When Marquis Gojo Satoru goes missing after the bloody fight, the entire empire is in uproar! Until his loyal soldiers accidentally discover him living in a small village working as a... noodle seller? And he has a wife?!
pairings: Gojo Satoru x Reader
content/warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, inspired by drama, Gojo yearns to have a family, domestic life he deserves, pregnancy, marriage
WC: 5.5k
a/n: loosely inspired by Chinese drama Pursuit of Jade 逐玉！
idk who the artist is, pls help!
Two men walked through plains and meadows under the scorching, merciless sun. Their full armour weighed heavily on tired shoulders, and horses were getting more tired each day. They barely had any water, and milky buns long gone stale, with their usual soft dough crumpling under their touch.
They've been looking for their general for six months already, with the hunt being fruitless from the very start. Marquis Gojo Satoru fell on the battlefield alone, with all his other soldiers getting bowled like wild deer. Since that cursed night – no one has seen him. The most powerful general in the entire empire, with the emperor himself paying in pure silver just to find his most precious warrior.
That's why Suguru – his strategist – and Nanami – most devoted general – decided to walk the vast plains of the empire, just to find their Marquis. He wasn't dead, surely, as not many things could hurt his almost divine body. As if created by the Jade Emperor himself.
Built like a boar, with the strength of a thousand men, Gojo Satoru was the strongest one in the whole empire. Surely he must've been kept hidden, with hundreds of men trying to conceal the Marquis from the world and use him as a future leverage.
Could someone from a traitorous clan kidnap him?
Maybe his wounds after the fight were truly too severe, and he just wasn't strong enough to break free?
Whatever the reason was, Suguru and Nanami were dead-set on finishing their mission.
After a half day of walking, they stepped down the mountain, following a gentle brook that let their horses drink to the brim. Both men cleaned themselves up a bit and ate last, stale buns, dreaming of having even a simple bowl of noodles.
Thus, imagine how joyous they were upon seeing a little village, hidden deep between the mountains with nothing but tall trees and a wide river spinning through it. If Suguru didn't lift his head up while drinking from the brook, surely he wouldn't notice it. Low, wooden roofs were almost fully obscured by lush forest, and nothing but a gentle, white smoke curled around some dirty chimneys.
Food!
Both men almost run that way, with stomachs squirming in hunger and sweat dripping down their backs. Nanami dreamed of sitting down with a drink and meat, while Suguru foolishly wished that the villagers would know something about their Marquis.
After all, the battle was not that far away from here, and there was a chance that someone might've seen a wounded soldier wandering around the meadows.
When their horses passed the small, wooden gate, the little child immediately ran up to them.
"Can I pet, can I pet?" his small hand reached out towards the raven horse, brushing its massive leg gently before Suguru could even nod.
He got off the mare, squatting down to be on the same level as a kid.
"Tell me, boy, do you have any nice restaurants here in the village?" he asked, and the child hummed.
"Of course we have! The best noodles in the whole region, pretty lady!" he chirped, oogling Suguru's long hair smooching his cheeks.
Nanami scoffed, while Suguru only smiled gently. "Well, could you maybe take us there? You see, these two soldiers are very, very hungry."
The boy didn't seem to care about Suguru's pressure on the soldiers and simply nodded. He left the horse and pointed a finger at the small, two-level house, with multiple people sitting outside on little stools and grey smoke twisting around its roof.
"Thank you, dearest," Suguru said warmly, placing a sliver coin in the boy's hand.
Well, it should help his family last for at least a month.
"Do you think someone may've seen him?" Nanami asked while tying the horses to the fence outside the small restaurant.
"I hope so. But firstly, let's eat. I'm ready to collapse any second," Suguru mumbled, passing the wide-open doors.
The inside was rather simple but homely, with multiple families chirping joyfully over their noodles. The delicious smell of spices immediately hit Suguru's stomach, and long-withheld hunger suddenly became even worse.
They sat at the small table near the open window, enjoying the serene view of the slowly running river, with a few children playing at its crystalline water. Their laughter filled the stuffy air, and the gentle wind brushed Suguru's tired cheeks, bringing him a slight comfort. Birds chirped sweetly, and passing girls giggled under their noses, seeing two handsome, strange soldiers sitting politely in the restaurant.
And while they were waiting, with minds enjoying the peacefulness of this place, someone's voice suddenly brought them back.
"What can I get for you, gentlemen?"
Suguru turned his head, ready to order a bowl of spicy noodles and–
Oh.
Oh!
His knees went weak, and if not for the stool, he would surely fall miserably on the wooden floor. Blood immediately rushed to his head, fingers started to tremble, and if Nanami didn't grab his hand, it would surely curl around Gojo Satoru's neck.
Because why, dear heavens, the Marquis himself was standing before him perfectly fit and cheeky, with healthy rosiness blooming on his face and muscular body dressed in simple, commoner robes?
"M-Mar–" he stood up, but Satoru quickly pushed him back down.
The smile wasn't coming off his face, but his voice rolled out low and irritated. "Why are you here?"
"Why are we here?" Suguru almost burst. "Marquis, what do you mean by why are we here?!"
He couldn't quite believe it – the Marquis, man announced by the ministers themselves as surely dead, was, in fact, looking as if resurrected. His eyes, usually hued in deep ocean colour, looked rather... alive. Light and shiny, resembling the cyan paint spread over the canvas, soft and wet, glimmering under the warm beams of sunshine. His always so pale skin brimmed with healthy rosiness, usually suitable for most dearest birdies. Wet forehead was tied with milky cloth, keeping the snowy hair away from the brazen eyes.
Creamy robes hugged him loosely, with a few chilli oil stains bussing its grainy material.
He looked so... not noble. Not Marquis-like.
But much happier.
"Marquis, if we could talk–" Nanami started, but before he managed to finish, another voice chipped in.
Loud and angry, with a tired sigh and in the company of a fat finger knocking on the wooden table. "Hey, pretty boy! I ordered seconds a while ago!"
Suguru straightened up, jaw visibly tensed. He was ready to pull out his long sword and cut the man on the spot. "How dare you to talk to Ma–"
But before it, Satoru quickly smacked the back of his head.
"Sure thing, just give me a minute," he chirped politely, and Suguru almost fainted.
Never in the thirty years of his life has he ever heard the Marquis being polite to... anyone. Truly.
And so obedient at that, with a gentle smile curving his lips and a little nod of his head. The man, however, didn't seem to be satisfied, rambling under his breath and throwing a few curses every few seconds.
Six months ago, Suguru would see his head rolling on the wooden floor, with a Marquis slashing it off in a single, clean cut.
But now? Now his massive hand was keeping Suguru in place, not allowing him to stir up any trouble.
"You both eat first. I'm sure you must be hungry," he said warmly, patting the shoulders of his most reliable commanders. "We'll discuss it later."
"Marquis, but–" and, once again, before Nanami could finish, the rude customer decided to strike again.
"Pretty boy, I don't see you walking back to the kitchen for my seconds!"
Satoru sighed. His palms squeezed their shoulders, long fingers digging deep into the armour. Suguru, for a fleet moment, saw this familiar frown and blue veins popping on the Marquis's forehead, as if ready to burst with a merciless fury.
He's going to strike, Suguru thought. He won't let that bastard trash his good name.
Satoru rolled up the wide sleeves of his creamy robes, tying them with a thin rope around the elbows. Bulging muscles of his forearms glistened in sweat, with the sun cruelly smooching his pale skin.
And when he thought that Marquis, finally, finally, will deal with a man, another voice filled the heavy restaurant's air.
"Hey! Stop being rude to my husband unless you want to deal with me!"
It drove Suguru into the wooden stool, with its honeyed sweetness marked by an authoritative tone. Not many people were able to put someone into their place solely with a voice, but a fragile woman who came out from the kitchen, with a heavy chopper in her hand – could.
Husband?
Suguru's head started to spin. He looked up, seeing Marquis's lips curving in a gentle smile. Eyes cheeky, like two pale moons, while glancing back at the woman storming through the small restaurant.
"Think you can bully my husband while I'm here?"
Man's cheeks washed in embarrassment before he coughed. "My apologies, miss. If I knew he was your husband–"
"Even if he wasn't, you shouldn't be rude! He's too polite and won't harm a soul, but me?" she took a step, but Satoru quickly grabbed her. "Try me!"
She surrounded herself with an imposing aura, although standing next to Satoru, her head barely brushed his chest. Hair curled around the hearty face, with a light robe and dirty aproan hugging warmly plush hips.
"What a menace," she scoffed loudly, cleaning the chopper with a cloth, before glancing up at the Marquis. "And you should get more assertive. Must you always be so obedient?"
Obedient?
"Stop acting like a pushover, what if someone attacks you, hm? We have lots of bandits these days, and I won't always be there to protect you."
Pushover?
Protect Marquis?
Suguru sighed, grabbing his head. It pulsed with a malicious headache, and the more you talked, the more he felt like fainting.
"My dearest," Satoru smiled, looking down at your fuming cheeks. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you look with this little crease on your forehead?" he lifted up a thumb, placing it right between your eyebrows.
He started massaging it in gentle circles, rolling a sweet giggle out of your lips and finally getting rid of the frown.
"There she is," he whispered, cupping your cheeks stained in reddish oil. "My beautiful, ferocious wife. You need to stop threatening everyone with a chopper. What if one day you come upon imperial soldiers?"
You tsked, nuzzling into his warm hands. "I'll chop them too, if they try to bully you."
Suguru just couldn't listen to it anymore. Not only the intimate tension between Marquis and... you... was unbearable, but he also simply couldn't comprehend the sudden change that bloomed inside the most ruthless, powerful general of the empire.
He coughed quietly, finally getting your attention.
"Oh," rolled politely, before you quickly hid the chopper behind. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, too many people like to bully my husband and, well, you know how it is..." your hand unconsciously waved with a chopper again, and Suguru barely dodged its sharp steel. "Sometimes the wife needs to step in. You see, my husband is a scholar, so he's, hm, the more compliant one in this marriage."
Nanami laughed, but Suguru quickly threw him a cold stare.
He brought back a polite smile to his face, still slowly massaging the buzzing temple. "Miss, my friend and I have travelled a long way to meet with Mar– your husband. I hope you don't mind, we'll take him away just for a moment."
Your eyes bulged in surprise, looking up at Satoru's warm gaze.
"I didn't know Satoru had... friends," you giggled, hearing a soft scoff coming from your husband. "Of course you can, but eat first, please. You sure must be tired. If you wish, you can stay a few nights in our house too. Right, darling?"
Satoru grimaced when you looked back at Suguru, and his eyes narrowed. "Sure, baby. If that's what you want. But aren't you rather busy, my dear friends?"
It sounded like he was giving Suguru a choice, but the coldness of his gaze and slowly shaking head were enough to convey that both of them were forbidden from agreeing with his wife's idea.
Suguru, however, was furious as it was, and if staying a day or two meant taking Marquis down to size – he would be more than happy to do it.
Before Nanami murmured that they are, in fact, rather busy, the strategist quickly chirped in.
"My precious friend, I would be more than happy to stay under your roof," he said, standing up and bending down politely your way. "Miss, we're grateful for your priceless hospitality."
You giggled, waving gently with a chopper. "There's no need for courtesy. Stay as long as you want," your eyes moved back to Satoru, his arm curling around your waist. "Darling, just remember to pick up the vegetables from Fang's restaurant. Oh, and Miss Hua needs to write a letter to the magistrate, help her with that too, hm?"
You chirped while Satoru was looking down at your rosy face with a bizarre caress behind his serene eyes. As if gazing on the most precious, loveliest little nymph. In fact, he looked as though he wasn't listening at all, with fingers climbing up to your plush cheek, and a thumb brushing over the red, oil stain.
"Right, and come back before supper. You know that at that time I usually–"
"I know, the little brat makes her mommy nauseous," he smiled softly, and Suguru suddenly lost his appetite.
Wait a moment.
"Little brat?" Nanami chipped in first, with brows almost brushing his hairline. "Mar– Satoru, do you mean that your wife is..."
You looked at them, then at Satoru, then back at them, with a little tsk and hand patting his shoulder. "Truly! You didn't even tell them that you're going to be a father? What a good friend you are."
There was a second of silence, with Satoru trying to coo you sweetly and Nanami standing there like a log. With a slightly hazy gaze and mind trying to comprehend how a Marquis – the strongest man in the whole empire – got himself entangled not solely in a marriage with a commoner, but also in parenthood. His bloodline was precious, and his family would surely not accept the child whose mother was a simple noodle shop owner.
But then the three of them heard a loud thud, and a dark shadow of a man slowly hit the wooden floor.
Suguru, finally, fainted.
❀ ❀ ❀
He woke up a mere hour later, with a wet compress on his forehead and skull buzzing from the heat. The air felt sticky, like honey, sliding down his coarse throat and cumulating somewhere deep in chest. His head felt heavy, and warm beams of sun slipped through an open window, brushing his slightly wet forehead.
He noticed that heavy armour was removed from his body and replaced with thin, navy robes, with wide sleeves and a narrow, open collar.
The smell of boiled meat went straight to his stomach, although he wasn't in a restaurant anymore.
No, this room was neat and brimming with warmth, although rather small. The soft bed dipped under his weight as he slowly stood up. The wooden floor was cold against his feet, and he noticed a small table right in front of him, with a bowl of cold noodles and a cup. His knees hit the floor, and when eyes looked inside, he noticed a weird, lush mixture of herbs – probably something to help with overheating.
He inhaled noodles in a few seconds, with salty soy sauce dripping gently down his throat and into stomach, finally filling it with a delicious, homemade meal.
Suguru felt like crying, tasting something carried as if straight from the heavens. Something worthy of an emperor himself, with a perfect seasoning and spongy texture bouncing under his teeth.
The herbal mixture followed next, and he saw a small milky candy wrapped in paper, right next to the cup. When the bitterness of a drink struck his mind, he immediately took the candy and chewed on its creamy sweetness.
Although the meal made him a bit lazy and he wanted nothing more than to return to bed and sleep like a baby – the case of Marquis still hasn't been closed.
So he stood up, dusting off his knees and quietly went outside, covering eyes from the sun. It seemed that the restaurant was right below, with a few customers pottering around and your sweet laughter once again filling his mind. Going down the wooden stairs, he noticed your small figure through the window – with half-pinned-up hair brushing your cheeks and a warm smile, when another customer hummed deliciously over your noodles.
Your eyes met his lavender gaze, and you gasped, quickly going outside to meet his pale face. "Are you alright–"
"Suguru."
"Right," your hand landed on his cheeks, squeezing it softly as if kneading a bun. "You look much better now. The travel must've been tiring."
You took him by surprise, but something warm spread in his chest, feeling your gentle caress and thumb brushing over the rosy skin. Not many people treated him kindly, with care, and he tried to suppress an urge to nuzzle into your hand.
"If you're looking for Satoru, he went with your friend that way," you pointed a finger towards the small hut on the other side of the river. "This village is not big, so surely you'll find him somewhere."
Suguru nodded, still tracing the softness of your hearty face, with the kindest eyes he had ever seen. Truly, no noblewoman could be compared to the loveliness you carried like a second skin.
He strolled around the sandy paths, kicking the little stones that rolled under his feet. Curious villagers oogled him shyly, and each time he nodded politely, sending humble smiles and greeting a few children on the way. They followed him around the village, with little heads sweating under the sun and chubby hands reaching out for long, raven hair brushing his hips.
The smell of jasmine flowers filled the air when he crossed the small bridge, and a few petals slipped away from the fragile branches. A young girl laughed cheerfully in the house next door, and two old men sat calmly near the river's bank, trying to catch the splashing fish.
The village truly was... calm. Serene, almost idyllic, as if painted by the gods themselves, with the peaceful faces of the villagers and their cooing voices greeting Suguru on every corner.
He finally noticed a flash of snowy hair and quickly moved its way.
Satoru sat in the garden with a young woman and a little boy snuggling on her lap, while Nanami... dearest. Nanami was fixing the roof.
Never in his life would he have thought of seeing the first army general nailing the wooden planks with such a focus.
"I also want at least two tales of silver," the woman sighed, and Satoru politely wrote down her request. "But one is also enough. If that bastard decided to leave me, then let him pay."
"Two tales may be too much, but I'll try to bargain for you. Let's see," Satoru muttered, placing neat characters one under another. Little brush scrubbed slowly against the delicate surface, and only Suguru knew how skilled a calligrapher the Marquis was.
Truly taught by the best masters in the whole empire!
But the woman couldn't care less, for she never learnt how to read, and small characters reminded her of nothing but cute little bushes. Bending and curving under Satoru's steady hand, before he finished the letter and left it to dry under the sun.
His light eyes noticed Suguru's figure, and their cheerfulness was immediately replaced by a stroke of irritation.
What a bastard!
"Thank you, Satoru, I truly don't know how to repay you," the woman said shyly, gripping the letter in her hands.
The boy wriggled on her thighs, tugging on his mother's loose hair. Satoru lifted up a hand and pinched his chubby cheek, rolling a little giggle out of his lips.
"No worries, it's nothing. Just come to me when they reply, and I'll read it for you."
Nanami finished his little job too, and all three of them strolled outside through the wooden gate. Suguru didn't say anything for a while, taking in the rosy cheeks of his Marquis and oogling with curiosity all his exchanges with the villagers. They strolled around, picking up side jobs Satoru supposedly did every day – placing an order for vegetables and getting freshly delivered ones, checking the assortment for a little pharmacy, or giving short reading lessons to the local children.
People greeted him with this kind glimmer in their eyes, and kids hugged his legs, placing little stones, flowers and candies in his hands. He thanked them each time, ruffing silky hair, pinching their chubby faces and hiding every little, dirty stone in the sleeves of his robes.
On their way back to Satoru's house, Suguru finally managed to ask.
"Marquis, are we going to discuss it or just ignore the fact that you faked your death for six months?"
Satoru slowed his pace before finally stopping. Three men stood near the bridge, with light petals of the jasmine tree falling down on Satoru's milky hair. With no villagers around, he finally sighed.
"I didn't fake my death," he murmured, sitting near the riverbank.
The sun was slowly setting over the tall mountains surrounding the village, with tender hues of purple and pink and orange brushing the evening sky. Birds were slowly preparing for sleep, and villagers coming back from work in the fields. Big ox strolled behind them, tugging a little cart loaded with fresh fruits.
Satoru's eyes glanced up, reflecting the last rays of tangerine beams.
"After that battle, I fell into the river. The water must have thrown my body on the bank, because she saved me and took me back to her house. When I woke up, she was already there – tending my wounds and trying to stuff me full with noodles," he laughed warmly, as if remembering the first days spent in your presence. "I really wanted to heal up a bit and go back, but..."
Nanami and Suguru sat next to him, looking up at the fragrant jasmine branches hanging over the river.
"But I couldn't. You both know I never wanted to marry and have a family, but back there, after hearing her laugh the first time, something panged in my chest."
"Maybe your wound has opened," Nanami mumbled, and Suguru pinched his arm.
Satoru laughed, eyes still tracing the changing sky. "After meeting her, I finally understood what it truly means to be happy. To seek the next day and live in peacefulness, with nothing but her touch waking me every single morning."
Suguru hummed, remembering how warm you felt when your hand pinched his cheek. So kind and lovely, as if you honestly cared about this stranger you've met just an hour ago.
"She was constantly worried about people gossiping about her marriage, so I decided to use this chance and marry her. She wanted a husband, and I wished for nothing but to stay with her as long as I could," he continued, taking a white jasmine petal off his head. "But she was constantly afraid I would leave her one day, so to prove my devotion..."
Oh dearest god.
Suguru almost fainted again. "You decided to trap her with a baby? Are you crazy?"
He was crazy. So, so miserably crazy, and Suguru could see it in his eyes. In his hands, grabbing your waist in an almost possessive manner, and his always oh so gentle gaze, as if nothing else but his dear wife mattered in this world.
"I didn't trap her... well. At least she doesn't feel that way," he coughed, smiling like a fool. "She always wanted to have a family, so I decided to give it to her. What's wrong with it?"
"Marquis, are you hearing yourself?" Suguru almost hissed. "Just a year ago, you declined the most beautiful women offered to you by an emperor himself. And now you're telling me you decided to marry a simple commoner after knowing her for a month?"
"Well, he never offered me her," Satoru giggled. "And it was a week. She asked me to marry her after a week."
"She asked you?"
"Yes."
"And you agreed? Just like that?"
"Of course, it was love at first sight."
Suguru looked at Nanami, as if trying to make sure he wasn't the crazy one here. That Marquis truly went mad, and he lost all his senses.
Maybe while falling down, he hit his head? Maybe you bewitched him and forced a marriage?
But no one in this world could possibly force a tyrannical Marquis to do anything. Well, at least that's what Suguru have thought.
"Marquis, does it mean that... she doesn't know who you are?" Nanami asked, and everyone suddenly held their breath.
Including Satoru, who scratched his head sheepishly.
Oh.
Oh!
"She doesn't. You didn't tell her?!" Suguru once again almost shouted, and Satoru quickly shushed him.
"How could I? She thinks I'm a simple scholar who can do nothing but sweet-talk and read," he brushed another jasmine petal, and Suguru noticed a bit of worry behind his ocean eyes. "If she knew my real rank... There's a chance she would leave me. She's alone in this world – no parents, no family. If revealing my situation would mean losing her, I'd rather live as a commoner."
Suguru couldn't simply comprehend the weight of his words. For living as a commoner was everything people of their sort feared. To lose a status that could save your head in turmoil times such as this one was almost like a death sentence.
And Marquis was ready to do it solely for a fleeting tenderness.
"Does it mean you're not planning to go back?" Nanami asked quietly. "Do you want to stay announced as dead?"
Satoru was silent for a few minutes, with rays of sunshine slowly leaving his face. The moon lurked shyly from between jasmine branches, reflecting his wandering gaze. Suguru has never seen Marquis so quiet, so calm. As if his soul truly healed up from all the bestiality he needed to suffer just to float above anyone else.
The cold, sharp Marquis was no longer here, replaced by a man who tasted love for the first time. He was like a child learning how to walk, but at the same time, constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure his mother was watching over him.
And for Satoru – it was you.
You showed him the kindness of this world, and life deprived of the wrath he has felt for such a long time.
Marquis didn't say anything, but stood up instead and laughed under his breath. "It's almost supper time, let's go back. My wife always gets nauseous around this time, so I'll be the one cooking."
Suguru and Nanami simply nodded, following the Marquis back to the warm house.
They found you in a kitchen, humming softly and cutting the vegetables. The restaurant was already closed, and nothing but a soft beam of candles and a little buzz of crickets filled the small room.
Suguru has only now noticed your little bump, and he smiled when Satoru hugged you from behind.
"Sorry we took so long," he murmured, placing a wet kiss on your cheek. "There was simply too much to talk about."
You hummed, nodding head softly, till a few strands slipped away from your pinup. "It's okay, Satoru. Spend as much time as you need," you said, before looking up towards two men standing in the doors. "The room for you is ready. The supper will be, as soon as Satoru starts cutting the meat."
Marquis laughed, taking a heavy chopper and a fat piece of flesh. Suguru has never seen him in the kitchen, so he looked with pure curiosity at the way the iron blade slashed the tender meat.
What a bizzare sight, truly!
The supper wasn't anything special, but sitting together, talking and drinking – well, aside from you, of course – was the first time Suguru saw Marquis so relaxed.
Cheerful, free, with his head lying softly on your thighs and smooth locks caressed by your fingers. He was getting drunk faster than usual, babbling carelessly under his breath and peppering your little swell with kisses, till you flushed like the sweetest cherry and pushed him away. He joked and laughed, reminiscent of the days spent in royal academia with Suguru and Nanami (apparently, all of them met there, absolutely not on the battlefield) and delighted himself in stories about your first meeting.
About the moment he opened his eyes and saw an angel itself, to which you flushed feverishly and mumbled oh stop. Drunk Satoru was like a teenage boy boasting about his first love, and Suguru couldn't help but feel warmth spreading all over his chest every time Marquis peeked up at your lovely face.
When the night came, and it was time to part your ways, Suguru...
Dear heavens.
Suguru wished for nothing more than to be anywhere but right next to your room. For he heard everything.
Every sloppy kiss, every giggle, every shuddered breath of yours and silent Satoru, we can't, they're going to hear us. But Marquis, who was nothing if not madly in love, promised that don't worry baby, they won't, it will be fine, just let me taste you.
Fortunately, it seemed that you slapped his nosy hands away, because for the rest of the night, Marquis stayed silent.
Suguru and Nanami decided to stay for a few more nights, enjoying the idyllic charm of the village. Nanami would help in fixing the houses after the recent flood, and Suguru devoted his time to helping Satoru teach local kids. Marquis was the only person in the whole village who could read and write, thus local folks gladly attended his short, daily classes.
When Suguru came, the kids took a deep breath as if charmed by the gentleness and vigilance of his face. Satoru liked to fool around with little brats, but Suguru immediately put them in place, imposing a harsh, hour-long lesson as worthy of the most prominent strategist in the whole empire.
They sat with focused foreheads and beams of sweat glistening on their temples, while chubby fingers tried to draw clean, straight strokes.
Later that evening, Satoru told him that children liked the new pretty lady teacher, and you burst out in the most melodic laughter he's ever heard.
During the days, they fooled around, helped at the restaurant and did odd jobs for villagers, but the nights...
The nights were always reserved for you and Satoru.
And Suguru never dared to impose this gentle time between the two spouses, closing himself and Nanami off in the bedroom.
But he heard every little word rolled intimately between the two tender souls.
He heard the soft creak of the mattress as Satoru shifted closer to you, as if even sleep demanded less distance between your bodies.
He heard your quiet laughter, muffled into pillows, as though you didn't wish to disturb your guests.
He heard of your simple dreams and plans and all the worries you seemed to always have at the back of your mind.
He heard your quiet I love you and his trust me I love you more, followed by a silent kiss.
He heard the gentle splash of water shifting in the tub, followed by your quiet hum, almost absent-minded, while Satoru moved around you with careful hands.
He heard the faint press of lips against your temple.
The whispered goodnights that always sounded like promises.
And sometimes, he heard nothing at all.
Just silence.
But he knew that even during the most hushed nights, Satoru was always keeping you close – to his heart and soul and eyes. For he has never seen anything more precious than the peacefulness haunting his wife's forehead. And if a little, worried crease would appear between your brows, his thumb would gently massage it away. Lips would kiss it off, and you would snuggle up even closer, as if your body unconsciously yearned for your husband's touch.
There was a special kind of intimacy between the two lovers, whose odd fates and minds mixed in one lifeline. A bond most could be jealous of – in the way Satoru seemed to have you at his fingertips and you somehow always curled around them, floating near like a little goddess.
If Satoru was a believer, he would pray to nothing but the giggling eyes of his wife.
A few days later, when they were getting ready for the road, Suguru would look back at the young couple with a swelling heart.
For Marquis, who suffered enough in his short life, deserved nothing more than to gleam under the warm sun like a fair child, with his bright laughter forever carried through the mountains and meadows of the great empire.
clingy gojo never gets tired of hearing you say you love him.
“baby.”
you woke up to the familiar sound of exaggerated sighing coming from the other side of the bed. not just any sigh –no, this was the full satoru gojo special: a long, theatrical exhale that somehow managed to sound both heartbroken and annoyingly smug at the same time. you cracked one eye open, already knowing what was coming.
