fiance! naoya x paediatrician! fem reader x single uncle! satoru
summary: Your days had long turned into an endless grey stream of monotony, brightened only by children's smiles at the hospital. Soon, your life would be subjected to loneliness in the golden cage of the Zenin Estate as you agreed to be Naoya's wife; the weight of his love had already burdened you to the point you no longer believed there was any left.
And then you met Satoru Gojo.
Your biggest curse. And your greatest remedy.
tags: AU, medical setting, heavy angst, toxic relationships, messy feelings, emotional abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, misogyny (Naoya is a prick), reader struggles with her self-image, slow healing, falling in love, yearning. eventual smut and happy ending, i promise! we just have to get here. some specific tags will be included in the parts, if any.
word count: 12.5k
gojo's art by @/yamada_souko. all dividers are mine.
playlist
masterlist
"And just be sure to have these herbal candies as well", smiling at the little girl in front of you, you typed the prescriptions and hit the "print" button. The sounds of a printer whirring filled the room, and after a loud whooosh, the paper appeared. You handed it to the worried Nakai-san. Concern, so blatantly deep, seemed to be etched into the lines around her eyes, perpetually tired.
"Are you sure this is just a cold, Doc? You know, I heard just yesterday about a new strain of flu in the south of Miyagi prefecture," she drawled rather hesitantly, eyes narrowing and voice dropping to a theatrical whisper.
Tone hardening just a tad, you slightly pressed.
"I am pretty sure, ma'am. It's just a cold. Happens very often to the kids at the beginning of the school year. You know the way they are."
The concern in Nakai-san's eyes only deepened, and the prospect of digging into your gigantic lunchbox and drinking the hot latte from the coffee machine in the doctors' lounge (it had the best coffee in the entire hospital, and you were gonna die on that hill!) vanished like a mist in the morning April day.
You bit back a groan, but the squirming baby in her mother's arms came to the rescue.
"Mommy, wanna go ho-o-me."
"Shh, dear, Mommy is speaking, wait a little and — "
Oh no. The little girl didn't get a hint. She blinked a couple of times before her squishy face crumpled with a truly disheartening expression. Your insides went cold: you were well aware of what was going to happen next.
3, 2, 1…
A cry that you would describe as nothing but a disastrous wail filled your office, bouncing off the walls and hitting your ears until you wanted to smack your head against the desk. You always wondered how a person that tiny could cry so loudly that it rivalled the jet engines of a plane?
Before going completely deaf at that point, you hastily reached for a bright red lollipop in the bowl, reserved for little patients.
"Hey-hey, Mao-chan, no more crying, okay?" The girl's weeping slowly morphed into soft sobs as she quieted down, eyeing the lollipop. Her little arms slowly reached for the candy, and you handed it to her with no hesitation in the long-awaited silence, smiling warmly.
"Yes, Nakai-san, I am waiting for you for the shots. And yes, I already filled out the forms, no need to worry about anything." You assured the worried lady as best as you could before she would come up with another question you certainly had answered by now — you swore, gears in her mind were working non-stop. Not like you didn't understand her. She was just a mother, after all.
"Have a nice day and get well soon, Mao-chan!" Chirping gleefully, you finally released a breath. Eyes squeezed shut, and forehead pressed against the door, you tried to gather your bearings. The headache unabashedly pounded at your temples with a renewed force, causing you to grimace in pain. The desk rattled as you harshly tugged the top drawer, only to see the empty blister pack.
Oh, fuck. Of course, you ran out of naratriptan, and the only anti-migraine pills available were some ibuprofen in the depths of your bag.
Cursing yourself mentally for forgetfulness, you managed to quickly fish the pills, hoping they might bring some relief, since you certainly weren't in the mood to ask or look for another medicine, downing them in one gulp. The world slowly regained clarity, giving you a chance to breathe freely.
The clock on the wall showed 2:40 p.m.: if you hurried, you could still manage to grab lunch, and given the next break wasn't quite soon…You really should get moving.
Of course, that was never bound to happen.
An urgent, loud knock pulled you back to reality.
Goodbye, lunch.
"Come in!" you called out, already pulling the mask back and hurried to open the door. One of your younger residents, Nobara, apologetically glanced at you. She seemed slightly out of breath, and you knitted your brows together in concern.
"Nobara?"
"Sorry, Doc, but we have an emergency here." A flipboard in her hands grabbed your attention, and you took it, already scanning the text. A sharp pain in your right temple, as if you were stabbed, almost made a cry slip out of your mouth, but you only squeezed your eyes shut. There was no time for that.
"Fushiguro Megumi, five-year-old, dry cough, congested nose, high fever. Difficulty breathing. Possible RSV, suspicion of pneumonia. Was hospitalised at 6 months with RSV as well."
"Where's a patient?"
"Oh, yes," Nobara hastily stepped aside and craned her neck to look for someone in the crowd.
"Here she is! Don't worry, your kid is in very good hands."
Your head snapped up at the sound of steps approaching, ready to meet another worried mom, only for all words to leave your mind as if they had never even been there in the first place.
Nothing. Blank space.
You were staring at a man. No. The man. Probably the most gorgeous man you were blessed to witness.
His height was the first thing that caught your eye. He was tall, like really tall — effortlessly standing out in the sea of patients. The white of his hair captured the fluorescent light in the corridor, more resembling the bright snow under the sparkling moonlight than the actual hair colour, but it was his eyes that immediately stole your breath and any coherent thought away.
You weren't even sure there was a proper word to describe the shade of them; the dark waves of a stormy ocean and the brightness of a clear sky collided together, brewing into a violent storm that threatened to send your heart into a gallop. Something between the endless blue fractals whispered into the depths of your soul.
God, look away. Look away, look away, look away!
A nagging voice wormed its way into the creaks of your tired mind, suspiciously sounding like your beloved fiancé. "You shouldn't gawk at other men like this, dove. What if it angered me? You don't want to see me all worked up, do you?"
Your gaze cast downwards and landed on the kid in the man's arms — ah, that should be Fushiguro Megumi. The boy's cheeks were of a particularly pale, sickly colour, and the dullness in his eyes gave away illness.
A wave of guilt washed over you; what a great job, Doc, not only staring at another man, while being chained with future matrimony, but also prolonging the little boy's sufferings.
"Of course, come in!"
You forcefully tore your gaze away and cleared your throat, letting the man with the kid step into your office. Nobara slipped inside as well, and you let her start the examination. The words died at the tip of your tongue — you didn't trust yourself to speak up. Instead, you focused on meticulously typing the symptoms in Fushiguro Megumi's electronic record, your eyes already darting between the previous illnesses and the medical history of the kid. Nobara's pager eventually beeped, and you wordlessly let her go.
Stiffling a sigh, you put the stethoscope away from the slightly trembling child. "I am sorry to say it, but the hospitalisation of Megumi-kun is required at that point."
"Is everything this serious?" The man's voice cut throught the tension in the office like waves piercing the cliffs.
You sat at the desk — a measly attempt to put a barrier between your ardent interest and common sense — and clasped your hands together.
"Megumi-kun has a respiratory syncytial virus. While it causes mild symptoms in most people, it can be rather severe for children. I suspect this RSV to be type A, but further monitoring is needed. We can't afford the risk of pneumonia, especially given your son's medical history," a few clicks on the screen to confirm your words, "bronchiolitis from the mistreated RSV as well, at six months. I am afraid it is needed, Fushiguro-san."
The man dragged his hand down his face and lightly pinched the bridge of his nose before softly squeezing the boy's shoulders.
"I see. Well, we can't go against the doctor's orders, can we, Gumi?"
A small sparkle of hope that gleamed in the child's eyes dulled in an instant at the prospect of staying in the hospital. He subconsciously shifted closer to his father, a small arm reaching for support. That sight never failed to tug on the strings of your heart, and you hastily looked around to see what could bring Megumi-kun a glimpse of comfort. Your gaze eventually landed on the small plushie of a dog, safely tucked in a box at the corner, and after a moment of inner debate, you handed the toy to the kid.
"I know staying in the hospital is not like walking on a rainbow. Smell is not good, and food might be, well, you know, too hospital," you chuckled softly, but schooled your expression immediately as the boy's face remained unreadable. The man's lips, however, curled into a quick grin, urging you to continue. "But I promise it won't be so long, so just your nose won't be as runny and your throat won't be so sore. Deal?"
The boy blinked a couple of times at your kneeling form and hesitantly reached for the plushie. The dog nestled in his arms as it had always belonged there.
"Alrighty," you pushed yourself to stand up and put on a usual grin in an attempt to sound enthusiastic at the sight of the most handsome man that office (or your hospital) had seen. "I need you to sign some forms before, Fushiguro-san, and then we can proceed with Megumi-kun's admission."
"Yes, Doc. But it's Gojo, actually. Gojo Satoru."
"Huh?" Your gaze flicked between the flipboard and the boy's electronic medical record. Brows knitted in confusion, you shook your head after a few clicks. "My apologies, Gojo-san. The system might be outdated, since it shows "Fushiguro" as a surname. I'll have it fixed as soon as possible."
The man, Gojo, huffed an airy chuckle that sent goosebumps down your spine and waved his hand. "No need for that. Megumi's my nephew."
"Oh. Uhm. I see. Thank you for clearing it, Gojo-san."
You waited until Gojo signed the papers in bold, sprawling handwriting — you sincerely tried not to stare at the way his hand flexed with each gesture — and he finally stood up, offering to pick up Megumi again. You neatly folded the papers, despite the erratic pulse, and couldn't help but smile at the sight of a grumpy boy insisting on walking on his own. He grabbed the man's hand with reluctance and mumbled quietly, hiding his gaze.
"Bye, Doc."
An amused grin tugged at the corner of your lips, though the mask covered it, so you sent Megumi a quick wink.
"See you soon, Megumi-kun!"
Gojo, who watched that scene with barely concealed mirth, mouthed to you with a bright smile before finally leaving your office.
"Someone's got shy of the Doctor."
Your cheeks flared up in a pinkish tinge, and you covered your mouth with the folder.
The door closed, leaving you on your own with the swarm of thoughts. The corners of your lips twitched before curling downwards, and you dragged a hand down your face, taking off your mask in exhaustion. Drifting down, your thumb grazed the emerald of your engagement ring, which you wore on a chain while at work.
You took a deep breath to gather your bearings.
You still had patients to attend.
˙⋆✮
The hum of the coffee machine filled the doctor's lounge with beeping and the pleasant aroma; obviously, you were focused on the latter. Unpatiently tapping on the floor, you waited in the queue and threw glances at your lunch, which, as you suspected, had gone cold lo-o-ng ago. The fact that you only had 10 minutes left before the meeting didn't help at all.
"What's taking them so long, huh?" Standing on tiptoes, you craned your neck to peer through the commotion, only to notice with a quiet groan that the whole chaos was caused by the pediatric department nurse, Akari, chirping with her colleague Miwa; normally, you would listen to them talking — there was no better way to learn all the gossip that the hospital buzzed with like a beehive — but judging by another loud grumbling from your stomache, your organism wasn't the biggest fan of that idea.
As soon as you were about to yell "FIRE HAZARD!" (desperate times called for desperate measures), something caught Miwa's gaze, and she tugged Akari to the side, with a smile too wide, cheeks too flushed and a gaze too sparkly; you didn't even pay attention to the subtle glances they kept throwing at you, too busy with securing a place at the coffee machine.
Nothing, nothing, brought you more happiness and joy like the freshly made latte: your mouth watered at the thought of finally drinking the coffee and digging into the lunch after the 12-hour shift, when the quiet voice pulled you back to reality.
"Nice to see you, dove."
You turned so abruptly that the coffee from the cup almost spilt on your fiancé's jacket. The man quickly dropped his gaze before curling his lips in slight disgust.
"If you are going to drink coffee, then at least not from that disastrous machine."
Naoya took your cup and mindlessly put it somewhere on the table before you could even voice a protest. His hand rested on the small of your back — touch burning even through the coat — and pulled you closer. You briefly closed your eyes as his lips grazed your cheek, and the warm breath ghosted against it; you caught a faint smell of alcohol and forced a smile that looked more like a grimace to a knowing eye.
"Ah, darling, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to be busy all night today with your partners?" Your voice, that excessively saccharine tone, sounded like a chalkboard being scraped, but your fiancé's smile turned even sharper. You knew Naoya's nature.
"We finished earlier," he murmured with an indifferent shrug. His hand lazily played with one of the locks that managed to escape the ponytail, twirling the strand between the fingers before sharply tugging on it. "Dove, you need to look more presentable. What did I say about it?"
The protest died at the tip of your tongue, and you fought the snarky remark that almost spilt out of your lips, as Naoya examined you with his head tilted — a hunter watching his prey. Your cheeks already hurt from smiling.
"I remember, Naoya. Sorry about it."
His fingers came to pinch your chin, turning your face, so he could glance better at you. The surprising gentleness with which he tucked the lone strand behind your ear caught you off guard, but the cold, detached voice quickly brought you back to Earth.
"Fix it before dinner. I'll pick you up after your meeting. To celebrate the deal, just the two of us."
And just like that. Not asking. Just stating the obvious, as if you were one of the entries on his schedule to be ticked off.
You chewed on the inside of your cheek. God, all you wanted after that long ass shift was to run a bath and curl up under the blanket, rewatching "Friends" for the nth time, since your fiancé kindly informed you he was going to be busy. Honestly, you could've already tasted the greasy Big Mac on your tongue when all your plans went down the drain. The way Naoya's gaze narrowed as he waited for your response didn't give you much of a hope, so you just nodded, a smile too tight.
"Missing the celebration is mauvais ton, darling," a nasty nagging voice at the back of your mind, suspiciously sounding like your mother's, never failed to lose power over you: you straightened involuntarily and pushed your shoulders back, trying to ignore the very obvious strain in your neck.
"Of course, honey."
The corner of Naoya's mouth curled up with satisfaction as he leaned down to press a kiss on your cheek. Swallowing, you suppressed the urge to wipe it immediately.
"See you at 6."
When his figure finally disappeared from your sight, a tight knot in your chest finally seemed to loosen. You reached for the coffee that had long turned lukewarm, and downed it in one single gulp before hearing a string of stifled giggles and sighs. Hardly had you realised what was going on, when Akari appeared right by your side, a dreamy look on her face, and drawled, pointedly glancing at Miwa.
"Ah, Zenin-sama is so gallant and handsome! Checking up on you at work! Isn't it romantic, Miwa?"
Confusion flickered across your face as you slowly remembered that everyone in that hospital was practically enamoured with your future husband. "Zenin-sama asked me how my day was!" or "Zenin-sama complimented my make-up, do you think I should wear my eyeliner thicker?" and streams of fluttery you had to endure, which seemed to be truly endless due to his constant presence at the hospital. His family was a part of the board of shareholders. Or whatever it was.
His family. Soon to be your family too, right?
You never had it against the nurses or anyone at that point: Naoya, unfortunately, knew how to be charming and honed that skill long ago.
Blinking away confusion from your gaze, you attempted to laugh heartily and waved your hand. "That he is. I really don't deserve him."
Miwa only nudged your side slightly. "You're so lucky, Doc."
Your smile now resembled more of a scowl. "Thank you, Miwa."
As soon as Akari opened her mouth to sweet-talk Naoya even more, the God descended his mercy on you in the disguise of a beeping pager. You had never fished it out of your pockets as quickly as now.
"Whoopsie, gotta go, ladies!"
Nakai-san was clearly onto something while telling you about the flu in the Miyagi Prefecture, because a possible upcoming wave in Tokyo was one of the topics discussed at the meeting. Luckily, little Mao-chan only had a cold.
Meetings weren't your favourite part of the workday, that was for sure, but not the worst either. At least, you could pretend to fall asleep behind the broad back of Nanami, who, albeit all the grumbling, always shifted his chair to hide you. In turn, you shared a sourdough bread with him whenever you had a chance to bake it. You were lucky to have at least someone who didn't talk about Naoya all the time and was polite enough to hear your occasional rumblings, despite Naoya's words about you not being interesting. They glimmered in your mind like a warning sign all the time.
You lazily doodled in your notepad, stifling a yawn as the head of the department, Yaga, launched into his endless rambling about attracting new sponsors. You mentally checked out for your own sake.
Your pencil quickly darted over the page, aimlessly drawing something, until you noticed the casual sketches started to resemble one profile. Sharp jawline. Tufts of hair falling over the forehead. If only you could colour it white, somehow…
Wait.
What? No, who were you drawing?
You straightened in your seat so fast the poor notebook nearly fell from your lap, causing Nanami to turn around with a questioning look. You sent him a quick smile and quickly dropped your gaze back to the page.
Well, you weren't a modern-day da Vinci, but the resemblance was kind of uncanny. Certainly not that Bridgerton actor, whose face was everywhere in your timeline, and surely not your fiancé.
Tapping your pencil without any thought, you couldn't help but think about that man. Was it his height that immediately caught your attention? Lazy, confident grin tugging at his lips? Concern, hardening his gaze, when it came to his nephew? That goddamn blue gaze?
You didn't know, but everything about Gojo commanded your attention.
You didn't know why you were thinking about one of your patients' relatives when you were supposed to meet Naoya in a couple of hours.
The thought left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.
You closed the notebook with a quiet thud.
˙⋆✮
The sharp gust of wind tossed your hair in your face, causing you to curse under your breath. Glad, just what you wanted under fixing it for 10 minutes. Magnificent. Cold slowly crept up your figure, and you pulled your coat tighter, desperately wishing for a steaming cup of tea under the blanket. But, alas…
Tapping at your pockets for the phone to call your fiancé, you breathed out in frustration, "Where's the damn phone, I swear, I —"
You froze at your place as your hand reached for a small rectangular piece in the inner pocket. Certainly not the phone.
"I thought I threw all of them, huh…"
You knitted your brows in confusion, but nothing could hide a frantic little flip your heart did as your fingers lovingly traced the familiar "Lucky Strike."
Cherry-flavoured. Your favourite. Damn it!
A red logo brought back the unwanted memories with Naoya battling your so-called addiction. Or maybe not so-called. Residency had you working your fingers to the bone. Honestly, you didn't even remember much from that time, besides the never-ending exhaustion in your bones, four hours of sleep in two days (if the luck was on your side), as well as tons of caffeine. Not to mention Naoya's nagging. God forbid a girl had something to blow off steam.
Could've been something worse.
You thumped your feet to get a little warmer, finally calling Naoya after finding your phone in the depths of the bag. The third call, rolled directly to voicemail, had you angrily kicking a random stone, and the sight of your almost numb fingers almost made you rush back to the hospital. You nervously flicked the cigarette pack until your patience finally snapped.
After carefully looking around for a possible sight of Naoya's sleek Porsche and making sure no one was in sight, you snuck a glance at the smoking corner and slipped inside. Opening the pack, you almost huffed a disbelieving chuckle. One thing left. Nothing was harmful in indulging in your little rebellion act, wasn't it?
In the end, you had certainly smelled a faint scent of whiskey coming from Naoya earlier. You hated drunk people and made it abundantly clear to him.
"Well, isn't it a sign from heaven?" you mumbled under your breath, tucking the lone cig, which might've felt like an oasis for a traveller in the desert, between your lips. Mouth almost watering at the taste, you frantically searched for a lighter, only to groan in frustration. Of course. Of-fucking-course.
Your arms helplessly fell back to your sides as you tilted your head back to look at the darkening sky and sighed.
"God, why me? I am not your strongest soldier."
"Need a hand?"
The deep, smooth voice returned you to reality. You quickly turned around, pulling the cigarette out to hide it. Well, just in case.
Your heart stilled at the familiar sight of Gojo before picking up speed. What was he doing there? Did you daydream enough to imagine him or what?
His blue gaze lazily darted over your figure and landed on the poor cig tucked in your hand as he nodded towards it with an infuriating grin.
"Aren't you supposed to be the beacons of health or whatever?"
You gave him a quick, tired shrug and sighed inwardly. You were shivering, exhausted after the shift, probably stood up by your future husband, so embarrassing yourself in front of one of your patients' parents (with that sharp jawline and that ridiculously tall figure) was just a cherry on top.
Closing your eyes for a brief moment to compose yourself, you murmured a quick apology, "Sorry. I am not usually like that. Smoking, I mean."
Not alone and miserable.
His grin softened into something that sent shivers down your spine.
Might've been the wind.
"Relax, I am joking," Gojo stepped closer and tilted his head to further examine you. You tugged the coat tighter. "What, you often get lectured about it by some goody two-shoes?"
Your huff was so loud it might've reached the hospital backyard you used to hide. "You can't even imagine."
"Wasn't gonna. Anyway," Gojo tapped at the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled an old metallic lighter with a British flag on it. The corners of your lips twitched with a smile.
"Union Jack? Really? God save the King, send him — eh, sorry, don't remember much."
Gojo just rolled his eyes and pretended to put the only thing that might give much-needed joy and warmth away. "And here I thought you wanted to smoke. My apologies, Doc."
You absent-mindedly reached to grab his sleeve, but Gojo only lifted his hand higher. Damn his height.
"Give me the damn lighter."
"Say the magic word, Doc," he seemingly enjoyed taunting you.
An annoyingly smug grin that broke on his face not only sent your heart into a freefall but also urged you to wipe it off. You pressed your lips into a thin line. You were above this. Certainly. Calm, collected, and cool —
You stomped your feet together at another tug of wind and murmured begrudgingly.
"Please, give me the damn lighter."
"Ah, here you go. Wasn't that hard, was it?"
Sending Gojo a grimace with the damn cig hanging between your lips, you leaned closer. He didn't move; your gaze briefly flicked to his, and you arched your brow impatiently.
Gojo blinked a couple of times, his long eyelashes kissing his cheeks. He parted his lips, probably to say something, but only a lone, sharp exhale left his mouth. A vapour of cold air briefly dissolved in the space between you. The weather didn't show any signs of mercy, whipping harshly at your hair, and you didn't see the way Gojo's dropped to your lips for one brief moment.
Grumbling under your breath, you finally managed to harness the wind, "I swear I am gonna cut it off one day."
Gojo's breathy chuckle tickled your ear as he lit the cigarette up, but you were too focused on getting your nicotine fix or whatever. And certainly not the way his raspy murmur sent your heart thumping against your ribcage.
You shouldn't feel that way towards him. You shouldn't feel that way towards anyone: you were engaged, for Christ's sake!
Your ring was still hidden beneath your blouse, on a chain. Your phone was still dead silent. Your fiancé's car was still not even in sight.
Trembling fingers curling around the cig, you took the first drag. Deep and long, until it filled your lungs with the long-forgotten euphoria, and you slowly exhaled the smoke into the air.
Gojo wrinkled his nose for a brief moment. "Cherry?"
Blinking through the haze, you slowly dragged your gaze to land on his face and nodded.
"My favourite."
Maybe it was a game of light, your fuzzy mind or the magical moment of sharing a cigarette with a stranger (at least, technically), but the night and the smoke, curling between you, gave him some kind of grunge air. That leather jacket, mercilessly ruffled white hair, and the Union Jack on the lighter didn't make the situation better.
A dopey, slow grin broke on your face as you chuckled under your breath. Gojo immediately turned to your side, brushing away a few strands of his forehead, revealing the pale skin.
"You were saying?"
Shaking your head in response, you bounced on your heels. Childish, as Naoya would say.
You rocked back harder, smiling from ear to ear.
The nicotine mixed with adrenaline and the taste of rebellion blended into something dangerously light-hearted, and you finally decided to ask Gojo what the hell he was doing there at almost eight o'clock in the evening.
He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.
"We've forgotten something special for Megumi. Well, technically, I." Gojo's grimace made you chuckle and cough immediately after. Not a force of habit.
The way he heaved the last words, although in a tone undeniably light, made your brows furrow.
Flicking the ashes quietly, you decided not to press further. "I see." Then, you suddenly remembered about the so-called etiquette and offered Gojo to make a puff.
The man let out an amused snort and stepped back with his hands lifted in mock surrender as if you suggested robbing a bank. "Oh, no. Thank you, of course, but I don't smoke."
Your brows knitted in confusion. "Why do you have a lighter on you, then?"
"What, to flirt with girls like me this way, huh?" Your tired mind kindly offered you that incredible jab, but some part of you didn't want to hear Gojo admitting that, so you just took another long drag, probably the last one, given you could've almost seen the butt of the cig.
Ehh. You would remember those wonderful minutes forever.
"That's for my friend. She smokes like a chimney, so I am always prepared. Just in case."
"A friend, huh?" Despite your feigned nonchalance, something you didn't even want to name sheepishly peeked through the cracks, masked as an indifferent glance.
"Yep," popping a "p" in the word, Gojo studied you with his head tilted, casually taking in the way the poor cig hung between your lips, bright eyes, almost shimmering in the light of the lamp, pinkish hue on the apples of your cheeks, and your hair fanning over your face that you stubbornly kept moving out of the way.
Unconsciously, his lips curled into a smile softer than for the doctor, who would treat his nephew soon. Or an insanely pretty woman in the dark of the night with the dire need of a lighter.
You mirrored his move, stepping closer, until Gojo's gaze suddenly widened, and he nodded at the hospital behind you. You followed the direction of it, because, well, what else were you supposed to do?
"Actually, you might know her! She worked here. Ieiri, Shoko Ieri." When he didn't notice even an ounce of recognition in your eyes, he tried to describe the mysterious woman. "Short dark hair, big brown eyes, permanent eye bags."
"Oh, yeah," your dry sarcasm only earned Gojo's flat gaze. "Very distinctive feature for a doctor."
Shoulders dropping, he tried to call to your memory for the last time, drawling hesitantly, "A couple of years ago? A surgeon resident? Oh! She also had this lighter!"
His last words had finally stirred some remnants of memories within your tired mind, because yes, you indeed shared a few cigarettes with a girl who had cracked a lot of jokes about her British lighter. She was very easy to talk to: didn't ask unnecessary questions but often offered her shoulder to vent in a cramped space. But as a lot of things in adulthood were, she became a vague figure in your memories, having finished her residency. Some bitterness settled in your chest as you recalled the shared moments between the smoke in the hidden hospital yard.
"Yeah. I remember now. How's she now?" You gave Gojo a quick, thin smile around the edges. His eyes narrowed as he observed the way it didn't reach your eyes, and he just shrugged in response.
"She's good! Well, as good as an overworked surgeon can be."
You bit back a chuckle, but your grin turned undeniably warmer. "Say hello to Ieiri from me. If she remembers me, of course."
"Sure will do."
Silence settled between you, interrupted only by occasional honks from the cars nearby and busy people hurrying to the nearby bus or subway stations to get home. Cook dinner, watch an episode from their favourite show, feed a cat. An ordinary life. Yet, somehow, still unreachable for you.
At least, they were looking forward to it.
You squished the cigarette butt in the nearby ashtray with more force than necessary. Gojo didn't comment on it; instead, he stepped closer and murmured in a quieter tone.
"Are you waiting for someone? If not, I can drive you home. It's getting darker and colder, you know. Not the best place to spend your evening."
For some long, unnecessarily long moment, you wished there was actually no one you were waiting for. Because, among all other things, Gojo was right.
He might've interpreted your silence in another way, because his tone turned slightly apologetic, and he offered you a quick grin. "No advances. Don't worry."
You bit your lip not to have some stupid, almost daring "What if I wanted it to be?" slip, instead settling on a half-truth.
"Ah, no, that's completely okay! I am waiting for my friend! She's just recently got her license, so, you know," you chirped gleefully, maybe too gleefully, because Gojo slightly arched his eyebrow, "still navigating through the streets. Extra careful."
Your rambling still had Gojo staring suspiciously; however, he didn't have another choice but to believe you. Curtly nodding, he stepped outside the smoking booth and offered you a wave.
"Okay then. See you tomorrow, Doc."
"Yeah. Bye."
Seeing his tall figure retreating, long legs striding easily, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, something gnawed at the back of your throat with an unexplainable urge to see him again.
Your chest expanded with a shaky exhale before you gave in to the urge.
"Hey, Gojo!"
He stilled for a moment and turned almost immediately.
"Yeah?"
Swallowing nervously, you remembered the way Gojo's smile looked tighter once he spoke about Megumi.
"Don't worry about Megumi-kun. I'll make sure he will be alright! We are not slacking off there," you nodded towards the hospital with a light grin.
Gojo blinked in response — he couldn't say that your words didn't catch him off guard, but a warm feeling that bloomed in his chest was undeniable.
"I know you're the best, Doc."
Now it was your turn to wave back. You followed Gojo's figure as he walked into the hospital and finally made your way out of the booth. Just in time: you unblocked your phone to call for Uber, when Naoya's name appeared on your screen, and the ringtone cut through the peaceful silence. Your grip on the phone tightened.
Taking a few deep breaths, you finally pressed the green button, bracing yourself for inevitable grumbling from Naoya — he hated it when you answered him after three beeps.
"Yes, darling?"
"I've called you two times already," Naoya's voice sounded pretty flat, but you knew him long enough to pick up the undercurrents of rising irritation. "Why aren't you answering?"
Immediately, you cast your gaze down, as if his mere tone were enough to loom like a shadow over you. Scrambling to find a suitable explanation, you just heaved out a small "sorry."
He only huffed something unintelligible in response before speaking matter-of-factly, his tone laced with cold indifference.
"Don't ever do that again."
"I won't. Promise."
"I know you won't. You are a nice little dove, after all." The indifference in Naoya's voice gave in to the slight irony. You kept silent, unsure whether it was the right time to quip in, so he just ended the call. "I am gonna be at your hospital in 5 minutes."
Exhaling slowly, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders, you put the phone back in your coat and rummaged through the inner pockets to find some sweets — one of the things that came with being a paediatrician was the endless supply of sweets in all your clothes — so you could mask the scent of cigarettes.
You almost popped a peppery mint candy in before…throwing it in your bag. A sudden, stubborn thought that might cause you a massive problem later — but at that fleeting moment, you didn't want to care.
The headlights of the familiar Porsche cast sharp beams on the road exactly five minutes later — talk about punctuality, huh? — and you stepped closer, shoulders pushed back in a routine stance, plastering a smile that your future husband would hopefully buy as loving and charming.
Naoya stopped bothering to open a door for you long ago; instead, he slightly pushed it ajar. Slipping in, you wondered if Gojo held the door open for you, would you take on his offer?
The same suffocating smell of cardamom mixed with a heavy scent of leather washed over you immediately as Naoya leaned over to press a kiss on your cheek. You briefly scrunched your nose in dislike, thinking whether it was a universal thing for men to have a horrible taste for perfumes.
Was Gojo one of them as well?
You bit your lip. Why on Earth were you thinking about another man, sitting in your fiancé's car, who seemingly grew more annoyed with each second as you ignored him?
"Dove, do you hear me at all?"
"Huh?"
Naoya had long started the car, and the engine came to life with a gentle purr, ready to hit the road. Your lack of attention had him pressing his lips in a thin line.
"I don't like it when you're dismissive like that."
You kept your gaze on the road ahead, not sure whether you were allowed to answer. But as the nauseous scent of amber and moss hit your nostrils again, you had no choice but to begrudgingly turn to Naoya.
