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reblog acc | 20 multi i love jisung <3

[hotchreiid]

Eight Minutes

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

⋆.˚when JJ hands Spencer your photograph, announcing you as the most recent victim in a kidnapping case, he is thrown into a race against the clock to save your life from a killer who is becoming more erratic and dangerous by the second.

ellie talks- i did way too much research on soil properties, quarries and brickworks in Virginia for someone who lives in the rural north west of england. anyways... enjoy!

wc- 4.6k

cw- S1!Spencer, reader is a kidnapping victim, angst, reader and Spencer are high school exes, Spencer loses his shit.

Everything blurred, the air around you freezing, smelling of damp earth, rusted iron. The walls were brick, dark, dingy and crawling with moss. Your back pressed hard against the cold metal of the chair, coarse rope biting into your wrists, chafing your cheeks. Every breath was a battle, fighting against the panic clawing up your throat. The heavy, rhythmic drip of water leaking from the ceiling was your only clock, measuring out the agonizingly short amount of time you had left. You closed your eyes, trying desperately to dissociate from the pain in your bruised ribs, and the terrifying sound of footsteps pacing in the next room. 

The bullpen of the Behavioural Analysis Unit was usually a cacophony of controlled chaos, phones ringing endlessly, papers shuffling hurriedly. But the moment the latest victim’s photograph was handed to the team, the room fell dead silent. 

Spencer Reid dropped his pen. It rolled off the edge of the mahogany table, clattering against the linoleum floor, but he didn’t even blink. Your name barely pierced through the ringing in his ears as JJ announced it to the team, his fingers curled tighter around the photograph until his knuckles were white.

“... Twenty four. She was taken from her apartment parking lot in Alexandria late last night. If the unsub’s timeline holds, we have less than six hours before he-”

“Four hours.” Spencer interrupted. His voice was hoarse, but it cut through the room like glass, his eyes still didn’t lift. He stood so fast that his chair scraped violently against the floor. 

Hotch’s eyes locked onto him, “Reid, what do you mean?”

“The geographical distribution of the dump sites indicates a comfort zone with a radius of no more than twelve miles, but the escalation in his cooling off period suggests a severe increase in his disorganized erraticism," Spencer rambled, his eyes still locked onto your photograph, your smile, your bright eyes. “He isn’t going to keep her for twelve hours like the others. He’s spiraling. He’s going to kill her in four. Maybe less.” 

Gideon leaned forward, his dark eyes studying Spencer’s erratic pacing, the way he hadn’t looked away from the photograph in his hand once since JJ had given it to him. “How do you know her?” He asked in his calm, quiet tone.

Spencer’s chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths. Everyone’s eyes turned to him, a shocked silence settling over the group as his eyes finally lifted to Gideon. 

“She’s… She was my girlfriend.” He said, the word sounding foreign yet heavy on his tongue. “In Vegas, before Caltech.”

A look exchanged throughout the room, one of understanding as Morgan stood, placing his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, he flinched gently under the touch, and lifted your photograph to look at your smile again. “You never…”

“We broke up because she was… she got into her dream program, I got into Caltech,” He swallowed, a hard lump forming in his throat. “I didn’t want to hold her back.”

Hotch caught up with Spencer as they walked towards the jet, a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. His face had drained of colour, pale and terrified. Hotch was trained to look for cracks, and right now, Spencer was fracturing right in front of him. 

“Reid,” his voice dropped to a low and steady tone. “If you’re too close to this, I need to know now. I can’t have you in the field if you’re compromised.”

“I’m not compromised.” Spencer shot back instantly, his voice rising a pitch, he looked around at the teammates ahead, his chest heaving. “I’m the only one who can do the probability modeling on this unsub’s geographic regression fast enough. I know her baseline behavior. I know how she reacts under stress, she’s highly resilient, she won't panic immediately, which means she might buy us time, but we don’t have time. If you sideline me, you’re losing thirty percent of your analytical speed!” 

Silence settled between them, Hotch held his gaze, Spencer’s chest heaving. “I won't miss anything.” He said, his voice cracking as his brows furrowed, almost pleading, “I promise you. I won’t miss a thing.” 

Hotch swallowed, before nodding once. “Okay.” He said calmly, patting Spencer’s shoulder before the two of them jogged to catch up to the others. 

Spencer’s fingers leafed through the crime scene photos, the photograph of you safely tucked into the breast pocket of his shirt. He was running numbers, calculating probabilities, mapping the unsub’s previous movements with frantic energy. 

“Reid, you need to take a breath,” Elle said gently, “We’re going to find her.”

“I can’t breathe, Elle,” Spencer said, his voice cracking as he looked up, his wide brown eyes swimming with a rare, raw terror. “Do you know what she did when I was twelve years old, and the kids at school zip-tied me to a goal post? She didn’t laugh. She sat on the grass next to me and read me The Count of Monte Cristo until the janitor came with a wire cutter. She saw me. Not a freak. Just me.” He gripped his hair, pulling slightly as if he could force his brain to work faster. “Now he has her. If she dies because I was too scared to-”

“Hey. Look at me.” Morgan said, leaning over the table to force Spencer’s eyes to him. “That is not going to happen. Focus. What is your brain telling you about this guy? Where is he keeping her?”

Spencer forced his eyes closed. He shut out the rumble of the engine, the flicking of pages and murmuring of agents, the phantom scent of your perfume and feel of your hair in his hands that always seemed to linger in his memories. 

Think.

“Police sent over the security footage from her apartment complex. The abduction took less than forty seconds. He was waiting for her.” Hotch said as he scanned the file in front of him, his eyes momentarily flicking to Spencer, his knee anxiously bouncing and his jaw tight as he stared out of the plane window.

“Did he target her specifically, or was it a crime of opportunity?” Morgan asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. 

“Opportunity.” Spencer said, taking a deep breath in before turning to Morgan. “He doesn't know me, and he doesn’t know her. The previous three victims all shared the same physical profile and were taken from transit points within a three mile radius of the interstate ninety-five corridor. It’s random. It’s entirely random… The unsub uses a white van with rusted wheel wells,” Spencer murmured, his thoughts tumbling out. “The soil transfer on the victims shoes was rich in iron oxide.”

Hotch stared at Spencer for three long seconds, the tension in the plane palpable. Finally, he gave a single firm nod. “Alright, you stay on the geographical profiling, JJ, get on the phone with local field office and pull every traffic camera feed within five miles of her apartment. Gideon and I are going to her place to walk the scene.”

The air in the concrete cell grew colder as the afternoon bled into evening. 

Your head throbbed, a dull, agonizing pulse behind your eyes. You tried to shift your weight, but a sharp spike of pain in your ribs made you gasp, the sound muffled by the rough rope tied around your mouth. Through the high, barred slit near the ceiling, the weak Virginia sunlight was beginning to fade, casting skeletal shadows across the damp brick walls. Three hours. By your own estimate, you had been in this room for at least three hours. In the next room, the pacing had stopped, replaced by the heavy, dragging sound of metal scraping against concrete. You swallowed the dryness in your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the ceiling, on the rhythmic, maddening drip of water. One drip every four seconds, you calculated, your mind clinging to the structure of the math because it was the only thing keeping the terror from consuming you entirely. It was a habit you picked up years ago, from a boy who used to explain the mathematical probability of rain just to calm you down during summer thunderstorms in Nevada. 

“If you look at the cloud density and the barometric pressure, it’s actually a beautiful equation,” his voice echoed in your mind, so clear that it made your chest ache. 

Suddenly, the heavy wooden door to the kiln chamber creaked open. Your breath hitched, your eyes squeezed closed for a fraction of a second, then you forced them open, you wouldn’t let him see you vulnerable. He stepped into the room, large, imposing, with clothes stained with grease and dried mud, his eyes vacant and deeply bloodshot. He didn’t look angry, he looked frantic, his hands shaking as he carried a heavy roll of wire and a rusted iron pipe. His movements too fast, his breathing too shallow. He stopped in front of you, staring down with an unsettling, detached curiosity. He reached out, his dirty thumb tracing the line of your jaw, and you flinched away, your teeth clenching. “You aren’t screaming. Why aren’t you screaming?”

You glared at him through your tangled hair, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, but you kept your gaze steady. The man grunted, a dark, frustrated sound, and raised the heavy iron pipe. “We’ll have to fix that.”

“She lived alone, but she didn’t live isolated.” Gideon murmured, tracing his fingers along the edge of a neatly arranged bookshelf. “She was organised, careful, The neighbours said she kept to herself, but she was always polite. She moved here six months ago. Why Alexandria?”

“Maybe a fresh start.” Hotch suggested, stepping into the small hallway that led to the bedroom. “Had a break-up, fell out with a friend.” He theorised. The bedroom was modest. A neatly made bed, a dresser with a few framed photos of your family, a small writing desk near the window. Hotch approached the closet, pulling it open, while Gideon walked over to the bed. He knelt, his eyes catching on something tucked just beneath the dust ruffle. He reached under and pulled out a faded, purple cardboard shoebox. 

“Hotch.” Gideon called out softly.

Hotch turned, watching as Gideon sat on the edge of the mattress and removed the lid. Inside the box were dozens of envelopes, bundled neatly with a blue piece of twine. Gideon slid the top envelope out from under the string. The paper was slightly worn at the edges, handles many times. He turned it over, his eyes narrowing slightly as he read the postmark.

Pasadena, CA. October 2000

Then his gaze fell on the sender’s handwriting. It was incredibly precise, small and frantically slanted. “Reid.” Hotch murmured, stepping closer. It wasn’t a question. He recognised the erratic, rapid-fire flow of the penmanship instantly. Gideon untied the string and opened the most recent letter in the pile. It was dated nearly four years ago. He skimmed the page, his eyes softening as he read the dense paragraphs, a dizzying mix of complex astrophysical theories, ramblings about Caltech’s library, and, woven between the lines, a profound, aching vulnerability. 

…I tried to calculate the probability of us staying together despite the geographic distance, but the variables are too volatile. I don’t want to be the gravity that pulls you away from your own orbit. You deserve to fly. But please know that even if the universe expands forever, my coordinates will always find yours.

“She kept every single one of them.” Gideon said quietly, folding the paper back into its creases. “He stopped writing because he thought he was protecting her.” He paused as he looked at Hotch. “She moved here to be closer to him.” 

“But she never called him,” Hotch observed, his voice tinged with a rare touch of solemnity. “She wanted to see if he would reach out first.”

Before Gideon could reply, Hotch’s cell phone rang, cutting sharply through the quiet apartment. Hotch held the receiver to his ear. “Hotch.” 

On the other end, Morgan’s voice crackled through, thick with urgency. “Hotch, we have a location. Reid cracked the soil analysis. The iron oxide and calcium carbonate point to the old Lorton Brickworks kiln chambers, right off Interstate ninety-five. We’re five minutes out.”

“We’re on our way.” Hotch said, his eyes locking onto the purple shoebox. “We’ll meet you there.”

The sirens of the local police cruisers wailed in the distance, but the tactical team moved in absolute, synchronized silence. 

The old Lorton Brickworks loomed in the gray evening light, a crumbling monolith of rusted steel and decaying masonry. Heavy rain began to pelt the concrete as the SWAT team, flanked by Morgan, Elle, and a visibly trembling Spencer, stacked up against the primary entrance to the underground kilns.

“Breaching in three… two… one…”

The heavy iron door was blown open with a deafening metallic screech. Spencer didn’t wait. He pushed past the tactical shield, his flashlight beam slicing frantically through the darkness of the subterranean corridor, screaming your name into the abyss, his voice cracking with sheer desperation. The team swept through the chambers, the beams of their flashlights illuminating nothing but empty space, piles of discarded gravel, and decades of undisturbed dust. There were no chairs, no ropes. No signs of recent life.

“Clear!” a SWAT officer shouted.

“Clear!” another echoed from the back.

Spencer froze in the center of the main kiln chamber. He shone his flashlight at the ground. The dust on the concrete floor was thick, even, and completely undisturbed. No footprints.

“No.” Spencer murmured, his eyes wide and frantic. “No, no, no… this is wrong. This is all wrong.”

Morgan stopped at his side, his hand landing on his shoulder. “Reid, talk to me. What do you mean it’s wrong? The soil report-”

“The soil report in Sarah Jenkins’ shoes had calcium carbonate-” he paused, bending to run his fingers through the soil, “but the Lorton Clay Pit has a high concentration of alumina.” He rambled, his voice climbing to a panicked breathless pitch. He stared at his dirty fingers as if they held every answer he was looking for. “Aluminia is acidic. But the soil on Sarah’s shoes was alkaline. The calcium carbonate wasn’t from the clay itself… It was a shifting agent from limestone runoff. From the Occoquan River.”

He scrambled backward, pulling his folded paper maps from his pocket with shaking hands, tearing the edges. “The Occoquan Clay and Brick Manufactory,” Spencer gasped, a tear of pure horror spilling over his eyelashes. “It’s six miles south. It closed in ninety-four when the quarry flooded. It’s the exact same architectural layout, built by the same parent company, but the geological runoff is entirely different. I miscalculated the geographic regression because I assumed he was staying close to the interstate corridor, but he isn’t trying to stay near the highway, he's trying to stay near the water.”

Hotch and Gideon sprinted into the chamber, their faces grim. “Reid, what is it?” Hotch demanded.

Spencer looked up, his face entirely drained of colour. “We’re in the wrong place. He has her at the Occoquan facility. It’s twelve minutes from here.”

“How much time do we have left on your timeline, Reid?” Gideon asked, his voice steady but urgent.

Spencer looked at his watch. The ticking of the second hand felt like a physical hammer to his skull. “Eight minutes.” Spencer whispered, his chest heaving as he stared at Gideon. “In eight minutes, he kills her.”

Twelve minutes of driving had to be forced into six. The black SUV roared down the rain slicked, winding roads toward the Occoquan River, tires skimming over deep puddles. Inside, the silence was suffocating, punctuated only by the furious, rapid-fire tapping of Spencer's fingers against his knees. “Four minutes,” Spencer murmured, his eyes fixed on the dashboard clock. “We have four minutes.”

“I’m driving as fast as the road allows, Reid,” Morgan growled, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he navigated a sharp, blind curve.

“It’s not fast enough!” Spencer suddenly yelled, a rare, uncharacteristic burst of anger cracking through his panic. He slammed a hand onto the dashboard. “He’s going to kill her, Morgan! He’s going to kill her because I spent three years hiding from my own feelings in California!” 

No one in the car spoke. Elle reached forward from the backseat, gently squeezing Spencer’s shoulder, but he was too far gone to feel it, drowning in the mathematics of his own failures. Up ahead, through the heavy downpour, the dark outline of the Occoquan Clay and Brick Manufactory finally broke through the trees.

Inside the concrete kiln, the shadows had stretched so long that they swallowed the room. Your chest burned with every shallow breath. The pacing in the corridor had stopped. There was only the low, wet drag of boots stepping through the shallow puddles of groundwater on the brick floor. You pulled against your bonds, the harsh rope tearing through the skin of your wrists, but the knots were professional, unyielding. The heavy metal door of the chamber groaned on its hinges. The man stepped inside, carrying the same rusted iron pipe. The weapon scraped against the wet brick with a high pitched, metallic screech that made your stomach roll. “The water’s rising.” He muttered, his voice hollow and frantic. He looked up at the ceiling, then back at you. “They’re close. I can feel them. They’re trying to take you away from me, but I have to keep the sequence clean. Three, then four. It has to be complete.”

You didn’t close your eyes, staring straight at him, your jaw trembling but your gaze fierce. You thought of a boy under a starry Vegas sky. 

The pipe began its downward swing-

The SUV hadn’t even fully stopped before Spencer threw his door open. He hit the gravel running, his boots skidding as he sprinted toward the gaping, dark mouth of the Occoquan kiln entrance. “Reid! Wait for tactical!” Hotch’s voice echoed through the storm, but Spencer couldn’t hear him over the roaring of his own pulse.

Spencer burst into the cavernous, pitch-black underground network. His flashlight beam swept wildly over crumbling brick arches and deep, stagnant pools of flooded water. The labyrinth of identical corridors stretched out before him like a physical manifestation of his worst nightmare. He stopped, holding his breath, desperately trying to listen over the sound of the rain hammering the roof above. A muffled, metallic clang rang out from the deep left corridor. 

Spencer took off. He rounded a corner, his foot catching on a piece of debris, sending him crashing hard onto his shoulder against the wet brick wall. Pain shot through his arm, but he barely registered it. He scrambled back to his feet, throwing his weight against a rotting wooden door at the end of the hall. The door splintered inward. 

The beam of his flashlight caught the terrifying tableau in an instant, the unsub, the raised steel pipe, and you. Tied to a chair, eyes wide with terror.

“FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Spencer screamed, his voice raw, completely devoid of his usual restraint. 

The unsub swung around, his face twisting in rage as he charged at the lanky agent with the pipe. Spencer didn’t retreat. He didn’t wait for Morgan, or Hotch. With a desperate cry, he tackled the larger man, the two of them slamming violently into the muddy floor. The pipe clattered away into the dark as the unsub clawed at Spencer’s face, pinning him down, but Spencer fought back with an agonizing, furious strength, driving his elbow into the man’s ribs. Just as the unsub grabbed Spencer’s throat, Morgan and Hotch burst into the room. Morgan threw himself onto the suspect, ripping him off Spencer and slamming him face first into the wet brick to cuff him. 

Spencer lay on the ground for a fraction of a second, gasping for air, before scrambling on his hands and knees over to your chair. His hands shook violently as he pulled at the knot around your wrists. “I’m here, I- I’m here, I’ve got you.” He choked out as the knot came free. The moment your arms were free, you threw them around his neck. His hands moved to the rope at the back of your head and pulled, releasing the gag from your mouth as you collapsed against him, sending him back to the floor. “Spencer-” You sobbed, your voice a broken whisper against his ear. His long arms wrapped around you, burying his face in your wet hair as he cradled you in his lap, holding on so tightly it felt as if he were trying to pull you directly into his chest, away from the cold, away from the horror, away from the years you had spent apart. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his eyes swimming with tears when you pulled back to look at him. They flicked over your face, the lines of grease and dirt where the unsub had touched you, the drip of blood from a cut above your eyebrow, the skin rubbed raw by the rope gag around your mouth. “I’m so sorry, I- I…” His hand moved from your head to your jaw, his thumb gently tracing your cheek. You leaned into his touch, a small, bruised smile pulling at your lips. “Are you okay?” 

Paramedics rushed in, sirens wailed in the distance. “Let’s get her to the ambulance, Reid.” Hotch said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Let the EMTs look her over.” 

The back of the ambulance was relatively quiet, a stark contrast to the storm outside. The rain hammered a steady, muted rhythm against the metal roof. The doors were pulled shut, leaving the two of you in the warm, sterile glow of the interior lights. You sat on the gurney, a heavy, orange blanket dread over your shoulders. The paramedic had finished cleaning the cuts on your lip and eyebrow, and bandaging the raw, chafed skin of your wrists, leaving you with a small cup of water before stepping out to give you some space. Spencer stood just inside the doors, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. He had a white blanket wrapped around his own shoulders to combat the chill of his soaked clothes, his wet hair curling at the ends. He stared at his mismatched socks, suddenly feeling very vulnerable, and very lost. 

“Spence?” You said, your voice soft and scratchy. He looked up, his brown eyes wide as he walked over to the edge of the gurney, his movements hesitant, as if he were afraid to startle you if he moved too quickly. 

“Are you… are you okay?” He asked, gently settling next to you on the edge of the gurney. “The medical examiner- I mean, paramedic said your ribs are only bruised and not fractured, and your wrists…” He trailed off, his eyes dropping to the white gauze wrapping your wrists. He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I miscalculated the Lorton put. I should have realised the soil runoff variable sooner. I cost us twelve minutes. I almost-”

“Spencer.” You reached out, your bandaged hand cutting off his rambling as you gently took hold of his fingers. “You saved my life.” He let out a shaky breath, his fingers slowly curling around yours. “And with a hell of a tackle too.” You added, smiling gently. He looked down at your joined hands as he let out an exhale that could have been a laugh if not for the circumstances, and the dam finally broke.

“I was so scared.” He murmured, his voice cracking. “When JJ handed me your photo, my entire brain just… stopped. I’ve spent years training myself to be objective, to compartmentalise, to analyze everything through mathematical probability. But the moment I saw you, the math didn't work anymore. I couldn’t breathe.” He swallowed, eyes locked on the way your fingers slotted perfectly between his. “Gideon found the letters under your bed.” He confessed quietly, his eyes lifting to meet yours, swimming with tears. “He showed them to me while they were…” He gestured at your wrists with his free hand. “I… I stopped writing because I thought I was doing the logical thing. I thought I was saving you from having to choose between your dream and a boy who was too weird, too complicated, too… broken to keep up with you.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you didn’t look away. “Spence…” You whispered. “I moved here because I hoped that if I was close enough, maybe the universe would find a way to slide us back into the same orbit. But I was… I thought the letters stopped because you had moved on.”

“I could never move on from you.” He answered instantly, reaching up with his free hand, his long, slender fingers trembling as he gently brushed a damp strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was incredibly light, as if you were made of glass. “I love you. I never stopped, not for a single second.”

A soft smile broke through the pain on your face, watching as a tear finally fell over his lashes. “I never stopped either.” You whispered, watching his whole face soften, his shoulder turned as he moved to face you. He was still trembling slightly, the residual adrenaline of the rescue humming through his veins. He looked down at you, the shadows of the ambulance cast soft lines across your face, highlighting the dark bruise on your cheekbone, the spit on your lip. To anyone else, you looked battered, the victim of a terrible crime. But to Spencer, you were the same girl who had sat in the dusty desert grass, holding his hand when the rest of the world felt too loud.  There was no hesitation, no distance of four lost years, no unanswered letters between you anymore. Just the undeniable, magnetic pull that had always existed. 

His fingers gently cradled your jawline, so careful, his thumb lightly tracing just below the bruise on your cheek, treating you like something infinitely precious. When he leaned down, you met him halfway. 

The kiss was soft, tentative at first, as if he was terrified of hurting you. He pressed his lips to yours with a quiet, aching reverence, a silent apology for every day he had spent letting the silence stretch between you. But as your hand moved to cup the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his damp hair, the hesitation dissolved. He let out a shaky, ragged sigh against your mouth, deepening the kiss. It was a chaotic rush of warmth, of relief, of a profound love that had survived years of distance and the brink of death. He pulled you closer, his other hand splaying flat against your back, holding you to him as if to convince himself that you were truly here, safe and alive. 

When you finally parted, neither of you moved away. Spencer rested his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling in the space. He smiled, a small, genuine expression that reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. “My heart rate is currently one hundred and forty-two beats per minute,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion but carrying a hint of his familiar, nerdy charm. “Which is physiologically consistent with acute cardiovascular arousal, but I’m fairly certain ninety percent of it is just because of you.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your eyes shining with fresh tears as you pulled on the back of his neck again. “Shut up.”

“Okay.” He mumbled against you as you brought his lips back to yours.

[spenceralacarte]

Hello, I was wondering if you could write a prompt where post-prison Spencer has a secret girlfriend (Reader) that's brought in as a stalking serial killer suspect in a case he's working and he ends up accusing her of using him for his job in an interrogation but she's released and they don't speak then she's kidnapped by the real killer and is barely saved by the team and they somehow make up (bc honestly what girlfriend would be okay after that 🤷‍♀️) with like a heap of angst and eventually fluff pls

- 🌞 anon

Here it is! One big heap of angst with a side of fluff.

Title: What He Thought He Knew

Spencer had been careful with you.

Not distant. Never cold. Just careful in the way a man became careful after learning that even locked doors could open for the wrong people.

He did not tell the team about you.

At first, it was because the relationship was new. Then it was because it felt good to have something that belonged only to him, untouched by case files and crime scenes and the worried looks people gave him when they thought he was not paying attention.

You met him for coffee near Quantico. You spent quiet evenings at your apartment because he still disliked people knowing where he lived. You learned not to touch him from behind. He learned that you slept with the television on when he was away.

Six months passed.

You knew the names of everyone on his team. They knew nothing about you.

Then Emily Prentiss walked into your office with two agents and asked you to come with them.

The conference room at the field office was too cold.

No one called it an interrogation room, but the camera in the corner and the mirror along one wall made the distinction meaningless.

You sat at the table for nearly an hour before the door opened.

The woman who entered introduced herself as Jennifer Jareau. Her voice was gentle, which frightened you more than anger would have.

She placed several photographs on the table.

Three women.

All dead.

You looked away from the third.

“Do you recognize them?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

JJ watched your face.

You forced yourself to look again. One woman had dark hair. One wore glasses. The youngest looked barely old enough to drink.

“I’ve never seen any of them.”

JJ added another photograph to the row.

This one was of you.

You were leaving your building, one hand inside your purse as you searched for your keys. The angle came from across the street.

Your stomach dropped. “Where did you get that?”

“It was found with the victims’ photographs.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do we.”

The door opened again. Spencer stepped inside. For one terrible second, relief overpowered everything else. You stood so quickly the chair scraped against the floor.

“Spencer.”

He stopped.

JJ looked between you.

Spencer’s face changed.

It was subtle, but you knew him. You knew the small tension near his mouth when he was afraid and the way his shoulders stiffened when the world stopped making sense.

“You know each other,” JJ said.

Neither of you answered.

Her eyes narrowed. “Reid?”

Spencer kept looking at you. “We’ve been seeing each other.”

JJ’s expression remained controlled, but surprise broke through it. “How long?”

“Six months.”

You watched the realization settle over her. The hidden relationship. The photographs. The case. A secret no one had known about until you became a suspect.

JJ turned to Spencer. “You need to step outside.”

“I can help.”

“You’re personally involved.”

“I can still assess—”

“You cannot interview your girlfriend in a serial murder investigation.”

The word girlfriend sounded strange in the room. Too intimate. Too ordinary. Spencer glanced at the photographs on the table.

“What evidence do you have?”

“Reid.”

“What evidence?”

JJ hesitated. That was enough to frighten you. Spencer noticed. Of course he did.

He looked at you again, but the relief you had felt when he walked in was gone. His eyes moved over your face as if he had never seen it before.

“Spencer,” you said quietly.

He left without answering.

They questioned you for three hours. The victims had received anonymous messages for weeks before their deaths. Photographs. Details about their routines. Threats disguised as affection.

Investigators had traced one of the accounts to a public network near your office.

A burner phone found near the latest victim contained your number.

Your car had been photographed near two abduction sites.

You explained everything you could.

The public network was used by hundreds of people every day. Your number could have been found online. You drove through that area to reach your apartment.

The answers sounded weak even to you.

JJ did not accuse you. She did not raise her voice.

She simply continued asking questions until you began to feel as though your life had been dismantled and placed on the table between you.

Then she asked how much Spencer had told you about the investigation.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“He said he was working a case involving missing women.”

“Did he mention where?”

“No.”

“Did he mention how they were taken?”

“No.”

“Did he tell you the unsub was contacting the victims before abducting them?”

You hesitated. JJ noticed.

“He mentioned stalking.”

“When?”

“A few days ago.”

“Before or after the third victim was found?”

“I don’t know.”

The door opened.

Spencer stood there again. This time, no one stopped him.

JJ rose. “Reid.”

“I need to speak with her.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know.”

Something in his voice made her pause. She looked at you, then at him, and stepped outside.

The door closed. Spencer remained standing.

You had imagined the team finding out about you dozens of times. Garcia would ask too many questions. Morgan would tease him. JJ would smile as though she had known all along.

You had never imagined this.

“Tell me you don’t believe them,” you said.

His jaw tightened. “I need you to answer some questions.”

“You need me to answer?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been answering questions for hours.”

“I need to hear the answers myself.”

You stared at him. A bruise of anger formed beneath the fear. “Fine.”

He sat across from you. The table felt wider than it had before.

“When we met, did you already know I worked for the FBI?”

“No.”

“You asked what I did during our second conversation.”

“Because most people ask that when they’re getting to know someone.”

“You recognized my name.”

“After you told me.”

“How?”

“You have published papers, Spencer.”

His fingers curled near the edge of the table. “You searched for me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I liked you.”

The answer seemed to hurt him. He glanced toward the photographs.

“When did you start asking about my cases?”

“I didn’t.”

“You asked why I wasn’t sleeping.”

“That is not asking about a case.”

“You asked whether the women knew the person following them.”

Your breath caught. “That was after you told me they were being stalked.”

“I didn’t tell you they knew him.”

“You said the messages were personal.”

Spencer’s eyes hardened. “You remember the exact wording.”

“I remember conversations with you.”

“So do I.”

There was something in his voice then. Something wounded and suspicious.

You leaned back. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to determine how much information you had access to.”

“Through you.”

“Yes.”

The room went silent. The fear inside you became something sharper.

“You think I used you.”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“You think I dated you to get information about an investigation that did not even begin until four months after we met?”

“Serial offenders often operate long before law enforcement connects the cases.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“You were photographed near two abduction sites.”

“I live twelve minutes away.”

“Your number was on the burner phone.”

“Then someone put it there.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why would someone frame you?”

“I don’t know!” Your voice cracked against the walls.

Spencer flinched, but he did not soften. You looked at him and understood that he was not seeing you. He was seeing every person who had lied to him. Every hand that had hurt him after pretending to help. Every threat he had missed because he had wanted to trust someone.

You knew what prison had done to him. You knew about Tobias Hankel, Maeve and Cat Adams. You knew there were nights he woke beside you and needed several seconds to remember where he was.

You had held him through all of it. And now he was taking every fragile thing you had shared with him and examining it for evidence.

“Was any of it real?” he asked. The question was so quiet you almost missed it.

You stopped breathing.

He looked down at the file.

“The timing. The questions. The fact that no one knew about you. Was that intentional?”

The hurt in his voice nearly made you forgive him before you realized what he was asking.

“Do you think I wanted you to keep me a secret?”

His gaze lifted. “You said you understood.”

“I did understand. I understood that you needed time.”

“You never pushed.”

“Because I loved you.”

The words left before you could stop them. His face went still. You had not said it before. Not even when you had felt it. You had been waiting for him to feel safe enough to hear it.

You swallowed hard. “I loved you enough not to make your fear about me. I loved you enough to accept six months of hidden dinners and leaving your apartment separately. I loved you enough to wait.”

“Loved,” he repeated.

“You brought me into an interrogation room and asked whether sleeping beside you was part of a plan.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He looked stricken, but you were too angry to care. The door opened before he could answer. Emily entered with a uniformed officer behind her.

“We confirmed her alibi for the second abduction,” she said. “Security footage places her inside her office until forty minutes after the victim disappeared.”

Spencer looked at the photographs.

Emily continued. “The burner phone was activated using a stolen identity. Tech found evidence that someone cloned her vehicle registration to place her car near the scenes.”

Your eyes burned. Someone had built this carefully. Someone had wanted the FBI to look at you.

Emily turned to the officer. “She’s free to go.”

You stood. Spencer rose with you.

“I’ll take you home.”

“No.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“You just accused me of using you to murder women.”

“I said I didn’t know what to think.”

“That was the problem.”

You walked past him. He did not follow.

For the next four days, he called eleven times. You let every call go to voicemail. The first message was an apology. The second asked you to tell him you were safe. The third said he understood why you did not want to speak with him.

By the sixth, he had stopped asking you to call back. He only said your name.

You blocked the number after the ninth message. It did not make the silence easier.

You changed the locks to your apartment. You stopped taking the same route to work. You checked beneath your car before getting inside and watched every reflection in every window.

The FBI assigned surveillance to your building, though no one told you who requested it.

On the fifth night, the hallway light outside your apartment went out. You stood on the other side of the door, listening.

Nothing.

You reached for your phone.

The power inside your apartment died.

A hand closed over your mouth before you could scream.

••••••••••

When Spencer arrived at the office the next morning, Emily was waiting beside his desk.

He knew before she spoke.

The surveillance agent had been found unconscious in the stairwell. Your apartment door was open. There were signs of a struggle in the kitchen.

The team moved quickly.

Spencer did not.

For several seconds, he stood perfectly still while Emily spoke, hearing only fragments.

Blood near the counter.

Phone left behind.

Vehicle still parked outside.

A photograph placed on the table.

The photograph showed you asleep in Spencer’s bed.

Taken through the window.

The unsub had known about the relationship.

He had not chosen you because of the case.

He had chosen the case because of you.

The profile shifted.

The unsub was not using you to reach Spencer. He was punishing you for choosing Spencer over him.

Garcia searched former coworkers, neighbors, classmates and anyone who had appeared repeatedly in the background of security footage near your apartment.

Spencer went through every conversation you had ever had.

The man at the coffee shop who always remembered your order. The neighbor who offered to carry your groceries. The coworker who complained that you had become distant after you started dating someone.

He stopped.

“Evan Cole.”

Garcia’s fingers moved over the keyboard.

“Former coworker. Resigned eight months ago after a complaint was filed against him.”

“What complaint?” Emily asked.

Garcia’s face changed.

“Stalking.”

The abandoned house belonged to Evan’s grandmother. By the time the team reached it, you had been missing for eleven hours. Spencer found you in the basement. Your wrists were tied above your head to a pipe. Blood had dried along your temple. Your lips were pale, and your breathing was so shallow he almost missed it.

Evan stood behind you with a knife pressed to your throat.

“You ruined her,” Evan said.

Spencer lowered his weapon slightly.

“She was happy before you.”

“You’re right.” The words came easily because Spencer believed them.

Evan’s grip shifted.

Spencer continued. “I hurt her. She trusted me, and I used everything I knew about her to make her feel guilty.”

Your eyes opened.

Barely.

They found him.

Spencer’s chest tightened.

“But you were watching,” he said. “You knew exactly when she was vulnerable. You knew she would be alone because I made sure she wanted nothing to do with me.”

Evan smiled.

It was enough.

His attention moved from you to Spencer.

Emily fired.

The knife fell.

Spencer reached you before Evan hit the floor.

He caught your weight as the pipe released and lowered you carefully, one hand supporting the back of your head.

Your eyes fluttered. “Spencer?”

“I’m here.”

You tried to pull away. The movement was weak, but he felt it.

His hands froze. “It’s me,” he said.

“I know.”

The words hurt more than if you had not recognized him at all.

At the hospital, Spencer stayed in the hallway. JJ sat beside him for most of the night. No one told him he should go inside. When the doctor finally allowed visitors, Emily entered first. Then Garcia. Then JJ. You did not ask for Spencer. He went home after sunrise.

Three days later, you found a package outside your apartment. There was no note asking you to forgive him. Inside were your spare keys, the books you had left at his apartment and a letter.

You left it unopened for two days.

When you finally read it, the apology filled six pages.

Spencer did not explain what prison had done to him. He did not mention fear or betrayal or trauma as though any of it could excuse what he had said.

He wrote that he had profiled you instead of trusting you.

He wrote that he had turned your patience into evidence against you.

He wrote that loving him had cost you privacy, safety and then dignity, and he had accepted all three as though they were reasonable prices for you to pay.

The final paragraph was shorter.

I do not expect you to forgive me. I only need you to know that you were real to me. You were the most real thing I had, and I treated you like a threat because losing you frightened me more than believing you had never loved me.

You folded the letter.

Then you unfolded it and read it again.

You did not call him.

Three weeks passed.

The bruises faded. The stitches came out. You returned to work and began seeing a therapist recommended by the victim services coordinator.

Spencer sent nothing else.

He respected the silence you had asked for, even though you had never said the words aloud.

That was why you finally went to him. He opened his apartment door and stopped. He looked thinner. His hair was longer than it had been the last time you touched it. Neither of you spoke.