“do you even love me?” he whined, voice muffled against the pillow he was now clutching like a jilted lover.
you groaned, burying your face back into your own pillow. “satoru. it’s literally seven in the morning. i haven’t even had coffee yet.”
he rolled closer, slinging a long arm over your waist and yanking you against his chest with zero effort. “exactly. seven in the morning and you haven’t said it once. not a single ‘i love you, satoru, my handsome, amazing, perfect boyfriend who deserves all the sugar in the world.’ i’m dying here. wasting away. look at me– i’m practically translucent from neglect.”
you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. this was routine. as routine as his daily sugar intake and his insistence on wearing those stupid designer sunglasses indoors. you’d been together for twenty five months, three weeks, and four days (he kept count, obviously), and not once had the man gone more than twelve hours without fishing for verbal confirmation that you were still obsessed with him.
you wrote him letters. you baked him those stupid mochi waffles at 6 a.m. on sundays. you once spent an entire evening color-coding his sock drawer. it didn’t matter that you left sticky notes with terrible poems on the bathroom mirror (“roses are red, your hair is white, i’d fight a bear for your morning bite”): he’d decided your full-time job was proving your affection on demand.
you twisted in his arms, cupping his ridiculously pretty face in both hands. “satoru gojo, i love you more than i love sleep. more than i love the last slice of matcha kasutera. more than i love when you shut up for five whole seconds. happy now?”
he leaned in, peppering your face with loud, obnoxious kisses until you were giggling and shoving at his chest. that megawatt grin probably got him out of traffic tickets and into your heart in the first place.
“say it slower. with feeling. and maybe throw in something about my calves.”
you flicked his forehead. “you’re such a drama queen.”
-
you were flipping blueberry pancakes –extra chocolate chips, edges slightly burned because he once declared ‘crispy is a personality trait’– when familiar arms wrapped around your waist from behind. a chin that weighed approximately one metric ton of clinginess dropped onto your shoulder.
“baby.”
“yes, satoru?”
“you love me?” he purred, voice still sleep-rough.
you didn’t miss a beat, sliding a pancake onto the plate. “satoru, i woke up just to make these because you sent me three tiktoks about them at midnight. i think the answer is yes.”
“okay, but do you really love me? or is this all an elaborate prank because i’m too hot and you’re trying to humble me?”
you flipped a pancake with more force than necessary. “i wrote a haiku about your eyes last week. again. and i hate poetry.”
he chuckled. “read it to me. right now.”
“i’m not reading anything out loud again. you recorded the last one and set it as your ringtone.”
he pouted –full bottom lip jut, baby-blue eyes wide and glistening like he was one second away from fake tears. “so you don’t love me.”
“satoru.”
“it’s been twenty whole minutes since you said the l-word. i could die.”
you rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “i love you.”
he tightened his grip and hummed like he was thinking very hard. “okay but… would you rather get your entire face atrociously burned off in a freak pancake-related grease fire… or watch me go on one single date with another woman?”
you froze mid-flip. the spatula hovered. you slowly turned in his arms, eyebrows raised so high they were basically in your hairline.
“are you serious right now?” you poked his chest with the spatula. “satoru, i spend forty-five minutes on skincare every night so i can look like a glazed donut. i visit my dermatologist once a month, that gives you a hint of how vain i am. besides, our face is our calling card to the world. so yeah. i’d rather watch you go on a date with someone else.”
he gasped like you’d stabbed him. “you’d let me date another woman?!”
you couldn’t resist him when he got like this. you wiped your hands on a dish towel, pulled open the junk drawer, and retrieved the folded papers.
“i’d sit in the café across the street, eat my feelings in the form of their entire pastry case, and then kidnap you on the way home while blasting our song. because i’m not an idiot and i know you’d text me memes the whole date about how bored you are.”
he stared at you for half a second, then burst out laughing so loud the neighbor’s dog started barking. he scooped you up, spun you once, and planted a sticky chocolate-chip kiss on your cheek.
“you’re so mean when you’re logical. i love it. marry me right now.”
“you already asked yesterday. i said yes. again.”
“yeah but you didn’t say it with enough enthusiasm.” he stole a pancake straight off the spatula, burning his fingers and not caring. “say it like you mean it this time.”
you sighed, clearing your throat. “satoru gojo, light of my life, thief of my pocky, i would marry you in a denny’s parking lot at 3 a.m. wearing crocs and a trash bag if that’s what you wanted. now sit down before i actually burn my face on purpose to escape this conversation.”
he cackled and plopped into his chair like an overgrown puppy. you set his plate in front of him –extra whipped cream, because he was a child– and sat across from him with your own.
“there. evidence of love. delivered fresh daily.”
-
you were comparing two brands of hojicha powder when satoru materialized at the end of the cart like a teleporting menace, holding up a family-sized bag of strawberry kitkat.
“baby,” he said, voice dropping into full dramatic mode as usual. “how much you love me?”
you didn’t bother to look up. “i love you enough to let you buy the jumbo pack even though last time you ate them all and then complained your stomach was staging a coup at 2 a.m.”
he abandoned the kitkats in the cart and draped himself over the handle. “would you rather break your nose and never have it set properly again… or break up with me?”
you finally met his eyes. he was using his letal weapon: pouting. the characteristic bottom lip, sparkling blues, the whole oscar-worthy performance. a passing grandma actually slowed down to stare.
you leaned on the cart, deadpan. “seriously? i need my nose to breathe, satoru. besides being functional, the nose determines the shape of the face. and i am allergic to dust. having it permanently broken would cause me a lot of trouble. so yeah. i’d rather break up with you.”
he clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “you’d break up with me?!”
you patted his cheek. “i’d cry for three days straight, eat ice cream in your purple hoodie, and then show up at your door with a powerpoint titled ‘reasons we should get back together’ that includes graphs of how much i spoil you. because i’m logical, not suicidal. now help me pick the good hojicha before i add ‘makes me answer dumb questions in public’ to the breakup slide.”
he stared, then started laughing so hard an employee three aisles over dropped a jar of mayonnaise. he rounded the cart, lifted you clean off the ground, and spun you until you were both giggling like lunatics between the wasabi and the instant ramen.
“you’re ridiculous and i’m obsessed.” he murmured against your hair. “i’m keeping you forever. even if you’d dump me for breathing.”
“only temporarily. i have receipts for every sweet i’ve ever bought you. that’s legally binding in at least four countries.”
-
evening rolled around and you were curled up on the couch watching some mindless action movie he’d picked because “the explosions remind me of how my heart feels when you walk into a room.” (his words, not yours.)
you were half-draped over his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back under your shirt. all of your letters were proudly taped to the fridge like kindergarten art projects, as they should.
during a quiet scene he suddenly tightened his hold. “baby.”
you already knew. “yes, satoru?”
“do you even love me? like, love-love me? the forever kind?”
you twirled a strand of his snowy hair. “i spend fifty minutes every morning rhyming your name with something different each time. i think we’re good.”
he looked down, chin digging into your head, eyes sparkling with revelry. “would you rather i move to another country… or get hit by a bus?”
you blinked slowly, processing the new level of ridiculous. “that’s not even the usual format. but i’d rather you get hit by the bus. at least then i could camp out at the hospital, yell at doctors, bring you all your favorite sweets, and nurse you back to health while you’re stuck being extra clingy and dependent on me for months. if you move to another country, i’d be stuck with long-distance, terrible time zones, crying over video calls, and worrying you’re out there eating better yakitori without me. no way. i’d take the bus every single time.”
he tried to hide his smile. “you’d let me get flattened for dairy?!”
you booped his nose. “priorities, bae. i’m keeping you near me. now shut up so we can finish this movie.”
he tackled you into the cushions, kissing your face so aggressively his glasses went flying somewhere into the void. between kisses he kept muttering: “you’re so mean… so logical… i love it so much… more than sweets… more than winning… more than–”
you laughed and cupped his stupidly pretty face, kissing him quiet. “i know, you big dramatic baby. and i love you so much it’s embarrassing. i write you letters because texts feel too temporary. i say it every day because you deserve to hear it every day. i put up with your ridiculous hypotheticals because they make you smile like an idiot and i’m weak for that smile. you’re my favorite person in the entire world, satoru gojo.”
he melted and pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck with a happy little hum. “you’re the best, i swear.”
-
you were half-asleep, curled against his chest, when the question came again, softly into the dark. he couldn’t help it.
“baby… do you love me?”
you didn’t open your eyes. you just hooked a leg over his waist and mumbled. “yes, honey; enough to spoil you rotten and be logical about it. now go to sleep before i change my mind.”
for a long moment, there was only silence. no dramatic gasp, no theatrical clutching of his chest. just the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your hair, the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the half-drawn curtains. then his arms tightened around you –not the usual playful squeeze, but something deeper, almost desperate.
“god, i love you.” he murmured in a way that made your sleepy heart stutter. his fingers traced lazy circles along your back, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked just a little. “i never got to hear those words before. no one truly loved me until you came into my life. you choose me every single time, even when i’m such an insufferable brat. i don’t know what i did to deserve you, but i’m never letting go.”
you felt the heat of his smile against your temple, soft and genuine. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.
“you big sap,” you whispered, voice thick with affection. “i’m keeping you forever too. even if you keep asking me every day for the rest of our lives.”
-
the next morning, gentle sunlight slipped through the curtains as satoru slowly woke up. his arm reached out across the bed on instinct, searching for the cozy warmth of your body curled against his. instead, his fingers met cool, empty sheets.
he blinked, lifting his head with a sleepy little pout.
“baby…?”
before disappointment could settle in, his eyes landed on a neatly unfolded napkin resting right on your pillow –your fancy handwriting covering it in careful black ink.
he sat up, a small smile already tugging at his lips as he picked up the note and read:
« my dear satoru,
i woke up early because i saw online that a super special limited edition of those premium sakura daifuku from the exclusive wagashi shop just dropped this morning. i ran out to grab a fresh box for you before they’re gone. i’ll be right back! but in the meantime, i hope this will be enough:
i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you (x∞) ♡
ps: missin ya rn. »
satoru stared at the paper, his thumb gently tracing over your enthusiastic words. his heavenly irises softened in that rare, unguarded way only you ever got to see. another warm, genuine smile bloomed across his face as he pressed the napkin to his chest, right over his heart.
in that moment, with your loving note in his hands and the promise of your return, satoru knew without a doubt that true love only comes once in a lifetime.
Your wedding with Satoru — the one he never showed up to.
✦. cw : tragic love, doomed love, heavy angst, hurt no comfort
Satoru stood in the hallway already dressed, his hair slightly tousled as if he had just woken up, even though he had gotten up very early today. He was smiling — that bright, easy smile that always made your breath catch in your throat.
Satoru told you not to be afraid.
He lightly touched your chin with his fingers, making you lift your head and meet his unbearably bright, sparkling gaze.
He convinced you that everything would be fine.
That it was just another boring business trip, some kind of formality, a couple of days — and he would be back to nag you about dinner and demand that you scratch his head while he slept with it in your lap...
The music starts.
You take a step. The heavy satin skirt rustles against the marble floor, and the sound deafens you, drowning out the quiet chords of the cello. The bridal veil slips down before your eyes like a thin veil of fog.
It still feels like you’re dreaming...
Satoru had always been confident. Always the best. Always the one who laughed in the face of danger. But looking into Satoru’s eyes, into that endless azure you only ever saw when he let himself be real with you, vulnerable, you were absolutely, unshakably sure he would come back.
Although there had always been a silent distance between you because of his work — the way his phone could start ringing in the middle of the night, the way he would simply silence it and pull you closer, murmuring that it was nothing — you believed him.
You believed him with every piece of your soul.
So when he disappeared for nineteen days, you were more than confused.
For the first three days you were angry that he didn’t warn you, that he didn’t text or call. Then you started writing first. At first gentle messages, then worried ones, then desperate ones that remained unread.
You called — and only heard the cold “The subscriber is unavailable.” And with every beep, with every new day, a sticky, icy horror grew inside you, crowding everything else out.
You didn’t know anyone you could contact.
You didn’t know where Satoru worked, who his friends were, whether he had a family besides the one the two of you had created in your small apartment...
At some point, when the silence became unbearably loud and you stopped sleeping and eating, staring into the darkness outside the window, a thought crept into your head that made you physically sick: was there ever really anything at all? Had you imagined him?
Or, even worse — he had simply left.
Got tired, got bored, and left without saying a word, leaving you in this ignorance...
Satoru had always seemed closer to the sky than to the ground, and you didn’t even have wings.
You squeeze the bouquet so tightly your fingertips go numb, and the delicate stems of the white roses seem about to snap under the weight of your longing.
Your father’s hand on your elbow feels strangely unfamiliar. You feel his warmth, his pride, his desire to pass you into “reliable hands” — and it makes you nauseous.
Not because of him.
Because of yourself.
Because you’re here.
All of this is wrong.
With every step toward the altar your heart pounds somewhere in your throat, drowning out your breathing. You stare straight ahead at the figure of the groom waiting at the end of this endless path.
And then Satoru came back.
He simply opened the door with his key on the evening of the nineteenth day, and when you heard that click you nearly lost your mind running into the hallway.
He was there. Alive.
Satoru stood with his back against the closed door and looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Shadows lay beneath his eyes, his shoulders were lowered, and there was some strange metallic smell in the air that you instantly hated.
But when he saw you, his face changed.
The exhaustion didn’t disappear, but something flared up in him, something so hungry, so desperately longing, that your heart clenched.
Satoru looked at you as if those nineteen days had been an eternity to him, as if all that time he had done nothing but wait for the moment he could see you again.
You wanted to scream, to beat your fists against his chest, to demand explanations.
Instead, you burst into tears.
Silently, your whole body shaking, your face buried in his chest.
Satoru explained nothing.
He only whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry…” somewhere into your hair, and his hands, usually so confident, were trembling as he gathered you into his arms.
His embrace was greedy, aching, almost bone-crushing.
Satoru kissed your wet face, your lips salty with tears, and there was such anguish in those kisses that you stopped asking questions.
You didn’t dare to ask.
You ended up in the bedroom without even turning on the light.
Satoru hovered above you, and when he pushed inside you it wasn’t familiar, not playful. It was desperate. As if he was trying to become a part of you, dissolve into you, hide.
Hide from everyone.
At first you didn’t notice his gaze — heavy, studying, unusually thoughtful. You only saw the features you loved, felt his weight, his warmth. Then you thought he was just deathly tired.
That he needed this — oblivion.
And you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms and legs around him, pressing him to you as tightly as you could.
You let him love you, letting him all the way inside, and you loved him back — with blind, almost painful desperation.
And at some point, when you were already on the edge, when the world had narrowed to the point where your bodies touched, you thought his eyes were shining.
When Satoru, pressing his forehead into the curve of your neck and shoulder, exhaled, “I love you so much… you have no idea,” there was so much pain in his voice that you only squeezed your eyes shut tighter, afraid to scare him away.
The priest begins to speak.
His voice is even, echoing like in an empty church filled with people, but you don’t hear a word.
You only hear the silence.
The same silence that screamed in your ears on the nineteenth day.
The one from five years ago.
The one that settled in your chest forever after that morning when you woke up alone.
You look at the groom, nod at the right moments, smile faintly.
Satoru didn’t let you go for a long time after.
He lay there with his fingers laced through yours, stroking your palm with his thumb. Then, as if remembering something important, he reached for his trousers carelessly thrown on the floor.
You heard the rustle, and when he turned back something glinted in the moonlight in his hand.
Satoru took your hand, and you felt cold metal on your finger. A ring…
You froze, staring at him...
Satoru propped himself up on his elbow, his face very close. He was smiling — that same soft, warm smile you loved so much — but in his eyes something had frozen… something wistful, doomed, that made your heart drop.
“Marry me,” he asked. No pathos, no usual arrogant smirk. “Be mine. Forever.”
Satoru was begging you to stay with him.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unite this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” the priest’s voice reaches you as if through cotton.
“What if we were standing here together, Satoru? What if this day were ours?” you ask yourself silently.
Your groom is good. Kind. His eyes are calm and warm, without that terrifying endless blue you used to drown in every day...
But you don’t see him.
You imagine Satoru standing at the altar instead.
He wouldn’t stand still, he would definitely lean toward you and whisper something stupid to make you laugh at the worst possible moment.
You close your eyes for a moment and the image comes to you so vividly it almost hurts: him in a perfectly fitted suit, you in this same dress but with a different light in your eyes. Satoru looking at you, and there’s no longing in that gaze, only happiness. Pure, untouched by pain.
Satoru had always been too full of life, and it burned everyone around him.
You say yes to him and take his last name “Gojo” instead of your own.
He slides a ring onto your finger and you place one on his.
You kiss under the applause, his hands on your waist so familiar you think you might die from happiness right there.
You had a chance.
A chance to anchor all that fragile happiness and call it yours.
But you were afraid.
Afraid of the seriousness in his eyes, afraid it was too good to be true, afraid you’d scare him away by saying yes.
You thought there was still time.
You thought he always would.
Because Satoru always came back.
You didn’t manage to say anything, but he, too perceptive, read everything on your face.
His wistful smile widened slightly, and Satoru removed the ring from your finger himself, placing it in your palm and closing your fingers into a fist.
“It’s okay,” his voice was steady. “Think about it, sweetheart. And when I come back, you’ll give me your answer.”
Something inside your chest snapped at those words.
“You… you’re leaving again?” you breathed, panic ringing in your voice.
Satoru pulled you close, pressing his nose into the top of your head.
“Just for one day, silly,” that familiar teasing note slipped into his voice. “I’ll take care of something and come right back. Meanwhile you can think about how you’re going to call me ‘husband.’”
He kissed you until you relaxed in his arms, lulled by his warmth and a false sense of safety.
You pressed closer to him, feeling how hard his heart was beating, and whispered, “I love you.” You fell asleep with the cold metal of the ring clenched in your fist.
“If anyone knows of any reason why these two should not be joined in marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Your heart skips a beat. Forever.
You swallow hard.
Inside you something tears, screams, thrashes in hysteria.
Your mind is screaming: Say it! Say you love someone else! Say that the ring hanging on your chest isn’t just jewelry! Say that your heart has been dead for five years, buried with him wherever he is!
You look at the hall.
Guests sit there smiling, some wiping sentimental tears. Your mother sits in the front row, happy. Finally her daughter has “found a home.” Finally you stopped “living in the past.”
But the past isn’t something you can just stop waiting for.
The past is something that lives inside you.
Breathes with your lungs.
Beats with your heart.
The silence stretches a second too long.
A too long.
The groom gently squeezes your fingers in reassurance. He thinks you’re nervous. And you are. Just not for the reason he thinks you are.
“Very well,” the priest smiles. “Then we shall continue.”
And you hate yourself for staying silent.
In the morning Satoru was already gone from your apartment.
Satoru left.
You woke from the cold on the side of the bed where he had been, from the silence. Only the ring you had loosened in your sleep still glimmered on the sheet.
Satoru left without saying goodbye.
And never came back.
He didn’t come the next day, didn’t call in the evening, didn’t text a week later.
Satoru Gojo disappeared without a trace, dissolved as if he had never existed.
As if that night with his desperate love and the ring in your hand had only been a dream.
“I,” the groom begins, his voice firm and confident, “take you to be my wife…”
You look at his lips and see different ones.
Feel another kiss on your own — the last one before sleep. Salty with your tears, gentle, promising a quick return. A lie. Or not a lie?
You will never know.
He vows to love you in sickness and in health, in riches and in poverty, until death do you part.
Until death do you part…
It wasn’t even death that separated Satoru from you.
It was something else.
Something he never told you.
Something that took him away from you, leaving only a ring on a string and a question without an answer.
You waited.
First a year, then two, then five.
You learned to live again, forced yourself to leave the house, smile, work.
You met a good, caring man who looked at you with steadiness and calm.
He proposed, and you said yes. Because you should. Because it was time. Because he was good.
But he was never him.
Because you had always loved only Satoru.
Your turn.
You open your mouth, and it feels like a broken howl will tear out of it. But you speak. You say the words you’re supposed to say.
You vow love to the man standing in front of you.
And every word is a lie.
Not because you don’t want to love him.
Not because he’s bad.
But because the part of you that knew how to love for real — desperately, completely, down to your bones — left with Satoru that morning five years ago.
And you’re still waiting for it to return.
Just like him.
“As a symbol of your love and commitment, please exchange rings,” the priest’s voice drifts.
The groom takes your left hand. You watch as he slides a new ring onto your finger — smooth, golden, proper. It settles exactly where Satoru’s ring had rested that night.
It covers that memory, erases it, makes it nonexistent.
Goosebumps run across your skin. Cold, sticky like fear.
Under the fabric of your dress, on your chest, the small metal circle burns against your skin. It knows. That ring knows you’re betraying it. That you’re choosing life without him.
That you’re giving up.
Now it’s your turn.
You take the ring for the groom from the velvet pillow, your fingers trembling. You slide it onto his finger, and the gesture feels like a final sentence. For you. For the girl who five years ago lay in the arms of the most incredible man on earth and believed it was forever.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!”
Your groom leans down.
His lips touch yours softly, carefully, properly.
You close your eyes, and in that moment, in that darkness, you don’t feel him.
You taste the salt of your own tears on your lips and the sharp metallic scent that has nothing to do with this bright hall.
The guests are touched, happy for you.
You are not happy. You are mourning him. Mourning yourself. Mourning the life that was stolen from you — by circumstances, by silence, by his cursed job, his cursed confidence, his cursed love that Satoru carried away with him.
The kiss ends. You open your eyes.
Your husband smiles at you, wiping your tears with his thumbs.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I love you.”
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat.
Everything is fine.
Now you’re married.
Now you have a home, a family, a future.
You have everything except him.
And when you walk back down the aisle while guests shower you with rose petals, your hand reaches your chest on its own. Through the fabric of your dress you clutch the ring, the only thing left to you from Satoru. You squeeze it so tightly the metal seems to bite into your skin.
And in your head pulses one thought, one prayer, one scream no one will ever hear:
What if I had said yes back then?
What if I hadn’t let you go?
What if you had stayed?
What if you were alive?
What if you were here?
You walk out of the church to the sound of the wedding march, and the sun blinds your eyes.
But inside you it’s night. That last night. And Satoru looking at you with longing and the purest love as he slides the ring onto your finger, only to disappear forever.
Satoru squeezed your hand back then in the dark of the bedroom, and there was so much tenderness in his eyes you could have drowned in it.
Satoru said he would come back.
He promised you.
But Satoru never came back.
And you marry someone else.
But inside you die every time you remember him.
And standing on the threshold of a new life, in a white dress, with a stranger’s ring on your finger and a new name you now carry, you know one desperate truth: you will love Satoru until the day you die.
Until your very last breath.
Until the moment you close your eyes and maybe finally see him again — smiling, with those crazy eyes that hold the whole sky, his hand reaching out to you.
I’m so sorry, Satoru.
I’m so sorry I didn’t say yes.
And I’m even more sorry that I’m saying it now — to someone else.
But more than anything I’m sorry I never found out whether you would have said something else, if you had known you were leaving forever.
And you will never know that the most desperate wish Satoru had before he died was to see you one last time.
Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!)
Divider credit: @omi-resources
summary: Years passed since you saw Satoru Gojo in your life — your situationship, who slipped away from your life like nothing had happened. Like you were nothing to him. Or, maybe, on the contrary, and you were his everything? What would happen if you suddenly met him at your flower shop?
tags: mdni! situationships, exes to lovers, reconciliation, some angst, some fluff, mutual pining, YEARNING, like A LOT. you fell first, he fell harder and it drove him crazy. panic attacks, floristry, some themes about rediscovering your life passion, the reader is kinda insecure. eventual smut: dry humping, fingering, emotional sex, a little bit of size kink, creampie, oral sex (f receiving).
word count: this part is 22.5k. total: 35k (bear with me here...).
author's note: this is officially the biggest thing i have ever written! and my first time ever writing smut. you've been warned. it should've been one post but tumblr's limits...art by @/boom_sate225. dividers are mine
you might like listening to the playlist
part 1
Despite his tight schedule, Gojo had always made sure to check on you, whether himself or by asking Ijichi, though he preferred sneaking away from the suffocating walls of his office and spending the little free time he had with you. It felt…lighter, somehow.
He would steal glances, once sure you weren’t looking and paying attention to your surroundings. It was relatively easy, since the flowers seemed to capture your whole thoughts. His gaze shamelessly caressed the delicate slope of your shoulders, the sunlight slipping through the large windows embracing you as if a halo, the little crease between your brows, when you were deeply focused. The scratches on your hands from dealing with thorns caused something to crack in his chest with concerning tenderness. Discreetly, Gojo found a couple of assistants to help you with all the heavy lifting and not-so-pleasant work — it confused you at first, but then you understood that you couldn’t be more grateful.
What confused you more was the way Gojo waltzed in your everyday life: with casual remarks, light jokes and the gestures that caused your heart to do little stupid flips, chasing the treacherous what-if’s, yet somehow not crossing the line you put. The moment he leaned too close — the invisible string stretched too tight — he pulled away. The silent question in his eyes, as well as the strange melancholy, didn’t go unnoticed by you, but the second you thought of asking about your past, something would always stop you. As if the cruel joke of fate itself.
The morning Gojo brought you to have breakfast at the cafe on the rooftop was the final straw.
Your fingers gently ran over carefully wrapped tulips, touching the petals, when suddenly an icy, familiar scent of cologne filled your lungs. Too familiar, you would say.
“Whoa. Are you sure that thing is not alive? It looks like it’s gonna jump and eat me at any moment.”
You rolled your eyes, though a bright grin, tugging at the corners of your lips, betrayed the way you actually felt. There was no sense in asking what he meant — he had some strange sort of amusement towards the lush greenery of the photo op.
“Hello to you too, Gojo,” you mumbled absent-mindedly, still examining the petals. You didn’t put your hair into a ponytail that day, and it framed your face in a shiny halo. Gojo slowly blinked, taking you in, but before he could actually greet you, your stomach rumbled quietly. Right. The perfect time. Yes, your favourite bakery was closed that day, and you were late, really, severely late. After all, the food didn’t matter when you finally got to have your hands on the fresh flowers, delivered just today from the Netherlands! No, no, no, you had way more important things to do. Especially with the event coming in two days.
Damn. The tulips. You forgot to show the invoice to Gojo.
Ah, how you hated dealing with that financial stuff. But that was inevitable.
Fighting your biggest grimace, you turned to Gojo with the saddest expression you could master. Puss in Boots got nothing on you. You forced a weak smile.
“Listen, there is something important I have to tell you — “
“Did you eat?”
You closed your mouth abruptly and looked at him in confusion. “What? No, I didn’t, I gotta show you the invoice — “
“There is a nice cafe on the rooftop. I like their caramel latte. And the view is not so bad. Let’s go.”
Now completely puzzled, you called out in frustration, closing your notebook with more force than necessary. “Gojo, did you hear me at all?”
He was already sauntering his way to the door with the lazy, confident stride and flashed you a smug grin, drawling, “I heard everything I needed.”
Despite irritation bubbling in your chest, you couldn’t help the way your lips curled up in a smile. Impossible as always.
In the end, Gojo didn’t lie. The view was impressive indeed — a gorgeous skyline of Kyoto right beneath your feet. The spire of Kyoto Tower stood out the most, obviously. Your gaze swept the variety of buildings, business centres, and malls, but it kept returning to the mountains in the distance, transfixed. Imposing and overwhelming, they trapped the city in its embrace, watching over it as the highest authority.
