Gojo X Reader Fluff - Tumblr Posts
06 Two unknown streamers- Mysterious person
Gojo satoru x gn reader enemies to lovers
Two unknown streamers
Back masterlist next
Taglist open: @sonicsolos @chilichopsticks @owotalks @kaibloom79 @sabrinexx @xhxzgn @colours-of-heaven @asta80fishbowl @oinixd
synopsis- gojo and you both met while streaming together for the first time not knowing you guys really dislike each other so what will happen when you do a face reveal once you reach the number of followers you wanted to get to and everyone sees who gojo was talking to the whole time
07 Two unknown streamers- can't come to the phone leave a message
Gojo satoru x gn reader enemies to lovers
"Thank so much nanami" you said grabbing your stuff "don't worry about it y/n utahime said she will stop by" said nanami he was fixing the two of you some lunch "utahime is coming?" You asked pulling out your phone only to see it was dead "shit" you whispered "is something wrong?" Said nanami flipping around a pancake
"it's nothing but my phone died must be why I didn't see any of her messages" you said putting your phone back in your pocket "why don't you use my charger it's in room" said nanami "thank you" you said walking away even if you are here with nanami you still couldn't help but worry on who that person that texted you was you were pulled out of your thoughts when someone knocks at the door
"it must be utahime y/n can you get that?" Called out nanami "yes" you said quickly charging your phone and walking towards the door you pulled the door handle and the door opens only it wasn't utahime waiting for you it was gojo standing outside with his head low "gojo?" You asked "y/n? What are you doing here?" He asked you were going to answer but he cuts you off
"actually nevermind don't answer I don't care but I need to talk with you" he said putting his hands in his pockets but you nodded your head no "we already talked and I'm really not in the mood for you to be making fun of me right now" you said crossing your arms "I'm not here to make fun of you I just need to talk with you it's important" said gojo tilting his head to the side
You sigh and look back "fine" you said looking back at gojo closing the door behind you "what?" You said looking at him up and down "I guess I'm here to apolo... I'm here to just say that I didn't mean to make fun of you so let me make it up tomorrow I am having a pool party I want to see you there since there are more things I want to talk to you about" said gojo looking away from you like he was embarrassed
"I'll think about it" you said putting your hand in the door handle about to go back inside but stop when you hear gojo say "fuck okay y/n I believe you that you have a stalker that's why I wanted you to come to my pool party I wanted to help you find who the stalker is"
Two unknown streamers
Back masterlist next
Taglist open: @sonicsolos @chilichopsticks @owotalks @kaibloom79 @sabrinexx @xhxzgn @colours-of-heaven @asta80fishbowl @oinixd @tojisworm-5
synopsis- gojo and you both met while streaming together for the first time not knowing you guys really dislike each other so what will happen when you do a face reveal once you reach the number of followers you wanted to get to and everyone sees who gojo was talking to the whole time
08 Two unknown streamers- pool party
Gojo satoru x gn reader enemies to lovers
Two unknown streamers
Back masterlist next
Taglist open: @sonicsolos @chilichopsticks @owotalks @kaibloom79 @sabrinexx @xhxzgn @colours-of-heaven @asta80fishbowl @oinixd @tojisworm-5 @taelattecookie @butterbiscuit444 @lavender-hvze
synopsis- gojo and you both met while streaming together for the first time not knowing you guys really dislike each other so what will happen when you do a face reveal once you reach the number of followers you wanted to get to and everyone sees who gojo was talking to the whole time
✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿
A little background so you guys don't get confused
Y/n, kasumi and mahito were best friends in 8th grade and they were bullies until y/n decided that they didn't want to do that anymore and left when kasumi found out they didn't want to Bully the other kids she also stopped and tried to follow
Y/n that was until she met gojo and well you guys know what happened after that so when mahito found out he was not happy at all so now he plans to get revenge on y/n bc in his eye he feels like y/n ruined the friend group since y/n was technically the "leader" of the friend group where they went kasumi and mahito followed until y/n was like "yeah I'm out peace ✌️"
09 two unknown streamers- Late night streaming
Gojo satoru x gn reader enemies to lovers
Since you and blueeyedemon were going to stream tonight you were just setting up your stuff and getting ready but that didn't stop you from thinking about gojo although you shouldn't have
It was a one time thing so he took you out for milkshakes big deal he probably takes everyone there as a date although it wasn't a date it was far from it, it wasn't even a friend hang out he was just bored and you were just bored
You bite your lips in annoyance and shake your head from left to right trying to forget about what happened he even told you he had a pretend date with someone it didn't bother you in anyway but you hope that you guys can have a conversation like the one you had today no fighting no arguing just a normal conversation
You finished setting up your stuff and sat down putting your headphones on and quickly muting yourself and turning off the camera as you greeted all your followers blueeyedemon sooo joined and you guys started playing dead by daylight
Midnightslut donated: 20$
Midnightslut said: Wait is midnight and blueeyedemon streaming again?!
Jessica: I was having a bad day but then i saw this notification and my day became better
Oliver: I dropped everything when I saw they were streaming again
Julia: I literally screamed at my sister to get out of my room so I can see this in peace lmao 💀
Bryant: wtf turn your mics on
Two unknown streamers
Back masterlist next
Taglist open: @sonicsolos @chilichopsticks @owotalks @kaibloom79 @sabrinexx @xhxzgn @colours-of-heaven @asta80fishbowl @oinixd @tojisworm-5 @taelattecookie @butterbiscuit444 @lavender-hvze
synopsis- gojo and you both met while streaming together for the first time not knowing you guys really dislike each other so what will happen when you do a face reveal once you reach the number of followers you wanted to get to and everyone sees who gojo was talking to the whole time
10 two unknown streamers- why don't you show yourself?
Gojo satoru x gn reader enemies to lovers
Sorry to keep you waiting cuties 🥹
Two unknown streamers
Back masterlist next
Taglist open: @sonicsolos @chilichopsticks @owotalks @kaibloom79 @sabrinexx @xhxzgn @colours-of-heaven @asta80fishbowl @oinixd @tojisworm-5 @taelattecookie @butterbiscuit444 @lavender-hvze
synopsis- gojo and you both met while streaming together for the first time not knowing you guys really dislike each other so what will happen when you do a face reveal once you reach the number of followers you wanted to get to and everyone sees who gojo was talking to the whole time
Unknown streamers be like part two:
Midnight fans: how does it feel to be voted the most popular streamer?
Gn Y/n: as someone who didn't really like to stream I wear the fucking badge of honor
Midnight fans: what about the rumors that you are dating gojo satoru?
Gn Y/n: who tf said that!?!
11 Hold on they sound familiar...
Gojo satoru x gn reader enemies to lovers
Even though geto told gojo to stop thinking about your voice message he just couldn't bring himself to do it there was something about your voice that just couldn't let him sleep no matter how hard he tried to he just kept tossing and turning
"What the hell are you doing to me y/n?" Gojo asked himself getting out of bed yanking the covers off of him he wanted to go back on Instagram to hear your voice message again but he didn't want to seek creepy although no one would know he did it but him
"Fuck this" gojo said walking towards the kitchen maybe a glass of cold water would put his mind to rest and he could finally get some sleep without thinking about your voice he knew he wasn't in love with you that was a fact he was interested in midnight he should be thinking about them instead of you
Gojo closed his eyes for a brief moment a small smile made its way up his face the thought of midnight made him feel stuff no one has ever made him feel before even if he doesn't know who midnight is it wasn't wrong to be thinking about them right?
"Should I text them? No they are probably asleep I shouldn't be bothering them just because I can't sleep thanks a lot y/n" gojo said putting the glass cup away and going back to bed he had school in the morning and he can't afford to be missing anymore classes as much as he wants to he just couldn't
Two unknown streamers
Back masterlist next
Taglist open: @sonicsolos @chilichopsticks @owotalks @kaibloom79 @sabrinexx @xhxzgn @colours-of-heaven @asta80fishbowl @oinixd @tojisworm-5 @taelattecookie @butterbiscuit444 @lavender-hvze @sukunaspillow
synopsis- gojo and you both met while streaming together for the first time not knowing you guys really dislike each other so what will happen when you do a face reveal once you reach the number of followers you wanted to get to and everyone sees who gojo was talking to the whole time
Sorry for the late update yesterday was my birthday and I was super busy 🙂↕️
12 Not the time for guessing
Gojo satoru x gn reader enemies to lovers
Two unknown streamers
Back masterlist next
Taglist open: @sonicsolos @chilichopsticks @owotalks @kaibloom79 @sabrinexx @xhxzgn @colours-of-heaven @asta80fishbowl @oinixd @tojisworm-5 @taelattecookie @butterbiscuit444 @lavender-hvze @sukunaspillow @minzxec @chilichopsticks @nitchuo @asta80fishbowl @mo0nforme
synopsis- gojo and you both met while streaming together for the first time not knowing you guys really dislike each other so what will happen when you do a face reveal once you reach the number of followers you wanted to get to and everyone sees who gojo was talking to the whole time
omg ok i dont ever post on here or anything anymore but i was lowkey thinking of jjk fanfic prompt - angst to fluff - where reader has like no cursed energy and they have so many curses js surrounding them nd living w them because theyre mentally deteriorating nd gojo meets them (I HAVENT THOUGHT OF A SETTING YETT) and slowly falls in love with them (give me the slowest and most poetic of burns and my life is YOURSS) which makes him want to take them everywhere they wanted to go and do everything they wanted to do, basically give them a reason to live
HAVE U GUYS READ ANYTHING SIMILAR..
ARGHHH
gojo satoru gets so nervous around you.
it's hard to be so in love with you and still somehow being unable to say it—it's still early in the relationship, afterall, you're you and he's him, so it's just difficult.
to make things more bearable, he expresses his love in other ways.
he tells you that he misses you often with random phone calls throughout the day, small post-it notes littering the kitchen counter because saying "i miss you" is far easier than saying "i love you".
he lets you lie on top of him, your fingers combing through his hair, your chest resting comfortably against his, one of your legs lazily intertwined in his.
gojo was born in the clouds, but you weigh him down to earth.
he lets you take any bite you want out of his food, he thinks it's cute when you try his drinks and it's so good that you just keep sipping, you take another, then another, and then you look at him with that sheepish grin and—ah, he thinks, he might as well let you keep it.
he tries to touch you as much as possible, because physically being there for you is easier than saying "i love you". he lets you rest your head on his shoulder and wrap your arms around him as he takes his phone calls, but he admits that his favorite motion of physical intimacy is brushing your hair away from your eyes.
it makes his heart thud, his cheeks burn when you look up at him through your eyelashes, your lips parted in surprise with his fingers near your ear.
he likes to tease you, because he likes it when you show that you're just as nervous as he is.
he likes to take pictures of you when you're not sleeping, the casual and candid type that fills his gallery and his heart; he likes to tease you when you pout about them later, and he also likes it when you complain about him being too handsome to have any bad angles (he thinks you look beautiful in every one).
he's not just a menace, though, he likes to be helpful too. he likes it when you get sauce or frosting on your cheek and he gets to act like a hero and wipe it off your cheek.
he helps you fix your zippers and your hair too, he ties your shoes every time you go out, because you've already tripped and stumbled over your feet once, and he'd hate to see you get hurt (besides, he's the only one allowed to fall around you).
he likes to lift you up as high as possible, to make eye contact with you when you're already looking at him, and to smile at you so he can get one back.
he likes to give you stupid jokes so he can hear your giggles and laughs, he likes to pluck any public flower he can find on your walks to give to you.
he likes to hold you in his arms when you're stressed, to comfort you as best as he can; he tells you that he's proud of you, because that's easier than saying "i love you".
it's an average night in your apartment when he lies in your bed, and lets you trace out the features of his body. your palms cup his shoulder blade before you move to his back, to his torso, to his abs.
you trace out every scar on his upper body that night, your nail gently brushing against the damaged skin, every brown mark and pale pink opened up to you, and you only. you end on his cheek, and you mark that one with a kiss.
your lips have touched him multiple times before this, but for some reason, his entire body aches. it aches for your lips, it longs for your touch, it pines for your psyche, it yearns for you.
"i love you."
his voice comes out as meek blurt, a red tint on his cheeks as he turns away, embarrassed by the sudden betrayal of his body against his brain.
it's too early for this.
(too early for him to confirm, too early for him to be loved.)
it's quiet for a bit, and then you laugh, a drawl escaping into the muted air of your apartment as you flick his cheek with your finger.
"i know, silly," you hum, "how could i not know?"
that night, you tell him that you love him too.
THIS IS SO GOOD WHAT THE HECK
☆ 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗽𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗼 - ,, 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼
summary: satoru gojo has been your best friend for the past 14 years. when he suddenly finds himself taking care of a kid, your relationship twists and turns into something far more romantic. warnings: fem!reader , slow burn , mutual pining , angst , suggestive (nothing explicit but things are implied) , mentions of death , violent imagery , reader deals with a lot in this fic , gojo is sweet tho !! not proof-read word count: 15.8k (kill me now.) a/n: this fic has been in my drafts for a year now and it's honestly such a mess but i've written it and i'm happy with it (kind of) so the fact that it's such a jumble barely bothers me anymore !! special thanks to the glue song by beabadoobee for helping me through this
“i love you,” he says, lips curled into a pout that makes you scrunch your nose in disgust.
you press the heels of your palms to your eyes, sighing deeply, “no you don’t.”
“but i do!” and his voice gets louder, which only coaxes the already forming headache behind your eyes to grow. “so you should get your notes out for me.”
“what do you know about love anyway?”
it’s muttered just under your breath and you hope gojo didn’t catch it, isn’t able to read into the bitterness laced along each word. you slam your laptop shut, standing up abruptly. gojo follows suit.
“i’m not digging up my anthropology notes from two years ago just so you can cheat.”
his hopeful expression drops in an instant, hands flying forward to grab onto you, “no! don’t you want me to pass? don’t you love me?”
and what about you? what do you know about love?
you know that it’s difficult. there isn’t a need for any profound thinking, any nuance, for you to believe that. you know it’s true because you’ve lived it—because you are living it. you don’t have to have said “i love you,” once in your life, to know your way around the trials and tribulations that come with pesky emotions. (emphasis on pesky emotions that call for intimacy).
you know that love hurts. perhaps, it’s the lack of control that makes love so painful. while beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, those who behold can’t choose who they wish to admire. it happens unexpectedly, like the changing tides: waves of emotion crashing down at once and pushing you off kilter.
you know that love is uncertain, a gamble. it’s the lack of promise love can give. while you may love someone with everything you have, devote yourself to them, prioritize them—they might never see you as anyone other than a friend. sometimes, you might be a best friend. oftentimes, it’s never anything more than that.
and yet, love is such a beautiful thing. it bleeds warm, saccharine sweet like spoonfuls of honey, and fills you with the greatest happiness. tingles at your fingertips where they touch, shivers down your spine when they stare, butterflies erupting in your stomach when they speak. your skin growing warm and your smile stretched wide—that was the beauty of love.
but how can something so precious be so utterly disheartening?
“no,” you roll your eyes, walking away from your best friend, unsurprised when he scrambles after you. “i don’t love you.”
you don’t mean it at all.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
you sigh a great deal in your life, but none of them compare to the way your chest heaves when you find yourself doing something you know you’ll regret. it’s never a shock that these regretful choices often accompany a certain white-haired man.
the pitch black darkness of your room is pierced by a beam of bright light from your phone screen, your tired eyes reading over the message once. twice. three times.
gojo 🤑: hey can i ask for a favor? pleaseeeeee?????? 🙇♂️🙏🙇♂️🙏🙇♂️🙏 im begging you 😫😫
you groan, tossing your phone to the side to run your hand down your face, letting your fingers catch on the soft skin around your eyes. despite the many years you’ve known him, your hand still trembles as you type out your response, another sigh escaping your lips.
you: what the fuck is it now
the urge to slam your head into the nearest wall makes your neck twitch, the ghost of the movement lingering over your body. why did you even bother asking?
gojo 🤑: i knew you’d say yes 😁 you just love me SO much come to my place tomorrow early too better be there before sunrise
you: i’m going to kill you for this one satoru
setting down your phone, you will yourself to close your eyes and forget about the man who’s been the cause for all your inner turmoil lately.
to be honest, he’s been the cause of your inner turmoil for the past year and a half, as pathetic as that may be. it’s not your fault he’s handsome, charming, funny, reliable—the list goes on. sure, he can be slightly immature at times, and he often shies away from commitment, but who doesn’t have flaws, right?
you squeezed your eyes shut even harder, trying to clear your mind of all things gojo.
the thing with love is that, at its worst, it can stay a secret for years and years to come. you can pine and yearn for someone so terribly, every fiber in your body craves them, and they would never know. you never have to tell them anything. that choice alone is what has put you in your recent predicament.
if life was black and white, perhaps you could have stopped being friends with him the moment you noticed the way your heart raced at the mere thought of him. but things don’t work like that and, frankly, you think gojo would hunt you down if you even tried to cut him off.
you’ve tried to rid yourself of this 190cm lanky demon several times over the course of your life, however you’ve been unsuccessful every single time. when you met him 14 years ago, you didn’t think satoru gojo would become your best friend. in fact, you found him annoying, like a pesky mosquito that refused to leave you alone no matter how hard you swatted at him.
the two of you had your fair share of fights growing up, some lasting mere hours, others stretching on over the course of a couple days. despite that, you both managed to make up and forgive each other no matter what.
you had believed then, as a hurting teenager, that one of your more serious arguments would eventually drive you both apart. after all, the similarities between you both were few and far between. for some reason entirely unknown to you, your scatheing words never pushed him away.
and now that it's been 14 years, you’ve grown too fond of him to be able to imagine a life without him.
so, you’re forced to swallow back the way your feelings crawl to the back of your throat when you’re with him, resting at the tip of your tongue, because you know he’d never see you as anything more than a friend.
hell, it was obvious. the two of you have done everything you could possibly do as a couple: go on amusement park “dates”, spend hours in the arcade together. he’s even insisted on cuddling, changing in front of one another, sharing a bed. yet, gojo has never seemed to look at you any differently.
and none of it ever bothered you either—until last year, when you saw him in a different light nearly overnight. in comparison to all else you had done with him, this was absolutely minuscule, but it's the reason gojo takes up so much of your thoughts even now.
you had come over to his apartment. it was a saturday and every saturday, he insisted the both of you hang out. when you met him as a dumb little kid, it was easy to hang out whenever you both pleased. things are obviously different now that you both have responsibilities.
being busy with university and your part-time job, you and gojo began to see less and less of each other. still, saturday evenings stayed dedicated to your long-standing friendship. that day, your shift at the grocery store was particularly grueling: loud babies wailing, irritable customers screaming in your face. to top it all off, you had a headache and had to skip lunch. safe to say, you were exhausted.
you got to gojo’s house, knocking on the door, almost falling asleep against the wood. he didn't greet you. in fact, he wasn't even home. this wasn't uncommon, you simply pulled out your spare key and walked inside, making a beeline for his couch and letting your body sink into the soft cushions. the guy was unbelievably rich for a university student—not that you were complaining.
you wanted to stay awake, wait for him so you could follow through with your usual saturday shenanigans, but you just couldn’t.
the couch was awfully comfortable, cradling your fatigued body, lulling you to sleep. your eyes fought against the instinct to close, but ultimately, you lost and gave in. darkness enveloped you as your head fell back. it was a rather uncomfortable position, but at that moment, you didn’t have enough energy to care.
you fell asleep in mere minutes, and because he has the worst timing, gojo showed up seconds after you had bid goodbye to consciousness.
to this day, you’re still unsure if you had dreamt it, or maybe you had jolted back into a state of semi-awareness when your noisy friend barged in with a loud, “honey! i’m home!”. what you’re sure of, is the fact that he had moved you. while drifting in and out of sleep, you felt his cold hands press into the muscle of your arms as he laid you down, moving you into a much more comfortable position.
perhaps you were still in the throes of deep sleep, sinking into pillowy clouds in your dreams and that’s why you conjured up this moment. it might not have happened at all. or…perhaps gojo did lean over you, his warmth spilling over your cheek as he pressed his lips to your forehead. they were slightly chapped as they brushed against your skin, and you felt the gust of air as he sighed his goodnight.
you wonder if he had smiled.
it wasn’t like gojo had never been affectionate with you before. in fact, you’re pretty sure physical touch is one of his love languages with how prone he is to clinging onto you like some parasite. some things, like forehead kisses, are strictly outside the bounds of your friendship.
there’s something so intimate about that gesture, something far more genuine and laced with a kind of devotion that never exists between people who are simply just friends.
the following morning, you wrenched yourself out of his apartment with the excuse that you had to feed your fish. you don’t even own fish.
the feeling had been so utterly foreign. you couldn’t remember a time when you had ever felt this nervous around gojo—your palms sweaty, a tingling feeling racing up and down your spine. the realization dawned on you the moment you had woken up.
this feeling, which had laid dormant at the bottom of your heart, flickered to life, merging with the very blood that pumps through your veins.
maybe, gojo had always been more than just a friend. more than a best friend, even.
you don’t know how to face it—the truth about your feelings. you try and fail to move on, tray and fail to confess, try and fail.
which is why it wasn’t surprising in any sense that you were awake, before the sun had even graced your city, slipping on your shoes so you could go and see what your best friend wanted from you.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
“you have a what?”
gojo snorts, rolling his eyes, “why’d you say that like i asked you to get naked or something? listen: i have some errands to run and i need you to look after this kid of mine.”
you’re struggling to wrap your head around everything he just laid onto you. even if the only new information was that he, seemingly overnight, got himself a kid. how did satoru gojo end up with a child in his care?
your sputter, trying to come up with something to say, “since when did you have a kid?”
“i adopted him a few days ago, saved him from some family stuff. anyways, can you look after him or not?”
you really hate yourself for saying yes, but you say yes, and suddenly you’re sitting on the couch with the world’s grumpiest child next to you. it’s been a few minutes since gojo’s left to do god knows what, and neither of you have said a word. you expected megumi to get off the couch and go do his thing, while you figure out how to look after him, but he stayed glued to the spot gojo called him to.
“so…how old are you?”
silence.
“i’m twenty-two, just like satoru.”
more silence.
you probably wouldn’t have known his name had it not been for gojo telling you.
you sigh—he clearly doesn’t like you. it stings a little bit, you liked to tell yourself that you’re the type of person kids naturally gravitate towards, but clearly there are exceptions.
“what’s your…favorite color?” you try once more, and again, it’s met with silence. the boy hasn’t even looked at you, staring straight ahead, preoccupied with something else.
“well, mine is probably blue. i think it’s such a nice color—like the ocean and the sky. and there’s so many shades, but lighter blues are especially gorgeous,” you ramble, feeling a bit embarrassed.
he lets out a breath through his nose, and you perk up, waiting for his response. “i like pink. do you like blue because it reminds you of gojo’s eyes?”
you laugh, perhaps a bit too loud. out of all the things he could have said, you certainly weren’t expecting that.
waving your hands in front of you, you try to shrug off his question, “no, it’s nothing like that! he’s just my best friend.”
megumi nods, but something tells you he doesn’t believe you. you can’t believe you got bested by a six-year-old. shaking your head, you interrogate him some more about his hobbies, and megumi responds with one word answers. eventually, the two of you settle on reading him some non-fiction book that you’re surprised even interests him.
as the hours stretch on, megumi warms up to you a little more. or something like that. he’s started asking you more about yourself, and even let you inside his room, showing you his growing collection of books about animals.
he’s strangely interested in your relationship with gojo: asking how you two met, why you wanted to be friends with him. whenever you give him your answer (some bullshit you make up on the spot because—really. why are you still friends with an idiot like him?), he hums like he’s learned some fundamental truth about you.
honestly, the kid scares you a little bit and it makes perfect sense that he ended up with satoru gojo as his parent.
speaking of: the fact that gojo was even allowed to adopt him in the first place makes you question everything you ever knew about him. then again, there’s always the possibility that this was by no means a legal adoption. he did say megumi was saved from some family troubles, and knowing your best friend of several years, this very well entails kidnapping.
you furrow your brows, looking over at the six-year-old doodling some large fluffy dogs, “did gojo just scoop you up off the street?”
“something like that.”
well. that’s alarming.
when gojo gets back, he doesn’t really offer you much of an explanation as to how or why he suddenly has a kid. you were naive for thinking you would get one at all. instead, he tucks megumi into bed, sits you down at his dinner table, and shares some of the takeout he brought home with you.
you expected that to be the last time you’d be babysitting megumi.
but then you’re back in two days, and then the day after that as well. and then the day after that too.
now, you’re a good friend who loves helping out your friends, and you’re a good samaritan who will provide your aid where it’s needed. in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t even that terrible of an arrangement. you could definitely live like this.
but then it’s been a week of being called to babysit, and you definitely can’t live like this.
you don’t have the heart to look gojo in the eyes and tell him you can’t do this anymore, so you keep going. love makes people do crazy things, even if it’s ignoring pending assignments so you could color dogs with a grumpy little boy.
you rub the sleep out of your eyes, yawning as you get dressed, “why don’t you get an actual babysitter? i doubt i’m being a good influence.”
of course, your academics are your top priority. but you can’t help but think about how megumi might turn out if the only people he seems to be surrounded by are you, and your impulsive, borderline insane best friend.
gojo’s voice crackles over the phones as he laughs, “you see, i would. but megumi keeps asking for you- actually, he insists that it has to be you.”
maybe, you’re just being dramatic. this isn’t that bad anyways.
this time when you step into the gojo household, your beloved best friend already has one foot out the door. normally, he lingers, giving you both sickly sweet goodbyes, scooping up a struggling megumi into his arm to plant a big wet kiss on his cheek.
he offers you one too, which you quickly decline.
“i won’t be back until really late today,” satoru grimaces, pulling the door shut only for you to pull it back open.
you pout, slightly alarmed, “but satoru, i have an essay to work on!”
“just use my laptop!” he shouts as he runs off. you wonder how he has the time to do any of his own assignments.
you figure he’s probably out meeting with his model UN group. it’s one of the few academic pursuits in his life that gojo is very serious about. either that, or he actually took up the tutoring offer from nanami (but you highly doubt that).
megumi has yet to wake up, so you go on a hunt for gojo’s laptop to start on your essay. might as well be productive while you have the chance to.
you find it resting on his desk in his bedroom, and bring it over to the living room. it’s only when you open it up that you find out it’s password locked. you try texting gojo, but something tells you he won’t be responding.
if you can’t guess the password, then you have to begrudgingly start your essay on your phone, which sounds like a nightmare.
your first guess is his own birthday. satoru has a habit of acting like his birth reset the course of planet earth, so it wouldn’t surprise you if that was also his password. surprisingly, you’re wrong. and you’re wrong about it being geto’s birthday, or megumi’s birthday (which you only learned recently), and even your own birthday.
you’ve definitely ruled out the possibility of it ever being nanami’s birthday, which leads you to believe it isn’t a birthday at all. bringing your hands together, you steeple your fingers and bring them under your chin; trying to think like gojo is hurting your brain.
clearly this isn't working out. gojo's an enigma and trying to put yourself in his shoes is making you lose what few brain cells you've managed to save.
so, you make your way into his poorly guarded room.
you tend to keep a safe distance away from his bedroom for obvious reasons- lord knows what gojo has lying around- so it feels strange to open the door and step inside.
your first impression is one of surprise at how clean it was. knowing his tendency to leave many of his chores untouched or half-completed, you expected his room to be a reflection of his laziness, but you can actually see the floor. his bed is made and his dirty clothes lay in a hamper in the corner, clean clothes folded and placed off to the side on his bed.
his desk is a tad cluttered with random trinkets, many of which you recognize from your countless adventures with him, but it’s organized enough.
“okay, if i was satoru, what would i make my password?” you whisper just under your breath as your eyes continue to scan and scrutinize his room.
you walk up to a few post-it notes stuck on the wall, hoping that one of them might be his password. you remember the amount of times gojo’s gotten locked out of his email, social media, and other things—it would only make sense for him to write passwords down.
unfortunately for you, all of them are reminders to take out the trash.
pulling out the chair tucked into his desk, you take a seat, sprawling out as you continue to take in his room. growing up, you spent hours upon hours cooped up in satoru’s room. the two of you spent your time playing video games, watching tv shows you were definitely too young for, and talking about everything and nothing.
when you got bored of his room, the both of you would do the same thing in your room.
somewhere along the years, you stopped hanging out in each others’ rooms. you suppose it’s only natural- your bedroom goes from being a place to sleep to a clear insight into the way you live your life.
gojo’s room lacks the mess you would’ve expected, but it’s still obviously his room from the several polaroids stuck to the wall, the kikufuku wrappers on his desk, and the growing collection of mugs accumulating on the nightstand.
it makes you smile, despite the fact that the several mugs are nothing short of disgusting. next to them is a framed picture. you never took satoru for someone who’s sentimental, and out of sheer curiosity, you walk over to see what it is.
your smile only widens as you realize it's a picture of you and him from when you were young. you recognize the park the two of you are at instantly: it was where you both met. you were both only just kids back then. he basically ran into you and felt guilty, so he offered to hang out with you since you apparently looked lonely. you took offense, obviously, and told him to leave you alone.
he did not and suddenly you found yourself with a new friend. gojo forced himself into your life and after a few short days, you decided he wasn’t all that bad. the picture was taken by his mom, before the both of you parted ways, only to immediately find out you lived across from each other.
you flip the frame over, surprised to find a date scribbled in the corner. from the year alone, you figure it was the day the picture was taken. realizing you may have stumbled across his password, you rush back to his laptop to try it.
lo and behold, it worked.
you sit there for a moment, desperately trying not to read into what you just found out. surely, there’s nothing more to this than satoru choosing a date for a password. he probably didn’t want to go with a birthday since it would be too obvious, so he picked another date instead.
shaking the annoyingly hopeful thoughts crowding your mind, you quickly begin working on your essay.
you only get halfway through your essay before megumi joins you, silent as always, but from the way he’s side-eyeing you it’s obvious he wants your attention. you spend the rest of the day with him as you usually would, reading and drawing, sharing bits and pieces about your life.
somehow the conversation spirals to when you and gojo met, and you’re not sure if you’re still hung up over his password, but you find your voice shaking a little as you recount the many things you’ve done with him.
eventually, as the sun begins to set, you get dinner ready and eat on the couch with megumi by your side. some random cartoon show is playing on tv, but megumi seems much more interested in mimicking the way you’re forking pasta into your mouth.
he helps you clean up, and shuffles in next to you on the couch once more. you don’t remember megumi falling asleep, or when you fell asleep as well.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
when you wake up, you're surrounded by warmth. it feels like you're sinking into something akin to moist, spongy cake. the sunlight melts over your closed eyes, and you flutter them open, blinded by white very briefly as you get used to the daytime once more.
and then you notice gojo laying next to you, elbow pressed into the mattress as he holds his head up with his palm, obviously shirtless and staring down at you. all the air in your lungs escapes you quickly, getting tangled in your throat as you choke.
you frantically point at his torso, and the bed the two of you were sharing, "what- you- what?"
he laughs and it does little to calm you, "don't worry, we didn't do anything.”
