DRUNK-DIAL | GOJO SATORU

DRUNK-DIAL | GOJO SATORU

i’d dial drunk, i’d die a drunk, i’d die for you.

wc. 2.74k+ , gn!reader contents. ex!gojo x non-sorcerer!reader, toxic if you squint but it's ok cause its loserboy gojo, reupload because tag glitch!

The American poet Charles Bukowski once wrote 'find what you love, and let it kill you'. You managed to find Gojo Satoru four years ago, and then you loved him with your entire heart and soul, and then you killed him.

When you pick up your phone at 1 AM with his caller ID on the screen, you think that it might be his ghost coming for revenge.

“Hi.”

You can recognize his voice anywhere, it doesn't matter if it's throaty or silky-smooth, it doesn't matter if he's shouting over the wind or if the soft pitter-patter of the rain threatens to soothe his vocal cords over the line because truly, you can recognize his voice anywhere.

“Hello?”

“I'm on the side of the road.” It’s neither throaty nor smooth this time, he rushes his words out like it's a waterfall and he can't stop himself from plunging down below, “And it's dark outside, and I'm drunk, and there's this car that won't stop looking at me, and Suguru's not picking up—”

“You're on the side of the road, Gojo?”

“’Toru.” He corrects you, his tone clipped, “Or Satoru. Either one works.”

He lets you stay silent on the other side, a rare present from him, you manage to think, and your eyes flit to the outside of your window. Japan can be terrifying when it's dark outside, especially if there's no moon to shed any light on the streets, especially if he's prone to more dangerous beings than just humans, especially if the man is drunk out of his mind on the side of some road. You heave a sigh, glancing at the clock before you grab your coat and your keys.

“…Send me your location, Gojo, I'll come get you.”

You hang up before he can say anything more.

-

Despite Gojo's lack of credibility, you actually do find him sitting on the side of the street, his ass on the cold concrete sidewalk, fiddling with his fingers with his knees up to his face. He looks nervous when he sees your car pull up next to him, leaving the shady alleyway he’s next to with a bounce in his step that unsteadily sways as he reaches for the handle.

“You look beautiful.” He can't help the words that come out of his mouth as he climbs in the passenger seat next to you.

“I’m—um—s-sorry.” He falters, though, his gaze wavering down to the leather that lines the door when you avoid his gaze. He looks as pretty as he always does, his white hair is slightly unkempt and his hooded eyes more droopy, his concealer is creased against the curves of his nose and his clothes are wrinkled—there's something that makes him more pretty when he's not pretending to be so damn perfect all the time.

“…Can you turn the heat on? I—I mean, it was cold outside and—and I was out there for a while—” He babbles, trying to explain himself with a jumble of broken phrases only a drunk Gojo could pull off.

“I can turn it on, don’t worry.” You swallow, turning the knob as you feel the heat blast, turning it away from you.

You really aren't prepared to face him this soon, not as soon as a year after you destroyed his heart and broke your own as collateral. He always claimed that the two of you were like a package deal, after all, that you were the sun to his leaves, the star to his moon, the light to his shadows. It’s almost cruel how quickly two souls that were once so intertwined can become unknown to each other—how you could catch a glimpse of a stranger in your favorite bookstore and know what jokes made him laugh and what songs made him cry, that he would squish the skin between the two moles on his forearm and trumpet like an elephant, that he had a tattoo right under his chest, sunken and embedded into his ribs like your words used to be, that he always smiled when he said that he loved you.

The rest of the car ride to his apartment is silent, other than the time he asks you if you can turn the heat off, because it's too hot this time, because of course it is.

Your fingers grip the steering wheel, and you bite your lip as you scrounge the heat back off, twisting the fan back down to zero as you pull onto a different street.

You still talk to Geto sometimes. They live next to each other afterall, so in theory, it's helpful to get updates on your ex (and just because you're not dating Gojo anymore it doesn't mean you don't have to burn all of your friendships with his friends). In theory it's nice, but in practice, it's much harder because when Gojo Satoru doesn't soar, he crashes and burns. His dates end with him slamming the door to his apartment to pass out, his grades are fluctuating, he's more vicious to the curses he kills, his new car got scratched and he broke the windows in frustration. Geto tells you that time is supposed to heal, but every day that passes only seems to make Gojo all that more uncaring.

“…You need to take better care of yourself.” You manage to say the words against your better judgment, your eyes trained on the road in front of you, “We're all worried about you.”

“Oh,” he chuckles scornfully, “That's a really funny joke coming from the person that broke my heart.”

“Gojo—”

“Fuckin’ stomped on it and cut it up and threw it in the ocean—”

“Gojo.” You suddenly realize you're supposed to turn left and you swerve roughly into the lane, throwing yourself and him against the taut seatbelts; he lets out a grunt as you brake sharply before you can hit the car in front of you. The red lights seem to blare into your soul as you wait for it to turn green.