“I read your letter,” you said.

He nodded.

“I’m not here because you rescued me.”

“I know.”

“I’m grateful you found me, but that does not erase what happened before.”

“I know.”

“You cannot ever speak to me that way again. You cannot punish me for what someone else did to you.”

“I know.” His voice broke on the last word.

You looked away. “I don’t trust you the way I did.”

“I understand.”

“I still love you.”

Spencer closed his eyes. The silence stretched between you.

“But I’m angry,” you continued. “And I might be angry for a long time.”

“You should be.”

“I don’t know whether we can fix this.”

He opened his eyes. “I’ll accept whatever you decide.”

“That is not what I asked.”

A flicker of confusion crossed his face.

You stepped closer. “I asked whether we can fix it.”

His breathing changed. “I want to,” he said. “I’ll do anything you need.”

“I need you to stop deciding what I need without asking me.”

He nodded immediately. “Okay.”

“I need you to tell the team about us.”

“I already did.”

You blinked. “All of them?”

“Yes.”

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth.”

The answer was simple. No defensiveness. No attempt to soften it.

You looked down at your hands. “I need time.”

“You have it.”

“And therapy.”

“I’ve started again.”

That surprised you.

Spencer rubbed his thumb over the edge of the door. “I should have gone back months ago.”

You stood there for another moment, close enough to touch him but not ready to.

Then you held out your hand. He stared at it.

“This does not mean everything is fine,” you said.

“I know.”

“It means you can sit with me.”

His fingers moved into yours carefully. He led you to the couch without tightening his grip. You sat beside him with space between your bodies. For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet was uncomfortable. Then sad. Then, slowly, familiar.

Spencer turned his hand beneath yours until your palms rested together.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

Your throat tightened. “No.”

His shoulders lowered.

“I’m afraid you’ll hurt me again,” you admitted. “That isn’t the same thing.”

“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”

He did not promise that he never would.

He promised he would listen. That he would ask instead of assume. That he would not use his fear as permission to tear you apart.

It was not romantic.

It was better.

It was honest.

•••••••••

Months later, when he kissed you in front of the team for the first time, Garcia cried loudly enough to attract attention from three surrounding tables.

Morgan complained that Reid had hidden an entire relationship and still somehow received the happy ending.

You laughed against Spencer’s shoulder. His arm rested around your waist, but his grip remained loose, leaving you room to move away.

You did not. When the others became distracted, he leaned close.

“Are you okay?”

It had become his question.

Not an assessment. Not an assumption.

A question.

You looked at him.

There were still things between you that had not healed completely. There were moments when his silence reminded you of the interrogation room, and nights when the memory of the basement pulled you awake.

But he stayed.

He listened.

He told the truth, even when it made him look weak.

You touched his face. “I’m getting there.”

Spencer turned his head and kissed your palm. “So am I.”

[sosterias]

Secrets are always meant to be revealed | Suguru Geto

Perm tags: @hearts2vivi @chewiebee @silentfriday @animefreaksss @ges1ca @emmammcoy @chromatic-evil @mrskamikazekaito @pjselee @fifi-reads @mimicosmos8 @ttyl0lxyx @mushyfrogcakes @tharunnihaa @blu3berryies @purelyangelicmeowz @minminsmoon @iluvmywives @seaacutie42 @beanwtf1 @tojisunicornbraidd @idontwantyouasmywifi

[beomzone]

i love me some angst in the morning

[just4wful]

childhood friend!gojo's first fight with loner!reader

tags: high school au, childhood friends, reader has an inferiority complex, reader is avoidant, reader lowk needs therapy, gojo is trying his best, an attempt at angst, happy ending

wc: 2,9k

-

you hate satoru gojo.

you always have, from the moment he first approached you. it was long before middle school, before you understood how complicated people would be. you remember it with irritating clarity. you sat on the grass, staring at your sneakers. somehow, leisure time was the worst part of the day.

you didn't understand why he had gone up to you back then.

"what's your favorite color?" he asked. you didn't answer, but he sat with you anyway. "mine is light blue. like the ocean. and the sky on a sunny day. just like right now!" he pointed at the sky, like he wanted you to see.

you thought he was too talkative and annoying. that he was ruining your solitude by clinging to you. how you wanted him to just leave you to your own devices, even though he filled every gap where loneliness should've been.

"everyone! pair up in groups of two for this project!" you remember the teacher's shrill voice as clear as day. how you stared down at your hands in your lap, like ignoring your environment would somehow make it disappear.

a pair of hands slammed onto your desk. "y/n! what are you sulking about? let's pair up!" you looked up to see satoru looking at you with those striking blue eyes, and that carefree and confident smile you had always secretly envied.

you remember the first time he waited for you after class in middle school. he had followed you to lunch that day. you remember thinking, this idiot would follow me to the ends of the world if he could.

"hey, y/n! i saved you a spot, c'mon." satoru pats the spot next to him when he sees you walk into class. the homeroom teacher hadn't arrived yet. as soon as you sit down, he's already talking your ear off.

"you know that our graduation is coming up soon, right? have you thought about colleges yet?" he leans onto your side of the desk, playing with the edge of your sleeve absently.

"not really? i'll probably just go to one near my house." you sit still as you stare down at his hand fidgeting with your sleeve.

"cool. we'll just go to the same one then," he says casually, like it wasn't a big deal at all. his hand moves to the tie of your uniform, catching it between his fingers. they brush over the fabric once, smoothing it over, before letting it fall back into place. you could feel your heart pulse in your throat.

"move," you say flatly.

"huh?! what did i do?!" satoru pouts, looking at you like you just kicked his puppy.

"you're being annoying, leaning all over my desk like that. sit properly." he huffs in annoyance, but complies anyway. you sigh in relief.

his friends walk into class and take the seats in front of you. they're already laughing and chatting, and you wonder why he doesn't laugh like that when it's just the two of you.

at lunch, it's the same story. you're sitting with satoru at a table, and when his friends arrive, you suddenly feel like an outsider in a space that used to belong to the two of you. you're glued to your phone, not even doing anything productive, but you feel like you have no other option to act distracted.

"satoru, there's this new arcade near the mall. wanna check it out after school with shoko and i?" suguru addresses satoru, but satoru looks at you. great, here comes the pity invite you always decline.

"y/n, you could come if you want?" he pokes your cheek once, and you just shake your head no, not looking up from your screen. satoru just looks at you for a moment before turning back to his friends.

"actually, i have plans after school. gotta babysit my nephew and shit. he loves me." satoru sighs, placing a hand on his chest dramatically. suguru and shoko give each other a look.

after school, satoru catches up with you as you're exiting the gate.

"hey! it's no fair you're always leaving without me. i always wait for you!" satoru huffs, falling into step beside you. right, he waits for you when he's not hanging out with his other friends.

"didn't you say you have plans?" you look up at him, and he shoots you a grin.

"yup. i'm attending to them right now."

"...uh, your nephew?" you ask, confused on what he's getting at.

"no, you. i don't even have a nephew, you know this??" he scoffs and shakes his head disappointedly.

"...then why did you lie?" for some reason, his grin fades a bit when you ask.

"because i wanted to hang out with you, duh. you know, suguru and the others aren't so bad. it wouldn't hurt to say yes to their invite once in a while?" he suggests offhandedly, but you can feel the irritation bubbling up inside of you.

"their invite? you mean your invite."

he shrugs. "same difference."

"no, it's not. why do you keep inviting me? you don't have to pretend to care or whatever."

"wh- pretend? excuse me? y/n, i'm always inviting you because i want to hang out with you! because we're friends!" he lightly shoves your shoulder, as if you just said something ridiculous.

"yeah, alright..." you mumble in resignation.

you walk in silence for a moment. it was a beautiful spring day, not that you cared. whenever you walked into a shadow, you felt a rush of cool air, only for the radiating heat to hit you again once you stepped out. it felt like the sun was mocking you with its brightness.

"did i do something wrong?" satoru asks all of a sudden, catching you off guard.

"what? no. what makes you think that?"

"i don't know? you're just so distant now. you don't even talk to me when i'm with my other friends." he says it casually, but he's fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. your heart skips a beat at the question.

"what's the problem with that?" you mumble, avoiding his eyes as you keep walking.

"y/n, the problem is that we barely hang out anymore. i miss talking with you, y'know?" he's looking at you now, you can tell, but you refuse to look at his face.

"well... okay? maybe we're just too different now." you grip the straps of your backpack tightly, like it's the only anchor you can hold onto in this conversation.

"different how? we've been friends since we were six! c'mon, there's something you're not telling me." he steps in front of you, making you stop walking. you finally look at him and see that weirdly serious look in his eyes.

"no? some people just grow apart..."

"but that isn't the case for us! we're still close, right? when it's just the two of us?" there's this pleading look in his blue eyes now, like he needs to know you're on the same page, but it only annoys you further.

"yeah, just when it's the two of us. not around others, don't you get that?" you snap, and satoru falters at that.

"huh? so you're upset because i'm hanging out with other people?"

"what...? no... i don't care who you hang out with..." you mumble, denying it immediately.

"then what is it? don't you see i hate seeing you like this?"

"like what?"

"like you're trying to disappear in the background. there's something you're not telling me."

"there isn't. i don't know what you're talking about, i've always been like this, haven't i?"

"no, no you have not. you know damn well this isn't about your personality." he places his hands on your shoulders, looking at you so intensely it hurts. "we're best friends. you know you can tell me anything, right?"

"we're not best friends." you say it slowly, with a resigned tone. like this was some unspoken truth you decided to say for the first time. satoru's entire expression falls.

"what?" he looked more hurt than confused. his hands drop to his sides.

"we're not close at all. you said it yourself. just because we were close in elementary school doesn't mean we're close now." you try to keep your voice stable, but a lump is already forming in your throat.

"what are you saying?" he frowns at you, looking at you with this mix of disbelief and hurt that makes your chest tighten with guilt.

"i'm saying that maybe we're better off without each other."

"okay, slow way the fuck down. no way you're saying that out of nowhere. do you think i'm replacing you or something?"

"what? no, i don't. we're just different people now, aren't we? is it that hard to believe i don't want to be around you?"

"yes! yes, it is hard to believe! it's always been us, and now you're saying you want to throw that away?"

"yeah, it was always us, until it wasn't!"

"so that's it? you're upset i have friends that aren't you?

"that's not what this is about-"

"then what is it about?!" he sounds so desperate to know, and you hate how concerned he sounds.

"you wouldn't understand..." your voice cracks when you say it, and you turn your head away. there were millions of things you wish you could say. like how you miss feeling important. how you wish it was just the two of you again. that maybe you were a bit jealous.

"then help me understand!" he holds your gaze, lips pressed together. "please..."

"forget it..." your voice cracks, and before you can stop them, the tears roll down your face. you turn away, bolting into a hurried jog, gaze locked onto the pavement.

satoru feels like someone just punched him in the gut. you're crying, and it's his fault. he reaches out, but doesn't stop you.

-

you avoid satoru for about a week. you pack up your stuff before class even ends. you escape into the library before satoru even gets the chance to catch up with you. you're moving in between classes like you're in a hurry.

it's not that you were mad at him. he didn't actually do anything wrong, right? it was just embarrassing to show your face in front of him after that whole ordeal with the crying.

satoru notices what you're doing. of course he does. at some point, he's fed up. you see him waiting at the gate as you're exiting the building. maybe you can walk past him without noticing? before you can think of another solution, he approaches you.

"hey! i know you're not about to run away from me," he says in his usual cheerful tone, slinging an arm around your shoulders. you don't know why you feel so relieved he's acting normal after everything that happened.

"get your arm off of me." you sigh, and his grin falters. he drops his arm.

"right..." he falls into step beside you, before speaking again. "so... how are you?" he asks, like he wants to postpone addressing the obvious elephant in the room.

"satoru. what do you want?" you mutter, kicking a pebble on the sidewalk.

"okay, look. i just want to talk, okay?" his usual carefree smile is entirely gone now, replaced by a serious, almost nervous look.

"about what? what happened last week?"

"yeah but... not just that, but about us, y'know? i'm sorry."

"for what?" you ask, staring ahead of you. you're about to reach the park you always pass on the way home.

"for upsetting you. fuck, i made you cry... and i hate that. i should've noticed sooner that something was wrong."

"i mean, it's fine. i didn't say anything. it's not like you could've known."

"yeah but, god... i know. truth is, i still don't understand. i still don't fully know what's going on inside your head, but i want to so badly, y/n."

"...no, but, it's stupid. it's just my own issues. i don't want to project that onto you. i'm not mad or anything, so it's fine now."

"don't do that. you keep saying 'it's fine' when you know it's not. and it's clearly not stupid if it's bothering you this much. i know there's something going on, but you need to tell me what."

"no, i swear, it's not a big deal. you're probably gonna judge me and think it's stupid anyway."

"no!" he stops in front of you. "no, i won't! i've been going insane this past week, okay? seriously, i wouldn't even care if you murdered a family!"

"wha- calm down! i'll tell you, okay?" you sit down at a nearby bench, and he follows suit. his gaze is solely focused on you. "it's just... do you remember when it was just us?" you stare down at your hands in your lap, fidgeting with the strap of your backpack.

"yeah, of course i do." he nods, as if recalling all of those past moments.

"yeah... and then you got all these other friends, and, i don't know... i just felt like i didn't have a place in your life anymore." you look up at him, and he's looking at you with these wide eyes, like he can't believe what you just said.

"...what?"

"you have all these great friends, they're social and fun and, it's not like you need me anymore, right? i'm just... kinda that friend you keep around because you feel like you have to."

"y/n, no. it's not like that at all. you really think i was keeping you around because i feel bad?" he's leaning forward now, like he needs you to look at his face to tell how sincere he is.

"but satoru, come on. we never hang out anymore. it's always just you and the others, but it's okay, i know i'm not exactly the 'fun' type of person."

"no! don't just jump to conclusions like that, jesus... i've been choosing to walk you home since we were six! you think i'd do that out of pity?"

"yeah, but that was in the past... you don't have to say things to make me feel better," you mutter, staring at the way the petals of a cherry blossom tree flutter to the ground.

"make you- what?" he recoils, like he was just accused of a crime. "y/n, do you know how many times you've told me to leave you alone? and i never listened once, you know why?"

"why?" you look at him, and you're just staring into each other's eyes for a moment.

"because i like you!" satoru exclaims, and his eyes widen after, like he can't believe he just said that. you're also staring at him in disbelief. this stupid guy, the one you had convinced yourself doesn't need you, likes you.

"...you like me?"

"yeah... i do. you don't have to say it back, i just needed you to know, alright?" he's looking at you with this relieved smile, like he's glad he told you after all.

"okay, well, even after all that shit i did? y'know... being difficult and stuff." satoru shakes his head at that, his tone brightens, as if to lighten the mood.

"that doesn't matter. besides, i'd be upset too if i was you. hell, i'd probably hit myself-"

"i like you too," you blurt out, and satoru's eyes pop out of his head. his entire body freezes, and he looks at you like he can't believe you're real.

"you... you do? actually?" you nod, and the surprise only lasts a few seconds before his usual confidence takes over. a self-satisfied grin forms on his face. "i mean, obviously you would like me. just look at my beautiful-" you hit his arm. "ow- hey!"

"you're so stupid," you say with that familiar feigned annoyance, and satoru gasps in mock offense, but he's grinning at you.

"wow, i profess my undying love for you and this is the response i get? you make me sick." he crosses his arms grumpily, before suddenly opening them wide, like a peacock showing off his feathers. "come here."

you reluctantly lean into his embrace, and his arms wrap around you like a cocoon. he's holding onto you like he never wants to let go, his chin resting on your shoulder. he faintly smells of vanilla and clean laundry.

after a moment, you're about to pull away, but he just tightens his grip on you.

"hello? are you not done?" you ask, starting to get annoyed. you've been publicly hugging in a park for over a minute.

"no. i'm having a healing moment." he stays like that a bit longer, and then finally pulls away from a hug.

the walk home is quieter than usual. you walk that familiar path to your house, and your fingers occasionally graze his. at some point, he takes your hand in his. you look at him and of course he's grinning.

you thought you hated satoru gojo.

you could think of a bunch of reasons not to like him. how loud and persistent he was, how he never left you alone, how easily he belonged everywhere you didn't.

but he never stopped waiting. he never stopped saving you a seat. he never stopped showing up. you were scared that he had changed, that he'd move on from you just like the rest of the world seemed to do, and that he'd stop being a constant in your life.

but he didn't.

turns out you don't hate him. you just hated how the opposite was true.

[blinkbunni]

Pocky game with bf!Megumi Fushiguro x gn!reader (at least I think is gn..?) featuring a tired Nanami and a litttttle overdramatic Satoru.

2.3k words, gets a liiiitle suggestive, but fluff, swearing, profanity, Gojo crashes tf out, annoyed but in love Megumi, making out, kaboom awesome sauce.

The day that Gojo found out you were dating Megumi Fushiguro just might as well have been more significant than Shibuya to him. Then again, it’s not like you meant to tell him.. in fact, you weren’t supposed to tell anybody.

It was a warm summer day. The rare times you as students were given the gift of a day off, was cherished deeply. The warm glow from the sun shining onto Megumi’s bed was where the both of you sat cross legged and surrounded by the amount of snacks the two of you had snuck in (without waking the fighting duo, or Satoru).

You picked up a box filled with weird assortments of jelly beans. “Look! I see them all over instagram, apparently it’s really popular online! It’s called beanboozled.” Megumi was staring at the flavours listed at the back of the box before scrunching his nose.

“Sorry, but I won’t be taking my chances to see if a yellow jellybean is a banana or a booger.” You rolled your eyes. “Boo, you’re no fun.”

“I’m pretty fun, we stole Gojo’s card and spent it all on snacks around Tokyo.”

“Whatever, if we can’t play this game, then let’s play this!” You held up different flavours of Pocky boxes. “Okay! I’ll hold one end of the stick in my mouth, and you hold the other, and we’ll take turns biting it. first person to break the stick loses.” “And what if someone walks in?” Megumi raised his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly as if to say “really.” But he gave into your earnest expression, sighing.

“Fine, you’re annoying.”

“I try.” You pop one side of a strawberry stick inside your mouth and lean closer to Megumi. He shifts slightly so that he’s propped on his knees before leaning into his own end. You take slight nibbles while he takes larger bites, but chews slower.

Eventually you both meet in the middle, and despite Megumi thinking your idea was silly at first, you knew that he always wanted to win a competition. You inch closer to him as he takes his bite before trying to steal the stick from his mouth, only to end up meeting his lips instead.

It was a soft peck before he pulled away.

“So that was your grand plan?” He muttered, clearly taken aback.You giggled mischievously. “Pretty good plan, right?” He grabs the box from you and takes out another pocky.

“Yeah, I’ll bite. How many rounds do I win for all the snacks?”

“Ohhh, so we’re gambling now.” He rolled his eyes, a slight grin on his lips. “Yeah, all or nothing. You in?” A glint of determination danced in your eyes. “Careful, you’ll have to watch me eat all the snacks.”

He placed a pocky end in your mouth and bit down on his. The game was somehow more tense after establishing the risky competition. You still had more left to go than your boyfriend’s side, you tried stifling your laughs, excited on winning. Until suddenly, the spiky haired boy crashed his lips onto you, and pushed you back a little. You had your eyes open before slightly closing them. His hands found your waist and he tilted his head even more to get an angle. His tongue had found its way to pry your lips open, and kissed your tongue in different spots before all together stealing the pocky left from your mouth for himself.

He pulled back, his cheeks a little pink and a smirk on his face.

“Guess I win.”

“You…you cheated!”

His hands that still rested on your waist squeezed a little. “I didn’t hear any rules about stealing. You lose.” You huffed, still shocked from his kiss, and the fact you lost. Megumi leaned impossibly closer, his lips grazing the lobe of your ear, and the nape of your neck. His warm breath made you shudder.

“But.. I’m pretty nice, I’ll share. But I get to feed you.” Your cheeks grew warmer by the second. And he kissed you again, this time with no competition. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he guided you onto his lap. You hummed, satisfied as his fingers found and scrunched your hair while the other was snaking around and under your shirt, well rather, his t-shirt.

his touch was so warm, so soft and gentle despite his hardened personality. You could feel his hair that spiked out magically tickling your forehead as he grew greedier and pulled you in even closer. His breathy sighs were so dreamy as he kissed and dove back in.

And then all of a sudden.. “ohh Megumiiiiii! You won’t believe what happ-WHAT THE HELL?”

you both pulled away immediately, pushing the boy who was just making out with you.

Gojo, your sensei just froze in the doorway, the door had been kicked open since he didn’t care for knocking like a normal person when it came to Fushiguro’s room. It was dead silent as you both fixed your tousled hair and you adjusted your clothing while he wiped away the lipgloss on his lips. You were bright red while Megumi groaned. “Shit.” Gojo pointed dramatically at him then to you.

“YOU AND YOU.”

He kept going back and forth before he finally said. “YOU, my SON are dating HER, my DAUGHTER?!”

“sensei, it’s not like-“

“what could it POSSIBLY be like? Did gravity fail and you found each other smooch smooch ‘oh y/n’ ‘ohhh Megumi!’ Or is someone dying? It’s Megumi isn’t it? I told him that if he doesn’t have fun, he’ll die of fun starvation.. FUNVATION-“

but Satoru stops when he sees Megumi’s not so well of a job of his lips being wiped off.

“SO THIS is why you always were buying things from Sephora, so SHE can smother it ALLLLLL over you! I thought you were trying MAKEUP FOR FUNSIES.”

“Why would I be wearing makeup for ‘funsies?’ If you weren’t already stifling laughter, you would’ve burst out laughing with how utterly appalled Megumi’s face looked.

“I smell toxic masculinity.” Gojo sniffed, disdain.

He turned toward you, with..holy shit..tears in his eyes. “MY PRECIOUS DAUGHTER, WHY? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO YOUR OLD MAN?”

“You’re not my dad-“

“DON’T WANNA HEAR IT! OUT OF ANYONE, YOU CHOSE HIM?”

“WHATS WRONG WITH ME?”

“EVERYTHING AND DOUBLED!” Gojo was on the floor now, almost sobbing.

Just them, you watched Nanami, another one of your professors stride by and clicked his tongue. “What in the world is going on now?” Nanami sighed. “THESE TWO just decided to BREAK my heart by kissing EACH OTHER!”

“Well, yes that’s usually what two people in love do when they’re dating.” Nanami states out obviously.

“IN LOVE? DATING?!”

Megumi hissed his teeth, bright pink and mortified while you’ve completely lost it, about to fall off the bed.

“Well, I do pay attention to my students, Satoru.” “I DO TOO! JUST I WOULDVE NEVER GUESSED EVER!”

“We’ve been dating for almost half a year now.. not sure how you haven’t noticed.” Megumi coughs.

“That’s a nice tie, Nanami-san.”

“oh, thank you, l/n. I’m leaving now, I have a date with my fiancé. I just wanted to see the ruckus here. Good day.”

“FIANCÉ?!”

idk where this went lwk, kinda went off the rails but it’s okay! Gojo crashing out must be hilarious. Also Gojo calls everyone his son and daughter.! 

Taglist! @megumisrighttoe @mayegasm @nonchalantfiend @kissthesword @sugerfilled @mxmxmii @tojisupersoaker @FuckThePureMe @vinnox @safii7 @chaosiskeybecauseiamchaos @gumballpython @sofiaiswifeofmegumi (no I am) @rengoatku @Sunburntandsad

[chososprettygirl]

⡴ gym teacher!sukuna has an embarrassingly known crush on school nurse!reader

lowkey wanna turn this into a full oneshot

if he heard one more twelve year old’s squeaky voice whispering to one another, saying he’s ‘got a crush on the school nurse’ he swears he’s gonna write up the whole grade.

god, it’s even worse when one of the eighth grade girls come up to him when he’s on lunch duty.

“mr., mr. ! did you know the nurse mentioned she likes tall guys when i went into her room for a tylenol !”

“what does that have to do with me ?” he grumbles, scrunching his face while the girl and her friend stare up at him.

“well everyone knows you like like her—”

“GO SIT DOWN!”

he swears the whole lunchroom conveniently goes quiet when he yells that as the girls squirm away back to their tables and start whispering around gossip.

and even worse than the girls that draw hearts around you and sukuna’s staff photos next to eachother in the main office, he’s got gojo. gojo, who ships you two and nags him like worse-than a middle school girl. gojo, who shoves you two together for any school event.

“what game do you have planned for tomorrow?” you ask, leaning over to whisper to sukuna as eighth grade awards are called for each subject, timing claps inbetween your words while names are called. you smirk, “how many kids am i gonna have sent my way next time?”

“just dodgeball.” he leans down to whisper flatly against your ear, still staring down a kid giggling in the seating rows of the auditorium and effectively getting him to stop with his gaze.

“your version of dodgeball is basically to the death, i might have to have paramedics in my room on standby.” you joke, turning to smile at him so sweetly. in his mind, this counts as him making you laugh and therefore counts as a win.

he chuckles lightly, just a quick huff of his chest, but essentially the hardest he can laugh if he’s not looking at a kid getting tackled in class. “these kids will toughen up eventually, i am just teaching them to do it early.”

“were you a weak kid that needed to toughen up? i can really only picture you as a big scary dude.”

“i was actually a severely malnourished child due to my mothers impoverished state during her pregnancy.“ he says, truly not realizing how solemn he sounds in his voice even as he means it as a light hearted jest.

you blink at him, face contorted in confusion and awkwardness. he wants to hit himself.

the only thing that saves him from not saying anything stupid again is the end of the assembly, marked by gojo yelling into a megaphone and for kids to round up by homeroom.

the following week he’s still embarrassed to even look you in the eyes. he’s mulling over how stupid he must’ve looked infront of you while sifting through the equipment closet.

he hears steps echo throughout the currently empty gym before he yells out.

“gojo i’m not covering your lunch break, fuck off—” he turns around to not see the usual suspect he finds during his free period. instead, he sees you, leaning against the door in scrubs and white coat clinging to your body. he stills in his motion.

you speak before he can (if he can speak at all in his embarrassed state).

“i understand the confusion, he bothers me all the time too.” you dismiss, smiling at him with your glossed lips he probably thinks about hourly. waitwaitwait, gojo talks to you all the time ? he’s going to kill that lanky fuck. “just wanted to drop these off for yuri in your next period.” you jostle around a pill bottle in your hand, “she can get fainty on gym days so give these to her just in case to help prevent that.” he knows it’s your job and all, but your concern is honestly kinda cute.

“uhh yeah i’ll be sure to.” he nods, right as you drop the bottle on top of a stack of rubber cones by the door before you walk out. and he would just like it to be known he definitely didn’t stare at your ass as you left.

and he typically makes it easier for himself to deny how down bad he is to you, but now, after you spent a week of saved up sick days out last week, he’s kind of craving your voice. so who can blame him when he calls his 6th grade nephew into his office while he’s supposed to be at lunch.

“look, kid. i’m going to need you to do something, and i’m gonna need you to not be annoying about it, kay?”

yuji furrows his brows, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie.

“you,” he gestures to his nephew, “are going to act like you collapsed and let me bring you up to the school nurse. you are then going to be quiet when i talk to her.”

“is it cause you have a crush on her—”

sukuna tenses before cutting him off.

“do a good job acting and i will consider buying you that human earthworm blu-ray. do you hear me, brat?”

yuji’s eyes light up at the mention of the dvd.

“is this impression good enough then?” yuji leans and clutches at his side in fake fatigue while moaning dramatically for help, then immediately straightens up with a smile like he’s waiting for a rating. sukuna shakes his head and genuinely wonders how he’s related to this—in sukuna’s words— pea brained doofus.

he dials your number on his offices phone, sitting tense in his chair while he shh’s yuji. yuji nods and salutes as sukuna continues to roll his eyes.

yuji could’ve sworn he saw him smile when you pick up. he continues to watch sukuna fiddle with the curled wire of the phone as he explains yuji’s apparently dire situation. he can just barely hear the muffled sound of you saying ‘just bring him up and i’ll check him out.” over the speaker of the phone before sukuna hangs up and fixes his hair.

sukuna walks out the door and desperately tries to ignore yuji’s terrible post fainting impression behind him as his nephew follows his step to your room.

just before they step into your room he whispers to yuji as he leans over.

“if you can bring up me being single i’ll take you out for ice cream, brat.”

ignore typos i was too lazy to fix any

[aurievalley]

SATORU GOJO & the other woman.

( ✦ ) fem!reader, angst, suicide, death ⁝ REPOST from carienations◞ ao3.

your finger was the one he put a ring on.

everyone knows that you‘re the one who wears his last name like a badge; the one who shares a bed with him when the sky engulfed by darkness; the one who takes care of his laundry with overflowing care; the one who thoughtfully whipped him breakfast and dinner; the one who stay up for him at home praying he's safe and sound— the one where his vows lie.

yet, despite being the one in all sorts of things, you found yourself standing in the middle of nowhere as someone who would never be the one he devoted his love and soul to. a person who hover in-between nothing, for they have no place to root themselves to. someone who linger in the air like cigarette smoke, where its significance lasts as short as the fire that lights it up.

satoru gojo is devoted to you, as a husband. no more, no less.

it‘s his duty in which he requires to perform flawlessly beyond perfection, like he always has. especially, when it comes to pleasing the side of him whose sure nothing will ever be above the man; the honored one will always be able to choose his own path, eternally. and the path he let his feet take him in this case, is the one where he take an oath to be yours, for better or worse.

and for you, the truth of this arranged marriage with him keeps crawling behind you like a vice, religiously. as far as to dreamland, even. a place where the world was supposed to be a non-existent truth, not where the fact of life keeps strangling you breathless.

for what it's worth, the reality of it has cut through you for as long as you've breathed, with his last name weighing on your shoulder. 

on some days, it feels as if it's gently reminding you of the consequence of marrying someone whose heart will always be confined behind his ribcage. as well as the price of attempting to tie your soul to another, who will never let his be in the palm of your longing hands.

for all the love you own, the realization of it has the wind stealing the air off your lungs, and it was undoubtedly the start of your nearing end.

when you found a picture of that woman in his wallet on some lonely night, no words had let itself free out of the cage that's your lips, as it's shut tight from where you had stitched it with a thread made from your infinite love. and the night breeze that day, were witnessed on how deadly was the silence, by you. a to-be-forevermore stillness from you, to the strongest one.

an anniversary present given by a wife to her husband, dedicated solely to the cursed marriage she believes he's shackled to.

she‘s a beautiful, enchanting woman, you may so for yourself. you've heard people describe her as a gentle soul with a poise demeanor; a perfect match for the man who's always searching for someone to keep him grounded, someone to keep him tethered to the reality that consistently screws him up.

gentle always followed after your name, too. but not like hers, never will be—something you compare yourself to every so often, while you let yourself drown in your reflection on the mirror—as it’s a different form of gentleness. the kind that someone who‘s, undoubtedly, be the one who satoru devoted his love and soul to.

a woman who doesn't smell like death is calling her name.

the woman in the picture is whose existence you've become sensitively aware of after the engagement happened. after all that whispers? no matter how hard you try, it lingers. it follows your every step alike the smell of cigarette, which often seeps into someone's clothes and scents like dirty ashtray. a smell that deserves to be one with the soil, from how rancid it is.

‘don't you think it's tragic? both gojo and that woman. having to end it all for his duty.’

‘perhaps. it's expected, i may say. no matter how high on the top satoru gojo is, no matter how much privilege being the strongest gave him— they always find a way to make him bend over the rules.’

‘seriously, you two are not giving the fiancee enough credit! imagine being her … a total nightmare. i would cry myself to sleep every single day, if i were her.’

even after many seasons have passed, you still find it in you of the nightmare, that is the ability to recite those words in your sleep. it‘s suffocating, truly. the truth of how your arranged marriage still chases you down, even when you‘re unconscious, is something that has you opening your eyes in startle night after night, with dread haunting all of your burning senses.

“satoru, who … is she?”

his whole body tensed. there was no name drop, no picture— nothing. only a question with no identification of who you were referring to. however, satoru understands in a heartbeat whose existence you were suggesting, as if there's no soul except hers. while you, on the other hand, can feel the way your heart drops to the ground, before it shattered as he muttered the answer.

"… a ghost of my past.” 

the way that sentence left in-between his lips was more than enough to send you buried six-feet-under, if you were allowed to be truthful. his tone, a softness you've never heard before, was taunting you. it almost came across your ringing ears as a mocking on where you stand in his world. not from him. it's a calling by the universe itself.

and it sends chills right through your body, as if the grim reaper is brushing their scythe right by your pulse.

you really did take away his life, his freedom. no, worst. you've taken away their love and crushed it by existing. the sight of him—a husband who owns your heart without knowing—keeps bringing you back to the one undeniable truth: each breath you take is evidence of how satoru gojo life is no longer vivid of love, but monotone from the misery that is your marriage.

 “ah. sh— she's really pretty.” your statement was pure, no malice hidden behind it. she is a beautiful human being. still, despite your own words, you can feel how the world starts crumbling into ruins under your feet.

you didn't pester him after the reality was laid upon you like a misfortune. instead, you continue acting as the lovingly doting wife you always been, all the while a void started to grow in you. a void which is all-consuming. and in the midst of your spiraling, a promise for him was made from the deepest part of your soul and heart.

even if the man can‘t hear it, you promise with your life that he'll own his life.

it wasn't surprising when the next day everything in the house was clean and tidy. a perfectness expected from you, as a housewife. no trace of you was seen in the place you arrogantly called home, for time and again.

that was one of your last acts of love for the man, who'll always be the reason for your pounding heart. soon to be halting, with all the love pouring from it. an act of sparing him from your strangling existence he was forced to have; sparing him from the longing and pain of what-if, as well as what-could-have-been, with her.

his clothes were all stacked thoughtfully in the closet. the fridge and pantry is filled with everything he loves. all of his necessities that were near empty have been stocked up, by your caring tendencies. the delicate hands of yours had also prepared his usual meal plan, for the last time. everything you've done over and over like breathing, was finally seeing an end.

and that night, for your last act of love as his wife and someone who loves him far too consuming— you‘ll give him the freedom he always yearns for. an unshackling from what he never should have to tolerate, you.

satoru, the light of my life,

the glass was held firmly on your trembling hand, as you slowly brought the rim of it towards your awaiting parting lips. your intense gaze, slightly wavering, was capturing the sight of how the liquid starts to run dry from your glass, down to your throat as it slowly flame you from the inside.

for everything we’ve shared and all the things you've done for me, i really, really thank you.

under your touch, the glass had let itself slip and shatter against the cold tiles; crashing against your shared bedroom floor, as it echoes through the silence, while your body stumbles around before eventually falling hitting the solid ground.

no matter what anyone says you‘re my favorite, and will always be.

in the emptiness of the house that was never yours to live, no one was there to watch how the froth started forming in your mouth like the beginning of an end. the sounds of your strangle breath that engulfed the room was, undeniably, aching to hear— filled with defeat, helpless, and somewhere in the back, a sense of relief.

i truly have no regrets in this life, other than holding you back from the life you dream and deserve. a life where you know nothing but laughter and endless joy, with your loved one.

your body that was uncontrollably shaking as it takes in the source of satoru‘s freedom, had finally come to a halt. one might say that it was an act of kindness from the grim reaper, for how they have seen you suffer enough with the selfless act, based on a love you never had the privilege of confessing to.

these past few months of being your wife have brought me a happiness that no one had ever given me. truly. a happiness i'm sure the maggots will be jealous of, when i'm finally erased out of this world.

a pair of bright eyes, ones which were always searching for his ocean blue eyes—the one you find yourself diving in every time— were dull and drained of color, by the end of the day, as it stares empty at the endless darkness it often greets.

i‘m sorry for all of the mess and pain i've caused you, satoru. never once in my life have the thought of hurting you ever crossed my mind. so, please … have a good life after this, will you?

on your shared bed, a letter is laid as it waits for the owner to come pick it up, and read the life-changing words written on it. your wedding ring was placed neatly, tucked in its box side-by-side with the letter on the bed. the proof of the end of the marriage was waiting for him, as well as the rightful owner of the ring, to wear it.

i love you, my light, my sirius. with the very little that i am, i hope you'll never get tired of shining your light my way, even when i've become one with the soil.

even though you'll never see the way his face bathes in sunlight, when the morning comes anymore— you‘re relieved that the end of your life is the new start of his, the freedom that you promised to him. and you're someone who always, always, keeps their words no matter how devouring it is to fulfill some words arranged.

for you, i‘m letting go.

after all, even if the world turns upside-down, you know his love and soul were never yours to keep.

