Courted By A Hero?

Courted by a… Hero?

synopsis: Diluc has feelings for you, but is under the impression that you do not reciprocate - his courting attempts show as much. But he comes to find out, that you are at ease around his alter ago… 

It won’t hurt to try and court you as the Darknight Hero. Right?

pairing: Diluc x fem!reader

tw: fluff, pining, courting, seemingly unreciprocated feelings, Darknight Hero!Diluc

word count: 3k words

a/n: this was suggested by a lovely anon~

Diluc Ragnvindr is enamored with you.

Diluc Ragnvindr thinks he is not that subtle about his affections. But it seems that he actually is, because otherwise the Master of the Dawn Winery does not understand how you manage to miss all the clues, all the longing gazes, all the small compliments and acts he does for you in attempts to hint that he’d like to court you.

Аpparently the longing in his eyes is lost in his regular stoic and a bit mournful expression, small compliments are so polite that it’s not hard to mistake them for his gentlemanly antics, and his other actions are just a thread away from acts of service and help, which, given his сhivalry nature, do not stand out too.

Diluc doesn’t get many opportunities to see you, since you do not visit the tavern often, but he tries so hard to make the meetings more numerous. An invitation to play cards at the Cat’s Tail here and there, an insistence to walk you home, an offer to accompany you through the market as you go grocery shopping, always coming with an excuse of checking on the goods to tell Elzer later what purchases they should change for the Winery and its workers. Adelinde always smiles at him knowingly whenever some new dishes are added to his menu.

He is trying to show his affections to you, he really does, but he is too dense for that to come out exactly as he pictured it in his head. However, when you smile at him softly, accepting his offers, when you vent a little to him about a stupid coworker, when you stop at the Good Hunter to have supper with him - he thinks that the long process is worth it.

It’s a great surprise, but the first time he gets an opportunity to hold you close is not a part of you dating him. No, your relationship is far from that, and his persona is hidden under the mask and a hooded cape, as he carries you bridal style. He is well aware of you staring up at him, but he can’t make himself lower his gaze and meet with yours. He is just bringing you to a safe place after you twisted your ankle on a late evening run to catch a cat for your neighbor - a sweet old woman, whose pet seems to love escaping on an almost daily basis.

Keep reading

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and cruel and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, dottore.

notes: this wasn't as long as i wanted for it to be but im just happy i got it out on time aufhdasuidfh i didn't think i'd be able to. i’m v sorry i haven’t answered asks yet! i promise i’ll get to it this weekend, i just got home

DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

“Hand the boy over.”

You recognized the men standing at the end of the hall now that they had come a bit closer—two nobles who had been down in the ballroom for the event. You didn’t know their first names but Artem had pointed them out as being part of the Skliar Family of western Snezhnaya, a family that was particularly anti-Fatui and loud about it… when the Fatui weren’t around, of course. They were the two younger sons of the family, a few years older than you.

Artem had been surprised that the family even showed up and you figured that they probably had ulterior motives…

… but this?

Your arms tightened a bit around the sleepy boy resting in them and he shifted a bit, stirring at the movement. He was observant, unfortunately, and seemed to realize very quickly from the tenseness in your shoulders that something was wrong. You wanted to tell him to go back to sleep but you couldn’t push out the words from your lips before he was shifting around.

When he glanced behind him to see what was happening, his whole body started trembling, red eyes widening at the sight of the two men. He didn’t cry or let out any fearful noises, it was a sort of petrified fear that made you wish you could hide him away until you figured out what to do and how to handle this.

You looked down briefly, past his face to where his legs were hanging on either side of your body, remembering how they were all cut up and bleeding to the point it was clearly painful for him to walk on them. You figured that maybe he was just clumsy and tripped running up or down a set of stairs but then you remembered how he had been hiding when you saw him, pressed into the shadows of an alcove. 

They’d been chasing him. 

“Oi, girl, did you hear me? Hand the boy over,” the shorter of the two demanded harshly, taking another step forward. 

You could see now from the shorter distance the anxiety that riddled his body. His fingers were trembling and his eyes were darting around as if monsters were going to sprout from the shadows and tear him to pieces.

They were bold for attacking the Fatui while in their most protected stronghold, if not a bit foolish—a part of you questioned whether or not they might be drunk, you had noticed some of the younger aristocrats guzzling down alcohol to try to make the night bearable enough to get through. You wondered if they knew that the Ninth Harbinger was naught but a few feet away from them behind the wall on their left. You might’ve commended them for their bravery were they not targeting a child. 

You smiled thinly. “No.”

“No?” The taller man asked, voice low.

He moved toward you—you wondered if he meant to be threatening but you didn’t see a vision on him, and even if there was one hidden somewhere, it was hard to feel threatened when you knew that the Regrator was lurking behind a door right to your side. He had to know what was happening, you could see a shadow right beneath the crack at the bottom of the door, signaling he was standing there listening to the confrontation and ready to step in, but you figured he wasn’t making himself known because he wanted to see how you handled this. 

A test. You hated tests. 

You figured you’d be able to handle it if it came down to a fight. Your father and grandfather had been quick to teach you how to immobilize grown men considering you’d be taking over your family’s position in a few years and would have to be able to drag them to the cells without them overpowering you. You would rather it not come to a fight though, your family’s hydro art was dangerous and very easy to butcher with.

“That is what I said,” you replied after a moment and then added: “If you are hard of hearing I can suggest you to a doctor, I’m sure he would be willing to take a look for you. Although, I do warn you, I’ve heard his methods are rather… unsavory.”

His methods—another subject that you had yet to broach with yourself even though you knew very well that you had to think about it. You had to force yourself to keep your chin raised as you stared at the two of them for their reactions; you had heard terrible, terrible things about the Doctor while you had traveled northward through Snezhnaya. Brutal experiments, missing children, twisted creatures and monsters that he lets free from his labs when he decides them to be a failure or drained of use. 

How was a man like that your soulmate?

You used to wonder, as a kid, what having a soulmate like your stepfather said about your mother. Now, you know that their bond wasn’t even real but yours was, and you were tied to one of the most dangerous and wicked and cold-hearted men in all of Teyvat. 

What did that say about you?

Were you a bad person? Maybe not yet, you didn’t think so at least, but maybe you had the potential of being one, if the gods thought you fit to be with him.

The taller man was livid at your implied threat of Dottore, livid and scared, reaching for something at his side—a dagger?—and you remembered then how Artem had made a comment about how many of the antagonistic families had lost people to the Fatui, particularly to the Doctor, the Friar and the Marionette. You tensed, ready to use your vision at a moment’s notice, feeling the energy seep through you as you summoned it to your defense but the man never came toward you. 

Instead, he was stopped by the shorter one.

“Hold on,” he said quietly. “That girl, she was with the Melnyks at the ball. Their heir introduced her as his fiancée.”

The taller man scoffed. “The Melnyks are so in bed with the Fatui that they’re willing to share their women now,” he spat, shooting you a look that was nothing short of derisive.

You inhaled sharply at the blatant insult. You had never been so directly disrespected like that before—in the courts of Fontaine, the nobles liked to keep their insults as passive and well-mannered as possible so that they could not be called out for making disparaging remarks about another noble family, which could cause severe financial or political trouble depending on what family had been slighted. 

You were a frequent victim to those veiled insults, dealing with underhanded comments about who the Black Cells would be passed to should your grandfather pass, implying that you were unfit to be the Warden. And then, even worse, the ones where people would make offhand observations about how maybe you would be the perfect fit for Warden considering you don’t have a soulmate, because in Fontaine, it is known that only the cursed and the heartless are not given their fated partner by Celestia. You thought that if they knew who your soulmate was, they would double down on their beliefs.

“I am not something to be shared,” you said, the thin smile on your lips now void of emotion, “and I am a lot more than just a girl who is someone’s fiancée. You will find that out soon enough if you continue to test me.”

Finally, the shorter man seemed to notice the vision laying against your chest, fashioned as a pendant on a necklace and he hesitated, glancing between you and the taller man once as if debating on warning him against acting rashly. 

Well, that at least confirmed that they did not have visions. 

You felt significantly more confident at the realization, letting your tense shoulders relax and your arms loosen around the little boy—feeling your change in demeanor, he also seemed to relax, his tight grip on your hair releasing as he laid his head back down against your shoulder. 

Did he really have that much trust in you?

But then, before the taller man could explode on you or the shorter man could warn him not to, their expressions shifted from anger and concern to downright fear—except they were not looking at you, they were looking directly behind you.

Before you could even turn to look, long and thin fingers wrapped around your shoulders, nails digging harshly into your skin—distantly, you thought for sure it would be bruised tomorrow but you were more anxious at the sudden new arrival and whether or not they were an ally or enemy. 

They leaned over your shoulder a bit and as you glanced to the side with wide eyes, you caught sight of another head of silvery-blue hair, cropped short like the boy in your arms. Red eyes gleamed cruelly from within the two holes of the black and white mask he wore, a hint of something unstable simmering right beneath the surface. 

“What a treat,” the man behind you said, voice lifting into a giggle that made your hair stand on end. “I had just run out of bodies to run my tests on.”

The storm was nigh. 

Dottore grimaced as the winds whipped around him wildly. Above him, the tall trees of the forest creaked and groaned, threatening to topple over beneath the harsh gusts. The sun had long set but his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, sweeping across the forest floor as he followed the path from Zapolyanry Palace to the estate he owned in the area, making his way to the ruins that were just off the path.

They had yet to find the Iota segment. Dottore knew that he was still in the area of the ruins he was exploring, he could sense that much from the inherent tracking system he had for each of the segments but they hadn’t reached the ruins yet. He wondered how Epsilon hadn’t been able to find him if he was in the ruins, unless he had wandered off and then made his way back when he realized that the sun had set and a storm was coming but something didn’t sit right with him about that. 

Either way, it was making Dottore antsy. He didn’t like it. The last time he had lost a segment, it had been a situation just like this a little over four hundred years ago. He felt unsettled.

“You found her.”

Epsilon’s voice didn’t even edge on accusing as he watched Dottore carefully. 

He had his answer, he just wanted a confirmation. 

Dottore did not intend on giving him one. 

“I did not.”

