Min

ʚ writing because i'm tired of dreaming ɞ

[mxcurryy]

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ welcome 𝜗𝜚 ⋆˚

⋆𓂃 ࣪. she | teens | aquarius | isfj | rules | m.list ࣪. 𓂃⋆

fandoms: hq ∘ jjk ∘ bts

requests are: Closed!

─────── ⌁ Dial in! 911 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺? ⌁ ───

[mxcurryy]

What? Like it's Hard?

Chapter 7 | Series mlist | ♫ What are we?

Top student. Perfect grades. Rich, sporty, artistic — you never came across something you couldn’t solve. And hell, life itself respected you for that. No, you weren’t cocky — far from it. Timid, even. You earned people’s respect through quiet effort, not loud confidence. But the moment you graduated and stepped foot into university, life decided to play a different game. It gave you what you’d secretly longed for all this time. A challenge. And did you pass it? Well… how about no?

pairing: nerdjo x nerdreader

warnings: none

wc: 3.7k

You always thought sleep was a remedy, a time when everything gets checked up on, a time where everything falls at peace and gets to rest. Well, once again, you were proven wrong. You can’t sleep. Not after everything that had been said. 

It’s been five days, five awful days of late nights, earlier mornings. Because you were neighbours, the only choice to avoid him is to switch your schedule up and become an early bird for the first time in your life. You left thirty minutes earlier than usual, came home later, stayed longer in the library. Anything to avoid accidentally running into him. Because if you saw him… You weren’t sure if you would have the ability to walk away like last time.

But for Satoru, it wasn’t about lining up schedules, it was just… timing. Same same but different. He’d stand on the balcony, watching you pass by 30 minutes earlier than usual, feet moving in haste. He never called out. Never waved. Never tried to stop you. Just… watched. Stood there, yearning, looking, longing, then finally leaving when you’d been out of sight for 15 minutes.

All because you asked for space, all because you weren’t ready, all because he was an idiot. All because he fell for the girl next door.

⎯⎯⎯

Some days, you wonder if he had move on, or just simply chose to forget. Because damn you, you missed the little things a little too much. No one teases you on the way to campus, no good morning texts, no sun to your fog. Just you and your little space you had asked for.

The walk to the bus stop felt too silent. And with every couple walking past, you can’t help but picture you and Satoru before everything went sideways. Every lecture, the empty seat next to you works as a constant reminder in your mind that he used to be there, right next to you, poking your arm, saying random jokes that never failed to make you smile. And every time someone comes in, you always find yourself looking for those bright blue eyes and striking soft hair.

If there was one thing that wasn’t a maybe anymore, it’d be that you were quite doomed.

Shoko noticed first. “What’s up with you two? Isn’t he always with you?”

You let out a long breath. “Yeah well, things took a turn I guess.”

“Lemme guess, he confessed, didn’t he?” Shoko said, forever on point with whatever she was guessing.

“Yeah,” you sighed, 

“…And?”

You stared at her in confusion. “And what?” 

“Did you reject him?” she raised a brow,

“Yeah—“ you winced, “Well, not exactly… I wouldn’t say so.”

Shoko gave a slow nodding motion. “So… you basically left him… hanging.” 

You groaned, dropping your forehead onto the desk. “When you say it like that, I sound awful.”

“I’m saying exactly what happened,” she shrugged. “Well, I’ve heard nothing better from Suguru. He’s partially dying over there too.” 

She wasn't exaggerating. On the other side of campus, Satoru was dying. Or, at the very least, making Suguru wish he was dead.

“I miss her…” 

A loud groan. “Yes, yes, I know… you’ve said that about 10 times over the last minute,” Suguru grumbled, obviously annoyed by Satoru. “Repeating that again and again won’t make her magically fall in love with you y’know?”

“Then what would?”

“What did she ask for?”

“Space?”

Suguru sighs, “Yes, idiot, I know she asked for space, but what did she really mean when she,” he hesitates to find the right words. “If I can say… left you hanging?”

Satoru huffed, slouching deeper into his chair. “Well, all about risks and not wanting to herself…”

“Well, that means she just needs to learn to trust you, isn’t it?”

Satoru slightly sat up in his chair. “Trust?” he repeated the words that somehow felt too foreign on his tongue.

The same story repeats. Satoru didn’t do trust. And yet here he is, waiting to try to give someone trust they needed for the first time. Not just someone, you. To Satoru, falling for you might be the worst, but also the best thing he ever did. You were beautiful, kind, smart, funny. And he himself didn’t seem to believe it when he suddenly realised his heart started beating faster every time you were around. He used to be the boy who swore women were just something extra, a trade-off from boredom to pleasure. Yet here he is, listening to his best friend giving him lessons on love. Because if the universe were to create someone to destroy him and rewrite him from the inside out, that person would be you.

“Yeah. Trust,” Suguru said, leaning back. “You’re Satoru Gojo. You’ve let girls fawn over you because it was easy. You skip through life, and everything comes easy to you, especially people. You never even cared enough to correct the rumours. She’s smart, Satoru. She knows your reputation. Now you’re paying the price because the one girl you actually care about thinks you’re a player. She’s protecting herself because she knows you’re a storm that’ll just blow through her life and leave a mess.” 

Satoru stared at the ceiling, the blues of his eyes clouded, the weight of how others saw him now stung even harder. He didn't want to be a storm to you. He wanted to be the Gravity that kept you grounded. The person to anchor you when you needed. The man you’d trust without a second thought. And in this moment, he knew he’s failing terribly.

On the other side of the courtyard, that same gravity felt like it was pulling you straight through the floor. Shoko was still staring at you, her dark eyes entirely unblinking as she waited for your brain to finish loading her question. The heavy silence of the library didn't help, it only intensified the sound of your own heartbeat which had picked up a more frantic, guilty pace the moment Shoko mentioned how miserable Satoru was.

"Are you going to keep treating your desk like a pillow, or are you actually going to look at me?" Shoko’s voice was dry, laced with a little genuine concern hidden beneath her usual bluntness.

You slowly lifted your head from your arms. "I didn't mean to leave him hanging," you muttered. “I just... I panicked. You know how he is. You know what people say about him."

"I know exactly what people say about him," Shoko countered, leaning back. "Half of it is true, and the other half is exaggerated because he likes the attention. But you've spent the last two months locked in a room with him for this project. Tell me, did you see the 'playboy' Gojo everyone talks about, or did you see him?"

You let her question hang in the air, allowing your mind to race, instantly flashing back to those late nights in your apartment. The way he would whine about doing research but still stay up until 3:00 AM typing out the bibliography so you wouldn't have to. The way his laugh softened when it was just the two of you. The unshakeable pride and confidence in his eyes when you both stood in front of the class during the presentation. No. The guy who bought you your favourite coffee because you mentioned off-hand that you were tired wasn't a player trying to score. He was just... Satoru.

"Exactly," Shoko said, taking your silence as the answer. "You're hiding behind his reputation because it's safer than admitting you actually like him back. But space goes both ways.” She shrugged. “If you give him too much of it, he might finally believe you actually want him to disappear."

⎯⎯⎯

You came home that day thinking deeply about Shoko’s words. It surprised you often how unmistakably wise that woman can be. She’d often see things many would miss. Well, those are just some of the perks of being the best medical student, you guess. But clearly, those perks didn’t apply to you. You were way too oblivious. The signs Satoru practically holds in front of his face every time he talks to you, you’d think nothing of it. Not to mention you didn’t even pick up on any of his flirty lines. Hell, if you were ranked second for being oblivious, no one would be first.

You're hiding behind his reputation because it's safer than admitting you actually like him back. Shoko’s words replayed in your head as you sat in front of a screen filled with diagrams, but they looked like a blur when there’s something — someone — on your mind. Gods, you can’t afford to get this messed up again after that night. The night when you waltz with his hand on your— Nope. Not going back there. 

Nothing made sense again, but despite that, you find yourself still allowing your brain to run, chasing a marathon through all the moments you shared with Satoru, all the things you said that day, all the things you only realize today, and slowly pieced everything together, leaving the work in front of you long forgotten. 

She’s … right. 

If you spent more time in your head, though that being impossible because you’re always caught up in your head, you’d know you should’ve spent that time in your heart instead. Repeating points that were already made, you did like him. It was quite inevitable for anyone not to — especially when you were the only one (with the sole exception of Shoko and Suguru, of course) to see the more raw and honest side of him.

A sudden notification snaps you out of your thoughts. 

Project Graded. Gojo Satoru and Y/N L/N

Professor comment: Exceptional presentation and research. Well deserved.

Grade: A

As expected, a perfect score. A wave of pride blossoms in your chest, spreading to your lips and cheeks. Without thinking, you pushed your chair back, stood up, and took three fast strides toward your front door. Your hand was already reaching for the doorknob, an excited "Satoru, look!" hovering on the tip of your tongue… only to stop.

Right… You didn’t have a ‘forced excuse’ to see him anymore. The realization hit you like a bucket of ice water. The wave of pride barely lasted before a wave of aching loneliness took over. And then you felt it, the feeling of actually missing someone. You used to just yell through the walls to him, now it was running to the door and stopping. Scary how a few words can change a relationship so drastically. Only a few days ago, with good news like this, you would’ve just gone out for boba with him. Or sit in his house and play Mario Kart until you two collapsed from laughing. Now, knowing you couldn't do any of those things — knowing you had asked him not to — hurt way worse than you want to admit. No wonder Shoko said Satoru was dying. If it felt this heavy for you, Satoru must be feeling it a thousand times worse.

Spoiler: He is. The moment he heard the ding! He immediately rushed over, wishing praying it was your name that he saw. Well, it was, just… not from you. The grade was an expected A. Both of you worked hard for it, well, you did, for the first 2 weeks. 

His eyes couldn’t help but wander to the wall shared between the two houses. Are you smiling? Are you glad? Hell, he would’ve traded anything to see you smile. But not now, not when knocking on your door would mean trading your trust for his restraint. He couldn’t afford that. So, Satoru did something he rarely did: he stayed put. He tossed his phone onto the mattress, the screen still glowing with the digital 'A', and let himself drop backward onto his bed.

It would’ve been easier just to move on. Go to a bar, grab a girl, have a night, repeat. Blow off some steam and return to his usual self — the boy he was before he fell for you. But as easy as it was, he just couldn’t. Gaining your trust was his goal, not doing the opposite.

Usually, his mind was a hyperactive racetrack, a million thoughts firing at twice the speed of anyone else's. But tonight, his brain had narrowed down to a single, agonizingly sharp point. You.

He stared at the ceiling, thinking about how easy it was to just appear at your house with snacks, flash his signature grin, and whine about how much he missed his project partner. It would be effortless. It would be the signature Gojo way. But as Suguru has pointed out earlier, that was the Satoru who treated the world like a playground — the Satoru you didn’t trust.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, if loving you meant he had to learn how to keep his hands in his pockets and his feet on his own side of the wall, then he would do it. Even if the silence in his apartment felt like a physical weight pressing down on his chest. Even if the phantom smell of your shampoo still lingered on the oversized hoodie you’d left on his couch last week. He would wait. He would give you the space you asked for, even if it killed him. 

⎯⎯⎯

That night, Satoru remained awake, unable to even close his eyes once without missing you. Is this too much? You were just neighbours, then teasing enemies, then project partners. The part where he fell for you was somewhere in this timeline, but never would he ever think he’d fall this hard. Your relationship has gone from strangers to a very serious ‘situationship’ if you could even call it that.

Restless, Satoru finally swung his legs out of bed. He didn't bother putting on his sunglasses or his blindfold, the dark apartment didn't hurt his eyes anyway. He just shoved his hands into his pockets and decided to head downstairs, hoping the cool night air might clear the fog in his head. Outside was quiet. Of course it was, why would anyone be here at midnight? Only fools for love would. Just like him. Satoru leaned against the wall of his building, just staring at the empty space, and the door just steps away from him. He used to just walk in, now here he is, grounding himself from doing so.

Suddenly, the quiet creak of your door caught his attention. His eyes widened as he saw your door slowly open. Have you been trying to forget too? Hooking up? His brain flew through a million possibilities until he saw it. The familiar small figure slowly scuffing your way outside, his hoodie practically swallowing you whole — the hoodie he left after a study session. With much restraint, Satoru quickly hid in the shadows of his doorframe, not wanting to surprise you so late into the night, and of course, not wanting to break what you had asked for.

You walked straight toward the vending machine, completely unaware of him standing in the shadows just a few feet away. Satoru stayed completely frozen. His fists clenched so tightly inside his pockets that his knuckles turned white. Every cell in his body screamed at him to close the distance, to wrap his arms around you from behind, to bury his face in your shoulder and tell you that he was losing his mind without you. Instead, he forced his feet to stay rooted to the concrete. He watched you press the button, listened to the heavy thud of the warm tea can dropping into the dispenser slot.

As you bent down to retrieve it, he finally let his voice break the silence, soft and careful, like he was trying not to wake a sleeping baby. "You're up late."

Turns out, you two seemed to have suffered the same fate. Hours bled into the night. You tried cleaning, cooking, watching a movie, a new K-drama, new anime, discovering new music, and quite frankly, do some work (in which you surprisingly managed to get done just minutes before the deadline). But nothing worked. Not when your brain kept repeating the same word — Satoru. By midnight, your throat and eyes were a Sahara desert. Dry to the point you had to drag yourself up and go out of your way to buy something to drink, something that you’d hope would ease the ongoing storm inside your mind. So you very accidentally slipped on his hoodie and headed outside, a very small part of you hoping to meet another presence outside.

You jumped when you heard his voice, the voice you’d recognize anywhere without even looking. “I...” you cleared your throat to try and not stutter. “I couldn’t sleep. You?”

Satoru let out a humourless chuckle, his eyes scanning your face, taking in every detail as if he were trying to memorize you all over again. "Yeah. Sleep's been a bit of a stranger lately."

The silence landed agonizingly heavy on both of you, neither wanting to speak or more accurately, not knowing what to say. Which was ironic, because just days before, you wouldn’t even stop talking.

You noticed Satoru has his fist clenched on his side, one inside his pocket. It was a level of restraint you had never seen from him before. Wanting to break the silence you decided to say what had you caught up this entire time. “We got an A,” you whispered suddenly. “On the project. The grades posted tonight."

For a moment, Satoru thought he would faint. The blinding smile you’ve missed quickly returned on his face. “Of course we did. We're a dream team, after all." 

But the smile quickly faded as the silence settled again. You knew he always watched you from your window. It’s hard to miss the striking hair. But you never looked up. So this was the first time in almost a week that you’d seen him. And hell. Shoko wasn’t wrong. This was the worst he looked. His eyes no longer had that signature gleam to them. His eye bags became a permanent resident. And now his shoulders had adapted a new slump to them.

Satoru took a step forward. His eyes faintly searching your as he smiled. “I'll let you get back to your apartment. It's cold out." He offered a small, bittersweet smile. "I'm still giving you your space. I'm not going anywhere. Just... take care of yourself, okay?" He turned around, his tall figure disappearing into the shadows as he headed back to his door.

⎯⎯⎯

You sat on your bed. The hot canned tea clutched tightly against your chest. 

Holy shit.

He was two steps away. 

And you were wearing his hoodie.

And he smiled.

And…. this was definitely not a healthy pulse for a heart. Nuh uh.

Your heart has now upgraded. No longer running marathons but flying entire planes. If he took another step, you weren’t sure if you’d be sleeping in your bed tonight. But luckily, thankfully, he proved your assumptions wrong by putting space between you. But you can’t help but remember how bad he looked. Was he that drained? Or did you really have such a big effect on him?

Either way, you were hell of impressed. You expected him to close the distance — you wanted him to. He didn’t. You expected him to tease you. He didn’t. You expected him to lose all his restraints. He didn’t. Instead, he did exactly what you had asked him to — give you space. You can’t help but feel even more guilty that you painted him in such a red colour.

For the entire time, while treating him like a close friend, you always drew him as a reckless, heartless player who collected hearts like trophies. But players didn’t look at you with eyes that bled exhaustion just because you weren’t talking to them. Players didn't clench their fists so hard it turned white, forcing their own demanding body to stay rooted to the concrete just to honor a boundary you had set in a moment of panic. He was rewriting himself for you. Breaking his own laws and nature. 

If you give him too much space, he might finally believe you actually want him to disappear.

Shoko’s words echoed in your head as you came to an abrupt realization. The Satoru you thought you knew wasn’t him after all. Satoru was simply the boy who would remind you not to take in too much caffeine. The boy who’d send you silly good morning texts. The boy who would stay until 3am writing a bibliography for you. The boy who would make you cry out tears while playing games on his couch. The boy who would leave his hoodies at your place on ‘accident’ because you said it looked comfy.

You didn’t want him to disappear. You didn't want the silence, you didn't want the early mornings spent dodging him, and hell, you didn't want this stupid, suffocating space anymore.

You wanted the texts. You wanted the hoodies. You wanted the reminders. You missed the laughter. Missed the smile. Missed the dedication. 

You wanted Satoru — all of him.

Hugging the warm tea can tighter, you took a deep breath. The storm inside your head hadn't cleared, but for the first time all week, the path through it was completely visible. The project was over. No more forced excuse. No more ‘just because’. No more maybes. But tomorrow, you wouldn't need an excuse. 

It was time for you to finally let Gravity drag you back to where you’d be happiest. 

It was time for you to take the last maybe of your life. Maybe... just maybe… you’re ready to finally follow your heart.

tags: @cynosure-gaze @happyyya @fluffyunicornfarts303 @catkuna @zlenaaaa

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

[mxcurryy]

What? Like it's Hard?

Chapter 7 (teaser) - Gravity | Series mlist

Top student. Perfect grades. Rich, sporty, artistic — you never came across something you couldn’t solve. And hell, life itself respected you for that. No, you weren’t cocky — far from it. Timid, even. You earned people’s respect through quiet effort, not loud confidence. But the moment you graduated and stepped foot into university, life decided to play a different game. It gave you what you’d secretly longed for all this time. A challenge. And did you pass it? Well… how about no?

“I miss her…” 

A loud groan. “Yes, yes, I know… you’ve said that about 10 times over the last minute,” Suguru grumbled, obviously annoyed by Satoru. “Repeating that again and again won’t make her fall in love with you y’know?”

“Then what would?”

“What did she ask for?”

“Space?”

Suguru sighs, “Yes, idiot, I know she asked for space, but what did she really mean when she,” he hesitates to find the right words. “If I can say… left you hanging?”

Satoru huffed, slouching deeper into his chair. “Well, all about risks and not wanting to herself…”

“Well, that means she just needs to learn to trust you, isn’t it?”

Satoru slightly sat up in his chair. “Trust?” he repeated the words that somehow felt too foreign on his tongue.

The same story repeats. Satoru didn’t do trust. And yet here he is, waiting to try to give someone trust they needed for the first time. Not just someone, you. To Satoru, falling for you might be the worst, but also the best thing he ever did. You were beautiful, kind, smart, funny. And he himself didn’t seem to believe it when he suddenly realised his heart started beating faster every time you were around. He used to be the boy who swore women were just something extra, a trade-off from boredom to pleasure. Yet here he is, listening to his best friend giving him lessons on love. Because if the universe were to create someone to destroy him and rewrite him from the inside out, that person would be you.

“Yeah. Trust,” Suguru said, leaning back. “You’re Satoru Gojo. You skip through life, and everything comes easy to you, especially people. She’s smart, Satoru. She knows your reputation. She’s protecting herself because she thinks you’re a storm that’ll just blow through her life and leave a mess.”

Satoru stared at the ceiling, the blues of his eyes clouded, the weight of how others saw him now stung even harder. He didn't want to be a storm to you. He wanted to be the Gravity that kept you grounded. The person to anchor you when you needed. The man you’d trust without a second thought. And in this moment, he knew he’s failing terribly.

posted.

tags: @cynosure-gaze @happyyya @fluffyunicornfarts303 @catkuna @zlenaaaa

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

[mxcurryy]

Can you do a oneshot of Hiromi Higuruma who married reader initially for a case but then later fell in love with her?

The reader gets to know later however soooo angstyyyyy. But with happy ending.

👀👀👀

i'll see if i can get to it :))

[mxcurryy]

Mr Elevator

pairing: ghost!gojo x reader

contents & warnings: mdni. smut. gojo is a hot ghost. stalker gojo if you squint. fingering. swearing. petnames. horror. reader is ovulating and is needy af. porn with plot. wc: 3.6 a/n: i do not know what im doing. prob gon get banned for this lol. just a random draft, decided to finish it and realized it would go quite well with smut. soo yea. first time writing smut, no expectations. read if you wish.

The lift should not have stopped on the fourth floor. But somehow, it always did. Creaking open and inching closed at least four times before continuing to move. It happened more often than many would think. Some said it’s the machines getting old. Others suggested it’s the weird guy’s soul—the guy who disappeared randomly one day. And yeah, you guessed it, he lived on the fourth floor. But you don’t buy it. Machinery problems? Sure. Haunted soul? Yeah, no.

Having just moved into the building last month, you had already learned most of what you needed to know. Like that creepy elevator, or that residence on the fourth floor where people heard weird things—loud coughs in empty rooms or the scratching of glass. Though you honestly couldn’t care less. Trying to finish your master's was hard enough.