“i didn't want to leave you on the couch after i pried megumi away to send him off to school."
he shrugs off the comforter, making your thrashing heart slow down at the sight of his sweatpants. you can feel your own clothes from last night on you: your uncomfortable jeans and an old cotton and polyester t-shirt.
you frown, following him, "megumi goes to school?"
"yeah?" he says, while your eyes flit all over his chest. "he's six, what else would he be doing?"
you decide not to comment on the fact that megumi hasn’t been attending school for the past couple days, trusting that gojo knew what he was doing. that’s probably a mistake but it’s not your problem to worry about.
the two of you file out of his bedroom, and you scroll through your phone while waiting for him to leave the bathroom.
"i can't believe megumi slept with you last night. and on top of that, he was clinging onto you like a dumb koala."
you could barely understand gojo with his toothbrush shoved in his mouth, but you could make out enough to respond with a smug smirk, "sorry that i'm better at this than you are."
"i'm telling you—it's the maternal instincts!" he huffs, walking back into the bathroom with the slam of the door. "do you have any idea how hard it was to pull him away from you in the morning?"
he's yelling from inside the bathroom, and you roll your eyes as he keeps complaining.
"i basically got in my morning work out! and then-!" he starts again, this time opening the door, wiping his face with a small towel, "that little shit had the audacity to start wailing when i carried you off to the bedroom
"whining about how you were his or whatever," gojo trails off, his voice getting quieter as he begins to mumble. "as if i didn't know you first."
you feel your chest tighten as your heart swells; it's surprising how quickly you've grown attached to the little kid. for all his efforts, he was actually pretty clingy.
a laugh bubbles up your throat, the corners of your mouth twitching up with amusement as you come to a realization.
"gojo...are you jealous of a little kid?"
he gives you an incredulous look, scoffing in offense, "gojo? you mean satoru—first of all."
the laugh you've been holding back bursts past your lips, escaping you as you shut the door in his face.
"second of all," he shouts, "no. i am not jealous of some kid!"
"i beg to differ!" you call out, and he doesn't respond. you enjoy the silence: this feels good. this feels domestic, and natural, and good.
it makes your stomach twist when you realize that gojo is nothing more than a good friend. and he'd never see you as anything more than that.
"what do you want for breakfast?" he asks suddenly, and you clear your thoughts.
"nothing, coffee is fine."
"okay, no. i’m making waffles," he hums and you can hear him walk away, his footsteps making the ground shake.
you go about your business in the bathroom, exiting a few seconds later to meet gojo in the kitchen. he's busy gathering ingredients, setting everything down onto the marble counters as he hums a song you recognize as one you introduced him to.
leaning against the cool counter, you begin to speak, "you know the heart attack you gave me today morning?"
he responds by turning around, giving you a wolfish grin, which you pointedly ignore.
"why didn't you leave me on the couch anyway?"
this was the first time gojo has ever made an effort to pick you up and move you somewhere else, let alone his own bed. you've slept over multiple times before, and always woke up on the couch.
he stills, hesitating for a moment and you can feel the air almost pause.
"and what? leave you to complain at me about how you slept weird?"
he brushed off the question, both you and him know that. but you let it go, opting for admiring your best friend, and crush, work the kitchen.
gojo isn't the best cook, certainly not better than you, but he can hold his own. that being said, gojo's a messy cook and always leaves the kitchen like a hurricane swept through it.
he looks good, but then again, the moments where he looks even mediocre are few and far between. his sweatpants hang low on his hips, and the watery sun from the cloudy sky outside spreads over his back and his porcelain hair like it's meant to be shining on him at all times.
you come around the side of the kitchen, hoisting yourself up onto the counter gojo was working on, allowing your gaze to settle on the curve of his nose and the way his lips were parted with focus. his eyes seem to take on an almost mystical glow—vivid cerulean irises flitting from the different bowls laid out in front of him.
"take a picture, princess, it'll last longer," he mutters with a ghost of a smirk.
"you're so annoying."
his boisterous laugh takes up the whole room, and you bite your lip, looking down at your swinging feet.
he calms down and pours the batter into the warmed up waffle maker, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth with focus, "you know, it took megumi weeks to warm up to me. he's not shy but...he's kind of picky with people."
this surprises you.
sure, when you first met him, megumi wasn't the kindest. but it didn't take you long to break him out of his shell. he wasn't the most talkative, but it was the little things: when he leaned into your side while you sat beside him, when he mimicked the way you had eaten.
megumi is observant and mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery.
"i hadn't noticed..." you finally say, trailing off.
gojo exhales something of a laugh, "that's because he loves you."
"i think 'love' is pushing it-"
"no, no! you should've seen him today, bitching and moaning about how i'm making him leave you."
he rolls his eyes with a groan, muttering to himself in annoyance.
you smirk, pointing at his face to make a quip about him rolling his eyes, when someone begins to bang on the front door.
there's a quick, rapid succession of knocks, and then: "satoru! where are you?! you have class!"
you don't give gojo the chance to speak before you're jumping off the counter, rushing over to open the door.
geto stands with his hands shoved in his pockets, brows furrowed until he realizes it's you who's opened the door, and not his perpetually tardy friend.
"y/n, nice to see you," he smiles, bending down to meet your gaze. you flush, involuntarily.
though your affection may lie with gojo, geto was still every bit as charming, and then some.
you move out of the way, giving him the space to step into gojo's lavish flat. his sneakers squeak against the tile of the entrance as he stops next to you.
"good to see you too, suguru," you grin back, wrapping your arms around your waist.
he shuffles a bit closer to you, and you don't hesitate to lean against him, suddenly tired. geto moves with ease as he slips an arm around you, bringing you into his side.
"i don't have class today, you know that."
gojo comes into view from around the kitchen, his eyes immediately fixating on the way suguru has you within his grasp. he visibly stiffens, eyes darkening in a way you haven’t seen before. he wears a kind of neutral look that you can’t understand.
suguru, on the other hand, simply raises an eyebrow, "are you sure about that? today is tuesday, not wednesday."
and this time when gojo stills, it's not with some unreadable expression that confuses you—it's with shock. he scrambles to pull out his phone from the pocket of his sweats, glancing at the date before letting out a string of curses.
"c'mere," he gestures at you, then ultimately decides to pull you away, his hand closing around your wrist.
you let gojo drag you into the kitchen, ignoring the way your skin burns at his touch, and he turns to you with an apologetic smile. he's stumbling out his words, hands gripping your upper arms as he speaks. "i can't be marked late by the professor again, or else i'm gonna be in so much trouble."
it’s beyond you why the two of you had to walk into the kitchen for him to divulge this information. and it’s certainly beyond you why gojo had let his fingers linger around your wrist, and on your upper arms. you ignore it, however, as you move towards the sleek, black keurig and turn it on.
geto walks into the kitchen then, shooing a very reluctant gojo to go get dressed. he moves over to grab you a mug for your coffee, which you graciously thank him for since gojo had a habit of leaving everything you needed tucked away in unusually high cabinets.
you set it under the coffee maker, waiting for the dark liquid to fill the cup. tendrils of steam spill out the sides of the mug, the kitchen filling up with the scent of the bitter drink. to your side, geto’s leaning against the counter, watching you with a soft smile. you meet his eyes with a curious stare, raising your eyebrows.
“something on my face, suguru?”
he laughs, warm and deep, shaking his head, “nothing at all.” he slides closer, reaching around you to grab a spoon before grabbing the creamer for you. “why’d you spend the night anyway? did that idiot bug you to study with him?”
you scoff at the thought of your ‘study’ sessions with gojo; they always devolve into the both of you watching a movie, your work forgotten on the floor.
“nope,” you answer, pouring some of the creamer into your coffee, “i was babysitting his…kid.”
geto’s eyes widen ever so slightly, the only indicator of him acknowledging what you said. you open your mouth to say something more, but gojo comes running out of his room, jacket half-on. he eyes your closeness to geto suspiciously, before motioning for his friend to follow him with a wave of his hand.
before they leave, gojo walks over to where you’re standing in the kitchen, grinning at you so sweetly. you know he wants something from you.
“would you– like to stay for dinner? with megumi and i?” he asks, voice just a hair above a whisper. had you not been standing so close to him, you might not have heard him at all. his expression remains sincere for a moment more before it morphs into an exaggerated pout.
“please?” he begs, dragging out the word just to irritate you.
“put that fucking pout away and i might agree.”
he takes that as a yes, pulling you into a hug that nearly spills the coffee out of your mug. “i’ll see you then,” he mumbles into your hair, arms wrapped tightly around your waist like you’d float away should he let go.
geto slams a hand against the wall, reminding gojo of his presence, “hurry it up, unless you wanna be late.”
you wave them both out, gojo blowing a kiss your way which you pretend to catch and stomp on. the action elicits a laugh from geto which earns him a shoulder punch from the taller of the two. they begin bickering as they walk away and you watch fondly, heart aching for something you know you’re never getting.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
when gojo gets back from class, he arrives with megumi in tow. the young boy stumbles inside, shrugging off his backpack as soon as he makes it in. you had let yourself in a few moments earlier, knowing gojo would be home soon. you wanted to help with dinner.
megumi notices you seated on the couch and approaches you slowly, giving you a short wave. you return the gesture just as gojo walks over to meet you both, large hands resting atop megumi’s head.
“ready for dinner?”
you nod your head, getting up, “i’m helping.”
“i figured,” he laughs, leading the way into the kitchen. you watch as he puts on the stupid apron shoko had gotten him as a gag gift a few years ago. ‘kiss the cook!’ is printed in red cursive on the front with kiss marks and red hearts around it.
gojo catches you looking at the words, leaning closer while pointing at his lips. “well? you read the apron, angel.”
you try not to put much meaning into the pet name and scoff, shoving him away. “are aprons suddenly law or something?”
“not all of them, but this one is.”
“oh yeah? and what’s so special about this one, satoru?” you ask, getting ingredients out from the fridge, the necessary produce needed for dinner tonight.
“i said so.”
“in your dreams, dumbass.”
he grins, wide and yielding as he steps closer to where you’ve cozied up in a corner. you take a deep breath, trying to slow your heart thrashing against your ribcage. though his attention should be elsewhere, his eyes remain glued to your own. you turn around, back facing him.
it’s a precautionary measure because you’re sure that you’d make a mistake, staring at him the way you were.
his chest presses against your back, the warmth of his body seeping through the cotton of his shirt and you can’t quite stop yourself from relaxing against him.
“where did i put it?” he mumbles to himself, searching the cupboards above you. he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about the fact that he’s crowding you against the counter, one arm resting on the marble countertop, caging you against him.
gojo pulls away rather abruptly, the feeling of him disappearing as soon as you had gotten used to it. “guess it’s not there after all,” he says, swiftly moving over to another cupboard to check.
you, however, have a hand pressed to your heart, feeling it nearly beat out of your chest.
megumi joins you both in the kitchen shortly after, and gojo brings him up to sit on some free counter space while the both of you maneuver around each other in the kitchen. you can feel megumi watching you as you hand things over to gojo, freezing when his fingers brush yours. you know he’s watching when gojo reaches around you for something, pressing himself against you.
you wait for the water in the pot to come to a simmer, softly humming the chorus of a song over and over again. eventually, megumi picks up on the repetition, humming along with you. it brings a smile to your face and you can’t resist pinching his little cheek.
you’re too busy cooing at megumi (whose face has gone red from embarrassment) to notice gojo watching you both, leaning down, his cheek propped up by his arm resting on the counter. there’s a warmth in his gaze that you always seem to miss, this barely restrained desire to know you better than he knows himself.
he sighs wistfully, which gets your attention and as you turn, he’s walking closer. you let him wrap his arms around you, looking into your eyes for just a brief moment. his gaze is cloudy, like he’s wrapped up in his own mind—your own pining reflected back to you. it startles you; you long to look inside his mind.
“this is really nice,” gojo hums, resting his chin on your shoulder. “we should do this more often.”
you can only nod in agreement, everything you want to say sticking to the roof of your mouth, sugar exploding along your tongue like a caramel candy.
you swallow them down, deciding to keep them to yourself for a little longer. gojo squeezes you to his chest, then untangles himself from you. you watch him get back to cooking and you wonder if his heart is also racing, the blood rushing to his head, roaring in his ears.
there's a whisper of something painful in the back of your mind. you ignore it.
seconds ago, you were close enough to share a breath. yet, when you watch him now, you feel as though you’ll always be miles apart.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
it’s been a few days since you’ve started babysitting megumi. you fell so easily into their routine, like you were always meant to be a part of it. and when you listen to gojo complain about how megumi likes you more, you begin to believe that you were.
you fiddle with the keys to gojo’s car as you stand just outside of megumi’s school, waiting for the hordes of children to come running out. tired mothers sit on the few benches next to the entrance, rehashing the same gossip most likely. fathers stand possessively in front of their cars, arms crossed over their chest as they wait.
it’s cold. the wind brings a chill that sweeps over you and makes a few strands of your hair flutter, landing in a mess covering your eyes. you blow them out of the way, tapping your foot impatiently.
megumi’s school is rather small: just one main building, single-storied. in the back, you think there’s a garden, judging by the chain link fencing colored green thanks to the growing ivy wrapped around it.
wreathes and small christmas trees are placed strategically along the sidewalk and on the walls outside, fairy lights strung from the roof of the school. the announcement board outside features a santa claus cutout smiling joyfully. the school is covered in christmas decorations as they prepare for the upcoming holidays, only a week and a half away.
you briefly wonder what gojo’s plans are, whether he’ll be taking megumi home to his family. you highly doubt it—satoru would hate to be on the receiving end of a stream of endless questions. how was he meant to explain megumi anyway?
along with that thought, comes another: would megumi miss his family over the holidays?
you don’t know much about the boy at all, neither megumi himself nor gojo bothered to explain his past. however, it must be a pretty stark change to suddenly be under the care of a college student, especially one as eccentric as gojo.
the clock ticks down to a minute before the end of the school day. a large crowd of children stand waiting behind the closed gates, squealing and screaming, waving frantically at their parents waiting for them.
you hear the bell ring and the gate opens, kids flooding out like a rush of water breaking past a dam. their little legs slam against the pavement as they race for their families. you keep an eye out for megumi, knowing that he wouldn’t be the type to behave so rambunctiously.
it doesn’t take long for you to spot the top of his head, his spiky raven hair moving slowly behind a gaggle of loud children. megumi looks around aimlessly, probably for nanami who normally picks him up. his friend next to him, a pink-haired boy, grins at him and says something you can’t make out.
he must be loud, you notice, as megumi winces from the noise. his gaze eventually makes its way to you, and you watch as recognition flashes across his features. eyebrows raised and eyes wide, megumi makes a mad dash towards you, plowing down his friend in the process.
the sight of the pink-haired boy rolling around on the sidewalk makes you gasp, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your laughter at bay. megumi slows down dramatically when you wave to him, struggling to appear indifferent to your presence. it’s insanely endearing.
“hi megumi,” you smile, reaching out a hand to brush over the unruly strands of his hair. megumi wrinkles his nose at the feeling of your fingers smoothing over his scalp, but he returns your greeting.
“hello. where’s nanami?”
the abruptness of the question barely phases you. you’re used to megumi’s bluntness.
“well…satoru forgot to tell nanami to get you today, so i showed up instead,” you answer, leading megumi towards gojo’s car.
you barely had the opportunity to really take in this car on your way to the school, borderline speeding so you wouldn’t show up late. curse you for falling asleep for too long. everything about it screamed gojo, from the color to the model (appropriately flashy for a very flashy guy). it’s not your kind of car by any means.
you grab megumi’s backpack while he clambers into the backseat, hopping up onto the booster seat placed on the right. the bright orange flames decorating the fabric is a pretty strong indicator that gojo bought this thing without consulting megumi. handing him back his backpack, you climb into the driver’s seat.
the drive is a lot more peaceful when you’re not racing against traffic lights and skating just under the speed limit. you think of the last time you were in this car—it was too long ago for you to be able to recall.
stopped at a red light, you allow your eyes to wander a bit and explore the front dash. gojo’s placed a small cat figurine in the corner, but aside from that, his car lacks much personality. the only other decorative piece he’s got is a small keychain hanging from the rearview mirror.
you eye it carefully, wondering why the fraying twine and colorful beads seem so familiar to you. it takes you some time to remember the bracelet you had gifted gojo years ago, in fourth grade. you had spent recess with some other friends of yours, making friendship bracelets. when you went to give gojo the bracelet you made for him, you were met with petty hostility.
he had been upset because you had ditched him, but his grievances were quickly forgotten as soon as you handed over his gift. he wore it every single day until he couldn’t anymore. when you asked about it, satoru explained that the bracelet had come apart. you weren’t surprised: he wore it way too much and that thing was holding on thanks to a flimsy knot you put together as a chubby fingered nine-year-old.
you hadn’t expected him to keep it after that, let alone turn it into a keychain to hang in his car.
the fact that he had held onto it even after all these years makes your heart flip in a way that you know is dangerous. tightening your grip on the steering wheel, you focus back on driving.
once you’re back in the apartment, you decide to get started on making megumi some kind of snack to tide him over until dinner rolls around. you watch him rummage around in his backpack, walking over to you with a piece of paper in his hand.
he tugs on your apron, handing you the paper without a single word of explanation. from a quick glance, you gather that it’s a drawing and you grin, “this is so cute, megumi!”
sure, you didn’t really see it yet, but he doesn’t need to know that. you have to foster creativity in children when they’re young in any way you can, even if it means lying sometimes.
you set aside some strawberries to dice, making a mental note to put the picture up on the fridge. gojo has an abundance of random magnets from all the places he’s visited; might as well put them to good use.
when you grab the drawing off the counter, really take a look at what’s on it, you almost can’t believe it. for a moment, you wonder if you’re simply projecting your twisted hopes onto this kid’s art piece.
megumi’s decided to draw himself, standing with his brows furrowed, next to a very long man who you can only assume to be gojo, judging by the white hair and sunglasses. on megumi’s left, is someone in a blue sweater, shorter than gojo. it’s you.
there was clearly an attempt at drawing hands that fell apart into a jumble of squiggles but you get the idea: they’re all holding hands. at the top of the drawing, in large messy handwriting is the title.
“my family.”
megumi runs up to the counter, eyeing you carefully as you take in the drawing. you’re struck with the sudden urge to confess to gojo, convince him to make this boy’s vision a reality. you think he deserves that much.
but your heart aches in a way it never has before—filled with this dreadful yearning for a man you know will never look at you the way you look at him.
the whispers in the back of your mind come together and someone flickers to life, like the flame appearing from a lighter.
“this is beautiful, megumi,” you whisper, sticking it onto the fridge with a magnet advertising vegas. something malicious squeezes around your lungs, digging it’s claws into your heart but you gulp back the pain.
megumi is none the wiser, nodding in agreement and waiting patiently for you to hand him his snack. he runs off, taking a seat on the couch and you watch him eat, realizing how sickeningly domestic this whole scene is.
you hate it.
hours pass unceremoniously. gojo barges in with a slam of the front door, practically shouting at the top of his lungs.
“there they are, my two favorite people!” he grins, kicking off his shoes. you close your laptop, leaving it on the couch as you get up just in time to dodge gojo’s hug. he stumbles forward onto the couch where you were sitting previously.
while he grumbles about evil you are, you decide to grab the picture megumi brought home. once again, you’re struck by how domestic your actions are, and you hesitate.
gojo, however, is already making his way over to you, holding megumi captive in his arms. “what’s that?” he asks with a nod of his head.
you turn it around, holding it up to show him and you watch carefully as his eyes flicker from person to person. his grin falls into a gentle smile, somewhat guarded, and he uses his free hand to take the picture from you.
megumi takes this opportunity to launch himself out of gojo’s grasp, scurrying off to his room. you eyes follow him as he disappears behind a wall. when you bring your attention back to gojo, he’s stepped closer to you.
his stare is intense, unwavering, and it directly contrasts with the amused smile he wears. you don’t know what to think—in fact, you can barely think at all. the air is thick with tension, it presses down on your chest until you can barely breathe.
“it’s a perfect family, don’t you think?” he asks, his gaze softening as he looks down at the drawing. the atmosphere shifts but you still feel breathless, filled with this ache to wrap yourself around him.
“yeah, it is,” you say, ever so quietly because you’re scared that anything louder would break this feeling. he’s so close, you could close the gap and kiss him right now.
there’s a crash, a large stack of books laying on the floor, papers scattered everywhere. megumi stands next to it, eyes wide and terrified. his small hands curl into little fists and he takes a deep breath. “didn’t mean to. sorry.”
“it’s okay, megumi,” you reply, swiftly moving to his side. the moment is forgotten, the kiss never shared. “it was an accident.”
he nods, but he stares at you with watery eyes and your heart breaks. scooping him up and into your arms, you walk him out onto the balcony. he tries not to cry, you let him know that it’s okay if he wants to.
gojo remains standing in the kitchen, the drawing still in his hands. he stares at it for a long while, letting his mind wander to a world where it’s more than just a little kid’s silly drawing.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
you shove the last of your shirts into your suitcase, frowning at the way it bulges out when you zip it shut. it’s the week of christmas, four days before the actual holiday, but you’re only just leaving to go back home.
megumi’s on break, so is gojo, so you’re not really needed. you wish you were—you miss both of them.
setting the suitcase upright, you go down your checklist of things, making sure you packed everything. you still haven’t mentally prepared to see your extended family, knowing they’ll be chasing after you with questions about your dating life.
‘have you gotten a boyfriend yet?’
‘can we expect an engagement soon?’
‘any plans for kids?’
it’s all horrible and invasive and you don’t get why any of that matters to them at all. it’s your life, your choices. if you’re not bringing it up yourself, there’s no need to hound you about it every single time you see them.
your phone buzzes in your pocket from a message, and you’re unsurprised to see that it’s from gojo.
gojo 🤑: hey bbg 😳
you: kys what do u want
gojo 🤑: what are ur christmas plans 🤔
you furrow your brows at the question, wondering why he asked at all. every single year, you always do the same thing.
you: going home…. what else would i be doing genius
gojo 🤑: LAMEEEEE i was gonna ask if u wanted to come over ig but whatever u hate me 😢😢😢
you finish off the conversation, letting him know that you do hate him, and that you need to get back to packing.
knowing his circumstances, you know that gojo is probably staying at home with megumi. he can’t exactly weasel his way out of explaining the fact that he’s managed to adopt a kid. it’s most likely why he asked if you had plans, despite knowing that you do. you know he’s probably feeling lonely—it makes your heart twist and tear.
you fight the urge to ask him to join you as you drive home.
on megumi’s birthday, gojo proposes that you facetime him. you agree, obviously wanting to see the little boy who’s become so precious to you so quickly. the first thing megumi does upon seeing your face is frown.
“leave your family. i don’t like gojo.”
you burst into laughter at the sight of your best friend’s face, jaw dropped in a mixture of shock and offense. gojo launches into a rant about how megumi is ungrateful, which only makes the situation funnier.
megumi, however, finds none of this amusing.
“i love you, megumi,” you say between breaths, “happy birthday!”
“whatever,” he grumbles, but you catch a glimpse of his cheeks reddening as he runs off, leaving you with a still offended gojo.
you watch him shuffle around, propping up his phone against something. “what’s your secret, huh? what do you have that i don’t?”
“i’m just better.”
your smile must be infectious, gojo ditching his deep frown for a grin of his own. his eyes crinkle as you’re met with the whites of his teeth, cheeks bunching up. you can’t stand the effect he has on you, the way you melt into nothing the moment he looks your way.
“i guess you and megumi are just perfect for each other,” he sighs, avoiding your gaze through the call. “it’s cute.”
you’re stunned into silence at his genuine words, and your heart wrenches painfully as you picture the drawing megumi came home with. gojo ends the call quickly, telling you he’s busy. you don’t believe it but you let him leave, allowing yourself some space from him as well.
at one point, he frantically texts you letting you know that he forgot to get megumi a gift, begging for ideas.
gojo 🤑: I CANRT FINF HIS CHRISARMAS LIADT ANWWER ME THIAS IS AN EMERGYE SOS 🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘
you: OMFG DO U HAVE AN OFF SWITCH have u tried his room.
gojo 🤑: omg look at u my little genius 🥰
you stare at his messages, finding yourself wishing for his emoji keyboard to glitch out and break. the next text he sends you is a picture of megumi’s wish list. you’re fairly certain that megumi doesn’t believe in santa, but it’s cute that he’s written a list anyway.
they’re all fairly normal: art supplies, animal books, toys you’ve never heard of. but what sticks out is the last bullet point, written neatly.
gojo 🤑: he wants u to be his family quick wrap urself up with a bow and mail urself to us 🎁 u would make a cute present 😘😘😘
you disregard gojo’s texts for the time being, focused entirely on megumi’s last wish. the fact that you appeared at all is shocking, considering the fact that you’ve only known him for a little over a week.
you: yeah i’m wrapping myself up rn
gojo 🤑: pics or it didnt happen 😋
you scoff out a laugh, typing up your response. your mind is still dwindling on the wish list, on megumi in general. he’s quickly taken up residence inside your heart and it feels good to know that you’ve been able to do the same.
christmas passes slowly, filled with the overwhelming scent of cinnamon spice and heart-warming laughter. of course, you didn’t escape the questions from your extended family. as usual, you brushed them off, eager to get out of the only conversation they seem to want with you.
but you like christmas, and this year, it’s made better by the several pictures gojo’s been sending you of him and megumi. in one, they’re ice-skating. in another, they’re making a gingerbread house. it’s all typical christmas activities but it warms your heart and you want nothing more than to be there with them.
you expect the rest of your holiday break to slip by, nothing special or new. you debated heading home earlier, but decided against it assuming most of your friends already have their respective plans.
you weren’t expecting gojo to invite you to his new year’s party. in fact, you weren’t expecting him to hold a party at all. as much as he likes parties, gojo’s never one to throw one, especially at his place.
in retrospect, going was probably a bad idea. if only you knew that before you agreed.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
this kind of party is one you’re entirely unfamiliar with.
most of the parties you’ve attended never exceeded over ten people, small gatherings of close friends clearing out their busy schedules to hang out together once again like they used to. these kinds of parties are relaxed, you don’t have to dress up, you don’t have to put up a front.
this new year’s party is the kind that coaxes you into a simple black dress, perhaps too short, perhaps too low cut. this kind of party paints your lips a dark berry color that transfers onto your cup, filled with alcohol that burns as it slides down your throat.
this kind of party plays music so loud, it crawls under your skin, seeping into your head. you feel the bass reverberate throughout your chest, forcing your heart to beat faster like adrenaline coursing through your veins.
to say you feel out of element would be a gross understatement. everyone around you is almost a stranger, wearing features you only vaguely recognize, enough for you to shoot them a smile and a nod as a greeting.
you examine your hands as you stand leaning against a wall, watching people dance, laugh, shout. you’ve hidden yourself away in the dark (rather pathetic, you think), not knowing how to engage and not really wanting to either.
“i figured you’d be in some corner,” a gentle hand touches your elbow as shoko squeezes herself past a small group of people to stand next to you.
you smile at her, grateful to find at least one familiar face. “you must not know me at all, shoko, i love dancing with sweaty strangers.” your sarcasm isn’t lost on her and she lets out a laugh, taking a drag from her cigarette.
you’re surprised that gojo even let her smoke inside, but part of you feels like he’s unaware she’s doing it at all.
she blows out, tendrils of smoke twisting around you both, invading your senses. shoko looks at you out of the corner of her eye, somewhat relaxed, very curious. “you’re still in love with gojo?”
you blanch at her words, turning to face her though she remains, still regarding you through her peripheral.
“you’re too easy to read,” she smiles, her posture curved, allowing her to relax against the wall. “i’m surprised you’ve gone this long without telling him.”
it’s probably the alcohol impairing your judgment, but you frown, sighing into your cup. “my alternative is losing him forever, so i can’t exactly be picky.” you don’t intend on letting her into your thoughts this way, even if it’s only a sliver of the way you feel.
it would’ve been better to brush her off with a joke. shoko doesn’t seem to care, humming, “ i don’t know, i think you’d be in for a surprise.”
“well, i hate surprises.”
time flies by but the night remains young. you’ve loosened up a bit thanks to the alcohol, laughing freely, no longer worried about your attire. your two person party in the corner steadily grew, nanami and geto joining you after some time.
gojo is still missing, but you suspect he’s out being a good host.
you’ve laid your head on shoko’s shoulders, laughing at nanami recounting stories from the tutoring he’s been busy with. geto stands to your left, reaching out a hand towards you whenever you stumble slightly.
your cup is empty and you make no moves to fill it again, not wanting to exit the good conversation you’re having. you like hearing nanami talk about his work, hearing shoko complain about her lab partner, and hearing geto’s jokes.
the four of you decide to get some food in an attempt to sober up. it’s then that gojo finally shows up. the crowd parts for him like he’s someone important. thanks to the effects of the alcohol wearing off, you can tell it’s because he’s shouting his way through the crowd.
“why are you losers hiding from the party?” he asks, shooting shoko a glare when she takes a drag of her cigarette. she simply blinks at him, making no move to throw it out.
“not hiding,” you respond, opening your mouth to bite down on the slice of pizza geto’s trying to feed you. “just eating.” your words come out muffled thanks to the food. geto shuffles his chair closer to your side.
gojo lets his gaze settle on you, lips slightly parted as his eyes wander, taking in your dress and your half-opaque lipstick. you think you see his eyes widen, you can’t be sure. you think you see him almost gulp. you can’t be sure.
gojo reluctantly tears his stare away from you, watching his friend closely, jaw clenched. his anger is only invisible to you, the sight causing shoko to laugh (she marvels at your idiocy often). he grabs a chair and pushes it up right next to yours on the opposite side, arms crossed.
he sits silently, glaring at you and geto, though you hardly notice. you’re too engrossed in whatever story geto’s telling you. he reaches over to brush some hair out of your eyes; gojo stands up abruptly, his hand wrapping around your wrist.
“actually, i have some important news to tell you,” he says, words short and succinct as he drags you away from the table.
you’re too confused to stop him from pulling you all the way to the hallway that opens up into his bedroom. it’s only then that you wriggle free from his grip, staring at him, wondering what his problem is.
“what’re you–”
your back is pressed against the wall, he stands a few steps in front of you. he’s breathing hard and his eyes are blown wide and you wonder who this man is—the worry creasing his forehead makes him seem lightyears away from the satoru you know.
“can i ask you a question?” he asks, the sentence stumbling out of his mouth like he wasn’t quite ready to say it. gojo doesn’t give you the chance to answer him, already talking once again.
“do you like suguru?” he asks, taking a few steps closer, until he’s a hair’s width away from you.
the question is so out of left field, you’re forced to take a moment and process it. gojo’s gaze hardens at your silence, and you stave off the urge to make a joke out of this situation. uncertainty makes your stomach churn—you’ve yet to see your best friend like this.
there’s a crease between his brows, lips downturned but not quite a frown. his words still hang heavy in the air, broken jealousy rearing its ugly head. his hand loosens around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull away.
you take a deep breath, feeling like you’ve taken in all the air left between you and him. “no. no, i don’t,” you whisper, heart beating so fast you almost expect the muscle to burst within your chest.
your admission makes his shoulders drop, the tense atmosphere almost melting away altogether. gojo tightens his fingers around your wrist once more, bridging the gap between you both. he hovers above you, his free hand placed against the wall as he cages you against it.
despite the years you’ve known him, sometimes you find it so hard to read him, understand his motivations. gojo leans close, his breath fanning over your lips.