“You didn't treat me right.” You grit your teeth, “You made me feel delusional, made me feel like you were cheating, and you made me feel bad for finding out about sorcery instead—I would've preferred cheating.”

You met Gojo when he visited the café you worked at, and you'd learned that he was a junior in high school, that he had an insane sweet tooth, and that despite that, he liked his coffee black. You knew him for two years and dated him for another two, and yet, he made the conscious decision to tell you nothing every single day, minute, and second of the day.

“It was dangerous, what was I supposed to do?” He replies hotly, sinking into his leather seat as you turn left.

“Yeah well, I found out anyways.” You snap, pulling into the high-class parking lot next to the high-class building you could never afford, “So that plan fucking sucked, didn't it?”

You hold the brake pedal after you make sure you’re in between the lines, switching the gearshift to park before you sigh, lying your head back on the headrest as you turn to face him. Being here feels like some sick punishment, like it's the universe telling you that Gojo was indeed being held down by you. Gojo’s apartment is far more grand than yours is, and yet, he demanded to sleep in your bed almost every single day while you dated. Your bed feels empty sometimes; the side he used to sleep on is all too cold, the sheets aren't wrinkled enough, it doesn't sink to his side, and even though your mattress has forgotten the imprint he had, you haven't.

“…Do you know what day it is?” He looks sad behind his inebriated eyes, forlornly staring out of your front window, into the shades of blue and black that mix paint and bleed out through the sky.

“...Yeah.”

You assume that's why he was even out drinking in the first place—you can’t call your break-up fresh, it’s already been a year since you told him that you needed to leave him, for both your sake and his. It’s hard, because if you peel back that thin layer of the scab of your relationship, the deep hole that pierced your skin remains, still bloodied and haggard, a mix of pain and admiration. You still love him, and you think you’d be able to admit that to yourself if you could be brave, but you aren’t. Unfortunately for you, you aren't.

“It hurts to breathe when you’re not around me.” He says breathlessly, with a pained smile, “My lungs feel all compressed like even if I wanted to breathe, it won’t let me. Do yours do the same?”

“…No.” You lie, averting your gaze even though you know he's not looking at you, “That sounds like something you should talk about with a therapist—”

“I don't need a therapist, I need you.”

Your lungs might be the opposite of his because the air is heavy when you try to breathe, each inhale you take is clogged and laced with memories of when you still loved Gojo Satoru openly.

You feel the ghost of the lingering touches and delayed gazes he sent you over the counter that divided you two, the small notes and crude doodles he left on the cheap napkins you gave him, the phone number he put down on some fateful day he wanted to try something with you, try something real with you.

The thoughts of his graduation celebration pummel you; you took him on a date to the amusement park with a shy smile and a sent text—he’d tried so hard to win you the prizes that carnival scam games often tried to pull, but the two of you eventually came home sopping wet from the rain that cut your plans off empty-handed (the only thing your hand was holding was his).

You remember your first kiss with him behind the café you work at, you were his first kiss in general, and you were his first for everything. You wanted to be his forever. “’Toru,” you had said, cupping his face, feeling the warmth of his skin, “You’re a bad kisser, let’s practice again.”

Then there’s the first time he told you that he loved you; he was so casual about it, everything about him tries to seem casual about the words he says and the things he does, but it’s always sincere, hidden behind layers upon layers of underlying thoughts and feelings. He thought that you were asleep when he let a soft “I love you.” slip from his lips as he ran his fingers through your hair, brushing the wisps off of your forehead.

“Those two aren't mutually exclusive.” Your voice comes out broken, you're tearing up, you realize, it stings at your eyes and pulls at your heartstrings.

You loved Gojo Satoru, and with some cruel twist of fate, you still love Gojo Satoru. In some alternate universe, you wouldn't be going through this torture, you wouldn't be crying in your car with him about a relationship that never stood a chance, you'd be with him in some park, pointing at the constellations and marking your own places in the sky. Maybe if things had been different, maybe if he'd told you beforehand, maybe if you reacted differently—

“I'd die for you, (Y/n).” He says the words with his whole chest, laying himself out for who he is: a broken man sitting defeated with his shoulder against an old leather seat, facing you but not really facing you. For being the strongest sorcerer in the world, his heart was far too easy to break, completely unshielded and vulnerable to you.

“Come on now, you don't mean that—”

“I'd let a curse pierce right here,” he grabs your palm, setting it right at his heart, “I'd do it for you over and over and I wouldn't regret it for a second.”

You try to pull your hand away, you really do, but he has a vice grip on it (and maybe on you too), forcing you to feel his hoow heartbeat through the layers of black he dons. His blue eyes stare right into you, his brow furrowed in sober desperation, his lips trembling in devastation, and you realize he's telling the truth. This is the first time you’ve looked at him, actually looked at him, since he got into your car; he looks at you with an ache that you've never seen on his face, pained but desperately holding it in. Has he been bearing that expression the entire time? Strength is a fucking facade because how could such a powerful man melt with your hand against his chest, his fingers desperately grasping at the crevices of your own, teetering on the edge of holding it?