Epsilon let out a small puff of amusement, nothing short of a gibe, eyeing Dottore from the corner of his eye—he was the only one of the older segments that didn’t wear a mask, the few times he did was when he was posing as Dottore in Harbinger meetings or on missions that he didn’t want to handle. He could tell from his expression that he didn’t believe a word Dottore said, if anything he thought entertaining that Dottore was trying to deny it and that only made him even more irritated.

“We all felt it,” Epsilon murmured. “The others might not have figured out exactly what it was but I did. I’m sure Lambda did too. I advise you to choose wisely as to whether or not you would prefer him or I at your side when dealing with her. We both know his desired course of action and he will do whatever’s necessary to ensure that our research is not impeded.”

“As he was created for,” Dottore said coolly, “and thus is expected of him.”

“Even at the cost of the life of your soulmate?” Epsilon questioned, studying him intensely for a reaction.

Your. That was an intentional choice of words. All of the other segments referred to you as their soulmate as well. It was never Dottore’s soulmate, it was our soulmate. Even Epsilon had appealed to him in the past by stressing that it was not just his decision as your existence affected all of them.

This was an attempt at manipulation—a carefully picked choice of word that would ignite all of the possessive and selfish tendencies that had been ingrained in Dottore ever since he was living on his own after his village case him out, hoarding anything and everything he could get his hands on, and then again, after he had enrolled in the Akademiya, dealing with people leeching onto his research to try to get credit.

What’s his was his and you, unfortunately, fell under that category as much as he might loathe to admit it. 

“I can handle Lambda.” Was all Dottore said in response to Epsilon’s comment, dismissing his warning.

Epsilon made a noise as if he didn’t quite believe Dottore. Dottore didn’t acknowledge it. They continued on in silence for a few moments, the wind howling around them as they crossed the path into the old ruins of a temple of the previous Cryo Archon—crumbling towers reached high into the sky, disappearing into the clouds, and a massive derelict statue that was teetering dangerously in the wind. The snow had started to fall, they were running out of time to find the Iota segment but Epsilon didn’t look the slightest bit worried and Dottore frowned a bit, suspicion itching at the back of his mind.

“You should at least allow the younger segments to meet her,” Epsilon finally continued, completely unperturbed by the threat the storm posed to one of the younger segments. “They will be dysfunctional when they realize they never got the chance to meet her and then you will have three useless segments to figure out what to do with.”

“None of the segments will know that she is here, much less meet her,” Dottore said sharply. “I have information that needs to be obtained from her and then she is going back to Fontaine where she will stay, are we clear?” 

“So you admit that she is here,” Epsilon smiled thinly, as if that was exactly what he wanted to hear, and Dottore gave him a cold look.

“Enough of your games, Epsilon. What is it that you are trying to achieve with this conversation?” 

Epsilon didn’t respond. Instead, his red gaze trailed from him to somewhere behind Dottore. A sinking feeling in his stomach, Dottore turned around to see what he was looking at. Instantly, his eyes fell upon a familiar young boy standing right behind a pillar, watching them with wide eyes and a hopeful expression. 

Iota. 

“She’s here?” he whispered as if Dottore had just proclaimed the coming of the Celestial gods unto Teyvat, and then, more excited, he lit up: “She’s here?!”

Dottore realized, very quickly, that he might’ve just been played for a fool by his own segments. Without responding to the Iota segment, Dottore looked to the right where Epsilon was still standing. Epsilon barely acknowledged Dottore as he stepped forward with a small smile and upturned eyes. 

“There you are,” he said. “We’ve been looking for you.”

He did not sound particularly relieved or frustrated—if anything, he sounded pleased. Dottore watched as he patted Iota on the head once and then turned to look at Dottore, with an expression that edged at nothing short of triumphant. 

He remembered how Gamma had looked so nervous, unable to meet his eyes—he had thought it was because he was anxious over losing two of the younger segments but he realized, quickly, that it might’ve been because he was anxious about having to lie to Dottore. 

Iota had been waiting for them at the ruins and Dottore knew the young segment well enough to know that unless given direct orders (sometimes even when given direct orders), the boy would panic and wander trying to find his way back until he got himself so lost that Dottore would have to shut him down until they could figure out where he was and bring him back. Someone must have told him not to move from the ruins until they arrived, and that someone…

Dottore stared at Epsilon, catching the sly look in his eyes as he turned his gaze back to Dottore. Had he planned this? Had he schemed out a situation to get Dottore alone long enough to force him to admit that you were in the palace in front of the Iota segment? Would he really go so far as to put one of the younger segments at risk to do so? 

Yes, Dottore realized, watching the unmoved expression on Epsilon’s face as he watched Dottore realize what had just happened—he absolutely would because he knew that it was the only thing that Dottore would take seriously enough to handle himself, otherwise he would have just sent Epsilon alone to handle whatever it was. 

More than that, Epsilon knew that with the incoming storm and a missing young segment that the situation would remind him of the one that happened all of those years ago with the Beta Segment and Dottore would be in an uncomfortable and agitated state of mind, more susceptible to snapping and admitting what Epsilon wanted him to say. 

Conniving little-

Dottore’s tongue scraped against his teeth as he bit back a slew of curses, rage sweeping over him like the white water torrents of a rushing river.

Gods be damned about the war and needing as many spare hands as possible for his research, Dottore had half a mind to deactivate all of the segments and start anew once you were gone so he didn’t have to deal with any more insubordination and disrespect from himself. 

Though he found that the thought of you being gone in any way sat poorly in his chest. Livid, he realized that you might’ve already managed to strengthen the bond just through the two conversations he had with you. 

Teeth grinding together, he forced himself to turn on his heel and make his way back to the palace before anything else could go wrong with your unexpected arrival in Snezhnaya. He would get his segments out of Zapolyarny Palace and drag them back to the estate, leaving you at the mercy of the Regrator until he could finish his briefings with the segments and send them all far, far from Snezhnaya. 

You distinctly felt like a mouse cornered by a cat, except instead of being the one hunted by the predator, you were watching another mouse about to get devoured, knowing that you would be next. It was with a sickening type of engrossment that had you unable to draw your eyes from the scene in front of you, fear crawled up your spine, seeping into your blood, but your feet were rooted to the ground below you.

The man—who you noticed also looked particularly like Dottore, except he was closer to your age—had slunk past you to approach the two men at the opposite end of the hall. A part of you wanted to put the boy down and run back to your room, locking the door to hide from the shitshow about to go down but he was clutching at you like some sort of lifeline, little fingers gripping the cloth on the back of your dress as he hid his face from view. And even if he wasn’t, you had a feeling that your feet wouldn’t cooperate if you tried.

“Kappa,” an unfamiliar voice whispered from somewhere behind you, urgent and worried.

Your gaze snapped to the side, eyes falling upon another kid with silver blue curls and red eyes, a terrible burn scar covering the whole left side of his face. He was young, no older than fifteen or sixteen, and there was an anxious expression on his face, brows furrowed and lips pressed together as his eyes darted around.

Another child of Dottore’s? It didn’t make any sense, did he have three children? Or was the older one his brother? Or were they experiments? Your head hurt and you were suddenly very, very tired—you needed to lay down. The night’s events were finally catching up to you and your body was beginning to lag, crying in protest as you continued to stand rooted in the middle of the hall. Your room was so close but it was not close enough, you would have to get past the masked man to reach the door and you had a feeling he would not take kindly to your attempted escape.

And what had the other boy called the little one? Kappa? Why was that so familiar? 

You let out a shaky breath, trying to think.

Kappa, that was so familiar… one of the words from the old tongue? The ones that Dottore used to accidentally pass over to you? 

But was that even possible? You would have to check your notebook but you were pretty sure that the first time you received the word Kappa was right around the time you had received your first word from him and that was what? Eight years ago? 

There was no way this child was older than five.

What was going on?

“You-” the taller man choked out as the new arrival drew closer. “You’re-”

“You’re bold for attacking little Kappa right under our noses,” he mused, a lilt to his tone that had you on edge. He reached forward, snatching the man’s chin between two fingers as he forcibly craned his head to the left—examining him like some sort of test subject. “I’ve been trying to get Hearsays up and running again but I just don’t have enough contenders after the last incident… I suppose you’ll do well. Hehe, you’ll at least make for good entertainment, one way or another.”

You watched as he dragged his nails down his cheeks, leaning a line of blood in his wake before he turned his attention to the shorter man with a look in his eyes that was nothing short of gleeful.

“You simply won't do.” He clicked his tongue a few times in disappointment, shaking his head in a sharp and jerky motion that looked borderline painful. “I’ll just pass you off to one of the others for them to run some tests on. I think Rho is starting a new batch of experiments soon, yeah? Isn’t he, Gamma? Gamma?”

He was suddenly agitated as he glanced backward, waiting for a response. The other new arrival—the younger one with anxious eyes and twitching fingers—looked caught off guard at being pulled into the conversation.

Finally, he nodded, throat spasming as he swallowed. “With the residue, yes. The last batch failed.”

“Perfect,” he smiled sharply, and though you could only see half of his smile, even beneath the dim lighting you could see the rows of sharp teeth lining his mouth. “He can get the scraps.”

“Kappa, are you okay?” Gamma returned his attention to the boy in your arms, trying to grab his arm to look at him but every time he tried, Kappa shifted away, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Kappa, c’mon, he’s going to be so mad, just talk to me.”

“He’s okay, for the most part,” you said quietly.

At the sound of your voice, Gamma drew back, red eyes guarded and nervous. He looked at you as if you were a possible enemy, shoulders tense and body language closed off. He looked to be reaching for something at his side—you wondered if he was armed but his fingers were trembling. Even so, you decided to try to calm him down, not wanting another agitated person to deal with.

“What does that mean?” he asked, glancing between you and Kappa as if you had been the one to hurt the boy.

“His knees are cut up and bleeding, I was going to bring him to my room to clean them up. He was having trouble walking on them,” you explained, keeping your voice steady as you watched him carefully, trying to figure out how you would defend yourself while holding a kid in your arm.

But it was for no need, Gamma looked a bit at ease at your words but he frowned as he reached to hold Kappa’s leg to check out the wound but Kappa whimpered and snapped his leg away, accidentally jamming his knee into your side. You bit back a grunt, wincing at the small bony knee digging into your side but only rubbed his back, trying to soothe him.

Maybe his legs were worse than you thought. Concerned, you glanced down and briefly wondered why he wasn’t voicing his pain if that was the case. 