"What's got into you today, huh?" His brown eyes sharply pierced into you, scanning all over, until he caught a whiff of a cigarette. A bitter cherry that used to linger on your form as a perfume.
Naoya's gaze dangerously narrowed as his hand cupped your cheek. No love. No gentleness. Rather, a subtle possessiveness. Or not even subtle.
"Have you smoked again, sweetheart?" Though his voice dropped to a whisper, you didn't let yourself be fooled — Naoya was seething inside. Your silence grated on his nerves, and he sharply tugged you forward till his breath filled your lungs.
Your heart beat like a caged bird inside your ribs. The insecurities in the back of your head reared their heads to talk you out of disobeying Naoya, but the momentary sense of rebellion from a thing that he was so adamant on prohibiting — like you were a lap dog or anything — had you stubbornly raise your chin. Or maybe it was some sort of adrenaline kicking in.
"No. I was just standing in the smoking corner, talking to a colleague."
Naoya tilted his head slowly, studying your face as if even the most minuscule expressions could give you away. Your blood roared in your ears so loud that it muted the voices of the insecurities. Breath bated, you forced yourself to keep your gaze steady until he finally offered you a curt nod and leaned back in his seat with a dismissive huff.
Discreetly massaging your chin from his grip, you immediately cast your gaze down to hide the relief flooding it.
"I hope you're telling the truth, dove. Otherwise, I would be greatly upset."
"Of course, darling. Why wouldn't I?" The lie tasted heavy on your lips, curled up in a forced smile — the one you had long mastered. Still slightly shaking, you clasped your hands on your lap.
"I hope it wasn't one of those nurses. Miwa, or whatever her name is," his lips quickly curved in a sharp scowl. You were well aware that beneath a handsome facade, Naoya hid acid bitterness.
"I knew something was wrong with her, and of course, it had to be something like it." The car finally rolled on the road, and you rested your head on the window, watching lazily the streets passing in a blur. "Doesn't she know men don't like kissing ashtrays? Nothing new, huh. Women's logic. "
That raised the flood of irritation in you, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek so as not to burst with anger. Though you briefly considered telling that no, it was a man, you internally winced at an inevitable round of investigation and the bursts of jealousy, and decided to leave it as it was.
You threw him a glance, trying to keep the annoyance at bay. "I am a woman too, Naoya."
"Oh, of that I am well-aware". Your eyes briefly met in the rearview mirror, the boredom and barely concealed disdain lurking behind his gaze, before your future husband attempted to joke. "You never fail to remind me of that."
Whatever that was supposed to mean. You decided not to dignify it with a response.
"But it would be better if you didn't talk much to her. You never know what ideas might be in a pretty head like hers. God forbid, if she's one of these feminists," he spat the last word as if it alone had personally offended him — and, probably, it had, at some point. You sincerely hoped he wouldn't delve into the same old "What rights do these women want, huh? Aren't we already living in a matriarchy? I am saying that men are oppressed now", but he settled on telling you about his day, so you were spared that evening.
You hummed in the right places as Naoya proceeded to talk your ear off. Eventually, seeing that his mood had gradually improved, you forced a weak smile.
"Darling, I have been waiting for you longer than you asked. Not like I mind!" You hastily added, seeing a deep frown crossing his face. He slowly turned to you, and the sharpness of his gaze cut you like a blade. "But the last time it happened, you said you would let me know and —"
"Where is your ring?"
You blinked, distracted. "Huh?"
Naoya closed his eyes for a moment — probably counting to ten, not to unleash at you for your stupidity — and as he opened them, the anger brewing stripped you of any words and any confidence. That goddamn cigarette now felt stupid and so childish.
How could you ever think you had some power yourself?
"Your ring. Where is it?" He clicked his tongue in irritation as you sluggishly unbuttoned your coat and reached for the chain under the blouse just to show it.
"You know I put it there, so I wouldn't lose it. You know how forgetful I am," you offered a deprecating joke, hoping for Naoya's relentment. He kept silent for so long that your pulse roared in your head.
Finally, he decided to spare you. The next gritted words felt more like indulgence.
"Put it back."
"But I —"
"Now."
Like a cold stream, that drowned any ounce of protest you had. The clasp kept stubbornly evading your clumsy fingers, but in the end, you managed to do what he said.
"That's better," Naoya gave you a short nod. You weren't sure you were allowed to talk, so you just stared at him with a blank look, despite the growing heat in your veins.
"But we have to do something with your forgetfulness. I strictly told you that I would pick you up at 8 p.m. Maybe it's your work. Aw, my poor dove," he sighed in exaggeration and tilted his head in mock sympathy, "It's just before the wedding. Working at the hospital is not suitable for Madame Zenin."
Your work — Naoya's stumbling block — had been a silent guest at all your dinners, whose presence loomed over you like an unsettling shadow; a bitter aftertaste after family meetings, where pretentiously dressed vultures chirped their concerns; a thought, persistent as an annoying fly, that kept creeping between the cracks of your relationship. And a quiet witness to all the times you bled after Naoya's heartless words took you apart with the precision of a devious surgeon — he had truly sharpened the blade of his conceit and vanity to cut into the vulnerability of yours.
Perhaps moulding you into an obedient wife, a docile spouse, and a future devoted mother, someone who wordlessly walked three steps behind him and kept her head bowed — perfect you, erase any flaw that made you you — was Naoya's twisted way of showing his love to you.
If there was any of it left.
Your eyelashes fluttered as you closed your eyes, too exhausted; Naoya's voice carried on as if nothing had happened. As if your presence were a suitable background to the triumph of his day.
"I booked a table in my favourite restaurant. Ah, can't wait to have their lobsters. Oh, maybe we could try otoru tuna today? Or hirame? What do you think, honey? It is a special occasion, after all. Not every day I close deals like these."
You didn't even bother to remind Naoya — not like he actually listened to you — that you didn't even like fish. That all you wanted after that long day was to get somewhere, just not home.
"Sure, honey."
˙⋆✮
Your pager seemed relentless the next day, beeping every five minutes, if not more often. Hardly had you made your way to check on the patients in the day hospital when a sudden message almost startled you.
"Callback NOW re: head CT for Inumaki, Toge, x3452."
Your heart almost jumped out of your chest, and you hastily handed the clipboard with the patient's data to Nobara, who followed your retreating figure with eyes slightly widened.
"What's that, Doc?"
"Brain haemorrhage or even aneurysm, going to the PICU," briefly giving Nobara a glance over your shoulder, you tapped on the elevator button, mind already racing with all possible outcomes. The scan was clean just yesterday!
You barely managed to squeeze into the elevator, which reminded you of a can packed with sardines, albeit the sardines were doctors and nurses — no wonder, it was always that way in the early mornings, and you sincerely hoped no one would attempt to small-talk with you.
The universe seemed to have something against you, since on the next floor, the elevator beeped as its doors opened, revealing the head of the surgery department, Gakuganji-san, as old as time itself. Rumour had it that he witnessed the building of that hospital himself. Some days, you tended to believe that was true.
You wormed your way back into the crowd and closed your eyes in an attempt to merge with the wall: for some reason, Gakuganji seemed fond of you. Maybe you resembled his granddaughter, who knew. Usually, you indulged in the old man's antics, but today wasn't that day. That damn page kept wailing at the back of your mind. Worry crept under your skin like a pervasive itch; mindlessly, your hand flew to scratch your arm. An old habit.
"Ah, my lovely girl." The crowd quickly parted before Gakuganji, and the squeaky voice beside you eventually pulled you back to reality. Despite your growing anxiety, you managed to offer a polite smile.
"Gakuganji-san! It's nice to see you all healthy and striving. You're gonna outlive all of us at that point!"
The old man slowly shook his head as some screechy sounds that you suspected to be laughter left his mouth.
"You're all sleeping and seeing it, huh? Not today, though. Someone has to put these young rascals of residents in their place! The sheer audacity." Ah, good ol' "it used to be better" talk. Couldn't say you missed it.
Giving Gakuganji-san curt nods, you hummed between the pauses of his rambling. Your pager went off again, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, the elevator beeped at your floor.
"It was nice to see you, Gakuganji-san!" you managed to mutter through the noise of the crowd, only to see that the old man had already found a new victim. Huffing under your breath, you successfully made your way out.
Expectedly, the pediatric intensive care unit buzzed with noise. The sterile scent of an antiseptic clung to your skin like a perfume, the concern of worried parents lingered in the air, and the doctors' barking orders filled the corridor as you beelined to the reception desk. Slightly out of breath, you pulled the mask off your face; your voice came in an urgent command.
"Yorozu, I've got your page. What's wrong with Inumaki's scan?"
Yorozu slowly dragged her tired gaze from the papers she was filling in and loudly popped a bubblegum to lazily drawl.
"What page?"
You clicked your tongue in irritation and fished your pager to show it in her face. "That one."
Her eyes scanned the screen, dare you say, at the snail's pace, before her shoulders dropped in a lazy shrug.
"Ah, this. We have a duplicate order for this head CT. You have to discontinue a new order, so we won't mix them. You know the rules."
Briefly closing your eyes, you attempted to recall the breathing exercises to calm down. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in —
Ah, fuck it.
"Yorozu." The anger in your voice caught the nurse's attention as you gritted your teeth and tapped your finger on her files in accusation. She blinked at you, mastering the most innocent expression possible. "You should fucking learn the proper pager etiquette. I am not gonna run like an idiot every time you pull a shit like that. Am I clear?"
Yorozu's eyes widened at your irritation, and she quickly nodded, not as sluggish as before. You probably were in for another lecture from Yaga about formal communication in the hospital setting, because Yorozu clearly had some grudge against you.
"And stop chewing the gum, for God's sake. This is a hospital and not a club." You turned on your heels and couldn't help but throw that off-handed comment. Rude? Maybe.
She threw you the last offended gaze before smacking the gum in the trash bin and mumbled under her breath, "What a bitch."
Fuck her twice.
"I think I might have a brain bleed now," a murmur left you as you hurried back to the elevator, mentally running throught the list of things to do: discontinue the duplicate order for the scan, check the saturation of a kid that was admitted just in the morning, and confirm the amoxicillin dose —
SLAM!
The impact of your bump into one's chest — a sturdy one, you might say — forced you to step back.
"Oh, I am sorry, I didn't see you— Gojo?"
"Hello to you too, Doc." His hands immediately flew to stabilise you; the warmth from them seemed to seep even through your uniform. Your heart skipped a beat as you lifted your head to see Gojo peering down at you, his shades perched on the bridge of his nose. "You okay?"
Blinking to gather your bearings, you eventually stepped away with a quick smile. He towered over you with an effortless grace and seemed to occupy all the space around you with his impossible height. The simple black slacks made his legs even longer, and the white dress shirt did nothing to hide the broadness of his shoulders. Your eyes involuntarily drifted to the smooth expanse of his skin with the roadmap of veins, as the shirt's sleeves were rolled up. They slowly climbed higher past the toned arm to the set of the collarbones, peeking out of the sinfully unbuttoned collar. Even a glimpse of them felt shamelessly sinful in the confines of the corridor.
Then your gazes finally met again — unobscured now, as Gojo's glasses rested on top of his fluffy white hair — and the apologetic mirth in them caught you even more off guard.
Clearing your throat, you rolled your shoulders to gain some confidence.
"Ah, yeah. I am good. Sorry for bumping into you. What are you doing here?"
"It's okay. You, doctors, are always busy." Gojo gave you a casual shrug, and a lazy grin tugged at the corner of his lips. You dropped your gaze, not to gawk, only to see Megumi holding Gojo's hand. The boy's fingers twitched in the begrudging hold, and his face was laced with boredom, but the moment your eyes met, a light pink dusted his cheeks.
"Hello, Doctor."
"Hello, Megumi-kun," you smiled at the boy and leaned a bit so as not to loom menacingly over the kid. You figured he wasn't the one who would like it. "How do you feel tonight?"
Megumi blinked and shot a quick, unreadable glance up at his uncle, whose grin grew even wider. Damn. The kid was a tough nut to crack. Gojo lightly nudged his nephew to answer.
"Aw, Megumi, don't be shy."
A light frown flickered on the boy's face as he shrugged. "Better now."
"I see. That's good then! Mind telling me what you are doing here?"
Megumi's communication window seemed to close up as he dropped his gaze to examine the floor, and Gojo sighed, his broad shoulders rising in a shrug.
"Don't mind it. He's still under the weather. We were going to his room, but then Megumi said he wanted those dinosaur-shaped crackers and — "
"I didn't say that!" Megumi immediately interfered, and Gojo frowned down at him.
"But you totally did! You ate two packs yesterday after the hospital. One that was Tsumiki's, by the way." At your questionable look, Gojo explained quickly, "That's his older sister. My niece."
Megumi gave him a flat look (that looked pretty impressive for a five-year-old) and briefly glanced up at you before mumbling, "Whatever."
The corners of your mouth twitched with a warm smile.
"Great!" A strange kind of nervousness engulfed you every time Gojo's bright, sharp gaze landed on you, and twisted your tone into a high-pitched cadence that grated on your nerves like a piece of chalk on the board. You wondered if Gojo had noticed as well, or if it was just your hypervigilance. "I'll walk you then!"
Gojo's eyes narrowed with unease for a moment as he examined you, before a polite calm rolled back into their blue. He gestured towards the elevator with exaggerated grandeur and a boyish grin on his face. "As you say, ma'am."
You huffed a chuckle. Megumi rolled his eyes, but obediently dragged his little feet to the elevator as well. Pressing a button, you noticed that Gojo kept sneaking glances at the boy, and sent you a knowing wink as your eyes met, before playfully drawling, "Unless someone really wants these crunchy yummy dinosaur-shaped crackers that are waiting for us in that precious vending machine —"
Megumi's face went from bored to hesitant in a matter of seconds, and he finally grumbled reluctantly, "Okay."
And then — as he briefly looked up at you — a quiet, "They are really good."
Your pager persistently chirped again, urging you to hurry up to your floor, but you really couldn't tear your gaze away from Gojo, who teasefully bantered with his nephew near the damn vending machine. Something about his relaxed posture, that confident stride, the lazy grin, and, most importantly, the concern in his gaze, that dangerously started melting into thinly veiled tenderness, called — no, demanded your attention.
When he finally stood beside you — effortlessly filling all the cramped space in the elevator — you remembered the deep laugh that cut through your loneliness yesterday. The flick of the lighter that lit your darkness up. The eyes, as blue as the crystal clear sea, that welcomed you in its waves.
And then the acidness of your future husband's remarks, adding another drop of venom in your poisoned mind. The scent of his perfume that churned your insides into something bitter, something stinging. The weight of his palm on the small of your back that lingered like a print you couldn't get rid of. Probably never would.
Luckily, the previous pages could be answered straight away, and you quickly typed the answers to the radiology department and the day hospital, until Gojo's smooth voice distracted you.
"Did you get home safe yesterday?"
Your thumbs hovered over the last message — discharging orders for the little patient — as you blinked in surprise and glanced up at Gojo.
"Huh?"
"It was pretty dark yesterday," he stole a T-Rex-shaped cracker from Megumi's pack, earning the boy's scowl, and popped it in his mouth without any care. "Did your friend pick you up?"
Parting your lips, you felt completely dumbfounded. What friend was Gojo talking about? You had been waiting for Naoya that entire evening, and —
Oh. Oh.
Offering a forced grin — too strained around the edges — you quickly nodded, "Ah. Yeah. Of course. She…she was busy, and — you know," a nervous shrug, "I was late but safe. Thanks for asking!"
The weight of your lies settled at your chest as heavy as your engagement ring under the uniform. Your hand mindlessly climbed upward and gingerly brushed against your neck and the golden chain. The ring, the chain — was there any difference to keep you in place?
Gojo didn't dare disrupt the atmosphere in the elevator, but your absent-minded fidgeting caught his eye, as well as the sudden hollowness in your gaze. Where did that girl with a sharp tongue and a bright gaze disappear? His brows furrowed for a moment: was it because you were at work now? Was it him mentioning yesterday that shook you up so much? Your friend?
His hand, which leisurely rested on Megumi's shoulders, tightened imperceptibly. Despite the growing worry, he attempted to soothe the atmosphere.
"You changed your blouse? Pink really suits you."
If you were shocked by his attention earlier, now you were truly stunned. The heat flared up your cheeks, but your brain already scrambled for a usual downplayed explanation.
"Uh, it's nothing! Laundry day."
"Still," his grin was as persistent as the weight in his voice. "You look nice."
Astounded, you stared up at him until the beep of the elevator finally announced the end of the ride, jerking you both out of that strange conversation. Megumi kept chewing.
At your department, things went pretty smoothly, despite Miwa's staring at Gojo with hearts in her eyes.
You couldn't blame her, honestly; you were pretty sure that he would appear as a new potential heartthrob in the hospital's gossipy chronicles. Lucky you. From your future husband to the man who sent your pulse racing.
You couldn't help but wonder about the last conversation with Gojo, his words and a casual compliment.
"He was just being polite," you kept reminding yourself while filling papers for Megumi, though a desperate wish for them to be true, hidden in the deepest corner of your heart, betrayed your actual thoughts.
Your gaze lingered on the neatly typed "Gojo Satoru" in the line dedicated to a parent of a patient (a guardian, in that case) for more seconds than needed, but you couldn't help yourself.
The emerald of your ring caught the light as you took it out to remind you that you were engaged, for God's sake. The thought of other men shouldn't even cross your mind, let alone smiling at their jokes and basking in their compliments.
You were a bad person.
Maybe Naoya was right. Maybe his love was the only way to carve treacherous thoughts out of you.
˙⋆✮
You glanced at your reflection, and the woman with the loneliness carved into her like a mask stared back. The woman carefully brushed along the ornate emeralds in the golden frame — Naoya's apology for a missed anniversary, wrapped in earrings.
Then the reflection's hand swept over his reluctant excuse for another disgrace, that time veiled in the golden chain around your neck. And the last — the symbol of his undying love for you — stayed put on your ring finger. Another gold. Another emerald in the same cut. Another burden for you to carry. The colour of his hair. The colour of his clan. Branding, marking you as another item in a collection.
The woman in the mirror blinked at you, her eyes carefully examining your form. The exhaustion in her eyes changed into a barely concealed mirth as her gaze travelled down to your little act of rebellion — an anklet.
A silver anklet.
Who were you turning into? Firstly, a lone Lucky Strike cig. Then this. What next?
You didn't even spare a glance as the door quietly creaked, letting Naoya inside. The Persian carpet easily swallowed the sounds of his steps; you flinched a bit as he announced himself behind you with a heavy thud. Your hands travelled down the silk of the expensive dress, smoothing the fabric, and your eyes met Naoya's in the mirror with a slight dare, carefully masked as expectation.
"Are you really going to wear this, dove?"
The third strike.
"Yes," his eyes swept across the line of your shoulders as they raised in a slow shrug. You carefully turned a little, slowly dragging your gaze up to Naoya's face. "Is something wrong?"
Tilting his head slightly, he assessed you again.
"What, why?" The fake concern in his voice was too much even for Naoya. "Unless you want to catch the attention of everyone at the dinner."
"In what way?" Your voice inevitably cracked at the last syllable, no matter how hard you tried to stand your ground.
Naoya's hand brushed across the silk of your short sleeve and drifted downwards to rest on the curve of your hip.
The cruelty that hooked into the corner of his mouth had told you everything before his lips even parted. "Up to you." A light kiss on your nape followed his words.
You closed your eyes in defeat before opening them again and letting the assessing gaze travel over the reflection in the mirror, nitpicking every detail. Was it the dress? Was it the hairstyle? Was it the makeup? The jewellery? The arms that peeked out of the sleeves?
Or was it just…you?
Your confidence was thrown to the ground, buried beneath the silk of Naoya's pretend concern.
The woman in the mirror was tugging on the hem of the dress, her fingers trembling and her hold wavering. The insecurities in her eyes dimmed the sparkle of bravery.
Naoya slowly stepped back, lazily walked to the chair, and carelessly threw his legs over the piano — the loud sound of keys coming to life in a disorganised mess startled you — pouring a glass of whiskey to watch you in front of the mirror. As if he were dressing a doll.
"Should I change?" your voice came quietly. Hesitantly. The gold on your frame seemed strained by the ugliness you bore; the hideosity you hid muddied the emeralds.
"As you wish, dove."
Dove. The usual petname didn't mend any damage Naoya had already caused; instead, you felt as if the sharp blade of his words cut your wings.
You hastily shook the dress off your trembling frame. Naoya's satisfied gaze was your only reward.
The rest of the dinner went as miserably as dressing up.
Naoya escorted you to the Zenin Estate with the same courtesy that might've been saved for a chopping block.
Firstly, the excited sparkle of being welcomed in your boyfriend's house shimmered brightly within you. Then, it ignited into a radiant desire to earn at least something besides sharp glances and fake disdainful smiles. Lastly, the resentment doused the bitter flames.
The soot of boredom clogged your throat ever since.
Roaming the opulent floors of the hall with your fiancé's hand on your waistline like a stamp, you felt no more like a souvenir on his arm. A doll whose dress was carefully picked, hair curled and a smile plastered alongside an unblinking gaze. Only to be put back on the shelf.
Again. Again. And again.
You had long lost count of the fake, well-rehearsed "That's so great's" and "We're so happy for you's" that slipped out of your mouth between the expectant glances of guests. However, the moment your smile turned a tad tighter, and the tilt of your head resembled more of a mockery than an interest, Naoya's fingers dug harder in the small of your back. Your spine would straighten just after that.
The doll whose joints had been pulled on.
"Aren't you having a little bit too much fun out there, hm?"
Naoya's voice found you in one of the corners near the balcony, just where the bright light of the flashy chandelier didn't reach. A sudden thought that the amber gemstones were fake — you remembered Naoya's grumbling about a scammer — made you snort in a flute of champagne.
Naoya's eyes dangerously narrowed. He looked around to make sure the guests were too busy pretending to enjoy each other's company and sharply tugged you by the elbow.
"I think you might have enough, little dove." His tensed whisper dripped with venom, while the print of his fingers carved into your skin with no care at all. "You don't want to embarrass us, do you?"
Your fingers twitched around the delicate stem of the glass. Something sharp and painful curled up in your chest, urging you to retreat into your shell like a turtle, but the alcohol in your blood gave you an unexpected boldness.
"Us? Or just you?"
His muddy eyes widened with shock at your disobedience and then narrowed with something resembling humiliation. The strange feeling — though entirely pleasant — coursed through your veins and exploded in your hazy mind like a small firework at his reaction.
"Don't forget yourself, honey," Naoya's whiskey breath fanned over your ear as his hand climbed down to the dip of your waist. The weight of it felt so heavy it might've stripped you of any breath. "Or I will have to remind you, then."
Your smile faltered slightly before completely vanishing into the void that your soul was.
"And clearly you've had enough of it," Naoya swiftly took your flute and curled his lips in disdain after taking a sip. "Gods, what a dog's piss. No wonder you, women, act so pissy after it."
The drunk, ugly laugh left his lips. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and ask him how he knew its taste, but you swallowed all your words.
"Gojo didn't look like a man who would joke about it," a sudden thought — totally unwelcome and totally intrusive — rooted you to your spot.
He probably would offer polite nods and interesting glances. His hand would set your being ablaze even through the dress, and his fingers would bring you a myriad of sparkles as they brushed along your arm as he would take your glass away with a charming grin.
Goosebumps erupted on your skin at the mere image, and a harsh breath left you.
It was a champagne. Of course it was! That or you just watched too much of the "Bridgertons."
Albeit you weren't a pretty lady, and Gojo wasn't a viscount to save you.
"Naoya-san, I am so glad to meet you here!" A high-pitched, too sweet in its tone voice, roughly jerked you back to reality. A tight smile made its way back on your face as your hand slotted back into the crook of your fiancé's elbow.
The old lady with an obnoxious feather boa — it took all your politeness and the remnants of your sober mind not to let your eyebrows raise — chirped joyously to Naoya. You noticed with satisfaction that he was stunned as well — that might've been the only thing you got to share that night.
After a little while, the lady finally decided to turn to you, and the sharp assessing look immediately crossed her face as she eyed you down.
That time you couldn't help yourself and gave her a slight arch of your brow. Did you spit in her soup or what? Stole a respectable, influential man just under her daughter's nose?
If she only knew. All that glittered was not gold.
"And you, my darling, — ''
Were you?
" — Naoya-san mentioned you still work," she said, and the last word sounded shocked and even slightly offended — as if the mere possibility of a woman and the future Madame Zenin actually doing something had startled her. "What are you doing?"
Before Naoya's hand would dig a warning into your skin, you heard yourself answering, "Oh, I am a doctor. Working with kids."
"A doctor?" the lady repeated incredulously with her grey thin eyebrows soaring up to her hairline. The lady's gaze involuntarily flickered to Naoya, gauging his reaction, and as she got none, her eyelashes fluttered. "Isn't it a bit tiresome for a pretty thing like you, my darling?"
You could visibly feel the waves of Naoya's irritation rolling around the sea of people, and waived your hand with a loud laugh, "Oh no, no at all! I find it pretty fun, actually."
Naoya's fingers twitched on your skin, and you cut yourself off with a sharp exhale.
"Naoya lets me work before the wedding." Your grin turned sharper. "He's really the sweetest!"
Lifting your head to look at his face, you noticed the muscle in his jaw jump in barely concealed irritation. The heat of panic surged through you at the alarming speed and settled heavily in your chest. You tried to reassess every interaction, every glance and twitch of your lips. What did you do wrong?
You swallowed with effort. Maybe you had pushed it too far that time.
When the lady left, you watched Naoya's face for any clue that might've given away his true feelings.
He gave you none besides the last dismissive glance and the cruel nod, "We're leaving."
"I don't —," his gaze immediately silenced you. "Yes, darling."
Heels hastily clicking on the marble, your grip on the purse tightening, the fabric of the dress slightly bunching in your hand, you hurried to catch your future husband up.
He didn't spare you so much of a glance on the way home. Sitting in the backseat, sipping on another glass of whiskey and keeping his eyes on the blur of motions behind the windows.
You kept your hands on your lap and tried to blend into the seats as much as possible, not to provoke Naoya further. But the anxiety that had been quietly bubbling within you all the evening finally surged through the lid, churning your insides into a twisted knot and clawing at the back of your throat. The suspicious lump started forming in it, and you swallowed with effort, blinking away your tears.
Naoya hated when you cried.
"Will you tell me what I have done wrong?"
Your quiet voice cut through the silence of the car, nauseating to the point that it became unbearable. The panic that rattled your body was on the other tip of the scales, and your choice was obvious.
Naoya slowly turned his gaze, unblinking. Narrowed his eyes as if assessing whether you were ready for the mercy of his revelation.
"Please," your voice dipped into a desperate whisper. "Just tell me."
After what felt like an eternity, Naoya finally released a dismissive huff, "You humiliated me."
You sat completely still. Licked your lips and breathed out hastily.
"I didn't mean to, really, it was just silly women's talk, you know that!"
His tone dropped to something dangerous, laced with intent to inject his anger into you even more.
"Doesn't matter. That old hag can't hold her tongue for her life, and then would blab around, so now everyone will know the future Zenin-sama can't even keep in check his future wife," the disdain in his voice smacked your face with a hot wave of humiliation, "not talking about business."
"Naoya, I am really sorry. I didn't think, I — " You watched the grim taking over his face and judging by the twitch of his eye, he was close to snapping, so you quickly scrambled for an answer. "I can send her a card! Or, or — invite her to the dinner and tell her she didn't understand it right!"
The moment your words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them.
Naoya put the whiskey glass with such a force that it had you flinching and looking at the driver to gauge his reaction. Luckily, the partition did its thing.
Anxiety coursed through your veins, akin to blood and settled in your bones with an unshakable cold, as Naoya tugged on your dress to yank you sharply forward.
"Don't you fucking dare," he gritted through his teeth. "Do you hear me? Haven't I done enough for you? Letting you —," pressing his lips into a thin line, Naoya spat another venom, "slacking around that shitty hospital of yours. The least you could do was to be grateful for it. But no."
He leaned back and angrily hooked the thumb in to loosen the bow tie — which was usually your job — and it fell another victim to his growing irritation.
The hot waves of humiliation commanded you to keep your head bowed. You bit on the inside of your cheek not to let tears and any protest spill; instead, you took a deep breath and looked up with a smile so strained it felt like the last pleading to an executioner.
"I just didn't think. I guess it was champagne. I am so sorry, Naoya."
Your begging look might've softened something in his brown gaze — or that was a game of light — but the hand that slowly reached to cup your face was surprisingly gentle. Just like a deer under the flashlights, you stilled and released a soft breath.
"Ah, my pretty dove. Have I scared you?"
The smile on your face faltered but then stretched into something similar to a mask as you forced it.
His gaze, glossed with the alcohol, wandered over your face. Deliberately observant. And after a few seconds, Naoya's lips finally grazed your forehead.
You weren't completely sure whether the storm between you had settled, but you were more than lucky to grasp for any zephyr of calm.
Lying under the lavish canopy of your bed, you let your mind wander.
Was it always like that with Naoya?
When was the exact moment his tender kisses began to feel more like silent claimings? When did his loving arms become dismissive brushes? When did the affection in his gaze give way to disdain? When his fingers, which used to silently trace your skin, curled around your wrists like chains? When did the tender words turn into poisoned arrows he shot at you?
When did sharing your life with him start to mean denying your own? And when his love slowly shaped you into someone you failed to recognise more and more with every passing day?
What would happen when the waves of his suffocating love would erase every evidence of you?
Would they swallow you whole or crash into cliffs?
The next morning met you with an enormous bouquet of roses, resting just near your bed. Alongside was the card that simply read, "That distressed look doesn't suit you, dove. The flowers might cheer you up."
The giant beast that had your heart in its claws reluctantly released its grip, allowing you a short breath. You pressed the card to your chest; the fact that you didn't even like roses didn't bother you as long as you had Naoya's affection back.
a/n: hello lovelies!! i am so excited and anxious to start my first mini-series! this work is not gonna be the lightest and i do not expect a lot, but i would gladly hear your thoughts!!
synopsis: Transferring to a new university mid-sophomore year was supposed to be about keeping your head down, surviving your graphics and design classes, and getting your degree. But then you befriended Shoko, which meant getting dragged into the chaotic, loud, and suffocatingly close-knit orbit of her friend group—specifically, Gojo Satoru. He’s arrogant, naturally flirty, and has absolutely zero concept of personal space. You both insist you’re just friends, moments and all-nighters says otherwise; it becomes painfully obvious that you’re both playing a dangerous game of chicken. And the first one to confess loses.
pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader | cw/tags: 18+ mdni, heavy cursing/explicit language, alcohol consumption/drunkenness, jealousy, miscommunication, heavy makeout sessions, suggestive themes, idiot Gojo Satoru, yearner Gojo Satoru, touch-starved idiots, heavy banter.
authors note: in honor of the s4 trailer release (and my husband's near unsealing.. i present you this!) This series is already 100% finished! All chapters are queued and will be posted every 7 days, so you won’t be left hanging. | art by: @/9enesiass & divider by: @/bbyg4rlhelps
taglist: Let me know in the replies, asks, or tags if you want to be added to the tag list so you get notified the second a new chapter drops!
fiance! naoya x paediatrician! fem reader x single uncle! satoru
summary: Your days had long turned into an endless grey stream of monotony, brightened only by children's smiles at the hospital. Soon, your life would be subjected to loneliness in the golden cage of the Zenin Estate as you agreed to be Naoya's wife; the weight of his love had already burdened you to the point you no longer believed there was any left.