“Told you it’s nice,” Gojo’s low murmur turned amused as you jumped in your seat at his sudden proximity. His grin widened. “Hey, it’s just me.”
Screw him.
With a scoff, you reached for the sandwich on the plate to unpack it. Maybe your wishful thinking played foolish tricks with your heart, but you were highly suspicious that Gojo ordered you the same breakfast — or a variation of it — he used to order when you were…together. The drink, a hot bumble, only confirmed it.
Honestly, all these “coincidences”: giving you a moisturizing cream to give you, when you forgot your own (you highly doubted he carried it for himself; handing you an umbrella, when all the weather forecasts decided to make you their mortal enemy and straight up lied; or asking Ijichi, as he brought you all Starbucks, whether yours was with the banana milk (it wasn’t and he made the poor guy go for another one) caused you to doubt your own sanity and fell into a good ol’ abyss of overthinking.
Why did he do that? What was his intention? Maybe he just happened to carry a bunch of moisturizing creams to hand over to his employees? No, that was ridiculous.
But more ridiculous was allowing yourself a tiny possibility that all these tiny gestures, with Gojo carefully weaving back into the canvas of your life, actually…meant something.
You decided that was it. Enough. You were going to ask him what the hell was going on between you, and why the fuck did he ditch you at the university at the event. You wouldn’t be bound by anything, would you?
Honestly, it didn’t matter anymore. You were so tired of being scared and running from Gojo, only in the end to crash into him like some cruel, twisted joke of fate. Whether it was Tokyo, Kyoto or the other side of the world, there was no way to hide from the one whose heart still beat in your chest. Whose words were carved into your skin like an oath.
You took a deep breath, tearing your gaze from the mountains back to Gojo, who just finished devouring a strawberry shortcake like his life depended on it. At least something had never changed. The careless wind threw his messy white fringe over his forehead — you fought the sudden urge to run your fingers through his hair and brush it away. His brows slightly furrowed in thought, features caught in a strange kind of melancholy, with its blue waves carrying him away and away, towards the horizon.
You didn’t want to disturb the serenity between you, so you just whispered.
“Nice view indeed. You must be tired of seeing it every day. Though I don’t think it’s even possible.”
But Gojo heard. He always did.
A slight turn of his head — and his bright blue eyes bored just into your soul, settling on you with steady intensity. You couldn’t look away, you understood. You couldn’t do anything but want to be seen by him.
Gojo tilted his head again, and a quick, bitter smile curled his lips up.
“Nah. Easy to get bored eventually.”
You mirrored his gesture subconsciously, and Gojo’s gaze briefly darted away to the slope of your shoulder before settling once again on your features. It turned soft and unguarded, though his blues shimmered with uncertainty — like he wasn’t sure he had a right to look at you at all.
The bitterness of his tone didn’t go unnoticed. You remembered all the instances Gojo snuck away from his office just to hang out with you; the irritation curling his voice as he had to get on a call with one of the shareholders (or worse — his Gramps) or an annoyed grumbling whenever the paperwork was mentioned. No need to be the world’s greatest detective to put all the pieces together.
You mulled over your next words for a moment.
“I was really surprised when I saw you become the CEO.” You shivered a bit in your seat from the sudden wind. “You weren’t eager at all back at the university.”
Before you could mentally pat your back for mentioning your past at all, Gojo’s jacket landed on your shoulders with a quiet ruffle of fabrics. His icy cologne mixed with his own scent left you so dizzy for a moment, you forgot what was actually happening.
Gojo leaned back in his seat and shrugged casually. “You were shivering.”
Wordlessly, you nodded in gratitude and tugged the jacket tighter.
A beat of silence passed between you, so long you actually thought Gojo decided to pretend it had never happened. A silly joke just sat on the top of your tongue, when he suddenly spoke up.
“I weren’t eager then and most certainly not eager now,” he ran his hand through his hair in frustration, nodding towards the skyline and his office — a large skyscraper just near the hotel. “I am not built for that. For sitting in a chair like some sorta megalomaniac, pretending his opinion is really the one that matters, smiling to these old fossils, who are so fucking stuck in their asses, only a miracle could make them change their perspectives. I am not cut for this shit.”
“What are you cut for, then?”
A question left your mouth before your brain could proceed his words, so you just stared back at Gojo, hoping for an answer.
That pause settled even longer, but you patiently kept waiting. The raging storm in his eyes gave in to the soft, light breeze, and he finally muttered quietly.
“Running away. Buy a house with a couple of chickens. Plant a garden. Run an animal shelter.”
Run an animal shelter. Run an animal shelter.
An animal shelter.
“Ask him. Ask him now.”
You bit your lip so hard not to hear this stubborn voice banging inside your skull heavily. Not like you didn’t want to ask — fuck, you had to do this — but not now, when he suddenly decided to hand his vulnerabilities to you on a silver plate.
So, you lightened the mood instead.
“Come on, Sa—,” his face instantly brightened, but you, too scared to force things between you, corrected yourself immediately, “Gojo. You wouldn’t last a week in the countryside. Be real.”
His chest rumbled with laughter as he tapped on his thigh. “You might be right. Maybe I am destined to be an obsessed megalomaniac in an ivory tower, torturing my secretaries for not enough caramel syrup in my coffee. This is in the contract, by the way!”
You snorted at the absurdity of his words, throwing your head back in a laugh so infectious that Gojo found himself grinning even harder. Then, in a voice so soft, he casually stole your heart away.
“I am glad you still like the flowers, though.”
“Because they brought you to me.”
The way he said those words — longing wrapped in an air of casualness — filled you with a flicker of hope so tiny, you were afraid even to let it burn in your heart.
Your throat tightened as you forced yourself to speak, trying to sound nonchalant but failing as usual. Gojo tilted his head to the side, lips curling up in a gentle smile.
“You are?”
“I am,” he didn’t miss a beat answering you.
“Your whole face transformed when you talked about flowers." His tone dropped in a sweet cadence, reserved only for you, instantly reminding you of the times when he was yours. You took a deep breath to ground yourself and looked away from Gojo. "Orchids, tulips, peonies, hydrangeas and a bunch of other names I couldn't name for my dear life. The meanings they hold, the emotions they give to people. If I can make someone happy, ..."
"I'll gladly help. Yeah. I remember it as well," you answered with a chuckle. This strange kind of serenity reminded you of times when you were together. And now it was enveloping you again. Like nothing had ever happened.
Maybe that was why you felt like it was a proper time for a confession.
“Honestly, I was having a bad time working at the shop for now,” you drawled hesitantly. Gojo tilted his head and arched his brow in a silent question. You shrugged casually. “Burnout, I think. Everything just started to feel like a conveyor, and I stopped feeling like we were doing something special, something…meaningful. You were right. I really needed that event. Thank you.”
Gojo didn’t say anything for a moment, letting silence speak. Then he gently bumped your shoulder, flashing a charming smile.
“Of course. I am the great Gojo Satoru, after all.”
And just like that, you remembered why you fell in love with him. Something might’ve been in the air that moment, or maybe it was just his presence beside you that soothed your roughened edges like nothing else in the world.
Your voice came surprisingly even.
"Do you think of us sometimes?"
"Because I do," you would like to say immediately. "Because I think of you every failed date, every dismissed glance, every disheartening comment. Every story I read, I find myself squeezing your image, just to imagine that maybe there is some timeline when you are still mine. You live in every corner of my heart, in every crease of the book I love, in every petal I cherish. You live in me."
Gojo parted his lips for a brief moment, but nothing came in response. Something twisted in his chest, dark and agonizing, seeping right into his mind, his veins, pounding at his temples with a poisoned chant.
"It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault."
The stab right into his heart would've been way more merciful. But was there any difference between your words and the knife you so gladly aimed at his chest?
It was the least he could offer you.
A flash of pain crossed his handsome face for a moment, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The silence between you stretched for so long you thought he had decided to pretend nothing happened.
The same he did with you.
By the time you opened your mouth to fill that void, Gojo's voice finally came in a thick, rasped whisper.
"I don't think I have ever stopped."
He wished he could give you something more than this half-assed confession.
Two days, he thought again. Just two days more.
The atmosphere didn’t feel as serene as before, and the sudden call from Ijichi, as you presumed, didn’t help. Gojo pulled a business-like mask of a CEO again, and just like that, you knew that conversation was over.
***
You didn’t have to do it, but a small anxious voice in the back of your head kept nagging you whether everything was really ready. Were the hanging installations in place? The ones in the left corner gave you some suspicions. Had the interactive setup already been brought? You were actually nervous about this one, since it was solely your idea and you hadn’t done it before. Oh, wait, what about the luxurious vases, the very same you were afraid even to breathe on?
Either way, you had to check everything once again. The event was just around the corner, and you couldn’t afford to be less than perfect. For yourself, for your boss, and for Gojo. Somehow, his possible disappointment hurt you way more than Utahime’s. Letting Gojo down was one of your nightmares, especially after all the time you had worked together. Well, “work” sounded kind of exaggerated, given that Gojo mainly slacked off with you doing everything, but that was your job. His presence alone, even with the stupidest jokes, was enough to put your mind at ease and end endless overthinking when you talked. He liked to compliment on your designs and the arrangements. He seemed…genuine. And that was what you needed so much.
The security guard, albeit with a little grumble, was kind enough to let you in, since you figured out you had left the keys on the kitchen table when you were already on the way there. The door creaked slightly under your touch, and you hit the switcher. The room slowly came to light, revealing beautiful hanging installations, vases waiting to be filled, branded arrival installations, long-table runners and table centrepieces. Your gaze landed on a big floral photo op — a piece you were particularly proud of — a huge greenery wall, adorned with white tulips, hydrangeas and chrysanthemums. A moment of critical examination — and you nodded to yourself. That was good.
You carefully checked the interactive installations, made sure the LED lighting was hitting the way it should, the photo booths and the huge screens were working, and scrutinised the table centrepieces, though you were just nitpicking at that moment. Everything seemed perfect.
What you didn't know was that while you were examining whether everything was working, the hotel security guard didn't bother to check if you were still in the event hall. The sweet flower girl who asked him to open the doors completely slipped from his mind. Maybe he was hurrying to wrap his shift up, tired, or had something entirely else on his mind...either way, he quickly locked the door and scurried away.
By the time you finished, the clock almost struck midnight, but you couldn't leave until everything was in order. Tomorrow was a very important day. No mishaps were allowed.
You tossed your bag on your shoulder, carelessly humming some tune, checked once again if all the lights were turned off and gripped the door handle. The door didn't budge.
You frowned. Turned the handle again. And again. And again. Until the door rattled so loudly, the sound might have actually woken the entire hotel up. The embarrassment would've flooded you instantly, if it were any other situation, but with the impending panic already clutching your lungs in a suffocating hold, you couldn't care less.
No. No. No, no, no! The world slowly closed in around you. Dark. Cold.
And you were all alone. Trapped.
"Hey! Can someone hear me? I am stuck in the event hall, and I have no keys on me!" You cried out loudly, voice already laced with desperation, and banged on the door. Once. Twice and thrice. Nope. Nothing.
You forced yourself to take deep breaths. In and out, in and out. The quiet "please" spilt from your lips as you slowly slid down the door. The bag fell on the floor with a loud thud; the sound was too distant. As if your head were underwater. Slowly, with a broken sob, you hugged your knees.
Neither breathing schemes nor grounding techniques helped. Breathless, shaken, trembling, you remembered the only thing that used to work for you. Pain.
The harsh digging of your nails in the palms jerked you back to reality — a sharp, merciless tug, but it was enough. Heart stopped pounding in your ears. Vision got cleared a bit.
You wouldn't sit here all night. No. Someone had to rescue you, right? The security guards would soon change places, wouldn't they? You just had to contact someone. Somehow.
Damn, phone! Of course!
You hurriedly reached for the bag, trembling fingers turning it upside down, until the things scattered on the floor. The screen light hit your eyes as if you faced the lamp at the police investigation, but you couldn't care less. The phone!
You briefly scanned through your contacts and dialled Nobara.
"Please, please, please, pick up!"
Nothing. The calm robotic voice on the other side politely informed you that the subscriber was busy at the moment. Try again later. You tried. Tried. And tried.
Until you remembered she was in the countryside, visiting her grandparents, and would return only tomorrow to help you with finishing touches for the event.
Okay, you thought. Okay. You called Utahime. The same polite voice patiently told you that the subscriber was busy at the moment. You briefly thought of calling her girlfriend, Shoko, until your fogged mind servilely reminded you that they both were supposed to have a date today. Yeah. Today. Utahime was so ecstatic a couple of days ago, since Shoko was the busiest woman in the whole of Kyoto, if not Japan. You wouldn't dare to disturb their precious time alone.
You scrolled your contact list almost to the end, noting with disappointment that the rest of the people you could probably dial were either in another city, some shop suppliers or simply weren't close enough to care about you.
Your chest tightened with panic again until your gaze landed on Gojo's contact. You didn't have much of a choice, did you?
With shaking hands, you hit the call button.
Five endless seconds — your entire being shrank to the impartial dial tones — until you finally heard his voice, laced with slight surprise.
"Uh, hello? Didn't think you would actually call me, but here we are," Gojo chuckled in a low, amused voice, the open laptop casting a cold, indifferent light on his perfectly sculpted face. He absent-mindedly twirled the Parker pen between the long, slender fingers. "What's up? It's kinda late already."
You broke down in sobs at the sound of his voice, something so familiar and soothing, unravelling the tight knot in your chest.
Gojo stiffened immediately at the sound, straightening up in his chair. His voice dipped to a confused quiet tone.
"Are you okay?"
Your grip on the phone tightened as you sniffled. His name slipped from your lips so easily, asking, begging to be caressed.
"Satoru, I am so, so sorry for calling you, it's so late, but it's so dark here, and I am all alone, and I can't breathe, I have no keys and —"
Something in his chest cracked with the trembling ache, but he pushed it aside. There was something way important to focus on.
"Okay, okay. I hear you. Just focus on my voice. Tell me where you are. Can you do that?"
You swallowed a lump in your throat, trying to do as much as you could. The sound of his voice felt like a soothing balm, and you finally took a proper breath in.
"Yeah. I—" You bit your lip hard, almost drawing blood. How could you tell him that you accidentally got locked in by the security guard? How embarrassing was that? What would Gojo think of you? God. Incredibly pathetic.
The sound of your name pulled you out of panic. He was your only option, after all.
"I got locked in the event hall. Stuck. No keys."
Gojo didn't answer you outright, but you heard the sounds of clothes rustling.
"Good. I mean, no, not good, but —" He abruptly caught himself. It wasn't the right time to panic, so he took a deep breath and muttered to you in the most calming tone he was able to muster. "I'll be there in 10 minutes. 15 maximum. All I need is for you to hang on a little bit longer here. Just a tad. Okay?"
You dug your nails into your palms a little bit harder. Forced yourself to breathe evenly.
“Yeah." The faint beeps of the elevator, the sliding of the doors, and then the quiet humming of the car engine strangely served as a soothing background.
Gojo desperately tried to remember anything about dealing with panic attacks, but nothing besides the sensory methods came to his mind. Somehow, surprisingly, it worked, as he could hear in your breathing, not as shallow as before, and faster, clearer responses. Your voice didn't tremble anymore, and Gojo seriously hoped you would never find out the speed his heart sank to his stomach at the sound of it.
The sudden loud bang of the doors pulled you out of your state, and the next thing you felt was a pair of strong hands enveloping you in a warm embrace. His hand immediately came up to cup the back of your head, pressing it against the hard planes of his chest, and his soothing heartbeat immediately filled your ears. The scent of his cologne grounded you in present.
Your grip on his jacket tightened.
“Hey, hey, it’s me. Just focus on my heartbeat. Like that. You’re doing so great, sweetheart.”
You didn’t know how long you stayed there, in the safe embrace of his arms, but Gojo didn’t loosen his grip even for a fraction, not until you stopped trembling like a leaf and your breathing evened.
A deep breath, and you squinted up at Satoru, who immediately cradled your face in large palms, thumbs gently caressing the skin under your eyes.
"You alright?" His blue eyes, usually so bright and sharp, now dulled around the edges, carefully examined your face for any sign of distress. Still slightly shaken, you nodded and immediately grimaced at the loud voice of the security guard and the receptionist rambling apologies to Gojo.
"Please accept our apologies, Mr. Gojo," the receptionist was so pale you were afraid she might faint right that second. The security guard just nodded feverishly. "Rest assured, such an incident wouldn't happen again. Our hotel is ready to give discounts and special offers to make up for this mishap," the veneers in her nervous smile almost blinded you for the second time.
The muscle in Gojo’s jaw jumped in irritation. He took a deep breath.
"I am gonna talk about it tomorrow with your chief." The temperature in the room seemed to drop when Satoru finally spoke — the steel crept in his voice, sending shivers down your spine. He must've interpreted it somehow differently, his hands dropping to hug you by the shoulders. "But your apologies should be addressed to her, not to me. Am I clear?"
The staff quickly nodded, and before you could register what on Earth was happening, Satoru already ushered you out of the hall, outside the hotel and to his car.
Black pitch leather seats of the car. Rich, fresh scent. Purring of the engine. Still slightly shaken, you registered all the details absent-mindedly. Not every day you end up in the car of your situationship, whom you called mid panic attack.
Oh no. No, no, no.
Slowly, you slid down the passenger seat with a quiet groan, burying your face in embarrassment. If there was anything more awkward than this…well, you gladly liked to hear some options. High doubts it existed, though.
Gojo cast a glance at your slumped figure next to him in the rearview and huffed slightly under his breath. He expected the aftershock to hit you rather later.
He gently called out your name, causing your insides to melt in a devastatingly sweet manner. It didn’t help, and after some moments, his fingers softly tapped on your thigh. Although hesitant, the touch burned you even through the jeans.
Your heart beat like a trapped bird in a cage, and finally, you found some strength to look at him. You noticed you stopped at the red light.
Gojo turned to you as much as it was possible in the seat. His voice sounded rather…strange without the usual teasing tilt to it.
“There is nothing to be embarrassed about, okay? You had a panic attack. It’s not rational. You called me, and I helped you. Everything is good. The end.” His blue eyes, stormy under the dim car light, held you captive, and even if you wanted to refuse, the words died at the tip of your tongue under the weight of his gaze. He was right, after all. Nothing bad happened. But the anxious, nervous voice at the back of your mind kept insisting it was the end of the world, and you had to dig your grave already.
As hard as it might seem, you ignored it. You forced a quick nod and whispered with a tight smile.
“Thank you for coming. You shouldn’t have, but you did anyway, and…thank you. Truly.”
The silence that followed your words wasn’t uncomfortable, but the heavy storm was already brewing in the air. The constant push and pull between you and Gojo tightened even more, dragging you right into each other’s embrace with the force so great, you had nothing left in you to resist. The walls you carefully built, securing the bleeding heart, finally crumbled; quietly, definitely under the loving, safe arms of his.
But if you were completely honest, the towers already were cracking on the first day.
Finally, Satoru chuckled, warmth colouring his tone.
“Anytime. The Great Knight Gojo is at your disposal, my lady.”
The car swiftly pushed forward. Gojo changed gears, his left hand lazily rested on the wheel, and you wished he didn’t wear the jacket, so you could see the flex of his arms.
You stilled immediately at the thought, crimson creeping up your cheeks. What the hell!?
Gojo might have noticed the strange, puzzled expression on your face and given you a suspicious side-eye, but decided not to comment on it. Good. You weren’t ready to hear his smooth, low voice.
The world outside came in a windy blur of motion, but you noticed the unfamiliar, tall buildings of the residential complexes. Too elite, too luxurious. And you realized that not only did you not know where you were heading, but you also never happened to drop your address to Gojo.
“It doesn’t look like my street,” you noted, pretending to sound as light-hearted as possible, though your gaze was now fixed on Satoru.
He lazily arched his brow and chuckled. “Why would it look like it, if we’re going to my place?”
Oh.
Oh.
Forget it. There was something way more awkward.
The shock on your face was so obvious that Satoru barely held himself from laughing. Somehow, he managed to school himself.
“Come on, you really don’t think I am gonna leave you all alone, heaven knows where —”
“My home!”
“— right after you had a panic attack? No can do.”
You gaped at him wordlessly. He didn’t understand it, did he? You getting into his apartments was equal to entering a cave with a tiger. At least, in your frenzied, panicked state. Never underestimate your enemy. In case your ex-situationship.
Clearly, the severity of this possible outcome didn’t bother him. At all. You tried to appeal to reason.
“Gojo, I don’t think this is a great idea.”
“Aw, Gojo? I thought we were on a first-name basis once again,” he drawled playfully, blue eyes sparkling with mischief, but then you saw him taking a deep breath. Like embracing himself for something. Gojo turned in the seat to face you, fingers drumming some rhythm against the wheel. Tap-tap-tap. His voice dropped to a serious, earnest whisper.
“I know things are not the easiest between us — ”
You wordlessly arched your brow. So that was how he called it. “Not the easiest.” Huh.
Fuck. Gojo was so bad at it. He would rather have the ground swallow him whole than see the sadness and disappointment written all over your face. His punishment for his own cowardness. His grip on the wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white. You slowly straightened up in the seat, watching him like a caged beast. The tension between you curled like smoke, fogging the windows and leaving no space to breathe.
“I will feel a hundred times calmer if I know you are okay. Especially now. Please. Stay with me this night. I’ll have Ijichi drop you off tomorrow morning at your place.”
As tempting as his suggestion was, the nervous and definitely more rational part of you still put up a fight.
“I don’t want to cause any discomfort.”
Gojo’s lips curled in a gentle smile. Like you ever could.
“Don’t worry about anything. The place is big enough for a football team. I am serious. I get lost sometimes!”
You huffed at his words, shaking your head in disbelief. Who were you even fooling? You knew the answer the moment his puppy eyes landed on you with a pleading expression. Even after all those years, he shamelessly exploited it. Irritatingly charming. Annoyingly working on you without fail.
You pressed your lips into a thin line. “But only on one condition.”
He nodded in an instant. “Anything.”
“We are not talking about…us. What has been and what…hasn’t,” you gestured vaguely in the air. The last line of defence. As much as you were acutely aware of how pathetic it might’ve sounded, you couldn’t bring yourself to fall into this abyss again. Not now. When you were still shaking.
Gojo fell silent. A few moments passed, with your heart beating so loud in your ears you swore he could hear it, until he finally nodded.
“As you wish.”
His place looked like you imagined it: big, spacious, lavish. Panoramic windows offering a breathtaking view of the night Kyoto, abstract paintings adorning the walls, probably worth your monthly salary. Sleek modern furniture. Flowers on the kitchen island. White tulips, you recognized immediately. A new start?
The white plush carpet swallowed all the steps, and subconsciously, you thought of Gojo squeezing into your tiny flat. Eating instant ramen on the barstools. Crushing onto the old couch, begging to be replaced for too long already. Cursing as the hot water had run out just on him. Sleeping on the bed that would groan under your combined weight. Silly couple mugs in the kitchen. Two toothbrushes in the bathroom. Manga and video games at the coffee table.
The image was too unreal, yet it brought you a strange kind of comfort. Though you highly doubted Satoru had ever tried instant ramen.
Wait. Stop. Why were you thinking about it?
Forcefully, you dragged your gaze back from the flowers, only to meet the sight of him lazily shrugging the leather jacket off, broad sculpted shoulders rolling in a mesmerizing wave. The simple white t-shirt didn’t do a good job of hiding the defined lines of his back muscles; it slightly rode up, offering you a peek at the sliver of pale skin and the dip of his narrow waist.
No one had the right to look that good in a white t-shirt. Satoru Gojo looked like he had just walked straight off the runway in it.
You tore your gaze away, blinking, and stared somewhere, just to avoid his figure, until his voice pulled you back to reality. He stared at you with one brow arched, and you realized he had asked you something.
“You were saying?”
He breathed out a chuckle. “Just asking how you're feeling now. Do you need something? We can eat, or you can just go to sleep already.”
Seeing him care cracked something warm and sweet in your chest. You smiled nervously.
“Feel better. Really do,“ you bounced on your heels back and forth. “Can I wash my hands?”
“Ah, yeah. Just go there,’’ he jerked his head towards the direction, “the first door on the left is the bathroom.”
“Thanks.”
The bathroom was just as modern as the rest of the apartments. Your gaze wandered across marble tiles, fluffy towels and landed on the sink. A little grin curled at the corner of your mouth as you saw an expensive toothpaste for sensitive teeth.
When you returned, Satoru was already in the kitchen, raiding the refrigerator. Hesitantly, you sat at the kitchen chair, not even sure whether you had the right to do it. Somehow, being here in his home felt like an intrusion. You were just a stranger in his life, after all.
Gojo lightly tapped at the surface of the fridge with his knuckles before finally pulling away with a guilty grimace.
“I have only leftovers in there. Highly doubt you would like,” he turned again and drawled in a voice, laced with exaggerated disgust, “lasagna that expired…yesterday. Ehh, it was a nice Italian restaurant, by the way.”
You snorted despite your state. “No, thanks. Chief.”
Gojo cast you a mildly annoyed glance, threw the poor lasagna in the trash, and then leaned on the kitchen counter. His arms flexed as he crossed them at the chest. You didn’t even look there. Okay. You did. Just for one second.
“I can order a takeout or,” he squinted up at the clock, “try to whip something decent.” He grinned brightly, eyes crinkling around the corners. The knot in your chest loosened a bit. “You’re my guest, after all.”
You tried to hide your surprise at the fact that Gojo suggested cooking, but judging by his sigh and the roll of his eyes, he figured out why you were smiling like that.
“Yes, I can cook. Why is everyone surprised? I do not live on restaurant food. Mostly.”
You didn’t say anything but looked pointedly at the fridge. Gojo decided to ignore it. He ran his fingers through the hair — white catching moonlight like a spilt silver — and sighed.
“No, but seriously. Just tell me, and I —,” he abruptly caught himself, eyes widening comically, and whipped around to open the cupboards. They rattled with every slam, Gojo’s murmur was too loud in the silence of the kitchen, and you found yourself smiling. This controlled chaos just screamed his name.
“Found it!”
You noticed a small bag in his palm, its rich aroma curled in the kitchen like an invitation.
“What’s that?”
Gojo beamed visibly at your curiosity.
“Chinese tea. Bought it as a souvenir for Tsumiki, and kept this. Soothing, calming…I think it will be nice for you,” he shrugged casually, but you noticed the slight tension in his shoulders. Was he really nervous about your reaction?
You tucked the hair strand behind your ears. “The tea would be nice, actually.”
Gojo leaned back at the kitchen counter again as you both waited for the water to heat up. The earlier tension had dissipated, but awkwardness still lingered in the air, like a sticky note clinging to your hands.
You shifted in your seat. Cleared your throat. Shifted again. The chair creaked slightly. You sat still, embarrassed. Threw a glance at Gojo, who observed you with a soft smile.
“Wonderful,” you thought. “Now he is thinking I am stupid.”
“So,” you cleared your throat once again, hoping you didn’t look like a tomato, with all the blood rushing to your face, “you’ve been to China?”
“Yeah,” he drawled with the same lazy, confident grace that was engraved in his very being. You clasped your hands on your knees. “Shanghai, Shenzhen, Beijing, obviously. A work trip. Nice cities, but there’s too much movement for me. If you know what I mean. People my age should aim for a calmer life,” he sighed with a mock exasperation, and you huffed.