Today did a good job of exhausting you. From four consecutive lectures to a long lab period. It used to just be ‘mitochondria are the powerhouse of the cell’, now it’s ‘quantum coherence in enzymes to retroviral DNA integrations’. You didn’t know when you got so interested in biology, but here you were. At least job offers were already flooding your emails.

You wandered wearily home, trying not to cuss at anyone in your way. Science, apparently, did drive people crazy, and an overworked day was just the perfect fuel for this fire.

Lines of people stuffed together on the underground. You plonked down onto the first vacant seat you saw, head tilting back to rest against the back of your seat. The underground sped up slowly, then raced through the dark tunnels. You closed your eyelids, a sigh leaving your mouth as you attempted to take a short nap. The underground slowed, then climbed above the ground to reveal a scene that you had familiarized yourself with—a view that would instantly attract all tourists to the window.

You peeked an eye open, not to take in the scene, but to check the time. It was raining outside, fogging up the entire historic infrastructure. The gigantic clock hand was already well past the seventh mark. It was going to be your stop soon, and damn it, it was late. With a sigh, you hoisted yourself up, cussing—no. Impatiently excusing your way out of the carriage.

But since the universe was in a bad mood and decided to make yours bad too, the moment you stepped onto the sky-high platform, the sky roared. And just a few seconds later, it wept violently. Odd. You swore it was clear just a minute ago. Well, grey clouds and fog don’t count, right?

But fuck it. If this day couldn’t get any worse, you didn’t have a fucking umbrella.

“Umbrellas! 5 pounds! Umbrellas! 5 pounds!”

Damn, those vendors were quick—they always were—but to buy something you already had? Please. You were too much of a saver to do that. You had already risked yourself by renting a room in a haunted apartment because it was cheap, and you could spend that same amount on laundry—which would be entirely necessary since you were planning to dash home under the sky’s mood swing.

You stood at the underground exit, coat wrapped tight around yourself, tote bag hidden under the fabric.

Now here goes nothing…

7 minutes and 12 seconds and approximately 1989 cusses plus grumbles. You counted. That’s how long you took just to arrive at your seemingly welcoming apartment building. Hair clung to your face, coat dripping wet, face stone grey. The world was lucky you didn’t burn or kill anyone… yet.

You were an ovulating woman on edge; a rubber band stretched to its limit. If one more thing delayed your rest in your own space, you were seriously going to—

Ding! Creeaakk!

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking serious.

You saw red. The little monitor in the elevator showed the familiar number as you stood there waiting, finger spamming the closing button as the door kept on opening and closing for the third time now.

“Fuck this shit…” you muttered, huffing. You folded your arms and leaned against the cold steel with visible creases between your brows.

Suddenly, a cold gush of air pushed inside the elevator, lifting the hairs on your skin. You wrapped yourself tighter in your drenched coat, water still dripping from it.

“That’s the fifth time already,” you whined, your finger returning to the closing button as you saw the door opening once more.

Another gush of air pushed inside, this time stronger. Its cold crawled under your coat, and you swore it felt like fingers creeping up your skin.

Weird.

The elevator only ever opened a maximum of five times unless someone pressed the button outside. You’ve used this machine enough times to know that. And there were no windows on the fourth floor, but even if there were, they would’ve been closed. There was no way air could’ve rushed in.

Unless….

No. Keep your mind straight, woman. Spirits. Are. Not. Real.

Creaakkk…

The door finally closed.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. What were you even relieved about? Ghosts, spirits, souls—they go to heaven or hell, not stay here and haunt people. You should be the last person to be worried about these surreal—or you could say supernatural—beings.

You stood in the elevator, freezing, as the unescaped air kept crawling around your body. Down your arms, to your fingers, then up your forearms again, sliding up and down. The air slithered lower. From circling your ankles, up to rubbing your knees, then sliding up to your thighs. Higher, higher, and higher till it inched to your inner thighs—

You shuddered, flaring your coat to swat the air away. What the hell was taking this elevator so long to go up?

Your eyes wandered up to the monitor, only to freeze. It still showed number 4. And in the reflection off the thin glass, the reflection of—

“Me.”

A loud yelp escaped your mouth. Your hands scrambled to press the elevator buttons—to make this shit open, make it move, get you out of here… But when you turned your head back, you saw nothing.

Were you hallucinating? The reflection and the voice… it must’ve been your brain pulling tricks on you after the long day. Cambridge assured people’s days were never short.

You heaved the shock out of your lungs. And now calmly, although shaking from the cold seeping from your coat, you pressed the number to your floor. Relief flooded into your system once you felt the elevator finally move again.

But still, a sense of uneasiness rested within you. People get hallucinations because of mental conditions, drugs, or past trauma. You didn’t associate with any of those. No drugs, no alcohol, no schizophrenia or bipolar disorder, and no traumatizing past.

So like a habit, your eyes started wandering again… until they met the reflective steel surface of the elevator door.

“Having fun ignoring me, princess?”

Nope. No, no, no.

You snapped your head back, seeing nothing, and continued to reassure yourself. Eyes closing shut.

Hallucinations, hallucinations, hallucinations…

“You can only see me through a reflective surface, darling,”

Hallucinations, hallucinations, hallucinations…

“Open your eyes, sweetheart. Nothing to be scared of,”

A feather touch of cold brushed your wrist.

Your eyes blasted open, looking straight ahead, straight to—my gosh—the most handsome man—or ghost—you’ve ever seen.

Striking, tousled white hair. Tall, not lanky, muscular. Each muscle popped under the thin white tee he was wearing. Grey sweatpants hung loosely on his small waist, one hand holding your wrist, the other slowly running through your hair. His skin was pale white, cerulean orbs staring right back at you, making you shiver with every inch of skin his cold, translucent fingers touched.

You couldn’t move. Just couldn’t. Breath stolen.

The man—ghost—in the reflection smirked. What was so amusing right now? You were facing a ghost. A very handsome one indeed. And he was finding a cold and dripping you amusing?

Your throat bobbed, trying to form some sort of comprehensible sentence. “W-who are y-you?” you managed to croak out. You weren’t wrong; fear had entirely consumed your throat.

“Satoru. Satoru Gojo,” the ghost whispered into your ear, “and has anyone told you it’s not a good idea for a woman to be running in this elevator alone?”

You slowly shook your head. Somewhere between the terror and the disbelief, you realized you could speak again.

“W-what are you?”

Satoru shrugged. “A ghost or spirit. Whatever you humans find easier to say,” His hands slowly drifted to your back, then circled your waist. He leaned down and whispered right next to your ear, “But I doubt you’re thinking of anything but what I am right now,”

You flinched. He smirked.

Well, fuck it. Damn right, he was.

Because who’s at fault when you’re facing the hottest… thing you’ve ever seen? You were scared, that’s true. Terrified even. But then again, you were an ovulating woman on edge. It was as if you weren’t just frozen because of the cold and your fear… it was to snap your thighs together to shut that squelching wet hole of yours. Batshit crazy, you know. Pfft, to be wet over a hot ghost? Not on your list.

Yet here you were, being completely see-through to Satoru’s eyes. And damn it, if that didn’t make him any hotter than he already was.

The elevator suddenly felt much more claustrophobic than it ever had.

The elevator finally inched up, moving slowly to the 5th floor. But the physical world felt entirely distant. Your focus was locked on the reflective steel of the door, trapped beneath the weight of a gaze that felt entirely too heavy for a ghost.

"Nothing to say, princess?" Satoru murmured against your ear, a freezing puff of air that somehow made your skin flush a furious red.

In the reflection, his fingers tightened around your waist. But looking down at your own body? There was nothing there. Just the heavy fabric of your drenched coat pressing against your skin. But even though it was just the fabric, it sent an electric shiver straight down your spine. It was maddening. Your eyes saw his large hands mapping the curve of your hips, but your nerve endings only registered a biting, static chill that left a trailing wake of fire.

Your hands twitched against your own coat. Fight it, your brain screamed. He’s a spirit. You’re hallucinating. You’re tired.

“Why me?” you managed to ask, seeking dialogue as a distraction from how your body was reacting.

Satoru laughed loudly. “Honey, you think a gentleman like me would leave an edgy, tired, beautiful young woman to deal with all that stress herself?” He chuckled again. “I’ve been eyeing you long enough to not miss my chance at this.”

His chance? Watching you? Hot.

Goddamn it. You were finding everything hot. That was not a good sign. Not when you were seconds away from climbing this man like a tree if he turned out to be touchable.

Now who the hell let this man die? Irritatingly handsome, good with words and touches. Men like that are rare nowadays, and the ones that actually have those qualities? Apparently dead and turned into a spirit, as it seemed.

"I can hear your heart," Satoru chuckled, a low, vibrating sound. In the reflection, his head tilted, his white hair brushing against your cheek as he watched your expression crumble. "It's racing. And you're shaking... but not from the cold, are you?" he pushed again.

You said it once, and you were going to say it again. This beautiful fucking man was right. He was entirely right. The raw, primal frustration of your day, the hormonal edge of ovulation, and the sheer absurdity of being cornered by a devastatingly handsome ghost had fused into a dizzying cocktail of arousal between your thighs. You tried to press your thighs together, a reflex to hide the sudden dampness pooling between them, but the movement only made you more aware of it.

And of course, he noticed as well. His cerulean orbs shone even brighter as he watched you with a predatory gaze.

"You're so tense," he whispered, and in the reflection, one of his hands slowly slid down from your waist, his translucent fingers tracing an agonizingly slow path down your hip, smoothing over the wet fabric of your trousers, heading straight for the inside of your thigh. "Should I help you relax?"

Gods, you should say no. You would have said no and immediately screamed your lungs out a while ago if your hormones weren’t pushing you in the wrong direction, but damn it, you couldn’t find it in yourself to actually say no.

"We're... we're almost at my floor," you managed to choke out, the last little cling you had left on your dignity. Your voice trembled as your eyes locked onto his hands in the reflection. The monitor above shifted. Floor 7. Just two more floors.

"Then we'd better hurry," Satoru whispered.

His hand slid firmly between your thighs, his palm pressing upward, parting them just a fraction. The sheer contrast of his freezing aura against the pulsing, desperate heat of your body made a soft, breathless gasp hitch in your throat.

What terrified you wasn’t that your body was reacting; it was that you were letting it react. You weren’t moving away.

"Look at me," he commanded softly, his grip tightening in the reflection. "Watch what I'm doing to you."

Your eyes locked with his, showing zero objection as he slid his hands higher. You felt him pinning his weight on you, softly pressing you against the metallic doors of the elevator, careful not to do too much since you wouldn’t be able to see him.

Just a second later, you felt it. His finger was just millimeters away from your heat, and then, painfully slowly, he cupped you firmly through your trousers.

A helpless whimper left your lips. The phantom friction was so insanely good that you bucked your hips into his hand. His lips curved into a wide, devilish grin of triumph as he began to circle your clit. You braced your hand onto the door as your eyes closed shut.

You just needed to feel.

“That’s it, sweetie, let me take care of you…” he cooed in your ear.

But just as things were getting good, of course, the universe had to ruin it for you.

Ding!

The sharp chime of the elevator broke the spell as you opened your eyes, catching one last glimpse of Satoru’s dark gaze before it vanished as the door creaked open. You gasped, stumbling forward into the space. Your breath came in ragged, uneven pants. You threw a frantic glance back at the now-empty elevator.

He was gone.

Shaking, your body humming with a desperate, unfulfilled ache, you rushed out into the dimly lit hallway. Your flat was at the very end of the corridor. You fished blindly into your wet coat pocket, your hands trembling so hard you almost dropped your keys twice. Finally, you shoved the key into the lock. You twisted it, pushing the door open into the dark, quiet sanctuary of your apartment.

You stepped inside, letting out a long, shuddering breath as you reached for the wall to slam the front door shut behind you.

For a moment, you just stood there, trying to process what the hell had just happened and why that heat of yours was still burning. But before you could think any longer, you felt it—the familiar gush of air. Panic and desire fused, driving you to immediately speed to your bedroom, where your full-length mirror was waiting.

And again, your initial thought was correct. There he was, hovering right next to you through the reflection of your mirror with a lazy, dominant smirk on his face—Satoru Gojo.

“Didn’t think I’d leave you, did ya?” he questioned, his hands finding the dip of your waist again. “And come to think of it, you’re a little more needy than I thought.”

You instantly turned back but saw the same emptiness. It just didn’t feel empty.

“Reflections only, sweetheart. Keep your eyes on the mirror. I started something, and now I’m guessing you’re desperate for me to finish it?” he whispered in your ear.

You didn’t answer; you couldn’t. You just froze as you felt his invisible force stripping away your clothes—your wet coat tossed onto the ground, followed by your sweater and trousers, leaving you only in your undergarments.

“Fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes memorizing each dip and curve of your body. But despite his raging desire, he kept his hands off where you wanted them most.

“Now answer me,” he demanded, his eyes staring straight into yours in the glass. He moved closer, pressing his presence flush against your bare back.

“Y-yes,” you stuttered. You didn’t even know when you had decided to let a ghost you'd known for all of twenty minutes touch you like this. But then again, you couldn’t really blame someone who was ovulating and had just endured a hellish day, could you?

He clicked his tongue. “Yes, what? Use your words properly now, sweets.”

"Please," you whispered, though you didn't even know what you were begging for.

"Please, what, sweetheart?" he cooed. "Tell me what you want me to do to you. Say it out loud, and I'll make sure you feel every single bit of it."

You couldn’t think. The academic rigor of Cambridge, the rain, the exhausting day—it all vanished, evaporated by the sheer heat pooling between your thighs.

"Touch me," you gasped out, your voice desperate. "Satoru, please."

That was his last restraint.

A low, deeply satisfied growl vibrated against your back. Immediately, his fingers slipped entirely beneath the waistband of your underwear. The sensation hit you like a lightning strike. His fingers were freezing—a shocking, icy contrast against your dripping, boiling heat—but the moment he made direct contact, a volcanic wave of pleasure tore through your lower abdomen.

"Ah!" You bucked into the touch, your body leaning forward and bracing itself against the mirror.

"Keep your eyes open," Satoru commanded, his grip on your hip tightening, pinning you firmly. "Watch."

You forced your heavy eyelids open, staring desperately into the glass. You watched his long, pale fingers begin to work, circling your clit with perfect friction. The rhythm was brutal and deliberate.

“Let me take these off, yeah?” he asked, and you desperately nodded.

Riiipppp!

You gasped. Looking down in the mirror, you only saw what was left of your underwear.

“Those were new,” you accused him weakly.

“Fuck that,” he cursed, continuing to play with your clit and effectively silencing your complaints.

His name fell from your lips like a prayer. The phantom friction was too much. You were already on edge, completely wound up from the day, and Satoru was driving you over the cliff with terrifying speed. Your breath came in ragged, high-pitched whimpers.

“So wet. So impatient,” he huffed, slipping a finger inside you.

“A-ah! Yes—fuck! So g-good,” you drawled, helplessly clawing at the smooth surface of your mirror to try and find balance as you felt your own slick sliding down your inner thighs.

His finger sped up as another joined in, stealing your breath away completely. His other hand moved up to reach and cup your breast under your bra, tearing yet another loud moan from you.

The stimulation was insane. His fingers were curling and working inside you while his other hand teased your nipples. You felt it—the tingling sensation of a rubber band stretched to its absolute limit, nearing its snapping point.

“I-I’m gonna c-cum!”

“Yeah? Look how wet you are for a ghost, princess," Satoru whispered darkly against your ear, picking up the pace until it was a punishing, blurring speed. You could barely see his fingers as they pistoned in and out of you. "You're so close. Take it."

You let out a broken sob. Your hips rolled helplessly against his hand, chasing the blinding friction. The tension in your thighs stretched to a flawless peak, and then, you came.

Your vision whited out as your orgasm crashed over you. Your walls clamped down violently around his fingers, a loud, ruined cry tearing from your throat as your knees completely gave out. You would have hit the floor, but the solid, invisible weight of Satoru caught you, lifting you effortlessly against him as your body violently shuddered through the release.

For a long minute, the only sound in the apartment was your ragged, panting breaths and the heavy thumping of your heart.

As the spots cleared from your eyes, you weakly looked back up at the mirror. Satoru was still there, staring at your flushed, ruined expression with a dark, deeply possessive hunger. Slowly, he drew his hand out from your reflection. His fingers were glistening.

Without breaking eye contact with you in the glass, he brought his wet fingers to his lips, lazily licking your taste from his skin.

A fresh shiver ran down your spine, your core pulsing with a deep, lingering ache. You thought it was over. You thought he was going to let you breathe.

Instead, you felt the heavy, unmistakable ridge of him press hard against your lower back. The explicit feeling of his length left absolutely no doubt about his intentions.

He wasn't done. He hadn't even started.

Satoru reached forward, gripping your hair firmly to tilt your head back, his lips brushing against your jaw as his cerulean eyes blazed with a dangerous, untamed promise.

"That was just to clear your head, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice dangerously low against your skin. "Now, let's see how much of me you can actually take."

dividers @/cursed-carmine @/droideplane @/pxrce-lain

[mxcurryy]

Min's To-do list!

Up-coming oneshots:

Tokyo drift - Gojo Tokyo drift crew

Winter knows what we don't - Snowboarder Gojo

Subway girl - Oikawa canon universe

Mr Elevator - Ghost Gojo

Up-coming series update:

'What like it's Hard?' - chapter 7 and chapter 8 (finale)

m.list

a/n: I really don't know where I'll be heading with the oneshots, but summer break is coming in 2 weeks so yall are in for a treat!!

divider: @/pixopix @/tsumiinum @/diviniyae

[wiserion]

KOMOREBI. PART 1.

ex! situationship ceo gojo x florist! fem reader

summary: Years passed since you saw Satoru Gojo in your life — your situationship, who slipped away from your life like nothing had happened. Like you were nothing to him. Or, maybe, on the contrary, and you were his everything? What would happen if you suddenly met him at your flower shop?

tags: mdni! situationships, exes to lovers, reconciliation, some angst, some fluff, mutual pining, YEARNING, like A LOT. you fell first, he fell harder and it drove him crazy. panic attacks, floristry, some themes about rediscovering your life passion, the reader is kinda insecure. eventual smut: dry humping, fingering, emotional sex, a little bit of size kink, creampie, oral sex (f receiving).

word count: this part is 12.5k. total: 35k (bear with me here...).

author's note: this is officially the biggest thing i have ever written! and my first time ever writing smut. you've been warned. it should've been one post but tumblr's limits...art by @/boom_sate225. dividers are mine.

you might like listening to the playlist

part 2

This day started as usual.

Your phone alarm rang sharply at 6 a.m., jolting you awake. With a groan, you tapped to hold it and rolled over to have the last minutes of peace and serenity. The bed was warm, the pillow was comfortable, the blanket embraced you in the softest of hugs… Slowly, you drifted to sleep once again.

Only to hastily scramble to get ready an hour later. 

"Shit, shit, shit," you cursed under your breath, trying to pull your pants on. A glance at the clock — 7:30; you must've been the fastest person in the world at that moment— totally a record.

Miraculously, you still had time to stop by your favourite bakery, which conveniently hid between the stalls with flowers and newspapers, to grab a coffee and a pastry. The street bustled with people at that hour: one man barked orders into his phone, with another gentleman, probably his assistant, hurriedly trying to keep up with the boss's pace. A pile of files in his arms dangerously leaned toward the ground.

Poor guy.

Your polished shoes clicked on the pavement, each step dripping with determination as you hurried to the bakery. You could’ve smelled its tantalizing scents even from a distance — cinnamon, cardamom, vanilla, and chocolate intertwining in a mouth-watering mix. 

"Slept in, huh?" A barista, a tall guy with soft eyes and kind of a weird hairstyle of ponytails, observed you quietly and handed your order: a hot bumble with caramel syrup and a ham-and-cheese croissant. Your stomach growled at the scent of the pastry, and you gave the guy a quick smile. If you remembered it right, his name was Choso.

"Kind of, yeah," you swiped the card and quickly grabbed your order before you would drop dead to the overwhelming delicious scents in the bakery. You almost downed the drink in a few large gulps. "Thanks and bye!"

"Have a nice day, miss!"

You sped up to hop in your bus, the one that left the station at 7:35 sharply and arrived at your work exactly at 7:57.

“Sorry,” you murmured apologetically as you bumped into one lady, who only huffed in irritation, without sparing you a single glance. You fought the urge to grimace at her.

Slowly, you made your way to a lone window seat that wasn’t usually occupied at this hour. Mentally, you had long ago declared it your own and would sigh inwardly if other passengers, obviously, not aware of your claim, sat there.

This time, luck was on your side. You quickly fished a book — something to kill time and occupy your mind, besides the usual routine you were clearly drowning in. Your grip on the book tightened: not the best time to delve into and psychoanalyze your life as you tried to lose yourself in yet another magical fantasy world…

“Oh no, my fair lady,” a mysterious knight’s voice drawled, the voice muffled by a half-opened visor. Isabelle thought her heart almost jumped from her chest right into the knight’s hands. “I am here to rescue you.”