“so you just really like being mean to me,” he mutters and you furrow your brows, gnawing at your bottom lip.
“i haven’t said one mean thing to you all night, satoru,” you say quietly, eyes downcast, avoiding his attentive stare. his eyes, as blue as the sky, still shimmer in the dark and you watch from beneath your lashes as they shift to a dulled luster.
gojo drops his head into the crook of your neck, you can feel his lips move against your skin as he speaks, “there’s more than one way to be mean.”
your breath is caught in your throat. he’s running his nose up your neck, smearing a kiss below your jaw. your lack of resistance only emboldens him further and he kisses the same spot once again.
and you let him, gulping back the unpleasant feelings that float to the tip of your tongue because who are you to ruin this? on another night, you might have untangled yourself from him, walking away and creating necessary distance between you both.
but he’s exactly where you want him, where you’ve been longing for him.
so tonight, you simply mutter his name in warning, your voice cracking softly as he slides his hand around your waist. his touch burns, it's as though the material of your dress simply doesn’t exist under the weight of his palm.
gojo presses his mouth to your ear. when he speaks, he sounds so resigned, almost like the woman that sits in your mind, taunting you with the possibility of everything unraveling. she licks at your wounds and her breath burns.
“i feel so…stupid when it comes to you,” he rasps out, pulling you closer. “you drive me crazy and i don’t know what to do–” he cuts himself off before he gets too deep into his rambling. anticipation steadily rises up your chest, higher and higher and higher.
“it’s always been you,” gojo says, letting you see his face once more. he leans over you, simply staring, the loud music fading away until it’s nothing but a beat behind the incessant thrum of your heart.
the woman makes herself apparent, hiding just behind your eyes, her words piercing your skin.
you gather the courage to really look at him, ignoring the way the woman in your head sighs, telling you it’s not worth it—telling you it’ll hurt. she tells you it’s only going to ache, and tear, and rip apart. you shake her away. his eyes have you trapped in them, drowning in his blue, your hands wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. he doesn’t waver, shifting his gaze down to your lips.
“i love you,” he breathes out, his words so full of promise you nearly believe it. but then you remember where you are, you remember what you’ve been doing.
your hands rest on his shoulders, feeling the cotton material of his shirt under your fingertips. “you can’t mean that,” you reply in a whisper.
the woman in your head shrieks at you until her voice turns hoarse and raw. you grab the collar of his shirt, closing the gap, your lips meeting his. gojo fists the silk of your dress, creasing the material against his palm. your trembling hand brushes along his cheek and he chases after your touch, tilting his head to the side, nose bumping against yours. he’s presses you into the wall, your spine meeting the cold plaster as goosebumps erupt down your arms.
the woman shouts, the woman regrets. the woman tells you you’re making a mistake but she’s inevitably drowned out by the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. gojo brings his hand up to your jaw, fingers squeezing desperately. his kiss is all tongue and teeth, he steals your breath away.
a fire festers in the pit of your stomach, it’s flames fueled by his touch, his warmth, everything him. it curls into a burning in your chest. insatiable greed drives gojo to take you into his arms, your feet stumbling against each other’s as you make your way into his room.
your back hits his comforter, you pull him closer.
the woman sits silently and weeps.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
you wake up with a dull pounding behind your eyes and a painful silence inside your mind. warmth envelops you as you twist and turn under gojo’s heavy blankets—it’s reminiscent of an earlier time.
beams of sunlight force your eyes open and you prop yourself up, elbows sinking into gojo’s expensive mattress. cradling your head in your hand, you take in your surroundings: the stark white sheets, gojo’s sleeping figure next to you.
you watch him sleep for several moments, marveling at the fact that gojo is asleep at all. he’s always had trouble with insomnia, seeing him rest so peacefully makes you smile.
you let your gaze sweep over his face, pressed into the pillow, messy hair obscuring his eyes. his shoulders are bare, and if last time taught you anything, it’s that gojo has no problem with appearing borderline naked in front of you.
scoffing, you turn to check the nightstand for your phone, pausing when a cold draft seems to linger over your arms and chest a bit stronger than usual. a pile of fabric resting against the mahogany floors catches your eye, and you stare at it blankly before everything begins to fall into place.
your fragmented memories connect, the night floods back to you, knocking the air from your lungs.
your dress on the floor, the very obvious smear of berry colored lipstick against his jaw. your incredibly apparent lack of clothing.
panic digs into your chest. the woman comes into view once more, her unwavering gaze staring at you with contempt. she crawls out of your chest, standing before you, several heads taller.
‘you messed everything up,’ she seethes. your heart beats faster. ‘he’ll never want to see you again,’ she says, her words stinging like a slap. it becomes harder to breathe.
you don’t stick around to see what else she has to say, grabbing your dress off the floor with shaky hands. you pull it back on messily, grabbing your phone, rushing out of his bedroom as tears cling to your lashes.
thankfully, everyone seems to have cleared out of the apartment.
you don’t allow yourself to think, opening up the front door, rushing down the stairwell until you’re standing in the lobby of his apartment building. it’s too cold—they always crank up the air conditioning even if it’s the middle of winter.
the lady behind the desk looks at you with pity. you suppress the urge to vomit. tears stream down your cheeks, trailing along your chin before they fall. you know you must look a mess. you wonder where else you left your berry colored lips.
you call shoko; she’s hungover when she picks up but she hears the pain in your voice and she hears you bite back your tears. she’ll be there soon, she promises and you stand, waiting.
you sit in her car, staring out the window. she tries to make you feel better by playing your favorite songs—it doesn’t do much to help. the song reminds you of megumi.
the thought of megumi sends you spiraling further. how can you face megumi after this? how can you face gojo? he might not remember, but you always will. you’ll always remember the warmth of his hands, the way he held you near like you were everything.
the woman tells you you’re sick.
shoko eyes you, taking in your tear-stained face. you don’t want her pity either, digging your nails into your palm as hard as you can. she’s stopped at a red light and she reaches over to take your hand in hers.
“you have to figure out where you both stand,” she says, calm and rational as always. sometimes, you wish she could see things the way you do. you wish she could hear the woman who haunts you.
“i know,” you whisper, closing your eyes as you lean your head back against the seat. the car starts moving again. “i don’t want to.” your stomach churns, an awful mixture of anxiety and hurt rolling up your throat.
you slept with gojo.
you feel sick. the woman slices at you with her knives. ‘you don’t deserve him at all.’
shoko white knuckles the steering wheel. she never takes kindly to your tears, it took you a while to figure out that it’s because she cares too much to see you cry.
“you should confess. it’ll be good for your heart and mind,” she suggests as you see your apartment come into view. you’re not ready to be left alone with the woman. the cuts from her knives are still fresh, they still bleed.
you shake your head ever so slightly. “no,” you reply, selfishness motivating your choices more than anything. “i’m going to pretend i don’t remember—i’ll act like i was too drunk to remember.”
shoko disagrees with you, and she lets you know as much as she can before you’re getting out of her car, walking towards your apartment. your dress feels too short, you tug it down. the sunlight burns your scalp and you rush indoors.
as soon as you kick off your heels, gojo texts you. your phone is nearly dead and you debate putting off responding, excusing yourself with the fact that your phone ran out of power. you grow too curious, though, and you read his message.
gojo 🤑: hey when did u get home?
the striking lack of emojis makes the text feel impersonal, far from the man you know. the woman laughs at you.
‘he hates you.’
you: shoko picked me up
you pause, debating whether you should add more. let him know that you don’t remember, let him know that you believe nothing happened.
you: i rly went overboard on the alcohol ig i barely remember anything
you watch the bubble indicating he’s typing appear and disappear. your nerves fizzle and buzz, teeth sinking into your lips until you draw blood. ‘he hates you,’ the woman whispers.
gojo 🤑: yeah me too lol
you hate it.
you’re reading into it too much, you think, but the woman says no. her lithe fingers encircle your arms, her sadness turning you sick. you agonize over your words, agonize over his texts. you can’t face gojo. you wonder if you’ll ever be able to see megumi again.
‘you’re selfish,’ the woman sneers, watching you tremble. ‘do you think you deserve to see him?’
‘what would he think of you?’
‘you’ve lost both of them.’
‘you should’ve listened to me.’
you don’t know what to say to her. she draws her arm back and strikes you.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
the following day, gojo informs you that megumi asked for you to babysit him.
you had decided you would say no, for your own sake. the woman agreed so it must be the right choice. but then he tells you that megumi’s insisting—that he misses you—and how can you say no?
so you sit on the couch, right next to megumi as he reads from his new book (a christmas present from gojo). he’s laying against you, his head resting against your arm. neither you, nor gojo, have said a single word to each other.
it feels wrong, this silence that fills the room. it feels heavy. it keeps its palms pressed tightly against your lips, keeping your words trapped inside. you wonder if megumi can feel it too.
reaching over, you gently brush some of his hair out of his eyes and he stills, turning around to look up at you. his eyes are wide, they waver as they flicker between you and gojo.
“did you guys fight?”
you notice the way he wraps his arms around himself, as if to soothe. he takes a long breath. megumi’s eyes widen and you realize that he’s scared.
you rush to explain, “no! no, we didn’t fight.” he doesn’t seem to believe you; gojo walks over to you both, taking a seat next to him.
“we’re just tired, megumi,” he tells him, a hand rubbing circles into his back. you feel terrible.
‘this is all your fault,’ the woman whispers.
it’s silent again as gojo shuffles around, getting ready to leave for his model UN meeting. he stands at the doorway, looking at you for a moment. you can’t read him, he doesn’t explain. gojo waves goodbye and leaves.
you watch megumi read for a few minutes more, the aftertaste of the previous conversation still lingering on your tongue. he must feel your stare, looking up from his book.
“you’re my favorite person ever,” he admits, he sounds completely serious. you’re taken aback by his honesty, your heart melting as a smile tugs on the corners of your mouth. you reach forward, opening your arms out for a hug. megumi quickly wraps his arms around you.
his hands cling to the fabric of your shirt, “if you did fight with gojo, please forgive him. don’t leave.”
‘look what you’ve done,’ the woman says, the weight of her words make you feel like you’re drowning.
“i won’t leave you,” you reply, ignoring the woman and her hurt. megumi looks back at you, holding out his pinky for you. you wrap your own around his much smaller one, “pinky promise.”
you let him rest his head against your chest, your steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep. the woman reminds you how undeserving you are of what you have. you know the woman is right.
when gojo gets home, he asks if you’d like to stay for dinner. every single part of you wants to say yes, and it’s at the tip of your tongue, the answer is habitual. but this time, you turn him down. you can’t stay longer—you can’t be around him. you slip out the front door before you can see the twinkle in his eyes diminish until it’s gone.
you get home, lay on the carpeted floor of your bedroom, and call shoko. she tells you to confess or die. you tell her you’d rather die.
‘it would be for the best,’ the woman snickers.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
there’s a growing tension between you and gojo as of late, clearly the result of what happened at the new year’s party. you keep on acting as though you don’t remember the way he loved you, but it gets harder to do so the more you see him.
you can’t avoid him, you’d be breaking your promise to megumi.
everything left unsaid lingers in the distance you keep with him, and it unsheathes it’s claws, digging into you and tearing you apart. your relationship with gojo is strained. it hurts because he’s your best friend.
the woman reminds you that there’s no one to blame but yourself.
she hasn’t left you alone since the night of the party, tied to you like some kind of curse. she appears in the mirror when you criticize yourself, egging you on to say worse things. she stands by your side when you make a mistake, degrading you until you feel like nothing.
she’s having the time of her life. you just can’t get rid of her. she’s right about you.
this time, as you stand waiting for megumi, his school is decorated in a plethora of pinks, reds, and whites. valentine’s day is swiftly approaching and it fills you with a kind of bitterness you keep hidden.
cupid’s arrows might have missed you this year, but there’s always the next.
part of you realizes that it’s your own fault, waiting for gojo to step up and say something. when that failed you, you waited for your feelings to disappear. perhaps, you should have taken some initiative, forced those feelings out of you until every last remaining bit is ripped from your heart.
your loneliness is your own doing. the woman laughs in agreement, your pain is nothing but a joke to her. her laughter, however, is hollow and doesn't meet her eyes.
megumi runs up to you as he often does, pulling you from your thoughts. the woman hides away to watch. he hands you a little heart shaped box and a card.
“happy valentine’s day,” megumi grumbles, walking off ahead of you to get to the car. you smile down at the chocolates and the handmade card. something tender and sweet fills up your chest—you feel lighthearted.
‘do you deserve this?’ the woman snarls, reaching out to knock your gifts out of your hands. you hold them away from her poisonous touch.
megumi holds onto your index finger as you lead him up the stairwell, up to gojo’s apartment. you’re surprised to find him inside instead of at class, like he should be. he grins at you and megumi as you both walk inside, his eyes dropping to the card and chocolates in your hand.
you watch as he stands up, stretching his arms up. his shirt rides up around his waist, you turn away faster than light.
“you got her something for valentine’s but nothing for your old man?” he asks, grabbing megumi so that he can plant a kiss on the boy’s chubby cheek.
“you suck and she doesn’t.”
“you are so cruel.”
your relationship with gojo remains rocky, but times like these still make you yearn for that domestic life. sometime in the future, you hope you get to have this.
gojo lets megumi disappear into his room, watching you sink into the couch. he follows suit, sitting down next to you. he leaves too much space between you, like there’s an invisible wall keeping him out.
“valentine’s day is coming up,” he says, though you don’t know what for. you want to say that you know, that it doesn’t matter to you unless you’re spending the day with him.
“yeah, but why would i care?” you reply, laughing though the sound comes out bitter and hurt. he grins at you, tilting his head.
“who knows? maybe you have a secret admirer.”
you stay quiet for a moment, thinking about what he had said. secret admirer or not, you’re confident it wouldn’t be the person you want. gojo has better things to do, probably has someone to see. what would he want with you?
why would he even look your way? you’re his best friend—that’s where you have remained for 14 years and it’s where you’ll remain for as long as you know him.
the woman sits to your left, reaching out her hand to smooth down your hair. her gesture appears comforting but anxiety swirls deep within you at her touch.
‘don’t let him know how you feel,’ she whispers in warning.
“so? i don’t care. i don’t like anyone right now, a secret admirer would mean nothing to me.”
“oh.”
you face him then, taking in the soft frown he wears. his jaw is clenched, brows furrowed. the blue of his eyes, your favorite blue, lacks it’s usual sparkle. his shoulders hunched over; gojo looks like a wounded animal. he looks tired.
as soon as he notices your stare, he straightens up and gives you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. he stays quiet for the rest of the night and you can’t help but feel it’s your fault. you remind yourself he’s tired, but the woman tells you that he must have remembered the events from the party.
you leave his house sooner than you would have liked. gojo says goodbye with a hug, his arms squeezing your tight, pressing you to his chest until you can hear his heart beating.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
you feel like valentine’s day crept up on you too quickly, like you had blinked and suddenly the world is celebrating their lovers.
it’s sunny and warm, the usual chill of february replaced with a gentle breeze that feels soft against your cheek and in your hair. like it’s mother nature’s gentle caress letting you know that you’ll be fine today.
the woman stays quiet.
you walk along the sidewalk in front of your apartment building. you had woken up today expecting something at you front door, perhaps from a secret admirer like gojo had suggested. nothing came.
it left a bitter taste in your mouth, your chest tightening, but you got over it as fast as it came. you refuse to fester in hurt, even if the woman fans the flames of your pain.
blinking up at the sun, you watch the old couple across the street walk arm in arm. the old man had gotten his wife a bouquet of her favorite flowers (you know they’re her favorite because she told you so). she’s wearing a new heart pendant around her neck. their hands remain intertwined as they head down.
you silently plead for your chance at love.
today, megumi’s spending the day at nanami’s house, along with a few of the kids he tutors. you’ve been absolved of your babysitting responsibilities. you miss the little boy, though.
you’re only a few minutes into your walk when you phone buzzes with a text from gojo.
gojo 🤑: ur not busy today right?????? lets go for a drive bbg 😉
you: i wish i never met you.
you hardly mean it. rather, you’re incredibly relieved that he’s back to his usual self, using horrible emojis to spice up his texts. you hate to admit it but you missed him.
maybe you were pathetic for spending valentine’s day with your crush, a man who remains just out of your reach. you don’t dwell on it as you climb into gojo’s car, even when the woman bares her teeth at you.
gojo plays sickeningly romantic music as he drives, making fun of you for spending valentine’s day with him instead of a boyfriend. you’re quick to remind him that he’s in the same position. he falls silent but you notice that the shine in his sky blue eyes are back. you hope, this time, that it’s here to stay.
he parks a few feet away from a playground, the structures old and somewhat rusty. you realize that it’s the playground where you both first met each other.
gojo runs over to your side, opening the door for you. he walks next to you, his shoulder brushing yours, your fingers aching to be held by him. you let him pull you to the spot where his mother took a picture of both of you 14 years ago.
it’s certainly strange being back here.
you hear him take a deep breath. gojo’s facing forward, seemingly entranced by the swing-set in front of him. you don’t take notice of his shaky hands.
“you were the prettiest girl i had ever seen,” he says finally, breathing deeply once again. “actually– i thought you were the prettiest girl in the whole world.”
“what are you talking about?” you ask with a soft laugh, utterly confused as to what he’s up to. gojo doesn’t respond, he just keeps going.
“i ran into you on purpose, if i’m being honest. i thought we could become friends and then i’d get to be around you all the time.”
gojo reaches out his hand, hesitating as he thinks. the woman stays quiet when he takes your hand in his own. “but then you basically told me to fuck off–”
“i did not! i said go away or something.”
“thats basically what kids say when they want to say ‘fuck off’!”
he laughs, the sound warming your heart. soft tendrils of sun peek through the canopy of the tree you stand under, making him glow and shine. he appears almost ethereal.
“i was glad we got to be friends,” he mutters, his grip around your fingers getting tighter. “but nowadays, i kind of wish we weren’t.” your heart stills and the woman opens her mouth for the first time today, conjuring up her ugly words.
“you’re still the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen,” gojo admits, his hand growing clammy but you barely notice it. “you’ll stay that way for the rest of my life—even when we’re old and wrinkly.”
“how sweet,” you grin, but it’s a front to hide the way he tugs at your heart, gentle hands keeping you in his grasp; it’s where you’ll stay for as long as he’ll have you. however, you still find yourself to be guarded, hesitant about gojo and his words.
the woman tells you it’s not what you think it is. her past misfortunes flood your mind, her sadness is contagious.
gojo finally faces you, taking both your hands in his. his eyes watch you carefully and you wonder if he can see through them, see the woman waiting inside, hurt and scared.
“i know you said you don’t have feelings for anyone,” he starts, looking to the side. you can feel his heart beating at his fingertips. “and i’m probably the last person you want to hear this from, but i owe it to you.
“i love you,” he sighs and it feels like taking a breath of relief. gojo searches your eyes, vivid cerulean brighter than the sun itself. you reach forward, hands on either side of his face. you tremble and you shake—you can’t believe this is real.
he seems to understand, instinctively letting his hands rest against your hips.
“love you too,” you say, unadulterated joy lighting up your chest and your eyes. your smile is blinding, cheeks hiding your eyes. gojo steps closer while he pulls you against his chest. his heart is racing, but it could be your own that you’re feeling. you’re not quite sure where he ends and you begin.
he cups your cheek, his touch soft and light. “can i kiss you now? i haven’t stopped thinking about it since the party.”
you tense at the mention of the party, but you nod your head and shove that night out of your mind. you can shelve that conversation for later.
gojo leans forward with your nod, pulling you towards him. your lips meet, gently at first, like you’re both unsure of how to go about it. he’s hesitant without alcohol to grant him courage, but as you wrap your arms around his neck, he grows bolder.
gojo pours every last bit of his desire for you, his yearning for you, past his lips. you can feel him grin, and it pulls a smile from you too.
you have him exactly where you want him.
when you return home, hand in hand, megumi perks up at the sight of you both. geto sits next to him, assigned to pick him up from nanami’s place after gojo decided to meet up with you.
geto raises an eyebrow at your hand held tightly in gojo’s, your head resting against his shoulder. “what did i miss?”
“nothing at all,” you reply, holding out an arm for megumi as he runs into your embrace.
the woman simply smiles.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
gojo watches you sleep, chest rising and falling steadily, your soft breaths being the only sound in the room. he sits and he admires and he’s struck with the overwhelming urge to pull you into his arms. gojo wishes he could tell you everything he feels for you, but his emotions are often illegible jumbles of yearning, want, desire, and love—he just can’t put it into words.
he knows you’re it for him. he hopes you feel the same.
gojo leans over and grabs the plastic water bottle left on his nightstand, the plastic crinkling. he winces, hoping it’s not loud enough to wake you. you remain sleeping and he smiles, fishing the small ring of plastic from the top of the bottle.
it’s big, the real one will be tailored to your size, he thinks as he takes your hand. his touch is gentle as he slides the plastic ring onto your ring finger, watching it hang loosely.
“this’ll do for now,” he decides. the real one will be much prettier, but not grand. a shiny band with a few rhinestones– no, your birthstone. maybe his too but he feels that might be too tacky.
gojo lays back down, curling around you until his head is hidden in the crook of your neck. he hopes you’ll like it. he hopes you’ll say yes.
he’s always loved you. for him, it’s always been you.
thanks to mitzi and earth and six for hyping this monstrosity up so glad its not rotting away in my drafts anymore
It's giving golden retriever bf x black cat gf
musing memories — gojo x fem!reader summary: gojo and you tell your students how you met, having veryy different comments to make! fluff, crack, established relationship (you guys are married), reader is a teacher, lovesick!gojo, you guys tell the story separately, he’s very much a dork here too
EWDHJKSJ i hope this is cute and entertaining idk how to feel
wc: 1.3k
as you sat outside the fast food restaurant with your students—maki, toge, and panda—you waited expectantly for satoru and his students to arrive. within a couple minutes, satoru was still a no-show.
panda squinted his eyes and scanned the area of citizens going about their day, searching for the familiar sight of an eccentric white-haired man. "how long are we gonna have to wait?" he asked, his paw shielding his eyes from the sun.
you let out a sigh and replied, "i don't know, it's satoru. i've given up on expecting him to be on time."
toge chimed in, "salmon."
maki leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she turned to look at you. "how do you even keep up with a man like him?" she inquired.
you chuckled and replied, "i don't know."
panda, growing curious, asked, "well, while we wait, can you tell us how you two met?"
︵‿୨♡୧‿︵
"are you sure we're in the right place? y/n-sensei is never late," yuji expressed his concern, his eyes looking through the fast-food area.
"hey! why do you assume i'm the one in the wrong here?!" satoru retorted defensively.
"because it's you," megumi deadpanned, his tone devoid of any amusement.
nobara's scowl deepened as she asked judgmentally, "how on earth did you manage to pull someone like her?"
satoru, emphasizing your lateness, replied, "well, since SHE'S the one who's late, i wouldn't mind enlightening you! spoiler alert! it's with my never ending charm!"
his students looked at him with an unimpressed expression, causing satoru to sigh and roll his eyes with a pout.
"fine, i'll just tell you..."
︵‿୨♡୧‿︵
as you reached for the doorknob and stepped into the classroom, yaga turned his head to look at you.
"ah, you must be the new student," yaga said, motioning for you to enter and face the small class of three people.
you scanned their features, taking in the details. there was a girl with short brown hair and a beauty mark below her right eye. she sat with her legs crossed, leaning over with her hand resting on her cheek.
beside her was a boy with slicked-back black hair tied into a man bun, a strand falling in front of his face. he had black earrings and sat leaned back, arms crossed and manspreading.
and finally, there was a white-haired boy wearing circular sunglasses. he, too, was manspreading but leaned forward, appearing bored and seemingly unaware of your presence.
you waved and offered a small smile to the brown-haired girl and the black-haired boy after yaga had introduced you.
"satoru, you will be going with her on your mission, just to show her the ropes," yaga stated.
at the sound of his name, satoru's attention snapped back to reality, confusion etched on his face. "who? what am i doing?" he asked, causing the others to internally facepalm and exchange deadpan glances.
yaga let out a loud sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning to suguru. "nevermind, suguru, you can do it."
as satoru looked around the room, his eyes fall upon you. he scanned your face, taking in every feature—he couldn't help but be drawn to the way your hair flowed around you, framing your face. and oh, your face—every feature seemed to hold a touch of ethereal beauty.
the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, and the sparkle in your eyes. your aura seemed to glow with radiance, casting a spell that left him hypnotized.
you were pretty. really really pretty.
suddenly, satoru stood up with a dopey grin as he looked at you. "nope! i'll do it!" he declared, then leaned toward suguru and whispered loudly, covering his mouth, "what am i doing?"
︵‿୨♡୧‿︵
"it was love at first sight!" satoru sighed dreamily, his gaze distant and his face adorned with a dreamy grin.
nobara and megumi rolled their eyes at their unserious teacher.
"you were so very...you, even in your first meeting," megumi remarked, earning a side-eye from satoru.
"i think it's cute!" yuji chimed in, his eyes sparkling as he listened to his teacher's words.
satoru immediately slipped beside yuji, saying, "this is why you're my favorite student!"
︵‿୨♡୧‿︵
"sounds just like gojo-sensei!" panda exclaimed enthusiastically.
"what a first impression," maki sarcastically commented.
you chuckled softly. "he got better the more you got to know him."
"or worse..." maki muttered under her breath.
"salmon."
︵‿୨♡୧‿︵
"well, what happened on the mission?" yuji asked, his curiosity piqued.
satoru's smug demeanor grew as he replied, “amazing, i protected her and showed her how the strongest does it! i was quite literally her knight in shining armor! by the end of it, she was head over heels in love with me."
︵‿୨♡୧‿︵
you rolled your eyes, recalling the memory. "he was an egotistical prick. he acted like i couldn't protect myself," you retorted, a hint of annoyance in your voice. "i didn't really like him at that point."
maki snorted at your comment. "now that sounds more like gojo."
"but... the more you get to know him, you'll realize he isn't just a prick, but very kind and caring," you added softly, a touch of fondness in your tone.
panda's eyes sparkled with interest as he pretended to wipe a tear from his eyes.
however, the moment was interrupted when you stood up abruptly, causing your chair to stumble slightly.
"speaking of him being a prick, he's an hour late!" you exclaimed, exasperated. you pulled out your phone and dialed his number.
satoru picked up before it could fully ring and greeted you with a "darling!"
"satoru gojo," you replied, your tone neutral.
satoru winced upon hearing his full name. "yes...?"
"where are you?" you asked, your voice tinged with annoyance.
"i'm in front of kfc! where are you!?" satoru responded.
"what? i'm in front of a kfc? satoru, are you lying to me?" you asked, growing suspicious of your husband.
"no! i would never! swear! megumi, tell her, we've been waiting for her for the past hour!" satoru exclaimed, hastily putting the phone in front of megumi's face and pointing at it.
megumi took the phone from satoru and put it to his ear. "he's telling the truth," megumi monotoned before handing the phone back to satoru.
nobara looked up from her phone and flipped it to show them the map. "guys, there's a kfc five minutes down the street. i think they're there."
"did you hear that? i would never lie to you!" satoru reassured you, more concerned about you thinking he was being a liar.
"are you serious?" you deadpanned.
“if we are five minutes down couldn’t he have seen us with his six eyes?” maki interjected, leaving everyone momentarily silent.
"hey! there are like 500 billion people walking around here, including curses! it would've taken a little longer to pinpoint that it was your cursed energy!" satoru defended himself, his voice laced with exasperation.
"and here i thought you were the strongest..." megumi taunted, a small playful smirk tugging at his lips.
"I AM! let's see you end up somewhere in europe and find your way back to us using only our cursed energy!" satoru retorted back.
“that is not the same situation, whatsoever.” nobara pointed out, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"it's okay, sensei! i wouldn't have been able to find y/n-sensei either!" yuji said, offering a thumbs-up of reassurance to his teacher.
“well, we know that.” maki said over the phone, her tone filled with amusement.
"at least now we know there are two kfcs instead of wasting more time waiting at the wrong one," panda chimed in, attempting to diffuse the situation.
"salmon."
"satoru, you're still the strongest," you giggled as you reassured him, your words carrying a warm sincerity.
"i know that..." satoru replied with a pout, as he occasionally side-eyed megumi for the umpteeth time.
"not strong enough to find y/n-sensei, though," megumi interjected, the mischievous glint in his eyes contradicting his stoic and neutral face.
"HEY!"
I spent an hour to read this
[series masterlist] to build a home - gojo satoru
series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn’t tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn’t the hard part, it’s lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately. ___ [ introduction ] “Find The Star Plasma Vessel”
[ one ] “Cigarettes and Other Things That Kill You” [ two ] “Playing Games Of Levitation” [ three ] “Learning to Lie” [ four ] “Megumi and Tsumiki” [ five ] “Quality Time” [ six ] “I Held On As Tightly As You Held Onto Me” [ seven ] “Shikigami” [ eight ] “Bury A Friend” [ nine ] “Retirement” [ ten ] “Cursed Tool” [ eleven ] “Brazil” [ twelve ] “Those Who Regret, Those Who Defect, and Those Who Deflect” [ thirteen ] “Melt My Soul” [ fourteen ] “The Beginning Of The End Of All Things” [ fifteen ] “The Whole Truth” [ sixteen ] “The True End”
[epilogue] “For You, For Me”
I Just adore this with all my heart❤️
☆ 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗽𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗼 - ,, 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼
summary: Satoru Gojo has been your best friend for the past 14 years. When he suddenly finds himself taking care of a kid, your relationship twists and turns into something far more romantic.
warnings: fem!reader , slow burn , mutual pining , angst , suggestive (nothing explicit but things are implied) , mentions of death , violent imagery , reader deals with a lot in this fic , gojo is sweet tho !! not proof-read word count: 15.8k (kill me now.) a/n: this fic has been in my drafts for a year now and it's honestly such a mess but i've written it and i'm happy with it (kind of) so the fact that it's such a jumble barely bothers me anymore !! special thanks to the glue song by beabadoobee for helping me through this
“I love you,” he says, lips curled into a pout that makes you scrunch your nose in disgust.
You press the heels of your palms to your eyes, sighing deeply, “No you don’t.”
“But I do!” and his voice gets louder, which only coaxes the already forming headache behind your eyes to grow. “So you should get your notes out for me.”
“What do you know about love anyway?”
It’s muttered just under your breath and you hope Gojo didn’t catch it, isn’t able to read into the bitterness laced along each word. You slam your laptop shut, standing up abruptly. Gojo follows suit.
“I’m not digging up my anthropology notes from two years ago just so you can cheat.”