“Satoru, you’re not old.”
“Hey, I am pushing thirty! My back already hurts. Knees buckle. And yesterday I saw grey hairs on my pillow! That’s old.”
You laughed, bright and warm, and Gojo stared at you like his universe had just rearranged around you once again. His throat bobbed as he swallowed and smiled back — pink coloured the tips of his ears.
“Told you.”
You saw him expertly rinsing the tea set and moving the tea leaves in the teapot with a cute, serious expression: his nose scrunched slightly in concentration. You found yourself smiling even wider and couldn’t miss a chance to crack a joke.
“Didn’t know you became a tea expert.”
Gojo stilled for a moment before grinning back at you. “Well, I am an expert in a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Just wait and see.”
Intriguing.
He poured the boiled water into a teapot — a dark blue porcelain adorned with intricate patterns. Gojo slightly turned it, offering a view of the majestic dragon at the front of it. Humming slightly in acknowledgement, you leaned forward, and he caught a whiff of your perfume — something sweet, like sunshine wrapped in a bottle. The lamp cast a soft light on your hair, and paired with your scent and laugh, Gods, that laugh — silver bells echoing through the air — give you some sort of otherworldly look in his eyes. Maybe a forest fairy.
He was so preoccupied with ogling down at you that he didn’t even notice that he poured much more water into the teapot than needed, until you gasped and mindlessly reached for his wrist.
“Satoru, you spilt the water!”
He blinked his way back to reality, once, twice, and finally saw a little catastrophe on the table.
“Whoopsie. Gimme a second,” he absent-mindedly wiped the table, his thought drifting back to your fingers on his hand. A sweet, gentle touch, just as the rest of you, burning like a brand on the inside of his wrist.
He was afraid he would never wash it again.
“Maybe I could help you?”
“No!” He answered a bit too loudly, and you blinked in surprise. He instantly regretted it and murmured in a softened voice. “You’re my guest. Let me do it.”
The tea tasted better than you had thought: sweet and soft, with a lingering aftertaste of citrus. Too sweet, in fact. You wondered whether it was the main reason Gojo bought it. When you actually brought it, he only smiled mischievously and shrugged. You already forgot how easy it was to talk with Gojo. The words poured out of you like lyrics to a song that you both slowly came to remember, composing into a well-known piece, shared only by you.
You poured the tea remnants over the small tea pet — a miniature copy of a Totoro — and grinned at Gojo.
“It’s so adorable.”
He followed the direction of your gaze. A soft smile curved his perfect lips. “Yeah. Tsumiki bought it, actually. Said we couldn’t have a proper tea ceremony without a tea pet.”
“Oh. That’s even cuter. How’s she been lately?”
Gojo rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s…alright. Got into a high school already,” his smile turned more melancholic, and when your eyes met, the blue of his wavered a little. Or maybe it was a game of light. “Still can’t imagine it. My little sister is a high-schooler now. I used to braid her hair and have her on my shoulders at the Fuji-Q. And now she’s gotten older. In the blink of an eye.”
“And how’s Megumi?”
Gojo huffed and rolled his eyes, though you could see his grin widening, giving you a good look at his dimples.
A brief thought of kissing them crossed your mind.
Just leaning in a bit, and you would be a hair's breadth away from him — physically. Mentally? The Pacific Ocean stretched between you.
“The same moody brat as usual. Actually, no,” he tapped on the table lightly, tilting his head to the left. “He’s a teen now. So just triple that.”
“Is everything that bad?”
He groaned and dragged his huge palm down his face. “You can’t even imagine. He didn’t like me as a kid, now? That brat hates me.”
“I am pretty sure you’re exaggerating.”
The softness that laced his tone as he talked about his siblings, even Megumi, made your chest tighten with emotion, something endlessly sweet. Your hand briefly found his and squeezed for a moment.
“How can anyone not love you?”
“You’re a nice brother.”
Gojo went still at your touch, and before you could snatch your hand, because he wasn’t sure his mind hadn’t imagined it, he covered your hand: slightly trembling fingers grazing your knuckles hesitantly.
He breathed out slowly. “I hope so. Thanks.”
Your gaze briefly flicked to your hands, but you didn’t lose the light grip. Somehow, it felt right. Like a missing puzzle slotting back into its place.
Did he feel it as well?
The tea made your lids heavy, and the mind hazy. You tried to fight back a yawn, but it was senseless.
“You’re sleepy,” Gojo quietly murmured.
You shook your head.
“No, I am not. Just give a little time, and I’ll be okay,” another tremendous yawn that didn’t go unnoticed by Gojo. With a firm shake of his head, he put his hand away from yours — making you already miss his warmth — and started scooping up the tea set.
“You are, and it’s really late. And we have a big day tomorrow.”
Wordlessly, you sulked into the chair that already grew far too comfortable for you. You didn’t want to leave him, leave this kitchen, leave that calm bubble of serenity with time halting, thickening into something sweet like honey.
Gojo might’ve interpreted your sudden silence another way and leaned closer. His brows were furrowed in confusion. “Are you alright? Still feeling bad?”
You blinked the melancholy from your gaze and glanced up at him. Blinked again. Ah. Of course.
“No, no! Don’t worry! I really feel better,” you nervously tucked the hair strand behind your ear. “Just…sleepy, I guess. You’re right. We should go to sleep.”
On the way out, your gaze fell on the bouquet once again. You nodded at the flowers with feigned nonchalance.
“The tulips are nice. You gotta change the water and cut their stems at a 45° angle.” Gojo briefly glanced at them before looking back at you with barely concealed amusement. Embarrassment dusted your cheeks in light pink — a glimpse at the flowers was enough for you to slip into your usual routine.
“Sorry, I started babbling, you can do whatever you want, I just — “
“No, no. That’s okay. Thanks for reminding me,” he quickly cut the stems and refilled the vase under your expert guidance. “The cleaner put them just in the morning, and I didn’t have a chance to tend them properly.”
“You often have fresh flowers at home?”
Gojo paused and side-eyed you suspiciously before his face broke into a charming grin. “Well, being around a certain florist has its perks.”
Woah. Did he even realize your world had just slightly tilted off his axis? Probably not. Flirting was like breathing for him.
Despite it, you found yourself smiling back. “I see.”
With Gojo having insisted on your sleeping in the guest room (you tried to assure him the couch would be nice), your gaze swept around, landing on the beige walls, adorned with the same abstract paintings (that turned out to be Geto’s; you were really surprised), a large bed in the middle and the big panoramic windows. No photos on the bedside tables. No books or other trinkets. Nothing personal.
You slightly jumped at the soft knock on the door and hurried to open it. Gojo stood there and handed you a bunch of clothes with a couple of fluffy towels. He gestured vaguely at your form.
“You have to sleep in something, and I didn’t have any clothes for women. Obviously. That’s the smallest t-shirt and sweats I have,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re comfy. And towels. If you wanna shower.”
You stared at him, holding the clothes to your chest. Looked at the bunch in your hands. Then back at him. Your grip tightened.
“That’s very nice of you. Thank you, Satoru.”
He shrugged casually, as if you calling his name in that sweet, quiet voice of yours didn’t send a shot of electricity down his body.
“Eh, you’re welcome. If you need anything,” he nodded over his shoulder towards the door across from the guest room, “I am right here.”
What you certainly didn’t have to know was that the mere thought of you sleeping in his house, under one roof, in his clothes, was enough to send his head in a dizzy state, his heart drop to the stomach, and the blood rushing to a not so comfortable place.
You nodded again, staring back again, with those doe eyes. Were you even aware of the power your gaze held over him?
“Just be sure not to snore,” he joked, leaning on the door. “I need my beauty sleep, after all.”
Your eyes narrowed slightly, and a small huff left your lips. The urge to smack him was back.
“I do not snore! Good night, Gojo.”
He grinned at the door being slammed right into his face. “Surname again? You wounded me, you know?”
Your voice came out rather muffled. “Go to sleep!”
Gojo didn’t say anything, just shook his head with a smile, but as he turned on his heels, you swore you heard a whisper so quiet you might’ve as well imagined it.
“Sleep tight, love.”
Gojo took pride in his restraint. As much as he hated it, his life had always resembled the schedule, with every detail being scrutinized: school, university, sports, and now this. Running the company. The strict routine he had long grown to resent.
Turned out his restraint flew off the window the moment you were involved.
Gojo tried to sleep. Honestly, he did. But every time he somehow managed to close his eyes, the image of you came immediately. Like you were just burned into his retinas. You, smiling at the joke he cracked only in the hope of seeing the way your eyes would sparkle with joy and lips curving into a soft grin. You, so soft and so perfectly fit in his arms. Just where you belonged. You, with the flowers in his kitchen. He would have a different bouquet every time if you lived with him, and it didn’t matter that you knew about the flowers more than he could know about anything. He would learn. He would try.
He counted sheep. Forced his muscles to relax. Lay still and stared at the ceiling. The ceiling stared wordlessly back. Hell, he even opened the monthly report from the Marketing Division that he had been avoiding for the last five days. Ended up nitpicking and fixing the presentation for the next meeting with shareholders. Slacked around your doors in hope that maybe you weren’t asleep as well and could keep him company.
What Gojo wasn’t aware of was the fact that you had the best sleep of your life. Okay, not the best. Almost. Maybe it was the clothes or his scent that you found dizzying in a good way, or something might have just lingered in the air — something so undeniably his that your heart immediately found comfort in.
The sun spilt hesitantly through the curtains, one unsure sunbeam landing softly on your sleepy face. You scrunched your nose in annoyance and rolled over. Yawned tremendously again and buried your face in the soft fabrics of the pillow, which smelled like a clean sea breeze. Strange. Didn’t you switch to a lavender one? Nevermind. You still have some more minutes of sleep in this soft bed with silken sheets and fabrics smelling like you were on the beach and not —
Wait a damn minute.
The speed at which you opened your eyes and jolted awake — too awake — surprised even you. Groggy, disoriented and probably very dishevelled, you slowly looked around the room. Not yours, obviously. The realization slowly dawned on you as you hid your face in your palms with a loud groan. Yesterday’s events flooded your sleepy mind.
Slowly, you let a shaky exhale. Okay. In and out, in and out. “There was nothing to be embarrassed about,” you subconsciously repeated Gojo’s words to you. So what if you had a panic attack and called him to rescue you? So what if he not only came for you but also asked you to sleep at his place because he was worried about you? So what if you felt like something long forgotten finally fell into its place?
And so what if you decided not to wait for the actual charity event and talk to him right the morning after? After sleeping at his place, in his clothes, embraced in his scent, surrounded by him, you really thought it would be a nice idea. Great, actually.
Now you weren’t so sure. Maybe you were just high on his proximity or whatever.
Hesitantly, you swung your legs off the bed. You couldn’t sit there for the whole morning like a damsel in distress, stewing in your own embarrassment. The phone showed you it was 8 a.m. already, and since it was the day of the event, you didn’t have to run to the flower shop.
The Calcifer slippers — probably a gift from Tsumiki — felt a little too big as you padded your way to the bathroom to brush up and look presentable. Especially in front of Gojo, who, as you noticed later, was currently absent.
Bored and somewhat hesitant, you quietly wandered Gojo’s apartment. He didn’t lie — the place was actually huge, probably three or even four times bigger than your rented flat. He probably had no idea what was going on in the rest of the rooms.
A slightly cracked door on the right to his room caught your attention as you made your way back. You stopped in your tracks immediately, throwing unsure glances. Wouldn’t it be an intrusion? What if he had cameras installed everywhere, and the security would catch you red-handed the moment your hand touch something? What if —
You shook your head at the endless wave of overthinking. Looked around as if Gojo were to appear right then with a wide grin and shout “GOTCHA!”. Bounced on your heels. One peek wouldn’t hurt, right?
The room turned out to be his office.
The bright morning sun flooded the room through the large windows, with the dust dancing lazily in the beams. Softly, you closed the door as you stepped right into Gojo’s world. This place was really different from the office in his company, which screamed about tight schedules, rules, and norms to be followed.
Instead, his home office was all about the calm, controlled chaos. A bunch of the volleyball trophies from his school and university days on the walls. Pictures with his family, younger brother and sister; Geto and him in university robes, tossing graduation caps in the air. Then the laptop on the wooden desk, the bunch of scattered Parker pens, and some notes. The whole stack of papers waiting to be reviewed and duly signed. A calendar with today’s date circled in bright red that sent your heart hammering against your ribs in a nervous rhythm. Was it really that important for him? And next to it, the framed photo.
You recognized it immediately.
You could actually feel the sheer brightness of the late March sun bathing your figures in a soft light. Gojo’s smile was so bright and wide, it could’ve rivalled the Sun itself. The Sun, the sky, the heavens, the whole universe. His round sunglasses — that would give a silly look to anyone else but not Gojo — were perched on his head as usual, and with his eyes shut, crinkling at the corners, he resembled a cat who had just eaten a whole portion of cream. Next to him, hugging by the neck and planting a big kiss on his cheek was the main reason that had Gojo the happiest he had ever been — you.
You remembered that day as it had happened now. A pure, unadulterated feeling of freedom — it was the last day of the university year, so Gojo brought you to the secluded corner of the park you both favoured so much. And with the faintest whispers of sakura around, you had never felt so happy. So free. So in love. The world moved around you at light speed, but none of that mattered as long as you were with Gojo.
He snatched the pic right under your nose the moment you took it, and solemnly promised to “cherish it forever” in an overly dramatic voice.
Turned out he really did.
You didn’t know how long you stayed in his chair, holding the photo like it held answers to all the secrets of the universe, fingers brushing against your pixel figures, deep in thought, until you heard the creaking of the front door, the slight shuffling and the sound of the keys being tossed on the table. You nearly dropped the photo when Gojo called out your name.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
The string of curses left your mouth as you hesitantly tried to hide the evidence of your presence, knocking a small aeroplane model off the desk. After clumsily putting it back next to the photo, you hurried out of the room.
“Ah, good morning! I woke up, and you weren’t there, I was kinda bored and had a look around, nothing — “
You stopped so abruptly as you had bumped into an invisible glass wall. And stared. Stared. Stared.
Gojo closed the fridge with a loud bang; his chest, which seemed even broader in a black expression shirt, expanded with each heavy inhale. The veins on his forearms slightly bulged as he opened the bottle with water, especially the long, thick one, running up his toned forearm to the curve of his bicep and hiding under the short sleeve of the t-shirt. He threw his head back, drinking, the prominent Adam’s apple bobbing with each hungry gulp, and the lone droplets ran down the strong neck.
What the actual fuck?!
“ — much,” you exhaled barely audible and sincerely tried your best at looking somewhere else but not in his direction. Needless to say, you failed.
“How are you feeling? Slept well?”
Your head whipped towards his direction at his questions so quickly, you wondered you might’ve broken your neck.
“Oh, yeah! Good. Very good, actually. And you?”
Gojo wiped his mouth and looked at you, the bright blue eyes — that absolutely had no right to be that shade of clear blue — examining you quickly under the white, messy fringe, which fell freely on his forehead, giving him a rather romantic boyish look. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and you shamelessly followed the beads of sweat dripping down his sharp cheekbones.
“Could’ve been better. Polished some things before tomorrow’s presentation. Hit the gym. Had extra cardio.”
Your gaze briefly flicked to his lips, just because you could not help it, and when you met his eyes again — a dark blue ocean, holding you captive in its waves — the sudden jolt of need, want shot right through you, churning your insides in a sweet knot.
“Please don’t say anything. Please don’t flirt with me. Please, respectfully, shut up.”
“Like what you see?” The rasp in his low, teasing voice sent shivers down your spine. You swallowed the lump in your throat and finally managed to tear your gaze away from him.
You wanted to strangle him. Slowly. Painfully. And kiss. Maybe.
“The apartments, I mean.”
No. Just strangle.
“Yeah. They’re kinda…big,” you mumbled helplessly and stepped back. You decided to cut the stems of the tulips just to be busy with something, before Gojo might come up with another brilliant idea of torturing you. What was even worse was his doing all of that just because he couldn’t help his flirtatious nature. That charm and effortless confidence came to him as easily as breathing.
“Just big?” His voice came rather muffled, like he was chewing something. Probably a protein bar.
You gestured vaguely with a knife in your hands. “Well, it is, and sleek and modern. Very spacious. But,” you chewed on your lip, trying to figure out the right words.
“But what?” The warmth of his body seemed to seep right into your own as he suddenly stood next to you, and his scent — musky and so undeniably masculine — nearly had your knees buckle. The heat crept up your neck, colouring your cheeks a bright red. The clink of the knife was rather hesitant.
“It doesn’t feel…lived in. Mostly. Like you had just come here to sleep and work.”
He hummed in acknowledgement, the sound a deep rumble, and leaned closer, crowding you more. Your breath hitched.
“You very well may be right. Have some suggestions about decorating? I am all ears.”
That earned a breathy chuckle from you. “Oh, no. I am not an expert at all. You should see my flat. Messy as hell. Not like yours.”
When you finally mustered the courage to look up, Gojo had already leaned on the kitchen counter with arms crossed. Amusement curved his lips.
“Is this an invitation?”
No one had to know the tremendous effect it took you not to blush even more. Instead, you put the flowers back into the vase, and gave him a tiny flirtatious shrug. “Depends.”
He didn’t answer anything, but the way his smile turned sharper said you anything.
You dragged your gaze back to him, only to drop it and feel crimson heating your cheeks even more. The grey sweats, hanging low on his hips, absolutely left no space for imagination.
So, that was true. Those sweats really gave men a slutty look.
“You know, I was thinking I can make us some breakfast as a token of appreciation, obviously. And you can drive me to the hotel. I gotta be there at 11 a.m.,” you rambled on, trying to look anywhere that was not Gojo, clasping your hands behind your back. He pushed himself from the counter with a breathy chuckle and shook his head.
“Don’t bother. Just order something.”
You still hesitated. “I don’t know your address.”
He stopped mid-reach for another protein bar and fished his phone out of his pocket just to hand it to you. Like he was completely okay with giving you something that important.
“Open the delivery app, it already has my address here. Put cash. I’ll have the noodles, by the way,” he squinted up at the clock. “Should be here by the time I take the shower.”
Oh, great. Wonderful. Simply wonderful.
Not only did you just have to suffer with him, looking so broad, and good and delectable to the point you thought about climbing him up like a damn tree, now you had to witness Gojo in all his post-shower glory.
He sat across from you, munching on noodles like you hadn’t been dying inside that whole time. The musky scent was gone; instead, some fresh and icy scent clung to Gojo’s figure, sending your head into a dizzy state. Every time he leaned over to grab a napkin or take a nugget from the box, his hand lightly brushed against yours, sending jolts of electricity up your arm as if you were some cartoon character.
You grumpily popped a couple of fries into your mouth, which had Gojo pause mid-eating. His eyes briefly flicked between you and the food, and he pointed a lone chopstick at you.
“Not hungry? Still under the weather after yesterday?”
You paused as well and stared back at him. Something about him asking about you in that worried, quiet voice made your chest tighten with unexplainable emotions.
“No, I am okay. Just really not hungry, I guess. Nervous about the event. Nobara said she could only help me with some arrangements, and then she gotta turn back. Her Grandmom fell ill,” you mumbled back, deciding to opt for a half-truth. Not like Gojo had to know you were currently falling apart inside over him.
His expression softened in an instant, and he put the chopsticks away, looking at you with a gaze so gentle and unguarded you might’ve as well imagined it. Because no way Gojo Satoru looked at you like that.
Gojo’s fingers flexed as he fought the pure need to scoop you up in his arms and tell you not to worry your pretty head about anything. Just wait a little.
His hand found the chopstick again — a grip so tight he wondered with a mild surprise how this thing didn’t break — and took a deep breath.
“You did everything perfectly. Seriously, I couldn’t even imagine that place looking so beautiful. I mean it.”
He mentally winced on the way his words didn’t sound even a fraction of what he actually wanted to say. But he couldn’t. Just yet.
Your lips curled up in a soft, tiny smile. “Thank you. But I think it could be way better if I just — “
He shook his head and huffed in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? It is already better. The best, actually. No one could do it better than you.”
“You sound awfully confident about it.”
“Because I am awfully confident about it.”
The soft chuckle escaped your lips, and Gojo once again thought it was the prettiest sound in the whole world. Probably only rivalling with a sound of his name when you said it like you mean it; the syllables falling from your tongue in a sweetly aching way that had his soul ascending to heaven.
“I am sorry about Kugisaki, by the way.”
You only sighed in response, and he shifted nervously on the seat. “What about your boss? Is she coming?”
Like he didn’t know the answer already.
“She doesn’t know yet. Says there’s a big delivery today evening, and since Nobara and I are busy…”, you trailed off, poking at the noodles with a sad expression that tugged on his heartstrings. But something in your tone made his ears perk.
“But you’re coming, right?” He tried to keep his voice even to conceal the sudden nervousness. No, no, no. That absolutely was off the table. You should be there.
A quiet sight escaped your lips. You wish Nobara and Utahime were by your side as well that evening because confronting Gojo on your own wasn’t the easiest task. But you had long decided about it. What if that were the last time you might see him? That thought alone had your heart painfully fluttering in your chest.
“Yeah, I am coming. Can’t miss it, can I? Though…I just don’t wanna be alone.”
Gojo’s brows furrowed in confusion. What the hell were you saying?
“You won’t be alone. You’ll have me.”
“Aren’t you gonna be busy?”
Gojo slowly shook his head, his bright blue eyes never leaving your face, committing to the memory every shift in your expression, like you were something precious. Worth remembering. His voice fell to a gentle whisper. “Never for you.”
Oh, how you wanted that to be true. Desperately, hopelessly, to the point you felt miserable in all the love for him that had you drowning with no prospect of resurfacing. Was it even wrong? For the person your entire being yearned for, whose name was etched into the fabrics of your existence, to crave you in the same violent way you longed for him?
A sheen of tears covered your gaze, and you quickly blinked them away, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Okay. I’ll be there. Of course.”
The smile he gave you could rival the Sun with its brightness.
***
You smoothed down the silky fabric of the dress as you critically assessed the silhouette in the mirror. The fabrics felt too smooth, too unnatural under your trembling touch, though it fit perfectly, cascading down in captivating waves. You rarely wore dresses, anything like that, but for some reason, you wanted that evening to be etched in your memory. Maybe it was a simple wish to bask in the lights of all your efforts or to be seen. By a very particular man. Either way, the strange kind of boldness had you stare at your reflection in the low-cut back with an unreadable expression. Never in your life had you wanted to be that much.
Nobara would’ve looked at you with a knowing, infuriating grin and rolled her eyes at your hesitance. You could hear her voice as if she were staring at the mirror next to you and clapping her hands, saying that you were really gorgeous. Well, she always boosted your confidence like no one else in the world.
A few gulps of tequila from the long-forgotten bottle in the corner of your fridge made your smile a little bit lopsided, but not suspicious enough. The buzz pleasantly hummed in your slightly hazy mind, and you felt lighter. Brighter. Like you could’ve taken on the whole world.
Just what you needed to confront your ex-situationship. At the event he organized. With you being the main florist. Right.
The ride to the hotel was a little bumpy, but you didn’t pay much attention, too preoccupied with your thoughts. What was Gojo going to say? Would he deflect? Reject you with a smile too polite, too stretched around the edges? Look at you as if you had just escaped from the asylum?
Or…
Your grip on the purse tightened. Your pulse quickened, heart hammered against your ribs as if it could just jump out of your chest every moment.
No, no, no. No.
You hadn’t even dreamt of peeking into that corner of your heart. Firmly shut, too secure, too preoccupied with him, his voice, his eyes, his smile. Oh god. Just him.
Maybe you indeed had gone crazy.
The hotel met you in a far less grandeur as you had expected. No crowds, photographers, staff running around…The quietness pounded on your temples with an anxious rhythm. Was everyone already inside?
The rhythmic clicking of your heels echoed through the marble halls, your fingers trembled nervously, and with breathing too short in your suddenly tightened throat, you opened the massive doors leading to the event hall, very familiar, too familiar, excitement beating against your ribcage and… stood still. Your smile slowly vanished from your face like a morning mist.
Empty. No one else was there. Not a living soul, beside you.
Your heart stammered once, twice, before sinking into your stomach. Hand helplessly slid down the wood of the door as you hesitantly stepped inside.
Quietly, uncertainly. As if you weren’t sure you even could exist in that space anymore — the space that became your safe haven for those weeks. Something precious, something valuable, something that felt like home for brief moments. Where you rediscovered your passion once again, petal by petal, flower by flower, bouquet by bouquet…
So useless. All the beauty you carefully crafted was destined to wither. And what for?
Hands brushing against the stalls and the arrangements you carefully picked: tulips, calla lilies, orchids, chrysanthemums coming alive under your loving, knowing touch. The photo op that you so adored towered over you as if mocking all your efforts. Your eyes burned with tears, and humiliation tasted like acid on your mouth. With vision blurred, you slightly stumbled and slumped into the nearest chair as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen right onto your shoulders.
In and out. In and out, until the world had stopped spinning just for a moment, and let you resurface in its unwelcome, cruel and utterly suffocating embrace. Something was wrong. Something should be wrong!
Only when your figure stopped shaking with unshed tears did you feel brave enough to look around once again. Only freeze in your seat, because you were so overwhelmed at that point that you didn’t notice your favourite flowers put here and there across the endless bouquets. Not disrupting the arrangements, but adding an intimate touch to the composition.
Your brows knitted in confusion as your gaze swept across the surroundings once again. The dim light combined with a couple of fairy lights just above your head. Tables pushed to the side, with one being in the centre, the one you accidentally sat by — and the trail of petals leading there from the doors. Delicate, gentle hearts of balloons.
It wasn’t the intrusion. No, quite the opposite — careful, thoughtful additions to the canvas you thoughtfully woven.
Still, you had no idea what was going on. With your fingers shaking, you reached for the invitation to check it over again and see the right time, right place…right name, signing it.
Gojo! Gods, if something had gone wrong indeed, he would certainly know it.
You dialled once, twice, thrice, four times, only to have your calls roll right to voicemail. Nobara or Utahime didn’t pick up as well.
You were all alone. Again. Wallowing in self-pity, heart aching from all the pain, humiliation and anger, mixing into something dangerous.
A cry, sharp and loud, left your lips as the hot tears streamed down your face. How stupid one could be? How foolish. How naive. Confessing, confronting the person who haunted your dreams, whose name had always been a sacred prayer, a faint calming whisper against the cracks of your bleeding heart. Only to be stood up by him. Broken. Tossed into the corner like an abandoned doll. Did he have enough fun playing with you? Toying with your heart? Was he even once sincere in his vulnerability, his yearning gaze and quiet reverent tone?
A spark of the match. A drop of gasoline. A slow, imperceptible roll of a flint of a lighter. Igniting, burning the rope chaining you down with doubts, insecurities and fear. Until only the ashes were left, with you standing right in the middle, picking the shattered pieces.
Well, you hoped he really enjoyed it. Because no one else was going to see that version of you again.
The doors slammed open with a bang so loud it made a couple of guests twist their necks in confusion as you stormed past them, out of this place, this hotel, this life. Away from everything that had his touch.
Miraculously, you didn’t slip on the stairs, despite your vision being blurred and the mess of the people around. The sky already dipped into dark purple, violet and lilac shades scattered across it like wide strokes of the brush, which made you wonder how long you sat there in the strangling solitude.