And then you met Satoru Gojo.
Your biggest curse. And your greatest remedy.
tags: AU, medical setting, heavy angst, toxic relationships, messy feelings, emotional abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, misogyny (Naoya is a prick), reader struggles with her self-image, slow healing, falling in love, yearning. eventual smut and happy ending, i promise! we just have to get here. some specific tags will be included in the parts, if any.
word count: 12.5k
gojo's art by @/yamada_souko. all dividers are mine.
playlist
masterlist
"And just be sure to have these herbal candies as well", smiling at the little girl in front of you, you typed the prescriptions and hit the "print" button. The sounds of a printer whirring filled the room, and after a loud whooosh, the paper appeared. You handed it to the worried Nakai-san. Concern, so blatantly deep, seemed to be etched into the lines around her eyes, perpetually tired.
"Are you sure this is just a cold, Doc? You know, I heard just yesterday about a new strain of flu in the south of Miyagi prefecture," she drawled rather hesitantly, eyes narrowing and voice dropping to a theatrical whisper.
Tone hardening just a tad, you slightly pressed.
"I am pretty sure, ma'am. It's just a cold. Happens very often to the kids at the beginning of the school year. You know the way they are."
The concern in Nakai-san's eyes only deepened, and the prospect of digging into your gigantic lunchbox and drinking the hot latte from the coffee machine in the doctors' lounge (it had the best coffee in the entire hospital, and you were gonna die on that hill!) vanished like a mist in the morning April day.
You bit back a groan, but the squirming baby in her mother's arms came to the rescue.
"Mommy, wanna go ho-o-me."
"Shh, dear, Mommy is speaking, wait a little and — "
Oh no. The little girl didn't get a hint. She blinked a couple of times before her squishy face crumpled with a truly disheartening expression. Your insides went cold: you were well aware of what was going to happen next.
3, 2, 1…
A cry that you would describe as nothing but a disastrous wail filled your office, bouncing off the walls and hitting your ears until you wanted to smack your head against the desk. You always wondered how a person that tiny could cry so loudly that it rivalled the jet engines of a plane?
Before going completely deaf at that point, you hastily reached for a bright red lollipop in the bowl, reserved for little patients.
"Hey-hey, Mao-chan, no more crying, okay?" The girl's weeping slowly morphed into soft sobs as she quieted down, eyeing the lollipop. Her little arms slowly reached for the candy, and you handed it to her with no hesitation in the long-awaited silence, smiling warmly.
"Yes, Nakai-san, I am waiting for you for the shots. And yes, I already filled out the forms, no need to worry about anything." You assured the worried lady as best as you could before she would come up with another question you certainly had answered by now — you swore, gears in her mind were working non-stop. Not like you didn't understand her. She was just a mother, after all.
"Have a nice day and get well soon, Mao-chan!" Chirping gleefully, you finally released a breath. Eyes squeezed shut, and forehead pressed against the door, you tried to gather your bearings. The headache unabashedly pounded at your temples with a renewed force, causing you to grimace in pain. The desk rattled as you harshly tugged the top drawer, only to see the empty blister pack.
Oh, fuck. Of course, you ran out of naratriptan, and the only anti-migraine pills available were some ibuprofen in the depths of your bag.
Cursing yourself mentally for forgetfulness, you managed to quickly fish the pills, hoping they might bring some relief, since you certainly weren't in the mood to ask or look for another medicine, downing them in one gulp. The world slowly regained clarity, giving you a chance to breathe freely.
The clock on the wall showed 2:40 p.m.: if you hurried, you could still manage to grab lunch, and given the next break wasn't quite soon…You really should get moving.
Of course, that was never bound to happen.
An urgent, loud knock pulled you back to reality.
Goodbye, lunch.
"Come in!" you called out, already pulling the mask back and hurried to open the door. One of your younger residents, Nobara, apologetically glanced at you. She seemed slightly out of breath, and you knitted your brows together in concern.
"Nobara?"
"Sorry, Doc, but we have an emergency here." A flipboard in her hands grabbed your attention, and you took it, already scanning the text. A sharp pain in your right temple, as if you were stabbed, almost made a cry slip out of your mouth, but you only squeezed your eyes shut. There was no time for that.
"Fushiguro Megumi, five-year-old, dry cough, congested nose, high fever. Difficulty breathing. Possible RSV, suspicion of pneumonia. Was hospitalised at 6 months with RSV as well."
"Where's a patient?"
"Oh, yes," Nobara hastily stepped aside and craned her neck to look for someone in the crowd.
"Here she is! Don't worry, your kid is in very good hands."
Your head snapped up at the sound of steps approaching, ready to meet another worried mom, only for all words to leave your mind as if they had never even been there in the first place.
Nothing. Blank space.
You were staring at a man. No. The man. Probably the most gorgeous man you were blessed to witness.
His height was the first thing that caught your eye. He was tall, like really tall — effortlessly standing out in the sea of patients. The white of his hair captured the fluorescent light in the corridor, more resembling the bright snow under the sparkling moonlight than the actual hair colour, but it was his eyes that immediately stole your breath and any coherent thought away.
You weren't even sure there was a proper word to describe the shade of them; the dark waves of a stormy ocean and the brightness of a clear sky collided together, brewing into a violent storm that threatened to send your heart into a gallop. Something between the endless blue fractals whispered into the depths of your soul.
God, look away. Look away, look away, look away!
A nagging voice wormed its way into the creaks of your tired mind, suspiciously sounding like your beloved fiancé. "You shouldn't gawk at other men like this, dove. What if it angered me? You don't want to see me all worked up, do you?"
Your gaze cast downwards and landed on the kid in the man's arms — ah, that should be Fushiguro Megumi. The boy's cheeks were of a particularly pale, sickly colour, and the dullness in his eyes gave away illness.
A wave of guilt washed over you; what a great job, Doc, not only staring at another man, while being chained with future matrimony, but also prolonging the little boy's sufferings.
"Of course, come in!"
You forcefully tore your gaze away and cleared your throat, letting the man with the kid step into your office. Nobara slipped inside as well, and you let her start the examination. The words died at the tip of your tongue — you didn't trust yourself to speak up. Instead, you focused on meticulously typing the symptoms in Fushiguro Megumi's electronic record, your eyes already darting between the previous illnesses and the medical history of the kid. Nobara's pager eventually beeped, and you wordlessly let her go.
Stiffling a sigh, you put the stethoscope away from the slightly trembling child. "I am sorry to say it, but the hospitalisation of Megumi-kun is required at that point."
"Is everything this serious?" The man's voice cut throught the tension in the office like waves piercing the cliffs.
You sat at the desk — a measly attempt to put a barrier between your ardent interest and common sense — and clasped your hands together.
"Megumi-kun has a respiratory syncytial virus. While it causes mild symptoms in most people, it can be rather severe for children. I suspect this RSV to be type A, but further monitoring is needed. We can't afford the risk of pneumonia, especially given your son's medical history," a few clicks on the screen to confirm your words, "bronchiolitis from the mistreated RSV as well, at six months. I am afraid it is needed, Fushiguro-san."
The man dragged his hand down his face and lightly pinched the bridge of his nose before softly squeezing the boy's shoulders.
"I see. Well, we can't go against the doctor's orders, can we, Gumi?"
A small sparkle of hope that gleamed in the child's eyes dulled in an instant at the prospect of staying in the hospital. He subconsciously shifted closer to his father, a small arm reaching for support. That sight never failed to tug on the strings of your heart, and you hastily looked around to see what could bring Megumi-kun a glimpse of comfort. Your gaze eventually landed on the small plushie of a dog, safely tucked in a box at the corner, and after a moment of inner debate, you handed the toy to the kid.
"I know staying in the hospital is not like walking on a rainbow. Smell is not good, and food might be, well, you know, too hospital," you chuckled softly, but schooled your expression immediately as the boy's face remained unreadable. The man's lips, however, curled into a quick grin, urging you to continue. "But I promise it won't be so long, so just your nose won't be as runny and your throat won't be so sore. Deal?"
The boy blinked a couple of times at your kneeling form and hesitantly reached for the plushie. The dog nestled in his arms as it had always belonged there.
"Alrighty," you pushed yourself to stand up and put on a usual grin in an attempt to sound enthusiastic at the sight of the most handsome man that office (or your hospital) had seen. "I need you to sign some forms before, Fushiguro-san, and then we can proceed with Megumi-kun's admission."
"Yes, Doc. But it's Gojo, actually. Gojo Satoru."
"Huh?" Your gaze flicked between the flipboard and the boy's electronic medical record. Brows knitted in confusion, you shook your head after a few clicks. "My apologies, Gojo-san. The system might be outdated, since it shows "Fushiguro" as a surname. I'll have it fixed as soon as possible."
The man, Gojo, huffed an airy chuckle that sent goosebumps down your spine and waved his hand. "No need for that. Megumi's my nephew."
"Oh. Uhm. I see. Thank you for clearing it, Gojo-san."
You waited until Gojo signed the papers in bold, sprawling handwriting — you sincerely tried not to stare at the way his hand flexed with each gesture — and he finally stood up, offering to pick up Megumi again. You neatly folded the papers, despite the erratic pulse, and couldn't help but smile at the sight of a grumpy boy insisting on walking on his own. He grabbed the man's hand with reluctance and mumbled quietly, hiding his gaze.
"Bye, Doc."
An amused grin tugged at the corner of your lips, though the mask covered it, so you sent Megumi a quick wink.
"See you soon, Megumi-kun!"
Gojo, who watched that scene with barely concealed mirth, mouthed to you with a bright smile before finally leaving your office.
"Someone's got shy of the Doctor."
Your cheeks flared up in a pinkish tinge, and you covered your mouth with the folder.
The door closed, leaving you on your own with the swarm of thoughts. The corners of your lips twitched before curling downwards, and you dragged a hand down your face, taking off your mask in exhaustion. Drifting down, your thumb grazed the emerald of your engagement ring, which you wore on a chain while at work.
You took a deep breath to gather your bearings.
You still had patients to attend.
˙⋆✮
The hum of the coffee machine filled the doctor's lounge with beeping and the pleasant aroma; obviously, you were focused on the latter. Unpatiently tapping on the floor, you waited in the queue and threw glances at your lunch, which, as you suspected, had gone cold lo-o-ng ago. The fact that you only had 10 minutes left before the meeting didn't help at all.
"What's taking them so long, huh?" Standing on tiptoes, you craned your neck to peer through the commotion, only to notice with a quiet groan that the whole chaos was caused by the pediatric department nurse, Akari, chirping with her colleague Miwa; normally, you would listen to them talking — there was no better way to learn all the gossip that the hospital buzzed with like a beehive — but judging by another loud grumbling from your stomache, your organism wasn't the biggest fan of that idea.
As soon as you were about to yell "FIRE HAZARD!" (desperate times called for desperate measures), something caught Miwa's gaze, and she tugged Akari to the side, with a smile too wide, cheeks too flushed and a gaze too sparkly; you didn't even pay attention to the subtle glances they kept throwing at you, too busy with securing a place at the coffee machine.
Nothing, nothing, brought you more happiness and joy like the freshly made latte: your mouth watered at the thought of finally drinking the coffee and digging into the lunch after the 12-hour shift, when the quiet voice pulled you back to reality.
"Nice to see you, dove."
You turned so abruptly that the coffee from the cup almost spilt on your fiancé's jacket. The man quickly dropped his gaze before curling his lips in slight disgust.
"If you are going to drink coffee, then at least not from that disastrous machine."
Naoya took your cup and mindlessly put it somewhere on the table before you could even voice a protest. His hand rested on the small of your back — touch burning even through the coat — and pulled you closer. You briefly closed your eyes as his lips grazed your cheek, and the warm breath ghosted against it; you caught a faint smell of alcohol and forced a smile that looked more like a grimace to a knowing eye.
"Ah, darling, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to be busy all night today with your partners?" Your voice, that excessively saccharine tone, sounded like a chalkboard being scraped, but your fiancé's smile turned even sharper. You knew Naoya's nature.
"We finished earlier," he murmured with an indifferent shrug. His hand lazily played with one of the locks that managed to escape the ponytail, twirling the strand between the fingers before sharply tugging on it. "Dove, you need to look more presentable. What did I say about it?"
The protest died at the tip of your tongue, and you fought the snarky remark that almost spilt out of your lips, as Naoya examined you with his head tilted — a hunter watching his prey. Your cheeks already hurt from smiling.
"I remember, Naoya. Sorry about it."
His fingers came to pinch your chin, turning your face, so he could glance better at you. The surprising gentleness with which he tucked the lone strand behind your ear caught you off guard, but the cold, detached voice quickly brought you back to Earth.
"Fix it before dinner. I'll pick you up after your meeting. To celebrate the deal, just the two of us."
And just like that. Not asking. Just stating the obvious, as if you were one of the entries on his schedule to be ticked off.
You chewed on the inside of your cheek. God, all you wanted after that long ass shift was to run a bath and curl up under the blanket, rewatching "Friends" for the nth time, since your fiancé kindly informed you he was going to be busy. Honestly, you could've already tasted the greasy Big Mac on your tongue when all your plans went down the drain. The way Naoya's gaze narrowed as he waited for your response didn't give you much of a hope, so you just nodded, a smile too tight.
"Missing the celebration is mauvais ton, darling," a nasty nagging voice at the back of your mind, suspiciously sounding like your mother's, never failed to lose power over you: you straightened involuntarily and pushed your shoulders back, trying to ignore the very obvious strain in your neck.
"Of course, honey."
The corner of Naoya's mouth curled up with satisfaction as he leaned down to press a kiss on your cheek. Swallowing, you suppressed the urge to wipe it immediately.
"See you at 6."
When his figure finally disappeared from your sight, a tight knot in your chest finally seemed to loosen. You reached for the coffee that had long turned lukewarm, and downed it in one single gulp before hearing a string of stifled giggles and sighs. Hardly had you realised what was going on, when Akari appeared right by your side, a dreamy look on her face, and drawled, pointedly glancing at Miwa.
"Ah, Zenin-sama is so gallant and handsome! Checking up on you at work! Isn't it romantic, Miwa?"
Confusion flickered across your face as you slowly remembered that everyone in that hospital was practically enamoured with your future husband. "Zenin-sama asked me how my day was!" or "Zenin-sama complimented my make-up, do you think I should wear my eyeliner thicker?" and streams of fluttery you had to endure, which seemed to be truly endless due to his constant presence at the hospital. His family was a part of the board of shareholders. Or whatever it was.
His family. Soon to be your family too, right?
You never had it against the nurses or anyone at that point: Naoya, unfortunately, knew how to be charming and honed that skill long ago.
Blinking away confusion from your gaze, you attempted to laugh heartily and waved your hand. "That he is. I really don't deserve him."
Miwa only nudged your side slightly. "You're so lucky, Doc."
Your smile now resembled more of a scowl. "Thank you, Miwa."
As soon as Akari opened her mouth to sweet-talk Naoya even more, the God descended his mercy on you in the disguise of a beeping pager. You had never fished it out of your pockets as quickly as now.
"Whoopsie, gotta go, ladies!"
Nakai-san was clearly onto something while telling you about the flu in the Miyagi Prefecture, because a possible upcoming wave in Tokyo was one of the topics discussed at the meeting. Luckily, little Mao-chan only had a cold.
Meetings weren't your favourite part of the workday, that was for sure, but not the worst either. At least, you could pretend to fall asleep behind the broad back of Nanami, who, albeit all the grumbling, always shifted his chair to hide you. In turn, you shared a sourdough bread with him whenever you had a chance to bake it. You were lucky to have at least someone who didn't talk about Naoya all the time and was polite enough to hear your occasional rumblings, despite Naoya's words about you not being interesting. They glimmered in your mind like a warning sign all the time.
You lazily doodled in your notepad, stifling a yawn as the head of the department, Yaga, launched into his endless rambling about attracting new sponsors. You mentally checked out for your own sake.
Your pencil quickly darted over the page, aimlessly drawing something, until you noticed the casual sketches started to resemble one profile. Sharp jawline. Tufts of hair falling over the forehead. If only you could colour it white, somehow…
Wait.
What? No, who were you drawing?
You straightened in your seat so fast the poor notebook nearly fell from your lap, causing Nanami to turn around with a questioning look. You sent him a quick smile and quickly dropped your gaze back to the page.
Well, you weren't a modern-day da Vinci, but the resemblance was kind of uncanny. Certainly not that Bridgerton actor, whose face was everywhere in your timeline, and surely not your fiancé.
Tapping your pencil without any thought, you couldn't help but think about that man. Was it his height that immediately caught your attention? Lazy, confident grin tugging at his lips? Concern, hardening his gaze, when it came to his nephew? That goddamn blue gaze?
You didn't know, but everything about Gojo commanded your attention.
You didn't know why you were thinking about one of your patients' relatives when you were supposed to meet Naoya in a couple of hours.
The thought left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.
You closed the notebook with a quiet thud.
˙⋆✮
The sharp gust of wind tossed your hair in your face, causing you to curse under your breath. Glad, just what you wanted under fixing it for 10 minutes. Magnificent. Cold slowly crept up your figure, and you pulled your coat tighter, desperately wishing for a steaming cup of tea under the blanket. But, alas…
Tapping at your pockets for the phone to call your fiancé, you breathed out in frustration, "Where's the damn phone, I swear, I —"
You froze at your place as your hand reached for a small rectangular piece in the inner pocket. Certainly not the phone.
"I thought I threw all of them, huh…"
You knitted your brows in confusion, but nothing could hide a frantic little flip your heart did as your fingers lovingly traced the familiar "Lucky Strike."
Cherry-flavoured. Your favourite. Damn it!
A red logo brought back the unwanted memories with Naoya battling your so-called addiction. Or maybe not so-called. Residency had you working your fingers to the bone. Honestly, you didn't even remember much from that time, besides the never-ending exhaustion in your bones, four hours of sleep in two days (if the luck was on your side), as well as tons of caffeine. Not to mention Naoya's nagging. God forbid a girl had something to blow off steam.
Could've been something worse.
You thumped your feet to get a little warmer, finally calling Naoya after finding your phone in the depths of the bag. The third call, rolled directly to voicemail, had you angrily kicking a random stone, and the sight of your almost numb fingers almost made you rush back to the hospital. You nervously flicked the cigarette pack until your patience finally snapped.
After carefully looking around for a possible sight of Naoya's sleek Porsche and making sure no one was in sight, you snuck a glance at the smoking corner and slipped inside. Opening the pack, you almost huffed a disbelieving chuckle. One thing left. Nothing was harmful in indulging in your little rebellion act, wasn't it?
In the end, you had certainly smelled a faint scent of whiskey coming from Naoya earlier. You hated drunk people and made it abundantly clear to him.
"Well, isn't it a sign from heaven?" you mumbled under your breath, tucking the lone cig, which might've felt like an oasis for a traveller in the desert, between your lips. Mouth almost watering at the taste, you frantically searched for a lighter, only to groan in frustration. Of course. Of-fucking-course.
Your arms helplessly fell back to your sides as you tilted your head back to look at the darkening sky and sighed.
"God, why me? I am not your strongest soldier."
"Need a hand?"
The deep, smooth voice returned you to reality. You quickly turned around, pulling the cigarette out to hide it. Well, just in case.
Your heart stilled at the familiar sight of Gojo before picking up speed. What was he doing there? Did you daydream enough to imagine him or what?
His blue gaze lazily darted over your figure and landed on the poor cig tucked in your hand as he nodded towards it with an infuriating grin.
"Aren't you supposed to be the beacons of health or whatever?"
You gave him a quick, tired shrug and sighed inwardly. You were shivering, exhausted after the shift, probably stood up by your future husband, so embarrassing yourself in front of one of your patients' parents (with that sharp jawline and that ridiculously tall figure) was just a cherry on top.
Closing your eyes for a brief moment to compose yourself, you murmured a quick apology, "Sorry. I am not usually like that. Smoking, I mean."
Not alone and miserable.
His grin softened into something that sent shivers down your spine.
Might've been the wind.
"Relax, I am joking," Gojo stepped closer and tilted his head to further examine you. You tugged the coat tighter. "What, you often get lectured about it by some goody two-shoes?"
Your huff was so loud it might've reached the hospital backyard you used to hide. "You can't even imagine."
"Wasn't gonna. Anyway," Gojo tapped at the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled an old metallic lighter with a British flag on it. The corners of your lips twitched with a smile.
"Union Jack? Really? God save the King, send him — eh, sorry, don't remember much."
Gojo just rolled his eyes and pretended to put the only thing that might give much-needed joy and warmth away. "And here I thought you wanted to smoke. My apologies, Doc."
You absent-mindedly reached to grab his sleeve, but Gojo only lifted his hand higher. Damn his height.
"Give me the damn lighter."
"Say the magic word, Doc," he seemingly enjoyed taunting you.
An annoyingly smug grin that broke on his face not only sent your heart into a freefall but also urged you to wipe it off. You pressed your lips into a thin line. You were above this. Certainly. Calm, collected, and cool —
You stomped your feet together at another tug of wind and murmured begrudgingly.
"Please, give me the damn lighter."
"Ah, here you go. Wasn't that hard, was it?"
Sending Gojo a grimace with the damn cig hanging between your lips, you leaned closer. He didn't move; your gaze briefly flicked to his, and you arched your brow impatiently.
Gojo blinked a couple of times, his long eyelashes kissing his cheeks. He parted his lips, probably to say something, but only a lone, sharp exhale left his mouth. A vapour of cold air briefly dissolved in the space between you. The weather didn't show any signs of mercy, whipping harshly at your hair, and you didn't see the way Gojo's dropped to your lips for one brief moment.
Grumbling under your breath, you finally managed to harness the wind, "I swear I am gonna cut it off one day."
Gojo's breathy chuckle tickled your ear as he lit the cigarette up, but you were too focused on getting your nicotine fix or whatever. And certainly not the way his raspy murmur sent your heart thumping against your ribcage.
You shouldn't feel that way towards him. You shouldn't feel that way towards anyone: you were engaged, for Christ's sake!
Your ring was still hidden beneath your blouse, on a chain. Your phone was still dead silent. Your fiancé's car was still not even in sight.
Trembling fingers curling around the cig, you took the first drag. Deep and long, until it filled your lungs with the long-forgotten euphoria, and you slowly exhaled the smoke into the air.
Gojo wrinkled his nose for a brief moment. "Cherry?"
Blinking through the haze, you slowly dragged your gaze to land on his face and nodded.
"My favourite."
Maybe it was a game of light, your fuzzy mind or the magical moment of sharing a cigarette with a stranger (at least, technically), but the night and the smoke, curling between you, gave him some kind of grunge air. That leather jacket, mercilessly ruffled white hair, and the Union Jack on the lighter didn't make the situation better.
A dopey, slow grin broke on your face as you chuckled under your breath. Gojo immediately turned to your side, brushing away a few strands of his forehead, revealing the pale skin.
"You were saying?"
Shaking your head in response, you bounced on your heels. Childish, as Naoya would say.
You rocked back harder, smiling from ear to ear.
The nicotine mixed with adrenaline and the taste of rebellion blended into something dangerously light-hearted, and you finally decided to ask Gojo what the hell he was doing there at almost eight o'clock in the evening.
He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.
"We've forgotten something special for Megumi. Well, technically, I." Gojo's grimace made you chuckle and cough immediately after. Not a force of habit.
The way he heaved the last words, although in a tone undeniably light, made your brows furrow.
Flicking the ashes quietly, you decided not to press further. "I see." Then, you suddenly remembered about the so-called etiquette and offered Gojo to make a puff.
The man let out an amused snort and stepped back with his hands lifted in mock surrender as if you suggested robbing a bank. "Oh, no. Thank you, of course, but I don't smoke."
Your brows knitted in confusion. "Why do you have a lighter on you, then?"
"What, to flirt with girls like me this way, huh?" Your tired mind kindly offered you that incredible jab, but some part of you didn't want to hear Gojo admitting that, so you just took another long drag, probably the last one, given you could've almost seen the butt of the cig.
Ehh. You would remember those wonderful minutes forever.
"That's for my friend. She smokes like a chimney, so I am always prepared. Just in case."
"A friend, huh?" Despite your feigned nonchalance, something you didn't even want to name sheepishly peeked through the cracks, masked as an indifferent glance.
"Yep," popping a "p" in the word, Gojo studied you with his head tilted, casually taking in the way the poor cig hung between your lips, bright eyes, almost shimmering in the light of the lamp, pinkish hue on the apples of your cheeks, and your hair fanning over your face that you stubbornly kept moving out of the way.
Unconsciously, his lips curled into a smile softer than for the doctor, who would treat his nephew soon. Or an insanely pretty woman in the dark of the night with the dire need of a lighter.
You mirrored his move, stepping closer, until Gojo's gaze suddenly widened, and he nodded at the hospital behind you. You followed the direction of it, because, well, what else were you supposed to do?
"Actually, you might know her! She worked here. Ieiri, Shoko Ieri." When he didn't notice even an ounce of recognition in your eyes, he tried to describe the mysterious woman. "Short dark hair, big brown eyes, permanent eye bags."
"Oh, yeah," your dry sarcasm only earned Gojo's flat gaze. "Very distinctive feature for a doctor."
Shoulders dropping, he tried to call to your memory for the last time, drawling hesitantly, "A couple of years ago? A surgeon resident? Oh! She also had this lighter!"
His last words had finally stirred some remnants of memories within your tired mind, because yes, you indeed shared a few cigarettes with a girl who had cracked a lot of jokes about her British lighter. She was very easy to talk to: didn't ask unnecessary questions but often offered her shoulder to vent in a cramped space. But as a lot of things in adulthood were, she became a vague figure in your memories, having finished her residency. Some bitterness settled in your chest as you recalled the shared moments between the smoke in the hidden hospital yard.
"Yeah. I remember now. How's she now?" You gave Gojo a quick, thin smile around the edges. His eyes narrowed as he observed the way it didn't reach your eyes, and he just shrugged in response.
"She's good! Well, as good as an overworked surgeon can be."
You bit back a chuckle, but your grin turned undeniably warmer. "Say hello to Ieiri from me. If she remembers me, of course."
"Sure will do."
Silence settled between you, interrupted only by occasional honks from the cars nearby and busy people hurrying to the nearby bus or subway stations to get home. Cook dinner, watch an episode from their favourite show, feed a cat. An ordinary life. Yet, somehow, still unreachable for you.
At least, they were looking forward to it.
You squished the cigarette butt in the nearby ashtray with more force than necessary. Gojo didn't comment on it; instead, he stepped closer and murmured in a quieter tone.
"Are you waiting for someone? If not, I can drive you home. It's getting darker and colder, you know. Not the best place to spend your evening."
For some long, unnecessarily long moment, you wished there was actually no one you were waiting for. Because, among all other things, Gojo was right.
He might've interpreted your silence in another way, because his tone turned slightly apologetic, and he offered you a quick grin. "No advances. Don't worry."
You bit your lip not to have some stupid, almost daring "What if I wanted it to be?" slip, instead settling on a half-truth.
"Ah, no, that's completely okay! I am waiting for my friend! She's just recently got her license, so, you know," you chirped gleefully, maybe too gleefully, because Gojo slightly arched his eyebrow, "still navigating through the streets. Extra careful."
Your rambling still had Gojo staring suspiciously; however, he didn't have another choice but to believe you. Curtly nodding, he stepped outside the smoking booth and offered you a wave.
"Okay then. See you tomorrow, Doc."
"Yeah. Bye."
Seeing his tall figure retreating, long legs striding easily, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, something gnawed at the back of your throat with an unexplainable urge to see him again.
Your chest expanded with a shaky exhale before you gave in to the urge.
"Hey, Gojo!"
He stilled for a moment and turned almost immediately.
"Yeah?"
Swallowing nervously, you remembered the way Gojo's smile looked tighter once he spoke about Megumi.
"Don't worry about Megumi-kun. I'll make sure he will be alright! We are not slacking off there," you nodded towards the hospital with a light grin.
Gojo blinked in response — he couldn't say that your words didn't catch him off guard, but a warm feeling that bloomed in his chest was undeniable.
"I know you're the best, Doc."
Now it was your turn to wave back. You followed Gojo's figure as he walked into the hospital and finally made your way out of the booth. Just in time: you unblocked your phone to call for Uber, when Naoya's name appeared on your screen, and the ringtone cut through the peaceful silence. Your grip on the phone tightened.
Taking a few deep breaths, you finally pressed the green button, bracing yourself for inevitable grumbling from Naoya — he hated it when you answered him after three beeps.
"Yes, darling?"
"I've called you two times already," Naoya's voice sounded pretty flat, but you knew him long enough to pick up the undercurrents of rising irritation. "Why aren't you answering?"
Immediately, you cast your gaze down, as if his mere tone were enough to loom like a shadow over you. Scrambling to find a suitable explanation, you just heaved out a small "sorry."
He only huffed something unintelligible in response before speaking matter-of-factly, his tone laced with cold indifference.
"Don't ever do that again."
"I won't. Promise."
"I know you won't. You are a nice little dove, after all." The indifference in Naoya's voice gave in to the slight irony. You kept silent, unsure whether it was the right time to quip in, so he just ended the call. "I am gonna be at your hospital in 5 minutes."
Exhaling slowly, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders, you put the phone back in your coat and rummaged through the inner pockets to find some sweets — one of the things that came with being a paediatrician was the endless supply of sweets in all your clothes — so you could mask the scent of cigarettes.
You almost popped a peppery mint candy in before…throwing it in your bag. A sudden, stubborn thought that might cause you a massive problem later — but at that fleeting moment, you didn't want to care.
The headlights of the familiar Porsche cast sharp beams on the road exactly five minutes later — talk about punctuality, huh? — and you stepped closer, shoulders pushed back in a routine stance, plastering a smile that your future husband would hopefully buy as loving and charming.
Naoya stopped bothering to open a door for you long ago; instead, he slightly pushed it ajar. Slipping in, you wondered if Gojo held the door open for you, would you take on his offer?
The same suffocating smell of cardamom mixed with a heavy scent of leather washed over you immediately as Naoya leaned over to press a kiss on your cheek. You briefly scrunched your nose in dislike, thinking whether it was a universal thing for men to have a horrible taste for perfumes.
Was Gojo one of them as well?
You bit your lip. Why on Earth were you thinking about another man, sitting in your fiancé's car, who seemingly grew more annoyed with each second as you ignored him?
"Dove, do you hear me at all?"
"Huh?"
Naoya had long started the car, and the engine came to life with a gentle purr, ready to hit the road. Your lack of attention had him pressing his lips in a thin line.