( ✦ ) @besidesjustmyamour @httpskrys @1stmagnoila @vegasbabyyyy @mariteez @babybitchy12 @violetpurplez @scaraslover @ritsatoru @enouche @wh1ms1soul @raendarkfaerie @bakugouswaif @mellyie @angelita-uchiha @vamqyx @luvleixo @iam-souless @taylorissogoofy @liveforkny @cruziival72 @buhchira @jennyistrendy @fushiguroooozzz @sovaintilla @fxckinbreathe @neutralizeeverymaninsight @loowyinsixeyes @withersworld @bunnydoeprincesspink @daddyaremi @whispers-of-aurora @sexykissesss @nanahach1

© 2026, aurievalley. characters belong to the original creators. do NOT copy, plagiarize, modify, translate, recommend/mentioned my works to other platforms. do NOT feed my works to any form of ai.

[sukunahs]

cover my eyes | ryomen sukuna

pairing: sukuna x blind courtesan!reader

summary: once in a lifetime you'll switch bodies with your soulmate and see the world through their eyes.

sukuna is initially frustrated when he's plunged into darkness in the body of a weak and blind woman, only to discover that there's more to her than he was expecting, leaving him on a mission to locate the shogi-playing courtesan whose soul called out to his.

word count: 11k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, soulmate au, heian era, initially rude sukuna, soft!sukuna, true form sukuna, courtesan reader, sickness, blindness, depiction of violence and death, happy ending, hurt/comfort, honestly its mainly fluff, devoted sukuna, piv, cunnilingus

a/n: after doing my satoru soulmate au i desperately wanted to do one for sukuna so here it is! inspired somewhat by komugi and meruem in hxh and ALSO by lakan and fengxian in apothecary diaries (as someone requested that from me!)

At one point in every person’s life, they will awaken in the body of another.

They will spend their day seeing through strange eyes, living out hours as a person they may have never met, trapped within their new form until sleep takes them and they are released back into their own body.

Those meagre hours are the only chance a person will have to find their other other half, to learn all they can about the body they’ve awoken in. There’s no second chance, no opportunity to swap for a second time.

If one cannot locate their soulmate after the day they’ve spent as them, they can find no further help. All they can hope for, is that they might stumble across their destined lover by mere chance one day.

Or, that their beloved did a better job than they did at piecing together the puzzle.

Sukuna found himself in another’s body in his mid-twenties, awakening one morning in complete darkness, even though he’d been certain his eyes were open. It was a strange feeling at first, a resignation to a suspicion he’d held all his life that there was no destined person for him, giving in to the belief that he’d spend a day floating in nothingness with no other half for his soul to cling to.

His assumption was broken swiftly, at the realisation that he still held some manner of awareness even if his sight was impaired. There was a breeze blowing against his body, chatter sounding off in the distance, and soft sheets were pressing up against skin which surely wasn’t his.

This person, whoever they were, had a body that was exhausted. He ached in places he’d never ached before, his shoulders and upper back straining, like their owner had been carrying a weight beyond their capability. He felt desperately weak in that form, suddenly aware that he only had a human number of limbs to control, and lacked the strength and size he was used to commanding.

In the darkness clouding his vision, he was surprised to find that the blackness wasn’t as deep as he’d originally thought, able to make out fuzzy shapes in the dark which he could only assume made up his surroundings. His hand reached for his eyes, setting his lips into a grim line at the confirmation they were open.

His destined lover was blind.

Disappointment settled into his chest. He had never taken much stock in soulmates in the first place, didn’t really believe in love, but this just furthered his confirmation that the whole matter was a farce. He found respect for the strong - strength was the only thing that truly mattered to him, and yet here he was, in the body of a blind woman.

A feeble little thing hardly able to fend for herself.

What good was she to a man like Sukuna?

A knock on the door startled him. “Are you awake? The madam wants me to help you get ready.”

Sukuna said nothing, trying to figure out why it felt like your body wanted to draw in on itself, your pulse quicking in a seemingly innate reaction to the voice at the door.

“Please, I know you’ve been ill but he’s been calling every day for the past week, the madam doesn’t want to keep him waiting any longer. He’s been bringing forth all manner of threat, and if you’re not careful he’ll buy you out. I know that isn’t what you want. Just let me tend to you and allow him a visit. Keep his temper at bay.”

Sukuna frowned, attempting to piece together what was happening. It was hard without the visual clues of his surroundings, but based on the snippet of conversation he concluded that you were likely a courtesan of some form. Once again, his view of you, and the soulmate system in general, dropped through the floor.

Blind and a whore.

Perfect.

“One moment.” He called out, taken aback by the lovely feminine voice that fell from his lips. It was a soft, delicate sound, one which wouldn’t sound out of place accompanied with a harp. He found himself shocked at how much he enjoyed it, considering saying something else just to hear it again.

Finding the door proved to be a more difficult task than he’d been expecting. He’d already stumbled standing up from your bed, thrown off by his lack of vision and by feet that were ridiculously small compared to what he was used to. His centre of gravity felt all wrong, and his body felt generally unbalanced without his lower set of arms.

Moving at a snail's pace, he made it across the room, impressed that he didn’t run into anything on his journey over. He was grateful for the shadowy outlines present in your visionless gaze, certain that the situation would be made harder without even that as a guide.

Fumbling for the handle, he slid open the door. “Morning. Oh honey, you look like a ghost.” A hand pressed against his skin, and he was ushered over to another part of the room, grateful for the guidance. There was the sound of a chair being moved. “Take a seat.”

Sukuna hesitated, not quite sure where the chair was. He reached out nonchalantly with his hand, trying to feel for it while the other woman’s focus was elsewhere, seemingly rifling through a bag of something. Able to just about make out a black splodge in the centre of his vision, Sukuna took a seat, only to thud down onto the floor.

It hurt. It hurt significantly more than pain Sukuna was used to enduring. He’d experienced all manner of injury - he’d had his blood and guts pouring out onto the floor in the midst of a fight, but somehow this was worse. How fragile was this body of yours? He was glad that he wasn’t born as some weak human, grateful that the abominable aspects of his body increased his strength rather than weakened it.

How could you live like this?

“My lady?” The woman seemed immediately panicked, reaching down and easily hoisting you up by the arm, aiding Sukuna onto the chair. “I’m sorry, you usually tell me you don’t need assistance, I wasn’t expecting-” she cut herself off for a moment, leaving Sukuna in silence and struggling to read the room with no visual cues. “You don’t seem like yourself at all this morning. You’re being very quiet.”

Sukuna said nothing, certain that he could hear the hint of a smile in the woman’s tone.

It was said that when soulmates swapped bodies, you could not under any circumstance tell someone that you were a different inhabitant to usual, else the spell would be broken and you’d both be immediately sent home.

It was an option Sukuna had contemplated the moment the woman walked in, eager to return to his own healthy form. However, he was also a man of great curiosity and it wasn’t like he had much going on at his estate that day anyway. So he opted for silence, figuring he’d at least see, or hear, how the day played out.

There was no harm in that.

Regardless, the woman had seemingly sensed it immediately based on her sudden change of demeanor, but being likely as aware of the rules as Sukuna was, she kept her suspicions silent.

“It's Officer Sugawara who’s set to see you today,” she explained, soft hands running through your hair with a comb, giving Sukuna a shiver of pleasure. “You usually play shogi with the guy for a while and let him get drunk. He’s a proud man who’s desperate for a legitimate win, so you always give him your best and he refuses to give up until he’s too pissed to think anymore. So be on your best game, or he might want to pass his time in another way.”

The warning was clear and Sukuna found himself disgusted. If that man tried to lay a single hand on you while he was inhabiting your body, he’d make sure Sugawara wouldn’t walk out of the establishment alive.

Fortunately, Sukuna was an avid shogi player. He held a great love for the game and was self-assured where his skill was concerned. No one in his estate could beat him, so he was certain he could beat some Officer of the Shogun.

Although, he’d never played it blind - a fact that mildly concerned him.

He hoped the pieces were skillfully made with deep indents, else he’d be completely lost.

“Even though you’re usually talkative with me, you’re not all that chatty with regulars, so it’ll be fine if you stay quiet. On account of you not feeling yourself and all,” she said with a knowing giggle.

It took an ungodly amount of time for that woman to get you ready, and Sukuna wondered how you could bear experiencing such a thing day after day. It seemed such a waste to have so much effort devoted to doing your hair and make-up, and dressing you up, when you couldn’t even see the end result.

For all you knew you could look like a clown.

But Sukuna quickly became certain that wasn’t the case when he was led into another room, your helper grasping his arm in a steadying manner and making sure he was settled down on a pillow before introducing him to a man sitting opposite him. Sugawara wasted no time with greetings, letting out a gasp of awe at your radiant appearance and reaching out to kiss your hand.

Sukuna wanted to reel away at the feeling but remained still all the same. He hoped he didn’t have too much of a scowl on his face.

Even if he didn’t have any interest in you, he didn’t really want to ruin the life of some random blind girl. He loved cruelty, but even for him that felt like an unnecessary slight to a person who was supposed to hold the other half of his heart.

“You look gorgeous. Not sickly at all, might I add. I hope the madam hasn’t been telling lies.”

You were sick - outside of the blindness - Sukuna could feel it. At first he’d brushed off your frailty as something normal for puny little humans, but since rising from your bed he’d become aware that your quivering legs, aching bones and hummingbird heart were far from normal.

“I haven’t been well,” he said simply.

“Oh you poor thing, it's always the most beautiful ones who suffer the most.”

Sukuna found himself wondering what you looked like. He had a vague knowledge of Official Sugawara - he wasn’t an ugly man, certainly not one lacking in prospects by any means. He was powerful in his position in the government, and wasn’t the type who would visit some woman out of pity.

You must’ve been genuinely gorgeous to earn such affection from him.

It was a shame Sukuna would never know.

He wouldn’t look for you once he was back in his own body. He’d move on with his life and that would be that, leaving this day as nothing more than some distant dream.

The games of shogi went by quickly, and Sukuna found that it was easy to slip into your body without arousing suspicion. Once he’d gotten over the original barrier of having to feel each piece for their indents as he picked them up, he fell easily into the flow of it all.

This man across from him seeked little conversation once the games had started, and Sukuna was pleased at how well he was playing that afternoon. He didn’t let the man win once and, as your attendant had mentioned, Suguwara filled himself up with more and more drink. It felt nice to play someone outside of his estate, most of his servants were too afraid to face Sukuna in any sort of test.

It was equally nice to completely destroy a government official with his skill. He was certain this man was having the worst game of his entire life, unaccustomed to this treatment from the lovely courtesan he’d frequent.

But it was at the end of the seventh game, when Sukuna was feeling at his highest, that a disastrous hit would come to his ego.

“You’re really off your game today. I see you really aren’t feeling well,” Sugawara said. There was the sound of shuffling fabric, as if the man had leant forward.

“What?” Sukuna asked, the low disbelief coming out strange in your small voice.

“Your plays are much sloppier than usual. It feels like you’re going easy on me, given you usually destroy me before I can even think about what to do next. Today you’ve been giving me proper games. I don’t like it. You know I hate being pitied.”

Sukuna had to stop his mouth from falling agape.

He wasn’t playing bad games by any means, on the contrary, he was certain that he was playing better than he had in a while, happy to have a new opponent for once. Was this man really saying that you, the normal you, was more skilled at shogi than he was? He really found that hard to believe.

What would some blind courtesan know of tactics?

“Perhaps you’ve simply improved,” Sukuna mumbled bitterly, unwilling to accept that your mastery was greater than his.

Sugawara laughed. “How polite of you, my dear. I can assure you that isn’t the case, and we both know it.” There was some shuffling, and Sukuna sensed that the man was climbing to his feet. It was frustrating to have such limited vision, and he was glad to know that he’d wake up the following day able to see the world once more - he couldn’t imagine living like that all the time. “I’ll leave you to rest. When I return in a few days you best have returned to form, or perhaps the nature of our meetings will need to change.”

A heavy hand rested on your shoulder, wet and clammy against the silk you were draped in. Sukuna wasn’t sure if the disgust was born from his own thoughts on the matter, or from an impulsive response from your body. From your attendant’s words it was clear that you would never sleep with the man, likely keeping your shogi skills sharp to ensure he never won.

Once he was gone, Sukuna sat there in silence, thinking on the man’s parting words.

Were you really so talented?

Part of him wanted to convince himself that he’d been playing worse than usual on account of not being able to see the board, making it difficult for him to think out moves in advance, taking more time than normal while he grazed the pieces with his fingers.

But deep in his soul he knew that wasn’t the case.

He’d played expertly, and still that man knew his opponent wasn’t the real you. All on account of how amateur Sukuna’s ability had seemed compared to yours.

And as his day drew to a close in your body, he realised that he had to know. He had to play you, had to see firsthand just how dramatically your skill exceeded his. He wouldn’t believe it until he’d seen it.

The soulmate thing didn’t matter.

But he needed to meet with you all the same.

Just to sate his interest. That was all.

—

Months had passed since the day you’d swapped with your soulmate. Since the morning you’d awoken to a world of light of colour you’d never seen before, and would never see again.

It was a day you’d never be able to forget - the image of the grand estate you’d awoken in seared permanently into your mind, just like the face of your soulmate who had stared back at you in a bronze mirror. You’d gazed upon his body for longer than you should admit to, wondering for a brief moment if you’d misunderstood how humans looked.

That thought didn’t remain for long. It took no expert to understand that the man you’d been paired with was something unique - the very four armed monster who had half of Japan living in fear.

And as such, you wished you could forget your experience in his body, wished you could see anything but his oddly charming face, because your promised beloved was a monster of the highest calibre. But with only one singular day of vision under your belt, what you’d seen wasn’t so easily displaced, and you found yourself thinking of him often with a longing that you knew to be wrong.

You had told no one of the experience, not even your handmaid, who had outright asked what your body swap experience had been like, what your soulmate had been like, claiming that whoever they were had presented themselves as rather reserved when possessing your body. You’d brushed her off with a shrug, claiming him to be some soldier and nothing more.

No one could know the truth. If they knew you to have any link to such a terrible man they might view you as an associate, and someone deserving of death for something you hadn’t asked for.

The workings of fate seemed strange to you. Was it not enough punishment to be born blind? Why would you also be paired with a monster who seemed to view the human race with general disdain? You were certain he cared little for love, his servant had made that clear when you were in his body, so any hopes of having a soulmate had been stolen from you as a result of this pairing.

Part of you wondered if a man so vile as him might even take things a step further and track you down to put an end to your life, insulted by fate to suggest that it could control him in any capacity. Perhaps he would be further insulted to be paired with someone so damaged rather than some untarnished beauty.

You’d always heard he held great hatred for weakness.

Even so, despite your fear and desire to conceal yourself from him, you couldn’t forget him, couldn’t stop the flicker of longing in your chest you were certain all people held for their destined lovers. Because while he was unquestionably a monster, with a throne of skulls you had witnessed through his very eyes, he also seemed to be more than that.

He was a man of great loneliness, living in grand halls with only a handful of servants for company - and all but one of them would scuttle out of the way when he approached. He seemed to hold a great love for art, with his estate packed with paintings and tapestries and great vases, all kept in pristine condition. For a cannibal, he seemed to take great pride in the cleanliness of his surroundings, in the neat nature of his gardens and springs.

Even in his own appearance, he seemed to take great care, for there was no denying him to be a handsome man even with his unique features. He had a voice to match that beauty, one that you could hardly peel from your mind any more than you could forget his image.

His body was hard to maneuver, too big and confusing to control his many hanging limbs. In a way, it felt akin to your blindness, something different to the way humans were built to be, leaving him to struggle with an issue that no one else could relate to. You wondered how it had been for him in childhood - if he’d felt as isolated and scared as you had to know that everyone else was normal in a way you’d never been.

You pitied him, even through all his sins. You felt you could understand at least a piece of him from a day buried within the confines of his skin.

But still, you would never reach for him - wouldn’t poke the bear even if you could understand why it might bite. You were certain that someone like him would be unwilling to hear you out, unwilling to love or reflect on how he became the way he was - he would swipe your head from your shoulders just like everyone else, and that would be that.

So you would stay away, keep your dreams of him locked deep within your chest, and accept that distance was for the best.

There was more to life than soulmates.

Unfortunately, that choice wasn’t yours alone to make.

The madame had knocked on your door early that morning, with the golden light of the sun only just starting to peek in through your window. Lately you’d been having longer lie-ins and taking less clients as the cold of winter gripped the region. Along with the blindness, you’d been born with a particularly feeble body as a result of complications with your mother during her pregnancy, ailments which were always worse for you in the colder months.

Your bones strained as you pushed yourself up to a sitting position, calling for the woman to enter. As much as you longed to slip back into your dream of red eyes peering back at you with fiery desire, you were still beholden to the will of your employer, even in your months of weakness.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” She asked, as she slipped in through the door. You felt her weight dip the bed as she took a seat beside you, a gentle hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Mornings are always the worst but I can manage once I’m up and about. Has Sugawara come calling again?” Most regulars were understanding enough of your condition, and those that weren’t would generally be chased off by the madame or unloaded onto another of the courtesans. Sugawara was one of the few that generally wouldn’t accept such treatment, with only eyes for you.

It didn’t matter too much since the man only ever wanted to play shogi, and that was manageable enough even on your worst days. It seemed that he had no intention of laying with you until he’d beat you in a game fair and square, claiming that if that ever happened he’d buy you out and take you home for he would’ve earned your heart.

That talk always made you uncomfortable, for you had little interest in the man, but you were more than certain he had no chance at ever defeating you at shogi, and could therefore never lay claim to you - assuming he kept his word.

“Not Sugawara…” There was hesitation in her voice. “We’ve received a request for our finest shogi player to be sent to the mayor’s home this evening. Apparently the other courtesan houses have received the same request.”

“I didn’t think the mayor cared much for shogi.”

Again, there was a moment of silence. “No, he doesn’t. A rather unwanted guest has taken up residence in his home, and this is the demand that has come of it.” Immediately your blood ran cold, thoughts drifting away from the madame’s continuing chatter to the red eyes that sat so prominently in the darkness of your mind.

There was no question in your mind as to who this guest was.

And to call for shogi players had you certain he was looking for you. Would he execute you when you walked into a room so clearly lacking in vision? Put an immediate end to the one person who could potentially stir his cold heart if fate were to be believed?

It seemed like the only reasonable explanation

The request to send another in your place died on the tip of your tongue as you once again tuned in to what the madame was saying. “...make sure you’re in top form, I’ve heard any who lose to him are immediately disposed of, but I’m sure that man will be no match for you.”

You wouldn’t send another to face their death. You were the only courtesan in the house who was any good at shogi, anyone else would certainly perish. This was a meeting dictated by fate and you had no opportunity to run from it. You would face him head on and deal with your death graciously, greet your end alone in the dark just like everything else you’d ever faced.

“I’ll do my best,” you said to the madame, and that was the final moment you had for yourself, your sacrifice sealed by your words.

The rest of the morning was spent in a frenzied rush, dressing you up and perfecting your makeup, turning you into a sparkling beauty ahead of your presentation to a monster. Based on the quiet nature of your handmaid, the experience felt more like she was dressing your corpse for burial.

Neither of you spoke such a thing aloud, but tears dripped from sightless eyes all the same when she led you out to the carriage, the madam trailing behind her, sending you off with a soft farewell filled with a sense of finality.

—

Sukuna had undergone an annoying few months.

Steadily, he had made his way, region by region, up to the north of Japan in search of a blind shogi player whose skill allegedly eclipsed his own. In each area, he would call upon all shogi-playing courtesans to meet with him and join him in a game, in the hopes that one day it would be you sitting across from him.

So far, he’d been unsuccessful, and had left a growing pile of bodies and burnt villages in his wake, utterly irritated that the thing he was seeking still evaded his grasp. No one had beaten him. A few had come close but none of them had been blind, so he could be certain that they weren’t you.

He was beginning to wonder if you’d gone into hiding somewhere, forsaking your courtesan life entirely in a bid to avoid him. It wouldn’t surprise him - you’d been in his body, you’d seen he was a monster, a fragile little thing like you was probably terrified at the idea of ever crossing his path.

Either way, he’d still persevere. He’d kill every shogi player if that was what it took to get to you.

He’d recently found his way into the mountainous region of Miyagi, where winter was in full spring. Taking up residence in the mayor’s home in one of the more populous towns in the prefecture, he once again started his usual process of gathering the shogi players. Word spread fast and droves of them appeared swiftly, waiting to be called before him.

It went much as usual, with boring girls presenting themselves before him and providing him with equally boring games of shogi. These people were painfully predictable with no appreciation for the art of the game - really it was a gift for him to steal their lives from them, because he couldn’t imagine living while being so pitifully unskilled.

The pool of Miyagi courtesans was gradually running dry and Sukuna was preparing himself for another disappointing journey further north when his luck finally shifted.

He knew he’d found you the moment you walked in through the door.

You’d stumbled in meekly, eyes averted down to the floor as you bowed low and shuffled towards the centre of the room. You were taking care not to raise your head for him to look upon, and he quickly realised you were making your best effort to conceal your blindness from him, like you could keep your identity secret that way.

It was a futile attempt, for the very atmosphere around you felt charged, his heart picking up inexplicably at the very sight of you.

To say you were beautiful was an understatement. Everything about you was gorgeous, from your soft hair to the striking intensity of your unseeing eyes. You wore the finest silks and they hung off you well, complimenting your figure. He found himself eager to touch you, to rid you off your lovely gown and have his fingers against your smooth skin.

But that wasn’t the reason he had come, and he would play you before entertaining any other matter.

“Sit,” he ordered, taking great amusement in the shiver that seemed to run through you at the sound of his voice.

You dropped to your knees on the cushion before the board, hands pressing against the edge of the table. It was the first chance he got to take a proper look at your eyes, expecting them to be clouded over, but taken aback by the lovely colour your irises still held beneath that mist.

“You’re blind.” He observed aloud, taking note of the way your teeth caught your lower lip anxiously.

“I see more than enough,” your response was guarded.

He hummed, a sly grin settling on his face. Idly, he wondered if you could sense it, because you seemed to tense up a little, fidgeting across from him in a way his traitorous brain seemed to register as endearing. “Is that so? Do you see enough to know my strategy before we commence? Or will you disappoint me like the others?”

“You tell me.”

Your words had his heart stirring against his will, impressed by your serenity before him, still sitting up straight and calm despite the fear he could sense within you. You were a woman who held confidence despite it all, harboured strength even in the face of your obvious weaknesses. He wondered what you were thinking, if you believed he was there to execute you for the mere transgression of being his soulmate.

It wasn’t a foolish assumption.

He would kill you without a second thought if you were uninteresting to him.

But he’d reserve that judgement until after you had played. He had been promised someone exceptional and that was what he wished to see, anything less and your blood would stain the floor just like every other woman who had sat before him. Would you still be so calm if you could see the bodies littering the room? He assumed not.

He wondered if you hated him, if you cursed fate itself to be paired with a man like him. Nothing about you gave anything away, all your focus fixed on the board in front of you, your hands moving steadily against the wood of the board, as if centring yourself.

“Shall we begin?” He asked.

“Yes.”

Sukuna couldn’t quite comprehend what had transpired in that first game he played against you.

He had approached things in much the same manner that he always would when playing shogi - opening strong and attempting to completely overwhelm his opponent, and yet somehow he found opportunities snatched from him at every turn.

Nothing seemed to catch you off guard. Any attempted play was greeted with an easy answer from you, as though you were battling a child. You were always three steps ahead of him, never hesitating in the shifting of a piece, moving with a certainty that had him transfixed.

He found that he couldn’t draw his eyes away from you, his struggle on the board forgotten at the realisation he’d been well and truly defeated. There was no point in struggling further - you had swatted him aside in the way that he usually defeated others, and you had done it with no glee or brag, nothing more than passive indifference once the games finally came to an end.

Your shoulders were raised, as if awaiting something you wouldn’t be able to see coming. A strike from him, perhaps? Or the neat removal of your head from your shoulders? The same fate of all others he’d played across the last few months.

But he wasn’t in the position to do anything at that moment, lashes fluttering as he stared at you, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

There had been no lie told about your skill - on the contrary, you had exceeded his expectations spectacularly. He wanted to play you again and again, wanted to witness the beauty of the way you played, wished to spend hours lost deep in thought considering how he could even begin to pick you apart in a match.

He could spend years sitting across you, gazing upon your lovely form while you worked away in silence with such unquestionable mastery.

No wonder Sugawara had been disappointed in Sukuna’s ability. He couldn’t hold a candle to what you were.

“How?” He asked, unable to think of another word to offer.

Your head was still lowered, eyes fixed elsewhere. He wished you’d look at him, allow him a clearer view of your face, but it occurred to him that such a request may not be easily granted with your lack of vision. You would never be able to lock eyes with each other - it would be something entirely meaningless for you.

“You aren’t all that good,” you spoke softly, a smile playing on your lips.

Sukuna disagreed with your sentiment, considering he’d never been beaten before, but perhaps you’d consider all his previous opponents to be genuinely pitiful at the game.

“So, will you take my life now? Or is that reserved for the losers?” You asked.

“To take the life of someone I could not best would be cowardly and pointless,” he said with a snort. “How would I ever grow to be better than you if I extinguished you from the world? Don’t be foolish. We will play again.”

And again you played.

Game after game until the sun began to rise in the sky, and Sukuna could sense exhaustion drifting through your fragile form. You were shivering from the cold, and he had Uraume bring in a robe to wrap around you, keenly aware of how sickly you seemed to look beneath all the beauty. You were setting up the board for your tenth match when Sukuna finally put an end to things.

“Enough. I would take no joy in defeating an exhausted opponent.” He rose to his feet, stretching as he moved. He wasn’t keen on remaining still for long periods of time, but you seemed accustomed to it, staying deathly still upon your cushion, uncertainty evident in your posture.

“Then, you will send me to my home?” You asked.

“No.” The word escaped him before he could stop it.

He did not wish for you to go anywhere, lest you slip from his grasp never to be found again. It was because he wanted to play you more, that’s what he told himself, but there was more to it than that, and in his soul he knew it.

He never wanted the image of you on your knees before him to slip away, never wanted to lose the pleasurable feeling of warmth that swelled in his chest with you there within his gaze.

“You’ll accompany me to my home, and we’ll play until I’m satisfied.”

—

Weeks had passed since you’d arrived at Sukuna’s estate in the Hida Mountains.

You’d been given no time to bid goodbye to the women at the only home you’d ever known, swept off in a carriage down south where you had to relearn your surroundings in a totally new environment.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time you’d been in the estate, but that experience made little impact on the ease of traversing around with no vision. You had to move slowly, fingers brushing on blurry objects shadowed in the darkness, hoping you didn’t trip over something or walk into a screen door.

For the most part, you were left to your own devices. Sukuna had spoken little to you on the journey home, opting to ride on his horse rather than in the carriage with you, and he’d been equally elusive in his own estate, leaving you in isolation for days at a time.

You couldn’t complain, for your days were spent in peace and serenity.

You would take long walks in the breeze of his garden, have his servants read aloud to you, and practice playing the erhu. On days where it was particularly cold and the chill seeped into your bones, you would remain in the grand bed he had provided and find greater comfort than you ever had in the old bed you’d laid upon in the courtesan house.

The only obligation you ever had to fulfill were shogi games. And during the times that he wasn’t absent from the estate, those would take place every evening, in Sukuna’s own private quarters.

It was an odd decision, considering that the servants played shogi out in the garden, where a proper table was set up for that purpose. But it seemed that Sukuna took care in ensuring your meetings were private - a decision you didn’t dare read into too deeply.

You didn’t dare read into any of his behaviour too deeply, lest you rip your own heart from your chest.

That first meeting with him had been like nothing you’d ever experienced - genuine desire overcoming you at the deep tone of his voice. Even knowing that he could cause your death with little effort, you couldn’t bury the lust within you, a fire that only burned stronger with each encounter with him.

It was hard to hold it together, to pretend that you wouldn’t fling yourself into his arms given the chance, but you tried all the same, keeping yourself distant and cold, like you didn’t dream of him between your legs each night, imagining the sound of his voice whispering sweet nothings against your ear.

Whether he felt the effect to the same extent you did, you weren’t sure. You were certain you’d never know. His interest in you was surrounding shogi, and shogi alone.

One evening, you were sitting across from him having played a handful of games, finding victory had fallen into your hands even more easily than normal. Sukuna seemed distracted by something, the sound of fidgeting settling in your ears. He hadn’t moved to start a new game, and based on the shadowy shapes in your vision, you could only assume he was leaning forward upon the table, bringing him close enough for his breath to fan your face.

“I killed today,” he said. Those were the first words he’d spoken to you that evening - you always followed his example with conversation, if he was feeling chatty you would indulge him, if he wished for silence you would give him that too.

You weren’t exactly sure where he was going with that statement, nor were you certain what type of response he was seeking, so you offered him a hum of acknowledgement and little more. You didn’t wish to think of the death that stained his hands, but nor did it build your animosity towards him.

To some extent you could understand lashing out at the world when you were someone so desperately lonely as he was. Part of you believed that if you hadn’t been so frail perhaps you’d lash out at the world for your own condition. His primary servant had told you he’d been despised throughout his life, and when you find only cruelty in humans it's difficult to cling to kindness.

Sukuna wasn’t so simple as a mere monster. You’d understood that in the day you’d spent in his body, and had only further confirmed it by the intelligence he displayed when you’d speak over games of shogi. He had a great admiration for art and skill, and had seemed rather taken when you’d recited poetry, responding with verses of his own.

He was a multi-faceted man, and much of what you saw only seemed to further your attraction to him, even knowing it was wrong, even knowing you’d be hated for it. For once, you felt you’d found someone who understood what it was like to be you, to be cut off from the easy lives lived by most others.

A soul that entwined so perfectly with yours, even if he’d never be aware of such a thing.

“Do you wish to know who I killed?” He asked.

“I know few people, my lord. I doubt a name would mean anything to me.”

“This one might. I’ve heard you’re familiar with Officer Sugawara? He’s one of the Shogun’s men?”

Thoughts of your regular flickered through your mind. If you were being honest with yourself, you were glad to not have to see him anymore - him or any of the other clients you’d been forced to take. Courtesan life had been difficult for you, forced into it thanks to the conditions of your birth and kept there by a disability that made it hard to escape the life for something better.

Life in Sukuna’s estate had been easier, especially as the weeks passed and you grew more comfortable in the belief that Sukuna wasn't going to steal your life from you. You’d lived in fear of Sugawara buying you out, of being forced to live like some doll in the house of a terribly boring man whose voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to your ears.

“I know him.”

“Knew him, would be more apt. His body lies at the foot of the mountain.” Sukuna spoke matter-of-factly. “He came to claim you from me. I refused and we couldn’t reach an amicable agreement, so I dealt with it another way.”

You weren’t sure how to react, struggling to process the words. That Sugawara would follow you down to Hida already came as a surprise, you hadn’t known how deep his devotion ran. But somehow, you found yourself rather taken by Sukuna’s decision, by the certainty in his choice to keep you.

To kill a man whose death could cause him issues with the Shogun might as well have been an outright confession of love.

Sugawara’s death meant little to you. Men like that died all the time, and they saw women as little more than pretty objects to own. Sugawara had seen you as an impressive party trick, a clever cat rather than a human with depth and desires of her own. You hadn’t wanted to be his, wouldn’t have liked for Sukuna to surrender you to him.

“Are you irritated with me? When I controlled your body you seemed repulsed at his presence. Perhaps you have a heart too soft for blood and death.”

“No- I-” You hesitated. “Did you do this to protect me?”

There was silence for a moment, and you longed to see his facial expression, but were forced to settle for the hint of confusion in his tone. “Of course. I’ve protected you since bringing you here. You can hardly protect yourself.”

You couldn’t find it in you to be offended - he’d been in your body, he knew of your frailty better than anyone.

“Why? Just because you enjoy shogi so much?”

“Somewhat. Though I must confess, lately I have been losing interest in the game. I feel I’ve come up against an insurmountable wall.” Panic filled you immediately, mind running at a million miles a minute as you analysed his statement. If he was growing bored of playing would he cast you aside? What use did he have for you if not shogi?

But then again, why would he kill Sugawara if he was moments from disposing of you?

“Perhaps it is the fault of my own discipline, for I’ve found it hard to focus on the game for quite some time now.” He hesitated, and you found yourself flinching at the feeling of a soft hand caressing your cheek, leaning into it once you overcame the initial shock of touch. “It is difficult when you have a beautiful woman sitting across from you. It’s even harder when my soul calls for you whenever you're near, drowning out any thoughts I might gather of strategy.”

“Oh.” You weren’t sure what to say, wondering if you should pinch yourself, for many of your dreams centred themselves around such a confession. But the touch had never felt so real before, large fingers brushing against the soft skin of your face.

“I wonder if I’d be more focussed if I admitted fate might make some sense after all. I have never denied myself anything before now, and I’m tired of denying myself you. You have captivated me thoroughly, and I believe the hole in my chest was carved out to allow you to one day settle there.”

The words were by far the most romantic statement anyone had ever uttered to you. In your time as a courtesan you’d heard plenty of cheesy and affectionate lines, ones you’d brush off and forget by the time the client was done with you. Sukuna’s words would burrow into your heart and remain there for as long as you drew breath.

Could anyone fault you for loving a monster who would speak such beauty to you? Could you be hated for finding one who had been cursed by the world just like you had?

“I have no care for the Shogun’s men,” Sukuna continued, “in my eyes they are little more than flies most of the time, an annoying thing to be ignored unless they brush too close. Would it amuse you to know I killed Sugawara out of jealousy? To hear that my chest tightened at the idea of you being taken from my side?”

“Because you enjoy having such a capable rival in intelligence?” You asked, a wry smile creeping onto your face.

“Because I enjoy you.”

It was clear he was waiting for you to say something. The words that had poured from his mouth were unlike any he’d spoken before, and although you couldn’t see him, you could feel the sense of restlessness that gripped his body.

You would not leave him in uncertainty.

“I have only ever seen the world through your eyes,” you confessed shyly, “the only face I see in the endless darkness is yours, and I dream of it every night.” Sukuna’s fingers twitched against your face. “If you’ll have me, I am yours.”

“Even though I’m a monster?” He asked. There was no remorse in his tone, nothing to suggest that he was pained over who he was, it was just an honest question for you to answer as you wished. “You were scared of me when we met. I know you hid yourself from me after discovering our connection, eager to ensure our paths would never cross.”

