[emmaharwoods]

you can click on this button once daily to help palestine and support other causes in the middle east for free. it takes literally 5 seconds and could help save lives so please take the time to click and share this link.

[grelliam]

#oh it raises money thru ad revenue and ur click confirms the value to advertisers. neat

[findingmybravado-2]

Proceeds are donated to the UNRWA, which is one of the major funding agencies providing aid to Palestine. Recently, the US and other major countries have escalated genocidal efforts by cutting funding from the UNRWA, as AlJazzera reports : Which countries have cut funding to the UNRWA and why?

This is a direct action you can take to say fuck you to the government directed genocidal efforts, bookmark the tab, add a calendar notification daily, do what you want. Or if your prefer: Donate Directly to UNRWA

[gaytoeyume]

Just a doodle

[byallmeans1]

[erenophilic]

"You're not hypoglycemic, Zayne.”

"What if i were? What if i died right here of low blood sugar because my wife refused to let me have one macaron?” The seriousness in his voice might have fooled anyone but you.

"Stop being dramatic. You’re not going to die of hypoglycemia just by skipping one macaron right after your dental appointment.” With that said, you snatch the plate from his hands and head straight to the kitchen to hide them somewhere he can't find.

When you come back to the living room, you see Zayne lying on the couch with his eyes closed, body still. “Zayne, are you okay?”

A small smile appears on his face at your concerned voice and you roll your eyes. You can't believe what lengths this grown ass doctor with a prestigious medical degree could go for sweets.

You decide to play along and walk over to him, crouching down on the floor. "Oh no. Did the famous cardiac surgeon of Akso hospital dr Zayne Li die of hypoglycemia?” You fake mourn his pretend death. “What a tragedy! I have no choice but to check his heartbeat."

His smile grows bigger, awaiting your touch on his chest, instead he feels them on his crotch.

He grabs your hands off almost immediately and pulls you on top of him, looking equally amused as surprised. "Do you think my heart is located there?”

“It’s not my fault that they're both big and do a very good job in loving me. Anyone could be easily mistaken.” you say while tracing a huge penis on his chest.

He seemed pleased with your answer. “What if i propose a deal? You show me how much you love me by giving me one macaron and i dedicate both my big attributes to love you back?”

“You're trying to sell your body for one macaron?”

He innocently nods, and you giggle. "As tempting as your offer is, Zaynie." You pat his chest and climb off him. "I'm going to have to pass."

"So my wife would rather see me dead than let my teeth rot?”

You shake your head, he's acting like a man in withdrawal except his addiction is sweet and so is his suffering. You almost pity him, “Yes, no sweets for..... a month.”

His face falls comically and you turn away, already running before he becomes more dramatic.

[shakingshore]

It’s a slow Saturday morning, and Zayne has been blessed with a midday shift, which means there is no rush in his morning routine and you can watch him prepare for the day in the comfort of your bed.

He looks extra handsome today, you think. Sleep still hangs over his eyes, his glasses hastily perched on that ridged nose. Stubble dots along his jaw, the soft angle hidden under morning shadow. You still feel it prickle on your skin from he kissed your shoulders.

Even his pajamas were doing something for you. You kick your feet under the blankets because he just makes you that giddy.

While Zayne prepares his razor for his morning shave, he turns his face this way and that, observing himself in the mirror.

“I think I’ve gained some weight,” he says, tone neutral.

You blink in surprise, tugged out of your love-stricken stupor by the sudden statement. When he swipes through the shaving cream rubbed onto his jaw, you see that the prominent line has softened some.

When Zayne reaches over to grab a towel, you see pale skin peek out from the bottom of his white t-shirt. A bit of belly greets you, and his happy trail invites your gaze lower.

You haven’t really noticed it, because his routine never changes. A morning run every day, and an hour gym session three times per week. It compensates for how often he eats take out in a time crunch and the macaron stash hidden in the second drawer of his desk (where he thinks you don’t know).

But now that he brought it up, he has all of your attention.

His shirt is a little more filled out than usual, and maybe you can see the outline of his thighs under the pajama pants. His arms look bulky, strong, all thanks to him insisting on pull-ups as a workout staple.

“Is that bad?” you ask, though you already know your answer.

Definitely, one-hundred percent, not bad in the slightest.

“No,” Zayne chuckles, and you realize that his eyes are already on you. You shift around in the bed, warm and inviting. “It’s normal with age.”

Zayne finishes his shave with time to spare, wiping the excess water and cream from his face, and takes his time lumbering back to your bed. You lean up, reaching out toward him, waiting for him to meet you in the middle, which he always does.

Your arms wrap around his middle. Your wandering hands don’t hesitate to hike his shirt up to feel the soft skin underneath. “Then why bring it up?”

Your hands run over his stomach, down to his hips, around the front tie of his pants. In return, he tugs off his shirt, letting you drink in his body with new eyes.

His smile is smug when you pepper his bare skin with kisses. “I thought you’d like to know.”

[janmisali]

oh I know how to make a poll's results look like the letter E watch this

what is the rightmost digit of the number of responses this poll has right now? (it should be visible before you vote.)

0, 1, or 2

3

4 or 5

6

7, 8, or 9

Remaining time: 2 days 3 hours

[alygator77]

── off the record ၇୧

꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!

꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎

꒰ authors note ꒱ surpriseeee — this is 3 parts now hehe. satoru is still our lovingly annoying sweetheart here, but this part does have a bit more angst than the last. nothing too wild though… just a whole lot of yearning and our poor reader being very committed to denial. i hope you enjoy! part 3 will be the last one. (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)

<<< part 1 - main masterlist - part 3 >>>

part 2

“Ma’am, may I interest you in our menu?” the flight attendant asks, leaning in with a practiced smile.

"Oh—um. Yes... thank you."

The thick, cream-colored menu lands in your hands a second later, and you settle into your seat just as she disappears down the aisle. A seat that is far too comfortable for the current state of your life. But that’s the thing about first class — it makes it very hard to be appropriately miserable, and you are trying to be miserable right now. You are committed to it.

“If you need recommendations… I recommend the wagyu.” Satoru leans in, close enough that his breath feathers warm against the side of your neck. “It’s to die for.”

He grins, blue eyes glinting behind snowy lashes. And unfortunately, the wagyu isn’t the thing currently putting your life at risk. Because a shiver moves through you before you can stop it.

“O-Oh…” your head jerks away, quickly. “Uh-huh… sure.”

Refusing to turn, you keep your eyes stubbornly on the cabin — denying him the satisfaction of seeing what his closeness does to the treacherous, backstabbing organ inside your chest. But you catch him in your periphery — leaning back, entirely unbothered, reaching for his own menu with that pleased little hum that means, of course, he notices.

Ugh.

This is going to be a long-ass ten-hour flight. And first class, as it turns out, is only roomy when you aren’t seated beside the exact person currently making your pulse act deeply unprofessional.

…

Wait. When did you pulse start doing that?!

Miserable, you remind yourself. Yeah. Miserable.

With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.

…you’d booked economy.

Economy.

But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.

“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”

…

Don’t worry about it?

You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.

But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.

Your family.

“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”

“—what do you like to eat?”

You blink, lips parting.

“I—sorry…what?”

“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”

Your brow furrows as you stare at him.

…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.

“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”

“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”

Brow knitting, you frown.

He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.

“That—that can wait. We need to—”

“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”

Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—

“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”

Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.

…when did he get so comfortable?!

“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”

Your lips purse.

“I dunno. Being…”  But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”

His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.

“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”

You sputter into your water.

“Baby?”

You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.

“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”

As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.

…asshole.

Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”

The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.

You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.

…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—

“Hey.”

Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.

“Are you… nervous?”

“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”

Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.

Fuck.

It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.

“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”

His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.

It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.

Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.

By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—

“…better?”

His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.

“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”

He smiles. “Sure.”

That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.

Oh…

He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.

Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…

Ten hours was a long time.

Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.

It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.

“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”

You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”

He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”

And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.

“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”

Later… yeah. Later.

But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.

So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.

Now.

“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"

“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”

The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.

Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.

“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.

No.

No, no, no.

“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"

It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.

…why the hell is she here?!

You were supposed to have more time—

“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”

Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”

The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.

Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.

…great.

Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.

“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”

She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.

Oh, right.

So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.

…good to know there's a line somewhere.

“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”

Your body goes rigid.

Oh no. Fuck no.

Anything but that.

Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.

“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”

Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…

“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”

…

Wait.

Did he just say Gojo?

As in—

Your boss’s family?!

No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.

Nothing comes out.

“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"

Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”

“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”

And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.

You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”

Fuck...

Get it together.

Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.

“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”

“—sorry ma’am, no.”

Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.

“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”

There’s a hitch in your breath

Oh.

So… you’re not invisible?

As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.

He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.

“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”

Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.

The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.

“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”

And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.

By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.

It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.

…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.

But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.

“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”

“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”

He blinks.

“Huh?”

Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.

“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”

Oh...

Right. That.

“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”

And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

Yours doesn’t move.

“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”

You don’t say it like a question.

…is it a question?

Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”

You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.

He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”

Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”

He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.

So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.

“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"

“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”

And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”

You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.

Damnit.

You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.

…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?

“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”

His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”

The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.

And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.

Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.

Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.

Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.

All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.

“Goodnight.”

You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.

…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!

With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—

“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.

“Making myself comfortable?”

…

That explains absolutely nothing.

Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”

“Yup. I do.”

He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.

Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”

Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.

“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”

And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.

For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.

“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.

You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.

…

Or trying to.

You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.

Ugh…

Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.

Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.

“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.

“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”

“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”

Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”

You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”

The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.

…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?

He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.

Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.

“Come up here,” you blurt.

…

Silence.

“Wait… huh?”

Your eyes squeeze shut.

As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.

“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”

…

He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.

“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”

You cover your face with a groan.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”

“—yes ma’am.”

He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.

…too still.

All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.

“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”

Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”

He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”

Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.

A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”

The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.

“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.

The mattress dips.

“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”

…

Fake.

Fake boyfriend.

The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…

“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”

He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”

“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.

You blink into the dark.

“Wait. Sorry… what?”

A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.

Is he… pouting?

The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”

Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.

“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.

“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.

As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.

Beautiful.

“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"

The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.

…yours.

And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.

But…

Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.

And his frown is instant.

“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”

The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.

His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”

“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”

“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...

Why?

Why does he have to look at you like that?

You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”

Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.

Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.

a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭

[cheriefrosting]

⁀➴☕︎ | one night stand with Rafayel who can't take a hint

Somewhere between too many sangrias, a lot of dirty dancing and groping, you'd ended up in the back of a cab with Rafayel, eating each other's faces off and barely toeing the line between propriety and public indecency.

Rafayel is so lost in the softness of your lips, the heavenly moans that escape you and only beckon him closer that he doesn't even realize he's handed the driver a hundred instead of a twenty, asking him to keep the change as he carries you into your building.

"What's your name?" You manage between kisses as the railing of the staircase digs into your back while he bends you over it, teething at your throat while his thigh rubs between your legs.

You can feel his smile against your skin as he hikes you up higher on his thigh, licking the skin he'd just broken in "Didn't your parents warn you about strangers?"

"Didn't your parents warn you about serial killers?" You shoot back and it's gratifying to make a man as beautiful as he was to laugh as pretty as he did.

"Let's just say-" He's whispering right above your lips as his luminescent eyes search yours "I have no self preservation. Especially not against a woman as beautiful as you"

You both stumble through the door, hands tearing at his jacket and your coat as he drives you up the wood, holding your weight against the surface as his tongue plunges into your mouth again.

The bedroom is preferable but the couch is closer and you both try to make a fair attempt to reach it except Rafayel's already got two fingers breaching the waistband of your panties, teasing your soaking folds as you pant into his mouth "Right there?"

You nod, a whimper lodged in the back of your throat as he plunges the fingers into your waiting warmth, groaning when he feels just how wet you are for him. Curving his fingers, he's pumping them against that sweet spot that makes you moan, your head banging into the door behind you.

When he's made you cum so hard that you're still recovering from the aftermath, he's leaving kisses against your skin, rubbing his thigh between your legs again, breaking a whine out of you from how sensitive you were "Uh oh" He whispers, pulling your dress low enough to free your breasts, covering one with his mouth "Stranger danger"

Despite yourself, you laugh but it dies a short death when he pulls at your nipple making you moan, wrapping your legs tighter around his trim waist and lining yourself directly with his very prominent erection. He groans, biting down on your areola making you squeal as he pulls you away from the door and carries you to the couch.

For a man who looked so pretty and delicate, he was surprisingly strong and freakishly well-endowed if what you felt between your legs as you grind against him was any indication. And when Rafayel pushes your skirt up, lining himself behind you, you're suddenly apprehensive about how he'll make it fit.

"You're here to kill me after all" He groans as your walls flutter around his length to accommodate his size, screaming into the pillow as you arch your back to take him even better.

One moment you remember him thrusting into you so hard the couch is moving and screeching against the wooden flooring, the next you're in your bed with your knees folded till your chest as he moves above you, cooing at you as tears escape your eyes at the overstimulation. He's licking the tearstreaks, grunting right next to your ear as your walls squeeze and tighten around him with every drawn out thrust.

"I've got you" He's nodding, forehead pressed to yours as your mouth hangs agape while you chase that peak, tears free flowing while he brushes against that spongey spot with every thrust, his pelvis rubbing against your clit in the most perfect way "I've got you, pretty. Why don't you let go for me, hm?"

You're nodding too, broken whimpers escaping as your legs quake uncontrollably before you're gushing around him. Rafayel's right behind you, growling into your skin as his thrusts grow more desperate, fucking relentlessly into your swollen pussy and pumping you full of his cum.

Last thing you remember is kissing this gorgeous stranger who had eyes that sparkled so beautiful in the moonlight streaming through the windows.

"You're even more beautiful in daylight"

Nodding, you're picking up the clothes strewn on the floor, tossing the ones that belonged to him at his relaxed figure still lounging in your bed.

You'd woken up and made love to this man in bed before the sun had come up and then again in the shower just now but while you looked like anymore action would require you to get an IV drip, not only did this man have the stamina of a God, his skin glowed like it too? What the hell was his skincare routine?

"I'm Rafayel" He goes on and you shoot him a non-plussed look over your shoulder because of course a man who looked like that and fucked like he did couldn't be named something regular like Bob or Peter. Rafayel. He was such a Rafayel.

You know he's waiting for your name but you have no interest in giving it to him. Yesterday had been a celebration and while you were brazen enough to sleep with strangers and not truly commit, you weren't in the business of hoarding the strangers for long-term relationships.

Instead, you disappear into your closet to pick out your work clothes. You had to swing by the office before an important work lunch in the afternoon and if you successfully closed the deal, last night's celebration would not be in vain.

When you step out, Rafayel has thankfully taken the hint and gotten dressed too. He follows your cue and exits the bedroom behind you, still doing his best to get you to acknowledge his existence. Or help him be privy to yours.

Picking up his jacket that was still lying by the door, you hand it to him and open the door. Your declaration despite not using any words is crystal clear. Rafayel would love nothing more than take you out for breakfast, bring you home and do a full repeat of last night but you want to set clear boundaries of remaining strangers and he wants to respect that.

Or atleast try to.

He steps out but he's still in the doorway, preventing you from closing the door completely as he stares at you for a moment too long, gaze dropping to your lips before he's looking at you again "I don't even know your name"

"It's not worth remembering" You step back, hoping he will too but he's still got that kicked puppy look in his eyes that almost- almost melts your resolve.

"I'll remember it" He promises "Want to make you forget it next time we do this. Probably have you scream mine"

He's gonna wear you down at this rate and you know it. So you put that final nail in the coffin "Goodbye, Rafayel"

When you close the door behind you, you wonder if you should've at least told him you'd had a good time. Great time, even. Okay, you weren't kidding anyone. He'd shown you the most spectacular time and you'd wanted nothing more than to do it again too.

As you checked your day's to-do, you realized you didn't really have the time to.

Rafayel sent flowers to your apartment before you even left that morning. How he managed to do that in the span of the twenty minutes it had taken between you throwing him out and leaving for work, you didn't know. Still, he was an observant man too, if he had managed to deduce from the incense burning in your apartment that your favorite flowers were orchids.

As an art curator, you'd had your fair share of bizarre interactions. This definitely ranked in the top 3.

The flowers are still on your mind when you reach the restaurant where you're having your lunch meeting. Your friend's husband, Thomas, had wanted to introduce you to someone he'd described as simply phenomenal. For someone always looking for new talent, you'd easily agreed.

Your brows furrowed and lips lifted in a sardonic smile when you noticed the name on the card he'd given you. Rafayel. It was as if you simply couldn't escape that name today.

Or him, when the waitress showed you to the table where he was already seated next to Thomas, looking refined in his three piece suit and smiling at what you're sure he found to be a pleasant turn of events.

"Hey stranger"

rafayel m.list | masterlist

[luveline]

i saw a video where the wife texts her husband that she’s leaving while he’s busy and he immediately gets up and searches for her to stop her, do you think you could pls write that with clark? thank you! 

Ty for requesting! fem, 0.7k Clark gets a wrinkle between his brows when he’s reading. It’s an expression completely paradoxical to his own enjoyment; he looks like he could throw his tablet across the room and never read again, but he’ll tell you how great it was later, over dinner or laying against you in bed. 

You are, admittedly, attention-seeking as you write him your text. But can you be blamed? You figure anyone with a boyfriend like yours would seek his attention, and often, especially when you’ve been home from work for three hours waiting for him to finish his book so you can make dinner together. He insisted. 

You created a new recipe for work that got the third page in the Daily Planet’s spread a few days, and though Clark had the privilege of trying it many many times while you were developing it, he insisted you make the finished product together to celebrate your ‘genius’ and to ‘appease’ his stomach, which loves your cooking. 

Im leaving, you type, pondering how best to get him to come and love on you. text me when ur done with ur book <3 

You add the heart because you don’t want him stricken by the text, and you certainly don’t want to start an argument. You’d just like him to dote on you and also some dinner. Usually you’d simply tap him on a hard shoulder and say, Hey angel, did you forget the time? 

The text pings. Clark reads a few more lines of his book before he puts down his tablet and takes his phone in hand, tapping in his password, and opening your texts. He reads the newest one with a pinched brow, then his head snaps up as he gives a small, fearful gasp. 

“Hey, where are you going?” he asks, scrambling up off of the sofa toward you where you’re half hiding in the kitchen. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m just gonna do some errands and stuff while you’re reading. Oof–”

The air puffs out of you from the force of his grabbing. He takes you into his arms and folds you into an embrace that smells like woody pear blossom and almond oil, your face forced into the curve of his neck. “Why didn’t you say something, bubby?” he asks, sounding truly, sincerely heartbroken. He pulls his arm up your back and makes another small gasp. “Jeez, look at the time. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was getting this late! Gosh, I bet you’re starving to death, poor girl, I’ve completely neglected you.”

You wrap an arm behind him, feeling the solid planes and shapes of his muscles beneath your warm hand. “A little,” you say, too soft, too silken. It’s nearly silly how small your voice sounds. 

Clark just sighs. “Don’t go get errands without me, sweetheart, you need something to eat first. You can’t skip dinner, you’ll give yourself a headache. I’ll give you a headache,” he says, sounding rather self-loathing. “Sorry. I’ve ignored you.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s usually how reading goes.”

“I thought there wasn’t a ton left–” He tips your head back. It’s not forceful, and yet, at the same time, you feel moved, like you don’t have much choice in things as he handles you into whatever position he’d like you to be. He smiles when he meets your eyes, presses a short, sweet kiss to your cheek. “So sorry. I’m a jerk.” 

“Clark, it’s okay–” He pecks you and starts cutting off your words, “I’m not mad– I didn’t want to waste– my evening– sat at the bar scrolling– on my– oh my god– on my phone.” You giggle, kissed into tingling lips and warmed by his big hands running up and down your back. “Can I have another one?”

Clark leans down slowly to give you another kiss. 

“We will make dinner right now,” he says into your mouth, “so please don’t leave. How’m I supposed to cook with my heart missing?” It’s so insanely corny, you wrap yourself around him like an octopus. He shifts backward to take all your weight. “Is this a yes to staying?” he asks into your cheek. 

“Can you cook with me like I’m a backpack?” 

“Don’t be silly. Of course I can.” 

[autumnleaveswrites]

Redamancy (Satoru Gojo x Reader)

Summary: Satoru prides himself on being independent most of the time, but then there’s you who loves to spoil him in many ways. (The five times you spoil Satoru throughout years of knowing him, and the one time he spoils you).

Warnings: Spoilers for Hidden Inventory, JJK 0, and season 1. There's also mentions of injury and blood during the third part.

Word Count: 27.7k words (oops)

For the sake of this piece, you, the reader, suddenly have cooking + baking + crocheting skills. There's the use of (Name) when characters talk about you too.

(Link for ao3 version here).

1. Birthday Surprise

He doesn’t understand what’s going on with him when it happens.

December 7, nearing the winter break for all Jujutsu Tech students. This day was any other day for first-year Satoru Gojo as he was walking around the school. He was about to grab a snack from a nearby vending machine to energize himself since he was a little hungry, leaning towards a sweeter snack.

“Hey, Satoru! Hold on!”

He turned around before he could put his money in the machine, confused as to who was calling him. Then he saw you and smiled instinctively, waiting for you to catch up before he could buy his sweet treat. He noticed you were holding something, but waited for you to get closer. 

“Whatcha got there (Name)?” Satoru asked you, taking a closer look at what you had in your hands.

“Happy birthday, Satoru,” you breathed out, holding a tray up with snacks he recognized. “These are for you.”

He freezes, and his breath stops when he realizes what’s on the tray.

Not only did you somehow find out when his birthday was, and there you were, holding a tray with some kikufuku cakes on it.

“Where did you get these from, the nearby sweets store?” Satoru asked. 

Homemade, you told him. You had baked those cakes for him.

He felt like he was going insane, but all he did was grin and mess up your hair. The noises you made in annoyance were like music to his ears, and you couldn’t really swat his hand away.

“For lil ol’ me? You shouldn’t have (Name)!” he teased you. “Well, you know how much I love sweets. I’ll eat all of this by tonight so your hard work won’t go to waste! You’re so cute, making me my favorite dessert! From scratch too!” he pinched your cheeks playfully.

“You’re right, I really shouldn’t have. I just did because I did it for everyone else’s birthdays,” you scoffed, really wanting to smack him. “If I knew you’d be this annoying about it, I wouldn’t have made you anything.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re embarrassed!”

“I can and will throw these cakes onto the ground.”

“You won’t,” Satoru felt kind of stupid with how much he was grinning, but he didn’t know how else to react to this. “You have a crush on me or something? Is that why you did this? Come on now, don’t be shy!”

“You are so, so insufferable. I’m trying to be nice since it’s your birthday!” you scowled. You handed him the tray, grumbling under your breath, “if this is how you react to the sweets, I don’t even know if I want to give you your gift.”

When heard the last bit (because nothing ever gets past him apparently), he was over the moon. He immediately put his arm over your shoulders and started whining about how cruel you were from withholding your present from him, from the birthday boy of all people! He went on about how it was such an injustice, that you need to make things right by giving him his presents,now!

You pinched his cheeks and laughed, making him huff and turn away with his arms crossed. You were making fun of him now, effectively turning the tables on him.

“I left your gift in one of the classrooms. Let’s go,” you started walking, albeit a little fast. You were also looking at your phone from time to time.

“You didn’t bring it with you? Why?” Satoru asked with a pout, trying to look over at your phone.

“Come on, be patient. You’d think a special grade like you would have more patience. Don’t you have to wait and gauge the curse before you attack?” you teased him, already walking inside Jujutsu Tech and pocketing your phone.

No one makes fun of him like that and gets away with it, even if the two of you were fellow classmates! “Hey! I don’t want to hear it from you, you’re not even a Grade 1!” He stuck his tongue out at you.

“Yet,” you bantered with your own grin, “you never know, maybe I’ll reach Grade 1 one of these days.”

“As if!” Satoru bristled, now being a little mean, “you have a lot to work on. Your height, for one.” He couldn’t help but feel comfortable with making that comment, especially with how your expression changed from a grin.

“How dare you,” you glared at him.

“Just saying,” Satoru beamed, happy to see you riled up aside from your usual behavior. This was a side of you he liked: fiery but not entirely hysterical.

“Yeah well I didn’t ask you, beanstalk. ”

Satoru guffawed at your response, his jaw dropping, “hey!” He would try to smack you, but now he was the one holding the tray.

“You can’t be offended, you called me short,” you promptly told him, back to grinning now that you were satisfied by the look on his face. “It’s not even true, I’m not short.”

Satoru wracked his brain for a response, “you are being mean to me. To the birthday boy. You’re terrible.”

“Okay,” you shrugged, then opened the door to one of the classrooms.

“What’s the light turned off for-”

“Surprise!”

He was promptly blinded by the light being turned on, and a few party poppers going off.

“Happy birthday!” Shoko grinned, missing her signature cigarette that would usually be propped in her mouth.

“Happy birthday, Satoru,” Suguru had a small smile on his face, then looked over at you, “thank you for distracting him.”

Satoru blinked. Repeatedly. Then he lowered his sunglasses to stare at all of his friends. He kept blinking, giving no response to the whole thing.

“You all gathered me here to say happy birthday?”

“Don’t you remember we did this for Suguru’s and Shoko’s birthdays?” you asked him, now a little confused. “Do you not like that we did this?”

He froze, still staring at all of you. Right, he had been the one to distract Suguru, but he had been confused on why. He never really asked what the point was, he thought it was stupid. Why not say happy birthday normally and move on? That’s what he was used to with his clan.

Except this actually felt nice, when he thought about it. His three friends, taking the time to throw a small party without him knowing, because…

“Why?” Satoru found himself asking before he could stop himself.

“Why?” Shoko echoed, confused.

“What do you mean why?” you raised an eyebrow, more confused.

“Because you’re our friend?” Shoko said simply, also mimicking your action of raising an eyebrow.

“Plus, you mentioned not having a proper birthday party. We planned this out so you would have one,” Suguru pat Satoru’s shoulder, smiling again, albeit more soft.

“It would also be rude to not throw you a surprise party after everyone else got one,” you pointed out, “we did this because we wanted to celebrate your birthday. We celebrated everyone else’s birthdays, you’re no exception.”

“We even made you a cake like we did for everyone else,” Suguru pointed out at the desks they had pushed together.

“What?” Satoru looked at where Suguru pointed, seeing the cake. You had taken the tray from him at some point and set it next to the cake. There were gifts and a box of pizza next to it too.

“Come on, make a wish!” Shoko joked, lighting the candles with her lighter.

“Shoko?” you stared at the lighter, the question very clearly written on your expression.

“It’s a new one, I promise,” Shoko said after, shrugging off your worry, “I wouldn’t do that, that’s mean. I only lit a cigarette on Suguru’s cake because I thought it was funny.”

“It really wasn’t,” Suguru sighed, but he did give a little laugh after.

“It was,” Shoko had a lazy smile on her face, “and you ate it anyway so you can’t comment.”

“After I cleaned it off,” you pointed out with an exasperated sigh.

Satoru was still in a bit of disbelief, but he raised his sunglasses up to cover his eyes again. All of you looked so comfortable, shining under the dim lights. The chatter slowly dissolved from his ears as he looked around at the classroom, decorated with some streamers and a small banner with a messy ‘Happy Birthday Satoru!’ on it. Even the cake had happy birthday written in icing, and it was all for him.

This was all for him, and he couldn’t fathom the idea of that.

Despite his thoughts, he stepped up to the cake, about to blow his candles out.

“Wait!” you stopped him by slapping your hand over his mouth, at which he let out a surprised squeak. “We need to sing happy birthday to you!”

“I need to start recording again, I paused it,” Shoko chuckled, holding up her flip phone.

“Are you ready to have your ears blessed?” Suguru smacked Satoru’s back with a laugh.

“You’re all going to sing? No, please, spare my ears,” Satoru managed to regain some of his whimsy, playfully covering his ears.

“Deal with it. Hold his hands down so he can suffer,” you said with no hesitation.

“What- guys! I’m the birthday boy-” Satoru protested when Suguru held his hands down. “I don’t-”

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Satoru, happy birthday to you!”

Satoru was laughing too hard by the time you guys had finished, all being out of tune and off pitch. He struggled to blow out all of his candles, wheezing, “you- you guys- hah-! You all suck at this!”

“That’s it. You’re getting your birthday punches,” Suguru immediately punched him repeatedly, making Satoru squawk as you and Shoko laughed.

Satoru, despite the absolute beatdown of birthday punches he was receiving from Suguru and Shoko once she joined in for fun, felt an odd warmth in his chest. The same warmth he felt from the flames that once adorned his candles, the warmth he felt on his cheeks as he laughed at all of you singing. And when he eventually looked up at everyone’s smiling faces, he felt that warmth then too.

The warmth was pleasant, even if it felt foreign.

_______________________________________________________

After all the chaos subsided and the food was all gone, Satoru had started opening his gifts. Suguru somehow knew what new game he wanted, Shoko got him something simple like a comfy sweater that was magically oversized on him, and you…

“What is this? Why are there so many things in here?” Satoru gasped, looking through what was in the gift box you put forward. “You didn’t accidentally put your trash or donations in here, right? Sorry, but I don’t think any of your clothes would fit me.”