“One to ten?” Gamma suddenly asked, holding up his hands to show Kappa. The boy pressed his cheek against your shoulder, watching Gamma as he lifted two fingers, then three, then four, then five. At eight, Kappa pointed and Gamma looked severely distressed. 

“He’s going to be so mad.” Gamma looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Kappa, how many times have we told you that you have to say something when you’re hurt?”

He turned his face away again, pressing it into the crook of your neck and Gamma looked around nervously. “Well… he seems to like you. Kappa doesn’t really like anyone so I mean…”

Gamma suddenly floundered for words as you raised your hand to pat Kappa’s back again, red eyes focusing righting on your pinky finger. 

For a moment, he just stood there, gaping and wide eyed but then his expression shifted as he glanced over to where the masked man was still mocking and terrorizing the two aristocrats from the Skliar family. 

In an instant, Gamma looked like he was going to throw up, face pale and ghastly and you could only stare at him, trying to figure out what had caused the abrupt change in demeanor. 

You had a distinct feeling that it had to do with the presence of the masked man and that made your stomach churn with nerves, eyes darting over to him.

“Oh gods, you’re-” he began, voice catching over his words as he stared at you, taking a step back as if he was on the verge of fleeing. Then, his gaze darted up to the masked man he had arrived with, who you could feel staring at you from halfway down the hall, and then back to you with an expression nothing short of horrified. “Oh gods, oh no, Theta is-I have to-I have to get the Doctor. I have to-I’ll be back.”

And then he was gone, turning on his heel and sprinting down the hall, leaving you alone with the little boy called Kappa and the masked man who you could hear drawing closer to you from behind.

You felt like a frozen deer, body tense and cold as you felt the front of his body brush against the back of yours. He reached over your shoulder, long fingers wrapping around your wrist as he lifted your hand up.

You glanced back, eyes catching his for just a moment, and your throat dried at the look in his eyes—wild and unpredictable with a sort of untamable glee that reminded you of the Hydro Archon when she finally took interest in one of the court’s trials. 

And when she took interest in a trial, only one sentence would be exacted onto the defendant: execution. 

His face twisted into an unsettling and chilling smile, teeth glittering like knives beneath the candles that lit up the hall.

“You’re her.”

“Is he mad at me?”

The Iota segment had been on the verge of a meltdown the entire walk back to the palace. They had finally made it out of the forest and were crossing the snowy span of land to the bridge that led to the wide gates of Zapolyanry Palace. The weather was even worse now that there were no trees to buffer—the wind whipped around him violently, howling and shrieking, snow pelting his face like little icicles yet it was not enough to drown out the sniffles and cries of Iota as he wrapped his fingers around the back of Dottore’s shirt, clinging to him desperately as he tried to keep up with the man’s long strides. 

“Of course not,” Epsilon soothed, ever the conciliator as he tried to calm Iota down so the boy didn’t delay them anymore than he already had. 

“He won’t even look at me,” Iota cried. At once, Dottore turned to look over his shoulder, eyes landing sharply on Iota from beneath his mask, lips twisted down into a deep frown. Iota let out a cry akin to a wounded animal. “That’s even worse, I mess everything up, I’m sorry.”

Dottore’s head hurt. He grimaced as the wind nearly dragged his hood right down, tightening the drawstrings of his cloak. Distantly, he noticed that Epsilon was picking up Iota and letting the boy latch onto him as he cried but he tried to ignore it. Iota would get over it in a few hours, he always did—he was sensitive and broke down easily but bounced back before the day was up, burying his attention in some book or paper until he totally forgot about whatever set him off. 

As soon as they got back to the palace, he’d have Epsilon bring the boy down to the basement so he could nestle away in the library down there and then he’d be good as new, bustling to Dottore’s lab to bother him trying to tell him about all that he had learned in his readings. 

Besides the destructive tendencies, Iota was easy to handle for the most part. He was quickly upset but that was a product of the mentality he was created in and the reason for his creation, which he wasn’t supposed to know but the Zeta segment decided to open his mouth about it in an attempt to drive Iota into a meltdown to disrupt Delta’s research so he could pull ahead on it.

The Iota segment was created so that Dottore could do research into the Aranara of Sumeru—unfortunately, Dottore did not realize that the events of the night he was cast out of the village made him unable to see the Aranara anymore, thus making the Iota segment a useless creation. Dottore had debated on just destroying the segment and using the spare parts to create a new one but Delta had convinced him against it, claiming that he would use the failed segment as a means to help with his research instead. Ever since Iota found out about that a few decades ago, he’d been even more unstable than he already was from the mindset he was created in. 

“Enough, Iota,” Dottore said icily. “Have your meltdown on your own time.” 

Epsilon clicked his tongue as Iota caught himself over a sob, pressing his face into the man’s skin as if to hide his tears from Dottore. Epsilon gave Dottore an accusing look, Dottore raised his chin—this is on you.

Epsilon smiled to himself and then looked away, proud.

Again, he reconsidered deactivation, this time far more intensely, and again, Dottore cursed you because all of the misfortune he had faced the past two decades was solely because of your existence.

You, with your irritating attitude and despicable personality, playing the soft-spoken angel to everybody but him. 

You, with your exhausting persistence, meeting him toe-to-toe and word-for-word in every confrontation and conversation he had with you. 

You, with that infuriatingly striking purple dress—low-cut and thin strapped—that he hadn’t been able to draw his eyes off of the whole night no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t help but wonder just how shameless Fontaine fashion was if that was what you wore to a formal event.

Purple. Nearly ten years and you were still obsessed with the same color. How were you so predictable and unpredictable at the same time? He couldn’t stand the thought of you, he hated unexpected, extraneous variables—the only course of action for dealing with them was removal or isolation and he was beginning to realize that neither of those solutions might be an option for him.

But it was just another hurdle for him to get over. If neither removal nor isolation were viable options, he would need to find a different solution. 

Holding it constant… 

No. That was not an option either—though the more he thought about it, the more tempting the option became. He had enjoyed that irritating attitude of yours and those biting comments that made his brain search for retaliation. He even more so enjoyed that taste of instability, which went against all of his ideals. Dottore was a man of careful calculations and obtaining expected results and yet somehow, when he found himself unable to predict your next words and actions, it left him excited. 

How could one hate the unexpected and yet enjoy it in the same hand? Unless it was not the unexpected, it was you bringing it to him. Dottore’s head throbbed, he felt like a pendulum, swinging back and forth and back and forth and back and forth as he tried to figure out how he felt in relation to you so he could decide upon the best course of action for dealing with you. 

How bothersome. Already, he could feel things shifting—something he had sworn he wouldn’t let happen.

Not for the first time, he felt absurdly jealous of his own segment; Epsilon, who could understand emotions far better than the rest of them ever would be able to and used it against them very often. He wondered if the man already knew what Dottore was feeling—if the smirk on his lips had anything to say about it, Dottore thought he probably did. 

What do you have planned? Dottore wanted to ask Epsilon because he knew that there was some underlying game going on that Dottore couldn’t place yet but he didn’t want to dive into that conversation while Iota was still on the brink of self-destruction, crying and sniffling and choking over his own sobs. 

Dottore thought he might trust Epsilon the least out of all of the segments. Unlike Lambda, whose goals and ambitions were as clear as crystal, Epsilon was an enigma, driven by emotions that the rest of them couldn’t understand. He liked to play games with them, push buttons that they didn’t even know that they had, and your presence in Zapolyanry Palace was a large, bright red one that Dottore just couldn’t seem to destroy.

So long as you were around, Dottore would be at the mercy of Epsilon’s unwelcome schemes and he had a distinct feeling that Epsilon would be playing at trying to make the bond between the two of you stronger. He would have to work to counter it without even knowing the game.

Bothersome. This was all bothersome. Dottore hated games. He hated dealing with his segments. He hated being vulnerable. He hated all of this. 

All of it? Dottore pushed away the treacherous thought furiously. 

“Is that-” Epsilon began but abruptly cut himself off as he moved forward to walk at Dottore’s side, peering ahead carefully through the wicked storm.

Following his gaze, Dottore looked out across the bridge leading to the palace to see a small figure sprinting in their direction—no cloak or covering, only wearing a thin outfit to shield against the sheer cold of the bitter winter storm.

“Gamma,” Dottore murmured in agreement. 

He could feel the anxiety rippling from the boy in waves—anxiety and fear. It didn’t take much to push Gamma into a panic attack but this was different. Dottore could feel it. It wasn’t like the usual ones he experienced. Brows furrowing, he watched as Gamma approached them, eyes wild and cheeks bright red. 

Instantly, Dottore felt uncomfortable, realizing something was very, very wrong. 

“Theta is with her,” Gamma wheezed, doubling over as he tried to catch his breath. He seemed as if he had been crying—a cold feeling, unrelated to the wind and snow around them, settled over him, sinking into his stomach. “You have to get him, he’ll hurt her, he’s in one of his moods. You know what he’s like when he’s in one of them. He’s dangerous and violent. You have to do something.”

“Who is he with?” Dottore asked slowly.

He stared down at Gamma as he waited for a response but deep down, he very much already knew who Theta was with and an old and unwelcome emotion spread throughout him, freezing his bones and blood, weighing on his chest like stones. An emotion that he had long learned to suppress, one that he hadn’t experienced since his days at the Akademiya when they had him placed on trial—he could barely recognize it, it was hard for him to put a name to it until Gamma opened his mouth again. 

“Her,” Gamma gasped. “Our soulmate.”

Fear. The emotion was fear. 

rbs appreciated!!

7:02pm — gojo satoru ;

part two to this gojo imagine

"gojo, your hair is in my mouth."

"you're lucky i washed it a few days ago."

you peer up at him over your phone. "a few days? how many? gojo, tell me."

gojo hums to himself and you hate that it might be serious consideration that he's under. "like maybe seven?"

you gag, flailing at your mouth and spitting out the few strands. you faintly hear gojo complain but it's overridden as you deal with your dilemma.

the two of you were curled inside the stomach of one of getou's curses as it flew across the ocean to arrive back at jujutsu high. the cramped space and gooey flesh makes you shiver, effectively increasing your poor mood, but perhaps the biggest detriment was the person you were stuck with.

sure, public transport was a viable option but yaga had specifically emphasised on the "top-secret" and "classified" written in big bold red letters on the mission file. this meant no one was to know, not ordinary people, not curses and not even other sorcerers.

granted, the school had access to one private jet which they were willing to offer, but that jet only had space for one.

the three of you had sat down and played a game of scissors paper rock to determine who takes it, and while you were lucky to win it for the trip forward, getou ends up victorious for the way back.

and now, you were stuck in close proximity with gojo inside the gut of a flying dragon.