Isabelle could almost hear playfulness sipping in the knight’s tone, and it brought a quick grin on her face. Oh, her future husband would be enthralled when the morning would carry him the news about his precious wife-to-be, who would appear to be missing…”

You scoffed softly and reached for a pencil. Faint scribbles adorned the empty margins of the book, a carefully crafted tapestry of your thoughts and emotions. 

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure, if I were Isabelle, since…”

A sudden honk pulled you back to reality. The bus suddenly jerked forward again, and a string of muttered curses from other passengers wafted to you through the irritated crowd. Someone bumped into you, causing the pencil to fall from your grip. 

“Ah, shoot it,” you huffed under your breath and bent over to take it back.

And then, as you looked up, you saw it.

A sudden flash of white hair.

Your insides got cold in an instant. The surrounding world ceased to exist around you for a moment or for a small eternity; you weren’t so sure. The pencil almost snapped in half in your hard grip as a thousand thoughts rushed through your anxious mind.

“What the hell is he doing there? He shouldn’t be there— no, he is not supposed to be there, in your city! You fled there, and he had the entire Tokyo! What if he saw you? Worse, what if he saw and now wants to talk to you? Shit, shit, shit!”

Your eyes nervously darted to the exit — only to see that the white hair was already missing. You blinked. Blinked again. No, not even a sight. You slumped in relief against the seat and closed your eyes. 

What was going on with you, really? Is he the only man in the world with hair colour like this? Could’ve been some cosplayer! Yeah, that must be it!

Or not?...

Deep down, you knew the right answer. You could’ve recognized the silvery tone of his strands if you were a thousand miles away from him. You ran your fingers through them countless times, memorized the way they caught the moonlight and looked like spilt silver under your gentle touch.

With a long sigh, you put the book in a bag. The phone caught your eye, and you froze at the sight of the display.

8:17.

Memories engrossed your tired mind to the point you missed three stops.

“This day couldn’t get any worse,” you thought, rushing through the maze of irritated people, totally indifferent to your inner turmoil.

Oh, how wrong was that.

***

Flowers had always brought you peace and serenity.

Ever since you were a kid, your mom’s garden welcomed you with a warm embrace, shielding you from the cold touch of reality. Nothing could hurt you there; a few scratches were a fair price for solitude and tranquillity. Sitting under sakuras, amidst the vivid blossoms of magnolias, peonies, and tulips, quietly observing the nature you were surrounded by, you had learnt to see beauty in every soft petal, dew drop on the branches, foggy morning mist, or sunrays, shyly sipping through the branches. 

Or maybe you were just a lone kid with a good heart and rich fantasy, and that gave roots to your need for escapism. Who knows.

You would like to think you still carried that fragile ability to see something precious even in the most mundane things, but you knew nothing would be as breathtaking as it appeared in childhood. Adulthood had long sharpened and hardened you into someone a child you would hardly recognise.

Sometimes you wondered what she would say when you looked at her now?

Your hands were still covered in stitches, calluses bubbled on your fingers, and the dirt seemed to be permanently itched under your nails, but the excitement from your gaze had long given in to exhaustion.

When did a person lose the sparkle that once ignited their entire being? When adulthood falls so hard on your shoulders that you don't even have a chance to take a breath?

You had never thought you would be one of these gloomy people. Especially surrounded by the beauty of nature, as you wished for as a kid. But fate had other plans for you: the florist’s job found you in the middle of rediscovering yourself once again, rather than you finding it, and the rose-coloured naive dreams about designing bouquets, arrangements, and organising events quickly shattered, leaving invisible scars that later would scream of burnt-out. 

Surely, amidst the usual routine, you found your own moments of enjoyment. Designing was your main passion, and seeing the fruits of your work, happy smiles and gratitudes from the customers, was worth scars, hurt knees, and sprained wrists. You were glad to bring people warmth and steadiness in the middle of the storm, which some events might look like. Shame the rest of the job was way more demanding, mentally and especially physically.

You were cauterizing stems, which actually was Nobara's work, but Utahime seemed so worked up that morning that you didn't dare to poke a dragon any more and decided to shield your friend from the boss's wrath. When Nobara sauntered inside the room, you gave her a glance, already preparing yourself for an inevitable round of investigation.

"So," she drawled with an all-knowing smile, a mischievous glint flashed in her eyes as she leaned on the table next to you. Still not touching the stems. "How was your date yesterday? Tell me everything!"

Ah. Yes. Your date.

Partially, the reason you were late to work. Not even in the inappropriate sense you sometimes wanted it to be.

Your grip on the pruning shears tightened. You tried to deflect.

"Nothing worth talking—"

"Oh, come on! I've been dying to hear everything! Spill the tea!"

Nobara was really relentless when she was in a mood, so after a couple of seconds, you decided to end your suffering as quickly as possible. Like ripping the band-aid off.

"That was fucking awful."

You could swear Nobara's nose twitched like a hound that scented the blood. The corner of your mouth lifted in amusement.

"I swear, all these date apps, blind dates, so on and so forth are not my type of thing,"  you murmured and sighed, looking around the room for any clue that could've helped to solve a mystery of human hearts. "No, I am serious!"

You told her everything. How you matched with a guy on a goddamn Tinder, who seemed…adequate at first sight. That you felt like something almost clicked in that unexplainable way, when you just…know.

You really hoped after him and dozens of unfruitful attempts to meet your fate spontaneously, and let Cupid’s arrows pierce you, your dating apps would result in something. However, with every swipe, weird dialogues and unambiguous hints at the end of coffee dates, your confidence that the male loneliness epidemic had been really justified only grew further. Yesterday’s attempt should’ve been the last one before locking yourself in a tower (your apartments), with only a jester (another 2000’s romcom) to keep you company. Sounded like a perfect plan.

“Everything was fine, before that jerk started asking whether I was like these females—”

“Ew,” Nobara grimaced. “Females? That’s a red flag already. Might be one of these podcast guys. They are all beyond saving.”

“I know, right? Should’ve told him to fuck off right that instant. Anyway,” you snipped a poor rose’s stem with more force than necessary and continued. “These females who like to invite poor men to the fanciest restaurants and make them pay!”

Nobara gasped, thoroughly scandalized, handing you a lighter.

“He did not!”

“Oh yes, he did. And that’s not even the worst! Then he asked when I would be ready to quit my job, because his wife and the mother of his children shouldn’t work,” deep-buried irritation from the godforsaken dinner slowly started to bloom in your chest, so you didn’t even notice you were holding the lighter near the stem longer than usual. Luckily, Nobara intervened before you almost set the flowers on fire.

“Hey-hey, gimme that,” she snatched the possible tool of destruction from your hands and quickly put the stem in a vase. You blinked in surprise and slumped on the nearby chair with a long, exhausted sigh.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she flashed you a warm smile and then added, barely audible. “Was my task, anyway. So, you were saying?”

“Yeah, right,” you dragged your hand over your face, “after we left the restaurant, the asshole offered to give me a ride.” You drawled the last word, double entendre clear in your voice, as you stared at Nobara with a telling gaze.

She, of course, understood. Slowly dragged her gaze from the flowers and stared back at you. A murderous glint flashed in her eyes. The lighter only added to her dangerous image.

You sighed once again and murmured, staring at the ceiling. “So, that was it. What’s even worse is that he seemed so nice and gallant and—,” you gestured vaguely before dropping your hand in desperation. The next words felt like shards; tears stole your voice. “I am not cut out for the relationships, clearly. Maybe something is fundamentally wrong with me, I don’t know! All this staff”, you drew a sharp exhale and angrily wiped your nose, “is not for me. I am way better alone”.

Hearing your voice, so uncharacteristically broken, Nobara kneeled in front of you. She squeezed your hands.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Believe me. All these men are assholes that do not even deserve the strand of your hair!”

“Uhm, Nobara, flowers there—”

“Ah, fuck these flowers,” she waved dismissively. “I’ve got a bigger potential catastrophe on my hands,” you snorted at her words, and a big, bright grin broke on her face. “You are smart, pretty, kind, and just so wonderful! These guys? They can suck my—”

“Nobara!”

“Okay, okay,” Nobara rolled her eyes and leaned in closer, her grin morphing into a conspirational smile. Your eyes narrowed playfully. “Tell you what? We finish here, and I am taking you to that new mall, finally making you buy that slutty dress I’ve been talking about for days, then we crash into my flat, order whatever you want, and re-watch “Love Actually” for the hundredth time! How’s that?”

You couldn’t help but smile genuinely at Nobara’s suggestion. It was impossible to brood with her around. 

“That sounds perfect.”

Your thoughts drifted to the morning once again. Something in your guts was telling you that you were right initially. Or maybe it was more of a wishful thinking, because his image would haunt your mind every failed date and every sparkle you misguessed as the beginning of something new. And yesterday was particularly shitty. 

You weren’t that obsessed with your ex-situationship. So what if even after all the months you had been apart (though you doubted whether you could truly say that; you never had been together), he was the only person who had lit up your whole world? Pfft. Every girl had a story like this.

At least you hoped so. Stupid Gojo.

Despite all the things that happened between you (and did not), you couldn’t bring yourself to hate Gojo. His stupid white hair, ivory under the sunlight; a stupid grin that broke his face anytime you would say something funny, and that chuckle, Gods,  that fucking chuckle of his was your biggest reward and the strongest undoing. 

Then you would remember the way he ended both of you, destroying the root before your love could even blossom, and the urge to punch him would multiply drastically.

Just like now.

You were in the middle of preparing the next customer’s order and racked your brains on where to put a couple of black tulips, so they would look presentable enough. Then you struggled with the overall composition, the wrapping paper didn’t work much, you cut your ring finger and —

Stop that.

You took a deep breath. In and out. In and out. 

That was it. The effect Satoru Gojo had on you.

“I definitely should get over this guy,” you murmured in the void, not addressing anyone in particular, but Nobara heard it. She turned around sharply, the large heart box with roses dangerously swaying in her hands. Her narrowed eyes seemed to pierce right through your soul, through the pregnant pauses, creeping between the endless conversations about your love life, the sadness you carried in the unsaid words.

She saw the raging storm in your weary eyes, and her glare softened immediately, lips parting to tell you something only Nobara could tell — but in the moment, the doorbell in the main hall rang obnoxiously loudly, and she hurriedly headed upstairs.

Your gaze dropped to the bouquet. The black tulips in the middle caught your attention immediately. A satisfied grin tucked in the corner of your mouth. 

The flowers were pretty. Gorgeous. The fragile beauty of nature wrapped in the softest of touches. Nature’s most delicate gift. They didn’t hurt anyone. Not in the way people do, at least.

Nobara’s voice called you suddenly, pulling you back to reality. Your brows furrowed slightly: her voice sounded strangely strained. You headed up as well. 

“My mother loves black tulips.”

“Really? Huh. That’s rare. Not everyone even thinks about what flowers they like.”

“Nah, she thinks about everything. And more. Like you.”

“Do you think this ribbon fits well, or should I find the lacy one? I am not quite sure.”

Your gaze flicked to Nobara, and then—

You rooted to your spot. The poor bouquet almost fell from your weakened hands, but that was the last thing that was on your mind.

Not when Gojo Satoru was staring back at you.

His eyes searched for every expression on your face, every bat of the eyelashes, every flicker of colour in your eyes, every twitch of your lips, soaking it up with the intensity that could rival the wanderer's thirst in a desert. Looking, dazing, gawking, drinking in your features. Like he wasn’t sure whether he should grab and kiss you till he got his fill or just admire from afar, like the most exquisite flower under the glass.

He stared. And stared. And stared.

And gods, you stared back. 

His hair caught the sunlight, giving him an ethereal look, and you swore to God, the blue of his eyes brightened even more, though now his gaze seemed to carry more weight. You remembered them flashing with the charm and the mischief; it was still there, though you couldn’t help but notice adulthood setting into his features.  Your gaze drifted over his frame, clad in a dark blue suit (probably worth your month’s rent), greedily fixing the broadness of his shoulders, the tight pull of the fabric on the chest, the little mole between his collarbones, peeking out from the unbuttoned shirt. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Why was he here?” An anxious thought beat against your ribcage with a deafening thump-thump, suddenly twice its usual size. “He wasn’t supposed to be here! And found me!”

Deep down, you knew. Of course, Gojo could. You moved to another city, not the other hemisphere.

But it was Kyoto. A fucking metropolis!

Gojo was from Kyoto.

You fixed all the details almost unconsciously, committing his features to your memory as if he were about to vanish right this second. Neither of you dared to move; silence wrapped around you like a thick blanket, trapping you in its suffocating confines.

Nobara’s gaze flicked between Gojo and you, but luckily, she didn’t ask anything. Must’ve been obvious.

“You go back. I’ll handle it,” she whispered to you, and the strange spell cast on your room was dispelled. You gave her a quick, unsure grin.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

Nobara opened her mouth to protest, but your pleading look silenced her. With the last suspicious look at Gojo, she disappeared into another room.

You stood behind the register, trying to look as professional as ever. Trembling in your hands and the waver in your voice were a dead giveaway, though. Gojo’s eyes briefly flickered to your frame. His eyes softened almost imperceptibly. 

“So, long time no see, Gojo. How’s that been?”

Gojo grimaced slightly but didn’t comment on you using his government name. Instead, he just stepped closer to the register, as if unsure whether he could approach you.

That startled you. Gojo was never about hesitance in any way. 

“It’s been…okay,” he answered vaguely, and you couldn’t help but notice his timbre deepened. Tone smoothened, became richer. The Kyoto accent was back. You remembered how he desperately tried to sound more like a Tokyo guy.

Stop. 

What on Earth were you thinking? 

Focus.

“We’ve decided to reopen the Kyoto branch, and Gramps wanted to make me in charge of it.” You felt his gaze on you, and its intensity sent shivers down your spine. You nervously tried to issue him a receipt, but the terminal seemed to stop working at the most inconvenient moment ever. Heat slowly crept your cheeks. 

"... and I've got a lot of things to look through and deal with a bunch of old fossils," Gojo continued, grimacing at the mention of old men who were probably a part of the shareholders' board. You noticed he told about himself rather vaguely, almost indifferently, as his own life couldn't feel less interesting.

You dreaded Gojo's next question. Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask—

"And how have you been?"

A strange kind of desperation laced Gojo's voice. As if he knew he had no right to ask that, but just could not help it. His Adam's apple bobbed with effort, and if you paid more attention, you would've noticed the flex of his fingers.

You forced a strained smile, your heart did a stupid little flip.

"I...am doing alright," you gestured vaguely around the shop as if it could've answered his question. However, Gojo's gaze was glued to you, searching, observing, examining the fatigue that was deeply etched into your features, the light dust of pink on your cheeks, a nervous smile hiding at the corner of your lips, and a small cut on your chin. You were even more beautiful than he remembered. Was it ever possible?

"It's for your mom, right?" you blurted out before even thinking, earning a surprised look from Gojo. Your eyes widened; probably, he thought you were a stalker or just a lunatic for asking that. 

Nervously, you explained, fingers fumbling with the ribbon. "I remember you told your mom liked black tulips." Gods, why did you ask that? Is there really a kind of question for your ex-situationship at your first meeting?

Your heart beat anxious staccato against your chest. You prayed the ground would swallow you whole as Gojo remained silent.

Slowly, his initial shock and confusion melted into an undeniable affection, and he smiled, a soft, quiet smile that reached his eyes, crinkling at the corners.

You released a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Yeah. She still does. That's for her. I...," Gojo's smile faltered a little, "she flew from Tokyo for some business, and I am gonna meet her. I asked my assistant to pick a flower shop close to it. With good reviews, of course,” his gaze quickly swept the surroundings, landing on various arrangements, bouquets and vases. Strange tightness coloured his tone, and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

"Ah. I see."

"Yeah."

So, he didn't stalk you. Good to hear.

A loose strand of hair fell over your forehead, and you put it back with an annoyed sigh. Gojo's gaze followed it with a tender ache; you thought you imagined it. 

Gojo's lips parted slightly, and then he abruptly closed his mouth again. A little frown formed between his brows. 

"Listen, I know it's not the right moment, but I would like —"

You swallowed anxiously, but in that second, his phone rang. Whoever that was, you were beyond grateful for a little respite after everything that had just happened.

Gojo Satoru.

Your something. Your almost everything. Your childhood wish for a friend. Your teenage longing for love. Your yearning to be seen.

Your invisible string draped over months and cities. Forever snapped.

Or?

"Ijichi, I told you already," Gojo's voice came out way too harsher than it was with you; a mask slipping back on his face, "I'm busy with something right now."

Annoyance flushed in his eyes as he listened to a hasty voice on the other side of the phone. He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Uh-huh. I got it. Be in five minutes."

The anxious voice, Ijichi's, as you presumed, mumbled something back, but Gojo didn’t pay attention.

Silence wrapped around you once again, unsure and hesitant. You took a deep breath, on the verge of blurting something about maintenance or a sudden supply of birthday cards, or anything, before Gojo's voice cut through the mess that your head was, softer than you ever expected.

"It was nice seeing you."

You rehearsed words suddenly seemed meaningless. A look of surprise crossed your face at his words, and before you could articulate your confusion in somehow coherent words, Gojo already left with a curt nod. The bell jingled obnoxiously loud, and you slowly took a deep breath.

Gojo's cologne was still lingering in the air, enveloping you in his scent.

Lost and confused, you slumped in the nearest chair behind the register, brain short-circuiting on what had just happened. Something you had never dared to think about in your dreams. Gojo was tucked in the deepest corner of your heart; you rarely allowed yourself to truly reminisce about what you were and never became.

And you couldn't shake the feeling he wanted to ask you something before the call. 

Or were you just making things up? Wishful thinking?

***

The day when you met Gojo was as clear as ever in your mind. No. When Gojo met you. Really met.

You had seen Satoru Gojo all the time at the campus: his frosty white hair impossible to miss, laugh booming loudly in the university halls, enough for people to turn their heads, all sharp grins and snarky remarks — confidence walked hand in hand with him as he basked in the attention. He moved like a person who had never forced himself to be small. To fit into some box. People orbited around him, inevitably driven closer by his overwhelming presence: planets pulled closer by the gravity of the Sun. 

You, on the other hand, were one of the satellites, surfing through the vast expanse of university life.

Naturally, your paths with Gojo didn't cross very often: sure, he was in your periphery all the time, effortlessly catching your attention with his jokes and... everything; you shared a couple of classes and had a bit of awkward exchanges in the library over behavioural theory of management. You weren't even surprised: for all Gojo's lack of discipline in the classes, he really had a sharp mind.

Sometimes he gave you a bright grin in greeting, to which you answered with a short nod, putting on an air of confidence, despite the frantic beat of your heart and the speed at which your palms got sweaty.

So, as it was etched in the laws of the universe, you quietly observed Gojo from afar, not daring to collide with his orbit more than needed. Burning in the Sun's light would bring long-lasting scars.

Oh, how right you were.

This shouldn't have happened. He should've just walked past you like many others on that rainy day, when you were standing right next to your stall, teeth chattering as the coldness embraced you in its harsh hands. Your gaze quickly swept the surroundings — the majority of students had already left their standings. No wonder, with the weather like that, who would've been foolish enough to stay at the volunteer fair?

You were. Though you preferred to think of yourself as responsible and kind. 

A deep chuckle pierced through the monotonous cacophony of the rain, and inevitably, your gaze landed on Gojo. He was hanging out at his friend's stall, helping to put things in the boxes. Geto, if you remembered it correctly. Surprisingly, he was also helping one of the city's animal shelters. You tried not to dwell on his charity box, which showed way more promise than yours.

You were so focused on not freezing to death at that point that you didn't notice Gojo walking to your stall. The bag with his volleyball (because of course, Gojo was ridiculously good at everything) uniform hit his leg with every step.

He stood right in front of it, a curious grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked ridiculously handsome, even with a silly umbrella.

Gojo kept examining the various brochures about the shelter, pictures of cats and dogs, seeking their homes. His gaze softened imperceptibly. 

Meanwhile, your world just tilted off its axis.

"Hi," you gave Gojo a nervous smile.

He looked up immediately and hummed in acknowledgement. "Hi."

An awkward silence fell upon you. Your brain short-circuited as you anxiously tried to scramble for the right words, but they just flew out of your mind right then. Nothing. Blank screen. Error.

Gojo didn't seem to notice your mental struggles, still glued to the stall.

Just when you were about to finally introduce him to the shelter you had been volunteering for, he suddenly reached for the wallet and threw bills in the charity box. A lot, one would say.

You blinked. Blinked again. Maybe you were hallucinating from standing all day in the cold. 

"What the hell are you doing?" You blurted out, and deep crimson painted your cheeks in embarrassment. 

What the hell were you doing? 

Who on Earth would say something like that to a person, willingly donating to your stall?

You hoped he wasn’t very petty.

Instead, his white brows knitted in confusion. He took a step back to examine the box before dragging his gaze, the brightest of blues, to you. 

"Donating, I guess?"

"Yeah, no shit," you scoffed. Backing wasn't an option by this time. "That's like...a lot."