“Because I believed you would kill me. I thought you to be a man who would stamp out any notion of love and eliminate me along with it.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, failing to deny your statement. You knew it to be true - if you had lost your shogi game on that first meeting, he would’ve done exactly that. It was in his nature to love only that which piqued his interest.

“Especially to be paired with someone so weak, I thought you would consider it an insult.”

He scoffed. “You are far from weak, I’ve found it impossible to best you.”

“I meant physically,” your voice went small. “I did not imagine the King of Curses would favour a sightless woman, nor one so easily broken.”

He was silent for a moment, seemingly processing your words. “I was small and frail once. Perhaps frailer than you. I wish someone had valued me then for my other virtues. I’m big enough and sharp enough to make up for your failings and you are clever enough to cover mine.”

Your mind was reeling at the idea of him admitting to having failings. Your heart stirring at his affection, and his easy desire despite your condition.

“I had not imagined a soulmate to be so well suited to me, for my tangles with fate have always been cruel,” he said. “But you’re something different, something I need at my side, and I will be your eyes, your protector, whatever it is you want in order to keep you there.”

“Oh.” You were positively blushing, whole body trembling beneath the weight of lovely words spoken in that deep voice of his.

Your soulmate wanted you.

A man hated by the world and filled with hatred in return had a space carved out for you, a space for love you hadn’t known him capable of.

You’d loved him from the first time you’d met him, drawn to him by an inexplicable force which seemed to grip him just as hard.

Soulmates really were wonderful.

Silence had settled between the two of you, only broken as the table screeched across the floor, the barrier between you removed. Sukuna shifted forward and an arm came to rest around your smaller body, pulling you towards him. His lips pressed against yours in a kiss you could only describe as sweet.

He didn’t dominate you in the manner you believed a man like him would, instead he took his time, mapping out your lips and drawing you closer to him, letting you bathe in the warmth of his body against yours. It was almost like he was trying not to scare you, aware that you couldn’t see anything he was doing and trying to move slowly as a result.

You wouldn’t have minded either way, your fingers clinging to the biceps of his upper arms, desperate for more of a touch you’d only ever dreamed of.

People always said that to finally touch your soulmate was a euphoria like nothing else, and you truly believed them to be right. Your head felt like it was swimming, chest swelling as if Sukuna’s own soul had wriggled beneath your skin to intertwine with your own.

It was a little overwhelming.

“How I long for you,” he murmured against your ear, breaking the kiss. “I was foolish to have not had you the moment I laid eyes on you, I’ve ached for your touch longer than I care to admit.”

His fingers moved down to your robes, and your breath hitched at the touch. You were no stranger to sex, your job had required it, but the feeling as he undressed you wasn’t like any previous encounter you’d had. What regulars thought of your body was insignificant to you, sex was nothing special with them, just something you had to do if you wished to make a living wage.

This was the first time you’d ever been touched for free by someone you desired, and you felt suddenly nervous at your frail body being judged beneath his crimson gaze - especially when you couldn’t look upon him in the same moment. There was no distraction in the darkness to keep you from worrying about how his gaze might burn through you, imagining discontent on his handsome face.

A cold chill caught you once your robes fell, leaving you kneeling and exposed in front of him. A soft breath fell from his lips, fingers moving delicately from your shoulders down to your breasts, as if checking you were truly real and there before him. More heat flooded you as his finger brushed over your peaked nipple.

“Beautiful. If I didn’t despise the idea of sharing you with another I would paint you like this. Your body is worthy of that reverence.”

“I think my mind is probably more splendid.” You confessed. You had no eyes for awareness of your appearance, and had subsequently never really relied on it. People had said you were lovely, but you could never quite believe it, assuming that they were taking pity on you for your blindness.

“Your mind is exceptional. If I cannot beat you at shogi soon I have half a mind to ask you to assist me with real life strategy,” he said with a chuckle, fingers still trailing a slow path down your body. “But it doesn’t make your body any less lovely, and you cannot deny such things since you’ve never seen yourself. Let me be your eyes and tell you that you are breathtaking.”

A shyness overcame you at those words, head angled downwards as if it would hide your blushing state from him. He raised your chin with a finger, his nose bumping yours before capturing your mouth in a kiss once more, bringing you close against his bare chest. You were so lost in the comfort of the kiss, that you found yourself completely caught off guard when something wet swiped against your stomach and breasts.

Flinching in surprise, you drew yourself back in an attempt to understand what was happening. Sukuna laughed, a hand moving into your hair comfortingly. “It's my tongue,” he spoke easily.

Frowning, you found that his answer didn’t make sense, because still the wet appendage explored your breasts, sending your heartrate flying as it flicked against your nipple with impressive accuracy. How could he be speaking but also doing that?

“There’s a mouth on my stomach. Perhaps you didn’t notice when you controlled my body.”

You were ashamed to admit you hadn’t noticed such a thing. Sukuna had been naked when you’d awoken in his body, and you’d been quick to dress him up in robes, feeling rude to intrude upon the body of another without consent. You’d very intentionally not paid too much attention to the workings of his body, not when the first thing you’d seen was the oddity he sported between his legs.

The memory that he had two of what most men only had one, suddenly had you feeling a little nervous in your position. You had no time to voice such nervousness before he was picking you up, allowing his second tongue to continue its onslaught while he carried you over to the bed, depositing you down upon the silk.

His weight moved on top of you, and he swallowed a gasp with his lips as his monstrous tongue shifted its attention from your breasts down to between your legs, dexterously finding a path between your things and lathering your pussy with attention while Sukuna consumed your mouth. Tears pricked in your eyes at the sensation, unaccustomed to a feeling like that.

In all your years as a courtesan, you’d never been eaten out. Men didn’t come to brothels to serve women, they came to have their own needs attended to, and you’d done that in whichever manner they desired. You were grateful to have never experienced that feeling before, because it was a blessing to have Sukuna be your first.

Pressure built in your stomach over a series of minutes, overwhelmed by the way he seemed to be everywhere. A tongue between your lips, another between your thighs, hands squeezing your breasts, tweaking your nipples, more hands gripping your hips, pulling you up onto his secondary tongue to allow it a better angle to overwhelm you.

For the first time, you started to understand how Sukuna must feel whenever he played you at shogi - stumbling blindly in the dark whilst overcome from all angles with no means of knowing what was going to come next. It was pleasure in its highest form, and you were quick to cum with a yelp of his name, tears dripping from the corners of your eyes.

Sukuna broke the kiss, breathing heavily against your ear. It was a sound you enjoyed, one you could listen to all day if he’d allow you. “I have imagined you beneath me like this every night this week,” he mused, “my imagination is hardly as pleasant as having the real thing. You taste much sweeter than my mind could conjure.”

Again, you were flushing red. “Y-you can taste me through…that?”

“Of course.” You were certain he was grinning, “And I’m glad that I can.” His secondary tongue was still moving slowly through your folds, lapping up the remnants of your first orgasm, teasingly flicking against your clit and making your shudder.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, breathing quietly together. You weren’t sure what Sukuna wanted to do next, but for a moment you were happy to savor the warmth of his heavy body, twitching while he lazily continued his attention to your body. How you longed to see him, eager to witness the expression he was wearing while he attended to you.

All you had to go off was the erratic beating of his heart where his chest was pressed against you.

“Let me have you,” he murmured against your ear. “Let me make you mine.”

“I’m already yours.”

“Is that so? Then let me make it official.”

He shifted atop you, withdrawing his secondary tongue. In the absence of that heat between your thighs, you grew suddenly aware of a heavy pressure against your leg. Your mind jumped to the image of his cocks that you’d filed away in the back of your mind, gut twisting at the thought of either one of them pressing into you.

Sukuna chuckled from above you, a hand coming to stroke your hair. “You’ve seen them, haven’t you?”

You nodded.

“I can tell, you’ve got that scared little look on your face. It’s fascinating, when you play shogi you’re unreadable, but outside of that? You’re practically an open book with your emotions always written across your face.”

Pouting, you let humiliation wash over you. Nobody had ever told you that before. It was hard to guard one's emotions when you had no measure of how the faces of others looked. That was something you’d have to work on. At least you had the good sense to give nothing away when you played shogi.

Another laugh echoed from his lips. “Even now I can see your panic. It’s very endearing.”

Any protest or response you had for him faded away into the recesses of your brain as he shuffled on top of you. He maneuvered you carefully into a new position, raising your legs and placing them up atop his broad shoulders. You were grateful for your flexibility in that moment, because the size difference between the two of you made that no easy task.

Sukuna was watching you from above while he positioned one of his cocks between your legs, running it steadily through your wet folds in a way that had you shivering with desire, still not fully recovered from the actions of his tongue. You were quick to discover that his focus was on his lower cock, as the upper one bumped pleasurably against your clit.

“You know,” he mused, stilling his movements. “I’m surprised you struck no deal with me. It is what I had imagined you would do.”

“What?”

“I’d assumed I would ask for more and you would refuse me. I’d thought your respect was tied to shogi, that you would refuse anything from me unless I was capable of beating you.” Your mind moved to Sugawara as you connected the dots. Sukuna believed you’d made that deal before, as if that tiresome Official hadn’t dictated those rules of his own choosing.

Shogi was a game you adored, mainly because it was an activity you could excel at even without sight, unlike many other courtesan pastimes such as painting, which would forever be an impossibility for you. But it was by no means something you made all your decisions on, nor were you particularly interested in the skill of others.

If someone could defeat you, you would congratulate them for their win and move on, it would ultimately mean little.

To you, it was little more than a game. To various men, it seemed to be something held in much higher regard - a true mark of intelligence rather than a game for which one could learn and remember strategies to allow them a win.

It mattered little to you whether Sukuna could defeat you or not. Your affection for him wasn’t tied to it in any manner.

“To make such a demand would be wasting my own time. Why would I turn down a man I desire over something so trivial? Besides, my bet with Sugawara was made to ensure I never had to lay with him, that is not the fate I want for us.”

“So you believe I am incapable of winning?” He asked, with greater disappointment than you’d been expecting.

“I do,” you said with a giggle, “just as I am incapable of emerging victorious in a battle. We all have our strengths.”

A yelp fell from you as he pushed the tip of his cock into you, catching you unawares. “Yeah?” He asked, pressing deeper into you, his fingers tangling tightly into your hair. “Rather sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh again - even in the midst of the dull pain of him driving into you, there was something so endearingly pathetic about his words.

“I am. But you’re free to challenge me whenever you like.”

He was silent as he bottomed out inside of you, his face falling to your neck and leaving a trail of kisses and bites along your skin while he allowed you some time to adjust. You were grateful for his consideration of your wellbeing, fingers digging into his skin, your gut aching as he leaned forwards over you, pushing your legs higher on his shoulders.

There was no question that he was the largest man you’d ever had inside you, practically tearing you apart with his intrusion, but after a few minutes of stillness you found yourself able to relax, the panic exhibited by your body slowly dissipating as you accommodated his size.

“I will challenge you whenever I like,” he whispered against your ear. “After this, the cloud of lust you’ve placed in my mind will be thinner, and I will beat you with ease.”

“Oh, I’m sure-”

Your snarky response was promptly cut off as he withdrew himself from you, only to swiftly fill you up once more, pulling a desperate cry of his name from your lips. There was no second adjustment period given, instead you found yourself clinging on for dear life as he filled you over and over again with swift and deep thrusts that had your eyes rolling back.

One of his hands moved to your stomach, pressing down against the bulge where his cock would press up inside you. It was clear he was fascinated by it, finding great enjoyment in you being claimed by him. You were certain he was no virgin, but it seemed that you were the first woman who meant something to him, the first one who was worth something beyond carnal pleasure.

Legs quivering beneath the weight of his thrusts, you appreciated the way two of his hands came to rest on your thighs, keeping you steady with each brutal snap of his hips. You were crying and whining, your hands blindly reaching for him but finding him just out of range in this position. Seemingly to appease you, he leant further forward, really testing the flexibility of your legs as he practically folded you in half.

Lips pressed against your forehead affectionately, and you enjoyed every single second of his attention, mind floating off on a cloud as your gut tightened with each careful stroke, your walls flexing around his cock. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, a feeling only heightened by the erratic contact of his higher cock rubbing up against your clit.

“You feel so good, fuck. I can’t last like this,” he grumbled, never losing pace. It stroked your ego to know of his desire, to understand just how much he’d been holding back since your first meeting. It was everything you imagined the joining of two soulmates would be - desperately euphoric and overflowing with pleasure.

Sex had never felt so good, it had never really felt good at all, and yet you could spend eternity with Sukuna buried inside of you, your bodies and souls joined just as they were always meant to be.

He was yours and you were his. It was just as fate had decreed.

There was nothing stopping the scream that ripped through you as you finally teetered over the edge, your body convulsing in pleasure and clamping down on Sukuna’s thick cock, eager to milk him for all he was worth. You were sobbing his name and writhing against the silk sheets, your hands gripping them desperately in an attempt to anchor yourself to something in the throes of pleasure.

Sukuna couldn’t hold on long after that either, spilling into you with a warmth that only heightened your pleasure. His other cock found its release at the same time, cum dripping down onto your stomach in a manner that you’d usually find disgusting, if it weren’t your soulmate who was doing it to you. He groaned your name quietly, and let your legs fall from his shoulders.

Without the barrier of your thighs, he settled himself down on top of you, pressing kisses all over your face, his cock still twitching inside your exhausted pussy. You let him lather you with affection, still trying to come to terms with this side of Sukuna. It had been what you’d wanted, what you believed he was capable of, but you hadn’t dreamed it would truly happen.

The most you believed you’d get from him was a lifetime of shogi matches, in which the two of you would remain close but never cross the line you’d been so desperate to leap across.

“Has the fog of lust lifted?” You teased. “Do you believe now you can defeat me?”

Sukuna let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “Perhaps we will have to do that a few more times for it to fully ease.”

“Oh is that so?” You giggled, reaching out for his hair. He gripped your wrist and moved it into position, allowing you to play with the soft locks you’d been so eager to touch since the first time you’d seen them upon his head.

You wished you could gaze upon that lovely shade of pink once more, but it was enough to know he was there before you, yours to touch as you pleased.

“Mmm, I think it would help,” he purred.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

You’d give him whatever he wanted. You were his and he was yours for as long as he’d have you.

a/n: I had so much fun writing this one! thinking about doing one soulmate au for each of the jjk men because I find them so enjoyable to play with <3

anyway, for any crazy in love fans, the next chapter will be out towards the end of this week!

perma taglist: @calicatzz @suzunu @winkii @sukubusss @bobis-notmylover @tetsuski @torupilled @brattyxackerman @r0vena @chaos-4baby @moonlitreveri3 @feyrinnn @strawberryrosey @creamofsneky-blog @zeeseekay @p1nkfl0wers @apricityn @keiiiluv @dogggggggblog-kaye @duckie3801 @lav4mpira @seellove @cutesytwt @gojodickbig @yuujispinkhair @somos-things @yeagersss @paradisestarfishh @jennilynn63 @tthhaattgguuyy27 @bexxli @being-blue-is-better @tisuruxx @juliarchiv3s @dishs0pe @plutoxxxworld @5kkalara @serenadesvt @00frenchfries00 @warriorofenlightenment @scarlet-issilly @himbosexual @pousivuitton @ksjtozaki @certainfanpoetry @gojoscumslut @ynishalee @nakiich

© sukunahs

[sukunahs]

victim of luck | gojo satoru

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

summary: while the chances of meeting your soulmate are one in a million, you were lucky enough to stumble across yours with fairly little effort.

unfortunately, fate has a way of being cruel, and your destined partner also happens to be your clan’s worst enemy.

word count: 13.1k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, soulmate au, forbidden love, star crossed lovers, childhood friends to lovers, blood, major injury, anxiety, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, familial disappointment, yearning

a/n: thank you to @hellicify for requesting this, I had a lot of fun writing it! It was originally meant to be enemies to lovers but I grew too attached to them being more romeo and juliet-esque!

hope you all enjoy! first long gojo fic hehe.....kinda nervous.....

The first time you met Gojo Satoru, the whole world stopped. 

You’d been only seven years old, encountering him at a meeting of all the prominent clans within Jujutsu Society. Your eyes had met his electric blue ones, and your little heart had exploded with emotion that you’d never known possible. It was a desire to reach out to him, to cling onto him. 

It was a desire that he shared, clear in the way that his stubby hand reached for yours, an unspoken connection formed between the two of you with a singular look. The moment was gone as soon as it arrived, with his caretaker pulling him away harshly, barking at him not to associate himself with anyone from that clan. 

The same lecture was given to you by your parents, harshly reminding you that anyone with the name Gojo was the enemy and not the sort that you wanted to tangle with. 

They were fiends, and you always had to remember that. 

But for some reason, despite the lessons you were given over the next few years pertaining to your family’s history and feud with the Gojo clan, you could never manage to find understanding in their outlook. Not when every single night had you picturing those bright blue eyes that had stared into yours with such wonder. 

The next time you saw Gojo Satoru, you were eleven years old. 

It was in a similar setting as before - a convergence of clans, but now that you were older there were less eyes on you, more freedom to roam about the grounds upon which the convention was being held. 

You found him beside a pond, staring out at the rippling water in silence, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. He’d jumped ever so slightly as you approached, frustration present in his furrowed brow, only for his expression to morph into wonder at the sight of you, a wide grin crossing his graceful face. 

“It's you!” He exclaimed. His eyes were lit up, excitement bubbling within him. If he were a dog, you were sure that he’d be wagging his tail with great enthusiasm. 

“It’s you,” you responded with a tilt of your head, grateful that he remembered you. You’d worried that the momentary connection between the two of you hadn’t been real, had been nothing more than mere puppy love on your part, a complete insignificance to him. 

Satoru looked around cautiously, frowning once more before reaching out and grabbing your arm. Tugging you along, he headed down a sequence of hidden garden pathways before skidding to a halt in a small clearing beneath a maple tree. You’d let yourself be dragged along easily, half curious as to where he was leading you, and half conscious of the fact that he was doing this to prevent prying eyes. 

The two of you shouldn’t be talking after all. You both knew that. Even though you considered the feud to be genuinely stupid, and you hoped that Satoru did too. 

“No one should see us here, stupid adults are always watching,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. 

You shrugged. For the most part your parents let you do whatever you wanted, so you couldn’t really relate, but you imagined that in this one case, they would go absolutely crazy if they saw you alone with the Gojo clan’s six eyes user, who was public enemy number one in their minds. 

They’d had assassins sent after him, if what you’d overheard your parents talking about was to be believed. 

“What’s your name?” He asked. 

You told him with a smile, and he nodded, introducing himself only for you to stop him. His reputation preceded him after all. He seemed almost proud of the fact that you already knew him, puffing up his chest with a wide grin, like he was keen to impress you. You couldn’t help but smile back, heart fluttering at the sight. 

“I thought I might’ve made you up!” He chirped, offering further explanation as you tilted your head in confusion. “I have this vivid image of seeing you when we were younger, it comes up in my dreams a lot, like this nice shiny memory that makes me feel all warm. But I thought you might’ve just been an imaginary friend.” 

It seemed that Satoru’s clan had taken the opposite approach to your clan, keeping information about their enemy locked down. Although, why would they bother telling him anything about you? It wasn’t like you were special in the same way he was. 

“You’re from that clan, aren’t you? That’s why we never tend to see each other.” 

You nodded solemnly. “My parents will throw a fit if they see me talking to you.” 

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them!” Satoru’s smile was painfully bright, an admiration growing desperately in your chest at the sight of it. There was no doubt that you had a crush - between the fact that you’d met very few boys your age and the idea that he was forbidden, your young heart had never wanted anything more. 

So of course you nodded along, sitting down beside him in the clearing, relieved to be free of the adults for an afternoon. 

Satoru seemed to love talking, chattering away at you for hours. You’d always been more of an introvert - with your clan largely keeping to themselves, there was seldom anyone for you to talk to, and that meant that your social skills were limited. You were grateful for Satoru’s ability to push the conversation forward, asking you non-stop questions about your life and likes, and talking at length about his own preferences. 

You learned that in a lot of ways you were startlingly similar. 

You both had a penchant for sweet things, an enjoyment of catching frogs in the summer, and a deep set desire to escape from the stifling grip of your respective families. It felt like no matter what Satoru spoke about, you could feel yourself relating on a deep level. His thoughts and desires were so aligned with yours that if he were to suddenly reveal that he’d read your diary and this was all some practical joke, you wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest. 

“I used to love climbing trees too,” he added, down to the twentieth hobby on his list at this point, seemingly enjoying being listened to with such rapt attention. “But I’m not allowed to anymore because of this stupid thing.” 

He was rolling his eyes as he held up his arm to show you, a thick scar running up the length of his forearm. Your eyes widened ever so slightly as you peered at the imperfection on his pale skin, inspecting the way that the old wound was scabbing over, clearly having been picked at by his impatient hands. 

“Oh, snap!” You said with a small smile, pushing the sleeve of your kimono back to show him an identical wound, uncannily similar to the one he was currently sporting. “Mine was from a knife!” 

It was a lesson in not playing in your family’s weapon storage. You’d spent plenty of time there throughout your childhood against your parents’ advice, and one day the reality of why they didn’t want you going there came to smack you right in the face. It turned out that attempting to catch a falling knife isn’t a good idea. 

“You were stabbed?” He asked, tilting his head curiously. 

“In a sense.” You puffed out your chest, not eager to confess that the assailant had been none other than your own foolishness. “How did climbing a tree cause that?” 

“It didn’t. My handler just thinks it did.” He huffed. 

It was clear that this was a serious topic for him, one that he’d thought plenty about. You imagined that he still climbed trees in secret whenever he could, because there was something about him that suggested an unwillingness to be truly tamed. 

“How did you get it then?” You asked, rubbing your own scar for half a second before dropping your hand back down to your side. You shouldn’t scratch at it, even if the scab was itchy. It would come off in its own time.

He thought about that question for a second, white eyebrows drawn close together in focus, before he turned to you with an unbothered shrug. “Dunno! One day it was just there!” 

You hummed, content with his answer. It wasn’t like the origin really mattered to you, there were bumps and bruises on you all the time that you just couldn’t explain. It was all part of being a kid, there was so much going on that you couldn’t possibly remember everything. 

Why would you? 

—

It was a few years later, at age fifteen, that you learned just why those unexplainable scars actually did hold meaning. A serious conversation with your parents, in which they sat you down and told you all that you needed to know about soulmates, since you were approaching the age where it might be relevant. 

They explained that some people had a divine connection, something beautiful and otherworldly that would bring the two of them together against all odds. It was the stuff of the fairytales that you’d loved so dearly when you were young, a magic that existed here on earth. 

Your parents weren’t soulmates. Not many couples tended to be. Considering the population of the world, such unions between soulmates tended to be rare, something special whenever one found their prophesied other half. Outside of the inexplicable attraction that one would expect to feel when witnessing their soulmate, there was a single clue to who your other half might be. 

Once soulmates had laid eyes on each other for the first time, any wound inflicted upon one party would be mirrored on the other. 

Cuts, bruises, scars, disfigurements, and even death. Anything that ailed one would ail the other, allowing for a constant physical connection between lovers. Something equal parts beautiful and tragic. You were tied to their fate, no matter what it may be. 

If you’d been older, perhaps you would’ve connected the dots faster. But it had been four years since you’d last seen Satoru, and although his presence was a constant in your dreams, your conversation about scars had long since fled your mind. 

With the emphasis that your mother was putting on tempering your expectations where it came to ever meeting a soulmate, the thought that you might’ve already met him was far from apparent to you. 

You next encountered Satoru less than a year later, when the two of you enrolled in Jujutsu High at the same time. 

It was nice to be able to see him without the shadow of both your clans lingering over you, even if your parents had given you a big lecture beforehand about how you were to stay as far away from the Gojo heir as possible. It was a directive that you ignored of course, throwing yourself wholeheartedly into a friendship with Satoru. 

Why should you build your relationships around some dusty old family feud? Satoru had been nothing but kind to you in the fleeting moments you’d encountered each other throughout childhood. You couldn’t care less if some boring ancestor of his stole your family’s land a thousand years ago.

What did that matter when Satoru was so much fun? 

The two of you were practically attached at the hip for the first two years of school, always getting into mischief together. You’d sit next to each other during classes, go out into the city to check out new bakeries, spend evenings in each other’s rooms watching scary movies - always settled right next to each other. Sometimes Satoru’s arm would brush against yours and your heart rate would skyrocket, a result of the crush that you couldn’t deny that you had on your best friend. 

Your friend Shoko had teased you about it on occasion, waiting until Satoru and Suguru were off on some mission before poking fun at just how attached to him you were, trying to convince you to talk to him about it since he was clearly into you too. 

Unfortunately, that was where you largely drew the line. 

Being friends with Satoru was one thing, easily concealed from your parents. But dating him? That was something else entirely. It wasn’t like any relationship between the two of you could go anywhere, both of your families would exile you. Perhaps in the case of the Gojo clan, they’d even seek to kill you if Satoru didn’t comply with their desires. 

While you didn’t agree with the feud, you didn’t wish to be estranged from the family that had so lovingly raised you, and for that reason it was better that you and Satoru remained nothing more than friends. 

There were, of course, complications that quickly arose on that front. 

The thought of soulmates had largely fled your mind as you entered your third year of school. Again, if you’d been attentive, maybe you would’ve seen reality much faster. There was evidence in the way that you seemed to be the only person capable of bypassing Satoru’s infinity during training - a feat that you both brushed off too easily as a feature of your own technique rather than something deeper. 

But true, unquestionable evidence came round soon enough. 

Satoru and Suguru had been sent off on some mission, and had been gone for a couple of days. You’d been passing your time as normal, studying and enjoying the warm summer air. You’d been out having a picnic with Utahime when it happened. One moment the two of you were chatting away happily, the next your eyes were widening in sheer horror at the feeling of a knife jamming into your throat. 

In that moment, you’d fully believed that it was real, that there was a person behind you who had decided to put an end to your short life. You didn’t think about the why or how of the matter, hands raising to your neck desperately in an attempt to find the blade, only to discover nothing but thin air until your fingers brushed against your neck. 

There, you discovered a gaping hole, gushing with blood. There was just enough time for terror to course through you before you blacked out, dropping down onto the picnic mat before you, likely leaving Utahime traumatised for a significant portion of her life. 

You came to a few days later, with the physical evidence of the event shockingly absent. If you didn’t know better, it would almost feel like nothing had ever happened at all, but your heart certainly remembered, a deep anxiety sitting within you at the memory of the extreme injury, of the excruciating pain that you never wanted to experience again. 

Sitting at your bedside in a plastic chair, was Satoru. 

His hand was clutching yours tightly, and his head was resting on the side of your bed, white hair splayed out across the soft sheets. You wondered how long he’d been at your side, how he’d reacted when he’d found out what had happened to you. Your heart fluttered at the feeling of his warm fingers intertwined with yours, taking your mind off the horrors of your injury for a few minutes at least. 

The second that you shifted, he was sitting up, suddenly all attentive. There was something wild behind his blue eyes, a sort of panic that you weren’t accustomed to him wearing. “You’re awake- I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “This is my fault, I shouldn’t have let my guard down. I’m sorry.” 

“Huh?” your head was swimming, your body not quite caught up to the fact that you were awake, unable to understand the guilt written all over your friend’s face. 

“We- we were within the barriers, I’d thought that we were safe. That assassin, he came out of nowhere and I couldn’t defend myself. You must’ve been so scared, I’m sorry, I’ll never let that happen again.” 

Satoru’s words were going in one ear and out the other with no coherency. Why was he apologising for not being able to defend himself? What did that have to do with you? You could hardly remember what had happened for you to end up here, aware of the searing pain in your neck and then nothing. 

Had a curse user snuck in and attacked you? Had they attacked Satoru and then come for you? Was that why he was apologising? Had they been caught? 

“It looks like my RCT worked on you too though, I’m glad.” 

All the thoughts in your head dissipated as Satoru reached out for you, brushing his fingers softly against your neck. There was a flash of phantom pain quickly replaced by a soft tingling beneath his touch. You were surprised to find his hand skimming over your skin, no bandages in sight, as if there had been no wound at all. 

“What- what happened, Satoru?” You asked, figuring that trying to piece things together was a fool’s game when your head was pounding so hard.

Surprise flickered in his blue eyes for a moment, as if he thought that you were already with him in his explanation. “What do you remember?” He asked, slowly. 

“I was having lunch, and then there was this blinding pain in my neck, like someone stabbed me, and now I’m here.” That was genuinely all that you could recall, a wry smile drawing across your lips at the panic on Satoru’s face, as though he’d gotten thoroughly ahead of himself. 

“You- you don’t know?” 

“Know what?” 

“You weren’t stabbed. I was.” 

That statement didn’t quite sink in for the first few seconds, with your brain far too foggy to really understand what relevance it had to you. You were moments away from once again asking what the hell he was talking about when it clicked. 

He was stabbed and the wound replicated on you. 

The boy who’d had your heart beating erratically from the first moment you’d met, the same one who somehow found his way into every single one of your dreams. There was a reason that you thought of him in the way that you always had. 

A reason that you always yearned so deeply to be around him. 

He was your soulmate. Proven through your shared misery. Any wound of his was a wound of yours and vice versa. You had to count your lucky stars that Satoru was one of the strongest sorcerers around, that he was capable enough to learn to heal on the fly. Else you’d both be dead. 

“We’re…” You trailed off, mouth going dry before you could say the words.

“Soulmates,” he finished, with a giddy grin.

The first feeling that overcame you was pure elation, an unbelievable sense of happiness at the idea of being with Satoru like that, at the thought that the two of you were actually destined for each other. For a moment, you almost forgot yourself entirely, every inch of your body urging you to lean forward and kiss him. 

You’d dreamt about it enough times. 

But reason held you back. 

Satoru had always been somewhat forbidden fruit to you. Your family despised his, and had always given you strict instructions not to associate with him in any form. You’d ignored them, because why should they dictate your friendships, but when it came to the matter of something more you could see many potential issues. 

There was still a grin on Satoru’s face, but it had faltered ever so slightly. Bright blue eyes were darting around your face with a hint of anxiety, clearly trying to understand what was going through your head. 

“It's good, right? I mean, I like you, and I hope…” He trailed off uncertainly, taking a deep breath, as if he was scared that you were about to come out and call him repulsive or something of the like. 

“I like you too,” you said hastily, not wanting to leave him hanging. 

“But?” 

“But our families are going to kill us.” 

He laughed, shrugging his shoulders easily. “Remember, what they don’t know won’t hurt them!”

His lips crashed against yours, stealing the air from your lungs. It was your first kiss, the first of many that you’d share with Satoru. Kissing someone, kissing him was something that you’d imagined for a long time, fretting over your inexperience, terrified about the idea of being a bad kisser. 

And yet, it felt so easy with him. It was as if you’d been made for this very moment. You knew exactly what to do, moving your lips in tandem with his, letting him wrap his arms around you and pull you closer. 

Your life hadn’t been unhappy by any stretch of the imagination, but there’d always been a hollow feeling that you carried with you, like something was missing. With him, it felt like that gap was finally filled. 

Like you were meant to be. 

The remainder of your third year was spent in total bliss. Of course, you both had the sense to keep your relationship as secret as it could be, fully away of the attempts to divide you that would no doubt come from your families, but it didn’t make things any less fun by any means. 

If anything, the thrill of your union being secret just spurred both of you on more. 

Hands brushing beneath tables, eyes meeting for a fleeting moment across a busy room, secret rendezvous in your dorm room night after night, in which Satoru would climb in through the window with a goofy smile on his face, barely offering a greeting before kissing you silly. 

The two of you became each other’s first everything, placing complete trust in the other, which just felt so easy because even if you weren’t soulmates, your friendship over the last few years had been unrivalled. A gap that felt like it had always existed in your heart had been filled thoroughly by Satoru’s presence. 

No doubt existed in your mind that this was how things were meant to be, Satoru’s lips against yours, his hands brushing against your waist tenderly as he pulled you closer. Your ancestors were almost certainly rolling in their graves, but what did that matter when your heart yearned so deeply for the man that the universe had decided you were destined for?

Some dusty feud meant nothing in the face of true love. 

That was what you had believed for a time, at least. Until the illusion of what you had was well and truly shattered. 

Your graduation was mere days away, and everyone was busy with various responsibilities in the lead up to the ceremony. Both yours and Satoru’s clans would be coming to attend, and subsequently the two of you were doing your best to act like you didn’t know each other at all, save for soft little smiles you’d share when you thought that no one was looking. 

Oh, and except for the secret moments in which Satoru would pull you into an empty classroom, pressing you up against the wall and kissing you like his life depended on it, all amped up from the thrill of someone discovering you all tangled together with no explanation but the truth. 

The reality of discovery turned out to be less alluring than either of you had expected though, the two of you freezing as Yaga entered the room during one such moment, sweeping his gaze over you both before letting out a heavy sigh. “Satoru, your family are looking for you.” 

Confusion was written across both of your faces, expecting some level of comment regarding your condition, but finding none. 

“I’m…busy?” Satoru offered cautiously, not sure what to make of Yaga’s reaction. You had to hold back a snort at the bewilderment in his pretty blue eyes. 

“Clearly. But if you don’t want them to discover…this…” Yaga waved his hand in your general direction, as if unwilling to address it. “I’d suggest you appease them.” 

Satoru let out a heavy sigh, shooting you an apologetic smile before heading to the door. You moved to follow behind him, only for Yaga to step in your way. It was hard to make sense of his expression behind the sunglasses he’d always wear, but there seemed to be something akin to pity lining his face. 

“Just a moment. I think there’s something we should discuss.” 

Satoru shot a frown over his shoulder, clearly displeased with the development. Any protest that he might form was cut short by Yaga pushing the door to the classroom closed, shutting you off from your disgruntled boyfriend on the other side. 

“What?” You asked, rather defensively. You didn’t know how many moments together you and Satoru had left before the pressures of life would start to drag you apart, you didn’t particularly want to waste any of that time talking to your teacher. 

“You understand that it has to stop, don’t you?” 

For a second it felt like your heart had ceased its beating. You knew what he was referring to, of course you did, but you weren’t going to acknowledge that fact for even a second. You’d play dumb and force him to spell it out for you, because you weren’t going to concede to his statement without some element of a fight. 

“What has to-”

“You’re smarter than that,” he said, interrupting you swiftly. “This thing with Satoru, it was all fine while you were young but now…if you take this seriously it will only end in tragedy.” 

“What does it matter to you?” Once again, your tone was rude. You were pretty confident that if you were a teacher you wouldn’t be snooping around on the relationships of your students, that was just plain weird. 

“Do you value your life? Do you value Satoru’s?” 

You blinked at him. “Obviously.” 

“Then you need to stop.” 

Staring at him haplessly, you tried to understand what he could possibly mean by that. Satoru was quite possibly the strongest sorcerer alive, if your families were to find out and be displeased then that was their problem, there was nothing that they could do if it was Gojo Satoru they were up against - they’d just have to accept it. 

Even if the idea of being disowned wasn’t ideal to you, it would be worth it for Satoru. 

Sensing your confusion, Yaga let out another long sigh. “You’re soulmates, aren’t you?” 

Hesitating for a moment, you bit down on your lip. That wasn’t information that you’d shared with anyone outside of Shoko and Suguru. Even if others like Utahime were aware that the two of you were dating, you didn’t want everyone to know about the depth of the bond that you shared - it felt like it would be almost less sacred that way. 

“I’ve known since the incident with Fushiguro Toji,” He continued at your lack of response. “Others have had their suspicions too, but I’ve done my best to quell them. It does you no good for people to know.” 