You almost reached the middle when you heard Gojo. He cried out your name with such a desperation that for one endless moment, you thought about abandoning everything and running into his arms, but you pushed yourself further, teeth gritted, weaving through the sea of people.
Until his fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you into him, and that had the dam inside you break with deafening force.
You yanked your hand back as if his mere touch burnt you; your voice sounded like a harsh crack of a whip as you pointed your finger at him in accusation.
“You are such a fucking asshole, Gojo Satoru!”
His chest expanded with each forced inhale; his hair was mercilessly tousled, whether by the sharp gusts of wind or his own fingers running through it; the beads of sweat ran down his face, so unfairly, infuriatingly handsome even now. He looked like he had just run no less than a marathon just to get to you.
Gojo’s lips parted, but you cut him off with a sharp shake.
“Don’t you fucking dare to say anything. Don’t you dare to make excuses, because this? This is even worse than everything you did to me, worse than ghosting and leaving me, just to break my heart again and again and again! Why are you doing that? Am I that miserable in your eyes? Do I have written all over my face that I enjoy being humiliated by Gojo Satoru, I wonder? Because what else could make you do that? Make me believe I was actually worth something and then drag me through the mud?”
You watched his face twist with something sharply painful. “Good,” you thought. “Let him feel the ounce of what he did to me.”
He opened his mouth once again, only to abruptly close it as you stepped closer, not giving him any chance to hide, to run, to deflect.
“Because one thing is walking out of my life as if nothing had happened, and the other is fooling me, making such a show of this event, that was never about to happen, wasn’t it? Just to stand me up and what? Humiliate me?” Your voice fell to a whisper so desperate, so miserable, so helpless, that you didn’t recognize it at first. “Why, Satoru, why? What have I done to you? Is that your way of getting back at me?”
You angrily wiped your nose, smearing all the makeup you carefully put on earlier. Your eyes burned, throat tight with anger, pain curled in your chest like an unwanted guest, sipping into your bones and etching into your soul. A strong gust of wind made your skin shiver, but the cold blazing in your gaze as you met his eyes, wide with aching sorrow, hit him like a ton of bricks. He dug his nails so deep in his palms, almost drawing blood.
“I wish I had never met you and loved you so much,” you took a deep shuddering breath and slightly flinched at the sudden sound of thunder, roaring in the lilac sky. The first droplets of rain slowly hit the ground. Great. Just exactly what you needed.
“Don’t even bother contacting me once again. Fuck you, you stupid Chinese tea, stupid apartments, stupid company and stupid contract. I hope you’re gonna find someone who you will love with all your being,” your voice cracked once again, but you forced yourself to speak, “and they destroy you the same way you did with me. Not so cool, hah?”
Gojo closed his eyes as if looking at you physically pained him. You hugged yourself, shoulders trembling with hurt, and made your way down through the crowd.
And he let you go.
Almost.
“THIS IS ALL FOR YOU!”
A sharp, loud cry made you stop in your tracks. Bewildered, you turned around, only to see Gojo already standing a couple of meters away. The white, damp strand of his hair clung to his forehead, and his eyes carried such a clear shade of blue that had you rooted to your spot immediately.
“WHAT?” The droplets of rain cascaded down your face, mixing with tears; your chest heaved with pain as you shouted back.
“THIS IS ALL FOR YOU!” Gojo gestured wildly; a nervous, almost hysterical laugh bubbled up in his throat, spilling uncontrollably from his lips as he ran his fingers through the hair, which now looked greyish. Your gaze flicked between his eyes and lips. What was he even on? Had he gone insane?
“I did it all for you! The moment I saw you at that flower shop, I didn’t know what it was, a coincidence, some cruel joke, a prank, my mind playing tricks on me, I —,” he stuttered and cut off his rambling, dragging his hands down his face with a bitter, self-deprecating chuckle. “I couldn’t lose you once again.”
“No,” you breathed out in disbelief. The thought of him doing all of it just for you was too strange, too painful even to suggest that his words were true. “You’re lying!”
“Why would I do that!?”
“BECAUSE THAT’S WHO YOU ARE! Because everything you did to me was just for the sake of breaking my heart again and again! Because this doesn’t make any sense, no one would, I don’t know,” you gestured around once again, blinking away the sheen of tears, “Come up with something that would need me and let me do everything I wanted, it’s so expensive and —,” you cut with your hysterical babbling with a sharp exhale. “That’s not even funny, Satoru! Why are you lying? Why are you doing this to me?”
His jaw tightened so that you could see a muscle jump in it, and he forced himself to take a deep breath before crying out through the rain that kept cascading around you.
“I LOVE YOU! I can’t think about anything else besides how stupidly, terrifyingly, unbelievably I am in love with you!” His voice cracked at the end of the sentence, dipping into something broken. Something fragile. “I love you. I love you so much that I am afraid I can’t even fucking exist in the world where you’re not mine.”
You stepped back. Blinked. Blinked again.
The mug on his table. Your photo. All his gestures that you silently kept mistaking for politeness. Or your wishful thinking. Slowly, your tired mind put all the pieces together.
“No…,” your words came in a fractured gasp. “You love me? Love me?”
Then you shook your head with a bitter smile, disbelief colouring your voice in cold and twisted tones. You huffed a laugh, almost hysterical, and threw your hands in the air.
“Then why did you leave me? Do you know how I felt, Satoru? I thought it was all my fault!”
Gojo’s gaze didn’t leave your trembling figure for even a second; his eyes glistened with tears, giving them an otherworldly shade of blue. For some reason, it only fueled your anger. Why the hell was he crying?!
You crossed a distance in a few steps and hit him. Again, again, and again. Your fists drummed against Gojo’s chest as you shouted. He didn’t even budge, standing immovable, letting your courses pour over him as if they were the last thing he might’ve heard from you.
“You are the most selfish man in the world, and I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…” A quiet, uncontrolled sob shuddered from you as the pair of strong hands enveloped you in an embrace. “I fucking hate you…”
“I know, love, I know. I am so, so sorry,” Gojo whispered in your hair, pressing soft kisses on the crown of your head, so feathery you might’ve imagined as well. “I know I am an asshole, I deserve all of it, I know you hate me.”
“But just know this,” his trembling hand came to cradle your face, a thumb traced a delicate line along your cheekbones and brushed your jaw, while the other slid down to the dip of your waist as he pulled you closer against him. Gojo’s gaze held you captive — the shade of striking, icy blue that carried the weight of all the winters you had been apart. His voice dropped to a desperate, broken whisper. “There hasn’t been a day when I didn’t think about you. And I left you,” Gojo cut himself off with a sharp exhale, “because I loved you so much it scared me.”
A bitter smile curved his lips as you stared up at him in shock, soaking all his words, the minute shifts in his expression, the minor imperfections, committing it all to memory as if he was about to disappear.
“I know how selfish it was, and I can’t help myself. I am selfish, and that’s why I can’t help but want you back. I am still scared, scared shitless, but I want you to ruin me. Whatever it is,” his hand found yours and pressed against his chest; a frantic beating of his heart against the ribs under your shaking hand told you everything and even more, “I want it from you.”
“Love me, hate me, ruin me,” he closed his eyes in surrender and rested his forehead against yours. His thick whisper burnt against your skin with thousands of emotions, “I still come up crawling to you.”
Your hands slid up to cradle Gojo’s face, and before his words would throw your world off its axis, your lips found his in a tender, hesitant kiss.
He let a shaky, surprised exhale in your mouth, which quickly morphed into a soft moan as your fingers tangled in his hair and nails slightly scraped the undercut. You swallowed it without any hesitation, but a gasp left your own lips when Gojo suddenly pulled you closer, his fingers digging into the soft skin through the damp fabrics of the dress, each touch setting every nerve in your body on fire. Your heart roared against the ribcage, echoing the thunder clapping in the sky, and your other hand fisted in his soaked shirt to bring his face closer. He moved against your mouth with the kind of hesitance, slow and gentle, as if he weren’t even sure he wasn’t dreaming; reminiscing every step of the dance you both knew so well.
A tenderly aching sweep of his tongue, and you parted your lips just for him to drink your moans, whimpers and breathy exhales like you were the air he finally could breathe. And you arched into him without even thinking: your body carving into his so perfectly, so naturally, like it belonged there. Like you belonged there, falling apart in his loving arms, under his knowing hands, with every brush of his lips and every touch of his fingers, burnt into your very being with his love.
The soft, raspy sound of your name as it left his lips felt holy, settling in your chest with a heavy, tender ache. His thumb brushed against the line of your jaw, cupping your cheek, and you found yourself leaning into it, almost subconsciously.
Gojo didn’t say anything, and you watched his eyelids flutter, long, pale eyelashes brush against the soft skin of his cheek, the shaky huffs of air leave his lips. Then he opened his eyes — and the infinite blue swallowed you whole in his love.
“I love you.”
“You’re so stupid.”
A lazy, though undeniably soft grin slowly spread on his face. “Only for you.”
You giggled softly and slightly sniffled — though the rain slackened, the lone droplets still clung to your bodies. “Why didn’t you try to contact me? I missed you so much. You can’t even imagine.”
A flicker of hurt crossed Gojo’s face as he slowly exhaled and murmured.
“I did. Tried, at least.”
You parted your lips in disbelief. “What the hell are you saying?”
“Ehhh, after some time, I tried to contact you, but you blocked me,” he rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled sadly, “which was totally justified, obviously. I texted Kugisaki.”
“She never told me that.”
“Obviously,” he rolled his eyes and tapped your nose with an infuriating grin. You didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss or smack him, so you just pressed your lips into a thin line. “She’s your best friend. I would’ve kicked me in my ass if I were her. Oh. She almost did that. Right.”
“Satoru!”
“Oh, we are on a first-name basis again. Good to know. Anyways. She told me to fuck off,” his shoulders rose in a deliberate shrug, and he stared over your head at the bustling road, “and that I should stay clear of your sight.”
“So you left Tokyo, I guess.”
Gojo tore his gaze from the road and stared back at you. The sharp gust of wind threw his messy, snowy hair over his forehead once again, but he made no effort to put it back.
You thought he had never looked more handsome.
“Yeah. I did. I couldn’t —,” he briefly closed his eyes as if it even hurt to recall your past, “couldn’t live in the city, where everything breathed with you. You were finally at peace, and as much of an asshole as I was, I would rather cut my arm off than see you in pain again.”
Honestly, you were still dizzy and overwhelmed with…everything, so it left you completely speechless. You just stared back at Gojo as if you had seen, really seen him for the first time. He brushed the lone hair strand behind your hair with a chuckle and tilted his head in amusement.
“What, cat got your tongue?”
“Oh, shut it.”
His smile turned so smug that you immediately regretted your words.
The sudden roaring of thunder made you both look up in the sky. You shivered at the gust of the wind, and Gojo’s brows immediately furrowed in worry as his face flicked back to you.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“But the event —,” you mumbled helplessly as he ushered you down the hotel stairs. To his car, probably.
“Baby. I told you it’s all for you. Don’t worry your pretty head about it, alright? I’ll take care of everything.”
The way his voice curled so softly as the pet word rolled freely off his tongue made something sweet break in your chest. Gojo was typing something already on the phone, holding the car door for you.
“Does it even exist, I wonder?”
“Of course, it does. Just not today.”
“Uh, oh, okay. Okay. Where are we going?
Gojo turned the keys in the ignition and cast a glance at your form, caressing your figure with a knowing gaze. Then his lips slowly curled into a grin. “Somewhere warm and preferably close. Where we could talk.”
“Right. Talk.”
He brushed a few strands off his forehead, his right hand lazily slid down to the gears, while the other rested on the steering wheel. The tension between you curled up like a smoke, fogging the car windows as the rain continued to pitter-patter against it.
Your gaze briefly flicked to Gojo’s face once again, only to meet his eyes, slightly narrowed as he examined you. Your chest heaved with sharp exhales; Gojo dropped his gaze to your cleavage for a mere second, but that was enough. The next thing you remembered was a breathy moan you pulled from his lips as you straddled him, the hard planes of his chest as you rested your hand there, and the soft strands of the frosty hair just above the undercut, causing Gojo to whimper your name. You gladly drank each of them; every sound from his plump, kiss-bitten lips pulled the knot in your lower belly tighter and tighter. A slight roll of your hips. A shaky exhale of your name. A greedy touch of his fingers on the small of your back — twitching with a barely suppressed desire to devour you right there.
“F-fuck,” Gojo’s eyelids fluttered as his head slowly rolled back against the headrest. You immediately leaned in, a breathy press of your lips against his pulse point. Your hand slowly slid down his torso, reaching his belt. A sharp, impatient tug of your needy fingers — fuck, you could already feel how heavy and imposing he was, even through the slacks, and your core clenched around nothing in anticipation — as his hands curled around your wrists.
“W-wait, baby, I —,” Gojo forced himself to open his eyes, and you slowly dragged your gaze up to his face, only to see the blue of his irises swallowed by the black of his need. His face was so close to yours — a kiss away — that you barely restrained yourself from leaning in once again.
“What?” Blood pounded on your temples with a repeated chant of more, more, more, and you weren’t in a big mood for talking as of now. You loved him, he loved you — and that was enough. That and the overwhelming need to crawl inside him and be the blood running his veins. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you undid the first button of his shirt, revealing a glimpse at the sharp cut of the collarbones. His breath hitched, brows furrowing as if in pain, and the breathy moan of your name sent your head in a dizzy haze. And just as Gojo was on the verge of caving in (at least that was what you thought), his hands forcefully pulled yours away.
You slowly blinked away the lust buzzing at the back of your mind and stared at him in slight disbelief. Your voice dropped to a desperate whisper as you forced yourself to speak up through the lump in your throat.
“You don’t want me?”
Gojo’s eyes widened immediately in such a shock as if you had just announced the Earth was flat. Crimson slowly crept up your neck, colouring your cheeks in embarrassment.
“What? Why did you stop me then?”
His head hit the headrest with a low thud once again as he forced himself to breathe in and out, and then his half-lidded gaze pinned you to the spot.
“You’ve been grinding on me for the last 20 minutes. Really? I don’t want you?”
You pressed your lips into a thin line and gave a shallow, almost experimental roll of your hips just over his throbbing length, causing him to hiss lowly. Your fingers dug into the leather of his seat harder.
“Then why did you tell me to wait?”
“Because I don’t want it like this,” Gojo’s hand cupped your face as he murmured quietly. His thumb lovingly traced the contour of your swollen bottom lip. You slowly turned your head to press a brief kiss on it. “You deserve way more than a quick fuck in the car.”
“Who told you it would be quick, hah?”
“Aw, is someone needy?”
“You —” A curse of strings almost left your lips when Gojo’s warm palm slid under your dress and cupped your quivering heat. A jolt of desire ran through your body, and you helplessly bucked your hips against his hand.
“Satoru — “
“Fuck,” he sucked in a sharp breath, “you’re so wet.”
His thumb lightly brushed against your clit, and you bit back another wanton moan as you shuddered in his arms.
“Oh God, Satoru, please — “
“As much as I want to fuck you senseless, no. Not right now, at least.” His other hand found the back of your head to press your foreheads together. “Just wait a little. Let me love you. Please.”
The needy edge to his thick whisper was already enough for you to cave in. But when Gojo pressed a feathery kiss on the tip of your nose, you melted almost immediately. A quick nod, and his lips curled into a soft smile. “And also we’re both kinda wet. From the rain. At least me.”
You pinned him down with an icy glare and smacked the back of his head wordlessly.
That time, you didn’t have much time to look around his apartments, his room — hell, you barely kicked the heels off, when Gojo’s mouth was on yours once again, drinking you in, reacquainting himself with the curve of your lips, the shaky, needy moans of his name, heat and longing, all tangled up in the narrow space between your faces.
You didn’t even quite register the moment when you both finally ended in his room; the next thing you remembered was Gojo’s hand, slowly drifting up your bare arm, goosebumps erupting.
“You look gorgeous,” his whisper was thick with awe as he gently toyed with the thin straps of the dress before slowly sliding them down. Want, pure and unadulterated, blossomed in your chest, ran through your veins, and pulled the knot in your lower belly tighter.
The discarded dress pooled around your ankles, and as you wanted to step over it, Gojo slowly sank to his knees before you, not daring to tear his gaze away from your trembling figure. Like he was waiting for your orders, no less. His lips briefly skimmed over the soft skin of your stomach, and a small shudder ran down your body at his quiet, unintelligible murmurs. And when your gazes finally met, the scorching need in his eyes — love melting into silent devotion — set your entire being ablaze.
You carded your fingers through his snowy hair, brushing them off his forehead, and as your hand slid down to cup his face, Gojo leaned into it like he had been waiting this entire moment for his entire life. He slowly turned his head to press a feathery kiss on the inside of your palm, before gently nuzzling into it.
“God, you’re beautiful. So, so beautiful, baby.”
Gojo swiftly unclasped the straps of your heels, one by one, and helped you to step over them. As he straightened up to his full height, you had to tilt your head back to look at him properly. His hands found your face once again, and you let a surprised exhale, when he slowly parted your lips and took it as an opportunity to explore your mouth, tongue sweeping slowly against yours. A shaky, hungry moan left you; your knees buckled, and your hands immediately flew to claw at his sculpted shoulders for purchase.
Gojo slowly walked you backwards until the back of your knees finally hit the bed. Your hair spilled on the pillow like a halo, and with your chest heaving with desire, cheeks flushed, lips parted and swollen with kisses, he had never thought he had seen anyone, anything, more beautiful.
Fuck, he wanted to devour you. Pull apart, piece by piece. See your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Hips arching hungrily to meet his thrusts. Voice going hoarse from screaming his name. Oh, fuck, he needed it.
His hands languidly slid down your body, caressing your curves with awe.
“So sensitive. So soft. So mine,” he sucked in a harsh breath as your body squirmed beneath his knowing touch. An amused chuckle left him. “Patience, baby. We barely even started.”
“Satoru —,” your whine quickly morphed into a gasp, melting into a moan. Gojo slowly pulled your soaked panties to the side and dipped one long, thick finger in your quivering slit.
“Gods, you’re dripping. All for me, yeah?”
You immediately clamped your hand over the mouth, just not to let a string of needy moans leave your lips. God. That was beyond embarrassing. Pure pleasure ran down your body at an alarming speed, and heat pooled low in your stomach just from his single touch.
Would you come out of it alive?
Well, what a way to go.
“Did you touch yourself thinking about me?” His low, sinful purr burnt against the skin of your neck as his calloused thumb found your clit, causing your whole body to jolt and breath hitch in your throat with desire. You had to blink out the haze in your mind before asking.
“What?”
“Jus’ curious. Did you flick your bean at me? Rub the one? Mastu — Jesus, you're sucking me in already? What a good girl.”
If you hadn’t died from embarrassment at his stupid questions, then you certainly would have from his praise, which settled in your chest with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Gojo dipped another finger deeper, passing through the ring of resistance with ease. You helplessly clenched around his digits, hips desperately clamping around his hand.
“Aw, you like that? Like being praised? Of course, you do. My gorgeous,” he slowly licked the stripe up your neck and pressed a feathery kiss under your jaw. “Perfect, beautiful girl.”
“S-Satoru, uh —”
He exhaled at the sound of your breathy moan of his name, rolling off your tongue so naturally, like you were made to say it. Made for him.
“Say that again,” Gojo peppered your face in soft kisses. You could’ve felt every brush of his long eyelashes, flattering against your skin. “Please, love. Say my name again.”
His other hand slid down to cup your breast, fingers pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it hardened.
“Ah, yes, Satoru, ah.”
A slow, dopey grin spread on his face.
“So cute.”
You tried to shoot him an annoyed glance, but then his mouth closed around your peak, and all the thoughts besides him, his mouth, his hands, his fingers — Gosh, these fingers that kept scissoring you open, long, thick digits reaching all the hidden spots effortlessly — flew out of pleasure-hazed mind as on cue.
Gojo’s mouth left your nipple, making you immediately miss the warmth of his tongue; he squeezed your breast again, then the other, then two at the same time — bless his large palms. Your hands gripped the slippery silk of the sheets to anchor yourself in reality, but with the way his hands and mouth were slowly unravelling you, it was almost impossible.
“Fuck, they’re so soft,” Gojo groaned, the sound reverberating through your body, as he buried his face between your breasts, kissing your sternum and gently nosing the skin there. “Wanna stay like this forever.”
“I am all slobbery now. You happy?” You breathed out a weak chuckle, and Gojo looked up at you with a mischievous grin. Then he crooked his fingers just right, pressing against the spot that made your body shudder in a pleasure so overwhelming, your vision faded to black.
“S-shit, you’re so tight, baby,” another slobbery kiss on your breasts as he rasped out weakly, “can’t wait to feel you already.”
Then Gojo shifted slightly, and your body arched helplessly, as he had just pulled on your strings. Like a puppet in his knowing hands. He added the third finger, his thumb kept circling your clit in tightly, and the loud squelching sounds of your syrupy walls fluttering around his fingers, sent another wave of heat through you. You reached for the pillow to hide your face, burning with a mix of shame, lust and embarrassment. Your voice came rather muffled as you kept moaning his name.
“Ah, fuck, y-yes, r-right there, Satoru!”
His fingers twitched inside you, slowing down, before coming completely to a halt. You squirmed in disbelief and gasped in surprise when Gojo gently pried the pillow from your weakened hands. You immediately hid your hands in your palms.
“Too much, Satoru, I can’t —”
He grabbed your wrists and pulled your hands away from your face, and before you could react, his lips found yours in a kiss. He nipped at your bottom lip, and as you gasped, he sucked it into his mouth. Brutal, teeth clinking, tongues clashing, until you both found a suitable rhythm, greedily swallowing each other’s moans. His fingers never left you, knuckles deep, and after the pause, he pumped them in you in a rough rhythm, massaging the gummy walls with each brush.
“Yes, you can. Come on, baby, give it to me. Be a good girl, yeah?” Breathless after the kiss, he panted in your mouth. His thumb flicked your clit meanly, and you shuddered in his arms with loud moans, as the world dissolved into pleasure, soaking his fingers in your juices, walls spasming erratically.
“That’s it, baby,” Gojo’s lips found your temple in a soft, encouraging kiss. “Did so good to me. Now I am happy. Heh.”
A loud squelching pop! sound echoed in the room as he slowly dragged his drenched fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, tongue flicking around the digits. Licking. Tasting. His gaze, these piercing blue eyes, now stormy with need and want, examined your face with an unsettling intensity. You slowly released a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“You’re so sweet. Sweeter than I imagined,” he purred, hands slowly drifting over you, mapping every spot that made you shiver in ecstasy. Swallowing, you breathed out, barely audible.
“I-imagined?”
Another shudder ran through your body as Gojo’s thumb brushed against the tender spot just above your hipbones. Tilting his head curiously, he hummed in acknowledgement. “Such a sensitive girl. Drive me crazy. But yeah, imagined. Does it surprise you?”
As on a cue, your mind quickly offered you an image of Gojo jerking off to you: head thrown back against his expensive office chair, breath coming in short puffs, chest heaving with desire, your name spilling from his swollen lips like a secret prayer.
You clenched your thighs together. Heat was building in your belly once again at embarrassing speed.
Gojo didn’t comment on it. Graciously. Instead, he easily parted your knees with his knee, bumping just against your clit, earning a strangled noise.
“You still haven’t answered me.”
His hand slowly slid down, fingers brushing against the tender skin of your inner thighs. Then — a light smack! landed on your drenched slit. “So? Have you thought about me?”
Your cheeks flushed even redder at his pointed gaze as you deliberately avoided him. With a glance, you shrugged nonchalantly.
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“R-i-i-ght,” that slow, sinful drag stirred something in your chest. “Okay. As you wish, love.”
As you mustered the courage to look up at him, you noticed he was still clad in the same shirt. Twisting the collar in your fist, you sharply yanked him forward. “I am almost naked, and you’re not. Not fair.”
Gojo let a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “True. Wanna do me an honour?”
Your trembling fingers flew to undo the buttons once again, slipping a couple of times over particularly stubborn ones, which earned another low laugh from Gojo.
“Impatient much?”
With the last button coming undone, you gulped, hesitantly sliding the fabrics down his sculpted shoulder and toned arms. His chest rose heavily as you placed your hand on it. Warm. Hard. Then your hand drifted down the chiselled abs — the muscles contracting at your touch — past the sharp hipbones, veins, running down to his crotch, and the white trimmed happy trail. Your fingers skimmed over it, earning a sharp exhale.
“Very much so.”
The shirt quickly ended on the floor, along with the slacks, and then Gojo was on you once again, skin to skin, and you both moaned at contact. Your hands roamed freely over his body, digging, clawing, pawing, grabbing, making him whimper with need into your mouth. You desperately squirmed under him.
“‘Toru, please,” his brows knitted together as if in pain, when you called his name in that wanton, breathy tone. That alone, and your soft skin under his hands, was enough for him to come right into his boxers. “Fuck me already. Please.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed with effort. Gojo was so hard already, barely thinking straight, and you begging for him didn’t help. At all.
He sucked in a sharp breath, fingers tugging on your drenched panties.
“Lift your hips for me, baby.”
He kicked the boxers off somewhere, not even caring in the slightest, and then noted with amusement the way your eyes widened in shock at the sight of his cock — God, it was actually throbbing. Thick and long, with a slight curve, the angry tip flushed red, already glistening with pre-cum. You hadn’t seen a lot of them, but Gojo’s was the prettiest one. As the rest of him.
You hesitantly wrapped your hand around the shaft, giving it a few languid strokes, and the moan of pure ecstasy that ripped from his mouth sent a shiver down your spine and core.
Wait, had it grown even bigger?!
“That is not gonna fit inside me. A-absolutely not.”
“Weren’t you the one begging me to fuck you?” He threw his head back with a groan as you continued to pump his length, thumb smearing beads of pre-cum over the mushroom tip.
“Excuse me! I didn’t know it was that massive!”
Gojo cracked one eye open, and a slow, lopsided grin bloomed on his handsome face as he breathed out. “Oh, so I am massive?”
You huffed. “You’re just fishing compliments, aren’t you— ah!”
Your back hit the mattress once again at a sudden movement; a surprised gasp dissolved into a soft giggle. He didn’t waste any moment and parted your legs with his knee once again, settling between them with ease. Instinctively, you tried to squeeze your thighs together, but his strong hands kept them pinned under him.
Gojo’s fingers caressed your trembling core, gently parting the wet, sloppy folds. Still dripping. Your core clenched around nothing as you remembered his fingers inside you. A helpless whine left you.
“”Toru, please.”
“Shh, it’s okay, baby. I am gonna make it fit, yeah?” One of his hands left your thigh and slowly drifted upwards, past the hipbones, the stomach, palmed the breasts gently, until finally cupped the apple of your cheek. His lips found your forehead again, pressing a light kiss. “We’re gonna do it slow. As you wish. Just tell me if it hurts, okay?”
Stunned by the love pooling in his soft, blue eyes, you nodded. “O-okay. Yeah. I’ll tell you.”
“Good girl.”
You watched him gripping the base of his cock, coating the tip in your juices past the dripping folds, bumping against the clit lightly, and then slowly, very slowly he pushed in. Filling you up inch by thick inch.
Your breath came in fractured puffs. You closed your eyes at the searing burn of being stretched, tears already pricking at the corners as you sobbed weakly. “W-wait a little.”