A look of realisation crossed Gojo's face, before a cracking bright grin, as if the Sun finally peeked through the heavy clouds. Suddenly, the cold didn't bother you as much as before.

"Ah, it's nothing. Really," he drawled lazily and nodded at the photos again. "Besides, it's only for the good."

He was kind of insane, you thought. But hey, who would've said no to the charity money? Especially if you did less than expected at this fair.

"Then... thank you," you breathed out in relief, but immediately grimaced at how empty and basic it sounded. Quickly, you added. "Really, thank you! It would do a lot for the shelter, and —"

You reached for a simple box, adorned with a colourful ribbon, resting among others, to gift him. Nothing much, but you spent your whole evening preparing them.

"There's a postcard, a cap and a mug!" You shrugged casually, fingers toying with the ribbon, and handed the box to Gojo. "A token of appreciation, if you wish".

He examined the box with a sharp look, and for the moment, you felt really silly. His long fingers curled around the box, brushing briefly against yours — a warm touch, despite the rain, sending sparks of electricity up your arm.

Did Gojo notice that too?

He almost left, and you almost could breathe in relative calm, when something must've popped into his mind, and he abruptly stopped in his tracks. 

"Wait...are you this girl from the management class? The one with the old Gakuganji? Sitting on the left side, third row?" His eyes briefly scanned your face. You felt like a butterfly under his piercing gaze. "We talked about Mayo's behaviour theory in the library, remember?"

Remember. Did you remember.

Did you remember him.

The carefully constructed unreachable image of Gojo in your head seemed to have its first cracks. You had never thought he would ask if anyone remembered him. You had never thought he would remember your place at the lecture. The Sun didn’t simply bother to pay attention to the satellites.

Gojo might’ve interpreted your stunned silence in a completely different way.

“I mean, your hair is…different. And the hood,” he gestured vaguely, and you quickly put the lone strand behind your ear. 

“Yeah, uhm, that’s…that’s me.”

Gojo didn’t answer this, studying your face with intensity that might’ve pierced through your entire being. As if he were searching for an answer to a particularly tricky question only you could give him. 

Or maybe it was just an effect of his eyes — a shade that certainly shouldn’t exist in the world, putting all the world’s blues to shame. He was still stuck around your stall, as if glued. As if he didn’t want to leave. 

You didn’t even dare to think about it.

“Why are you alone? Aren’t the stalls supposed to have two volunteers? Suguru told me.”

You sighed, reminiscing about how Nobara almost coughed her lungs out today, but her stubborn ass somehow insisted on coming with you. Eventually, it ended with you locking her up in the dorm room.

“They are. I should’ve been there with my friend. She fell ill.”

A mischievous glint flashed in Gojo’s eyes as he arched his brow. “Really fell?”

“Really, really. Nobara’s not like that.” You scoffed at his implications and crossed your hands on your chest.

Gojo’s face sobered. “Nobara? Kugisaki? The lead cheerleader?”

You nodded.

He nodded back. “Yeah, she’s not.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. What the hell was going on there? Why did he, Gojo Satoru, out of all people, stay by your lonely stall and ask you weird questions?

Creepy. 

Gojo’s gaze flicked to the sky, just as the deafening sound of thunder boomed out of a sudden, then back to your face. The rainy pit-patter against the stall’s shade intensified, pulling you out of the strange daze to hastily pack the stuff back. The framed pictures landed in the box with awkward thuds as you threw them in the box. How you were going to take all of the stuff back to the dorm remained a full mystery.

You picked two of them with a grunt, and the hair fell on your forehead, obscuring the view. The box on the top dangerously slid down, earning a string of curses and a couple of desperate groans from you, when a pair of strong hands suddenly took them from your weakened hands. The rain didn’t help the situation at all.

You almost slipped, losing balance, but quickly stabilized yourself, gripping the same very pair of hands. There was no objection. From the person, obviously.

Gojo’s gaze pinned you to the ground when you looked up. His messy white fringe fell on his forehead (you felt a strange itch in your fingers to brush it away), and some strands, wet from the rain, stuck to his forehead. The soft brightness of his eyes was gone, replaced with something darker and more intense, you weren’t sure you could name it. You just stared back and wondered if the lost people in the oceans saw that exact shade of blue before drowning in their unforgiving waves.

You never saw Gojo that close, obviously. You didn’t know his lashes were so long and soft, fluttering with every breath he took; his nose was crooked just a fraction, and pale freckles dusted his cheeks. 

You swallowed, not daring to step back, and just froze like a deer in the headlights.

Maybe that was the way goddesses crafted the invisible strings. A whim, a caprice of fate, looking down at the people and deciding to grant their hearts the greatest wishes, just to weave them forever into the endless canvas of the universe. 

Little did you know that it was he who got rooted to the very spot. Froze. Stilled. Whatever. Gojo’s entire universe had just fallen off the axis and flew towards hell. The black hole, one might say. With such clarity that he was, honestly, surprised that no one saw it. 

That was the day when he first saw you. Really saw. The lone girl near the animal shelter’s stall, who observed people dismissively walking past her with an understanding and forgiving look. Whose entire face lit up when she talked about the rescued dogs and cats, to the people who would actually come up to the stall. The kind smile that transformed her face into a painting of the finest craft as she gifted the gift boxes. Who stubbornly chose to stay at the fair in the rain and cold. All alone, because her friend got sick. And, naturally, he walked to you, drawn like a moth to the flame.

A shot of electricity shook through Gojo’s body. The ground dropped away from his feet. The biggest fuckass tsunami hit him and filled his lungs with you, you, you. 

That was scary. That was dangerous. You were dangerous. 

The sudden clap of thunder above pulled you out of this strange haze. You stepped back; Gojo blinked — a storm in his eyes gave way to a warm sea breeze.

“They are heavy. I’ll walk you to the dorm.”

Your cheeks heated up, and you quickly babbled.

“There’s no need, really. I am okay—”

You almost flinched at the particularly deafening sound of the thunder and threw your hands up, answering with a weak grin.

“Seems like I do not have much of a choice.”

Gojo only chuckled.

His shoulder lightly brushed against yours the whole time to the dorm, sending light sparks up your arm even through the hoodie. You noticed how he subconsciously fell into step with you. Gojo gave you his umbrella, with some Digimon on it, and at first, you tried to shield him from the raindrops as well, but Gojo was so tall that your arm quickly hurt.

None of you said anything, besides light humming from Gojo’s side, and it felt strangely…nice. You expected desperately scrapping for words to fill the uncomfortable silence between you, but there was no need. Maybe you still existed in that small babble, where time stopped and held you in its tight embrace.

“So, that’s me,” you nodded at the doors and made a grab for the boxes.

Gojo frowned. “They are heavy. Come on, let’s get inside.”

Nobara certainly would ask you questions about how Gojo ended up in their room. You realized that you didn’t want to share this strange moment of...whatever it was with Gojo, with anyone else yet. Besides, she was still sick.

You forced a smile. “Thank you a lot, but I am fine. Really. And Nobara’s sick, so…”

Gojo blinked in confusion, but seeing you weren’t going to step back, nodded. He handed you the boxes back, which made you almost double over under their weight.

“See you at the lectures,” he waved to you, a charming grin curled up on his lips, and you found yourself smiling back. For a couple of moments, you watched his tall figure retreating, mulling over whether you should ask Gojo what the hell was going on, thank him properly or just say anything. You were so nervous, you could barely hear your own thoughts with the blood roaring in your ears.

Your gaze quickly dropped to the box, the shelter’s logo immediately caught your eye, and the idea popped into your mind so fast your anxious mind had hardly registered it. 

“Hey, Gojo!”

He stepped in his tracks and turned right that instant at the sound of your voice. Like he had been subconsciously wishing for it. His eyes seemed so bright, burning you with their electric blue.

God. What had you done? What were you going to do now? Your suggestion seemed so utterly stupid. Maybe Gojo would get tired of your hesitance and walk away?

“Yes?”

Oh, fuck. He was still standing there, head tilted in curiosity. You swallowed. There was no backing down now. Your grip on the boxes tightened. 

“Come to the animal shelter this weekend,” you blurted out. His eyes widened slightly, but you continued. “Your donation was the biggest. There’s a prize for it!”

For a long, painful second, you were sure he would come up with some polite excuse to decline it. To your biggest surprise, a big grin broke on his face.

“I’ll be there. See you.”

You watched Gojo walking away, still not quite believing what had just happened.

The days leading up to the weekend were filled with nervous excitement. Even when Gojo came for your number to text you about it, anxiety was still buzzing deep in your bones.

Turned out there was no reason for it. 

He actually showed up. That time. And many others.

You met at the shelter countless times — Gojo was more than welcome there. Your awkward, occasional conversations in the library turned into full study sessions, when both of you were glad to just share a bit of space. You learnt each other’s coffee orders by heart, favourite books, movies, shared favourite quotes, and had endless conversations under the starry sky about everything and nothing all at once. He would usually point at the bunch of stars and come up with the most ridiculous constellations and histories about them. You couldn’t remember a single moment when your cheeks didn’t hurt from smiling with him, a warm feeling blossomed in your chest every time his lips curved into a soft, gentle grin, the one you had already learnt was reserved only for you. All your camera film was filled with him, but you never complained.

You had never felt anything like that before; your heart was filled to the top with unspent, unrestrained love, so, naturally, it overflowed and flooded everything.

Maybe that was it. Maybe you loved Gojo so fiercely and desperately that it scared him. You never questioned or tried to define your relationship with him — you both were so happy that you thought that taste of honey would linger on your lips forever, living in the warm, miraculous daze forever. For Gojo, whose entire life was carefully built around expectations — the grades always had to be perfect, his future predetermined, written up to the smallest detail the moment he was born, the weight of his family's prestige settling heavily on his shoulders — being with you was a breath of fresh air. He didn’t have to put on any front: a star student, a team captain, the Gojo heir…he was just Satoru with you. And maybe he got a little bit too used to the fact that you simply took everything he offered to you, without asking for more. Without demanding. Without expecting. And when his heart started to jump every time he saw you, his chest tightened with a loving, tender ache at the sight of your smile and all his thoughts gravitated to you wherever he was, Gojo knew he was gone. Completely. 

He didn’t know how to love someone that much. Selflessly, unconditionally, handing his heart on his palm. The painful vulnerability that came with your love stripped him bare, to the bone, exposed the deepest corners of his heart and soul — something he didn’t even dare to look at himself. And that scared him. No amount of hiding his horror of being loved behind the usual mask of a fool could hide it. So he did the best he could for both of you. At least, that was what he thought. 

Left you.

He sincerely thought that was him protecting you from the inevitable break-up. He didn’t know how to love. He didn’t know how to be loved. 

Turned out Gojo just protected himself.

Slowly, your dates shortened, turning into quick meetings and then vanished completely with his weak excuses. Calls postponed, messages left on delivered. He gradually slipped away from your life, leaving a hole so big you didn’t know whether it was even possible to fill with something, someone else who wasn’t him. He ripped your heart and took it with him.

What was even worse was that despite everything, you couldn’t even bring yourself to hate him. Despite taking away your air with him. You cried yourself to sleep on countless nights, threw yourself into studies, volunteering, working, and everything that could even remotely help you to find closure. You were so lucky to have Nobara by your side — wordlessly, she picked up the shards of your shattered heart and carefully glued them together.

Over time, you grew tired of seeing your own sad, tear-filled gaze in the mirror, the sorrow in the bags under your eyes, hollow cheeks — solitude etched into your soul. You didn’t deserve it. If he weren’t the one, then be it. You couldn’t let a man define all your future.

With strange calmness and melancholy, you blocked him. Moved to another city. Got to work in a flower shop, something that you discussed with Gojo a lot of times. Took up hobbies. Squeezed yourself into bustling, busy Kyoto life as much as you could. Met other people, despite how much you wanted to hide in your shell.

Got over Gojo. At least, you thought you did, safe for times when your mind naturally went to reminisce about him after failed dates; for the fingerprints of him were all over the pages of your life.

Only for everything to return after meeting him today.

***

Saying that Gojo didn’t cross your mind the next days would be a lie. 

You wish you were a liar.

Why did he happen to visit your flower shop? Was it really random?

And more importantly: would he visit again?

The one part of you, young, naive and endlessly romantic, built sandcastles and told you that she wanted it to happen. The other, sharpened by adulthood and the cruelty of the world, destroyed them without batting an eye and told you not to be foolish. The second voice sounded suspiciously like Nobara’s.

You were too scared to trust the girl with the dreams way bigger than her, living in a fairytale, where princes would always find their way to princesses, fight all the dragons and have their happily-ever-afters.

You couldn’t afford to think about it. Closing off, guarding your heart like Cerberus wasn’t an option either, so you did what any reasonable, mature grown-up would do: bury yourself in work.

The large shipment of items, flowers and vases among them, had just been delivered to the shop, before one of your most frequent customers’ jubilee, so you were in dire need of all hands available. As a cruel joke of fate, Nobara was on the other side of the city, and Utahime argued with the suppliers, who messed up an important order again; her angry voice cut through the relative serenity and silence in the shop. Honestly, totally understandable.

Your back hurt from standing for God knew how long, a band-aid on your left hand had already asked for mercy, and the strain in your neck screamed for relief. You tried not to pay attention to the tightness in your shoulders; the exhaustion gave you a much-needed escape from your own mind. 

The bell chimed in greeting; your head snapped up to greet a client, only to be met with a familiar flash of snowy hair.

Your heart skipped a beat, and light pink dusted your cheeks. 

The little girl sheepishly peeked out of the window in her sandcastle.

“Didn’t expect you to see you here, yet so soon,” you mumbled in greeting, hastily wiping your hands off the apron and, unconsciously, clasping them behind your back. For some reason, you didn’t want Gojo to have a look at your scratches. Not when he was dressed to kill. Probably you.

You dragged your gaze from his figure and stood behind the register. The familiar position gave much-needed strength to deal with the headache Gojo Satoru was. Like you were the one in control. 

You didn’t quite recognize your voice, all sharp and business-like, when you asked him.

“How can I help you?”

Gojo didn’t answer you straight away. His gaze swept the surroundings — scattered boxes, vases waiting to be filled, a bunch of balloons —  until it landed on you. Something tender and endlessly fragile flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked it. 

“I am here to talk to you and your boss, Miss Iori. I’ve been told I have to wait a bit —”

“...and if you are gonna sell me ranunculi instead of peonies once again, when I specifically asked for the fucking peonies,” you both turned your heads towards Utahime’s office, her voice gradually rising in pitch as she spoke. You swallowed. “I am gonna stick them all up in your ass and —”

You quickly exchanged glances with Gojo. His lips curled into a full-blown grin, the amusement dancing on his face, so unrestrained that you forgot what all the fuss about was.

“She’s a little busy now,” you chuckled in return. 

“I see,” Gojo finally turned to you, with the same smile he once stole your heart, and leaned on the register, his long fingers lazily drumming against the surface. 

“Actually, it’s even better. I want to talk to you first,” Gojo’s voice, soothing around the edges, dipped to that tone you were all familiar with. Deep and sweet, thick as honey, dying on your tongue in dizzying aftertaste.

“You see, we’re going to have an event soon, and among everything we need florists, obviously.” He flashed you a quick smile, but seeing confusion written all over your face, quickly schooled himself. Gojo glanced around the shop once again: the holiday postcards seemed to pique his interest way more than your reaction, then his gaze drifted to Utahime’s office once again, and finally, he dared to look at your face again. 

“And?”

“I want you to be the main designer of the event.”

Gojo’s words didn’t catch you completely off guard. Deep down, you wanted that day not to be a strange accident. Longed to see him again. Needed to allow yourself a moment of foolishness. 

A beat of silence passed between you, charged with the heaviness of unspoken words and feelings, deep buried inside to a point you doubt whether you both had even happened. Otherwise, why didn’t you ask him straight away to find someone else? Go from your sight and never return? 

Why didn’t you have the strength to resist his gravity? Was it even possible? To deny the Sun its power, when the burns still echoed in your heart with raging ache? 

Gojo’s eyes were glued to your face, desperately seeking any clue his expression might hand him. His voice dropped to a desperate whisper.

“I am not going to force you into anything. If you don’t want to deal with this,” the sudden wavering crept into his voice; a grimace briefly crossed his face, “dealing with me, I understand that. But I want to ask you not to do it. You’ll have all the creative freedom you want, all the communication will be handled by my assistant, and we won’t even meet, unless you want it. I promise. Just…just don’t reject the offer because of me. Please.” 

Your gaze narrowed, steel slipping into it. As much as the sapphires of his eyes urged you to surrender, to capitulate, to yield, your dignity screamed in objection.

“Why are you so adamant about this? Why do you want me to do this?”

His lips curled into a small knowing smile, bitter around the edges. His finger lightly tapped on the bunch of receipts, eyes drifting to the forgotten band-aid on your hand. The tightness in your shoulders didn’t go unnoticed either. 

“I think you need it. To feel in your place once again.”

How.

How did he manage to dig into your chest and rip your heart, revealing all the quiet battles you had been fighting? After all those years? Making you seen, even now?

But why did he think he still had a chance to tear you apart? To open apart old scars, the ones you were slowly stitching together?

The sudden anger bloomed bright in your chest, dipping all your words in venom.

“You promised me a lot of things, Gojo. I don’t quite remember you keeping them.”

A sparkle of icy fury flashed in Gojo’s eyes, and his jaw tightened. You didn’t allow yourself to flinch as he stared right into your eyes — the swords clashing in a deadly dance.

You dug your nails into your palm hard enough to leave crescents.

“Come on, say something. Give me a reason to hate you.”

The anger in his eyes slowly melted into an ache until guilt flooded the blue of them. Gojo stepped back with a sigh. His fingertips twitched as if he wanted to reach you, but then stopped halfway.

“I know I had hurt you. And believe me, this is not how I imagined us having a conversation like this,” Gojo’s gaze caressed your features, memorizing them, as if it would be his last chance to see you at all. Miraculously, you hold yourself from giving in to the apology and regret that laced his voice. You weren’t ready to face everything once again. Your heart was still bleeding for him. “If you want to talk about it — “

A subtle shake. “I do not.”

“Okay. Okay. I understand. Then just think about what I said. Please.”

Your gaze dropped. You wanted to hate him. You wanted to look right into his face and say “fuck you”, among many other things you were desperate to cry out. To scream, to push, to take him apart like he once did to you.

But you couldn’t.

You didn’t notice Gojo left the shop until the annoying doorbell chirped right through the haze of your mind.

Exhausted, you dragged your hand over your face and slumped into the nearby chair, deep in thought.

***

Utahime didn’t urge you to anything, and while you were grateful for that, the answer she hoped for was visible in the tight set of her shoulders as she looked through the bills, the tired sigh that would escape her every time she dealt with the suppliers, not to mention the rude customers. The jubilee was the last big event before the usual dry period.

Your inner scales gradually tipped towards Gojo’s offer more and more, with every strain in your neck, headache pounding with deafening force at your temples and endless scratches on your palms.

One evening, with you and Nobara crashing on your couch, you finally felt the scales tipped in Gojo’s favour. As the days blurred into a limitless working routine, where the only light was his words, whispering in the back of your exhausted mind with more and more annoying insistence, you found yourself eventually thinking about his offer more and more.

“So, you gonna text him or what?” Nobara mused, swirling the wine in her glass, sitting with her legs tucked. The Friday evening downed at you with a startling surprise.

You mindlessly twirled a business card that Gojo left for you at the register the day he visited the shop. Strangely, it completely slipped out of your mind. A quick brush of fingers against the plastic — an elegantly written GOJO SATORU caught the light — until it hit the coffee table. Nobara reached for it to examine.

“Whoa, as cocky as ever.”

“Well, he’s the CEO or whoever,” you murmured dismissevely and took a gulp from your own glass. The liquid bloomed bitterly at the tip of your tongue, and you put it away with a sigh.

Even wine didn’t help. You slowly tilted your head back until it hit the back of the couch. 

“Okay, let’s look at this from the other side,” Nobara discarded the card somewhere and sat cross-legged. You cracked one eye open, and the sight of her business-like expression almost made a groan slip your lips. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

When Nobara was in a mood, nothing in the world could stop her. You slowly straightened, but her next words made you choke on your own breath. 

“It’s not like he’s gonna confess that he was a massive jerk and ask for your hand in marriage.”

You spluttered, heat rising your cheeks. “Nobara!” 

The small decorative throw pillow landed on her face with the precision of a sniper. She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Just saying. Not like that’s ever happening.”

A silence fell upon both of you, while you chewed on your bottom lip, musing over Gojo’s last words, which still lingered in your heart with a dull ache. 

Nobara narrowed her eyes and cocked her brow in a silent question. You swallowed and gave in with a sigh.

“He tried to talk to me that day,” you paused, choosing the next words, fully aware of Nobara’s glaring daggers in you. “Just admitted he hurt me, but I wasn’t ready for this whole conversation. Like, at all. You know what I mean, right?”

You slowly dragged your gaze to her, only to meet her softened gaze, full of sympathy. Wordlessly, she opened her arms, and you fell into her embrace. A quiet sniffle escaped you as you buried your face in her hoodie. Still without saying anything, Nobara brushed a lone hair strand behind your ear.

