sai_yu

'07 || rekindling that passion to draw w/ writing || images above 平手友梨奈 & Sruiwu

[natto-zeddo]

˖°˖°🎐₊⋆ welcome to my blog

zeddo - she/her, may be prone to side with satoru/suguru

masterlist || rules&guidelines || ao3 || commisions (closed until I learn how to lmao. pls teach me)

inbox is generally open. i like hearing what u guys want to say ;>

requests: open / closed (just a consideration atp)

generally only jjk, sorry, but if it's lads art or csm...

idk what i'm doing lmao (just for me and my few followers heheh)

art above by me. divider by @kodaswrld

[3-aem]

and again

[3-aem]

Exercise

[aliqqce]

My favorite endgame

[cocotamarindo]

they live rent free in my head

[3-aem]

okay let’s do this again

[inlovewithpsychos]

──── 𓈒𝜗𝜚 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⤿𝓖ojo 𝓢atoru x 𝓕em!𝓡eader .✧ ݁˖ 『五条悟』

⋆.𐙚 ꒰ Inspired by this post from my lovely girl @sweethearticism ꒱ ꒰ After killing Satoru's wife, Kenjaku snatches her dead body in order to trap The Strongest in the Prison Realm. Once trapped, the Prison Realm tries it's best to break Satoru, including, but not limited to, showing him vivid hallucinations of the life he could've had. ꒱

𖥻 Divider : @chrisssiren

ᝰ✎ . . . Cw : Angst ✧ hurt no comfort ✧ major character death (kenjaku killed us sry)

ᝰ✎ . . . Word Count : 3.1k

ᝰ✎ . . . Author's Note : This is not my best, I've been in the worst writing block of my existence. Also the ending kind of sucks, pls don't come after me🙏🩷

There are few things in life that are utterly inescapable.

Death is one of them.

Heartbreak is another.

For Satoru Gojo, both arrived on the same day. Not in the form of his death, no. Though the universe would've been kinder to grace him with that instead.

His blindfold is tight against his frozen skin, though he can't feel it. He can't feel much of anything anymore.

Not the snow melting on his boots, seeping through the surface into his socks, tracking dirt on the bleached floor that's clean of any imperfection.

Not the cold biting into his exposed neck and face, freezing his fingers, making his skin go numb.

Not the draft coming in from behind him as he stands at the threshold of a house, the door half ajar. He thinks he should close it, protect what little heat's left in the room, yet he can't bring himself to move his hands.

Nor can he bring himself to speak, his tongue incapable of uttering a single syllable, his body unable to stop himself from staring at a home that's not his, watching over a scene that's not from his memory, gazing into a face that, for the longest time, used to be his reason for waking up in the morning.

Still is, he supposes. Only difference is he's alive and you aren't.

He thinks he's dying. Or maybe he's already dead and this is heaven. It must be, because you're here.

Or maybe it isn't, because he's here too.

He thinks it might be a dream. Maybe a hallucination. Maybe he's finally snapped and his mind's officially spiraled out of control, trapped itself in a happy ending—one he didn't get, didn't deserve. Whatever it is, he doesn't want it to stop. Doesn't want it to come to an end.

Doesn't want to wake up from this blissful ignorance he's temporarily trapped in. Because waking up would mean you would no longer be in front of him, and Satoru thinks he'd die if that happened.

He isn't afraid of death, not anymore, not since every single person that he's ever held dear has slipped through his fingers like sand through a sift. The fear of death—or anything that could ever deliver it to someone like him—has long since been driven out of him, abandoned him to his grief.

Yet the sight in front of him scares him. It terrifies him, rattles the breath in his lungs in a way that nothing has managed to in a long time.

Because the sight that greets him is you. Standing in a sundress, one he's seen you wear countless times and taken off just the same amount. There's an apron around your waist; it says something, though Satoru can't be bothered reading it. Not when your face distracts him, jumbles his thoughts, pauses the air in his throat, prevents it from leaving his trachea.