“I don’t think it really matters, Satoru’s so strong he can-” 

“And you, are you strong?” 

“Huh?” 

“Tell me,” Yaga said, lowering his voice ever so slightly. “What has your clan done with previous bearers of Satoru’s technique?” 

“They’ve killed them, but, like I said, Satoru is too strong so-” 

Much to your annoyance, he cut you off once more. 

“Right. What do you think your clan will do, when they find out that you have a soul binding connection with him? What do you think they’ll do when they find out that through your sacrifice, they can kill Satoru?” 

Your lips parted ever so slightly, trying to formulate an argument that just wouldn’t come, because you’d been so swept up in your new love for Satoru that any issues that may arise seemed to just slip from your mind entirely. 

“In fact,” Yaga continued, “forget your clan. What do you think will happen when the world at large finds out about this connection? You’re right, Satoru can protect himself, but it won’t matter if he can be killed through you.” 

“I wouldn’t…” Your voice quivered ever so slightly, mind racing with the picture that Yaga was painting, the realisation of the weight that sat upon your shoulders truly starting to settle. He was right, you didn’t have something like Satoru’s infinity to protect you, and even if your soulmate would look after you most of the time, he couldn’t be at your side at all moments. 

You’d be responsible for both of your deaths. 

“If you love him, you need to put an end to this before anyone of import finds out about it. If you don’t, neither of you will even make it to twenty-five.”

In the days following your conversation with Yaga, you avoided Satoru as much as you could. It was easier than it would usually be with everything surrounding graduation and the fact that your families were constantly nearby. But one evening Satoru snuck into your room just like he always would, effectively cornering you. 

“You’ve been weird lately,” he said, straightforwardly. He’d flopped down on your bed, hand supporting his chin as he stared up at you. Your posture was riddled with anxiety, knees drawn up to your chest, nails digging into the palm of your hands in an attempt to calm yourself. 

You hadn’t slept well in days. 

“Just tired.” You responded on reflex, and he instantly pulled a face. 

“Liar.” 

“Satoru-” 

“What did Yaga say to you?” He asked, sitting up and stopping any spiel that you were about to summon in an attempt to placate him. 

“Nothing, I’m just-” 

“He said we needed to break up, didn’t he?” 

You nibbled on your lower lip, offering a small nod. There was a burning fire in his blue eyes that sparkled with the same resistance you’d initially shown Yaga, one that said he couldn’t care less what the consequences were, he wasn’t about to be torn from his soulmate, no matter what the world wanted to throw at him. 

“Fuck him. What does he know?” Satoru reached out for you gently, his hand cupping your face, a thumb gently swiping along the curve of your cheek. Goosebumps raised up on your skin at the action, a desperate electricity tingling through your veins at his mere touch. How Yaga expected you to live without that was beyond you. 

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips gently against yours, his tongue flicking against your lips tenderly, practically begging you for entrance. You parted your lips for him easily, letting him push you down onto the bed, the weight of his warm body on top of yours. It would be so easy to just sink into that lovely feeling of bliss that overtook you whenever you were at his side. 

But the little voice in the back of your head prevailed on this occasion. 

“I’ll get you killed.” Your voice was small as you pulled away, eyes a little watery as you stared up at him. He was so handsome that you almost wanted to take the words back, wanted to wipe that look of disbelief off his face. 

You would’ve done it if not for the fact that Yaga was right - if you loved him, and you did, you both had to stop. 

“You won’t.” His tone was dismissive, as if the mere insinuation was ridiculous. 

“I will. I’m not strong like you. If people find out about this they’ll start trying to kill me for the sake of killing you. It’ll all be my fault.” 

Satoru’s brows furrowed, his expression angrier than you’d ever seen it. “Don’t be dumb! I won’t let anything happen to you, you’re just letting Yaga fearmonger you.” 

“Satoru.” Your voice was quiet. “You can’t protect me all the time. All it takes is just one instant-” 

“What are you trying to say right now?” He pulled back from you, frustration and hurt straining his voice, blue eyes wide with anxiety. 

“I’m saying this has to end.” 

It was hard to not let your voice waver, an ache growing in your heart at the mess of emotions that flickered across your boyfriend’s handsome face. You could take it back, you could kiss him and pretend that the conversation never happened, that none of that stuff that Yaga said mattered. 

The problem was, it did matter. 

You loved Satoru, you loved him more than anything on this earth. He was your other half, the person who truly completed you. And for that reason you couldn’t give in, couldn’t spend every day at his side. 

Because you wanted him to live a long life, not one cut short because of your weakness. 

That wasn’t fair. 

“You don’t mean that.” Satoru said, his tone clipped. 

“I have to mean it. There’s no future for us but tragedy.” 

—

Over the next few years, you did everything you could to try to get over Satoru. You failed miserably - a reality that you’d largely been anticipating. You couldn’t simply forget a soulmate, the universe had dictated that you were made for one another, destined no matter what you tried to do. 

That meant that you spent half of your nights sobbing into your pillow, desperate for the warmth of Satoru’s body at your side. The thought of reaching for your phone and just calling him had crossed your mind on many an occasion, thwarted only by the rational side of you sternly refusing to give in to your desires. 

Satoru had become the head of the Gojo clan in the time that you were apart, which ultimately meant that he was the arbiter concerning the feud with your family. It didn’t make much difference, even if Satoru played nice with them, they still regarded him with the same hatred as usual. 

You imagined that Satoru’s attempts at offering an olive branch were for your sake, a dwindling hope that maybe you could be together if your families weren’t at odds. Such rifts were, unfortunately, too deep to mend. 

The next time that you and Satoru actually crossed paths, you were both twenty-three. You’d been assigned a mission involving the elimination of some curse-users, which had grown infinitely more complex the more intel you’d gathered on the matter. Subsequently, a special grade sorcerer was put on the case.

Both Yuki and Suguru were preoccupied with other matters, and that meant that the only person left was Satoru. 

It was how the two of you ended up awkwardly sitting in the living room of a tiny apartment, trying to figure out what to say to each other while you staked out some curse users that you couldn’t care less about when the man you loved was sitting right across from you. 

Time had treated Satoru well. He was a little bulkier than he’d been at high school, his hair slightly more respectable than the unkept look he’d had at eighteen. The look in his blue eyes was a little sharper, more controlled than the wild edge that they’d previously held. But he was still unquestionably himself, his mere presence wrapping around you like a warm blanket. 

You were grateful that you hadn’t had to cross paths with him much over the last five years, because there wasn’t a chance in hell that you’d be able to resist him forever, not when his mere scent was intoxicating to you, despite him being sat several metres away. 

“So…uh…I wonder how long this will take.” You cleared your throat awkwardly, and Satoru stared at you incredulously. 

“Really?” He asked, in disbelief. “That’s the line you’re going with?” 

Rolling your eyes, you shrugged. “I don’t- what would you have started with?” 

His lips curved up into a smile at your reaction. “Maybe a: hey, how have you been? Have you missed me? Something to that effect, I don’t know.” 

“Feels redundant,” you mumbled. Of course you’d missed each other, you’d been practically engineered to feel that way. 

“Still figured you’d want to hear me say it.” 

“If I hear you say it, all of the work that I put into coping without you for the last five years would go to waste.” There was no point in being anything but honest with him, your heart was battering against your ribs, the sound of his voice even more lovely than you’d remembered it. If he were to kiss you right now, there was a certainty in your mind that you wouldn’t be able to push him away. 

It was true that distance made the heart grow fonder, and your skin was practically itching for his hands to hold you once more. Consequences be damned. 

That outlook was foolish, dangerous even, and you both knew it. Even if Satoru had been disgruntled at your break up, you knew that he was smart enough to understand why, even if he’d disagreed with you. It was why he’d stayed far away from you over the last few years, eager to grant you your wish.

He’d worked just as hard as you had to keep temptation from even brushing your periphery. 

Rightfully so, considering that mere minutes alone in a room with him already had you unravelling. Your desire for him was more palpable than it had been back at school, as if your love had matured along with you. The space between your thighs was growing wetter with each passing second, skin prickling with electricity.

He gave you a bright smile, blue eyes narrowing deviously. “I missed you,” he stated, matter-of-factly, seemingly conscious of the way that his words seemed to grip your heart, squeezing it desperately. “I missed you more than you can imagine.” 

“I think I can imagine it.” 

“I don’t think so.” He leant forward, resting his chin on his hand in that lazy way that was characteristically him. “You have no idea how many nights I pictured you, imagining you on top of me, looking all angelic like you do. I wanted you to be the one stroking my-” 

“Stop,” you interrupted him quickly with a groan, not needing to hear the end of that sentence. His cock was the last thing that you needed to be thinking about right now, even if you did desperately want to feel it inside you again. 

The two of you had only made love a couple of times in your life, despite dating throughout most of your third year at high school. It was because you hadn’t felt ready until fairly far into your relationship, and relatively soon after you had started having sex, the whole thing with Yaga happened and everything stopped. 

It had made you wish that you’d agreed to make love earlier on in the span of your relationship, that way you could’ve done it more times. It would’ve given you more a reference point to pine over on the days when you really missed him. 

You hadn’t had sex with anyone since him. You probably never would. The idea that anyone could replace Satoru in your mind was laughable. It would always be him, even if you couldn’t actually be together. There was a jealous side of you that questioned whether he’d slept with anyone else in the time you’d been apart. You really hoped not. 

“Do you really want me to stop?” Satoru asked, rising from his chair and walking slowly across the room before stopping right before you. “Because you sure are blushing.” 

What did he really want you to say to that? Of course you didn’t want him to stop, you needed him to. But that wasn’t the question he was asking. 

“Satoru-” 

“I think about that day a lot, you know,” he interjected, “the day that you told me this needed to end. Back then all I could do was get upset, couldn’t think of a way to reason with you that what you were doing was wrong.” 

“Do you have one now?” You asked, your question coming out as a whisper, barely daring to hope that there was some glimmer of light at the end of this tunnel, a way that you could ease your heartache without tragedy for you both. 

“I think so.” 

You tilted your head, waiting for him to continue. 

“We’re literally soulmates,” he said, as if that cleared things up. 

“Yeah?” You prompted, assuming there was more to that statement. 

“The universe destined us for each other, who are we to go against the universe? That’s just ridiculous.” 

You laughed softly, shaking your head at his optimism. “Be that as it may, nothing has changed Satoru. If we give in, we’ll be met with tragedy.”

“Then we’ll just keep it a secret,” he said, easily. 

You rolled your eyes, infuriated that you’d believed he had any actual plan. Keeping things a secret was the first solution you’d thought of, far from a revolutionary concept. It wasn’t a sustainable option. 

“That won’t work.” 

“We’ll make it work.” 

“Satoru, that’s not-” 

“Are you happy?” His words cut through you like a knife, his blue gaze unwavering as he met your wide eyes. 

He’d struck his target with excellent precision, your mind swimming with hurt at the effectiveness of his comment. You weren’t happy, you hadn’t been happy in years. Without him, it was like the world around you was sucked of its colour, his absence leaving a deep ache in your chest right where your heart should be. 

“It doesn’t matter.” You said carefully, and he shook his head with a snort. 

“So that’s a no then.” 

“Please, stop-” 

“I’d take the risk of dying early if my life, however short, was spent with you.” 

His words stunned you into silence, your lips parted in shock, incapable of coming up with any sort of rebuttal for a statement like that. As much as you wanted to stand your ground, to point out that there was more to life than your romance alone, you knew that your words would be unconvincing. You didn’t even believe that yourself. 

Having Satoru at your side was all that you wanted out of life, you’d be lying if you said otherwise. 

Satoru was studying your face carefully, eyes darting around your features in an attempt to read your reaction amongst the silence you were currently offering him. Clearly, he found something that emboldened him, reaching out slowly and caressing your face before closing the gap, lips brushing tentatively against yours. 

There was a moment of hesitation, a desperate fight in your head where your conscience screamed at you to pull away, only for the voice to be drowned out by a static of pure devotion for the man before you. 

Forget the sensible option. Why deny yourself everything you’d ever desired? 

Satoru pulled you closer to him at the feeling of you kissing him back with fervour, sighing softly into the kiss as he mapped out your lips once more, eager to relearn the feeling of you in the same way that he once had. 

In the heat of the entanglement, the two of you entirely forgot the reason that you were in this situation in the first place, any attempts at staking out the curse users completely forgotten in favor of giving in to five years of absence. Failing your mission was the least of your worries, certain that Satoru would take the fall and make some excuse on your behalf anyway. 

Dealing with that could wait. 

Your soulmate had you on the bed, kissing and worshipping every bare inch of your skin as he peeled off each layer of clothing you donned, leaving endless love bites in his wake, marking you as indisputably his. 

He held you still as he moved between your thighs, lips moving to your pussy and eating you out like a man starved, refusing to let up even as you were wriggling beneath him from the overstimulation, tugging desperately at his soft hair as you unravelled on his tongue with such ease. 

When he finally pushed into you, he tugged you as close as physically possible, his arms wrapping snugly around your torso, your chests pressed flush together as he sank as deep as he could into your warmth. The movement of his hips was slow and languid, fucking you with a passion that had you swooning. 

All the while you clung to him, nails raking down his back with each deep thrust, soft little whimpers of his name falling from your lips. It felt better than any time you’d done this before, laced with a level of intimacy that could only be created through years of yearning. 

“I love you.” He mumbled against the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with gentle kisses, his voice a little raspy. “You’re mine.” 

You were his, for better or for worse. 

The two of you came together, bodies shuddering with pleasure at the euphoric feeling of release. Satoru kept you tucked snugly in his arms, kissing your hair lovingly for a long time afterwards, until you came to the realisation that you were in the middle of a mission and couldn’t afford to fall asleep together. 

Even if that was your desire in the moment. 

There was nothing more lovely than being tucked up at Satoru’s side. 

—

Your next few months weren’t unlike those that you’d spent at Satoru’s side in high school. Secret rendezvous and stolen kisses, pretending to hardly know each other in public whilst being all over each other in private. 

It was fortunate that you’d moved away from your family home once you’d entered adulthood, eager for a little bit of space and independence from your clan. It meant that you didn’t have to justify where you were going all the time, or figure out a place where you and Satoru could be together without prying eyes. 

For the most part, Satoru practically lived in your apartment, spending each night snuggled up with you in your bed, the two of you finding enjoyment in the most mundane things. It felt like a blessing to be able to spend time alone together doing anything, you didn’t need fancy meals or outings, all you really wanted was to be with him. 

In the time that you got to spend at his side, your cheeks were in constant pain from smiling so much, the world lit up with a bright array of colours only visible when he was with you. There was nothing in the world that you were more grateful for than waking up with him there beside you each morning, golden light illuminating his drool-laden face. 

The peace that the two of you had found lulled you both into a false sense of security, believing that it would be easier than you’d ever imagined to keep your union secret. This unintentional arrogance, the inability to see anything beyond how happy you both made each other, ultimately became your undoing. 

Satoru wasn’t a man without enemies, and as he approached twenty-five he’d already reached an insane level of notoriety among jujutsu society. He was hailed as the strongest sorcerer of your generation, and subsequently, had a major target painted on his back. There had been plenty of attempts on his life, from curse users and other sorcerers, including your family. 

For the most part, no such attempts meant anything to him. There wasn’t anyone alive who could compare to his skill. No one could touch him. 

It was just unfortunate that one day a particularly skilled assassin witnessed him entering your apartment. Elated that Satoru might have someone he was attached to, someone that they could hold hostage in exchange for certain conditions, the assassin and his partner took advantage of their knowledge and broke into your home one night.

Stealth was their specialty, and they’d grabbed you before Satoru could do anything, holding a knife to your throat. You were never in any mortal danger, not with your soulmate’s quick realisation of your stress, leaping to action immediately. 

The real issue arose from the light line that the man drew with his blade across your throat. 

Blood beaded up on your skin immediately at the shallow cut, a small whimper leaving your lips, and panic gripping your body at the sight of the mirrored mark manifesting on Satoru’s neck. You prayed your attacker wouldn’t see it, but it was wishful thinking. The assassin’s eyes gleamed at the sight, the realisation stark on their face. 

They were dead before they could act on it, blown apart by Satoru’s technique. 

You’d relaxed then, covered in the man’s blood as Satoru cradled you, his forehead resting against yours as he mumbled apologies. You were both too shaken to notice that the assassin hadn’t been alone, that he had an accomplice waiting outside your window, watching the whole scene unfold. 

He’d been ready to assist his friend, but it was a fool’s game as long as Satoru was awake and aware. Besides, what he’d learned from the scene was worth far more to him than making an attempt on your soulmate’s life. 

Because he knew something that would shake his employer’s whole world. 

It wasn’t unusual for you to visit your clan every now and then, and it was a pleasant afternoon in spring when you stopped by to have lunch with your parents, who had been pestering you about coming to visit for a while. 

There was something uncomfortable about seeing them knowing that you spent your nights tangled up with Satoru, but you did your best to separate your thoughts from the sin that you were committing in your family’s eyes. It was important that you acted normally with them - they were your flesh and blood after all, not everything had to revolve around the feud. 

Who you were dating shouldn’t be of importance. 

That afternoon in particular felt uniquely awkward. Conversation was stilted, and there was a tremble to your mother’s hand every time she passed you a plate. Your father’s questions seemed oddly formal and impersonal, and it struck you as strange that halfway through lunch, a handful of your extended family popped in to join. 

You brushed it off at first, assuming that perhaps your absence over the last few months had made things awkward, or that they maybe had some bad news to share that they were struggling to articulate. Perhaps someone had died or something and they didn’t want to say it outright for fear of upsetting you. 

There were a million explanations for a strange vibe. It wasn’t something to stress over. 

An explanation for the atmosphere only came at the very end of your lunch, once plates had been cleared and there was nothing to distract from addressing the matter that they’d invited you home to discuss. 

“Gojo Satoru.” Your father said out of the blue, catching you off guard. His face was sickly pale, sweat dripping down his brow, clearly agonising over what would come next. 

You tilted your head dumbly. “What about him?” 

“We tried to kill him a few weeks ago.” 

“Any success?” You immediately winced at your instinctive response - that was playing it a little too dumb. Because even if you weren’t seeing Satoru at your apartment each night, the whole of jujutsu society would be aware if he’d died - it would be the most prominent piece of gossip for months.  

“No. Of course not.” Your grandfather interjected, clearly disgruntled with the pace of the conversation. “We did uncover something rather interesting though.” 

He made a gesture in the direction of your mother, as if giving her the grounds to speak, and you sucked in an anxious breath. Your mother shot you a sympathetic look before rummaging in her bag and sliding an envelope across the table. Everyone’s eyes were on you, waiting for you to open it up. 

You didn’t know exactly what would be waiting for you inside, but you had a pretty good guess. 

With shaky hands, you opened up the envelope, trying not to react at the sight of an image taken from outside your bedroom window, peering into your ground-floor apartment. You and Satoru were locked in an embrace, the assassin that your soulmate had killed was dead on the floor beside you. 

Clearly visible in the image were the matching trails of blood that lined both yours and Satoru’s necks.

Your brain was already working as fast as it could, trying to come up with some explanation for this, some lie that would disarm your family. If you couldn’t come up with something believable, then the bliss that you’d found with Satoru would crumble, and that was the last thing you wanted. 

“You’re soulmates,” your grandfather stated matter-of-factly, after a long stretch of silence. 

“No,” you said on reflex, as if that would be enough to overturn the evidence laid out in front of you. “They’re photoshopped.” 

One of your uncles let out a laugh, earning him a strict glare from your grandfather, clearly unamused by your attempts to lie. “We’d hoped there was an explanation, so we had you followed for a few weeks. We have evidence of him entering your apartment on numerous occasions.” 

You bit down on your lip, thinking carefully for a moment before speaking once more. “Okay, so we are dating, but we’re not soulmates. I just didn’t want you guys to know because…you know…” 

“It would do you good to stop lying, sweetheart.” Your father’s voice was even, his brows drawn together in concern. “One of the assassins saw the whole thing. No one has seen him bleed in years, and yet there was blood on him, plain as day, after you were attacked.” 

Gulping, you glanced around the room, hoping to find someone who would take pity on your circumstance and help you escape the pit that you’d fallen into. You were met with only judgement and disappointment, turning over the idea in your head that you should make a run for it instead. 

The concept wasn’t all that appealing, because you were far from the strongest sorcerer in the room, and if they wanted to subdue you, they could do so with little effort. 

“How long have you known?” Your grandfather asked. 

Should you lie? You weren’t sure how much angrier they’d be if they were aware that you’d known since you were in high school and had refused to tell them. It was probably better if they assumed that you’d only found out recently. 

“Just for a few months.” 

“Sweetheart, tell the truth.” Your father seemed greatly exasperated. “We all know about the time he almost died thanks to that Zenin boy. It was an attack that lined up suspiciously well with your own injury.” 

Yaga had covered up the situation well at the time, claiming that you’d been sent out on a solo mission in which you’d received a non-fatal wound. He’d made sure to dismiss any association between your circumstances and what had happened to Satoru. But evidently with this latest information, your family had spent some time connecting the dots. 

“Have you been sneaking around since then?” Your mother asked. “Is that why you always refuse the marriage prospects we present to you?” 

“No. Only for the last few months.” This time it genuinely wasn’t a lie, and you hoped that they could understand that. 

The skepticism in your grandfather’s eyes said otherwise. 

“Do you understand what an embarrassment this is?” He asked. “A granddaughter of mine, choosing to lie with someone from that clan? It's disgusting. Thank god your union is yet to bring forth any offspring - what an abomination they’d be.”

You had to bite down on your tongue to avoid snapping back at him. Any children that you had with Satoru would likely be as lovely as their father, but your clan would hear nothing of the sort. Any attempt to point out that the feud was archaic and meaningless would do nothing but harm to you. 

It seemed like the silence that followed your grandfather’s statement was a prompt for you to apologise, but you’d do no such thing. To you, there was no embarrassment. Satoru had been nothing but good to you, and you wouldn’t forsake your love for him because of some external pressure. 

“Its not like she can help it,” your father said quietly. “Soulmates are a divine thing, she had no choice in loving him.” 

Your heart picked up ever so slightly, grateful for the smallest hint of a defence, only for your hopes to be thoroughly dashed at his following sentence. 

“Besides, remember what we discussed? The connection is a blessing in disguise.” 

Reeling back in your chair, you glanced nervously around the room once more, the implication of his statement hanging heavy. This had been what Yaga had warned you of all those years ago, but a part of you had always believed that your clan held too much affection for you to really act in the way he’d suggested. 

Perhaps you’d misjudged them. 

“Indeed.” Your grandfather’s voice boomed across the room. “You’ve had a lapse in judgement, but you can still do what’s right. This is an opportunity that we haven’t had in decades. We can finally gain a significant foothold of power over their clan.” 

“How?” You weren’t sure why you were asking, you knew what the answer was going to be. Perhaps it was that naive hope that there was some other, less lethal solution than the one that had immediately come to mind. 

Unfortunately, no such alternative was offered. 

“Though your sacrifice,” he said plainly. “Go peacefully into the afterlife and make this family proud after all the dishonor you’ve brought upon us. Become legend within our clan, for you’d be one of few to put a six-eyes to death.” 

There was no point in arguing, no point in wasting a single second more in this room. It wasn’t your own life that concerned you, but Satoru’s. You weren’t about to bow in the manner that they wanted.

You were on your feet in an instant, making a bolt for the door. You’d barely made it five steps before you were tackled by one of your cousins, a hard blow to the head knocking you out cold. 

In retrospect, you supposed they could’ve killed you right there and then. It would’ve been the quickest and easiest option, the most-straightforward way to assure that Satoru perished in the manner that they desired. For some reason, most likely due to a level of sentimentality, they locked you up in a room instead.

It was likely that your parents had something to do with that. You could picture them begging your grandfather not to put you down immediately, to ensure that there was some level of ceremony to go along with your sacrifice, an opportunity for them to properly say goodbye to you. 

They didn’t see it as fair or befitting for you to be killed on some random afternoon in a poxy little room following a mediocre lunch. Even if you were a disappointment to their clan, you deserved more than that. 

So it was decided. Two weeks from now, on the full moon, there would be a great feast and celebration amongst your clan. And once midnight struck, you would be beheaded for the sake of eliminating Gojo Satoru. It would be painless and respectable, the type of death that any proud clan member should be proud to experience if it was for the sake of their family. 

One that you dreaded. 

You spent two weeks chained up to a waterpipe in a poxy little room that your family seldom used, anxiety swirling in your chest as you thought about Satoru, wondering where he was, wishing above all else that there was a way that he could be saved from the fate that you were about to receive. 

Yaga was right, you would only bring tragedy upon both of you. 

If you were strong like Satoru you’d both be safe, you’d be free to live out life in whichever way you pleased. It was your weakness that was failing both of you. 

How unfair. 

The night of your execution came around, and you were dragged into the hall that your clan used for large events. Food was forced down your throat, despite the fact that the urge to vomit was growing within you with each passing second. Family members approached you, gushing about how what you were doing was just so great as if you had any choice in the matter. 

Meanwhile, it felt like your heart was splitting in two, desperately calling out for Satoru. You hadn’t told him where you were going the day you’d gone to have lunch with your family, in his mind you could be anywhere. There was no doubt in your mind that your clan had kept matters quiet, unwilling to alert Satoru of your location. 

Perhaps he might’ve gotten something of a clue by the blunt force trauma that you’d received when trying to escape. You could only assume that he’d been knocked out for a time too. Hopefully he’d been somewhere safe when that happened. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Your mother had come to sit next to you, pulling you from your thoughts. “I know this feels unfair, but it's best for everyone.” 

“Is it?” You asked. 

“It is. We need to rid the world of those devils. You know that.” 

You shook your head with a scoff, trying not to laugh in her face. 

“Satoru is kind. Did you know that? He’s just a man, and he’d never do anything to hurt this clan. The feud is meaningless to him.” 

“You just don’t get it, honey. You’re too young and lovestruck to realise what he is.” 

“And you’re too blinded by hatred.” You snapped back. There was no point in hiding behind a mask of politeness anymore. They were going to execute you whether you were kind or not, apparently that was your duty. 

“He could kill us all with no effort.” Your grandfather, who had been watching from a couple of seats away, interjected. “Do you understand what he's capable of? He might be enamoured enough with you to treat you with kindness, but that same offer will not extend to us. It never does with that family.” 

You kept your mouth shut after that. 

There was no merit to pointing out that most scuffles had been caused by your clan and not theirs, or the fact that the Gojo clan had been dwindling in numbers so significantly over the years that they didn’t pose a threat at all outside of Satoru - who couldn’t care less about the feud. 

Everyone was too caught up in their own old ways of thinking, and too convinced that you’d brought dishonor upon their household. There was no chance of changing anyone's mind, so why waste your breath? 

As the banquet drew to a close, and they led you out into the courtyard, the night sky alight with stars, you wondered if you were the first person in your clan to fall in love with a Gojo. Were there soulmates transcending the rift before the two of you? Did they face the same fate that you were about to meet? 

Somehow the thought offered you a certain amount of comfort as you were shoved down onto your knees atop a white sheet. It was there to make the clean up easier, you supposed. God forbid they stain the garden with your blood. 

You wondered what Satoru was doing. Was he out there desperately searching for you, aware that you had to be alive but fearful of how long it would stay that way? Was his fear born out of worry for you, or was he more terrified at the idea that his own life was in total peril and he had no control over it at all? 

Even if your death was inevitable, even if this was fate playing out in the way that it was supposed to, you wished that you could apologise to him. You loved him, loved being his soulmate, but if you could make one wish in that moment, it would be for that bond to sever. 

He deserved to live a long and happy life, one unhampered by your weakness and your clan's inane hatred of his very existence. 

He deserved better than the fate you were providing him. 

Your grandfather stood over you, drawing his sword from its scabbard with practiced precision. You weren’t surprised that he was the one taking on the task. As the oldest member of the family, he held the strongest views on upholding tradition and the duty that everyone should be displaying where family were involved. 

It was likely that he also just had the strongest stomach for something like this. Killing a member of the clan, traitor or otherwise, would weigh heavy on many others in your family. Your grandfather had always been good at doing the hard things in life. 

Whether he considered this one of them, you weren’t particularly sure. Perhaps he was overjoyed to put down such an immense disappointment. 

“Any last words?” He asked, staring down at you. You’d already bowed your head in anticipation. This was going to happen whether you liked it or not, any attempt to struggle would ultimately make the death more painful for you. 

Perhaps you should’ve stayed silent, given them nothing, but that didn’t feel quite right. If you had a moment to speak, then you’d at least give them something that might haunt their actions. 

“You shouldn’t hold hatred in your hearts. It has turned you ugly.” You kept your voice as even as possible, eyes fixed on the floor. 

“You know little of the world.” Your grandfather stated, unphased. “But we thank you for your sacrifice all the same.” 

Drawing in a steadying breath, you squeezed your eyes shut. Thoughts of Satoru flooded your mind, comforting visions of him at your side, holding you tight, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you fell asleep in his arms. Perhaps there was life after death, and you would go there together. 

There might be a world better than this one, a place where you could be his with no barriers to your union. Even if you wished you could’ve had it in this life instead. 

A rush of air brushed against the nape of your neck as your grandfather swung his sword, your mind peacefully drifting off somewhere else, in total acceptance of your circumstances. 

But a second passed, and then another, and another. Your head was still firmly attached to your body. Experimentally, you cracked on eye open, finding yourself in the same position as before, knelt down on that white sheet. The difference this time was that it wasn’t your grandfather who was standing over you. 

Satoru’s face was splattered with blood, breathing heavily as he stared down at you, paying little mind to the old man crumpled on the floor beside you, his bones bent unnaturally and his sword shattered into pieces. 

“Satoru…” You breathed softly, eyes wide. You’d never seen him like this before, the look on his face completely serious. There was a flicker of soft affection in his eyes as he glanced over at you, but it was clear that he had no intention of breaking his facade as long as you weren’t safe from this situation. 

“Do you want me to kill them?” Satoru asked flatly, gaze sweeping over the remainder of your clan, most of whom looked terrified. You couldn’t really blame them, he was the strongest sorcerer out there, not a single one of them stood a chance against him.

Their only option would be to use you, and right now, Satoru was standing protectively in front of your shaking form. 

“I- I don’t know.” You stumbled over your words. 

Despite the attempt to execute you, there was a hesitance where it came to letting Satoru wreak havoc upon them. They were still your family, still the people who had raised you with so much care. All of this insanity was a result of years of conditioning to hate Satoru and everyone else like him. 

You genuinely believed that they didn’t know better. 

Did that mean they deserved to live though? None of them hesitated when it came to killing you. There was no guarantee, if you let them live, that they wouldn’t try something like this again in the future. 

Besides, Satoru had killed your grandfather already. You were sure that alone would stoke their flames of hatred even further. 

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his white hair, brows creasing as he seemed to give it some thought. Your family found their words first, with your father taking a shaky step forward and pointing an accusatory finger at your soulmate. “See, he comes in here and instantly kills one of us! Threatens to kill us all! This is why we need him dead!” 

Satoru rolled his eyes. “Really? You were about to kill my soulmate. What else did you want me to do? Let it happen?” 

He took a few steps towards the crowd, putting himself firmly between you and them. They flinched back in fear as he approached, but he seemed unbothered, moving until he was towering over your father. 

“I’d never have come here, I’d never have laid a hand on any of you. Until you tried to take her from me. I don’t care if you want to live some ugly, bitter life because of some distant feud, I don’t care if you want to send assassins after me. But you don’t lay a single hand on her - that, I won’t abide by.” Satoru’s tone was uncharacteristically cold, and it had you shivering despite not being the intended recipient. 

You could only imagine how your father must feel. 

“And we’re just supposed to believe you?” Your mother asked, her tone shrill. 

Satoru tilted his head to look at her, disbelief in his expression. “I don’t care about some dusty old feud, and you shouldn’t either.”

“I told you, mother.” You called out shakily. “Satoru isn’t interested in causing us harm.” 

“The words of a traitor mean little.” Your mother responded harshly. You took in a sharp breath, trying not to let the words wound you. You didn’t want to be seen as a traitor to your family, and had never considered yourself one. 

It was no crime to fall in love. 

Satoru laughed, earning a few confused glances from your family. “Forget it.” He turned back to you, eyes a little wild. “What do you wanna do, baby?” 

The insinuation hung in the air once more, and you turned it over in your mind for a few seconds before standing up on shaky feet. Seeing your grandfather on the floor was more than enough bloodshed for you. What was the point in massacring the rest of your family? It might feel good in the moment, but the guilt would haunt you forever. 

You’d be the bigger person. 

“Consider me an outcast.” You said, eyes flicking between your mother and father. “I no longer want anything to do with this clan. Come after either of us again, and I’ll send him here to do the very thing that you live in fear of.” 

A giddy grin made its way onto Satoru’s face, one that was sufficiently insane to get your message across. “I’ll do it, I’ll kill all of you. If you so much as touch her ever again.” 

There was no response to that, no bold quip from your father. They’d wanted Satoru dead because they knew that he was capable of that and more. Up to this point, they’d drawn none of his ire, they were free to live in peace. But now the threat was desperately real, the consequences of their actions finally catching up with them. 

Content with their compliance, Satoru approached you. He crouched down for a moment, hands tenderly brushing your face, studying you, as if checking for injury. It was almost an amusing exchange, and you had to bite your tongue to keep yourself from pointing out that if you were injured, he’d know about it already. 

But the action was tender and loving all the same, and you revelled in the feeling of his hands on you. 

“Are you okay?” He whispered softly, quiet enough for the words to remain between the two of you, safe from the prying ears of your family.

“Better now you’re here.” 

He smiled, letting out a deep breath. “Good. Let's get out of here.” 

Pulling his hands away from your face, he slid his arms beneath you and picked you up like you weighed nothing. He held you close to his chest, blue eyes surveying your family once more as he turned to face them. 

“You guys going to let me through, or are we going to have a problem?” 

There were a few awkward looks exchanged, before the crowd finally parted. They wouldn’t do anything to provoke him now, they knew better than that. Even if their hatred was burning stronger than ever in their hearts, vindicated by your soulmate's actions today, they understood that Satoru could slaughter all of them with little issue if he chose to. 

It just wasn’t worth it. 

“Thank you,” he said in a sing-song tone as he stepped past them. You buried your face into his chest, eager to avoid seeing the disappointed looks on the faces of your family. Despite his outwardly easy demeanor, you could feel Satoru’s heartbeat racing in his chest. You wondered if his anxiety was just as high as yours was. 

You almost couldn’t believe it when the two of you stepped out of the compound, swiftly making it to Satoru’s car which was parked down the road. He placed you gently into the passenger seat, strapping you in before speeding away as fast as he was willing to go on the country roads leading to your family home. 

His hand was resting on your thigh, squeezing ever so slightly. It was if the contact was reassuring him that you were actually there, that you weren’t going to slip from his grasp as long as he was touching you. 

“I wanted to kill them.” He said, blue eyes fixed on the road. “I know you didn’t want me to, but…”

“It would haunt me,” you said honestly. “Besides, unless you were planning on killing all my baby cousins, the stupid feud and cycle of hatred would just continue. I don’t want any part of that.” 

He hummed. You weren’t sure what to make of it, weren’t clear whether he’d have wiped out your whole clan there and then, innocent or not. Not that there was any point lingering on it - he’d always put your desires first, had gone against his own wants to make sure that you were happy. 