She indeed knew what you meant. 

When she held you in her arms, after Gojo ghosted you, brushed off like you never ever happened in his life. When she was by your side without even asking, dragging you back to the world, where Gojo was no longer a part of you. When she helped you to stand on your own once again. 

Nobara knew. You knew. Creeping between the cracks of things you never said. 

“I don’t know what to do.” Your voice got muffled by the fabric, but your best friend heard you all good. She patted your head with a soft, melancholic smile and murmured.

“I think you do, sweetheart.”

You went still in her arms, before mumbling something affirmative, and pulled back. Your fingers nervously trembled as you typed Gojo’s number.

“I won’t let him get me this time.”

Nobara watched you with a serious face, chin resting in her palm, elbow digging into the plush of the throw pillows. God, she hoped you were right. Not like her, or you would survive another heartbreak by Gojo Satoru. This time, it might come crushing even more.

She moved closer, your thighs brushing against each other’s, as she peeked at your screen. Her eyes briefly scanned the text before giving an approving nod.

You exhaled sharply before anxiously hitting the send button.

The three dots appeared in your chat alarmingly fast. Like Gojo had been chained to his phone, waiting for your text. You slowly exchanged glances with Nobara.

“He’s typing something.”

“Thanks, Sherlock.”

You threw her an annoyed glance. “Shut it.”

Not even a minute had passed since your own message when the phone dinged with a notification from Gojo. 

Gojo

22:54

Hi. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to text at all. Of course, my offer is still up and will be. Told you it’s yours. We can meet on Monday to discuss the details, if you’re free.

“Oh, he’s so sweet, it’s disgusting,” Nobara fake gagged and reached for her long forgotten wine. You didn’t dignify it with a response.

You

22:56

yeah, monday works for me. what about 2 p.m.?

Gojo

22:56

Totally fine. See you then.

You watched three dots appearing and disappearing in the chat, and your grip on the phone tightened with each passing second.

Gojo

22:58

Good night.

Your heart did a stupid flip, totally not needed and surely out of place. You shouldn’t have this reaction to Gojo Satoru. Shouldn’t!

With a sigh, you blocked the phone and stared up at the ceiling, mulling over what Monday would bring to you.

***

The clock in the Gojo’s reception barely hit 12 a.m., when his secretary, a tall blonde woman with a polite smile, invited you into his office. Honestly, you regretted not asking to meet you at least at a neutral territory the moment you stepped into the cold, pristine walls of the Six Eyes Corp. The ride in the elevator felt endless, your anxiety rising with each passing second, and the sight of an entire horde of managers and support staff running around didn’t help.

Corporation shmorporation. 

Wait. Would you become another cog in this soulless capitalism machine the moment you agree to Gojo’s offer?

You didn’t have time to think through it properly, opening the door to his office.

It was bigger than the reception, but not as enormous as you imagined. The first thing that caught your eye was the panoramic windows, with the entire Kyoto spread before your eyes. The walls were adorned with beautiful paintings: you squinted your eyes to examine them, which probably belonged to the brush of some niche Japanese artist. His workplace was surprisingly neat, especially given the way you remembered Gojo, when you both were…were. The laptop, a bunch of papers to be signed, pens in a holder, and…wait for a damn minute.

A mug. A simple mug just near a stapler. Slightly cracked, the logo rubbed off, but the image of a winking cat was still visible. 

Blood pounded in your ears, while you tried to get a grip on your anxious thoughts. You took a tentative step closer to observe it better, but there was no point in it. It really was the same mug you gifted him at that fair. A prize for the biggest donation. His donation. Gojo kept it in his room, and you drank from the mug more times than you could count. He would often joke that it was his favourite trophy.

And he kept it. On his table, in his office, where he ruled the world that this corporation was. Why?

Why? Did he think of you? Did he recall that fair? The shelter?

Ironically, Gojo didn’t notice you. His back was facing you as he talked to someone over the phone, looking at the city beneath his feet. You allowed yourself a moment of shameless gawking at his back in the crisp white of a button-up. His voice was clipped, words short, and exhaustion laced his words. You felt bad for intruding this place for a moment, especially when his shoulders dropped, as he ran fingers through the hair: the clear white of it catching the light in a way that stole your breath. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, exposing the map of the veins on his forearms, muscles slightly flexing with every move. You swallowed and quickly looked away.

He finally acknowledged you with a slight tilt of his head and dismissed the call with a quick “Not now. Busy,” gesturing for you to take a chair.

You carefully sat, fingers fumbling with the strap of a bag to get your notebook, as Gojo slumped in his chair, which screamed The Big Boss™. He hooked his thumb in the tie with irritation to loosen it, and your gaze briefly flicked there. You smiled sympathetically.

“Rough day?”

“A bit.”

Your grip on the notebook tightened. “We can reschedule, I don’t mind.”

Gojo’s white brows knitted together in confusion, and he immediately straightened up. “No, why would we? I am peachy.”

Your shoulders dropped in a shrug. “Okay.”

“Wanna some coffee or tea? I hope Mei Mei offered you something.”

“Ah, yeah, I’ve just had coffee. Thanks.” Yes. Coffee was a totally plausible excuse for your fidgeting.

“I see.”

Inevitably, you kept sneaking glances at Gojo, pulled closer by the gravity. He twirled the pan between his long, pale fingers, checking something on the laptop, his eyes briefly scanning the screen. Then suddenly he looked up, catching you red-handed just mid-gawking. You briefly dropped your gaze back to the notebook, while his lips curled into a little smug grin. You cleared your throat, the business-like mask slipping on your face. 

“So, I’ll need to know what exactly the kind of event it is going to be, a venue, and a budget at first. If you have something specific in mind for the design, I’ll also be glad to hear.”

Gojo’s grin softened as he listened to your questions, head tilted, a dreamy gaze caressing your features. You looked so charming, sitting all serious in his office. 

Only when you cocked your brow in an attempt to hurry him did he realize he was shamelessly staring at you all this time. Well done, Gojo. Very professional. He quickly typed something on the laptop just to avoid your gaze.

“It’s gonna be an annual charity event for our foundation. They used to be hosted in the Tokyo branch, but this year the board decided to hold it there, in Kyoto.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you ran a foundation”.

A smile broke on Gojo’s face, and he hummed. “Well, a lot of things changed since —” he abruptly cut them off, probably having realized he sounded kind of insensitive. You hold your breath, “since I became the CEO.” 

You breathed out and marked something off in your list.

“I see. That’s…that’s really good. I am glad things are taking on a better turn.”

“Me too.”

Gods, that was so awkward. This really should’ve been a call. Gojo, however, either didn’t notice this strange atmosphere or simply decided to ignore it. He examined you with his bright blue gaze, head tilted to the side. A curious smile played on his lips, and you hated that he was effortlessly charming even now. Always had been. You pressed a pen to your lips. His gaze flicked there, as if hypnotized.

“What about the venue?”

“The hotel next to the main building. We have a partnership with this chain, so it’s kinda a mutual offer. You should’ve seen it on the way here.”

Oh yes, you did. The said building screamed luxury, not the grotesque hyperbolized one, but something way quieter. The kind that clearly told you would’ve been odd there. 

Okay, you thought. You would be working there, not catching glimpses of visitors and the staff.

Another mark in the notebook. 

“Budget?”

Gojo waved his hand in dismissal. “Unlimited. The floor is yours.”

You arched your brow, humming. You didn’t have a lot of luck in encountering your exes, who wanted you to work for them with an unlimited budget. “What if I asked for, I don’t know, Juliet Roses?”

He hummed in return, fingers drumming against the wood of the table. Then leaned slightly in, amusement lacing his tone as he drawled.

“I don’t understand much about that. But sure, whatever you want.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, earning a deep chuckle from Gojo. Teasing the guy who had more money than you would ever be able to make wasn’t as funny as you thought.

After this, you discussed the setting, a couple of specific ideas you already had outlined and some technical details. Gojo tried to crack some jokes, but you weren’t as enthusiastic about them as he was, so he quickly put on a business guy mask on. At the end of the meeting, your mind buzzed quietly with all the information, but a familiar feeling of excitement flooded you: hours of brainstorming, crafting, and creating waited for you. A big heartfelt smile broke on your face as you packed your things back into the bag. 

Gojo offered to walk you back to the elevator, and you didn’t find any excuse to refuse him. The silence stretched between you, not unnecessarily heavy, but you wouldn’t call it comfortable. Your gaze swept the surroundings, landing on a couple of managers, who were stealing sneaky glances at both of you and whispering something to each other with sharp smirks. 

Ugh. Like you were back in the university once again, meeting dumbfounded gazes of students, the moment they eyed you up next to Gojo. 

He was humming something to yourself, completely unbothered, leaning on the wall with the air of confidence that suggested he owned this whole world. And he surely did, if the world closed in on this corporation.

You quickly looked over your shoulder. “Didn’t it bother you?”

He stopped humming, eyes briefly flickering to your face. A lopsided grin curled his lips. “What are you talking about?”

Ah, as usual. He didn’t even notice the gaze, the whispers and the gossiping. Again, the sun didn’t bother to pay attention to satellites. 

You wordlessly glanced at the girls back and stared at the elevator. Gojo watched you with his head tilted and followed the direction of your gaze. The moment his eyes landed on the gossiping managers, his jaw tightened, and the steel crept into his voice. “Ah. I see.”

Your head snapped towards Gojo, and without much thinking, you grabbed him by the wrist. “I didn’t mean anything, let them be — “

“Hey, Chloe!” His voice boomed across the hall, causing one girl to nearly drop her binder. You could see her swallowing with effort even from this distance. A charming smile tugged on the corner of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes, as he drawled in a deceptively sweet voice. “I presume you already finished the monthly report, since you have plenty of free time?”

The crimson crept up Chloe’s cheeks as she gripped the binder tighter, babbling. “No, Mr. Gojo, I was merely —”

His smile turned more wolfish as he tilted his head. “Then get your friend outta of here and do something useful.”

Chloe briefly exchanged glances with her friend before quickly making their way to the offices. Gojo watched until their figures disappeared and turned to you with a mischievous smile.

“Nah, it doesn’t.”

You couldn’t help but smile in return. “They are gonna talk even more, you know.”

His shoulders dropped in a lazy shrug, but his gaze fixed you with its usual intensity. You forgot how the sharpness of it used to make your breath bated.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Unless?”

Your heart stammered against your ribs at the innuendo in his tone. Inevitably, you remembered the mug from the shelter on his table, and while you were debating whether to bring it up or keep your mouth shut, the elevator behind finally dinged. A sign, hah?

You hastily stepped forward just to hide from Gojo when his fingers brushed against your wrist. 

“Wait — “

“You look beautiful today.”

“I like your blouse, this colour suits you.”

“You curled your hair, right? I love the way they frame your face.”

The blue of his eyes pinned you to the ground as if you were a butterfly. Gojo’s lips parted, but the words never came, and slowly he let your hand go, letting the crowd in the elevator swallow you and take you away from him.

He inhaled slowly and stared at the ceiling.

What was the name of those flowers?

***

The next days passed in a blur as you started planning the event. Honestly, you hadn’t felt such a wave of excitement since…a long time ago. You didn’t blame your flower shop and Utahime, hell, you never could, but turned out when your hands weren’t constantly covered in all sorts of scraps, knees hurt from standing so much and back almost breaking from carrying the vases, you enjoyed your job well more. 

Gojo kept his promise and didn’t contact you until it was absolutely necessary. However, you couldn’t hide the way your heart would skip a beat wherever he appeared at the venue or when he sent you a little emoji at the end of his texts. You told yourself not to live in illusions, but it became increasingly harder with his gaze caressing you, when Gojo thought you didn’t pay attention. The strange, tender ache in his eyes made your insides churn with some unspeakable feeling you weren’t ready to name at all, and for the sake of your mentality, you decided you would pretend it was a simple curiosity. The mug on his office table whispered insistently that you were wrong. You stubbornly shoved the thought away.  

Gojo didn’t overstep, keeping your relationship on a faint, barely non-existent line of business partners and past acquaintances. Though sometimes he couldn’t help himself and…mishaps indeed happened. 

For example, on your first day at the venue, you were greeted by an elegant bouquet of Juliet roses and pink hydrangeas. The florist in you critically examined the bouquet and admitted it was too your liking, but the thought that it was for you didn’t even cross your mind (tell about originality — giving flowers to the florist), when Gojo happened to peek in and noticed the bouquet didn’t move an inch. 

“Is something wrong with the flowers? I thought you liked these roses.”

Too engrossed in your files, you didn’t even catch his words, staring mindlessly at the screen of your laptop, until a shadow loomed over the table and you begrudgingly had to look up. You stared at Gojo in confusion.

He nodded at the bouquet. “You didn’t like the flowers?”

Your brows knitted in confusion as you followed the direction of his gaze. “No. The composition is really good. I like the way the hydrangeas frame the roses. Juliet roses! The guy doesn’t play about his date,” you chuckled and added immediately. “Or the lady. Either way, the flowers are nice.”

A beat of silence passed between you, enveloping you in its warm embrace. A light pink dusted Gojo’s cheekbones, and he murmured in pretend nonchalance.

“So you didn’t check the card?”

Now you felt completely dumbfounded and slightly irritated that Gojo kept distracting you from the work at hand. “No, why would I —”

Your gaze briefly flicked to the flowers at one of the tables and back to Gojo, who kept eyeing with his usual intensity, stripping you bare of any defences. Then it hit you.

This bouquet was for you.

“Oh”, you murmured nervously, and forced a quick smile, involuntarily straightening up in a chair. Now you couldn’t wait to read the card. “I-I am sorry, I just thought. You know.” You twirled a pen between your fingers, mulling over the next words. There was a little excitement in telling your ex-situationship that you weren’t used to flowers. Usually, when the guys heard about you being the florist, they joked, “Then you are probably tired of seeing them,” as an excuse.

It stopped amusing you on the third date. On the fifth, you resisted the urge to smack them. On the tenth, you silently prayed they would shut up. 

You muttered as politely as you could. “You didn’t have to, Gojo. Thank you.”

A strange melancholy lacing your voice didn’t go past Gojo. His tone hardened. “If you liked them, then I absolutely had to.”

He hated it. He absolutely hated the way your face dropped, sadness crept into your usual bright tone, and the smile became a little too tight around the edges. Despised how you automatically assumed the flowers weren’t for you. Hell, who else were they for?

And the thought of him being the reason you doubted yourself drove him insane to the point of keeping him awake in the night, browsing through your old photos; he couldn’t bring himself to delete. Not only as a memory of what he lost but as evidence of his own cowardice. 

He tried to keep you at a distance, letting the contract and the strict confines of the agreement define you. He thought it would be easier this way. 

But there was nothing easy about either of you. Never was. And in the end, he gave up. The lines blurred between you so hard that he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

© wiserion. do not modify my work in any way (copying, translating, ai feeding, etc.)

[mxcurryy]

read pt.1 AND pt.2, it had me crying, laughing, dying all at the same time. Beautifully written ❤️‍🩹

[yenayaps]

Missing Pieces

Pairing: childhood bestfriend!sukuna x f!reader

Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day || MDNI, angst/comfort/smuț, porņ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his 🍆, nıpple sucking, humpıng, óral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press. word count: 15k

Sukuna isn’t the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never would’ve thought that you’d break it like that. 

The promise? That you’d be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years old— all eight year olds are dramatic. 

Exactly how did you break said promise? 

You ghosted him. 

You fucking ghosted him. 

You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poof— gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the man’s imagination. 

Now that’s dramatic.

He’s texted and called you multiple times, no response. He’s asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.

He’d never admit it, though. 

The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him. 

To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him. 

He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.

. . . . . . 

“Are you excited?”

“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”

She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons. 

The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie. 

Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”

What didn’t she say? 

She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party. 

You thought you had a good argument at the time.

“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”

“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.” 

“Yeah– probably,” you murmured. 

“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!” 

“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded. 

“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.” 

As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families. 

The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one. 

It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them. 

You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options? 

The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked. 

You know what you like, don’t you? 

No, not really.

You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while. 

Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.

Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due. 

The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen. 

Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it. 

Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too. 

But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again. 

You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders. 

It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special. 

It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.

Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position. 

The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee. 

Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well. 

The decision took months. 

In that time, he realized a few things. 

One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches. 

The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker. 

He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency. 

You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp. 

Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it. 

You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe. 

You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about. 

It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way. 

Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone. 

You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful. 

Maybe it’s better off that way. 

Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire. 

You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs? 

Maybe you were the unlucky one here. 

You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on. 

Toji chose to get married and have a kid. 

You can’t even choose yourself on most days. 

“You have arrived at your destination.” 

Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn. 

Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves. 

The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it. 

One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival. 

You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend. 

He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.

“Hey stranger.”

Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.” 

“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug. 

He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”

“Where’s mine?!” 

You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole. 

Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one. 

It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face. 

If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice. 

Today should be enough to prove that.

“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”

“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off. 

“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago. 

No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up. 

Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did. 

Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here. 

At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today. 

“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”

Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you. 

“See? Surprise!”

“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after. 

“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!” 

“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!” 

And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on. 

“I said no!”

“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”

“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.” 

“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath. 

You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm. 

He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.

“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw. 

“Sukuna’s here?!” 

“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”

She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”

“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence. 

“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”

“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”

“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go. 

“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”

. . . . . .

Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long. 

Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well. 

At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.

His eyes nearly widened. 

And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.  

The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way. 

Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head. 

Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place. 

Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him. 

So yeah, she blames Sukuna.

“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building. 

“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.” 

She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.

Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko. 

The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”

“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”

Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day. 

“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.” 

“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs. 

“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?” 

“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”

Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive. 

“What? Is looking at her a crime now?” 

“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end. 

“Why do you even care?” 

“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”

“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”

“Well Shoko—”

“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.” 

“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”

There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”

“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”

“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.” 

“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.” 

“That’s–”

“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”

“I don’t want her n—”

“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”

click.

Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby. 

He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart. 

He hates that he remembers it. 

He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be. 

. . . . . .

In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work. 

His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.

You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more. 

It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far. 

He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm. 

The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point. 

Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with. 

There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand. 

You were barely smiling. 

Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.

Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number. 

He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number. 

It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away. 

You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.

It’s just dumb.

Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.

. . . . . .

You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that. 

He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least. 

It’s been years. 

And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?

All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day. 

It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them. 

This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso. 

The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either. 

Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle. 

The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls. 

Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know. 

Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away. 

Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view. 

Yuji didn't go very far. 

“...es’cuse me?”

You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had. 

“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?” 

“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”

“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?” 

He pouts. “Yes, please.” 

Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”

Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end. 

“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”

Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it. 

Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?” 

The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”

“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.” 

“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making. 

“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.” 

“Oh no, not my shoes!”

“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”

“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.

“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.

“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!” 

Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!” 

“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.” 

Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.

“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?” 

“No!!!”

“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”

Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.” 

“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles. 

“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.” 

You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”

“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”

“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.” 

“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”

“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”

“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.” 

The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna. 

If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.

“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out. 

“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.” 

Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance. 

“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life. 

“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”

“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique. 

Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out. 

“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”

Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”

“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile. 

Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”

“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”

“KAY’.” 

Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna. 

He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him. 

What kind of a sick game is this? 

Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.

By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.

Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff. 

He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.

You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday. 

You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe. 

In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo. 

“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”

“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.” 

You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that. 

“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”

He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”

“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on. 

You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”

“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”

“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught. 

“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers. 

“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.” 

“You’re working for the company?”

He sighs deeply. “Yeah.” 

It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company. 

“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”  

“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”

“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?” 

“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.” 

Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal. 

He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too. 

That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing. 

“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”

You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”

He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”

“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”

“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed. 

“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.” 

He nearly barks out a laugh. 

You look at him with confusion. “What?” 

“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”

“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”

“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”

You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”

You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her. 

“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”

“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”

“Is Dave a new hire?” 

Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.” 

You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.

“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”

She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:

“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.” 

Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.

“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”

On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.

You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.

Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is. 

You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.

“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you. 

In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you. 

You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side. 

You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it. 

“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.” 

It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion. 

He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit. 

Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—

“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks. 

“No.”

“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.

You smile. “I did.” 

He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.” 

“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”

“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”

Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.” 

Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”

“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about. 

The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it. 

“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.” 

Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him. 

Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some. 

. . . 

Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people. 

Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream. 

He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone. 

“Bye.” 

It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way. 

Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—” 

His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets. 

He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number. 

“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.” 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”

He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down. 

“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.” 

“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

. . . . . . 

‘You’re not doing too bad.’

It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them. 

It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones. 

The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t. 

You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.

You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.  

Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t. 

It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny. 

“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”

“Nope.” 

He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.  

“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?” 

He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that. 

“Nope, not a trend.” 

He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag. 

You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter. 

“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?” 

You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.” 

“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it. 

You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets. 

“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?” 

You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.” 

“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge. 

The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in. 

He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be. 

It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house. 

He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.

Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.

He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call. 

It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.

“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors. 

You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?” 

He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.” 

You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”

“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.” 

“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.

He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”

“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch. 

He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.

“What do you mean you guess?” 

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”

“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.” 