He thinks you're saying something—he sees your lips part, your mouth move—but he doesn't hear a single syllable, doesn't focus on the words long enough to register them in his brain. There's cotton clouding his ears, brume fogging up his cerebrum, turning his mind into mush. He can't think, can't muster up a single coherent thought. Can't focus on anything in front of him.

Anything except your face. Your beautiful, beautiful face.

He sees you move towards him, his brain cataloging the movement, though he can't bring himself to focus on that too long either—you capture his attention again.

There's a smudge of flour on your left cheek, and some dusting of it spilled down your apron too, and he knows he's never seen a sweeter sight. Simply because it couldn't possibly exist—you're the sweetest thing his six eyes have ever had the pleasure of perceiving.

You're still speaking, and he thinks he catches the end of your sentence, barely understanding it past the static in his brain.

"-close the door, 'Toru; you're making the entire house cold again after I just lowered the heating." You say with mild annoyance in your voice, though you're smiling still, and he knows you're not really irritated, just teasing.

You say something else too after that, though he doesn't focus long enough to understand that either, his mind instead too busy on diverting all of his attention towards your hand that's rising up in his direction, your fingers slowly threading through his ivory hair and gently shaking out the snow that's settled on top.

The same hands that were wrapped around his throat months ago. Fingers pressing in tight, cutting off his oxygen, leaving grotesque red marks while he did everything but fight back, too distracted by the fact that it was you—even if it wasn't.

Even if his soul knew it wasn't you despite you, regardless of how much he wanted to believe that it was. Even if the healed stitches on your forehead were a dead giveaway of how it wasn't you—not really, not at all; just your cadaver being steered around like a morbid marionette unbeknownst to him—Satoru still couldn't bring himself to fight back. Still couldn't bring himself to put up a proper defense. Because it was you.

Your voice.

Your face.

Your touch.

Your hands.

The same hands that were currently tenderly running their fingers through his strands and dusting the frost off the shoulders of his uniform.

The same hands that were slowly pulling his blindfold down and gazing into his azure eyes with the utmost affection.

The same hands that were now holding his face and running your thumbs over his cheekbones, the skin underneath your touch rosy from the cold.

He thinks he has a heart attack the moment he feels your soft touch on his face—with the way the organ in his chest skips several beats, almost as if it's forgotten how to function, enough for it to be fairly worrying—except he couldn't care less about that.

The same hands that had almost taken his life were now treating him with such tenderness that he couldn't decide whether to lean in or flinch back. Couldn't decide whether to bask in the intoxication of the moment or demand the universe a reason for how this was even possible.

And yet, a part of him couldn't bring himself to care about the latter. Couldn't bring himself to care about any of it. Couldn't bring himself to care about the fact that seeing you in front of him shouldn't be fucking possible—not when you're dead. Not when he saw it happen with his own six eyes, felt your hot blood coat his cold hands when he cradled your dead body as if it were a temple abandoned by its god, his soul bleeding in pain.

Seeing you in front of him shouldn't be fucking possible, and yet here you are—your hands warm, your smile genuine, your skin no longer pallid but rather healthy, glowing even—a complete contrast to the last memory he has of you.

"You came home early today, I thought you'd be late again." You say, hands resting on his shoulders, leaning up on your toes to place a kiss on his cheek, your lipgloss leaving an imprint akin to a brand on his soul.

The hollow organ in his chest stumbles in it's performance the moment he feels your lips brush against his skin. It feels like having his soul violently ripped out through his chest again while simultaneously being awarded a place in The Elysian Fields. It's cathartic and lustral and detrimental all at the same time. It feels like dying and being reborn again. It feels like everything and nothing all at once.

"-was baking cupcakes the entire day, but they just wouldn't let me focus. Almost burned a batch, but luckily it didn't look too bad. Well, it's not like I could taste it, it's completely gone by now." You continue speaking, a sweet smile gracing your lips and your eyes gazing up at him with such fondness it makes his chest ache. "Kids. You know how they are."

Your voice fills his ears and the haze in his mind can't move past the saccharine quality of it. That is, until clarity finally forces its way through and those last words finally register after a beat.