“I think they’ll continue the feud anyway. I’m sure there’ll be no forgiveness for what I did to that old man.” He seemed unbothered by that fact, unsurprising considering that your family had been trying to kill him his whole life anyway. “I think we need to move you out of your apartment, I need a way of keeping you safe.” 

You nodded in agreement, even if your mind was racing with worries surrounding how you were supposed to do that. The cat was out of the bag, and Satoru couldn’t hover at your side for every second of every day. 

“We can move you to my estate.”

Recoiling, you shot him an incredulous look. “Are you joking?” 

“No?” 

“How would that be any different than where I just came from? I’m from the clan that you guys despise.” 

Satoru rolled his eyes. “Firstly, I’m literally the head of my clan so what I say goes. Secondly, I don’t have a big clan like you do, most of my family were old when I was a kid and now there’s hardly anyone left to uphold tradition. Thirdly, you don’t belong to your clan anymore in any capacity, you’re mine, so for all intents and purposes, let's just say you’re a Gojo.” 

You stared at him for a while as you tried to take all of that in. “I can’t just take your name.” 

“Then we’ll get married and it can be official.” He batted back your protest with a simple shrug of his shoulders, like proposing marriage was no big deal, something that the two of you would obviously do together. 

“Are- are you asking me to marry you?” 

“Baby, I would’ve married you at seventeen, the moment I found out we were soulmates.” 

You giggled incredulously. “That would’ve been poorly thought out.” 

“Would it?” He glanced over at you seriously. You watched the way his hands tightened on the steering wheel, pulling over to the side of the road and shutting off the engine so that he could give you his full attention. “You’re my soulmate, I know that I’ll never want anyone but you.” 

“O-oh.” You flushed a deep shade of red, caught off guard by the deep sincerity in his voice. After weeks of stress and anxiety, it felt strange to be treated with such tenderness. You could hardly believe that he was really here, back at your side once more. 

“I can get you a ring or something and do this properly, but what I’m trying to say is: it doesn’t matter if your own family has forsaken you, because you can be part of mine.”

Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, beating so fast that it risked outright escape, making an attempt to jump straight out of your throat. You’d loved Satoru since you were seven years old, even if you hadn’t known it then. Looking at him now, in all his beauty, you could hardly believe that he was yours. Even through all the tragedy, against all odds, you were here together. 

“I’d like that.” Your voice came out as a whisper, but Satoru heard it all the same. 

“I’m glad.” His breath was hot against your lips as he leant over the centre console, his nose brushing tenderly against yours for just a moment before rewarding you with a slow and passionate kiss, one that had your whole world spinning - not unlike the first time you’d done this many years ago. 

“I’m yours,” you asserted as he pulled away, lashes fluttering. 

He beamed, cerulean eyes filled with a deep affection. “You are. Now and forever.”

if you'd like to cause yourself emotional pain, I've now written an angsty follow up to this fic here!!

a/n: I've been focussing on this fic for agessss because writing gojo does not come naturally to me!! I promise I'll go back to what I know and give you more sukuna soon (I swear I will have a new sweet tooth chapter imminently)

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are appreciated as always <3

© sukunahs

[tays-writing]

If you were sober | part 1

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Satoru has spent years wanting you from afar, quietly enduring every mention of your boyfriend and pretending it doesn’t bother him. Then, one drunken night leaves you in his care, looking at him a little too fondly, touching him a little too gently, and saying all the things he’s spent years wishing were true.

Fic Tags: angst (with happy ending), friends to lovers, miscomunication, unspoken feelings, denial of feelings. Fluff and smut. Satoru is down BAD.

cr: _3aem

The party had gotten out of hand, as usual.

Gojo had spent most of the night doing what he always did—charming everyone without even trying. A few girls had gravitated toward him almost immediately, laughing a little too hard at his jokes, accepting drinks he barely remembered ordering, hanging on every lazy smile he threw their way. From the outside, he looked completely entertained.

In reality, he hadn’t stopped keeping track of you all night.

You were supposed to be there with Kyo. Instead, you had shown up alone after yet another last-minute excuse from your boyfriend. Gojo didn’t comment on it. He simply watched you from across the room as you nursed a drink. Then another. Then a third. By two in the morning, your laugh had grown brighter, your movements looser, and your balance slightly questionable.

The moment he saw you nearly miss the stairs, he was already moving.

“Alright,” he said, sliding a steady hand to your lower back. “Party’s over for you.”

You looked up at him with an exaggerated pout, eyes glassy.

“Already?”

A few minutes later he was guiding you out, your weight leaning warmly against him.

He lifted his gaze briefly toward Suguru across the room.

“I’m taking her home” Gojo said over the music to his friend.

Suguru’s mouth curved into something knowing, almost amused, before he nodded.

A few eyes followed you as you passed, some curious, some less friendly, but he didn’t care enough to acknowledge any of them.

Inside his car the city lights slid across your face in soft orange and white streaks. The radio played low. For several minutes silence stretched between you, comfortable yet heavy. Until he realized you hadn’t stopped staring at him.

“Something on my face?” he asked lightly, eyes fixed on the road.

You kept looking.

“No,” you said after a pause. “You’re just really pretty.”

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

The alcohol was talking. Sober you would never say that. Still, the words sank into him like warm knives.

“Yeah?” He tried for his usual teasing tone. “And here I thought you were finally developing vision problems.”

You frowned, as if he had completely missed the point.

“I’m serious.” Your voice was soft, almost reverent. “You’re too beautiful to be real sometimes.”

For a second the road blurred. His chest felt painfully tight. He had imagined hearing those words so many times—late at night, when he let himself be weak and stupid and hopeful. When he allowed himself to want what belonged to someone else.

“You had too much to drink,” he murmured.

“No,” you insisted quietly. “I’ve always thought that.”

That hurt more. Not because he believed it, but because some pathetic part of him desperately wanted to.

You shifted closer in the seat. Before he could brace himself, your hand rose to his cheek, thumb brushing gently against his skin. Every muscle in his body went rigid.

Focus on the road. Focus on the damn road.

Thankfully, the apartment building appeared moments later.

—

Getting you upstairs was a battle of its own. You leaned heavily against him, giggling at nothing and everything, your warmth seeping through his shirt. By the time he managed to unlock the door and get you inside, he was already in the kitchen preparing a glass of water.

“Come on, let’s get some—”

He nearly dropped the glass.

You had tossed your skirt aside, standing there in nothing but your tiny top and underwear, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Meanwhile, he was discovering brand-new levels of suffering.

This wasn’t some random girl. This was you—the one who occupied entirely too much space inside his head. The one he had pretended not to love. The girl who had a boyfriend.

A boyfriend.

An important detail that felt increasingly personal every time he failed to show up when you needed him.

“What are you doing?” His voice came out rougher than intended.

You blinked at him, looking genuinely confused.

“Getting comfortable.”

“Can’t you do that in the bedroom?”

You ignored him entirely. Of course you did, you were drunk. Which meant he was currently arguing with a force of nature. A second later your top joined the skirt on the floor.

He looked directly at the ceiling.

“Fantastic.”

“You smell nice,” you said, stepping closer.

“Please stop talking.”

“You do.”

“Please.”

“You always do.”

Each word landed like a punch. Because you had no idea what you were doing to him. No idea how much effort it took to stay where he was, to keep his hands to himself, to keep being good.

He closed his eyes for a brief second and immediately regretted it—because the moment he did, he imagined what it would feel like if you actually meant any of this. If you were sober. If you looked at him like that because you chose him, not because your judgment was currently swimming in alcohol.

The thought hit him so hard he physically stepped back.

“Bedroom,” he ordered, voice low. This time he didn’t leave room for argument. He marched you toward the bedroom like a man escorting himself to execution.

Once you were sitting in the bed he grabbed one of his oversized shirts and pulled it over your head before you could protest. The sight of you in his clothes did dangerous things to his heart. He tucked you in with more gentleness than he should have allowed himself, then stepped back.

“Get some sleep.”

You frowned, eyes already heavy.

“Toru.”

He paused at the door.

“What?”

“You’re forgetting something.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“What am I forgetting?”

You smiled. That lazy, alcohol-softened smile that seemed completely unaware of the damage it caused.

“My goodnight kiss.”

He stared. Months ago, after a movie marathon, you had jokingly demanded one. He had flicked your forehead instead. Since then you occasionally teased him about it. Normally he brushed it off. Tonight nothing felt normal.

“Tooruuu,” you slurred, tapping your cheek. “Goooodnight kiss.”

“You are never drinking again,” he muttered, but he leaned down anyway.

The second he got close, you turned your head.

Your lips brushed his in a quick, clumsy peck. Barely a second. Barely a kiss.

His entire world stopped.

You pulled back giggling, delighted with your little prank, while he remained frozen, bent over you, heart hammering violently against his ribs, still trying to process the last two seconds of his life.

You had kissed him.

It meant nothing. You were drunk. Tomorrow you probably wouldn’t even remember. And yet his brain kept replaying that fleeting touch on loop.

By the time he straightened up, your eyes were already closing. Within a minute your breathing had evened out completely, peaceful and unaware of the wreckage you’d left behind.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at you in his shirt, curled up in his bed, with the faint taste of your lips still lingering on his.

He dragged a hand down his face, feeling utterly miserable. His chest tightened painfully, a sharp squeeze that made it hard to breathe. Just enough to remind him that tomorrow morning you would wake up, laugh about how drunk you’d gotten, and go right back to being Kyo’s girlfriend. And he would still be exactly what he had always been:

Your best friend.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind him with a quiet finality.

part 2 here! masterlist

[torupng]

❝ ALTER EGO ❞ 呪術廻戦

𝒮ynopsis after three years of bullying the school’s nerd into doing your homework and bribing him with money (not that he needed it), you soon discover that the same nerd has an alter ego—one you can’t help but be very, very attracted to.

ℱeaturing nerd!satoru gojo x popular girl fem!reader.

#NSFW TWT ! NERDJO AU ⋆ popular fem!reader ⋆ satoru has a secret identity ⋆ 18+ MDNI | SMUT AHEAD ⋆ satoru makes porn on twitter ⋆ reader blackmails satoru ⋆ no use of y/n ⋆ art by @to00fu

♥︎ 𝒞HAPTER ℐNDEX :

one ⋆ two ⋆ three ⋆ four ⋆ five ⋆ six

seven ⋆ eight ⋆ ? ⋆ ? ⋆ ? ⋆ ?

♥︎ 𝒯AG ℒIST : open, comment to be added or removed

@bat-brainzzz @hakusai0429 @purelyangelicmeowz @babykuna @daisy-p17 @sophistication-as @a-lack-of-thoughts @petulniia @nightwingsbabydoll @angelsarchive555 @chanpoo @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @gojo-lover-mia @lilingzhi @lewlz @neotoru @riprammie @midnights-with-him @sugurusbeloved @natyily @remoirses @lynostalgi @suguphile @p3talswayingindesun @sayurizenavelda @rikiswifeyyy @aishasluvv @johnpaulyay @sillystarv @hakiyakawa @mcdslyn @greecegrimace @wvmiee @miyahluvsjjk @haniipie @fantasticnymphghoul @awesomenessmaster500 @kun4ril @satoruke @winniethepoohjusttookapooh @onyuns @funsized-lyz @alice-nguyenn @purplehairedfairyxx @tiffi26 @blissfullymes @chosoprettygirl @whimsynojai @ambxr1 @affinityblues @sheerlilacs @yong-yong-ma-boi @tharunnihaa @tchmiya @blueemochii @skylaryippee @imvenny @thewr3ck3d @kyotokisses @rinitoshixx @dampcrouton77684 @nanahach1 @anothergojostan @sugucide

[tojisbunni]

summer job! — babysitter reader + dilf toji

synopsis: you answer toji fushiguro’s job listing to be his babysitter, unknowingly signing yourself up for a summer of drooling over your employer. you just hope he’s drooling over you too.

a/n: this part is lowkey a jumbled mess of different days but only because it’s an intro but promise future parts will be more coherent and yummy hehehe and will probs be actually smutty

summer break had officially started and you were beyond excited for a break from long lectures except that meant one thing: without your on-campus job, you were officially unemployed and broke. hence why you were sitting in your shitty apartment, looking through various job listings on your beat-up laptop. really fulfilling the broke college student prophecy.

technically, you could survive without a job for the summer but that would require missing out on clubbing and hanging out with friends which was so not okay. a listing caught your eye and you paused the endless scroll to click on it.

'in need of a babysitter for during the day -- pay is up for discussion'

the listing was vague but sounded easy next to others that were regarding excessive lawn work. and, working during the day was perfect because you really only liked to have fun at night. after going back to scrolling for a bit, you decided that the babysitting gig might be your best bet despite the blank profile picture of the account.

you just hoped it was some busy parent and not a kidnapper. the phone rang only a couple times before your call was picked up. kind of vague information was exchanged. mostly a consistent set of working hours, single dad, 5 year old son, etc. it sounded pretty easygoing.

before you knew it, you were meant to meet with mr. fushiguro for your first shift in a couple days.

. ‘ . + *

you showed up to the relatively nice one-story house, double checking the address on your phone once more. the summer heat was sending droplets of sweat down the back of your spine as you clicked the doorbell.

being the girl you were, you didn't really have clean clothes that weren't either too slutty or too modest for the heat. so, you'd decided on your longest denim shorts (which weren't that long..) and a waist-length tanktop. it couldn't be so bad, right?

it's not like a 5 year old would care. hopefully his dad was an average nerdy corporate worker who was too work-obsessed to care.

the door finally swung open and your eyes widened a fraction as you looked at the man in front of you. he was not at all a regular nerdy corporate worker.

you'd be surprised if he could even fit into those cube sized offices with how big he was. and not like big as in pot belly, big as in tall and built and like his biceps were twice as big as your head. a total dilf. well at least your summer job came with some eye-candy.

you pasted on a sweet smile and hoped he hadn't noticed your staring though he didn't make any indication, his expression serious and even a little scary.

"hi! you're mr. fushiguro right?" you said cheerily, holding out a hand.

he glanced at your hand and then briefly took in your outfit, which you were more unsure about now. his gaze seeemed to heat but you weren't sure if it was out of irritation or something else

“yes, i'm toji fushiguro. come in." he said simply and stepped aside to give you room.

you entered in and glanced around at the simplicity of the house. there weren't many decorations on the wall and the only bright colors came from the excess amount of toys laying in different places.

the door shut with a click and he led you to the living room. you guys sat down on a soft couch, a large gap between you guys.

"so.. hi again." you said, hoping to fill the silence that was filling up the room.

he assessed you with a neutral expression but something burned in his eyes.

"we already spoke on the phone but just to confirm, you're fine working every week day basically? and you don't mind the 9-5 schedule?" he asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. you nodded quickly a few times.

"sounds perfect. i only party at night anyway." you said lightheartedly with a laugh in attempt to lighten the atmosphere. he only cocked an eyebrow at you and basically ignored the info, moving on.

finally, it was time to meet the kid. you weren't too nervous but just hoped he'd be less serious than his dad. he waddled out of his room after being called on, walking over to you with his head slightly lowered.

your heart fluttered at the sight, he was already such a cutie. toji's serious expression melted into a soft smile as he watched his son. your gaze lingered on his face for a moment before finally looking away.

"hii! i'm y/n." you spoke softer, smiling as he walked to stand in front of you and his dad.

"hi, i'm megumi." he mumbled a little shyly, looking up finally.

you held out your hand which he took quickly with his tiny fingers. he gave you a small handshake which nearly melted your heart. at least one fushiguro boy knew about handshakes.

"i'm your new babysitter, we're gonna have soo much fun together." you said earnestly.

he made a small pouty face, glancing at his dad. "okay.. but i don't need a babysitter. daddy is just.. too much." he said seriously, seemingly not having a big enough vocabulary to describe his feelings.

you returned the serious expression with a nod. "i know, you're such a big kid. but its okay, i wont bother you as much as him." you murmured jokingly, earning a small smile and nod in agreement from megumi.

you looked up to see toji watching the exchange with an amused look, not bothering to defend himself.

once toji had debriefed you on all of megumi's favorite snacks, movies, toys, basically everything in the world, he was finally ready to head out. you flopped onto the couch next to megumi who was knee-deep into some random cartoon. "you're right, your dad is a lot."

. ‘ . + *

the next few weeks at the job passed smoothly for the most part. you'd arrive on time mostly, except for mondays—almost always hungover from the weekend. you dressed in outfits for the heat so mostly different combinations of shorts and tanktops or cute tops.

your friends accused you of trying to seduce the old man but in your defense, you were just dressing to impress? the way toji assessed you every morning at the door was definitely one of the more interesting part of your days. it was difficult to read him but hey, a workplace crush never hurt anyone.

sometimes there were even times where moments would occur between you and toji that made you think maybe there was some mutual attraction in the air:

like one time, you were bringing megumi his plate of pancakes and eggs that toji had been working on at the stove. he shuffled around the kitchen heavily as he moved to grab his coffee.

you were busy bent over the table setting up gumi's utensils and water until you felt small fingers grabbing at your arm. you looked over at him with a raised brow. "what?"

megumi gestured for you to lean down closer before leaning up to meet you. he cupped his mouth to your ear, loudly whispering with a boyish giggle. "daddy has a staring problem."

you tried to sneakily glance at the kitchen, only to find that the kid was right. toij stood there and was definitely staring at you, his dark eyes appeared darker than usual but was it with scrutiny or desire?

you straightened and looked down at megumi, pinching his cheek. "stop being bad. eat your food." you whisper-shouted but your body and face had totally heated at the idea of his hot dad finding you hot back.

and that one time when you'd shown up early for once and were let in by megumi. you smiled down at him and shook your head. "i don't think you're supposed to open the door mister."

he shrugged innocently and grabbed your hand with his tiny one, leading you inside. "daddy asked me to bring him a towel buttt I can't reach." he said as he dragged you off to a storage closet between the two bedrooms.

you narrowed your eyes at him before reaching up to grab the towel, handing it to megumi. he stared at it for a moment before exclaiming, "nose goes!" he tapped his nose after throwing the towel at you and ran into his room. the door shut and locked, leaving you confused and holding the towel.

you hesitated a moment to see if gumi would come out and to your surprise (not) he didn't. slowly, you approached the bathroom door. at the same time, the doorknob turned and the door quickly opened.

toji opened his mouth, likely to shout at megumi but stopped in his tracks as he saw you. your eyes widened as you looked back at him. he was nearly naked save for the small towel he held over his crotch. his hair was dark from being wet and water droplets trailed down his chest and arms, dripping down towards defined abs.

you met his eyes, your own wide with horror as you realized you had just shamelessly stared at your employer's naked body.

to your surprise, his cheeks appeared slightly flushed and his expression was similar to yours—as if you'd caught him doing something. a part of you wondered and maybe hoped that you'd been on his mind during his shower.

you turned your back on him and held the towel out, shaking your head at yourself for not reacting quick enough.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry mr. fushiguro! megumi locked himself in his room and basically told me to give you this. I hope I’m not fired for harassment" you rambled, tone turning lighthearted at the end to hopefully lessen the tension.

he cleared his throat and took the towel. "you're not fired." he said simply and shut the door.

you buried your face into your hands and ran off to megumi's room, knocking on it hard. "open up, youre in big trouble buddy." you said, trying not to think about how delicious toji had looked.

there was also how sometimes, toji would come home from work late—exhaustion clear on his face. you'd usually be laying on the couch with megumi at that point.

one time, you accidentally drifted off with him loosely in your arms. he'd snuck away from you at the sound of his dad entering meanwhile you barely stirred.

toji walked over to you quietly, kneeling beside you on the couch. he gently nudged your shoulder, admiring the peaceful look on your face as you slept. how your lips were slightly parted and your lashes looked extra long with your eyes closed.

"hey, you should head home." his low voice woke you up. you slowly opened your eyes to look at him—eyes half-lidded with sleep.

his expression was much softer than you'd ever seen it when looking at you. your eyes opened wider as the situation hit you and you quickly sat up, fixing your hair with your hands.

"oh yeah ofcourse, im sorry for falling asleep." you rushed out, standing up. he shook his head and led you to the door once you'd gathered your things.

"that's okay, be safe out there." he said, slowly resting his hand on your lower back to guide you.

you heated instantly, this was the first time he'd really put his hands on you. it was so not a big deal but you felt your workplace crush grow tenfold at the contact.

ugh, you just wanted to know if he wanted you back or not.

. ‘ . + *

tags: @sabastianleftbutcheek @becky7463 @earthto3m @jayleenvvglooms @applesauce8888 @heavensentbeing9 @desktop-dust @akilegirl

[poniadeaur]

First Name Basis

 Nanami is losing his mind. Three dates in, and she's still calling him "Nanami"—or worse, "sir"—while using first names with everyone else from waiters to coworkers. He starts orchestrating increasingly desperate schemes to hear "Kento" cross her lips just once, but she remains stubbornly, devastatingly formal.

There is a sound he is dying to hear, and it is killing him slowly.

Three dates. Three official, documented, calendar-worthy dates outside the fluorescent-lit halls of Jujutsu Technical College where you still—still, after three dates, after he has kissed you goodnight at your door, after he has held your hand across restaurant tables, after he has memorized the exact cadence of your laugh—call him Nanami.

Or worse. Sir.

Or worse still, with that professional precision that makes him want to scream into the void, Mr. Nanami.

"Nanami," you say now, approaching his desk at 4:47 PM, your shadow falling across his paperwork. "The mission report needs your signature."

He looks up. You are smiling, casual, your elbow resting on the partition, your hair escaping its clip in a way that makes his fingers twitch. Three dates, and you are still standing three feet away. Three dates, and you still use the same tone you use for Gojo, for Ijichi, for the mailman who delivers packages to the lobby.

"Of course," he says, and his voice sounds strange in his own ears—tight, desperate, disguised as professional.

You lean over his desk to point at the line, and your sleeve brushes his hand, and he stops breathing. You smell like the cheap coffee from the break room and something else, something you, and he wants to bury his face in your neck and beg. Just beg. Say it. My name. The one my mother gave me. The one I stopped hearing when my father died. The one that only exists now in government documents and the mouths of strangers. Say it like you mean it. Say it like I'm yours.

"Here," you say, tapping the paper. "Nanami."

He signs. His hand shakes. You do not notice.

The first scheme is pathetic. He knows it is pathetic even as he orchestrates it, standing in the convenience store at 9 PM, staring at the refrigerated case like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Date four. Technically date four, though he has stopped counting because numbers imply progress and there has been none. You still call him Nanami. You called the waiter by his first name after reading his nametag once. You call your coworkers by nicknames he does not know the origins of. You are informal with everyone. Everyone except him.

He buys water. Two bottles. He does not need two bottles. He buys them because the plan has formed, desperate and humiliating, and he cannot stop now.

You meet him outside. You are wearing the blue sweater he likes, the one that makes your eyes look like the ocean at dawn, and he forgets his own name, let alone his plan to make you say it.

"Nanami," you greet, falling into step beside him.

His heart sinks. Then: determination.

"I need to show you something," he says, and his voice is too loud, too casual, a performance of nonchalance he has never perfected. He reaches for his wallet. His hands tremble. He extracts his driver's license and holds it out to you, invented excuse ready on his tongue—I think the photo looks terrible, do you agree, is my hair really that color, what do you think—but when you take it, when your fingers brush his and you look down at the small plastic card, he loses all capacity for speech.

You study it. He studies you. The streetlight catches your eyelashes, the curve of your cheek, the way your mouth moves as you read silently.

"Kento Nanami," you murmur, and his knees actually weaken, actually threaten to buckle, because there it is, there it is, the sound of his name in your mouth, the K and the en and the to, the three syllables he has been craving like oxygen, like water, like grace.

But then you look up, hand back the license, smile. "You were right. The photo is terrible. Your hair looks much better now, Nanami."

Nanami.

He takes the license. He puts it away. He walks beside you in silence, screaming internally, wondering if you are doing this deliberately, if this is torture, if you know that you have tasted his name and returned to the formal distance and he is left starving, starving, with the ghost of Kento hanging between you like smoke.

The second scheme involves the restaurant.

He chooses it specifically because he knows the owner, because he has arranged in advance, because he is losing his mind and dignity is a luxury he can no longer afford. You arrive together. You are beautiful. You are always beautiful. He cannot focus on the menu because he is watching your mouth, waiting, hoping.

The waiter arrives. Young. Enthusiastic. Part of the plan.

"Good evening," the waiter says, smiling. "Table for two under… Kento?"

He watches your face. He watches your mouth form the shape of recognition, the slight nod, the casual acceptance. Yes, that's us. Kento.

You do not repeat it. You do not look at him and say Kento, that's you, that's your name, I know that now, I will use it. You simply follow the waiter, sliding into the booth, unfolding your napkin, asking about the specials.

"Nanami," you say, looking at the wine list. "Do you prefer red or white?"

He orders whiskey. He drinks it too fast. He spends the entire meal inventing reasons to touch you—your hand, your shoulder, your knee beneath the table—hoping that proximity will breed intimacy, that intimacy will collapse the distance of formality. You let him touch you. You smile. You call him Nanami with every sentence, with every glance, with every shared laugh, and he feels himself fracturing, coming apart at the seams, held together only by the desperate hope that someday, someday, you will break.

The third scheme is accidental. Or rather, he tells himself it is accidental, though he has been carrying his phone like a weapon for days, waiting for the opportunity.

You are at his apartment. Date five, though who is counting anymore, certainly not him, certainly not the man who has started keeping a tally in his mind of how many times you have said his surname versus how many times you have said his given name (the ratio is devastating, the ratio is infinity to zero).

You are looking at his bookshelf, running your fingers along spines, and he sees his chance.

"I should save your number," he says, casual, so casual, holding out his phone. "Properly. What do you have me saved as?"

He holds his breath. He holds his entire life in suspension. Tell me, he thinks. Tell me you have me as Kento. Tell me you whisper it to yourself when you are alone. Tell me you practice it. Tell me you want to say it but you are scared, tell me you are waiting for permission, tell me—

"Nanami," you say, not looking up from the books. "Just Nanami. With a work emoji."

A work emoji.

He takes his phone back. He saves your number with shaking hands. He adds a heart emoji. He deletes it. He adds it again. He puts the phone down and goes to the kitchen and leans against the refrigerator and wonders if it is possible to die from wanting.

When he returns, you are holding a photo album he forgot to hide. Childhood photos. His mother. His father. The funeral.

"Kento," you say, reading the inscription on the back of a photograph, and he freezes, freezes, because there it is again, accidental, unmeant, just you reading words not addressing him, but still—still—the sound of his name in your mouth, the K and the en and the to, and he wants to fall to his knees, he wants to beg you to read every document he owns, every book in his library, every word ever written that contains those five letters in that order.

"Nanami?" you ask, looking up, concerned by his expression.

He realizes he is staring. He realizes he has tears in his eyes. He realizes he is in love with you, desperately, terminally, completely in love, and you will not call him by his first name.

"Nothing," he lies. "Just… memories."

The fourth scheme involves a phone call that is not a scheme at all, that is just cruel coincidence, that is the universe laughing at him.

You are at his apartment again. You are cooking. He is watching, hypnotized by the way you move, the efficiency of your hands, the casual intimacy of being in his space, using his stove, wearing his spare shirt because you spilled something on yours.

His phone rings.

He ignores it. He is ignoring everything that is not you.

It rings again. And again.

"Nanami," you say, laughing, "aren't you going to get that? It might be important."

Nanami. Nanami. Nanami.

"It can wait," he says, but you are already reaching for it, already looking at the screen, and he sees the moment you read the name, the moment you see the characters, the moment you know.

"Kento," you say, holding out the phone. "It's for you. Someone named… Kento?"

His heart stops. Actually stops. Then restarts at double speed, triple, a drum solo, a war cry.

"That's…" he starts, reaching for the phone, his hand brushing yours, his mind white noise and static. "That's… me. That's my name. That's…"

But you are already turning back to the stove, already casual, already moving on. "You should answer, Nanami. You're being rude."

Nanami.

He answers the phone. It is a wrong number. He does not hear a word they say. He stands in his kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, watching you stir something that smells like heaven, and he thinks: You said it. You said it. You said it and you didn't even notice. You said it like it was nothing. You said it like it didn't change everything. You said it and walked away.

He ends the call. He sets the phone down. He stands behind you at the stove and wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your hair and breathes, just breathes, trying to memorize the exact moment, the exact temperature of the room, the exact configuration of atoms that allowed you to say his name and mean him.

"Nanami?" you ask, surprised by the embrace.

He squeezes tighter. He does not correct you. He is beyond correction. He is in the desert, and you have shown him water, and he is dying of thirst, and you are calling him Mr. Nanami from across an ocean.

The fifth scheme is not a scheme. It is surrender.

He stops trying. He accepts his fate. He is Nanami to you, will always be Nanami, Mr. Nanami, Sir, the colleague, the date, the almost-lover who cannot cross the final inch into intimacy because you will not let him have his name.

He takes you to bed. Not like that—though he wants to, God he wants to— but actually to bed, to sleep, because it is late and you are tired and he is desperate for any proximity you will allow. You wear his shirt. You look like you belong there. You look like you have always belonged there.

He lies beside you, rigid, terrified, ecstatic. You are here. In his bed. Breathing his air. He can hear your heartbeat, or he imagines he can, and he lies on his back staring at the ceiling and wondering if this is happiness or if happiness requires you to whisper Kento in the dark.

You shift. You roll toward him in your sleep, seeking warmth, and your hand finds his chest, and your leg tangles with his, and he stops breathing entirely.

"Mm," you murmur, a sound of contentment, of safety, of trust.

He dares to touch your hair. He dares to press his lips to your forehead. He dares to hope.

You settle closer. Your breath ghosts against his neck. He feels the shape of your mouth moving against his skin, forming words he cannot hear, dreams he cannot share.

Then, soft as prayer, barely a breath, you whisper:

"Kento."

He short-circuits.

His body, which has survived cursed spirit attacks, which has endured bone breaks and blood loss and the particular horror of Gojo Satoru's friendship, simply fails. His vision whites out. His muscles seize. He rolls—actually rolls—off the bed and hits the floor with a thud that should wake the dead, that should certainly wake you, but you are drifting deeper, you are smiling in your sleep, you have no idea you have just destroyed him.

He lies on the floor, staring at the ceiling, his heart a bomb in his chest.

Kento.

You said it. You said it. Not reading, not repeating, not addressing a stranger. You said it in your sleep, unguarded, unconscious, true. You said it like it belonged to you. You said it like you had been saying it forever, like you were keeping it secret, like it was a name you whispered to yourself when you were alone.

He scrambles up. He is on his knees beside the bed. He is touching your shoulder, your face, his hands shaking so violently he can barely control them.

"Again," he begs, his voice broken, raw, wrecked. "Please. Again. Say it again. Please, I'm begging you, say it again, say my name, please—"

You murmur something unintelligible. You shift away from his touch, seeking comfort, seeking sleep.

"Please," he whispers, tears in his eyes, his forehead pressed to the mattress beside your head. "Please. I need to hear it. I need to know you know it. I need you to say it like you mean it. Please. Kento. Say Kento. Please."

But you are gone. Deep in dreams where he cannot follow. Smiling at something he cannot see.

He stays there, kneeling, destroyed, rebuilt, destroyed again. He stays until his knees ache and his back screams and the sun begins to rise, painting the room in gold that catches your eyelashes, your cheekbones, the peaceful curve of your mouth.

You wake to find him watching you with an expression you cannot read—devastated, triumphant, desperate, in love.

"Nanami?" you ask, confused by his intensity, by his tears, by the way he reaches for your hand and kisses your palm with reverence that borders on religious ecstasy.

"Nothing," he lies, because he cannot tell you, because if he tells you he heard you say it, you might stop. You might retreat back into formality. You might remember that you are not supposed to be this intimate, this close, this his.

But later, when you are dressing, when you are gathering your things, when you pause at his door and look back at him with that expression he cannot decipher, you open your mouth and hesitate.

He stops breathing. He stops existing. He waits.

"Thank you," you say finally. "For last night. Kento."

You say it. You look at him and you say it. Kento.

Then you blush—actually blush, pink spreading across your cheeks like sunrise—and you flee, closing the door behind you, leaving him standing in his apartment with his name ringing in his ears and his heart in pieces on the floor and the devastating knowledge that you know exactly what you are doing, you have always known, and you were just waiting for him to break first.

He slides down the wall. He sits on the floor. He presses his hands to his face and laughs, cries, screams into the empty room.

Kento.

You said it.

You are going to say it again.

He will burn the world down to hear it.

[palomakiss]

⤷ ゛you stress nanami out by asking him impossible questions ˎˊ˗ domestic fluff, fem!reader, boyfriend!nanami ♡

wc. 792

kento nanami should have known peace was not part of the relationship contract the moment you sat down beside him with that expression.

poor him, it seemed that every time he decided to relax after a long day, you appeared beside him with a new ridiculous idea that somehow required his full attention.

and the worst part was that he always entertained you.

"okay," you said, setting up your phone and picking up your ipad—the same ipad he bought you, which he was now starting to believe was a questionable investment—"today i’m going to be asking my boyfriend some very serious questions."

nanami glanced up from his book, already suspicious. “your tone doesn't sound all that ‘serious.’”

you ignored him, opening the notes app like you were preparing an official interview.

"okay, okay. first question. would you date a version of me that’s exactly the same—personality and all—but hotter?"

nanami stared at you for a moment.

"define hotter."

you immediately laughed. "don’t act like you don’t know what i mean. i mean like…i could potentially mog jessica alba."

nanami let out a quiet breath through his nose, looking back down at his book.

"no."

your head snapped toward him.

"what?! why?"

"because i have you. i don’t need a different version."

"so you’re saying if i get hotter you’d reject me?"

"no—"

"so you only care about me because of who i am right now?"

nanami blinked.

"that is not what i said."

"wow. you think you know someone."

he stared at you for a second, almost impressed by how quickly you managed to turn a compliment into a personal attack. but before he could actually explain himself, you looked back at your notes.

"okay. next question."

"you’re moving on?"

"yes."

"i was still answering."

"i know."

he gave you a look.

you smiled innocently.

"am i prettier now or when we first met?"

this time, nanami answered without hesitation. "now."

you immediately gasped.

"so i was chopped when you met me?"

"what? no."

"that’s sure what it sounds like."

"it is not."

"then explain."

nanami looked at you, realizing he was once again being asked to defend himself against a crime he did not commit.

"when i first met you, i thought you were the most charming girl i had ever seen."

you turned your head slowly.

"oh."

nanami already knew that "oh" was dangerous. "what?"

"so you were looking at other women."

his expression immediately changed to one of not offense but confusion.

"what?"

"you heard me."

"i heard you," he said slowly, setting his book aside because clearly this required more attention than expected, "i'm just trying to understand how you came to that conclusion."

"because you said i was the most charming girl you’ve ever seen."

"yes."

"so you were looking."

"at you, darling."

"but you said ever seen."

nanami paused.

"which implies you were looking at other girls before me."

nanami genuinely looked lost, staring at you like he was replaying every word of the conversation in his head, trying to find the exact moment he accidentally walked into whatever argument this was.

"i meant," he said carefully, "when i met you, you were the most charming person i had ever met."

"most charming person?"

"yes."

"so i’m not even a girl now?"

his expression softened.

"are you actually upset, or are you enjoying watching me try to explain myself?"

and unfortunately for you, that almost ruined the whole thing. because he sounded genuinely concerned.

but then you remembered you still had one more question.

"okay!" you clap your hands together, picking your ipad back up. "last question."

nanami immediately narrowed his eyes.

"no."

you blinked. "you haven’t even heard it."