“There’s only two things in there, anything else is to make sure the stuff inside doesn’t get damaged. Just take out one thing out first,” you sighed, tapping your foot against the ground. “And my stuff would fit you, you stick.”

“Hey, rude- woah! This is a huge blanket!” Satoru tried lifting it up and out of the box, but yelped as he ended up stumbling onto the ground.

“Satoru!” Suguru gasped, while Shoko laughed.

“Yeah, it’s a blanket,” you nodded, moving over to help Satoru stand back up.

“What for? Is this because I complained about my blanket being too small and itchy and destroying it out of protest? I can always buy a new one-”

“It’s a wool blanket,” you cut him off, “I bought because it reminded me of you. I know you can buy a new one, but I don’t think you took a look at the pattern on it.”

Satoru looked at the blanket properly after you said that, then gasped again, though this one is genuinely shaken. Said blanket had colorful characters as well as cute animalistic creatures. The fabric of the blanket, as he felt with his hands, was woolen like you had said.

“Wait, this is a Digimon blanket! How- how did you-” Satoru was dumbfounded, holding the blanket up to get a good look at the cast of characters on it.

“It’s not just a blanket, there’s another thing in there,” you smacked his arm to cut him off, not wanting him to get too excited.

Satoru pulled the blanket out, handing it over to you, who reluctantly began folding it as he peered into the box. He was dumbfounded, then he beamed. “Holy shit. No way! I didn’t know they made plushies for this guy!”

He raised an amigurumi Tentomon plush, one of his favorites, which perfectly fit in his hands. The material felt soft and fluffy as he squished the plush experimentally. He felt as though its big, green insectoid eyes were staring into his soul, though its ladybug-esque appearance was enough to dislodge that slightly eerie feeling, along with the slightly crooked long, yellow-orange antennas. Though the plush was soft, he could feel some bumps along the rows indicating they were slightly uneven, but not to a point where it would fall apart.

“They don’t,” you mumbled, scratching the back of your neck. “At least, not anywhere I went to look for it. Then anything I did find was a bit too expensive for me, and it was the same when I looked online.”

“Wait, so how…” Satoru stared at the plush, then back at you.

“Oh, you finally used the crochet kit I couldn’t be bothered to use?” Shoko asked you, chuckling.

“It was sweet of you to make that for him,” Suguru patted your shoulder, though the subtle teasing lilt in his voice was not lost on you.

Satoru processed for a moment, looking at the plush. The rows that seemed a little sloppy but careful the closer he looked at them, the crooked antennae, the lightweight feeling of the plush overall… no, this wasn’t something that came from a store. Sure the quality of the material was soft and definitely not something to look down on, but this was made with purpose, with good intent. He looked over at you, waiting for a confirmation of what he was thinking.

“Yeah. I made the plush,” you pinched the bridge of your nose, though the soft tone of your voice betrayed any kind of tough front you wanted to put on. “I put a lot of effort towards the other’s gifts too, and it was only fair I did the same for you too. So yeah.”

Yeah, this was starting to all get a bit too much for Satoru. He didn’t want to express how touched he was, not wanting to show any kind of vulnerability. To leave himself open.

He tried keeping a neutral expression on his face, but couldn’t hold back. Instead of using his words, he opened his arms wide in a showcase of silliness. “Come here, all of you!”

Before any of you could protest or try to get away, Satoru brought you all into a large hug with a large grin on his face. Though he relaxed his tight grip when he knew none of you would fight back, almost relaxing into the hug.

Then he froze, pulling away from the hug. “Wait,” Satoru paused, realizing something.

“What?” Shoko asked, staring at Satoru.

“What is it birthday boy?” Suguru asked with a fond smile.

“Yeah birthday boy, share with the class,” you chuckled.

He immediately turned to stare at you, lowering his sunglasses. Suguru’s birthday was in February, Shoko’s was in November, but yours just wasn’t coming to mind. “I remember we celebrated Suguru’s birthday earlier in the year, then Shoko’s last month. Why can’t I remember us celebrating yours, (Name)?”

You blinked, not expecting that question.

“Wait, he’s right,” Suguru frowned, now staring at you.

“We didn’t celebrate your birthday?” Shoko asked, tilting her head.

You whistled innocently, looking away.

“We didn’t forget, right?” Suguru sounded alarmed.

“You would’ve told us when your birthday is, right?” Shoko stared at you, trying to get you to make eye contact with her.

“Hey…” Satoru trailed off, trying to get your attention, “why aren’t you looking at us.”

“You would’ve told us, right? ” Suguru emphasized, also trying to make you stare at any of them. “With how you get everyone gifts and put so much time into it, you’d let us do the same for you, yeah?”

“It’s a secret,” you immediately said, hoping to end the topic there, “none of you get to know.”

They all blinked. Then they grinned, immediately making a run for it.

“Wh-?!” you ran after them as quick as you could, now panicking, “guys!”

“Yagaaaaaa!” Satoru yelled, laughing at the expression on your face.

“We have a question!” Suguru also shouted.

“It’s about a certain someone’s birthday!” Shoko called out.

While you were panicking when they all approached Yaga, you promptly denied them needing him for anything important. This caused a whole ruckus, with Suguru and Shoko trying to cover your mouth and you trying to cover theirs. They tried to push you to the ground and away, while you doubled their efforts to push back since you were one person short.

Satoru laughed at the absolute chaos as cursed techniques came into play, since Suguru made a curse of his chase after you. Though this backfired as you ran into all of them, even clinging onto Shoko.

Some property damage and a long lecture from Yaga later, you all collapsed on each other. The giggling had started with Satoru who had delved into the same laughter as earlier at everyone singing off-key, slowly being caught on by everyone else contagiously. Eventually none of you could contain your laughter, at the situation and what came of it.

Even with the clean-up they consequently had to do, Satoru couldn’t have asked for a better birthday than this.

2. Cooking Food for him

(“Suguru, should we kill these guys?” Satoru could barely remember seeing anything, only feeling the limp, warm, clothed body in his arms. All he felt was his shoulders raised, the endless clapping grating to his ears. “The way I feel right now, I doubt I’d feel anything about it,” his eyes bore into Suguru’s.

“No, there’s no point,” Suguru looked down.

The fact that Suguru couldn’t look into Satoru’s eyes while he said that was something he didn’t pay too much attention to at the time, caught up in the grief of holding Amanai’s body.)

Satoru was walking around Jujutsu Tech for a long time. A bunch of people had tried to pull him back, but he wouldn’t respond.

The mission was basically a failure, the Star Plasma Vessel was dead. Shot by Toji Fushiguro, though Satoru was quick to put his vengeance through. If only he had been able to activate that power sooner, when it mattered most, he wouldn’t be in this state right now.

Riko should’ve been alive and safe, she didn’t deserve to die. Not the way Suguru had told him, and what Suguru had to go through…

(‘Sorry, Amanai.’)

He hit the side of his head, not wanting to think about that moment further. What happened is what happened, he had to move on.

He had to move on.

He had to-

“Satoru?”

He snapped out of his daze, slowly turning to look at you. You were frowning, your face sunken. It was different from your usual annoyance with him, making him feel sort of annoyed himself. What was with the pity from you? He didn’t need it, he was fine. He was going to tell you off, to leave him alone so he could walk around for the rest of the night.

You grabbed his forearm and started dragging him before he could even say anything to you.

This sort of sent him into another daze, except more confused. He could’ve sworn he had Infinity up. Maybe it was the lack of sleep catching up to him again. The words to say something to you weren’t coming out, so he let you drag him mindlessly.

As soon as you reached your room, you forced him to sit down on a chair. He didn’t say or do anything, just staring at the wall. There wasn’t much to say, nor was there anything he should say. You seemed to think the same thing, with how oddly silent you were. Usually you’d take the time to give him some kind of snippy comment, or try to make light of situations.

He didn’t notice you left him until he heard you muttering curses under your breath. At least you had some of your grumpiness, which managed to make him a little less tense.

Though he was majorly confused as to why he heard a sizzling sound.

He stood up, slowly moving over to the kitchen. He probably stared for a long time at the sight in front of him, completely in awe.

You were chopping up some tomatoes, while some patties were cooking on the stove. Then you swiftly moved onto chopping up onions, then lettuce. He was bewildered. “Uh, what is this?”

“Ah!” you jumped, terrified. “Where- where did you come from?!”

He also jumped after you yelped, “hey! You dragged me here! You knew I was here!”

“Yeah, you were originally sitting in a chair though! I didn’t realize you got up,” you scrunch your face up, though you couldn’t find it in yourself to be annoyed. “Uh. I figured burgers wouldn’t be a bad choice. For a meal. I made some for Shoko earlier, then for Nanami and Haibara, then Suguru, but it was really hard to convince Suguru to eat at all. Well, I get why, but it just- I just wanted to make sure he got something down. Shoko kind of joked that I didn’t need to put in so much effort for you guys, but it really wasn’t that much. The patties were already pre-made since I bought them and all I did was defrost and cook them, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

You were rambling, not meeting his eyes.

“I mean, I managed to get Suguru to eat. Which is a success in its own right. Besides, eating from outside all the time can’t be healthy for you, but I get eating something is better than nothing, so maybe if I tried to replicate what kind of food you guys like maybe it’ll be good for everyone involved-”

“You’re not making any sense, slow down,” Satoru cut you off, unable to keep up with what you were saying.

“...Do you want cheese?” you ended up asking him in a defeated tone.

“Yeah,” he nodded with a forced grin, then pinched your cheek, “you’re cute. Making a burger for lil ol’ me? You’re the sweetest.”

You paused once you saw him smile, swallowing stiffly as you made eye contact with him. The more you stared at him, the more he felt inclined to look away from the awkward staring contest that was starting to take place. He hated that you were staring at him so intently, as though you were waiting for him to slip up.

He kept his smile up, making sure there was no way he would be caught in whatever you were looking for. “What? Admiring my handsome face, (Name)?”

Once you looked away, Satoru felt like he could breathe again. You already caught him off guard by dragging him to your dorm, he wouldn’t let you catch him unaware again.

“Shut up, you’re being stupid. I made burgers for everyone and you’re no special case,” you huffed, then tried to bat his hand away. “Let me cook. Go sit back down.”

Your tone almost sounded exasperated by his behavior, but there was something else. You sounded a little relieved for some reason, as if him being stupid was something that eased you somewhat. It was clear there was something you weren’t saying, but for his peace of mind he decided not to dwell on it.

“Heard you loud and clear little chef,” Satoru gave you a cheeky salute, running away before you could yell or point the knife in his direction. To his surprise, you let out a little sigh and went back to cooking in silence. Which was weird. You would usually chase him to try and scare him, while he’d taunt you. He had joked you and Utahime had a similar fuse he could set off, almost leading to him getting thrown across a room by you.

This was weird. He didn’t like this. He frowned and sat back down on the chair, thinking about ways to complain about you acting off, or how you were probably pitying him. He didn’t need all of this, really. Running over to the closest fast food place would be easy for him, and eating the greasiest things alive sounded like a good idea.

Though when you came back with plates, his plate having three burgers and your own plate having one, the smell is what did him in. It smelled so good. He gave in, giving you puppy dog eyes as he held his hands out for the plate. “Please. Please give this to me (Name). You don’t know how good this looks to me.”

You gave him his plate without any prompting, handing him a ketchup bottle. “Go crazy.”

That was all he needed to hear, now ready to munch away.

_______________________________________________________

He ended up getting you to make more, acting like he hadn’t eaten in days. There was a bit of surprise on his end as you complied with his wishes, even giving him some chocolates that you conveniently had.

This was starting to get overwhelming as he ate everything without issue, though he had to know why you were doing this for him.

Once he finished his food, he looked over at you. You put your arm around his shoulders, looking awkward. He had tensed up a bit, but managed to get comfortable regardless. “What’s this about?” He asked you, trying to keep a level head about all of this. “Making food and basically feeding me a lot of it, it’s weird.”

That, unfortunately, set you off.

“It is so hard to get to you and Suguru, you know that?” you said in an exasperated tone, running your hand through your hair. “Neither of you will let anyone in. I’m doing my best, but I can tell that anything I do isn’t getting through Suguru’s head. That’s why I’m hoping you’re keeping him company at the very least. The way you two are processing your grief, I just don’t agree with it. I think it’s unhealthy to keep it all to yourselves, but I can understand the need for distance. I don’t want you guys to do anything stupid.”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath after getting all of what you wanted to say out.

“We’re guys, we’re going to do stupid things,” Satoru told you with the same grin.

“Is that all you got out of what I just said?” you gave him a disappointed look.

“Yep,” Satoru stuck his tongue out at you, overjoyed to see the disappointed look on your face. That was more like you, rather than you being so warm and awkward.

“Whatever. Don’t forget you can lean on us for help,” you told him with a sigh, “me, Shoko, Suguru- we want to help. I just wish you and Suguru would let us. We’re friends, we need to lean on each other in times of need.”

“Friends won’t get us far. We can’t get attached like this,” Satoru tried to argue, giving a little huff, “come on. We'll only get hurt.”

“You’ll end up dying alone with that mentality, won’t that hurt too?” you challenged him, still frowning.

He frowned too, “you didn’t seem to care that I basically said we can’t be friends.”

“Because you’re so, so stupid,” you scoffed as you sat up, then attempted to whack the side of his head.

“Missed me!” Satoru grinned as he turned on Infinity to prevent you from connecting the hit.

“It’s not a miss if you use Infinity to block an incoming attack!” you hissed at him, now holding up your fists, “I swear, it’s like you provoke me on purpose to fight you! Take down Infinity and fight me with your bare hands you coward!”

“Careful what you wish for,” Satoru teased, but let down his Infinity for a moment just to mess with you. As soon as he brought it back up before you could land another attack, he laughed as you shouted at him. He let it down again, but squawked when you tackled him unexpectedly, “wait, hold on-!”

You both fell onto the floor with a yelp, staring at each other once you both got your bearings. Then it delved into a cat fight, where you pulled at his hair and he scratched you, among many other things.

As the two of you fought, there was a stiffness in his shoulders. With the newfound knowledge of reversed curse technique, that definitely put him a level above everyone else in his class. Though that knowledge had come with a price, failing the mission along with Suguru even if he killed Toji in the end. There was more to failing than lives being lost.

Riko and Kuroi would never get the chance to live the life they deserved to, and neither would Satoru or Suguru get a chance to be a part of it.

His chest felt heavy, feeling almost suffocated from the realization. Grief was a feeling he never let himself get too familiar with, but he knew he had to start getting used to seeing grief around. In Jujutsu Tech, anything could happen at any time. There were high chances of any of his classmates being sent out to missions, and that any interaction could potentially be the last time he’d see someone, felt disorienting.

“Satoru, what’s up? You’re getting distracted,” you flicked his forehead to get a cheap shot in, keeping a cheeky grin on your face.

“Hey!” Satoru squawked, rubbing his forehead in pain. “That’s it, no more holding back!” He huffed, shoving you off of him to get the upper hand.

“Wait no no no hold on!” you shrieked, pushing at his face to keep him away.

He could see your lips slightly curving upwards as you fought back, making him more determined to win. Whatever winning meant in this instance anyways - a challenge was a challenge.

If you both ended up smiling and giggling despite everything, no one needed to know. He was happy to have a semblance of innocence back, to feel his body loosen up, even if it was for a small moment.

3. Giving him a Break

(“Two or three years from now, my kid will be sold off to the Zen’in clan. Do what you will with that.” Toji’s expression hadn’t betrayed him, even as he stood there with half of his body blown off.

Satoru couldn’t read the man very well, but when he thinks back on it, it was probably his way of asking for one last favor. Or maybe this was his way of repenting.)

Satoru was about to lose his mind as he sat on the couch, the golden hour slowly seeping its sunrays into their cozy home. There were missions needing his attention, and although Tsumiki and Megumi could be left alone, there was a nagging feeling that made him want to stay and watch them.

No, he was not being soft. He’d never be so soft on those brats- kids. Right. Kids.

He stared at Tsumiki and Megumi in the kitchen from where he was seated, ignoring the slight tug on his heartstrings as Tsumiki was about to start cooking dinner. How long had she assumed a pseudo-parent role for Megumi, especially at such a young age? Tsumiki was only in second grade for crying out loud, Megumi only a year behind her. Two kids, ages six and seven respectively, without their parents for who knows how long.

He wanted to step in and help, but the last time he tried Tsumiki had given him a patient smile anytime he accidentally got in her way. He wasn’t a bad cook, he got by all right. He would feed the kids every now and then, it’s just that sometimes he didn’t have enough time.

He needed to make more time. Maybe he could sacrifice a few hours of sleep.

(He thought of what happened the last time he didn’t get enough sleep and let his guard down, but pushed that aside. He doesn’t sleep much nowadays.)

He really wanted to be there for those kids, considering, well… he did kill their dad. Step-dad on Tsumiki’s end, but still.

Right. He needed to tell them that at some point.

He groaned loudly as he leaned back against his couch, putting his palms over his eyes. There was too much to do! How was he meant to deal with all of this? How did parents parent their children while doing their own jobs and school? Weren’t they ever exhausted having to handle everything at once?

He tried to think about his own parents and how they could have possibly raised him with their own responsibilities, but he was drawing a blank.

Oh.

Right. The clan’s elders had mostly tried to keep him contained even with how he constantly acted out, so he didn’t really keep much contact with his parents. His parents were actually pretty distant now that he really took the time to think about it. Actually, he had pretty much distanced himself from his clan as a whole. He can’t remember if he ever talked to them about anything casually, or if he visited for the sake of visiting.

Was he like that with these kids? Sure, he took Megumi with him for missions every now and then so he probably didn’t feel much of an emotional rift. Then again the kid had a hard time opening up to him, nor did he really emote much aside from the usual annoyance. Then there was Tsumiki. She was a non-sorcerer, there wasn’t much he could really do for her aside from helping her whenever she needed it. Had he been pushing Tsumiki away in favor of Megumi? Because he was a sorcerer and she wasn’t? Well, she probably would’ve expressed or made her feelings clear if she felt that way, right?

Satoru groaned quietly. This was all way too hard and he had too many questions he was too tired to try and find the answers himself. That was another thing, he was basically a single father of two children. Did other single parents struggle like this too? He may be the strongest sorcerer, but he felt completely out of his element when it came to parenting, especially as he was on his own.

How do you give children a proper childhood? A proper childhood that had been robbed from him?

Before he could ruminate further on his thoughts and probably internalize all of his panic as his eyes burned, the doorbell rang.

He was confused, staring at the door for a good minute. Then he stood up, stopping either kid from answering the door with a grin, “I got this one! Leave it to me!”

Megumi stared at him blankly while Tsumiki had shouted a brief, “thank you!” from the kitchen.

Satoru let out a sigh, looking at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall near the doorway. He readjusted his hair and straightened out his clothes to look more presentable. Maybe this was a delivery he forgot about and the person didn’t read the instructions to leave the package at the door. He answered the door, and was face to face with a delivery of- you?

“Oh! Um, hi Satoru!” you looked a bit sheepish. “Sorry, I probably should’ve sent you a message or gave you some kind of warning. I uh, I wanted to see you.”

He stared blankly for a good few seconds, wondering if he was actually seeing you at his door. Then he grinned again, absolutely thrilled with your presence. “(Name)! You wanted to see me? Oh, if I didn’t know better I’d think you wanted me!”

“It’s not like that!” You immediately tell him with a little laugh, waving your hands around frantically.

The relationship between you two had changed over time, with you being more lenient and less grumpy around him. Which was shocking to him back then, because you were all smiles and love from that point forward. When he had asked you about it, you had only been honest with him, expressing your fear of losing anyone else due to negligence and not being more expressive to show you really did care.

You spoke again, putting him back into focus, “I heard from Shoko you took in two kids and I really wanted to meet them. Honestly, I would’ve come sooner! It’s the fact I’ve been sent on a lot of missions lately, then I had to meet with the higher ups- but none of that is important right now. Let me in and introduce me to them! Please?”

He laughed at you saying ‘please?’ since it was so like you to keep your manners despite being somewhat demanding. If anything, he really needed the distraction from his own mind.

He stepped to the side, jokingly bowing to allow you in. “You can come in, if you dare. Do you agree to give your soul up to the two menaces?”

“They can’t be that bad,” you waved him off, stepping inside his place. You take your shoes off and set them down on the shoe rack. “Hell, I could use a bit of energy right now.”

“Hey, watch your language, none of the ‘hell’ stuff,” Satoru nudges you playfully. “If the kids learn anything from you, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Take your own advice sweetheart,” you smacked his arm in return, being just as playful as him.

“Sweetheart? You make me blush,” Satoru put his hands on his face, pretending to be a blushing mess to rile you up.

Though it didn’t work, you looked amused by his behavior, “uh huh, sure I do.”

He pouted at your nonchalance. He sort of missed you rising to the bait he’d put out. Before you used to get annoyed with him whenever he’d say some kind of smartass comment, shoving him or giving him a smack on the arm. Not to say your reactions now weren’t enjoyable though, he did like you responding in a reciprocal manner, almost throwing his own behavior in his face.

“Where are the two menaces as you call them? That’s not nice you know, they have names. Names you haven’t told me, by the way,” you asked him, trying to see where they were.

“Right, right! Come on, let's go to the kitchen!” Satoru grabbed your wrist with a grin, already dragging you over without giving you a chance to say no.

“Why are they in the kitchen-” you sounded confused, then paused in more confusion as you saw the scene in front of you.

The kitchen looked organized for the most part, aside from the counter next to the stove and the stove itself. The counter still had the cutting board, unwashed as it had pieces of onions left over. The closer you looked, some onions, peas, carrots, and corn were strewn in various parts of the board as well, most notably next to the pot on the stove.

Speaking of, the stove on the other hand had water away from the hot plates, most likely from the lid being taken off the pot over and over again. There were imprints of the rice left behind from the spoon being placed down from the counter to the stove.

Tsumiki was cooking while Megumi watched in absolute silence. He would step up onto the stool Tsumiki was on and help stir the food now and then, unblinking. Almost like the food would come alive when he wouldn’t expect it.

You turned to look at Satoru slowly, a look of disbelief, though you were impressed by the fact that the kitchen wasn’t messier when two children were in charge. “Why are the kids making food? Please don’t tell me you’re endorsing child labor, it’s enough that Jujutsu Tech makes us work so hard.” 

“Hey, I think this teaches them to be independent! Besides, she insisted,” Satoru put his hands up, trying not to laugh at your expression. He knew you were annoyed, but you looked so adorable to him.

“And she is?” you gestured for Satoru to actually introduce you.

“Oh! That’s Tsumiki! And the other one is Megumi!” Satoru pointed out to each one respectively, trying not to laugh at the fact you were still in disbelief at the kids handling the stove.

“Okay. Tsumiki and Megumi,” you mumbled, making sure to remember their names.

“Don’t forget their names like you forgot mine,” Satoru jokes.

“It was one time!” you groaned, punching his arm, “you’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” Satoru snickered, “how you managed to forget my name back then despite me being such a big deal is hilarious. ”

“You’re so annoying sometimes Satoru,” you pinched the bridge of your nose in annoyance. “I didn’t pay much attention to jujutsu politics until I enrolled at Jujutsu Tech. And if I remember correctly you didn’t find it funny then, you were offended I didn’t know who you were and even more so when I forgot it the next day.”

“Hey! I was totally right to be offended the next day! Did I really mean so little to you back then?” Satoru pouted, putting his chin on your shoulder.

(It was the first day of classes for the students at Jujutsu Tech, aside from the arrival of the new first-years. You had gotten acquainted with Suguru and Shoko pretty fast, falling into easy conversation with both.

Satoru, though? That had been a different case entirely.

You had just come back from the bathroom and into the classroom when you saw Shoko and Suguru talking to a white-haired guy with circle frame glasses tinted black. He was wearing a student uniform, so you assumed he was in your class as well.

He stood out in comparison to the rest of you. Somehow, he seemed aware of that, and was all too happy about it as he yapped away to your classmates.

Once you walked back over to them, the conversation paused entirely. The white-haired guy stared at you, tilting his head in confusion. You offered your hand to him for a handshake, “I’m (Name), and your name is?”

Satoru gave you a cheeky yet cocky grin when he shook your hand in a civil manner, as if you had asked him something silly.“Oh come on, you have to know who I am! There’s no way you don’t!”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked,” you sighed, your eye twitching at his response.

“Don’t you know the Gojo clan? We’re pretty big in the jujutsu world,” Satoru gave you a look of doubt, still grinning. Clearly he didn’t believe you didn’t know him. “Listen, if you’re playing dumb-”

“All I’m doing is asking for your name,” you pulled your hand away and pinched the bridge of your nose with your fingers. “Just tell me your name. It’s not that hard. You mentioned the Gojo clan? Is that your name?”

“Gojo’s my last name,” Satoru was dumbfounded. “Are you really that stupid?”

The audacity of this man. “Look, just tell me your name. It’s not that hard.”

“It’s Satoru Gojo,” Satoru grumbled.

“Thank you, Satoru,” you sighed in exasperation. What a character this guy was, he seemed to be full of himself. This was the kind of person that annoyed you greatly, as he teetered towards the cocky and arrogant side of confidence.

It didn’t help that the next few days after your first interaction you kept forgetting his name, which stirred up a lot of arguments between the two of you.

“You remember my name?” Satoru asked you with a grin.

“...Uh,” you completely blanked.

“You’re joking, right?” Satoru asked, bewildered. “Wow, you really are stupid.”

“You-!”

That’s generally how the conversations with him went, until you learned his name out of annoyance. Back then you hoped he’d stop bothering you, but it was too late for that now.)

“No, but you were so annoying about it back then,” you sighed, noticing the two kids looking at you in confusion. Once Satoru noticed the kids staring, he patted their shoulders to change the direction of the conversation.

“Say hi, you two.”

Megumi was silent, staring up at you with a glare. “Hi.”

He wasn’t much for words, you guessed. You looked over at Tsumiki, waiting for her to speak up.

“Hello! Are you a friend of his?” Tsumiki asked with a smile, finally looking over at the two of you.

“Yes, I’m Satoru’s friend, (Name). It’s nice to meet both of you!” you promptly introduce yourself to the two kids, then stare at the rice with mixed vegetables Tsumiki was making. “Wow, you’re pretty good at this Tsumiki.”

“Thank you!” Tsumiki beamed, mixing everything in the pot again. Though she did it a bit roughly, struggling with the spoon.

“Careful,” you told her gently, turning the heat down on the stove, “you might burn it like that since there’s not a lot of water left.” Then you offered to take the spoon from her, “and if you mix it so harshly, the rice and veggies will turn into mush. Unless that’s how you want to eat it?”

“No…” Tsumiki frowned, handing you the spoon. “We usually eat it anyway, even though it has a weird texture and is a little burnt.”

Upon hearing Tsumiki’s response, you turned to Satoru with an irked expression. “Is that so?” You held the spoon like you were about to whack Satoru with it, “and you didn’t think to help her?”

Satoru gave a sheepish laugh, “she insists on learning on her own, I don’t want to meddle with kids wanting to be independent! And they eat it anyway, so it’s not that big of a deal, right?”

Despite the scolding you wanted to give Satoru, you decided not to get into it in front of the kids. Instead, you mixed the rice up with the vegetables for a moment to show Tsumiki what to do, “just like this. You have to be gentle for the best results and to not mush the rice into pudding. Think you can do it?” you handed her the spoon back with a smile. She nodded, mixing as you told her to.

Megumi had been staring, peering over his sister’s shoulder. He seemed to be focused, trying to take in your words too. Once you noticed Tsumiki had it down, you silently gestured for Tsumiki to hand the spoon over to Megumi. Tsumiki did as you had silently communicated, and Megumi blinked before trying to mix everything together as well.

Satoru watched your interactions with Tsumiki and Megumi, tilting his head curiously. He hadn’t known you were good with kids, though maybe it was too soon to jump to conclusions. It was only this one instance, maybe there would be a moment where he’d be proven wrong. Except nothing did happen, and the food was magically all right. Even your patience had stayed intact.

“See? We did it!” you told them with a smile, then patted their heads. “Good job you two!”

Satoru observed carefully as you praised the kids, smiling at their reactions. Megumi had scrunched his nose up while Tsumiki was still beaming. Maybe this was his chance to sneak away and let you just talk to the kids. There was a lot he needed to catch up on, though it didn’t feel right to leave you alone like that.

“Let’s eat, and then after we eat, we can go out somewhere!” you suggested to Megumi and Tsumiki, “only if you both want to and if Satoru’s okay with it.”

Tsumiki had turned to look at Satoru after that with puppy dog eyes, and Megumi glared, as if daring him to say no to Tsumiki.

Satoru raised an eyebrow in your direction, curious. What exactly were you plotting in that head of yours? Taking his kids out without his supervision and protection-

Dear god, he’s gotten attached. He’s getting overprotective, and before he knows it he’s going to start hovering over both of them like some kind of helicopter parent. This wasn’t the way he saw himself before, he used to just think kids were snot-nosed brats. He’s going soft and it wasn’t something he saw coming.

“Don’t worry guys, I’ll convince him. Just get everything set up and start eating,” you told the two kids with a little smile, patting their heads.