"I don't like it when you're dismissive like that."
You kept your gaze on the road ahead, not sure whether you were allowed to answer. But as the nauseous scent of amber and moss hit your nostrils again, you had no choice but to begrudgingly turn to Naoya.
"What's got into you today, huh?" His brown eyes sharply pierced into you, scanning all over, until he caught a whiff of a cigarette. A bitter cherry that used to linger on your form as a perfume.
Naoya's gaze dangerously narrowed as his hand cupped your cheek. No love. No gentleness. Rather, a subtle possessiveness. Or not even subtle.
"Have you smoked again, sweetheart?" Though his voice dropped to a whisper, you didn't let yourself be fooled — Naoya was seething inside. Your silence grated on his nerves, and he sharply tugged you forward till his breath filled your lungs.
Your heart beat like a caged bird inside your ribs. The insecurities in the back of your head reared their heads to talk you out of disobeying Naoya, but the momentary sense of rebellion from a thing that he was so adamant on prohibiting — like you were a lap dog or anything — had you stubbornly raise your chin. Or maybe it was some sort of adrenaline kicking in.
"No. I was just standing in the smoking corner, talking to a colleague."
Naoya tilted his head slowly, studying your face as if even the most minuscule expressions could give you away. Your blood roared in your ears so loud that it muted the voices of the insecurities. Breath bated, you forced yourself to keep your gaze steady until he finally offered you a curt nod and leaned back in his seat with a dismissive huff.
Discreetly massaging your chin from his grip, you immediately cast your gaze down to hide the relief flooding it.
"I hope you're telling the truth, dove. Otherwise, I would be greatly upset."
"Of course, darling. Why wouldn't I?" The lie tasted heavy on your lips, curled up in a forced smile — the one you had long mastered. Still slightly shaking, you clasped your hands on your lap.
"I hope it wasn't one of those nurses. Miwa, or whatever her name is," his lips quickly curved in a sharp scowl. You were well aware that beneath a handsome facade, Naoya hid acid bitterness.
"I knew something was wrong with her, and of course, it had to be something like it." The car finally rolled on the road, and you rested your head on the window, watching lazily the streets passing in a blur. "Doesn't she know men don't like kissing ashtrays? Nothing new, huh. Women's logic. "
That raised the flood of irritation in you, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek so as not to burst with anger. Though you briefly considered telling that no, it was a man, you internally winced at an inevitable round of investigation and the bursts of jealousy, and decided to leave it as it was.
You threw him a glance, trying to keep the annoyance at bay. "I am a woman too, Naoya."
"Oh, of that I am well-aware". Your eyes briefly met in the rearview mirror, the boredom and barely concealed disdain lurking behind his gaze, before your future husband attempted to joke. "You never fail to remind me of that."
Whatever that was supposed to mean. You decided not to dignify it with a response.
"But it would be better if you didn't talk much to her. You never know what ideas might be in a pretty head like hers. God forbid, if she's one of these feminists," he spat the last word as if it alone had personally offended him — and, probably, it had, at some point. You sincerely hoped he wouldn't delve into the same old "What rights do these women want, huh? Aren't we already living in a matriarchy? I am saying that men are oppressed now", but he settled on telling you about his day, so you were spared that evening.
You hummed in the right places as Naoya proceeded to talk your ear off. Eventually, seeing that his mood had gradually improved, you forced a weak smile.
"Darling, I have been waiting for you longer than you asked. Not like I mind!" You hastily added, seeing a deep frown crossing his face. He slowly turned to you, and the sharpness of his gaze cut you like a blade. "But the last time it happened, you said you would let me know and —"
"Where is your ring?"
You blinked, distracted. "Huh?"
Naoya closed his eyes for a moment — probably counting to ten, not to unleash at you for your stupidity — and as he opened them, the anger brewing stripped you of any words and any confidence. That goddamn cigarette now felt stupid and so childish.
How could you ever think you had some power yourself?
"Your ring. Where is it?" He clicked his tongue in irritation as you sluggishly unbuttoned your coat and reached for the chain under the blouse just to show it.
"You know I put it there, so I wouldn't lose it. You know how forgetful I am," you offered a deprecating joke, hoping for Naoya's relentment. He kept silent for so long that your pulse roared in your head.
Finally, he decided to spare you. The next gritted words felt more like indulgence.
"Put it back."
"But I —"
"Now."
Like a cold stream, that drowned any ounce of protest you had. The clasp kept stubbornly evading your clumsy fingers, but in the end, you managed to do what he said.
"That's better," Naoya gave you a short nod. You weren't sure you were allowed to talk, so you just stared at him with a blank look, despite the growing heat in your veins.
"But we have to do something with your forgetfulness. I strictly told you that I would pick you up at 8 p.m. Maybe it's your work. Aw, my poor dove," he sighed in exaggeration and tilted his head in mock sympathy, "It's just before the wedding. Working at the hospital is not suitable for Madame Zenin."
Your work — Naoya's stumbling block — had been a silent guest at all your dinners, whose presence loomed over you like an unsettling shadow; a bitter aftertaste after family meetings, where pretentiously dressed vultures chirped their concerns; a thought, persistent as an annoying fly, that kept creeping between the cracks of your relationship. And a quiet witness to all the times you bled after Naoya's heartless words took you apart with the precision of a devious surgeon — he had truly sharpened the blade of his conceit and vanity to cut into the vulnerability of yours.
Perhaps moulding you into an obedient wife, a docile spouse, and a future devoted mother, someone who wordlessly walked three steps behind him and kept her head bowed — perfect you, erase any flaw that made you you — was Naoya's twisted way of showing his love to you.
If there was any of it left.
Your eyelashes fluttered as you closed your eyes, too exhausted; Naoya's voice carried on as if nothing had happened. As if your presence were a suitable background to the triumph of his day.
"I booked a table in my favourite restaurant. Ah, can't wait to have their lobsters. Oh, maybe we could try otoru tuna today? Or hirame? What do you think, honey? It is a special occasion, after all. Not every day I close deals like these."
You didn't even bother to remind Naoya — not like he actually listened to you — that you didn't even like fish. That all you wanted after that long day was to get somewhere, just not home.
"Sure, honey."
˙⋆✮
Your pager seemed relentless the next day, beeping every five minutes, if not more often. Hardly had you made your way to check on the patients in the day hospital when a sudden message almost startled you.
"Callback NOW re: head CT for Inumaki, Toge, x3452."
Your heart almost jumped out of your chest, and you hastily handed the clipboard with the patient's data to Nobara, who followed your retreating figure with eyes slightly widened.
"What's that, Doc?"
"Brain haemorrhage or even aneurysm, going to the PICU," briefly giving Nobara a glance over your shoulder, you tapped on the elevator button, mind already racing with all possible outcomes. The scan was clean just yesterday!
You barely managed to squeeze into the elevator, which reminded you of a can packed with sardines, albeit the sardines were doctors and nurses — no wonder, it was always that way in the early mornings, and you sincerely hoped no one would attempt to small-talk with you.
The universe seemed to have something against you, since on the next floor, the elevator beeped as its doors opened, revealing the head of the surgery department, Gakuganji-san, as old as time itself. Rumour had it that he witnessed the building of that hospital himself. Some days, you tended to believe that was true.
You wormed your way back into the crowd and closed your eyes in an attempt to merge with the wall: for some reason, Gakuganji seemed fond of you. Maybe you resembled his granddaughter, who knew. Usually, you indulged in the old man's antics, but today wasn't that day. That damn page kept wailing at the back of your mind. Worry crept under your skin like a pervasive itch; mindlessly, your hand flew to scratch your arm. An old habit.
"Ah, my lovely girl." The crowd quickly parted before Gakuganji, and the squeaky voice beside you eventually pulled you back to reality. Despite your growing anxiety, you managed to offer a polite smile.
"Gakuganji-san! It's nice to see you all healthy and striving. You're gonna outlive all of us at that point!"
The old man slowly shook his head as some screechy sounds that you suspected to be laughter left his mouth.
"You're all sleeping and seeing it, huh? Not today, though. Someone has to put these young rascals of residents in their place! The sheer audacity." Ah, good ol' "it used to be better" talk. Couldn't say you missed it.
Giving Gakuganji-san curt nods, you hummed between the pauses of his rambling. Your pager went off again, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, the elevator beeped at your floor.
"It was nice to see you, Gakuganji-san!" you managed to mutter through the noise of the crowd, only to see that the old man had already found a new victim. Huffing under your breath, you successfully made your way out.
Expectedly, the pediatric intensive care unit buzzed with noise. The sterile scent of an antiseptic clung to your skin like a perfume, the concern of worried parents lingered in the air, and the doctors' barking orders filled the corridor as you beelined to the reception desk. Slightly out of breath, you pulled the mask off your face; your voice came in an urgent command.
"Yorozu, I've got your page. What's wrong with Inumaki's scan?"
Yorozu slowly dragged her tired gaze from the papers she was filling in and loudly popped a bubblegum to lazily drawl.
"What page?"
You clicked your tongue in irritation and fished your pager to show it in her face. "That one."
Her eyes scanned the screen, dare you say, at the snail's pace, before her shoulders dropped in a lazy shrug.
"Ah, this. We have a duplicate order for this head CT. You have to discontinue a new order, so we won't mix them. You know the rules."
Briefly closing your eyes, you attempted to recall the breathing exercises to calm down. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in —
Ah, fuck it.
"Yorozu." The anger in your voice caught the nurse's attention as you gritted your teeth and tapped your finger on her files in accusation. She blinked at you, mastering the most innocent expression possible. "You should fucking learn the proper pager etiquette. I am not gonna run like an idiot every time you pull a shit like that. Am I clear?"
Yorozu's eyes widened at your irritation, and she quickly nodded, not as sluggish as before. You probably were in for another lecture from Yaga about formal communication in the hospital setting, because Yorozu clearly had some grudge against you.
"And stop chewing the gum, for God's sake. This is a hospital and not a club." You turned on your heels and couldn't help but throw that off-handed comment. Rude? Maybe.
She threw you the last offended gaze before smacking the gum in the trash bin and mumbled under her breath, "What a bitch."
Fuck her twice.
"I think I might have a brain bleed now," a murmur left you as you hurried back to the elevator, mentally running throught the list of things to do: discontinue the duplicate order for the scan, check the saturation of a kid that was admitted just in the morning, and confirm the amoxicillin dose —
SLAM!
The impact of your bump into one's chest — a sturdy one, you might say — forced you to step back.
"Oh, I am sorry, I didn't see you— Gojo?"
"Hello to you too, Doc." His hands immediately flew to stabilise you; the warmth from them seemed to seep even through your uniform. Your heart skipped a beat as you lifted your head to see Gojo peering down at you, his shades perched on the bridge of his nose. "You okay?"
Blinking to gather your bearings, you eventually stepped away with a quick smile. He towered over you with an effortless grace and seemed to occupy all the space around you with his impossible height. The simple black slacks made his legs even longer, and the white dress shirt did nothing to hide the broadness of his shoulders. Your eyes involuntarily drifted to the smooth expanse of his skin with the roadmap of veins, as the shirt's sleeves were rolled up. They slowly climbed higher past the toned arm to the set of the collarbones, peeking out of the sinfully unbuttoned collar. Even a glimpse of them felt shamelessly sinful in the confines of the corridor.
Then your gazes finally met again — unobscured now, as Gojo's glasses rested on top of his fluffy white hair — and the apologetic mirth in them caught you even more off guard.
Clearing your throat, you rolled your shoulders to gain some confidence.
"Ah, yeah. I am good. Sorry for bumping into you. What are you doing here?"
"It's okay. You, doctors, are always busy." Gojo gave you a casual shrug, and a lazy grin tugged at the corner of his lips. You dropped your gaze, not to gawk, only to see Megumi holding Gojo's hand. The boy's fingers twitched in the begrudging hold, and his face was laced with boredom, but the moment your eyes met, a light pink dusted his cheeks.
"Hello, Doctor."
"Hello, Megumi-kun," you smiled at the boy and leaned a bit so as not to loom menacingly over the kid. You figured he wasn't the one who would like it. "How do you feel tonight?"
Megumi blinked and shot a quick, unreadable glance up at his uncle, whose grin grew even wider. Damn. The kid was a tough nut to crack. Gojo lightly nudged his nephew to answer.
"Aw, Megumi, don't be shy."
A light frown flickered on the boy's face as he shrugged. "Better now."
"I see. That's good then! Mind telling me what you are doing here?"
Megumi's communication window seemed to close up as he dropped his gaze to examine the floor, and Gojo sighed, his broad shoulders rising in a shrug.
"Don't mind it. He's still under the weather. We were going to his room, but then Megumi said he wanted those dinosaur-shaped crackers and — "
"I didn't say that!" Megumi immediately interfered, and Gojo frowned down at him.
"But you totally did! You ate two packs yesterday after the hospital. One that was Tsumiki's, by the way." At your questionable look, Gojo explained quickly, "That's his older sister. My niece."
Megumi gave him a flat look (that looked pretty impressive for a five-year-old) and briefly glanced up at you before mumbling, "Whatever."
The corners of your mouth twitched with a warm smile.
"Great!" A strange kind of nervousness engulfed you every time Gojo's bright, sharp gaze landed on you, and twisted your tone into a high-pitched cadence that grated on your nerves like a piece of chalk on the board. You wondered if Gojo had noticed as well, or if it was just your hypervigilance. "I'll walk you then!"
Gojo's eyes narrowed with unease for a moment as he examined you, before a polite calm rolled back into their blue. He gestured towards the elevator with exaggerated grandeur and a boyish grin on his face. "As you say, ma'am."
You huffed a chuckle. Megumi rolled his eyes, but obediently dragged his little feet to the elevator as well. Pressing a button, you noticed that Gojo kept sneaking glances at the boy, and sent you a knowing wink as your eyes met, before playfully drawling, "Unless someone really wants these crunchy yummy dinosaur-shaped crackers that are waiting for us in that precious vending machine —"
Megumi's face went from bored to hesitant in a matter of seconds, and he finally grumbled reluctantly, "Okay."
And then — as he briefly looked up at you — a quiet, "They are really good."
Your pager persistently chirped again, urging you to hurry up to your floor, but you really couldn't tear your gaze away from Gojo, who teasefully bantered with his nephew near the damn vending machine. Something about his relaxed posture, that confident stride, the lazy grin, and, most importantly, the concern in his gaze, that dangerously started melting into thinly veiled tenderness, called — no, demanded your attention.
When he finally stood beside you — effortlessly filling all the cramped space in the elevator — you remembered the deep laugh that cut through your loneliness yesterday. The flick of the lighter that lit your darkness up. The eyes, as blue as the crystal clear sea, that welcomed you in its waves.
And then the acidness of your future husband's remarks, adding another drop of venom in your poisoned mind. The scent of his perfume that churned your insides into something bitter, something stinging. The weight of his palm on the small of your back that lingered like a print you couldn't get rid of. Probably never would.
Luckily, the previous pages could be answered straight away, and you quickly typed the answers to the radiology department and the day hospital, until Gojo's smooth voice distracted you.
"Did you get home safe yesterday?"
Your thumbs hovered over the last message — discharging orders for the little patient — as you blinked in surprise and glanced up at Gojo.
"Huh?"
"It was pretty dark yesterday," he stole a T-Rex-shaped cracker from Megumi's pack, earning the boy's scowl, and popped it in his mouth without any care. "Did your friend pick you up?"
Parting your lips, you felt completely dumbfounded. What friend was Gojo talking about? You had been waiting for Naoya that entire evening, and —
Oh. Oh.
Offering a forced grin — too strained around the edges — you quickly nodded, "Ah. Yeah. Of course. She…she was busy, and — you know," a nervous shrug, "I was late but safe. Thanks for asking!"
The weight of your lies settled at your chest as heavy as your engagement ring under the uniform. Your hand mindlessly climbed upward and gingerly brushed against your neck and the golden chain. The ring, the chain — was there any difference to keep you in place?
Gojo didn't dare disrupt the atmosphere in the elevator, but your absent-minded fidgeting caught his eye, as well as the sudden hollowness in your gaze. Where did that girl with a sharp tongue and a bright gaze disappear? His brows furrowed for a moment: was it because you were at work now? Was it him mentioning yesterday that shook you up so much? Your friend?
His hand, which leisurely rested on Megumi's shoulders, tightened imperceptibly. Despite the growing worry, he attempted to soothe the atmosphere.
"You changed your blouse? Pink really suits you."
If you were shocked by his attention earlier, now you were truly stunned. The heat flared up your cheeks, but your brain already scrambled for a usual downplayed explanation.
"Uh, it's nothing! Laundry day."
"Still," his grin was as persistent as the weight in his voice. "You look nice."
Astounded, you stared up at him until the beep of the elevator finally announced the end of the ride, jerking you both out of that strange conversation. Megumi kept chewing.
At your department, things went pretty smoothly, despite Miwa's staring at Gojo with hearts in her eyes.
You couldn't blame her, honestly; you were pretty sure that he would appear as a new potential heartthrob in the hospital's gossipy chronicles. Lucky you. From your future husband to the man who sent your pulse racing.
You couldn't help but wonder about the last conversation with Gojo, his words and a casual compliment.
"He was just being polite," you kept reminding yourself while filling papers for Megumi, though a desperate wish for them to be true, hidden in the deepest corner of your heart, betrayed your actual thoughts.
Your gaze lingered on the neatly typed "Gojo Satoru" in the line dedicated to a parent of a patient (a guardian, in that case) for more seconds than needed, but you couldn't help yourself.
The emerald of your ring caught the light as you took it out to remind you that you were engaged, for God's sake. The thought of other men shouldn't even cross your mind, let alone smiling at their jokes and basking in their compliments.
You were a bad person.
Maybe Naoya was right. Maybe his love was the only way to carve treacherous thoughts out of you.
˙⋆✮
You glanced at your reflection, and the woman with the loneliness carved into her like a mask stared back. The woman carefully brushed along the ornate emeralds in the golden frame — Naoya's apology for a missed anniversary, wrapped in earrings.
Then the reflection's hand swept over his reluctant excuse for another disgrace, that time veiled in the golden chain around your neck. And the last — the symbol of his undying love for you — stayed put on your ring finger. Another gold. Another emerald in the same cut. Another burden for you to carry. The colour of his hair. The colour of his clan. Branding, marking you as another item in a collection.
The woman in the mirror blinked at you, her eyes carefully examining your form. The exhaustion in her eyes changed into a barely concealed mirth as her gaze travelled down to your little act of rebellion — an anklet.
A silver anklet.
Who were you turning into? Firstly, a lone Lucky Strike cig. Then this. What next?
You didn't even spare a glance as the door quietly creaked, letting Naoya inside. The Persian carpet easily swallowed the sounds of his steps; you flinched a bit as he announced himself behind you with a heavy thud. Your hands travelled down the silk of the expensive dress, smoothing the fabric, and your eyes met Naoya's in the mirror with a slight dare, carefully masked as expectation.
"Are you really going to wear this, dove?"
The third strike.
"Yes," his eyes swept across the line of your shoulders as they raised in a slow shrug. You carefully turned a little, slowly dragging your gaze up to Naoya's face. "Is something wrong?"
Tilting his head slightly, he assessed you again.
"What, why?" The fake concern in his voice was too much even for Naoya. "Unless you want to catch the attention of everyone at the dinner."
"In what way?" Your voice inevitably cracked at the last syllable, no matter how hard you tried to stand your ground.
Naoya's hand brushed across the silk of your short sleeve and drifted downwards to rest on the curve of your hip.
The cruelty that hooked into the corner of his mouth had told you everything before his lips even parted. "Up to you." A light kiss on your nape followed his words.
You closed your eyes in defeat before opening them again and letting the assessing gaze travel over the reflection in the mirror, nitpicking every detail. Was it the dress? Was it the hairstyle? Was it the makeup? The jewellery? The arms that peeked out of the sleeves?
Or was it just…you?
Your confidence was thrown to the ground, buried beneath the silk of Naoya's pretend concern.
The woman in the mirror was tugging on the hem of the dress, her fingers trembling and her hold wavering. The insecurities in her eyes dimmed the sparkle of bravery.
Naoya slowly stepped back, lazily walked to the chair, and carelessly threw his legs over the piano — the loud sound of keys coming to life in a disorganised mess startled you — pouring a glass of whiskey to watch you in front of the mirror. As if he were dressing a doll.
"Should I change?" your voice came quietly. Hesitantly. The gold on your frame seemed strained by the ugliness you bore; the hideosity you hid muddied the emeralds.
"As you wish, dove."
Dove. The usual petname didn't mend any damage Naoya had already caused; instead, you felt as if the sharp blade of his words cut your wings.
You hastily shook the dress off your trembling frame. Naoya's satisfied gaze was your only reward.
The rest of the dinner went as miserably as dressing up.
Naoya escorted you to the Zenin Estate with the same courtesy that might've been saved for a chopping block.
Firstly, the excited sparkle of being welcomed in your boyfriend's house shimmered brightly within you. Then, it ignited into a radiant desire to earn at least something besides sharp glances and fake disdainful smiles. Lastly, the resentment doused the bitter flames.
The soot of boredom clogged your throat ever since.
Roaming the opulent floors of the hall with your fiancé's hand on your waistline like a stamp, you felt no more like a souvenir on his arm. A doll whose dress was carefully picked, hair curled and a smile plastered alongside an unblinking gaze. Only to be put back on the shelf.
Again. Again. And again.
You had long lost count of the fake, well-rehearsed "That's so great's" and "We're so happy for you's" that slipped out of your mouth between the expectant glances of guests. However, the moment your smile turned a tad tighter, and the tilt of your head resembled more of a mockery than an interest, Naoya's fingers dug harder in the small of your back. Your spine would straighten just after that.
The doll whose joints had been pulled on.
"Aren't you having a little bit too much fun out there, hm?"
Naoya's voice found you in one of the corners near the balcony, just where the bright light of the flashy chandelier didn't reach. A sudden thought that the amber gemstones were fake — you remembered Naoya's grumbling about a scammer — made you snort in a flute of champagne.
Naoya's eyes dangerously narrowed. He looked around to make sure the guests were too busy pretending to enjoy each other's company and sharply tugged you by the elbow.
"I think you might have enough, little dove." His tensed whisper dripped with venom, while the print of his fingers carved into your skin with no care at all. "You don't want to embarrass us, do you?"
Your fingers twitched around the delicate stem of the glass. Something sharp and painful curled up in your chest, urging you to retreat into your shell like a turtle, but the alcohol in your blood gave you an unexpected boldness.
"Us? Or just you?"
His muddy eyes widened with shock at your disobedience and then narrowed with something resembling humiliation. The strange feeling — though entirely pleasant — coursed through your veins and exploded in your hazy mind like a small firework at his reaction.
"Don't forget yourself, honey," Naoya's whiskey breath fanned over your ear as his hand climbed down to the dip of your waist. The weight of it felt so heavy it might've stripped you of any breath. "Or I will have to remind you, then."
Your smile faltered slightly before completely vanishing into the void that your soul was.
"And clearly you've had enough of it," Naoya swiftly took your flute and curled his lips in disdain after taking a sip. "Gods, what a dog's piss. No wonder you, women, act so pissy after it."
The drunk, ugly laugh left his lips. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and ask him how he knew its taste, but you swallowed all your words.
"Gojo didn't look like a man who would joke about it," a sudden thought — totally unwelcome and totally intrusive — rooted you to your spot.
He probably would offer polite nods and interesting glances. His hand would set your being ablaze even through the dress, and his fingers would bring you a myriad of sparkles as they brushed along your arm as he would take your glass away with a charming grin.
Goosebumps erupted on your skin at the mere image, and a harsh breath left you.
It was a champagne. Of course it was! That or you just watched too much of the "Bridgertons."
Albeit you weren't a pretty lady, and Gojo wasn't a viscount to save you.
"Naoya-san, I am so glad to meet you here!" A high-pitched, too sweet in its tone voice, roughly jerked you back to reality. A tight smile made its way back on your face as your hand slotted back into the crook of your fiancé's elbow.
The old lady with an obnoxious feather boa — it took all your politeness and the remnants of your sober mind not to let your eyebrows raise — chirped joyously to Naoya. You noticed with satisfaction that he was stunned as well — that might've been the only thing you got to share that night.
After a little while, the lady finally decided to turn to you, and the sharp assessing look immediately crossed her face as she eyed you down.
That time you couldn't help yourself and gave her a slight arch of your brow. Did you spit in her soup or what? Stole a respectable, influential man just under her daughter's nose?
If she only knew. All that glittered was not gold.
"And you, my darling, — ''
Were you?
" — Naoya-san mentioned you still work," she said, and the last word sounded shocked and even slightly offended — as if the mere possibility of a woman and the future Madame Zenin actually doing something had startled her. "What are you doing?"
Before Naoya's hand would dig a warning into your skin, you heard yourself answering, "Oh, I am a doctor. Working with kids."
"A doctor?" the lady repeated incredulously with her grey thin eyebrows soaring up to her hairline. The lady's gaze involuntarily flickered to Naoya, gauging his reaction, and as she got none, her eyelashes fluttered. "Isn't it a bit tiresome for a pretty thing like you, my darling?"
You could visibly feel the waves of Naoya's irritation rolling around the sea of people, and waived your hand with a loud laugh, "Oh no, no at all! I find it pretty fun, actually."
Naoya's fingers twitched on your skin, and you cut yourself off with a sharp exhale.
"Naoya lets me work before the wedding." Your grin turned sharper. "He's really the sweetest!"
Lifting your head to look at his face, you noticed the muscle in his jaw jump in barely concealed irritation. The heat of panic surged through you at the alarming speed and settled heavily in your chest. You tried to reassess every interaction, every glance and twitch of your lips. What did you do wrong?
You swallowed with effort. Maybe you had pushed it too far that time.
When the lady left, you watched Naoya's face for any clue that might've given away his true feelings.
He gave you none besides the last dismissive glance and the cruel nod, "We're leaving."
"I don't —," his gaze immediately silenced you. "Yes, darling."
Heels hastily clicking on the marble, your grip on the purse tightening, the fabric of the dress slightly bunching in your hand, you hurried to catch your future husband up.
He didn't spare you so much of a glance on the way home. Sitting in the backseat, sipping on another glass of whiskey and keeping his eyes on the blur of motions behind the windows.
You kept your hands on your lap and tried to blend into the seats as much as possible, not to provoke Naoya further. But the anxiety that had been quietly bubbling within you all the evening finally surged through the lid, churning your insides into a twisted knot and clawing at the back of your throat. The suspicious lump started forming in it, and you swallowed with effort, blinking away your tears.
Naoya hated when you cried.
"Will you tell me what I have done wrong?"
Your quiet voice cut through the silence of the car, nauseating to the point that it became unbearable. The panic that rattled your body was on the other tip of the scales, and your choice was obvious.
Naoya slowly turned his gaze, unblinking. Narrowed his eyes as if assessing whether you were ready for the mercy of his revelation.
"Please," your voice dipped into a desperate whisper. "Just tell me."
After what felt like an eternity, Naoya finally released a dismissive huff, "You humiliated me."
You sat completely still. Licked your lips and breathed out hastily.
"I didn't mean to, really, it was just silly women's talk, you know that!"
His tone dropped to something dangerous, laced with intent to inject his anger into you even more.
"Doesn't matter. That old hag can't hold her tongue for her life, and then would blab around, so now everyone will know the future Zenin-sama can't even keep in check his future wife," the disdain in his voice smacked your face with a hot wave of humiliation, "not talking about business."
"Naoya, I am really sorry. I didn't think, I — " You watched the grim taking over his face and judging by the twitch of his eye, he was close to snapping, so you quickly scrambled for an answer. "I can send her a card! Or, or — invite her to the dinner and tell her she didn't understand it right!"
The moment your words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them.
Naoya put the whiskey glass with such a force that it had you flinching and looking at the driver to gauge his reaction. Luckily, the partition did its thing.
Anxiety coursed through your veins, akin to blood and settled in your bones with an unshakable cold, as Naoya tugged on your dress to yank you sharply forward.
"Don't you fucking dare," he gritted through his teeth. "Do you hear me? Haven't I done enough for you? Letting you —," pressing his lips into a thin line, Naoya spat another venom, "slacking around that shitty hospital of yours. The least you could do was to be grateful for it. But no."
He leaned back and angrily hooked the thumb in to loosen the bow tie — which was usually your job — and it fell another victim to his growing irritation.
The hot waves of humiliation commanded you to keep your head bowed. You bit on the inside of your cheek not to let tears and any protest spill; instead, you took a deep breath and looked up with a smile so strained it felt like the last pleading to an executioner.
"I just didn't think. I guess it was champagne. I am so sorry, Naoya."
Your begging look might've softened something in his brown gaze — or that was a game of light — but the hand that slowly reached to cup your face was surprisingly gentle. Just like a deer under the flashlights, you stilled and released a soft breath.
"Ah, my pretty dove. Have I scared you?"
The smile on your face faltered but then stretched into something similar to a mask as you forced it.
His gaze, glossed with the alcohol, wandered over your face. Deliberately observant. And after a few seconds, Naoya's lips finally grazed your forehead.
You weren't completely sure whether the storm between you had settled, but you were more than lucky to grasp for any zephyr of calm.
Lying under the lavish canopy of your bed, you let your mind wander.
Was it always like that with Naoya?
When was the exact moment his tender kisses began to feel more like silent claimings? When did his loving arms become dismissive brushes? When did the affection in his gaze give way to disdain? When his fingers, which used to silently trace your skin, curled around your wrists like chains? When did the tender words turn into poisoned arrows he shot at you?
When did sharing your life with him start to mean denying your own? And when his love slowly shaped you into someone you failed to recognise more and more with every passing day?
What would happen when the waves of his suffocating love would erase every evidence of you?
Would they swallow you whole or crash into cliffs?
The next morning met you with an enormous bouquet of roses, resting just near your bed. Alongside was the card that simply read, "That distressed look doesn't suit you, dove. The flowers might cheer you up."
The giant beast that had your heart in its claws reluctantly released its grip, allowing you a short breath. You pressed the card to your chest; the fact that you didn't even like roses didn't bother you as long as you had Naoya's affection back.
a/n: hello lovelies!! i am so excited and anxious to start my first mini-series! this work is not gonna be the lightest and i do not expect a lot, but i would gladly hear your thoughts!!
An angsty enemies to friends to lover trop with classic miscommunication and a happy ending :) Happy Reading.
------------------------------------
The first time you began to see Gojo Satoru as a rival more than an enemy was after a devastating defeat.
Your journey to becoming a teacher at Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School had been an arduous one, marked by determination and resilience. Raised in a family renowned for their jujutsu techniques, you had always felt the weight of expectations upon your shoulders. From an early age, you exhibited a natural talent for jujutsu sorcery, but it was your unyielding spirit and relentless training that truly set you apart.
After graduating from the distinguished Jujutsu High School in Tokyo, where you often found yourself competing with the prodigious Gojo Satoru, you decided to hone your skills further by undertaking missions across various regions. Your proficiency and unwavering dedication did not go unnoticed, earning you a reputation as a formidable jujutsu sorcerer. When the opportunity arose to join Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School as a teacher, you seized it with both hands, eager to impart your knowledge and inspire the next generation of sorcerers.