“Fuck.” You feel your heart break, your jaw trembling, “I don't even actually know what a curse is, we wouldn’t work.”

“If our biggest problem is you not knowing what a curse is, aren't we set for life?”

“Gojo,” your voice cracks, “You're an honored one, I'm bad for you—”

“Who let you decide that?” He argues, “Who died and let you decide for me?”

“I'm—”

“There was a curse that attacked me a month ago and the only reason I was breathing was because of you—because you taught me that shitty aikido trick and it saved my life.” He breathes vindictively, “Not some other sorcerer, you. I'm alive because of you, I'm living because of you, I live for you, (Y/n). I live for you.”

“Sator—fuck—Gojo—” Your fist clenches in frustration, your head spinning in the circles you were trying to avoid when you got in your car.

“Ignore what I said on the phone, call me whatever you want,” he begs, his shoulders hunched against the seatbelt as he faces you, his hands feel all too big around your own, swallowing and enveloping your bones with the crevices of his skin, “Call me Gojo, call me Satoru, call me ‘Toru—call me an idiot, call me honored, call me cursed, call me to tell me you hate me, call me in the middle of the mission, call me anyway or anywhere you want, just please call me.”

What could you say to that? What did he expect you say to that?

“I don’t know if I still love you.” You croak, “I don't know if I can do this again.”

He never stopped loving you, but he swallows the bile away, his eyes wavering down to the chair below him as he nods shakily.

“That’s okay,” he affirms, to convince himself, “I’ll be easier to love this time. I won’t lie to you, I’ll show you everything you want to know, I won't be so heavy on the PDA when we walk—”

He cuts himself off because his brain is thinking faster than he can think; he clenches his teeth, inhaling through his nose before he grips your hand tighter, oceans upon oceans in his eyes.

“I think you’ve changed me,” he whispers, anguished, “Wholly. For better or for worse.”

The truth is that you could let him go and it’d probably be the best for both of you; your worlds are entirely too different, you would probably fight over the small and big things alike, and hell, you might be even more unhappy being with him than you were without him, but if he could be brave, couldn't you be too?

“I'll call you,” your words are impulsive, “Satoru.”

I'll call you, Satoru.

I'll call you Satoru.

“So stay safe, okay? I'll call you tomorrow.”

Satoru is hesitant, Satoru is a second chance, Satoru isn't ‘Toru, but it isn't Gojo and Satoru knows for a fact that he prefers the name Satoru coming out of your lips than almost any other word.

He nods slowly, the hint of a grin on his face turning into a giddy smile; his shoulders are trembling and he’s sniffling like there’s no tomorrow.

“Thank god,” He smiles happily, shaking, murmuring his words like a prayer, “Thank you, I’ll be waiting.”

I'll call you, Satoru.

You let yourself smile tentatively, shifting your other hand on his and cupping the outside of his knuckles, just out of reach, but close enough—close enough to touch, close enough to barely grasp onto every emotion he feels.

I'll call you 'Toru.

i lowkey hate this but i needed it out of my drafts so yayy noah kahan (and commas) for the win

Harm Happening Around the World

Please note that there are actually more humanity crisis situations happening about the world.

Turns out, it was easy understanding Satoru Gojo.

You didn’t need years of companionship. His feelings bleed through his skin, begging to be cradled by your arms. And it was so easy to see right through him, almost as if he wanted to be seen despite the uncrossable bridges he’s built. As if he’s gotten so tired at the top he had become desperate, clawing at any chance of connection. And that is what you gave him.

While the moon pours its blue light down the window of his home, it’s beam of light coming down so does Satoru Gojo. He let his mask fall, the black blindfold sliding off his face, then discarded on the foot of their bed. Gojo’s eyes are closed and it only takes your hands nestling his face does he open them. The striking blue color, now familiar, shines through the darkness of his room softly.

He closes them again gently, his lashes fluttering atop his cheeks and you can feel them when you got closer, closing the wall he took years to built.

Satoru Gojo always turns off his infinity with you.

At first you didn’t know why. What made you the exception? What was so special about you that he lets you touch him so freely like this? And it was nights like these that reminded you exactly what the reason was.

You kiss his eyelids, slow and sensual that you can feel him tremble slightly under your skin, you can almost sense the shiver that runs down his spine.

Gojo loves the way you touch him. He loves how so gently you handle him. As if he wasn’t the strongest. As if he was just Satoru Gojo. Not a teacher. Not the strongest. Not the only pillar standing and keeping the jujutsu society from crumbling. With you he was just Satoru Gojo. And it’s been years after Suguru Geto that he finally finds that spark again.

“You’re exhausted.” Your voice pulls him back from his reverie. Gojo nuzzles deeper into your palms, the warmth keeping his face from the cold of the night breeze.