"why are you in such a bad mood anyway?" gojo has the audacity to ask, as if he wasn't the sole reason why you were uncomfortable. you keep your mouth shut though, nothing good will come out of admitting your undying, and unfortunately unrequited, love for him.

"i'm in a perfectly fine mood."

"why do you look like that then, all constipated and everything? did you not go to the bathroom before we left?"

you curl your fingers into a fist and punch him in the chest. it hits his uniform, smearing some of the curses' stomach juice. "of course i did! i'm not a newbie sorcerer."

"ouch!"

"that didn't hurt you."

"how are you going to tell me how i feel?" gojo jabs back. "because it did hurt, it hurt my feelings."

"oh boohoo."

"so you are mad."

you bite your lip and turn away, finding the abdominal wall of the beast easier on the eyes than your own friend. "i'm not."

"you're sulking."

"i'm not." you hiss before taking in a deep breath. "look gojo, can we just stay quiet until we get there?"

gojo keeps staring at you through his glasses and his face fails to give his thoughts away. the suspense is killing you, but before you can relent and ask what he has to say, he clears his throat.

"i have something to tell you."

you sigh, rubbing at your head. "what is it?"

"wait, don't turn around and keeping looking at the wall. hey, what did i just say?"

"gojo, the view isn't really the best to sightsee. why can't i look at you?"

"because if you do, i don't think i can tell you after all."

you close your mouth. "is it that serious?"

"yeah." he clears his throat again, adjusting the collar of his uniform. "look, i know you've been weird around me the past few days and i don’t think it’s because i stretched out your uniform when i wore it last weekend. i don't know why you’re being mean to me, and shoko and getou won't tell me either."

you resist the urge to look at him. "you're having this kind of talk with me now? here? seriously?"

"you won't even stay in the same room as me for more than a few minutes! getou may call this curse his bad-luck curse but for me right now it's the only way to get you to listen to me." he stays quiet for a few seconds. "this is really serious, okay, so don't make any comments. i know you're practically brimming with them."

it was true you had a lot to say, but gojo's serious attitude was putting you off. still, having him call you out made you more aggravated and you let one slip. "well, this is really bad-luck for me."

gojo clicks his tongue and you can see the irritation on his face before his words are even coloured with it. "i'm not telling you this so you can feel the same way but—"

the curse suddenly tilts to the side, throwing you into gojo as the four walls of its stomach becomes a wheel, rotating you around. you yelp as your forehead hits him hard in the chest, tears springing to your eyes at the pain.

“what’s going on?”

the two of you spin round and round, and you can't distinguish your screams from gojo's as gravity plays you like a toy, throwing you around.

the movement makes you sick. "gojo, do something! blast it!"

"getou'll get mad if i kill another one of his curses!"

"are you kidding, we're going to die!"

gojo swears, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into his chest. with his other arm, he holds out his hand and presses it on the flesh.

you tuck your chin in, squeezing your eyes shut when you realise he hadn't started chanting his technique. "what are you doing?" you look up at him and find him staring at the exit of the stomach through all the goo and chaos.

with a trembling finger, he points to it. you stare into the abyss, squinting your eyes to make out its indistinct shapes. what was that pulsing thing, attached to the side? and was it just you, but was it getting bigger?

with a start, you realise that the curse was about to throw up. and coincidentally, so were you.

"it's going to throw us up!" you share your realisation with gojo but the look on his face tells you he already arrived at the same thought.

he opens his mouth to say something, or scream you're not too sure as the walls of the stomach contracts. distantly, you feel gojo slide his other arm around you and his infinity takes over, shielding the two of you as you're forcefully ejected from the curse's mouth.

a scream escapes your throat as you escape the curse's, wind rushing through your ears. gojo swears again, bringing his arm up to protect your head.

you only know you're safe when you feel air again, the real kind, not the gas built up in the curse's stomach. a thud tells you gojo has landed on solid ground again and you've never felt more grateful to be alive, your entire body relaxing as your soul leaves.

gojo sighs with you, his hold slightly loosening.

getou watches as you're spat out, stepping out of the private jet with a big smile on his face. "you guys look rough."

you feel gojo tense his jaw rather than see it. "what was that for?"

getou shrugs, throwing a bag over his shoulder. he starts digging through it. "i told you that curse is some serious bad-luck. at least you both arrived in one piece.” he looks up and raises an eyebrow at you. “literally in one piece, are you guys going to stay like that forever?"

your mind slowly pieces together your position, still curled up in gojo's arms as he is sat on the pavement, before you leapt out. gojo makes no move to stop you, though you think he might have tsked.

"here, this is for you." getou finally pulls out what he was searching for from his bag and throws it at the two of you.

you catch it instinctively, studying the object in your hand. "a can of soda?"

"for surviving."

"that curse of yours is a safety hazard." you mutter, but accept the can. you crack open the lid and tilt your head back, taking a long, cool sip.

gojo stares down at the drink. "i told you i don't like this flavour!" he complains and you roll your eyes at his antics.

"then don't drink it."

"no. give me your one instead."

getou pauses, halfway to opening his own iced coffee. "huh? i got this for me. and you don't even like coffee! you should be glad i even got one for you in the first place."

"let's play a game of rock paper scissors to decide who gets it."

"no. i just told you i got this for me."

gojo stands up, taking a step forward menacingly. "huh? after what you put me through, you think i'm just going to take no for an answer?"

getou's eyes flicker to yours before he takes up gojo's challenge, activating his cursed technique. black liquid opens up the air beside him, a peering red eye on the other side. "can't handle rejection, gojo? because you better get used to it."

you take another sip as you watch the boys, absentmindedly wiping at a stain on your sleeve. you remember the feeling of gojo's arm around your body and you blush despite yourself.

"are you feeling sick?"

you look up to see that gojo had stopped fighting with getou, his entire attention on you.

"huh?"

"you're red in the face. you look like a tomato."

ignoring the last part, you hide your face behind your drink. "i'm fine."

getou looks between the two of you and there's a glint in his eyes that you've seen before, one that you've grown to dread.

he throws back the rest of his coffee, grimacing as it gives him a slight brain freeze, before crushing the can in his hand. gojo mutters a quick, "show off" that he ignores, instead chucking the can into a bin a few metres away.

"what a time." he starts saying, the words static. "that was great. well, now that i've finished my drink, i should head back inside."

“i should head in too. i smell real bad.” you sigh and give gojo a glare when he agrees.

“actually, can the two of you stay here? i think my curse isn’t feeling too well after eating you two. just until i come back, okay?”

you think there might be an ulterior motive but glancing over at the curse, you find that it did look greener than before.

"where are you going, and for how long?" you ask and hope the look in your eyes will make him stay.

"i need to tell yaga we finished the mission. you guys can just stay here, i've got it." then to you, he says, clenching his fist in support, "you got this."

you want to break his arm.

getou hurries away despite your silent plea, leaving you in an awkward silence with the one person you wanted to avoid most. you take multiple quick sips to busy yourself, but you can’t ignore the person standing by your side.

gojo shifts his balance to his other foot and the sound of his shoe against the pavement breaks the silence. "so."

"so."

"it's really bright, huh."

"you're wearing sunglasses."

"and do they completely cover my eyes? no they don't. i can still complain about the sun."

"just push your glasses up then."

"no." gojo huffs. "i look cooler this way."

"who told you that? because i know for a fact it wasn't anyone whose opinion actually matters." you jab back.

"your mum said that, actually."

"are you a child?"

"what, are you too cool for old jokes? they're iconic for a reason."

"and there's a reason why 'your mum jokes' died and should stay that way."

the natural way in which you banter with gojo gives you confidence. maybe it didn't matter that you liked him, or that he didn't like you back. it was enough that he was here with you now, joking around. perhaps you could even live with knowing that your unrequited love had come to an end, perhaps you could even pair them up yourself without a sense of bitter jealousy.

"i know you like getou." gojo says in one breath.

the peace you had come to, shatters.

"what?" you say in an inhale, and it comes out sounding weird.

gojo pouts, crossing his arms. "i'm right, aren't i? you like getou. i heard what you were saying to shoko that one time."

"don't eavesdrop on other people's conversations!"

"you were saying it pretty loudly, what was i meant to do? shut my ears?"

you wave away his whining. "stop, hold on. you think i like getou?"

gojo nods. "i don't think you do, i know. you said you like people like him."

"when did i ever say that? also, i'm not the one who likes getou, you are!"

"what?"

"what, what? you do, don't you? you told me yesterday that you liked getou."

"i never said that!"

"then who were you talking about?"

"who were you thinking about?" gojo shoots back. "because you didn't even hesitate when you explained your type to shoko. you were thinking of someone, weren't you?"

you gulp. "i asked first."

he looks at you long and hard and you stare back at your reflection through his glasses. his mouth opens and there's a mixed sense of dread and anticipation brewing in your stomach.

"tch."

"did you just click your tongue at me?"

gojo faces away. his jaw is tense as he blatantly ignores your question. "you're really annoying."

"huh? speak for yourself!"

"you have a problem with me?"

"i have a problem with your stupid attitude."

when gojo closes the distance between the two of you, you take a step back out of instinct. it doesn't matter though because gojo steps forward again, pushing you up against the curse getou had left behind. he slams a hand into the flesh of the curse and it makes a startled sound. the both of you ignore it. "it's you, idiot, i like—"

the force behind his slam is frightening, but the thought is torn from you when the sound of regurgitation grabs your attention. with a start, you turn around at the curse and find your phone on the ground at the entrance of the curse's mouth, covered in goo.

"my phone!" you exclaim, bending down to pick it up.

gojo backs up and groans loudly, but you don't care, wincing instead when the item is sticky.