...Kids?

..Kids

Kids

The air in his lungs choke as his breath stalls for a full minute. He feels like the world is narrowing in on him from all sides, pressing into his rib cage, tightening around his chest, suffocating him and smothering him in his ambivalence.

It feels like an eternity passes before he can finally conjure up his voice again, his words coming out stuttered and rough, almost as if his throat has been rubbed against sandpaper.

"..K-ids?" He feels his mouth form the words, his tongue spelling out the syllables, and yet he cannot bring himself to move a muscle, his body frozen in place, his senses screaming at him that something is very wrong.

"Our kids. The ones you had with me and tried to do it again last night." You say, moving towards the kitchen again, a slight prep in your step as if his mere presence was enough to uplift your mood. Pink floods your cheeks as a bashful smile graces your lips at your own teasing comment, looking at him almost with hearts in your eyes.

"You're staring at me like I'm making things up." You say, a laugh falling from your glossy lips and a slight furrowing of your eyebrows at the expression on his face. He supposes his face must be going through an entire spectrum of emotions—good, bad and ugly—pain and love mixing into one amalgamation of utter horror and inane ecstasy simultaneously.

He parts his lips to speak, but no words leave his mouth. The comprehension of the situation has long since abandoned him, though even he knows he can't ignore the truth behind this ordeal that calls out to him at the back of his mind for much longer.

There's a pair of light footsteps pattering down the hallway, running towards them as fast as those little limbs allow them to. A pair of kids—a boy and a girl—burst into the room, stumbling in their direction with the most gleeful laughs and the brightest eyes he's ever witnessed.

He sees you walk towards the younger of the two and crouch to scoop the toddler up in your arms, a smile overtaking your features. The boy giggles and for Satoru, it's the sweetest sound he's ever heard.

His heart feels like the glass toy in the boy's hand, with the way he can feel it seconds away from cracking and breaking into a million different pieces. It feels unstable and reckless, knowing it could be shattered any second all over again.

"Making me suffer for all those 9 months in my womb, and you still come out looking like your dad." You say, huffing and nosing the cheek of the boy who looks exactly like him. Same pure white hair, same pale skin, same shocking blue eyes. Except his nose is exactly like yours. And when he gives a toothy grin, Satoru thinks his smile is like yours too.

The girl rounds your legs and runs towards him, her tiny hands coming up to cling to his pants, her infectious joy overflowing in her laugh upon seeing her father. She has his hair—the same pure white—but her features are all yours. Same nose, same cheekbones , same lips, same eyes. Satoru vaguely thinks that he's glad she got your eyes, so that the entire world can continue witnessing the part of you he fell in love with the first.

He sees you step towards him, now standing in front of him, concern slightly etching itself into your features at his prolonged state of silence. And Satoru is never silent, not around you and the kids, the air always full with his dumb jokes and the laughs that they draw from the kids.

"I-" he tries speaking, but the words fail him, air barely making it into his lungs as he's pretty sure he's stopped breathing by now. He sees you standing there, his son cuddled up in your arms, and his daughter clinging to the hem of your dress, both of their eyes filled with happiness, looking at him as if he's the center of their universe. And for them, he is. He's their father after all.

And they're his kids.

His family.

His.

The sight makes something bleed to death inside his chest. Everything in him feels empty, nothing left in his being except for all the love he has for you with no place for it to go now. He feels something warm run down his cheek, dripping down his chin and into his collar. His vision blurs for a second, before he blinks and wills the wetness away.

He tries to capture the sight of you in your sundress, your children standing around you—the love two people can carry for one another in the purest form possible—and knows that this could only be possible in heaven, and not the hell he resides in.

He memorizes this instance, wants to store it under lock and key in his mind forever because he knows he'll never be blessed with it again. Knows that everything he's ever wanted, ever longed for, is right in front of him, and yet he can't have it. Can't reach it and steal it and make it his forever.

