Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Spending your summer break at home after years abroad should have been peaceful. Instead, it felt like a punishment.

You hadn’t returned by choice. Your loving parents had cut off your allowance the moment you mentioned traveling with friends to some far‑off beach — the kind of trip you’d taken every summer since you were eighteen. If it were up to you, you wouldn’t have set foot in your hometown for another decade.

In your twenties, coming back to this quiet, suffocating place was the last thing you needed.

And as if being trapped here wasn’t enough, your parents had decided now was the perfect time to renovate the house. A new balcony overlooking the garden. More noise. Less sleep. Exactly what every night‑owl college student dreams of — waking up at eight in the morning to the sound of drills and hammers.

But you should have known that bad situations have a talent for getting worse.

So when the morning after your arrival brought the one nightmare you’d spent years avoiding, you weren’t even surprised.

Of course your parents had hired the Gojo's construction company.

Of course he would be here.

Three years of refusing to think about him, and all it took was one glance to make your entire body go still. Gojo Satoru, in your backyard, doing heavy manual labor in nothing but low‑slung jeans.

You had almost forgotten what it felt like to be hit by the sheer force of his presence. But those eyes, so impossibly, unforgettably blue, dragged every buried memory straight to the surface.

You felt light‑headed crossing the short path toward your father, who was supervising the workers. For a moment, you wondered if you were hallucinating. Because somehow, impossibly, he looked even more striking than he had in your memories.

Satoru carried a massive bag of cement on one shoulder as if it weighed nothing. He set it down near you, sunlight catching on the faint sheen of sweat along his skin. His torso was slightly tanned, defined, powerful. The kind of physique that made him look taller than his already imposing height.

He was still the most attractive man you had ever seen. And somehow, age had only improved him — his features more refined, his expression more unreadable, his presence more dangerously magnetic.

Gojo Satoru, general contractor, local heartthrob, and the embodiment of a wild, masculine charm that made women turn their heads without meaning to whenever he entered a room. He had always carried himself like someone who knew exactly how much attention he commanded.

Your father’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Finally, you're up! Don’t be rude, come say hello to our contractor.” Father scolds you, pulling you by the arm with a proud smile that is a touch nostalgic to where the white-haired man is. “You remember my little girl, don’t you, Satoru?”

Too late for you to go unnoticed by his blue, smouldering eyes. Your skin starts itching.

“Hello, Gojo,” your eyes meet and you're unable to contain the provocative smile that curves on your lips. “It’s been a long time, huh.”

From where you stood, you could see the dampness at the back of his neck and the damp sheen of sweat that covers his naked torso. You can almost taste the heat radiating from his skin. He still smells intoxicating; like amber, sea salt and musk. The scent that made your heart race, made you obsessed and infatuated years ago. The memories hit you like a wave — unwanted, unwelcome, but impossible to ignore.

A mix of resentment and something far more dangerous twisted inside you. You kept your expression neutral.

He didn’t deserve to see anything else. That bastard deserves nothing from you.

The desire to hurt him — to make him feel even a fraction of what he once put you through in your youth — was almost as strong as the old, foolish pull you’d spent years trying to kill.

“Of course I remember her,” he says softly, voice low, eyes drifting over you with a slow, assessing sweep. His lips curved into a smirk, something amused and arrogant flickering in his gaze. “Your daughter hasn’t changed that much. Still the same little thing she used to be.”

The words hit you with a slap of déjà vu.

As if for him, time had barely passed. Because him, you were still the girl he dismissed without a second thought.

The implication was clear. You're still a little girl in his eyes. Still beneath him.

Too young, too innocent for a man like him.

But he had no idea how wrong he was.

And you couldn’t wait to show him.

Gojo Satoru was seven years older than you — and your first, only, and most devastating crush.

The heir to the most respected construction company in town, he had dropped out of university to follow in his father’s footsteps. He was talented, charming, and effortlessly magnetic. Every girl in the region seemed to orbit him, and you were no exception. The uncontrollable fascination you felt for him was immediate. At twelve, you felt your heart race for the first time because of him. At fifteen, he became your first real infatuation. At sixteen, your obsession. And by seventeen, he became the man who shattered your naïve, hopeful heart.