“I am sorry, baby. Sorry. I know I am a lot to handle,” Gojo’s little joke made you chuckle softly, until he pushed a little bit more, and your laugh morphed into another gasp. Your hands helplessly flew to his shoulders, digging into the muscles for purchase, leaving crescents, but he didn’t even flinch, as his gaze was solely fixed on your face. He gently nuzzled your nose and kissed your tear-stained cheeks, murmuring quiet reassurances.
“You’re doing so great for me, baby. So good. Just a little more. Breathe for me.”
His voice was rough with strain, hoarse in that way that made your toes curl and your walls clenching involuntarily around his length. Your hips jerked, and a string of moans, drawn straight from your lungs, filled the room. Gojo sucked in a sharp breath, and his hand, which rested on your thigh, flexed with effort. Swallowing hard, he panted. “Don’t do that, baby.”
A needy, wanton mewl spilled from your lips when his fingers started to rub your clit in tight, slow circles to ease the pain from the stretch. You whimpered his name quietly, digging your nails into Gojo’s pale velvet skin, earning a low hiss from him.
“Look at me, sweetheart. Please.”
With messy white strands clinging to his forehead, soft blue eyes, already hazy with pleasure, he looked insanely beautiful. How was it possible for someone to be that pretty? You swallowed nervously.
Then he leaned in to capture your lips in a soft kiss, whispering a quiet, “I love you so much,” and finally bottomed out in you with a loud groan.
“Oh, God. God. You’re so fucking tight. And hot. Need a minute. Please,” Gojo’s fingers greedily dug into the plush skin of your thighs just not to thrust in you mercilessly and lose his sanity. He furrowed his brows as if in pain, but when he looked at you, the look of pure love and want made your breath hitch in your throat. His pupils were so wide, swallowing the irises, leaving only a thin rim of dark blue.
Gojo tenderly brushed your hair off your face and leaned down to press a kiss on your temple, the apple of your cheek, the corner of your mouth, and just under your jawline. Closing your eyes, you exhaled sharply. God, you felt so full. The delirious stretch sending your head into a dizzy state, all your thoughts flying out, until it was him and his pulsating length splitting you open. You swore you could’ve felt it in your stomach. And Gojo hadn’t even moved yet.
“Are you okay? Is it too much? I can —”
Cutting his nervous babbling, you shook your head gently, finally meeting his gaze. “Shhh. I am alright.”
“Can I move, baby?” The sheer neediness in his raspy tone set every nerve in your body on fire. With a slight squirm, you nodded eagerly. A shudder ran down his body, and with a sharp exhale, he drew his hips back until only the tip was settled inside, and landuidly pushed back, earning your shaky moans.
“Satoru, ah — “
“Fuck, angel, you feel so good. So, so good.” He set a slow, unhurried pace, thrusting in you with deep strokes — silent confessions written between the rolls of his hips.
“I love you. I am sorry I left you. I love you so much.”
Gojo lovingly nosed the curve of your neck and pressed a string of light, feathery kisses down it, tongue darting to bite slightly on your pulse point. His hand flexed on your thigh, hooking it over his narrow waist. “I love you. So much, you can’t even imagine.”
Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes from the way he dragged his cock in and out of your gummy walls, moulding your insides into his shape; every vein, every ridge of his shaft etched into your very being. Gojo sucked on the tender skin of your neck and ran his tongue over your collarbones, tasting the saltness, and then drifted downwards to close his lips on your nipple. You arched helplessly in his arms, whimpering needily; fingers immediately tangling in his snowy hair, pulling on the soft tufts under his undercut. A loud groan from his lips reverberated through your skin, and he sucked harder, glancing up at you with a scorching gaze. His cock twitched inside you at your whimper.
Gojo slightly pulled back, tilting his head back, groaning your name loudly, as your walls clenched around his length, fluttering at each deep, slow thrust, warm and welcoming.
“Fuck, you’re sucking me so hard,” he ran his fingers through the damp hair, showing the forehead in the pale moonlight. Gojo’s gaze lazily drifted down to the spot where your bodies connected, and a lazy, satisfied smile spread on his plump lips at the sight of your cunt stretched obscenely around his girth. Huffing a light chuckle, he purred. “Look at her, such a greedy girl, isn’t she, angel?”
“Ngh, Satoru, s-shit, ‘s good.” Your body moved forward at the speed of his thrusts. The sheer size of his cock, paired with slow, unhurried rolls of his hips, rendered you speechless. You gripped the sheets tighter just to anchor yourself in reality, crying out his name desperately.
Gojo slid his hand up and splayed it across your lower belly, pressing slightly on it. Transfixed, he watched the outline of his cock in your tummy, pupils widening with a barely suppressed lust even more. “Should feel me ri-i-ight here. Ah, fuck. You’re doing so good, angel.”
A light stutter of his hips, and a loud smack echoed in the room lewdly, as he picked up the pace a little, balls slapping perfectly against the crevice of your thighs: obscene, sinful plap-plap-plaps drawing shameless loud moans straight from your lungs.
“Wanna stay like this forever. You’re so perfect. So perfect for me, f-fuck, yes,” you could barely register his words through the blood pounding violently in your ears, pleasure rolling over your body in the shocking waves, and the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the room. The sticky, musky smell of sex clung to your bodies, mixing with the scent of Gojo’s cologne and something so uniquely him that had you desperately clawing on his shoulders, arms, digging your nails into the biceps just to bring him closer, until you were enveloped in him and just him.
Gojo noticed your attempts — his hot breath tickled your temple, and you could feel a whisper of his cocky grin as he cooed at you. “Aw, is my baby needy? Wanna more of me, yeah?”
Arrogant as ever. If that were from anyone else, you would already huff in annoyance and push a guy away, but it was Gojo. Satoru. Your Satoru. And everything from him, including that insufferable cockiness, felt a thousand times more intense than everything you had ever experienced with anyone else.
Tenderly cupping his face in your trembling hands, you whispered in Gojo’s lips.
“I love you.”
His thrusts lost their rhythm, breath catching in his lungs at your confession. His voice dipped into a soft and reverent tone as he helplessly croaked back. “I love you more. Always more.”
Then Gojo angled his hips just right — and you gasped as the fat head of his cock grazed your gushy spot. He eagerly swallowed it, caging your trembling body between his strong arms, biceps bulging as he propped himself up.
“That’s the spot, yeah? Right here?”
“Y-yeah, Toru, please, m-more, ah!”
Gojo withdrew his hips and then slammed inside you with such a force that it knocked a breath out of your lungs. Then again. And again, the angry tip bumping against your spot with precision, leaving you a blabbering and stuttering mess in his arms. Your hips greedily arched to meet his frantic thrusts, that already had lost all the tempo, nails raking down his sculpted back, earning another sinful, erotic moan of your name.
“Mark me, baby. I am all yours,” Gojo panted heavily against the corner of your mouth, turning his head just a tad to meet your lips in a messy kiss — all mess of tongues, until you cried out as the calloused pad of his thumb found your clit, rubbing it in quick, tight circles. With your thighs jerking helplessly around him, you somehow managed to mewl weakly.
“Satoru, ‘m coming, oh, fuck!”
“Squeezin’ me so t-tight, I know, b-baby, I know. Come on then. Give it to me, love.”
Your vision went blurry with pleasure, blood ringing in your ears, and with the last slap of his palm against your cunt, the spring coiled in your lower belly finally snapped. You didn’t even know you could come that hard: drenching his balls in your slick, your wetness coating Gojo’s washboard abs as he kept rutting his hips against you in a merciless rhythm; gummy velvet walls trapping him into the tightness of your cunt.
“I am c-coming, baby, just —,” Gojo cut himself with a loud broken moan when you clenched around him purposefully. Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he shook his head. “Naughty, naughty girl. Doing that on purpose, a-aren’t you? Ah, shit, gotta pull —”
“No,” you locked your ankles around his slim waist, pushing him even deeper inside. The mere thought of his cock leaving you, not filling you up to the brim, didn’t sit right with you at all. “C-come inside. P-please. I am on a pill.”
The sheer want in your breathy voice was enough to send him over the edge. Stammering, Gojp somehow managed to grit out — the overwhelming heat pooling low in his abdomen overrode any rational thought. “A-are you sure, angel?”
“Yes, Toru, yes. Jus’ wanna feel you. All of you. Please.”
Slamming his hips once, twice, hard, he buried his cock to the hilt and with a loud moan — you had never been happier for the fact that Gojo lived in the penthouse, since those absolutely whorish, shameless groans of your name could’ve woken up entire Kyoto — and spilled inside you, painting your walls white with each lazy, shallow thrust.
He slowly withdrew with a squelching sound, making you wince a little at a sudden emptiness. A couple of feathery kisses landed on your pulse point, a spot between the collarbones, until Gojo lovingly nuzzled into the salty skin. Like he wanted to melt in you. The veins in his forearms strained with effort as he kept you caged under him, careful not to crush you. His tongue darted to lick a slow, lazy strip down your sternum, to the softness of your breasts, and then down your stomach, pressing light kisses with the reverence reserved for the deities on the altars. Your breath came in fractured huffs, body pliantly arching under his knowing hands — like a clay waiting to be melted.
“Think you can give me another one, baby?” A shudder ran down your body at Gojo’s hot breath fanning over your core. He glanced up at you with the kind of expression that suggested he was about to die right there if he didn’t stuff his face between your thighs right that moment.
Still overstimulated, you blinked a couple of times. Until his words finally cut through your blissfully empty mind.
“Just lay here and be pretty, ‘kay?”
“Wait, what? No, I — ah! S-Satoru!”
He abruptly cut your babbling off, licking a slow, flat stripe up from the bottom and sucked harshly on your clit, earning your strangled gasp.
“Oh, f-fuck,” your thighs helplessly clumped around Gojo’s head, trapping him here. He didn’t seem to mind at all, though. In fact, his shameless moans reverberated through your body as he delved his tongue even deeper, licking, lapping, tasting. Fingers immediately tangled in his hair, your nails scraped his undercut; your hips bucked desperately with each flick of his expert tongue. His nose bumped against your clit so deliciously, the world cut to the white noise, leaving only Gojo and you.
“You taste so good, love, I could come only from it,” his strong hands dug into the velvet of your thighs even harder. For a moment, you wondered about the inevitable purplish marks from his fingers, and as on a cue, Gojo lifted his gaze, sparkling with mischief.
“Aw, seems like I am doing a bad job, if you’re still thinking about something,” your toes curled just from that sinful purr, but when Gojo shoved you on his face with even more force, you could only helplessly whine his name.
“Oh God, Satoru, right here, y-yes, ah —”
You could physically feel his smirk against your slit at these sweet, intoxicating whimpers.
“This is where you’re weak, right?” His fingers slowly parted your soaked folds, long digits stretching you perfectly, and when he curled them just right against that spot, paired with the constant pressure of his tongue on your nub, you came again. The force of your orgasm pinned your body to the bed, and for a good minute, you tried to remember how to breathe again.
“Knew you had it. Heh.” Gojo slowly pulled away. His chin was soaked, lips glistening with a sheen of your juices, and with his hair tousled from your endless tugging, he never looked more handsome to you. The pale moonlight highlighted the thick rivulets of sweat, dripping down his defined chest and hard abs. Something stirred in your lower belly at the sight, but you were too spent anyway.
Gojo plopped down beside you with a heavy thud, and the next thing you felt was his arm curling around your waist to pull your trembling form next to him: your back against his chest, soft curves of yours next to the hard edges of him. His thumb rested just below your ribcage, tracing soothing circles. A soft, feathery kiss landed on the delicate curve of your shoulder, up your neck, and just under your ear.
"Did so good to me, angel," he murmured quietly, tenderness and awe lacing his tone. "Thank you, baby."
Gojo lovingly nuzzled the crown of your head and buried his nose in your hair, inhaling the scent. He could’ve stayed like that forever: pleasant fatigue seeping into his bones, mind in a hazy, relaxed state, and, most importantly, you by his side. God. It still felt like a fever dream.
Gojo’s hesitant whisper cut through the quietness of the room, soft and fragile in a way that made something crack in your chest.
“I love you.”
Tears prickled at the corner of your eyes at his confession. You had never thought you would hear these words, let alone from him. Or maybe you were just more emotional than usual after…everything.
A quiet sob escaped you as you rasped back.
“I love you, Satoru.”
His hand, that unhurriedly slid down to the dip of your waist, stilled.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you crying? Did I hurt you?”
With a sharp exhale, you shook your head and rolled over to bury your face in Gojo’s chest. His expression immediately softened, and he cupped the back of your head to press against his chest, letting the soothing heartbeat wash over you. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
“Feeling better? Just overwhelmed? Talk to me, love.”
You sobbed for the last time and pulled away, but the aching tenderness in his soft gaze didn’t make it any better. Gojo searched your face for any hint of pain and gently cupped the apple of your cheek.
You sucked in a sharp breath and sniffled. Once. Twice.
“I just,” your throat constricted with emotions, but you forced yourself to speak, “all this time I thought there was something fundamentally wrong, totally unlovable with me.” Bottom lip wobbling, you looked away, angrily wiping your nose. What would Gojo think of you? “That must’ve been it, yeah? I had been alone all my life, until you came into my life, then left, and I tried to get over you, honestly, I did, I dated other guys, forced myself to fit into some box just not be alone, but — “ your shoulders dropped, and when you turned to face him, tears streamed down your face. “I couldn’t.”
Gojo closed his eyes, brows furrowing in pain. The weight of your words physically pinned him down, burying him under layers of guilt and self-hatred, filling his lungs like air. His fault. His fault. His fault.
But that wasn’t about him right now. Not with you shaking in his arms and finally confessing the things you kept in the heart’s deepest corner.
He parted his lips with a shaky exhale, but you cut him off, leaning in so close that you could see his gaze glistening with tears.
“ — and now you say you love me like you mean it. And the scariest part? That I want to believe you so, so much,” your voice dropped to a desperate whisper, “because I love you. Always have.”
What could he say to a person whose existence was as necessary as the air in the lungs and the sun in the sky? Whose name was engraved into his very being?
There was no him without you.
He leaned in to kiss you like your lips brought him back from the dead. Like you were the dream that finally came true. In a way, it was. Whether it lasted an endless minute or a little eternity, Gojo didn’t care. The world caved in to you, and you alone.
“I am sorry,” he croaked out in your lips, a voice so soft and broken you could’ve barely recognized it, “for the rest of my life, I’m gonna make up for it. I swear. If you let me, of course.”
“And there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re so, so lovable, are you kidding me?” Huffing a weak chuckle, Gojo tenderly traced your bottom lip with his thumb, “You are so easy to love. You’re so smart, and kind, and gentle, and funny and so fucking beautiful it drives me insane. How could anyone not love you?” He huffed a desperate, disbelieving chuckle. “It’s like not loving the sun. You can’t live without it.”
The sheer sincerity in his voice caught you unguarded. His gaze held you captive, waves of dark blue pulling you into him even deeper and deeper. He tenderly wiped the tear that managed to roll down your cheek.
“And I will spend all my life loving you, so you will never, ever doubt it.”
So, naturally, inevitably, you fell. Kissing him hard, professing every time your soul craved for him in a way that made you want to live inside him with your lips.
Your prophecy that finally came true.
Dizzy and shaken after the kiss, you whispered, “I love you.”
A tender grin curved his lips as Gojo pressed his forehead against yours, his voice thick with emotions you couldn’t even begin to decipher. “I love you more, angel.”
The night unfolded around you with stolen kisses and quiet shared confessions. At one moment, you scooted closer, and Gojo’s hand immediately curled tighter around your waist. “Tell me about the event.”
“There’s not much to say,” his shoulders dropped in a lazy shrug; his hand slowly slid down to rest on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “You know everything. The date is just…tomorrow. I couldn’t let your work go in vain, could I?”
Grinning at him softly, you bumped Gojo’s shoulder lightly and whispered.
“How did you even come up with it? I suppose Nobara and Utahime knew about it?”
He let out a quiet sigh and tapped your nose. “You just wanna hear me going crazy over you, huh?”
“Oh, come on. Indulge your girl a little.”
A beat of silence passed between you before Gojo finally admitted. “The moment I stepped into your flower shop and saw you, I knew I had to get you back. Came up with some event, which so conveniently needed a florist. That happened to be a certain girl whom I desperately love and is particularly good with flowers. Nothing suspicious, huh?”
“I had that whole plan,” Gojo gestured vaguely and ran a hand through the snowy hair, tousling it even more. “I was supposed to wait for you in the hall and confess my undying love for you,” he quickly caught your hand as you delicately traced the contour of his lips, softly kissing each finger, “but then I got stuck in the damn traffic, and on top of everything, my phone was dead, so I borrowed Ijichi’s —”
“Borrowed?”
“Okay, took it. Semantics. He’ll survive. I called you again and again, but you didn’t pick up, so I ran. That’s it, I guess.”
You arched your brows in confusion. “Ran?”
“Eh, it’s nothing. Just a couple of blocks. Oh, and yeah, your friends knew. I mean, I didn’t want anyone to see me kneeling before you in apology.”
You tapped his nose back, drawling, “My Gatsby.”
A frown crossed Gojo’s face for a second before he hummed in recognition and nodded with mock exaggeration. “Actually, it was my backup plan. Throwing parties and events until you eventually visit them. I mean, how big can Kyoto ever be? A million and a half? Pffft.”
The mental image alone made you chuckle, and Gojo’s grin widened. He pressed a quick kiss on your temple and whispered, tucking the lone hair strand behind your ear. “My second favourite sound.”
At first, you wanted to ask what the first one was, but seeing his lips curving into an absolutely shameless grin gave you the answer. You hoped it was dark enough for Gojo not to see the red colouring your cheeks.
“Aw, is my baby blushing? Have I embarrassed you?”
His hand already drifted down, fingers lazily tracing your back and slowly making their way to your ass. A surprised giggle left you, but then your eyes widened. You gasped.
“Wait!”
Gojo stilled, grumbling slightly, “What?”
“Your office. Your mug at the table! Is it —,” you swallowed nervously, searching his face for the answer, “this one?”
Gojo’s lopsided grin slowly faltered, morphing into a genuine, tender smile. His voice sounded surprisingly soft without its usual teasing. “Yeah. You think I joked when I said I had never stopped thinking about us?”
You took a deep, shuddering breath and wordlessly pulled him in a kiss, silently hoping it would tell Gojo everything you kept to your heart.
And for the rest of the night, you didn’t have much time for talking.
***
This day started as usual.
You woke up at the sound of Gojo’s alarm, his lips finding your forehead in the morning kiss. His hands pulled you even closer until you were a mess of tangled limbs and shared giggles under the sunlight, flooding your bedroom. A quick shower — that sometimes turned into a not-so-quick one with someone’s grabby hands — and the breakfast, when you drank one of the many teas you brought from your trips with him.
Now you didn’t have to catch up for the bus that almost always slipped from under your nose, with Gojo dropping you off at the flower shop each morning.
“You don’t have to drive me there every day, you know?” You whispered in his lips when he leaned down for the fifth time in what was supposed to be a goodbye kiss.
“Oh, I absolutely do. Can’t have my future wife be late for her very important job, can I?”
Gojo’s hand found yours, and he pressed a feathery kiss on your finger with the God knew how many carat diamond ring on.
Blush crept to your cheeks as you giggled like a schoolgirl. You would never grow tired of hearing that.
“Say that again.”
“Say what?” Eyes sparkling with mischief, he stole another kiss from you. “My future wife? My wife. My Mrs. Gojo.”
“If you kiss one more time, I am gonna report you for public indecency,” Nobara’s voice pulled you back to reality, as she pulled the keys to open the shop. She rolled her eyes, though the way her lips twitched with a barely suppressed smile told you everything. “Go find a room,” giving you a wink, she disappeared into the shop.
Gojo grimaced a little. “She’s just jealous of our love.”
“You know she’s the sweetest!”
“Yeah,” Gojo winced internally: the slap that he got from Nobara when you announced that you were back together was far from sweet. Justified, but nevertheless. His jaw hurt for the whole day. “Anyway, I am gonna pick you up after work. Be ready at five, okay, baby?”
”Okay. See you soon. Wait!” You quickly smoothed his tie and stood up on your tiptoes to kiss him for the final time that morning. “Have a nice day, love.”
And as usual, Gojo never failed to fulfil his promises, no matter how small they might seem. His warm palm engulfed yours as you walked side by side in the park.
“Utahime told us they are moving. Shoko’s been offered a job in Europe. Germany, if I remember correctly.”
Gojo hummed quietly in acknowledgement. “I see. Kinda far.”
You murmured with a weak smile. “Yeah. But Shoko’s a great doctor. One of the best, actually. No wonder she’s gotten that job.”
He hugged you by the shoulders, lips grazing the crown of your head. “You’re gonna miss them, huh?”
“Yes. I mean, I’ve known them for so long, and now they’re moving, and Utahime is gonna sell the shop…Nobara’s already looking for another job. It’s my turn too, I guess.”
Gojo didn’t say anything for a good minute, and as you glanced up, you saw him staring in the distance, gaze soft and dreamy.
“Toru?”
“I think it’s time. Remember how we talked about your own studio? You’ll be the lead designer. Doing what you want. No, but really! It’s the perfect time.”
You parted your lips to come up with another argument that sounded firm only in your mind, but quickly closed your mouth when Gojo looked at you almost pleadingly.
The corners of your lips twitched with a smile, and you sighed. “I don’t know, there are so many things I have to do: finding the place, florists, dealing with paperwork, business and —”
“Hey, hey, hey. Stop worrying. You have me, remember? I mean, you’re marrying the CEO that happens to know a lot about business.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at his words. Gojo beamed back at you, tucking your hair behind your ear and tilting your head to capture your lips in a kiss.
Pulling after some time for air, you panted out, “What about the name?”
Gojo hummed again, slowly looking up at the sky.
“I think I might have a variant.”
You followed the direction of his gaze, just to see the sunlight dappling through the overhead leaves, bathing the park in the shimmering golden light.
You blinked.
Of course.
“Komorebi.”
author's note: phew! thanks for reading it, if you're still here, haha. i hope you liked; i put a lot of soul into it and have gone through all the stages of depression with my writing, but came to peace with it in the end. likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!
summary: Years passed since you saw Satoru Gojo in your life — your situationship, who slipped away from your life like nothing had happened. Like you were nothing to him. Or, maybe, on the contrary, and you were his everything? What would happen if you suddenly met him at your flower shop?
tags: mdni! situationships, exes to lovers, reconciliation, some angst, some fluff, mutual pining, YEARNING, like A LOT. you fell first, he fell harder and it drove him crazy. panic attacks, floristry, some themes about rediscovering your life passion, the reader is kinda insecure. eventual smut: dry humping, fingering, emotional sex, a little bit of size kink, creampie, oral sex (f receiving).
word count: this part is 12.5k. total: 35k (bear with me here...).
author's note: this is officially the biggest thing i have ever written! and my first time ever writing smut. you've been warned. it should've been one post but tumblr's limits...art by @/boom_sate225. dividers are mine.
you might like listening to the playlist
part 2
This day started as usual.
Your phone alarm rang sharply at 6 a.m., jolting you awake. With a groan, you tapped to hold it and rolled over to have the last minutes of peace and serenity. The bed was warm, the pillow was comfortable, the blanket embraced you in the softest of hugs… Slowly, you drifted to sleep once again.
Only to hastily scramble to get ready an hour later.
"Shit, shit, shit," you cursed under your breath, trying to pull your pants on. A glance at the clock — 7:30; you must've been the fastest person in the world at that moment— totally a record.
Miraculously, you still had time to stop by your favourite bakery, which conveniently hid between the stalls with flowers and newspapers, to grab a coffee and a pastry. The street bustled with people at that hour: one man barked orders into his phone, with another gentleman, probably his assistant, hurriedly trying to keep up with the boss's pace. A pile of files in his arms dangerously leaned toward the ground.
Poor guy.
Your polished shoes clicked on the pavement, each step dripping with determination as you hurried to the bakery. You could’ve smelled its tantalizing scents even from a distance — cinnamon, cardamom, vanilla, and chocolate intertwining in a mouth-watering mix.
"Slept in, huh?" A barista, a tall guy with soft eyes and kind of a weird hairstyle of ponytails, observed you quietly and handed your order: a hot bumble with caramel syrup and a ham-and-cheese croissant. Your stomach growled at the scent of the pastry, and you gave the guy a quick smile. If you remembered it right, his name was Choso.
"Kind of, yeah," you swiped the card and quickly grabbed your order before you would drop dead to the overwhelming delicious scents in the bakery. You almost downed the drink in a few large gulps. "Thanks and bye!"
"Have a nice day, miss!"
You sped up to hop in your bus, the one that left the station at 7:35 sharply and arrived at your work exactly at 7:57.
“Sorry,” you murmured apologetically as you bumped into one lady, who only huffed in irritation, without sparing you a single glance. You fought the urge to grimace at her.
Slowly, you made your way to a lone window seat that wasn’t usually occupied at this hour. Mentally, you had long ago declared it your own and would sigh inwardly if other passengers, obviously, not aware of your claim, sat there.
This time, luck was on your side. You quickly fished a book — something to kill time and occupy your mind, besides the usual routine you were clearly drowning in. Your grip on the book tightened: not the best time to delve into and psychoanalyze your life as you tried to lose yourself in yet another magical fantasy world…
“Oh no, my fair lady,” a mysterious knight’s voice drawled, the voice muffled by a half-opened visor. Isabelle thought her heart almost jumped from her chest right into the knight’s hands. “I am here to rescue you.”
Isabelle could almost hear playfulness sipping in the knight’s tone, and it brought a quick grin on her face. Oh, her future husband would be enthralled when the morning would carry him the news about his precious wife-to-be, who would appear to be missing…”
You scoffed softly and reached for a pencil. Faint scribbles adorned the empty margins of the book, a carefully crafted tapestry of your thoughts and emotions.
“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure, if I were Isabelle, since…”
A sudden honk pulled you back to reality. The bus suddenly jerked forward again, and a string of muttered curses from other passengers wafted to you through the irritated crowd. Someone bumped into you, causing the pencil to fall from your grip.
“Ah, shoot it,” you huffed under your breath and bent over to take it back.
And then, as you looked up, you saw it.
A sudden flash of white hair.
Your insides got cold in an instant. The surrounding world ceased to exist around you for a moment or for a small eternity; you weren’t so sure. The pencil almost snapped in half in your hard grip as a thousand thoughts rushed through your anxious mind.
“What the hell is he doing there? He shouldn’t be there— no, he is not supposed to be there, in your city! You fled there, and he had the entire Tokyo! What if he saw you? Worse, what if he saw and now wants to talk to you? Shit, shit, shit!”
Your eyes nervously darted to the exit — only to see that the white hair was already missing. You blinked. Blinked again. No, not even a sight. You slumped in relief against the seat and closed your eyes.
What was going on with you, really? Is he the only man in the world with hair colour like this? Could’ve been some cosplayer! Yeah, that must be it!
Or not?...
Deep down, you knew the right answer. You could’ve recognized the silvery tone of his strands if you were a thousand miles away from him. You ran your fingers through them countless times, memorized the way they caught the moonlight and looked like spilt silver under your gentle touch.
With a long sigh, you put the book in a bag. The phone caught your eye, and you froze at the sight of the display.
8:17.
Memories engrossed your tired mind to the point you missed three stops.
“This day couldn’t get any worse,” you thought, rushing through the maze of irritated people, totally indifferent to your inner turmoil.