Megumi scowled at the headpat, crossing his arms in a defiant manner. His reaction was a contrast to Tsumiki’s, who had accepted it wholeheartedly. She dragged Megumi away despite his grunting and hissing, almost making Satoru snort. The moment the kids were distracted, you dragged Satoru away from the kitchen.

“Is the part where you kiss me now that the kids are gone? Where there’s no prying eyes?” Satoru snickered, letting you drag him away.

“You’re doing this thing where you completely fill up your schedule and leave no time for yourself. Which, I can understand, there’s a lot going on,” you looked like your usual grumpy self again, though this felt different. “But it’s going to get to a point where you’re going to fall behind and you’ll have to catch up to the rest of us.”

“Since when have I ever fallen behind?” Satoru huffed, amused by your words. That just wasn’t possible, him falling behind? He was practically skilled in everything, and it wouldn’t be hard for him to pull ahead of everyone else. He was already leagues ahead, so you were worrying for no reason.

“Those kids,” you vaguely gestured to Tsumiki and Megumi who were preparing the table, getting plates and everything down. “They’re not going to be kids forever. With being a jujutsu sorcerer, you’re guaranteed to miss certain things.”

Satoru knew being a jujutsu sorcerer meant sacrificing a lot of his personal life for the betterment of those who couldn’t see curses and couldn’t protect themselves. To risk his own life while doing so. And if he died the world would go on.

Except he was the strongest. If he did die now, he’d be doing so with a lot of regrets. Here he was risking his life for people who wouldn’t bat an eye or thank him for his efforts. There was that slight bitterness that rested in his mouth. Missing Tsumiki’s school events, not being able to attend many of their conferences or get involved in their schooling. Sure he wasn’t involved much now, but the Megumi and Tsumiki’s future seemed bright and open to a lot of opportunities. He couldn’t leave them alone at this stage, not permanently if he wanted them to succeed.

“I know that,” Satoru scoffed, then pinched your cheeks fondly, “as much as I want to be there for a lot of things they’re gonna do, I’m not an idealist. I know I’m gonna miss a bunch of stuff.”

Though when he thought on it more, it did break his heart to think about everything he’d have to miss. 

“If you know that, then you need to realize you can’t afford to fall behind and miss on studying,” you told him sternly.

Satoru frowned at your point. What were you talking about? Falling behind and missing out on studying? Then it came to him, his mission reports and his upcoming exams for Jujutsu Tech. Why were you so worried about that? He had plenty of time to get all of that done.

“Hey, I didn’t study much for those previous exams and I still did pretty good,” Satoru then squished your face in his hands.

“Satoru, let go of my face-!” you hissed, moving his hands away. “There’s no harm in just reading over all your notes. Or you know, getting some time to yourself. Have you taken a break since you started taking care of these kids?”

“Pffft,” Satoru snorted, his eyes darting away after you mentioned a break. He was going to make fun of you, but the more he thought of the idea of getting a break, it seemed more appealing. Though indulging in rest was tempting, there was still a lot for him to do anyways. He could catch up on the mission reports he had been slacking on, and start studying for upcoming tests…

“Don’t laugh at me. And stop thinking so hard,” you poked his cheek, giving him an unamused look, “just let me do this for you. Please?”

Satoru let out a long sigh, as if letting you take the kids out was such a big deal to him. “You are so persistent.”

“I could say the same to you too. Besides, you saw how Tsumiki perked up when I offered to take them both out. Though I can’t say the same for Megumi, he seemed a bit broody,” you slightly hesitated, “is he always like that?”

“Oh yeah, the kid’s a buzzkill,” Satoru jokes, glancing at the two kids eating peacefully at the dining table. “Though since Tsumiki was pretty excited to go, he’ll tag along for her. They’re pretty connected, those two.”

(“What will happen to Tsumiki? If I do go there, do you think my sister will be able to find happiness? It all depends on that-” Megumi had started when Satoru asked him whether he wanted to go to the Zen’in clan.

“No. A hundred percent no. I can say that with certainty,” Satoru had abruptly cut him off, just thinking about how the man’s biological father had turned out. He wouldn’t give the kid any false hope, and for a non-sorcerer like Tsumiki, there was no chance.

Though seeing Megumi’s momentary shock shift into a defensive stance, Satoru couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh of amusement which showed his teeth. Maybe Megumi, with that spirit of his, could match up to his own strength one day.)

“If you say so,” you sighed, then pinched his cheek which snapped him back to reality. “So I’m taking them out somewhere. Probably for ice cream or something.”

“Megumi doesn’t like ice cream, or anything sweet,” he told you with a grin. Though Satoru had been absolutely gobsmacked when he first found that out, he was hoping for a similar reaction.

“...I’ll figure something out,” you said, sounding slightly stumped. Though you regained your energy and gave him a hopeful smile, “so is that a yes? I can take them both out for today?”

Satoru suddenly found it much harder to say no to you now, pressing his lips together. He tried to think of the cons of letting you take the kids out. There were definitely curses that could attack Megumi and Tsumiki, and they’d end up hurt. Except you would be there, and you could definitely hold your own just fine. Hell, you’d be able to protect the two just fine. There was still that coiling feeling in his chest, his mind scrambling to come up with the many ‘what ifs.’

You flicked his forehead, “Stop overthinking. I can handle two kids and protect them just fine.”

Satoru’s eyes widened a bit, “how did you…?”

“It’s written all over your face. You’re going to worry yourself into getting grey hair-” you paused, then amended, “okay well that doesn’t apply with your hair. You’re going to worry yourself bald.”

“No, anything but my hair!” Satoru whined.

“Then you’ll let me take them out?” you blinked repeatedly, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

“That’s not fair,” he mumbled, trying to look away from your face. Now he really couldn’t say no. Even when he looked away, your face, your expression, was burned into his mind.

He let out another long sigh, putting his hands on his hips. “Fine, fine. You can take them both out after we all eat. You can be such a handful sometimes.”

“I convinced him!” you quickly tell the two kids the good news, already dragging Satoru over to the kitchen. “We can go out after-”

“We already finished eating,” Megumi said in a deadpan tone, cleaning his and Tsumiki’s plates.

“I tried to tell him to wait since it’s rude to eat before everyone sat down, but we didn’t want the food to get cold,” Tsumiki explained, looking sheepishly at the two of you.

Both you and Satoru stared for a moment, before you both burst into snickers.

“Then just wait on me, I’ll finish eating and the three of us can go,” you tell Megumi and Tsumiki with a fond smile.

Megumi just gave a dismissive nod while Tsumiki brightened up and nodded eagerly.

The moment you and Satoru sat down together at the dining table, you had gotten into a comfortable conversation. The two joining in was barely noticeable to Satoru, as he only spoke every now and then to respond to some of your statements. Tsumiki’s chatter and Megumi’s minimal responses to your personable witty banter…

Maybe, just maybe, the domesticity of this was something Satoru could get used to.

He hadn’t noticed the food was finished and you had quickly cleaned up. In a matter of no time, he was at the door dropping a spare key in your hand, watching you leave with Tsumiki and Megumi.

“And hey, actually take this time to relax or prepare for our exams,” you told Satoru, squeezing his shoulder with your other hand. “Don’t think too hard, I’ll call you if anything comes up or if I need you.”

“Yeah yeah, I got it I got it,” Satoru brushed off your concerns, moving your hand off his shoulder to give your knuckles a cheeky kiss.

You rolled your eyes in response, pulling your hand away with a huff. Though you acted annoyed, he could see the corners of your lips curved upwards. That was good enough for him, even if a verbal confirmation would’ve been nice.

The four all exchanged their farewells, Satoru closing the door once you three were a fair distance away. He should probably do as you said, maybe get a headstart on reviewing…

_______________________________________________________

“Satoru? I’m home!” you called out softly, not wanting to wake up either Tsumiki or Megumi. The two kids had fallen asleep, one kid in each arm. Your arms were starting to get a little sore, carrying two kids was not for the weak. Locking the door and taking your shoes off was a struggle for you, but you managed.

You looked around in a bit of confusion as Satoru didn’t respond, frowning before you decided to carry the kids to what would be their own rooms. You had just guessed where their rooms were, based on the room decor. You could be wrong, but they couldn’t fault you for it when they woke up. If anything, they should blame Satoru. Speaking of, where was that man?

Once you peeked into another room, your confusion was replaced with a slight bit of relief.

There was Satoru, asleep on his chair. He had all his notes laid out in front of him, seemingly finished. What a nerd. Though you winced, he couldn’t possibly be comfortable sleeping like that.

With incredible strength and luck, you managed to move the man to his own bed without waking him up. It was a miracle, and by the end of it you sat down on the floor next to his bed, completely winded. You told yourself you’d leave or move to sleep on the couch once you weren’t so damn tired.

His hand grabbed your arm sleepily, making you freeze and stop breathing. Did you accidentally wake him up? Maybe if you left now, he’d be able to go back to sleep. As you were about to get up and leave, you felt his grip tighten just a little bit.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbled, his eyes still closed. “Please. Not you too. Don’t leave me behind.”

After hearing that, your shoulders slumped. You stayed sitting there on the floor, silently staring at Satoru’s face, praying that he wouldn’t wake up from his well-deserved rest. When you took a moment to process his words, you frowned.

‘Not you too,’ huh? That was a lot to unpack, and if he had been awake you would’ve tried to grill him for information. Except he wasn’t, and you decided to just forget about his words for now. Even though you knew who those words were about, the subject was still a fresh wound among your circle. You didn’t know when that wound would heal for any of you, but you knew well that it wouldn’t. That wound would scar, itch from time to time to show that it was still there, and burn to make you all remember who was lost.

He moved to cradle your arm in his sleep, his fingers interlocked with yours. With how firm his grip was, you figured he wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. That was fine, sleeping while sitting on the floor next to his bed was fine. Sure you’d get sore or aches when you’d wake up, but it would be fine. That’s what friends would do for each other.

The moment you took another look at Satoru, you felt fondness creeping in. You smiled, combing through his hair with your free hand. Now that he was resting and quiet, he was actually kind of pleasant to look at. Dare you say cute, especially with how he made noises of contentment in his sleep.

Your hand froze in his hair. You needed to catch up with that thought you had just now. Cute. You thought he looked cute like this. The man who used to annoy you endlessly with his childish antics was looking too relaxed in his sleep, and of all feelings you felt relieved he was taking a break? That he was holding onto your arm like you were some teddy bear, refusing to budge when you tried pulling away?

Your smile dropped, the heat on your face becoming apparent.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh no.

When did you start catching feelings for Satoru Gojo of all people? You had to think on that for a while, sure you two always had your own little thing going on with bantering and messing with each other, but that’s all it was. At least, that was what you thought.

Before you could you stop yourself, your mind went back to earlier, how he couldn’t help but tease you affectionately. The nudging, joking about you kissing him, him squeezing your face, pinching your cheek-

Him kissing your hand.

You took a deep breath, then looked over at Satoru. He was definitely still asleep, if his soft snoring had anything to say about it. His fidgeting did concern you, he seemed to be distressed in his sleep.

You moved over, and gently planted a soft kiss on his forehead. Then you whispered to him, “you’re so, so stupid. I’m not leaving you behind. I wouldn’t dream of it, and you should stop worrying about it.”

It wasn’t much, but the comfort made him relax his grip on your arm, which would make it easy to pull away.

Except you didn’t, opting to stay there for the rest of the night.

(There was the unfounded fear he’d leave you all like Suguru did. The worst part is that you wouldn’t blame him if he did.)

4. Patching him up

Years had passed, and there was that strong shift in responsibilities and strength for everyone at Jujutsu Tech.

Satoru Gojo is the strongest. He’s the strongest sorcerer of today. He rarely ever messes up on missions, getting the job done with ease. He’s even a teacher now, with students of his own.

So why was he more battered up than usual, with cuts and grazes on his skin?

“These will heal on their own, we don’t need to bother Shoko with this,” he had tried reasoning with you with his usual lighthearted tone. He made a dramatic show of him bleeding, trying to gross you out so you’d forget about it in favor of annoyance.

Unfortunately, you only seemed more guilty anytime he made light of his injuries.

Right. You had been tasked to accompany him on a mission, (which really, he loved having you come along since you two hadn’t spent much time together in the many years, but he didn’t need any help), and almost ended up getting hurt.

Of course, he had pulled you in and activated his Infinity to prevent either of you being hit. Though he activated it a bit too late, as he still got damaged by the brunt of the hit. You hadn’t noticed him being hurt at the time, as he focused on you and made sure you weren’t hurt first and easily exorcised the curses. Then he had playfully scolded you for getting distracted and he would’ve never made that mistake, jokingly saying it was good for you he was there to help.

Then his blood had slipped onto your hands, and really it was just a small amount! Well, to Satoru anyways.

Though you weren’t having it. “Satoru, I don’t care if it’s a papercut or the smallest scratch. You’re bleeding! You need to make sure none of these cuts get infected!”

“Pssshhh, I’m the strongest, the strongest don’t get infections!” he had snickered at your stubbornness, trying to satiate you in some way. “Shoko will tell me to walk it off, come on, it’s really not that bad! I don’t need to get this treated!”

He tried protesting more as you dragged him into the infirmary. It was oddly quiet, and empty. “Shoko’s not even here, we walked all the way here for nothing! Come on, we can go back home and I can take care of these myself! I can use reversed curse technique for crying out loud-”

“Sit your ass down.”

He went quiet, absolutely stunned by your firm tone, then promptly sat down on the closest chair.

You opened up multiple cabinets in the infirmary before finally finding a full and usable first aid kit, then pulled up another chair to sit in front of him. You silently tended to his wounds, gently cleaning the blood off with a cotton pad doused in alcohol.

He winced at the first exposure to it, then bit his lip to stop himself from making any noise. He was unusually stiff, avoiding eye contact with you. The way you were being so gentle with him, taking your time with every cut, no matter how small.

He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. Not from anyone, not from you. He was the strongest, he was supposed to be protecting everyone else. He always took the hits for everyone else, he could handle it fine. That’s who he was supposed to be, the one who would handle things if they got too out of hand. Hell, that’s why he was a teacher. That’s why he had to take on everything on his own- for the safety of others.

Though there was you right now, who focused on him, even though he could deal with the injuries and shrug them off. You, who had dragged him here even though he had tried to convince him otherwise. You, who insisted and didn’t back down when he tried to downplay his injuries. You, the person currently wrapping bandages around his cuts. The fact that you took your time with it, making sure nothing was left to be exposed to the air, being careful and treating him with such kindness.

Had it been anyone else, he would’ve been miffed. He probably would’ve pushed away, maybe thrown on a smile that was slightly yet imperceptibly forced. Though he knows you would see right through it, because somehow you always do.

You knew him too well, and that made him feel, well, odd. Even though you two had been on and off with communication with anything personal, keeping your conversations more professional and related to jujutsu…

“I know you can use reversed curse technique to heal yourself and your injuries aren’t all that serious, it’s just…” you hesitate for a moment, then look away from him.

Your voice is what cuts him off from his thoughts, pushing them aside in favor of you. When he sees you look away, he studies your face. Your eyes are perfectly out of view, which makes him hesitate too. He still doesn’t really get it. He could use his RCT to heal himself, that’s what he’s been doing ever since he got a handle on it. He’s been doing it for years at this point, so why was it a problem now?

“It’s just what?” Satoru wanted you to continue, almost desperately. He was confused, his mind was going all over the place. “Just what? You don’t want to see me hurt? It’s all small cuts, and we both know it’ll heal. You’re being…” he hesitates, “silly. You’re being silly (Name).”

“Satoru.”

He winces, squeezing his eyes shut behind his bandages. You sounded hurt, even when he was trying to be lighthearted. He was trying to bring the mood up, but you weren’t having it.

You always did make things harder than it needed to be.

“Stop. Please. Give your body a rest and…” you hesitantly hovered your hands over his eyes, your fingers inches away from the wrapping. “Let me help. Please. I hate seeing you practically destroy yourself like this. Don’t you know you can lean on us when you need help? Or that you can talk to me?”

Who were you to make such a request of him? He was Satoru Gojo, he was the strongest sorcerer of today. He was stronger than you, and he could easily get out of this situation. All it would take was yelling at you, or pushing you aside and making a run for it. He could charm his way out of this, he knew what you liked and would fold for.

Yet he faltered when he finally made eye contact with you, seeing you squeeze your eyes shut. He sat there awkwardly, swallowing nervously. This felt wrong for him to see, for you to be so overly worried for him. He had half a mind to make a snarky comment, something about you acting like a mother hen. Though he couldn’t bring himself to speak, he nodded.

You stood up from your chair to get easier access to the wrapping over his eyes. Then you slowly unraveled the wrapping, wanting to see his eyes. It was a slow, agonizing process that he let you go through with. He almost relished in the slight warmth your hands brought him, how soft they were when it came to caring for him. The moment the wrapping had fallen to the floor, his hands gripped onto your shoulders. He had lowered his head in front of you, to avoid looking at you.

Instead of forcing him to look up like he expected, your hands had moved to cup his face.

“Losing him was hard on you,” you said simply, your thumbs caressing his cheeks.

He flinched. No one had brought Suguru up at all. Not since he had declared war, and not since the night Satoru had to… “It was hard on all of us,” Satoru mumbled.

“Sure it was, but not to the same degree.”

“He was our friend. Yours, Shoko’s-” he tried to counter your point.

“Don’t undermine your own pain because everyone else is hurting too, it’s not just Suguru we lost,” you tell him in a harsh tone. “I know Tsumiki getting cursed and falling into a coma was hard on all of us and harder on Megumi, but you have yet to confide in me about any of this!”

“Bringing up Tsumiki is hitting a sore spot and you know it (Name),” Satoru almost hissed, wincing. There wasn’t much to talk about when it came to Tsumiki getting cursed, nothing he wanted to bring up anyways. You, him and Megumi were hurt when Tsumiki fell into a coma due to her getting cursed. He couldn’t forget the guilt he saw on yours and Megumi’s faces, opting to try and cheer you both up at the time.

“Do you know how it feels to see someone you really care about push everyone away to mourn on their own? To not let anyone help them?” your voice was cracking again and your breath was a bit rushed, “Satoru, I don’t want to lose you too. You doing this? It hurts me too. Getting injured like this, in order to save me? I know those cuts are trivial to you, but when the small cuts turn into hundreds, thousands of them? When everything starts to pile up and you’re bleeding fast, what will you do? Especially when you refuse to let yourself be helped?”

You sounded desperate for an answer, though you never forced him to look up once. Satoru swallowed again, feeling his throat burn up. You really did care for him despite everything he did to make it seem like he was okay. If anyone saw him like this, he’d be mortified.

You always seemed to be an exception.

He finally looked up at you, the same moment you moved to look down into his eyes. Some tears had slipped out, blurring his vision. Regardless, he could very clearly see you were somewhat relieved.

“Satoru,” you sounded devastated seeing the tears fall, wiping them away with your thumbs, “don’t ever try to hide how you feel from me ever again. You can always cry in front of me.”

“You tell anyone I cried, you’ll never hear the end of it from me and I’ll never hear the end of it from anyone else,” Satoru weakly hit your arm, still trying to remain somewhat lighthearted. “I’ll never live it down.”

“You’re so, so stupid,” you smack his arm back a little harshly.

He whined, making no move to get away from you. “Ow! That really hurts you know!”

“Is it that hard to acknowledge we love you, you dumbass?” you whisper quietly as you expect your words to be lost to the air, not intending for him to hear you.

He tensed up after hearing your words, his lips going dry.

(“Love is the most twisted curse of them all,” was what he remembered telling Yuuta. Would he be a hypocrite if he accepted this kind of love from anyone? If he got attached despite suggesting otherwise?)

“I…” his throat burned. He didn’t know how to respond, or if he was supposed to respond. Maybe he misheard, or hallucinated you practically saying he was loved. 

You tilted your head down to kiss the crown of his head. “I love you, you absolute idiot. Don’t ever forget that. You mean way too much to me, so don’t go doing anything that’ll get you killed.”

He melted. He was an absolute goner with your words and the warmth he could feel from you, practically preening, putty in your hands. It didn’t take his six eyes to figure out you were being genuine. He trusted you, he felt his heart thumping in his chest, he…

Oh. He…

“You don’t have to say it now. I don’t expect you to,” you placed a kiss on his forehead, giving him a fond smile. “I can wait for you, and you can take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

He wanted to stand up, he wanted to take you into his arms, hold you close and pretend there was nothing else happening. To run away with you from everything, to stay with you, to experience all the things he never got to do with you by his side, to take his students with him, reform Jujutsu society and make it better.

He wanted it all, but there was no way he could ever hope to accomplish it on his own. He had to be smart and go about it slowly, but for now, he could wait with you.

He stood up, legs trembling, and in a rare show of vulnerability he wrapped his arms around you. He buried his face onto your shoulder, holding on tight. You hugged him back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

The moment was nice, embracing each other in silence for a few minutes.

“Oh, by the way, I figured the bandages might be a pain to put on every morning, wrapping it around your eyes. I’m gonna buy you something that’ll be much easier on you,” you told him out of nowhere.

He blinked repeatedly, staring at you for a little bit with his teary, puffy red eyes. Then he snickered, “really? Is this the time to mention you’ll be spoiling me further?”

“Oh please, I’ve been spoiling you since we were teens. This isn’t anything new,” you ended up giggling, wiping away a stray tear from your own face.

He ended up laughing with you, feeling some weight lifted. “You can try, though it’ll be very hard to please me.”

“Liar, you love anything I do for you.”

Okay, maybe you were right, but he wouldn’t admit that. Not yet.

_______________________________________________________

When he rolled into class with his new blindfold, his students asked where it came from. In true Satoru Gojo fashion, he just laughed it off and said it was from a ‘special someone.’

Though with how you smiled from the sidelines, they could put the pieces together quickly.

(The reactions to you both announcing your relationship was pretty minimal and some congratulations were said. Though the more noticeable reactions…

“Of all people,” Utahime was dumbfounded and majorly annoyed, a true hater at heart, “it had to be Gojo!?”

“Finally!” Shoko said in exasperation to you, though she was smiling when she gave you a pat on the shoulder. “Took you way too long for my liking, but I guess I can’t complain since you two did end up getting together in the end. Props to you though, waiting years for Satoru? That’s stupidity and some serious dedication.”

“Shoko knew?!” Satoru asked you in shock, “and what does she mean years?!”

“Of course she knew, she’s my friend,” you sighed, “I told her I liked you. Years ago.”

Satoru’s jaw dropped, speechless.

“Now’s a good time for a smoke break,” Shoko said nonchalantly, making herself scarce and dragging an angry Utahime away, not offering any help to the predicament you were about to end up in.

Despite Satoru being speechless, he went off on a flustered tangent that was scolding you for not saying something sooner. You just accepted and listened to him with immense entertainment.)

5. Taking care of his Responsibilities

You stayed the night at Satoru’s place for old times sake, simply wanting to make sure he was taking care of himself properly.

You had helped him take care of his students when they all got sick, preparing soup, home remedies, and the like. The poor man had helped you try and make everything, making you sit down constantly so he could take over. He played it off as if he wasn’t exhausted either, saying your legs must’ve been aching by the amount you were standing. Then he joked, saying your back was probably sore by how much you had been working to carry all the weight of his responsibilities.

The two of you delivered the remedies and medicine to each student after Shoko gave proper checkups and assessments, wearing masks and gloves to ensure neither of you would get sick. There were a few thank yous, some grunts and grumbles, then sounds of misery.

As soon as you two were done, you asked him if you could sleep over at his place, and he readily agreed. In fact, he was ecstatic about the whole arrangement. It was a moment to spend some time with you, amidst all the chaos and busy schedules. It was something to look forward to, since this would be the first time in a while you’d be together as a couple-

Until both of you fell asleep on the same bed, way too tired to do anything else. In true, exhausted adult fashion. Which was fine, he had held you in his arms as you asked of him, ignoring the dryness in his throat and itchy nose. He was probably just tired, and he really wanted to sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time, though the fact he was sleeping earlier than usual probably should’ve been a big sign.

When he woke up the next morning, he realized yes, he should’ve been worried. He pulled away from you, rolling over onto his side. He scrunched up his face, squeezing his eyes shut. Before he could stop himself, he let out a sneeze.

“Achoo!”

The sickness fiasco wasn’t over.

You woke up abruptly, hearing the loud sneeze. When you looked over, you saw Satoru a distance away. Which was weird, because you had insisted on you two being close together during the night. You didn’t really want to separate yourself from him during the night; you wanted to keep him close. Like he could slip out of your grasp before you could even process it.

“Ughhh,” Satoru looked over at you, sniffling. He looked absolutely miserable, his eyes were puffy, his nose was running, his face pale aside from his rosy cheeks, and he sounded breathless. He hacked up more coughs, trying to keep them muffled so you wouldn’t hear.

“Satoru?” you groaned, rubbing at your eyes in a sleepy manner. “Are you okay?”

Before he could answer, he went into dry, violent coughs, making you much more alert. You jumped out of bed to grab him some water. As soon as you sat him up and gave him the glass, you put the back of your hand on his forehead. His forehead was hot as hell, making you yelp as you removed your hand.

“You’re burning up, Satoru,” you tell him quietly, rubbing your hand.

“I can’t get sick,” Satoru rasped out, wincing as his voice sounded dry. “It hurts to speak. How are you supposed to listen to my lovely voice now (Name)? How is anyone supposed to hear me talk when I sound like this? I have to teach my students-”

“Stop straining your voice so much so it’ll hurt a little less,” you sigh, giving him a stern look. Then you paused, and looked away. “Satoru. You’re gonna have to stay home today.”

He was going to protest, but promptly went into another coughing fit.

You put the glass in front of him with a frown. “Yeah, you’re definitely going to have to cancel your classes today. I don’t think you can teach in this condition.”

“I totally could, why should being a little sick stop me?” Satoru said stubbornly, glaring at you.

This man was so persistent. It would’ve been admirable if you weren’t trying to get him to stay in bed. He had always been perseverent, much to his own detriment, though you didn’t mind picking up the pieces to put him back together. You knew he wanted what was best for his students, to be strong, to be able to have confidence in their own unique abilities, and to change jujutsu society for the better.

Satoru did more than just teach the kids about the jujutsu world, he taught them about how to grow too. All while trying to protect their innocence for as long as he could.

(It was hard on you and Satoru when you found out Yuuji had died, and seeing Nobara and Megumi hurt from said mission. He remained in your arms for a while, neither of you saying a word.

He expressed his ideas of wanting to change the Jujutsu world through education, his voice raspy as he talked about each of his students and how talented they were in their own right.

He repeated his words later to Shoko and Ijichi in a more calm, eerie manner. As funny as it was to see Ijichi’s face pale considerably in fear, you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh.

You were, however, dumbfounded when Yuuji rose up from the dead like nothing happened. There was that feeling of dread, just how was Yuuji brought back to life?

Satoru’s smile upon seeing Yuuji alive had wiped away that feeling entirely, and well, Yuuji’s childlike personality had eased you as well.)

You blinked, then looked back at Satoru. As much as you loved how much he cared about the students, a line needed to be drawn.

“Doesn’t mean you should, and you’re more than a little sick,” you scoff, about to flick his forehead. You refrain, opting to poke his cheek instead. “You’re not working at all today. You’re going to stay in bed, and rest.”

“But I have to. No one can take my workload. I have a set schedule. It’s about to be seven and I have to get up and commute to Jujutsu Tech-” he started coughing, unable to finish his sentence. As soon as he finished his (third) coughing fit, he looked at you with teary eyes. “Please. I can’t just give myself a day off like this. It’s last minute and-”

“You let your students have the day off when they got sick,” you point out to him, cutting him off.

“Because they’re kids and they were sick-”

“And you are sick too . If you move out of bed, god help me, I’m going to…” you trail off, wondering how to threaten and intimidate Satoru into staying in bed. You can’t exactly restrain him to his bed, considering he’s pretty strong and would break out easily. Even if he was considerably weakened in his sick state, it wouldn’t work on him. “I’ll…”

“You sound very threatening,” Satoru smirked, though the man struggled to keep his eyes open.

“You can’t even be properly snarky with me, you can’t teach like this. You’ll get them all sick again if you go like this, do you know that? You don’t know if what you have is contagious or not!” You chide him, poking his cheek again, “unless you want to repeat that shit show? Because having a ton of teens sneezing, coughing, and being utterly miserable was so much fun before, right?”

“I’ll wear a mask-”

“Megumi fainted last time. I’m not risking you fainting too. Stay. In. Bed.”

He gave you a grumpy look, his lower lip out. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Cause I care about you. Now stay in bed, I’m gonna shower and make sure none of your sick germs got on me.”

“I moved before I sneezed on you! At least kiss me before you clean up after yourself (Name)!” Satoru whined, but accepted defeat as he laid on his bed without your warmth.

“With my morning breath and risk getting sick with your germs getting into my mouth? No,” you told him. The last thing you saw was him looking betrayed.

_______________________________________________________

You took a deep breath. You could do this. You’ve subbed in for teaching Satoru’s students before, helping them on their missions and sparring with them. This wouldn’t be any different.

“Are you all right?” Nanami gave you a look, making sure his concern was clear enough. “I can take over for you.”