The age gap was a wall you could never climb. He noticed your feelings almost instantly— how could he not, when you followed him with the subtlety of a moth attracted to a flame? Of course, you did everything possible to cross paths with him in every possible place. Despite his rougish nature, he always treated you in an almost polite and pleasant way, but he never made any effort to get to know you better. To your dismay at the time, he treated your like a child. Not like a woman. Just a little girl.

You tried everything to make him see you differently. You went to every party he attended, dressed your best, laughed too loudly, smiled too brightly. Sometimes you caught him watching you — a flicker of curiosity, a spark of something unreadable — but it always vanished the moment you approached. He kept his distance, cold and unreachable. He kept you at arm’s length.

And when he finally addressed your feelings directly, during one of your many failed attempts at seduction, he did it with a smile that cut deeper than cruelty.

During one of your many failed attempts at seduction, he decided to show you just how much he considered you inferior to him because of your age. Too childish for you to have anything more.

“Give up the little tricks, sweetheart. I’ve seen them all before you even learned them. Show your baby teeth to someone your own age. I’m not interested in babysitting bratty girls like you,” he sounded almost as scolding as purposefully bored.

You lost count of how many times you cried over him and his humiliating rejections — quietly, secretly, furiously.

But Satoru was unpredictable, and you clung to every mixed signal like a lifeline, hopeful that he was not as unreachable as he liked to appear. He ignored you, yet his eyes always found you in a crowded room. He dismissed you, yet he never seemed fully indifferent. Thus you deluded yourself into accepting all the difficulties imposed by him.

Even when he always told you that you were too young, too naïve, too inexperienced for a man like him.

“When you're eighteen, I promise we'll talk. But until then, I'm not at all interested in corrupting you, little girl.”

You heard that line so many times it became a curse.

And then you saw him with Mei Mei — only a few years older than you, infamous for her conquests. She wasn’t special to him, just another name on his list. But it didn’t matter. She was older. She was chosen by him. You weren’t.

You weren’t blind. You knew you were pretty. Boys your age blushed around you. Wanted you. But none of them mattered. None of them were him. All you wanted was Gojo Satoru, but if it were up to him, you would be the last woman on earth to have him.

And he never once believed your feelings were real.

That truth kept you awake more nights than you could count.

Then came the night you mistook a trap for hope.

You were returning from a walk when you saw his car parked by the lake. Curiosity, or obsession, pulled you toward the water. You didn't think twice about investigating what he was doing and who he might be with, and walked over to the dock, where you found his discarded clothes. 

His clothes were on the dock. And in the moonlit lake, you almost couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw him enjoying a swim alone, for once. And without any clothes, to top it off.

His white hair glowed silver-blue in the night. His body cut through the water with effortless grace. He looked unreal, gliding smoothly through the calm water, as docile as the atmosphere that surrounded you.

You sat on top of his clothes, waiting, and a few seconds later you finally got his attention. Satoru didn't recognize you right away, his blue eyes stilling on your silhouette curiously.

“Ah... It could only be you,” he sighed, resigned and and already annoyed, approaching the edge where you sat, shaking the drops of water from his face and hair. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Bathing in the moonlight sounds really nice,” you remarked instead, trying to sound bold and putting on your best smile. “Would you want some company, Satoru?”

“No, and you shouldn't be offering that to me,” he rolled his eyes impatiently, the tone of his voice bordering on annoyed. “Be a good girl and go home before someone sees us and gets wrong idea.”

“The lake is public," you shrugged. "You don't own it.”

He exhaled slowly. “I’m asking politely. Turn around and go home, little one.”

Something inside you spilled over.

Your eyes narrowed with indignation. You just couldn't understand, let alone accept, why he always made sure to reject you all the time. He didn't seem as standoffish with the others, yet he never gave in to you.

“What did I do to make you hate me so much?” the question slipped from your lips before you could think it through.

He scoffed. “What do you expect me to say? That I want you to strip and get in the water with me?”

Your heart leapt. “Is that an invitation?” Words with double meanings and dangerously malicious overtones were the newest tactic you had learned from Nobara to win over and seduce a man.

For what felt like a lifetime for your frazzled nervous system, Satoru just stared at you — irritated, amused, and something else you couldn’t name. Then his expression shifted.

“Fine. If you want to get in, get in.” He swam lazily, deceptively calm. “I hope you don’t mind me being naked. You’re sitting on my clothes. Ever seen a naked man before, little one?”