You knew the best way to prove yourself would be at the Sister School Goodwill Event. The months leading up to the event were filled with rigorous training sessions and tireless preparation. Your commitment to prove yourself and elevate your students' potential was unwavering. You emphasized discipline, creativity, and perseverance, pushing them to their limits while fostering a sense of camaraderie and mutual respect.
As the event approached, excitement and anxiety intermingled. Memories of your own school days at Tokyo Jujutsu High and your rivalry with Gojo Satoru resurfaced, fueling your resolve. You frequently recalled the times you had come close to beating him, only to fall short. But now, as a teacher, your goals were different. It was not about personal glory—it was about guiding your students to victory and displaying the strength of Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School.
The atmosphere at the event was electrifying. The friendly yet fierce competition between the schools was palpable, and you could not help but feel a mix of pride and nervous anticipation. You had faith in your students but knew the challenges ahead were formidable.
The air was charged with tension as the Sister School Goodwill Event commenced. As the newly appointed teacher at Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School, you stood confidently, bragging about your students’ accomplishments, hoping fervently that they would surpass the Tokyo school. You had always been in the shadow of Gojo Satoru's laurels during your youth, never catching his notice. Yet, during this event, you were going to make him see you. Make him acknowledge your power and skill.
The Sister School Goodwill Event was a grand affair, attracting spectators from all corners of the jujutsu world. Held over several days, the event featured a series of competitions designed to test the skills, strategy, and teamwork of students from both schools.
The first day kicked off with the individual battles, where students displayed their unique techniques and prowess in one-on-one duels. As you watched from the sidelines, your anxious heart swelled with pride. Your students fought valiantly, each clash echoing with the sounds of their determination and the roars of the crowd. The intensity of the matches was beyond anything you had anticipated, and it was clear that the Tokyo students were equally prepared.
Following the individual battles were the team events, which emphasized coordination and collective strength. The relay race through the treacherous forest terrain was particularly exhilarating, as students navigated obstacles, traps, and even summoned curses. Your students had trained tirelessly for this, and their performance was nothing short of spectacular. They moved with precision and trust in one another, highlighting the unity and discipline you had instilled in them.
The final day of the event featured the highly anticipated baseball game, a tradition that brought a light-hearted yet fiercely competitive spirit to the proceedings. The rules were simple yet demanding, requiring not just athletic ability but also quick thinking and clever use of jujutsu techniques. The sense of camaraderie and mutual respect among the students was palpable, even as they faced off against formidable opponents.
Throughout the event, you found yourself crossing paths with Gojo Satoru more often than you would like. His presence was as commanding as ever, and his teasing remarks kept you on your toes. Despite the underlying tension and rivalry, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of each other's skills and dedication to your respective schools.
Each day brought its own challenges and triumphs, and by the time the baseball game arrived, the atmosphere was electric with anticipation. The stands were filled with cheering students, faculty, and alumni, all eager to see who would emerge victorious. You could feel the weight of your students' expectations and hopes, and you silently vowed to guide them to their best performance yet.
Despite your efforts, however, the disappointment was palpable after the baseball game ended in a loss for your school. "Better luck next time," Gojo teased, a smug grin on his face as he stared down at you. It was hard making direct eye contact when your view was interrupted by such dark shades.
You turned your head, hiding the sting of defeat, and replied with a slight smirk, "Don't get too comfortable, Gojo. We'll come back stronger."
He chuckled, using a finger to tilt his shades down a few inches, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Is that a challenge? I look forward to it. Just don't let your students slack off."
Rolling your eyes, you retorted, "I don't need you to tell me how to train my students. Besides, they’re already motivated enough to beat you."
His grin widened. "I like your spirit. We should have a little wager on the next event. What do you say?"
Raising an eyebrow, you tilted your head thoughtfully. "What's the wager?"
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "If your students win, I'll treat you to dinner at the best restaurant in Tokyo. If mine win, you must join me for a training session. Best date you will ever have, guaranteed. Deal?"
You extended your hand with a confident smile. "Deal. You better prepare to lose, Gojo."
He shook your hand, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "We'll see about that."
As you walked away, you could not help but feel a flutter of excitement. The thought of a rivalry with Gojo was exhilarating, pushing you to greater heights.
The second time you saw Gojo Satoru as a rival, you did not think you’d ever hear the end of it.
The next few months flew by, filled with intense training sessions and the anticipation of the upcoming the next Sister school event. The thought of Gojo’s shocked face at the victory your students fueled you to try even harder than before, you knew you would win, there was no other way.
The day of the Goodwill Event arrived with a burst of energy and anticipation. The arena buzzed with excitement as students from different schools mingled and prepared for the competitions. You could see the dedication etched on your students' faces, a mirror of your own resolve to secure victory.
Despite their best efforts and intense training, the competition proved to be tougher than expected. Gojo's students demonstrated exceptional skills, pushing your team to their limits. The final match came down to a nail-biting finish, with Gojo’s team narrowly clinching the win.
The disappointment was palpable as you gathered your students afterwards. They looked exhausted and disheartened, the weight of defeat hanging heavily in the air. You took a deep breath, addressing them with a warm yet firm tone. "You all fought valiantly. Remember, this loss is not a measure of your worth or abilities. It is a steppingstone to becoming even stronger. We'll analyze what went wrong, learn from it, and come back with even greater determination."
As you spoke, you noticed Gojo approaching with a smug but good-natured grin. “Tough break,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “But your students showed great promise. I can see why you’re so proud of them.”
“You’re not getting rid of us that easily, Gojo,” you replied, the competitive fire still burning in your eyes. “We’ll be back, and next time, we’re taking that trophy.”
He chuckled, a spark of admiration in his gaze. “I look forward to it. Until then, don’t forget our wager. A deal’s a deal.”
With a nod, you turned back to your students, who were beginning to show signs of renewed hope. Together, you walked away from the arena, already planning the next phase of your training. The loss had only strengthened your resolve, and you knew that the next time you faced Gojo, it would be under different circumstances.
As you and your students walked away from the arena, a memory from not too long ago surfaced, a stark reminder of Gojo's effortless brilliance.
It was a particularly grim day when a powerful curse had surfaced in the heart of the city, causing panic and wrecking havoc. Determined to prove your worth, you had rushed to the scene, ready to confront the malevolent spirit.
The sky had darkened with ominous clouds as you faced the curse, its dark aura pulsing with a menacing energy. You had fought with all your might, each attack a testament to your skill, but the curse was relentless, absorbing your efforts with an almost mocking ease. Just when it seemed like you might be overwhelmed, a familiar, nonchalant voice broke through the tension.
"Need a hand?" Gojo's unmistakable silhouette appeared amidst the chaos, his demeanor as casual as if he were strolling through a park. Without waiting for a response, he raised a hand, and with a single, precise gesture, the curse was obliterated in an explosion of light and energy.
You had stood there, panting, and exhausted, watching incredulously as Gojo walked over, his signature smile firmly in place. "You did well," he had said, his tone genuinely appreciative, "but sometimes, it's okay to ask for help."
That moment had left an indelible mark on you, a potent mix of frustration and awe. It was not just his overwhelming power that struck you, but his ability to make the impossible look so effortless. It was shortly after this encounter that your phone rang, breaking the introspective silence.
"Hello?" you answered, still catching your breath from the recent ordeal.
"It's Masamichi Yaga," the gruff voice on the other end of the line stated. "We need your help at the Tokyo school. There's a shortage of teachers, and your experience would be invaluable."
You hesitated, glancing at your students, who were now chatting animatedly about their plans for improvement. "I appreciate the offer, but I have my own responsibilities here."
"I understand," Yaga replied, "but think of the impact you could have on a larger scale. These are trying times, and your skills as a mentor are greatly needed."
The weight of his words hung in the air. You knew it was not just a call for help; it was an acknowledgment of your abilities and the importance of your role in shaping the next generation of sorcerers. After a moment's contemplation, you agreed.
"I'll be there as soon as I can," you said, determination settling in your voice.
Yaga's relieved sigh was almost palpable. "Thank you. Your presence will make a significant difference."
As you ended the call, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. The challenges ahead were daunting, but this was an opportunity to grow, to push your limits, and to stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Gojo.
The third time you saw Gojo as a rival, was when he tried his best to become your friend.
When you arrived at the Tokyo school, Gojo was the first to greet you, his usual nonchalant demeanor firmly in place. "So, you're here now," he remarked casually, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't think you can just waltz in and take over."
You rolled your eyes, a smirk playing at your lips. "As if I'd want to," you retorted, though you could not deny the flutter of nerves his presence always seemed to induce.
"Good to see you haven't lost your edge," Gojo said, his tone light but sincere. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us."
"Tell me something I don't know," you replied, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension at the thought of working alongside him.
Gojo chuckled, his smile widening. "Don't worry, I'll try not to overshadow you too much."
"Just try to keep up," you shot back, a playful challenge in your voice.
Despite your cool facade, you could not deny the flutter of nerves his presence always seemed to induce. Gojo, ever the enigma, watched you closely. You did not flatter him as others did; instead, you spoke your mind, often challenging his views, earning his respect, and growing admiration.
The next day, you found yourself standing in the training yard, surrounded by the energetic presence of his students. Each one of them brought their unique skills and personalities to the session, creating a dynamic and challenging environment.
"Alright, everyone," you began, addressing the eager faces before you. "Today's focus is on teamwork and strategy. Let's see how you handle different scenarios together."
The students nodded, their determination evident. You divided them into pairs, matching their strengths and weaknesses to foster growth and cooperation. As the training commenced, you could not help but be impressed by their dedication and progress. Yuuji's raw strength and agility, Megumi's tactical prowess, Nobara's fierce determination, Yuta's versatile combat skills, Maki's unwavering discipline, Toge's precise command of cursed speech, and Panda's adaptability all contributed to a formidable team.
Throughout the session, you provided guidance and feedback, pushing them to refine their techniques and think on their feet. The atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of exertion and the clash of weapons. Despite their individual talents, it was their ability to work together that truly shone through.
Unbeknownst to you, Gojo had been observing from the sidelines, his keen eyes taking in every detail. As the session progressed, a smile played at the corners of his lips. He was genuinely impressed by how well you managed the training, bringing out the best in each student while fostering a sense of camaraderie.
As Gojo observed from the sidelines, he found his gaze frequently drifting towards you. Each precise instruction you gave, every moment of encouragement you offered, and the fierce commitment in your eyes as you guided the students captivated him. He could feel his heart quickening, thumping louder with every passing second. The admiration he felt was no longer about your skills or dedication; it was something deeper, more personal. He was falling for you, and it terrified him. You had been on his mind, constantly, ever since that Sister Event two years ago. Before that, it took all he could to not embarrass himself in front of you during your years in school together. He had missed you greatly and seeing you now, looking even better than you had before, made those feelings grow ten times as much. The fear of overwhelming you or coming off too strong gnawed at him, making him hesitant to even breach the subject. Yet, he could not deny the growing affection, a tender sensation that made him wish for more moments like these, where he could witness your brilliance up close. He wanted to be near you, to understand you, but the fear of ruining what fragile bond you had kept him rooted in place, torn between his feelings and his restraint.
When the session finally drew to a close, you gathered the students around for a debrief. "Excellent work, everyone," you praised, your voice filled with pride. "You've shown remarkable progress and teamwork today. Keep pushing yourselves and supporting each other. That's how we'll grow stronger together."
The students beamed, their spirits lifted by your words of encouragement. As they dispersed, you felt a presence beside you. Turning, you saw Gojo, his expression one of genuine admiration.
"You handled that brilliantly," he remarked, his tone sincere. "They're lucky to have you."
A warm flush of gratitude spread through you at his praise. "Thank you, Gojo," you replied, meeting his gaze. "It means a lot coming from you."
He chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. "Don't let it go to your head.”
Over the next few months, the students continued to train diligently under your guidance. Each session brought new challenges and opportunities for growth, as they honed their skills and deepened their bonds with one another. You introduced a variety of scenarios, pushing them to think creatively and work as a cohesive unit. The progress was evident; their techniques became more refined, their strategies more sophisticated, and their teamwork more seamless.
You and Gojo often collaborated on training exercises, blending your unique approaches to create a comprehensive and dynamic curriculum. The students thrived in this environment, their confidence soaring with each passing week. Your partnership with Gojo grew stronger as well, fueled by mutual respect and a shared commitment to the students' success. Despite the occasional teasing and playful banter, a genuine camaraderie developed between you two, marked by trust and admiration.
Through it all, Gojo's feelings for you only intensified. He found himself attracted to your passion, your dedication, and the way you effortlessly inspired those around you. The students, observant as ever, noticed the subtle shifts in his demeanor. Gojo found himself increasingly drawn to your strength and independence. It was refreshing to meet someone who did not bend over backward to seek his approval. You reminded him of why he loved being a teacher; to see raw, unfiltered talent and passion. You, on the other hand, began to see beyond Gojo's arrogance. You noticed the subtle signs of exhaustion, the heavy burden of expectations he carried, and the loneliness that lurked behind his ever-present smile.
The students soon noticed Gojo's interest and began scheming ways to bring the two of you together. Their mischief was both endearing and exasperating, nudging you towards an unexpected friendship with Gojo.
Megumi and Nobara collaborated to put something in motion. Their first plan involved organizing a picnic, hoping that the relaxed atmosphere would spark a deeper connection.
"This will be perfect! They will have no choice but to talk and bond," Megumi suggested. However, an unexpected downpour forced everyone to take shelter, and the moment was lost amidst the scramble to stay dry.
"Well, that didn't work," Nobara sighed. “We might need a little more help.”
The next afternoon, after an intense training session, the students gathered in a quiet corner of the campus, whispering conspiratorially. Megumi explained the situation to Yuuji.
"We need a new plan," Megumi said, his brow furrowed in thought. "Something that will really make them see their feelings for each other."
"How about a romantic dinner?" Yuuji suggested, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "We could set it up in the training room with candles and flowers!"
Nobara shook her head, a skeptical look on her face. "We tried that already, remember? They got called away on a mission."
"True," Yuuji conceded. "But what if we try something more subtle this time?"
"Like what?" Megumi asked, intrigued.
"Maybe we can create a situation where they have to rely on each other," Yuuji proposed. "Something that will make them realize how much they mean to each other."
Nobara nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Like a team-building exercise, but more intense. What if we pretend one of us is in danger, and only they can save us?"
"It's risky," Megumi cautioned, "but it might just work."
"Or we can spread a rumor," Yuuji added, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "People will start talking, and maybe they'll feel pressured to address it."
"That's actually not a bad idea," Megumi admitted. "They might be forced to confront their feelings if everyone else is talking about it."
"Alright, so we have two plans," Nobara summed up. "We either create a situation where they have to depend on each other, or we spread a rumor and see what happens."
"Let's try both," Yuuji said confidently. "We can't afford to fail this time."
With determined nods, the students dispersed, each one silently vowing to bring their teachers together no matter what it took
Undeterred, they next arranged for a surprise team-building exercise, partnering you and Gojo for all the activities.
"Ready to lose?" Gojo teased as you both prepared for the first challenge. Instead of fostering romance, the competitive spirit between you two only seemed to amplify, leading to playful arguments and a lot of laughter, but no confessions of love.
"You call that a throw?" you challenged, smirking at him.
Still determined, they resorted to spreading rumors, hoping that the gossip would force either you or Gojo to address the situation directly.
"Did you hear? Apparently, Gojo-sensei and our instructor are an item," one student whispered.
"Really? They do spend a lot of time together," another replied.
This too failed, as both of you brushed off the whispers, focusing instead on your duties and responsibilities.
"Just ignore them," you said, rolling your eyes.
"Yeah, they're just being kids," Gojo agreed, smiling reassuringly.
Despite their best efforts, none of the students' plans seemed to work. Yet, through these orchestrated scenarios, you and Gojo spent more time together, slowly but surely building a bond that neither of you could deny. It was clear that while the students' plans had not succeeded in the way they intended, they had inadvertently brought you closer together in a way that was genuine and unforced.
One particular evening, after a long day of training, you found yourself in the school's courtyard, practicing alone. Gojo approached quietly, watching you with a mixture of admiration and curiosity.
"You're pushing yourself too hard," he said, breaking the silence. "You need to rest." You turned to face him, sweat glistening on your brow.
"I don't need your advice," you replied stubbornly.
Gojo chuckled, "Stubborn as always, I see. Just don't wear yourself out."
You paused, considering his words and the familiar warmth in his eyes. It struck you then - Gojo was not trying to belittle you or undermine your efforts. He was looking out for you, caring in the only way he knew how.
Gradually, the pieces fell into place. All those times he seemed to effortlessly excel, while you struggled to catch up, were not meant to overshadow you, but to push you to greater heights. His provocations were not to demean but to challenge, to see you become the best version of yourself.
As you gazed at him, the realization enveloped you like a soothing balm. "Thank you," you murmured, the words laden with newfound understanding. Gojo's eyes softened, a rare vulnerability flickering across his face.
"Anytime," he replied, his voice gentle. In that moment, the barriers between you began to crumble, leaving behind a bond forged in respect and mutual admiration.
The fourth time you saw Satoru as a rival was when you both fought to be the better friend, and in a twisted turn of events, it was him.
The higher-ups eventually assigned both of you to a perilous Special Grade Mission. "Stay close," Gojo instructed, a rare seriousness in his tone. As you approached the dilapidated entrance of the abandoned hospital, an eerie silence enveloped the surroundings. The air was thick with malevolent energy, and the shadows seemed to twist and flicker with a life of their own.
Suddenly, the curse emerged, a monstrous entity with grotesque limbs and a gaping maw, its eyes burning with hatred. The battle commenced with a flurry of motion. Gojo, with his unparalleled speed and precision, launched a barrage of powerful strikes, his Limitless technique creating an impenetrable barrier between you and the curse. His movements were a blur, each attack calculated to weaken the entity.
Despite Gojo's efforts, the curse's resilience was formidable. It retaliated with ferocity, its claws slashing through the air, aiming for any vulnerable spot. You fought valiantly by Gojo's side, your attacks synchronizing with his, but the curse's strength was overwhelming. A particularly savage blow sent you crashing into a crumbling wall, pain searing through your body.
"Stay down!" Gojo shouted, his voice edged with panic as he intensified his assault on the curse. Ignoring the pain, you pushed yourself back into the fray.
The curse, sensing an opportunity, launched its most devastating attack. A wave of dark energy surged towards you, and before you could react, it struck with brutal force. Agony exploded in your chest as you collapsed, blood pooling around you. Gojo's eyes widened in horror, and with a roar of fury, he unleashed his full power, obliterating the curse in a blinding flash of energy.
Rushing to your side, Gojo's hands trembled as he assessed your injuries. "Hang on," he muttered, his voice breaking. He scooped you up with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of the situation. Every second counted as he sped towards Shoko Ieiri, his breath ragged with fear and panic.
Bursting into the infirmary, Gojo shouted, "Shoko, help!" The healer immediately sprang into action, her expression grave as she began to work on your wounds. Gojo stayed at your side, his eyes never leaving your face, silently willing you to survive.
Days turned into weeks as you lay recuperating, your body slowly mending from the life-threatening injuries. Emotions you had long buried began to surface. The countless nights spent envying Gojo's effortless brilliance, the sting of being overlooked, all seemed distant memories compared to the genuine concern and tenderness he now showed you. His presence was a comforting balm, and you found yourself looking forward to his visits, your heart softening with each passing day.
Emotions you had long buried began to surface. The countless nights spent envying Gojo's effortless brilliance, the sting of being overlooked, all seemed distant memories compared to the genuine concern and tenderness he now showed you. His presence was a comforting balm, and you found yourself looking forward to his visits, your heart softening with each passing day.
The fifth time you saw Satoru as a rival, you weren’t sure if he was fighting for the same thing.
While you were recovering, many of the students visited you, bringing warmth and cheer to your otherwise quiet days. Among your frequent visitors were Nanami Kento and Geto Suguru. The three of you quickly became close friends, spending time together and sharing stories, laughter, and a renewed sense of camaraderie. Of all your new friendships, your bond with Nanami grew the deepest. His steady presence and thoughtful conversations were a comfort, and you often found yourselves lost in discussions long after the others had left.
"You know," Nanami said one evening, "it's refreshing to have these conversations. It reminds me of why I enjoy teaching."
You smiled, "I feel the same way. It's good to have friends who understand."
However, it did not take long for Gojo to notice your growing closeness with Nanami. A flicker of jealousy began to smolder within him, and he found himself bristling at the sight of you two together
Nanami and Geto, perceptive as they were, soon picked up on Gojo's increasing discomfort. With a shared understanding and a touch of mischievousness, they devised a plan to push Gojo into confessing his true feelings before it was too late.
One afternoon, while you were sitting in the courtyard enjoying a quiet moment, Nanami approached with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hold still," he said, leaning in closer, "I think there's something on your cheek." Before you could react, he gently brushed his thumb across your skin, his touch lingering just long enough to catch Gojo's attention from across the yard.
Gojo's eyebrows shot up, and a storm of emotions flashed across his face. Without another word, he spun on his heel and headed straight for Geto. "Did you see that?" he fumed. "Nanami was practically caressing their face!"
Geto stifled a laugh, understanding the ploy immediately. "You know, Gojo, you could always make your feelings clear instead of sulking and glaring like a jealous teenager."
Gojo’s frustration boiled over. "I can't just—how do I even start?"
"Simple," Geto smirked. "You tell them how you feel."
With those words echoing in his mind, Gojo's resolve hardened. He could not stand the thought of losing you to someone else, even if it were Nanami. Driven by a newfound urgency, he found himself running to your apartment in the middle of the night, his breath ragged as he knocked on your door.
When you opened it, surprise evident in your eyes, Gojo was suddenly nervous and not sure how to confess anymore. His usual confidence wavered as he stuttered, "I... I was wondering if... maybe you'd like to go out with me sometime?"
Confused by his sudden hesitation and disoriented by being awakened at such an odd hour, you thought back to the bet he had mentioned at the Goodwill Event. "Is this about the bet?" you asked, your voice cautious.
Gojo blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Y-yes, the bet," he quickly agreed, hoping to salvage the moment.
You nodded reluctantly, "Alright, we can go out... for the bet."
Relief and disappointment mixed in Gojo's eyes, but he resolved to use this opportunity to get closer to you.
“I won’t disappoint.” Gojo aimed to cover those vulnerable feelings with a suave smirk and a wink. You stared straight into the cerulean blue eyes that had been haunting your every waking moment.
“I’m sure you won’t. Goodnight, Satoru.” You smiled quickly and closed the door.
As you both went your separate ways, while elated at the familiarity that you now shared, Gojo could not help but feel a pang of regret. He wanted to be honest and tell you about his true feelings, but fear of rejection held him back. His mind raced, wondering if you would ever truly understand the depth of his affection.
You, on the other hand, felt a mixture of confusion and curiosity. You had always felt a special bond with Gojo, but the idea that he might have deeper feelings for you was something you had not fully considered. The thought of it made your heart flutter, yet the mention of the bet left you uncertain about his intentions.
The weight of unspoken words hung heavily on both of your minds, a tangible presence that neither of you could ignore. In that moment, everything felt both exhilarating and terrifying, as if the future of your relationship hinged on the next steps you would take.
Gojo's determination began to solidify, and he knew that he could not let this opportunity slip away. He would find a way to tell you how he truly felt, no matter how daunting the task seemed.
The next evening, Gojo planned a wonderful date, making every effort to impress to make it memorable. He took you to a picturesque rooftop restaurant with a stunning view of the city skyline. The soft glow of candlelight and the gentle strumming of a live guitarist set the perfect romantic atmosphere.
Throughout the evening, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You shared stories, laughed at his playful jokes, and listened as he spoke passionately about his work and his dreams. The connection between you grew stronger with every passing moment.
After dinner, Gojo surprised you with a walk along the riverbank, where the moonlight danced on the water's surface. He held your hand, and you felt a warmth and comfort you had not experienced before. As you paused to take in the serene beauty of the night, you both turned to face each other, the air thick with unspoken emotions.
"Tonight has been incredible," you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "I never knew you could be so romantic, Gojo."
He chuckled, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "There's a lot you don't know about me, but I want to change that. I want us to know everything about each other."
Gojo's eyes locked onto yours, and he slowly leaned in, his intentions clear. Your heart raced, and just as your lips were about to touch, a sudden noise startled you both, causing you to pull away. The moment passed, leaving you both with a mixture of anticipation and longing.
"Maybe next time," he murmured, his voice laced with hope.
Your heart sank as you were reminded of the real reason behind the date. It was all for a bet made at the goodwill event, a calculated move to win a challenge. The wonderful evening, the laughter, the almost-kiss—it was all tainted by this revelation. You could not help but feel foolish for allowing yourself to be swept away by the moment.
The next day, during practice with the students, you could not shake the memory of the almost-kiss. You found yourself very noticeably avoiding Gojo, unsure of how to process your feelings and the unresolved tension between you. You focused intently on the lesson, doing your best to maintain a professional demeanor, but Gojo's presence was impossible to ignore.
"What's going on? You've been avoiding me all day," Gojo said, his eyes searching yours for answers.
You took a deep breath, your emotions a whirlwind of confusion and hurt. "You really don't get it, do you?" you replied, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and sadness. "It was all just a game to you. The date, the romantic gestures—all of it was because of a bet."
Gojo's expression shifted from confusion to realization, his eyes widening slightly. "Wait, it wasn't just a game to me. I—"
But you could not bear to hear any more. "Save it, Gojo. I don't want to hear your excuses," you interrupted, turning away from him. The bitterness and resentment began to creep back into your heart, and you resolved to keep your distance, avoiding him as much as possible.
The days that followed were filled with strained interactions and a palpable tension. You focused on your duties, doing everything in your power to maintain a professional demeanor. But behind the mask, your heart ached with the sting of betrayal and the loss of what could have been.
The first time Gojo Satoru saw you...he knew he would never let you go.
A week later, as you were strolling along campus, Yaga called you into his office. He offered you a permanent position as a teacher, praising your dedication and skill. The offer was tempting, but your mind was made up.
"Thank you, Yaga," you said, attempting to keep your voice steady. "But I think it's best for me to return to Kyoto. I need some time away from everything here."
Yaga's brows furrowed in concern, but he nodded in understanding. "If that's what you feel is best, then I won't stand in your way. Just know that you'll always have a place here."
As you walked back to your room to pack, you could not help but feel a sense of finality. You were ready to leave, to put the tumultuous emotions behind you. But unbeknownst to you, Gojo also happened to be nearby, as he was the one to encourage Yaga to keep you on, just as he had not too long ago convinced him to hire you in the first place. He had inadvertently overheard your conversation with Yaga. His heart sank, the weight of your departure hitting him like a tidal wave.
Distraught, Gojo wandered aimlessly through the hallways until he ran into Nanami and Geto. They instantly noticed his somber expression.
"Why the long face, Gojo?" Nanami asked, raising an eyebrow.
Gojo let out a heavy sigh. "They're leaving. I overheard them talking to Yaga. They're going back to Kyoto."
Geto exchanged a look with Nanami before shaking his head. "You're really going to let them walk away just like that? Come on, man, stop pouting and go get them back."
Nanami nodded in agreement. "If they mean that much to you, then you need to fight for it. Don't let a misunderstanding ruin everything."
Gojo's eyes lit up with a renewed determination. He knew they were right. This was his chance to make things right, to prove that his feelings were genuine. He could not be a coward anymore. Without another word, he turned on his heel and sprinted down the halls, his mind racing with thoughts of how he could convince you to stay.
As you were nearly finished packing, you heard hurried footsteps approaching. You turned to see Gojo standing at your doorway, breathless and with a look of desperation in his eyes.
"Please, just listen to me," he begged, stepping into the room. "I can't let you leave without telling you how I truly feel."
You stood silent, heart pounding, as Gojo took a deep breath and continued. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. Your presence, your strength, everything about you has changed me in ways I cannot even begin to explain. I know I've made mistakes, but I'm asking you to give me one real chance. Give us a real chance"
His voice wavered, but his resolve was clear. "Stay. Stay and let me prove to you that I'm worth it, that we can be something extraordinary together."
Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, torn between the life you had planned and the undeniable sincerity in his words. This was a decisive moment, one that could alter the course of both your lives forever. And you were ready to take that leap if it meant he kept looking at you like that.
Best friend Satoru has started dating but why does it bother you so much?
Part-4 | Masterlist - Play this!
For a moment, you genuinely thought your body had forgotten how to function.
Not in the way people described heartbreak in romance movies, where everything shattered at once and the pain announced itself loudly enough to be heard. No, this was somehow worse. This was your brain refusing to catch up with reality while your body had already understood everything. Your face had gone completely numb, yet your neck felt unbearably hot. Your ears burned. Your palms immediately turned damp around your glass. Somewhere beneath your ribs, your heart had started beating so violently that you were convinced everyone standing around you could hear it. It felt ridiculous, almost embarrassing, because this wasn’t supposed to be shocking. You knew he had gone on a date. You knew there had been a girl. You had spent the entire week torturing yourself over that fact. And yet somehow, despite all the preparation, despite all the conversations with Shoko and Suguru and yourself, despite all the promises that you would handle it maturely, seeing her standing there beside him felt like being hit by a train you had watched approaching from miles away.
Because a date was one thing. A girlfriend was another. A girlfriend meant time. It meant conversations you hadn’t been part of. It meant moments you hadn’t witnessed. It meant there had been entire pieces of his life unfolding without you even knowing.
The realization lodged itself somewhere deep inside your chest and refused to move.
Girlfriend, the word kept echoing.
Girlfriend.
Your bestfriend had a girlfriend now and he absolutely did not care to share that part of his life with you, you who he claimed to be the closest to.
Your eyes drifted toward her before you could stop them. She was beautiful in the sort of effortless way that made you irrationally angry. Soft bangs framed her face perfectly, her outfit somehow managing to look elegant without trying too hard, and there was something about her posture that felt composed, traditional almost, like somebody who belonged in places that demanded respect. The worst part wasn’t even that she was gorgeous. The worst part was that she looked really good standing right next to Satoru.
And suddenly your mind was spiraling so quickly you could barely keep up.
You had spent years listening to Satoru complain about clan politics. Years listening to him rant about expectations, traditions, arranged marriages, family pressure. You knew exactly how much he hated the idea of being forced into a life somebody else chose for him. Yet looking at Utahime, your traitorous mind immediately started imagining things you had absolutely no business imagining.
Future things. Things that made you feel sick. She looked like somebody who could become Mrs. Gojo. You never got to know “what” type of girls he was into but looking at the girl in front of your sight seemed to be an answer enough.
She looked like somebody his clan would approve of. Some who looked like she had manners, unlike you who was pretty tomboyish and reckless.
And before you could stop yourself, before logic could intervene, your brain painted picture after picture until nausea climbed up your throat.
Did you even know him?
Had you spent years loving a version of him that existed only inside your head? Because if he liked women like her, then what exactly had you been doing all this time?