Oh, how wrong was that.
***
Flowers had always brought you peace and serenity.
Ever since you were a kid, your mom’s garden welcomed you with a warm embrace, shielding you from the cold touch of reality. Nothing could hurt you there; a few scratches were a fair price for solitude and tranquillity. Sitting under sakuras, amidst the vivid blossoms of magnolias, peonies, and tulips, quietly observing the nature you were surrounded by, you had learnt to see beauty in every soft petal, dew drop on the branches, foggy morning mist, or sunrays, shyly sipping through the branches.
Or maybe you were just a lone kid with a good heart and rich fantasy, and that gave roots to your need for escapism. Who knows.
You would like to think you still carried that fragile ability to see something precious even in the most mundane things, but you knew nothing would be as breathtaking as it appeared in childhood. Adulthood had long sharpened and hardened you into someone a child you would hardly recognise.
Sometimes you wondered what she would say when you looked at her now?
Your hands were still covered in stitches, calluses bubbled on your fingers, and the dirt seemed to be permanently itched under your nails, but the excitement from your gaze had long given in to exhaustion.
When did a person lose the sparkle that once ignited their entire being? When adulthood falls so hard on your shoulders that you don't even have a chance to take a breath?
You had never thought you would be one of these gloomy people. Especially surrounded by the beauty of nature, as you wished for as a kid. But fate had other plans for you: the florist’s job found you in the middle of rediscovering yourself once again, rather than you finding it, and the rose-coloured naive dreams about designing bouquets, arrangements, and organising events quickly shattered, leaving invisible scars that later would scream of burnt-out.
Surely, amidst the usual routine, you found your own moments of enjoyment. Designing was your main passion, and seeing the fruits of your work, happy smiles and gratitudes from the customers, was worth scars, hurt knees, and sprained wrists. You were glad to bring people warmth and steadiness in the middle of the storm, which some events might look like. Shame the rest of the job was way more demanding, mentally and especially physically.
You were cauterizing stems, which actually was Nobara's work, but Utahime seemed so worked up that morning that you didn't dare to poke a dragon any more and decided to shield your friend from the boss's wrath. When Nobara sauntered inside the room, you gave her a glance, already preparing yourself for an inevitable round of investigation.
"So," she drawled with an all-knowing smile, a mischievous glint flashed in her eyes as she leaned on the table next to you. Still not touching the stems. "How was your date yesterday? Tell me everything!"
Ah. Yes. Your date.
Partially, the reason you were late to work. Not even in the inappropriate sense you sometimes wanted it to be.
Your grip on the pruning shears tightened. You tried to deflect.
"Nothing worth talking—"
"Oh, come on! I've been dying to hear everything! Spill the tea!"
Nobara was really relentless when she was in a mood, so after a couple of seconds, you decided to end your suffering as quickly as possible. Like ripping the band-aid off.
"That was fucking awful."
You could swear Nobara's nose twitched like a hound that scented the blood. The corner of your mouth lifted in amusement.
"I swear, all these date apps, blind dates, so on and so forth are not my type of thing," you murmured and sighed, looking around the room for any clue that could've helped to solve a mystery of human hearts. "No, I am serious!"
You told her everything. How you matched with a guy on a goddamn Tinder, who seemed…adequate at first sight. That you felt like something almost clicked in that unexplainable way, when you just…know.
You really hoped after him and dozens of unfruitful attempts to meet your fate spontaneously, and let Cupid’s arrows pierce you, your dating apps would result in something. However, with every swipe, weird dialogues and unambiguous hints at the end of coffee dates, your confidence that the male loneliness epidemic had been really justified only grew further. Yesterday’s attempt should’ve been the last one before locking yourself in a tower (your apartments), with only a jester (another 2000’s romcom) to keep you company. Sounded like a perfect plan.
“Everything was fine, before that jerk started asking whether I was like these females—”
“Ew,” Nobara grimaced. “Females? That’s a red flag already. Might be one of these podcast guys. They are all beyond saving.”
“I know, right? Should’ve told him to fuck off right that instant. Anyway,” you snipped a poor rose’s stem with more force than necessary and continued. “These females who like to invite poor men to the fanciest restaurants and make them pay!”
Nobara gasped, thoroughly scandalized, handing you a lighter.
“He did not!”
“Oh yes, he did. And that’s not even the worst! Then he asked when I would be ready to quit my job, because his wife and the mother of his children shouldn’t work,” deep-buried irritation from the godforsaken dinner slowly started to bloom in your chest, so you didn’t even notice you were holding the lighter near the stem longer than usual. Luckily, Nobara intervened before you almost set the flowers on fire.
“Hey-hey, gimme that,” she snatched the possible tool of destruction from your hands and quickly put the stem in a vase. You blinked in surprise and slumped on the nearby chair with a long, exhausted sigh.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she flashed you a warm smile and then added, barely audible. “Was my task, anyway. So, you were saying?”
“Yeah, right,” you dragged your hand over your face, “after we left the restaurant, the asshole offered to give me a ride.” You drawled the last word, double entendre clear in your voice, as you stared at Nobara with a telling gaze.
She, of course, understood. Slowly dragged her gaze from the flowers and stared back at you. A murderous glint flashed in her eyes. The lighter only added to her dangerous image.
You sighed once again and murmured, staring at the ceiling. “So, that was it. What’s even worse is that he seemed so nice and gallant and—,” you gestured vaguely before dropping your hand in desperation. The next words felt like shards; tears stole your voice. “I am not cut out for the relationships, clearly. Maybe something is fundamentally wrong with me, I don’t know! All this staff”, you drew a sharp exhale and angrily wiped your nose, “is not for me. I am way better alone”.
Hearing your voice, so uncharacteristically broken, Nobara kneeled in front of you. She squeezed your hands.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. Believe me. All these men are assholes that do not even deserve the strand of your hair!”
“Uhm, Nobara, flowers there—”
“Ah, fuck these flowers,” she waved dismissively. “I’ve got a bigger potential catastrophe on my hands,” you snorted at her words, and a big, bright grin broke on her face. “You are smart, pretty, kind, and just so wonderful! These guys? They can suck my—”
“Nobara!”
“Okay, okay,” Nobara rolled her eyes and leaned in closer, her grin morphing into a conspirational smile. Your eyes narrowed playfully. “Tell you what? We finish here, and I am taking you to that new mall, finally making you buy that slutty dress I’ve been talking about for days, then we crash into my flat, order whatever you want, and re-watch “Love Actually” for the hundredth time! How’s that?”
You couldn’t help but smile genuinely at Nobara’s suggestion. It was impossible to brood with her around.
“That sounds perfect.”
Your thoughts drifted to the morning once again. Something in your guts was telling you that you were right initially. Or maybe it was more of a wishful thinking, because his image would haunt your mind every failed date and every sparkle you misguessed as the beginning of something new. And yesterday was particularly shitty.
You weren’t that obsessed with your ex-situationship. So what if even after all the months you had been apart (though you doubted whether you could truly say that; you never had been together), he was the only person who had lit up your whole world? Pfft. Every girl had a story like this.
At least you hoped so. Stupid Gojo.
Despite all the things that happened between you (and did not), you couldn’t bring yourself to hate Gojo. His stupid white hair, ivory under the sunlight; a stupid grin that broke his face anytime you would say something funny, and that chuckle, Gods, that fucking chuckle of his was your biggest reward and the strongest undoing.
Then you would remember the way he ended both of you, destroying the root before your love could even blossom, and the urge to punch him would multiply drastically.
Just like now.
You were in the middle of preparing the next customer’s order and racked your brains on where to put a couple of black tulips, so they would look presentable enough. Then you struggled with the overall composition, the wrapping paper didn’t work much, you cut your ring finger and —
Stop that.
You took a deep breath. In and out. In and out.
That was it. The effect Satoru Gojo had on you.
“I definitely should get over this guy,” you murmured in the void, not addressing anyone in particular, but Nobara heard it. She turned around sharply, the large heart box with roses dangerously swaying in her hands. Her narrowed eyes seemed to pierce right through your soul, through the pregnant pauses, creeping between the endless conversations about your love life, the sadness you carried in the unsaid words.
She saw the raging storm in your weary eyes, and her glare softened immediately, lips parting to tell you something only Nobara could tell — but in the moment, the doorbell in the main hall rang obnoxiously loudly, and she hurriedly headed upstairs.
Your gaze dropped to the bouquet. The black tulips in the middle caught your attention immediately. A satisfied grin tucked in the corner of your mouth.
The flowers were pretty. Gorgeous. The fragile beauty of nature wrapped in the softest of touches. Nature’s most delicate gift. They didn’t hurt anyone. Not in the way people do, at least.
Nobara’s voice called you suddenly, pulling you back to reality. Your brows furrowed slightly: her voice sounded strangely strained. You headed up as well.
“My mother loves black tulips.”
“Really? Huh. That’s rare. Not everyone even thinks about what flowers they like.”
“Nah, she thinks about everything. And more. Like you.”
“Do you think this ribbon fits well, or should I find the lacy one? I am not quite sure.”
Your gaze flicked to Nobara, and then—
You rooted to your spot. The poor bouquet almost fell from your weakened hands, but that was the last thing that was on your mind.
Not when Gojo Satoru was staring back at you.
His eyes searched for every expression on your face, every bat of the eyelashes, every flicker of colour in your eyes, every twitch of your lips, soaking it up with the intensity that could rival the wanderer's thirst in a desert. Looking, dazing, gawking, drinking in your features. Like he wasn’t sure whether he should grab and kiss you till he got his fill or just admire from afar, like the most exquisite flower under the glass.
He stared. And stared. And stared.
And gods, you stared back.
His hair caught the sunlight, giving him an ethereal look, and you swore to God, the blue of his eyes brightened even more, though now his gaze seemed to carry more weight. You remembered them flashing with the charm and the mischief; it was still there, though you couldn’t help but notice adulthood setting into his features. Your gaze drifted over his frame, clad in a dark blue suit (probably worth your month’s rent), greedily fixing the broadness of his shoulders, the tight pull of the fabric on the chest, the little mole between his collarbones, peeking out from the unbuttoned shirt.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Why was he here?” An anxious thought beat against your ribcage with a deafening thump-thump, suddenly twice its usual size. “He wasn’t supposed to be here! And found me!”
Deep down, you knew. Of course, Gojo could. You moved to another city, not the other hemisphere.
But it was Kyoto. A fucking metropolis!
Gojo was from Kyoto.
You fixed all the details almost unconsciously, committing his features to your memory as if he were about to vanish right this second. Neither of you dared to move; silence wrapped around you like a thick blanket, trapping you in its suffocating confines.
Nobara’s gaze flicked between Gojo and you, but luckily, she didn’t ask anything. Must’ve been obvious.
“You go back. I’ll handle it,” she whispered to you, and the strange spell cast on your room was dispelled. You gave her a quick, unsure grin.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”
Nobara opened her mouth to protest, but your pleading look silenced her. With the last suspicious look at Gojo, she disappeared into another room.
You stood behind the register, trying to look as professional as ever. Trembling in your hands and the waver in your voice were a dead giveaway, though. Gojo’s eyes briefly flickered to your frame. His eyes softened almost imperceptibly.
“So, long time no see, Gojo. How’s that been?”
Gojo grimaced slightly but didn’t comment on you using his government name. Instead, he just stepped closer to the register, as if unsure whether he could approach you.
That startled you. Gojo was never about hesitance in any way.
“It’s been…okay,” he answered vaguely, and you couldn’t help but notice his timbre deepened. Tone smoothened, became richer. The Kyoto accent was back. You remembered how he desperately tried to sound more like a Tokyo guy.
Stop.
What on Earth were you thinking?
Focus.
“We’ve decided to reopen the Kyoto branch, and Gramps wanted to make me in charge of it.” You felt his gaze on you, and its intensity sent shivers down your spine. You nervously tried to issue him a receipt, but the terminal seemed to stop working at the most inconvenient moment ever. Heat slowly crept your cheeks.
"... and I've got a lot of things to look through and deal with a bunch of old fossils," Gojo continued, grimacing at the mention of old men who were probably a part of the shareholders' board. You noticed he told about himself rather vaguely, almost indifferently, as his own life couldn't feel less interesting.
You dreaded Gojo's next question. Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask—
"And how have you been?"
A strange kind of desperation laced Gojo's voice. As if he knew he had no right to ask that, but just could not help it. His Adam's apple bobbed with effort, and if you paid more attention, you would've noticed the flex of his fingers.
You forced a strained smile, your heart did a stupid little flip.
"I...am doing alright," you gestured vaguely around the shop as if it could've answered his question. However, Gojo's gaze was glued to you, searching, observing, examining the fatigue that was deeply etched into your features, the light dust of pink on your cheeks, a nervous smile hiding at the corner of your lips, and a small cut on your chin. You were even more beautiful than he remembered. Was it ever possible?
"It's for your mom, right?" you blurted out before even thinking, earning a surprised look from Gojo. Your eyes widened; probably, he thought you were a stalker or just a lunatic for asking that.
Nervously, you explained, fingers fumbling with the ribbon. "I remember you told your mom liked black tulips." Gods, why did you ask that? Is there really a kind of question for your ex-situationship at your first meeting?
Your heart beat anxious staccato against your chest. You prayed the ground would swallow you whole as Gojo remained silent.
Slowly, his initial shock and confusion melted into an undeniable affection, and he smiled, a soft, quiet smile that reached his eyes, crinkling at the corners.
You released a breath you didn't know you were holding.
"Yeah. She still does. That's for her. I...," Gojo's smile faltered a little, "she flew from Tokyo for some business, and I am gonna meet her. I asked my assistant to pick a flower shop close to it. With good reviews, of course,” his gaze quickly swept the surroundings, landing on various arrangements, bouquets and vases. Strange tightness coloured his tone, and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.
"Ah. I see."
"Yeah."
So, he didn't stalk you. Good to hear.
A loose strand of hair fell over your forehead, and you put it back with an annoyed sigh. Gojo's gaze followed it with a tender ache; you thought you imagined it.
Gojo's lips parted slightly, and then he abruptly closed his mouth again. A little frown formed between his brows.
"Listen, I know it's not the right moment, but I would like —"
You swallowed anxiously, but in that second, his phone rang. Whoever that was, you were beyond grateful for a little respite after everything that had just happened.
Gojo Satoru.
Your something. Your almost everything. Your childhood wish for a friend. Your teenage longing for love. Your yearning to be seen.
Your invisible string draped over months and cities. Forever snapped.
Or?
"Ijichi, I told you already," Gojo's voice came out way too harsher than it was with you; a mask slipping back on his face, "I'm busy with something right now."
Annoyance flushed in his eyes as he listened to a hasty voice on the other side of the phone. He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.
"Uh-huh. I got it. Be in five minutes."
The anxious voice, Ijichi's, as you presumed, mumbled something back, but Gojo didn’t pay attention.
Silence wrapped around you once again, unsure and hesitant. You took a deep breath, on the verge of blurting something about maintenance or a sudden supply of birthday cards, or anything, before Gojo's voice cut through the mess that your head was, softer than you ever expected.
"It was nice seeing you."
You rehearsed words suddenly seemed meaningless. A look of surprise crossed your face at his words, and before you could articulate your confusion in somehow coherent words, Gojo already left with a curt nod. The bell jingled obnoxiously loud, and you slowly took a deep breath.
Gojo's cologne was still lingering in the air, enveloping you in his scent.
Lost and confused, you slumped in the nearest chair behind the register, brain short-circuiting on what had just happened. Something you had never dared to think about in your dreams. Gojo was tucked in the deepest corner of your heart; you rarely allowed yourself to truly reminisce about what you were and never became.
And you couldn't shake the feeling he wanted to ask you something before the call.
Or were you just making things up? Wishful thinking?
***
The day when you met Gojo was as clear as ever in your mind. No. When Gojo met you. Really met.
You had seen Satoru Gojo all the time at the campus: his frosty white hair impossible to miss, laugh booming loudly in the university halls, enough for people to turn their heads, all sharp grins and snarky remarks — confidence walked hand in hand with him as he basked in the attention. He moved like a person who had never forced himself to be small. To fit into some box. People orbited around him, inevitably driven closer by his overwhelming presence: planets pulled closer by the gravity of the Sun.
You, on the other hand, were one of the satellites, surfing through the vast expanse of university life.
Naturally, your paths with Gojo didn't cross very often: sure, he was in your periphery all the time, effortlessly catching your attention with his jokes and... everything; you shared a couple of classes and had a bit of awkward exchanges in the library over behavioural theory of management. You weren't even surprised: for all Gojo's lack of discipline in the classes, he really had a sharp mind.
Sometimes he gave you a bright grin in greeting, to which you answered with a short nod, putting on an air of confidence, despite the frantic beat of your heart and the speed at which your palms got sweaty.
So, as it was etched in the laws of the universe, you quietly observed Gojo from afar, not daring to collide with his orbit more than needed. Burning in the Sun's light would bring long-lasting scars.
Oh, how right you were.
This shouldn't have happened. He should've just walked past you like many others on that rainy day, when you were standing right next to your stall, teeth chattering as the coldness embraced you in its harsh hands. Your gaze quickly swept the surroundings — the majority of students had already left their standings. No wonder, with the weather like that, who would've been foolish enough to stay at the volunteer fair?
You were. Though you preferred to think of yourself as responsible and kind.
A deep chuckle pierced through the monotonous cacophony of the rain, and inevitably, your gaze landed on Gojo. He was hanging out at his friend's stall, helping to put things in the boxes. Geto, if you remembered it correctly. Surprisingly, he was also helping one of the city's animal shelters. You tried not to dwell on his charity box, which showed way more promise than yours.
You were so focused on not freezing to death at that point that you didn't notice Gojo walking to your stall. The bag with his volleyball (because of course, Gojo was ridiculously good at everything) uniform hit his leg with every step.
He stood right in front of it, a curious grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked ridiculously handsome, even with a silly umbrella.
Gojo kept examining the various brochures about the shelter, pictures of cats and dogs, seeking their homes. His gaze softened imperceptibly.
Meanwhile, your world just tilted off its axis.
"Hi," you gave Gojo a nervous smile.
He looked up immediately and hummed in acknowledgement. "Hi."
An awkward silence fell upon you. Your brain short-circuited as you anxiously tried to scramble for the right words, but they just flew out of your mind right then. Nothing. Blank screen. Error.
Gojo didn't seem to notice your mental struggles, still glued to the stall.
Just when you were about to finally introduce him to the shelter you had been volunteering for, he suddenly reached for the wallet and threw bills in the charity box. A lot, one would say.
You blinked. Blinked again. Maybe you were hallucinating from standing all day in the cold.
"What the hell are you doing?" You blurted out, and deep crimson painted your cheeks in embarrassment.
What the hell were you doing?
Who on Earth would say something like that to a person, willingly donating to your stall?
You hoped he wasn’t very petty.
Instead, his white brows knitted in confusion. He took a step back to examine the box before dragging his gaze, the brightest of blues, to you.
"Donating, I guess?"
"Yeah, no shit," you scoffed. Backing wasn't an option by this time. "That's like...a lot."
A look of realisation crossed Gojo's face, before a cracking bright grin, as if the Sun finally peeked through the heavy clouds. Suddenly, the cold didn't bother you as much as before.
"Ah, it's nothing. Really," he drawled lazily and nodded at the photos again. "Besides, it's only for the good."
He was kind of insane, you thought. But hey, who would've said no to the charity money? Especially if you did less than expected at this fair.
"Then... thank you," you breathed out in relief, but immediately grimaced at how empty and basic it sounded. Quickly, you added. "Really, thank you! It would do a lot for the shelter, and —"
You reached for a simple box, adorned with a colourful ribbon, resting among others, to gift him. Nothing much, but you spent your whole evening preparing them.
"There's a postcard, a cap and a mug!" You shrugged casually, fingers toying with the ribbon, and handed the box to Gojo. "A token of appreciation, if you wish".
He examined the box with a sharp look, and for the moment, you felt really silly. His long fingers curled around the box, brushing briefly against yours — a warm touch, despite the rain, sending sparks of electricity up your arm.
Did Gojo notice that too?
He almost left, and you almost could breathe in relative calm, when something must've popped into his mind, and he abruptly stopped in his tracks.
"Wait...are you this girl from the management class? The one with the old Gakuganji? Sitting on the left side, third row?" His eyes briefly scanned your face. You felt like a butterfly under his piercing gaze. "We talked about Mayo's behaviour theory in the library, remember?"
Remember. Did you remember.
Did you remember him.
The carefully constructed unreachable image of Gojo in your head seemed to have its first cracks. You had never thought he would ask if anyone remembered him. You had never thought he would remember your place at the lecture. The Sun didn’t simply bother to pay attention to the satellites.
Gojo might’ve interpreted your stunned silence in a completely different way.
“I mean, your hair is…different. And the hood,” he gestured vaguely, and you quickly put the lone strand behind your ear.
“Yeah, uhm, that’s…that’s me.”
Gojo didn’t answer this, studying your face with intensity that might’ve pierced through your entire being. As if he were searching for an answer to a particularly tricky question only you could give him.
Or maybe it was just an effect of his eyes — a shade that certainly shouldn’t exist in the world, putting all the world’s blues to shame. He was still stuck around your stall, as if glued. As if he didn’t want to leave.
You didn’t even dare to think about it.
“Why are you alone? Aren’t the stalls supposed to have two volunteers? Suguru told me.”
You sighed, reminiscing about how Nobara almost coughed her lungs out today, but her stubborn ass somehow insisted on coming with you. Eventually, it ended with you locking her up in the dorm room.
“They are. I should’ve been there with my friend. She fell ill.”
A mischievous glint flashed in Gojo’s eyes as he arched his brow. “Really fell?”
“Really, really. Nobara’s not like that.” You scoffed at his implications and crossed your hands on your chest.
Gojo’s face sobered. “Nobara? Kugisaki? The lead cheerleader?”
You nodded.
He nodded back. “Yeah, she’s not.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion. What the hell was going on there? Why did he, Gojo Satoru, out of all people, stay by your lonely stall and ask you weird questions?
Creepy.
Gojo’s gaze flicked to the sky, just as the deafening sound of thunder boomed out of a sudden, then back to your face. The rainy pit-patter against the stall’s shade intensified, pulling you out of the strange daze to hastily pack the stuff back. The framed pictures landed in the box with awkward thuds as you threw them in the box. How you were going to take all of the stuff back to the dorm remained a full mystery.
You picked two of them with a grunt, and the hair fell on your forehead, obscuring the view. The box on the top dangerously slid down, earning a string of curses and a couple of desperate groans from you, when a pair of strong hands suddenly took them from your weakened hands. The rain didn’t help the situation at all.
You almost slipped, losing balance, but quickly stabilized yourself, gripping the same very pair of hands. There was no objection. From the person, obviously.
Gojo’s gaze pinned you to the ground when you looked up. His messy white fringe fell on his forehead (you felt a strange itch in your fingers to brush it away), and some strands, wet from the rain, stuck to his forehead. The soft brightness of his eyes was gone, replaced with something darker and more intense, you weren’t sure you could name it. You just stared back and wondered if the lost people in the oceans saw that exact shade of blue before drowning in their unforgiving waves.
You never saw Gojo that close, obviously. You didn’t know his lashes were so long and soft, fluttering with every breath he took; his nose was crooked just a fraction, and pale freckles dusted his cheeks.
You swallowed, not daring to step back, and just froze like a deer in the headlights.
Maybe that was the way goddesses crafted the invisible strings. A whim, a caprice of fate, looking down at the people and deciding to grant their hearts the greatest wishes, just to weave them forever into the endless canvas of the universe.
Little did you know that it was he who got rooted to the very spot. Froze. Stilled. Whatever. Gojo’s entire universe had just fallen off the axis and flew towards hell. The black hole, one might say. With such clarity that he was, honestly, surprised that no one saw it.
That was the day when he first saw you. Really saw. The lone girl near the animal shelter’s stall, who observed people dismissively walking past her with an understanding and forgiving look. Whose entire face lit up when she talked about the rescued dogs and cats, to the people who would actually come up to the stall. The kind smile that transformed her face into a painting of the finest craft as she gifted the gift boxes. Who stubbornly chose to stay at the fair in the rain and cold. All alone, because her friend got sick. And, naturally, he walked to you, drawn like a moth to the flame.
A shot of electricity shook through Gojo’s body. The ground dropped away from his feet. The biggest fuckass tsunami hit him and filled his lungs with you, you, you.
That was scary. That was dangerous. You were dangerous.
The sudden clap of thunder above pulled you out of this strange haze. You stepped back; Gojo blinked — a storm in his eyes gave way to a warm sea breeze.
“They are heavy. I’ll walk you to the dorm.”
Your cheeks heated up, and you quickly babbled.
“There’s no need, really. I am okay—”
You almost flinched at the particularly deafening sound of the thunder and threw your hands up, answering with a weak grin.
“Seems like I do not have much of a choice.”
Gojo only chuckled.
His shoulder lightly brushed against yours the whole time to the dorm, sending light sparks up your arm even through the hoodie. You noticed how he subconsciously fell into step with you. Gojo gave you his umbrella, with some Digimon on it, and at first, you tried to shield him from the raindrops as well, but Gojo was so tall that your arm quickly hurt.
None of you said anything, besides light humming from Gojo’s side, and it felt strangely…nice. You expected desperately scrapping for words to fill the uncomfortable silence between you, but there was no need. Maybe you still existed in that small babble, where time stopped and held you in its tight embrace.
“So, that’s me,” you nodded at the doors and made a grab for the boxes.
Gojo frowned. “They are heavy. Come on, let’s get inside.”
Nobara certainly would ask you questions about how Gojo ended up in their room. You realized that you didn’t want to share this strange moment of...whatever it was with Gojo, with anyone else yet. Besides, she was still sick.
You forced a smile. “Thank you a lot, but I am fine. Really. And Nobara’s sick, so…”
Gojo blinked in confusion, but seeing you weren’t going to step back, nodded. He handed you the boxes back, which made you almost double over under their weight.
“See you at the lectures,” he waved to you, a charming grin curled up on his lips, and you found yourself smiling back. For a couple of moments, you watched his tall figure retreating, mulling over whether you should ask Gojo what the hell was going on, thank him properly or just say anything. You were so nervous, you could barely hear your own thoughts with the blood roaring in your ears.
Your gaze quickly dropped to the box, the shelter’s logo immediately caught your eye, and the idea popped into your mind so fast your anxious mind had hardly registered it.
“Hey, Gojo!”
He stepped in his tracks and turned right that instant at the sound of your voice. Like he had been subconsciously wishing for it. His eyes seemed so bright, burning you with their electric blue.
God. What had you done? What were you going to do now? Your suggestion seemed so utterly stupid. Maybe Gojo would get tired of your hesitance and walk away?
“Yes?”
Oh, fuck. He was still standing there, head tilted in curiosity. You swallowed. There was no backing down now. Your grip on the boxes tightened.
“Come to the animal shelter this weekend,” you blurted out. His eyes widened slightly, but you continued. “Your donation was the biggest. There’s a prize for it!”
For a long, painful second, you were sure he would come up with some polite excuse to decline it. To your biggest surprise, a big grin broke on his face.
“I’ll be there. See you.”
You watched Gojo walking away, still not quite believing what had just happened.
The days leading up to the weekend were filled with nervous excitement. Even when Gojo came for your number to text you about it, anxiety was still buzzing deep in your bones.