"i didn't even know i lost this! thanks gojo, i think." your voice trails off wearily, holding up the phone and watching as viscous liquid slowly drips off it.

gojo rubs his face with his palm and you wonder why he looks so distressed. "that curse is seriously bad luck." meeting your eye, he points a finger at you. "listen to what i have to say!"

you raise your eyebrow at him. "damn okay, gojo's arrived." you mutter, wiping down the phone and pocketing it.

the clouds overhead parts, sunlight shining down in rays. the trees whistle in the summer breeze and light filters through the gaps in the leaves and branches. it hits gojo perfectly, adorning him in a golden light and you've never seen him so beautiful. guilt fills you at the thought and you hold your soda tighter.

he breathes in one more time. "i don't care that you like getou." he says. "because it doesn't matter to me. it just means i have to work harder to change your mind and get you to notice me instead."

"it's kind of hard to not notice you." you say. "i mean, look at what you're wearing."

gojo hisses. "don't ruin the mood, you're throwing me off. like i was saying, it's not your fault you like getou but i had to tell you this anyway, because it's been making my heart feel all prickly and stuff. so shut up and just stand there looking pretty, or whatever." his last few words trail off uncertainly, as if he never intended to say them at all.

"what are you even saying?" your heart picks up. was he about to confess?

"i'm saying that i think i like—"

"there you guys are!"

your head whips around at the voice, scanning the familiar landscape before settling on a single person. shoko stands metres away, waving a hand to grab your attention. "over here!"

"shoko!" a grin splits across your face. "i haven't seen you all day!"

"am i interrupting something?" she yells to get her voice across the distance.

you don't even look over at gojo as you shake your head. you had a feeling he was just going to tell you something you already knew, that he liked getou, anyway. “no! hold on, i'm coming over."

before you can run up to her, gojo grabs your arm, a deep frown etched on his face. "wait, you still haven't—!"

without another thought, you hand him your half-finished can of soda and wriggle out of his hold. "you can have the rest of that. i'll hear you out later, okay?"

"but the mood was so right!"

"look after the curse until getou’s back, later!"

gojo stands there in front of the bad-luck curse, one arm limp by his side and the other holding a can of blue soda. he watches as you fling yourself into shoko's arm, already listing all the things you've been saving up to tell her.

there's that prickly feeling again, gojo realises, noting the way the sun lightens the shade of your hair, the way your eyes curve up as you smile, and the way you hold onto shoko's hand, wishing that he had enough courage to hold yours.

defeated, battered and drained, gojo looks down at the can in his hand, and notes the slight lipstick stain on the rim.

with a red on his cheeks that didn't come from the sun, he presses the aluminium to his lips and takes a sip. it tastes sweet.

gojo decides that he'll just have to settle for this.

i hope this was okay considering i had no intentions of writing a part two. sorry for all the descriptions of stomachs and throw up, i was studying the digestive system 👎 if this isn’t what u guys expected feel free to leave a request !!

Innamorati

My entry for the Resonant Waves tartali zine (2021)

2:24am — getou suguru ;

a cold, bitter chill sweeps the courtyard of jujutsu high, snow like dust clinging to tree branches and settling atop slopped roofs.

you shiver, the cold enough to penetrate even the thickest of your sweaters and your cigarette does little to numb your body. even the flame at the end whimpers and dies against the wind.

with a sigh, you scrap the end of your cigarette against the wall, dragging a long charcoal line. getou perks up when you take out another cigarette and chuckles when you fumble around.

you glare over at him, but ask him anyway. "do you have a lighter i can borrow?"

he raises his eyebrow at you, drinking in a deep exhale of his own cigarette. "you forgot to bring one?"

"i think i left it with shoko and who knows where she is right now."

"this is your third cigarette in a while now, you good there?"

"is this a smoke session or a therapy appointment?" you reply with a lazy smirk, just enough to show that there were no hard feelings. "if i wanted to talk about my feelings, i would be drinking until i see the bottom of a bottle, not standing outside in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of winter, with you."

getou raises his arms as if to relent, his cigarette tilting off his bottom lip. "just thought i'd check in. you needed a lighter, right?"

you point to your cigarette, also resting in your mouth. "does it look lit to you?"

your classmate takes a step forward, hand digging around in his pant pocket when an idea struck him. he makes a show of shoving his hand in his other pocket, and then peeking into his shirt, flicking his bangs to the side to get a good look, before coming back emptyhanded. "oh man, looks like i left my lighter behind as well."

"yeah? where'd you leave it?"

"with gojo."

you send him an unimpressed look. "the non-smoker of our group?"

"he wanted to see if it would light underwater. called it his hypothesis. if it's him, he'd probably make it somehow."

though it was very difficult to believe getou's terrible excuse, you don't disagree.

you scan him up and down, from his warm smile that would fool everyone but you, to his pants that dragged down on one side, something heavy causing the shift in fabric. "is that a lighter in your pocket or are you happy to see me?"

"i'm always happy to see you. hey, come here."

your body stutters at that. "what?"

getou ignores your deer-in-headlights look and steps forward, closing the distance between the two of you in one step. leaning down, he secures his cigarette with two fingers, using his other hand to balance himself on the wall beside you, and presses it against your own. you didn't see this happening, you could only infer as your eyes dances around his face instead, captivated at the proximity and the smoothness of his skin, the way his hair fluttered gently in the winter air, the slight redness of his nose and the furrow between his brow as he held his cigarette.

he peers down to ensure the two sticks meet, eyelashes casting shadows against his cheek.

when your cigarette catches on, and you don't see this from happening either, getou's eyes flicker to look at yours. your eyes meet with a spark that doesn't come from your cigarettes, and holds until you feel the smoke irritate the back of your throat.

taking a step back, you lightly clear your throat. when you take a deep breath of your cigarette, you realise you really needed it. "what the heck, getou, that was too smooth. you could make a girl swoon with that."

"well, did it work on you?"

you meet his eyes with a start. "did you want it to?"

you let the silence draw out, looking into his eyes as if they'd give you an answer, especially when he doesn't. suddenly, getou breaks the eye contact, a slight red dusting his cheeks. he chuckles humourlessly. you watch as getou inhales and exhales, leaning against the wall and looking straight ahead.

"way to turn it back on me." he says.

"it's your fault for not being prepared."

"how can i ever be prepared when you find the weirdest things to say?"

"it's been three years now, you'd think you found a way around that already."

you huff out a condensed breath of smoke and when the wind doesn't start to blow it away, you do it yourself, fanning it with an irritated wave. when your hand comes back down to rest on the wall, your pinky hits getou's hand.

you don't pull away, but you look over at him. his faux indifference isn't lost on you, his gaze pulled to the side opposite you as if there was anything interesting about the trees and rocks. even though his head is turned away, the red on the tips of his ears and the smile he tries to hide with his cigarette is unmistakeable.

you blink slowly, the tingle from the connection making your heartbeat faster even when the chemicals in your cigarette work to slow it down. finally, you intertwine your pinky with his. you hear him exhale deeply, and then shuffle to face the front once more. what he didn't expect was you, staring right at him to catch his eye.

getou's face burns. "what is it?" he asks, clearing his throat.

"nothing."

"if it was nothing, you wouldn't be looking at me like that."

"i was just thinking. it took you a while to finally make a move, is all."

getou splutters and it's so out of character that it makes you laugh. he groans, covering his face with his other hand, cigarette wedged in between two fingers.

“since when?” he asks behind his hand.

you hum in thought. “maybe last year. what about you?”

“first year. when we first met.”

“love at first sight? you are so cheesy.”

he huffs, the corner of his smile visible despite his efforts. “right? almost wished i didn’t fall in love right then and there.”

“fall in love?” you repeat and he looks at you alarmed. “i was just talking about a little crush, what’s this about love?”

“you—”

your grin steals the words from his mouth and he sighs into his palm. he lets it drop, defeated, cigarette end crunching against the wall. “fine, you win. i should have done something sooner, whatever. you’re terrible.”

you're urged to tease him more when he interlaces with your hand, the grip warm against the snow, firm and steady like it was always meant to be there. this time, when you look up at him, getou’s already gazing right back at you. he doesn’t break his hold this time and it’s your turn to blush at his assertiveness. only then does he seem to falter, feeling conscious.

"now we're just two blushing idiots in the snow."

getou smiles at that. "talk about cheesy." his gaze falls to his cigarette, the end only smoking every now and again. it's dead, he realises, so he puts it out under his foot. "want to head back inside? it's getting cold."

"really?" you say, lifting your interconnected hand. "it's pretty warm for me."

getou gives you a lop-sided grin. "cheesy." he tugs you towards him, towards the door of the school and you have to groan at the prospect of returning to class after all the trouble you went through to get away. you let yourself be dragged off though, hand holding getou's, ready to face the rapid-fire questions you know you'll get asked when you make it back.

still, the heat of your hands makes it way up to your face and you have to tuck your chin into the collar of your shirt to hide the evidence.

the winter air whistles in your ear, its cold a faraway problem.

the urge to make the reader die in getou's arms or irruptively after any super fluffy moment is Intense. like toji just appears with a gun and bang (sorry getou i would pray for your happiness but i'm an atheist)

Brat (Satoru Gojo x Reader)

Prompt: Satoru and his girlfriend Y/n are in an argument over his celebrity crush on Inoue Waka. Y/n is ignoring Satoru which absolutely drives him crazy.

Pairing: Satoru x reader

Warnings: some swearing, light light light smut (making out), gojo being gojo

Word Count: 7k

Notes: this is set broadly around season 2 episode 2 plot, with some clear changes from the original episode. riko and suguru are included.

“You changed your home screen?” Suguru commented nonchalantly. He took notice of the sudden alteration to his friend’s phone almost immediately. The difference wasn’t hard to spot seeing as the last two years all Satoru had used for his background images were various photos of his girlfriend, Y/n, whom he loved showing off.

Suguru was accustomed to the photos being circulated in a never ending pattern, Y/n and Satoru at the beach, Y/n in a scandalous position she beat him into removing, Y/n sleeping on his chest, Y/n and him sharing sweets, Y/n on her birthday grinning widely as she sat in front of her cake, the couple doing mud masks together, Y/n in front of the eiffel tower, and so on, however it was entirely new for him to see the famous, bikini clad Japanese model as his friend's home screen instead of his girlfriend. Suguru’s brow was raised as Satoru chuckled to himself.