“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.” 

You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should  be split between two people, maybe even three. 

“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do. 

“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.” 

“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“

His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.” 

“What?” he smirks.

“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.” 

He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”

“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”

He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”

“Don’t judge me,” you grumble. 

“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”

“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”

“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.” 

"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.

“You’re awake right now, though.” 

“So?” you scoff.

“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.

“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out. 

At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.

You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.

Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.

“What are you d—”

“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.

“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”

“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is. 

“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”

Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs. 

“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.” 

“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?” 

“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.

“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do. 

“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”

You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”

“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes. 

He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too. 

An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other. 

He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards. 

You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience. 

Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation. 

And it’s fucking hard. 

Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one. 

They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.

Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass. 

“Come here.”

He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last. 

The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.  

“Bed?”

“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate. 

“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom. 

He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go. 

You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are. 

“Shit— look at you,” he groans. 

Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself. 

“Told you this was fun.”

“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down. 

He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.

The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit. 

Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.

The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars. 

Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.” 

“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum. 

You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”

“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”

He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going. 

“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants. 

And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.

“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it. 

He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one. 

“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks. 

You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”

“Atta girl.” 

He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip. 

And of course, you stare for longer than you should.

“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be. 

Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick. 

“Yeah— I just— holy shit.” 

“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”

He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.

He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”

You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him. 

“Mhm.”

He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”

You’ll get used to it.

He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance. 

He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing. 

Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls. 

“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight. 

“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.

“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.” 

“How much is there left?”

“You’ll be fine.” 

He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.” 

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl. 

It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this. 

Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away. 

Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth. 

“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.” 

You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear. 

“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”

Thrust. 

“Fuck— okay,” you whine back. 

“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.” 

At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.

“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”

“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself. 

“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”

He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.

“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.” 

“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”

He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”

“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”

“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?” 

It’s a full blown mating press at this point.

“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”

“Good,” he hums. 

He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.

The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.

“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—” 

“What? Too much?”

“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“

Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”

“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks. 

“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?” 

You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you. 

“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”

He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry. 

You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock. 

“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation. 

“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”

He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out. 

He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you. 

It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it. 

“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?” 

Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”

. . . . . . 

Six Months Later 

You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face. 

“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”

He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.” 

“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now. 

Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”

Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”

Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness. 

“So you made him cry?” 

Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.” 

The apology being, ‘No, PLEASE! I’m sorry, I'm SORRY,’ and, ‘I LIED— huhuhuhu my tummy hurts, yuji gonna frow up— I’m sorry’.

You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time. 

He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?” 

“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter. 

He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you. 

“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake. 

“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.” 

He stops chewing and just stares at you. 

“I’m gonna stay with them.” 

“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”

“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”

“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”

“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.” 

That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours. 

“Are you listening?”

“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food. 

“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”

“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?” 

Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.

“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”

You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.” 

“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”

The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”

He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him. 

He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.

“Seriously? You can’t wait until we're at home?”

“I’ll make it quick.”

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[mxcurryy]

best sukuna fic ive read so far

[mxcurryy]

What? Like it's Hard?

Chapter 6 | Series mlist

Top student. Perfect grades. Rich, sporty, artistic — you never came across something you couldn’t solve. And hell, life itself respected you for that. No, you weren’t cocky — far from it. Timid, even. You earned people’s respect through quiet effort, not loud confidence. But the moment you graduated and stepped foot into university, life decided to play a different game. It gave you what you’d secretly longed for all this time. A challenge. And did you pass it? Well… how about no?

pairing: nerdjo x nerdreader

warnings: none

wc: 4.6k

If not for what you needed to prepare for your presentation, you’d be dancing around all day. Why? Because today, this very special day, is the day that you’ll be saved from the torturous, embarrassing thoughts on the boy next door.

The mirror’s bored of you, the ground tired of you pacing around all day, and you? Were restless from night to day. But instead of listening to satoru’s ‘light caffeine’ advice, you decided to bathe yourself in that liquid. You were going to be one reason less connected to him afterall, why not all let go?

At least that’s what you try to tell yourself.

Right as you finished stuffing your notes into your bag, as if timed, the doorbell rang. An ugly truth, you didn’t need to open it to know who’s on the other side.

The door creaked as you slung your bag over your shoulder. “That excited to leave?” you raised a brow at him, stepping out.

He chuckled, “Its the big day, can’t let your short legs make us late huh?” he teased, earning an immediate kick in the knees.

“Shut up satoru, we both have our lines to focus on.” you eyed him. “Hell, did you even practice?”

He shrugged, “Depends.”

You halted your steps immediately, turning toward him with the most offended expression you could muster. “What do you mean depends?”

He shrugged again, “Depends on what practice you’re aiming at,” 

Satoru was clearly messing with you. Normally you’d catch it instantly, but after all the late-night rehearsing and caffeine buzzing through your system, your brain obviously fried up a little bit. Still, he wasn’t entirely lying. He had practiced. Just… not only for the presentation.

You shook your head, “nevermind…” you dismissed him all of a sudden. 

He raised a brow. Now look who got so much moodier today? 

“You know what happens if you’re the reason for a bad grade Satoru.” you turned away from him and kept on walking at your own pace despite a little flutter in your heart.

Another kind of practice? You were fried, sure. But not fried to the point where you can’t depict what that could foreshadow.

It was just a day apart from the so known bus failure, yet you were feeling antsy again. As in the feeling you get when you know today wasn't just any other day. And to satoru, it really isn't any other day. Not for him.

⎯⎯⎯

The bus arrived swiftly as you two teased your way in as usual. The bus driver nodded as he muttered something about noise levels and lovey-dovey teenagers under his breath.

You sat your but down quickly, not wanting to stand for 10 minutes. And as unusual as how you started your day, he slid in right next to you.

“Choose another—“

“There’s none left.” He cut you off.

You blinked in disbelief.

Liar.

You weren’t blind to see at least another 10 seats available. When you shot him the look, he only shrugged. 

“I’m giving you extra safety,” he said casually. “Who knows who might slide in next to you?”

That was… strange, because despite the times of forced proximity, Satoru was anything but the protective kind. But your brain — currently seventy percent caffeine and thirty percent exhaustion — decided not to dig deeper. So you pressed forward.

“Now be honest,” you said, turning toward him. “Did you study?”

He looked at you with a cheeky grin, “It’s all in here.” He tapped the side of his head a few times.

You stared at him flatly. “That thing’s full of poo.” Satoru gasped in mock offense. “Now be honest,” you continued. “Did you practice?”

He huffed dramatically, slouching deeper into the seat like a whining kid.

“Stop pressing,” he complained. “If you keep doing that, all my well-planned notes might fall right out of this small brain.”

You snorted. “Not wrong about the small part.” Pulling out your laptop, you turned slightly toward him. “Now I’m serious,” you said. “Show me your script.”

Satrou blinked. Not because he didn’t understand you, no. This was not you. This you was a you without sleep and a you that was fed with caffeine and caffeine only. Your ideas? Weird. Your way of speaking? Also weird. Your quick change of topics and moods? Never weirder. But with all those combined, to him, it was weirdly… cute.

He blinked again, as if generating a response required extra processing. “It’s a fifteen-minute bus ride,” he said slowly. “And you want me to show you everything I’ve got in here?”

“It takes ten seconds,” you replied immediately. “And I only need another five minutes to go through your genius lines, Einstein.”

If he wasn’t busy looking at how beautiful you look with sunlight on your features, he would’ve complied, but because he was distracted, very distracted, he decided to play another game. A mind game.

Satoru paused for a moment, then suddenly leaned closer.

You felt your breath hitch.

“If I show you,” he leaned even closer, “You’ll stop worrying?”

Despite being extremely out of breath, you were somehow able to keep a straight face and a smooth voice. A win for you.

“Depends if it’s actually good.”

He backed away, looking at you with pouty lips, “Harsh meanie.”

But instead of pulling out a script, he simply leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms behind his head like he had zero concerns in the world.

“I do have zero concerns in the world,” you blinked. “And yes, you said that out loud.” he glanced at you, “But relax, I told you already,” his blue eyes flicked over to you again, “We’re getting an A.”

You stared at him. “You’re unbelievably confident for someone who refuses to prove anything.”

“That’s because,” he said lazily, “you’re doing the presentation with me.” he straightened up, “and besides, bold of you to think a genius like me will fail,” he smirked.

“If you tank this presentation…” 

“…you’ll kick my other knee too?”

You didn’t answer. But the murderous look you gave him said enough.

⎯⎯⎯

You should’ve saved your voice on the bus earlier because holy genius, he wasn’t lying. 

The lines he delivered could be described as nothing but holy. And weirdly enough, you found that weirdly… hot. You could tell all he did was prepare bullet points and memorise them; all the fancy explanations were improvisation. And somehow, by whatever magic he pulled, it worked.

And you? Yeah, you weren’t the only one captivated by his lines and confidence.

“So leukemia,” Satoru said smoothly, pacing a little in front of the screen, “a disease that kills millions every year—yet one that modern medicine has slowly begun pushing back against.” he stop pacing and faced the class, “So the job of finding out a complete cure,” he said with a dramatic pause, “will be left to someone far more qualified than us.” A ripple of small laughter went across the room. “Preferably people who didn’t finish this presentation at two in the morning.” More laughter.

You stood beside him, half-listening, half-staring. Because this was clearly not the same idiot who had been whining on the bus 15 minutes ago.

“Now, future-non-leukemia-researchers, any questions?” he paused, doing a quick skim of the room before continuing, “Then now,” he bowed slightly and you follow, “Thank you. And if you do have any other questions left that you didn’t ask today, please, do not ask us. We’re just some really busy folks.” He pulled a cheeky grin, then stepped away from the front of the class as you tagged along like a lost puppy. 

Because what else would you do? You were in uttermost awe. Not only you, but the class was also impressed by his presentation. It’s Harvard, yes, the standards are high, yes, but to still breach those standards just by improvising? He might’ve made your cheeks burn a little bit. But what can you say? As a self-proclaimed sapiosexual, you were dangerously weak to intelligence. And to him? Satoru’s usual nature made it very, very easy for him to slip past your defenses.

As you stepped down from the front, the professor was already rapid firing praises at both of you. You just nodded, because you knew you did well, but the star that shines even brighter than the sun this morning was Satoru. He was the honored one here, that’s no lie.

⎯⎯⎯

Exactly one class and a weird look from Satoru later, you found yourself magically transported to a cafe. Yes, very true, after 1000 whines, exactly 28 complains, you were magically dragged to a cafe. So obviously with you agreeing to join him, Satoru think nothing less of this being magic.

“Why are we here again?” You gave Satoru a questioning look as he brought the drinks back to your little booth.

He just shrugged, “Celebrating our project successes, ex-partner.”

You scoffed, looking at the latte he places in front of you. “Is it–“ 

“Extra whipped cream less ice lattes? Yes it is,”

“Are you a stalker?” 

“No,”

“Then how the freaking hell, do you know my usual order?” You raised a brow, clearly impressed.

“Didn’t I remind you just yesterday of taking less doze of these?” He paused for a brief moment, like gathering a heavy thought, before replying, “I guess I just tend to pay attention to things that I care about.”

“Stop with the april fools, I get it, you’re totally in love with me.” You dragged a sarcastic tone despite your heart turning cartwheels.

Today is april fools, but the way he said made it seem like it’s valentines. Because Satoru didn’t do honesty, he didn’t do the caring part of a relationship. But when it comes to you, like his forever same life motto, he found it reasonable.

“What’s with all the new moods I’m seeing today?” he sat down, taking a sip of his americano without ever breaking eye contact with you. “Caffeine already beginning to fry you?”

You groaned, “Very likely,” you shot him a look, “And yet here you are, giving me more.” 

He scoffs, “What? So you want those strawberry matchas thats on the menu?” He jokes, expecting an obvious no. But who was he judging? It was the moody and caffeine you, you were nowhere near predictable.

With your pouty lips, you mumbled “Yeah…”

Satoru was not expecting the sarcasm mask to drop so fast in replace of what he could call his final destination view. Your pouty side. “Seriously?” He asked, a little grin appearing on his face.

You nodded, already eyeing other couples who had matchas on their table.

Satoru stared at you for a second. Then he laughed under his breath, already standing up. “You’re unbelievable.”

You didn’t even argue, just watched him walk back to the counter, fingers still loosely wrapped around your drink. Your heart hadn’t calmed down since earlier.

I guess I just tend to pay attention to things that I care about.

It was April Fools. It had to be a joke.

Right?

…Right?

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together, trying to ignore the way your chest felt too tight, too warm, too full.

This was exactly what you didn’t want. Now that the presentation was smoothly done, you were back to the main goal that you somehow, sometime, somewhat made with yourself. You were supposed to be getting over him. Not whatever this was.

Satoru came back a minute later, placing the strawberry matcha in front of you with a soft thunk.

“There,” he said, sliding back into his seat. “Princess treatment for today only.”

You glanced at the drink, then at him. Now that was new. You know you’ve thought that a thousand times, but new tricks or to you ‘moods’ he has pulled has never actually failed to slide you off the edge a bit.

“…Thanks.” you shot him a suspicious look, pouty side gone and again replaced by this judgy one, the one he was more used to dealing with. “You’re unusually nice today.”

“And you’re unusually weird today.”

You huffed, poking at the whipped cream with your straw. “You’ve said that like five times already.”

“And I’ll say it again,” he replied. “You’re weird.”

He was about to say avoidant, but if that was said, then he wouldn’t know how to handle the next mood you pull. The party was just last week, but it seems at though those ivory satin looks will be the death of him. And his white button-up will be the death of you.

There were many things unsaid between the two of you, you both know, but no one ever actually had enough courage to break the ice. But today, because he had many things prepared, and it was also april fools (perfect timing). 

He cleared his throat, “This place is packed today. Didn’t know couples hangout on april fools.” 

You gave him a second look, “You,” you emphasized, “Out of all people,” you dragged, “Will be the last person to not know.”

Satoru smirked, unfazed. “What? I’m observant, not invested.”

“Yeah right,” you muttered.

Silence settled for a moment — thin, fragile.

He didn’t fill it with jokes this time. Instead, he watched you. Finding the right time to do his “preparation”. And you felt it.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, not meeting his eyes.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to say something annoying.”

A pause. “What if I am?”

“Then it better not be a dad joke,” you deadpan, clearly not sensing his internal mind melting by every second. “Actually… whatever it is, keep it in that dull skull of yours. I’m not in the mood today anyways,”

He leaned back slightly, studying you like he was trying to solve something instead of tease it (he was).

“…That’s the problem,” he said.

You frowned. “What is?”

“You haven’t been ‘in the mood’ for a while now.”

That made you straighten. Because that idiot is obviously gone. And the man who got your mind occupied for more than a week is back. This time though, with prepaeration.

“We literally just finished a presentation,” you deflected. “I’m tired.”

“Not that.”

You blinked. Heart racing a little faster, cheeks burning a little hotter. “Then what?”

Satoru exhaled, running a hand through his hair — a rare sign he was actually thinking instead of just saying whatever came to mind.

“I’ve been thinking for a while now, and please, let me finish.” He paused to take a breath, “You’ve been moody, mainly because of caffeine, but a part of me, a part of me hoped that it was because of me?” His eyes finally found yours, and you were already staring. A what the fuck are you plotting? expression taking over your face.

“Let me explain.” He took a second breath, “Since the party, we can’t lie that we’ve both felt different.” Your respiratory system shut down completely. “And since the party, you’ve been… pulling away from me?” He took the third breath, “Maybe it’s because you’re scared, you’re contemplating, you’re thinking. Just like I am. But to me, it feels like I’m the only one stepping forward on this. Even though the things unsaid are probably louder than the ones that are said themselves.”

Okay, now you’re really struggling to breathe. “But the insane thing I caught myself doing is that I’ll keep stepping. Keep trying to bring you with me, and I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Your heart now has also begun to work weirdly, its beat is so loud it could be damaging your eardrums at this point. 

“And for all the things I’ve said that had made you think and spiral. I mean them, because I found it reasonable. And the thing I feel that’s most insane? Yeah, big surprise. The girl next door, I’m falling in love with you.”

His fourth breath. “I like you. All of you. All your moods. All your nagging. All your everything. And woman, I’m not joking when I say that.”

He finally huffed out a loud breath, the confident, arrogant boy nowhere to be found. Only this hopeless romantic who has become a tomato, praying so hard he wouldn’t get ghosted by his crush. Nothing different from a 12 year old.

You were also a tomato with wide eyes. Words choked in your throat, because jokes aside, you didn’t know Satoru had this in him.

But this, even though you’ve hoped for it for so long, felt so so wrong. This isn’t right. You’re not supposed to fall in love, not with a playboy atleast. Your brain nagged you nobut your heart fought for yes. But because as the person you are, you chose the more intelligent organ, the one you decided was more stable, more immune by what you’re experiencing.

“No,” you shook your head after what felt like years, a quiet, nervous laugh slipping out. “No, you don’t get to do that today. It’s literally april fools.”

“I know what day it is.”

“Then act like it,” you pushed, even though your voice was already wavering, your heart beginning to fight harder. “Because I’m not playing along, Satoru.”

“I’m not joking.” The words landed softly. Too soft. And that scared you more.

You looked at him again, really looked this time, and there was no grin, no smirk, no escape route in his expression.

Just him. Just the boy who spent all his efforts racing through exams, textbooks, and lectures just to find a way to wiggle through your heart. 

“I pay attention to you,” he said, slower now. “Not because I’m bored. Not because it’s funny. But because I want to.”

Your throat went deadly dry. Heart slowly cracking.

“I remember your orders. I remember your schedule. I remember the way you get when you don’t sleep, or when you’re stressed, or when you’re trying too hard to pretend you’re not.” A pause. “I remember everything.”

Your fingers tightened around your cup, eyes widening impossibly wider.

“And yeah,” he let out a small breath, like a laugh at himself, “maybe I joke a lot. Maybe I don’t make it obvious.” His gaze softened. “But you like a little maybe, so I thought you’d notice anyway.”

You didn’t answer. Because you did notice and that, that was the problem. You do love his maybes, but no one else’s. It’s like he has you pinned down on a board, knowing exactly what you want and think. Truth be told, you found that about him extra attractive as if the way he’s talking and the way he looks right now isn’t captivating enough, he’s earning extra points for sure. 

Out of all things you’d be expecting to happen today, it won’t be the cafe nor will it be the confession that basically slapped itself on the table and forced you to process it. But this annoying part of your mind still denies it, like april fools was too big of an excuse to not belive his confession despite his obvious honesty. 

Satoru himself is still in disbelief that he managed to say all that. Yes it was a bit rushed compared to the ones he practiced in the mirror but he managed and that was all that mattered. Satoru probably earned the title of top yearner because since he decided to confess to you, he has stopped completely. As in all the girls who were lining up outside his house completely faded away. It has lessened, yes, but it never actually stopped. Now it has. That ivory satin night with your breathtaking looks, that was the moment he could’ve bent down on one knee. No, actually, he would’ve bent down when he saw your pouty hoodie study session with that messy bun on, no extra masks on display. Just you. Just the girl he fell in love with, reminding him day by day that all he did was reasonable.

Hell, if you were having breathing problems he was already being plugged into a life-support device. The silence was loud, too loud for his heart to handle. But as the person you were, you didn’t really let him wait any longer.

“I did notice but..” You it your lip, trying to find a way to not make this more awkward than it already is. And yes, when faced with a problem, the number 1 solution is to always flee. “Happy april fools?”

Satoru brows inched a little closer together, “You think I’ld do all that,” he said slowly, “just for a joke?”

Your fake smile faltered. If fleeing didn’t work, tring to stay silent didn’t work, then you had to pull your last resort, the one you despised — admitting. You hated it because it proves you’re vulnerable, and this out of all times is the part you can’t afford to be seen as vulnerable. Not when one decision would change everything and one thing said would hurt a thousand different ways.

“I just… don’t know what you’d do,” you admitted, “That’s the problem.”

His face softened slightly, “You don’t need to,” He reached for your hand, but not holding yet, just close. “I’ll be here to guide you, I promise, I swear,”

“But you don’t do this Satoru.” You inched your hand away, “Y’know, your reputation makes it hard for me to not doubt you.”

His brows furrowed once more, “What do you mean by this?”

“Loving. Honesty. All those things that make this feel real,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. And once they did, there was no going back. “You have girls at your doorstep, begging the smartest and hottest guy on campus to give them a night. And I, your neighbor, fail to sleep through every one of those nights.” You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep going. “You say things, things that make my hurt stutter, things that make my belly go weird, but never, ever, ever have I had a clear signal. It’s like a cat and mouse game, Satoru. We’re both onto each other, but never have we actually caught one another.” You feel him tense, jaw ticking in place. “So yes, I don’t know what to do, Satoru.” you paused for a small moment, then added quietly, “And I’d rather not get hurt.”

Silence.

“I meant what I said.” 

Your stomach dropped. You wanted him. You knew that, and he did too. But to risk it? You’re not confident enough yet. A big– No huge, part of you believes every word he said. Every moment he gave hints, you prayed he meant it. But still, there was always this one, one terrifying and horribly annoying part of you that refuses to let up. To give in to what your heart has to say. It hurts. You’re struggling. But the confession is left unanswered. Sitting in the middle of you both, heavy, weighing on both your shoulders at once.