Turned out there was no reason for it.
He actually showed up. That time. And many others.
You met at the shelter countless times — Gojo was more than welcome there. Your awkward, occasional conversations in the library turned into full study sessions, when both of you were glad to just share a bit of space. You learnt each other’s coffee orders by heart, favourite books, movies, shared favourite quotes, and had endless conversations under the starry sky about everything and nothing all at once. He would usually point at the bunch of stars and come up with the most ridiculous constellations and histories about them. You couldn’t remember a single moment when your cheeks didn’t hurt from smiling with him, a warm feeling blossomed in your chest every time his lips curved into a soft, gentle grin, the one you had already learnt was reserved only for you. All your camera film was filled with him, but you never complained.
You had never felt anything like that before; your heart was filled to the top with unspent, unrestrained love, so, naturally, it overflowed and flooded everything.
Maybe that was it. Maybe you loved Gojo so fiercely and desperately that it scared him. You never questioned or tried to define your relationship with him — you both were so happy that you thought that taste of honey would linger on your lips forever, living in the warm, miraculous daze forever. For Gojo, whose entire life was carefully built around expectations — the grades always had to be perfect, his future predetermined, written up to the smallest detail the moment he was born, the weight of his family's prestige settling heavily on his shoulders — being with you was a breath of fresh air. He didn’t have to put on any front: a star student, a team captain, the Gojo heir…he was just Satoru with you. And maybe he got a little bit too used to the fact that you simply took everything he offered to you, without asking for more. Without demanding. Without expecting. And when his heart started to jump every time he saw you, his chest tightened with a loving, tender ache at the sight of your smile and all his thoughts gravitated to you wherever he was, Gojo knew he was gone. Completely.
He didn’t know how to love someone that much. Selflessly, unconditionally, handing his heart on his palm. The painful vulnerability that came with your love stripped him bare, to the bone, exposed the deepest corners of his heart and soul — something he didn’t even dare to look at himself. And that scared him. No amount of hiding his horror of being loved behind the usual mask of a fool could hide it. So he did the best he could for both of you. At least, that was what he thought.
Left you.
He sincerely thought that was him protecting you from the inevitable break-up. He didn’t know how to love. He didn’t know how to be loved.
Turned out Gojo just protected himself.
Slowly, your dates shortened, turning into quick meetings and then vanished completely with his weak excuses. Calls postponed, messages left on delivered. He gradually slipped away from your life, leaving a hole so big you didn’t know whether it was even possible to fill with something, someone else who wasn’t him. He ripped your heart and took it with him.
What was even worse was that despite everything, you couldn’t even bring yourself to hate him. Despite taking away your air with him. You cried yourself to sleep on countless nights, threw yourself into studies, volunteering, working, and everything that could even remotely help you to find closure. You were so lucky to have Nobara by your side — wordlessly, she picked up the shards of your shattered heart and carefully glued them together.
Over time, you grew tired of seeing your own sad, tear-filled gaze in the mirror, the sorrow in the bags under your eyes, hollow cheeks — solitude etched into your soul. You didn’t deserve it. If he weren’t the one, then be it. You couldn’t let a man define all your future.
With strange calmness and melancholy, you blocked him. Moved to another city. Got to work in a flower shop, something that you discussed with Gojo a lot of times. Took up hobbies. Squeezed yourself into bustling, busy Kyoto life as much as you could. Met other people, despite how much you wanted to hide in your shell.
Got over Gojo. At least, you thought you did, safe for times when your mind naturally went to reminisce about him after failed dates; for the fingerprints of him were all over the pages of your life.
Only for everything to return after meeting him today.
***
Saying that Gojo didn’t cross your mind the next days would be a lie.
You wish you were a liar.
Why did he happen to visit your flower shop? Was it really random?
And more importantly: would he visit again?
The one part of you, young, naive and endlessly romantic, built sandcastles and told you that she wanted it to happen. The other, sharpened by adulthood and the cruelty of the world, destroyed them without batting an eye and told you not to be foolish. The second voice sounded suspiciously like Nobara’s.
You were too scared to trust the girl with the dreams way bigger than her, living in a fairytale, where princes would always find their way to princesses, fight all the dragons and have their happily-ever-afters.
You couldn’t afford to think about it. Closing off, guarding your heart like Cerberus wasn’t an option either, so you did what any reasonable, mature grown-up would do: bury yourself in work.
The large shipment of items, flowers and vases among them, had just been delivered to the shop, before one of your most frequent customers’ jubilee, so you were in dire need of all hands available. As a cruel joke of fate, Nobara was on the other side of the city, and Utahime argued with the suppliers, who messed up an important order again; her angry voice cut through the relative serenity and silence in the shop. Honestly, totally understandable.
Your back hurt from standing for God knew how long, a band-aid on your left hand had already asked for mercy, and the strain in your neck screamed for relief. You tried not to pay attention to the tightness in your shoulders; the exhaustion gave you a much-needed escape from your own mind.
The bell chimed in greeting; your head snapped up to greet a client, only to be met with a familiar flash of snowy hair.
Your heart skipped a beat, and light pink dusted your cheeks.
The little girl sheepishly peeked out of the window in her sandcastle.
“Didn’t expect you to see you here, yet so soon,” you mumbled in greeting, hastily wiping your hands off the apron and, unconsciously, clasping them behind your back. For some reason, you didn’t want Gojo to have a look at your scratches. Not when he was dressed to kill. Probably you.
You dragged your gaze from his figure and stood behind the register. The familiar position gave much-needed strength to deal with the headache Gojo Satoru was. Like you were the one in control.
You didn’t quite recognize your voice, all sharp and business-like, when you asked him.
“How can I help you?”
Gojo didn’t answer you straight away. His gaze swept the surroundings — scattered boxes, vases waiting to be filled, a bunch of balloons — until it landed on you. Something tender and endlessly fragile flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked it.
“I am here to talk to you and your boss, Miss Iori. I’ve been told I have to wait a bit —”
“...and if you are gonna sell me ranunculi instead of peonies once again, when I specifically asked for the fucking peonies,” you both turned your heads towards Utahime’s office, her voice gradually rising in pitch as she spoke. You swallowed. “I am gonna stick them all up in your ass and —”
You quickly exchanged glances with Gojo. His lips curled into a full-blown grin, the amusement dancing on his face, so unrestrained that you forgot what all the fuss about was.
“She’s a little busy now,” you chuckled in return.
“I see,” Gojo finally turned to you, with the same smile he once stole your heart, and leaned on the register, his long fingers lazily drumming against the surface.
“Actually, it’s even better. I want to talk to you first,” Gojo’s voice, soothing around the edges, dipped to that tone you were all familiar with. Deep and sweet, thick as honey, dying on your tongue in dizzying aftertaste.
“You see, we’re going to have an event soon, and among everything we need florists, obviously.” He flashed you a quick smile, but seeing confusion written all over your face, quickly schooled himself. Gojo glanced around the shop once again: the holiday postcards seemed to pique his interest way more than your reaction, then his gaze drifted to Utahime’s office once again, and finally, he dared to look at your face again.
“And?”
“I want you to be the main designer of the event.”
Gojo’s words didn’t catch you completely off guard. Deep down, you wanted that day not to be a strange accident. Longed to see him again. Needed to allow yourself a moment of foolishness.
A beat of silence passed between you, charged with the heaviness of unspoken words and feelings, deep buried inside to a point you doubt whether you both had even happened. Otherwise, why didn’t you ask him straight away to find someone else? Go from your sight and never return?
Why didn’t you have the strength to resist his gravity? Was it even possible? To deny the Sun its power, when the burns still echoed in your heart with raging ache?
Gojo’s eyes were glued to your face, desperately seeking any clue his expression might hand him. His voice dropped to a desperate whisper.
“I am not going to force you into anything. If you don’t want to deal with this,” the sudden wavering crept into his voice; a grimace briefly crossed his face, “dealing with me, I understand that. But I want to ask you not to do it. You’ll have all the creative freedom you want, all the communication will be handled by my assistant, and we won’t even meet, unless you want it. I promise. Just…just don’t reject the offer because of me. Please.”
Your gaze narrowed, steel slipping into it. As much as the sapphires of his eyes urged you to surrender, to capitulate, to yield, your dignity screamed in objection.
“Why are you so adamant about this? Why do you want me to do this?”
His lips curled into a small knowing smile, bitter around the edges. His finger lightly tapped on the bunch of receipts, eyes drifting to the forgotten band-aid on your hand. The tightness in your shoulders didn’t go unnoticed either.
“I think you need it. To feel in your place once again.”
How.
How did he manage to dig into your chest and rip your heart, revealing all the quiet battles you had been fighting? After all those years? Making you seen, even now?
But why did he think he still had a chance to tear you apart? To open apart old scars, the ones you were slowly stitching together?
The sudden anger bloomed bright in your chest, dipping all your words in venom.
“You promised me a lot of things, Gojo. I don’t quite remember you keeping them.”
A sparkle of icy fury flashed in Gojo’s eyes, and his jaw tightened. You didn’t allow yourself to flinch as he stared right into your eyes — the swords clashing in a deadly dance.
You dug your nails into your palm hard enough to leave crescents.
“Come on, say something. Give me a reason to hate you.”
The anger in his eyes slowly melted into an ache until guilt flooded the blue of them. Gojo stepped back with a sigh. His fingertips twitched as if he wanted to reach you, but then stopped halfway.
“I know I had hurt you. And believe me, this is not how I imagined us having a conversation like this,” Gojo’s gaze caressed your features, memorizing them, as if it would be his last chance to see you at all. Miraculously, you hold yourself from giving in to the apology and regret that laced his voice. You weren’t ready to face everything once again. Your heart was still bleeding for him. “If you want to talk about it — “
A subtle shake. “I do not.”
“Okay. Okay. I understand. Then just think about what I said. Please.”
Your gaze dropped. You wanted to hate him. You wanted to look right into his face and say “fuck you”, among many other things you were desperate to cry out. To scream, to push, to take him apart like he once did to you.
But you couldn’t.
You didn’t notice Gojo left the shop until the annoying doorbell chirped right through the haze of your mind.
Exhausted, you dragged your hand over your face and slumped into the nearby chair, deep in thought.
***
Utahime didn’t urge you to anything, and while you were grateful for that, the answer she hoped for was visible in the tight set of her shoulders as she looked through the bills, the tired sigh that would escape her every time she dealt with the suppliers, not to mention the rude customers. The jubilee was the last big event before the usual dry period.
Your inner scales gradually tipped towards Gojo’s offer more and more, with every strain in your neck, headache pounding with deafening force at your temples and endless scratches on your palms.
One evening, with you and Nobara crashing on your couch, you finally felt the scales tipped in Gojo’s favour. As the days blurred into a limitless working routine, where the only light was his words, whispering in the back of your exhausted mind with more and more annoying insistence, you found yourself eventually thinking about his offer more and more.
“So, you gonna text him or what?” Nobara mused, swirling the wine in her glass, sitting with her legs tucked. The Friday evening downed at you with a startling surprise.
You mindlessly twirled a business card that Gojo left for you at the register the day he visited the shop. Strangely, it completely slipped out of your mind. A quick brush of fingers against the plastic — an elegantly written GOJO SATORU caught the light — until it hit the coffee table. Nobara reached for it to examine.
“Whoa, as cocky as ever.”
“Well, he’s the CEO or whoever,” you murmured dismissevely and took a gulp from your own glass. The liquid bloomed bitterly at the tip of your tongue, and you put it away with a sigh.
Even wine didn’t help. You slowly tilted your head back until it hit the back of the couch.
“Okay, let’s look at this from the other side,” Nobara discarded the card somewhere and sat cross-legged. You cracked one eye open, and the sight of her business-like expression almost made a groan slip your lips. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
When Nobara was in a mood, nothing in the world could stop her. You slowly straightened, but her next words made you choke on your own breath.
“It’s not like he’s gonna confess that he was a massive jerk and ask for your hand in marriage.”
You spluttered, heat rising your cheeks. “Nobara!”
The small decorative throw pillow landed on her face with the precision of a sniper. She huffed and rolled her eyes.
“Just saying. Not like that’s ever happening.”
A silence fell upon both of you, while you chewed on your bottom lip, musing over Gojo’s last words, which still lingered in your heart with a dull ache.
Nobara narrowed her eyes and cocked her brow in a silent question. You swallowed and gave in with a sigh.
“He tried to talk to me that day,” you paused, choosing the next words, fully aware of Nobara’s glaring daggers in you. “Just admitted he hurt me, but I wasn’t ready for this whole conversation. Like, at all. You know what I mean, right?”
You slowly dragged your gaze to her, only to meet her softened gaze, full of sympathy. Wordlessly, she opened her arms, and you fell into her embrace. A quiet sniffle escaped you as you buried your face in her hoodie. Still without saying anything, Nobara brushed a lone hair strand behind your ear.
She indeed knew what you meant.
When she held you in her arms, after Gojo ghosted you, brushed off like you never ever happened in his life. When she was by your side without even asking, dragging you back to the world, where Gojo was no longer a part of you. When she helped you to stand on your own once again.
Nobara knew. You knew. Creeping between the cracks of things you never said.
“I don’t know what to do.” Your voice got muffled by the fabric, but your best friend heard you all good. She patted your head with a soft, melancholic smile and murmured.
“I think you do, sweetheart.”
You went still in her arms, before mumbling something affirmative, and pulled back. Your fingers nervously trembled as you typed Gojo’s number.
“I won’t let him get me this time.”
Nobara watched you with a serious face, chin resting in her palm, elbow digging into the plush of the throw pillows. God, she hoped you were right. Not like her, or you would survive another heartbreak by Gojo Satoru. This time, it might come crushing even more.
She moved closer, your thighs brushing against each other’s, as she peeked at your screen. Her eyes briefly scanned the text before giving an approving nod.
You exhaled sharply before anxiously hitting the send button.
The three dots appeared in your chat alarmingly fast. Like Gojo had been chained to his phone, waiting for your text. You slowly exchanged glances with Nobara.
“He’s typing something.”
“Thanks, Sherlock.”
You threw her an annoyed glance. “Shut it.”
Not even a minute had passed since your own message when the phone dinged with a notification from Gojo.
Gojo
22:54
Hi. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to text at all. Of course, my offer is still up and will be. Told you it’s yours. We can meet on Monday to discuss the details, if you’re free.
“Oh, he’s so sweet, it’s disgusting,” Nobara fake gagged and reached for her long forgotten wine. You didn’t dignify it with a response.
You
22:56
yeah, monday works for me. what about 2 p.m.?
Gojo
22:56
Totally fine. See you then.
You watched three dots appearing and disappearing in the chat, and your grip on the phone tightened with each passing second.
Gojo
22:58
Good night.
Your heart did a stupid flip, totally not needed and surely out of place. You shouldn’t have this reaction to Gojo Satoru. Shouldn’t!
With a sigh, you blocked the phone and stared up at the ceiling, mulling over what Monday would bring to you.
***
The clock in the Gojo’s reception barely hit 12 a.m., when his secretary, a tall blonde woman with a polite smile, invited you into his office. Honestly, you regretted not asking to meet you at least at a neutral territory the moment you stepped into the cold, pristine walls of the Six Eyes Corp. The ride in the elevator felt endless, your anxiety rising with each passing second, and the sight of an entire horde of managers and support staff running around didn’t help.
Corporation shmorporation.
Wait. Would you become another cog in this soulless capitalism machine the moment you agree to Gojo’s offer?
You didn’t have time to think through it properly, opening the door to his office.
It was bigger than the reception, but not as enormous as you imagined. The first thing that caught your eye was the panoramic windows, with the entire Kyoto spread before your eyes. The walls were adorned with beautiful paintings: you squinted your eyes to examine them, which probably belonged to the brush of some niche Japanese artist. His workplace was surprisingly neat, especially given the way you remembered Gojo, when you both were…were. The laptop, a bunch of papers to be signed, pens in a holder, and…wait for a damn minute.
A mug. A simple mug just near a stapler. Slightly cracked, the logo rubbed off, but the image of a winking cat was still visible.
Blood pounded in your ears, while you tried to get a grip on your anxious thoughts. You took a tentative step closer to observe it better, but there was no point in it. It really was the same mug you gifted him at that fair. A prize for the biggest donation. His donation. Gojo kept it in his room, and you drank from the mug more times than you could count. He would often joke that it was his favourite trophy.
And he kept it. On his table, in his office, where he ruled the world that this corporation was. Why?
Why? Did he think of you? Did he recall that fair? The shelter?
Ironically, Gojo didn’t notice you. His back was facing you as he talked to someone over the phone, looking at the city beneath his feet. You allowed yourself a moment of shameless gawking at his back in the crisp white of a button-up. His voice was clipped, words short, and exhaustion laced his words. You felt bad for intruding this place for a moment, especially when his shoulders dropped, as he ran fingers through the hair: the clear white of it catching the light in a way that stole your breath. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, exposing the map of the veins on his forearms, muscles slightly flexing with every move. You swallowed and quickly looked away.
He finally acknowledged you with a slight tilt of his head and dismissed the call with a quick “Not now. Busy,” gesturing for you to take a chair.
You carefully sat, fingers fumbling with the strap of a bag to get your notebook, as Gojo slumped in his chair, which screamed The Big Boss™. He hooked his thumb in the tie with irritation to loosen it, and your gaze briefly flicked there. You smiled sympathetically.
“Rough day?”
“A bit.”
Your grip on the notebook tightened. “We can reschedule, I don’t mind.”
Gojo’s white brows knitted together in confusion, and he immediately straightened up. “No, why would we? I am peachy.”
Your shoulders dropped in a shrug. “Okay.”
“Wanna some coffee or tea? I hope Mei Mei offered you something.”
“Ah, yeah, I’ve just had coffee. Thanks.” Yes. Coffee was a totally plausible excuse for your fidgeting.
“I see.”
Inevitably, you kept sneaking glances at Gojo, pulled closer by the gravity. He twirled the pan between his long, pale fingers, checking something on the laptop, his eyes briefly scanning the screen. Then suddenly he looked up, catching you red-handed just mid-gawking. You briefly dropped your gaze back to the notebook, while his lips curled into a little smug grin. You cleared your throat, the business-like mask slipping on your face.
“So, I’ll need to know what exactly the kind of event it is going to be, a venue, and a budget at first. If you have something specific in mind for the design, I’ll also be glad to hear.”
Gojo’s grin softened as he listened to your questions, head tilted, a dreamy gaze caressing your features. You looked so charming, sitting all serious in his office.
Only when you cocked your brow in an attempt to hurry him did he realize he was shamelessly staring at you all this time. Well done, Gojo. Very professional. He quickly typed something on the laptop just to avoid your gaze.
“It’s gonna be an annual charity event for our foundation. They used to be hosted in the Tokyo branch, but this year the board decided to hold it there, in Kyoto.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you ran a foundation”.
A smile broke on Gojo’s face, and he hummed. “Well, a lot of things changed since —” he abruptly cut them off, probably having realized he sounded kind of insensitive. You hold your breath, “since I became the CEO.”
You breathed out and marked something off in your list.
“I see. That’s…that’s really good. I am glad things are taking on a better turn.”
“Me too.”
Gods, that was so awkward. This really should’ve been a call. Gojo, however, either didn’t notice this strange atmosphere or simply decided to ignore it. He examined you with his bright blue gaze, head tilted to the side. A curious smile played on his lips, and you hated that he was effortlessly charming even now. Always had been. You pressed a pen to your lips. His gaze flicked there, as if hypnotized.
“What about the venue?”
“The hotel next to the main building. We have a partnership with this chain, so it’s kinda a mutual offer. You should’ve seen it on the way here.”
Oh yes, you did. The said building screamed luxury, not the grotesque hyperbolized one, but something way quieter. The kind that clearly told you would’ve been odd there.
Okay, you thought. You would be working there, not catching glimpses of visitors and the staff.
Another mark in the notebook.
“Budget?”
Gojo waved his hand in dismissal. “Unlimited. The floor is yours.”
You arched your brow, humming. You didn’t have a lot of luck in encountering your exes, who wanted you to work for them with an unlimited budget. “What if I asked for, I don’t know, Juliet Roses?”
He hummed in return, fingers drumming against the wood of the table. Then leaned slightly in, amusement lacing his tone as he drawled.
“I don’t understand much about that. But sure, whatever you want.”
You pressed your lips into a thin line, earning a deep chuckle from Gojo. Teasing the guy who had more money than you would ever be able to make wasn’t as funny as you thought.
After this, you discussed the setting, a couple of specific ideas you already had outlined and some technical details. Gojo tried to crack some jokes, but you weren’t as enthusiastic about them as he was, so he quickly put on a business guy mask on. At the end of the meeting, your mind buzzed quietly with all the information, but a familiar feeling of excitement flooded you: hours of brainstorming, crafting, and creating waited for you. A big heartfelt smile broke on your face as you packed your things back into the bag.
Gojo offered to walk you back to the elevator, and you didn’t find any excuse to refuse him. The silence stretched between you, not unnecessarily heavy, but you wouldn’t call it comfortable. Your gaze swept the surroundings, landing on a couple of managers, who were stealing sneaky glances at both of you and whispering something to each other with sharp smirks.
Ugh. Like you were back in the university once again, meeting dumbfounded gazes of students, the moment they eyed you up next to Gojo.
He was humming something to yourself, completely unbothered, leaning on the wall with the air of confidence that suggested he owned this whole world. And he surely did, if the world closed in on this corporation.
You quickly looked over your shoulder. “Didn’t it bother you?”
He stopped humming, eyes briefly flickering to your face. A lopsided grin curled his lips. “What are you talking about?”
Ah, as usual. He didn’t even notice the gaze, the whispers and the gossiping. Again, the sun didn’t bother to pay attention to satellites.
You wordlessly glanced at the girls back and stared at the elevator. Gojo watched you with his head tilted and followed the direction of your gaze. The moment his eyes landed on the gossiping managers, his jaw tightened, and the steel crept into his voice. “Ah. I see.”
Your head snapped towards Gojo, and without much thinking, you grabbed him by the wrist. “I didn’t mean anything, let them be — “
“Hey, Chloe!” His voice boomed across the hall, causing one girl to nearly drop her binder. You could see her swallowing with effort even from this distance. A charming smile tugged on the corner of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes, as he drawled in a deceptively sweet voice. “I presume you already finished the monthly report, since you have plenty of free time?”
The crimson crept up Chloe’s cheeks as she gripped the binder tighter, babbling. “No, Mr. Gojo, I was merely —”
His smile turned more wolfish as he tilted his head. “Then get your friend outta of here and do something useful.”
Chloe briefly exchanged glances with her friend before quickly making their way to the offices. Gojo watched until their figures disappeared and turned to you with a mischievous smile.
“Nah, it doesn’t.”
You couldn’t help but smile in return. “They are gonna talk even more, you know.”
His shoulders dropped in a lazy shrug, but his gaze fixed you with its usual intensity. You forgot how the sharpness of it used to make your breath bated.
“There’s nothing to talk about. Unless?”
Your heart stammered against your ribs at the innuendo in his tone. Inevitably, you remembered the mug from the shelter on his table, and while you were debating whether to bring it up or keep your mouth shut, the elevator behind finally dinged. A sign, hah?
You hastily stepped forward just to hide from Gojo when his fingers brushed against your wrist.
“Wait — “
“You look beautiful today.”
“I like your blouse, this colour suits you.”
“You curled your hair, right? I love the way they frame your face.”
The blue of his eyes pinned you to the ground as if you were a butterfly. Gojo’s lips parted, but the words never came, and slowly he let your hand go, letting the crowd in the elevator swallow you and take you away from him.
He inhaled slowly and stared at the ceiling.
What was the name of those flowers?
***
The next days passed in a blur as you started planning the event. Honestly, you hadn’t felt such a wave of excitement since…a long time ago. You didn’t blame your flower shop and Utahime, hell, you never could, but turned out when your hands weren’t constantly covered in all sorts of scraps, knees hurt from standing so much and back almost breaking from carrying the vases, you enjoyed your job well more.
Gojo kept his promise and didn’t contact you until it was absolutely necessary. However, you couldn’t hide the way your heart would skip a beat wherever he appeared at the venue or when he sent you a little emoji at the end of his texts. You told yourself not to live in illusions, but it became increasingly harder with his gaze caressing you, when Gojo thought you didn’t pay attention. The strange, tender ache in his eyes made your insides churn with some unspeakable feeling you weren’t ready to name at all, and for the sake of your mentality, you decided you would pretend it was a simple curiosity. The mug on his office table whispered insistently that you were wrong. You stubbornly shoved the thought away.
Gojo didn’t overstep, keeping your relationship on a faint, barely non-existent line of business partners and past acquaintances. Though sometimes he couldn’t help himself and…mishaps indeed happened.
For example, on your first day at the venue, you were greeted by an elegant bouquet of Juliet roses and pink hydrangeas. The florist in you critically examined the bouquet and admitted it was too your liking, but the thought that it was for you didn’t even cross your mind (tell about originality — giving flowers to the florist), when Gojo happened to peek in and noticed the bouquet didn’t move an inch.
“Is something wrong with the flowers? I thought you liked these roses.”
Too engrossed in your files, you didn’t even catch his words, staring mindlessly at the screen of your laptop, until a shadow loomed over the table and you begrudgingly had to look up. You stared at Gojo in confusion.
He nodded at the bouquet. “You didn’t like the flowers?”
Your brows knitted in confusion as you followed the direction of his gaze. “No. The composition is really good. I like the way the hydrangeas frame the roses. Juliet roses! The guy doesn’t play about his date,” you chuckled and added immediately. “Or the lady. Either way, the flowers are nice.”
A beat of silence passed between you, enveloping you in its warm embrace. A light pink dusted Gojo’s cheekbones, and he murmured in pretend nonchalance.
“So you didn’t check the card?”
Now you felt completely dumbfounded and slightly irritated that Gojo kept distracting you from the work at hand. “No, why would I —”
Your gaze briefly flicked to the flowers at one of the tables and back to Gojo, who kept eyeing with his usual intensity, stripping you bare of any defences. Then it hit you.
This bouquet was for you.
“Oh”, you murmured nervously, and forced a quick smile, involuntarily straightening up in a chair. Now you couldn’t wait to read the card. “I-I am sorry, I just thought. You know.” You twirled a pen between your fingers, mulling over the next words. There was a little excitement in telling your ex-situationship that you weren’t used to flowers. Usually, when the guys heard about you being the florist, they joked, “Then you are probably tired of seeing them,” as an excuse.
It stopped amusing you on the third date. On the fifth, you resisted the urge to smack them. On the tenth, you silently prayed they would shut up.
You muttered as politely as you could. “You didn’t have to, Gojo. Thank you.”
A strange melancholy lacing your voice didn’t go past Gojo. His tone hardened. “If you liked them, then I absolutely had to.”
He hated it. He absolutely hated the way your face dropped, sadness crept into your usual bright tone, and the smile became a little too tight around the edges. Despised how you automatically assumed the flowers weren’t for you. Hell, who else were they for?
And the thought of him being the reason you doubted yourself drove him insane to the point of keeping him awake in the night, browsing through your old photos; he couldn’t bring himself to delete. Not only as a memory of what he lost but as evidence of his own cowardice.
He tried to keep you at a distance, letting the contract and the strict confines of the agreement define you. He thought it would be easier this way.
But there was nothing easy about either of you. Never was. And in the end, he gave up. The lines blurred between you so hard that he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.
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