His hopeful expression drops in an instant, hands flying forward to grab onto you, “No! Don’t you want me to pass? Don’t you love me?”
And what about you? What do you know about love?
You know that it’s difficult. There isn’t a need for any profound thinking, any nuance, for you to believe that. You know it’s true because you’ve lived it—because you are living it. You don’t have to have said “I love you,” once in your life, to know your way around the trials and tribulations that come with pesky emotions. (Emphasis on pesky emotions that call for intimacy.)
You know that love hurts. Perhaps, it’s the lack of control that makes love so painful. While beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, those who behold can’t choose who they wish to admire. It happens unexpectedly, like the changing tides: waves of emotion crashing down at once and pushing you off kilter.
You know that love is uncertain, a gamble. It’s the lack of promise love can give. While you may love someone with everything you have, devote yourself to them, prioritize them—they might never see you as anyone other than a friend. Sometimes, you might be a best friend. Oftentimes, it’s never anything more than that.
And yet, love is such a beautiful thing. It bleeds warm, saccharine sweet like spoonfuls of honey, and fills you with the greatest happiness. Tingles at your fingertips where they touch, shivers down your spine when they stare, butterflies erupting in your stomach when they speak. Your skin growing warm and your smile stretched wide—that was the beauty of love.
But how can something so precious be so utterly disheartening?
“No,” you roll your eyes, walking away from your best friend, unsurprised when he scrambles after you. “I don’t love you.”
You don’t mean it at all.
-: ✧ :-
You sigh a great deal in your life, but none of them compare to the way your chest heaves when you find yourself doing something you know you’ll regret. It’s never a shock that these regretful choices often accompany a certain white-haired man.
The pitch black darkness of your room is pierced by a beam of bright light from your phone screen, your tired eyes reading over the message once. Twice. Three times.
gojo 🤑: hey can i ask for a favor? pleaseeeeee?????? 🙇♂️🙏🙇♂️🙏🙇♂️🙏 im begging you 😫😫
You groan, tossing your phone to the side to run your hand down your face, letting your fingers catch on the soft skin around your eyes. Despite the many years you’ve known him, your hand still trembles as you type out your response, another sigh escaping your lips.
you: what the fuck is it now
The urge to slam your head into the nearest wall makes your neck twitch, the ghost of the movement lingering over your body. Why did you even bother asking?
gojo 🤑: i knew you’d say yes 😁 you just love me SO much come to my place tomorrow early too better be there before sunrise you: i’m going to kill you for this one satoru
Setting down your phone, you will yourself to close your eyes and forget about the man who’s been the cause for all your inner turmoil lately.
To be honest, he’s been the cause of your inner turmoil for the past year and a half, as pathetic as that may be. It’s not your fault he’s handsome, charming, funny, reliable—the list goes on. Sure, he can be slightly immature at times, and he often shies away from commitment, but who doesn’t have flaws, right?
You squeezed your eyes shut even harder, trying to clear your mind of all things Gojo.
The thing with love is that, at its worst, it can stay a secret for years and years to come. You can pine and yearn for someone so terribly, every fiber in your body craves them, and they would never know. You never have to tell them anything. That choice alone is what has put you in your recent predicament.
If life was black and white, perhaps you could have stopped being friends with him the moment you noticed the way your heart raced at the mere thought of him. But things don’t work like that and, frankly, you think Gojo would hunt you down if you even tried to cut him off.
You’ve tried to rid yourself of this 190cm lanky demon several times over the course of your life, however you’ve been unsuccessful every single time. When you met him 14 years ago, you didn’t think Satoru Gojo would become your best friend. In fact, you found him annoying, like a pesky mosquito that refused to leave you alone no matter how hard you swatted at him.
The two of you had your fair share of fights growing up, some lasting mere hours, others stretching on over the course of a couple days. Despite that, you both managed to make up and forgive each other no matter what.
You had believed then, as a hurting teenager, that one of your more serious arguments would eventually drive you both apart. After all, the similarities between you both were few and far between. For some reason entirely unknown to you, your scathing words never pushed him away.
And now that it's been 14 years, you’ve grown too fond of him to be able to imagine a life without him.
So, you’re forced to swallow back the way your feelings crawl to the back of your throat when you’re with him, resting at the tip of your tongue, because you know he’d never see you as anything more than a friend.
Hell, it was obvious. The two of you have done everything you could possibly do as a couple: go on amusement park “dates”, spend hours in the arcade together. He’s even insisted on cuddling, changing in front of one another, sharing a bed. Yet, Gojo has never seemed to look at you any differently.
And none of it ever bothered you either—until last year, when you saw him in a different light nearly overnight. In comparison to all else you had done with him, this was absolutely minuscule, but it's the reason Gojo takes up so much of your thoughts even now.
You had come over to his apartment. It was a Saturday and every Saturday, he insisted the both of you hang out. When you met him as a dumb little kid, it was easy to hang out whenever you both pleased. Things are obviously different now that you both have responsibilities.
Being busy with university and your part-time job, you and Gojo began to see less and less of each other. Still, Saturday evenings stayed dedicated to your long-standing friendship. That day, your shift at the grocery store was particularly grueling: loud babies wailing, irritable customers screaming in your face. To top it all off, you had a headache and had to skip lunch. Safe to say, you were exhausted.
You got to Gojo’s house, knocking on the door, almost falling asleep against the wood. He didn't greet you. In fact, he wasn't even home. This wasn't uncommon, you simply pulled out your spare key and walked inside, making a beeline for his couch and letting your body sink into the soft cushions. The guy was unbelievably rich for a university student—not that you were complaining.
You wanted to stay awake, wait for him so you could follow through with your usual Saturday shenanigans, but you just couldn’t.
The couch was awfully comfortable, cradling your fatigued body, lulling you to sleep. Your eyes fought against the instinct to close, but ultimately, you lost and gave in. Darkness enveloped you as your head fell back. It was a rather uncomfortable position, but at that moment, you didn’t have enough energy to care.
You fell asleep in mere minutes, and because he has the worst timing, Gojo showed up seconds after you had bid goodbye to consciousness.
To this day, you’re still unsure if you had dreamt it, or maybe you had jolted back into a state of semi-awareness when your noisy friend barged in with a loud, “Honey! I’m home!". What you’re sure of, is the fact that he had moved you. While drifting in and out of sleep, you felt his cold hands press into the muscle of your arms as he laid you down, moving you into a much more comfortable position.
Perhaps you were still in the throes of deep sleep, sinking into pillowy clouds in your dreams and that’s why you conjured up this moment. It might not have happened at all. Or, perhaps, Gojo did lean over you, his warmth spilling over your cheek as he pressed his lips to your forehead. They were slightly chapped as they brushed against your skin, and you felt the gust of air as he sighed his goodnight.
You wonder if he had smiled.
It wasn’t like Gojo had never been affectionate with you before. In fact, you’re pretty sure physical touch is one of his love languages with how prone he is to clinging onto you like some parasite. Some things, like forehead kisses, are strictly outside the bounds of your friendship.
There’s something so intimate about that gesture, something far more genuine and laced with a kind of devotion that never exists between people who are simply just friends.
The following morning, you wrenched yourself out of his apartment with the excuse that you had to feed your fish. You don’t even own fish.
The feeling had been so utterly foreign. You couldn’t remember a time when you had ever felt this nervous around Gojo—your palms sweaty, a tingling feeling racing up and down your spine. The realization dawned on you the moment you had woken up.
This feeling, which had laid dormant at the bottom of your heart, flickered to life, merging with the very blood that pumps through your veins.
Maybe, Gojo had always been more than just a friend. More than a best friend, even.
You don’t know how to face it—the truth about your feelings. You try and fail to move on, try and fail to confess, try and fail.
Which is why it wasn’t surprising in any sense that you were awake, before the sun had even graced your city, slipping on your shoes so you could go and see what your best friend wanted from you.
-: ✧ :-
“You have a what?”
Gojo snorts, rolling his eyes, “Why’d you say that like I asked you to get naked or something? Listen: I have some errands to run and I need you to look after this kid of mine.”
You’re struggling to wrap your head around everything he just laid onto you. Even if the only new information was that he, seemingly overnight, got himself a kid. How did Satoru Gojo end up with a child in his care?
You sputter, trying to come up with something to say. “Since when did you have a kid?”
“I adopted him a few days ago, saved him from some family stuff. Anyways, can you look after him or not?”
You really hate yourself for saying yes, but you say yes, and suddenly you’re sitting on the couch with the world’s grumpiest child next to you. It’s been a few minutes since Gojo’s left to do God knows what, and neither of you have said a word. You expected Megumi to get off the couch and go do his thing, while you figure out how to look after him, but he stayed glued to the spot Gojo called him to.
“So…how old are you?”
Silence.
“I’m twenty-two, just like Satoru.”
More silence.
You probably wouldn’t have known his name had it not been for Gojo telling you.
You sigh—he clearly doesn’t like you. It stings a little bit, you liked to tell yourself that you’re the type of person kids naturally gravitate towards, but clearly there are exceptions.
“What’s your…favorite color?” you try once more, and again, it’s met with silence. The boy hasn’t even looked at you, staring straight ahead, preoccupied with something else.
“Well, mine is probably blue. I think it’s such a nice color—like the ocean and the sky. And there’s so many shades, but lighter blues are especially gorgeous,” you ramble, feeling a bit embarrassed.
He lets out a breath through his nose, and you perk up, waiting for his response. “I like pink. Do you like blue because it reminds you of Gojo’s eyes?”
You laugh, perhaps a bit too loud. Out of all the things he could have said, you certainly weren’t expecting that.
Waving your hands in front of you, you try to shrug off his question, “No, it’s nothing like that! He’s just my best friend.”
Megumi nods, but something tells you he doesn’t believe you. You can’t believe you got bested by a six-year-old. Shaking your head, you interrogate him some more about his hobbies, and Megumi responds with one word answers. Eventually, the two of you settle on reading him some non-fiction book that you’re surprised even interests him.
As the hours stretch on, Megumi warms up to you a little more. Or something like that. He’s started asking you more about yourself, and even let you inside his room, showing you his growing collection of books about animals.
He’s strangely interested in your relationship with Gojo: asking how you two met, why you wanted to be friends with him. Whenever you give him your answer (some bullshit you make up on the spot because—really. Why are you still friends with an idiot like him?), he hums like he’s learned some fundamental truth about you.
Honestly, the kid scares you a little bit and it makes perfect sense that he ended up with Satoru Gojo as his parent.
Speaking of: the fact that Gojo was even allowed to adopt him in the first place makes you question everything you ever knew about him. Then again, there’s always the possibility that this was by no means a legal adoption. He did say Megumi was saved from some family troubles, and knowing your best friend of several years, this very well entails kidnapping.
You furrow your brows, looking over at the six-year-old doodling some large fluffy dogs, “Did Gojo just scoop you up off the street?”
“Something like that.”
Well. That’s alarming.
When Gojo gets back, he doesn’t really offer you much of an explanation as to how or why he suddenly has a kid. You were naïve for thinking you would get one at all. Instead, he tucks Megumi into bed, sits you down at his dinner table, and shares some of the takeout he brought home with you.
You expected that to be the last time you’d be babysitting Megumi.
But then you’re back in two days, and then the day after that as well. And then the day after that too.
Now, you’re a good friend who loves helping out your friends, and you’re a good Samaritan who will provide your aid where it’s needed. In the grand scheme of things, this isn’t even that terrible of an arrangement. You could definitely live like this.
But then it’s been a week of being called to babysit, and you definitely can’t live like this.
You don’t have the heart to look Gojo in the eyes and tell him you can’t do this anymore, so you keep going. Love makes people do crazy things, even if it’s ignoring pending assignments so you could color dogs with a grumpy little boy.
You rub the sleep out of your eyes, yawning as you get dressed, “Why don’t you get an actual babysitter? I doubt I’m being a good influence.”
Of course, your academics are your top priority. But you can’t help but think about how Megumi might turn out if the only people he seems to be surrounded by are you, and your impulsive, borderline insane best friend.
Gojo’s voice crackles over the phones as he laughs, “You see, I would. But Megumi keeps asking for you- actually, he insists that it has to be you.”
Maybe, you’re just being dramatic. This isn’t that bad anyways.
This time when you step into the Gojo household, your beloved best friend already has one foot out the door. Normally, he lingers, giving you both sickly sweet goodbyes, scooping up a struggling Megumi into his arms to plant a big wet kiss on his cheek.
He offers you one too, which you quickly decline.
“I won’t be back until really late today,” Satoru grimaces, pulling the door shut only for you to pull it back open.
You pout, slightly alarmed, “But Satoru, I have an essay to work on!”
"Just use my laptop!” he shouts as he runs off. You wonder how he has the time to do any of his own assignments.
You figure he’s probably out meeting with his model UN group. It’s one of the few academic pursuits in his life that Gojo is very serious about. Either that, or he actually took up the tutoring offer from Nanami (but you highly doubt that).
Megumi has yet to wake up, so you go on a hunt for Gojo’s laptop to start on your essay. Might as well be productive while you have the chance to.
You find it resting on his desk in his bedroom, and bring it over to the living room. It’s only when you open it up that you find out it’s password locked. You try texting Gojo, but something tells you he won’t be responding.
If you can’t guess the password, then you have to begrudgingly start your essay on your phone, which sounds like a nightmare.
Your first guess is his own birthday. Satoru has a habit of acting like his birth reset the course of planet Earth, so it wouldn’t surprise you if that was also his password. Surprisingly, you’re wrong. And you’re wrong about it being Getou’s birthday, or Megumi’s birthday (which you only learned recently), and even your own birthday.
You’ve definitely ruled out the possibility of it ever being Nanami’s birthday, which leads you to believe it isn’t a birthday at all. Bringing your hands together, you steeple your fingers and bring them under your chin; trying to think like Gojo is hurting your brain.
Clearly this isn't working out. Gojo's an enigma and trying to put yourself in his shoes is making you lose what few brain cells you've managed to save.
So, you make your way into his poorly guarded room.
You tend to keep a safe distance away from his bedroom for obvious reasons—Lord knows what Gojo has lying around—so it feels strange to open the door and step inside.
Your first impression is one of surprise at how clean it was. Knowing his tendency to leave many of his chores untouched or half-completed, you expected his room to be a reflection of his laziness, but you can actually see the floor. His bed is made and his dirty clothes lay in a hamper in the corner, clean clothes folded and placed off to the side on his bed.
His desk is a tad cluttered with random trinkets, many of which you recognize from your countless adventures with him, but it’s organized enough.
“Okay, if I was Satoru, what would I make my password?” you whisper just under your breath as your eyes continue to scan and scrutinize his room.
You walk up to a few post-it notes stuck on the wall, hoping that one of them might be his password. You remember the amount of times Gojo’s gotten locked out of his email, social media, and other things—it would only make sense for him to write passwords down.
Unfortunately for you, all of them are reminders to take out the trash.
Pulling out the chair tucked into his desk, you take a seat, sprawling out as you continue to take in his room. Growing up, you spent hours upon hours cooped up in Satoru’s room. The two of you spent your time playing video games, watching tv shows you were definitely too young for, and talking about everything and nothing.
When you got bored of his room, the both of you would do the same thing in your room.
Somewhere along the years, you stopped hanging out in each others’ rooms. You suppose it’s only natural—your bedroom goes from being a place to sleep to a clear insight into the way you live your life.
Gojo’s room lacks the mess you would’ve expected, but it’s still obviously his room from the several polaroids stuck to the wall, the kikufuku wrappers on his desk, and the growing collection of mugs accumulating on the nightstand.
It makes you smile, despite the fact that the several mugs are nothing short of disgusting. Next to them is a framed picture. You never took Satoru for someone who’s sentimental, and out of sheer curiosity, you walk over to see what it is.
Your smile only widens as you realise it's a picture of you and him from when you were young. You recognize the park the two of you are at instantly: it was where you both met. You were both only just kids back then. He basically ran into you and felt guilty, so he offered to hang out with you since you apparently looked lonely. You took offense, obviously, and told him to leave you alone.
He did not and suddenly you found yourself with a new friend. Gojo forced himself into your life and after a few short days, you decided he wasn’t all that bad. The picture was taken by his mom, before the both of you parted ways, only to immediately find out you lived across from each other.
You flip the frame over, surprised to find a date scribbled in the corner. From the year alone, you figure it was the day the picture was taken. Realising you may have stumbled across his password, you rush back to his laptop to try it.
Lo and behold, it worked.
You sit there for a moment, desperately trying not to read into what you just found out. Surely, there’s nothing more to this than Satoru choosing a date for a password. He probably didn’t want to go with a birthday since it would be too obvious, so he picked another date instead.
Shaking the annoyingly hopeful thoughts crowding your mind, you quickly begin working on your essay.
You only get halfway through your essay before Megumi joins you, silent as always, but from the way he’s side-eyeing you it’s obvious he wants your attention. You spend the rest of the day with him as you usually would, reading and drawing, sharing bits and pieces about your life.
Somehow the conversation spirals to when you and Gojo met, and you’re not sure if you’re still hung up over his password, but you find your voice shaking a little as you recount the many things you’ve done with him.
Eventually, as the sun begins to set, you get dinner ready and eat on the couch with Megumi by your side. Some random cartoon show is playing on TV, but Megumi seems much more interested in mimicking the way you’re forking pasta into your mouth.
He helps you clean up, and shuffles in next to you on the couch once more. You don’t remember Megumi falling asleep, or when you fell asleep as well.
-: ✧ :-
When you wake up, you're surrounded by warmth. It feels like you're sinking into something akin to moist, spongy cake. The sunlight melts over your closed eyes, and you flutter them open, blinded by white very briefly as you get used to the daytime once more.
And then you notice Gojo laying next to you, elbow pressed into the mattress as he holds his head up with his palm, obviously shirtless and staring down at you. All the air in your lungs escapes you quickly, getting tangled in your throat as you choke.
You frantically point at his torso, and the bed the two of you were sharing, "What- you- what?"
He laughs and it does little to calm you, "Don't worry, we didn't do anything.
“I didn't want to leave you on the couch after I pried Megumi away to send him off to school."
He shrugs off the comforter, making your thrashing heart slow down at the sight of his sweatpants. You can feel your own clothes from last night on you: your uncomfortable jeans and an old cotton and polyester t-shirt.
You frown, following him, "Megumi goes to school?"
"Yeah?" he says, while your eyes flit all over his chest. "He's six, what else would he be doing?"
You decide not to comment on the fact that Megumi hasn’t been attending school for the past couple days, trusting that Gojo knew what he was doing. That’s probably a mistake but it’s not your problem to worry about.
The two of you file out of his bedroom, and you scroll through your phone while waiting for him to leave the bathroom.
"I can't believe Megumi slept with you last night. And on top of that, he was clinging onto you like a dumb koala."
You could barely understand Gojo with his toothbrush shoved in his mouth, but you could make out enough to respond with a smug smirk, "Sorry that I'm better at this than you are."
"I'm telling you—it's the maternal instincts!" he huffs, walking back into the bathroom with the slam of the door. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to pull him away from you in the morning?"
He's yelling from inside the bathroom, and you roll your eyes as he keeps complaining.
"I basically got in my morning work out! And then-!" he starts again, this time opening the door, wiping his face with a small towel, "that little shit had the audacity to start wailing when I carried you off to the bedroom.
"Whining about how you were his or whatever," Gojo trails off, his voice getting quieter as he begins to mumble. "As if I didn't know you first."
You feel your chest tighten as your heart swells; it's surprising how quickly you've grown attached to the little kid. For all his efforts, he was actually pretty clingy.
A laugh bubbles up your throat, the corners of your mouth twitching up with amusement as you come to a realization.
"Gojo...are you jealous of a little kid?"
He gives you an incredulous look, scoffing in offense, "Gojo? You mean Satoru—first of all."
The laugh you've been holding back bursts past your lips, escaping you as you shut the door in his face.
"Second of all," he shouts, "no. I am not jealous of some kid!"
"I beg to differ!" you call out, and he doesn't respond. You enjoy the silence: this feels good. This feels domestic, and natural, and good.
It makes your stomach twist when you realize that Gojo is nothing more than a good friend. And he'd never see you as anything more than that.
"What do you want for breakfast?" he asks suddenly, and you clear your thoughts.
"Nothing, coffee is fine."
"Okay, no. I’m making waffles," he hums and you can hear him walk away, his footsteps making the ground shake.
You go about your business in the bathroom, exiting a few seconds later to meet Gojo in the kitchen. He's busy gathering ingredients, setting everything down onto the marble counters as he hums a song you recognize as one you introduced him to.
Leaning against the cool counter, you begin to speak, "You know the heart attack you gave me today morning?"
He responds by turning around, giving you a wolfish grin, which you pointedly ignore.
"Why didn't you leave me on the couch anyway?"
This was the first time Gojo has ever made an effort to pick you up and move you somewhere else, let alone his own bed. You've slept over multiple times before, and always woke up on the couch.
He stills, hesitating for a moment and you can feel the air almost pause.
"And what? Leave you to complain at me about how you slept weird?"
He brushed off the question, both you and him know that. But you let it go, opting for admiring your best friend, and crush, work the kitchen.
Gojo isn't the best cook, certainly not better than you, but he can hold his own. That being said, Gojo's a messy cook and always leaves the kitchen like a hurricane swept through it.
He looks good, but then again, the moments where he looks even mediocre are few and far between. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, and the watery sun from the cloudy sky outside spreads over his back and his porcelain hair like it's meant to be shining on him at all times.
You come around the side of the kitchen, hoisting yourself up onto the counter Gojo was working on, allowing your gaze to settle on the curve of his nose and the way his lips were parted with focus. His eyes seem to take on an almost mystical glow—vivid cerulean irises flitting from the different bowls laid out in front of him.
"Take a picture, Princess, it'll last longer," he mutters with a ghost of a smirk.
"You're so annoying."
His boisterous laugh takes up the whole room, and you bite your lip, looking down at your swinging feet.
He calms down and pours the batter into the warmed up waffle maker, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth with focus, "You know, it took Megumi weeks to warm up to me. He's not shy but...he's kind of picky with people."
This surprises you.
Sure, when you first met him, Megumi wasn't the kindest. but it didn't take you long to break him out of his shell. He wasn't the most talkative, but it was the little things: when he leaned into your side while you sat beside him, when he mimicked the way you had eaten. Megumi is observant and mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery.
"I hadn't noticed..." you finally say, trailing off.
Gojo exhales something of a laugh, "That's because he loves you."
"I think 'love' is pushing it-"
"No, no! You should've seen him today, bitching and moaning about how I'm making him leave you." He rolls his eyes with a groan, muttering to himself in annoyance.
You smirk, pointing at his face to make a quip about him rolling his eyes, when someone begins to bang on the front door. There's a quick, rapid succession of knocks, and then: "Satoru! Where are you? You have class!"
You don't give Gojo the chance to speak before you're jumping off the counter, rushing over to open the door.
Getou stands with his hands shoved in his pockets, brows furrowed until he realizes it's you who's opened the door, and not his perpetually tardy friend. He breathes out your name like it's a song. "Nice to see you," he smiles, bending down to meet your gaze. Your cheeks grow warm, involuntarily.
Though your affection may lie with Gojo, Getou was still every bit as charming, and then some.
You move out of the way, giving him the space to step into Gojo's lavish flat. His sneakers squeak against the tile of the entrance as he stops next to you.
"Good to see you too, Suguru," you grin back, wrapping your arms around your waist.
He shuffles a bit closer to you, and you don't hesitate to lean against him, still somewhat tired from your slightly rude awakening. Getou moves with ease as he slips an arm around you, bringing you into his side.
"I don't have class today, you know that."
Gojo comes into view from around the kitchen, his eyes immediately fixating on the way Suguru has you within his grasp. He visibly stiffens, eyes darkening in a way you haven’t seen before, wearing a kind of neutral look that you can’t understand.
Suguru, on the other hand, simply raises an eyebrow, "Are you sure about that? Today is Tuesday, not Wednesday."
And this time when Gojo stills, it's not with some unreadable expression that confuses you—it's with shock. He scrambles to pull out his phone from the pocket of his sweats, glancing at the date before letting out a string of curses.
"C'mere," he gestures at you, then ultimately decides to pull you away, his hand closing around your wrist.
You let Gojo drag you into the kitchen, ignoring the way your skin burns at his touch, and he turns to you with an apologetic smile. He's stumbling out his words, hands gripping your upper arms as he speaks. "I can't be marked late by the professor again, or else I'm gonna be in so much trouble."
It’s beyond you why the two of you had to walk into the kitchen for him to divulge this information. And it’s certainly beyond you why Gojo had let his fingers linger around your wrist, and on your upper arms. You ignore it, however, as you move towards the sleek, black Keurig and turn it on.
Getou walks into the kitchen then, shooing a very reluctant Gojo to go get dressed. He moves over to grab you a mug for your coffee, which you graciously thank him for since Gojo had a habit of leaving everything you needed tucked away in unusually high cabinets.
You set it under the coffee maker, waiting for the dark liquid to fill the cup. Tendrils of steam spill out the sides of the mug, the kitchen filling up with the scent of the bitter drink. To your side, Getou’s leaning against the counter, watching you with a soft smile. You meet his eyes with a curious stare, raising your eyebrows.
“Something on my face, Suguru?”
He laughs, warm and deep, shaking his head, “Nothing at all.” He slides closer, reaching around you to grab a spoon before grabbing the creamer for you. “Why’d you spend the night anyway? Did that idiot bug you to study with him?”
You scoff at the thought of your ‘study’ sessions with Gojo; they always devolve into the both of you watching a movie, your work forgotten on the floor.
“Nope,” you answer, pouring some of the creamer into your coffee, “I was babysitting his…kid.”
Getou’s eyes widen ever so slightly, the only indicator of him acknowledging what you said. You open your mouth to say something more, but Gojo comes running out of his room, jacket half-on. He eyes your closeness to Getou suspiciously, before motioning for his friend to follow him with a wave of his hand.
Before they leave, Gojo walks over to where you’re standing in the kitchen, grinning at you so sweetly. You know he wants something from you.
“Would you– like to stay for dinner? With Megumi and i?” he asks, voice just a hair above a whisper. Had you not been standing so close to him, you might not have heard him at all. His expression remains sincere for a moment more before it morphs into an exaggerated pout.
“Please?” he begs, dragging out the word just to irritate you.
“Put that fucking pout away and I might agree.”
He takes that as a yes, pulling you into a hug that nearly spills the coffee out of your mug. “I’ll see you then,” he mumbles into your hair, arms wrapped tightly around your waist like you’d float away should he let go.
Getou slams a hand against the wall, reminding gojo of his presence, “Hurry it up, unless you wanna be late.”
You wave them both out, Gojo blowing a kiss your way which you pretend to catch and stomp on. The action elicits a laugh from Getou which earns him a shoulder punch from the taller of the two. They begin bickering as they walk away and you watch fondly, heart aching for something you know you’re never getting.
-: ✧ :-
When Gojo gets back from class, he arrives with Megumi in tow. The young boy stumbles inside, shrugging off his backpack as soon as he makes it in. You had let yourself in a few moments earlier, knowing gojo would be home soon. You wanted to help with dinner.
Megumi notices you seated on the couch and approaches you slowly, giving you a short wave. You return the gesture just as Gojo walks over to meet you both, large hands resting atop Megumi’s head.
“Ready for dinner?”
You nod your head, getting up, “I’m helping.”
"I figured,” he laughs, leading the way into the kitchen. You watch as he puts on the stupid apron Shoko had gotten him as a gag gift a few years ago. ‘Kiss the Cook!’ is printed in red cursive on the front with kiss marks and red hearts around it.
Gojo catches you looking at the words, leaning closer while pointing at his lips. “Well? You read the apron, Angel.”
You try not to put much meaning into the pet name and scoff, shoving him away. “Are aprons suddenly law or something?”
“Not all of them, but this one is.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s so special about this one, Satoru?” you ask, getting ingredients out from the fridge, the necessary produce needed for dinner tonight.
“It's special 'cause I said so.”
You scoff, “In your dreams, dumbass.”
Satoru grins, wide and yielding as he steps closer to where you’ve cosied up in a corner. You take a deep breath, trying to slow your heart thrashing against your ribcage. Though his attention should be elsewhere, his eyes remain glued to your own. You turn around, back facing him.
It’s a precautionary measure because you’re sure that you’d make a mistake, staring at him the way you were.
His chest presses against your back, the warmth of his body seeping through the cotton of his shirt and you can’t quite stop yourself from relaxing against him.
“Where did I put it?” he mumbles to himself, searching the cupboards above you. He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about the fact that he’s crowding you against the counter, one arm resting on the marble countertop, caging you against him.
Gojo pulls away rather abruptly, the feeling of him disappearing as soon as you had gotten used to it. “Guess it’s not there after all,” he says, swiftly moving over to another cupboard to check.
You, however, have a hand pressed to your heart, feeling it nearly beat out of your chest.
Megumi joins you both in the kitchen shortly after, and Gojo brings him up to sit on some free counter space while the both of you maneuver around each other in the kitchen. You can feel Megumi watching you as you hand things over to Gojo, freezing when his fingers brush yours. You know he’s watching when Gojo reaches around you for something, pressing himself against you.
You wait for the water in the pot to come to a simmer, softly humming the chorus of a song over and over again. Eventually, Megumi picks up on the repetition, humming along with you. It brings a smile to your face and you can’t resist pinching his little cheek.
You’re too busy cooing at Megumi (whose face has gone red from embarrassment) to notice Gojo watching you both, leaning down, his cheek propped up by his arm resting on the counter. There’s a warmth in his gaze that you always seem to miss, this barely restrained desire to know you better than he knows himself.
He sighs wistfully, which gets your attention and as you turn, he’s walking closer. You let him wrap his arms around you, looking into your eyes for just a brief moment. His gaze is cloudy, like he’s wrapped up in his own head—your own pining reflected back to you. It startles you; you long to look inside his mind.
“This is really nice,” Gojo hums, resting his chin on your shoulder. “We should do this more often.”
You can only nod in agreement, everything you want to say sticking to the roof of your mouth, sugar exploding along your tongue like a caramel candy.
You swallow them down, deciding to keep them to yourself for a little longer. Gojo squeezes you to his chest, then untangles himself from you. You watch him get back to cooking and you wonder if his heart is also racing, the blood rushing to his head, roaring in his ears.
There's a whisper of something painful in the back of your mind. You ignore it.
Seconds ago, you were close enough to share a breath. Yet, when you watch him now, you feel as though you’ll always be miles apart.
-: ✧ :-
It’s been a few days since you’ve started babysitting Megumi. You fell so easily into their routine, like you were always meant to be a part of it. And when you listen to Gojo complain about how m\Megumi likes you more, you begin to believe that you were.
You fiddle with the keys to Gojo’s car as you stand just outside of Megumi’s school, waiting for the hordes of children to come running out. Tired mothers sit on the few benches next to the entrance, rehashing the same gossip most likely. Fathers stand possessively in front of their cars, arms crossed over their chest as they wait.
It’s cold. The wind brings a chill that sweeps over you and makes a few strands of your hair flutter, landing in a mess covering your eyes. You blow them out of the way, tapping your foot impatiently.
