Work Text:
gojo satoru and you have a strange friendship. you met at a party during your first year, of course. it was a blur of moments you barely remember, except for one.
that moment being you, tipsy and bold and convinced you were the funniest person alive, declaring that if you were both still single by fourth year, you were entitled to marry each other after graduation. no takebacks. no loopholes.
satoru had laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink. then he’d pinky-sworn you anyway, solemn as hell, like this was a binding contract instead of a joke made at a frat house at two in the morning.
since then, he’s taken it upon himself to find you someone. a hobby he treats with alarming dedication.
he insists on “helping” during study sessions. except he spends more time sprawled across your bed, his white hair pulled back with a headband and flipping your pen between his fingers, giving unsolicited flirting advice instead of actually reviewing material.
“you gotta make eye contact,” he says, chewing on a straw from an iced coffee. “but not too much. like, confident, mysterious. wanna practice?” he asks, wiggling his brows, blue eyes shining with excitement.
he introduces you to a whole lineup of his friends, like he’s curating your love life.
first was his best friend geto suguru. criminally attractive, tall and broad-shouldered with long dark hair he kept tied back like he couldn’t be bothered to tame it any further. his eyes were heavy-lidded and knowing, calm in a way that made people lean in when he spoke, like he never had to raise his voice to be heard. you were actually excited. then, somehow, just as you were about to go on your date, satoru texted you in all caps about an “emergency” that absolutely required your help.
the emergency turned out to be him locked out of his own room.
with the key in his pocket.
then there was nanami kento. respectable and devastatingly handsome in a way that felt almost unfair. broad, solid, always neatly put together, like he’d never once shown up somewhere without intention. his blond hair was combed back, his sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong forearms, and his voice was steady and low when he spoke. the kind of man who made you feel like he’d listen. you made it halfway through dinner before satoru appeared at the same restaurant uninvited (and also unapologetically) sliding into the empty seat like he belonged there.
“wow,” he said, draping an arm over the back of your chair. “small world.”
by the time dessert came, nanami had politely excused himself, and satoru was stealing fries off your plate with a huge grin on his stupid face.
you became suspicious after that.
it solidified when, on your last attempt at trying to date someone. it was your choice, someone satoru didn’t recommend yet he somehow managed to drive away ryomen sukuna. dangerously good-looking in a way that set off warning bells immediately. sharp eyes, sharp smile, all teeth and confidence, the kind of presence that made people stare without realizing they were doing it. he looked like trouble and knew it. you never even told satoru where you were meeting him.
yet there he was, leaning against his car across the street. sunglasses on at night. looking menacingly friendly. a face you wanted to punch.
sukuna took one look and decided he suddenly had somewhere else to be.
at this point, it’s obvious. he’s sabotaging every single date.
but when you confront him, arms crossed, patience worn thin, he just shrugs, all lazy confidence and infuriating charm.
“you’re too good for them,” he says easily. “they don’t deserve you.”
and maybe that should annoy you more than it does.
because despite everything, it is a friendship. you can’t just discard years of shared notes and late-night cram sessions. he’s the one who shows up with soup when you can’t get out of bed, who drags you to class when you’re sick, who lets you cry into his hoodie when you fail an exam and tells you it doesn’t define you. he's also the one who manages to stay sober enough when you've had too much at parties, always handing over his jacket on cold nights out.
he’s reliable, protective and constant.
but he’s also an asshole. a fratboy menace. a man who ruins every single date you go on and pretends it’s for your own good.
and the worst part?
you’re starting to wonder if that drunk promise was the reason for all of this.
after all those sabotaged dates, you stop trying.
not officially. you don’t announce it or make a dramatic vow. you just don’t download the apps again. you don’t say yes when someone asks for your number. you don’t bother asking satoru if he knows anyone normal. he’s enough of a pain in the ass as it is.
and the thing is that you can’t even fully hate him for it.
because for all his troublemaking, satoru is actually sweetheart in ways that sneak up on you. he brings you coffee without asking, always the way you like it. he waits outside your lectures even when his start an hour later. he pretends not to notice when you fall asleep on his shoulder during late-night study sessions, staying perfectly still like he’s afraid to wake you, he carries you when you're too drunk to walk back to your dorm, always one call away when you need him.
maybe that’s why you’re a little grateful.
grateful you never went on those dates. grateful you never had to learn someone else’s favorite movie, or explain your habits, or build something that would’ve fallen apart anyway. grateful that every time you went home, it was with satoru who was laughing too loud, stealing your food, walking you to your door like it was second nature.
so when fourth year starts—your first semester, the beginning of the end—you start to see it.
the potential.
it happens in stupid, mundane moments. the way he automatically reaches for your bag when you’re tired. the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, gaze soft and unguarded. the way his teasing has slowed, dulled, like he’s afraid of crossing a line that’s been there all along.