You tried to play along, enthralled by the opportunity he finally presented you with. Tried to be bold. Tried to be the woman you wished he saw.

“In practice or in theory?” you licked your lips nervously and he smirked dangerously. “Well, forget it, it doesn't matter. Could you turn around so I can undress, please?”

You still weren't sure yet that this was actually happening, but you slowly started to remove your sweater nonetheless. But Satoru didn't look away at all, watching your movements closely.

For a second you hesitated, too embarrassed to continue undressing yourself, wondering if it was better to run home or fulfil your greatest fantasy.

“What's wrong, doll?” he teased, his beautiful face mocking you, probably thinking that you wouldn’t have the courage. “Are you chickening out, hmm?”

“Of course not!” you lied, desperate to keep calm. “The night is a little cold, that's all.”

He chuckled softly, and a shiver went up your spine when you finished removing your shirt.

“Ah yes, I believe you... Come here, then,” he called you lazily with his index finger, and you almost died of embarrassment because he was seeing you only in shorts and a pink polka dot bra. “You can take off all your clothes, little one. I run hot enough to keep you warm.”

Gojo Satoru had never used that malicious expression or that seductive voice with you. You nodded and you took one step towards him, too attracted and too fascinated by his blue eyes to be able to resist anything he asked of you.

“What kind of warmth are you talking about?” you asked weakly, shaking with anxiety and excitement.

You stepped closer, trembling with anticipation. This was it — the moment you had dreamed of for years.

Ah, if only you had known...

“Come closer,” he coaxed, voice low and deliciously persuasive, eyes fixed on yours. “You like me, don’t you? Don’t be afraid.”

You took two more steps.

And that was all he needed.

His cold fingers wrapped around your ankle and yanked. You hit the water hard, pain exploding across your stomach and making you lose your breath. You surfaced coughing, choking, humiliated.

On top of the edge of the deck, Satoru was already zipping up his pants, watching you flounder in the water with a smirking down at you.

“You're only seventeen, doll. You’re still too young to want to mess with me. I’m too old for you,” he laughed, putting his arms around his black shirt. “At your age I already had a lot of experience with cheeky little girls like you, silly.”

“I can't believe you!” you screamed in anger and humiliation, losing your temper. “You are a fucking asshole, Satoru!”

He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms in reproach. “Such a dirty mouth for a delicate girl. If it's any consolation, I was tempted for a second. But this is your last warning — stick to boys your own age. If you’re still this desperate when you’re eighteen, come find me.”

You shrieked further profanities at him, disappointed and unstable, but he turned around to leave anyway.

He snorted, but stopped halfway through the deck and looked at you, something similar to indecision flickering in his gaze. But he shook his head and walked away without turning back again. You got out of the water as quickly as possible and chased him, but it was too late when you heard the sound of his car's engine driving away.

Tears of anger and humiliation ran down your cheeks. You hugged yourself and cried until your throat burned.

Then a police car appeared, and you endured the most humiliating lecture of your life before being escorted home.

You sat on the front steps, soaked and shaking, unable to face your parents or anyone else. You felt pathetic. Broken. Obsessed beyond reason.

You knew you weren't normal when it came to Gojo, but this was a new low even for you. Your head hung low between your knees, face still crusty with dried tears, when the noise of a car engine caught your attention. The vehicle stopped slowly by the sidewalk, and you were surprised to recognize it.

His blue eyes met yours through the lowered window. You looked wrecked — and he saw it. It was all his fault.

“What do you want?” you snapped, his most recent rejection feeling bitter than ever. “Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”

It was always him. Every ache, every insecurity, every sleepless night — all of it traced back to Gojo Satoru and the unreturned love you could never seem to kill.

He looked at you for a long moment, face as unreadable as ever.

“You’re a sweet girl,” he said at last, tone careful and almost tender. “And you’ll be a stunning woman one day. If you were a few years older, you’d have to fight to keep me away."

Your breath stilled in your chest.

“But here’s something you need to understand,” he went on, tone soft but edged with something sharp. “Men prefer to be the hunter in the story, not the prey, doll.”

A shadow crossed his eyes, dark and conflicted, and he bit his lower lip as if holding back something he’d never admit aloud.

Then he looked away.

And drove off without another word.

That night, you promised yourself you would never chase Gojo Satoru again.

It was a promise you broke over and over — until the day you finally left town, desperate to bury your obsession and start over.