“Yeah,” Gojo says, the tone of his voice strained, his throat felt scratchy. “Had to do ten quick missions.”

Your eyebrows scrunch in the middle above your cute nose, the look of worry on you he finds adorable. “You went straight to Shoko, right?”

Gojo chuckles deeply that it vibrates on your palm. “I didn’t need to.”

“Still, what if—”

Gojo kisses your knuckles, forcing you to let go of him for just a second. “I’m okay,” he reassures, kissing your forehead. “They couldn’t even land a blow.” Gojo didn’t need to mention how he can heal himself, maybe to you if he went to Shoko it’d be one less chore for him.

You sigh, he sees your shoulder relax, he leans his head on them, the tip of his nose inhaling the scent of your hair. He’s kinda sleepy now. Gojo finds sleep to be more comforting these days. Especially since you’re there to warm his bed and his heart.

You whisper against his ear, the light blow from them tickles. “I’m just glad you’re okay then,” you said and his heart swells. Gojo never imagined he’d come home to something so sweet like this. Someone who would seek out his safety and well being. Gojo’s gotten used to his solitude. Initially he had not been well-versed and prepared on how to handle the fact you want nothing from him but to guarantee his deserved happiness, he’s so used being picked apart until he had nothing left for himself. “You should probably go to sleep. You need rest after those ten missions.”

Gojo snakes his arms around your waist and lightly pushes you into the bed, he lays all his weight on you. You welcome him with open arms and airy giggles, your nails scratching his scalp, the soothing sensation shoots from his skull down to his toes, he’s near passing out.

“Good idea,” he grumbles, sneaking the tips of his fingers under your shirt. Gojo only sleeps well enough if he’s touching you right. “Protect me.”

Gojo half expects you to call him ridiculous. This was the most vulnerable he’s been, never in his twenty-eight years of living has he asked to be protected. It was always him who’s doing the protecting. But before those bothersome anxieties burrows itself in his arched heart they disappear once you mutter one word:

“Always.”

Gojo Satoru was easy to understand. Gojo was easy to love.

Gojo Satoru is endlessly, inexplicably and piercingly in love with you.

Admiral, the general is touch-deprived.

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ based on the ask: "Please do one if you haven’t where Jing Yuan is severely down bad for reader and makes it known to everyone and they are just done with him"

✧ content: established relationship, fluff, make-out scene, humor, mentions of other characters

✧ a/n: where did almost 100 of you come- bless this ask for making me write needy jing yuan i love you. not beta-read again anyway buckle up this is another one of unfiltered shame for my love for one mere general with a silly thunder lord that he nicknamed shin-kun in the jp dub because the official title was way too long for this old man.

this was written in a google doc on the phone since I'm on vacation so I apologize if the formatting is messier than the first post 🫡

There's tension in the air.

"... As for Stargazer Navidia, there seems to be another onslaught of mara-struck cloud knights making their way within the area in the next few days. I'll appoint Lieutenant Yanqing to lead a few troops there by the next hour, but be sure to send a messenger cycrane if the situation gets too out of hand or you need to divide the troops up to cover more ground."

You hear a loud "Yes!" as you flip over to the next page, quickly scanning through the documents contents, purposefully ignoring the tension in the air, muttering the details lowly to yourself with a furrowed eyebrow.

It's the sort of tension you wish everyone just ignored, even though it's more difficult than it sounds.

Perhaps being fed up with your avoidance of ignoring the elephant in the room, one of the captains of the Knights loudly cough into the air before meekly addressing you, "Admiral [Name]?"

"Yes?" you look up with a smile, cocking your head to the side. A small gesture to ensure the captain that they have your full attention which makes the knight before you quickly glance to the side and away from you, although that didn't help the pair of eyes boring a hole into the side of his head, "The general…" he starts, coughing once again while glancing back and forth at you and the weapons displayed at the seat of Divine Foresight, "... Would very much like your attention, it seems."

As if on cue, the arms that were wrapped around your waist squeeze a bit tighter than normal. The sudden pressure makes you let out a grunt of surprise while Qingzu lets out another exhausted sigh. Meanwhile you glance down to lock eyes with Jing Yuan, who very much is staring at you with a small pout evident on his lips, "Oh so my darling has finally acknowledged my existence?" he jokes with a grin, meanwhile you merely stare down back at him with a neutral expression before resting your left arm carrying the paperwork on his gray head. The general uses the opportunity to nuzzle his face into your waist, playfully biting into an exposed part of your skin from where his hand had wormed itself underneath your shirt, making you squirm away from him, to which he immediately grabs your back into his hold.

"If you haven't noticed dear, you're practically leeching onto me to the point I can't even stand at my usual side, that is to per say in front of the desk and not literally quite next to you and within your arms." You whisper to him gently. Flicking his forehead before whipping your head around to address the Cloud Knights before your husband can say anything in his defense.

You ignore the looks of disbelief on some of the soldiers' faces.