Megumi’s school is rather small: just one main building, single-storied. In the back, you think there’s a garden, judging by the chain link fencing colored green thanks to the growing ivy wrapped around it.
Wreathes and small Christmas trees are placed strategically along the sidewalk and on the walls outside, fairy lights strung from the roof of the school. The announcement board outside features a Santa Claus cutout smiling joyfully. The school is covered in Christmas decorations as they prepare for the upcoming holidays, only a week and a half away.
You briefly wonder what Gojo’s plans are, whether he’ll be taking Megumi home to his family. You highly doubt it—Satoru would hate to be on the receiving end of a stream of endless questions. How was he meant to explain Megumi anyway?
Along with that thought, comes another: would Megumi miss his family over the holidays?
You don’t know much about the boy at all, neither Megumi himself nor Gojo bothered to explain his past. However, it must be a pretty stark change to suddenly be under the care of a college student, especially one as eccentric as Gojo.
The clock ticks down to a minute before the end of the school day. A large crowd of children stand waiting behind the closed gates, squealing and screaming, waving frantically at their parents waiting for them.
You hear the bell ring and the gate opens, kids flooding out like a rush of water breaking past a dam. Their little legs slam against the pavement as they race for their families. You keep an eye out for Megumi, knowing that he wouldn’t be the type to behave so rambunctiously.
It doesn’t take long for you to spot the top of his head, his spiky raven hair moving slowly behind a gaggle of loud children. Megumi looks around aimlessly, probably for Nanami who normally picks him up. His friend next to him, a pink-haired boy, grins at him and says something you can’t make out.
He must be loud, you notice, as Megumi winces from the noise. His gaze eventually makes its way to you, and you watch as recognition flashes across his features. Eyebrows raised and eyes wide, Megumi makes a mad dash towards you, plowing down his friend in the process.
The sight of the pink-haired boy rolling around on the sidewalk makes you gasp, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your laughter at bay. Megumi slows down dramatically when you wave to him, struggling to appear indifferent to your presence. It’s insanely endearing.
“Hi Megumi,” you smile, reaching out a hand to brush over the unruly strands of his hair. Megumi wrinkles his nose at the feeling of your fingers smoothing over his scalp, but he returns your greeting.
“Hello. Where’s Nanami?”
The abruptness of the question barely phases you. You’re used to Megumi’s bluntness.
“Well…Satoru forgot to tell Nanami to get you today, so I showed up instead,” you answer, leading Megumi towards Gojo’s car.
You barely had the opportunity to really take in this car on your way to the school, borderline speeding so you wouldn’t show up late. Curse you for falling asleep for too long. Everything about it screamed Gojo, from the color to the model (appropriately flashy for a very flashy guy). It’s not your kind of car by any means.
You grab Megumi’s backpack while he clambers into the backseat, hopping up onto the booster seat placed on the right. The bright orange flames decorating the fabric is a pretty strong indicator that Gojo bought this thing without consulting Megumi. Handing him back his backpack, you climb into the driver’s seat.
The drive is a lot more peaceful when you’re not racing against traffic lights and skating just under the speed limit. You think of the last time you were in this car—it was too long ago for you to be able to recall.
Stopped at a red light, you allow your eyes to wander a bit and explore the front dash. Gojo’s placed a small cat figurine in the corner, but aside from that, his car lacks much personality. The only other decorative piece he’s got is a small keychain hanging from the rearview mirror.
You eye it carefully, wondering why the fraying twine and colorful beads seem so familiar to you. It takes you some time to remember the bracelet you had gifted Gojo years ago, in fourth grade. You had spent recess with some other friends of yours, making friendship bracelets. When you went to give Gojo the bracelet you made for him, you were met with petty hostility.
He had been upset because you had ditched him, but his grievances were quickly forgotten as soon as you handed over his gift. He wore it every single day until he couldn’t anymore. When you asked about it, Satoru explained that the bracelet had come apart. You weren’t surprised: he wore it way too much and that thing was holding on thanks to a flimsy knot you put together as a chubby fingered nine-year-old.
You hadn’t expected him to keep it after that, let alone turn it into a keychain to hang in his car.
The fact that he had held onto it even after all these years makes your heart flip in a way that you know is dangerous. Tightening your grip on the steering wheel, you focus back on driving.
Once you’re back in the apartment, you decide to get started on making Megumi some kind of snack to tide him over until dinner rolls around. you watch him rummage around in his backpack, walking over to you with a piece of paper in his hand.
He tugs on your apron, handing you the paper without a single word of explanation. from a quick glance, you gather that it’s a drawing and you grin, “This is so cute, Megumi!”
Sure, you didn’t really see it yet, but he doesn’t need to know that. You have to foster creativity in children when they’re young in any way you can, even if it means lying sometimes.
You set aside some strawberries to dice, making a mental note to put the picture up on the fridge. Gojo has an abundance of random magnets from all the places he’s visited; might as well put them to good use.
When you grab the drawing off the counter, really take a look at what’s on it, you almost can’t believe it. For a moment, you wonder if you’re simply projecting your twisted hopes onto this kid’s art piece.
Megumi’s decided to draw himself, standing with his brows furrowed, next to a very long man who you can only assume to be Gojo, judging by the white hair and sunglasses. On megumi’s left, is someone in a blue sweater, shorter than gojo. It’s you.
There was clearly an attempt at drawing hands that fell apart into a jumble of squiggles but you get the idea: they’re all holding hands. At the top of the drawing, in large messy handwriting is the title.
“My Family.”
Megumi runs up to the counter, eyeing you carefully as you take in the drawing. You’re struck with the sudden urge to confess to Gojo, convince him to make this boy’s vision a reality. You think he deserves that much.
But your heart aches in a way it never has before—filled with this dreadful yearning for a man you know will never look at you the way you look at him.
The whispers in the back of your mind come together and someone flickers to life, like the flame appearing from a lighter.
“This is beautiful, Megumi,” you whisper, sticking it onto the fridge with a magnet advertising Las Vegas. Something malicious squeezes around your lungs, digging it’s claws into your heart but you gulp back the pain.
Megumi is none the wiser, nodding in agreement and waiting patiently for you to hand him his snack. He runs off, taking a seat on the couch and you watch him eat, realizing how sickeningly domestic this whole scene is.
You hate it.
Hours pass unceremoniously. Gojo barges in with a slam of the front door, practically shouting at the top of his lungs.
“There they are, my two favorite people!” he grins, kicking off his shoes. You close your laptop, leaving it on the couch as you get up just in time to dodge Gojo’s hug. He stumbles forward onto the couch where you were sitting previously.
While he grumbles about evil you are, you decide to grab the picture Megumi brought home. Once again, you’re struck by how domestic your actions are, and you hesitate.
Gojo, however, is already making his way over to you, holding Megumi captive in his arms. “What’s that?” he asks with a nod of his head.
You turn it around, holding it up to show him and you watch carefully as his eyes flicker from person to person. His grin falls into a gentle smile, somewhat guarded, and he uses his free hand to take the picture from you.
Megumi takes this opportunity to launch himself out of Gojo’s grasp, scurrying off to his room. Your eyes follow him as he disappears behind a wall. When you bring your attention back to Gojo, he’s stepped closer to you.
His stare is intense, unwavering, and it directly contrasts with the amused smile he wears. You don’t know what to think—in fact, you can barely think at all. The air is thick with tension, it presses down on your chest until you can barely breathe.
“It’s a perfect family, don’t you think?” he asks, his gaze softening as he looks down at the drawing. The atmosphere shifts but you still feel breathless, filled with this ache to wrap yourself around him.
“Yeah, it is,” you say, ever so quietly because you’re scared that anything louder would break this feeling. He’s so close, you could close the gap and kiss him right now.
There’s a crash, a large stack of books laying on the floor, papers scattered everywhere. Megumi stands next to it, eyes wide and terrified. His small hands curl into little fists and he takes a deep breath. “Didn’t mean to. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Megumi,” you reply, swiftly moving to his side. The moment is forgotten, the kiss never shared. “It was an accident.”
He nods, but he stares at you with watery eyes and your heart breaks. Scooping him up and into your arms, you walk him out onto the balcony. He tries not to cry, you let him know that it’s okay if he wants to.
Gojo remains standing in the kitchen, the drawing still in his hands. He stares at it for a long while, letting his mind wander to a world where it’s more than just a little kid’s silly art piece.
-: ✧ :-
You shove the last of your shirts into your suitcase, frowning at the way it bulges out when you zip it shut. It’s the week of Christmas, four days before the actual holiday, but you’re only just leaving to go back home.
Megumi’s on break, so is Gojo, so you’re not really needed. You wish you were—you miss both of them.
Setting the suitcase upright, you go down your checklist of things, making sure you packed everything. You still haven’t mentally prepared to see your extended family, knowing they’ll be chasing after you with questions about your dating life.
‘Have you gotten a boyfriend yet?’
‘Can we expect an engagement soon?’
‘Any plans for kids?’
It’s all horrible and invasive and you don’t get why any of that matters to them at all. It’s your life, your choices. If you’re not bringing it up yourself, there’s no need to hound you about it every single time you see them.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket from a message, and you’re unsurprised to see that it’s from Gojo.
gojo 🤑: hey bbg 😳
you: kys what do u want
gojo 🤑: what are ur christmas plans 🤔
You furrow your brows at the question, wondering why he asked at all. every single year, you always do the same thing.
you: going home…. what else would i be doing genius
gojo 🤑: LAMEEEEE i was gonna ask if u wanted to come over ig but whatever u hate me 😢😢😢
You finish off the conversation, letting him know that you do hate him, and that you need to get back to packing.
Knowing his circumstances, you know that Gojo is probably staying at home with Megumi. He can’t exactly weasel his way out of explaining the fact that he’s managed to adopt a kid. It’s most likely why he asked if you had plans, despite knowing that you do. You know he’s probably feeling lonely—it makes your heart twist and tear.
You fight the urge to ask him to join you as you drive home.
On Megumi’s birthday, Gojo proposes that you facetime him. You agree, obviously wanting to see the little boy who’s become so precious to you so quickly. The first thing Megumi does upon seeing your face is frown.
“Leave your family. I don’t like Gojo.”
You burst into laughter at the sight of your best friend’s face, jaw dropped in a mixture of shock and offense. Gojo launches into a rant about how Megumi is ungrateful, which only makes the situation funnier.
Megumi, however, finds none of this amusing.
“I love you, Megumi,” you say between breaths, “Happy birthday!”
“Whatever,” he grumbles, but you catch a glimpse of his cheeks reddening as he runs off, leaving you with a still offended Gojo.
You watch him shuffle around, propping up his phone against something. “What’s your secret, huh? What do you have that I don’t?”
"I’m just better.”
Your smile must be infectious, Gojo ditching his deep frown for a grin of his own. His eyes crinkle as you’re met with the whites of his teeth, cheeks bunching up. You can’t stand the effect he has on you, the way you melt into nothing the moment he looks your way.
“I guess you and Megumi are just perfect for each other,” he sighs, avoiding your gaze through the call. “It’s cute.”
You’re stunned into silence at his genuine words, and your heart wrenches painfully as you picture the drawing Megumi came home with. Gojo ends the call quickly, telling you he’s busy. You don’t believe it but you let him leave, allowing yourself some space from him as well.
At one point, he frantically texts you letting you know that he forgot to get Megumi a gift, begging for ideas.
gojo 🤑: I CANRT FINF HIS CHRISARMAS LIADT ANWWER ME THIAS IS AN EMERGYE SOS 🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘
you: OMFG DO U HAVE AN OFF SWITCH have u tried his room.
gojo 🤑: omg look at u my little genius 🥰
You stare at his messages, finding yourself wishing for his emoji keyboard to glitch out and break. The next text he sends you is a picture of Megumi’s wish list. You’re fairly certain that Megumi doesn’t believe in Santa, but it’s cute that he’s written a list anyway.
They’re all fairly normal: art supplies, animal books, toys you’ve never heard of. But what sticks out is the last bullet point, written neatly.
gojo 🤑: he wants u to be his family quick wrap urself up with a bow and mail urself to us 🎁 u would make a cute present 😘😘😘
You disregard Gojo’s texts for the time being, focused entirely on Megumi’s last wish. The fact that you appeared at all is shocking, considering the fact that you’ve only known him for a little over a week.
you: yeah i’m wrapping myself up rn
gojo 🤑: pics or it didnt happen 😋
You scoff out a laugh, typing up your response. Your mind is still dwindling on the wish list, on Megumi in general. He’s quickly taken up residence inside your heart and it feels good to know that you’ve been able to do the same.
Christmas passes slowly, filled with the overwhelming scent of cinnamon spice and heart-warming laughter. Of course, you didn’t escape the questions from your extended family. As usual, you brushed them off, eager to get out of the only conversation they seem to want with you.
But you like Christmas, and this year, it’s made better by the several pictures Gojo’s been sending you of him and Megumi. In one, they’re ice-skating. In another, they’re making a gingerbread house. It’s all typical Christmas activities but it warms your heart and you want nothing more than to be there with them.
You expect the rest of your holiday break to slip by, nothing special or new. You debated heading home earlier, but decided against it assuming most of your friends already have their respective plans.
You weren’t expecting Gojo to invite you to his New Year’s party. In fact, you weren’t expecting him to hold a party at all. As much as he likes parties, Gojo’s never one to throw one, especially at his place.
In retrospect, going was probably a bad idea. If only you knew that before you agreed.
-: ✧ :-
This kind of party is one you’re entirely unfamiliar with.
Most of the parties you’ve attended never exceeded over ten people, small gatherings of close friends clearing out their busy schedules to hang out together once again like they used to. These kinds of parties are relaxed, you don’t have to dress up, you don’t have to put up a front.
This New Year’s party is the kind that coaxes you into a simple black dress, perhaps too short, perhaps too low cut. This kind of party paints your lips a dark berry color that transfers onto your cup, filled with alcohol that burns as it slides down your throat.
This kind of party plays music so loud, it crawls under your skin, seeping into your head. You feel the bass reverberate throughout your chest, forcing your heart to beat faster like adrenaline coursing through your veins.
To say you feel out of your element would be a gross understatement. Everyone around you is almost a stranger, wearing features you only vaguely recognize, enough for you to shoot them a smile and a nod as a greeting.
You examine your hands as you stand leaning against a wall, watching people dance, laugh, shout. You’ve hidden yourself away in the dark (rather pathetic, you think), not knowing how to engage and not really wanting to either.
“I figured you’d be in some corner,” a gentle hand touches your elbow as Shoko squeezes herself past a small group of people to stand next to you.
You smile at her, grateful to find at least one familiar face. “You must not know me at all, Shoko, I love dancing with sweaty strangers.” Your sarcasm isn’t lost on her and she lets out a laugh, taking a drag from her cigarette.
You’re surprised that Gojo even let her smoke inside, but part of you feels like he’s unaware she’s doing it at all.
She blows out, tendrils of smoke twisting around you both, invading your senses. Shoko looks at you out of the corner of her eye, somewhat relaxed, very curious. “You’re still in love with Gojo?”
You blanch at her words, turning to face her though she remains, still regarding you through her peripheral.
“You’re too easy to read,” she smiles, her posture curved, allowing her to relax against the wall. “I’m surprised you’ve gone this long without telling him.”
It’s probably the alcohol impairing your judgment, but you frown, sighing into your cup. “My alternative is losing him forever, so I can’t exactly be picky.” You don’t intend on letting her into your thoughts this way, even if it’s only a sliver of the way you feel.
It would’ve been better to brush her off with a joke. Shoko doesn’t seem to care, humming, “ I don’t know, I think you’d be in for a surprise.”
“Well, I hate surprises.”
Time flies by but the night remains young. You’ve loosened up a bit thanks to the alcohol, laughing freely, no longer worried about your attire. Your two person party in the corner steadily grew, Nanami and Getou joining you after some time.
Gojo is still missing, but you suspect he’s out being a good host.
You’ve laid your head on Shoko’s shoulders, laughing at Nanami recounting stories from the tutoring he’s been busy with. Getou stands to your left, reaching out a hand towards you whenever you stumble slightly.
Your cup is empty and you make no moves to fill it again, not wanting to exit the good conversation you’re having. You like hearing Nanami talk about his work, hearing Shoko complain about her lab partner, and hearing Getou’s jokes.
The four of you decide to get some food in an attempt to sober up. It’s then that Gojo finally shows up. The crowd parts for him like he’s someone important. Thanks to the effects of the alcohol wearing off, you can tell it’s because he’s shouting his way through the crowd.
“Why are you losers hiding from the party?” he asks, shooting Shoko a glare when she takes a drag of her cigarette. She simply blinks at him, making no move to throw it out.
“Not hiding,” you respond, opening your mouth to bite down on the slice of pizza Getou’s trying to feed you. “Just eating.” Your words come out muffled thanks to the food. Getou shuffles his chair closer to your side.
Gojo lets his gaze settle on you, lips slightly parted as his eyes wander, taking in your dress and your half-opaque lipstick. You think you see his eyes widen, you can’t be sure. You think you see him almost gulp. You can’t be sure.
Gojo reluctantly tears his stare away from you, watching his friend closely, jaw clenched. His anger is only invisible to you, the sight causing Shoko to laugh (she marvels at your idiocy often). He grabs a chair and pushes it up right next to yours on the opposite side, arms crossed.
He sits silently, glaring at you and Getou, though you hardly notice. You’re too engrossed in whatever story Getou’s telling you. He reaches over to brush some hair out of your eyes; Gojo stands up abruptly, his hand wrapping around your wrist.
“Actually, I have some important news to tell you,” he says, words short and succinct as he drags you away from the table.
You’re too confused to stop him from pulling you all the way to the hallway that opens up into his bedroom. It’s only then that you wriggle free from his grip, staring at him, wondering what his problem is.
“What’re you–”
Your back is pressed against the wall, he stands a few steps in front of you. He’s breathing hard and his eyes are blown wide and you wonder who this man is—the worry creasing his forehead makes him seem lightyears away from the satoru you know.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asks, the sentence stumbling out of his mouth like he wasn’t quite ready to say it. Gojo doesn’t give you the chance to answer him, already talking once again.
“Go you like Suguru?” he asks, taking a few steps closer, until he’s a hair’s width away from you.
The question is so out of left field, you’re forced to take a moment and process it. Gojo’s gaze hardens at your silence, and you stave off the urge to make a joke out of this situation. Uncertainty makes your stomach churn—you’ve yet to see your best friend like this.
There’s a crease between his brows, lips downturned but not quite a frown. His words still hang heavy in the air, broken jealousy rearing its ugly head. His hand loosens around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull away.
You take a deep breath, feeling like you’ve taken in all the air left between you and him. “No. No, I don’t,” you whisper, heart beating so fast you almost expect the muscle to burst within your chest.
Your admission makes his shoulders drop, the tense atmosphere almost melting away altogether. Gojo tightens his fingers around your wrist once more, bridging the gap between you both. He hovers above you, his free hand placed against the wall as he cages you against it.
Despite the years you’ve known him, sometimes you find it so hard to read him, understand his motivations. Gojo leans close, his breath fanning over your lips.
“So you just really like being mean to me,” he mutters and you furrow your brows, gnawing at your bottom lip.
“I haven’t said one mean thing to you all night, Satoru,” you say quietly, eyes downcast, avoiding his attentive stare. His eyes, as blue as the sky, still shimmer in the dark and you watch from beneath your lashes as they shift to a dulled luster.
Gojo drops his head into the crook of your neck, you can feel his lips move against your skin as he speaks, “There’s more than one way to be mean.”
Your breath is caught in your throat. He’s running his nose up your neck, smearing a kiss below your jaw. Your lack of resistance only emboldens him further and he kisses the same spot once again.
And you let him, gulping back the unpleasant feelings that float to the tip of your tongue because who are you to ruin this? On another night, you might have untangled yourself from him, walking away and creating necessary distance between you both.
But he’s exactly where you want him, where you’ve been longing for him.
So tonight, you simply mutter his name in warning, your voice cracking softly as he slides his hand around your waist. His touch burns, it's as though the material of your dress simply doesn’t exist under the weight of his palm.
Gojo presses his mouth to your ear. When he speaks, he sounds so resigned, almost like the woman that sits in your mind, taunting you with the possibility of everything unraveling. She licks at your wounds and her breath burns.
“I feel so…stupid when it comes to you,” he rasps out, pulling you closer. “You drive me crazy and I don’t know what to do–” he cuts himself off before he gets too deep into his rambling. Anticipation steadily rises up your chest, higher and higher and higher.
“It’s always been you,” Gojo says, letting you see his face once more. he leans over you, simply staring, the loud music fading away until it’s nothing but a beat behind the incessant thrum of your heart.
The woman makes herself apparent, hiding just behind your eyes, her words piercing your skin.
You gather the courage to really look at him, ignoring the way the woman in your head sighs, telling you it’s not worth it—telling you it’ll hurt. She tells you it’s only going to ache, and tear, and rip apart. You shake her away. his eyes have you trapped in them, drowning in his blue, your hands wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t waver, shifting his gaze down to your lips.
“I love you,” he breathes out, his words so full of promise you nearly believe it. But then you remember where you are, you remember what you’ve been doing.
Your hands rest on his shoulders, feeling the cotton material of his shirt under your fingertips. “You can’t mean that,” you reply in a whisper.
The woman in your head shrieks at you until her voice turns hoarse and raw. You grab the collar of his shirt, closing the gap, your lips meeting his. Gojo fists the silk of your dress, creasing the material against his palm. Your trembling hand brushes along his cheek and he chases after your touch, tilting his head to the side, nose bumping against yours. He’s presses you into the wall, your spine meeting the cold plaster as goosebumps erupt down your arms.
The woman shouts, the woman regrets. The woman tells you you’re making a mistake but she’s inevitably drowned out by the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. Gojo brings his hand up to your jaw, fingers squeezing desperately. His kiss is all tongue and teeth, he steals your breath away.
A fire festers in the pit of your stomach, it’s flames fueled by his touch, his warmth, everything him. It curls into a burning in your chest. Insatiable greed drives Gojo to take you into his arms, your feet stumbling against each other’s as you make your way into his room.
Your back hits his comforter, you pull him closer.
The woman sits silently and weeps.
-: ✧ :-
You wake up with a dull pounding behind your eyes and a painful silence inside your mind. Warmth envelops you as you twist and turn under Gojo’s heavy blankets—it’s reminiscent of an earlier time.
Beams of sunlight force your eyes open and you prop yourself up, elbows sinking into Gojo’s expensive mattress. Cradling your head in your hand, you take in your surroundings: the stark white sheets, Gojo’s sleeping figure next to you.
You watch him sleep for several moments, marveling at the fact that Gojo is asleep at all. He’s always had trouble with insomnia, seeing him rest so peacefully makes you smile.
You let your gaze sweep over his face, pressed into the pillow, messy hair obscuring his eyes. His shoulders are bare, and if last time taught you anything, it’s that Gojo has no problem with appearing borderline naked in front of you.
Scoffing, you turn to check the nightstand for your phone, pausing when a cold draft seems to linger over your arms and chest a bit stronger than usual. A pile of fabric resting against the mahogany floors catches your eye, and you stare at it blankly before everything begins to fall into place.
Your fragmented memories connect, the night floods back to you, knocking the air from your lungs.
Your dress on the floor, the very obvious smear of berry colored lipstick against his jaw. Your incredibly apparent lack of clothing.
Panic digs into your chest. The woman comes into view once more, her unwavering gaze staring at you with contempt. She crawls out of your chest, standing before you, several heads taller.
‘You messed everything up,’ she seethes. Your heart beats faster. ‘He’ll never want to see you again,’ she says, her words stinging like a slap. It becomes harder to breathe.
You don’t stick around to see what else she has to say, grabbing your dress off the floor with shaky hands. You pull it back on messily, grabbing your phone, rushing out of his bedroom as tears cling to your lashes.
Thankfully, everyone seems to have cleared out of the apartment.
You don’t allow yourself to think, opening up the front door, rushing down the stairwell until you’re standing in the lobby of his apartment building. It’s too cold—they always crank up the air conditioning even if it’s the middle of winter.
The lady behind the desk looks at you with pity. You suppress the urge to vomit. Tears stream down your cheeks, trailing along your chin before they fall. You know you must look a mess. You wonder where else you left your berry colored lips.
You call Shoko; she’s hungover when she picks up but she hears the pain in your voice and she hears you bite back your tears. She’ll be there soon, she promises and you stand, waiting.
You sit in her car, staring out the window. She tries to make you feel better by playing your favorite songs—it doesn’t do much to help. The song reminds you of Megumi.
The thought of Megumi sends you spiraling further. How can you face Megumi after this? How can you face Gojo? He might not remember, but you always will. You’ll always remember the warmth of his hands, the way he held you near like you were everything.
The woman tells you you’re sick.
Shoko eyes you, taking in your tear-stained face. You don’t want her pity either, digging your nails into your palm as hard as you can. She’s stopped at a red light and she reaches over to take your hand in hers.
“You have to figure out where you both stand,” she says, calm and rational as always. Sometimes, you wish she could see things the way you do. You wish she could hear the woman who haunts you.
“I know,” you whisper, closing your eyes as you lean your head back against the seat. The car starts moving again. “I don’t want to.” Your stomach churns, an awful mixture of anxiety and hurt rolling up your throat.
You slept with Gojo.
You feel sick. The woman slices at you with her knives. ‘You don’t deserve him at all.’
Shoko white knuckles the steering wheel. She never takes kindly to your tears, it took you a while to figure out that it’s because she cares too much to see you cry.
“You should confess. It’ll be good for your heart and mind,” she suggests as you see your apartment come into view. You’re not ready to be left alone with the woman. The cuts from her knives are still fresh, they still bleed.
You shake your head ever so slightly. “No,” you reply, selfishness motivating your choices more than anything. “I’m going to pretend I don’t remember—I’ll act like I was too drunk to remember.”
Shoko disagrees with you, and she lets you know as much as she can before you’re getting out of her car, walking towards your apartment. Your dress feels too short, you tug it down. The sunlight burns your scalp and you rush indoors.
As soon as you kick off your heels, Gojo texts you. Your phone is nearly dead and you debate putting off responding, excusing yourself with the fact that your phone ran out of power. You grow too curious, though, and you read his message.
gojo 🤑: hey when did u get home?
The striking lack of emojis makes the text feel impersonal, far from the man you know. The woman laughs at you.
‘He hates you.’
you: shoko picked me up
You pause, debating whether you should add more. Let him know that you don’t remember, let him know that you believe nothing happened.
you: i rly went overboard on the alcohol ig i barely remember anything
You watch the bubble indicating he’s typing appear and disappear. Your nerves fizzle and buzz, teeth sinking into your lips until you draw blood. ‘He hates you,’ the woman whispers.
gojo 🤑: yeah me too lol
You hate it.
You’re reading into it too much, you think, but the woman says no. Her lithe fingers encircle your arms, her sadness turning you sick. You agonize over your words, agonize over his texts. You can’t face Gojo. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to see Megumi again.
‘You’re selfish,’ the woman sneers, watching you tremble. ‘Do you think you deserve to see him?’
‘What would he think of you?’
‘You’ve lost both of them.’
‘You should’ve listened to me.’
You don’t know what to say to her. She draws her arm back and strikes you.
-: ✧ :-
The following day, Gojo informs you that Megumi asked for you to babysit him.
You had decided you would say no, for your own sake. The woman agreed so it must be the right choice. But then he tells you that Megumi’s insisting—that he misses you—and how can you say no?
So you sit on the couch, right next to Megumi as he reads from his new book (a Christmas present from Gojo). He’s laying against you, his head resting against your arm. Neither you, nor Gojo, have said a single word to each other.
It feels wrong, this silence that fills the room. It feels heavy. It keeps its palms pressed tightly against your lips, keeping your words trapped inside. You wonder if Megumi can feel it too.
Reaching over, you gently brush some of his hair out of his eyes and he stills, turning around to look up at you. His eyes are wide, they waver as they flicker between you and Gojo.
“Did you guys fight?”
You notice the way he wraps his arms around himself, as if to soothe. He takes a long breath. Megumi’s eyes widen and you realize that he’s scared.
You rush to explain, “No! No, we didn’t fight.” He doesn’t seem to believe you; Gojo walks over to you both, taking a seat next to him.
“We’re just tired, Megumi,” he tells him, a hand rubbing circles into his back. You feel terrible.
‘This is all your fault,’ the woman whispers.
It’s silent again as Gojo shuffles around, getting ready to leave for his Model UN meeting. He stands at the doorway, looking at you for a moment. You can’t read him, he doesn’t explain. Gojo waves goodbye and leaves.
You watch Megumi read for a few minutes more, the aftertaste of the previous conversation still lingering on your tongue. He must feel your stare, looking up from his book.
“You’re my favorite person ever,” he admits—he sounds completely serious. You’re taken aback by his honesty, your heart melting as a smile tugs on the corners of your mouth. You reach forward, opening your arms out for a hug. Megumi quickly wraps his arms around you.
His hands cling to the fabric of your shirt, “If you did fight with Gojo, please forgive him. Don’t leave.”
‘Look what you’ve done,’ the woman says, the weight of her words make you feel like you’re drowning.
"I won’t leave you,” you reply, ignoring the woman and her hurt. Megumi looks back at you, holding out his pinky for you. You wrap your own around his much smaller one, “Pinky promise.”
You let him rest his head against your chest, your steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep. The woman reminds you how undeserving you are of what you have. You know the woman is right.
When Gojo gets home, he asks if you’d like to stay for dinner. Every single part of you wants to say yes, and it’s at the tip of your tongue, the answer is habitual. But this time, you turn him down. You can’t stay longer—you can’t be around him. You slip out the front door before you can see the twinkle in his eyes diminish until it’s gone.
You get home, lay on the carpeted floor of your bedroom, and call Shoko. She tells you to confess or die. You tell her you’d rather die.
‘It would be for the best,’ the woman snickers.
-: ✧ :-
There’s a growing tension between you and Gojo as of late, clearly the result of what happened at the New Year’s party. You keep on acting as though you don’t remember the way he loved you, but it gets harder to do so the more you see him.
You can’t avoid him, you’d be breaking your promise to Megumi.
Everything left unsaid lingers in the distance you keep with him, and it unsheathes it’s claws, digging into you and tearing you apart. Your relationship with Gojo is strained. It hurts because he’s your best friend.
The woman reminds you that there’s no one to blame but yourself.
She hasn’t left you alone since the night of the party, tied to you like some kind of curse. She appears in the mirror when you criticize yourself, egging you on to say worse things. She stands by your side when you make a mistake, degrading you until you feel like nothing.
She’s having the time of her life. You just can’t get rid of her. She’s right about you.
This time, as you stand waiting for Megumi, his school is decorated in a plethora of pinks, reds, and whites. Valentine’s Day is swiftly approaching and it fills you with a kind of bitterness you keep hidden.
Cupid’s arrows might have missed you this year, but there’s always the next.
Part of you realizes that it’s your own fault, waiting for Gojo to step up and say something. When that failed you, you waited for your feelings to disappear. Perhaps, you should have taken some initiative, forced those feelings out of you until every last remaining bit is ripped from your heart.