The questions came so quickly they became impossible to answer. You barely registered the conversation that followed.
Utahime was speaking to you.
You knew that much.
You knew you shook her hand. You knew she smiled. You knew she hugged you briefly and that her perfume lingered long after she stepped away, expensive, elegant, and different then what you smell like.
You knew you asked her questions. You knew she answered them. You knew at some point you answered some of hers.
But if somebody had held a gun to your head afterward and asked you to repeat a single sentence from that conversation, you wouldn’t have been able to do it. You remembered nothing.
Nothing except Satoru standing beside her. Nothing except the way he looked happy. Nothing except the awful metallic taste that had settled across your tongue.
Eventually, somehow, your eyes found him again. You forced your lips upward. Forced your voice steady and be the person you wished you were.
“Wow,” you said softly, looking between them. “She’s really pretty.” The smile on your face felt stretched too tight. “You hit the jackpot, huh?” His grin widened. It burned to notice that as well.
“I’m happy for you guys.”
The lie tasted worse than the alcohol. “I hope you enjoy the night. I’ll catch up with you later.”
You vaguely motioned with your thumb behind you, towards the restroom. “Just gotta…”
You didn’t even finish the sentence, you simply nodded, turned and walked away. Then the second you were out of sight, you were moving so quickly it was practically running.
Coward.
You caught sight of Suguru and Shoko watching you from across the room. The concern on their faces made shame twist painfully inside your stomach, but you couldn’t deal with that right now. Couldn’t deal with pity. Couldn’t deal with concern. Couldn’t deal with being perceived at all.
You lifted your drink, finished it in one desperate swallow. Immediately regretted it. Coughed, winced and pushed your way into the bathroom.
The door clicked shut behind you. Your hands landed against the sink. Your head dropped forward. Suddenly it felt impossible to breathe. The room tilted, your chest rose and fell too quickly. Every thought crashed into the next one until they became impossible to separate.
You had been trying so hard to be put together, act like the way a best friend is supposed to but what could you do when you have fallen for your best friend and not dating anybody else for a long time only seemed to emphasise that this was not infatuation but love. That was the cruelest part.
You had been so close to convincing yourself that this could work. That you could be his friend. That you could be mature. That you could support him. That eventually things would settle and life would continue.
But standing there, listening to him introduce his girlfriend, all you could think about was the fact that he hadn’t told you.
Not beforehand, not even over text or call. You had found out alongside everyone else. Just another friend in the crowd. Just another person being introduced to someone new he was close with.
The realization hurt in a way you couldn’t even explain. Your eyes burned, your heart burned, your throat burned. Everything burned.
At some point tears started falling. You didn’t even notice when it happened. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the mascara irritating your eyes. Maybe it was the heartbreak. Maybe it was all three.
You didn’t know.
All you knew was that everything hurt. And somehow, despite all of it, despite the humiliation and jealousy and grief clawing through your chest, one thought remained stubbornly alive.
You would not let him see. Absolutely not. You would die before you let him see what he did to you. So what if your heart was breaking? So what if you’ll spend the next week crying? So what if you ghosted him after tonight?
Those were problems for future you. Present you was going to walk out of this bathroom with perfect makeup and her dignity intact. You were going to smile. You were going to drink with your friends. And if it killed you, Satoru Gojo was never going to know.
After several minutes, you finally straightened, fixed your makeup, blotted your eyes, adjusted your hair and stared at yourself in the mirror.
Fantastic!
Heartbroken but fantastic. With one final breath, you stepped back into the party. The first thing you noticed was Satoru. Your eyes found him automatically. Like they always did. Difference is that usually you both would keep glancing at each other in parties from random corners. That’s if you could ever be away from each other which of course was rare.
Every time you looked his way, there they were. Together. Talking and laughing. Standing close. Utahime touching his ear. Satoru leaning down to hear something she said. Every tiny interaction felt insignificant and devastating at the same time.
You found yourself staring far longer than you should have, burning holes through both of them from across the room, wondering if this was what torture felt like.
The worst part is that he never came over. Not once. Maybe he hadn’t noticed, maybe he was distracted, maybe he was happy and expected you to actually act like his best friend and not how you actually were acting up.
So when you finally reached the kitchen to make yourself another drink, you were already halfway through convincing yourself that you didn’t care.
That was when you heard a coarse voice.
“That one’s terrible.”
You looked up. And immediately wished you hadn’t. Because leaning against the refrigerator was Sukuna.
Somehow even taller than you remembered from last summer. Black Henley stretched across broad shoulders. Dark tattoos disappearing beneath rolled sleeves. The kind of face that looked permanently amused by everybody else’s poor decisions.
His gaze slid toward the bottle in your hand.
Then toward you.
Then back again.
A smirk appeared.
“Want me to make the lady an actual drink?” You blinked.
“What, you don’t trust my bartending skills?”
“Fair.” The smirk widened.
He stepped closer, not enough to be inappropriate. Just enough that his presence became impossible to ignore.
“You were drinking bourbon earlier.” He tilted his head. Your eyebrows lifted.
“How do you know that?”
“Your lips smell like it”
You literally gasped and could not come up with something to fire back. His gaze flickered toward your glass. Then back toward you. Your eyes widened and Sukuna laughed softly.
“Relax. That’s not nearly as creepy as it sounded.”
“It sounded pretty creepy.”
“You’re welcome.”
It was rare for you to laugh at moments like this. You hated even more that it felt good. For the first time all evening, somebody was looking at you. What if Sukuna is actually someone Satoru hates with all his guts? We’ll think about that later because tonight is about getting drunk and making badddd bad decisions.
You would never understand how someone like Nanami ended up being friends with Sukuna. A story for another time it seems.
Then, from somewhere across the apartment, Haibara’s voice exploded through the room.
“EVERYBODY GET OVER HERE!”
Followed immediately by Yuki aggressively drumming against a table.
“TRUTH OR DARE!”
The entire apartment erupted into noise and people cheering. You groaned. Sukuna looked toward the crowd and then back at you.
“You going?” You considered it.
“Honestly? Don’t feel like it”. But your gaze drifted toward the growing circle. When did so many people get here? You eyes flicked towards Satoru. Toward Utahime settling down beside him.
And after a moment, you sighed.
“Yeah, you know what? Let’s do it.”
Sukuna pushed himself off the refrigerator. The smirk returning.
“Now we’re talking.” You raised an eyebrow. His gaze lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary. You smiled and reached for Shoko’s cigarette, craving another puff.
Eventually, after enough arguing, bribing, and Yuki threatening everyone to participate, the entire group finally found themselves gathered in the living room for the game.
The coffee table had been shoved to the side to make room, cushions and blankets scattered haphazardly across the floor. Somebody had stolen half the throw pillows from Suguru’s bedroom, and nobody seemed particularly concerned about returning them. The room felt warm from the amount of people crammed into it, music still drifting softly from the speakers in the background while glasses clinked and conversations overlapped.
You found yourself settling down beside Sukuna almost without thinking about it. He dropped heavily onto the floor cushion beside yours, pulling the sleeves of his henley up his arms, stretching his long legs out in front of him and immediately claiming far more space than any one human being should legally be allowed to occupy. Being close to him felt oddly natural. He handed you your drink without asking, stealing a sip from it as he leaned back against the foot of the couch.
Across from you, Yuki and Choso were completely lost in their own world. Neither of them seemed particularly interested in the game yet. Every few minutes Yuki would lean over and whisper something into Choso’s ear that immediately made his expression soften. Then Choso would murmur something back and she’d grin like she just heard the funniest joke ever. At one point Yuki dissolved into laughter so hard she nearly dropped her drink into Nanami’s lap.
Meanwhile, Shoko had somehow managed to become self-appointed game master despite nobody voting for her, making a new stupid rule.
Haibara looked delighted. “What is it?”
Shoko took a thoughtful sip of her drink. “If somebody refuses a truth or a dare, we get to post whatever we want from their phone.”
The room exploded into madness.
“Absolutely not.”
“That’s illegal.
“Says who?”
“Says every government.”
“Pretty nice rule,” Sukuna commented.
“Terrible rule,” Nanami corrected.
“Excellent rule,” Haibara argued.
While everybody argued, Suguru sat comfortably on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, looking entirely at peace despite hosting a gathering that was rapidly spiraling out of control. Nanami had somehow ended up helping him manage everyone despite never volunteering for the position. Together, they were doing a decent job making sure Utahime didn’t feel left out.
Whenever a conversation drifted too far into old memories only the rest of you understood, Suguru would gently steer it back.
“Utahime, have we ever told you about Satoru’s first year haircut?” Immediately half the room started laughing.
“No.”
“Oh my God.”
“You have to.”
Utahime looked intrigued. Satoru looked alarmed. And before he could stop anyone, the story was already being told. Unfortunately, you knew every single one of them. You were usually the one telling them.
The disastrous haircut. The time Satoru got lost three streets away from campus. The time he ran out of his dorm in a towel when a false fire alarm once went off. The stories about him when he was drunk.
Every single one had you rolling your eyes because you’d heard them a hundred times before.
Still, everybody laughed, especially Utahime. And every time she laughed, Satoru smiled. The sight made something unpleasant twist in your stomach.
So you just looked away in jealousy. Unfortunately, that only brought your attention elsewhere.
To Sukuna.
And, more specifically, to the fact that Satoru absolutely hated his guts. That much had always been obvious.
The two of them had spent years taking shots at each other whenever they occupied the same room. Sukuna was the kind of person who naturally commanded attention without trying. He was enormous, intimidating, sharp-tongued, and entirely too confident for his own good. He was one of the football team’s star players, and people always tended to part instinctively when he walked into a room.
Satoru, meanwhile, somehow managed to attract attention simply by existing. Put the two of them together and it usually took less than ten minutes before somebody started an argument.
You’d never paid much attention to it before. Tonight, however, it was impossible not to notice. Because every time Sukuna leaned toward you to make a comment, every time he handed you a drink, every time the two of you exchanged a joke, you could practically feel somebody staring.
The feeling became so persistent that eventually you glanced up. And there he was. Looking directly at the two of you. The second your eyes met, Satoru immediately turned away.
Almost comically fast.
Suddenly very interested in whatever Utahime was saying. He nodded and smiled . Acted as if he’d been paying attention the entire time.
What a joke.
You nearly laughed into your drink. A second later, Haibara clapped his hands together loudly enough to startle half the room.
“Alright!”
Every conversation stopped. Haibara rubbed his hands together with the excitement of a man about to commit several crimes.
“Let’s start.” The grin on his face should have been everybody’s first warning.
Choso had somehow acquired three different snack bowls and was passing them around whenever someone reached for something. Yuki had stolen half of his popcorn already and was unapologetically eating from his bowl despite having her own sitting right in front of her.
The bottle spun for the first time!
Everybody leaned forward. It landed on Shoko. The room immediately erupted.
“Oh, this is going to be terrible.” Haibara grinned “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
Suguru snorted “Coward.”
“Shut up.”
Haibara thought for a moment before snapping his fingers. “What’s the last thing that got you in serious trouble?”
Shoko opened her mouth. Then sighed.
“I punched a cop once.”
The silence lasted exactly half a second. Then the room exploded. Nanami nearly dropped his drink “What Shoko-?!”
Utahime looked horrified. Yuki was laughing so hard she folded in half.
“You WHAT?”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“It was absolutely your fault.”
“He won’t let me take my drink inside WHICH btw I payed so much extra for, what if I bought it from a different bar? What a loser.”
“That’s not a legal defense.”
“I wasn’t arrested.”
“You should’ve been.”
The argument continued for several minutes before the bottle was spun again. This time it landed directly on Nanami. The cheering was immediate.
Nanami looked like a man being led to his execution. Shoko asked “Truth or dare?”
He hesitated. “Alright, dare”, The room absolutely lost its mind.
“HE PICKED DARE.”
“Write that down.”
“Who cloned Nanami”
Satoru immediately leaned over and whispered something into Yuki’s ear. Yuki’s face lit up.
“Oh, you’re evil.”
Nanami looked concerned. “What?”
Nobody answered him. Shoko simply held out her hand.
“Phone.”
“No.”
“Phone.”
“No.”
Suguru was already laughing. Nanami reluctantly surrendered it. Two minutes later, Yuki handed his phone back to him “Post it” had.
Nanami’s eyes shot up “I’m not gonna post that I’m gay”. The room was in tears. Haibara was rolling on the floor. Yuki couldn’t breathe. You and Satoru had tears in his eyes.
Meanwhile Nanami had buried his face in his hands. “I’m all for supporting everyone but that’s a lie, the uni kids are gonna have a field day tomorrow”.
“Don’t cry about it,” Haibara managed between laughs. “You can delete it in twenty-four hours.”
“I hate all of you.”
“No you don’t.”
“I absolutely do.”
The game only got worse from there. The bottle landed on Choso next, who picked dare. Shoko immediately sat forward. The grin on her face was dangerous.
“Oh, I’ve got one.”
“No,” Choso said immediately.
“I haven’t even said anything.
“No.”
“Ask it.”
Shoko pointed dramatically.
“Tell us the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done because of Yuki.” The room exploded again with multiple rumours they heard about the couple.
Choso froze and Yuki immediately covered her face.
“Noooooo”
“Yes.”
After several minutes of relentless bullying, Choso finally sighed.
“There was a week.” The room leaned forward.
“Oh no.”
“There was a week where she was busy.”
“And?”
“We had just started dating and I missed talking to her.” The room immediately started hooting which Choso tried his best to ignored.
“So I made a second account on a game we both play just so I could run into her online without seeming to be clingy.”
The room completely lost control. Yuki looked ready to launch herself into the sun.
You: “You did NOT.”
“I did.”
“That’s so adorable Choso” you said.
“It- it’s - pathetic okay”
“It’s adorable.”
“It is a little adorable,” Suguru admitted.
Yuki buried her face in Choso’s shoulder while everyone continued making fun of them. By the time the bottle landed on Suguru, everybody was already drunk enough to be a problem.
“Truth.”
“Omg look at this mf, he was just teasing me about picking truth.”
“Shoko your moustache is showing.” Shoko threw a pillow in his direction. Haibara immediately pointed at him. “Most embarrassing date.”
Suguru sighed so deeply it seemed rehearsed.
“No omfg I don’t wanna think about it.”
“Yes.”
“Ughhhhh”
“Spilllll Sugu chan.” Satoru teased knowing that’s what you call Suguru. The room chanted until he surrendered.
“Ok fine fine .” He twirled a strand of hair around his finger. “I was laughing during a date once.”
The room waited.
“And?”
“And I accidentally farted.”
The silence lasted exactly one second. Then the apartment nearly came down. You couldn’t breathe. Neither could Sukuna. Shoko had fallen sideways on the couch. Even Utahime was wiping tears from her eyes.
Suguru looked deeply offended.
“You asked.”
“What happened next?”
“I went to the restroom but turned the other way and left.” The room erupted again.
“You LEFT someone on a date”.
“I panicked okay?”
“You ghosted her?”
“Immediately.”
“Why are we hearing about this for the first time.” Satoru snorted. The laughter continued long after the bottle spun again.
Then it stopped. Because the neck of the bottle slowly rotated.
Past Suguru, past Yuki, past Haibara and landed directly on you.
The room erupted. “Oh no.”
“There she is.”
“You’re gonna pick Truth as usual?”
You set your drink down.
Sat up and grinned.
Nanami already looked concerned. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
The room cheered. “Dare,” you repeated loudly. “I demand a dare.” Haibara immediately leaned toward Nanami and whispered something. Nanami’s expression changed instantly. “No.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Coward.”
Nanami sighed. Haibara got impatient. So naturally he shouted it himself.
“Kiss the most attractive person in the room.”
The apartment went silent. Your face immediately warmed. Across the room, your eyes found Satoru’s. For the briefest second, something flashed across his face.
Then he looked down.
But not before you caught the faint redness creeping across his ears. What? Did he think you were going to pick him? The thought alone almost made something coil in your belly.
You took another drink instead. Then stood. The room watched your every movement. You slowly wandered around the circle, pretending to think.
“Hmmm.”
Haibara looked excited. Yuki looked invested. Nanami looked stressed. Shoko looked like she was watching premium entertainment.
You glanced toward a few strangers.
Nopeeeee
Not them!
Then your gaze drifted back toward Satoru. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something. Like he was waiting.
Expecting.
Across the room, Suguru’s eyes widened slightly. The second he realized you were looking at him, he shook his head.
Immediately.
The expression was so obvious it was almost funny. He silently wanted to say “Not me” since he knows Satoru might take his head for this.
That was definitely a don’t. So your gaze moved on. And landed on Sukuna, not that he wasn’t your immediate option.
The room collectively forgot how to breathe. You crossed the circle from the centre, step by step.
The grin on Haibara’s face kept growing. Shoko whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Holy fuck.”
Then you reached Sukuna. And sat down on his lap. The reaction was immediate.
Gasps.
Swearing.
Somebody choked.
Even Sukuna looked stunned. He barked out a surprised laugh.
“Oh,” he muttered. “D’you need something?”
Because for the first time all night, you could practically feel Satoru’s stare burning into the back of your head.
Good
Let him feel it.
As you sat on Sukuna’s lap, your leather skirt rode slightly higher on your thigh, exposing more skin than you normally would have been comfortable with. Sukuna noticed immediately and, without making a big deal out of it, rested one of his large hands there, shielding you from the room’s curious eyes.
You leaned forward slightly and asked, “Can I kiss you?” A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Hot girls don’t ask stupid questions.”
You chuckled softly at that. His hand lifted, his thumb brushing against your lower lip for a brief moment before you closed the distance between you.
The room seemed to fall away.
For a second, all the noise, laughter, and conversations faded into the background. The kiss was warm and impulsive, driven more by adrenaline than anything else. Your fingers found their way into his hair while one hand rested against his arm. Sukuna’s hand slid into your hair as well, keeping you close as the moment stretched longer than anyone had expected.
Around you, the room had gone completely silent. Nobody seemed willing to interrupt. Nobody even seemed willing to breathe.
Then a sharp voice cut through the air.
“Are you fucking done?” The spell shattered instantly.
You pulled back, blinking as reality came rushing in. Your hair was a mess, your thoughts hazy from the drinks, and suddenly you became aware of every single person in the room staring directly at you.
Satoru was on his feet. His jaw was clenched. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. And there was something burning behind those blue eyes that made the entire room hold its breath.
For the first time all night, nobody had a joke to make. The silence felt almost violent.
You could still feel everybody staring, waiting to see who would speak first. The music was still playing somewhere in the background, but it sounded distant now, drowned beneath the tension stretching across the room.
You stared up at Satoru.
“Why?” you snapped. “Something bothering you?”
His jaw tightened.
“You were supposed to kiss,” he shot back. “Not fucking make out with them.”
The confusion on your face was genuine for a moment. “Yeah? And why the fuck do you care?”
Several people visibly winced. Haibara lowered his drink. Nanami closed his eyes.
You pointed toward Satoru.
“Is your turn going on? No? Then go sit your ass back down.”
The room collectively forgot how to breathe. Satoru stared at you for a long moment before laughing once, a short, humorless sound.
“You’ve completely lost your mind, you’ve changed so much Y/N”.
“Oh, have I?”
“You’re drunk.”
“No shit.”
“Get off his lap.”
The command hit the room like a brick. You blinked and then laughed. A sharp, disbelieving laugh.
“Oh, really? And what are you gonna do about it, Satoru?”
For a second he simply looked at you. Not angry but completely unable to believe what he was seeing. The disappointment on his face somehow irritated you more than the yelling.
Around the room, everyone had gone statue-still. Nobody wanted to interrupt you two. Nobody wanted to get involved.
Because at some point the argument had stopped being about the game. And everybody knew it!
Satoru dragged a hand down his face.
“For fuck’s sake.” Then he looked directly at you. “If you’re that desperate, go get a room.”
The words landed hard. The room erupted immediately.
“SATURU”
“Oh my God.”
“Bro.”
“Absolutely not.”
You laughed again. Cold this time.
“Yeah? I probably will.”
The words left your mouth before you could stop them. “I’ll do it after this game.”
The look on Satoru’s face darkened immediately. Haibara made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a man witnessing a train wreck in real time.
“Holy shit.”
Meanwhile, neither you nor Satoru had looked away from each other. The room had disappeared. The people had disappeared. There was only the two of you and years worth of frustration neither of you knew how to talk about.
Suguru looked moments away from developing a stress-induced migraine. “Shoko give me a cigarette”. Beside him, Choso immediately caught on to the emergency.
“Right. Food- guys there are dumplings.”
Still nothing.
Yuki yelled “Aight party’s overrrr, get out everyone”.
The argument kept rolling forward like a runaway train. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks and now this- what- what is up with you Y/N,” Satoru said.
You laughed.
“Awwwww, you wanted to talk to me. Wow Satoru do you even remember who I am.”
“I do, what kinda question even is that?.”
“You’ve spent that entire time attached to somebody else’s side, 15 years of friendship has gone down the drain in a span of weeks. What a fucking joke Toru”.
Satoru looks really hurt. Utahime looked horrified. The poor woman looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Satoru’s eyes flashed. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You know exactly what.”
“No, apparently I don’t.”
The tension snapped tighter. Around the room, people were actively looking for escape routes. Yuki had quietly grabbed Choso’s sleeve. Shoko was staring between you two screaming to stop fighting like children.
Nanami had both hands pressed against his forehead. “These two assholes are unbelievable,” he muttered. Meanwhile Utahime cautiously stepped forward.
“Satoru—”
Utahime’s hand landed on Satoru’s chest, trying to calm him down. Trying to stop whatever this was from getting worse. Unfortunately, that only seemed to make you feel worse.
And something in your chest burned again. You looked at her. Then away. Then back at Satoru.
“Oh yeah,” you said quietly. “Of course.”
The bitterness in your voice surprised even you. The room immediately got quieter. Which shouldn’t have been possible.
But somehow it did. Satoru’s expression changed. For the first time all evening, he looked less angry and more tired. Which only made you angrier. You grabbed your bag.
“I’m done, I’m leaving.”
The announcement finally snapped everyone back to reality.
“Hey—”
“Wait.”
“Maybe don’t—”
You ignored all of them. You were already moving. Already heading toward the door. Already wanting to get as far away from this room as possible.
Behind you, chairs shifted. Movement, footsteps.
Sukuna.
You didn’t need to look back to know he’d stood up. Didn’t need to see him to know he was about to follow. The room noticed too.
And before he could take more than a step— A hand landed on his arm. It wasn’t forceful or aggressive. Just firm.
Sukuna stopped. Slowly looked down. Satoru stood there beside him. Their eyes met. Neither said a word. They didn’t need to. The look Satoru gave him was enough.
Don’t follow her. Sukuna’s jaw tightened, irritation flickering on his face. Satoru’s hand remained exactly where it was. And somewhere down the hallway, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the apartment.
For the first time all night, everyone in the room was thinking the exact same thing. Whatever was going on between you and Satoru had just become impossible to ignore. And none of them had any idea what would happen next.
pairing dad's best friend!satoru gojo x university student!afab reader
synopsis you and your dad made a bet: you finish the semester out strong? he'll let you stay in tokyo during your break — on his dime. only one catch. he has to have eyes on you at all times. who better to look out for his little girl than his best friend — a successful private tutor right in the middle of shibuya?
tags age-gap (satoru is 47, reader is 22), unbalanced unhealthy relationship dynamics, use of recreational drugs (hallucinogens, marijuana), heavy drinking, unprotected risky sex, use of birth control/IUD, pregnancy scare, implied maternal death, slight corruption kink, f!virginity loss, implied megumi x reader, struggles with body dysmorphia/ed's
authors note if you're new to this series, welcome to my baby. i started this one in october as a vehicle to rebrand myself into a series-based blog, and oml, i'm so happy that i did. i feel like a proud mommy of dilfjo and his virgin, and love the fact that i can share them with you. basically what i'm doing here is taking the themes of the album virgin by lorde and breaking them down song-by-song into my own interpretation. this one is horny, sad, unsure, yearny, freeing, and so meaningful to me. can't wait for you to read <3 virgin 4ever 🩻
pairings: gojo satoru x fem!reader (part one) next
sypnosis: you are the secret heartbeat gojo satoru keeps hidden beneath infinity—the only person who ever made the strongest feel truly human, the one he kisses like oxygen in the dark and swears is his forever. but when the clan’s glittering cage closes around him with another woman’s ring on his finger and the world cheering a future that erases your name, you’re left wondering if the man who calls you everything will ever choose you… or if infinity was always just the distance he keeps between his promises and the truth.
tags: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, forced engagement, secret relationship, assumed infidelity (satoru would NEVERR), yandere undertones (possessive/devoted gojo), groveling, redemption arc, explicit sexual content, clan politics, emotional manipulation, psychological stress
content warnings: MDNI! explicit sexual content, angst, emotional abuse and manipulation, infidelity themes (secret affair during forced engagement), power imbalance, clan politics and coercion, severe physical/mental health decline due to stress, self-harm ideation and acts (non-graphic but present), toxic and possessive relationship dynamics, yandere undertones, mild violence (during sex but consensual), alcohol use, references to suicidal ideation (non-explicit), grief, betrayal, and themes of isolation and emotional destruction. 7k wc.
disclaimer: hi everyone, welcome to my first fanfic on tumblr. i haven't written in so long but i have written a lot of fics on ao3/wattpad before. i apologize for any mistakes, and please enjoy... happy reading <3
love, cy.
infinity was supposed to mean forever without limits—a vow whispered only to her in stolen nights when his guard fell and the world shrank to just the two of them. but slowly, that word twisted into the unbearable distance between his fevered promises in the dark and his chilling silence in the light, where he smiled for someone else. she became the secret he guarded most fiercely, the one he touched only in shadows while the cameras captured a future that never included her name. day by day, infinity shrank into the suffocating space between what he swore she was and what he allowed the world to believe. until one midnight, carrying the weight of a love no one was ever meant to see, she finally stepped beyond his reach—leaving only the echo of forever behind.
Chapter 1: The Fall of Infinity
The summer of 2023 began with a single glance that rewrote everything you thought you knew about desire and danger.
You were twenty-two, a Grade 2 sorcerer whose days were filled with the quiet, unglamorous work of containment. Your technique was built on precision—seals that bent cursed energy into submission, redirecting chaos into order. It was not the kind of power that earned legends or fear. It was the kind that kept the world from falling apart after the legends had their fun. You had chosen it deliberately. Attention in the jujutsu world was a double-edged blade, and you had no interest in bleeding for someone else’s ambition.
The mission that shattered your careful solitude was meant to be nothing.
An abandoned shrine on the western outskirts of Tokyo, minor curses feeding on old grief. You arrived alone in the late afternoon, the sun low and oppressive, cicadas screaming like they sensed the shift coming. The grounds were silent beyond the insects, moss clinging to cracked stone, the air heavy with damp earth and forgotten sorrow.
You knelt on the main path, fingers tracing the first containment circle. The seal took shape under your touch, glowing faintly as cursed energy began to settle. It was meditative work—your mind quiet, the world narrowed to lines and flow. Sweat traced slow paths down your back, but you adjusted for every fluctuation, murmuring calculations under your breath.
You were reinforcing the second ring when the air warped.
The cicadas cut off mid-scream. A pressure shift rippled through the space, subtle but undeniable. You paused, hand hovering, and looked up.
He stood just beyond the torii gate.
Tall, lean, impossibly beautiful. White hair caught the golden light like frost on glass, falling in soft, effortless strands that framed a face carved with sharp, flawless lines. The black blindfold concealed his eyes, but it only heightened the elegant curve of his lips, the pale, luminous skin, the subtle strength radiating from every inch of him. His uniform jacket hung open, revealing the fitted black shirt beneath, clinging to a body that was all lean muscle and natural grace—broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs. He was the kind of attractive that felt almost cruel, as if the universe had decided to concentrate perfection in one person just to remind everyone else of their inadequacy.
Your heart stuttered. In that suspended moment, something ignited deep in your chest—a pull so immediate, so visceral, it stole your breath. Love at first sight was a foolish idea, but there was no other name for the raw, aching certainty that bloomed: this man would ruin you, and you would let him.
He tilted his head, lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. “All by yourself?”
You held the moment, then resumed your seal, forcing calm into your voice. “Unfortunately so.”
He stepped closer, hands in pockets, that smile deepening with quiet amusement. “Most people would have requested at least one more backup.”
You finished the pattern, watching the cursed energy stabilize. “Some of us are too tired of being overworked to complain.”
His laugh was soft, warm, dangerously addictive. “I relate to that. Crazy working hours, right?”
Up close, his presence was overwhelming—the faint, clean scent like ozone after rain, the way light played across his white hair, the subtle heat radiating from his body. You stood, brushing dirt from your knees, and met the blindfold.
He observed you openly. “You don’t rush the details. That’s rare.”
“Rushed work comes back to haunt you,” you replied.
He nodded, as if you’d confirmed something he’d suspected. “Exactly.”
He walked beside you toward the boundary, the silence charged with unspoken tension. At the edge, he stopped. You paused a few steps ahead, glancing back. The sunset painted his white hair in gold, his striking features softened by the light.
“Stay safe,” he said, voice low and laced with something you couldn’t name.
You nodded and left, but the spark from that first glance burned, persistent and terrifying.
Three weeks later, the cursed mirror retrieval brought him back.
The condemned building was dim, dust heavy. You navigated methodically, reinforcing seals as you located the object. The mirror’s energy hummed with malice.
You were wrapping it when the warp rippled.
He materialized across the room, posture relaxed, that same magnetic smile. “We seem to keep running into each other.”
You didn’t pause. “Or maybe fate is arranging it.”
His laugh was brighter. “Conspiracy theories already? Dangerous.”
He watched as you secured the mirror, then introduced himself with a knowing smile. “Gojo Satoru.”
“I know who you are.”
“Of course you do.” His grin flashed. “And you?”
You gave your name. He repeated it slowly, like savoring it.
“Suits you well, sweetheart.”
He vanished with a cocky smirk, but the warmth lingered, laced with the first quiet ache of want.
Texts began—professional, then warmer. A late-night message: “Couldn’t sleep. Thinking about that shrine. Or maybe just you.”
You replied: “Good distracting or bad?”
Him: “The kind that’s going to get me in trouble.”
The flirtation grew, light and effortless, but beneath it the pull deepened. Every message, every shared glance during overlapping missions, fed the quiet certainty: this was real, and it would hurt.
The first kiss came four months after the shrine.
A Grade 1 threat in an underground mall. You held containment while he cleared the core. Adrenaline lingered in the empty garage, rain pouring outside.
He approached, blindfold down, rain soaking his hair. “You were perfect today.”
“So were you.”
He smiled, and it felt like fireworks blooming in your heart, making your cheeks dust with light pink. He reached forward, long fingers brushing wet hair from your face. The touch lingered.
Beautiful blue eyes stared you down, gaze soft as if whispering love notes through eye contact. “I—” he stuttered, heart beating fast.
Heart palpitating, you closed the distance.