"i don't need to."

"me and gojo swapped faces and you have to kiss one of us to switch us back. who are you choosing?"

nanami’s expression slowly dropped.

"...what."

you started laughing.

"you heard me."

"no, i don’t think i did."

"you totally did."

"how did you even think of that?"

"you have to pick one of us to kiss."

nanami stared at you, and you watched the exact moment he decided he was done.

"no."

"no?"

"no."

"that’s your answer?"

"yes."

"you’re not even going to choose?"

"no."

"but ken—"

"no."

he stood up before you could continue.

and instead of answering, nanami simply reached down, grabbed you around the waist, and lifted you over his shoulder.

the precious ipad nearly slipped from your hands.

"kento!"

"shh."

"that is not an answer!"

"it is."

"it literally isn’t!"

you were laughing so hard your argument was falling apart anyway.

nanami walked out of the room because he had decided removing you from the situation was the only reasonable solution.

"wait! the video is still recording!"

"unfortunate."

a/n: first post on this acc! it's been a while since i've written something for nanami

[beomzone]

this is so funny im crying

[tophollands]

HANGING OUT TO DRY PT 2

fratboy!gojo x f!reader

notes: WOW WOW WOW! I've been out of town so im sooo sorry for taking so long to update and leaving u guys hanging! i was not expecting that much engagement AT ALL SO THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH! but im also super duper nervous bc im not crazy about this one :') so a little nervous it might not meet expectations</3. Also might have lied about a different ending- we shall see but i took so long with this i didn't want to make u guys wait any longer so sorry if it wasnt what you wanted! also hope you guys don't think reader is too big of a cry baby, she's just sad and in love:( 

warnings: angst and heartbreak, comfort, happy ending (eye roll jkjk), reader and gojo not taking care of them selves, self neglect for sure, cursing, mentions of throw up and alcohol, um um, reader and gojo basically just existing and hating life

Credit to @uzmacchiato for the divider!!

For weeks, the old but familiar cycle repeated. The dreaded feeling that you would never be able to shake off seemed to follow you wherever you went, no matter what path you followed in life, no matter who you met. 

You stayed cooped up in your apartment, finding a temporary solace in the four walls. They wouldn't speak, wouldn't judge you for wallowing in your emotions and crying yourself sick. 

The ache in your heart never seemed to subside. It was persistent, constantly reminding you of everything you tried so hard to forget.

You so badly wanted to prove to yourself that you were stronger than this, wanted to walk into class the following week with your head held high and pretend that you were just fine- even if it was just pretend.

But you couldn't. 

Everything felt so incredibly difficult and brutal. Time taunted you, moving in slow motion yet simultaneously in the blink of an eye, sunrises transitioning into sunsets while you spent your days in bed drained of energy and dreaming of cerulean blue eyes.

Body, mind and soul feeling as if they were weighed down with cinder blocks and you were drowning.

Your heart had been completely shattered, broken into a million fragments and the idea of healing felt akin to finding a needle in a hay sack. Hopeless. Futile. Impossible. A puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Your mind was the worst, the temporary comfort exactly that. No where felt safe, the four walls turning into nothing but a tool to only make you feel more suffocated. 

You could go anywhere to escape gojo, but you could never escape yourself.

Never escape the way you replayed the words he spoke to his friends, the way he looked at you, the way he cried, or the way he told you that he was in love with you.

Everytime you shut your eyes, his would find you.

You started skipping your classes after that, started skipping everything actually. Daily little walks to clear your mind, little coffee pick me ups, meals- it all ended. You were a shell of a person now, unable to put back together your own pieces.

No. Gojo had really taken a toll on you, really pushed you past a limit you didn't know existed.

And the worst part of it all was that you were still in love with him, still missed him and the way he'd distract you in class or grab your hand just to drag you somewhere while you playfully put up a fight. The way his stupid blue eyes seemed to light up at you just the way yours did at him. The way he made you feel.

And it was brutal, unnecessarily ruthless the way your mind plagued you when you thought of his lips and the night he kissed you. So cool, yet boyish and slightly clumsy as if gojo too was nervous, as if he truly didn't want to mess it up.

But each time your mind cursed you with a perfect little memory, it was shut down with the images from that night. 

You had stumbled home after, purely driven by your grief induced rage, vision blurred from the tears that were constantly filling your eyes and painting your cheeks. 

But arriving home to your lonely apartment was no better. Throwing up alone snotty, sweaty, and gross was absolutely horrible- and ignoring the messages and phone calls that bombarded your phone was nearly impossible. 

The alcohol settled further into your bones and your drunkenness multiplied but you didn't have the guts to block him just yet- torturing yourself further when you began to listen to the voicemails he left while you desperately clung to the sides of your toilet sobbing and hurling.

You ignored them of course, sloppily brushing your teeth and crawling on top of your sheets, drunkenly throwing off your clothes but not caring to wash the make up off your face or the gravel fully out of your palms. 

Then you proceeded to sob so hard you had to throw up again until finally you cried yourself to sleep. And when you woke up with swollen eyes, a scratchy throat and a pounding headache, praying with all your might that it was a nightmare, you realized it wasn't, your sober self having to go through the entire cycle again of processing what had happened, the heart break, the humiliation- everything. 

You were slow to block his number, tormenting yourself the few days after that night as you religiously watched his texts flood in, spamming you with apologies and this and that and the ways he would change and loved you and wanted you and it was masochistic and everything you never hoped for and why couldn't you tear your eyes away? Why did knowing what he had done to you make it no less harder to think about him?

Being vulnerable and desperate with a visceral want to be loved angered you far more than he ever could. 

And still, you let yourself think of him lovingly and kindly, and there, because god you would be a liar if you said you didn't miss him and everything he was, and the way he smelled and smiled and existed. 

And still, losing Satoru felt like the only light in your life had been snuffed out, and you didn't care if it was pathetic because it was so undeniably painful and true and ignoring that fact would be a lie through gritting teeth. 

You wanted to hate him. You knew you couldn't.

And amongst your tears of self loathing and hatred, you cursed the way you loved so loudly and deeply. The most twisted thing of it all.

With him blocked, your phone was dead silent. The quiet was loud. 

You weren't sure how long you stayed in bed after that. Always exhausted as soon as you woke up feeling void of life that the white haired boy had given you. merely reduced to an organism that could only breathe.

But with timing and the world so happily on your side, you were gifted with finals and exams during your period of heartbreak, the ultimate stake in your heart. Your grades had already plummeted from your lack of attendance and half assed assignments and despite spending the last few weeks wallowing in your self pity instead of studying, you knew the least you could do was at least show up to the final exams- even if he would be there. 

Rubbing your eyes with a sniffle, you forced your body to move, willing every deteriorated muscle to act. to put on clothes that weren't pajamas and to try and behave like a normal functioning being.

There was no motivation, but a small determination to take a step out of your apartment for the first time in who knows when. 

You'd walk to the library, distract yourself with studying- spend the remainder of the week drowning yourself in work to pass your finals just enough so that you'd still pass all your classes and when that was over, you’d let yourself suffocate in the thought of him all over again, but for now- you had to do this.

Throwing on a hoodie that was not his- why would he have given you so many t-shirts and hoodies if you were just a bet, was he just expecting to ask for them back after he pranked you?- you begrudgingly readied yourself to the bare minimum, yanking the door open to begin your dreaded walk.

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, your eyes landed on a handful of envelopes that laid on your doormat- slightly dirtied and weathered and you wondered just how long they'd been sitting there.

You shakily exhaled, nerves bubbling in your throat as trembling fingers picked up a total of at least five envelopes, all bare save for your name simply written in the middle of each, all in different handwriting. You looked around, retreating back into your apartment to hastily rip them open, curiosity getting the better of you as you were unsure of what person (multiple people?) you knew who were writing you letters and leaving them at your door step.

You pulled out the first letter, concentration written on your face as you scanned it over, not reading the content yet but just staring in pure confusion and then- 

Your jaw felt slightly slack, eyes widening. You opened the next, and the next and the next, words unread but eyes falling on all the separate letters from Gojo and his friends and frat brothers. All written lengthy apologies from Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Fushiguro, a couple other names you didn't know but must have been involved with the bet.

Your fingers clutched the papers, catching certain paragraphs and biting your lip to once again hold tears back.

-didn't even know who you were and we did that to you. Guess thats why we felt like we could do it, as fucked up as that sounds. Gojo’s making us all write these apology letters to you and I hate saying sorry, but I am- we are all sorry. We’re just a bunch of assholes who thought it would be fun to fuck around with him and I guess you too, so yeah. Im sorry for being a part of it and hurting you, even if ive never talked to you. And wow that sounds really bad. Also, Gojo was telling the truth even though he lied at the party, another brother really did grab your gifts from him to throw it away, but tbh those cookies looked really good so I was gonna grab the container after anyways but asshole gojo got to it first. What type of cookies were those? Do you think-

You rolled your eyes automatically, hurriedly glancing away from sukuna’s letter to skim fushiguros.

-frat pres is so fucking annoying and gojos up there too. Sorry for hurting your feelings, we really did just want to fuck around and did think it was funny but damn I actually feel bad. So I'm sorry for that. It wasn't as funny as we thought. Think you could forgive his annoying ass and make some more cookies? Fucker grabbed the container before-

Then geto’s.

-Y/n I'm sorry that I was kind to your face and then let this happen behind your back. And not just let it happen but participated. You have always been a very nice girl and we took advantage of who you were for a laugh, and I swear to you that no one is laughing. You didn't deserve any of that and we don't deserve any of your kindness or forgiveness. I know I have no right to say, but Ive never seen Satoru like this and ive known him for years. I promise you that the bet was not his idea, that he shouldn't have gone along with it of course but none of us were thinking, we didn't know that you would be you-

You angrily huffed, tossing the letters onto your counter and refusing to read the rest of them and certainly not Gojos. Why did it matter if it wasn't his idea? Okay so what if he didn't throw your things out and was planning on getting them after, he still- you slammed your eyes shut, throat beginning to burn as tears welled up in your eyes.

He still did it, still said all that shit in front of everybody. Still lied to your face even when he was supposedly in love with you.

“Fuck you gojo,” you whispered to yourself, annoyingly wiping away the wetness in your eyes with the back of your palm. His letter remained unopened on the counter practically begging for you to read it and like every action did now, it took everything in you to leave it and walk out the door 

The trek to the library was uneventful, slow and quiet as you pushed forward with anger in your veins. Your face was concealed by your overly large hood and headphones, staring at the cracks in the sidewalk.

“Y/n.”

You froze on instinct, ice shooting through your veins as your body betrayed you, the entrance of the library laid just up ahead taunting and laughing.

Prickles of heat stabbed alongside your neck and the saliva in your mouth grew sticky and gelatinous, hard to swallow as you attempted to focus on breathing in through your nose, out through your mouth. 

“y/n,” the familiar tone that you had once loved, spoke the syllables of your name so softly, so light you hoped you had imagined it. So much emotion laced through and over and around the word that you never wanted to hear it again.

But that would be too easy on you, a too great display of mercy casted onto you by the universe.

You braced yourself, slowly turning and unintentionally, your mouth gaped, gaze landing on a very disheveled sick looking gojo who looked every bit like a heartbroken boy. You clearly weren't the only one skipping meals.

The words landed in an instant without thought, claws out, nails sharp.

 “Leave me alone,” you spat, making your break for the library but his hand caught your wrist in a gentle but firm hold, electricity shooting up your arm and you screamed to yourself to ignore it, that it wasn't what you thought.

“Please, please y/n, I know i don't deserve it but just give me a minute-”

“For what? Think you can get in my pants that quick and win your stupid bet? I don't want anything to do with you.” The words burned as you spewed the hate and spat venom, so unlike you and it only served to anger you more. You didn't feel any better being mean to him, didn't feel good or victorious watching the features on his pretty and now sunken in face contort into hurt. 

Fuck, it only hurt you more. Only made you want to take it back. Teeth tore into your bottom lip, eyes diverting anywhere but at him. But you didn't move. Let him grip you and hold your wrist, and you hated the familiarity and comfort that came with the touch. You were pitiful.

“How did you even know I'd be here?” the question flew from your lips before you could properly think about it, eyes focusing on the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

“I.. I didn't. You haven't been in lecture a-and I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable by showing up at y-yours.. I’ve just been,” Gojo glanced away for a brief second, pale skin flushing a pretty pink. “I’ve been waiting outside the library everyday in case… in case you'd come.” 

Your mouth opened, then shut, unable to find the words to respond to his unexpected statement you only thought could be a bluff. Another lie just to get you to forgive him. “For what, three weeks?”

He nodded, hesitant and shy, as if the fact might annoy you, looking anything but like the notorious campus fratboy and instead so childish. “Im so sorry y/n. Please, can we talk? Do you want coffee? I'm so sorry, I miss- I miss you so much, I feel like i c-cant function with out you and I meant it, I'm so in love with you-”

“Gojo.” You stopped him, fingers curling in on themselves to painfully dig into your palms, to try and ground yourself with anything but what could only be deceitful words.

His voice was breaking, hoarse and gravely as if he'd been crying too, rambling the words out like he knew you were about to leave him and he only had a few seconds to say what he needed to but he couldn't- there wasn't enough time to for him to tell you how sorry he was, not enough hours in this lifetime for him to prove how guilty he felt, or how desperately he begged to take it all back. He was a mess, and anybody could see. He knew it wasnt about him and his feelings, knew and deserved the pain he felt after what he did to you, but fuck he couldn't eat. Couldn't do much more than you.

He kept spamming your number with texts, hoping the green would turn to blue, kept ringing your number. Kept going to lecture in case there was a chance he might see you. But fuck if he didn't look and feel like shit. 

“Don't. say. that-”

“But it's true y/n, i love you, i cant stop thinking about you, I wish i could take it all back, It wasn't a bet anymore it was real- it was all real,” Gojo spoke voice shaking and adamant, the first sign of his old spark making a display.

If there was anything he was unyielding about, it was his attempt at making it known to you that his love for you was real. “Y-you don't need to love me back thats-thats okay, just know I love you. I love you-”

“Stop saying that!” You seethed, eyes watering as he kept repeating the phrase that made you feel physically ill, like you might just vomit if he spoke the lie again. It didn't matter. None of it mattered if he loved you and you loved him, it didn't matter anymore. You shook off his grip that you had forgotten was on you, abruptly turning to make your way inside as you kept your head down, praying your tears wouldn't fall just yet. 

“Did you get the letters?” He called out from behind you. 

You paused, refusing to turn, grinding your molars, feeling like shit and thinking of a final blow that could hurt him. You wanted him to hurt. You didn't want to hurt him. You wanted him to hurt. You didn't want to hurt him. Who was this person you were becoming? 

“Fuck your letters. It's basic empathy that you all feel bad. You'll never come close to understanding how I feel,” and in the reflection of the building's glass windows, you watched the way his shoulders slumped, the way his head dropped to his chest in defeat, ruffled white hair strewn all over the place.

For once, the bright boy looked exceptionally dull, clad in a now too big black hoodie and sweats, radiant blue eyes fizzed out into a soft blue, pale undereyes now decorated with large purple bags. 

You bit your tongue wanting nothing more than to tell him you didn't mean it, that you did- but not quite like that. Wanted to run your fingers through his hair and undercut, over his sharp and perfect features and accept his apology, get some food in him and make sure he got a proper night's rest. 

Your chin wobbled, lips trembling, mind deceiving you and urging you to just turn back and look at him. There was nothing you wanted more than to give in, every synapse firing telling you to just do it. 

you sped forward before your body could betray you once more, beelining it to the women's restroom where you could freely sob, heart breaking all over again as you hurt the boy you loved back. Knowing he deserved it did nothing to soothe you. You loved him too much.

Gojo respected your distance. For the time being at the library.

When you walked out hours later, sun long gone and campus streetlights projecting soft yellow glows as the quiet hum of the outdoors enveloped you, you felt somewhat successful. At least you had tried. 

You would have sped walked home, if not for the familiar head of hair that poked out from under a black hood. Gojo, on the bench, outside the library. 

You scoffed lightly to yourself, preparing to book it past him before he noticed it was you, but what didn't go unnoticed by him? He was always oddly infuriatingly attentive to everything, which would have been great if.. Well.

“W-wait, y/n! Are you- are you hungry, did you eat? You were in there for hours and-”

His voice was a catalyst to your anger. You spun to face him, ready to chew him out, patience long gone. Gojo, bothersome and persistent and maddening and beautiful, already walking towards you, already there. 

“Really Gojo? Haven't you done enough? Was lying to my face not enough that you have to keep following me around and messing with me? I don't- I don't care okay? I just want you to leave me alone, please. What don't you get? Your game is over, so please, stop doing this, the prize cannot be that good,” Your edge was sharp and frustrated, emotions bubbling over like a perfectly planned volcanic eruption as the words stumbled out of you. 

“Yes,” the words tore from him just as frustrated, just as hopeless, hands running through his white strands in an attempt to ground himself, to gather his thoughts. “Yes, the bet- the game whatever- it's all over- been over, and yes,” he pleaded, hands reaching out towards you but you quickly stepped back avoiding his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashed across his face. “Yes, I've done enough- but I can't, I won't stop telling you i love you, please believe me-”

Rage fizzed up inside of you, bringing your palms up to shove at his chest, just as you had done that night. It was infuriating, it was aggravating, being taunted by something- someone you wanted so bad yet couldn't have, by someone who was so close yet needed to be kept at arms length.

“Ugh! You don't love me Gojo!” You spoke over him, ignoring the persistent nod of his head as the words I do Im so in love you I do tumbled from his clearly overbitten red lips. “You don't- don't do what you did to someone you like, let alone love!” your voice broke, staring at him incredulously. “I liked you so much. Don't you get that?” The end of the sentence wasn't hastily spewed anymore, it was slow but urgent, a plea for him to understand the severity at which he hurt you.

“Y-you guys purposefully picked me, because- because you knew that i was a loner and had no friends o-or whatever, and still, you dragged me along, made me- made me fall in lo-” a choked noise cut you off and you whipped your head to the side to break eye contact, not wanting him to see the pain you were in, not wanting to be weak before him. It felt like a humiliation ritual all over again. 

You inhaled a deep breath, swallowing to ease the tightness of your throat, to blink back the wetness in your eyes. “Each day you saw me, you went back to your friends and knew what you were doing, while the entire time, I thought- I thought I was just lucky, that finally- maybe I deserved something good, t-that maybe I did deserve someone as good as you.”

Gojo stayed silent absorbing your words, street lights reflecting in the glossiness of his eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly, jaw muscle twitching every second. For once, he didn't interrupt you, just listened to the damage he knew he had done. 

“And then I was so excited to see you- I didn't care if it was a party or if your friends were there I just- I just wanted to see you,” you sighed, briefly shutting your eyes to work up the courage to say what made you feel so sick, so unwanted. “And then there you were in front of everybody, b-because, again, you're someone! Everyone wants to be near you! And you just-” your breath hitched as you relived the scene, could physically feel your heart plummet all over again and the shudder that racked through your body as you pictured him standing there. 

Your shoulders dropped as you loudly exhaled, unable to say the words aloud that replayed in your head and kept you up at night. “Everybody wants to be around you, or talk to you, o-or be friends with you Gojo. You don't know what it's like to have never had that, and then to hear the guy you lo- the guy you like- speak so…” you groaned, hands momentarily covering your eyes and throwing your head back in embarrassment. “Like I'm just- just this thing, like I don't have actual feelings, I just,” you paused before finally meeting his eyes again, all wide and starry, glassy and beautiful with tears. “I just can't get it out of my head.”

Silence hung around the both of you as the two of you stood mere feet away, imperfect yet perfect reflections of the other. Both completely hurt and devastated, both torn and beaten down for the same reasons yet not at all. It would be easy to forgive and forget, so easy. Especially when he stood with all his glory looking so unwell and defeated but of course, so frustratingly perfect even at the worst times. Even when he was wrong and felt so right..

Your tongue ran along the back of your teeth, poking the inside of your cheek as you waited, unsure for what. 

“I am so sorry, y/n,” he whispered, a tear breaking tension and dropping down his cheek. 

You sniffled, nodded, staring.

“I know,” you whispered, and walked by him, stifling the sobs that threatened to burst out of you

When you woke the next morning, you were once again faced with the fact that you would not be spared from the clutches of gojo who was seemingly intent on making it very clear that getting over him would be the most difficult task. ever. 

There were dozens of flowers outside your door, a sign of gojo's unfortunate persistence and dedication. You cursed him, convincing yourself that you were bringing them inside for just a moment before you'd shove them in the trash. 

But they were spider lilys, your favorite and so hard to find. 

You racked your brain for how he knew, chalking it up to a lucky guess. but then your memory, ever so cruel, reminded you. Flashed you the thought of how you had once told him in an off handed random conversation months ago… 

and he had just… remembered? 

You rolled your eyes, willing the thought away, willing him out of your head and somewhere far far away, but your hands were already moving, already filling a vase- several vases with water. He didn't have to know you kept them. They were just flowers. Just your favorites. 

It didn't mean anything, and it certainly didn't mean you were any closer to forgiving him. 

Gojo didn't show at the library for the remainder of the week. Not that you noticed. Not that you cared. 

More goodies had mysteriously shown up on your doorstep, ranging from coffee with the words “I love you,” written in sharpie on the plastic or breakfast from your favorite diner (more apologies written on the bag that you refused to read) to the matcha dragon jellycat with a pink bow on the head, that you had absolutely no idea how he knew you'd been wanting- or how he was able to get his hands on it considering it'd been sold out for months. 

You kept it of course, not wanting to punish the stuffed animal for his actions, but your forgiveness would not be bought. You were surprised he at least had the composure and maturity to not bang on your door.

It was the last night before finals, and it was just your luck that it was pouring furiously as you stepped out of the library at two in the morning. You worriedly stood under the awning in almost pitch black darkness, the campus streetlights doing little to nothing to illuminate what would be a horrible walk back as you watched every single tree bend over backwards from the sheer amount of wind force.

You groaned, nervously chewing on your thumb nail as you racked your brain on what you could possibly do, so past exhausted and wanting nothing more than to call it quits and climb into your bed. 

“Hey.”

You gasped, eyebrows shooting up your forehead and whipping around to see what potential threat might be facing you, surprisingly visibly relaxing when your eyes landed on none other than gojo. Of course.

A hand raised to clutch the fabric over your heart, exhaling in relief when you realized you weren't about to get kidnapped.

“Holy shit you scared me,” you breathed, moreso to yourself than him, fear catching you off guard for a moment that you didn't immediately curse at him. You didn't say more, letting the thunder and pitter patter of the rain fill the heavy silence, didn't ask what he was doing there.

Gojo stood awkward, almost out of place. Hand in his pocket and other lightly gripping around the handle of an umbrella that went clearly unused by him. Damp strands of snow white hair stuck to his forehead and wet clothes clung to his body. He looked so pretty just standing under the awnings flickering lights, eyes somewhat unfocused but glued on you, and you had to force yourself to look away, could practically feel the blush creeping up your neck at how pretty he looked. 

It seemed as if your body would continue to betray you.

“Can I take you home?” He asked softly, cerulean eyes filled with a glimmer of hope shining at you.

“Nope. It's fine, I can wait. I'm sure it'll be done soon.” blunt and final. Gojo's heart raced at the lack of venom as if it was a sign. Sure you were uninterested, but you didn't immediately tell him to leave you alone. It meant absolutely nothing, yet to him it meant everything- meant light at the end of a tunnel, a stray getting a taste of food after having been starved. His heart raced in his chest, words catching in his throat. He could play it cool, not beg, not repeat himself over and over again like he'd been doing, just try to do enough yet not too much to just get you with him for a few minutes one more time.

“It's after 2 y/n, we've got our final tomorrow and it's pouring. I know you're tired, just let me take you home. Please.”

You rolled your eyes to yourself, exhaling and contemplating his words in your head, cursing every upper power for their unwillingness to toss you a bone. 

Do you suffer for the ten minute car ride and get home and go to sleep, or wait here for lord knows how long to just sprint home, maybe get caught in the rain anyways with all your papers and laptop in your bag in the pitch black- you groaned quietly. It was a no brainer.

“This means nothing. I'm serious, Gojo.”

The smallest of smiles creeped on his features, the corner of his lips turning up ever so slightly, and along with one of the prettiest grins you've ever seen came the embarrassingly increasing pounding of your broken heart. You regretted it as soon as he stepped closer, hating the way he made you fluster even after shattering your heart.

“Come on, I'm parked this way,” and right away his free hand reached for the strap of your bag, tugging it down your arm and slinging it over his shoulder, opening the umbrella and positioning it directly over your head before guiding you out into the rain. You opened your mouth in protest, but he was too fast, ultimately deciding to just keep your mouth shut to get it all over with. 

The two of you sped walked in the rain, dodging puddles to the best of your abilities and your heart ached painfully at what could have been. The moment was mocking, undeniably sweet. 

An unintentional squeal shot out of your mouth when a particular violent gush of wind suddenly sent the umbrella inside out, both of you getting momentarily soaked- or well, mainly just you. Gojo didn't fit under, choosing to just hold it over you and was already looking like he had jumped in a pool.

You couldn't hold back the bubble of laughter that rolled out of you watching gojo curse and spew apologies at you getting wet as he frantically tried to fix the umbrella. His curses turned into chuckles and as soon as it was fixed, the laughter died down into awkward silence, your cheeks burning and a new wave of sadness crashing as the two of you walked side by side. You knew this was a bad idea.

He opened the passenger side of his far too fancy car, a small murmured “thank you,” reluctantly falling past your lips as you watched him run to his side, blasting the heater once situated. For a beat, you both said nothing, sitting in the idling car while a tsunami stormed around you.

He cleared his throat. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good, that's good.” He spoke too fast, sounded too eager. The car stayed parked, Gojo flexing his fingers in his lap, adams apple bobbing as he nervously swallowed. Fuck was he neverous? He didn't want to fuck this up- okay well he was already so past that, he didn't want to fuck things up more, which surely by now would just be impossible. He's just missed you so, so much, still pathetically texting your number everyday incase he wasnt blocked anymore, racking his brain for any other way to show you he's sorry and means it, that he-

“Gojo.”

“Yes?” He's immediately swiveling his head towards you, thoughts interrupted, eyes wide and mouth gaped at what you might say. The yes sounds more like a plea than anything, a beg for you to talk. You spoke to him and it didn't sound like you were going to curse him, what is it what is it what is it??

“Take me home.”

His shoulders deflated, embarrassment creeping up his neck and hope now a mere fleeting thought. What was he thinking?

“Right! Um- yes sorry, of course, my bad,” He mentally cursed at how awkward he was acting and fuck if it didn't sting, but it was everything and more that he deserved.

No music, no talking, just the white noise of the rain and occasional clap of thunder, mixed in with the heat blasting from the vents. He parked outside your apartment building, mustering the courage to try and speak before you could escape. He had ten minutes to think, to scrounge up anything and suddenly his mind was entirely blank except for just you. Just you looking far too pretty exhausted and wet at two am, sitting in his car, right in front of him. Was this real? Was he imagining you?

You spoke first, already unbuckling your seatbelt, eyes staring straight through the windshield. “No more flowers. No more gifts. No more anything. This-” you motioned between yourself and gojo. “Whatever this is- was- no more. Done. Thank you for driving me home, but no more.”

The words burned as you forced them out, every thought in your mind telling you nononono. 

“T-theyre from uh, they're not just from me, from the guys too, I'm telling you y/n, I’m sorry- we are all really sorry,” Gojo whispered, entire body turned towards you in case he'd be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of your eyes. You were so close, yet so far away, and he had no one to blame but himself. 

“I don't care who they're from, that's-thats not the point, okay?” Your voice raised, tone laced with frustration and annoyance. How could you possibly get over him if he was just so damn persistent? Why did he have to try so fucking hard? “Just leave me alone-”

“I cant y/n, I cant. I- I tried, I've tried to respect your words and give you distance but I can't okay?” He knew he was being pathetic, but he just didn't have it in him to care anymore.

“I physically fucking hurt, and I know, It will never compare to how you feel- to what I did to you but fuck-”  his features were contorted into a pained look that you had never seen before, never wanted to see in the first place. 

You faced him, regret taking hold of every action and thought as you could practically feel the want to give in increase more and more. The look of distraught, the anguish, everything that should have never touched him completely coated him and you had to dig your fingers into your pants to keep from reaching out. You internally begged for him to stop, to just stop fucking speaking, to stop making you think and think and think. But when has Gojo ever stopped?? 

“I can't stop thinking about you, you're my first thought in the morning and last thought at n-night- I.. I cant function without you and I miss you so so much, just please- please you're all I think about and I mean it when i say it was real, it was all real- Fuck, it never and i mean it never felt like a joke or some bet, I knew I was fucked as soon as I started talking to you- I liked you and and I fucking love you- like theres, theres this physical constricting in my chest when I think about you, when I think about how much I love you and- and,” Gojos head dropped to his chest, voice cracking and fingers curling into the fabric near his chest as if he was experiencing that ache, spewing the words so hastily he could only pray he was making sense.

He inhaled a deep breath, some lousy attempt at collecting his thoughts, raising his head to find your eyes on him, wide and glossy, nostrils flaring from the intensity of your breathing. 

You were so beyond overwhelmed, unsure of what to do, what to say, if you should zone him out or listen, but it hurt and it hurt so much that you knew no amount of lying to yourself or to him would numb the agonizing ache in your chest.

“You don't have to love me. You don't have to forgive me, but please, just let me try. Ill spend the rest of my life making it up to you, but fuck Y/N, i have never felt this before. W-When I look at you- m-my brain just does this, this weird numbing thing like its just a buzz, l-like i cant think at all, I just- i just see you and,” he frustratingly ran his fingers through his wet strands, fingers pulling and tugging on the edge as anxiety and exasperation coursed through him.

“Fuck im just so in love with you,” his voice broke, pitch uneven and scratchy.

A tear streaked down his pale skin, and you sharply inhaled to hide your own. You could try to be strong, try to deny what you felt for him and pretend like you didn't need him, but you weren't exempt from the ache in your heart at his admission, couldn't just let his words roll off you like they didn't mean anything, when they meant everything, couldn't ignore the way he loved you when you loved him.

The entire situation was so fucked, such a dumb fucking cliche.

“I-I know my letter wasn't enough, that an explanation or guilt won't fix anything, that gifts don't mean anything” you stayed silent, didn't tell him you hadn't actually read his letter yet, that you couldn't. “but-but I just- I just need you- need to try to fix what I fucked up. You're so, so perfect,” he whispered the last sentence to himself, gaze dropping.

He was the one who did all of this, but you wouldn't be the only one to suffer.

You shakily breathed, praying your voice didn't come out as broken and fragile as you were, that he wouldn't be able to see your tell. So many things you wanted to say, wanted to ask. You couldn't open that door, desperately wishing you could find closure in disclosure.

“Thanks for the ride, gojo.” a faint whisper, the only response you gifted him. You slammed open the door, grabbing your bag and running out into the rain towards your apartment building, thankful that it was so loud it hid your cries and wails. You didn't turn around, knowing you'd only go back at the sight of him falling apart, knowing the exact feeling of something that was so in reach completely and helplessly fall through your hands. It was torturous watching what used to be your ray of sunshine completely lose its spark and turn into something so hurt and defeated. Two sides of the same coin. What perfect reflections of each other. 

The class was quiet when you arrived bright and early the next morning, murmurs and whispers of questions floating around students silently panicking as they anticipated the material on the exam. Sleep was futile, mind filled with endless thoughts of gojo, and when you finally drifted off into the lull between consciousness and sleep, your dreams taunted you of him. Showed you small glimpses of a hand held in yours, messy white hair splayed on your lap, a pretty smile that made your mind go dumb. You didn't need to see his face to know it was him.

When you woke, eyes wet and sadness heavy in your chest, you couldn't have cared less about your exam, only wanting it to be over so you could resume rotting in your heartbreak. 

But of course, Gojo being Gojo through and through, you found a coffee placed at your usual spot in lecture, “good luck, you're going to ace this!” and a heart once again written sloppily in his handwriting. Huffing, you discreetly scanned the room, finding his ruffled locks on the opposite side alone, looking equally as shitty and unwell. You rolled your eyes to yourself, blocking him out and eager to get the exam over with.

You half expected Gojo to storm after you once the exam was over, dismissing the small part of you that almost wished he had. No you didn't.

Slamming open your apartment door and throwing off your bag, the action happened before you could even second guess, fingers whipping out your phone to quickly unblock his contact telling yourself it was just to look, just to get a small peak.

You'll just block it after again, just one quick look wouldn't hurt right?

Your jaw dropped, hundreds of texts flooding your phone as you watched every single one pop up one after another after another- approximately over four weeks worth and Jesus, he was really not lying when he told you still texted your number, still spammed it. 

Texts from that night, good morning texts, ‘i love you’s,’ ‘im sorry’s,’ a photo of your digimon keychain on his back pack and then of a digimon shirt and poster in his room with the caption “I love digimon so much I love your keychain”, your sticky note on his wall mirror, a photo of the empty cookies “so fucking good, let the guys have only one except for the fuck face that tossed em”, a photo of the exact frat member that tossed them with evident bruising on his face, “I didn't do it fushiguro and kuna did swear- they loved the cookies btw”, photos of flowers that reminded him of you, just more and more texts spilling his guts, telling you he loved you.

Holy shit. 

You gritted your teeth. You should have never unblocked him, mind filled with so many thoughts and nothing at once you weren't sure if you were processing anything. You definitely weren't breathing.

Fuck it.

Phone carelessly tossed somewhere, you moved to tear open his letter, harshly biting your lip in anticipation, eyes widening at the multiple pages he had written and two smaller pieces of rectangular paper falling out that you paid no mind to yet. 

You scanned the letter first, eyes rapidly going through each line only managing to digest certain sentences.