"I apologize for the awkwardness this position may cause, I can only hope for your understanding being that I've been away from the Luofu for a few months helping Marshal Fua with some matters at her fleet. I've only recently come back." you explain, gesturing Qingzu over to hand over the paperwork to her before waving your hand with a guilty smile, "You're all dismissed, please be safe out there."

"Lady Fu Xuan, how may I be of assis-"

"Are you two arguing or something?" Fu Xuan interrupts before you can even finish your sentence which leaves you staring wide eyed at her with your mouth agape, "Pardon? I'm not quite sure who you're referring to-"

"The general. I'm referring to general Jing Yuan, who else would I be referring to? He sits around the seat of Divine Foresight like a kicked puppy. Which makes it even harder to get any information in OR to him because he's not even mentally present! Can you fix him? Wonderful! Let's make haste to the seat."

You're not even allowed to finish your cup of tea or give an answer before the divination commissioner grabs you by the forearms and drags you out of the teahouse.

"Jing-" you haven't even taken one step into the seat of Divine Foresight before you're surrounded by the familiar scent of your husband. A gentle hand placed by your head while an arm is tightly wound around your waist. You can practically feel the smile of utter glee on Jing Yuan's lips as he buries his face into your hair.

"Darling, I thought you had the day off today?" he mutters into your hair, sounding a bit too happy to have you in his arms again to the point he's ignoring the death glares from Fu Xuan besides you, the divination commissioner just wanting to do her part of keeping the Luofu afloat.

"I was having my day off, before Lady Fu Xuan here dragged me out because someone didn't-" you struggle free to nag at him, but your husband merely smiles softly at you before lifting your chin to give you a quick kiss, "Now that you're here I feel more energized than ever, let me finish the paperwork for today and I'll join you, we can even play a round of starchess." he suggests.

You can practically sense Fu Xuan roll her eyes in disgust, able to hear her mutter about a "lovesick fool" before walking past the two of you, Jing Yuan merely grabbing your hand to lead you towards the seat.

So much for a day off.

You can't breathe.

"Jing-" another press of his lips onto yours as you find yourself pressed on the wall beside the door, "Yanqing-" you manage to breathe out when finally able to pull a tiny bit away from him. Pressing your hand over whatever surface of his face you can reach to try to shove him away, your other hand occupied with bracing itself against the wall.

Your husband ignores your literal hand on his face, somehow having more strength to still slant his lips across your own despite your efforts, the hand he has behind your head pushing you further against him while he shoves a leg between your own to keep you still, "Train-"

There's a rather loud set of knocks on your bedroom door followed by an exasperated sigh coming from behind it, which makes you freeze but Jing Yuan ignores it, sliding his tongue over your teeth while you resign yourself to slam your fist repeatedly on his back to get him to back off.

"General! I know you missed [Name] a lot during the months they were away from the Luofu, but you know that today is supposed to be a training day!" Yanqing shouts from behind the door, and you feel sorry over the realization he's aware of what's happening beyond it.

Feeling sorry enough for Yanqing whose probably already waited 15 minutes before knocking at the door, you muster whatever little strength you have left against your husband's addictive lips to grab his ponytail and yank him off and away from you.

Jing Yuan merely grunts in irritation, looking at you with a glare and swollen lips, but you ignore him. Opening the door before Jing Yuan can grab you again and giving Yanqing an apologetic look, "I tried-"

"It's better than last time, at least." He points out to which you merely sigh before opening the door wider, "I'll give you more pocket money this month, how's that for compensation?" You suggest, shoving your husband out the door before he do anything else, Yanqing smiling in triumph at your generosity.

"You're the best! Give me extra if I manage to land a few hits on the general?"

"5 more than usual and I'll give you an extra thousand." You settle, tapping Jing Yuan on the shoulder. Your husband turns around to face you with a hum, and you lean in to peck him on the cheek, gliding your lips over to his ear, "If you're a bit nicer to him today you'll also get a reward."

Needless to say, there were two very happy boys onboard the Luofu at the end of the day.

Tee…

I’m now on my hands and knees BEGGING for bully Gojo who is (secretly) DISGUSTINGLY IN LOVE over the reader PLEASE ANY CRUMBS I WILL TAKE

(you don’t actually have to write this it was just a nice thought)

idkkkkk if it’s rly bully gojo—but he’s definitely a real cunt for sure.

i just think about an asshole! gojo a lot like he’s ur lab partners or something and he does that stereotypical jerk move where he’s like “seriously ?? her ??” when he’s first paired with you. and he’s just naturally an douche, yk ?? wears sunglasses indoors and makes jokes at the professors expense under his breath that gets him snickers and snorts from his frat guys in his class. has to be asked more than once to “please keep it down in the middle of class” by wtv prof he’s in class with.