The sun shines in through the rime covered windows, the frost outside making the glass slightly hazy, and catches in your hair, on the bridge of your nose, the bow of your lips, and the depths of your eyes. He sees it shine on the faces of your children, catching on the grins of both his son and daughter, and feels something shattering inside him completely.

The sight in front of him is like snow.

Beautiful and untouched.

It's everything he could've ever asked for, and everything he'll never have.

A family. A house to grow old in. You to grow old with.

And you—you're the cut that'll always bleed. The wound that'll never heal. The loss he'll never overcome, and maybe he doesn't want to.

Because grief is remembering. It's holding on. It's not letting go no matter how much the world tells you too.

Because grief never truly goes away, people just learn to live around it. Except his love for you, his grief for you grows everyday with him. Every second of everyday is a reminder of what he's lost, what was taken from him.

The pillowcase on your side of the bed still remains unchanged, even though your scent has long since abandoned it.

Your clothes in the laundry still remain unwashed. It's one of the last real traces of you he has left and he cannot bear to change that. Falling asleep in night clutching your shirt is just routine to him.

The perfume you wore on a daily—the one you've been wearing since you were both stupid and seventeen and in love—still sits on your dresser. Your scent still lingers on his clothes—a sweet fragrance of honey and vanilla, his favourite scent in the entire world—because he bought the entire batch from the store you used to frequent and still sprays it on his clothes everyday, if only to feel closer to you. If only to pretend.

He traces your face in picture frames at night when he can't sleep, imagining it's your visage and not cool glass underneath his touch.

He still carries the ring he planned to propose with in his pocket, staring at it when he's alone, sneaking it out in the quieter moments of the day and imagining what it would look like on your finger. Imagining what you would look like in white.

He still buys flowers for you—always lilies because they were your favourite, and leaves then on the counter in a vase the exact way you used to, just so he can pretend that you aren't dead, just gone. That you will come back, even if he knows you won't.

So as he gazes into your face, into the eyes he fell in love with, and sees it reflected back in the faces of his children, he feels time stop along with his heart. Feels his soul grow weary in dolour, in the knowledge that he can never, ever have this.

Never, ever have you again.

You're as beautiful as the day he lost you. As beautiful as the day your blood coated his hands. As beautiful as they day you wrapped your fingers around his throat. And he would've gladly died looking into the eyes he loved.

Your eyes

They say love is the most violent act, and perhaps they are right. Because his love for you is both tender and reverent, and your love for him was the exact thing needed to bring the Jujutsu world down to it's knees.

You arrived as his executioner, long after you had already passed, his six eyes telling him it's you yet his soul well aware that it wasn't. And at that instance his resolve hadn't been strong enough to overpower his sheer love for you.

Because whether you came as his lover or his executioner, he would receive you either way. Would let you put your hands around his throat and squeeze. Would let you ask for his life and hand it to you on a platter.

In some ways, both Geto and you clawed holes in his being when you both left. What he had with Geto was different to what he had with you, yet those jagged edges and gaping craters in his soul hurt the same.

It's those craters—that love for you that he harboured in the deepest recesses of his soul—that became his one greatest weakness, exploited to trap him and seal him away and wreck havoc on Japan.

His love for you has been the most twisted curse of all.

And yet, he doesn't want to part with the scene in front of him, fully well understanding by now that it's nothing more than another one of the prison realm's ways of trying to break him, trying to get him to commit suicide while he's still inside.

Out of all the tactics the realm has employed, this by far, has to be the cruelest of them all—targeting exactly the part of him that never fails to bring him to his knees. He knows he has to resist the torture, yet he cannot bear the thought of you with his kids fading into a mirage.

He cannot bear the thought of letting you and the kids he could've had with you—if only fate hadn't been so cruel—out of his sight, even if it kills him in the end.

The memory of you lived in him to bring him pain. You're the missing piece of his soul that will always break his heart because he'll never stop loving you. Once, you were the light of his life, the home he used to return to at the end of every day.