you wanted him right where he was and that's a thought you hate yourself for.
because it’s dangerous.
because it’s messy.
because it threatens everything you already have.
but no matter how hard you try to deny it, you can’t anymore.
you don’t just want satoru around.
you want him with you.
during a party you both swore was the last one you’d attend this semester, satoru is the drunk one.
he wasn't really sloppy drunk, not stumbling, he's just loose and uncharacteristically quiet, his usual fratboy confidence softened at the edges. his white hair is messy, falling into his eyes, the fringe sticking up in ridiculous little tufts that make him look younger than he is. one arm is draped loosely around your waist, the other resting on the back of the couch, like he’s trying to be casual but failing spectacularly. his head leans on your shoulder, warm and heavy, and for the first time in three years, he doesn’t have a teasing comment ready.
“it’s funny how we survived this long without making out,” you joke, voice lighter than your heart feels.
satoru tenses beside you. his blue eyes, usually half-lidded and full of mischief, snap wide open. he blinks. once, then twice like he’s checking if he actually heard what you said. the smirk he always wears is gone, replaced with a flustered tilt of his head that makes your chest clench.
“well,” he starts, trying to roll his eyes like it’s business as usual, “you never wanted to before.”
he hesitates, and you notice it with the small twitch of his jaw, the way his fingers fidget against your hip. the fratboy charm, the shameless flirtation, the confident grin you’ve known for years… it’s all gone.
he's nervous for the first time. completely out of his element.
a beat of silence stretches between you, the thumping bass of the party fading into the background. you glance up at him, and there it is. satoru’s grin, small and crooked, the kind he reserves for moments that feel dangerous and exciting at the same time.
"did you… want to?” he asks finally, voice lower than usual, uncertain. his lips twitch, as if he’s not sure they’ll cooperate, as if the words themselves are foreign to him.
your pulse jumps and you can feel the warmth of his arm, the casual weight that’s suddenly intimate, pressing against your side. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” you admit softly, just loud enough for him to hear.
his shoulders relax ever so slightly, a laugh escaping that’s half nervous, half relieved. “wow,” he mutters, brushing a stray tuft of hair from his forehead, his thumb grazing your temple by accident. “you’re… really gonna do this to me?”
“do what?” you tease, though your voice shakes slightly.
“this,” he says, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, like the air itself is charged, dangerous, and somehow thrilling. his head tilts, hair falling back into place, blue eyes bright and gleaming, pupils dilated. “I’m not used to you suggesting this kind of thing. you hated it when I flirted with you.”
you grin, brushing your fingers along his arm. “I did.”
he swallows, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. his arm tightens slightly around your waist, leaning in just a fraction closer, enough to make your pulse speed. “well… if we’re doing this,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, “maybe we shouldn’t stay here. there's too many people watching.”
you raise an eyebrow. “oh? and where exactly do you suggest we go?”
his grin widens, half-laugh, half-smirk, and he tilts his head toward the exit. “you and me. your place, like usual. no interruptions. we can… see how long we’ve survived without actually kissing and maybe doing more?”
your stomach does a flip. now there's the familiar fratboy charm. but now it’s edged with something sharper, something daring, and it makes your heart hammer.
“you really don’t waste time, huh?” you tease, though your voice betrays how much you want him to follow through.
“why would I?” he says, eyes sparkling. “I’ve been waiting three years for this.”
and just like that, the party, the noise, the sticky floors—all of it—was abandoned. it’s just you and him and the tension humming in the space between you, hotter and heavier than any joke, any dare, any flirt in the past.
he's confident and shameless. still teasing as usual. and for the first time tonight, he’s also completely serious.
you can feel it in the way he reaches for your hand.
it's not like before when you were both drunk and laughing too loud, fingers loosely tangled out of convenience. this time his grip is deliberate, his slender thumb brushing slow, like he ached so long to be able to touch you like this.
“I’m guessing you finally realized something?” satoru says. his shoulder bumps yours as you walk, casual on the surface, but his hand tightens just a little.
“no shit, toru. what do you think?” you shoot back.
he rolls his eyes, all sass and familiarity, but his smile doesn’t quite land the way it usually does. there’s something careful and honest in it.
you exhale, gaze lifting to the clear, star-scattered, unfairly romantic sky. “even though I look like I'm gonna break your heart,” you say, voice softer than you mean it to be, “and you look like a tough shot in the dark.”
he slows to a stop and turns to face you entirely.
"but I'm starting to think we could be a thing."
“hey,” he says, gentle but firm, lifting your joined hands between you. “why do you make it sound like that’s something bad.”
you scoff quietly. “you’re chaos, satoru. you flirt like it’s a sport. you don’t exactly scream safe bet.”