Your loneliness is your own doing. The woman laughs in agreement, your pain is nothing but a joke to her. Her laughter, however, is hollow and doesn't meet her eyes.
Megumi runs up to you as he often does, pulling you from your thoughts. The woman hides away to watch. He hands you a little heart shaped box and a card.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Megumi grumbles, walking off ahead of you to get to the car. You smile down at the chocolates and the handmade card. Something tender and sweet fills up your chest—you feel lighthearted.
‘Do you deserve this?’ the woman snarls, reaching out to knock your gifts out of your hands. You hold them away from her poisonous touch.
Megumi holds onto your index finger as you lead him up the stairwell to Gojo’s apartment. You’re surprised to find him inside instead of at class, like he should be. He grins at you and Megumi as you both walk inside, his eyes dropping to the card and chocolates in your hand.
You watch as he stands up, stretching his arms up. His shirt rides up around his waist, you turn away faster than light.
“You got her something for Valentine’s but nothing for your old man?” he asks, grabbing Megumi so that he can plant a kiss on the boy’s chubby cheek.
“You suck and she doesn’t.”
“You are so cruel.”
Your relationship with Gojo remains rocky, but times like these still make you yearn for that domestic life. Sometime in the future, you hope you get to have this.
Gojo lets Megumi disappear into his room, watching you sink into the couch. He follows suit, sitting down next to you. He leaves too much space between you, like there’s an invisible wall keeping him out.
“Valentine’s Day is coming up,” he says, though you don’t know what for. You want to say that you know, that it doesn’t matter to you unless you’re spending the day with him.
“Yeah, but why would I care?” you reply, laughing though the sound comes out bitter and hurt. He grins at you, tilting his head.
“Who knows? Maybe you have a secret admirer.”
You stay quiet for a moment, thinking about what he had said. Secret admirer or not, you’re confident it wouldn’t be the person you want. Gojo has better things to do, probably has someone to see. What would he want with you?
Why would he even look your way? You’re his best friend—that’s where you have remained for 14 years and it’s where you’ll remain for as long as you know him.
The woman sits to your left, reaching out her hand to smooth down your hair. Her gesture appears comforting but anxiety swirls deep within you at her touch.
‘Don’t let him know how you feel,’ she whispers in warning.
“So? I don’t care. I don’t like anyone right now, a secret admirer would mean nothing to me.”
“Oh.”
You face him then, taking in the soft frown he wears. His jaw is clenched, brows furrowed. The blue of his eyes, your favorite blue, lacks it’s usual sparkle. His shoulders hunched over; Gojo looks like a wounded animal. He looks tired.
As soon as he notices your stare, he straightens up and gives you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He stays quiet for the rest of the night and you can’t help but feel it’s your fault. You remind yourself he’s tired, but the woman tells you that he must have remembered the events from the party.
You leave his house sooner than you would have liked. Gojo says goodbye with a hug, his arms squeezing you tight, pressing you to his chest until you can hear his heart beating.
-: ✧ :-
You feel like Valentine’s Day crept up on you too quickly, like you had blinked and suddenly the world is celebrating their lovers.
It’s sunny and warm, the usual chill of February replaced with a gentle breeze that feels soft against your cheek and in your hair. Like it’s mother nature’s gentle caress letting you know that you’ll be fine today.
The woman stays quiet.
You walk along the sidewalk in front of your apartment building. You had woken up today expecting something at you front door, perhaps from a secret admirer like Gojo had suggested. Nothing came.
It left a bitter taste in your mouth, your chest tightening, but you got over it as fast as it came. You refuse to fester in hurt, even if the woman fans the flames of your pain.
Blinking up at the sun, you watch the old couple across the street walk arm in arm. The old man had gotten his wife a bouquet of her favorite flowers (you know they’re her favorite because she told you so). She’s wearing a new heart pendant around her neck. Their hands remain intertwined as they head down.
You silently plead for your chance at love.
Today, Megumi’s spending the day at Nanami’s house, along with a few of the kids he tutors. You’ve been absolved of your babysitting responsibilities. You miss the little boy, though.
You’re only a few minutes into your walk when you phone buzzes with a text from Gojo.
gojo 🤑: ur not busy today right?????? lets go for a drive bbg 😉
you: i wish i never met you.
You hardly mean it. Rather, you’re incredibly relieved that he’s back to his usual self, using horrible emojis to spice up his texts. You hate to admit it but you missed him.
Maybe you were pathetic for spending Valentine’s Day with your crush, a man who remains just out of your reach. You don’t dwell on it as you climb into Gojo’s car, even when the woman bares her teeth at you.
Gojo plays sickeningly romantic music as he drives, making fun of you for spending valentine’s day with him instead of a boyfriend. You’re quick to remind him that he’s in the same position. He falls silent but you notice that the shine in his sky blue eyes are back. You hope, this time, that it’s here to stay.
He parks a few feet away from a playground, the structures old and somewhat rusty. You realize that it’s the playground where you both first met each other.
Gojo runs over to your side, opening the door for you. He walks next to you, his shoulder brushing yours, your fingers aching to be held by him. You let him pull you to the spot where his mother took a picture of both of you 14 years ago.
It’s certainly strange being back here.
You hear him take a deep breath. Gojo’s facing forward, seemingly entranced by the swing-set in front of him. You don’t take notice of his shaky hands.
“You were the prettiest girl I had ever seen,” he says finally, breathing deeply once again. “Actually– I thought you were the prettiest girl in the whole world.”
“What are you talking about?” you ask with a soft laugh, utterly confused as to what he’s up to. Gojo doesn’t respond, he just keeps going.
“I ran into you on purpose, if I’m being honest. I thought we could become friends and then I’d get to be around you all the time.”
Gojo reaches out his hand, hesitating as he thinks. The woman stays quiet when he takes your hand in his own. “But then you basically told me to fuck off–”
“I did not! I said go away or something.”
“Thats basically what kids say when they want to say ‘Fuck off’!”
He laughs, the sound warming your heart. Soft tendrils of sun peek through the canopy of the tree you stand under, making him glow and shine. He appears almost ethereal.
“I was glad we got to be friends,” he mutters, his grip around your fingers getting tighter. “But nowadays, I kind of wish we weren’t.” Your heart stills and the woman opens her mouth for the first time today, conjuring up her ugly words.
“You’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” Gojo admits, his hand growing clammy but you barely notice it. “You’ll stay that way for the rest of my life—even when we’re old and wrinkly.”
“How sweet,” you grin, but it’s a front to hide the way he tugs at your heart, gentle hands keeping you in his grasp; it’s where you’ll stay for as long as he’ll have you. However, you still find yourself to be guarded, hesitant about Gojo and his words.
The woman tells you it’s not what you think it is. Her past misfortunes flood your mind, her sadness is contagious.
Gojo finally faces you, taking both your hands in his. His eyes watch you carefully and you wonder if he can see through them, see the woman waiting inside, hurt and scared.
“I know you said you don’t have feelings for anyone,” he starts, looking to the side. You can feel his heart beating at his fingertips. “And I’m probably the last person you want to hear this from, but I owe it to you.
“I love you,” he sighs and it feels like taking a breath of relief. Gojo searches your eyes, vivid cerulean brighter than the sun itself. You reach forward, hands on either side of his face. You tremble and you shake—you can’t believe this is real.
He seems to understand, instinctively letting his hands rest against your hips.
“Love you too,” you say, unadulterated joy lighting up your chest and your eyes. Your smile is blinding, cheeks hiding your eyes. Gojo steps closer while he pulls you against his chest. His heart is racing, but it could be your own that you’re feeling. You’re not quite sure where he ends and you begin.
He cups your cheek, his touch soft and light. “Can I kiss you now? I haven’t stopped thinking about it since the party.”
You tense at the mention of the party, but you nod your head and shove that night out of your mind. You can shelve that conversation for later.
Gojo leans forward with your nod, pulling you towards him. Your lips meet, gently at first, like you’re both unsure of how to go about it. He’s hesitant without alcohol to grant him courage, but as you wrap your arms around his neck, he grows bolder.
Gojo pours every last bit of his desire for you, his yearning for you, past his lips. You can feel him grin, and it pulls a smile from you too.
You have him exactly where you want him.
When you return home, hand in hand, Megumi perks up at the sight of you both. Getou sits next to him, assigned to pick him up from Nanami’s place after Gojo decided to meet up with you.
Getou raises an eyebrow at your hand held tightly in Gojo’s, your head resting against his shoulder. “What did i miss?”
“Nothing at all,” you reply, holding out an arm for megumi as he runs into your embrace.
The woman simply smiles.
-: ✧ :-
Gojo watches you sleep, chest rising and falling steadily, your soft breaths being the only sound in the room. He sits and he admires and he’s struck with the overwhelming urge to pull you into his arms. Gojo wishes he could tell you everything he feels for you, but his emotions are often illegible jumbles of yearning, want, desire, and love—he just can’t put it into words.
He knows you’re it for him. He hopes you feel the same.
Gojo leans over and grabs the plastic water bottle left on his nightstand, the plastic crinkling. He winces, hoping it’s not loud enough to wake you. You remain sleeping and he smiles, fishing the small ring of plastic from the top of the bottle.
It’s big, the real one will be tailored to your size, he thinks as he takes your hand. His touch is gentle as he slides the plastic ring onto your ring finger, watching it hang loosely.
“This’ll do for now,” he decides. the real one will be much prettier, but not grand. A shiny band with a few rhinestones– no, your birthstone. Maybe his too but he feels that might be too tacky.
Gojo lays back down, curling around you until his head is hidden in the crook of your neck. He hopes you’ll like it. He hopes you’ll say yes.
He’s always loved you. For him, it’s always been you.
thanks to mitzi and earth and six for hyping this monstrosity up so glad its not rotting away in my drafts anymore
KILLIN' ME GOOD -professor!gojo x reader
warnings: smut, teacher/student relationship, p in v sex, unprotected sex, bondage, dacryphilia, spanking, jealousy, degradation kink, fluff, porssesive behavior, age gap, (reader is +18), semi-public sex, car sex, lingerie, use of vibrator, whimpering, switch!gojo, humiliation kink, sadist behavior, s/d dynamics.
A/N: i wanted to write this one a long time ago! i really liked it, was really fun to write and also really cute! i've been quite busy with work but i'll try my best to continue writing!, i really liked this writing so reblogs are appreciated. :)
professor!gojo who’s been teaching you to be a sorcerer not even for two months, but already knows your favorite color, food, what type of music you like, what you search for in a guy, and why you’re becoming sorcerer. he knows more things but won’t say them out loud.
professor!gojo who won’t team you with any of the boys because he says ‘it’s just a distraction for young people’ but the truth is, he can’t tolerate seeing you with another man, trying to hide all the feelings he has for you.
professor!gojo who gives you the hardest questions in class so he could see your frustrated face trying to give a coherent answer. professor!gojo who loses all his senses everytime you decide to use a skirt because every ten seconds he thinks about you and gets hard.
professor!gojo who starts feeling things he never thought he would feel. professor!gojo who never thought to really fall in love for a girl but just a quick fuck until he met you. professor!gojo who thinks you’re dangerously sweet but what a good thing he likes sweets and danger.
professor!gojo who is impressed by this new feeling you make and is entranced in every little action you do, making you unique. professor!gojo who’s been pumping his cock for 5 minutes in an empty classroom trying to find release after you made him hard with just a smile at him.
professor!gojo who gave you detention because you were a little bit too talkative with yuuji today and he doesn’t want you to become distracted in class, so when you go to detention after class he’s waiting for you.
professor!gojo who lays you down on his desk and starts eating you out while scissoring you, telling you how much he needs you.
‘I’m gonna’ fucking mark my territory with you today. ‘m gonna show you what a real man is.’ His words sound muffled while trying to talk and eat you out at the same time. Not letting himself waste any of your liquids, making sure every time you walk you would feel his tongue inside of you.
professor!gojo who wouldn’t take it anymore and is rambing inside of you with all his force while you moan his name.
‘Y-You.. A-ah!~ Little slut.. My little slut.’ His thrusts became harder with every word he said, his balls hitting your ass, a red mark appearing on your right cheek of how much he had slapped you.
professor!gojo who would overstimulate himself just to watch you cum again in his cock.
professor!gojo who would wait for you at the end of the class to give you a peck on the lips and wait for you to leave so he could fuckhimself because with just a small touch with you he gets hard.
professor!gojo who would buy you lunch everyday because why not? he has a lot of money. professor!gojo who would spend his money on you, saying you’re the only one with to spend this much money.
professor!gojo who would buy you personalized lingering because he loves your body in the colors of his eyes.
professor!gojo who would end the class sooner because he couldn’t bear your teasing and needed to have you right now.
professor!gojo who doesn’t let you cum and loves watching you cry for release on his cock.
‘Why don’t you ask Yuuji to make you cum, huh? You were all over him some moments ago like a whore mh? That’s all you are, no? Just a filthy needy whore.’ professor!gojo who would use his blindfold to tie up your arms and use you as a cum hole.
professor!gojo who would buy a vibrator for you to use in his class as a punishment and play with you, making you answer all of his questions while he plays with the velocity of the vibrator.
professor!gojo who would humiliate you in front of the class asking who gave you that hickey knowing damn well he’s the owner of it. everybody giving you teasing stares and asking if you have a boyfriend while he just proudly smirks at himself watching you get all flustered.
professor!gojo who made sure that no other guy would feel like him, touch you like him, fuck you like him… love you like him.
professor!gojo who would take you on dates in the most expensive restaurants in tokyo to treat you for being a good girl.
professor!gojo who would later ruin your makeup and hair while fucking you in the car because of how good you looked tonight.
professor!gojo who would give you a bracelet with his initials.
professor!gojo who wouldn’t expect you to use it everyday, telling everyone you have a boyfriend, but not saying who.
professor!gojo who would be whimpering your name while you give him a handjob, saying a lot of ‘i love you’s’ and ‘thank you’. feeling brand new and so loved thanks to you.
professor!gojo who only wants to listen to you and follow you.
professor!gojo who says you’re killing him good with how perfect and good you are for him.
home sweet home | series masterlist
Gojo Satoru x Reader/OC {Small Town au}
Home is where your Heart is.
🌿 Pairing Small town au! - Doctor!Gojo Satoru x Teacher&Painter!OC/Reader; Doctor!Gojo Satoru x Dancer!Utahime Iori
🌿 Summary
Satoru, or more formally known as Dr. Gojo was a great doctor from the big city. He lived a life that everyone thought was perfect: he worked at the city hospital, lived in a beautiful apartment in the center and was engaged to Utahime Iori. However, he had a big secret that he hid from everyone, which is that Satoru was actually already married to his childhood friend who he left behind in his hometown. And now, it's time for Gojo to face the past and the choices he made, especially his beloved wife.
🌿 Warnings [+18], smut, mature themes, angst, cigarettes and smoking, drugs, drinking/alcohol, adultery, commitment issues, marriage problems, divorce, death, illness and chronic disease, miscarriage, family drama, angst with a happy ending; (more to be added)
🌿 Additional Things fluff, romance, slow burn, slice of life, friends to lovers (sort of), she falls first but he falls harder, gojo is an arrogant with good heart, flashbacks, small town life; (more to be added)
🌿 Inspired In Sweet Home Alabama, Desperate Housewives, Gilmore Girls and Breakfast at Tiffany’s;
🌿 Chapters
Chapter I “Get Out of My Life”
Chapter II …
Chapter III …
Chapter IV …
Chapter V …
Chapter VI …
Chapter VII …
Chapter VIII …
Chapter IX …
Chapter X …
© rideofthevalkyriess. all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my work without permission. dividers credit. thanks for reading! S2
home sweet home | chapter I
🌿 Pairing Small town au! - Doctor!Gojo Satoru x Teacher&Painter!OC/Reader; Doctor!Gojo Satoru x Dancer!Utahime Iori
🌿 Summary Satoru, or more formally known as Dr. Gojo was a great doctor from the big city. He lived a life that everyone thought was perfect: he worked at the city hospital, lived in a beautiful apartment in the center and was engaged to Utahime Iori. However, he had a big secret that he hid from everyone, which is that Satoru was actually already married to his childhood friend who he left behind in his hometown. And now, it's time for Gojo to face the past and the choices he made, especially his beloved wife.
🌿 Words 4.7k
🌿 Warnings [+18], smut, mature themes, angst, cigarettes and smoking, drugs, drinking/alcohol, adultery, commitment issues, marriage problems, divorce, death, illness and chronic disease, miscarriage, family drama, angst with a happy ending; (more to be added)
🌿 Author's Note Welcome to the first chapter of my new series!! I was inspired by one of my favorite comedies, Sweet Home Alabama. It's not the first time I've written, but it's the first time I've published, so please be patient. I also gave the reader a name as this makes writing easier for me. I hope you enjoy!
Satoru Gojo's life had fallen into chaos and it was entirely his fault.
But no one who knew him would claim that, as he was deceptive and good at keeping up appearances.
To the people who know him, Satoru, or more formally Dr. Gojo, is a great doctor in the city of Boston, his speciality being cardiology. He work in the city central hospital and live in a newly renovated old flat near Beacon Hill.
In his free time, he plays basketball and enjoys learning languages, most recently German. Satoru didn't have a large social circle, as most of his friends were in the world of medicine. And according to these same friends, Gojo was choleric, perfectionist and impatient, which made him a difficult person to approach; but deep down, he just took his job very seriously.
The news that the hospital nurses were gossiping about was this: Dr. Gojo was engaged to Utahime Iori and they were going to get married the next summer.
Such gossip was always accompanied by the story of how they met. It was a night when Gojo was on a night shift and Utahime was admitted to the emergency room with a knee injury caused by a fall while dancing. She was - and still is - a dancer by profession and well known for it. It turned out that it was Satoru who attended to her that night, and after a very promising diagnosis followed by release, the two exchanged contacts.
Their relationship developed ardently and quickly, like the rhythm of the great city of Boston. It had only been a year since they met and they already had a wedding date set, much to the delight of Utahime's wealthy family.
However, his relationship with Utahime and the gossip about him were of little concern to Satoru. In fact, there was one secret that kept his mind occupied during the day and robbed him of sleep at night, and that was this: He was already a married man.
And well married, to his childhood friend whom he had left behind in his old and insignificant - in his eyes - hometown.
But no one in Boston even dreamed or imagined that Dr. Gojo had such a deep and striking stain on his past as that of a failed marriage, so he secretly met with Hiromi Higuruma, a lawyer who specialised in divorces.
Specialised or not, the truth was that Higuruma was a shark when it came to his clients and was the best lawyer in his law firm - and the most expensive too. It was he who discreetly prepared Satoru's divorce papers and encouraged him to take the papers personally to his wife, much to his client's displeasure.
“You know, Dr Gojo, I think it would be a good idea if you handed over the divorce papers in person and had a heart-to-heart talk with your wife. I think you two must have a lot to discuss.” Higuruma advised as he gave him the papers.
“I can't think of anything we need to talk about.” Satoru contested, looking away towards the office windows. It was storming outside and the wind was howling.
“Believe me when I say that divorcing couples always have something to say to each other. How long has it been since you last spoke? Two years? Maybe three?”
“Two years and a half.” Gojo quickly corrected, making the lawyer frown.
“...Well, think about my advice, will you? And you'll see that things will work out.”
That evening, when Satoru returned to his flat, he discovered that although the divorce papers were light, the weight they represented in his life was overwhelming.
He put them down on the desk in his bedroom, and there they stayed for a few weeks, robbing him of his peace and sleep.
Until one night, he decided to put an end to his misery - and insomnia - and return to his hometown, Fairview.
In the early hours of the morning when Gojo made his decision, he was very agitated. He emptied half his wardrobe, even though he only intended to be out of the city for a week. He vacuumed the entire house, even though he had a maid who could do the job for him. And he washed the car, even though it was spotless.
At dawn, Satoru called his fiancée to tell her of his decision, while he prepared the food for the trip, which was going to be a long one. And upon hearing her fiancé's decision, Utahime was less than pleased.
“Why? Why all of a sudden?” She asked alarmed through the phone.
“I want to visit my family before we get married.” Gojo replied quickly, while preparing the sandwiches and a salad. “That way I can announce the engagement to them.” He concealed it.
«Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Uta.» Satoru thought to himself. «If you knew what was waiting for me in Fairview, you wouldn't say something like that.»
“Some things have to be said in person.” Gojo hid, as he finished preparing his food and carried his bags to the car. “Don't worry, I'll be back in a week.”
And although Satoru had made a promise to his fiancée, it would be broken for the most unimaginable reasons.
“I swear I'm going to get grey hair before I'm forty if you continue to get on my nerves like this.”
“But that's a good thing, we will match.” He joked, sitting down in the driver's seat of the car with a smile on his lips.
“That's not funny.” Muttered Utahime. “Drive slowly. And watch out for wild animals.”
“I will.” Satoru reassured her. “I'll let you know when I arrive. I love you, Uta”
She didn't reply, but she didn't have to. Gojo knew her feelings, which were now a mixture of love and anger. He knew that she found it difficult to reveal her emotions, which often led to misunderstandings. But deep down, she loved him and was very worried about him.
When the call ended, Satoru turned on the car and pulled his vehicle out of the carpark of his apartment.
The nervousness that had plagued him all night had ceased after talking to Utahime, whose voice always calmed him down, no matter what her mood. More calm, Gojo had the chance to enjoy the cool morning breeze and appreciate the beginning of spring.
The big city was as busy as ever.
Traffic and shops were in full swing early in the morning, and this was the pace of life that Satoru admired, liked and desired.
As Satoru left the city centre and headed for the suburbs, the city rush diminished. But it was still beautiful in his eyes, because it was an interesting mix of the urban and the countryside. Big and small houses, with perfectly tended gardens and families straight out of a soap commercial. Perhaps one day, when he grew old, he would experience that lifestyle.
When Satoru left the populated areas for the motorway, he saw little more than green forests just awakened from the harsh winter.
The rest of the journey remained like that, accompanied by the trees and the radio, playing classics from the eighties and nineties.
Gojo knew he was in town the moment he spotted a large wooden sign painted in white, announcing "Welcome to Fairview, land of sailors and crabs", much to his displeasure and annoyance.
It was dusk by the time Satoru reached the center of the small town that had once, long ago, been his home.
Near the beach, he saw the theater built on a pier, suspended over the sea. There he had unique memories of his teenage years, where life seemed easier and simpler. Satoru also appreciated the cathedral, illuminated by the fiery colours of the sunset, in the heart of the city.
And deep in his heart, Satoru knew that he missed his town, but at the same time, it was this very community that made his spirit and heart sick.
However, this was not the time for him to feel sentimental and nostalgic, as there were more important matters that called him to reason.
Satoru drove to his old home, which he had bought together with his wife in their first years of marriage.
The house itself was nothing luxurious. In fact, it was a very old cottage, located at the entrance to the forest that surrounded Fairview. On arriving at the house, Gojo decided to appreciate - or rather judge - the place that brought back so many memories.
Although the house was small, its grounds were so vast that they followed the forest. Close to the cottage, there was a small lake with a newly built pier, which gave the place its charm. A small greenhouse was built on the other side of the lake, with walls and roof made of glass, supported by white painted steel.
The cottage was still exactly as Satoru remembered. Small and tall, painted white and decorated with reddish bricks that matched the thatched roof. The windows and door remained the same, made of light wood and very traditional.
On the porch of the house, illuminated by fairy lights and decorated with a very nice garden table set, a dog was lying down resting peacefully when he heard Satoru's footsteps.
The dog, a German shepherd, quickly lifted his head and his eyes went wide, like lamps, when he saw Satoru approaching the porch. With his ears raised towards the strange man, the shepherd began to bark quietly, like a whisper, warning him not to go near the house.
Gojo, on seeing that large, unfamiliar dog, was startled to think that his wife no longer lived there. His wife wasn't the type to like such ferocious animals and this dog was very different from the beagle she used to own.
“You're not Maple.” Satoru muttered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
As soon as Gojo had spoken, the dog got up and started barking loudly, warning its owner that there was an intruder on the property. He reflexively moved away and decided it wasn't wise to approach the beast.
Realising that he wouldn't be able to reach the front door, Satoru decided to try the back door, which was always unlocked. As he walked to the back garden, he noticed something that made him hopeful again. In the garage, which was always open, was his wife's old car, a 2000s platinum-coloured Mercedes that had belonged to her mother.
The interior of the house remained the same as he remembered it. The floor and doors were made of oak wood, which matched the coffee table and shelves occupied by books and trinkets. The sofa was large and cream-coloured, as were the old walls. The ceiling was adorned with vertical wooden beams the same colour as the floor. And in the center of the room was a very old fireplace made of white stone with a stove in its interior.
A picture frame with a photograph from their honeymoon was carefully placed on top of the fireplace. Satoru smiled slightly and carefully picked up the frame to take a good look at the photograph he hadn't seen for years.
The photo was taken in Greece, near the Aegean Sea, on a very hot summer's day. Gojo remembers that his wife felt very happy that day, in her translucent white beach dress and her hair blowing in the wind, as she searched for shells and whelks in the sand. And he also remembers his wife complaining about the sunburn she got, later in the evening.
“Satoru?” A female voice spoke, drawing him away from his memories.
Gojo put the photograph back where it belonged and turned to face his wife, with whom he hadn't spoken for over two years.
With his discerning eyes, he judged and admired her from top to bottom.
To Satoru's eyes, his Emma looked very different and at the same time very similar to the one of his memories. She was wearing a light blue painting apron, all stained with paint, as was her face, which had traces of oil paint. Her blonde hair was quite long, down to her waist, and tangled into a braid. Emma appeared to have lost a lot of weight and her face was more defined and tired, with dark circles under her eyes.
For Emma, if it hadn't been for Satoru's height and unique silver hair, she wouldn't have recognised him.
«Is he taller? No, he's stronger.» It was the first thing she noticed. The truth was, since his departure to Boston, Gojo looked herculean and healthy. The second thing Emma noticed was his beautiful, captivating eyes, and how much she missed having them around. Eyes embellished with delicate silver lashes that made him look divine.
But, in the back of Emma's conscience, there was a small voice telling her that her husband hadn't come back for the best reasons or because he desired her again.
«I know you want something from me, I just don't know what it is. Yet.» She reflected, as she watched Gojo smile widely.
“Hello honey, how have you been?” He greeted her teasingly, leaving Emma perplexed.
“What are you doing here? How did you get into my house?”
“Through the back door. You should be more careful, anyone can get in that way.” Satoru explained, slowly approaching his wife.
“You've got a lot of nerve telling me that when you've just broken into my house! Through the back door!” Emma said, raising her voice as she pointed in the direction of the laundry room.
“I know, that's why I'm warning you.” The man teased, boldly sitting down on the sofa.
Emma sighed at his audacity and put her hands to her head, trying to keep calm and avoid committing an offence.
“What are you really doing here, Satoru?”
Gojo, still sitting on the sofa, reached into his backpack and pulled out a set of papers, placing them on the coffee table.
“I want a divorce, Emma.” He revealed in a serious, firm tone of voice, which made Emma smile and relax.
“You wish.”
«Ah, so that's what your visit is all about.» Emma thought, relieved, as she left the room and went to the kitchen to wash her hands from the ink.
And Satoru, who didn't appreciate her response, stood up and followed her quickly.
“You don't have to make this any more complicated than it already is, honey. There are three copies, one for me, one for you and one for the lawyers.” He retorted. “I even made sure to tick it to make it easier.”
Emma looked at the papers in her husband's hands and didn't know whether to feel upset that he had insinuated that she was slow, or that he had shown up years later asking for a divorce.
She started laughing in disdain and disbelief.
“What?”
“You've got a lot of nerve for coming home, three years after you left, asking me for a divorce.”
“Are you complaining now?”
“Not really, I just expected something more extravagant coming from you.” Confronted Emma. “I'm not signing those papers. They're not in my interest.”
Out of frustration, Satoru started rubbing his hands over his face, trying to moderate the throbbing pain in his head.
“Come on Emma, why do you have to be so stubborn? Don't you want to leave this phase of your life in the past and start again?”
Emma, who had just washed her ink-stained hands, was furious at Gojo's words and accidentally broke a mug that was lying in the sink, causing the German shepherd to start barking anxiously outside.
“I don't remember you asking my opinion or worrying about me when you left. Or when you decided that Fairview was no longer your home. You made that decision all by yourself! My God, Bear, shut up!” Emma scolded nervously.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the kitchen.
“Sorry, he's nervous because he doesn't know you and we're arguing.” Said the woman with a tired tone and looking away from her husband.
“What happened to Maple?” Satoru asked, looking at the dog, who was also staring at him through the window.
“She died in her sleep. You weren't here…”
Gojo stared at his wife patiently and saw that her eyes were watery, as if she was about to cry. He could tell that Emma was still suffering. And even Satoru couldn't help but feel sad about the death of Maple, who had been a good and special dog and was present in many of their memories.
From the window, it was evident that the sun had hidden and the night reigned outside. Looking at his wristwatch, Satoru realised it was already late and grabbed his backpack, preparing to leave.
“I'll leave the papers with you, make sure you sign them.”
Emma went into the living room and leaned against one of the pieces of furniture, admiring him again.
“If you leave it here, I'll put it in the fireplace.” Warned Emma with a provocative little smile, which made Satoru sigh and put his backpack down on the sofa.
“Why do you have to be so difficult?” He grumbled. “All right, until you sign them, I'm not leaving.” Gojo said, shamelessly sitting down on the couch.
“Careful, that sounds tempting to me.” Emma teased, approaching him. “Go stay with your mother. I'm sure she doesn't know you're in town.”
Satoru remained in silent and that was all Emma needed to hear.
“Satoru, please.”
He just handed her a pen, which made her even more frustrated.
“Do as you wish.” She said with a long sigh and turned away from him.
But Emma wasn't someone who gave up easily or declared defeat after a lost battle.
Cunningly and discreetly, she picked up the landline that was resting on one of the tables in the living room and locked herself in the bedroom, making an unusual call. And there she waited, until she began to hear loud sirens and flashing lights.
“I hope you've got something striped in that bag, it'll come in handy.” Emma joked, leaving the bedroom to the living room, where Satoru had been sitting on the sofa until then.
“Why would I-” Satoru complained, but stopped the instant he heard the deafening sirens of the police car. “You called the police? You know very well that the chief hates me!”
“And with good reason.”
Few stories of rebelliousness could surpass those of Satoru during his teenage years. He was someone who collected achievements like a stamp collector. But despite the wide variety of stories, none surpassed the night he drank too much - as he never had in his life - and stole a car owned by Masamichi Yaga, the chief of the police of Fairview.
What happened that night remains a mystery, but Gojo recalls rallying the car up a hill away from the town. By the end of the night, the vehicle was completely wrecked. Yaga never found out who had committed the crime, but he had strong suspicions.
“Hey Emma, I heard your call on the radio.” Satoru would recognise Suguru's sweet, concerned voice anywhere. “What's happened?”
“The intruder is in the living room. You can take him with you.” Emma explained, making Suguru confused and wrinkling his forehead.