“I’ve got this,” you mumble under your breath, unintentionally ignoring Nanami, “Satoru does this everyday. I can take his place for a day. Sure I’m not a Special Grade like he is, but I’m pretty strong. I can teach. Maybe not as well as him, but I can do it, I’ve done it before.”

There was always that feeling of your teaching being never enough. Maybe you got the concepts across to the students, but there was that lingering feeling of something being missing no matter how much you planned in advance.

Today was worse, considering you barely glanced at the lesson plans Satoru had given to you. You should’ve looked it over on the way to Jujutsu Tech, but all you could think about was how you had to leave Satoru behind.

This was for Satoru, you had to do this for him. You couldn’t let him worry about something like missing one day of work when he had his own health to be worried about.

“…I’ll stand by to make sure you have it handled,” Nanami sighed, now much more concerned for you.

“Thank you,” you told Nanami in a distressed and thankful tone. Support was definitely needed here, and you’d gladly take it even if your pride took a slight hit.

“It’s not like you to take over to teach Gojo’s class at the last minute,” Nanami said to you, crossing his arms. “Is he all right?”

“You’re very sweet for worrying about him with how much he troubles you,” you tell him with a little laugh, “he’s just got a lot to do today, so I offered to do this for him.”

“Be honest with me,” Nanami squinted at you, subtly calling you out.

“He’s sick,” you ended up telling him with a sigh, your shoulders slumping.

Nanami tilted his head in confusion, blinking repeatedly. He was in a little shock, and that was fair. Satoru wasn’t the type of person to ever get sick, and if this wasn’t coming from your mouth he would’ve thought it was a lie.

You fidgeted with your fingers, relaying to Nanami the events of this morning, “yes, I’m telling the truth. Satoru’s sick, he was burning up. I made him some home remedies I made for the students when they were sick, some chicken noodle soup, then I left him cold water in a bowl and a rag to cool his temperature, and right before I left I made him take medicine. Now I’m just waiting for a response from Satoru to see if he’s still fine or if I should go back to check on him.”

“Did you tell Shoko?” Nanami asked, walking with you to the training grounds, “she could probably do a quick check-up and see if she can do anything else for him.”

“Ah, that’s what I was forgetting!” you panicked, getting your phone out to send a text to Shoko as your pace quickened. “I swear, I worry about stuff so much that I forget to do the more important things,” you squeezed your eyes shut, walking in a distracted manner.

You should’ve contacted Shoko first thing after finding out Satoru was sick, she was a doctor for crying out loud. Hell, Satoru shouldn’t be alone with how ill he looked. Why did you leave him alone? Anyone else would’ve stayed at home to take care of their partner. Were you a bad partner?

“Stress is normal. I think you’re doing a good job, all things considered,” Nanami said quietly, then gently pulled you away by your shoulders to stop you from almost hitting a pole head-on. “Careful.”

You looked up and stared straight ahead after Nanami pulled you aside, staring at the pole you almost hit. “I’m losing it. I’m losing it, Nanami. If you weren’t here, I would’ve gotten a concussion from a pole of all things.”

“Gojo’s negatively influencing you,” Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a soft exhale at your behavior. “That’s something along the lines of something he’d say.”

“I have to summon Satoru’s energy today, I need to take his place today anyways,” you clenched your hands in and out of fists, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. “If there’s a moment where I start lacking, we might get into some serious trouble.”

“Gojo’s sick. You don’t need to be Gojo, just do what you normally do when you take his students out on missions,” Nanami shook his head, frowning. “You’re overthinking this.”

“Right, right!” you took a deep breath, attempting to calm yourself down. “I can do this. It’s nothing I haven’t done before. I have you for support, so there’s nothing to worry about!”

(“Hey! (Name!)” Satoru called out to you, holding a manila file filled with papers in his hands.

“What’s up?” you asked, walking over to him. You half-expected him to hand you the file, but to your surprise he kept the file close to him.

“Can you pretty please watch over the students training with each other today?” Satoru asked you with a sheepish smile. “I kind of screwed myself over, and forgot I need to have this report finished as soon as possible. So please? Do this for me?”

“Is that all?” you raised an eyebrow at his request. “I guess I can since I’m not doing anything right now.”

“Great! I’m gonna go now, so if anyone asks I told you nothing! Bye!” Satoru waved, practically running away once you gave your confirmation.

Somehow this felt like a trick, but it also felt like a blessing in disguise once you went over to his students. There hadn’t been much to do or say to the then-first-years, aside from bringing down the high intensity that seemed to rise out of nowhere.

This became routine at some point. Every now and then Satoru would have something to do, so it would be up to you to watch over his students. Whether they were going on missions, training with their cursed energy or technique, or helping them review their academics. You found yourself giving them pointers, having Inumaki get more creative with where to attack, getting Panda to adapt to change to his other forms, adjusting Maki’s form to get a better and stronger hits in vital weak points, and getting Yuuta to be more confident and less hesitant in his strikes.

Even as they became second-years and the newer first-years came along, you were still in this routine with Satoru. It was enjoyable to say the least, and it was nice to do something to help Satoru out.

You liked helping out the students, but wouldn’t want the stress of doing this for the long-term. The students were lovely at times, sure, but they could also be mischievous troublemakers when they wanted to be.)

Nanami was a bit skeptical, considering you were still fidgeting with your fingers. Though he made no comment, gesturing to your phone, “did you message Shoko?”

“Yeah, I sent Shoko a text. She said she’ll go and check on him, then will come and see me,” you told him with a nod, not noticing you were on the training grounds in front of the first year students.

Nobara, Yuuji and Megumi all had varying looks on their faces. Nobara looked somewhat suspicious as he put her hands on her hips. Yuuji had a bright, oblivious smile on his face as he bounced in place upon seeing the both of you. Megumi had stared straight at you with a blank expression, then at Nanami with a look of curiosity.

“Who died?” Nobara asked with a huff once you and Nanami were close enough, taking in both of your expressions.

“No one died! Right? No one died?” Yuuji asked, also looking between the two of you.

“Where’s Gojo?” Megumi asked the more important question, looking at both of you with an inquiring look. “Don’t tell me he’s off on a mission again.”

“Without us?! I swear, he’s doing all the fun stuff on his own,” Yuuji pouted.

“No one’s dead, and no, Gojo isn’t out on a mission,” Nanami clarified.

You felt a little bad, you were sure Nanami would get early grey hairs at this rate if he didn’t have them already. You explained the situation to the three, and there were various reactions.

“I guess it makes sense, he was taking care of all of us along with you,” Nobara let out a long sigh, “though talk about inconvenient timing.”

“I hope Gojo gets better soon, tell him I said I hope he recovers fast!” Yuuji told you with a smile.

“Gojo doesn’t get sick that easily,” Megumi frowned, looking annoyed, “how sure are you he’s actually sick?”

“I’m not surprised, we were pretty badly sick,” Maki added, appearing out of nowhere.

You jumped, immediately turning around to see the second-year students, “Maki! What are you doing here?”

“We saw the faces you guys were making, we were hoping there wasn’t any bad news,” Maki rolled her eyes, looking to the side as she tapped her baton on her shoulder. She looked relatively disinterested overall.

“Kelp,” Inumaki waved, adjusting his collar accordingly.

“Is Gojo okay?” Panda asked curiously, peeking over Inumaki’s head.

“He’s- he’s fine. I checked on him this morning, and Shoko’s going to check on him now,” you tell all of them, almost stuttering.

“We’re already behind, we should get started,” Nanami promptly said, then he looked over at you, “since you’re filling in for Satoru today, you should know that you’ve got a lot of paperwork to do for him. Though I’ll lighten your load, I’ll take the upper-years.”

You were thanking any god that was out there for Nanami; the beginning of your day would’ve been an absolute trainwreck without him.

_______________________________________________________

After class, you ran over to Satoru’s office to look over anything he had to do and paled when you saw everything you had to organize, and the mission list. The amount of missions he took on as a Special Grade sorcerer had you staring for a long time. Yeah, no, those needed to be postponed, because no way in hell was anyone going to send Satoru in his condition. Not if you could help it, and that would be over your dead body.

As soon as you had a moment of free time after doing a lot of Satoru’s paperwork in his office, you calmly dialed the number of one of your close friends. Since you were in his office by yourself for the time being, you put the call on speaker as soon as she picked up.

After a few rings, she picked up.

“Hello?” Utahime’s voice rang out through the office.

“Utahimeeeeeee!” you whined loudly on the phone as soon as you heard her voice.

“Ow- what are you yelling for?! It hasn’t even been a minute into our call! You just hurt my ears!” Utahime shrieked, now concerned for your wellbeing. “Did that idiot do something? Did he break your heart? I’ll kill him-”

“How does Satoru do it?!” Your hand that wasn’t holding your phone, was waving around in the air in a distressed manner as you paced around his office. “He has too many things to do in a day! I can’t keep up with his workload!” You turned to look at the paperwork you did finish in comparison to what you had left to do, which did not help your stress. “I swear I finish one thing and there’s ten more things to do!”

“Wait, what? Why are you doing his work? Don’t tell me he put all his work on you!” Utahime scowled, then paused. “No, as much as I hate the guy, I know he wouldn’t do something like that to you on purpose out of everyone. What’s going on?”

“He’s sick, that’s why. He had a pretty bad fever and was coughing and sneezing, then I texted Shoko to go and check on him and all she sent me was a thumbs up and oh God I need to text her to give me an update-”

“You’re rambling, I need you to stop and catch your breath,” Utahime’s voice already sounded exasperated and uneasy. 

You took a deep breath, moving to sit on Satoru’s very comfortable office chair. Somehow, despite it only being many hours, his office felt empty without him, without his bright yet fond smile, without his chatter to ease out of the silence, or the discreet yet sweet acts of service he’d do for you now and then. Whether it was pulling out a chair for you, handing you a drink of your choice, or slipping you some sweets.

You missed him. You missed him a lot. The thought of him was helping your body loosen up, much to your relief.

“I think I’m a little calmer now,” you told Utahime with another breath, “but yeah, Satoru’s sick.”

“Wait, you were texting me the other day about how the Tokyo students all caught some kind of sickness. He caught it from them then?” Utahime questioned.

“That’s pretty much what happened, I’m guessing,” you confirmed, now a little more calm. The pen was making sounds as you went back to writing out some plans for Satoru’s class tomorrow, jotting some simple notes but not going into much detail.

“What about you, you don’t feel sick at all? You were around him this morning and around all the other students,” Utahime asked, then continued, “how did you avoid getting sick?”

“I don’t know, I mean I feel fine. No fever, no weakness, no coughing, no sneezing, no dry or itchy throat, I think right now I’m the epitome of being healthy,” you tell her, checking your forehead to verify your own words, “I’m still a normal temperature, and I made sure to properly clean up after myself when I left Satoru’s place.”

“You stayed the night at his place?” she sounded disgusted.

“Utahime, I know you don’t like him, but be nice. That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about,” you snorted, not offended at all. Their relationship was kind of funny to you, considering Satoru was so oblivious to how Utahime did not take his teasing well. Then again, you should probably have a conversation with him on how his teasing could definitely be taken the wrong way. You were aware of that fact yourself, considering you and him had gotten into many arguments in your earlier years as students before reaching an understanding. It was a wonder you both ended up together, with the odd history you two shared.

“I’m trying to find something nice to say because I like you as a friend,” she still sounded disgusted, “just, him of all people? Is this because there weren’t a lot of options, or because your taste is bad?”

You let out a noise of amusement, “my taste is impeccable, thank you very much. He treats me very well. And I chose him Utahime, it wasn’t because of the fact I had limited options. I’m more surprised he was open to being in a relationship in the first place.”

“Offer still stands, I’ll kill him if he breaks your heart,” she blatantly ignores what you said.

You outright laugh in response, “okay, okay. Fine,” you know Satoru wouldn’t break your heart in the way Utahime is probably thinking of in her mind, but you affirm to appease her. “You get the first stab at him.”

“Yes!” she cheered, sounding way too happy about that much to your amusement.

“You have such high hopes for him,” you tell her sarcastically.

“I’ve never seen Gojo be vulnerable in any aspect whatsoever, but then again I can’t remember the last time you’ve ever asked for help either,” Utahime hummed, “you do know you can ask me or anyone else for help, right? I’d get a ride from Kyoto to Tokyo if you asked.”

You swallowed after hearing that. Right, you had wonderful friends who would be willing to do anything if you had just asked them, or if they forced their way in. Like they had once they learned when your birthday was from snooping through your personal information, something you neglected to inform them of back then. 

For some reason, asking for help has always been hard. To be offered help like this was touching, though you were still hesitant. It had always been in your nature to help, to do anything that was needed of you to make others thrive. Taking the opportunity to be helped, well it sounded nice, but not at the moment.

“I’ve asked you guys for help when I’ve needed it. Nanami helped me with teaching today, Shoko’s checking on Satoru for me, and Ijichi and Akari have been checking on me to make sure I’m all right with my workload,” you inform her, not wanting her to worry too much about you. “Besides, the train ticket is expensive and the trip is long.”

“I’d still do it for you if you needed me, don’t forget that,” Utahime said fondly.

“I know, thank you-”

Your attention was brought away by the knock on the office door. Shoko’s voice rang from outside. “Heyyyyy! I’ve got an update for you (Name)! Let me in!”

“Shoko’s at the door, I’ll call you back. Bye!”

“Wait, at least let me say hi to Shoko-!”

You hung up on her, almost wincing. You figured Utahime’s going to yell at you later, but that’s not on your mind right now. Your attention is on Shoko, watching her walk in. “Thank you for going to visit him, Shoko. How is he doing?” you immediately asked her.

“He’s still running a high fever. The idiot hasn’t eaten anything aside from whatever you gave him earlier, and I’m not going to try with how little ingredients he has at his place,” Shoko told you with a tired sigh, giving you a look of pity as she lowered her mask. “You’re still working on his stuff? How are you doing his work, don’t a lot of things need his signature? What about his missions or whatever he’s got going on for the student plans?”

“Shoko please. Don’t remind me. I’ll get to everything whenever I can-” you grimaced, then paused, processing her words, “Satoru didn’t eat anything?”

“He didn’t eat, no,” Shoko reconfirmed, raising an eyebrow, “what’s up? That’s normal for sick people. It isn’t healthy, but he refused when I offered to buy him something. He said he’d do it himself, but something tells me he’s not going to do that.”

“And you didn’t convince him otherwise, why?” you asked her, exasperated.

“You think I could?” Shoko gave you a deadpan look. “I think you’re one of the few people that could get through that thick head of his.”

You were slightly stunned by that last statement, because really, that was kind of jarring to think about. Sure, you were in a romantic relationship with him, but did you really mean that much to Satoru? The more you thought about it, the more warm you felt. Absence really did make the heart grow fonder.

Looking at the paperwork you had left to do brought you back to reality. There was too much to do, you couldn’t fit in a visit to him. “I can’t leave and get him anything if I hope to finish all this by today,” you looked conflicted, “but thanks for checking on Satoru for me Shoko. I’ll try and figure something out on the food front.”

“No problem, happy to help. Let me know if you need anything else,” Shoko waved it off, already moving to step out of the office.

“Catch up on whatever you missed, don’t worry so much about me!” you called out to her, watching her leave. The moment Shoko was gone, you let out a long breath.

Okay, of course Satoru would never take it easy even though he was really sick. You took out your phone, looking at your options. It was a quick decision on your part, quickly texting one of his students.

You frowned as minutes passed and you got no response, which was odd. Usually he’d message back right away, or at least call you. Though to your surprise, there was another knock on the door.

“You needed me to do something?” Megumi asked, opening the door to the office.

You blinked repeatedly, not expecting Megumi to just arrive at Satoru's office from one text alone, “you couldn’t have just typed a response…?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Megumi grunted, stepping inside, “What did you need?”

“As you know, Satoru’s sick,” you started, taking out the lunch you had made for yourself. “Shoko came back a little bit ago, and she told me he’s not eating.”

“And?” Megumi raised an eyebrow, “what does this have to do with me?”

“I can’t really leave right now unless I want to be swamped with more work,” you say sheepishly, handing him the thermos, “so can you please give this to him? All you’d have to do is heat it up-”

“No,” Megumi said quickly, bristling.

“Megumi, please? Please do this for me?” you asked him desperately, standing up to look him in the eyes. You knew the boy well enough since you had seen him grow alongside Satoru; he’d get to Satoru one way or another if he tried hard enough. “I know you don’t want to get sick again, but I can’t leave right now and I’ve bothered everyone else so much today. And don’t tell him the soup was my lunch, he won’t eat otherwise.”

Megumi’s eye twitched, but he relented.

“Whatever, fine. I’ll do it, but I’m not doing it for Gojo to get better,” Megumi scowled, taking all the stuff from you. “I’ll say Yuuji made it for him if you really don’t want him to know it was your lunch.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” you were shaking Megumi by his shoulders, about to cry out of happiness.

“Stop shaking me!” Megumi scowled, moving away from you. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“Wait! Wear a mask!” you called out to Megumi, throwing a few masks at him before he could leave. Then you rushed over with a lot of other stuff.

“I know, I was going to. I’m not trying to get sick again,” Megumi caught the masks, then froze when he looked at what you were bringing over. “I’m not going to need all of that!”

You had gloves, some wipes, sanitizer, and the whole party of other various supplies. “Megumi, if you get sick again, I will cry.”

Megumi’s shoulders stiffened at your response, then he groaned, “you’re a grown adult, you can’t say you’ll cry if I get sick again.”

“I know you hate it when I cry because it gets annoying to listen to after a while,” you tell him bluntly.

Megumi winced, looking uncomfortable. That’s when you paused, realizing you may have taken this a little too far. The last time Megumi saw you cry outwardly had been when you visited Tsumiki, a day after Satoru had accommodated a room for her to rest while she remained in a coma.

(You sat down on the floor next to Tsumiki’s bed, still in denial. This was one of the kids you had helped Satoru raise, this was your little girl. Your hand slowly hovered over the cursed mark on her forehead, swallowing thickly.

She wouldn’t move, aside from her chest rising and falling. There was no more of her delightful yet polite chatter, no more of her smiles, and she wouldn’t wake up.

The tears fell from your eyes before you could stop them, placing your hands together and interlocking your fingers. With uncontrolled yet quiet gasps, you prayed to whatever being that this was either a nightmare, or temporary. That Tsumiki would wake up soon, and that everything would go back to the way it was.

The door opened with a click, but you didn’t turn around. You sat there, your breaths ragged as you took in Tsumiki’s frail form.

“What…?” Megumi’s voice sounded small, and confused.

Your head whipped over, your tear-stained face meeting his shocked expression. You looked away right after, wiping your tears as fast as you could. Though the damage was done, Megumi walked over to you with a hesitant look.

The silence was long and awkward, but between the two of you there was an understanding.)

“Listen. If you take the food for me and take all this stuff, I’ll buy something for you,” you tried to bargain with him, hoping to divert the topic of conversation.

Megumi put a hand on his neck awkwardly, “Gojo could buy me anything, he’s rich. It’s hard to convince him to not spoil me sometimes. I’m not a child anymore.”

Okay, clearly buying him something wouldn’t work when his guardian was rich. You hummed, tapping your foot as you tried to think of something that would convince Megumi. What could you offer to an introverted teenager that he couldn’t refuse?

That’s when an idea hit you so hard you almost got whiplash at how fast you turned to look at Megumi, “any time you want to be alone and away from everyone else, you can sit in the spare room at my dorm and I won’t tell anyone. I won’t ask you anything either and if anyone asks I wouldn’t know where you are. I’ll give you a spare key.”

His shoulders tensed up at your offer, and you knew it worked. Though he looked like he was considering, you knew you got him hook, line, and sinker. Just to add on, you offered him your prior deal, “I’ll buy you a book you want, and whatever food you want to keep at my place so no one could steal it either.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, taking everything from you reluctantly. “I’ll do it. Don’t forget what you promised me.”

“Thank you so much!” you almost cried out of joy.

“Don’t mention it,” Megumi looked away, but you noticed how his expression had softened up. Even after all those years of seeing Megumi’s broodiness evolve, he was pretty bad at hiding that he was secretly a softie. You knew that, and he definitely knew that, but you both acted otherwise to avoid the boy some embarrassment. Once Megumi was embarrassed, there was no getting him to do anything, he was just as stubborn as you and Satoru.

“Don’t you have work to catch up on?” Megumi asked you, waving his hand in front of your face to bring you back to reality.

“Shit! You’re right! Thanks again!” you quickly ran back to Satoru’s desk, getting back to Satoru’s workload.

This was going to be a long, long day.

_______________________________________________________

You walked back into Satoru’s place, practically dragging yourself in due to exhaustion.

You were going to kill Satoru, who did he think he was doing so much work every single day? It was a miracle you managed to finish everything for him, and prepared stuff for him tomorrow if he’d be healthy enough to start working again.

It doesn’t matter if he felt the need to put everything on himself because he was the strongest, if you were so exhausted after one day you couldn’t imagine how he felt after doing all his tasks for- for-

For how long? Years?

Feeling this immense rage and concern at the same time, you opened the door to his room, ready to scold him then offer your help for anything he would have to do in the future.

Only to see him bundled up in that Digimon blanket, cuddling the Tentomon plush.

“Shit, okay,” you mumbled to yourself, feeling the urge to cry. He really kept what you gave him all those years ago? He was holding onto them like it was a distant memory, and he didn’t look like he was going to let go anytime soon.

All annoyance went away, taking the cloth off of his head to check his temperature yourself. Still a little warm, but he wasn’t burning like he had been in the morning. You picked up the water bowl, grimacing at how warm it was. You quickly went over to dump it out, putting in cold water. After walking back, you sat down on the floor next to his bed, putting the cloth in the cold water. Once you did that, you waited for the water to stop dripping and put it on his head.

He shivered at the cold cloth, opening his eyes groggily, “huh…?”

“Go back to sleep, Satoru,” you say softly, combing your fingers through his hair.

“Don’t wanna, feels good,” Satoru whined quietly, leaning into your touch, “could use Infinity to stop you.”

“Please don’t,” you sighed, gently pressing into his scalp with your fingers, “I took care of all of your stuff for today, then passed on some things to the others as well as prepare stuff for you tomorrow if you feel better enough by then. Did any of your students come over?”

“You’re not slick, I know you sent Megumi over with how much protective stuff he had on. He said Yuuji made the soup but I know when he’s lying to me,” Satoru huffed, looking over at you with a pout. “I can take care of myself.”

“Well, you drank the honey and lemon water, right?” you gave him a look. “Plus the chicken noodle soup? And the medicine you were supposed to take for your throat, cough and fever?”

Satoru whined again like a child, “it’s too many things to do! I only did it because Megumi forced it down my throat. He’d never be able to do that if I wasn’t sick. I basically raised him, took care of him and the others when they were sick, be the best teacher there is, and he does this to me? And he was so annoyed with me the entire time too, what a way to show his appreciation!”

You laughed after hearing his experience with Megumi, so relieved. Yep, that was Megumi all right. You made an internal note to yourself to thank the boy later, he really could’ve put the task onto someone else but didn’t. He really did care afterall, even when he denied it to your face.

The reward you promised was in place, you were thinking of what book he’ll like or food of his choice. You’d also have to get him a spare key to your place since that was the main reason he agreed in the first place.

“Don’t reward his behavior!” Satoru immediately called you out as if he knew what you were thinking, but promptly went into a coughing fit before he could protest further.

“Okay, calm down, don’t wreck your throat,” you chuckled, rubbing his back soothingly. Then you removed the cloth from his forehead to put it in cold water again.

“You’re basically telling me to shut up,” Satoru glared at you. “You’re also mean.”

You snickered in response. He just looked so miserable in his condition that his glare had no effect on you. “You’re so, so stupid.”

Satoru scrunched his face up, “and now you’re calling me stupid! You’re way too mean to someone who is very vulnerable and sick!”

“If you say so.” You were entertained by his dramatics, he definitely seemed a lot better than the sorry state he was in the morning.

After a long silence, he moved your hand away from his forehead. He rubbed his thumb against yours in a soothing manner, then looked you in the eyes with a downcast look, a genuine curiosity shining through.

“Did you really do all my work for me?” he asked you. When you nodded, he gave an irked sigh, “you spoil me too much, I could’ve caught up with all of it tomorrow.”

“I did, yes,” you felt your eyebrows raise at his solemn look, which reminded you that you actually needed to scold him. “I will say, that’s a lot more work than anyone should be taking on in a day. The paperwork, teaching, more paperwork for putting off your missions, doing your missions…”

Satoru winced, then weakly asked, “did the higher ups bother you today?”

“When don’t they bother anyone?” you scoffed, placing the cold cloth back onto his forehead. “I had a few moments with them today, but I get closer to wanting to kill them every day.”

“You and me both, babe,” he said groggily, his eyes closing in relief.

“Did you just call me-” you stared at him in disbelief, unable to form words. When you two were friends and before then, the two of you had played around with pet names for fun. Though while you two were in a romantic relationship, he hadn’t called you anything aside from your name and a cheeky ‘sweetheart’ every now and then.

You prodded at him to make sure you heard him correctly, “Satoru? Did you just call me babe?”

He didn’t respond, falling asleep.

You let out a sigh, smiling at his sleeping form. You’ve been in this situation before, and you knew you’d make the same decision as last time.

You made yourself comfortable, letting your upper body rest on the mattress. Then you changed your mind, moving to get back up and lay down next to Satoru. Probably a bad idea since he’s sick and there is still a high chance you could get sick, but you couldn’t find it in you to care about the future scenarios.

It was just you, holding Satoru safely in your arms in the present, and that was all you could ever ask for.

6. (+1) Spoiling you with Affection and Care

It had been a relatively normal day at Jujutsu Tech. No wild curses of any grade, no sicknesses flying around, friendly banter, some mishaps here and there that quickly got solved, and a rare sense of overall peace.

Satoru Gojo was thrilled to slack off in his office, about to fall asleep in his chair with his blindfold over his eyes. Yeah, this was the kind of day he could get used to. Nothing could go wrong with such a peaceful time like this.

Then suddenly someone kicked his office door down, making him sit up straight in his chair.

“Gojo! Gojoooooooooo!” a shrill, panicked voice called out.

Oh. It was just Nobara. This was probably fine, maybe she’ll ask for him to take her shopping, or to take all three of them out somewhere, or for some advice. Though she did sound like she was panicking, so maybe he’ll need to calm her down-

Or not, based on how Yuuji and Megumi were suddenly in the picture, supporting you so you could stay standing. You looked pale, miserably tired, and- injured? You were injured.

You were injured.

Satoru immediately stood up, walking over. He stared at you, trying to process what he was seeing. You were injured, propped up by his students to stay on your feet. He could tell by the winces you gave any time you tried to readjust your stance, and the slight limp you had as you attempted to let go of the kids.

You didn’t get hurt, not like this. Usually you’d remain mostly unscathed, with some cuts every now and then if you got rough with a curse. He knew you never let yourself get hurt like this, you were the one to always help others, not the other way around.

He kept a calm expression on his face, not thinking too much of the situation at the moment. He couldn’t worry his students who already looked so guilty and concerned. “What happened?”

“The mission was supposed to be simple but then there was this big curse,” Yuuji began, looking panicked, “and it all happened really fast then the curse was gone but then-”

“I took a pretty bad hit,” you tell him weakly, giving a small smile.

“Which wasn’t necessary, we could’ve taken the hit,” Megumi grumbled, his eye twitching as he looked over at you. Though his grip on you tightened, making sure you were steady.

Satoru wanted to scream. That’s right, the mission was supposed to be simple enough for the three of them to handle. He even let you go since you offered to supervise the mission for him, knowing you could handle yourself.

He could tell his students all were taking this a little harder than they should. He laughed instead, though if you listened closely, the slightest strain could be heard. “Don’t worry you three, I’ll go to Shoko. She’ll know what to do, so leave it to us!”

Yuuji and Megumi were quick to hand you over to Satoru, and the man promptly held you in his arms. He cradled you close, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment too long. There were some bruises beginning to form, along with some scratches from what seemed to be claws. If the curse hadn’t been dealt with, he would’ve made sure that curse suffered.

He gave the three a toothy smile, “it’ll all be okay, don’t worry-!”

“Can you hurry it up?!” Megumi hissed, practically pushing Satoru out of his own office, “can’t you see the blood?!”

Blood? What blood? Satoru looked at you again, then blanched. Okay, yeah, you were bleeding quite a bit with the various cuts and scrapes on your body. How could he have missed that?

“Oh. Right. Well, see ya!” Satoru threw up a quick peace sign before hurriedly walking towards the infirmary.

“...We should follow him, shouldn’t we?” Yuuji said with a sheepish look.

“What are you, stupid? Of course we should follow him!” Nobara glared, already dragging Megumi and him along by their arms.

“I told you we should’ve gone straight to Shoko first,” Megumi mumbled, “Gojo’s doing the same thing.”

“But it’s different! Gojo should know his partner is hurt!” Nobara sighed, giving the two an unappreciative look, “you two don’t have a romantic bone in your body.”

“Hey!” Yuuji squawked.

“Going straight to Shoko was the better idea,” Megumi repeated, only to hiss when Nobara smacked him, “you know I’m right. Besides, we should just leave them be.”

“No way! I want to see them be all lovey dovey and take blackmail pictures!” Nobara huffed, already getting her phone out.