The night at the party, the times he flirted with you, the way he looked at you. It all felt too real. Too real to be actually real. Fuck it doesn’t even make sense, but who were you to say when your thoughts itself has no meaning? Your brain was already frying, yet here you were, trying to solve what could become the hardest question of your life. To agree to your so-called crush, whom you don’t yet trust or to play it safe and yearn.

“I’m not saying no,” You finally look at him, “Neither am I saying yes. But Satoru, I need time, I don’t yet have it in me to… risk myself like that.”

His throat tightened.

That word, risk, landed hard on him. And suddenly, all the girls, all the reputation felt more like an embarrassment. He had no motive to hurt you. Never. Yet you’re talking to him like he’s a weapon, beneficial yet harmful. And that, out of all things, hurt him the most. Since when did he start taking love seriously? Since when did he start caring? But it doesn’t matter, not when you, the person who stepped in and changed every line in his life decided that you’d rather be sad because you’re lonely than because of him. And that realization punched him in the gut.

“I’m not rushing you,” He finally spoke, heart threatening to break. “And I’ll give you space,” One piece fell off. “And I’ll act like today didn’t happen,” Another piece broke off. “Just… please, don’t leave me unanswered…” His heart fully shattered.

Now there you were, sitting across from him, heart breaking just the same, all the moments that kept you occupied for days replaced by this agonizing thought. Just like that, you two sat in silence, no eye contact, no exchange, just trying to hold on onto the final moments of a friendship neither one of you are willing to ruin because of a relationship.

Yes you did like a little maybe, but after today you feel like certainty is always the way to go. And it really makes you wonder, How Long does it Take a Heart to Heal?

⎯⎯⎯

You sat home that night in your Pjs, replaying everything that happened.

I like you. All of you. All your moods. All your nagging. All your everything.

The girl next door, I’m falling in love with you.

The words replayed. Over and over. You sat on your bed, staring at nothing, your heart still refusing to settle. You pressed your lips together. Because the worst part wasn’t that you didn’t believe him. It was that you did, and that terrified you.

You fell back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling, thoughts spiralling, looping, refusing to rest. Because now there was no going back to before. No pretending you didn’t know. No ignoring the way your heart reacted to him. And no clear answer to what came next.

Your fingers tightened around your pillow, suddenly reaching for your phone, fingers automatically finding his name on your contacts. The last message, ‘sleep well, no extra caffeine’ made your heart sink deeper. You hated how he cared so much. Actually, you loved that he cared so much. But hated that you just can’t accept it. Your fingers hover across the message, then the call button, then typed ‘I think I like you too’ but then deleted it. 2 weeks to 3 months, that’s how long it takes a heart to heal. And you aren’t sure if you can even survive another day.

Just one wall apart, Satoru sat on the edge of his bed, water dripping from his hair as he came out of his 1 hour shower where he spent his time thinking so deeply about what other reasonables was he going to do to wiggle even closer to your heart. 

I’d rather not get hurt.

Satoru let out a quiet breath, elbows resting on his knees, phone loose in his hand. He could text you. He could call. He could even walk over. Hell, it was just one wall apart. But for the first time, Satoru didn’t move, because this wasn’t something he could joke his way through.

Not with you.

His thumb hovered over your name, but not pressing. Just hoping that the way things changed today will disappear and he can find another approach to break through your tough walls. But he suddenly remembered your words.

“…Time and distance, huh,” he murmured. A small, tired smile tugged at his lips. “Guess I can do that.”

Even if it killed him a little, even if it broke him more than he could explain, he would do anything but not respect your choices. The man he is, top ideal, that was no lie.

He leaned back against his bed, staring up at the same ceiling you were just on the other side of. So close, yet not close enough. And for the first time since everything started… neither of you pressed your hands on the wall.

a/n: after 3 months... your girl has finally been revived, but still managed to post this 2 days late... it was actually supposed to be posted on April fools, but look who forgot, and since the teaser comes out a day before... I had to post it today. Thanks for waiting so long!! Hope yall enjoy!!

tags: @cynosure-gaze @happyyya

dividers: @cursed-carmine

[mxcurryy]

What? Like it's Hard?

Chapter 6 (teaser) - How Long Does it Take a Heart to Heal? | Series mlist

Top student. Perfect grades. Rich, sporty, artistic — you never came across something you couldn’t solve. And hell, life itself respected you for that. No, you weren’t cocky — far from it. Timid, even. You earned people’s respect through quiet effort, not loud confidence. But the moment you graduated and stepped foot into university, life decided to play a different game. It gave you what you’d secretly longed for all this time. A challenge. And did you pass it? Well… how about no?

“I’ve been thinking for a while now, and please, let me finish.” He paused to take a breath, “You’ve been moody, mainly because of caffeine, but a part of me, a part of me hoped that it was because of me?” His eyes finally found yours, and you were already staring. A what the fuck are you plotting? expression taking over your face.

“Let me explain.” He took a second breath, “Since the party, we can’t lie that we’ve both felt different.” Your respiratory system shut down completely. “And since the party, you’ve been… pulling away from me?” He took the third breath, “Maybe it’s because you’re scared, you’re contemplating, you’re thinking. Just like I am. But to me, it feels like I’m the only one stepping forward on this. Even though the things unsaid are probably louder than the ones that are said themselves.” Okay, now you’re really struggling to breathe. “But the insane thing I caught myself doing is that I’ll keep stepping. Keep trying to bring you with me, and I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Your heart now has also begun to work weirdly, it’s beat is so loud it could be damaging your eardrums at this point. 

“And for all the things I’ve said that had made you think and spiral. I mean them, because I found it reasonable. And the thing I feel that’s most insane? Yeah, big surprise. The girl next door, I’m falling in love with you.”

posted.

tags: @cynosure-gaze @happyyya

dividers: @cursed-carmine

[starspenxcie]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

fluff - dad!toji swearing in front of baby!gumi

it’s a beautiful sunday. you’re in the kitchen, humming some song while making pancakes. the whole apartment smells like syrup and butter. sunlight is streaming through the window.

everything feels soft. peaceful. everything is good.

toji’s in the living room. sprawled across the floor in sweatpants. one leg stretched out, the other one bent so baby gumi can sit on his knee. 

gumi’s currently holding a block. he’s staring at it earnestly. very earnestly. his tiny brows are furrowed in concentration as he tries to stack the block on top of another.

he lifts it carefully. places it down. but the stupid block slides off. 

gumi grunts. he tries again. the stupid block slides off again. how rude! his chubby little arms flail in frustration. 

toji watches him with amusement.

“you got it, kid,” he mutters. “just like i showed you.”

gumi grunts louder, determined. he lifts the block with both little hands and slams it down. 

of course, the tower collapses instantly. 

“hmph,” he mutters. 

toji leans in. “you gonna let that block win?”

gumi looks up at his dad and blinks. then he smacks the block with his hand. and toji, without even thinking, just laughs and says-

“hell yeah. fuck that block up, kid.”

you freeze in the kitchen. blink. slowly turning around to face your husband.

“…toji.”

“what?”

and then-

baby gumi looks up. round little face breaking out into a grin. cheeks so round they resemble apples. and repeats in his softest and produest baby voice-

“fuh’ da bwock.”

silence.

you drop your spatula. toji’s soul leaves his body.

“oh shit-”

“TOJI!”

“fuck- wait, shit- WAIT- NO-”

you’re scrambling around the counter now. smacking toji with a dishtowel. while megumi, utterly delighted by the chaos, happily bounces on his daddy’s leg. 

“fuh! fuh! bwock!!! fuh! fuh bwock!” 

toji’s hands are up like he’s being arrested. “i didn’t mean to say it! it just slipped out!”

“you have corrupted our son! he’s not even 2 and he’s already learnt the f-word!” you shriek. 

gumi giggles like this whole thing is the funniest thing to ever happen in his short life. toji quickly scoops megumi up like a football. clutching the squishy baby to his chest.

“alright, buddy, no more saying that word,” he whispers urgently.

“FUH! FUH! FUH!” gumi squawks like a delighted parrot. 

your right eye twitches. toji carefully glances at you.

“okay, bud, listen,” he murmurs. “no swearing in front of mama, please. otherwise your mama will kill me and you won’t have a papa.”

“fuh,” gumi says proudly while patting toji’s cheek.

you inhale slowly while walking back to the kitchen. toji - who used to kill sorcerers for a living - literally flinches. 

“toji, you’re grounded. for life.” you mutter. flipping a pancake and slapping it onto his plate with unnecessary force.

toji just grins sheepishly. then he leans over and presses a quick apologetic kiss to your cheek. 

“whatever you say, baby.”

A/N: hello guys i'm back! but this was written ages ago, i just edited it! i hope if i just keep on posting my previously written ones, i'll gain the motivation to start rewriting again!!! ANYWAY I LOVE ALL OF U!!!

[mxcurryy]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY OUR DEAR YOONGI!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR LITTLE RAPPER!!! I wish you the very best best best of luck for your upcoming year. AND for the songs you've helped produce in the new coming album. We loved the new updates you gave us of your lives, so please, HAVE AN AMAZINGG BIRDTHDAYYY

[yenayaps]

Accelerate

pairing: gojo x milf!reader

synopsis: a story in which a depressed satoru gets sent to the future and sees just how bright it eventually becomes. meanwhile, you're reminded of how much of a brat your husband used to be when you first started dating.

cw: MDNI, time travel, smut w/ a touch of angst bc we LOVE plot, satoru's actually so mean at first lol, dad!jo (him and reader share a daughter together)

notes: hiiii we got 6.5k words for this one ❤️ comm for the lovely @sadlittlecucumber i hope u like!!!!

song rec: drag path — twenty one pilots

Satoru’s life ended up being a fucking bummer. 

His best friend’s a mass murderer. Shoko’s gone off to do her own thing with medicine. Nanami left to go become a banker or whatever. Ijichi’s… Ijichi. Oh, and Haibara’s dead. Everyone who’s alive seems to have moved on— so should Satoru, honestly. But times proved that to be quite difficult. 

He’s starting to understand where Suguru was coming from with the whole exorcise-absorb mantra. Except for him, it was exorcise and destroy, leaving every cursed site he’s stepped foot on looking like god himself decided to hit the reset button to obliterate the place.

Nobody says anything about it. He’s probably the closest thing to a god. Despite having tried his hardest all throughout his youth to fit in and act as if he was just like everyone else, people were still terrified to fuck with him. 

And despite the chaos he’s constantly surrounded by— mainly from his own doing— the days still find a way to bleed into each other, morphing into a never ending cycle of boredom and violence. It’s quite the combo. The higher ups are lucky he’s too tired to plot anything behind their backs. 

He’s exhausted. 

The past is too blurry. The future’s too bleak. 

Gojo was bound to fuck up sooner or later. The thought of him finally snapping like Suguru did, dangling in the back of his mind, taunting him. 

He didn’t snap. It’s so much worse than that. At least in the eyes of the arrogant boy who got bested by, what he assumed to be a grade two curse because of how pudgy and stupid it looked. The thing that caught him lacking looked like a fucking blob fish that struggled with crippling anxiety, how the hell was he supposed to know that it could mess with timeof all things? 

One moment he’s laughing at the way it looks, the next he’s in the complete dark. 

That was the first time he’s smiled in months, by the way. 

“Huh?” Satoru huffs out, trying to look around before eventually realizing that he has a blindfold on, and rips it off in annoyance. “Don’t tell me that thing knocked me out,” he begins to grumble to himself. It’d explain why he had a blindfold on… but then he realized he was in a completely different outfit, one that you didn’t put on someone who was currently in rest and recovery. 

He highly doubts Shoko would even change him, anyway, at least not for this. 

“Oh hey, you’re home.” 

Home? 

He looks around, and all he knows is this isn’t the dorm he’s continued to stay in after graduation, purely due to the fact that he was already out on missions for up to 18 hours each day. Not to mention that the penthouse he was currently standing in was too clean to be his. Too warm. Way too comfortable.

You already knew there was something deeply off in those first few seconds of looking into his eyes. This wasn’t your husband— this was the hot mess you met and still fell in love with all those years ago. 

You tilt your head to the side, more curious than cautious, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he snorts, literally the worst liar ever. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, holding eye contact long enough to leave him feeling a bit unsettled. “You tell me.”

First of all, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that?

Second, who even are you?

Something big and shiny on your finger catches his attention, then he looks at his own hand that has an equally shiny band around his ring finger. 

Fuck.

“Honey–”

Satoru physically cringes at the pet name, giving himself away once again. 

“I’m not Satoru,” he blurts out, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I mean, I am, but I’m not— FUCK– some fuckin’ curse blasted me into the future, and I need to go back.”

Well, that was quick. He’s always quick to fold under pressure when it comes to you— it’s something he’s unaware of though, as he fights back the urge to start pacing back and forth. 

There’s a light smack from your mouth when you go to open it, only for the words to never even come, let alone die out. Nothing about this surprises you. This is not the craziest thing that’s happened since you’ve met Satoru. 

Your lips thin into a smile as you take a deep breath, knowing you had no choice but to accept your new circumstances. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He raises a brow at how you just… accepted it.

“Yeah… I believe it.” You respond flatly, then point at him, casually motioning your finger up and down. “Your attitude kinda sucked when we first met.”

He grimaces, taken aback by the statement. “No, it doesn’t–”

“You also liked to argue, too.”

“Okay— whatever,” he waves a dismissive hand, not at all interested in hearing what else you had to say. At this point, it just sounded like you wanted to shit on him, something he actually doesn’t have any fucking time for right now. “You’re a sorcerer… right?” 

“No.” 

“Christ.” Satoru sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re fuckin’ useless—“

You scoff, more humored than offended. “Where are you going?” 

“To figure this shit out!” he snaps, throwing his arms out as he turns around to face you. 

“Okay,” you shrug, still way too calm for Satoru’s liking, as it pisses him off even more. “If you don’t get it all figured out tonight, you can always come back. We have a guest room.” 

“Yeah, thanks.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, as if that was the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “I appreciate the offer.” 

– 

“Yaga” Satoru storms into the principal’s office, ignoring all his cursed stuffed animals, but noticing what he’s done with his hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”

The principal's brows pinch together, wishing he had locked the door to his office. Satoru fucked with him enough today by showing up to a meeting 20 minutes late with some sugary frap in his hand, and now he’s storming into his office, insulting him out of nowhere. 

“Actually, nevemind.” Satoru waves a hand to stop him from even answering his question, reminding himself not to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I need your help. I got sent into the future by some curse, and I need to get back.”

Yaga inhales sharply. “What are you even talking about?”

“Exactly what I just said! I’m from 2009! Not whatever age I am now—”

“31.”

Satoru throws up a little in his mouth. “Send me back.” 

Yaga lets out a long, disappointed sigh. It’s always something with Satoru. Always. Having to deal with the younger version of him was a painful reminder that he’s been dealing with his bullshit for well over a decade now. Nothing surprises him anymore.  

“Let me see if some other windows would be willing to help look through the library. I’m sure you’ll be able to find information on what kind of curse you got hit with.”

“Thank you,” Satoru groans, still not very pleased by everyone’s reactions thus far, but grateful that he can at least get somewhere with Yaga… unlike a certain somebody. 

Hours later, he finds himself at the school’s dusty, unkept library. It looks worse than it originally looked before he walked in. Books sprawled everywhere. Research papers were scattered all over the tables and floor. Assistants running around in every direction, more than half of them terrified at the total 180 in Satoru’s attitude. 

“W-we can’t find anything,” Ijichi says, too old to be acting this scared in Satoru’s opinion. 

He hums, elbows still resting on his knees, not bothering to sit up. “Hey, Ijichi?”

Ijichi gulped loudly, managing to annoy the world’s strongest sorcerer even more. “...Yes?” 

“How are you even more incompetent now than you were before?”

“I tried my best! I swear!”

“Well, it’s not good enough— I’m still here!” he snaps at the nervous wreck of a man. Thank fucking god Ijichi listened to him and just became a window. He sucks at it too, but at least it’s easier for this dumbass to avoid death. “God— what the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”

“This is just one of the libraries, there’s more! And some in Kyoto too, that we’ll have the Kyoto branch check out.”

“Do whatever you need to do. I’m just letting you know right now that if I'm not back by tomorrow, you better watch the fuck out.”

The threat is followed by complete dead silence, aside from a certain someone's breath catching in horror.

“Me?!” Ijichi squeaks out.

The sorcerer doesn’t bother answering that and instead walks away, grumbling something insulting under his breath, just in complete and utter disbelief over how Ijichi truly hasn’t changed. 

—

You figured your husband would eventually come back, so you set some food aside for him, and now you’re sitting at the dinner table, trying not to laugh at the pout on his face as he picks at his dinner with the chopsticks in his hand. 

“Is the food good?”

“Sure.”

“I can warm that up for you, if you want?” you ask, barely trying to hide your amusement. 

“No thanks,” he curtly responds before shoving another piece of karaage into his mouth. He’s known to have a sweet tooth, but chicken karaage’s probably his favorite food, savory wise. You almost want to tell him that he’s allowed to enjoy food even if his day hasn’t gone the way he had planned. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring.” 

Your lips twitch, threatening to break out into a fit of laughter. “Right, sorry.”

“Mommy…? Is Daddy home yet?” 

Oh great. As if the day couldn’t get any worse— now there’s a child.

“Yeah,” you respond in a tentative tone, shooting Satoru a look that screams ‘behave or else’, and even though you are currently a stranger to him, it intimidates him enough to behave for the time being. 

A little girl, no older than 4 years old, walks into the kitchen and Satoru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon seeing his daughter. It’s pretty obvious she’s his with her baby blue eyes and stark white hair. Her facial features are entirely yours, though. It’s strange to see.

“Hey… kiddo—” he awkwardly says, not really sure how to address the little girl. You clear your throat, mouthing ‘princess’ when he looks at you, because your daughter also happens to have her dad’s attitude. “I mean princess.”

It’s hilarious how unnatural it sounds right now when he was the one who started calling her that the moment you two took her home from the hospital. 

“You pomis to wead bedtime stowie,” she starts to pout— same exact way he does.

“Did I?” He gives the girl a sympathetic look, albeit fake. 

“Yeah,” she frowns as she walks up to you, giving him the world’s nastiest side eye. “Liar.”

Why is that the one word she’s able to enunciate correctly? She didn’t even stutter.

“Yeah— I was a little busy with work today,” he murmurs, as if she knew what that even meant. With the glare she was giving him, he doubted she’d even care if he broke down what work and the importance of it was. “Maybe mommy can read to you tonight?”

Sai wasn’t having that. 

Satoru spent the end of his night reading her favorite book to her. Multiple times. He almost asked if it was some form of punishment for not upholding a promise he didn’t technically make himself, but decided against it in fear that she’d make him read it one more time. Sai fell asleep… eventually. Despite there being no way to prove it, he knows that the little girl forced herself to stay up out of pure spite. 

But still, he finds himself smiling as he thinks about his nightmare of a future, not wiping it off quickly enough when you lightly knock on the guest bedroom door.

“Here’s some jammys for the night.” You smile back as you walk up and hand him a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, both neatly folded up. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your work clothes.”

“Oh uh— thanks.” He clears his throat and forces out a laugh, pushing through the embarrassment of getting caught smiling to himself. 

You’re giving him that look again. The one that’s mixed with amusement and a bit of fondness, where you look like you’re about to start making fun of him, but never do. Satoru would rather die than admit it makes him nervous. 

“What?” 

There’s a small pause as your smile grows. “Do you like your kid?”

“She’s weird.”

“Yeah, no— you wouldn’t believe who she got that from.”

“Fuck off.” A laugh easily slips through his lips this time, unable to stay serious at the thought of her inheriting even just a quarter of the traits he had as a child. Then it grows quiet again as he realizes she probably has the freedom to be a kid. 

He wants to ask, but you beat him to it with a statement that answered the question he had in mind. 

“Your duties as her father don’t end just because you managed to time travel by the way,” you say playfully, though he knows you’re being dead serious. 

He can only guess what other horrors that little girl will subject him to for the rest of his time here. To put it simply, she’s not afraid of Dad. 

For once, somebody doesn’t look at him as a god to fear. 

—

It’s been over a month. 

Ijichi and the rest of the windows are just as useless as they were when they first started trying to find answers. All that’s changed is that Nanami knows, and doesn’t seem to be too thrilled about the fact that he is now involved.

But still, the search for the fix to his predicament continues, turning every library and warehouse upside down. That’s all they could really do— aside from asking the elders for assistance of some sort. 

Over his dead body. 

Knowing they’d most likely do more harm than good, everyone’s agreed to keep this all a little secret from them.

So all that’s left to do, or rather forced to do, is to be patient. It’s hard. Satoru doesn’t do patient— he’s the type to snap his fingers and have a solution magically appear right before his eyes. You can only imagine how difficult it’s been for him to accept that he can’t immediately get what he wants right now.

Not to mention the fact that he had to continue working throughout all of this, but that wasn’t very surprising. 