-so embarrassingly insecure that i never had any real friends, people that only used me for my family's status or wealth or just to get something out of me ever since i was kid. I didn't think anybody would actually want anything to do with me unless i had something to give-

-got to college and it was the same. Felt like no liked me for me. Always felt like i was left out of a joke or just didn't understand, thought i was weird and just had really bad social cues or something like that. Joined the frat for some brotherly “love” and it only got worse from there. I hated it, but i had something along the lines of friends for once and i had never had that before and wow this is really embarrassing-

-they were all assholes and at first i was just playing along. It was fun to feel like I fit in. it was never anything bad, never hurt anyone until you, never made any sorts of bets about anything, i swear. I'm only mentioning this because I know you'd never want anyone to go through this. You're so selfless, so kind-

-frat president came up with the idea of the bet and i gave in and i don't say that placing the blame on him or on anyone else. It's 100% all my fault and I never should have accepted it. When he brought it up, almost the entire frat was in the room and they all looked at me like if i didn't agree id be the loser i used to be. There's nothing I wouldn't give to take this back. To be looked at like a loser or nobody again if it meant I could have you back. I didn't think, didn't know who you were yet, which is not an excuse at all. It just made it easier to say yes when i didn't know-

-kuna and fushiguro didn't give a fuck. Are they assholes? Absolutely. But at least they are to everybody. Geto was against it all but we didn't care enough clearly to stop, we just kept playing along with the pres just because we could. Just because he could. Honestly don't even know what the prize was, I just accepted it that day. I didn't think about it.-

-he wanted to see if i could get you in bed with me, being the campus fuckboy and all. I know there's no reason for you to believe me at all, no reason to take my word for it. But I never would have gone that far. You think I'm lying and you have every right to, but I never. Never would have done that to you. Im a disgusting idiot, but not that evil-

-started to like you. Started to fall in love with you. Frat president was weirdly on our asses about it (yeah weird, fushiguros, kuna, and geto too?? Me i get, but i think he knew i was insecure and wanted to fit in, knew i had actually started to get along with those few guys and wanted to fuck me over even more having us all wrapped up in it, and dumbly enough i played along- we all did) and everytime i looked a little too happy or giddy or genuine after being with you he’d remind me of the bet. Remind me it wasn't real. I know, I am the biggest pussy ever. What kind of guy takes shit from someone like that? Who even cares?-

-dates were real. You were real. To me. I could nerd out with you and you'd laugh, join in with me even on the dumb things I liked that you didn't know existed. Just listen to me and watch me like I deserved your attention, like I deserved you and how good you were. And then I'd go back to the house and I was furious. Too pussy to officially end the bet to his face but knew I'd only keep going back to you. I never would've stopped once it was technically over because you werent some fuck ass bet to me, you were everything. I'd be so mad and accidentally end up taking it  out on you, being rude and indifferent so that maybe you would get fed up with me and end whatever we had going on. That you realized I was never worth your time or good enough for you, but you never did. You kept looking at me like I meant something, kept giving me more chances than I ever deserved. And I took advantage of all of it. I wanted you so bad.-

-realized i turned into one of those assholes i always hated. Had no one to humble or put me in my place anymore and I hated what I saw in the mirror. Used to shit on people like me then i turned into one of the most vile people ever-

-but fuck i couldn't stay away from you. Told myself I'd end things with you just so that in some twisted way I could protect you from me, from the people I hung around. Anything but actually change huh?-

-they felt pretty shitty too so made them all write apology letters to you. I promised I wouldn't read them so if they're ass then I am really sorry about that. Told them to use their big boy brains and that maybe I'd let them try one of your cookies. I really did get them back-

-worst thing I've ever done in my life. Watching you look at me like that in the hall way gutted me and i stood there like some fucking cocky asshole but all i could think about was how were too good for me. Too kind, too genuine. Literally the personification of sunshine. I felt sick, thought it i was cold enough you might tell me to fuck off but you didn't. You never did and i hate myself-

-a brother threw them in the trash when i got back from class, i swear, all the guys saw, i swear. Said i was looking a little too happy, a little too old to be excited over the coolest fucking digimon keychain ive ever seen in my life. I was gonna grab them as soon as he left but then prep for the party started and this and that and i was gonna wait until after the party. I didn't care if there was junk all over it, I was gonna grab the keychain and the cookies (still in the container okay so it was fine, I'm not that gross and they looked amazing) and end the bet with him.-

-didn't even realize how much time had gone by. Every moment was so real and genuine with you all i wanted was you-

-that fucking night. I invited you of course I did and naturally, was shitting bricks. Prettiest girl I'd ever laid my eyes on was coming to our party and I was so excited. Didn't think of the bet, just wanted you there, wanted to see you. Frat pres kept handing me drinks, passing me blunts, and i didn't say no. just kept drinking and smoking and was so fucked up. Got in front of them and he started riling me up, started shit talking the gifts you got me and how funny the idea was. Everybody looked at me and like the desperate loser I am, started spewing shit, started spewing hate. Just wanted to make everybody laugh just to feel fucking better about myself for a split second. Just to feel like i fit right in with them-

-saw you. Saw how beautiful and out of this world you looked even while you cried. I am a coward. I'm pathetic. I knew i was fucking it up, but the moment i saw you. Fuck. I would do anything to take it back. To tell him to fuck off that i didn't care. To be a man and tell him i loved you, fuck his bet or whatever. That all of this was real. I know it doesn't matter. I know I deserve to feel this when I know it's nothing in comparison to what I did to you. I know i will never understand-

-want nothing to do with me. I completely get it. I'm not saying this so you take pity on me, believe me, but I know how cowardly I am. Know how I'm anything but a man. That i did something disgusting and horrible to the girl I love, the girl I was falling in love with. I hate that this is what it took for me to snap out of it. Came in after you left and absolutely trashed the place, kicked everyone out (may or may not be getting kicked out the frat next sem but i don't care), grabbed your gifts from the trash. Made the guys write those letters a couple days later after I went off on my friends (they went off on me too, don't you worry), and then the pres stilllll had some shit to say. Guys felt so bad they uh gave him some love taps-

-don't expect you to ever forgive me. Don't expect you to ever fall in love with me back. Just need you to know how perfect you are. How your kindness kept me going on the darkest of days, how you were literally a breath of fresh air that made me think that maybe things would be okay. You never hesitated to be there and every morning I woke up happy knowing I'd get to see you. I will be sorry for the rest of my life. Every day I wish I could take it back. None of it was worth it. I only want you. I only love you-

-had the best thing that's ever happened to me right in front of me. It felt like I had it all when I was with you. The prettiest girl I'd ever seen with a heart of gold liked me. Didn't want anything from me. And in return I betrayed your trust. Lied to your face. Not only royally fucked myself over but ruined the best part of me. Hate that i will be the reason for all your insecurities-

-mentioned the aquarium night event that had been sold out for a few months that you said would be a dream to go to. I got you two tickets (not for me don't worry) for the end of the month once finals are over since you said you'd be here over winter break. When you go, if, check out the biggest tank in the back with the whale shark. I know you'll look beautiful. Are beautiful. I love you.

The letter was tightly clutched in between your fingers, knuckles white from the grip, tear drops splattered over the sloppy pencil marks, smudges all over from where gojo had continuously erased and rewritten, erased and rewritten. tiny hiccups fell from your mouth.

You hated him you hated him you hated him.

You loved him you loved him you loved him.

Your breath hitched, momentarily discarding the letter to inspect the two fallen tickets. A special one night event gala with inclusive drinks and food, behind the scenes tour where guests could even pet certain animals. Not only had the tickets been sold out for months, but they were way beyond out of your budget. 

With trembling lips and shaky hands, you sobbed. 

Gojo quite literally spat out his drink when three days later a notification popped up. From you. In the midst of scrambling to properly hold his phone, he somehow managed to fling it, frantically tripping over his own feet, knocking over his drink and sending his desk chair tumbling.

Hi. Can we talk

He wasn't blocked anymore?? You texted him? You wanted to talk??

He tried to focus, tried to think of a response that wasn't so desperate or needy. He failed to do both.

Hi yes of course. im free now. Or whenever you are free of course, just let me know!

Your bubble popped up, his heart spasmed in his chest, breath heavy as he awaited your response. 

It went away and his shoulders dropped. Then it popped up and he sat up. Gone.

He groaned, tossing the device and covering his face with his palms. He fucked up again.

An hour later, there was a knock on the door down stairs, then voices mingling. Then-

“Gojo! Your girl is here!” It was Kuna’s voice.

gojo furrowed his eyebrows. His.. girl?

He stumbled up, sprinting down the stairs so fast he jumped down the last four, heart lodged in his throat as he eagerly popped up next to sukuna, eyes widening once they landed on you.

You.

In all your glory clad and comfy and so fucking cute in a swetashirt that was far too big - fuck was that his?- hair slightly messy but purposeful, lip caught in between your teeth. He froze, jaw dropped, eyes stuck on you like he'd never seen a woman in his life. Like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. His breath caught.

“Hi,” you spoke softly, cheeks warm and fingers fiddling with the hem of your- his hoodie.

He rubbed his eyes, unsure if he was dreaming or not. He thought of you so much that the idea that he was hallucinating you at this point was very plausible, that maybe you were a figment of his imagination-

Sukuna elbowed him, a grunt leaving gojos lips, murmuring “weirdo” before turning away. 

“H-Hi,” his voice cracked, clearing his throat before trying again. “I mean, Hey.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully. Playfully. 

She rolled her eyes at me playfully this time. She just-- she-

His mind was short circuiting. 

“This Friday is the aquarium night event. Pick me up at 8.”

And just like that you turned on your heel. Didn't wait for a response, an emotion, nothing. But he understood perfectly fine. This was his last shot.

He spun on his feet, unsure of whether or not he should run after you or if he just made you up. He yelled out to sukuna who only smirked.

“Was she real??”

Those three days passed agonizingly slowly, yet all too fast. Gojo anxiously stood outside your door, palms sweaty and hands tugging at the neck of his collar to breathe. The biggest bouquet of flowers at the store clutched in his grip with an unintentional deadly vice, his best tux ironed to obsessive perfection (admittedly the first time he's ever ironed, he didn't even own one, asking every guy in the frat until one of his brothers mom offered to lend him one).

He spoke out loud quietly to himself, hand hovering over the door in a closed fist working up the courage to knock. “You got this, don't fuck this up, don't fuck this up even more, don't-”

Right under his fist the door swung open, both yours and gojos eyes widening equally in surprise. His cheeks flushed, opening his mouth to speak but the words died down in his throat as his eyes scanned you over. Like a moth to a flame he couldn't stop looking, eyes leaving a wake of goosebumps on your flesh everywhere they traced. Your cheeks burned.

He wasnt breathing, wasnt blinking, wasnt thinking- mind doing that brrrr numbing noise when he would see you but fuck.

You were stunning. The prettiest fucking thing that had ever blessed his eyes. Standing before him, just as shy, just as taken aback. The floor length gown you opted a blessing and a curse, hugging you so perfectly that gojo concluded that it quite literally had to be made for you. You were taller in your heels, hair done perfectly, makeup gracing your features and only accentuating your natural beauty. Oh he was so royally, completely, entirely, fucked.

He was embarrassingly nervous to be standing before you, to stand by your side when you looked like that. Fuck you were so out of his league.

You cleared your throat and for the first time, he blinked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts- or more so lack of.

“You look… you look stunning,” he finally spoke, watching as your gaze dropped to the floor, the tiniest of smiles making his heart thump.

“Thank you. You look very nice too.”

He beamed, exhaling, reminding himself to breathe. He must've died. Must've died and he was at the gates of heaven and fuck he didn't care if he was about to get turned away, at least he got to see you standing right in front of him and hed be damned if he didn't treat it like the best gift he had ever gotten.

He snapped back into reality, far too enthusiastically thrusting out his arm holding the flowers.

“I-I got you flowers.” say something else you idiot. “The, the prettiest ones in the store f-for the prettiest girl.” oh my god not that. 

Gojo wanted to cringe, physically recoil at how fucking dumb he sounded.

You let out a small breathy laugh- he missed that sound so much- gently taking them from his grasp to put them in another vase, not paying attention to the way your fingers accidentally brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity up his arms and through his body like a machine getting a much needed reboot. He was pathetic, so so pathetic and it was his greatest honor.

You came back, the pink red blush softly painted on your cheeks made him want to bite his fist and he wasnt sure if it was cuteness aggression or the fact you just looked so fucking edible.

“Ready.”

The two of you slowly strolled through the aquarium, arm laced through his while you admired the animals and he admired you. It was laughable how obvious he was, eyes unable to stray. Hundreds of couples flowed and ebbed around you, an overwhelming amount of waiters offering food and more food and champagne every thirty seconds. The tension was painful, you and gojo downing two flutes each as soon as entering the event. 

Small talk at first was difficult, Gojo rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment when he asked if he mentioned how beautiful you looked for the umpteenth time that night. You smiled, blushed, but the tiny inklings of doubt and fear circulated in your head, questioning if he really meant it this time.

You both lingered around tanks, drinking more and more flutes of champagne, becoming more and more relaxed as the night continued. Jokes started flowing easier, hearts forming in gojos eyes when you threw your head back to laugh when he accidentally knocked over an entire serving platter from a waiter's hand. 

This was the iconic fratboy?? Making a fool of himself?

He would've cringed, scowled at himself if it weren't for the way you looked, finally allowing your guard to loosen and the champagne to take hold, poking fun at him and asking if this was his first time out in public. He stupidly grinned, teeth and all, cheeks burning pink.

The night only got better from there. Gojo gleamed as a worker introduced you to penguins, whipping out his phone to take photos of you smiling and laughing. Then you were petting a sting ray- a photo of you quietly squeaking when you touched the slimy creature. Later on a photo of you gasping as you pet a dolphin, stars in your eyes and amazement unmasked. You with a sea otter “awwing,” you backing away from gators, you pointing at the big bellied sea lions, you-

“Thank you Gojo. For the tickets, I- I really don't know how you got them, and the price, I don't know what to say.” 

The tank was cold beneath your touch, finger feathers lightly tracing the glass that housed colorful jelly fish. The room was dark, save for the glow of the bright sea creatures that reflected in your eyes. You couldn't look away from them. Gojo couldn't look away from you.

The response was immediate, without a doubt. “Don't say thank you. I-..” he swallowed. He didn't know what else to say, knowing sorry would never be enough.

“Sukuna said he was sorry when I went by. Said what he did was pussy shit. When I agreed and said I didn't forgive him, he smirked and said good.” You stayed facing the tank, voice tight and blunt, but not unkind. Purely factual.

Gojo slumped, hands shoving into his pockets, preparing himself for you to end everything for once and for all. His saliva was thick, relaxed state leaving him and anxiousness creeping in. He stupidly hoped for something more, knowing he didn't deserve it from the start. But knowing never made handling the truth any easier.

Silence hung heavy in the air. 

Gojo cleared his throat, quiet and nervous. He chewed on his bottom lip, fingers playing with a loose thread in his pocket. “I know you're sick of me saying it. But i am so sorry y/n. I wish I could take it back, but I know I can't." He itched for another glass of champagne. “Im just,” gojo huffed an airy laugh that was more so a sigh of disbelief. “Just so thankful, that you- that you let me come with you tonight. A-and see you.”

A faint hum was your only response.

“C-can i show you something?” he whispered.

You turned, hair framing your face perfectly from where your hands had run through it throughout the night, eyes shiny but bright, and gojo could feel his heart stop, or maybe it was just beating so fast that there was no separation of a beat. “Okay.” 

Before he could overthink it and more than ready to accept the sting of rejection, he quickly but hesitantly brought his hand towards yours, lacing his large one in yours. Tears almost welled in his eyes when you didn't pull away. “Come on.”

“Holy shit,” the words came out unintentionally, eyes wide in awe and jaw slack once your eyes landed on the aquarium's new massive whale shark as it freely swam inside the gigantic tank, other fishes and creatures accompanying it in its rounds. 

Gojos palm was embarrassingly sweaty in yours and he felt unsteady on his legs as if he was standing on unsolid ground. Maybe this was stupid, so stupid and you'd hate it. He was starting to regret it.

A worker near the tank spoke into a mic, excited and grinning big. “-Our newest edition! Everybody meet y/n the whale shark!” 

You gasped in equal joy and shock, a genuine smile appearing on your face for what felt like, no it quite literally was, the first time in over a month. You spoke aloud, maybe to yourself, maybe to gojo.

“Hah! That is so funny that they named it that- what are the odds??” 

As soon as the words left your mouth, your eyebrows were already furrowing, body already turning to gojo who looked ghastly and sick on his feet, hand rubbing the back of his neck and skin flushed the brightest you'd ever seen it. He had mentioned wanting you to check it out in the letter, wanted to show you now, looked so nervous… why would he be so..?

“Gojo?” 

He didn't look at you, mouth straight and eyes forward. He hummed, but the pitch was too high, too anxious as if he was awaiting some sort of reaction. How would that even work…?

“Gojo…” His eyes scanned the room, fluttered left and right awkwardly, anywhere but you. Your heart stopped, hairs standing on the back of your neck, of your arms, mouth suddenly dry as if you hadn't been drinking the entire night.

“Gojo you didn't…” and he was facing you suddenly, eyes wild, tugging you closer and grabbing both of your hands to hold in his, thumbs swiping back and forth not to soothe you but an anxious tick to soothe himself. 

“Fuck, I know it was dumb wasnt it? God- I knew it was stupid, b-but I wasn't thinking, or I was, and I just thought, just thought-” You cut him off, pieces fully falling into place and jaw dropping in unadulterated shock.

“You named a whale shark after me???”

He let go of your hands to pace, fingers curling into tight fists. “Fuck I know, why would I do that? I thought maybe a star named after you would be cool? But-but I just- you know, y-you love the aquarium and I had been researching and saw they were rescuing a whale shark that didn't have a name yet- so i emailed and called and came in and donated, and- and, okay basically maybe begged, but hey, at least I get a plaque now right? Well you get a plaque, I put the donation in your name-”

Your jaw was on the floor, watching the most nonchalant notorious cool fratboy who was known for just that be anything but, frantically pace and throw his hands all over the place as he rambled on and on and on about how he named an entire whale shark after you.

You blinked hard, again and again, wondering when you'd wake up, wondering when gojo would snap his fingers in front of your face and tell you you were just day dreaming. You couldn't believe what you were hearing.

“You named a whale shark after me…”

At once he stopped, turning to you completely exasperated and arms finally falling by his side in defeat as if you'd hate the idea and chew him out for it, as if you could ever hate the idea. He named a fucking whale shark after you. 

“Yes.”

Immediately, like all things gojo seemed to be best at making you do, your eyes filled to the brim with tears. His hands found your cheeks, thumbs moving to swipe under your waterline as he panicked. “No, no, no, wait- don't cry, that bad huh? Fuck, it was supposed to make you happy-”

Your fingers tightly gripped his wrists, biting your lip to stifle and quiet your cries thankful the worker and surrounding couples had moved along. “I… I am, that does make me happy.” 

Like a weight that had been lifted from his chest for the first time in weeks, Gojo physically relaxed, shoulders slumping in relief. He gently pulled the two of you closer to the tank, eyes solely interested in you as if there wasn't a gigantic whale shark swimming right next to him, as if you were the only thing worth watching, as if he didn't want to blink in case he might miss something.

You sniffled, small laugh hiccuping out of you. “That is s-so silly..” he was nodding along with your words, palms resuming their once rightful place on your cheeks and now the only thing running through his mind was that if he was ever so lucky to be gifted another chance that he would never take it for granted ever again in his life, never take you for granted.

“I am so in love with you Y/n, you have no idea.” 

His mouth frowned at the slightest flash of sadness in your eyes, corners crinkling as more tears silently streamed down your cheeks. “Ill keep showing you I'm sorry for as long as you let me and god im fucking sorry. You are the best thing thats happened to me and i know none of its enough, none of it compares to how i hurt and destroyed your trust in me, b-but fuck I love you,” he spoke softly, yet urgent and severe and he hated the inkling of hope that sprinkled in his chest, the fear and pain that came along with thinking he might not be so hopeless after all. It only made it worse.

“I..” his heart seized in his chest as he waited for you to finish. “I don't forgive you gojo.” and he felt his heart crack, felt everything in him completely ache and throb and the tightness of his throat burned so painfully he wasn't sure if he'd be able to hold back the sob that threatened to leave him. He licked his lips, nodding his head to your response and dropping his hands, tears readying to leave his own. The worst of it all was understanding, was agreeing with your decision.

“Y-yeah, yeah-” It’s all he could whisper, all he could muster. But then a hand reached out for his own, fingers lacing through his once more. He wanted to yank it out, not out of spite, not to be rude, but he was on the cusp of shattering. Didn't want you to see him wail like a toddler in the aquarium, figured you weren't vengeful enough to want to watch it though you had every right to be. 

‘B-but... that doesnt mean that one day I wont…I just- I need time, but I think, maybe… I'd be willing to try…” you breathed, gaze flickering back to him, to the floor, to the whale shark he fucking named after you, back to bright blue eyes that looked at you as if you were the air he breathed, the oxygen in his lungs. 

A tear dropped down his cheek and he felt his body restart. Felt every function in his body like a car being hot wired and suddenly he was working all over again, electricity shooting through every single muscle, tendon, organ. 

A squeal left your lips, strong arms suddenly wrapped fully around your middle as you were snatched up and spun around, hands braced against his shoulder as broken fits of laughter flew out of you. 

He was in disbelief, he was in awe, he was dreaming, he was everything you weren't and you were everything he wasn't and he was excited, so hopeful, peppering your cheeks and face with kisses as if he just won the lottery- no, no this was better, this was so much better.

“Satoru, stop!” but you were giggling, you were giggling and gently pushing him back, but at the first syllable of his name that you hadn't said in so long, he just couldn't find it in himself to physically peel himself away. You were everything and more and satoru gojo was the greediest  man alive. 

You could hear the smile on his face. The intensity at which he spoke, the genuineness in his words and actions.

“Fuck- I love you I love you I love you, you wont regret this, youre gonna be my wife and ill make it up to you every single day from now on, thank you thank you-” the words slightly muffled as he continued planting delicate kisses over your face. 

You wouldn't kiss him just yet, despite wanting nothing more than to feel his soft ones against yours.

Baby steps.

You laughed, shy but not fearful, eyebrows shooting up your forehead at his admission and eagerness. “Lets start with one day at a time, yeah?”

Gojo finally pulled back, palms finding their now rightful place on your warmed cheeks, tucking the fallen hair behind your ears. He bit his lip, grinning so wide his face hurt. 

“Yeah. Yeah I think I can do that.”

tags: @raveszn @suf0kate @auradiddler @applvfish @trep65 @luna0006 @vavavavavaavvaboom @socharmedxoxo @erinc1235-blog @younghideoutberserker @amjusthereforthesmut @userless818 @suki-1278 @alebrasil0101 @sabztov @yvres @maicellarwater @looha @momoxmimixmomox @bzziestbee @vinsushi @satorusblue @minadiary07 @waterfal-ling @militarychu @pawwwginaaa @gonergirll @kitkat-gojo @noone1233nobody @dreamingoftomorrow @labbratz @ainauf @swoozleee @thatobsessedreader @titi37295 @drfrankiestien @cyberakane @agendercrisisx @pigeondex @sadlysoulx @satoruslovey @elifgomez0 @maliakealoha @ckilhj @whatsernamekei @yamaesque @flyingcat96 @yuverea @decadentdelusionlover @xxoamsoxx

[beomzone]

HOW MUCH MONEY DID HE SPEND?!!?!!!?!!

[countdracc]

hear me out

summary: mattheo and alcohol don't mix, add in a heartbreaking quidditch loss, and everything goes to shit

warnings: angst, yelling, anger, cursing words: 2.5k

based on this ask!! :)

300:80. That's how bad Slytherin lost—220 points. Slytherin hadn't had a loss that bad since they lost to Gryffindor their second year, when Harry "Golden Boy" Potter caught the bloody snitch in his mouth.

Everyone's game had been off since Tracey Wolfs became captain, only coming out on top of the short list because his cousin was one of the star female players on the Holyhead Harpies. He got none of the so-called "family talent" he bragged so much about. Mattheo knew making Wolfs captain was a no-go, which made the devastating loss burn a little bit brighter.

Watching a sea of red and gold erupt in a cacophony of cheers ticked him off even more, driving him to slink off the field, broom limply dragging behind him as he bypassed you and the locker rooms to shower and sulk in his dorm.

It was childish, really, leaving you, bathed in green and his name, on the stands and with a smile, expecting the usual from him. Mattheo usually flew up to your spot in the Slytherin section, a sly grin on his face, and would leave you with a kiss just as fast as he came. That, obviously, did not happen.

But if Mattheo was being honest, he was dejected and embarrassed and felt like he had disappointed his father, of all people. He could claim nothing bothered him, that Voldemort had no control over him, but it'd be a lie. A bold-faced one at that.

That cool, calm, and collected facade he wore as a second skin cracked, and no one, especially you, was going to see it.

────୨ৎ────

The party in the Slytherin common room was in full swing, everyone deciding a good party shouldn't go to waste, opting to drink away their sorrows. It was only missing one person, their star player—Mattheo.

He was sitting on his bed, staring at the wall, possibly plotting the death of the entire Gryffindor team and Tracey Wolfs. An almost empty bottle of firewhiskey sat capped on his bed, right next to his crossed legs.

Alcohol and Mattheo didn't mix, the whole school knew that, you knew that. It was a dangerous combination, one that turned his blood sour, personality vitriolic.

So, when you knocked on the door, a small smile on your face, a drink in your hand, his foggy brain turned off all sense of logic.

"Hey," he gruffed.

You knew he'd be upset, but something looked different. Felt different. The whole thing was unfortunate, really.

"Hi, love," you murmured. "Can I come in?"

A thick pause of silence passed as he stared at you. "Sure… You went to the party?"

"Yes, I was just waiting to give you some time." You moved to his bed, staring at the bottle of alcohol sitting on his comforter. "…Looks like you had your own party."

He didn't laugh, he just stared holes into your forehead. "Mhm. Did."

"Are you okay? After what happened?"

A sigh slipped past as he plopped himself unceremoniously next to you. "Fine. Truly. That git Wolfs won't be, though."

"Mattheo," you chastised, a hand going to your forehead. "You can't hex your own captain because he made a few bad calls."

"Can't I?"

"No."

"Pity."

Your hand dropped from your forehead, which was most likely wrinkling by the second, and slowly reached for his hand. He pulled away before you could even brush the pad of your finger across his skin.

The rejection stung more than you cared to admit.

"You've hardly looked at me since you… since the match." Your voice was light and quiet. "I'm worried about you, is all."

"I said I'm fine." He spat the words out like the sheer idea of them turned his mouth bitter.

"Yes, you've said that."

"I've said it because it's true."

"No, it's not."

His jaw flexed, his eyes closed.

"You left the pitch solemnly. Disappeared for hours without even a word to me. And now, you've almost drank yourself to alcohol poisoning." You glanced at the bottle. "You hate all kinds of whiskey, even the expensive kind."

"I like it now."

The silence was heavy and it carried a certain sense of dread that settled low in your stomach.

"Losing hurts. I know that. But you have got to see that this is only one match."

His gaze traveled upwards. It was the first time he'd truly looked at you all day. "One match?"

"Now, you know that's not what I meant-"

"Then what did you mean?"

"I mean it shouldn't define who you are."

He stood, hands balled into fists at his side. "It's so easy for you to say that."

You laughed, hollow and thin. "Bloody hell does that mean?"

"It's easy for you because you don't know what it means to feel like this," his voice was lower, rougher. "Everyone watching as I get tossed around like an idiot."

"Mattheo-"

"Shut up!" He groaned, running a hand down the side of his face. "You don't know anything."

"I was out there cheering for you, you did not look like an idiot!"

"I know you were cheering, I saw my name on your bloody jumper. Wish it could have helped."

"What?"

He shifted, bending down over you until his arms bracketed your frame. He was so close to you now that you could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I wish it could have helped."

It felt like you were swallowing needles. "I came here so you wouldn't be alone."

His head dropped so you could just see his hair. "Great. Well, you've seen me now so you can get back to your own party."

 "I'm not leaving you like this."

He looked up again, eyes glassy. A flicker of softness passed over him but it hardened just as quickly as it left. "Wonderful."

"Why are you so angry with me?"

"I'm not angry with you! Fuck. How are you so blind?"

"Blind?" You spluttered, pushing at his broad shoulders. "I can assure you I'm not blind. If anyone is blind, it's you. This game, this loss, just made you feel something that you think you shouldn't have! Something that you don't want to admit!"

"Felt what? Tell me. Oh, Merlin, please tell me."

"…you felt humiliated."

Mattheo blinked slowly. He was incensed; angry; irate. It all was too much, and not what he wanted to hear from you. Something, the only thread he had left, must have frayed too thin. "Merlin, when are you going to stop acting like my fucking therapist? All you do is whine and tell me how I screw everything up! I'm obviously… humiliated, according to you, and you're trying to turn this into a lesson like you're my bloody shrink! Get it through your thick fucking skull that I don't need your help. Fuck."

"Mattheo! You-"

"Oh, I what?" He reached out a callused hand, grasping onto your wrist, tugging at the hand pressed against his frame. "What? What? Just fucking say it!"

You flinched, pushing at him harder.

Mattheo loosened, letting his hand drop to his side. Brown eyes met yours, the face he saw reflecting in your iris' didn't look like him—he looked like his father; the same sharp nose, the same curls, and the same tongue that lashed out harsh words to anyone who got too close.

His spine unfurled as he stumbled away from you.

Your name came out like a whisper. Reverent; sad; almost silent. "I- I'm so sorry."

"You almost hurt me."

Mattheo opened his mouth again. Your lips quivered. He stopped.

"Don't… you dare do that to me again, Mattheo Riddle."

He was talking to you now—you knew it. Most likely apologizing again. But the ringing in your ears overpowered any semblance of hearing you might have had left. It was confusing and overwhelming, and none of it was as simple as it should have been.

Tears pooled at your waterline, tearing lines of salt down your cheeks, that, you thought, may scar from how much they burned.

Your boyfriend had never been angry with you like that, never that close to feeling like he would lay a hand on you. His touch had never felt so severe.

Lines blurred at the edges as you stood, shaky hands fumbling for the doorknob that seemed to get further and further away from your clutches.

Something within you paused when Mattheo spoke your name again—bone-dry, broken, and utterly depressing. White noise rushed in your ears.

"Please, I- I can't explain what came over me; I don't know what came over me," he began. "I'd never, never, lay a hand on you. Know that. Please. I'm so sorry for yelling. Please don't leave."

He was begging now, begging for that piece of your heart he had so selfishly stolen from you like a thief in the night.

"Matty, I can't."

"Just hear me out."

With your chest heaving, you turned your head to the side, just catching a glimpse of that face that never left your mind, even when you slept. You wished you hadn't. The regret you felt was immediate. The boy you had known to always be stuck on his high horse, always hidden behind concrete walls made of unachievable expectations and words that cut deeper than knives looked like his wings had been clipped.

He stood before you, his shell cast to his feet.

"You don't understand. I cannot… cannot breathe without you near me. I don't deserve you, and my actions tonight have not reflected that. You have to believe me. I—fuck—drank too much and I knew it wouldn't work out well for me, but I was just so disappointed that it happened. What I did just now was cruel and unforgiving and it wasn't me. Well, it was me, but not how I should have acted. I kept thinking about my father, and you know what happens when I do, and—"

"Mattheo." Your tone tip toed the line between anger and empathy. You turned to face him fully now. "I do understand because I love you. I need time."

────୨ৎ────

Four days passed.

Four agonizing days.

Usually Hogwarts felt massive with its ever changing hallways and moving staircases, but it felt far too small when the only person Mattheo wanted to see wouldn't dare to even glance his way.

You were everywhere and nowhere all at once.

At the far end of the table, smiling softly at something Pansy said.

In your favorite chair in the common room, your nose in a book.

On your knees in front of the greenhouse, clipping away at flowers, your hair shoved beneath your favorite woolly scarf to prevent the snow from dampening the strands.

Every time, he'd hesitate before letting his feet carry himself to you. Though, you were always quicker, traipsing away to do something that didn't involve him.

It wasn't cruel or maddening, just mind numbing… just far away. From him.

He didn't blame you. How could he?

That blasted night played over and over in his head like a broken record. Your pretty face flinching, the warmth of your wrist in his hand, and that look in your eyes which haunted him the most. You looked at him like you were afraid.

That realization settled in his chest like lead.

Sleep didn't come as naturally anymore, dinners were skipped, and trudging to class seemed as strenuous as swimming the length of the Black Lake. So, he spent most of his time in the astronomy tower, smoking the occasional cigarette, but never picking up a bottle of alcohol.

On the fourth day of not speaking to one another, the fourth day of Mattheo treating the astronomy tower ledges as his new bed, you decided to go visit him.

He didn't hear you walk up the stairs, only startling when your silky voice cut through the cool air. "You're going to fall to your death if you get any closer."

Mattheo's head whipped around so sharply he dropped the cigarette he was fiddling between his fingers. It was immediately crushed beneath his foot.

He stood abruptly.

"I can leave if—"

"No, don't. Please."

He sat back down again. "I- I wrote and rewrote a letter apologizing probably a billion times over, but none of them sounded quite right. All of them started with I'm sorry and I didn't think that would cut it."

"It wouldn't have." You words were blunt, but the look in your eyes was softer.

"I know. I didn't want to keep asking for you to forgive me." His gaze was downcast. "I remember everything I said to you. They have replayed in my mind over and over again."

He laughed bitterly.

"I grabbed your wrist." His voice caught in his throat. "Merlin, and you looked at me like you didn't know who I was."

Your jaw clenched. "I didn't."

It was like a bludger to the stomach.

"You looked like, I don't know, something different."

Olive skin turned alabaster as as the blood drained from his face. He couldn't breathe.

"Love, I am so sorry. I don't want you to feel like you can't trust me, or- or, fuck, that I would ever put my hands on you. You know… my father and that I would never do what he did to me to someone else. I've been wracking my brain to find something else to say, what would make this better, but if I'm being honest, I can't figure anything out. I'm scared it won't be enough."

"Matty," you sighed, slowly walking over to him, hands finding the sides of his face. "I know that. I'm sorry that I've been ignoring you, too."

His mouth opened in a silent gasp. "Don't, please, don't apologize to me. You've done nothing, and have never done anything wrong."

Your head shook. "I could have said something to you."

He said your name in a sigh. "This is what I mean," Mattheo hesitated when he raised his hand before placing it on your forearm. "You apologize for things that don't need to be apologized for. I told you things like I don't need your help, which is so far from untrue. I don't know where I'd be without you."

A small, pursed-lip smile graced your lips.

"Thank you. Something you need to understand more than me is that I don't know where I'd be without you, too. Just, I have to stress, if you do something like that again, act like that again, I- I don't know what I'll do, but I know that it will be your second, and last, chance."

His hands skimmed across your arms and moved to your midsection, where he squeezed you into a hug.

"I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I promise, darling."

You mirrored his action, hugging him so tightly you thought he may have trouble breathing. "Good. Will you come to classes and dinner, now?"

"Only if you're there."

"Always," you whispered.

finally i post

I forgot to put my taglist I hate me

@bingbongbooom @aroseconstellation @lonaah @97blond

[fireflyschiikawa]

husband!sukuna : ragebaiting baby!yuji

to say the trip had been a smooth ride would be a complete lie.

who knew a weekend out in the mountains with your toddler would be 10x harder than you’d anticipated.

well there’s always firsts to some things.

sukuna and you had handled it better.

but baby!yuji on the other hand…not very much so.

for the past half an hour he’d been biting your ear off asking again and again ‘when will we reach home? or ‘why is home so far away?’

you’d answered patiently at first, but gods you weren’t a saint either.

rubbing your forehead, you took in a deep breath.

sukuna (who’d been watching this whole ordeal) shifts the rearview mirror to look at the spiky haired kid in the back, his son, yuji.

“hooome is so far away” he sing-songs in his deep voice clearly a tease towards yuji.

and.

yuji.

loses.

it.

“NOOOO” yuji shrieks.

you snicker behind your hand, looking at sukuna trying to hold back your laughter.

he continues, again in that same tone,

“HOOOOMMEEE is so far away~”

“MOOOM!!” yuji screams, again “tell him to stop”

now you’re full on laughing, clutching your belly for some measure of restraint.

“HOOOOME-“ this time sukuna’s completely cut off by yuji bursting into fake-dramatic tears.

you slap sukuna’s arm that’s holding the steering wheel mouthing, a soft ‘come on’ through teary eyes from laughing so much.

‘what’ he mouths back, a silly grin on his face, eyes flicking up at the mirror to look at yuji’s reaction again.

it was safe to say, that you both were enjoying this a lot.

you twist in your seat to speak to yuji, “papa’s gonna keep singing that, if you keep complaining yu”

baby!yuji just huffs in response, crossing his arms with a huge pout on his face.

you turn back around, “you can’t rage bait your son like that” you joke at your husband.

“gotta teach em’ young” sukuna shrugs continuing to drive on, with a surprisingly compliant yuji in the back.

firefly; i was cracking myself up just writing this, sukuna probably:

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