“No,” Megumi promptly covered her phone’s camera when she tried to take a photo.

“Well, I am worried about both of them…” Yuuji began.

“See, he’s on my side,” Nobara grinned.

“Though I think we should let them have some time to themselves before bothering them,” Yuuji said with an innocent smile.

“You were saying?” Megumi asked with a little smirk.

“Shut up,” Nobara put her hands on her hips, a disappointed look on her face. “Fine, fine. We’ll leave them alone for now. But I’m going to drag you guys to check on them later!”

Satoru wanted to entertain their train of thought, but he was too far for that now. Since Satoru was away from his students, his expression had shifted from a smile to outright panic as he carried you. Maybe he was worrying for no reason, you had been hurt before and remained relatively unscathed. Though this felt different for some reason, his chest felt tight and his heart pounding in his ears.

His eyes shifted downwards to your barely open eyes, “why do you do the things you do?” he asked you, exasperated. “You just have to make yourself look cool in front of the kids, you don’t even think about how they would feel about you getting hurt.”

“You know why I took the hit,” you tell him with a loopy smile, “hey, you look a lot more handsome than usual today.”

“Why thank you, but don’t think that’ll distract me,” Satoru chuckled, flattered by your compliment, “we’re almost there, just hold on for a little longer.”

“I can hear you two lovebirds from all the way-” Shoko paused as she saw the scene in front of her: you, injured, being carried in Satoru’s arms, “-over here. What happened?” Shoko asked, staring at your barely conscious form with slight concern. She squinted as she saw the bruises and scrapes on your face. “(Name)? It’s not like you to show up like this. Mission gone wrong?”

“Apparently my darling partner,” Satoru gave you a light bonk, “took a hit from a curse for my students while on a mission with them.”

“I’d do it again,” you mumble weakly.

“Wow,” Shoko chuckled, a bit dumbfounded. “I’ll do a quick checkup and patch up whatever injuries you have then. On the bed, please.”

Satoru let out an exasperated sigh, moving to lay you down on one of the empty beds. Before Shoko could even get started, your eyes closed and your form slumped suddenly. Shoko was alarmed, quickly checking your vitals.

“Hey! No- wake up!” Satoru quickly shook you.

“Step outside, I’ve got it from here,” Shoko told him.

“But-”

“I’ve got it,” Shoko said firmly, pushing Satoru out, “I’ll need to focus for this, so stay out here.”

“But Shoko-!” Satoru couldn’t even get another word out as Shoko closed the door on him.

He sat outside, pressing his lips together apprehensively. He had to think rationally about this. You probably only fainted. Considering you felt weak from the hit you took, and the blood loss that followed. When he thought further on it, yeah, it made sense. Nothing to worry about at all, you’d be up in no time.

Then he sat outside for what he felt like too long, so he stood up and started pacing around. This was exactly what he warned his students about, forming attachments in this field would only bring about pain in the end.

In a way, maybe this was the world letting him know that any attachment he did make was a mistake.

(All he could think about was Suguru, how his hand had been clutching his missing arm that had been bleeding out. The man, his best friend, dying in front of him, feeling his pulse gradually get slower-)

Shoko stepped out of the room after what felt like forever, making him jump up right away.

“Shoko-”

“(Name) is stable for now, just asleep,” Shoko quickly informed him of your condition, “it’s just over exertion, so make ‘em rest. I swear, (Name) is always doing everything for everyone else but never asks for anything in return,” Shoko mumbled under her breath, stepping aside so she could let Satoru back in.

Satoru rushed in, putting his hand to your forehead. You were still warm and your heartbeat was normal, which made his body relax.

His footsteps were heavy as he went to drag a chair over to sit next to your bed. As soon as he sat down, he winced when he saw the white sheet draped over your body. Though he relaxed again when he saw your face, able to discern from your nose that you were still breathing.

“You’re killing me here,” Satoru sighed, resting his elbows on the mattress, “why do you do the things that you do? You call me stupid, but here you are.”

“…Ngh…” your eyes slowly opened, trying to adjust to the light.

Satoru quickly dimmed the lights, then put his hand to shield some light from hurting your eyes. “You were pretty quick to wake up, did you miss me that much?” he said in a teasing tone.

“Yep. All to see your pretty face,” you said with a bit of strain in your voice. “I’m magically cured now.”

It still made Satoru laugh, all tension in his frame dropping. Though the more he thought about your situation, he felt as though you were being hypocritical. Being the one to take care of his injuries when Shoko had been out, letting him rest on you when he needed the mental break, tending to him when he had been ill and taking over his responsibilities for the day, did you ever take a break?

Have you ever given yourself any down time to sit down and think about what you wanted for yourself?

“You know, for someone who scolds me constantly about not taking care of myself and taking care of me all the time, you never let me do anything for you,” Satoru scoffed, running his hand through your hair. “Now you’re here, in Shoko’s capable hands because you didn’t take care of yourself.”

He seems almost happy to scold you.

“This isn’t the time,” you weakly protested as you leaned into his touch, squeezing his hand as a way to signal you were okay.

“This is the time,” Satoru grinned as he poked your cheek with his free hand, squeezing your hand with his other one to signal relief, “finally, my chance to pay you back.”

“I can take care of myself,” you tried to protest.

“Nope,” he said with a mischievous grin.

“Satoru-”

“Hey, you have to let me do this. I’m not going to let you take care of yourself like this,” Satoru stuck his tongue out at you. “I’m gonna pay you back so hard, you’ll forget about spoiling me.”

“I’m terrified, truly,” you sighed, then looked over at Shoko, “so? Can I leave, or…”

“You can leave, but I suggest not doing anything strenuous for a while. Get your energy and strength back up. I’ll check up on you in a week and assess whether you can get back to your regular schedule,” Shoko informed you, the curves of her lips turning upwards. “You two are pretty adorable, you know that?”

“Heard you loud and clear,” you nodded, ignoring the second part. You moved to get out of the bed slowly to try and balance yourself.

“Nope, you’re not walking,” Satoru huffed, immediately sweeping you off of your feet.

You gasped, clinging onto Satoru instinctively. “What- why?! Satoru!”

“Oh wow,” Shoko snickered, taking out her clipboard to make a note, “I was going to say walking back would be pretty strenuous on your body, but I can see there’s a clear solution. Good thinking.”

“Why thank you, I always have good ideas,” Satoru grinned. “Anyways, I’m gonna take her back to my place. I’ll see ya later Shoko!”

“I hope not, I don’t need anyone else getting injured,” Shoko said dryly.

“Satoru! Put me down!” you hissed at him, feeling your face get hot. “I can walk fine on my own!”

“Nope,” Satoru popped the ‘p’ and kept walking, “you’re mine now!”

“Have fun you two!” Shoko called out with a snort. “Satoru, keep doing what you’re doing and make sure (Name) doesn’t do anything stupid. (Name), let him carry you. Doctor’s orders.”

“Yes ma’am!” Satoru gave Shoko a little salute.

“Shoko, don’t encourage him!” you shrieked, looking back at her for help.

“You brought this on yourself! Enjoy your forced break!” Shoko told you with a cheeky smile.

“Utahime wouldn’t treat me like this!” you get the last word in before Satoru closed the infirmary door behind him. “Satoru, please put me down.”

“Why, don’t want anyone see me carry you like royalty? Your majesty, I insist on letting me do this for you!” Satoru said dramatically, “why, the council will have me sentenced to death if I don’t!”

“Who is the council in this scenario?” you ask Satoru, exasperated.

“All of Jujutsu Tech.”

“Even the higher-ups?”

“Bleck,” Satoru made a disgusted face, “don’t even. Now hush and rest up, I’m sure my arms are warm and comfy enough for that.”

“You’re a grown ass man, don’t say comfy.”

“(Name)!” Satoru squawked, “you’re so lucky I have to make sure you don’t do anything demanding. Otherwise you’d be in a lot of trouble for that comment.”

“You know I love making fun of you,” you gave a little laugh, closing your eyes.

“Yeah yeah,” Satoru rolled his eyes from under his blindfold, but held you a little closer as his gaze went back to your scratched and bruised face. The images of you weakened, your eyes rolling back, and the sound of you slumping suddenly onto the infirmary bed flashed into his mind. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“No promises,” you mumbled.

“Right…” Satoru gave a slightly bitter laugh.

“But I’ll do my best, I can at least say that much,” you squeezed his arm just the slightest bit.

Satoru closed his eyes, feeling his uneasiness be swept away. Though it was swept under the rug for now, he’d have to clean up later. “I guess that’s all I can ask for,” Satoru hummed, leaning over to kiss your forehead. “Get some more rest, I’ll wake you up when we get to your apartment.”

You copied his humming, slowly falling asleep in his arms.

_______________________________________________________

“Home sweet home!” Satoru called out as he locked your door.

You roused from your sleep, rubbing your eyes. Once you had processed his words you gave him a blank response, “this is not a home. This is my apartment near Jujutsu Tech. I only come here if I need a change of scenery or to be away from people.”

“Oh psshhh, whatever. You need to leave this place and move in with me, you’re just wasting money and time,” Satoru waved your comment off, gently placing you down on your couch, “now, what would you prefer? A nice soap opera? A musical? A movie?” he asked you, quickly turning on the TV and changing the channels rapidly.

You winced at the constant channel changes, the flashing lights about to give you a headache. “Satoru, anything’s fine.”

Satoru pouted, then beamed, “oh, I know! This one!” He changed the channel to one of your favorites, then changed the settings to make the TV less bright. “Now while I leave you here with this, I’ll be making you something that’ll make you swoon and want to marry me on the spot!”

“But I already want to-” you tried to speak but he was already gone, “-marry you.” After saying that outloud, you mumbled to yourself to drag yourself away from that line of thinking. “Okay then. He’s just being his theatrical self.”

Marrying him didn’t sound all too bad, but maybe it was too soon for that.

“I heard you!” Satoru called out, peeking out from your kitchen with a grin. “We could get married tomorrow if you want! Then we can get you out of here and move your stuff to my place!”

You groaned quietly, moving to lay down on your couch. “Oh my God, please stop asking me to move in with you. We can talk about that when we get there.”

If this whole day hadn’t been embarrassing, this would’ve been the cherry on top. It was kind of sweet though, that he had reacted so positively to the idea of getting married and moving in with him. Living with him didn’t sound bad, waking up with him every morning and doing freshly married couple things was appealing. You couldn’t help but get stuck in your thoughts, thinking of the ideal wedding. All of the students would come along with your mutual friends, ban certain people from the list, catering, your outfit… oh, and of course, Satoru in a suit.

“Ah, but food first!” Satoru went back to work in your kitchen, but in the next minute he brought you a cup of fruit juice, “this is to up your sugar since it’s really low. Drink it slowly!”

Before you could say thank you, he was already back in the kitchen.

What was this man going to cook in your kitchen? You assumed he wouldn’t burn your apartment complex down considering he had taken care of two children before and fed them adequately. Besides, this man was good at everything. Any hobby you had and made him try, he picked up the hobby fast and better than you. It did make you a little mad, considering it would take him so little time to get something you had taken time to practice.

Then again, you loved him regardless of that perfect image of himself that had been paraded around jujutsu society. You knew better than to believe what others said about him too. Seeing just how torn up Satoru could get behind closed doors, but never showing that to anyone else…

Even now, when you should’ve been worried about your own state of health, you were thinking about him. If he was holding up okay, or if he was tearing himself up internally. It wasn’t his fault you got hurt, but if he thought it was and let the guilt eat him up without saying anything-

“Mwah!”

“Ack!” you jumped, not expecting Satoru to give you the most exaggerated kiss on your cheek, “Satoru, when did you get here?”

“I could hear your thoughts going crazy from the kitchen,” Satoru snickered, poking your forehead with his index finger, “I’m supposed to be taking care of you right now, and that means turning whatever’s making you think so much off. If kissing you will do the trick, then so be it!”

This man was going to be the death of you one day. Physical affection was something he was no stranger to, it was rare for him to let go of you sometimes. Though it seemed like holding you was one of his favorites, you both knew better. He greatly enjoyed kissing you, and without fail, loved how any kind of kiss made you weak.

“I swear if you- Satoru- don’t you dare-!” you tried to move away from him.

Satoru promptly moved to the floor next to the couch, cupping your face with his hands. “Oh I dare.”

“Satoru-!” you yelped, then started giggling as he peppered your face with kisses. “Satoru! Hey! Wait!”

“Nope! Turn that thought switch down!” Satoru ended up giggling with you, planting more kisses on your face.

You opted to at least try to fight back, swatting at him lazily. Though it didn’t last long, letting yourself simply melt into his affectionate behaviour. It was like your brain had a switch flipped, turning the lights off to signal that no one was home. You hummed in satisfaction as he kept going, trying to sneak in retaliatory kisses.

The moment was ruined by the sound of the lock clicking, making you both freeze. You saw Satoru instinctively raise his hands, making you grab his hands and shake your head frantically.

When both of you looked, it was Megumi giving both of you an odd look, “What?”

Satoru gave Megumi a curious look. “What are you doing here? How did you even get in? The door was locked.”

“I have a key,” Megumi grumbled, showing the two keys before quickly pocketing them.

“Since when did you get a key?” Satoru pouted, then looked over at you, “how come ‘Gumi got a key? And two of them?”

“Don’t worry about it, and don’t pout, you’ve had a key longer than he did so I don’t see why that’s an issue,” you tell him with a sigh, putting the back of your hand over your eyes.

Megumi looked between the two of you with his usual glare.

“Aww, wait,” Satoru’s eyes gleamed with mischief, “did you want to see (Name)? Were you worried?”

“I wanted to get away from Yuuji and Nobara, they’re being annoying,” Megumi scoffed, his eyes still darting from Satoru to you.

You had noted his eye movement being quick, seeing his eyebrows narrow in your direction. You shrugged, you’d deal with whatever Megumi was feeling later if he wanted to talk about it.

“Well you know the deal, room and kitchen’s yours,” you gestured, though he didn’t move from his spot.

“Uh, ‘Gumi?” Satoru stared at Megumi in a bit of confusion, “you heard (Name), go on.”

“Hmph,” Megumi walked over to the spare room, closing the door behind him.

“He’s a weird one,” Satoru snickered, then ruffled your hair. “I’m going to go back to making your very healthy meal. Not only will it make you want to marry me, but you’ll get so strong so fast.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you tell him in an amused tone, this time giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“You better be!” Satoru grinned, then stood up to go back to the kitchen, “call out if you need anything, all right? Let me spoil you tonight.”

“Heard you loud and clear,” you murmured, closing your eyes again.

You probably only slept for about fifteen minutes until you heard a door click again. Your eyes had opened, and you looked over.

Megumi came out of the room, glaring at you. He moved to sit on the floor near the couch you were resting on. The silence was awkward but then he spoke quietly, having to strain your ears to hear him.

“That can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s more comfortable than the floor, that’s for sure,” you joked, though you frowned when you saw Megumi’s eyebrows crease slightly more than his usual. You recognized that look on his face. Megumi could act standoffish all he wanted, but you knew better, “I wish you’d be a little more straightforward with me. I can tell you’re worried about me.”

“I’m not worried about you,” Megumi mumbled, and while he may be a good liar to anyone else…

“Your shoulders are tense, your eyebrows are creased, you’re avoiding eye contact with me, and you’re messing with the loose strings of my couch right now,” you pointed out to him, “all that tells me you’re worried about me.”

Megumi sighed, looking away from you. “Don’t tell Gojo. He’d never let me live it down.”

“Would now be a bad time to tell you what you just said sounds like something he’d say?” you asked Megumi with a snicker.

Megumi’s glare in response to your comment made you snicker more, before you let him off and gently pat his head. “I won’t tell him, your secret’s safe with me. So you were worried about me?”

“I was worried,” Megumi ended up mumbling, “I didn’t want to lose you and have been able to do nothing about it.”

“It wouldn’t have been anyone’s fault,” you tell Megumi with a sigh.

“It would’ve felt like mine. It always feels like mine,” Megumi whispered.

Despite the horror and heartbreak you felt hearing his comment, you calmly pat his shoulder to try and soothe him. It made sense why he felt like that, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You knew Megumi went through a lot, even if you didn’t have a full grasp of what his childhood was like before Satoru had intervened. Sure, he seemed detached and broody as a child, and his disposition remained mostly constant as he grew. But he was still a child.

A child who, you had inferred, didn’t have all his emotional needs met early on due to abandonment. At the moment, along with your horror and heartbreak, was a sense of relief he could bring himself to open up to you.

“For the record, if anything happens to me, it’s never anyone’s fault. If something happens to me- and don’t look at me like that with your little angry kicked puppy look- I wouldn’t want you thinking you were to blame,” you scold him regardless of your relief. “I would never want you, the students, my friends, or for Satoru to think like that.”

Megumi huffed and crossed his arms, “of course you wouldn’t. It wouldn’t stop me from thinking that way though.”

“Then I would be disappointed in you from beyond the grave, I’ll be haunting and hovering over you,” you snorted, poking the side of his head, “I’m not joking, I will haunt you. Then I’ll haunt Satoru. No one would ever believe you two and there will be signs they’ll brush off.”

“Please don’t,” Megumi said in a deadpan tone.

“I’ll write things like, ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘it wasn’t your fault’ or maybe even ‘I’ll find a way to leak all your childhood pictures to your friends if you keep being broody-’ ”

The look of horror on Megumi’s face after that last statement made you snort. What a funny kid. He could act like nothing bothered him and be nonchalant, but there were certain parts you knew you could pick at.

“I’ll get salt if you even try that,” Megumi muttered, “I’ll get the Divine Dogs to attack you.”

“Bold of you to assume salt will stop me,” you snickered, then pondered for a bit, “though maybe the Divine Dogs will stop me.”

Megumi didn’t respond to your statements, making you raise an eyebrow. His expression was downcast, you knew he was still holding back on you.

You laid the palm of your hand flat on his head, doing your best to appear stern. “Megumi Fushiguro, Satoru and I practically raised you, so we know you well. Tell me what you’re actually thinking.”

He scowled at the use of his full name, “I’m getting there, I’m trying to think of a way to say this.”

You nodded, leaving your hand on his head. He hesitated, but didn’t move away from the contact. You decided to stay quiet and not rush him, giving his head little pats.

Then he sighed, speaking up, “when I think about how you were fighting to stay awake when we brought you back to Gojo,” Megumi’s frown remained, “I thought you were going to go into a coma. Like Tsumiki.”

If your heart wasn’t broken before, it was shattered into little pieces now.

“It was a thought that crossed my mind, don’t make a big deal of it,” Megumi huffed when he saw your expression, “I’m… glad you’re doing better now, I guess.”

“You know,” you started, gently running your fingers through his spiky hair, “you and Satoru don’t really talk about Tsumiki unless we go to visit her. You know I gave you that other key so you could give it to her?”

Megumi flinched when you said that, then let out a shaky sigh.

“I miss her.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Oh, if that admission didn’t tear your heart out of your chest violently. You missed Tsumiki too, but for Megumi it was a different kind of grief.

“Of course you do. She’s your sister,” you told him softly. Not just that, but from what you gathered, at one point it was only the two of them. That sibling bond between both was strong, even if Megumi didn’t acknowledge it much.

“I want that idiot to wake up so I can say sorry. I want my sister back. And almost seeing you in the same way makes me miss her more,” Megumi squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment, looking away from you after he opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry I put you in a position that made you think you were going to lose me,” you ended up telling him quietly, “though I can’t promise I won’t protect you when I need to. Us jujutsu sorcerers, we need to be prepared for the worst and protect others.”

“I get that I should be prepared. I remember Gojo telling me that when we die, we’ll be alone. Anyone can die at any time and I’d have to stay strong and move on. Except that’s easier said than done, I couldn’t even let Yuuji get executed. Him dying in front of me and then coming back like nothing happened…” Megumi’s voice trailed off.

You put an arm around Megumi, giving him an awkward half-hug. He stiffened up but didn’t fight it, he leaned into the contact with an air of stubbornness.

“I told Satoru that keeping Yuuji being alive a secret from you guys was going to bite him in the ass later.”

“You knew?” Megumi asked in a betrayed tone.

“Uh, yeah. I didn’t want to lie to you guys to your face, so that’s why I went to Kyoto for a while and came back with Utahime and her students,” you told him sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“...Whatever,” Megumi grumbled, leaning further onto you. He closed his eyes as you massaged his scalp gently. “I’m just glad you’re okay I guess.”

“You said that already,” you told Megumi, though you figured it was a moot point when you felt him slump onto you.

Yeah, no, he was definitely asleep now.

You felt a sort of drowsiness take over, making your own eyes shut. Before you knew it, you dozed off alongside Megumi.

_______________________________________________________

“Okay, food’s done-!” Satoru quickly quieted down when he saw the scene in front of him, and cooed, “how cute…!”

Your arm was draped over Megumi, and Megumi’s head was tilted back onto your shoulder. Satoru took his phone out and snapped a quick picture of the two of you being all domestic and cute, acting like parent and child. He snickered to himself, sending the picture to you so you could laugh at it later. Then he sent it to Megumi so he could yell at him later, just to rile him up whenever he woke up.

Speaking of the kid, Satoru moved to sit on the ground next to him. He laid his head on you, then wrapped his arms around Megumi tightly, “Megumiiiiiiii! Wake uuuuuup! If you have such a long nap now, you’ll never be able to sleep at night!”

Megumi groaned as he was roused from sleep, pushing Satoru away weakly, “I’m not napping.”

“You were napping. On (Name) no less,” Satoru snorted, “I thought you grew out of falling asleep on us, glad to know there’s still a chance of that happening!”

“Let go of me!” Megumi hissed, now struggling more against him, “I swear if you don’t let go, I’ll summon-”

“Boys, boys,” your sleepy voice rang out, making them both freeze. Then you yawned, moving to sit up, “don’t summon Mahoraga or any of your shikigami in my room Megumi. Satoru, stop teasing Megumi.”

“Oh, all right,” Satoru sighed, letting go of Megumi.

“Fine,” Megumi grumbled, then stood up and dusted his clothes off. “I’m going back to my room.”

“Text me when you get there, I want you to be safe!” Satoru said with a grin, also standing up to ruffle Megumi’s hair and make it all messy.

“I don’t need to be coddled!” Megumi scowled, fixing his hair the best he could.

“Satoru, he’ll be fine,” you gave an exasperated sigh, giving Megumi a fond smile, “don’t let Nobara or Yuuji find you on the way out, who knows where they’ll drag you and what they’ll try to interrogate out of you.”

“That’s…” Megumi’s voice faltered at your point, “a good idea.”

“I’ll see you soon ‘Gumi,” you told Megumi fondly, knowing he’d be around if you needed him. He would only be a text or a call away, and would deny anything he did being out of care. That was the boy you raised with Satoru, and you knew him well enough.

“Sure,” Megumi said awkwardly, moving to leave your dorm room.

Once he was gone, Satoru ran back into the kitchen. You tilted your head in confusion at this, but then laughed when he came back with three plates, a bowl and a glass, somehow balancing them.

“For you, my love,” Satoru began in an exaggerated manner, “first, a chalice containing the finest drink that will be sure to cleanse your palate if need be.”

“Babe, that’s just water. Please don’t tell me you’re going to do this the entire time,” you giggled, taking the glass from him.

“The first platter has a meal with all the saltiest foods you could only ever dream of,” Satoru put down the first plate with some snacks. “The second has all the sugar you could only ever dream of,” he put down another plate with some cut up fruit, “and the third, oh the third!”

“What’s on the third?” you ask Satoru, still snickering.

“Burgers, but that’s for me,” Satoru snorted.

“Wow, okay, I see how it is!” you outright laughed, already plopping one of the salty snacks into your mouth. “What took you so long in the kitchen, little chef? Decorating your burgers?”

“I’m not the little chef, you are! And I was making you more food!” Satoru informed you, sitting down next to you. “That way you won’t have to make anything and can heat up whatever you want tomorrow.”

Oh. “That was sweet of you to do for me,” you look over at Satoru with a warm smile, “thank you.”

“Psshhh, it was nothing,” Satoru waved it off, but then whispered something in your ear, “I may or may not have made something you really like…”

“You’re lying,” you move away with a look of surprise, “I would’ve known if you did.”

“Nuh uh,” Satoru waved his index finger in front of your face, “you were sleeping pretty soundly with Megumi, our son. ”

You almost choked, swatting his arm, “Satoru!”

“I’m not wrong!” Satoru whined, his chin resting on your shoulder. “We raised those kids. They’re our kids.”

“Megumi just left, and you’re talking about him like you didn’t almost get him to summon Mahoraga in my apartment,” you snorted.

The fact that Satoru had made one of your favorite meals to eat later was nice of him, even if you felt a little bad he put in so much work for you. Being taken care of for once instead of being the one to take care of everyone else was a nice feeling.

“Thank you again, for everything,” you said to Satoru, looking at the man. You felt a smirk twitch on your lips seeing him pout.

“You’d do the same for me, but I guess you’re welcome,” Satoru let out a long, stretched out exhale, “so how was your experience today out of five stars? Would you leave me a tip for my brilliant service?”

“Five out of five. I will give you a tip, come here,” you grabbed Satoru’s face, peppering his face with kisses out of revenge.

“Hey!” Satoru squawked, then ended up giggling in the same manner as you, “this isn’t a cash tip! Stop it! I’m going to die over here (Name)! Stoooooop!”

You couldn’t even continue with the kisses, laughing along with him. You knew he could’ve stopped you at any time, he was strong enough to do so. Yet there he was, practically melting onto you the same way you had.

You loved this man, and it was clear he loved you too.

Before you could stop yourself, you planted a kiss on his lips. He let out a little noise as you did, frozen out of surprise. As soon as you felt him freeze, you pulled away with a worried look, “too much?”

“Hold on,” Satoru removed his blindfold, and yes, his eyes filled with adoration were in your sight now. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

You smiled, pulling him in for another kiss. This time he happily reciprocated, his hands moving to your waist. The hand placement was second-nature at this point, with how many times you two, in private, got a chance to indulge each other. Doing this kind of thing in public was a big no from both of you, but there would be moments that slipped everyone’s sights. Holding hands under a table, your hands fixing his hair up with your fingers lingering for a moment too long, his hands fixing up anything out of place with your outfit with a subtle yet playful pinch, there was just a lot to be desired out of the other.

He pulled away after some time, poking your cheek, “you can get another one after we finish eating, it’s important you get your nutrients in.”

“Ugh, fair enough,” you nodded, but gave him a poke on his arm to signal you were displeased with this turn of events.

He responded with a pat to your head before proceeding to eat his burgers. You decided to eat your food as well, letting the TV fill up the silence between the two of you.

Before you knew it, the food was finished, the dishes were washed, dried, then put back by Satoru. Once you were out of your bathroom, he was lifting you again.

“I am your taxi driver tonight, is your destination your bed?” Satoru jokingly asked you, closing the lights on the way to your bed.

“You’re so, so stupid,” you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“That’s not a no! And coincidentally, that’s where I’m going too!” Satoru gently placed you down on your bed, settling in next to you.

You put an arm around Satoru, making yourself comfortable. “I think I’ve had way too many naps to actually sleep right now.”

“That’s what you think, but I think you can manage to sleep if we talk for long enough,” Satoru hummed as he held you close. “Oh by the way, there’s no way I’m letting you go anywhere. You’re not going to do any work, or even think about anything related to curses, missions, whatever.”

The workload you’d have once you would recover sounded like hell, but then you thought about the usual workload Satoru had in comparison. If he had stayed the whole day here with you, then that meant he completely missed out on what he had to work on. “You’re going to have a lot to catch up on tomorrow,” you winced.

“Worth it,” Satoru mumbled, nuzzling his face into your neck, “let’s talk about something else though.”

“We should plan a Halloween party for the students,” you said, already coming up with some ideas, “we could do a couple’s costume or something.”

“Oh that sounds fun,” Satoru sounded mischievous, “we should set up a haunted house around the school. I’d love to scare the kids myself, could you imagine their faces if I scared them in some freaky costume?”

Yep, typical Satoru, “you are so evil. I suggested something cute and you immediately twisted my idea into something sinister.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that they give funny reactions!” Satoru said with amusement evident in his tone, “Halloween would be fun.”

You just sighed, thinking of something different.

Satoru looked up at you, taking your expression into consideration. He decided to ask instead of trying to guess in his head. “(Name)? What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?” he moved from your neck and booped your nose.

“I was thinking,” you hesitated, “we do gift giving for Christmas. Something like a white elephant involving everyone.”

“What’s with you planning for the holidays?” Satoru asked you.

“Just, planning ahead I guess,” you shrugged.

“Is this because we couldn’t do anything last year?” he asked you quietly.

“We both know 2017 was, well, for a lack of better words, a shit show,” you mumbled, meeting his eyes to see what his reaction would be.

“You can say that again,” Satoru sighed, leaning his head back against the couch.

There wasn’t much to be said about everything that had happened last year, aside from when you had forced Satoru to tell you how he had been feeling after Suguru’s passing. When you thought back on it, you really did miss him. Who he used to be, one of your friends. Suguru leaving back then had been hard, and him actually dying last year was hard to get past.