Geto walked heavily to the living room due to his uniform and the tiredness of a long day's work. But all the fatigue and exhaustion quickly disappeared when he ran into his old friend Satoru.
“Satoru?!”
“Hey, it's been a while.” Greeted Satoru excitedly, and moved to give his old childhood friend a strong hug.
After a long hug and a few pats on the back, they separated. Emma enjoyed the reunion of these two tall, strong men, and felt nostalgic about her youth. Until Suguru decided to ask the question of millions.
“You look well. Where have you been?” Suguru asked, making Emma and Satoru look at each other intensely.
“Boston.” Gojo said, looking at Emma. “From what I see, you're still a policeman.”
“Yeah. They pay me well to walk around the city.” Geto jokes, fixing his uniform. “My God, Em, you scared the shit out of me. You know how worried I get about you living alone in such an isolated place.”
“Suguru, be a little more professional. You're handling the suspect of a crime.”
“She doesn't live that isolated. On the way here I saw that they had built two new housing developments nearby.” Satoru replied, leaning against the back of the sofa.
“Still, she's a woman who lives alone in the middle of nowhere.” Suguru reminded him. “She's vulnerable here.”
“Vulnerable? Haven't you seen the wolf she has outside?”
“Excuse me! Firstly, Bear is not a wolf but a German shepherd. Secondly, I don't understand why I'm the subject of this conversation. And thirdly, Suguru, please, get him out of here!” Protested Emma, pointing her finger at Gojo.
“She's right Satoru, you can't force your way into a house.”
“But I didn't break in, I came in through the back door.” Satoru revealed with an insolent smile, causing Suguru to look in disbelief at Emma.
“Really? I already warned you to lock the doors, Em. You should be more careful.” Suguru reminded with a firm voice tone, making Emma feel ashamed. “As for you, this isn't your home anymore, you can't come and go as you please, Satoru. I will have to escort you out.”
“Use the handcuffs, please.” Emma says with a teasing manner. Gojo gave her a perplexed look.
“Suguru, if you can get her to sign these papers, I'll let you run me out of town.” Satoru suggested with a smile on his lips, staring at his wife.
Emma recognized that cheeky grin, full of insistence and the threat of turning lives into a living hell.
«No one so arrogant should have such a charming smile.» Emma thought, looking away from her husband.
“Papers? What papers?” Suguru asked, as Satoru grabbed the documents and handed them to the policeman.
“This is a private matter, Suguru.” She said, feeling uncomfortable as she watched Geto read the documents.
“A divorce application?” Questioned the policeman, looking bewilderedly at Satoru. He then turned to Emma, still surprised. “I thought you'd taken care of this.”
“Me too…”
“Clearly not.” Satoru objected.
“If you two are still married, it's his house too, Em. This is a domestic dispute.” Geto said slowly.
“...He didn't hit you, did he? If he did, I'll take him to the police station.” Suguru declared, leaving Satoru with a tense expression and a furrowed forehead.
The two men stared at her, tense and suspicious of each other.
“No Suguru, Satoru never hit me.” Emma confessed, to the relief of the two men. That was the truth, and although Gojo had many and countless flaws, being violent certainly wasn't one of them.
But the mood for nostalgia had cooled and an uncomfortable silence settled over the living room.
“Well, you two have a lot to catch up on. I'd better go.”
“Suguru, wait! Please don't do this to me! Take him away!” Emma asked anxiously.
“You make me crazy! Sign the damn papers!” Satoru asked Emma.
“There's nothing I can do. The law is the law.” Geto said, pointing at Gojo. “And he hasn't done anything wrong.”
Nimbly, Emma moved and stood between Suguru and the front door, blocking his passage.
“Please, Suguru!” Emma begged, rubbing her palms together. “If you won't take him to the police station, at least get him off my property. I can't get stressed out.”
Suguru looked at Emma closely and saw that she was desperate and distressed, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.
He let out a long sigh and scratched his forehead with his thumb - as he used to do.
“Satoru, I think we should go out and have a drink, what do you say?”
“Wait, are you kicking me out? You can't do that.”
“No, I don't have the authority to do that. I'm giving you advice, because you're being an ass.” Suguru responded, with Emma glaring at the two men. “It's getting late, and I'm sure this discussion can wait until tomorrow.”
Gojo rolled his eyes and bowed his head, before grabbing his bag and heading out the back door without saying another word. Meanwhile, Emma and Suguru look at each other smiling once again.
“Thank you.”
“Just be careful. And lock the doors and windows of the house, please.” Suguru warned before going out through the front door to the porch where Bear was.
Geto petted the head of the German shepherd, that wagged its tail happily. Bear had known Suguru since he was a puppy and enjoyed the biscuits the man gave him.
Suguru opened the door and let him in, as it was already cold outside. Fairview might have a mild climate during the day, but it's nights were always freezing, with sharp winds.
Satoru was leaning against his car, enjoying the night. The full moon's moonlight, delicate and shiny, reflected like silver dust over the garden lake. A light fog rose near the forest and in the trees, he could hear owls hooting and flying.
Despite the cold, it was a lovely evening.
“Nice car.” Suguru said, lighting a cigarette.
“Thanks, it's a BMW X7.” Satoru answered, still frustrated. He turned round and saw the patrol car. “Yours isn't too bad either.”
Both remained silent.
“Have you got a place to stay yet?” Suguru asked, taking a drag from his cigarette.
“I'm going to spend the night at the hotel near the beach.”
“Aren't you staying with your mother?” Geto asked, but Satoru didn't answer. “Does she know you're in town?”
“No. I didn't tell her…”
Suguru let out a long sigh and smoked again.
“You should visit them. Megumi talks about you all the time, he misses you.”
Gojo took a deep breath and looked down at his feet, crossing his arms tightly. Geto looked at him with an arched eyebrow.
“Look, a new bar has opened in town. What do you say we go there for a drink and catch up?” Just as he finished speaking, the radio in his uniform sounded, alerting him to a new occurrence. “Looks like we'll have to wait for another time.”
“Hard day?”
“Yes, a very busy one. You must have brought the chaos of the big city with you.” Joked Suguru, finishing his cigarette and dropping it on the floor. “Well, I should go. It was good to see you.”
“You too. Drive safe.” Satoru reminded, because Suguru was a driving maniac. Geto laughed and shook his head as he remembered something.
“Hey, there's a reunion of old friends this weekend. Just people from school and college. Do you want to come?”
“ I don't know if that would be a good idea.”
“It's nothing formal, just a casual get-together of old friends. We'll have dinner at six at Shells n'Roses and then go to a bar for a drink. It's Saturday, in case you change your mind.”
Satoru nodded slightly and the men said goodbye with a pat on the back.
However, even after Geto left, Gojo remained. In the company of the lake and the moon dancing on the water, he rethought his life and his choices. What his life was and what it could be.
From the window, Emma saw Satoru and, although the man seemed eternally beautiful, with the silver moonlight shining on his white hair, she noticed that he seemed melancholic and quiet compared to who he used to be.
Although compassionate, the woman still felt furious and betrayed by her husband's actions and decided to close the curtains and continue her nightly routine.
She had already experienced too many emotions for one night.
Author's Note - Thank you for reading my story and feel free to comment or talk to me! Soon I will post this story over on AO3. If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment on the series masterlist. Bye~
🏷️ @kalopsia-flaneur ; @tojideckmuncher ; @hauntedcrownpost ; @nervousnightthing ; @slowlyshycomputer ; @kazehayaaa ; @blushedcheri ; @eolivy
𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖙
summary: the king has been struck by never-ending grief when he found out about his wife's infidelity. he has her ordered to be killed, but afterward, he is no longer the same. every night he marries a woman, and every morning he has her killed. the endless cycle continues until the night you're chosen to be his wife. instead of letting him ruin you, you tell him a story. you tell him a story that he just has to know the ending to. and so begins the story of one thousand and one arabian nights.
pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader
genre: angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, royal au, based off of the story from 1001 arabian nights
word count: 10.7k+
warnings: dark content, mdni, 18+, mentions of killing, mentions of taking virginity, has the gallows and a noose in it, praise!kink, corruption!kink, cunnilingus, fingering, cum eating
note: for those who don't know, baba means dad, and aziz/azizam means my dear in farsi. this story loosely follows 1001 arabian nights, but not completely. i wasn't gonna sit on my ass and write them all out 💀
also a big, big, thank you to @jadeisthirsting for beta reading, ty sm bby!!
jjk masterlist
---
The palace smelled deeply of rose petals, a scent so distinctly comforting that you couldn’t help but smile giddily as you walked down the vast halls, looking at the different amenities the palace had to offer as you searched for the room you knew your father would be residing in.
The more you walked, the darker the halls got and the less the smell of rose lingered in the air, a warning to stay away from this part of the palace. Though you had no choice but to ignore the prominent warnings, your posture became more frigid as you hummed a tune you had heard in the bazaar to keep yourself busy.
You were well aware of the fact that your father resided right next to the king's quarters, so as you slowly opened his door to make sure no noise was heard, entering as you noted your father sitting on the edge of his bed, his wrinkly hands enveloping his tethered face as he could barely bring himself up to look at you.
“Baba,” Your heart dropped, running over to his frail body, your hands checking his forehead as your eyes filled with worry, “What’s wrong? Does your back hurt? Oh,” You noted his worn-out hands, “You have to let the king find another vizier,” You kneaded his hand with yours, “You cannot be his helper forever,” You cracked a gentle smile, but instead of his usual banter, he shook his head, still not looking up from his bed as he sniffled.
“Baba?” Your voice dropped to a whisper. Your father never cried. Never. Not when your mother died, not when the old king died, or even when you had managed to ruin his silken clothing. Despite his hardships, he was the man of the household, and he held himself to that standard.
But here, he looked like the shell of a man. His shoulders were hunched, lips pale as he shuddered, pushing your hands off of his back as he weakly stood up.
“Y/n,” He stared at the door, eyes quite dead as he refused to look your way, terrified that if he did he would crumble to his knees and beg for an apology. Even worse, if he looked at you, his resolve would shatter and he’d leave the room as fast as he could, “Azizam,” You watched as a singular tear rolled down his cheek, “You will have to forgive me.”
You shakily rose, brows scrunched up in confusion as you let out a question laugh, walking over to him to see what he was talking about, what had gotten him so shaken up that he used such an endearing nickname he had never used before this day.
“The king has asked for you to spend the evening with him,” He muttered, voice hoarse and raspy as he broke down into tears again.
“He…” Your shaky hands flew to your lips, eyes wide as you stumbled back, “He what?” Your frantic questions went unanswered as your father let more of his endless tears fall, wet lips holding back silent sobs as he turned back.
The king, a dreaded name for those around the palace. You childishly thought that being the daughter of the vizier would somehow spare you of the torture, of the horror that came with going into his quarters at midnight.
He said nothing as he crumpled down to the floor, hands covering his eyes as you stared at the door, the same one you had entered through, and the same one that seemed to mock you as your hands shook at your side.
One evening pleasuring the king meant spending the next morning dead.
---
Servants flocked to the room shortly thereafter.
They paid no attention to the old man as they ushered you outside, their nimble fingers working swiftly as they led you to a completely different room, stripping you bare as you worked mindlessly.
You fell into the large basin, cold water splashing across your body as they worked in silence, some here and there whispering words of pity to one another as they gossiped about your father's weakened state.
You knew that deep down, sooner or later, this day would come. That one night they will take you to get clean and pretty so that the king can spend his lonely night with a virgin to bed, and by morning have her dead so that she may not betray him.
You could guess why you were giving off no emotions as their hands scraped your body rid of the dirt and dust, rubbing rose petals across your flesh, running water through your hair as they worked quickly and effortlessly.
At this point, you knew they had done this many times to know to be quick with the king's impatient temper.
You seemed to be like a mindless doll as they carried you out of the tub, staying quiet as one lady braided your hair, gentle as she wove flowers into the crown of your head.
You watched as the other carefully dotted the roses across your cheeks, dipping her finger into the jar of honey as she brought it up, careful not to let any of it to waste as she swiped it across your lips, her eyes filled with deep sorrow as you stared out the windows and into the dark veil of night.
“You look very beautiful, azizam,” The old lady behind you muttered, her kind hands letting go of your hair as she gave your shoulder a gentle pat, “I’m sure your father would be proud of his daughter for serving the nation.
Serving the nation in your one day demise.
“You have not been…” The old lady sighed, looking away as her hands fell to her side, “You have not been bedded yet, yes?”
You slowly shook your head, muttering out a quiet no as she nodded, ushering out all the other ladies as she came to your view, dropping down so that she was level with your knees.
“You are the vizier's daughter, so you must know,” She stated, her hands holding your cold ones as she pressed a soft kiss to the backside of it, “After you go into his room, he will tell you what he wants. When morning comes, he will have you killed.”
“I have heard it’s quick and painless, " She sighed, giving you a sad smile, “Yet those who have experienced it cannot tell the tale, and so I don’t want you to weigh too deeply on my words, okay aziz?”
The old lady looked down at your hands as she took in a shaky breath, lifting your chin as she patted your cheek carefully.
“The time is almost midnight,” She said and your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, “He should be expecting us soon.”
---
His quarters were cold, that was the first thing you noticed.
You expected frost to be on the windows, and your breath to be visible in the moonlight, but you could only shudder as you looked around the candle-lit room, wondering when the apparent king was going to make his appearance.
Your shoulders were covered by the robes they had given you, but you still shivered as you took a slow step forward, expecting an echo to follow suit.
You jumped when the door behind you clicked opened, and you looked behind to see his looming shadow behind you, growing slowly as he took steps forward, and you could feel his icy gaze taking you in.
His white hair matched the surroundings, and his eyes, oh his eyes. So blue, such a color seemed to be unknown to humankind. You wanted to reach in and hold his face so you could see if he had diamonds in his sockets, but you knew to restrain yourself, straining your spine as you matched his stare.
You had heard of the king's attractive outward appearance. Even when he had ordered for his old wife and her concubines to be executed, many of the women of the nation volunteered to fill her place as they never thought a man with such grace could be so cruel.
“My king,” You said with a deep bow, the shawl that loosely covered your shoulders almost slipping off your skin at the movement.
“Are you Y/n?” He asked, his voice deep and rich as he circled you, taking in your hair, the way your face seemed to shine brightly with the help of the candles, and how the robe around your shoulder hung snuggly around your body.
“Yes,” You bit out, swallowing your fear as you turned with him, not wanting the man to see your true emotions.
“You’re the oldest daughter of Ja’far?” His gaze traveled across your frame, settling seconds longer on your lips until they left as they glanced at the window.
“Yes,” You said through clenched teeth, the unsettling blue in his eyes reminding you that you were simply a lamb in the lion's den.
You watched as he slowly nodded, his jaw set in place as he glanced around the room, his nose wrinkling at the overpowering rose scent that lingered in your neck and wrists.
“I’m Satoru,” He said, though you already knew that, “And I can assure you that these next hours aren’t as you’ve heard,” He mentioned with a tilt in his voice, but that only made your heartbeat more erratically, most likely the opposite of how he wanted you to react.
He worked by taking his gloves off, slender finger after slender finger, and he dropped them somewhere to the side, running a hand through his hair as he turned his back towards you, sighing deeply as he pinched his nose.
He moved to get something behind you, a drink the servants had laid out for him as he took in a heavy sip, his lips tainted red with the wine as he stared at the back of your head.
His hands were slow yet delicate as they found their way up to your hips, and you let out a quiet yelp as you felt his cold fingers tracing the patterns that adorned your robes.
“You’re pretty,” He muttered, his breath fanning over the skin of your neck, making you shiver, almost making you forget where you were as you felt your knees wobble from the weight of your body, “Haven’t seen you before, have I?” And you weakly shook your head, your heart pounding roughly against your ribcage as you felt his lips land on the skin beneath your ear, surprisingly gentle and warm as they kissed and nipped.
“You’re sweet, too,” He observed, and you could have sworn that have only lined your lips with honey, but he seemed intent on his statement, his lips moving more quickly as his hands reached up to the strings that tie your robes together.
And you froze, knowing that if he were to proceed, he’d surely kill you in the morning. And wouldn’t allow yourself to die tomorrow. You could not die to a man who wanted nothing more than to take your humanity and then dispose of you as if you were stale rice. You had a life planned outside of the palace walls, and you knew that deep down, this king could be manipulated in his fragile state of mind.
Your eyes darted around the room, trying to find anything to secure yourself until they landed on a jeweled knife, its handle crusted in rubies and emeralds and your eyes widened slightly with a mad, certainly mad, idea.
It was sharp and cleaned with precision. Sharp and versatile, and you didn’t doubt he had used it in the act of killing.
“That knife!” You sputtered out, stuttering as you stumbled forward out of his grasp, almost hoping you could swallow the words back at the way he snapped his head towards you.
“What?”
“A man once used that exact knife to get through the mountains of Zagros,” You quickly regained yourself, mind running quickly, two sides of yourself debating between doing this or sleeping with the king to quicken your eventual death.
The king stared at the knife for a couple of seconds before looking at you once again, his brows furrowed.
“Excuse me?”
You straightened your shoulders once again, clearing your throat as you tried to regain your confidence.
“A man that went by the name Aghā Ali,” You said, voice barely coming out of your throat as you tried to think of something as quickly as you could in your messed state, “When his daughter fell ill to the plague, he became desperate to find a cure. The village apothecary told him to go to the Zagros mountains and cut the red flowers he’d find in a field,” You nodded your head in the direction of the knife, “And he used a knife just like that one to cut the stem of the flowers when he found them…”
Silence fell in the space between the two of you, and you could see the rise and fall of his chest as millions of ideas running through his crystalline eyes.
“Are you telling me a story?” He asked incredulously, almost as if he couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.
You cleared your throat, trying to shrug it off as you stared back at the knife.
“I’m simply stating that a man once used that knife before to save his daughter.”
“How do you know he used my knife?” He was testing you now, you could easily tell. His lips had curved into an evil smile, a cat's grin as he took a step closer to you, sensing the fear that still radiated off from your body.
“W-well, not your knife, but one that looked much like that,” You explained, swallowing dryly as you tried for a sweet smile, one that he might like, as you continued.
“His late wife had given it to him as a present, and so he used it wherever he went, for whatever that he could.”
The king didn’t say anything, so you took it as a sign that he wasn’t angry yet.
So you moved, putting on the facade of somebody confident in their story as you slyly moved behind him, causing him to follow your quick feet as you walked over to the table, careful as you picked up the heavy dagger.
It was strange in your hand, and you could tell how uneasy he felt with the weapon in your hand.
So you set it down, nodding as you swallowed your spit once again.
“Ali didn’t know his way around the mountains, so he got lost frequently in search of the flower,” Your fingers traced the rubies, shaking as you turned the knife over, running a pinger across the blade as you winced when it slit your skin, your blood staining it a bright red as you felt his eyes follow you.
“And because he had no map he went off of instinct alone,” You moved around the table, eyes darting to the slick pillows and shawls fit for a king.
“At night, he would lay under the moon and use his knife as a way to cut the animals open so that he could eat them for dinner. The mountains didn’t have anything big such as deer or goat, but he could hunt the occasional rabbits, even duck if he were lucky enough to pass by a lake.” You looked up at him from your lashes to see what he was doing, and much to your surprise he was staring back just as intently.
“The man knew that with each passing day his daughter would be getting sick and sicker, and though she was stronger than his wife in terms of physical strength, the plague took no longer than a month to kill even the strongest of the king's soldiers, according to the village apothecary.”
Your robes felt heavy on your sides as you moved around the room, feeling the weight of everything slow you down as you tried to quickly think of more things to drag the story on.
“So he continued the track across the mountain, getting weaker by the hour, more tired by the minute and he still could not find the flowers he needed to heal his daughter.”
“Why go through so much?” The king interrupted, clearly annoyed with the way your story was going.
You stammered at the question, brows furrowing as you tried to make sense of it.
“Go through so much?” You repeated, shaking your head, forgetting who you were and where you were as you tilted your head to the side, “ I’m not sure I understand,”
He shook his head, looking at the dagger as he simply shrugged.
“The old man must be withering away in these conditions. If the girl would die in a matter of weeks, why should he push himself to such an extent?”
“Because it’s his daughter,” You quickly argued back, eyes narrowing as the king moved forward, taking off his heavy coats as he sighed in relief at the release of the material.
“And?”
“Well…” You sighed; realizing this must be difficult to explain to this particular man, “He cares for her and he doesn’t like to see his daughter in pain. He’s going through all this hard to make sure that she’ll be alright.” He scoffed as his hands found their way to a bowl, taking out one of the dates as he chewed on it before he spits the seed out.
“That seems like a figment of the imagination,” The king chewed and then swallowed, his blue eyes never leaving yours as he explained, “Fathers don’t care much for their daughters.”
A part of you boiled in outrage at the statement.
“Perhaps some don’t, my king, but that doesn’t mean all fathers carry no ounce of care for their daughters,” He could see your tremor fade off as it soon got replaced with fiery anger.
“No?” He asked coyly, talking out another date as he repeated the same actions.
“No,” You said without letting your voice waver.
“Then why did your father offer you up tonight? Surely he could have picked your other sister if he cared for you that much. Or the servant that’s standing right outside my door. Or maybe even the girl who cleans up the horse shit in the stables. Surely a fathers love my reach beyond that point, no?”
You could feel your resolve crumble as you listened to his words, your heart heavy isn’t the small expanse of your chest as you refused to breathe properly.
Did he simply offer you up as easily as the king was saying? Just like a lamb for slaughter?
“Just as I was saying,” He continued, happy with your obvious shock, “I find it rather hard to believe that Ali would go through the mountains of Zagros to find a flower for his dying daughter.”
He looked pleased with your silent state, watching keenly as you swallowed the thick lump accumulating in your throat. You took in a deep breath, controlling the shake in your voice as you stared at something behind him.
“The old man was relentless,” You continued the story, pretending that your conversation with the king was nothing, and missed the way his face fell for a second, taken back by the way you could compose yourself with clear tears making their way into your waterline, “But the flower was hard to find.”
“One night as the man was cleaning out his rabbit, he stopped when he noticed the rabbit had red petals lining the fur near its lips.”
“And so he cut the stomach to find it full of red petals, the same color as the flower he was so desperately trying to find.”
“The next day he went in search of rabbits with the same fur, and that night he was able to catch another one with the same petals in its stomach.”
“And so the old man followed the trail of rabbits until he one day, miraculously stumbled across a field full of the red flowers.”
“He was eager as he stuffed them in his satchel, memorizing the path he had taken as he passed by the old streams and lines of trees, his bad bursting at the seam with red relates and green stems.”
You stopped, tilting your head to the side as you gave out another yawn, oblivious to the fact that in the minutes you had spent thinking of more to tell, and in the hours you had spent explaining the complexity of the story to the king, the sun had begun peeking its way through the mountains.
“So when he got back home, his daughter told him that she only had a couple of days left to live before the plague got to her,” You didn’t notice how the king had risen from his satin seat, walking slowly over to you as his impatience got the best of him.
“And then?”
You whipped your head around at the sound, heart beating wildly in your chest at his unexpected voice.
“He cut the flowers up and mixed them in with tea, and each day he’d double the amount of the flowers he would use,” Your bodies were close to each other, so close that despite his tall stance you could feel his breath hitting your cheek, his eyes following the rise and fall do your chest.
“Did she not like the tea?” His voice was taunting and you shook your head, trying for the same menacing smile he was giving you.
“No,” You moved away from him, your robes swaying behind you as his gaze traveled across your swift movements, “She loved it. Each day she’d ask for triple the number of flowers instead of double,” Your eyes were trained on the window that pointed to the east.
“But,” You gnawed on your lip, “Ali didn’t realize that what he was doing was wrong,” You could hear him moving from behind you, his feet padded on the ground.
“And why is that?”
Your eyes darted to the window, the way the sun amazingly shone through the stained glass and colored his snow hair a mix of blues and yellows, something that your somber mind never thought you’d see again.
“The sun is coming up, my king,” You noted, your voice catching in the back of your throat as if you couldn’t believe what you were saying. It seemed that he too, couldn’t believe such a thing as he looked behind himself in doubt.
The two of you said nothing as his eyes widened for a second, lips parted in a shock as he looked at you in relative incredulity.
“My king…” You whispered, voice hoarse as you swallowed thickly, praying that your devious plan was working its way to the man, “What should I do?”
The king could only stare at you in somewhat disbelief, eyes narrowing as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes, a yawn escaping his lips as his kind ran with millions of thoughts about what he should do with you.
Never had somebody stalled him for the entirety of the night, let alone made him want to know more about the woman before he had her ordered to be killed. And despite him deep down knowing that this would surely ruin everything he had done to barricade his lonely heart, he shook his head slowly, brows scrunched up in confusion as he admitted to himself that he wanted to know the rest of your story.
“No,” He muttered out to himself, shaking his head as he glanced over at you, but it weighed heavily in the expanse of his room, “Come tonight and finish the story.”
And he didn’t need to say it to know that you had managed to get the king hooked.
---
When the door creaked open with the maids once again lamentable at the fact that they’d be leading you to your death, they were surprised to still find your robes adjourning your shoulders, and the look of both dissatisfaction and something more lining the king's face.
They all stared at him, waiting for the same orders that would tumble out of his mouth every morning, but he just waved them aside, pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered out a quiet, “I expect you to finish tonight,” Before he shrugged his coat back on as he stalked out of the room.
As he moved past the servants, all the ladies stared back at you, mouths hanging open in shock, their hearts pounding in their ears, mirroring yours as the old lady who had bathed you the night before took a tentative step into the bedroom.
“Y/n…?” She asked slowly, testing to see how you would react, to see if he had done anything that could have broken both you and the cruel king to such a point, “Is everything alright?”
You stared at her, giving her a slow nod of your head as you couldn’t believe you were able to see the sun rising and hear the laughs of bewilderment that came from the servants behind the old lady.
“Did he say he wants to see her again?” One of the younger girls peeped up, and everyone snapped their heads over to her, the question everybody was wondering finally spoken out loud.
“I think he did,” One of the girls behind her answered, still not believing what they were hearing.
“What did you do?” Another one asked, testing gazes all focused on you, curious, begging to know just what you had done to break the streak of killings.
“I,” You sighed, rubbing your throat as you pushed some hair behind your ears, letting out a skeptical laugh, “I just told him a story.”
---
That night, they did the same thing as the previous one.
They stripped you down, this time a bit more gentle as they weren't much grime to scrub off, but still generous in the amount of fragrance they dabbed all over your body.
“Tonight,” The old lady who you had come to learn was named Nasreen, muttered softly, quiet enough for only you to hear, “Draw out your stories. Make them more interesting than the last,” She whispered into your ear as she led you back towards the king's quarters, “I have never seen the king so,” She paused looking for the right word, “Forgiving as he was last night. You must have made an impact on him,” Her voice was laced with pride yet worried, “Don’t forget to make him more enthralled tonight than the last, alright?”
You merely nodded, tongue heavy in your mouth as you thought of all the stories you had come up with in the hours leading up to now, that in the hassle of the palace trying to get you prepared for the king you came up with the most fantastical stories you could think of.
“Y/n,” She stopped you right behind the familiar door, “I wish you all the luck,” She pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, scuffling away as the clock near midnight once again, fearful that if she stayed long enough she’d get too attached to you. And she had learned her lesson before.
Your eyes were trained on the door handle, hands filled with heavy lead as you raised them to the gold knob, giving it a slow twist as it opened easily into the freezing room.
It was dark, just as you remembered it being the previous night. The chilly air wrapped itself unwillingly across your frame, and with each heavy step, you took forward, the more dread-filled itself inside your head.
“Close the door,” His voice called out from the bundle of blankets and pillows that were laid out on the floor. You jumped when you noticed he had been there the entire time, shutting the wood quickly behind you as you shuffled inside.
“My king,” You gave him the customary bow, your heart pounding roughly in your ears as you heard some noise come from his side of the room, the ruffling of fabrics as he stood up, walking his distance towards you.
He said nothing as you lifted your head, his sapphirine eyes meeting yours as they stared boredly ahead, as if he could be more amused, and grunted, muttering something to himself as he walked away, picking up a date from the bowl as he pitted it and munched on it slowly.
“You seem displeased,” He noted, looking at your frigid body, “Are you not comfortable?” His white hair moved as he tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out why you seemed so reserved.
You chuckled a bit in surprise, not thinking him to be of the right mind to ask such a question.
“My king,” You started, thinking of the nicest way to phrase what you were going to say next, “Forgive my outward appearance but…” You laughed again, almost to yourself that he could even be confused, “I must admit, I have reason to be drawn away.”
He looked back at you, eyebrow cocked as your fingers picked at each other, your mouth brought in a thin line as you looked around the room, anywhere to escape his heavy gaze.
“If you are not comfortable standing,” He gestured to the space to his side, “There is ample room for you to reside as you finish your story,”
You swallowed thickly, thinking of what would happen if you agreed to his offer. Sitting next to him, in such proximity, could insinuate things that you were trying to hold off for as long as you could.
But your feet were already tired from standing for so long last night, and with the hecticness of the day that followed, you found your body disobeying your rational mind as it slowly brought you over to his residing area.
You could see his sly grin growing at your willingness to come over, and you watched as he moved his slender legs to the side, letting you almost break to the ground as you let out a small groan of pleasure at how soft the fabric lay beneath you.
His eyes widened slightly at the sound, his heart beating rapidly as your lids shut for a second, your face momentarily blissed out as you craved for such relaxation until they snapped back open, remembering just where you were.
“S-so,” You cleared your throat, moving away as far as you could as you rest your back on the wall, “If you so please, I can continue with the story of Aghā Ali.” You paused to see his reaction, and he gave a little nod of his head, allowing for you to continue.
“The flowers he had been told to get from the mountain were useless, and even worse, doing more damage than good. The apothecary who told him to find the flowers was a greedy man who had been in love with Ali’s wife, and now daughter, and could only see them as his own or as dead.” You peeked over to see what the king was doing and was somewhat surprised to see him staring back intently at you.
“In a jealous and insane rage, the apothecary had been poisoning the bread that Ali and his daughter ate, and despite all his best tries, Ali seemed immune to the lethal dosages he was receiving. So, in hopes of trying to get rid of him, he told Ali that the flowers found in the Zagros mountains would be the only cure,” He sat up, supporting his head in his hands as his eyes narrowed.
“Why not kill him?” He asked and you paused, licking your lips as you smiled, glad to have anticipated his question beforehand.
“Because killing Ali would mean that he would no longer be allowed to go to Jannah, and the apothecary was weary of the sins he committed.” His eyes shined a darker shade of blue at your statement.
“Unfortunately for the apothecary, Ali was a bright man and could pick up on the flowers' dangerous properties. Ali was also aware of the apothecary’s jealous fit and quickly put the two and two together. So, instead of wasting time spending his rage on the apothecary, he decided to wait.” You crossed your ankles together, adjusting your robe as you shivered, the air still cold no matter how much you adjusted your shawl.
“To wait?” He interrupted, lips pursed and brows furrowed in confusion. You got worried that he was losing his interest in your story, but he sat up, his white hair falling as curls on his face, eyes still shimmering blue as he tilted his head, “He decided to wait?”