“To Inoue Waka.” Gojo smiled in triumph, like he was in some war that he had finally found the upper hand in. “Y/n and I are in a fight- it’s certain to get a reaction out of her.” 

Despite his explanation, Suguru found himself lost in confusion. Only a night prior to leaving for their mission to protect and deliver the star plasma vessel, Geto had been sitting in attendance as he witnessed the couple's one of many bickering sessions. He really couldn’t blame Y/n much, seeing as he also found himself disagreeing with the white haired prodigy on the regular as well, yet this fight was one hundred percent, without a doubt in his mind, Satoru Gojo’s fault. Being as the argument was his wrong doing, Suguru couldn’t understand why his friend would sink himself deeper in the grave with his strong willed girlfriend rather than admit he messed up. And he certainly couldn’t see how an image of another woman- a model their argument steamed from, in a bikini too tight her boobs were practically over spilling from, would help his case.

The pair seemed to forget where they were until the young voice of the vessel of Tengen-sama herself reminded them of her presence. 

“Listen to me!” Riko shouted, irritation lacing her words. The young girl was set to explode off on the boys like a firecracker for their rude behavior in dismissing her heartfelt declaration on becoming one with Tengen-sama and Tengen-sama one with her, when suddenly the mention of the feminine name caught her attention. “Wait, Y/n?” She questioned. Riko didn’t see another female insight besides Kuroi but she sure hoped there was a sane female mind among the brainless men sitting among her. 

At her words, the man with hair white as snow leaned against the couch and ran a hand along his face. He narrowed his gaze, giving the girl a leer as if he found it ridiculous he had to explain who this Y/n was to her. 

“My strikingly beautiful, insanely stubborn, bratty, gorgeous girlfriend.” He moaned as his head fell back against the sofa, like the explanation was difficult enough. Through his dark rimmed glasses Gojo looked over to Riko, changing the topic all together. “I bet you don’t have many friends if you talk like that.”

“We won’t have to feel bad sending you off.” Suguru muttered. 

“I talk normally at school!” She expressed in an exacerbated tone, then quickly stepped forward pointing an accusing finger in the white haired man’s face. “And it’s you who shouldn’t have any friends! You certainly don’t deserve a girlfriend if you’re calling her a brat behind her back, you should be ashamed of yourself!” She reprimanded. 

Suguru lifted his gaze, intrigued by her final comment. Satoru didn’t actually think of his girlfriend as a brat, but of course Riko didn’t understand how the couple worked and there was no time to explain how Gojo called his girlfriend a brat in an endearing way- unlike his usage for it towards her. When Gojo used it towards Riko, he meant it. If they had the time, Geto might even explain how Y/n commonly refers to her boyfriend as a ‘trust fund baby’ or ‘a prick’, both of which are factual, yet it’s out of love between the two. 

Satoru ignored her quip, finding her opinion on his relationship totally useless. He knew his love for Y/n was larger than his will to live, yet he saw no point in expressing that to this girl. Riko didn’t know one thing about his relationship with Y/n so why did he care what the girl thought? Sure, he probably did sound like a complete jerk, however he couldn’t care less if the star plasma vessel before him found him to be a bad person for what she was hearing. 

Suguru glanced at Satoru, curious to see if the sorcerer was going to give a reaction however the six eye holder simply scrolled away on his phone, searching for the perfect image of his celebrity model crush to use as his lock screen. 

“School…” She mumbled out. “Kuroi, what time is it?!”

Satoru, Suguru, and Kuroi all sat scattered around the abandoned outdoor pool of Renchoku Girls' Junior High, all thinking of different things. Kuroi found herself reflecting on the time she spent practically raising the young girl who would soon be sacrificing herself as a vessel. Suguru’s mind wandered to how they were going to keep Riko safe until making it to Jujutsu High. All Satoru could think about was why his girlfriend wouldn’t answer his calls. Dangling his shoes above the water, Satoru kicked at the murky water in vex as yet another call went unanswered. 

“Huh?! She keeps sending me straight to voicemail- Suguru, let me borrow your phone!” Satoru failed to turn around as he extended his arm behind himself, impatiently awaiting Geto’s cellphone.

Begrudgingly Suguru dug his phone out from his side pocket and handed the cell phone over to his hysterical friend. He had already seen this play out a million times before and was positive the outcome would be no different; Gojo does something easily avoidable and pisses Y/n off, they get into an argument because it physically pains Gojo to admit his wrong doings, Y/n ignores him, he pretends he’s fine and acts as if he enjoys the distance created, that lasts for a few hours at most, then Gojo acts like a crazed person trying to get his girlfriend to respond while she is clearly still upset. 

Miles away in Tokyo, Y/n saw the face of her good friend Suguru pop up on her screen. Her brain screamed it was just her idiot boyfriend trying to convince her to speak to him. Maybe it really was Suguru calling to inform her of their mission. Hesitantly, Y/n accepted the call and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Hi, pretty girl- uh?! She hung up on me!” Gojo shrieked as the line went dead on the other end. He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared the the screen in disbelief, almost as if the mobile device had zapped him like an electrical shock. His mouth hung wide, a look of absolute astonishment polarizing his features. A few moments of staring at the blank screen passed by, Gojo awaiting a returning call from his love to declare it was all some prank, yet nothing came. Suguru outstretched his hand towards his friend,

“Satoru, can I have my phone back?”

The blue eyed man gave an over exaggerated groan then carelessly tossed the cellular device back to its rightful owner. 

“Fine. Ugh! Can’t believe how dramatic she’s being! Just wait until I get back to Jujutsu High and don’t share any of my mochi with her. She’s going to have to wait at least a week until I give her that necklace I bought.” He huffed like a child. Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, Satoru gazed out at the pool. From behind he could hear a chuckle from his friend, causing him to turn his head. As expected, Suguru was chuckling to himself at his expense. Squinting his eyes, Satoru sent a scowl, unimpressed at Suguru’s amusement over his situation. 

“Well, you did go on an entire rant to her about how hot Inoue Waka is, how she’s your dream girl, then you told Y/n you’re only dating her because Inoue Waka hasn’t returned any of your fanmail-”

“That was a joke.” Satoru dismissed his argument, shaking his head, still playing a blind eye to his wrong doings.  

“And you said Y/n is lucky to be dating you… so, one might call her response reasonable.” Sure, Suguru was Satoru’s friend first, but he was also Y/n’s friend and he had no issue telling Satoru the truth when he was in the wrong, like he was now.  “Not to mention the new background which is sure to warm her heart.” Suguru pointed out. Gojo preferred to convince himself that his partner was wrong, although the nagging voice in the back of his head claimed otherwise. An abrupt quip from Geto on two of his cursed spirits no longer roaming around Riko sent all three sprinting to find her location, and still, even while the choir girls and sensei fawned over him, Gojo could not stop replaying his earlier fight with Y/n, wondering what he could do to get a response from her. 

Satoru and Riko were currently running from the chapel on her school grounds- well, Satoru was running while he had the young school girl hoisted by the back of her uniform. An unexpected attack had caused a bump in the road and now Gojo had to protect the girl on his own until he could find Suguru, not that the task would be difficult by any means, Satoru simply had his mind elsewhere. Speaking of elsewhere, his cell phone started ringing from his side pocket, and before he could reach for the mobile device, the young girl plucked it out in one motion. Satoru went to steal his phone back when she raised the phone to her ear and, as if it belonged to her, answered the call meant for Satoru. 

“Eh? Give that here-” Gojo reached his hand to snatch his phone back from Riko, yet instead she pulled the device right to her ear and began rambling. If she wasn't on the mission Satoru was certain he’d have dropped her off the building right then and there, but he had no time to make another effort to yank the phone as he needed to reach higher ground. It wasn’t until Gojo heard the sound of his girlfriend’s voice that his heart dropped straight to his ass. ‘Oh no’, he thought. 

“Is this Y/n?” The girl eagerly asked. A far off voice replied, making Gojo reach out once more to snatch his phone back, only for the vessel to jerk her head away from his grasp. He knew there was no time to stop, he had to get to higher ground and then he could steal his phone back and make things right with his girlfriend- he just hoped Riko and her big mouth wouldn’t taint that chance for him. 

Before he could try to reason with the girl and convince her not to say anything more, Riko began rambling and there was nothing he could do to stop her. Gojo could sense another curse user in their perimeter and knew it was essential for his focus to remain on keeping the vessel safe, even if she was a pain in his ass. 

“My name is Riko- yes, I am! Listen, your boyfriend is a total selfish, inconsiderate, self obsessed jerk! He barged into my choir class all high and mighty and bathed in the attention as the girls swarmed him- he even took his stupid little glasses off for them to all swoon over his eyes! He was totally leaning into their lust for him! My sensei even gave him her phone number-”

“Ah! Hey! Give me my phone back- are you trying to get me murdered?!” Nope, ah uh, not happening, Gojo thought as he tore his cellphone away from her hands. Riko turned to look at him, but the mix of fear and absolute terror on his face kept her words at bay. He sent the girl a cold glare, electric blue eyes narrowed in frustration. “My girlfriend is-”

The abrupt sound of his beloved girlfriend screaming at him sent Satoru back to reality as he glanced at the phone screen, then resentfully lifted the mobile to his ear.

“Hi, princess- why’re you yelling?! I don’t know what this crazy girl is talking about-”

Even Riko was experiencing a small twang of regret as the manic shouting on the opposite end of the line seemed to worsen with every passing second. As far as only knowing the cocky sorcerer for less than a full day, this change in posterior surprised her. Riko was taken aback to see him practically cowering at the words the girl seemed to be seething. All day he had been ranting and raving about how powerful he was- clearly the conceited type, yet here he was nearly shaking like a leaf as his girlfriend scolds him. Riko wonders for a brief moment if she should’ve minded her own business.

A minute more of screaming and cursing passed until Satoru seemed to find his voice, or rather thought of a viable excuse, and nervously cut the girl off. 

“I’ve got to go, a curse user attacked! See you later, my love!” He hurriedly smacked his finger against the red button on the bottom of the phone, desperate to end the call as quickly as humanly possible. Riko stared up at him as she dangled above the ground, and as their eyes met, Gojo rolled his, displaying his anger towards the girl as broad as daylight. 