It’s not like he had been entirely blameless though, but you wonder if you were biased or short-sighted. Suguru was just as a little shit as Satoru had been, but him defecting and becoming a curse user? You were briefed on the details of the mission Suguru and Satoru had been sent on back then, but whatever was going through Suguru’s mind was something you couldn’t figure out. That was something you couldn’t have helped him through, despite how you tried to reach out to him by making him food, similar to Satoru.

In one moment he had been helping you and Shoko with preparing for Satoru’s surprise birthday party with barely restrained excitement, had gone through most of your second-year as classmates, and then he was gone. Now he wouldn’t come back, not ever.

Though Suguru had been your classmate and friend, someone you relied on back then, you knew what your priorities were. The same as Satoru’s, to keep the students safe. You couldn’t blame any of them for protecting themselves, nor would you let the grief weigh down on your heart. Especially now, when you thought of Suguru, the kids and how hurt they were flashed through your mind.

They deserved to have a redo, to be compensated for the loss of innocence.

“There were a lot of bad memories made for the second-year students- well everyone really- so maybe we should do something small for Christmas this year. You know, bring everyone together,” you sighed, your eyes getting heavy.

“I think that’s a good idea, though you better hope I don’t draw your name out of a hat,” Satoru smiled, moving the hair out of your face.

“You’re thinking of secret Santa you dork. White elephant is different,” you said tiredly.

“Okay, you’re the expert, I trust you,” Satoru chuckled at your lowered voice and droopy eyelids, “what did you say about taking too many naps and not being able to sleep?”

“I’d talk with you all night if I could,” you said flatly, “I love you, your voice, pretty much everything about you.”

Before you properly fell asleep, you heard him.

“I love you too,” he whispered, placing a loving kiss on the top of your head. “Goodnight, (Name). I’ll be here when you wake up tomorrow, so ask me for anything you need. I’ve got a pretty big debt of favors I owe you, and today doesn’t even cut half of it.”

If you were more awake, you would’ve been filled with absolute glee at him saying I love you. Though that would have to be a thought for the morning, for the future.

“Taking care of you isn’t a loan, I do it because I care about you. Nothing will stop me from giving you the love you deserve. Goodnight, Satoru.”

For now and in the present, you and Satoru were comfortable in each other’s arms, dozing off into the night.

[END]

[deathofacupid]

★ when satoru tells you he wants to take your last name :3

the ring on your finger glints as light peeks through the curtains. satoru can't seem to take his eyes off it; the diamonds scream that you're his.

messy hair, tangled sheets, a love that's beautifully unkempt – they all complement each other in the most perfect way. it's raw, true, and deeply desired.

he thinks he could stay like this forever, curled into you in the early hours of the morning. you're both awake, but neither of you needs to say anything; the quiet comfort says it all.

"morning, wife," satoru murmurs, a warm exhale brushing against your neck.

you turn, just slightly. "not yet," you tease.

he chuckles, a soft, gentle sound. "close enough."

"hmm, fair. i'll be mrs. gojo soon, huh?" a giggle leaves you, and he sees your smile in the crinkle of your eyes.

"oh. well, sure." he tries to keep the same energy, but his grin falters, just a bit.

you pinch his cheek, pulling his face down. suspicion laces your gaze. "what?" you ask. "c'mon, spill it."

"spill what?" satoru tries, but it's a bad lie. your fiancé gets a certain look when he's being untruthful – his eyes get a little wide, and his lips press together in a thin line.

it's obvious to anyone, but especially to you. because you aren't just anyone, are you?

he pauses, eyes flitting away. gently, you cup his face, and he melts into your touch. "i was wondering if… if i could, maybe… take yours instead?"

satoru watches you blink, waiting for what he assumes will be a negative reaction.

"okay," you say in that gentle, soothing tone. it's simple, almost dismissive, but not in a harsh way. more like, you didn't mind. it wasn't some huge, monumental thing.

right then, he could die a happy man. how did he get so lucky?

"okay," he echoes. a warm beat of silence passes, and then he opens his mouth. "i just don't think i want that life anymore." satoru pulls you impossibly closer. "that's old, and i have you. that's all i need. not some stupid clan name. you're my life now, baby."

"aw, sato," you coo. "i love you."

"i love you more." and before you have even a moment to protest, he presses a kiss to your lips.

this isn't an argument you'll ever win, he claims.

[sixeyesonathiel]

your highness has no idea

pairing — childhood bsf satoru x fem reader

synopsis : gojo satoru has always been a little ridiculous when it comes to you. that’s what happens when you grow up with someone who once wrote “i wanna be a princess when i grow up” in the second grade yearbook and never quite stopped deserving the crown. twenty years later, he’s still finding new ways to treat you like royalty—carrying your bags, buying you candy, pretending it’s all just friendly devotion. but the truth is, satoru’s been yours longer than he’s willing to admit… and it’s starting to get a little too hard to hide.

tags -> slice of life-ish, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, misunderstanding but it’s soft and stupid, first kiss, white rose symbolism, fluff, YEARNER SATORU, oblivious idiots in love, princess treatment, satoru-centric, lighthearted with feelings, emotional constipation, love confessions, happy ending, art not mine—will credit as soon as i find source!

wc — 10.3k | gen. masterlist | read on ao3?

a/n: this was supposed to be a short, silly fic about satoru being down bad and giving you princess treatment because of something you wrote in a second grade yearbook. but then i blacked out and woke up 10.3k words later, emotionally compromised and surrounded by strawberry candy wrappers. so yeah. i hope you enjoy this soft, dumb, painfully slow-burning love story between two idiots who’ve clearly been married since they were seven. as always, reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated and returned with a consensual kiss on the forehead 😽🌹

satoru's brain operates on a frequency that should probably concern medical professionals. right now, that frequency is completely hijacked by the sight of you sprawled across his couch, ankles crossed, unwrapping a piece of strawberry candy with the kind of focused concentration most people reserve for defusing bombs. you hum something tuneless under your breath, fingers working the wrapper with methodical precision, and he thinks this might be how people spontaneously combust.

the thing is, he's been in love with you since the second grade, which makes him both devoted and completely unhinged. it started with a yearbook—those flimsy little books where seven-year-olds write their life plans in crayon. you'd written “i wanna be a princess when i grow up” in that careful, looping handwriting, tongue poking out in concentration like it always does when you're thinking hard. when you asked what he wanted to be, he'd scribbled “astronaut” because it was the only job he could think of that might get him to the moon fast enough to bring you back a rock that sparkled like the tiaras in your disney movies.

twenty years later, he's still trying to make good on that promise, just in different ways.

“satoru, you're staring,” you say without looking up from your candy wrapper, voice carrying that familiar note of fond exasperation. your lips curve into the smallest smile as you speak, and his pulse does something acrobatic against his ribs.

“i'm appreciating,” he corrects, settling into the opposite end of the couch with deliberately casual movements. his hair catches the afternoon light streaming through the window—those impossible pale strands that seem to drink in sunlight and reflect it back like spun moonbeams, never quite behaving despite his half-hearted attempts to tame them each morning. the light makes them appear almost translucent at the edges, ethereal in a way that's always made strangers do double-takes on the street. “there's a difference.”

you finally look at him properly, lifting your gaze from the candy wrapper, and he gets to see the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you're trying not to smile. it's the same expression you've had since childhood—that particular combination of amusement and affection that you've never quite learned to hide. the sight of it makes his chest feel too small for his heart, like someone's trying to stuff an ocean into a teacup. “appreciating what, exactly?”

“your dedication to proper candy unwrapping technique.” he gestures toward your hands with exaggerated seriousness, watching the way you smooth out each wrinkle with your fingertips. “very thorough. very princess-like.”

there it is—that little snort-laugh that means he's being ridiculous but you're charmed anyway. your head tilts back slightly with the sound, exposing the graceful line of your throat, and you ball up the wrapper with unnecessary force before throwing it at his face. he catches it with reflexes that are definitely overkill for crumpled plastic, his hand moving faster than thought, fingers closing around the small projectile before it can make contact. “you're so weird.”

weird doesn't begin to cover it. he's the kind of weird that keeps mental notes about how you like your coffee (too much sugar, splash of vanilla creamer, stirred exactly twelve times counterclockwise), the way you scrunch your nose when you're thinking hard about something, how you always steal his hoodies but pretend it's accidental even though you've been doing it for fifteen years. the kind of weird that's been carrying a torch so long he's surprised it hasn't burned his hands off.

“weird in a charming way though, right?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. his eyes—those unsettling ice-chip irises that seem to shift between arctic blue and pale silver depending on his mood—fix on your face with an intensity that would probably make anyone else uncomfortable. but you've been looking into those eyes for two decades, watching them go from bright and mischievous in childhood to something deeper, more complex now. something that holds secrets he's never quite brave enough to voice.

“weird in a… uniquely satoru way,” you concede, and the fondness in your voice makes his stomach flip. you've moved on to the next candy, and he watches the precise way you smooth out the wrapper again, fold it into a tiny perfect square like you're performing surgery. these are the moments that undo him completely—not the big gestures or dramatic declarations, just you existing in his space like you belong there. like maybe you always have.

his phone buzzes against the coffee table, vibrating insistently, but he ignores it. nothing's more important than this: you humming off-key under your breath, the late afternoon sun painting everything golden and soft, the way you've unconsciously tucked your feet under his thigh for warmth. your toes wiggle slightly against his leg, and he has to concentrate on not shivering at the casual contact. domestic bliss wrapped up in strawberry candy and the scent of your shampoo—something floral and sweet that he's never been able to identify but would recognize anywhere.

“remember when we used to do this in elementary school?” you ask suddenly, holding up the neatly folded wrapper between your thumb and forefinger. the paper catches the light, creating tiny rainbows at the creases. “you'd always try to make yours into origami cranes.”

“key word being ‘try,’” he says, but he's smiling at the memory, the corners of his mouth lifting despite himself. his hair falls across his forehead as he tilts his head, those pale strands shifting like seafoam. you sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, patient as anything while he struggled with paper folds, your small hands guiding his through the steps over and over again. telling him it was okay that his cranes looked more like abstract art, that they were beautiful in their own way. you'd been doing that his whole life—making his failures feel like victories just by witnessing them with that soft, encouraging smile.

“i still have some of them,” you admit, ducking your head slightly as if embarrassed by the confession. your fingers twist the new wrapper, creating small accordion folds. “in my apartment.”

his heart does something complicated against his ribs, a stuttering rhythm that makes him wonder if cardiac episodes can be triggered by pure affection. “the terrible cranes?”

“the terrible cranes.” you pop the candy into your mouth, and he tracks the movement without meaning to, watches the way your lips close around the sweet treat, the slight movement of your throat as you swallow. when you catch him staring, a faint blush creeps up your neck. “they're in my memory box with all the other important stuff.”

important stuff. he files that away with all the other small revelations you drop without realizing their weight, adds it to the mental catalog he's been building for years. you keep his terrible origami. you think their childhood memories are important enough to preserve in a special box. you're sitting in his living room like it's yours too, feet tucked against his leg like the contact is natural, necessary even.

“what else is in there?” he asks, genuinely curious but also desperate to keep you talking, to hear more about the pieces of your shared history you've deemed worth saving.

you consider this, working the candy around in your mouth thoughtfully. “lots of things. movie ticket stubs from our first pg-13 movie—remember how we snuck into that theater in eighth grade? your mom's chocolate chip cookie recipe that you wrote out for me in high school because i wanted to learn how to bake. that polaroid from senior prom where you're making bunny ears behind my head.”

each item hits him like a small revelation. he remembers all of it—remembers the way you'd grabbed his hand in the dark theater during the scary parts, how you'd insisted on writing out the recipe even though you'd never shown any interest in baking before, the way you'd laughed so hard at his bunny ears that you'd snorted and immediately turned red with embarrassment.

“you kept the recipe?” his voice comes out softer than intended, almost wondering.

“of course i kept the recipe. your handwriting was so bad i could barely read it, but i kept it anyway.” you grin at him, that bright, uninhibited smile that makes his chest feel too tight. “still can't make cookies worth a damn, but i have the recipe.”

“i could teach you,” he offers without thinking, then immediately wants to take it back because it sounds too much like a date, too much like something more than friends would do together.

but you just nod enthusiastically, bouncing slightly on the couch. “yes! we should definitely do that. i've been wanting to learn forever, but every time i try on my own they come out like hockey pucks.”

the casual way you accept his offer, like spending an afternoon in the kitchen together is the most natural thing in the world, makes his pulse skip. he can already picture it—you in his kitchen, flour in your hair, probably getting more ingredients on yourself than in the bowl. him standing behind you, hands covering yours as he shows you how to fold in the chocolate chips, trying not to think about how perfectly you'd fit against his chest.

“satoru?” you're looking at him with that slightly concerned expression that means he's been quiet too long, lost in his own head again. your brow furrows in that particular way it does when you're trying to read his mood. “you okay?”

“yeah,” he says, and his voice comes out rougher than intended, scratchy around the edges. he clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair in a gesture that's become automatic over the years. “just thinking.”

“dangerous,” you tease, but there's something softer in your eyes now, something that makes him wonder if you can see right through him. if maybe you've always been able to see through him, and he's been the only one pretending otherwise.

the afternoon stretches out, lazy and warm, filled with the comfortable silence of two people who've known each other long enough that conversation isn't always necessary. you've finished your candy and are now absently braiding the hem of your shirt, fingers working the fabric with the same methodical precision you'd used on the wrapper. he thinks about how easy it would be to just say it. to tell you that he's been yours since before he knew what that meant, that every day feels like borrowed time because surely someone this good, this bright, this perfectly imperfect can't actually want to spend her free time with someone like him.

instead, he reaches for the tv remote and pretends his hands aren't shaking. pretends he doesn't notice the way you watch him move, doesn't see the little frown that crosses your face when he turns away from you to focus on the screen.

the opening credits of some mindless sitcom fill the silence, but he's not really watching. he's thinking about memory boxes and terrible origami cranes and the way you said “important stuff” like it meant something. like maybe he means something.

like maybe twenty years of almosts might finally be leading somewhere.

the farmer's market on saturday morning is your idea, which means satoru trails behind you like a devoted shadow, carrying your reusable bags and pretending he's not cataloguing every smile you give to the vendors. you're wearing that sundress he likes—the one with tiny cherries printed on cream-colored fabric that makes your skin look like it's been kissed by sunlight—and he's having what can only be described as a religious experience watching you examine peaches with scientific precision.

the dress hits just above your knees, swaying gently as you move from stall to stall, and he has to actively work to keep his eyes from following the movement. the morning sun catches in your hair, highlighting strands he's never noticed before, and when you lean over to smell a particularly promising piece of fruit, he has to look away before he does something stupid like stare at the graceful curve of your neck.

“these are perfect,” you announce, holding up a peach that's blushed pink and gold, soft to the touch but not too yielding. your fingers cradle it carefully, thumb brushing over the fuzzy skin with reverence. “smell.”

you thrust the peach toward his face with the enthusiasm of someone who's discovered buried treasure, and he dutifully inhales, though mostly what he's registering is your proximity and the way your hair smells like vanilla and something uniquely you. something he's never been able to identify but would recognize in a crowded room. “smells good,” he manages, and you beam like he's just solved world hunger.

your whole face lights up with the compliment, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he thinks distantly that he'd probably agree with anything you said if it meant seeing that expression again. you could tell him the peach smelled like old socks and he'd nod along just to keep you smiling.

“right? we're definitely making cobbler this week.” you're already moving toward the vendor, pulling crumpled bills from the small purse slung across your body, but the words stop him cold.

we. the casual assumption that he'll be there, that his kitchen is your kitchen, that making cobbler together is just what you do. his chest goes tight with affection so intense it borders on medical emergency. you don't even question whether he'll want to spend his sunday afternoon elbow-deep in flour and fruit—you just assume, with the easy confidence of someone who's never had to doubt their welcome in his space.

“whatever you want, your highness,” he says, the pet name slipping out before he can stop it. it's been happening more frequently lately, that old childhood nickname finding its way into casual conversation. you've been ‘your highness’ in his head for so long that sometimes it escapes into real conversation, and every time it does, you get this look—half amused, half something else he can't quite read but desperately wants to understand.

“you and that nickname,” you mutter, but you're smiling as you hand the vendor your money, counting out bills with careful precision. your cheeks are slightly pink, though whether from the compliment or the morning sun, he can't tell. “i swear you're never gonna let me grow up.”

if only you knew. he's acutely aware of how grown up you are, how you've traded pigtails for soft waves that catch the light and crayon drawings for the kind of smile that could probably power a small city. he's noticed every single change, catalogued every new freckle and laugh line, the way your voice has gotten slightly deeper, more melodious. somehow he's fallen deeper with each transformation, like he's been in love with every version of you that's ever existed.

“excuse me,” the peach vendor says as she hands you your change, coins clinking softly in your palm, “you two are just the cutest couple. how long have you been together?”

satoru's brain short-circuits so completely he's surprised smoke doesn't start pouring from his ears. his mouth opens and closes without sound, and he can feel heat creeping up his neck, probably turning his face an unflattering shade of red. you laugh—that bright, surprised sound that makes his stomach flip—and shake your head quickly, hands fluttering in denial.

“oh, we're not—we're just friends,” you say, but there's something in your voice, a slight hesitation before the word ‘friends’ that makes his pulse stutter.

just friends. the words hit him somewhere behind his sternum, not quite pain but not quite relief either. the vendor looks embarrassed, starts apologizing profusely, but you wave her off with easy grace while satoru stands there wondering if his internal combustion is visible from the outside. his hands tighten on the straps of your bags, knuckles probably white with the effort of appearing normal.

“happens all the time,” you tell him as you walk away, weaving between other shoppers with practiced ease, and there's something in your voice he can't identify. something almost… wistful? “people always think we're dating.”

“yeah,” he says, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in the vicinity of strained. his throat feels tight, words coming out rougher than intended. “weird, right?”

you glance at him sideways, and for a second he thinks you might say something else. your lips part slightly, like you're considering it, but then you just shrug and move toward the flower stand, leaving him to follow and contemplate the particular torture of being mistaken for your boyfriend by strangers when he'd give anything for it to be true.

the flower stand is a riot of color and fragrance, buckets of blooms arranged in careful rows. the vendor is a tiny elderly woman with silver hair pinned back in a neat bun, and she takes one look at them approaching and immediately starts gushing about her roses, hands gesturing enthusiastically toward a display of pink blooms that smell like summer and promises.

“for your girlfriend?” she asks satoru with a conspiratorial wink, gesturing to the roses with the confidence of someone who's been in the matchmaking business for decades.

“just friends,” you say again, quicker this time, the words tumbling out before satoru can even process the question. he tries not to read too much into the way your smile falters slightly, the way your shoulders tense almost imperceptibly.

but the woman is persistent, pressing a single white rose into his palm with another wink that suggests she knows something they don't. the flower is perfect—petals like silk, stem thornless and smooth. “sometimes the best love stories start with friendship, young man. trust me, i've been selling flowers for forty years. i know these things.”

satoru stares down at the rose, its petals soft as silk between his fingers and impossibly white, like fresh snow or clean linen or every perfect thing he's ever tried to find words for. when he looks up, you're already walking toward the next stall, shoulders tense in a way that makes him want to chase after you and demand to know what you're thinking. what you're feeling. whether the flower vendor's words affected you the same way they affected him.

instead, he pays for the rose without arguing about the price, tucking it carefully into one of the bags where it won't get crushed, and follows because that's what he's always done. followed you, waited for you, hoped that someday you'd turn around and see him the way he sees you.

the way he's always seen you.

“satoru, come on,” you call over your shoulder, already three stalls ahead, and he realizes he's been standing there longer than he thought, lost in his own head again. you're holding up a small jar of honey, sunlight catching the golden liquid inside. “they have lavender honey. remember how much you liked it at that restaurant last month?”

you remember. of course you remember. you remember every small preference, every casual comment, every little thing that most people would forget within minutes. it's one of the things he loves most about you—the way you pay attention, the way you care enough to file away the smallest details about the people you love.

he jogs to catch up, bags bouncing against his side, and finds you already chatting with the honey vendor about different varieties and flavor profiles. you're animated when you talk about food, hands gesturing as you describe the restaurant where he'd first tried lavender honey, and he finds himself falling in love with you all over again just watching you exist in the world.

“we'll take two jars,” you're saying, already reaching for your wallet, but he stops you with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“i've got it,” he says, pulling out his own money before you can protest. your skin is warm under his fingers, and he has to resist the urge to let his thumb trace across your pulse point.

“you don't have to—”

“i want to.” and he does. wants to buy you honey and flowers and anything else that makes you smile like that. wants to be the reason for that soft, pleased expression that's currently gracing your features.

you let him pay, but not without rolling your eyes in fond exasperation. “you spoil me.”

“good,” he says simply, accepting the jars from the vendor and tucking them carefully into the bag with the rose. “you deserve to be spoiled.”

the words slip out before he can stop them, too honest, too revealing, and he watches your expression shift into something he can't quite read. you duck your head, hair falling forward to hide your face, but not before he catches the faint blush creeping across your cheeks.

“come on, your royal highness,” you say, bumping his shoulder with yours, and the casual contact makes his heart stutter. “let's go home and make that cobbler.”

home. you said home, not his place or his apartment, but home. like it's yours too. like maybe it always has been.

maybe it always has been.

back at his apartment, you're quiet in a way that sets his nerves on edge. you've been friends long enough that he can read your moods like weather patterns—the slight tension in your shoulders that means you're thinking too hard about something, the way you're biting the inside of your cheek that suggests internal debate. right now there's definitely a storm brewing behind your eyes, thoughts churning in a way that makes him want to reach out and smooth the furrow between your brows.

you're sitting on his kitchen counter, legs swinging in a restless rhythm, heels occasionally bumping against the cabinet below. he's putting away the morning's purchases with probably unnecessary focus, arranging the peaches in a bowl like they're precious artifacts, trying to ignore the way your silence is making his skin feel too tight.

“satoru,” you say finally, and something in your tone makes him turn around immediately, abandoning his careful arrangement of fruit.

“yeah?”

you're fidgeting with the stem of the white rose he bought, twirling it between your fingers like you're trying to solve a particularly complex equation. the petals have opened slightly since this morning, revealing deeper layers of ivory and cream, and in the afternoon light streaming through his kitchen window, it looks almost ethereal in your hands.

“can i ask you something?” your voice is smaller than usual, uncertain in a way that makes his chest tighten with immediate concern.

his heart starts doing that thing where it forgets how to beat properly, rhythm stuttering against his ribs. “always.”

“do you ever think…” you pause, take a breath that seems to require effort, start again. “sometimes i wonder if i'm reading too much into things. like maybe i think someone likes me and it's all just in my head.”

the bottom drops out of his world.

someone. you think someone likes you, which means there's someone you're paying attention to, someone who's maybe been giving you signs that you're trying to interpret. his brain immediately starts cycling through every male friend you have, every coworker you've mentioned in passing, that guy from your yoga class who definitely stares at you too much and makes comments about your form that seem less than professional.

the rose trembles slightly in your hands, and he realizes you're nervous. actually nervous about asking him this, which means whoever it is matters to you. matters enough that you're seeking advice, validation, reassurance that you're not imagining things.

“like who?” he asks, and his voice comes out strangled, like he's being slowly crushed by invisible hands. like all the air has been sucked out of the room and replaced with something thinner, harder to breathe.

you look up at him, and there's something vulnerable in your expression that makes his chest ache. something raw and uncertain that he wants to protect, even as it's currently destroying him from the inside out. “never mind. it's stupid.”

“it's not stupid,” he says quickly, moving closer without really meaning to, drawn by the magnetic pull that's existed between you since childhood. “whoever it is would be crazy not to like you.”

wrong thing to say. he knows it immediately because your face does something complicated, cycling through disappointment and resignation before settling on a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. that careful, practiced smile you use when you're trying to hide how you really feel.

“you have to say that. you're my best friend.”

best friend. there it is again, that careful designation that feels more like a cage every time you say it. he wants to grab you by the shoulders and tell you that he's been crazy about you since before he knew what crazy about someone meant, that every day he doesn't tell you feels like a small betrayal of everything you've ever meant to each other.

instead, he says, “i don't have to say anything. i say it because it's true.”

and it is true. brutally, completely true. whoever this mystery person is, they'd have to be blind and stupid not to see how incredible you are. not to notice the way you light up a room just by entering it, the way you remember everyone's favorite coffee order and check in on people when they're having bad days and laugh so hard at terrible jokes that you snort a little, which only makes you more endearing.

you're quiet for a long moment, still twirling the rose, and he can practically see the thoughts churning behind your eyes like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. when you finally speak, your voice is small in a way that makes him want to wrap you up and protect you from whatever's making you doubt yourself.

“sometimes i think i make up feelings where they don't exist,” you say, barely above a whisper. “like maybe i want something to be there so badly that i convince myself it is.”

and oh. oh, you're talking about him, aren't you? you're sitting here in his kitchen, talking about reading too much into things, about wanting feelings that might not exist, and he's too much of a coward to realize you're talking about him. the signs are all there—the way you've been looking at him lately, softer and more lingering than usual. the casual touches that seem to happen more frequently. the way you said “home” earlier like you meant it.

except what if you're not? what if there really is someone else, someone who's been giving you mixed signals while satoru's been pining from the sidelines like an idiot? what if he's the one reading too much into things, projecting his own desperate hopes onto innocent moments of friendship?

“you're not stupid,” he says finally, because it's the only safe thing he can think of, the only response that won't reveal everything. “if you think someone likes you, there's probably a good reason.”

you slide down from the counter, rose still in hand, and for a second you're standing close enough that he can count your eyelashes, see the tiny flecks of gold in your eyes that he's memorized over years of study. close enough that if he just leaned down a little, if he was brave enough to close the distance...

“maybe,” you say, but you sound doubtful. disappointed in a way that makes him want to take back everything he just said. “or maybe i'm just really good at lying to myself.”

you're moving toward the living room, and he follows because he always follows, brain spinning through every conversation you've had recently, every look, every moment that might have been a sign he was too scared to read properly. you settle onto the couch like you're planning to stay for a while, curling up in the corner with your legs tucked beneath you, and he takes his usual spot on the opposite end, careful to maintain the precise distance that says ‘best friend’ instead of ‘hopelessly in love with you.’

the white rose ends up in a glass of water on his coffee table, petals catching the light from his windows, and you're staring at it with an expression he can't quite read. contemplative, maybe. wistful.

“this person,” he starts carefully, hating himself for asking but needing to know, “how long have you been thinking about them?”

you give him a look that's equal parts amused and exasperated, head tilting in that way it does when you think he's being particularly dense. “are we really doing this?”

“doing what?”

“the thing where you help me analyze my pathetic love life like we're in high school.” you're picking at the throw pillow in your lap, fingers worrying at a loose thread. “sitting around dissecting every interaction and trying to figure out what it all means.”

pathetic love life. as if you could ever have anything pathetic about you. as if whoever this mysterious person is doesn't realize they're the luckiest person alive just to be on your radar. just to have you thinking about them, analyzing their behavior, wondering if they feel the same way.

“i'm being a good friend,” he protests, though the words taste bitter in his mouth. bitter like the coffee you drink when you're stressed, bitter like the medicine you have to swallow when something's wrong.

“you're being nosy.”

“can't i be both?”

you laugh despite yourself, and the sound goes straight to his chest like it always does, warming him from the inside out. “fine. but you can't make fun of me.”

“when have i ever made fun of you?”

“constantly. it's like your primary form of communication.” but you're smiling now, some of the tension leaving your shoulders, and he counts it as a victory.

you’re not wrong. teasing you has always been safer than the alternative, easier than letting you see how seriously, completely, utterly gone he is for you. easier than admitting that every joke is just a way of buying more time in your presence, every playful insult a cover for the compliments he really wants to give.

“i promise to be nice,” he says, crossing his heart with exaggerated solemnity, and you snort at the theatrical gesture.

“i'll believe it when i see it.”

you're quiet for a moment, picking at the throw pillow, and he can see you working up the courage to say whatever it is you're thinking. your teeth worry at your bottom lip in a gesture he recognizes from childhood—you used to do the same thing before spelling tests and soccer tryouts and the first day of school each year.

when you finally speak, your voice is so soft he has to strain to hear it, has to lean forward slightly to catch every word.

“it's been a long time,” you admit, not looking at him. “like, a really long time. since we were kids, maybe.”

since we were kids.

since. we. were. kids.

his heart stops beating entirely, just quits on him right there in his living room, because unless you had some secret elementary school boyfriend he doesn't know about, unless there's some childhood friend he's completely forgotten about...

you're talking about him.

you've been thinking about him.

since you were kids.

“oh,” he says, because his vocabulary has apparently shrunk to single syllables, because every word in the english language has suddenly abandoned him when he needs them most.

“see?” you say quickly, finally looking up at him with eyes that are bright with what might be tears. “i told you it was stupid. forget i said anything.”

“no,” he says, too loud, and you startle slightly at the volume. “no, it's not stupid. it's...”

it's everything. it's his every prayer answered, every birthday wish granted, every star he's ever wished on coming true all at once. it's twenty years of hoping and waiting and pretending to be content with friendship finally, finally meaning something.