and he ofc makes u do all the work bc he can’t be bothered—and on the rare occasion that he is bothered, he just does a poor job that’s the bare minimum and sloppy enough that ur like wtv i’ll just do it myself. and then ofc sometimes u don’t have a choice but to meet up to finish something after class every now and then—he wouldn’t care to, but he actually needs to know the stuff for the final report he has to write individually, so he begrudgingly meets up with you, and sometimes you notice his friends give you an amused look when he walks up with them. they snicker before they leave as he sits with you. sometimes they make a snide comment here and there like “have fun with ur super hot date” that makes him roll his eyes—he doesn’t do much to hide the look of distaste on his face.

but then—and he doesn’t even know when it happens—you start to slowly grow on him. because ur actually pretty snarky urself, sometimes making a dry comment here and there about the professor and his stupid bald headed self. sometimes a girl in the distance laughs too hard a group of guys that u roll ur eyes and mumble how “if i had a voice like that i’d never laugh in public” and it makes him snort a bit without meaning to. sometimes you stare daggers at the person who has their music so loud thru their headphones they can’t help but notice u and turn it down in embarrassment. ur actually not as much of a pushover as he thought—you just genuinely think he’s too incapable to help u out that you’ve just shrugged him off and started doing his part. it’s an easy weekly lab class anyway, you don’t need him—and then he realizes that u rly just don’t care for him. his little snickers at u with his friends and their snide comments roll off ur back bc well…he’s him—an asshole little frat boy and u didn’t expect anything better from him. so it makes him a little intrigued—maybe a little wounded in his pride, deep down, because no one has ever been indifferent to him before. they’re either madly in love, or they hate his guts, or they follow his lead. either works—he still gets the attention he craves.

but u just don’t rly care. and ur actually pretty cool, and kinda sorta funny in a way no one else is. he likes it…and fuck, now he’s starting to like you. he can tell bc when his friends ask how his little date with you went, he starts getting a bit huffy ab it bc they don’t need to talk about you. they don’t even know you…but also….its not a date. and that’s the worst part. sometimes it feels like a date. almost—sometimes you both decide to take a break in between and go get a coffee or a light snack. sometimes he’s even paid (to which you look mildly shocked before politely thanking him) and you both walk back to the library while u make light banter and it’s…well, fun. and nice. and your laugh is pretty. and your smile is kinda cute and he (though he hates to admit it) rly likes it when u laugh because of him.

and then things start to get messy—really, he didn’t mean for it to start this way. he really was meaning to ask you in a genuine manner to see u again once the semester was finished. because he’s actually started pulling his weight—he wants u to see him for someone who’s smart. satoru is actually rly rly smart and no one knows it because he doesn’t rly show it but he is. he wants u to see that side of him—somehow there’s some sick validation he rly needs from you knowing he’s not a dense frat guy who drinks and fucks until 3 am every night. so he starts doing his parts and actually communicates with u about sections. so starts ur texting routine—sometimes a little longer than u rly need to for just doing a lab together. sometimes it’s “did u hear ab that girl in our class getting dumped in front of the kfc ??” and sometimes it’s “god our prof rly needs to get some pussy” and other times it’s “look what the guy who sits behind us just posted on his story” and it leads to a few long convos that admittedly…are rly fun. ur so fun. he likes it. he rly does like u and he thinks maybe….maybe he’s grown on u too and you know what ?? satoru’s always a jerk but ur nice and who’s to say he can’t be nice too ?? just for one person. for u, he can be a nice guy—u carried lab all on ur own long enough that u deserve it anyway.

until he gets swayed in that way only a coward can. in that way you do when ur used to being “the man” around ur friends and ur too pressured to keep up that energy for appearances sake bc u don’t wanna be the laughing stock who softened up for “some nerdy chick who’s a nobody.” so he laughs when they laugh at the fact that ur probably “still a virgin who’s never touched a guy before” and then they’re patting gojo on the back and shoving at his shoulder as they laugh harder and suggest that “y’know what would be so funny man ?? if u took her virginity. you could probably do it.”

the thought is sickening because…satoru wouldn’t want to fuck you like that. god, you have him caring about when and how he fucks you—in fact, just thinking about you lewdly makes him feel guilty. disrespectful, even. you’re more than a fleshlight for his dick. since when did he become so respectful ?? but he doesn’t know how to say no, especially when everyone starts agreeing one after the other—and oh no, now they’re betting on how quickly he can do it….and oh, now it’s not just fucking. now it’s “how long until you think she’s head over heels for you? man, that would be a sight, huh ??”

and….well, satoru decides it couldn’t hurt, right ?? he does want to be romantically involved so that would include you being head over heels. hopefully. fingers crossed. and he doesn’t rly want to seem lame in front of the guys either, so he gets to keep both sides of the coin, so is it really that bad ?? maybe not the right idea but certainly the right execution. he’ll treat you well—that much he’s confident of. so he forces out a laugh and says “gimme a month or two, you’ll see.”

