maggots for brains | gojo satoru x you
✦ satoru takes care of drunk you
The city lights outside the car window were smearing into a blur of neon garbage. You tried to focus on a passing billboard, but closing one eye and then the other did absolutely nothing, they had probably agreed to stop working altogether about three vodka shots ago.
Getting out of the car and up to your apartment was nothing short of a humiliation ritual. There was something agonizing about being manhandled up three flights of stairs by someone who wasn’t even breathing heavily or breaking a sweat that made you want to swear off alcohol forever.
What doesn’t help the already intensifying flush on your cheeks is remembering how annoyingly diligent he was about his gym schedule. You could feel the solid mass of his bicep flexing effortlessly against your rib, which was only adding salt to the injury.
Though the warmth of his tailored suit jacket against your cheek and his arm slung securely around your waist was providing more comfort than any liquid blanket could. He was still wearing his office uniform, a reminder that he had driven straight from work just to pry you out of a questionably sticky booth at your friend’s birthday celebration at the local bar.
“I am entirely capable of walking,” you slur out to his collarbone.
“I know you are,” Satoru agrees mildly, still not letting you down. He pushes the front door open with his shoulder.
He guides you into the bathroom, holding you at the waist with a lack of effort that makes you hot, and carefully deposits you onto the edge of the counter.
The marble was freezing against your thighs, courtesy of the mini skirt you sported, sending a sluggish shiver up your spine. But before you could fully complain, Satoru steps between your knees, effectively caging you in his warmth.
“Don’t fall asleep yet,” he murmurs, catching you by the shoulders as you immediately try to slump forward to rest your forehead against his chest.
You hear the rustle of plastic from your skincare corner, shortly followed by the faint scent of your makeup remover. Satoru holds the cotton round soaked in the product before pressing it onto your face.
It was frustratingly soothing. His fingers sweep across your cheekbones and down the line of your jaw. When you pry your eyes open to sneak a glance at him, you follow his gaze that’s tracking your face with so much focus he probably doesn’t even realize the tiniest sliver of his tongue was out.
“Look up,” he whispers softly.
You obediently tip your head back, blinking against the harsh overhead lights as he wiped away the streaks of your mascara.
“You’re enjoying this,“ you accuse.
You feel his hand stop, tossing the soiled cotton round into the trash. He looks down at you, a fond expression coloring his face making your heart skip a beat.
“Maybe,” he sings, his thumb grazing over your cheekbone. He leans in, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead. “There. All clean.”
And maybe you were secretly enjoying it too.
this was so self indulgent i’m not even sorry… also Hi i’m here i’m overworked and night shift sucks and i quit taking my SSRI meds cold turkey and think ill be ok but im not but olivia’s new album is amazing and her songs always makes me want to write satoru for some reason