“and you,” he counters, leaning in just enough to steal your breath, “took too long to realize that we could be something.” his eyes search your face, blue and bright even in the low light.
"you know me now, more than I know myself and you think I'm still trouble? you think I'd do that to you?" he asks, eyes searching yours. his intention is clear in the way he talks. it's strong and unflinching.
"no, I-" your voice trailed off, watching him hold your hand so naturally, your memory travels to that night you made a pact.
"toru, you could've just told me you're still holding onto that pact we did during first year?" you asked, lifting his hand and intwining your pinky with his slender ones.
"why do you think I sabotaged all those dates for?" he countered, a lopsided grin forming.
"that's not funny." you frowned.
"no it's not." he agreed, looking away with guilt in the tone of his voice.
"but I also couldn't exactly tell you that I wanted you all mine. I kept sabotaging those dates because—it's stupid—but I want you to keep your promise."
"you make fun of me about realizing things late, but you can't even tell me the truth about this whole thing between us." you say gently, eyes searching for his.
“yeah,” he says. “and risk losing you? risk making things weird?” his gaze flickers back to your joined hands. “you were the one constant I had. I didn’t want to be the guy who ruined that. but I also didn't want you to be with someone else. it's so hypocritic, I know." he looked like a hurt puppy when he finally turned back to you.
you let out a sigh.
“I think I knew third year,” you say finally. “when I stopped trying to date at all. I told myself I was tired. of you sabotaging every single date? yes. but also, I was tired of pretending.” you let out a quiet laugh. “because really, I just didn’t want anyone who wasn’t you.”
he stops to look at you but he doesn’t interrupt.
“I’d come back from nights with you and think 'this is too much of a good thing,'" you continue. “and that scared me. because good things don’t last. they go wrong and they hurt.” you meet his eyes. “but you never left. no matter what.”
he steps closer—not crowding you, just close enough that the warmth of him feels intentional now.
“I know I look like a walking red flag,” he says quietly. “I flirt. I joke. I mess around.” His voice steadies. “but with you? I’ve been serious since the day I realized I didn’t want anyone else touching you the way I already was.”
your heart stumbles.
“I get the feeling this could go wrong,” you whisper.
“well yeah, probably."
“but it wouldn’t be a mistake.” you agree.
“never,” he says immediately. “not you.”
he lifts your joined hands, pressing a kiss to the back of your palm.
“so what do you say?” he murmurs. “we stop pretending?”
you squeeze his hand.
“I say we should’ve done this sooner,” you reply.
“so does this count as a marriage proposal yet?” you joke, breathless.
he grins like he’s been waiting years for that exact question. “absolutely,” he says without missing a beat, tugging you gently toward the dorm. “I’m very committed.”
you barely make it down the hall before you’re both giggling, shoulders brushing, hands bumping awkwardly as you fumble with your door. the moment it shuts behind you, the sound feels loud and final.
satoru doesn’t hesitate.
he backs you up against the door, palms braced on either side of your head, close enough that you can feel the heat of him without actually touching. his blue eyes look brighter in the dim room, blown wide with want and disbelief, like he can’t quite believe this is finally happening.
“hey,” he murmurs, softer now. “you okay?”
you nod. “more than okay.”
that’s all it takes before he kisses you in a way that really felt how he’s been holding his breath for three years. it slow at first, like he’s relearning something he thought he already knew. his mouth is warm, familiar and unfamiliar all at once, and when you sigh into it, something in him breaks loose.
“oh,” he breathes against your lips, stunned. “oh.”
you laugh softly, pulling him back in by the collar of his hoodie. the kiss deepens, turns hungry, hands finally brave enough to roam.
his fingers at your waist, your hands in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan quietly into your mouth.
this is it, you think distantly. this is what’s been missing.
he rests his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he’s grounding himself. “we’re really doing this,” he murmurs, half awe, half disbelief.
“looks like it.”
he chuckles, still dazed. “man. all that waiting for this?”
you kiss him again before he can finish, smiling into it. “so worth it.”
when you pull back, he presses a soft kiss to your jaw, then your cheek, then your temple. it was too affectionate for someone who pretends he doesn’t get attached.
“you remember that stupid pact?” he asks quietly.
you nod. “hard to forget with you always teasing me about it.” it made him chuckle.
“I thought about it every year,” he admits. “kept thinking that if I can just get us there, if I don’t mess this up…” He exhales. “guess I took the long way.”
you brush your thumb under his eye. “we still made it, don't you think?”
his smile is softer than you’ve ever seen it. “yeah,” he says. “guess we did.”
he kisses you again unrushed this time and you melt into him, realizing with a sudden, overwhelming clarity that this isn’t new at all.
it’s just been waiting.