and a month or two they give him. and a month or two it takes—but not for you to be head over heels. it’s him who’s utterly and completely obsessed and fallen head first and whatever else they say to describe love because wow. this must be what it is. this must be that stupid fairytale shit they always talk about because fuck, no one has ever looked at him like that. like he’s some miracle to this earth and some wonder only you know of—like you hope it stays that way and that he’s yours and yours alone and no one else comes in to take him away. satoru really likes being yours, it kinda feels better than you being his. being yours means you hold him like that at night and wake him up to a kiss between his brows and sometimes, when he gets those migraines he’s prone to getting, you always seem to know. always seem to understand when to close the blinds and keep quiet and wrap him up in the covers as you rub your thumbs over his temples soothingly.

he almost forgets about that silly little bet he made two months ago when he’s around you. actually, he forgets everything when he’s around you. he’s only ever thinking about you, you, you. when he comes back to his frat house, on the other hand, they’re all gathered around waiting for the newest details. how you must’ve been so pathetically star struck by him. how you must be embarrassingly bad at kissing. how you must stutter over every other word around him. how you must be making a complete and utter fool of urself trying to impress him and be someone you’re not bc the real you would never pique his interest.

they’re wrong ofc. if anyone’s star struck, it’s satoru bc how the hell are u so…cool ?? and so funny and witty and carefree ?? and you’re good at kissing—have him chasing your lips with a whine every time. sometimes you even chuckle at him when he does and make him blush a bit. he’s the one who stutters over his words when he sees you in your little date night outfits. sometimes he watches you drink from your straw and his brain short circuits a little until you snap at him and ask him in confusion if he’s alright. but the real kicker ?? it’s that if anyone’s pretending, it’s satoru. you’re always just you—unapologetically so, that it’s endearing and beautiful and so unearthly he wonders how he got so lucky. but him ?? he’s always acting like some guy he’s not. some chivalrous guy who opens doors and pushes out seats and kisses the back of hands and waits at least a few dates before even considering fucking. some nice, sweet, genuine guy who’s deserving.

he’s not that—never was. if you knew the real him, you’d leave in a heartbeat. it’s a scary thought. a raw feeling he doesn’t like. makes him feel all self conscious and insecure and all that weird shit he never thought he’d feel.

he tries. so hard, he tries to make them forget about that silly little bet and just slowly drop it and maybe even forget ur dating so he can just stay living this peaceful little fantasy with you—but that’s stupid. that’s naive. it’s been 4 months and enough is enough—the guys need to see the look on ur face when u realize what a fool ur being and satoru is “being a lazy ass who’s too comfortable not having for work for pussy these days.” so then there’s a video going around. it’s everyone gathered around on the couch drunk and talking about you. and satoru. you both, in fact. how it’s been two months and u seem desperate for his attention with the shrill little voice you use to call him toru, baby! it’s so, so fucking embarrassing, they say. how you think he likes it. (he does. god he does so much, it hurts. he loves it, actually, when you call him that. makes him feel special in a way he never has.) but then, the worst, most disgustingly nauseous part of the whole thing is when satoru laughs along and plays into their awful words. just lets them talk about you like you’re some piece of meat. something for him to chew up and spit out after he has a taste or you. not even worth savoring and enjoying. he laughs along and agrees—you’re nothing special and he can’t wait until he’s free of you.

that part hurts. that part sucks the most—when he acts like he didn’t tremble under your touch every time you kissed him. like he didn’t beg you to stay just five more minutes! before walking out the door to go home. he acts one way in front of you and one way in front of them and what’s worse ?? you don’t know which one is real. couldn’t tell even if your life was on the line to decide. because there’s no way he’s that good at pretending to be desperately in love, no fucking way. but there’s also no way he can be in love if he’s talking about you like that. that’s not what love is—that’s not what love feels like. that’s not what it means to someone.

you don’t know which satoru is the real one, but you know that neither is worth your time. not if he can’t stick to it.

it’s terrible thing—the way you break up. it’s messy and teary and he’s begging, he’s actually begging. he never thought he’d do that. but he doesn’t even hesitate to plead for you to hear him out. baby, please let me explain. wait, please don’t walk away—please just listen! i can explain.

he can’t explain, though when you as him to. stands there with a bitten bottom lip and teary eyes that are pleading you to just stay with him. to overlook this and just … ignore it like it’s nothing. like what he did and said was just nothing and you can shrug it off like you’re nothing too. like your feelings are nothing and so is your worth and that’s why you should just ignore the way he absolutely destroyed your pride and reputation and dignity and worse….every ounce of your love.

such deep, raw, pure love—it’s almost enough to heal every dry crack and crevice of this earth and bring it back to life.

you look at him with teary eyes and something so broken, it makes him feel like dirt beneath your feet.