“it's what?” you ask, and there's something hopeful in your voice that makes his chest feel like it might crack open, like his heart might actually burst from the sheer force of what he's feeling.

he opens his mouth to tell you, to finally, finally say what he's been carrying around for twenty years, and then he panics. because what if he's wrong? what if you're talking about someone else after all? what if he says everything and ruins the most important friendship of his life? what if you look at him with disgust or pity or worse, that careful politeness you use with people who make you uncomfortable?

“it's brave,” he says instead, taking the coward's way out, watching the light in your eyes dim slightly. “whoever it is would be lucky to have you thinking about them.”

your face falls so subtly he almost misses it, just a slight dimming of the light in your eyes, a barely perceptible tightening around the corners of your mouth. but he's been studying your expressions for twenty years, cataloguing every micro-expression, and he knows he's fucked up. knows he's missed something crucial, said the wrong thing, let fear win when courage was what the moment required.

“right,” you say, and your voice is carefully neutral, scrubbed clean of the hope that had been there moments before. “lucky them.”

you're pulling away from him, not physically but emotionally, retreating behind the walls that friendship has never required before. building barriers in real time, and he's sitting there like an idiot, watching it happen, knowing he caused it but not knowing how to fix it without potentially making everything worse.

the rose on the coffee table seems to mock him with its perfect white petals, a symbol of something he was too scared to claim when he had the chance. when you were sitting right there, telling him everything he's ever wanted to hear, and he was too much of a coward to hear it properly.

too much of a coward to take the leap that might have changed everything.

you leave not long after that, claiming an early morning tomorrow and some excuse about laundry that you both know is bullshit. the way you gather your things—phone sliding into your palm with deliberate precision, keys jingling once before being muffled in your grip, that little cross-body bag with its worn leather strap that you always adjust twice before leaving—feels like watching his entire future pack itself away in slow motion.

satoru's throat constricts as he tracks each movement, his vision tunneling on the careful way you avoid his gaze. there's something devastating about the ordinary nature of your departure, the way catastrophe can masquerade as routine. you're folding in on yourself, shoulders curved inward like you're protecting something fragile in your chest, and he knows with sickening clarity that he put that defensive hunch there.

“text me when you get home safe,” he says, one hand automatically reaching up to rake through his hair—those moonspun strands that never learned proper behavior, always catching and scattering light like captured starfall. the words scrape against his vocal cords like sandpaper. it's what he always says, has been saying since you got your first car at sixteen and his anxiety about your well-being became a living thing with teeth and claws.

“always do,” you reply, your fingers worrying at the delicate chain of your necklace—that thin silver thing that catches at your throat when you swallow nervously. your voice carries the hollow ring of obligation rather than affection. you still won't look at him directly, your gaze fixed somewhere around his left shoulder where his sweater pulls slightly across his collarbone, and the absence of eye contact feels like a physical ache behind his sternum.

the click of his door closing echoes through the apartment with the finality of a coffin lid. satoru stands there for a full minute, staring at the wood grain, before the magnitude of his cowardice hits him like a freight train carrying twenty years' worth of missed opportunities.

the apartment transforms in your absence, walls stretching impossibly wide, ceilings vaulting into cathedral heights that make him feel ant-small and infinitely alone. the couch still holds the impression of your body, cushions dented where you'd curled your legs beneath you, and he finds himself gravitating toward that spot like a moth to flame. when he sits down, the lingering warmth of your presence soaks through his jeans, and he has to press his palms against his eyes to keep from doing something pathetic like burying his face in the throw pillow you'd been hugging.

the white rose sits on his coffee table like an accusation, its petals pristine and mocking. sometimes the best love stories start with friendship, the vendor had said, and satoru had been too much of a fool to recognize the universe handing him a script.

his phone buzzes against the glass surface: home safe. thanks for today.

the message glows on his screen, twelve words that somehow contain multitudes of disappointment. he can picture you typing it, thumb hesitating over each letter, probably tucked into your favorite corner of your couch with that oversized cardigan pulled tight around your shoulders, rewriting it three times before settling on something safely neutral. you used to add heart emojis to these check-ins, little digital affirmations that he'd treasured more than he had any right to. their absence now feels like a door slamming shut.

he types: anytime. sleep well. his thumb hovers over the send button for thirty seconds, jaw working silently as he wars with himself.

then deletes it. tries: we should talk about what happened. his teeth catch his lower lip, worrying at the skin until it stings.

deletes that too. his fingers hover over the keyboard, shoulders hunched forward in defeat, cycling through seventeen different responses that range from desperate to devastated. i love you gets typed and erased four times, each deletion making his chest cavity feel emptier. please come back so i can fix this makes it halfway before he chickens out, his hand scrubbing down his face hard enough to leave red marks. i've been yours since we were seven and i'm sorry i'm too scared to be brave never even makes it past his mental rough draft.

finally, he settles on: anytime. sleep well.

the delivered notification appears, and then... nothing. no immediate response, no typing indicator, no late-night follow-up like you sometimes send when you can't sleep. just radio silence that stretches into the night like a chasm.

satoru spends the next six hours staring at his ceiling, replaying every microsecond of your conversation with the obsessive precision of a crime scene investigator. his hair fans across the pillow in ethereal wisps, those pale strands seeming to glow with their own inner light against the dark fabric, like captured lightning or the first frost of winter given form. the way your voice had gone soft and vulnerable when you said since we were kids. the hope that had flickered in your eyes—those beautiful eyes he'd never been brave enough to hold contact with for more than stolen moments—before he'd snuffed it out with his cowardice. the careful way you'd reconstructed your walls in real time, brick by brick, your shoulders drawing inward and your hands clasping tightly in your lap until you were safely barricaded behind the familiar boundaries of friendship.*. the hope that had flickered in your eyes before he'd snuffed it out with his cowardice. the careful way you'd reconstructed your walls in real time, brick by brick, until you were safely barricaded behind the familiar boundaries of friendship.

since we were kids. the phrase loops in his mind like a broken record, each repetition driving the knife of realization deeper into his chest. unless you'd harbored some secret elementary school crush he'd never known about—which, given that you'd been attached at the hip since kindergarten, seemed unlikely—there was only one person you could have been referring to.

him.

you'd been talking about him.

and he'd been so paralyzed by the possibility of being wrong that he'd missed the moment entirely, let it slip through his fingers like water through a broken dam.

by the time dawn creeps through his blinds, painting everything in shades of regret and determination, he's made a decision that will either save his life or end it completely. the resolution sits in his chest like a live wire, sparking against his ribs every time he breathes. he's going to tell you everything. twenty years of accumulated feelings, every birthday wish spent on your happiness, every star he's wished on while thinking of your smile. all of it.

the thought terrifies him so completely that he has to grip the edge of his mattress to keep from floating away on a tide of panic.

sunday afternoon arrives with the punctuality of a church bell, and with it comes the familiar sound of your key in his lock. you'd exchanged spare keys sophomore year of college, a practical decision born of too many instances of locked-out roommates and forgotten textbooks. what had started as convenience had evolved into something more significant—the quiet intimacy of belonging in each other's spaces, of being trusted with unrestricted access to the small, private corners of each other's lives.

now, listening to that key turn, satoru's heart hammers against his ribs like it's trying to break free and run away before his mouth can ruin everything permanently.

“hey,” you say as you appear in his doorway, and the single syllable carries the weight of exhaustion that makes his chest constrict with guilt. there are shadows under your eyes that weren't there yesterday, and your smile—when it finally appears—lacks its usual wattage.

“hey yourself,” he manages, his voice cracking slightly on the second word.

you move through his space with less than your usual confidence, the easy familiarity replaced by something more cautious. instead of immediately claiming your usual spot on the far end of the couch—the corner you'd long ago designated as yours, complete with the throw pillow you'd brought from your own apartment and the way you always tucked your feet up under you—you hover near the armchair, fingers worrying at the strap of your bag.

the careful distance you're maintaining might as well be measured in miles rather than feet. it's like watching you interact with a stranger's apartment, all politeness and uncertainty where there used to be ownership and ease. the sight of it breaks something fundamental in satoru's chest, some load-bearing beam of his emotional architecture crumbling under the weight of what his cowardice has cost them.

“about yesterday,” he starts, the words tumbling out before he can lose his nerve entirely.

“we don't have to talk about it,” you interrupt quickly, finally settling into the armchair but perched on its edge like you're ready to flee at the first sign of discomfort. your hands clasp in your lap, knuckles white with tension. “i was being weird, and awkward, and i made things uncomfortable. we can just pretend it never happened and go back to normal.”

but normal is what got them here in the first place—twenty years of careful boundaries and unspoken feelings and the kind of willful blindness that masquerades as friendship when it's really just elaborate emotional self-harm.

“you weren't being weird,” he says firmly, rising from the couch to face you properly. the movement is too quick, driven by urgency rather than grace, and you startle slightly at the sudden change in his position. “i was being an idiot.”

something flickers across your expression—surprise, maybe, or the faintest spark of hope quickly tampered down. “satoru—”

“just let me say this, okay?” the words come out rougher than intended, scraped raw by a sleepless night and the weight of everything he's been carrying. “before i lose my nerve completely and spend another twenty years being a coward.”

you go very still, and he can see the exact moment you decide to let him speak. your shoulders settle back against the chair, hands unclasping to grip the armrests instead, and you give him a small nod that somehow contains multitudes of permission and trepidation.

the silence that follows feels crystalline, fragile enough that the wrong word might shatter everything beyond repair. satoru runs his hand through his hair—those pale strands that never quite cooperate, that catch light like spun moonbeams even in the dim afternoon glow filtering through his blinds. the gesture is pure nervous energy, fingers combing through the silky mess as if he might find courage tangled somewhere in the roots.

“when you were talking yesterday,” he begins, then stops, takes a breath that tastes like terror and determination in equal measure. “about thinking someone liked you since you were kids...”

he watches your face carefully, cataloguing every micro-expression. the way your lips part slightly, the flutter of your eyelashes as you blink too fast, the barely perceptible forward lean of your body like you're drawn toward his words despite yourself.

“you were talking about me, weren't you?”

the question hangs in the air between them, loaded with twenty years of almosts and maybes and the kind of hope that feels dangerous to voice. your breath catches—a sharp, barely audible intake that he might have missed if he weren't paying attention with the focused intensity of a man whose entire future hangs in the balance.

“satoru—” you start, but he's already moving, dropping to his knees in front of your chair with the graceless desperation of someone who's finally found the courage to stop running from the thing that matters most.

his hands hover just above your knees, not quite touching but close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating through the soft cotton of your sundress—a different one today, this one scattered with tiny daisies that make him think of childhood summers and innocence and all the ways you've been beautiful to him across the years.

“because if you were,” he continues, words spilling out in a rush now that the dam has finally burst, “then i need you to know that you weren't reading too much into anything. you weren't making up feelings that don't exist or convincing yourself of something that wasn't there.”

your eyes are wide, pupils dilated in a way that makes the familiar color seem deeper, more infinite. he can see his own reflection in them, distorted and desperate and more honest than he's ever been in his life.

“i've been crazy about you since the second grade,” he confesses, the words scraping against his throat like they're made of glass. “since you wrote that you wanted to be a princess in our yearbook and i decided right then and there that i was going to spend the rest of my life making sure you felt like one.”

the admission settles between them like a living thing, breathing and vital and impossible to take back. your hands tighten on the armrests, knuckles going white again, but this time it looks less like tension and more like anchoring—like you're holding on to keep from floating away on the enormity of what he's just revealed.

“every door i've ever opened for you,” he continues, momentum carrying him forward now that he's started, “every time i've carried your bags or bought you flowers or called you ‘your highness’—it wasn't just being a good friend. it was never just friendship.”

his voice cracks on the last word, twenty years of careful pretense finally crumbling under the weight of truth. “it's all been because you're my princess. you've always been my princess, and i've been too much of a coward to tell you.”

silence stretches between them, heavy and loaded with possibility. satoru can hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, can feel the subtle tremor in his hands where they still hover near your knees. you're staring at him with an expression he can't quite read, cycling through what looks like shock and disbelief and something that might be the beginning of joy before it gets tampered down by uncertainty.

he's never felt more exposed in his life, kneeling here in his own living room with his heart splayed open like a roadmap to twenty years of devotion. the vulnerability is excruciating, every nerve ending raw and oversensitive, waiting for you to either pull him back from the brink or push him over the edge entirely.

“you,” you say finally, and your voice comes out barely above a whisper, thick with something that might be tears or laughter or both. “you complete and utter idiot.”

the words hit him like a physical blow, driving the air from his lungs in a sharp exhale. his heart, which had been hammering with nervous hope, stutters and nearly stops entirely. this is it, then. the moment where twenty years of friendship dies on the altar of his feelings, where he learns what it costs to love someone who can't love you back.

“look, if you don't feel the same way—” he starts, already beginning the retreat, already starting to build the walls that will let him survive the aftermath of this spectacular emotional implosion.

“of course i feel the same way!” you explode, suddenly on your feet, the force of your movement sending him rocking back on his heels. your hands are gesturing wildly now, cutting through the air with the sharp precision of someone who's been holding back way too much for way too long. “i've been in love with you since we were kids, you absolute disaster of a human being!”

the words slam into him with the force of a freight train, reorganizing his entire understanding of reality in the space between one heartbeat and the next. of course i feel the same way. the phrase echoes in his skull, bouncing off the walls of his mind like a pinball machine gone haywire.

“you have?” he asks, and his voice comes out small and wondering, like he's afraid that speaking too loudly might break whatever spell has made this moment possible.

“yes!” you're pacing now, three quick steps to the window and back, your sundress swirling around your legs with each sharp turn. “why do you think i've been hanging around your apartment every weekend for the past fifteen years? why do you think i never date anyone seriously? because i've been waiting for you to figure it out!”

he's scrambling to his feet now, desperate to close the distance between you but afraid to move too fast, like you're some wild thing that might bolt if he makes the wrong move. “you've been waiting for me?”

“forever,” you say, and now you're definitely crying, tears streaming down your cheeks while you laugh with what sounds like relief and frustration and twenty years of pent-up emotion finally finding release. “i've been waiting forever, and you just—yesterday when i was trying to tell you, you just—”

“i panicked,” he admits, finally closing the space between you in two quick strides. his hands come up to frame your face, thumbs brushing away the tears with a gentleness that belies the tremor in his fingers. “i thought maybe you were talking about someone else, and i couldn't handle it if you were.”

your skin is soft under his palms, warm and real and perfect, and he can't quite believe he's allowed to touch you like this. that you're letting him catch your tears, that you're leaning into his touch instead of pulling away.

“someone else,” you repeat, shaking your head with enough force to send your hair flying. “as if there could ever be someone else. as if anyone else could even compare to you.”

the words hit him like salvation, like every prayer he's ever whispered to the dark finally being answered. “really?”

“really,” you confirm, and then you're rising up on your toes, hands fisting in the front of his shirt to pull him down toward you. “now stop being an idiot and kiss me before i lose my mind completely.”

he doesn't need to be told twice.

their lips meet in the middle of something that's been building for twenty years, soft and desperate and perfect in a way that makes his brain go completely offline. you taste like the strawberry lip balm you've been using since high school, sweet and familiar and right in a way that makes him wonder how he's survived this long without kissing you.

your mouth is warm and yielding under his, and when you sigh against his lips—this tiny, breathy sound of contentment—he thinks he might actually die from the sheer overwhelming rightness of it all. his hands slide from your face into your hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as he deepens the kiss, pouring twenty years of accumulated longing into the connection between your mouths.

when you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together like you can't bear to be more than an inch away from each other. your hands are still fisted in his shirt, holding him close, and he can feel the rapid flutter of your pulse where his thumbs rest against your throat.

“holy shit,” you breathe, and the profanity sounds like a prayer falling from your kiss-swollen lips.

“yeah,” he agrees, voice rough with emotion and the lingering effects of the best kiss of his entire life. “holy shit.”

you laugh, the sound bright and bubbling and infectious, and he finds himself grinning back at you with an expression that probably makes him look completely unhinged. he doesn't care. he's just kissed his best friend, his princess, the love of his entire life, and she kissed him back, and if that's not worth looking a little crazy over, then nothing is.

“so,” you say, and he can hear the smile in your voice even with his eyes closed, can feel it in the way your lips curve against his when you speak. “what now, your highness?”

the nickname—his own endearment turned back on him with teasing affection—makes him groan and drop his head to your shoulder in mock defeat. “you're never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“absolutely not,” you confirm cheerfully, arms winding around his neck to hold him close. “i've got twenty years of princess jokes stored up, and now that i know you meant them...”

“i meant every single one,” he says, pulling back to look at you properly. your hair is messed up from his hands, lipstick smudged in a way that probably matches his own mouth, and you're looking at him like he hung the moon and stars just for you. like he's something precious and beloved and yours. “i meant all of it.”

“good,” you say, going up on your toes to kiss him again, soft and sweet and lingering. “because i've got twenty years of being your princess to catch up on.”

this time when you kiss, it's slower, more exploratory. a conversation conducted in the language of lips and tongues and shared breath, twenty years of friendship providing the foundation for something deeper and more complex. he maps the shape of your mouth with the dedication of a cartographer, memorizing every curve and hollow, the way you taste like strawberries and forever and every dream he's ever had.

your hands slide up into his hair, fingers combing through the pale strands that have been catching light and hearts since childhood, and he thinks distantly that he's never going to get tired of this. of touching you, of being allowed to touch you, of the way you melt against him like you were made to fit in his arms.

when you break apart this time, it's with the reluctant awareness that you still have things to talk about, logistics to work out, twenty years of carefully maintained boundaries to navigate in this brave new world where you're allowed to love each other out loud.

“we should probably talk about what this means,” you say, though you make no move to step out of his arms. if anything, you settle more firmly against him, like you're claiming your space in his embrace.

“it means i'm yours,” he says without hesitation, the words coming as easily as breathing now that he's allowed to say them. “if you'll have me. it means i've been yours since we were seven years old and you asked me to be your friend, and i'm never letting you go again.”

your eyes go soft and liquid at his declaration, and he watches you blink back fresh tears with the tender fascination of someone who's finally been given permission to witness your every emotion.

“i've been yours too,” you whisper, voice thick with feeling. “for so long that i can't remember what it felt like before.”

“then it's simple,” he says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo and the new, intoxicating knowledge that he's allowed to do this now. “we stop pretending otherwise.”

you laugh, the sound muffled against his chest where you've pressed your face. “you make it sound so easy.”

“isn't it?” he asks, genuine curiosity coloring his voice. “we already do everything else together. we already know each other's worst habits and biggest fears and what makes each other laugh until we can't breathe. now we just get to add kissing to the list.”

“and other things,” you add, pulling back to look at him with an expression that's equal parts innocent and suggestive, and he feels heat pool low in his stomach at the implication.

“other things,” he agrees, voice dropping to something rougher, more intimate. “lots of other things. twenty years' worth of other things.”

you shiver slightly at the promise in his voice, and he files that reaction away for future reference, cataloguing it alongside every other response he plans to learn by heart.

“so what's first?” you ask, settling more comfortably in his arms like you're planning to stay there for the foreseeable future.

“first,” he says, pressing another kiss to your hair because he can, because you're his now and he's allowed, “we order way too much chinese food and eat it on the couch while we figure out how to tell people that we're finally together.”

“people are going to say they saw it coming,” you predict, tilting your head back to look at him. “we're going to get so many ‘about time’ comments.”

“let them,” he says, grinning down at you with unrepentant joy. “they can say whatever they want. i'm just happy i don't have to pretend anymore that i'm not completely gone for you.”

“completely gone,” you repeat, testing the phrase like you're tasting wine. “i like that. makes it sound properly dramatic and ridiculous.”

“it is dramatic and ridiculous,” he confirms. “twenty years of pining? that's shakespearean levels of absurd.”

“but worth it,” you say, and it's not a question.

“absolutely worth it,” he agrees, sealing the promise with another kiss that tastes like strawberries and new beginnings and happily ever after.

later, when you're curled up together on his couch—your couch now, he supposes, since everything that's his has always been yours anyway—sharing lo mein and sweet and sour chicken while some forgettable movie plays in the background, he thinks about that second-grade yearbook tucked away in his bedroom closet.

about seven-year-old you writing about being a princess in careful, looping handwriting, tongue poking out in concentration. about seven-year-old him deciding that if you wanted to be a princess, then he'd find a way to make it happen, even if it meant becoming an astronaut just to bring you back moon rocks that sparkled like the tiaras in your disney movies.

mission accomplished, he thinks, pressing a kiss to the top of your head where it rests against his shoulder. though the seven-year-old version of himself probably never imagined it would involve quite this much kissing.

not that he's complaining.

“satoru?” your voice is sleepy, muffled against his shirt where you've pressed your face into the curve of his neck.

“mm?”

“next time just tell me you love me from the start, okay? save us both some time.”

he laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and making you smile against his skin. “deal, princess. though for the record, i do love you. have always loved you. will always love you.”

“i love you too,” you mumble, words slurring slightly with approaching sleep. “my ridiculous, dramatic, completely wonderful disaster of a man.”

“your disaster,” he corrects softly, fingers combing through your hair with reverent gentleness. “always yours.”

you hum contentedly, settling more firmly against him, and he thinks this might be what happily ever after feels like. strawberry lip balm and sunday afternoons and the girl of his dreams finally, finally in his arms where she belongs, where she's always belonged, where she'll stay for as long as he has breath in his body to keep her there.

yeah, he could definitely get used to this.

the white rose from yesterday's market sits on the coffee table beside their empty takeout containers, petals still pristine and perfect in their small glass of water. a symbol of new beginnings and answered prayers and the kind of love story that starts with friendship and ends with forever.

sometimes the best love stories start with friendship, the vendor had said, and as satoru drifts off to sleep with you warm and safe and his in his arms, he thinks she might have been the smartest person he's ever met.

taglist: @raendarkfaerie @thisuserisnotfunctioningproperly

[nanamiskentos]

﹙ 五条 悟 : gojo satoru ﹚

"you’re too young to be groaning like that," you tease as gojo flops onto the bed face-down, exhaling sharply.

"shut up," he mutters, voice muffled against the pillow. "i think my back just gave out."

you roll your eyes, settling beside him. his body is warm beneath your hands, muscles tense from who knows how many fights he got into today. gently, you press your thumbs into his shoulders, working out the knots.

"damn," he exhales after a beat, his usual cocky edge replaced with something softer.

"that good?"

"i might actually marry you if you keep doing this."

you snort. classic satoru. but you keep going, pressing deeper into his back. his breathing slows, and his body finally unwinds beneath your touch.

after a moment, he sighs. "you know, if i’m this messed up now, imagine how we’ll be when we’re actually old."

"you’re acting like you’re eighty."

"feels like it." he turns his head to glance at you. there’s something easy, something fond in his gaze.

"guess i’ll just have to take care of you forever, then."

for once, he doesn’t have a comeback. just a small smile — one that lingers even as the white-haired man drifts off to sleep under your touch.

[irandial]

LaDs Shorts:

Lemurian Remedy

Pairing: Rafayel x reader

Content: fluff, comfort, humor, established relationship, kisses, fever and loss of scent, cuddling, teasing, anxiety on Rafayel‘s side

Word count: ~800

Author‘s Note: based on this request and proof read by @dat-silvers-girl

Since I‘m sick I finally had an idea for this! Enjoy some comfort from our Fishie 💖

Masterlist

You startle awake as a strand of hair is gently tucked behind one of your ears. Exhausted and dizzy, you open your eyes, only to see Rafayel sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you with furrowed brows.

“You’re still a little warm, Cutie. Not feeling better yet?” His voice is low, filled with worry about your ill condition. The flu has you in a tight grip, and after two days of passing out constantly and fighting the fever, you have still not recovered. “I’m calling a doctor if it doesn’t get better this afternoon.” 

Weak, you grip his wrist that continued to free your face from sweaty, damp hair. “That’s not necessary, Rafayel. It’s a normal flu. Just gimme the Ibuprofen, and it will be fine.” Your voice is nothing like it usually sounds, hoarse and barely audible. The fever has really taken a toll on your body.

Your boyfriend only sighs, a dramatic, heavy one that shows how much he disagrees with you. “If these don't help, I’ll drive you to the hospital.” His voice is firm, tolerating no dissent from you.

You gulp, but agree with a mere “Okay.”

Rafayel helps you sit upright against the massive headboard of his bed, that is now your shared one. He places some pillows behind your back and shoulders until you are able to sit comfortably.

“Let’s see how high your fever is actually.” He declares, and with a little sing-song in his voice “Open up~.” The thermometer you know so well by now flies in the direction of your mouth, guided by a nimble artist hand, and you obediently part your lips.

Exactly 30 seconds later, the device beeps, and Rafayel gathers it back. “Hmm…” He ponders for a second. “It went down. Good, good.” And with less worry in his sunset eyes, he looks back at you with a small smile. 

Then he starts spooning up some of the soup that has been placed on the nightstand, steaming in a little blue bowl, which you only notice now. Even your nostrils are not working properly it seems, since you can’t smell anything that wafts over. 

The hot spoon touches your lips with attentive carefulness as you hesitantly try some steaming liquid. But it tastes like water. 

Uh-oh, you are really ill if you don’t even taste anything. But you swallow it regardless. Your doting boyfriend didn’t make this meal for nothing, and this is the least you can do for his efforts.

“Is it good?” Rafayel asks with this shy little smile.

You try to grin back, but fail miserably. “I’m sure it’s exquisite. I can’t taste anything though.”

“Ah, that’s a bummer. But even if you don’t have any taste buds working, you still need to have dinner.” Saying so, he feeds you the soup until it’s finished.

As result, a warm feeling spreads from your stomach throughout your whole body, and you slowly sink back under the covers.

A little rummaging from Rafayel later, and a heavy weight dips the mattress as he slips into the bed to lay next to you, and gathers you up in his arms.

“I can’t stand to see you suffering and in pain.” Then a gentle caress with his knuckles over your cheek. “Actually…” A little mischievous grin appears on his lips “I think I have something to make you feel better.” And with mirth glinting in his unique eyes, he places a kiss on your cheek, then your chin, and two more down your neck.

You giggle a little upon this “I don’t think this has any medical relevance.”

Then a soft kiss on your lips. “Oh, didn’t you know cutie? Lemurian kisses have secret healing magic. So you should get kisses from me a loooot.” 

You hum, trying not to laugh as much “I see, I see. And Mr. Rafayel isn’t making stories up just to steal some of them.” 

Then you’re met with a little pout “You doubt my credibility? I’m wounded.”

God, he’s so cute. Even in your bedridden state, he tries to make you laugh. And with some teasing, you answer him “I’m not going to pamper you when you are going to get sick from kissing me.”

Another kiss, lingering this time. A witness of his never ending hunger and greed for you. “Ruuude. Threatening the Sea God like this. Take this, my brazen bride.” And you caress his cheeks as he continues to cover your face in little pecks that make you giggle again. 

“Silly Fish…” You sigh, as he ends his 'punishment‘ with another slow and tender kiss on your parted lips.

Then he releases you, and snuggles comfortably against your back. “Please, be a good girl and rest, yeah? I’m here if you need anything.”

Mention List: @homurasturtle - @ladyparamount - @deepspacenova - @shypotatoes013-blog - @thekingswin - @jean4life - @yourfriendlypyrovampire - @aliyahlovesgermanrap

[belles-reads]

Jiejie mention

[starkissedxav]

... WHICH COULD MEAN NOTHING

SYNOPSIS: rafayel compliments you and has a nickname for you and holds your hand and openly flirts with you... which could mean nothing

tags/warnings: rafayel x fem!reader, fluff, reader is both oblivious and refuses to accept love, lowkey yandere/stalker/manipulative!rafayel if you squint, reader thinks she's undeserving of love, happy ending, I think that's it! wc: 6.6k

a/n: hi hi!! I finally got around to working on a raf drabble that turned into This,, I hope u guys enjoy !! I liked playing around w the dynamic between reader and rafayel hehe I hope it comes across !!! thank u to my gorgeous wife tee and my beloved brother in arms emmy for proofreading !! PLEASE let me know what u guys think !! reading ur comments and tags genuinely keeps me going hehe,, okay enough yapping, I hope u enjoy :3

masterlist

It was the first exhibition you were working security for him. You hovered around him the entire night, smiling when he’d shoot you pleading glances. You shook your head at him and continued to scan the room. It was a nice event, you’d have to remember to compliment Thomas's work the next time you saw him. Everything went smoothly, and Rafayel was surprisingly cooperative the entire night. 

You bit back a smile when you watched Rafayel's eyes sparkle underneath the spotlights, explaining his pieces to every sponsor and guest as he made his way around the room. The thumping of your heart made your face flush as you watched him smile and gesture wildly towards the canvas, mimicking the brushstrokes he’d used to capture the raging sea. He stole a glance back at you, smirking a little when he caught you staring. You tore your gaze from him, blinking quickly and regaining composure as you stood a little straighter. 

 When the night came to a close you waited for a moment off to the side, laughing to yourself as Thomas all but shoved Rafayel to shake hands with the VIPs. After he finally finished, he made his way in front of the largest canvas in tonight's showing. You pushed yourself off the wall you'd been leaning against, standing next to him and looking at the painting alongside him. You clasped your hands behind your back, rocking slightly on your heels, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes.