Gojo scoffed down at the girl as he continued to hoist her above the earth by the back of her shirt, carrying her as if she was a briefcase, or bag of groceries, though certainly not as one should hold a human. Riko huffed, folding her arms across her chest, but Gojo paid no mind to her emotions, too upset with her actions and interjecting herself in his personal relationship. Jumping to the building to their right, a childlike huff heaved from his chest. 

“Jeez, you’re really a handful, brat. Now I’ve got more of a mess waiting at Jujutsu High for me.”

After the pair met up with Suguru and Kuroi, the four were beyond ready to be inside the safety barrier of Jujutsu High and left at once. After arriving at the school, the sun had long since fallen and the sky was teetering between a navy and black shade. Suguru gave his partner a curt nod, gesturing his head towards the dorm rooms, insisting he could handle escorting Riko into the tombs of the star corridor. Satoru sent his friend a grateful smile, bid the vessel and her guardian a farewell, then took off for the dorms. A small, minute, fraction of him was going to miss the kid, but she agreed to her destiny and up until now, seemed relatively pleased with her choice. Satoru jogged up the steps of the dormitory until he finally reached the fourth floor, the floor only occupied by female students. It wasn’t hard to locate Y/n’s room as he had snuck in past curfew more times than he could count, he reached her door with ease. 

His knuckles tapped against the wooden door, allowing less than a fair second to pass before he jimmied the handle. Usually a locked door would be a sign to walk away and try again in the morning, but Satoru only saw it as a slight hiccup. Pulling a credit card from his back pocket, Satoru slid the heavy black card through the slit between the frame and the door itself, shimming the card down to the lock while simultaneously twisting the knob back and forth. He gave the handle one quick turn to the left and abruptly the door swung open causing him to stumble less than graciously into the dimly lit room. 

Creeping in, Gojo carefully shut the door behind him and fully stepped into the dorm. The pink clock on her desk flashed half past midnight, but he knew his night owl of a girlfriend was sure to be awake, despite the eerie silence in the room. Tiptoeing his way towards the bed in the corner, Gojo let out a whisper, 

“Princess, I’m home! Are you awake?”

He sat himself on the edge of the mattress, placing the large shopping bag by his feet as he cautiously examined the heap hidden under a pile of blankets. Running his hand up and down the smooth fleece, Satoru could feel someone shifting around underneath. He leaned his head down, bending his body at an awkward angel, to rest it on top of what he assumed to be her side- that was until an elbow pulled back from under and collided sharply with his temple. 

A pained yelp sounded as he jumped back in surprise and fell to the floor causing a ‘thud’ to sound out. The figure on the bed threw the covers off her head as her fiery leer met Gojo’s stunned expression. 

“No.” She sneered. Though this did not deter the boy as he had previously prepared himself for an attitude filled reunion- especially due to how their last conversation had ended. Propping himself up to his feet once more, Satoru was determined to try again. 

“I brought you presents- look!” He rustled through the paper bag and yanked out four neatly wrapped parcels, and smiled while shoving his outstretched arms towards the glaring girl. However she refused to move, and instead continued murdering the sorcerer with her deathly scowl instead. Gojo let out a dramatic sigh, gesturing to the boxes in his arms once more. “C’mon, pretty girl, you gotta open the gifts-”

“Why don’t you go give it to those choir school girls- or what about their instructor-” A taunting laugh fell from her pink lips. “Better yet, send it to Inoue Waka and see if she finally responds to your love letters!” 

“Oh, c’mon, pumpkin! Are you really still upset about that?” Gojo whined. Here he was, bearing gifts in hand, and she was still angry about something that happened so, so long ago? Gojo ran his calloused hand across his face. 

“Still upset? It just happened today!” 

“If it’s any consolation, those school girls weren’t even in high school so they were way too young for me anyhow.” And none of them compared to you, he wanted to add. Y/n tossed from her position in the bed so her face was now peeking out between covers as her eyes flared. If the situation wasn’t so serious, Gojo would reach out to pinch at the cute chub of her cheek and comment on how adorable she appeared, yet he knew better than to try to weasel his way out of this one. 

“Ah, so you were flirting with a bunch of children and a cougar? Sounds a lot better that way, Satoru.” She shot back, sass soaking her words. Her rebuttal had Gojo rethinking his words. The issue with dating a woman like Y/n was she was far more intelligent then himself and simply didn’t fall for his handsome looks and boyish charm, which Gojo relied on when it came to the opposite sex. Not that this was a bad thing, so to say, it was actually one of the thousands of reasons why he loved her so much- she wasn’t shallow minded and saw him far beyond his outward appearance. Setting the presents on her freshly organized desk, Satoru ran a hand through his hair and awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Technically, it wasn’t flirting in the sense you’re thinking of, I had to distract the class with my charm and good looks so I could sneak Master Tengen’s vessel out of class- I wasn’t lying about us being under attack by another curse user, that was true!”

“What about her number, huh?” Y/n scoffed. 

“She offered it, but I never accepted it.” Luckily he was telling the truth and Y/n believed him. Despite trusting his confession, she didn’t do anything more. 

A silence greeted the couple, neither certain of what to say next. Y/n lifted the blankets from her lap and stood from her bed in front of her boyfriend. Sure the gesture was small, but Satoru took her willingness to step closer to his frame as a good thing as his arms reached out to pull her body against his in a bone crushing hug. His forehead pressed against her shoulder while he kissed the spot. Y/n thought about pulling away for a second, she thought about making him work harder to gain her forgiveness, but his arms felt far too comforting around her body for her to shake him off. With his head buried in her shoulder, Gojo glanced up to Y/n, a softness in his eyes as he spoke,

“Do you forgive me, pretty girl? I’m sorry I made you upset… I don’t like it when you’re mad at me.” 

When she didn’t answer right away, Gojo lifted his head from her so he could properly look her in the eyes. He could visibly see the clouds of anger clearing as she quietly stared back at him. His hand then moved to wrap around the side of her face, his gentleness causing her to melt against his palm. She desperately wanted to smack his hand away, curse him then send him off to his room for the night, but she couldn’t. His touch sparked a series of shivers through her body which only made her long for him to pull her closer. 

A grin broke across his features as he accepted her lack of resistance as approval for his apology and began to move closer towards her face. If she slapped him away, then he’d know he misread the signs, but she didn’t. Their faces were so close in distance Y/n could smell the welcoming scent of peppermint swirling from his parted lips. These were the times she found herself grateful for his sweet tooth, it usually made for sweeter kisses. Wordlessly, Y/n pushed herself to close the distance and pressed her lips to connect to his. Gojo hums as he dips his head lower to gain advantage as he deepens the exchange. 

His mouth is warm against hers, inviting, as he kisses her. She can feel his tongue as it slips inside her mouth, almost like it was entering its second home, seeing as easily as it made itself comfortable and friendly against her own. Her fingers gripped at his white strands, pulling his face closer. All the frustration, all the emotions she had been experiencing towards him for the last day melted into the kiss. Satoru had one hand wrapped around her waist, holding her middle against his hips and his other swooped up around her lifted arm, leaving his hand to rest on the back of her neck, not letting her pull away even if she wanted to. 

Y/n could taste the strawberry chapstick on his lips, the same chapstick he had stolen from her only a week prior. He wasn’t lying, the taste was addictive. Gojo’s lips captured her bottom in a heated move, sucking on the skin with the slightest hint of friction as his teeth light delved into the plumpness. She had no time to muffle the moan passing through her, to which he smirked at the sound. 

A sense of shame washed over her once she realized he had won the silent battle. Instead, Y/n yanked at his hair from the root and pulled his lips back against hers, kissing him with such force he nearly stumbled back a footing. Gojo’s eyes widened in the middle of the kiss, surprised at her boldness and the way her tongue was invading his mouth. He could feel the material of his uniform growing tighter as his jeans constricted against his crotch. Y/n sucked on the silky smoothness of his tongue, small smacks sounding as she dominated the heated makeout. 

A shudder danced down his spine at the feeling of her hand pressed against his groin, his hips subconsciously grinding against her palm. Rubbing her hand along the zipper Y/n toyed with the cool metal, silently teasing her boyfriend as a means of revenge for his actions. Just as she began pulling the slider down, her lips pulled away from him at once, much to Satoru’s disappointment. His mouth hung low as a small whine sounded.

Y/n simply ignored his childish ways, and reached for the bottom of her shirt, causing him to smile once more. Peeling the shirt that belonged to him off her body, Y/n threw it to the floor then fell back against her mattress, motioning Gojo over with the flick of her wrist. Satoru stalked towards her on the bed, almost like a predator sneaking up on it’s prey. His eyes held a look of hunger she rarely saw but bathed in the heat searing from it.

Climbing over her body, Satoru placed himself so he was looming above her, his zipper hanging half undone. Y/n tilted her head, pretending not to understand the look on his face. Gojo shook his head then leaned his face so his lips could skim against her exposed neck. He let his mouth trail up the side of her skin, hot breath fanning over her coolness. His hands lifted to grope at the covering of her bra, giving the material a tug. He came to a stop once his mouth was pressed against the shell of her ear, his voice sending a wave of pleasure straight to her core, 

“I love it when my princess is being a little brat… think I need to put you back in your place.”

Without warning his lips attached to her neck and harshly began to suck at the skin, surely leaving a trail of blotchy red marks. Y/n’s whole body hitched at the overwhelming rush of excitement, her hips lifting only to be shoved back into the mattress by his own which hovered barely an inch above. 

She let her head fall to the side, allowing Satoru more access to her neck, her eyes hardly opened as she basked in the tingling his mouth brought. Hands traveled up and down his back, nails lightly scratching against him as her body wormed from his lips making love to her skin. Y/n nearly closed her eyes all together, she nearly allowed herself to get lost in his kiss, that was until a distant ‘ding’ caught her attention and the phone beside her head lit up. 

A text notification from Suguru popped up on Satoru’s phone, but that wasn’t what caught Y/n’s attention, no, her fixation settled in on the nearly naked photo of the famous model Inoue Waka. The same Inoue Waka that sparked the original fight between the couple, the same Inoue Waka Satoru called hot, the one he declared his dream girl, and same Inoue Waka Satoru said he’d be dating if she’d give him a chance- Y/n was fuming in rage. Pushing both hands on his chest, Y/n physically shoved Satoru off her body causing him to tumble off the side of the bed. His hands flailed out in an attempt to grab for stability, although failed as he rolled to the wood floor, his back smacking against the ground. Gojo laid still on the floor, his mind still trying to process the whole event as he rubbed at the ache on the back of his head. Sitting up straight she reached out for his phone and held it in his face as she screamed,

“Are you fucking kidding me, Satoru?! You put Inoue Waka as your background?!”