“it’s embarrassing, satoru,” you hiss that night through tears, “you’re in your twenties getting a degree and you’re still just a high school bully. life’s really gonna kick you in the ass some day.”

life’s already kicking him in the ass as soon as you walk out. the air is colder. the world is dimmer. food doesn’t taste as good and fuck—there is just so much loneliness when you have no one to be yourself with. when there’s no you.

but he supposes you’re right though—he is just a bully. it’s pathetic, really. and maybe it’s for the best. maybe you don’t deserve someone who’s only ever known how to feel good because someone else doesn’t.

++ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

[summary] wrio’s spouse winds up in prison. special treatment ensues.

[cws] gender neutral reader. fluff.

“What you did was incredibly stupid.”

“I’d like to think it was very brave, actually.” You quip back, lips pursed as you turn up your chin. “You should be proud of me, really.”

“I should be proud that you got yourself thrown in prison?” You don’t have to look up to know that Wriothesley is sporting an incredulous expression. “Did they knock your head around a bit before bringing you down here?”

“You’re acting like I murdered someone.” You finally meet his gaze, and you resist the urge to sink down into your seat at the clear disapproval in his eyes. “All I did was—”

“Break into the Opera Epiclese and destroy government property.”

“That’s such a trumped-up charge!” You huff and roughly cross your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing as you think back on the charges that had been slapped down onto you by that damned archon. “You trip in the dark and accidentally fall into the oratrice and all of a sudden you’re a criminal. Hmph!”

“Yeah, exactly. It also doesn’t help that you broke in—”

“—I left my bracelet in there after the trial! Was I just supposed to leave it behind and potentially lose it forever? The condition of the lost and found in that place is downright terrible—the guards pocket all the good stuff.”

“You could have bought another one.”

“Not like this one.” You look down to the gray bracelet encircling your wrist, and a warmth spreads in your chest as you gently twist it around, finger rubbing over the messily written engraving on the inside of it. “This was a gift.”

“Hardly.” He sighs, and your eyes flick up to watch as he runs his hands through his already messy hair. “It’s just scrap metal I bent up and welded because I couldn’t buy you proper jewelry back when I was a prisoner.” It’s his turn to look at the bracelet.

“You were so creative back then.” You smile a bit wider. “I remember you used to have something new made every time I came to visit you. What was that one thing you made? The one that we painted together?”

“The ballerina music box.” He groaned, looking a bit embarrassed, and you snapped your fingers.

“The ballerina music box!” The ballerina was a bit oddly shaped, and the box had sharp corners on one side and rounded on the other, and the song the box played was distorted and sounded more creepy than relaxing due to some disfigured cogs, but you loved it nonetheless, and had even sobbed in thanks when he had first presented the gift to you. “I love that little box.”

“It looks like a child made it.”

“A child in the throes of eleazar, yes,” you nod, and his mouth opens a bit in surprise before he huffs out a laugh. “But I still love it… because you made it.” You give him a sweet smile, and you can see him soften up before your very own eyes; broad shoulders losing that rigidness, lids lowering, crease between his dark, thick brows disappearing.

“You’re tryin’ to butter me up.”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Is it working?”

“Not at all, jailbird.” He gives you a smile of his own, and despite the clear sarcasm in it, you can’t help the little flutter your heart does at the sight. “No special treatment for you.” So he says, yet he had placed a cup of tea down for you the moment you were brought to his office, and had even tried to inconspicuously nudge the basket of cookies in your direction, pretending not to notice when you reached for one. “Spouse or not.”

“What a mean man.” You slouch down in your seat. “I treasure the gifts that my lovely, amazing, strong, handsome, and so so so incredibly smart husband gives me and what do I get in return? A criminal record and unfair treatment! I’m suing the entire nation the moment I’m free!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand in the air as if fanning away the conversation, and now it’s your turn to huff. “For the few days that you’re here, you’ll be working directly with me in exchange for coupons.” He takes a slow sip of his tea, adams apple bobbing as he swallows, before gently setting the cup back down onto its small plate. “I’ll make your first job real easy to get you in the swing of things.”

“How kind of you.”

He just barely contains an amused smile. “Very. Now…” He shifts in his seat. “Give me a kiss.”

“I’m married, Your Grace.”

“I’m sure your husband won’t mind. Kiss. Now.” He taps a finger against his lips, and after a moment you stand up and round his desk, hands finding his shoulders as you bend at the waist so your noses brush.

“My husband is a very good fighter, by the way. When he finds out you twisted his spouses’s arm like this, he’ll pummel you.”

“I can handle him.” A hand snags you by the waist, forcing you down into his lap, and you only have time to let out a quiet yelp before Wriothesley’s lips are on yours. The kiss is slow, sensual, and it brings a warmth to your cheeks and covers you with a bashful cloak when he pulls back to let his eyes roam over your face. “I’ve gotta say… your husband is a real lucky guy to snatch up someone as cute as you.”

“Hmph. Seems like you’re trying to butter me up now.”

“Is it working?” He presses his face into your neck, his lips pulling into a smile against your skin, and you have to fight back one of your own.

“Not at all, jailbird.”