“Did you know I started this piece a year ago?” His words echo slightly in the now empty room. The lights pointing straight at the painting cast beautiful shadows across his face. You only hum in response, reading the title card next to the painting. 

The Sea’s Love.

“Good thing it sold for the highest then,” you joke lightly, still focusing on the painting ahead of you. Rafayel turns his head slightly, gaze focusing on you. 

“When I first started painting it, I was fueled by anger and frustrations,” he states, voice neutral as he continues to watch you. “I was so angry, I felt like I would never be able to feel truly happy, like I’d never trust enough to be able to love again.” Rafayel pauses for a second, eyes shifting back to the painting you were so engrossed in. “I abandoned it after three days of working on it.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, focus finally tearing from the art to the artist beside you. 

“You said you finished this in six days though,” there’s genuine confusion on your face as you continue, “and you said you were inspired by feelings of hope and love, not anger.” 

Rafayel hummed, a soft smile playing on his lips as he leaned closer to you. “I did. Somewhere along the way I realized I could love again, but it doesn't mean those negative feelings just vanished overnight.” 

“So your anger and fears, they still live alongside the way you love and devote yourself to whoever your beloved may be.” It was less of a question and more of an observation. You cocked your head at an angle, eyes tracing every brushstroke. 

“Exactly Miss Bodyguard. Love is like the sea, filled with beauty and serenity, but also storms and chaos. That's what love truly is, messy and heartbreakingly wonderful."

It was nice to talk to Rafayel when he was in his element and not making your job next to impossible. You smiled at the explanation, nodding your head and turning to look at him, his eyes met yours. 

“That’s nice, I like that.” 

“I picked it up again a month ago. I found new inspiration, one that invoked the more ‘positive’ influence of the painting.” He’s quiet for a moment, eyes lingering on you enough to make your face flush, “right after I met you, actually.” His eyes never left yours, and the last couple words make heat rise quickly to your cheeks. The room felt too hot all of a sudden, and you were quick to break eye contact first. 

“I think they’re about to shut the lights off, let’s get you home before Thomas tries to pitch you a commission for a sponsor,” you smile, turning on your heel and taking a deep breath. So he picked up his painting about love and the complexity of it after he met you? So what? It doesn’t mean anything, just a coincidence, a one off chance that will probably never occur again. 

Rafayel smiles behind you, watching as you wipe your hands nervously on your pants. You were flustered, cute. He takes one last glance at the painting, focusing on the middle right, where he’d hidden your initials among brushstrokes.

 

It was hard for you to say no to people. Even harder when ‘people’ was Rafayel staring at you with wide pleading eyes, and you were saying ‘no’ to an all-expenses-paid trip to Italy to visit his aunt for the weekend. 

“Miss Bodyguard, what if EVER gets me on the flight there? Or my stalkers figure out where I’m staying and kidnap me? I’ll be defenseless and all alone and you’d be none the wiser!” Rafayel gives you his best pout, and damn it was good. 

“Rafayel, I promised my friends I’d go to dinner with them already,” you sighed, guilt creeping in your chest as your mind ran wild with possibilities. What if something bad did happen to him? What if he really did need you there?

“Fine, when you see on Linkon City News that world-famous artist Rafayel Qi was found dead on the Italian coast, you better not cry.” He huffs softly before getting up from his spot on the couch, heading to his back porch as the sun begins to set. 

You frowned at his words, quickly following him outside. “If you’re worried about security you could always hire someone else! I’m sure anyone would-”

“I don’t want anyone, I want you.” For a moment a flicker of something flashes in his eyes, it leaves before you can place it. Your stomach flips at his words, and you have to remind yourself he doesn’t mean those words in the way you secretly hoped he did. This was a professional relationship. As professional as a pouting diva artist and overworked hunter-turned-security detail can be, at least. 

Rafayel leans on the railing that heads to the beach, chin propped in the palm of his hand as he scowls. He knew you’d feel guilty if he sulked for long enough, and sulk he did. “I’m sure my dumb seagulls will miss me when I’m dead in three days time, we never finished our final choir act y’know.” 

You rolled your eyes, pulling your phone out and sending a profuse apology to your group chat. You can’t make brunch Saturday, the job you took as a side quest is requiring you to travel for an event this weekend. 

“Watcha writing? You should look up caskets near us, help me choose one since I’ll be dead in-” you cut him off by flicking his forehead. “Ow! What was that for? You’re supposed to protect me!” 

“You are so dramatic you know that?” Rafayel can’t help but smile, knowing he had you right where he wanted you. “Stop smiling, you ruined my weekend plans,” you furrowed your brows at him, looking out into the ocean as the sun slowly sunk deeper into its depths. The oranges and pinks never failed to take your breath away. 

“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior Miss Bodyguard.” 

You were going to kill Rafayel. You had to find him first, but then you were going to kill him. This was poor foresight in your end, you had to admit. You really should’ve put two and two together when Rafayel took you dress shopping and picked out only items that matched his suit. 

“I thought you were just visiting?” You’d asked, zipping up the dress and looking in the mirror.

“Well yes, but she has this charity event she’s putting on, told me to come and support the cause,” he mumbled, eyes glued to his phone as he scrolled mindlessly on social media, he smiled when he saw your moments posts.

“What’s she donating to?” You asked as you smoothed the dress out, fixing your hair a bit and twirling to see how it fit. 

“Combating human trafficking,” he replied, it wasn’t a total lie. 

“Oh that’s nice.”

The sound of the curtain opening made him snap his head up. He thought his nose might start bleeding soon.

“What do you think? I feel like maybe it’s too much? I’m just security so I shouldn’t be flashy in the first place,” you slowly shrunk into yourself, Rafayel was quick on his feet. 

“It’s perfect,” he breathed out, his fingers ghosting over your shoulders, itching to finally touch your skin. It took every fiber of his being to pull away, he swallowed hard before shaking his head. “You’re my security, you have to look the part, don’t want you embarrassing me with a boring outfit do you?”

You shook your head, smiling slightly as you caught your reflection in the mirror. “It is really pretty, isn’t it?” Your eyes were focused on the detail of the gown, Rafayel was focused on the details of your face. 

“Very beautiful,” he agreed softly. 

“Miss Y/N?” The voice pulled you out of your haze, a nervous smile on your lips as you focused back on the woman in front of you. 

“My apologies, what did you say?” Your eyes shift nervously around the room, hoping to find the familiar purple haired man you’d arrived with. 

“How long have you and Rafayel been together?” The question would’ve been harmless, had you actually been in a relationship with the artist. You were grateful for the amount of training the association made you do on remaining stoic under pressure. 

So with a gentle smile you replied, “only about a month,” the lady cooed at you, going on about young love. The second your eyes met with Rafayel’s across the room, you quickly excused yourself. Rafayel smiled at you, then he realized your eyes were narrowed at him, his smile seemed to grow when you roughly grabbed his arm. 

“Where the hell did you go?!” You hiss at him, making sure your voice wasn’t too loud. 

“Miss me already cutie? I was just giving the staff my piece for the auction, doing my part or whatever,” he smiled at you, trying to hide how much he loved how angry you looked. 

“Okay first of all do not call me that,” Rafayel pouts at your words. “Second of all I’m here as your security, to secure you, make sure you’re secure. How do you suppose I do that when you run off behind my back?” You smack him lightly with your purse, hitting him harder when he lets out a string of ‘ow's that cause guests to turn and look at the two of you. Both of you give them convincing enough smiles to turn away. 

“Third of all, why did some random lady ask me how long we’ve been together?” 

Rafayel’s cheeks turn a hue of pink as you ask your third question, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips as he looks at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen. No, stay strong. 

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry for running off. I just had to give them the canvas I donated or else Aunt Talia would have me gutted. I promise I won’t do it again cu- Miss Bodyguard,” he begrudgingly corrects himself, you thank him under your breath. “As for the last question, hypothetically, how angry would you be if I told my Aunt that you were my girlfriend and everyone accidentally found out? Hypothetically.” 

It wasn’t an accident, he’d asked Talia to put you down as his plus one, and next to your name on the guest list were the words ‘Rafayel’s muse.’

“Hypothetically you don’t pay me enough to fake date you,” you bite back, hoping he can’t see the flush on your cheeks or hear how fast your heart is beating. “Hypothetically,” you sigh out, pinching the bridge of your nose and closing your eyes for a moment before looking at Rafayel, “if you have a good enough reason for it then I won’t quit.”

“Well, if everyone knew you were my bodyguard they’d know to target you, and then without you I’d be a defenseless fish out of water.” You hate how quickly he replies, and you hate how much of a point he has. You can only grumble, muttering something about a raise before taking a flute of champagne, chugging it down, and slipping your arm into Rafayel’s. 

He pulls you closer to his side. You steal a glance at someone’s program, seeing that underneath the piece Rafayel had donated was your name, and next to it were the words ‘to my one and only muse.’ It must all be part of the ruse, the way he complimented you and stole glances at you throughout the night was just to sell the act. 

And when he takes the heels off your feet and carries you from the cab to your hotel room, you take it as him just being nice. The way his eyes linger on you for a second too long when you say goodnight at the door probably means nothing. 

You stare up at the hotel ceiling, repeating it to yourself until you can convince yourself of it. 

It means nothing. There’s nothing there. 

You wish the butterflies in your stomach and the thumping against your rib cage got the memo. 

Rafayel takes you into the city the next day, buying souvenirs for the two of you. His hand brushes against yours more times than you can count, you hope he doesn’t notice the way your breath catches in your throat. (he does).

When the two of you arrive in Linkon again you turn to say goodbye to Rafayel, finding him already looking at you. 

“I really enjoyed being with you this weekend,” his words catch you off guard, mouth slightly agape as you scramble to find the meaning behind his words. There’s no way he means fake dating you, that would never happen. You smile at him and nod in agreement. 

“So did I, I’ll see you around,” you reply, not thinking too much of it, you can’t let yourself. Before you can turn to hail a cab, his hand envelopes your wrist, his mouth opens slightly, like he’s going to say something. 

“What is it?” You ask, scanning his face for a moment and ensuring nothing was wrong. He’s quiet for a moment, still holding you in place. 

How does he stop you from leaving? How does he keep you with him for as long as possible? 

“Let me give you a ride home, airport cabs are way too expensive,” he finally says, his voice as relaxed as it always was. You want to punch yourself for thinking he would say anything else. 

“It’s okay Rafayel, if you’re that worried about my finances just give me a raise,” you tease, waving goodbye and easily slipping out of his grasp. You feel your chest tighten as you close the door behind you, letting out a small sigh. Fake dating for a weekend didn’t mean anything, him falling asleep on your shoulder during the plane ride was nothing. 

There’s nothing there, you remind yourself. You bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at the clouds, as much as you wished there was, there wasn’t. 

You needed to go out on a date. It was starting to get ridiculous. So you did what any sensible person does: bought bottles of wine and invited your friends over to curate your dating profile. Hours later through flushed cheeks and barely contained giggles, it was done. Now all that was left for you to do was swipe on whoever you liked and hope you’d match. 

It didn’t take long for you to realize that half the people on there only really wanted one night stands and nothing serious. With most of them starting off with terrible pick up lines and the rest jumping straight to “dtf?” You were seriously giving up hope, until finally you came across someone who actually struck up a conversation. 

Two weeks later you found yourself fidgeting with your outfit, changing for the third time and fixing your hair one more time. You jumped as your phone buzzed on your bathroom counter top. 

[incoming video call from Rafayel]

You answered on the second ring, phone still on the counter with only the top half of your head showing as you fixed your mascara. 

“Hey Miss Bodyguard wanna come over? I need your opinion on this art piece I’m working on,” he pans the camera over to a colorful canvas before re-centering his face, you can see his brows furrowing as he watches your actions. “What are you doing?” 

“Sorry Rafayel, I can’t today I have plans already,” you blink a couple times before finally feeling satisfied, fluffing your hair and grabbing your phone. “I don't think I'm qualified to give opinions on art, but I can swing by tomorrow after work?” You watch as Rafayel’s eyes widen, his mouth opens slightly as he stares at you. “Hello?” 

“Do I have an event I didn’t know about?” Rafayel questions, swallowing hard as he blinks rapidly, drinking in your appearance through his phone screen. God, you looked gorgeous. 

“No, no, just going on a date is all,” you mumble, embarrassed beyond belief as your cheeks heat up.

“A date?” Rafayel feels his world stop, blood going cold. 

“Yeah figured I should put myself out there y’know? It’s been a while and I’ve been- anyway whatever, good luck with your painting!” You smile brightly before hanging up. Rafayel thinks his phone might crack from how tightly he was holding it. You absolutely could not go on that date. 

You needed this date, you had to get over your feelings for Rafayel. Taking a deep breath you finally exited your apartment, locking your door and heading for the cafe you’d agree to meet at. 

When you arrived at the cafe you sent your date a quick message, telling him you’d be seated in a booth near the back corner. You tapped your fingers against the table, looking around the room as you checked your phone. It’s fine, people run late all the time. 

Ten more minutes passed, and you figured it wouldn’t hurt to order your drink while you waited. You stood nervously in line and glanced at the door with every ring of the bell, heart sinking when it wasn’t your date. The thumping of your heart slowly subdued, and you felt silly for getting your hopes up so much. 

With slumped shoulders you slid back into the booth, checking your phone one more time as you sipped on your drink. Nothing. The door opened again, the small bell on top of the door rang as your head shot up. 

It wasn’t your date. You sipped your drink slowly, opening your phone and staring at the last text your date had sent you. 

‘See you soon! :)’

It’d been thirty minutes already, you’d texted him with no response. Just your luck you get ghosted on your first date back on the dating scene. With a heavy heart and a bruised ego you threw your now empty cup in the trash can, stepping into the warm summer air and taking a deep breath. Maybe it was a sign.

You didn't move when you got in your car, staring blankly at your steering wheel for a moment. The sound of your phone vibrating made your heart rate pick up, quickly checking the screen. 

[incoming call from Rafayel]

You take a deep breath, muttering a small prayer under your breath before answering. 

“Hello?” 

“You know it’s terrible etiquette to answer your phone while on a date right?,” you can hear his teasing tone, it makes your stomach churn. 

“It uh- ended early,” you lie, “what’s up?” 

Rafayel grins at your words, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he places an ice pack over his knuckles, walking back to the couch. 

“I ordered way too much takeout, what are the odds you wanna swing by and grab some? We can put on that movie you told me about last week,” Rafayel adjusts the bouquet of flowers he got you during his side quest earlier. 

You’re quiet for a moment, this was definitely not going to help squash your bubbling feelings for the artist. But you were starving, and you didn’t want to wallow in self-pity just yet, not when your hair had turned out so nicely. 

“Did you finish your painting already?”

“I can work on it tomorrow,” he huffs out, “c’moooooon cutie, come over and help me finish this food, please?” 

“I’ll be there in 15,” you reply, biting back your smile as you shake your head and hang up. 

You unlock his front door with the key he’d given you, calling out to make sure he knew it was you entering. Within seconds he rounded the corner, a smile on his face as he greeted you, clad in a hoodie and shorts. The sight never failed to make your heartbeat race. 

“You look beautiful y’know,” Rafayel says softly after the two of you finish eating. You’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, your eyes are glued to the TV stuck on a loading screen. “He’s an idiot to not have realized what a catch you are, cutie.” 

You don’t have enough fight in you to protest against the pet name, you know he doesn’t mean it romantically. You're too emotionally drained to think about the fact that you never even told him how the date went

“Thanks Raf,” you say softly, had anything been playing he wouldn’t have heard it. 

“I’m Raf now?” The man grins, cheeks dusted pink as he repeats the nickname. You can’t help but roll your eyes at him. 

“Don’t make me take it back,” you groan as he scoots closer to you, leaning his head on your shoulder and letting a content sigh leave his lips. Maybe it was because you already felt vulnerable and Rafayel just so happened to be there for you. Maybe it was because he handed you a bouquet of flowers when you walked in the door. You don’t know why you say it, but you do. 

“I should’ve known better than to think I’d find someone on a fucking dating app,” you scoff, laughing slightly as your gaze settles in your lap. Rafayel sits up straighter, a sympathetic smile on his face. 

“Hey,” his voice is feathery, his touch even more so as he lifts your chin for you to look at him, “dating apps are stupid, I could’ve told you that for free.” He smiles, you can’t help but reciprocate it. 

“You’re amazing, you know that? Anyone would be lucky to have you,” his face is closer to you than you ever remember it being, “I would be lucky to have you.” There’s no playful undertone in his words and no pout on his lips as he stares at you. His eyes flicker down to your lips for a fraction of a second. 

“Rafayel,” you breathe out, eyelashes fluttering as everything becomes too much. What was happening? Could this mean-

The sound of the movie abruptly starting makes you jump, the sudden realization of how close you were has you clearing your throat, scooting away from the man you so desperately wish to be closer with. 

He almost kissed you. You almost kissed him. He was there for you after a terrible date, with flowers and your favorite food. Which could mean nothing, and for the sake of your already aching heart, you tell yourself it does mean nothing. Because it was Rafayel and you were just, well, you. 

It was hard to quell your feelings after that night. It was harder for you to ignore how pretty Rafayel was, how charming his smile was and how well you and him got along. It was damn near impossible to ignore just how much you liked him. 

You tried to brush off his offhand comments, immediately deflecting and not allowing yourself the pleasure of entertaining the idea. This was Rafayel. The most handsome man you’d ever seen in your life, he was funny and kind and caring and he did not have a thing for you. 

“Hey cutie, what do you say we grab a bite after this?” He winks at you during an exhibition, you want to kill the butterflies in your stomach. 

“I can’t, sorry Rafayel,” you say simply, giving him a small smile and hoping he’d drop it. He doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. 

“C'mon! We can go to the place you’ve been wanting to try! I saw your moments post about it,” he narrows his eyes at you, crossing his arms and leaning forward. 

You take a small step back. Rafayel wants to grab you by your waist, he digs his fingers into the fabric of his shirt to stop himself. 

“I already have some food I have to finish up, maybe next time?” You smile nervously, palms already sweaty from how intently he was looking at you. His purple bangs falling gently across his forehead, you fight the urge to brush them out of his eyes. 

Rafayel only spoke to you again when parting ways after the exhibition, turning around and causing you to almost bump into his chest. 

“Y’know I’m here for you, right? Whenever you want for whatever you need,” the words catch you by surprise, making your heart thump louder in your ears as you smile at him. 

“O-okay thanks,” you reply, moving to walk past him, he grabs your wrist, staring at you like he was going to say more. He opens his mouth before closing it again, shoulders slumping and letting out a small sigh. He lets go of your wrist, savoring the way the warmth of your skin felt on his. “Let me know when you get home, Miss Bodyguard,” he smiles softly. 

“Okay,” you breathe out, eyes lingering on his lips for a second too long. You turn on your heel quickly, the mantra you’d always repeat to yourself when it came to Rafayel already looping in your mind. 

It probably means nothing. The look in his eyes wasn’t anything, it couldn’t be. Your heart tugs the further away from him you get, God, you wish it did. 

You decided you were going to be brave. After almost a year of debate, you were going to take a leap of faith. 

With shaky fingers you hover over the dial button, taking a deep breath before tapping your screen and putting the phone to your ear. It only rings once before you hear the same voice that always makes your stomach flip. 

“Well to what do I owe the honor of you calling me first, Miss Bodyguard?” Rafayel smirks on the other line, leaning back in his seat as he puts the phone on speaker, mindlessly twirling a paintbrush between his fingers. 

“I need to ask you something, and I want you to promise that you won’t judge me or laugh at me or- are you already giggling?” You furrow your brows, nerves slowly replaced by that familiar feeling of enamored frustration only Rafayel managed to bring out. 

“You can’t tell someone to not laugh at something, everyone knows that just makes them want to laugh,” he states, “but fiiine, I won’t laugh.” 

“Do piercings hurt a lot? I know you have a bunch and I’ve been wanting to get one forever and I’ve been so scared but I really want one.” You rush your words out, pacing around your living room before staring out your window and flopping backwards on your couch. 

“You thought I would laugh because you’re… scared to get a piercing?” Rafayel cocks his head slightly, pausing his movements as he sets his brush down, grabbing his phone and smiling softly. He can picture you already, your face is probably warm, nose scrunched and lips pouting as you look to your side in embarrassment, shrugging your shoulders. 

“Well, yeah,” you mutter, nose scrunched and face hot as you stare away from your phone, as if he could see you through the camera. 

“What kind of piercing do you wanna get? The pain depends on the placement but also everyone’s pain tolerance is different.” He hears you hum on the other end of the line. 

“I wanted to get my nose pierced, is that lame?” Your face is hot, embarrassed to be so scared of something so many people did. 

“You’re gonna look great with it! It shouldn’t hurt too much, when are you gonna get it?” Rafayel has to take deep breaths as his imagination runs wild. The thought of you with your nose pierced, he closes his eyes for a moment, willing himself to calm down as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I don’t know, I was kinda thinking of getting it soon, rip the band aid off,” you smile, sitting up from your position on the couch and checking the time. “Are you busy right now?” 

“I’m never busy when it comes to you,” Rafayel replies easily, wiping his paint stained hands on a nearby rag before standing up. 

“Do you think you could come with me? To get the piercing?” You’re covering half your face with one hand out of embarrassment. You’re fully prepared for him to laugh at you, say ‘hell no!’ and hang up on you. Okay, that might be a little extreme. 

“I’m already on my way, cutie,” he replies, you can hear the jingling of his keys before you let out a small, ‘okay’ and hang up. You stare at the floor for a moment, then a wide smile breaks onto your face. You break out into maniacal giggles, burying your face in your hands before biting your bottom lip. 

Rafayel knocks on your door in 15 minutes time, hair falling perfectly and cologne wafting into your senses the moment you open the door. You look up at him with a shy smile, having never noticed just how built the man was. He crowds your space as he leans against the door frame, smiling and holding his hand out for you to take. 

“Are you ready?” He asks, you nod, hesitantly putting your hand in his. You ignore the way your whole body reacts to the simple touch. You’re too in your head to notice the way his face goes red as his hand envelopes yours. 

Rafayel was enjoying this way too much for your liking, but you were too nervous to make any remarks as he walked into the piercing shop with your clammy hand in his. 

“Hey what can I help you guys with today?” The man asked, looking between the two of you, “matching tattoos maybe?” He grins, you can’t help but let out a nervous chuckle. 

“Maybe next week, right cutie?” He chuckles when your eyes go wide and you elbow him. 

“I wanted to get a nose piercing,” you tell the man, and two consent forms later you’re seated in the piercing chair, fidgeting with your t-shirt nervously as you talk to Rafayel. 

“It’ll look good right? I won’t look stupid with it?” Rafayel smiles at you and nods. 

“You’re gonna look stunning, Miss Bodyguard,” he mumbles, walking from his position across the room to your side. “Who knows, you might even inspire me to paint more pieces about you.”

You smile at him, then the words process in your mind. “What do you mean ‘more’?”

“Alright! I’m gonna go ahead and mark where the piercing will go and let me know if you like the placement!” The piercer walks in, saving Rafayel from having to answer your question. Reluctantly you tear your gaze from him, smiling at the piercer and sitting still as she marks your nose and hands you a mirror to check. You nod in approval, handing the mirror back as she preps the area. 

Rafayel is staring at you intently, your heart is racing, fear coursing through your veins as the piercer turns to grab the needle. 

“Can you hold my hand?” You ask quietly, Rafayel all but jumps at the opportunity, intertwining your fingers with his, like he was always meant to be by your side. 

“Alright, you ready?” She asks and you nod, eyes focused on Rafayel’s pretty blue-pink ones. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth for me.” You do as you're told, feeling slightly embarrassed by how sweaty your palm is against Rafayel’s.

“Deep breath,” he says softly, eyes glancing between your gaze and the needle, squeezing your hand as she punctures the cartilage. “Good girl,” Rafayel praises, thumb stroking the back of your hand in soothing circles as your eyes water slightly. You blink rapidly, a stray tear slipping out as they insert the small stud in place of the needle. 

“Alright you’re all done!” The piercer smiles at you, letting you know to head up front to pay. You thank her quickly, turning to Rafayel who still had a tight grip on your hand. 

“How do I look?” You smile at him. Rafayel doesn’t say anything for a second, eyes scanning your features as his thumb swipes the stray tear from your cheek. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers, squeezing your hand before helping you out of the chair. He’s quick to beat you to the register, immediately handing the receptionist his card before you have the chance to protest. 

You’re too flustered by his compliment to fight back, opting instead to simply thank him as he places his card back in his wallet. Rafayel doesn’t say anything, his hand slotting back into yours. Both of your faces are burning hot, with neither of you addressing it until your hand leaves his as he holds the car door open for you. 

“That wasn’t as terrible as I thought it was gonna be!” You gush as Rafayel slips into the driver's seat. He watches from the corner of his eye the way you stare at your reflection in the sun visor mirror.

“You did a great job! My brave girl,” he says smoothly, left hand on the steering wheel and the other coming to squeeze your arm gently. Your body is on fire at the small contact, and you’re having a hard time rationalizing this into nothing. 

He holds your hand during your piercing, tells you he’s painted pieces inspired by you, that could mean nothing. But now he’s calling you his girl? Your mind is scrambling and you can only land on one conclusion. 

“Rafayel?” 

“Cutie?” He purrs back, he can all but see everything in your head clicking into place, his heart thumping against his chest as your gaze bores into your lap. 

“Do you like me?” You check to see if the passenger door is unlocked, in case he laughs in your face and you have to jump out of this moving vehicle. You think about the logistics of it, you’d most likely survive, mainly surface injuries, you’ve fought off hordes of wanderers, you could take jumping out of a car. What you couldn’t take, is the artist you’ve been crushing on for a year calling you delusional. 

“I thought that much was obvious, I’ve been flirting with you since I met you,” Rafayel lets out a deep chuckle, turning to look at you briefly. Your mouth is agape, eyes wide as you stare at him in disbelief.

“What?!” You shriek. Rafayel only laughs harder. 

“Did you think I just went around complimenting everybody? Calling people cutie and my muse?” Your silence makes Rafayel’s mouth drop. “Are you serious?!” He exclaims, parking the car in front of your apartment building before turning to face you fully. 

“I didn’t want to assume things! I just rationalized everything that happened,” you defended, “I just kept telling myself it meant nothing and you were just a flirty person!” 

“So when I gave you a key to my house?” 

“I’m your bodyguard so you gave it to me for security purposes,” you explained, and Rafayel had to hold back his laughter. 

“I told you there’s no one in my life that I’d want with me other than you, and that’s the conclusion you came to?” Your face burned as you tried (and failed) to defend yourself. “Okay and the time I told you that you were the reason I started painting with lighter tones and images of hope and love instead of despair?"

“You said that you did that after you met me, not that-” saying it out loud makes it seem obvious, embarrassment coursing through your veins as you realize the mental gymnastics you’d been doing all year. 

“I practically professed my love for you the night you got stood up, how did you rationalize that?” His head cocks slightly, a smug smirk on his face as he wonders what radical conclusion you’d landed on. 

“That you’d never have feelings like that for someone like me,” you shrug your shoulders, not daring to meet his eyes as you finally come clean. The true reason you’d brushed his every move off, the one thing driving the mantra you’d always told yourself. 

“Someone like you?” Rafayel repeats, his heart clenches at your words. He doesn’t say anything else, the restraint he had for the past year is thrown out the window as he reaches over the center console and angles your face towards him. 

“Do you like me?” Rafayel asks, his breathing erratic as he stares into your eyes. You give him a small nod, about to say something else before you’re cut off with his lips on yours. You tense for a moment, body catching up before your brain does as you melt into the kiss, hands weaving in the soft purple tresses at the nape of his neck. You whimper slightly when Rafayel pulls away and nips at your bottom lip. 

“Please tell me you can’t rationalize that,” he mumbles, you laugh, letting your head rest on his shoulder. 

“If I try hard enough-” Rafayel takes your face in one hand, lifting it up and kissing you once more, careful to not hit your freshly pierced nose. 

“I want you,” he mumbles against your lips, “you drive me crazy– you’re the only one I want– I want you all to myself, as my lover and as my everything,” he punctuates each statement between kisses, slowly turning rougher as you move in sync with him, tugging gently on his hair. 

When he pulls away, the only thing connecting the two of you is a string of saliva between your lips, which Rafayel quickly wipes with his thumb, licking it clean. You bite back a moan. 

“Am I clear enough now?” He smirks. You gulp, nodding. 

“Do you wanna- we should probably- come on let’s head inside,” you finally sputter out, quickly opening the car door and heading to your apartment. Rafayel is hot on your heels, relief filling his body when you turn around and shoot him a shy smile as you unlock your door. 

Rafayel crowds your space the rest of the day, kissing every inch of you, telling and showing you just how badly he’s been wanting you. He whispers sweet words to you as he brushes your hair out of face, his fingertips trace your sweaty skin, eyes staring at you like you were the most precious work of art ever created…. which could mean nothing. 

But you know better now.  It means the feelings you’d been shoving aside this whole time were reciprocated ten fold. It means he loves you, with every fiber of his being.

taglist: @hirayalia @violasepals @txtworlddom @mrs-lixiaqin @pjselee @luvyizhou ask to be added!

[belles-reads]

Caleb looks so happy 😭😭😭 sweet boy