lowers her hands down, brushing her two fingers over her nerves and closing her eyes from the pleasure it brings her.
"Sho."
Gojo snaps to life in a second, the speed and violence that wins him every fight. She flinches girlishly, hands grabbed by the kind heat of his as he drops himself between her legs, suddenly rubbing his face between her parted thighs. He brain short-circuits. She feels his nose - his lips - his chin. She doesn't have a single second to inhale as his tongue strikes over her nerves. Even through her clothes, she is blinded. Pliant. His hands grip her palms. His tongue presses into her body as if he can taste her, and her thighs spread wider for him, her brain relaxes. He gathers the thick cotton of her pants in his teeth and exhales vibrations onto her desperate wetness, biting down on the fabric hard and tugging it messily, roughly, animalistically down.
A noise escapes its way out of her as she crunches up, only to fall to careful silence as he kisses her through her underwear now - so much thinner. There's nothing but thin fabric to protect her from the sensation of his hunger. She's lost to the way he kisses and devours her, a furious thread of tension breaking as he feasts. He kisses. Like it's all for himself - all to satiate his own over-brimming hunger.
She knows he's wanted this.
She knows now, years of subtle moments suddenly making sense.
They spend a long time like that, his head between her legs and his tongue rendering all words and thoughts empty from her mind.
It's the perfect way to spend her morning, and she pants to try and keep herself calm, eyes searching around her bedroom but seeing nothing over the pleasure his boldness gives her. She gives in to touching herself, quick and fast beneath her panties. He half licks, half watches her, white-lashes heavy over lust-ridden eyes.
She stops only when pleasure snaps like a whip against her. She cums harder than she'd thought possible, failing at silence, a whine breaking free from the surging pleasure in her lungs.
Then, they naturally part in a good mood, busy with work, barely needing a moment to talk.
The next day, he kisses her ears, her neck, he spends close to an hour slobbering between her breasts while grinding against her cheeks as hard as a brick. Her panties come off and his fingers explore her curiously, his eyes examine her dutifully. Her tongue finds his cock and suckles on it just as she'd dreamed, sucking on perfection, wanting to spend hours like this with her head bobbing happily in his lap. Her oral fixation is deeply, deeply pleased.
She's content to repay him for how good he had made her feel, and when she gets it right, her head only bobs six more times for him to cum into her mouth and down her chin while gripping on her head, making the most wonderful, helpless noise.
The next time, she swallows. The time after that, he's the one on his back with her thighs spread over his face, riding with no cotton between them, his large, strong fingers tearing into the meat of her ass and tongue curling up inside her, against every lip, every velvet fold and kissing against her juices, swallowing them down.
They decide they need to have sex.
It's not much of a want or a choice - most certainly a need - a biological thing - nothing more to it.
She's more than used to taking off her clothes for him by then, relishing in the admiration of his eyes as they track over her, and she's so wet, he pushes a finger all the way in on first try. Her body remembers how good he'd made her feel the last time. It's a huge problem - trying not to get distracted by him in lessons, or out in public. It's just touching. It's just a game of pursuing pleasure. She scolds him, not to make her cum too quickly, or she'll be too sensitive to want to have sex.
He listens well. He circles her hole, steering clear of her clit, pushing in deep enough to be uncomfortable and prodding the spongy insides. She licks the delightful muscles connecting his shoulders to his neck as he asks if she's ready, before pushing a second finger in. It's so tight, it takes her a while. He searches inside her. He starts to move them faster and nearly wipes her out with two simple digits prodding inside of her.
She kicks his cheek to get him to stop, and he relents, smiling mockingly at her, licking his fingers and grinding his bare cock against her stomach with want as she calms down. At three fingers, it's so tight she tenses up.
Gojo is slow. He's patient. He pushes them in and gives her plenty of time to mentally adjust to being touched this deep, discovering new depths about her own body she othersise wouldn't know. She's on her back with her hair a mess, her eyes vulnerable, but her legs eagerly spread.
When he's inside, she could cum from just that. They have to wait so they don't end it too soon, and she lifts his hair out of his eyes as he pants and bites his bottom lip so hard it all goes white.
His shoulders are broadening so much, his jaw is becoming so defined, and her breasts are heavier than the ones he'd first touched. He stares at her with intoxicating lust, all his yearning evident in his bright blue eyes. That's as intimate as it gets.
"Please," he begs.
Shoko dies. He fucks her, in and out of her clasping, clenching depths and she can't help whimper at the way he pushes on all the right nerves. Her wetness engrosses him, and despite all the sex ed lessons, there's nothing between them to numb the feeling of him pushing deep within her slickness, her body hugging his most intimate part so tight.
She can't believe they're having sex. That this feeling is sex.
His thrusts are shallow at first, not wanting to leave her heat, but in no time at all, all thoughts give out, so she can only focus on how he's pleasing the deepest part of her.
Silence escapes them. She hears herself gasp, soft and sweet at every thrust, loud enough that anyone passing would hear them, but she's too absorbed by her pleasure to care.
"That feels so good," she tells him, hearing every bit of her pleasure in the song-like quality of her voice. He responds by making her moan even louder, grabbing him harder, forgetting control of her body - her face - knowing only pleasure as he pushes into her, time and time again.