The kiss was tentative, then deep—his hand at your neck, the other at your waist, pulling you close. His mouth was warm, tasting of mint and rain, tongue sliding against yours with slow, deliberate hunger. When you parted, breathing uneven, he rested his forehead against yours.
“I’ve wanted that for months.”
“Me too,” you whispered back, cheeks burning.
He smiled—small, genuine, the kind that reached his eyes and made the world feel lighter. “Good. Because I’m not planning on stopping anytime soon.”
A few weeks later, on a quiet evening after a long mission, he teleported you both to a secluded rooftop overlooking the city. The skyline glittered below, stars faint above the light pollution, a cool breeze carrying the distant hum of traffic. He’d brought a blanket and a bag of convenience-store sweets—nothing fancy, just mochi and melon soda, but the gesture felt huge.
You sat side by side, legs dangling over the edge, shoulders brushing.
He handed you a soda, fingers lingering against yours. “You know, I used to come up to places like this alone,” he said, staring out at the lights. “Just to get away from everything. But it always felt... empty.”
You glanced at him. “And now?”
He turned, blue eyes catching the city glow. “Now it feels right.” A pause, then quieter: “Because you’re here.”
Your heart did that stupid flip again. “You’re getting soft, Satoru.”
He laughed, nudging your shoulder with his. “Only for you. Don’t tell anyone—my reputation’s on the line.”
You rolled your eyes, but smiled. “Your secret’s safe.”
He leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky. “Seriously though... I like this. Just sitting. Talking. No curses, no clan crap. Just us.”
You rested your head lightly on his shoulder. “Me too.”
He was quiet for a moment, then reached over and laced his fingers with yours, thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. “You make the noise quieter,” he said softly. “Everything else fades when I’m with you.”
You squeezed his hand. “You do the same for me.”
He turned his head, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Stay a little longer?”
“Always,” you answered, and meant it.
The city lights blurred below as you sat there, hands linked, hearts quietly falling deeper with every shared breath.
Intimacy progressed slowly, reverently. The first full night together came six months in—conversation stretching late, closeness inevitable. The confession hung in the air—raw, breathless words finally spoken after months of dancing around the truth. "I love you," Gojo said, voice low and cracked, blue eyes burning into yours like he was afraid you'd vanish if he blinked. "You're mine. You've always been mine."
You whispered it back—"I love you too"—before he was on you.
He pinned you against the bedroom wall, hands rough as they gripped your wrists and slammed them above your head. His mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, possessive and punishing. You tasted blood where he bit too hard, but the sting only made heat pool low.
"Mine," he growled against your throat, teeth scraping as he ripped your shirt open, buttons flying. His free hand shoved under your bra, fingers pinching your nipple hard enough to make you cry out.
"Say it again."
"I'm yours," you gasped, and he ground his hips forward, letting you feel how hard he was.
He released your wrists to spin you around, bending you over the bed. Your cheek pressed into the sheets as he yanked your pants down. His hand came down—sharp slap on your ass that made you jolt and moan.
"Good girl," he purred. Another slap, harder. "You confess so pretty. Now I'm going to fuck you until you can't think of anything but me."
He thrust in deep, one brutal stroke. The stretch burned perfectly; you screamed into the mattress as he set a punishing pace—hips slamming, balls slapping skin.
His hand fisted your hair, yanking your head back. "Look at you taking me. So tight. So perfect. No one else gets this—ever."
Fingers found your clit, rubbing rough circles. Pleasure coiled tight; you came hard, walls clenching. He followed with a guttural groan, spilling deep.
Then he turned you over, eyes wild. "Again," he demanded, sliding back in. "Until you know you're mine forever."
Afterward he held you, fingers tracing your skin. “You feel like the only real thing.”
The happiness was intense, almost painful in its brightness.
But shadows crept in.
His phone buzzed more with clan crests. Visits cut short by “obligations.” A tightness in his smile after certain calls.
You asked once. “Is everything okay?”
He kissed you instead of answering. “With you? Always.”
The dread grew quietly: this light was too bright to last.
The golden months stretched, fragile and beautiful, every moment laced with the quiet fear that it would end.
And it did—slowly, painfully, inevitably.
Autumn arrived with a chill that settled deeper than the weather, seeping into bones and thoughts alike, turning every breath into a reminder that nothing warm lasted forever.
The golden months of summer had felt eternal—an illusion you both clung to desperately. Those stolen nights when Gojo Satoru teleported into your apartment unannounced were etched into your memory like sacred wounds: the faint ripple of space warping, the door never quite opening before he was there, blindfold already discarded or tugged down, those piercing blue eyes drinking you in with a hunger that made your knees weak. He looked at you like you were the only anchor in a world that constantly tried to pull him under, like touching you was the sole way he remembered he was still human.
The intimacy between you had evolved from tentative, breathless exploration to something raw, consuming, almost violent in its intensity. He knew your body now with devastating precision—the exact way your breath hitched when his fingertips ghosted along the curve of your spine, sending shivers racing across your skin; the sensitive spots along your inner thighs that made you arch involuntarily, a soft gasp escaping your lips; the rhythm of his hips that built pressure so perfectly it left you both trembling, slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync.
But even in those moments of blinding closeness, the shadows lengthened, creeping in at the edges like frost on glass.
He began attending more clan functions alone. When he returned, the warmth in his touch carried a new, sharper edge—desperate, almost bruising, as though he were trying to imprint himself on you before something else could erase him. One night in early October, he arrived late, white hair tousled from wind or frustration—you couldn’t tell which—his usually flawless posture slightly hunched, eyes shadowed with something dark and unspoken.
You didn’t ask where he’d been. The question hovered on your tongue, bitter and unnecessary; you already knew the shape of the answer. Instead, you simply opened the door wider, stepping aside to let him in.
He stepped inside, kicked it shut behind him with a force that rattled the frame, and pinned you against the wall before you could draw breath. His mouth crashed onto yours—hungry, punishing, a collision of lips and teeth that tasted of mint and something sharper, like restraint barely held together by fraying threads. His hands were everywhere at once: sliding roughly under your shirt, palms calloused and hot against your bare skin, thumbs brushing over your nipples with deliberate pressure until they hardened into aching peaks beneath his touch. You gasped into his mouth, the sound swallowed greedily as he pressed his hips forward, letting you feel the rigid length of his arousal straining against his pants, grinding slowly so the friction sent sparks shooting through your core.
“Need you,” he rasped against your throat, voice gravel-rough, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there hard enough to leave marks. “Now. Fuck, I need you now.”
You nodded, fingers tangling desperately in his white hair—soft, silky strands slipping between your knuckles—as he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. The hard line of his erection pressed against you through fabric, and you rocked against it involuntarily, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest. He carried you to the bedroom without breaking the kiss, tongues tangling in a messy, frantic dance, laying you on the bed with a gentleness that contradicted the wild urgency burning in his eyes.
Clothes came off in frantic handfuls—his jacket tossed aside in a careless heap, your shirt ripped over your head with impatient hands, buttons popping free and scattering across the floor. His pants were shoved down just enough to free him, thick and heavy in his hand as he stroked himself once, eyes never leaving yours. He didn’t bother with finesse tonight; there was no slow tease, no lingering caresses. He pushed your thighs apart roughly, settling between them with predatory focus, mouth descending to your breast while his hand slid lower, fingers parting your slick folds with practiced ease.
You were already drenched for him—always were, shamefully quick—and he groaned against your skin when he felt the evidence of your arousal coating his fingers, hot and wet. “Always so ready for me,” he murmured, voice rough and wrecked as he circled your clit with deliberate, maddening pressure. Two fingers slid inside you without warning, thick and curling just right, pumping slow and deep until your hips bucked off the bed and you moaned his name like a prayer.
He watched your face the entire time, blue eyes dark with raw possession, pupils blown wide. “Look at you,” he whispered, breath hot against your collarbone. “Falling apart for me. So fucking beautiful. Only me—say it.”
“Only you,” you gasped, back arching as his thumb pressed harder on your clit.
You came with a sharp cry, body clenching around his fingers in pulsing waves, slick coating his hand as pleasure ripped through you. He didn’t wait—pulled his fingers free with a wet sound and replaced them with his cock in one smooth, relentless thrust that stole your breath and stretched you to the edge of too much. He filled you completely, every inch buried deep, the head of him pressing against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
He stilled for a heartbeat, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting. “Feel that?” he breathed, voice trembling with restraint. “You’re mine. This—us—it’s the only thing that’s real.”
Then he moved—hard, deep strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside you, hips snapping with a rhythm that bordered on punishing. The headboard knocked the wall in steady, rhythmic thuds; your nails dug into his back, raking red trails across pale skin as you held on. Sweat slicked your bodies, the room filling with the wet sounds of skin on skin, your mingled moans, his low groans of your name. He fucked you like he was trying to erase something—every thrust a claim, every grind of his hips a confession, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest.
You came again, harder, walls fluttering and clenching around him in vise-like spasms, vision whiting out as pleasure crashed over you in relentless waves. He followed seconds later with a broken, guttural sound, spilling deep inside you in hot, pulsing jets, body shuddering violently as he collapsed onto your chest, spent and trembling.
Afterward, he held you tightly, face buried in your neck, breath ragged against your skin. His arms banded around you like iron, as if letting go might make you disappear. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, so quietly you almost missed it over the pounding of your own heart, his voice cracking on the words.
You stroked his damp hair, fingers trembling. “I’m here.”
But the words felt fragile even then, hanging in the air like smoke—beautiful, fleeting, already dissolving.
The clan pressure mounted, slow and inexorable.
Events he attended alone came back with new shadows wrapped around him like smoke—thick, bitter wisps that clung to his clothes and skin, carrying that faint, sweet jasmine scent that wasn’t yours and never would be. It hit you the second he stepped inside, a ghost of her that twisted your stomach slow and sick. His white hair, usually tousled just right to look like he didn’t try (but you knew he did), now hung a little flat, damp with sweat or stress. His shoulders, always held easy and high like the world couldn’t touch him, had a small slump now—nothing dramatic, just enough that you noticed because you knew every inch of him.
Photos started showing up in the clan’s private channels a couple days later. You still had access through old logins you hadn’t deleted yet. Him next to Akira Gojo at fancy events: one shot had them under soft lantern light in a garden, her hand resting easy on his arm like it belonged there; another had them at a long dinner table, her leaning toward him with a laugh while his smile looked perfect—too perfect, the kind he saved for cameras. The captions called it “promising alliances” and “securing the bloodline.” Clean words. They felt like punches.
You found them during one of those late-night scrolls when sleep wouldn’t come, phone glow the only light in the room. Each picture cut deeper, cold and sharp. Breathing got hard; the walls felt closer. You flipped the phone face-down, but the images stayed stuck behind your eyes.
He showed up hours later, teleporting straight into the living room. His eyes were red at the edges, that bright blue dulled with guilt and exhaustion. “It’s nothing,” he said right away, voice tight, crossing the room fast to pull you against him. His hands shook a little on your back—you felt it, small tremors like he was holding something back. “Just politics. Stupid games.”
You wanted to believe him. You really did.
But his touch that night was desperate—mouth crashing into yours like he needed to drown out everything else, teeth knocking, tongue pushing in deep and messy. His hands grabbed your hips hard enough to leave marks, lifting you, backing you onto the couch fast. Your back hit the cushions; he was on you in a second, knees shoving your thighs apart, hooking your legs over his shoulders.
It left you wide open, nothing hidden. Cool air brushed your skin where he’d already yanked clothes aside, but then his mouth was there—hot kisses down your neck, over your chest, teeth biting just hard enough to sting. He stopped at your breasts, sucking one nipple rough while his fingers twisted the other until you arched and moaned loud.
Then he moved lower.
He buried his face between your legs like he was starving—no slow start, just raw need. His tongue hit your clit hard, licking fast circles, sucking strong enough to make your head spin. Wet sounds filled the room, messy and loud. Fingers pushed in sudden—three thick ones stretching you open, pumping deep while his mouth never stopped. His other hand pinned your hip down, fingers digging in, keeping you still even as you tried to chase more.
You felt everything: stubble scraping your thighs, his hot breath, the slick mess running down. You came twice just from his mouth—the first fast and sharp, body jerking hard; the second dragged out until you were crying his name, too sensitive, shaking.
He pulled back only then, face shiny, eyes dark. Clothes gone fast. He stroked himself once, twice, then pushed in—one hard thrust all the way. The stretch burned good; you cried out. He didn’t wait—started moving rough, deep strokes that slammed the couch into the wall. Sweat dripped. His hair stuck to his face. He stared down at you the whole time, broken and wild.
“Only you,” he kept saying with every thrust, voice cracking. “Always you.”
You came again, tight around him, and he followed—groaning deep, spilling hot inside you, shaking hard.
He fell on you after, breathing rough against your neck, holding tight like you’d disappear.
But days later the ring showed up on his finger—cold silver catching light.
He never took it off.
Not when he touched you soft and slow later. Not when he fucked you desperate again.
The lie tasted like ash now.
You were alone in the apartment, curled on the couch with a blanket pulled tight around your shoulders, trying to ignore the way your stomach cramped from another skipped meal. The knock at the door was soft—polite, almost hesitant. You weren’t expecting anyone. Satoru had a key and never knocked.
When you opened it, Akira Gojo stood there.
She was flawless as always: long black hair falling in perfect waves, violet eyes sharp and assessing, wearing a simple but expensive coat that made your oversized hoodie feel like rags. Her smile was warm, practiced, the kind that looked genuine if you didn’t know better.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said, voice smooth as silk. “Satoru mentioned you’d been under the weather. I thought I’d drop by with some tea. Clan blend—supposed to help with stress.”
You froze in the doorway, hand tightening on the knob. Satoru hadn’t mentioned any visit. He hadn’t mentioned her at all in days.
She lifted a small, elegant tin like an offering. “May I come in?”
You let her, because refusing felt like admitting defeat.
She moved through your apartment with quiet confidence, setting the tin on the counter, glancing around with that same warm smile. “It’s cozy,” she said. “Very… lived-in.”
The word landed like a barb.
She turned to you, expression softening into something that almost looked like concern. “Satoru’s been worried about you. He says you haven’t been eating.”
Your throat closed. He’d told her that?
“I’m fine,” you managed.
Akira tilted her head, violet eyes searching your face—taking in the dark circles, the sharp cheekbones, the way your clothes hung loose. “You don’t look fine. You look… tired. It must be hard, carrying all this alone.”
She stepped closer, voice lowering. “He’s under so much pressure right now. The elders, the lineage, the expectations. It’s a lot for one person to hold. Sometimes… partners need to be strong enough to share the burden, not add to it.”
The words were gentle, but they cut deep.
“I’m not adding to anything,” you said, voice thin.
Her smile didn’t waver. “Of course not. But he’s distracted. And distractions can be dangerous in our world.” She reached out, brushing an invisible strand of hair from your shoulder—a touch that felt like ice. “I just want what’s best for him. We all do.”
She left the tea and departed with another warm smile.
You didn’t drink it.
Your body started falling apart quietly—no sleep, food turning bad in your mouth, constant ache in your chest. He saw it, brought food you couldn’t eat, held you when you cried without sound.
His visits got shorter. More excuses piled up.
Akira was everywhere now—perfect couple, perfect future.
Your head slowly tortured you more than ever. You watched clips of them and felt your heart fold in on itself. He always came after, always guilty, always using his body to say sorry—hard against the door, slow on the floor, every time ending with him whispering he hated it.
You held him, tears hot on his skin.
The necklace felt like a weight now—cold metal against your throat, pulling tighter every day.
Winter came cold and empty, pulling everything apart piece by piece.
The winter deepened, and with it, your unraveling accelerated into a freefall you no longer tried to fight.
A week later, you forced yourself out for a mission briefing at Jujutsu High—something small, something to prove you weren’t falling apart.
Akira was there. Again.
She stood in the corridor outside the meeting room, speaking with a group of assistants, her laughter light and melodic. When she saw you, her expression shifted to surprise, then concern.
“Oh—you’re here,” she said, excusing herself from the group to approach. “I didn’t expect to see you. Satoru said you were taking time off.”
The words landed like a slap. He hadn’t said that. Had he?
Assistants glanced your way, whispers starting.
Akira lowered her voice, leaning in like a friend sharing a secret. “You look… thinner. Are you sleeping? He’s been so worried. He barely focuses during planning sessions anymore.”
Your chest tightened. “I’m handling it.”
She touched your arm lightly—comforting, invasive. “I know this is hard. Being on the outside of something so… permanent. But it’s for the best. The clan needs stability. He needs it.”
Her eyes flicked over you again, taking in the loose uniform, the dull hair, the exhaustion etched into every line. “You deserve someone who can give you their whole attention. Not… scraps.”
She squeezed your arm once, smile sympathetic, then walked away.
The briefing passed in a blur. You barely heard the assignments.
That night, you didn’t answer when Satoru called.
What started as skipped meals became deliberate starvation—days blurring into nights where the hollow gnaw in your stomach felt like punishment you deserved, a way to match the emptiness carving through your chest. You'd stare at food he brought, the steam rising mockingly, and push it away untouched, watching it grow cold like the hope you'd once clung to. Your body wasted away faster now: ribs protruding sharply under thin skin, collarbones like fragile ridges, hair falling in thick clumps that clogged the shower drain like silent accusations. Mornings brought dizziness that made the room spin, black spots dancing in your vision until you gripped the sink to stay upright, but you welcomed the vertigo—it distracted from the constant, throbbing ache behind your eyes.
Panic attacks hit like storms without warning: in the grocery store, where a glimpse of white hair on a stranger sent you crumpling against shelves, hyperventilating until vomit rose bitter in your throat; on empty streets at dusk, breath seizing until you clawed at your chest, nails drawing blood through fabric as if you could dig out the pain. Insomnia ruled your nights—staring at ceilings until dawn, replaying every photo, every clip of him with her, the images looping in your mind like a curse you couldn't exorcise. When sleep finally came, nightmares twisted it: him marrying her, his blue eyes cold as he turned away, leaving you screaming into void until you woke gasping, sheets soaked in sweat and tears.
Self-harm crept in subtly at first—nails digging into palms during calls he didn't answer, leaving crescent scars that scabbed and reopened; then sharper edges, a kitchen knife pressed just hard enough against your wrist to draw thin red lines, the sting a brief, twisted relief from the numbness spreading through you. Alcohol became a crutch: bottles emptied alone, the burn in your throat a poor substitute for his touch, mornings waking with pounding headaches and dry heaves over the toilet. You stopped caring about missions, technique slipping until curses nearly overpowered you, the close calls feeling like invitations you almost accepted.
He saw the wreckage—eyes widening at your gaunt frame, hands trembling as he traced new scars—but his visits only fueled the spiral. You turned sex into brutal self-punishment: you'd beg him to fuck you harder, nails raking his back until blood welled, riding him with frantic desperation until exhaustion claimed you both. "Hurt me," you'd whisper once, and he froze, horror in his eyes, but the plea hung between you like a noose.
Shoko found you once, collapsed in the infirmary after blacking out from dehydration, her voice breaking. "This isn't love—it's destruction. Stop before there's nothing left."
Then, one night in early spring, he came.
He teleported straight into your apartment, the ripple of space barely audible over the silence you'd wrapped yourself in. He looked wrecked—white hair messy, blindfold missing, blue eyes bloodshot and glassy. The faint jasmine clung to him again, a cruel reminder.
You were on the couch, blanket pulled tight, staring at the wall. He dropped to his knees in front of you without a word, hands hovering before gently pulling you into his arms. No rush, no demand—just careful closeness. He lifted you into his lap, cradling you against his chest, one arm secure around your back, the other stroking your hair with trembling fingers.
“I messed up,” he said quietly, voice thick. “I keep messing up, and I hate seeing what it’s doing to you.”
You stayed stiff for a moment, then spoke, words scraping out raw. “You say that every time. Then you go back to them.”
He flinched, arms tightening. “I know. I know I do. And it kills me every time I leave this door.”
“Why do you leave, then?” Your voice cracked. “If it kills you, why do you keep doing it?”
He pressed his forehead to yours, breath shaky. “Because I’m scared. Scared of what happens if I fight them head-on. Scared I’ll lose everything—including you.”
“You’re losing me anyway,” you whispered, tears starting. “Piece by piece. And it feels like you don’t even see it.”
“I see it,” he choked, rocking you gently. “I see it every day, and it tears me apart. You’re fading right in front of me, and I can’t stop it. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry I’m not stronger.”
You buried your face in his neck, sobs finally breaking free. “I don’t know how to keep going like this.”
He held you closer, lips brushing your temple. “Then let me hold you tonight. Just tonight. No promises I can’t keep. Just… let me be here.”
You didn’t answer with words. You just clung to him, letting the warmth of his body chase the cold for a few hours.
He stayed until morning, curled around you in bed, arms locked like he could shield you from the world he’d helped break.
But morning came, and so did the calls.
Spring pretended to arrive, but it brought no renewal—only the final, merciless tightening of the noose.
The countdown had become a living thing: three months, two, one. Every day shaved another layer from you, leaving raw edges that bled quietly and wouldn’t stop.
Akira’s victory tour was relentless. Leaked bridal spreads—her in flowing white gowns, him adjusting veils with gentle hands, lifting trains with smiles that looked genuine to anyone who didn’t know the truth. Headlines screamed “The Strongest Finally Tamed.” Viral reels of them tasting menus, him feeding her delicacies with that same thumb-brush across her lip he once used on you after midnight snacks in bed.
You watched until the loops became madness, until your stomach heaved and bile burned your throat.
Your body surrendered piece by piece. Hair fell in thick clumps in the shower, strands tangling in the drain like accusations, leaving thin, itchy patches on your scalp that you scratched until they bled. Weight melted away until your ribs showed sharp under translucent skin, collarbones jutting like broken wings, hip bones pressing painfully against any surface you sat on. Panic attacks hit without warning—in meetings, breath seizing until black spots exploded in your vision; on trains, chest caving as you clawed at your throat, nails drawing blood while strangers stared.
Doctors asked questions you couldn’t answer, their voices distant through the fog. “She has severe stress response,” they said. “Also severe depression.” Prescribed pills that rattled in bottles you never opened.
Shoko found you once curled on the infirmary floor after vomiting blood-tinged bile that tasted of copper and defeat. “You’re killing yourself,” she said, voice shaking as she held your hair back. “Stop this before there’s nothing left.”
You couldn’t. The pain was the only thing still proving you were alive.
Gojo noticed everything—dark circles carving deeper hollows under his perfect eyes, hands that trembled when they weren’t gripping you like a lifeline. He brought meals, sat on your floor, begged you to eat one bite with tears shining unshed. You stared at him like a stranger wearing the face of the man who had once been your entire world.
You were running containment drills alone, pushing your technique harder than you should, sweat soaking through your clothes despite the chill. Your hands shook as you drew seals, cursed energy flickering unstable.
Akira appeared at the edge of the field, watching.
You stopped, breathing hard.
She approached slowly, hands clasped in front of her. “I didn’t know you trained here.”
You didn’t respond.
She stopped a few feet away, expression calm. “He’s finalizing the guest list today. Asked me to help.”
The words hit like ice water.
You stared at her, chest heaving.
Her violet eyes held yours. “I told him you wouldn’t want an invitation. It would only hurt more.”
Silence.
She stepped closer, voice soft. “Let him go. You’re only making it harder—for both of you. He’ll never leave the clan. Not for you.”
She turned and walked away.
You dropped to your knees in the dirt, seals crumbling around you, cursed energy dissipating like smoke.
That night, you didn’t eat.
Didn’t sleep.
Didn’t answer the door when he came.
The spiral tightened.
You were breaking—and no one knew how much of it was from her cunning plans.
The final pre-wedding shoot dropped: him in traditional black montsuki, her in pure white shiromuku, cherry blossoms falling like blessings around them. It was breathtaking. Perfect. The most beautiful lie ever captured.
You stared at your phone until the screen went dark from inactivity, eyes burning dry, then didn’t charge it for a week, letting the battery die like everything else.
He came that night, collapsing against your doorframe like his legs had given out, body folding in on itself. “I look happy in those pictures,” he rasped, voice shredded raw. “I’ve never hated myself more.”
You let him in but didn’t touch him. The distance felt like the only armor left.
One month left.
The city draped itself in subtle celebration—clan banners fluttering like mocking flags, whispers of the “event of the century” in every conversation you couldn’t escape.
You stopped leaving the apartment. Mirrors became enemies, reflecting a stranger with hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, skin stretched tight over bone.
On the 30-day mark, he teleported in at dawn, face stripped of color, blindfold clutched in his fist like a lifeline he was about to lose. “I can’t marry her,” he said, voice barely air, cracking on every word. “I physically can’t do it.”
You searched his eyes for the man who once promised to burn the world for you.
Found only terror. Paralysis. Defeat.
You stepped closer, voice raw from disuse and screaming nightmares. “Then don’t.”
A tear rolled down his cheek, carving a wet trail through the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. He reached for your hands like they were the last solid thing in his universe.
And froze.
The silence stretched—thick, suffocating, final.
You pulled your hands away first, the movement slow and deliberate, like severing a vein. His fingers hung in empty air, trembling.
“You say you can’t marry her,” you whispered, the words scraping your throat raw. “But you’re going to. You always do what they want in the end.”
His face crumpled. “No—listen to me, I’ve been fighting them. I’ve been pushing back every day—”
“Pushing back?” Your voice rose, cracking like glass under pressure. “Where? I don’t see it. I don’t feel it. All I see is you coming here after being with her, smelling like her, wearing that ring like it’s already over. Akira told me everything—how you’re finalizing details together, how you asked her to help with the guest list, how you said I wouldn’t want an invitation because it would hurt too much. You let her come into my home, into my head, and twist everything until I can’t even trust what’s real anymore.”
His eyes widened in horror. “She—what? I never said any of that. I never asked her to—”
“She said you were worried about me,” you cut in, voice shaking with months of bottled poison. “That I was a distraction. That I wasn’t strong enough to handle your world. And the worst part? I started believing her. Because you’re never here long enough to prove her wrong.”
He dropped to his knees, reaching for you again, tears falling freely now. “I love you. I love you more than anything—more than the clan, more than duty, more than my own life. I’ve been trying to protect you from the worst of it, keeping you away from their games—”
“Protect me?” You laughed, a broken, bitter sound that tore at your throat. “You left me alone with her lies. You let her make me doubt everything—doubt you, doubt us. If you really loved me, you would’ve fought harder. You would’ve chosen me already.”
“I’m choosing you now!” His voice broke, raw and desperate. “I’m here, telling you I can’t do this without you. Please believe me.”
You stepped back, arms wrapping around yourself like armor. “I don’t know how to believe you anymore. Every time you say you love me, you leave. Every time you promise to fix it, nothing changes. Akira made sure I saw the truth: I’m just the weakness they’re waiting for you to cut out.”
He sobbed openly then, forehead pressing to the floor. “No. God, no. You’re my strength. You’re the only thing that’s real.”
You turned away, tears burning hot down your cheeks. “Then prove it. But I’m tired of waiting for proof that never comes.”
The silence returned, heavier than before.
You walked to the counter, picked up the infinity necklace with numb fingers, and held it out.
“Take it.”
He stared at it, body shaking.
“Take it,” you repeated, voice flat and final. “I’m done carrying your forever when it’s already dead.”
He couldn’t.
In front of your door, he stayed on his knees until dawn, broken and silent. His hand rose, hovered—then fell limp to his side. Sobs tore from him, raw and animal, body folding forward until his forehead touched the cold floor, shoulders shaking with violent, silent grief that seemed to rip him apart from the inside.
You dropped the necklace. It landed with a soft, final clink between you, chain coiling like a dead snake, the pendant glinting mockingly in the dawn light filtering through the window.
The sound shattered him completely. A broken, guttural wail escaped him—primal, inhuman—as he curled in on himself, fingers clawing at his chest like he could dig out the pain.
You turned away, tears finally coming—hot, burning, unstoppable, blurring your vision as your own sobs caught in your throat, silent and choking.
He stayed on the floor until dawn fully broke, body wracked with shudders, voice gone from crying. When he finally left, the door closed with a soft click that sounded like the end of everything.
You didn’t move for hours.
The next day, media blew up everywhere that the Gojo clan heir and the richest, most popular bachelor had gotten married.
You were already gone—half a world away, heart in pieces, wondering if the pain would ever stop or if this was all that was left of you.
the end of part one
hehe sorry for the angst everyone. if you like please drop a comment so i can continue with part two.
fratboy!satoru gojo ; more than friends? [7.6k words!]
summary — ♡ you haven’t spoken to satoru in months. not since the night he broke your trust—your heart. but when a game of “spin the bottle” forces you both into a closet. all the unsaid feelings, silence, grows heavier than ever.
you and satoru hadn’t talked in over a month. why? because he thought it would be a brilliant idea—like always—to invite you to one of his parties and then forget you even existed once you showed up. you shouldn’t be mad, right? you weren’t his girlfriend. you two were just best friends. he could do what he wanted. at least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself.
but deep down, you knew better. he wasn’t clueless. he knew how you felt about him—he’d been teasing you with it for years. and the worst part? he took advantage of it. he kissed you the night you came back from your overseas internship. lips soft, lingering, full of promises you thought were finally going to mean something. you went to bed that night thinking maybe—just maybe—things between you and satoru were going to change.
so when he begged you to come to that party, you said yes. because no matter how much you tried to deny it, you always said yes to him. the most popular frat boy at jjk university wanted his nerdy best friend by his side—how could you not? and for a while, you thought it would be like every other night. satoru glued to your side, throwing snarky comments your way, protecting you from the drunken chaos like he always did.
but this time…it wasn’t.
by 1am you were exhausted. you had a math test in a couple of hours and were ready to head home, except satoru was supposed to be your ride. you searched for him through the crowd for nearly half an hour, irritation growing with every passing second deciding to go up to suguru to see where he is. “oh,satoru?! he’s in the living room!.” he yelled over the loud music that ranged through your ears shouting back a thank you.
when you did—like a huge brick being thrown into your face, you stood frozen, eyes widened, heart beating rapidly fast, as it sunk to your stomach. he was on the couch with a girl on his lap, practically grinding on him as they made out. you didn’t even give him time to see you before you stormed out of the house deciding to just bus home. luckily bus services were still out this late.
that night, your phone lit up nonstop. his name. text after text. missed calls. you muted him. ignored him. left him on read.
that was the day the silent treatment started.
the same morning went like usual, you had your math test, went to history and lastly art where you had—unluckily shared a class with him. when satoru spotted you he tried his usual teasing. ruffling your hair or even poking at you with a pencil but you weren’t budging.
satoru could tell something was up with you. you weren’t cursing him out or reacting at anything. “hey..did I do something? you left without a word, and left my texts on read.” he tried to play off with a small snicker but when you didn’t say anything he knew he did something to upset you. he did try for a few more days not giving up from your stubbornness, but when it was clear that you didn’t wanna speak to him he decided to leave you alone. stopped texting you, stopped messing with you in class, and even stopped coming to your apartment unannounced.
you guys didn’t talk for almost two months.
almost.
that’s until your friend practically begged you to go to a frat party. saying you’ve been digging your nose into text book and need to let loose. you tried to decline his offer, but after begging and whining you finally gave in. everything was going well, you had a few drinks, your friend was practically hammered after his 5th one, leaning against the counter just laughing at his idiotic actions. you were actually enjoying yourself until your attention was taken away from a bunch of whooping and yelling. you were confused, raising a brow taking a sip of your drink, looking around to see what was happening.
beside you, you could hear little words being exchanged by a few girls. one was fixing her hair as the other was retouching her make up, “do I look okay?.” you tried to listen closely to see if they knew what the commotion was all about, but you instantly figured it out when you seen him. walked in like he owned the place. backwards red cap, with a white shirt that hugged his arms just right with jeans on, carrying that smug smirk like he always did. you scoffed. “of course.” taking another sip feeling the vodka burn your throat as your eyes were glued on him.
he didn’t see you at first, but when he did, his smirk faltered. dark blue eyes now looking your direction, when you both made eye contact you instantly looked away. satoru scoffed clicking his tongue, turning his head walking through the rest of the crowd. you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t say your heart sunk the moment you saw him, feeling a strong pulse through your body…he looked… hot. you bit your lip slightly groaning to yourself, chugging the rest of your drink.
as the night went on the more tension was building up. he was watching you through the entire night interacting with guys who had a nasty smirk on their face. he was getting possessive by the hour. just seeing you laugh at another dudes joke pissed him off, and just his luck he got dragged into a game. spin the bottle. when your friend heard all the commotion about a game, you tried to avoid it, going outside to hide but he practically forced you to join, and just your luck he was there too. you heard a few whispers “who let the nerd join?.”