His childish demeanor not only made you startled, but you could help but let your lips tug into a smile, and you tried to cover it up with a cough as you nodded.
“Ali was a very observant man. He could tell that whenever his daughter ate the bread, the sicker she got. So he waited, feeding her only bone broth and tea, without the flowers, of course,”
“And just as Ali had suspected after he stopped feeding her the bread and the flowers, she got healthier with each passing day. When the apothecary realized that Ali had once again won over his devious plan, he gave up,” You looked over to the jewel-encrusted knife, “And the apothecary slit his throat as a final testimony to his dying will.”
You could see how the king's eyes widened, his lips parting as he became even more confused.
“That's it?” He interjected, “He dies?” Bile rose to your throat, terrified that you had only upset the king until you tried to calm yourself down, your plan steady in your head as you raised your hands in a gesture to calm him down.
“For that story, yes, my king, but I also happen to know another story that you might enjoy,” It was a sudden change, but you wanted him to forget who he was for a second, to look past everything so that you could continue.
You could see something happening behind his stoic gaze, how his eyes narrowed once again, trying to sniff out your ingenuity, but you offered him a tender smile, one that held more behind it than he could tell, and the king only sighed, laced with annoyance and anger because of your stranglehold on his curiosity, and he glanced out the window.
“Well, hurry on with it,” He muttered, falling back down as he picked up another date to chew on.
And you grinned widely and didn’t care if he could see.
“My king, I doubt you’ve heard the story of the seven voyages of Sinbad…”
---
And so, the cycle continued.
You found yourself in his quarters night after night, evading death by ending on a cliffhanger that the king could only hear if he extended your death by one more day. Every night, you’d finish the story and start on another, prompting the king to a circle of never-ending stories.
The palace, stalked by your boldness to make the king enamored by your storytelling, began working like clockwork, giving you time to yourself to sleep during the day, as well as time to think up new and enticing stories the king may like.
You could tell he had a knack for adventures, and so you tried to make each one more exciting than the last. He was fond of poems of love and war, though he seemed to prefer stories of erotica more.
He was cruel, and even in the daytime, when you didn’t see much of him, you heard of his doings. While he seemed to be keen on not killing you until you run dry of things to tell, he still ruled with an iron fist, and the woes of the nation were only going unheard.
“Y/n,” The king interrupted you one night, pushing himself up by the elbows as he looked at you in your bundled-up corner, “What do you see?”
Your brows scrunched up in confusion at his question, and you squint to see what he was looking at.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I understand,” Your fingers fidgeted with one another as the king scoffed and he licked his teeth, weaving his hand through his hair as he motioned for you to come closer to him.
You slowly obliged, crawling over to where he was sitting as you gave yourself some space from his side.
You could notice his features more clearly here when the candle could illuminate his features better. His hair was arctic white, white than the snow that would litter the ground in the colder months. And his skin was pale and easily flushed red, almost as if the man refused to go outside in the summer. And his eyes, you could recall just how entranced they made you when you saw them at first. They seemed so hypnotizing, so surreal, that had this man not sent a chill through your bones, they might have put you under his charms spell.
“In the paintings, what do you see?” His eyes were trained on the wall, and you looked ahead, your mind reeling as you took in the different men and women painted in the photo, and what the artist could have meant when they drew it.
“I see…” You looked a bit longer, tilting your head to the right to get a better view, “A man being seduced by a woman,” You inspected the painting longer, “She seems like a witch of some sorts, maybe an enchantress,” You gnawed on your lip as you took in the background of the mural, “And she’s been able to lure him to his demise, judging by the red on her robes.”
You looked to the side to see what the king was thinking, only to him glancing at you, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you quickly looked away.
“I don’t see where you got the seducing aspect,” He admitted, and he shifted his weight onto his other hand.
Your brows furrowed at how he could miss such an obvious message. You raised your hand, pointing out to the woman as he followed the direction, “You see how her wrist is turned as she’s greeting him? Normally, you’d see people who try to romance one another have opening gestures, but she'd be more closed off and alluring. She dressed in red with minimal jewelry, which can mean that the man prefers somebody dressed down rather than inviting.” You explain and the king let out a small chuckle.
“You got all that from how her wrists were turned?” Your cheeks heated up once again as his eyes twinkle at your obvious embarrassment, and you looked away, shrugging as his smile only grew.
“Many of the artists I know explain the little details to me,” You muttered, “And you asked how I interpreted the piece. You got my answer,” He wanted to coo at the way your lips pouted, at how much less tense you seemed to be over time, and just how alluring you seemed to be when you childishly scooted away from him.
“You know artists?” He asked, perplexed by the outside life you shared and he knew little of it.
“Of course,” You nodded, “The bazaar is full of them. If I have time I walk around aimlessly, for the fun of it. You meet many interesting people where you’d least expect them,” You rubbed your nose, your eyelids growing heavier as the night continued.
“The bazaar,” He repeated to himself, and you glanced over to see him looking longingly at the painting, “I used to be quite the fanatic of the bustling streets.”
“You don’t go anymore?” You asked and he shook his head. Had he not been adorned in royal clothing and his title so glaringly obvious, you would have felt as though you were having a simple conversation with a friend, not the tyrant king everybody had come to fear.
“They’ve become a rather dark staple for me,” He admitted, “I can’t say I’m most eager to go back.”
You scoffed, your shoulder shoving his as his eyes widened in surprise by your out-of-character move.
“Everything has become a dark staple for you, my king. You cannot expect to outlive your past if everything you see reminds you of it,” Even sitting, he towered over you, and he had to crane his neck to stare at you in the eyes.
“There are some things I prefer to remember,” He gritted out, his lips turned into an unpleasant snarl as his eyes darkened, clouded by memories.
“I’m not saying you should forget, my king,” You toned your voice down in hopes of calming him down, “I’m saying that you move on.”
He scoffed, cheeks tinted a fiery red as he puffed his cheeks out, his stance now defensive as he turned his head away from you.
“What should you know?” He bit out, rolling his eyes at the thought of somebody like you understanding the utter betrayal he had gone through. The feeling of his heart being ripped apart piece by piece until everything in him stopped functioning because his entire world had come crumbling down.
“I don’t know,” You told him, your voice soft as if carrying itself to his fragile mind, “But heartbreak is an unstoppable force, my king, and you cannot stop it from ruining your state of being. But it’s better if you move on and be-”
“I can’t move on!” He instantly roared, his voice shaking as he whipped around towards you, his shadow great in size as it dwarfed you in its presence, “Can’t you see that?” His voice wobbled for a second, and in his shaking glare, you could see his eyes water, how they seemed to dim in their crystalline glow as his lips shook.
You raised a hand to his chest, gently pushing him back as he easily complied, and you sighed, pushing some hair out of your forehead as silent tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Your wife is dead, my king. You had her killed. She cannot haunt you any more than in thoughts,” You could hear his sniffles, how he shook when he took in a breath.
“I can’t move on,” He repeated thickly, “It hurts so much,”
“The pain is bare, my king,” You said slowly, “But what you have caused in its wake is destruction. You cannot think yourself to be healing in the act of death.”
You had feared you had said too much, but he only looked at you, hiccups leaving his mouth as his head fell onto your shoulder, and felt his tears wetly stain your robes.
“You don’t deserve this,” He said, “They didn’t deserve it,” He groaned into your coat as if realization was finally dawning on him.
“I’m sorry,” He wept out, and at this moment he was no longer a king, but a weak man who had his share of the world. He muttered it out over and over again until his cries and his apologies filled the air in the royal room.
You didn’t know who he was apologizing to. To you, to the women, he had killed, to himself, or to the man he killed when he began his endless cycle of murder.
“Satoru?” You tried for the first time, his name foreign on your tongue you felt his shaking stop, his wet lips breaths away from your skin that was revealed as he accidentally tugged on your robes.
“Stay,” He whispered into your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he moved around, shuffling so that he was off of your body, yet somehow he managed to bring you onto his lap, “I don’t care for a story,” He muttered as he looked up at you, “Sleep here tonight,” His large hands steadied themselves on your hips, gentle as you slowly nodded, his lips wet as they traced the skin near yours, soft and caring, a far cry from how you thought they’d be.
“But…” You were worried that he'd be tired of you by morning, realizing that you’re not what he bargained for, but the king shook his head, almost as if he could read your thoughts.
“I just want you to stay, nothing more,” He muttered against your skin, your fingers subconsciously rubbing his hair as he sighed contently at the feeling.
“Okay,” You muttered out, your lash fluttering against your cheek as you nodded, feeling his lips curl into a small smile as you relaxed into his hold, his arm doing all the work as they held you to his chest, cradling you to his body as if you were his only lifeline.
You knew that it was the king that was holding you as if you were his only support, that without you to hold at this moment he would sink into the floor below your bodies and disappear forever.
---
When morning came you felt a heavy arm wrap itself around your waist, and your eyes groggily opened as you felt little puffs of air hitting your neck, and you turned around to find the king fast asleep.
You moved away a bit, and felt his hand dip from your body, and didn’t see his eyes snap open to see you rising, your hair messed up, eyes groggy but still beautiful as he could only stare at the way the sun illuminated your soft skin.
“Mornin’,” He muttered, not used to waking up to a woman without feeling the ache of the night before, but the way you laughed softly at his tired state brought him back to reality.
“Good morning,” You replied, rubbing your eyes as you yawned, a gentle smile making its way up to your face as you watched him turn onto his back, his eyes still heavy from sleep as you giggled.
“I need some water,” You muttered and he cracked an eye open, getting ready to stand up until you pushed him back down, “I’ll be right back,” You corrected and he grumbled something out, blue eyes shutting anyways as sleep took a hold of the king once again.
You rubbed your eyes one last time before you stood up, groaning quietly as you stretched your legs, making note of the fact that you had never slept so comfortably before as you made your way to the door.
The hallways were lit with candles, and you quietly shut the door behind you as you tiptoed your way out, looking around to find two of the palace guards standing outside, already anticipating you from the way they instantly looked at your frame.
You had never seen them before, and while you were familiar with the guards that usually stood outside, these seemed more menacing than usual.
“Good morning,” You said sheepishly, trying to move past one of them when he blocked the way.
“Um,” You scratched your head, looking around to see if there was anybody familiar, “I’m sorry, but I need a pitcher of water for the king’s room if you’ll let me…” You went to outstep the guard but the second one now blocked your path.
You looked up at them in confusion, your lips pursed together as you laughed uncomfortably.
“May I leave, please?” You tried for another laugh, but their faces remained stoic.
You had never seen them before, and you doubted they knew you judging by the way their faces remained unchanged. Their swords were perched on their hips, and their gazes never altered.
“Come with us, miss,” The first guard said, his voice deep as he took a sudden grip on your elbow, rough as he pulled you away without letting you walk.
“W-wait, excuse me, I just need some water,'' You quickly explained but they said nothing as they led you down the hall, their face never changing as you tried to wrangle out of their tight grips.
“Sirs! Please!” They said nothing as you thrashed around, their hands only holding you with a more bruising force as you tried to break free, “I only need a pitcher, that’s all,” Your eyes were frantic, heart in your throat as you tried to think of anything you had done to warrant such behavior.
“They’re always so fuckin’ rowdy,” One of them muttered to the other, obvious displeasure on his face as his fingers tightened around your arm.
You tried to think of what he was referring to when your eyes widened in understanding.
“The king knows me!” You shouted, “He’s asked for me not to be killed!” You tried to explain but the guards only laughed, and you felt your chest fall as they led you down a passage you had never been through before.
“I’m Y/n!” you explained, but they had no idea who you were, “I’m a friend of the kings!” But you didn’t even know if the king would call you that. You told him stories to keep him entertained and you out of the execution chambers, but these guards snorted at your statement.
With their strength, they had practically lifted you off the ground, and no matter how much you kicked your legs and screamed for them to let you, they seemed intent on leading you to wherever you were headed.
A voice in the back of your head already knew where.
“Please!” You shouted, your eyes tearing up, “Ask the king, he knows me!” And one of the guards behind you decided that he had had enough of your shouting, and used his unused hand to slap it roughly over your mouth, muffling your screams.
Your breathing got shallower and rougher the more you tried to break free, and the darker the hallways got the more your body weakened, and you felt yourself grow limp in their holds as they stopped in front of an iron door.
One reached into his pockets as he brought out some keys, flipping through them until he found the right one. He jammed it in the hole and the door swung open, revealing the horror that you had guessed would be inside.
An array of gallows sat in the middle, the ground littered with dried blood as you screamed again.
“I-I’m his storyteller!” You explain hurriedly, but the guards don’t seem to mind as they bring you closer to the noose, “I tell the king stories!” That got one of the guards to laugh, and you whimpered as the noose came closer into view.
“Ask the king, p-please!” You cried out, tears wetting your eyes as your voice caught in the back of your throat, “I tell him stories! I’m a friend of his!”
It meant nothing to the guards as they heaved you up onto the wooden pedestal, grasping your hands behind your back as they tied it over and over with scratchy rope, their hands rough as they pushed you forward, wrapping some dirtied cloth around your mouth to silence your screams.
You felt your tears collect on the cloth, and you felt lightheaded as one of the men began securing the noose around your throat.
“Stand on the trapdoor,” One of the men gruffed out but you hurriedly shook your head, trying to tell them that you weren’t who they thought you to be.
Tired of your antics, the man shoved your forward, and you stumbled and your eyes widened as the noose tightened around your neck, your breath lodging itself in the little crevices of your lungs.
You watched as the men walked over to the front, their hands outstretched to pull the lever as they stopped when they heard a loud crash happen outside the door.
Three sets of eyes snapped to the iron working as it slammed open, revealing a panting king as he stared widely inside the room, wasting no time as guards poured in, the maids that usually came to collect you in the morning puffing out air as they sighed in relief, relieved to find you alive.
“What the fuck is happening?” Satoru shouted out, his eyes raging as he saw you atop the gallows, cheeks stained with tears, mouth covered, a noose around your neck as he felt his breathing momentarily stop, “Y/n?” His eyes widened in shock as he saw the noose around your neck, your cheeks glistening with tears as your screams were muffled.
His eyes snapped over to the two guards, their expressions comedic had they not been seconds away from killing you.
The king was quick in his movements as he rushed towards you, quick as he climbed the gallow, his slender fingers nimble as they worked the noose off of your neck, and then quick to tug down the tear-stained cloth that covered your mouth.
His eyes were feverish as they searched you, his hands on either side of your face as he checked for injuries.
“Are you,” His voice wavered for a second as you stared back up at him, both of your hearts pounding at the same pace as he tried to catch his breath, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
All of the guards and servants watched in fascination as their ruthless king fell apart, his hands shaking as you smiled gently, shaking your head no to his hurried question.
“I,” Your throat was hoarse, and you realized what had led to this mess in the first place, “I just want some water,” You sheepishly admitted to Gojo’s frantic stare, and could see his resolve crack as he gave you a quick laugh, cradling your head gently as he led you out of the execution chambers and back into the forgiving bright light of the hallways.
---
The following night, the servants were extra careful as they prepared you for the king.
Their hands were more forgiving as they scrubbed the dirt off of your body, and their fingers kind as they slathered lotion upon your neck. Their smiles were caring as they rubbed rose petals across your wrists, and their words were hushed as though not to disturb you.
They could tell without asking questions that you weren’t how you usually were and didn’t doubt that going back into the king's chambers would be more nerve-wracking than ever.
The robes they had dressed you in were softer than usual, and they kept it low with the fragrance as though not to give you a headache after everything you had gone through in the past couple of hours.
“Y/n,” Nasreen gently shook your shoulders to wake you out of your trance, “It’s time to go.”
And so you silently followed her on the familiar path to his room, your head heavy with pain as she knocked once, and then twice on the door.
It swung open after a couple of seconds to reveal the king in a disheveled state, his hair in disarray, eyes darker than usual as he seized you up, opening the door a bit wider so that you could come inside.
It shut quickly behind you, and you didn’t have time to turn around to say goodbye to the old lady before the king, Satoru, had led you inside.
The air was heavy as the two of you refused to look the other in the eye, unsaid guilt present in your stances as you went to open your mouth.
“My king, if you’d so wish, I can contin-” You didn’t have any time to prepare for the way his body threw itself at yours, a heavyweight pushing itself into your chest until you were roughly backed into the wall, his hand the only thing saving your head from bumping harshly into it.
His lips were hungry, ravenous, as they searched yours. They were agile and quick, not giving you time to breathe as his hand cradled your jaw, tilting your head ever so carefully so that he could gain better access to you.
You felt your tongues and teeth clash with one another, and despite your inexperience, you tried to match his quick pace. Any logical reasoning flew out of your head as his soft lips traveled upward, kissing your cheek, your forehead, and anything he could to remind himself that you were alive.
Your eyes opened as you felt him move downwards, his mouth hot against the column of your throat as he nipped at the skin gently, his teeth somehow gentle in their way as though not to hurt the fragile skin.
He’d press chaste kisses anywhere he could, his hands secure on your waist as the king looked up at you, and for the first time since your arrangement, you saw real fear in his sapphire eyes.
“Thought I lost’ya,” He muttered into your skin, his hands grasping onto the fabric of your robes as he tried to tug them off, “Thought I fuckin’ lost’ya forever,” His voice shook with raw emotion as your hands flew to his hair, bringing him back up as his hands worked at the knots that secured your robes together.
“It’s gonna,” You sighed as the cool hair hit your naked skin, your nipples pebbling up as your cheeks heated up in embarrassment, “It’ll take a lot more to get rid of me, my king,” You tired fo a joke but the words died down on your tongue as he latched onto one of your breasts, his hands occupying the other one as he kneaded it.
“Don’t joke about that,” He murmured against you, your nipples glistening with spit as he detached himself from you, “Don’t ever wanna think about it,” He whispered, and your eyes fluttered shut as his slender fingers worked their way down to tracing the skin on your stomach, and you almost sealed as they traveled down dangerously to the apex of your thighs.
He fell to his knees, a true sight to behold as his hair ruffled, your hands clawing into his white locks as you weakly held him in place.
His tongue was hot as it licked at your skin, slow as it neared the area where you were sure was burning up and wasted no time as he slid a finger past your folds, into the slickness of your cunt, and you groaned audibly at the feeling.
It was much different from your fingers, and he was skilled as he added another, your eyes and teeth clenching at the stretch.
“Yer doin’ fuckin’ amazin’,” He muttered in awe at the way you sucked him in, at how wet his fingers became from just a couple of seconds fingering you, “Yer so fuckin’ tight - shit - h-haven't you ever been…” And he trailed off when you looked away in embarrassment, and his lips parted in understanding as you covered your mouth to silence your whines.
“Oh darlin’,” He muttered, moving away from your pussy as he came back up, pressing a quick kiss to your lips as your eyes watched his every move, “Have you never been touched before?” And even he seemed to forget that he only wanted virgins, yet you could weakly nod, your skin flushing as he hungrily looked at it.
He’s going to ruin you.
“Well you’re just fuckin’ drippin’,” He said thickly, showing you his fingers as you looked away in embarrassment, but he quietly cooed, sleeping his fingers down your mouth, your eyes widening as you close your lips around them, brows furrowing at the odd taste.
“Sweet as shit, darlin’, better than any of the honey they’ve been rubbin’ on ya,” He muttered, his fingers working quickly as they went in and out quickly, his other thumb rubbing your clit as your eyes rolled back at the heavenly feeling.
“T-toru,” You whined thrashing around in his hold, “F-fuck it feels s-so good,” You hiccupped, your voice weak as you could rarely phrase things together. It was a far cry from how you usually wear, but the man was slowly tearing you apart.
His eyes widened in admiration at how sweetly his name rolled off your tongue, his ministration quickening in pace as he pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh.
“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?” He muttered against your skin, his fingers wet with your nectar as you cried into your hand, “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening at his relentless movements.
“Ugh, Toru, please,” You cried out, your fat tears rolling down your cheek as you couldn’t contain your wanton moans anymore, “Fa-faster!” You were begging, your fingers curling into his hair as he grinned at your unraveling.
More quickly than not, you felt your vision go white, the not snapping as your climax came, the sweet orgasm washing over you as you almost went limp. Had his arms not been supporting you up, you would have crumbled. You could feel yourself spasm around his fingers, but he was slow as he pulled them away, his tongue flushing outwards as he licked them tentatively, moaning at how sweet your essence was as it coated his mouth.
He watched as you went to pull your robes over your body, naively thinking you were done, but Satoru pushed your hands back, shaking his head as his smile menacingly grew.
“I’m not done yet sweetheart,” He moved up as he kissed your lips, your release flooding your taste buds as his spit mixed with yours, and you moaned into his mouth, not used to such a euphoric feeling, “Gods, Y/n, I’m just gettin’ started.”
---
You woke up to your legs aching and throat hoarse from more than just crying.
Your eyes were blinded momentarily by the sun, but you felt a heavyweight stern across your chest, and you looked down to see Satoru’s long arm covering your bare breasts.
Your cheeks heated up as flashes of last night came to you, and suddenly you could barely think straight, shuffling around so much that it woke the very king up.
He was slow as he tried to remember where he was, but a flash of your hair and your awkward smile made him grin charmingly, his arm tightening around your waist as he pulled you deeper into the warmth of his chest.
“Did I wake you?” You asked quietly into his skin, causing him to shiver as the way your shy hand reached up to hold onto his naked hips, to hold him as if he were a staple into your lifeline.
“I was already awake,” he muttered into your cheek, kissing at the mark he had made the previous night, “You’re a beauty when you sleep,” He admitted and you duke your head deeper into his chest at his words.
“My king,” You blinked, swallowing thickly as you looked up at him, terrified to find a monster but instead finding a devoted man, his eyes deep as they stared back down, caring as his lips pursed at the title.
“Satoru,” he muttered, “Don’t call me king,” His fingers played with your hair, his white hair wild as you giggled softly.
“Alright, Satoru,” Your nose nudged at his bicep, “I have a confession to make.” You saw him glance down at you in momentary worry but your eyes twinkle in a playful, childish manner, and he grinned right back.
“I have no more stories to tell you,” You whispered, “They’re all done.”
Satoru said nothing for a couple of minutes as his soft breathing filled the air around you two, and your heart stopped for a second before he let out a loud laugh, joyful and juvenile as his eyes crinkled, his ars pulling you deeper into his body if possible as he littered your face with kisses, hugging you as though you were going to whisk away at any moment.
“I was wondering when you'd run out darlin',” He exclaimed, pressing a light kiss to your lips as he looked down at you adoringly, “Because it’s time I return that favor,” He moved your hair out of your face as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, “I doubt you’ve heard the wondrous story of the woman who somehow stole my heart."
crooked memory
genre fluff, angst, major character death, mentions of blood
tags gojo satoru x reader, biker!gojo
summary gojo satoru loves you so much.
wc; 1.3k
reblogs would be appreciated, please do not plagiarise my work, or share it on any other social media platform!
you would risk absolutely anything to see your boyfriend — the boyfriend your parents forbade you from dating, the boyfriend everybody told you was a red flag, the boyfriend even you told yourself to not fall for. but god, was satoru gojo irresistable.
the sweetest boy you had ever come to discover in this short life of yours. how the loving words he told you melted off his tongue like honey, how his arms embraced you like a soft blanket, how his eyes were the most alluring sight to fall for. he was dream, and he was yours.
light taps against your window turn your head suddenly, to notice your boyfriend outside your house, looking up at you with another pebble in his hands.
“hi baby!” he cheers, and drops the pebble, beginning to climb his way up to your room as you open your window.
“you’re not supposed to be here, what are you doing?” you walk backwards, letting him into your bedroom.
“i wanted to see you, but your parents won’t let me in.” his smile blinds you, and he closes your window quietly. he takes off his shoes, and crawls into your bed.
“hey, i just changed the sheets, at least wear the sweatpants you left here.” you whine, and open your drawer, taking out his clothes for him to wear.
he smiles at the thought of you having his things, the thought of him being a part of you, everything of him is part of you. he can’t define himself without you. the girl who makes him who he is.
“okay, baby, anything you want.” he gives you a longing kiss, before changing into appropriate clothes.
the two of you curl up in your freshly changed sheets, smelling exactly like you. he lays on your side of the bed, which you allow because you know he loves the smell of your hair on the pillow. you’re facing each other, his hands trailing your face, and yours in his hair, a moment he wishes would never end.
“how’d you get here, i thought your parents weren’t letting you out of the house.” you finally speak.
“i snuck out! i found the keys to my motorbike and just got here.” oh, how this boy would do absolutely anything for you — he was smitten. he would walk naked through a blizzard if it meant getting to you.
you held his entire heart, his entire being belonged to you and you only — and he never forgot to show that. how could he? you consumed his existence, every waking thought of his was devoured by you. a world without you was a world without him.
“what are you gonna do if you get caught?” your eyes widen in panic, excuses of what to say flourish in your mind.
“don’t worry i won’t get caugh-“ the door opens, and satoru sees your parents, seething. he looks on your side of the bed, only to see that you’ve vanished, and reality slaps him in the face.
you’re gone.
“what are you doing here? i thought we told you to never show your face again!” your father lifts the poor boy up by his sweater, the sweater you got him for his birthday, and satoru worries that it’ll tear.
“honey, please let him go, don’t hurt him.” your mother interjects, pulling him away from satoru’s neck, to which he releases a gasp. “you need to leave, sweetheart. you can’t just sneak into our house like this for no reason.” she tries to reassure satoru kindly.
“i came here for y/n.” he feels the tears well up in his eyes, his bottom lip trembles as he tries to conceal the cry for help that’s about to explode on his expression.
“you know damn well she’s not here. and it’s all your fault you fuck-“ your father starts, and your mother places her hand on his chest.
“we know you miss her satoru, we do too. what happened to her was horrible for everyone, but you need to go home, we spoke to your parents, they said you weren’t leaving the house.”
satoru suddenly remembers everything, how he made you sneak out one night with him to go on a motorbike ride, the rides your parents always hated you going on. but you had done it millions of times before then, so you left, helmet in hand.
he remembers everything so clearly, how you begged him to stop going so fast, how it was too scary, and how he laughed and just said to hold on tight. he remembers your arms around his waist, how strong of a grip you had around him — he remembers how cold it was that night, the wind and the rain soaking your outfits. he remembers the oncoming truck and your screams before everything goes dark.
he remembers gaining consciousness shortly after, how your helmet screen is cracked, face bloodied, yet you still tried to reach a hand out towards him. he remembers how you tried to shuffle towards him, and him to you, before you eventually got slower, your arm lowering, and how you laid limp, only a few centimetres before him.
he remembers being in the hospital, waiting for you, asking the doctors, nurses, his family and friends about you, only to get the same answer each time — “she’s resting.” he remembers the day you died, the same day he got discharged from the hospital, and immediately went to visit you.
he remembers hearing the monotonous beep of the machine beside you, and how his world comes crashing down, how he begins to realise it was all his fault. he should’ve never made you sneak out on such a rainy night, he should’ve slowed down when you begged him to, he should’ve just stayed in your room with you that night like he had done before.
he remembers how weeks after your funeral, he got out of bed late at night, and decided to go to your house, your room, and climbing up your house to get into your room, because you had always kept the window open for him. he remembers going into your drawers to get his clothes out, before laying in your bed, muttering to himself, saying your name, calling you baby, all before he had gotten caught by your parents.
“i-i’m sorry, i know it’s my fault, i don’t know what came over me mr and mrs l/n, i’m sorry, i’ll go-“ he breaks out into a violent sob, before getting up and trying to leave through your window, only to be stopped by your father.
“stop.” satoru turns around, with eyes like a puppy. “stay for the night, you can sleep here.” and your father walks off, with your mother following suit, after closing the for satoru, and telling him sweet dreams.
your parents knew how much you loved satoru, how happy he made you, no matter how much of a bad influence he was. they knew how much he brought light to your eyes, how you would rather disappear forever than be in a world without satoru, because he defined you, and a world without him was a world without you. no matter how much your father disapproved of the gojou boy, he knew that satoru was always going to be the one for you, in this life and the next.
satoru sniffles, looking around your room, how cold and empty it felt. even if it was full of memories and photos and posters that represented, the room was shallow, yet so spacious and deep, all because it lacked you. satoru looks at the polaroids of you and your friends taped above your desk, and notices a press dried flower besides it, with a label underneath that wrote “first date with satoru <3”, and satoru breaks all over again. you consumed him, yet you weren’t around, and that was the worst part.
and it’s at this point, satoru absolutely knows for sure, a world without you, is a world without him.
a/n: sorry, kinda bad but i was listening to nomad by clairo on repeat whilst listening to this i think i definitely cldve worded this whole thing better
©️ tora-ken 2024
Hiii! I have been reading your works and theyre honestly really good! Keep it up!! ♥️♥️ id like to request a bf gojo and a chubby reader bc i havent been feeling that confident lately and there isnt much chubby reader content 😅😓
Please and thank youuu ♥️♥️🐄
Thank you for your supportttt♥︎♥︎ since you're my first request , here's a star.☆ if you cant see it, its because your beauty outshines it.♥︎
A full course meal
|| Bf!Gojo Satoru x Chubby!Reader
Gojo Satoru liked your body, loved and worshiped it even. That was merely a fact.
But he enjoyed it more when you liked it too. After all he didn't want you covering your plump hips by wearing baggy clothes and he sure as hell didn't like it when you avoided face sitting. It was his favourite part of the day! COming home after a mission and releasing some stress by making your fat cunt cum on his tongue while you took the breath away from him-literally and figuratively he likes both dw.
So when out of the blue you just start avoiding it, he starts to get concerned. Did he overdo it? But you said you liked it! Was he getting worse? With the way your pretty pussy was squirting on him and your thighs trembled around his head, he didn't think so. So why? And what better way to figure out than to ask you?
"Well...i..."
"Hm? You what? You're drop dead gorgeous? You're hotter than the sun? I already know that, so answer my question."
Your nerves ease a bit at his cliche pick-ups and a chuckle leaves your lips involutarly.
"I...I'm too heavy..." It comes out as a mumble but by god...when he even catches a hint of the word 'heavy' he wants to laugh out loud.
But he has sense and he knows it would make you feel worse rather than showing he didn't agree at all. So for once, he lets his actions do the work.
And by that i mean he throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes-or rather a towel after shower, because that's what he made it look like.
"Heavy? You're not 'heavy'. The only thing heavy here is my love for you and that pretty plump ass of yours, babe."
And that's how he carried you around the whole day. Bridal style, princess style, piggyback, nelson, it didn't matter. He was determined to show you that you weighted NOTHING to him and that it was NOTHING to worry about.
And honestly...after that and how he kept you close to him while you cuddled and watched a cheesy rom-com...you dont think you could wish for more.
"Youre my full course meal of a girlfriend, babe~♥︎ It doesn't matter what other people say, mkay?" He says as he kisses your forehead goodnight. "And dont forget that!"
You're sure you look and sound like a lovesick fool when you tell him you love him but hey. At least you're both lovesick fools with a happy end.♥︎
°•°•°•°°••°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°☆
iamnotdeadyet owns this