Now, what was surprising was learning that he has his weekends completely to himself. If anything, he assumed he’d just work more as time went on, but no. Turns out he threatened to kill the higher-ups if they didn’t let him have that when you two got married. 

Satoru looks over your body once. 

Twice. 

He totally understands his future self. 

He looks again for a third time, and you just so conveniently turn around, showing off your cute, frilly little apron covered in flour streaks. 

It’s Sunday— you’ve been baking sweet treats all morning, and he wishes he had been a little nicer to you. Especially a couple of days ago when he snapped at you. 

You had found him sitting alone on the balcony, head in his hands from yet another day of failure. 

“Hey… any good news?”

“No,” he said impatiently. “If there was, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now.” 

“Fair enough.” Your voice took a dip as you looked at the ground, allowing yourself to feel a little hurt for a moment before trying to lift the mood again. “Well… me and Sai stopped by your favorite bakery and got you the cookies you like if you wanted some—“

“No— no,” Satoru cut you off. “I don’t want your fucking cookies. I don’t want to do a family movie night where all we watch is Ms. Rachel. I don’t want to read some book about a mouse trying to become a fucking painter over and over again. I don’t want ANY of it. I want to fucking go home— what part about that do you not get?”

You tried to stand as straight as possible despite your shoulders growing heavier, pushing against the small frown threatening to carve itself across your face. You forgot how mean he used to be, at least during that first year of dating him. It only stings more because the man you married would never raise his voice like that, and you remind yourself that this isn’t him.

After a long pause, he looked up at you and immediately felt guilt wash over him.

“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to meet your eyes as he began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I just— fuck. I didn’t mean any of that—”

“It’s fine.” You forced yourself to look at him again and smile. “I’ll uh… give you some space.”

The one thing about Satoru is that he doesn’t apologize. Like ever. So, one could only imagine how painfully awkward it was later that night when he knocked on your bedroom door to say he was sorry. It didn’t help that you were in a paper-thin silk slip, skin glistening from the lotion you rubbed all over it— he spent half his time trying not to stare at your tits. Had you been anyone else, it wouldn’t have felt as genuine. 

But thank fuck he apologized, you probably would’ve spent all day ignoring him. 

You raise a brow, and his cheeks start to pink. “What are you staring at?” 

“Nothing, you just–” he awkwardly gestures at your entire body, “there’s flour all over you.” 

It almost sounds like he’s offended by it. He kind of is. You keep your foot on his fucking neck— he doesn’t even know why he came out here. 

“Oh, right— 'cause messes have always bothered you,” you lean over the island ever so slightly. The pink on his cheeks darkens as you do, unable to control his eyes from drifting down to your cleavage. And while he’s not exactly ashamed of looking— you are his wife after all— he can’t help but be a little flustered. 

He’s always had a thing for milfs.

Especially when said milf is talking about messes— he knows a couple of places he could make a mess on right now. 

“Nah,” he rests his elbows on the marble counter as a playful grin stretches across his face. “This is nothing compared to how I like it.”  

You tilt your head, a small laugh escaping you as you rest your chin over your palm, curious to see where this conversation will get you. 

“How do you like it?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know how filthy and depraved he could get when he’s alone in a room with you. 

And you fucking miss that. 

He opens his mouth to respond. 

Then you hear your daughter whimpering about waking up alone. It’s nothing new, and you revert back to mom mode as you watch her turn the corner and waddle towards you. 

Satoru, on the other hand, is not used to this. The slightly bruised laugh he lets out just barely masks his desire to fucking scream. What a fucking cockblock— no wonder you only have one kid. 

His kid completely ignores his existence as she wraps herself around your leg, continuing to whimper despite no actual tears streaming down her cheeks. “I had a nightmawh.”

Meanwhile, there’s Satoru, who has yet to wake up from his very own nightmare. He internally sighs, then attempts to grab her attention because it doesn’t feel very good watching her give it all to you. “You wanna share a muffin with daddy?”

It’s starting to sound more natural.

“Y-yeah,” she sniffles. 

Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap, absolutely demolishing the blueberry muffin they ended up splitting— a complete 180. He couldn’t be mad, even if he tried. 

His little girl was a dream. 

—

Month two. Ijichi is still as useless as ever. He stopped complaining to you about him, though. You noticed he doesn’t talk about going back to his original timeline all that much anymore.

It’s not like Satoru’s given up hope, he’s just more present, as if he finally realized that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to send him back any faster. He’s unknowingly more like his future self— laid back, not a care in the world. 

He’s even sleeping in for once. It’s not that hard though when Sai’s gone for the day. She seemed to care more about getting the hell out of the house with her grandparents than greeting her father a good morning. You didn’t push her to, either— figuring Satoru needed the sleep. He always does. 

It’s too bad that his phone started blowing up at around 10:00 am. Unfortunately for you, he left his phone in the living room, leaving you to get up and grab it since the master bedroom was the closest room to it. With how thick the walls are, you doubt he’d even hear it.

With a long sigh, you rise from bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you snatch the stupid phone off the coffee table. 

The snores coming from Satoru reach your ears before you even open the door. You have to hold back a laugh as you walk in and take a look at him. Face down, his long limbs sprawled over the bed, messy white hair sticking out in all directions. 

You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surprised infinity is off. 

“Toru?” He stirs a bit, and you cautiously attempt to wake him up again. “Toru— someone’s been trying to call you for the past 10 minutes now.”

He lifts his head, eyes still sealed shut as he murmurs, “Who?” 

“Uhh,” you look at the screen, unsure of who it might be. “Your contact name for them is nerd.” 

You know it’s not Ijichi because his contact name is “courage 🐶” in his phone. Someone else must've annoyed Satoru for him to change yet another contact. 

Satoru shoves his head back into the pillow and groans before taking the phone off your hands.

It’s Nanami. He, of all people, should know now is not the time to be blowing up his phone right now because he is fucking sleeping. It’s a Saturday for fucks sake. 

Satoru sighs and accepts the call, grumbling into the phone. “What?”

Nanami cuts straight to the chase, as he would rather be doing anything else right now. 

“How long are you planning on hiding your secret from the higher-ups?” he asks in a clipped tone. 

Satoru rubs his eyes, too tired to return the same sense of urgency his friend seems to have at the moment. “Forever.”

“Don’t give me that.” A vein pops up on the side of the usually stoic man’s forehead. “They asked me about you this morning. They know something’s up. I can’t keep covering for you if it means my own safety’s on the line.”

“You really haven’t changed, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—“

“You’ll be fine,” Satoru cuts him off. “They’re always up my ass anyway. I doubt they’re even suspicious. They just don’t know how to mind their own fuckin’ business. Seriously. You’re worrying over nothing right now.”

“I swear to god Gojo, if you—“

“Kay’ good night.” 

Click.

Nanami’s probably fuming right now, but he’ll get over it. Satoru wanted to enjoy this. Lying in a comfy bed, surrounded by nothing but peace and quiet. He closes his eyes and stretches a bit, then rests his hands behind his head. 

He would’ve forgotten that you were still sitting at the edge of the bed had you not lightly cleared your throat. One eye opens to look at you, then closes. The last thing he wants to do is share the reason why Nanami had been blowing up his phone all morning. 

“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.” You cross your arms. “What was that all about?” 

“Nothin’,” he easily says. “Just Nanami being Nanami— the guy’s a fuckin’ stickler for no reason.” 

“That’s a little rude, no?” you chastise him. 

“So is waking me up.” 

“Sai wakes you up all the time, though.”

“Sai’s a ball of sunshine,” he says, quickly coming to her defense. “Not a grown man with depression— where is she by the way?” 

“She’s spending the afternoon with my parents.” 

Both eyes open this time, and stay open. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

“No way,” you wave a hand. “I need a break, too.” 

“Yeah, no— I’m sure,” he agrees, feeling flustered all the sudden. 

And Satoru being Satoru, he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding it, once again forgetting that you can read him better than anyone else can.

You smile, scooching closer, “You good there?” 

“Yeah, m’fine,” he murmurs, trying not to shift around too much.

“I can take care of that, you know.” 

“What?” 

“That.” You look down at the boner he’s been trying to hide since finding out it’s just you two here.

“That’s not—“ His brain straight up short-circuits. “You don’t think that’s weird?” 

“No.” You continue to inch forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think it’s weird?”

“No— never,” he shakes his head, answering a little too fast. “Fuck— won’t future me get mad?” 

“Not at all. The most he’d probably do is make me show him what we did.” 

“Make you show him?” he repeats after you in disbelief. 

“Is that a problem?” 

“No, that’s— that’s fuckin’ hot.” 

Minutes later, you’re leaning forward with your hand wrapped around his base, and his breath catches as you start to slowly pump his cock. 

“Feel good?” 

His lids lower as he hums, “yeah— keep going.”

You lean forward, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to the tip of his cock, letting it mix with the precum that was already beading down from it. The wet sounds of you stroking him begin to grow, making the heat in between your legs start to pool.

“Can I sit on it?” You look up at him, batting your lashes as you innocently ask. 

“Please,” he blurts out, just about ready to start begging you to.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as eager as him after all the weeks spent pretending like you don’t notice the way he stares at you. Lustfully. The slip you’re wearing happens to be extra short today, so you forego stripping down and practically pounce on him. Your soaked panties grazing over his rock-hard length as you straddle him, letting yourself get comfortable while Satoru grows impatient. 

His hands find themselves planted on your hips and pull you down. A low groan escapes him as he grinds you against him. “God— fuck me. Please.”

“Well, since you’re being so sweet—”

You reach down, hooking a finger into the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side. He’s already lining himself up with your entrance, teasing your hole as he runs his tip through your folds, collecting all the slick. His lips part as he watches in awe at how damn wet you are. 

His head tips back as you lower yourself, groaning and rambling to himself as if you weren’t there to hear it all. 

"Fuck. You’re so hot.” His words come out strained as he watches you start to take him inch by inch, slowly working yourself open. “So fuckin’ tight, too.” 

“Mmm— forgot how big you are.” Your voice is all soft and breathy from the fullness, nails slowly digging into his abs as you bottom out.

It takes a minute to adjust— it has been 3 months after all. But then you finally roll your hips, and Satoru almost starts singing praises at how good you are at that—  lifting your hips all the way up and throwing them back, taking all of him. 

"Fuck yeah– just like that," he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Feels so fucking good."

You murmur back a measly, “kay,” already dizzy from the stretch. You’re able to keep up the pace on your own for a bit, until you feel his grip on you tighten and the sounds of skin slapping against his start to grow as he starts to help you out. 

You wouldn’t exactly call it help though, not when he ended up doing all the work— holding you steady while he practically bounces you on his cock, pulling more and more moans out of you as the head of his cock repeatedly kissed your sweet spot with almost no effort. 

"You take it so good," he groans, pupils blown wide as he starts to feel himself lose control, snapping his hips up a little harder than the last. He wants more, he always wants more— so he pulls you forward and pulls your straps down far enough for your tits to spill out. "Perfect fuckin’ tits. Been thinking about these for weeks."

You let out a surprised gasp as he pops a nipple in his mouth with no warning. You fully believe him with the way he starts sucking and swirling and flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, all while snapping his hips up harder. 

He pulls back with a pop, looking up at you for approval. “Was that good?”

“Mhm.” There’s a fucked out expression on your face as you weakly nod. “Harder.”

“You want me to fuck you harder?”

“Yeah.” 

Something in him snaps. Eager to please you, he flips you over and folds you underneath him— grabbing the back of your knees and pinning them to your chest so he can drive his cock into you deeper. 

“Better?”

He drives his hips forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs. “God— yes.”

“I can’t— fuck— can’t believe you’re all mine, can’t believe I get to have you,” he starts to ramble as the sounds of him absolutely pounding into you fill the room. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect— all of you.” 

He crashes his lips into yours— the kiss is messy, powered by hunger. Satoru’s always been overwhelming, but it’s been years since it’s been this emotionally intense. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s been waiting for you all his life. 

Your walls begin to squeeze and flutter around his cock, pulling another groan out of him. “You close?”

“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the pressure begin to coil. “Keep going.”

He’s close too, you can tell by how sloppy his thrusts have grown, no longer trying to control himself as he starts chasing after both of your releases. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you faster, harder— balls slapping against your ass with each lewd wet squelch. 

Your orgasm hits you hard after one particularly rough thrust. Scratching at his back as a cry tears through you, and it only goes straight to his dick, not even realizing just how overstimulated you are from the way he drills into you. 

“Fuck.” It’s just one word that comes out of his mouth after realizing how hard he’s about to fucking cum. He bites into your shoulder as his balls start to tighten, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself. 

When it happens, it’s a lot. He shoves himself deep inside of you, unaware of all the weight he puts on you as hot spurts of cum begin to flood your walls. Slowly grinding against you, letting your tight pussy milk the rest of him. 

You’re wrecked by the end of it. You both are— lids tired and heavy, bodies sore and out of breath.

And in the end, you just let yourself fall asleep, unaware of the soft kiss pressed against your temple as he watched you.

—

It’s month three, and Satoru doesn’t want to go back. 

What was the point? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to go back to. Jujutsu Society never crumbled from him getting shot into the future. Would it really be that bad if he just never went back and continued on with his life from here?

He hasn’t uttered a word about it out loud, but the way he completely stopped asking Yaga and Ijichi for updates was telling of where he was at mentally.  

Acceptance. 

He likes his life here. 

You’ve come to your own conclusion after these last three months.

No wonder why he was so hot and cold when you were trying to get to know him. Satoru got a little taste of genuine comfort, only for it to be ripped away from him sometime before you two actually met. It explains all the times you wondered why he even tried with you, despite being too emotionally inept to even be in a relationship. He probably went through the beginning of your relationship thinking you could disappear at any second. 

With that being said, he can’t stay here. As much as you’d love to continue being the source of comfort for this version of Satoru, he needs to experience the last year he spent alone before meeting you. He needs to feel cautious around you. He needs to try and fail at opening up a handful of times before getting comfortable with the idea of truly being vulnerable with a person. Getting over that element of fear he had towards getting close to others is what made him a husband and father— he couldn’t just skip that part of his life. 

You have no idea how you’re going to tell him that, though. You’re not one to kick a sick puppy, especially one as cute as him. He’s so happy here with you and Sai that the thought of doing so makes your chest ache. 

He’s having a tea party with Sai right now, limbs way too long to sit in the little stool she pulled up for him to sit in. He drinks imaginary tea from the plastic pink cup she hands him, and your chest aches some more. You force yourself to look away before the tears start. 

You’d do the next 11 years all over again if you could.

“Hey, Honey?” Satoru calls out to you.

There’s a pause before you whip your head around— it’s been months since he’s called you that. There’s nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes as his gaze meets yours. “Why is Nanami’s number saved under ‘nerd’ in my phone?”

He’s back.

“I don’t know,” you laugh, despite the tear falling down your cheek. “You tell me.”

—

Satoru didn’t want to believe it when everything around him went dark once again. It’s not until his feet touch the ground with a soft thud and he finds himself back in his messy, cold dorm when reality slapped him across the face.

Something between a sob and a gut-wrenching scream rips from his throat. Grabbing the round shades he had hoped he’d never have to fucking wear again, he rips them off his face and sends it crashing into the wall, breaking into a hundred little pieces. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give himself a chance to even breathe or think before raising his hand and releasing a purple orb with just a flick of his fingers. 

Impulsive. Reckless. Deadly. 

Satoru was fucking devastated. 

Nobody knew what triggered him that night. All they knew was that the east wing of the school looked like it had been hit by an asteroid by the time he calmed down. He didn’t speak to anyone for a good two weeks following the incident. Everyone wants to think he was lucky the explosion didn’t have any casualties, but then they remembered who he was: Satoru fucking Gojo. 

God’s don’t get punished, nor do natural disasters— it’s hard to tell which one he was at this point. 

One Year Later

“If it’s that small of a curse, why are you sending me there?” Satoru continues to argue with one of the new managers over the phone. 

It wasn’t that small of a curse. It was a grade one. But still, given the sorcerer’s title as a special grade, he was overqualified for the job. 

“I’m sorry, we just don’t have anyone available to take on the case at the moment.” The young woman continues to apologize over the phone. “I think we might have a grade 3 available for the job. I- I can check—”

“Save it.” Satoru cuts her off. He wasn’t that heartless to push the case off to some 15 year old. That’s exactly how Haibara died. “Send me the address.” 

The mission was nothing short of an inconvenience for him. He liked a challenge when exorcising curses, and the damn thing didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He traveled 2 hours to get here just for that? Unbelievable. 

He wasn’t ready to leave and sit on a train for another 2 hours just yet, so he decided to walk around the town for a bit. 

It was a cute place, a little quiet. Kinda boring. That’s never a bad thing, though. Lots of mom and pop shops, a few coffee shops scattered around, one of which he decided to try. A little sugar’s always good, at least to him. 

The smell of vanilla and roasted coffee beans hit him as he walked into the place. There was a decent amount of customers inside. Not too much to feel crowded, but enough to stay busy. He keeps his eyes on the menu the entire time. The line moves fast, and he figures out what he wants just in time. 

“And what can I get started for you today?”

His eyes are still on the screen, reading the item off the menu.

“Can I get a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, with an extra pump of…” his words die out, and his eyes widen as he finally looks at the girl taking his order. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You laugh at the way this stranger loses his train of thought. “Extra pump of white chocolate syrup?”

“Yeah.” He exhales, unable to rip his eye off you as you write the words down on the plastic cup with a sharpie. 

“Name for the order?”

“Go– Satoru,” he corrects himself. “It’s Satoru.”

He’s a little awkward, but you still find him quite charming and smile. “Alright, Satoru. Your order should be ready in about 10 minutes.”

“Awesome. Thanks,” he nods rather pathetically, then goes to sit in an empty corner of the shop with only one thought in mind: 

He has 10 minutes to come up with what to say to get your number. 

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai.

[mxcurryy]

My daily dose of Satoru fics 🤍

[mxcurryy]

For WLIH readers...

i am sorry (again) i know i have been delaying this since forever, but since i finished XIXXX, i realized im like 12 homework behind in maths which i have to finish 🥲. spoiler: im not yet done and i have a maths cycle test coming up, thats the reason for such a long delay. trust me, im already planning chapter 6 and i have loads of ideas for another oneshot — one for gojo and one for oikawa. please hang with me.. just a little more, it's coming, i promise!!!

[mxcurryy]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY OUR DEAREST SUNSHINE HOBI!!!

Always the brightest in the room, you're the sunshine that everyone awaits. May this year be EXTRA kind and successful to you. Don't forget, you're always loved, no matter the place nor time, we will always support and love you, so will your members (though you do tend to get scary during practices).

HAVE AN AMAZING BIRTHDAYY.

[mxcurryy]

when you havent even finished your old fic and its been more than a month since you updated but your mind is already flooding with ideas of a new fic....

[mxcurryy]

Valentines

the sun peeked through your curtains, sunlight spilling through the gaps. You felt warmth at your neck and small weight on your waist.

"Morning love," he murmured into your neck, where he already placed thousands of pecks before you awoke. His chest pressed against your back, hands instinctively moving you closer to him, nuzzling his face further into your neck and sniffing in your scent.

today's a Saturday and also valentines day — a day where couples alike held hands across the lightened streets with hearts in their eyes and smiles on their faces. You and him were no different. A day for you two, a day to honor your significant other, a day to be loved.

"Any plans for today?" He whispered into your temple now, having to moved up there to place his chin above your head.

You hummed, "no, this is fine." And it was. Just this moment was fine by itself. No fancy restaurants, no dramatic cinema dates, no plans, just pure and raw love. You two always liked these moments more than any other, he usually always busy and you were too. You two rarely had time for each other, so these moments were counted as rare. Which made it extra special. The feeling of waking up and still feeling warmth on the other side of the bed is always a gift. And today, it was your gift to each other.

"So we're just gonna be cozy in bed the whole day?" He whispered into your hair.

You chuckled, "maybe."

He pulled you tighter to him, "fine... but you didnt say morning to me yet though," you didnt need to look to know he's already pouting.

"Hm, morning." You purposely teased him.

he sat up abruptly, turning you on your back. "Excuse me lady, morning to who?" He raised a brow, arms crossed.

You giggled, "you?"

"And i am?" His brow raised even higher, pouting even harder.

"You're you." You shrugged, testing how long you can keep teasing him before he makes you fold.

A huff of disbelief escapes him, "meanie," he mumbled flopping back next to you.

"Your meanie." You commented, feeling him smile against your neck.

"You love me anyways," he said, cuddling you again, this time more like bear hugging, rocking you back and forth.

"I always do," you smiled, turning around to face him properly, "love you," you said, placing a soft peck against his lips. Just five years back and you wouldn't have been able to say that, you're blessed that you can now.

"Love you more," he kissed you back, this time deeper, "happy valentines babe," he whispered against your lips. Hands already wrapping around your waist to adjust you back down as he hovered above, kissing you impossibly deeper, mouth yearning for more.

Today's valentines, a day to be loved. And you are loved, by the one who put a ring on your finger, who said his prayers in the church and who's hands are now already undoing your blouse …