“well at least she’s cute.” etc etc. you were used to it by now, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t get over the fact that there was a chance of the bottle landing on him.
so the game begun. each time the bottle spun you secretly hoped it wouldn’t land on satoru, knowing why most girls were even here to play, your heart skipped a beat each time it passed him only for it to go to a different guy. you sighed in relief each time, but tried to not make it obvious hearing the girls groan. by the time it came to his turn you tried to not seem nervous but you were. satoru clicked his tongue spinning the bottle, it was like slow motion. as the bottle spun passing you at least three times it couldn’t have landed on you right? wrong.
it landed straight on you.
you could feel your heart stop, getting numb to the sounds of hollering and whooping as you both stood up. before you even knew it, you were both shoved into a closet. the door slammed, with a muffled yell. “7 minutes starts now!.” your back pressed against the wall, arms crossed as if that alone could protect you. with a shaky breath, you pushed your glasses up, forcing yourself to stay composed even though your pulse was hammering in your ears.
he stood a few feet away, silent. the dim light barely touched his face, but you could still see the way his eyes lingered on you—steady, unblinking, unreadable.
the air between you grew heavier by the second.
you refused to speak first. if you have to sit in silence for the whole 7 minutes. you will. he knows that too. you’re a very stubborn women, and it pisses him off that you were, you felt his gaze linger on you for far too long thinking it’s been 7 minutes already. it was cramped, filled with heated tension. this was torture. you were feeling even more nervous by the way his eyes were lingering on you. it was silent. your heart beating fast, satoru’s soft breaths being heard.
but you refused to break, even as the silence pressed down like a weight on your chest. seven minutes had to be over by now—had to be. but when your eyes flickered toward the clock, his voice finally cut through the stillness, low and deliberate.
“what’s your problem?”
your stomach dropped. he shifted closer, the space between you shrinking in an instant. his hand moved—slow, deliberate—until it hovered just inches away from yours. his face inching closer to yours feeling his breath hit your lips. “why aren’t you speaking’ to me, huh?.”
it felt like the closet had shrunk 10x more being this close with him. being chest to chest, he could practically feel your heart pounding against his. his eyes never left yours and for once in his lifetime he didn’t have that playful smirk. his eyes were dark and serious as he stared into your e/c ones. “look at me.” you pressed your back more onto the wall, refusing. he scoffed, moving his head to be along with your stare, forcing your attention. “so this is how it’s gonna be now huh?…you’re never gonna speak to me again?.” you pressed your lips together, “why do you care.” you muttered.
he clicked his tongue, “why do I care? because you randomly stopped talking to me without explanation.” he leaned more towards your face, stepping closer, but you lifted your chin refusing to back down. “fine. you wanna know why I stopped talking you?.” your voice slightly cracked, feeling your heart sink, but you still stood strong. “because you knew, satoru. you knew I had feelings for you, you knew exactly how I felt about you, you made me feel like I mattered for once, and then—.” you sucked in a breath, fist clenching to your side. “then I find you sucking faces with another person. you left me by myself for two hours, after you practically begged me to come to your stupid party.”
his eyes widened, realization hitting, shaking his head. “that’s not— that’s not what it was—“
“don’t.” your voice was enough to shut him up. he’s never heard you so hurt before.. “don’t lie to me when I seen it for myself.” he hated that he’s the reason you’re so hurt, but could he really be upset with you for having a valid reaction?. “y/n—“
“funny thing is..” you trailed off with a scoff, “I don’t even know why i’m still mad. It’s kind of my fault anyways, thinking a frat boy would be loyal.” hearing that made his breath hitch. “you could have anyone you want, with your cocky attitude, your jokes, looks—“
“and maybe—just maybe that’s the problem.” you let your words sink into him. like a harsh paper cut, he had no words. he didn’t have his lies or excuses to throw your way. he didn’t know what to say. he fucked up. “besides. I bet there’s guys out there who doesn’t see me as a fucking toy.” that’s what caught his attention, his eyebrows furrowed immediately shaking his head. “that’s not true—“
“then why kiss me?. look me dead in the eyes right now and tell me why?.” when he did, he saw so much emotion run through them. anger, hurt, confusion, he opened his mouth to explain but when he couldn’t find the right words— it was silent.
knew it.
you scoffed shaking your head. “you’ll never change will you?” you whispered, letting your voice break. when you heard the door being pulled open, you felt relief wash over you, pushing past him to walk out. he just stood there, arm on the wall of where you stood deep in his thought. he fucked up big time. he didn’t follow you, he didn’t chase you. he deserved this, even if it hurt. his chest felt tight, and for the first time ever gojo satoru didn’t feel untouchable.
he feels like he just lost you.
the music hit you like a wave when you stepped out, blinding lights and sweaty laughter pulling you back into the chaos. you swallowed hard, fighting the sting behind your eyes as you forced yourself to blend into the crowd. you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. not here. not now. the many emotions that were flying through your head got interrupted but someone shoving a cup towards you, “drink up!” they slurred, you gave a small thin grin, looking down at it.
grateful for the distraction.
you leaned against the counter, sipping slowly, trying to ignore the weight of his absence behind you. but your chest still burned, still throbbed with every word you had just spilled. you felt blank, numb at the fact. did he even care? did he— “hey, you okay?” said a voice breaking you out of your thoughts, it was deep and smooth. looking up, you turned to see a guy—tall, dark-eyed, a smile that’s a little too charming, leaning next to you. “you look like you could use some company.” you raised a brow, “do I?”
“hell yeah.” he grinned sliding his hand into his pockets, also leaning against the counter next to you. “what’s a pretty thing like you doing at a party like this anyway?” he asked with a raised brow, dark eyes looking at you, you went to answer but before you could respond you felt the air choke up your words. you didn’t have to look to know who it was—because the moment satoru stepped out of that closet, it was like the whole room tilted. his messy hair framed his sharp features, his jaw tight, and his normally lazy eyes were narrowed straight at you.
his gaze dropped to the guy standing too close, the way he leaned in like he had a chance. something ugly and fierce twisted inside satoru’s chest. the other guy noticed it too. his smirk faltered just slightly, but not enough to make him back off. “friend of yours?” he asked you casually. you sipped your drink, eyes flicking from one to the other. “not anymore.”
you didn’t miss the way satoru flinched from your answer, his hands twitched slightly, jaw clenching so tight you it could practically break. “good. then I don’t gotta worry about him.” you snickered at the comment even when your chest was aching, even though you knew damn well you weren’t completely over him. but for once— this one time you want him to feel what you felt that night.
you wanted him to realize what he lost. even if it hurt.
as the night went on, all he could do was stare at the way that guy was making you laugh—touching you. watching as you just let it happen, the instinct to walk over and tell the bastard to fuck off was an urge. something he’s always did when you looked uncomfortable—but this time…this time you looked more confident. was it because you wanted to get him back? If so it was working.
but deep down he knew he didn’t have that right anymore. to be possessive over you like he was before. he sat still, ignoring the way girls tried to claw for his attention, because throughout everyone here, he wanted yours the most. but he fucked that up. his eyes darkened as the guy touched your arm again, leaning close enough to whisper something that made your lips curve. satoru’s chest burned at the sight. he hated that laugh. not because it wasn’t pretty—it was, but because it wasn’t real. he knew your real laugh, the one that bubbled up uncontrollably, the one that made his own chest ache with warmth. and this wasn’t it.
still, he couldn’t look away.
your eyes flickered for a slight second, he caught your eyes, swearing you wanted him to see this happen and maybe that was the truth. you wanted him to feel how you felt, choosing to give your smile to someone else. that soft smile he loves so much, it was aching to see that. to give your soft side to someone else. his fingers twitched at the sight, finally looking away, drowning himself with the rest of his drink. the longer he thought about it, the more he was thinking. he might actually lose you.
and he had no one to blame but himself.
-
-
-
it had been two weeks since your last interaction with him. two long, brutal weeks of silence that clung to you like a weight. every day felt heavier than the last—two weeks of satoru realizing just how much empty space you’d left in his world, and two weeks of you realizing how deafening that silence was without his constant teasing and laughter. no texts. no calls. not even a dumb meme sent at 3 a.m. when he knew you couldn’t sleep. just silence. dead silence.
and maybe that’s what you wanted—space. but the cruel irony was that even space hurt. your chest ached with it. you told yourself you should be happy, free. but instead, it felt like you were suffocating, like every breath was caught in your throat without his stupid grin to ease it. you huffed, shaking the thought away as you highlighted another line in your history reading. but the truth was, you hadn’t absorbed a single word all week. the library had become your escape, your cage, your punishment. you kept burying yourself in notes and books, but your mind refused to let go.
could you really stay mad at him forever? maybe there was an explanation—maybe he had a reason. the questions never stopped clawing at you, sending your emotions spiraling. if it were any other guy, he’d already be gone from your head, erased without mercy. but this was satoru. he wasn’t like anyone else. you loved him. and that was the cruelest part—because even after what he did, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. you dropped the highlighter and sank back into your chair, heart heavy. the past two weeks had been nothing but him. every routine, every place you touched, bled with reminders of him.
running to the market late at night. coffee from your shared favorite café. the blossom tree you’d always sat beneath when you needed the world to stop. all of it—ruined by memory. you should despise him. you should block his number, erase his name, burn every piece of him from your life. but you couldn’t. because if you did, your heart would shatter even more than it already had. you missed him. and missing him felt worse than the anger. it burned through your chest, hollow and raw—the goofy jokes, the way he smirked when he knew he was annoying you, the way he stepped in when creeps wouldn’t take a hint.
every piece of him still clung to you. you sighed, tracing your finger across your notebook, ears perking at the sound of commotion by the library entrance. just a group of guys, laughing too loud. you looked, lingered too long, then forced your gaze back down. hours blurred by. at nearly 11 p.m., you were running on fumes, but you refused to stop. it was only you and the librarian now—her quiet kindness keeping you there after hours. then—the sound of a cup sliding across your table. you froze. your eyes fell to the coffee, then lifted slowly—your breath catching in your throat. satoru. messy hair covering his eyes, red hoodie, black joggers. hands stuffed into his pockets, but for once no cocky smirk plastered on his face.
just him, raw and unpolished, staring at you. your glare faltered, but you dropped your eyes back to the cup. you said nothing, just lifted it and sipped—hating yourself for how your heart betrayed you, fluttering just because he remembered your order. “are you gonna talk to me now?” his voice was tentative, almost boyish, carrying a weight you hadn’t heard before. “it’s been two weeks, y’know…” you snorted, forcing a grin. “wow. you can count.” his sigh was sharp, frustrated, but he pulled out the chair anyway, sinking across from you. your eyes stayed glued to the laptop screen, though your pulse raced, louder and louder. “are you really going to shut me out? just like that?” his voice cracked at the edges, desperation bleeding through.
“why are you here.” the words came flat, sharp, but your throat was tight. he ran a hand through his messy hair, a nervous habit. “because i can’t stand it anymore. i can’t stand not talking to you. every time i see you, i want to go to you. every day i want to hear your voice. i miss you. and i want to fix this.” your eyes finally lifted—and for the first time, you saw him stripped bare. vulnerable. his voice breaking, his eyes restless, begging without words. it made your chest ache. “you can hate me. you can scream, curse me out, hit me—hell, throw your coffee at me. i’ll take it. i deserve it. just… don’t shut me out.” your throat burned. your hands twitched. you wanted to say “fuck off.” you wanted to tell him to leave you to your pain. but you couldn’t. the silence stretched until you finally whispered, “why?” his whole body stilled.
“why did you kiss me, then toss me aside for someone else?” your voice trembled, quiet, but steady enough to cut him open. “because i was scared.” a bitter laugh slipped from you. “scared of what? of turning me down? of being decent for once?”
“no.” he leaned forward, elbows digging into the table, his eyes locking on yours. they were burning, pleading, breaking. “scared of you.” you froze. “you don’t get it,” his voice was rough, cracking at the edges. “with you, it’s not just fun. it’s not some game, not some stupid hookup i can laugh about later. with you, it feels different. dangerous. like if i let myself want you. really want you—you’d have the power to ruin me.” your lips parted, but no words came. he dragged his hand through his hair again, breath shuddering.
“that night… when she kissed me—i didn’t kiss her back because i wanted her. i didn’t give a damn about her. i let it happen because i panicked. because the closer i got to you, the more i realized how badly i wanted you. and that terrified me. so i did the only thing i knew how to do—i hid. i fucked it up.” his voice cracked, raw and unpolished. “but the truth? i didn’t feel anything with her. nothing. because the only person i wanted that night—the only person i’ve ever wanted like this—was you. and i ruined it. i ruined us, because i was too much of a coward to admit you’re the only one who makes me feel real.”
your throat closed, vision blurring. his words shredded through every wall you’d built, cutting deep where you didn’t want them to. a laugh tore out of you, shaky, bitter. “do you even hear yourself? you kissed her because you were scared of me? because you…what?actually felt something?” he didn’t look away.
your chest caved as you blinked fast, trying to fight the sting in your eyes. “do you know what it was like? standing there at that party, searching for you, waiting for you—only to see you with her? i felt like a fool. like everything was in my head. like i was the only one who thought this meant anything.” your voice cracked, and a tear slipped down before you could stop it. you wiped it away harshly, refusing to let him see. “i should hate you, satoru. i should. you broke me in a way i didn’t think i could even break. i should despise you for it.” your chest heaved, uneven, trembling with the weight of it. “but i can’t. god, i can’t.” the words left you in a whisper, but they slammed between you like thunder.
his hands twitched against the table, aching to touch you, but afraid. his voice was soft, breaking. “i’m sorry.” your eyes shut. a shaky breath left you. your walls cracked, piece by piece, against your will. because no matter how much you wanted to lock him out forever… part of you still ached. part of you still loved him. “i know sorry isn’t enough,” he whispered, finally reaching forward. his hand closed around yours. you flinched, but didn’t pull away. “but give me the chance. let me prove myself. please— let me fix this.”
“i… i don’t know. I can’t just…forgive you like that. you broke my trust toru.” your voice was small, uncertain. his grip tightened, desperate, begging. heart pounding against his own chest, his eyes reading for a chance.
“then let me show you. let me prove that i meant every word.”
your lip was bitten, unsure of his word. should you give him that chance? “satoru—“
“please… just let me fix the hurt that I caused you—let me prove that my feelings for you are real.” you closed your eyes taking a deep breath in, you want to believe him. hell, you really did, but you were scared. scared of him backing down on his word, scared what happened that night would repeat again, and he could see it all in your eyes, the hesitation, the sadness you still carried. but even behind that wall, he could still see the small cracks you purposely left open. despite what he did, your heart still left an opening for him to slide through.
when you looked into his blue eyes again, you had your answer. “I—.” you started, voice cracking and strained, torn between reason and the ache in your chest. satoru’s eyes searched yours desperately to hear your answer. you sighed, looking down, then back up looking into his eyes. “you don’t get to hurt me again.” you whispered more to yourself than him, but he caught on, head nodding. “if..I let you back in, if I let myself believe every word you’re saying right now—“ your voice was small, but still strong holding your composure. “then promise me you won’t run away again.” satoru’s grip tightened, his thumb softly brushing against your knuckles. “i’m not running away anymore. not from you—not from us.” all you could do was just nod your head, hating how you leaned into his warmth, you let out a shaky exhale. “then prove it. show me i’m not making another mistake.” when your gaze met his, his smile wasn’t the cocky playful one you’re always used to.
this one was soft. warm. like he had his entire world in the grasp of him hand. and in that moment, against your better judgment you felt the first crack of hope.
-
-
-
it started small. he didn’t push, no grand gestures, no suffocating apologies, just quiet persistence. he would walk you home after late nights at the library, keeping some distance between the both of you, exchanging small words. “how was studying?” he asked, hands stuffed in his pockets, you humming, “good.” your voice tired but gentle. and he never got upset when your responses were short or dry, as long as you’re talking to him that’s enough for him.
by the end of the first two weeks, he started to show up during your studying hours. stopping by to either, sit with you, keeping you company, or just dropping by to give you your coffee knowing some days you would work to the the bone. his presence alone, even when he’s not talking or bothering you, doing his own work across from you, you couldn’t help but let your heart flutter. he wasn’t loud and obnoxious, he was…quiet, calm.
by the end of the month, he was making progress. the silence between you were—still a bit awkward and dry, so he made it his goal to break that tension. when he tried to crack jokes like he always did, you would either ignore it or just stare at him. he would frown each time getting nothing but bricks. when he tried to make conversation, it would be dry…like always, with a “good.” “no.” “not really.” “that’s cool.” but each time it would only gave him more motivation. he wasn’t giving up!.
you guys we’re currently at a cafe of your choice talking about this upcoming art project, as you talked he would just listen, nodding his head following along of what you’re saying. when you were done, you raised a brow seeing the way he was staring at you. “what?.” you asked squinting your eyes, satoru shaking his head but still had that grin on his face, “nothing nothing…you just look happy to talk about stuff you enjoy.” you blinked, then looked straight down at your laptop screen, ignoring his stare. “shut up—and stop looking at me like that..” you murmured still ignoring his eyes.
“like what?.” he teased, but it wasn’t the mocking tone he always portrayed. it was soft—almost tender. “like you’re the best thing I ever laid eyes on?” you scoffed. rolling your eyes but didn’t ignore theway your heart went soft, and your mouth betraying you feeling the corners of your lips tug upward. just slightly. satoru leaned back in his chair, smiling softly, noticing. “there it is.” he murmured to himself, but you heard it. for the first time in weeks—almost a damn month the silence that followed after wasn’t awkward, it was light. almost like things were getting back to normal.
around the third month, it was no longer awkward between you both. satoru was able to slip in jokes watching how your lips betrayed you into a smile or even hearing you laugh again. that warm bubbly laugh. the walls you had up, were cracking by the day. you didn’t even realize how much until one night— it was a restless night from studying, you yawned as you closed your laptop, getting ready to take a shower and go to bed. as you were gathering your clothes you heard a ding, almost instantly you looked at the notification. it was from him.
you bit your bottom lip, sighing as you placed your phone down. you don’t know why, but even though he gave you the reassurance, your thoughts still betrayed you…going back that night. you shouldn’t even be thinking about that night—he did say he wasn’t going to do anything you wouldn’t like. so why are you thinking about it again? you want to believe him, you were itching to—but the thoughts of that night, replaying in your head over and over, was making your heart sink. was he lying? is he with someone else? what if he’s doing it again? what if he’s making out with someone? all these thoughts running through your head was driving you crazy. but shaking your head, you made your way to the bathroom.
it’s been two hours since he last texted. you tried to take your mind off of it, scrolling through your phone on instagram, laughing at stupid reels you found, but nothing was working. it was making you sick. should you text him? just a small “are you okay?”, and as if he was reading your mind you heard a ding coming from your phone.
before you could respond, you got an incoming facetime call from him. you rolled your eyes, but clicked the green button, letting the phone connect, “see?” his voice rung out from the other end, he showed you that he was on the couch with suguru next to him, who gave a little sloppy wave, and his other friends by him, “just having fun and drinking.“ he snickered, you hated how your mouth betrayed you AGAIN, letting a small smile creep in, feeling your nerves calm down. “are you smiling?” he said looking back down at the camera to see the small tug on your lips, you groaned, letting your phone drop so he couldn’t see you anymore.
“no, i’m not.” you tried to sound convincing but you heard him chuckle again, “aww you are. come on, let me see your face.” you felt your heart tug even more, “aren’t you at a party? why’re you calling me.” satoru clicked his tongue, “because I wanted to.” you grumbled under your breath, but slowly picked up your phone again, he smiled even more. “there she is.” you guys talked for a good 5 minutes before he told you he had to go.
when the fifth month had hit, everything was changing. the walls you had up high were slowly shrinking the more the days were coming, you were laughing more, letting your smile be shown again, even letting old habits come to light again. like tugging softly at his hoodie when you needed something, ruffling his hair, even stealing his hoodies again! it almost felt like that night didn’t happen.
you guys were currently walking from the last class you had together, laughing at a dumb joke he made when you both got stopped by a girl, long brunette hair, wearing low rise jeans, with a tank top.
she was flirty—extremely flirty, she would trail her finger along his chest, fluttering her lashes towards his way—you would expect satoru to engage with it right? he’s gojo satoru, the amazing frat boy that’s popular for his looks and cocky attitude. anytime you guys would walk together, there’s always girls that tries to get his attention. you hate to admit, but you did feel a little insecure. you weren’t like most girls at jjk university, you were a nerd, you stuffed your nose into books, you basically live in the library friday nights to sunday nights studying and working. you wore baggy sweats, and baggy hoodies, sometimes you would wear your glasses sometimes not.
you would think because how satoru looks his type would be into pretty girls—that’s why the ones who approach him are always confident. you had your doubt, face falling a bit but when you looked at his face, it screamed “not interested.” his eyebrow raised, taking her hand of his chest. and before you knew it, his arm slid across your shoulder, with a small smirk. you were taken back, but didn’t miss how she huffed, “you can’t be serious.” you can hear the jealousy in her voice, you couldn’t help but feel a tug at your mouth.
one because it was funny—two because you expected him to flirt back and three…three because he was actually true to his word. you felt like your heart was going to beat out your chest by how fast it was getting. “oh i’m dead serious.” he said with a low tone before practically dragging you to walk away from her. you both could hear her scoff, stomping away. when you guys finally got to your apartment, he stopped. “you okay?” he asked, you softly nodded, grabbing a long his sweatshirt, “I uh well—first thank you for that.” you said satoru giving a small grin, running a hand through his hair with a shrug, “anything for you~” he teased, you scoffed bumping his shoulder, but cleared your throat. “second…I have to talk to you—about…something.” he raised a brow, “about what?”
“just…follow me.”
you softly tugged him by the sleeve leading him inside the apartment, and all of sudden the air before grew much heavier and thicker. you felt as if your heart was going to explode out of your chest, leading him to the living room. satoru tilted his head, white lashes blinking as he looked your way, “don’t tell me i’m about to get scolded for being too charming.” he smirked, plopping down on the couch, as you rolled your eyes. “i’m serious, satoru.” that made his smirk falter a bit, hearing that tone in your voice, sitting up straight, “did I do something?.” you saw the worry in his expression, quick to shut it down, shaking your head. “no!— you didn’t…it’s just—something else.”
he raised a brow, you sighed, not even realized your hands curling up in the sleeve of his hoodie avoiding eye contact with him. you were nervous, he could easily tell because you never made eye contact, your fingers would always find a place into your sleeve, and you were staggering trying to find the right words to say. satoru softly smiled, trailing his hand to be placed on top of your covered ones, “hey…i’m not goin’ anywhere. take your time.” you looked up to see blue eyes piercing into yours that was filled with nothing but calmness and reassurance. your heart fluttered, getting butterflies in your stomach.
you took a small breath. “I…I don’t know how to say this, but i’ll try.” you laughed lightly, “what I wanted to talk to you about is us.” his heart skipped a beat, you didn’t look pass how he stiffened up a bit, hand twitching on top of yours. you took another breath, “I don’t want to keep beating around the bush anymore. when I say that I mean, I don’t want to keep pretending or shove down my feelings for you when they grow each day. that night…God that night ruined me.” you chuckled lightly, keeping your stare at your interlocked hands, “I thought maybe I did something wrong for you to choose someone else, thought I wasn’t good enough…I was mad, confused, betrayed? that night I thought it was over for us. I wanted to hate you—for toying with my feelings, despise you even. but knowing how much I loved—love you…I couldn’t.”
I love you.
his breath hitched at those three words. “I was angry at myself even more when I couldn’t stop loving you, even after that…these past months, you proved your word to me—you didn’t run when things were getting more public, you saw me…” you said shyly with a nervous smile, “so what i’m saying is…I want to give you a second chance.” you said a little shyly looking down, it was quiet. too quiet. too quiet to where you thought it might crush you, your chest tightened a bit, your bottom lip trembling just slightly, pulling your hand away when his grip tightened pulling you closer to him. “say it again.” he whispered, eyes staring straight into yours, your breath hitched, “wha—?”
“say it again.” he repeated, “that you love me.” you swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat, feeling your body heat up.
“I love you, satoru.” before you knew it, you felt soft lips crashing onto yours. your eyes widened a bit from shock, but when you came back to reality, your eyes immediately shut closed accepting his kiss. you felt his grin appear on his face as he moved his mouth against yours. it wasn’t rough or messy, it was full of care and love. you placed a hand on his chest, feeling his own heart beating rapidly. after 6 months of gaining your trust back, all he could do was be happy. the kiss lasted a few more seconds before, you pulled away placing your forehead against his. his eyes were shining through the light, seeing all emotions run through them. “you don’t understand how long i’ve waited to do that.” he laughed lowly, both hands on your cheeks as he just stared at you.
he did have his doubts. that you would’ve gave up on him, or have been too annoyed with him or even someone else swiping you off your feet. before you could say another word, he leaned in pecking your lips. “I.” peck. “love” peck. “you.” peck. “too!.” you giggled trying to get out of his touch, feeling ticklish as he kissed you everywhere. “satoru!, get off me!” you laughed but he only kept going, squirming in his arms as he held you tighter. “never.” he murmured between kisses peppering your cheeks, nose, and jaw until your laughter turned breathless. finally, you shoved at him half-heartedly, your face flushed and warm. “you’re an idiot,” you muttered, but your smile betrayed you. satoru grinned, resting his chin atop your head like he used to, only this time his arms never let go. “maybe,” he said softly, his voice dipping into something gentler. “but i’m your idiot.”
your chest swelled, heart hammering like it might burst out of you. for once, there were no walls, no lingering doubts, no heavy silence choking you. just him, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world. you let out a quiet sigh, fingers clutching the fabric of his hoodie. “don’t make me regret this, satoru.” his arms tightened around you, lips brushing your temple in the softest of promises. “i won’t. not again. you’re it for me.” and for the first time since everything started, you believed him—not because of his words, but because of the way he held you. like he’d never let go. you leaned up just enough to meet his lips again, this time slow, steady, and sure. no doubts. no games. just love.
the relationship between you both started slow, it started off with satoru taking you out on dates. not any ordinary dates—ones where he went all out each time, the first date was when he invited you over to his place, where you walked in to see a very organized set up for movie night. he had skin scare products set up on the table, one his favorite hoodies folded nicely, all your favorite snacks and drinks. when you looked back at him with a surprised face, he only gave a cheeky smile.
from there, it felt like a piece of him was being handed to you. from late night ramen runs after an exam, when he would purposely mess up his order just to give you an excuse to trade bowls. to long walks where he’d lean down to tease you just to hear your laugh. nights at your apartment where he let you put face masks on him, your headband holding his hair in a sprout while you sat on his lap, applying the mask. he would always say things like “i don’t trust anyone else with my skin,” or “i look good, huh? admit it,” you’d roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest never left.
it wasn’t just the big gestures with him—it wasn’t just the dates he planned, it was the way he’d carry your bag without asking, or how he’d slow his long strides just so you didn’t have to rush to keep up. the way he noticed when you were tired and shoved one of his jackets into your arms without a word, and the way he ddi everything he promised you he would do. he kept his promise.
then, one night, after another long restless day, the two of you sat tangled on his couch, a drama playing on the tv tat neither of you were really paying attention to. you had your cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart while he traced circles on your back.
“y’know,” he started, his tone unusually soft, “i like this. i like… us.” you tilted your head to look at him, catching the rare hint of nervousness in his usually confident expression. his lips curled into that familiar grin, though this time it was smaller, almost tentative. “I really am grateful you gave me a second chance.” he chuckled lightly, “these past two months of taking our relationship slow, I’ve been thinking.” you raised a brow, now sitting up facing him, “what is it?’ you said softly, satoru humming, rubbing a hand up and down your back with his nails. he took a deep breath, then deep breath out, “would you be my girlfriend?” silence. all that was heard was the sound of hearts starting to beat faster each second, his vulnerability showing as his blue eyes shined through your own. the tv murmured quietly in the background, but it might as well have been a different world—just the two of you existed in that space, that heartbeat, that pause.
you felt the warmth of his hand on your back, gentle but grounding, and the weight of his gaze made your chest flutter. he wasn’t teasing, he wasn’t joking, and for the first time in weeks, you saw a side of him that was entirely sincere, entirely open. “satoru…” you breathed, your fingers brushing over his hand, anchoring him as much as you were anchored by him. “you… mean that?” he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips, nerves still flickering in his eyes. “every word. i don’t want half-measures, i don’t want games, I said i’m not running anymore. i just… want this. I want you.”
your heart swelled, and a small laugh escaped, shaky but full of warmth. “you’re ridiculous,” you whispered, shaking your head, “but… i think— no, i want this too.” he let out a breath he’d been holding, relief and joy mingling in that quiet exhale, and then he leaned forward, just enough to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “so…?” he asked teasingly, though his voice still held the tenderness that had made your chest ache. “so… yes,” you said, smiling, letting your hands settle over his. “i’ll be your girlfriend.”
his grin widened immediately, that signature spark back in his eyes, and he pulled you into a gentle hug, murmuring, “best decision ever. and in that moment, everything felt like it finally made sense—two people, slowly finding the rhythm of “us,” and finally ready to call it theirs. through hell and back, tears, and heart breaks, you both were still able to come back. “you better not fuck up again.” you said, satoru shaking his head with a soft chuckle, pecking your forehead, “that night will never repeat.” you couldn’t help but smile, “I love you..” you whispered, “and I love you too.”
prguitarman
2087
titsay
areudirty
origamiaround
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