“Hehe… that was meant to be a joke…” The fear in his voice transcribed in shaky words as Y/n chucked the phone at him, barely missing his face as he lunged to the side. She snatched his shirt off the ground and threw it back on, covering her chest as Gojo scrambled to grab his cellphone. 

“Fine, I’ve got an even funnier joke for you,” A taunting smile full of hidden anger laced her lips as her finger jutted towards her door. “Get out!” 

His face fell all at once, a deep pout tattooed on his lips. Maybe he should’ve listened to Suguru earlier when he insisted this was a bad idea- if he’d had listened to Suguru, the two would probably be tangled in her bed sheets by now, but no, Gojo had to press her buttons even further. Opening his phone, Satoru clicked on the most recent image of Y/n and faster than the speed of light, set the photo to his new lock and home screen. 

“Aw, c’mon! I’ll change it right now- see! Look, pumpkin, it’s a picture of my favorite girl-” Gojo flipped his phone around, allowing the bright screen to illuminate Y/n’s face. She glanced up, and Satoru watched in utter confusion as her expression went from upset to lividly irate. His heartbeat multiplied in rate, obviously terrified of the disturbing reaction she held to seeing her face on his phone, or what he thought was her face. 

“You fucking asshole.” She growled. If this was his idea of a practical joke, Y/n was ready to make him single. Gojo’s eyes grew like a mass, quickly turning his phone back only to see what caused such a profuse reaction. The image hadn’t changed and was the same exact photo as previously of Inoue Waka propped up on her knees sitting in the sand as her breasts nearly poured out of her excuse of a bikini.

“Shit! I promise I thought I hit save- just give me a second, I’m panicking!” He screeched. His fingers moved at the speed of light as Satoru helplessly tried to set his girlfriend’s smiling face as his background, hoping to at least save some ground between the couple. What he failed to notice in his alarmed state was Y/n reaching out for her phone, scrolling through her photo album and setting a new image on hers. 

“No, no, it’s fine, Gojo, really. I’ll just change my background to a picture of my favorite guy.” The smile she wore was not one of love, no it held more malice, evilness like she had just completed a plot to end the world. Satoru’s head nudged to the side, his eyebrows pulled together in a line of skepticism. 

“I’m already your background, princess…” He mumbled. Clarity was granted as the girl tossed her cellphone, to which he caught with ease. Clicking the power button, Gojo gave a dramatized gasp.

“Is… is that Suguru?! How’d you get this picture? Did he send this to you? Oh my god I’m going to kill him-” 

“I think he looks cute.” Y/n smirked. Obviously it was all a ruse to get back at him for his immaturity, but she couldn’t help the sense of pride creeping up at the over the top reaction from Gojo. The photo itself came from a night out the couple shared, one with their usual third wheel, Geto. Four shots in and five mixed drinks, Suguru was having quite the time, which led to a gallery full of images that he insisted the three took together- and if Gojo would look a little closer, he’d notice the small wisps of pure white hair sticking out from the edge of the cropped image, but Y/n didn’t need to tell him that, it was far more amusing to see him frantic. 

Large blue eyes pleaded up at her as Gojo kneeled in front of the bed, his hands folded like prayer.

“Princess, please put my picture back! I changed mine back to you- please!”

Her finger tapped against the blush to her cheek, pretending to be lost in thought. This was pure torture as Gojo continued to beg at her feet. 

“Hm. I’m not sure- I do have a picture of that adorable first year Haibara in there somewhere…” No, absolutely not, that was Satoru’s last straw. No way in hell would his beautiful girlfriend have a photo of that first year sorcerer always obsessed with impressing Suguru as her background- never ever! Gojo was already annoyed their peer favored his best friend over himself, but having his own girlfriend joke about giving them attention, fuck no.  Holding her phone above his head and out of her teasing reach, Satoru screeched, 

“Ah! You’re going to replace me with a first year?! What?!”

Folding her arms in a crossed fashion against her chest, Y/n gave the hysterical teen a ‘told you so’ glare. 

“Now you know how I felt.” She said matter-of-factly. 

Satoru had to physically bite his tongue to keep the word ‘brat’ from tumbling past his lips. Yes, he used the term as one of endearment, but that was when the two were in their usual jovial mood- now was not the time and now. Gojo understood what she was hinting at, he got the message she was referring to their earlier argument and the various comments he had made towards the famous model, but that didn’t mean he agreed with her. In his mind, there was a clear difference between joking about having a crush on someone in the public eye and joking about having a crush on a fellow classmate. 

“Well at least my background was a celebrity that I have no real chance with. If you asked that first year out he’d probably say yes on the spot then pass out- and Suguru would say yes just to spite me!” His voice was teetering a cry as he threw his head against the bed. 

“I would never actually ask them out, Satoru. In case you haven’t noticed, I love you. Why do you think I was so upset about all those things you said before you and Suguru left? You basically admitted I’m not your dream girl but some famous, perfectly perfect model, who I look nothing like, is. Then you went on about how lucky I should feel being with you, as if I’m not already insecure about our relationship.” Gojo’s heart sunk at her words, regret filling his insides. “It hurt my feelings, Satoru.”

“I’m sorry, princess… I really am. I never meant to hurt you, I guess I thought I was being funny but… it’s really not true.” For the first time in maybe ever, Satoru’s tone sounded different. His voice no longer held that casual cockiness and confidence it usually oozed, no, he sounded timid… possibly the most serious he’s ever sounded in his life. The man who played life like it was the board game itself now stood before the woman he loved looking scared. Y/n’s face scrunched in question, slightly taken aback by the sincerity he expressed. 

“What’s not true?”

“What I said about Inoue Waka, she’s not my dream girl, you are.” Satoru stated. He needed Y/n to see the truth to his words, to believe she was the only girl for him, because she was. As fun as it was to tease his girlfriend, it was only amusing when she was in on the joke. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. Satoru could see now how truly uncomfortable she was with his comments and it made him feel like a piece of shit knowing he planted a seed of insecurity in her mind. 

It was almost as if Gojo could see the shield Y/n placed around herself, around her heart. She was a hard one to crack, but getting to be the soul she finally let inside meant the entire word to Satoru and he had no intention of breaking that trust ever again. 

“And I’m the one who’s so fucking lucky to get to call you mine. You’re everything I could ever ask for in a girlfriend and more. You put up with me and you’re the only person who ever laughs at my jokes- and you know all my favorite snacks and treats… you even know all the things I’m scared of, which losing you is at the top of my list. I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt us, or made you feel insecure… I really am sorry, Y/n.”

The room turned quiet as Gojo’s confession hung in the air. Y/n didn’t speak, she wouldn’t even move. Instead, her eyes planted on the blanket in her lap, mindlessly losing herself in the pattern while her mind raced, replaying his words over and over again. Gojo examined her odd behavior, part of him perplexed at her lack of response. Y/n had a response for everything, for every situation. For the first time in their two year relationship Gojo was witnessing her in a speechless state, and for as much as he joked about her bratness and stubborn ways, he hated not hearing her voice. A minute passed until Satoru decided he had enough of missing her sound. As he opened his mouth, about to ask if she was okay, a shout sounded from her throat. 

“Ugh! I hate when you do that!” Y/n cried out. There was a thin row of salty tears teetering her waterline. Dread filled Gojo at the sight. He never meant to make her cry. Standing to his feet Satoru sat himself next to her on the bed, his hands reaching out to grasp her own in trepidation. His thumb drew anxious circles across her skin, a method he’d learned that usual calmed her down, yet her tears steadily fell. 

“W-What? Do what?” He asked in a wavering voice. With her free hand, Y/n harshly rubbed at her eyes, wiping the tears that continued to roll down her reddening cheeks. A few splashed against his hand that clutched hers, but he didn’t care. A scarlet ring formed around her e/c eyes as she glanced up to Satoru, a mix of agitation and sadness filling her. 

“When you’re all sweet and say things that make my insides feel like they’re all mushy and- ugh, I hate how much I love you. It’s so annoying!” She cried out. 

A wave of solace splash his bay at her words, along with the returning embrace as her hand squeezed his. He let out a sigh of relief, grateful his words had caused good tears this time. Bringing her hand up to his face, Gojo danced a trail of kisses along her knuckles and smiled. Still holding her hand, Satoru lightly urged the girl to lay back on the mattress and he climbed in next to her. Her head rested softly against the pillow, Gojo’s arm encircling her waist as he turned her body to face his. Once he could see her beautiful face, he let his hand wrap under her chin with a feather light grip. 

“I happen to love how much you love me, pretty girl.” 

His lips pressed a sweet kiss to her temple, then placed another to her forehead, then lastly a chaste and loving kiss to her lips. Y/n nuzzled her head against his touch, the shakiness to her breathing beginning to slow. Gojo removed his hand from her chin as he felt her wiggling closer until her head was laid up on his chest. The sound of his heart beat echoed in her ear and she cuddled into his warmth. A comfortable blanket of peace took control of the room as the couple enjoyed the feeling of holding one another. Satoru’s hand ran up and down her back in an act of comfort. His touch always made her feel more at ease. The moment of tranquility lasted a good portion until Y/n briefly pulled herself away from Gojo, an unfamiliar gleam to her gaze. Satoru tilted his head, unfamiliar to the unusual look, when Y/n lifted her hand to stroke the side of his cheek, as she spoke in a mask of sweetness,

“I swear Satoru, if you ever set Inoue Waka as your homescreen again, I’ll murder you then chop your body up and dump it in the ocean.” One might expect a rational response to such a threat would be fear, not Satoru Gojo. A cheesy grin broke out as his hold tightened around her body, pulling her closer to him.

“I know you will, princess, and that’s why I love you… even if you are a brat at times.”

Her hand smacked against her arm, faking a pout while snuggling further in. 

“Shut up, you love me because I’m a brat.” She remarked. They both knew it was true. Satoru could feign annoyance over her attitude, he could pretend she was too ‘difficult’ for him, but in all honesty, bratty was exactly the way Satoru loved her. 

“You know me too well.”