Now, you're a wound that will forever keep hurting. A mutilation that will always keep bleeding his soul dry. Just another ploy used against him to bring the strongest down to his knees.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

COPYRIGHTED © Do not plagiarise, translate, modify or feed my works to AI.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀.⭒♥︎ Any likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ! 🩷

𖥻 Divider : @cafekitsune (for the last one)

[morverenmaybewrites]

To Be Devoured (Cursed Spirit! Satoru Gojo x Reader)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader

Warnings: Grief, Major Character Death, Came Back Wrong

Summary: In the weeks following your husband’s death, you find yourself haunted by more than just grief.

Taglist: @gentlyflowing @pickledsoda

AO3

Imagine yourself after Satoru Gojo's death.

It was a loss too big for words. For you and for the Jujutsu world at large.

(At least that's what they told you. These new higher-ups whose faces might as well have been carved from stone and whose eyes knew nothing of loss. You found that you could not give a damn about the Jujutsu world. All it ever did was take from him.)

(And now it has taken from you.)

(A husband. A future.)

(A body to bury.)

They hadn't even given you that. The opportunity to see his face one last time, to push his hair out of his eyes, and finally, quietly tell him goodbye. Instead, you had been given an urn, marked with his name in elegant, sweeping calligraphy.

(Did they even know that Satoru preferred to sign things with a drawing of his face? Did they know he preferred to use kaomojis? You could just picture him, puffing out his cheeks and pouting over the injustice. You could picture squeezing his face until he laughed, light and carefree.)

Shoko Ieri's voice broke you out of your thoughts. Brought you back from past to the unforgiving present, where you would never hear his laugh again.

"His body wasn't…in a fit state for viewing," she said. "We proceeded directly with cremation."

Her voice was toneless, hammered flat, and her eyes skittered away from yours like spiders.

Then, softer, as if she was apologizing for something. "He wouldn't have wanted you to see him like that."

She gestured towards the urn, cradled in your arms like a newborn.

"This…this is better."

You wondered for whom. Certainly not you.

Imagine yourself after Satoru Gojo's death, and the way your grief has become too big for tears. Instead, it followed you around like a ghost, marking all the places your husband should be, but wasn't.

Here was the kitchen island where he used to place your cup of coffee every morning. Satoru had always been the last to sleep and the first to wake, and by the time you rose, he would already have a cup of coffee prepared for you.

Just one.

He would refuse to make one for himself, insisting instead on stealing small sips from your mug. Always on the same spot where your lips have touched, sharing indirect kisses before the two of you have even brushed your teeth. Until, laughing, you would push him off.

Imagine yourself after Satoru Gojo's death, and the way you feel as if you will never laugh again.

Imagine this: two weeks after your husband's death you woke, exhausted and grief-logged, to find a cup of coffee waiting for you on the kitchen island.

You froze.

Had someone been in here?

Shoko, perhaps, or Kento—

(He was dead, too.)

Or perhaps one of his students, in some misguided bid to cheer you up.

Maybe it had been Megumi, who was dealing with his own grief. You remembered, with a flash of hot guilt, that you had yet to visit him. Satoru wouldn't have wanted that, you chided yourself. He would have wanted you to see his kids.

He would have wanted you to be strong.

(But you weren't strong. That had always been him. And now, in his absence, you were not quite sure what you were meant to be.)

One of these days, you promised yourself. One of these you days, when your grief no longer felt so heavy that it threatened to flatten you. One of these you will visit his kids and you will smile.

You stared at the cup again, contemplating.

Perhaps it had been Yuji Itadori, Satoru's favorite, though he would claim he had no favorites. The one who always played along with his pranks, who would laugh whenever he got a little too rough. Itadori always had a special connection with your husband, who walked through the world as if he was handling glass.

So, perhaps Itadori, you thought. It must be Itadori.

You picked up the mug. It was cool to the touch, the coffee long since gron cold. The handle had broken off two years ago, from another one of Satoru's antics.

(You wondered, briefly then, if the memories of him would ever stop haunting you. If there would be a day when you would touch something and not be reminded of him.)

He had promised to buy you a new one.

He never did.

And now, he never would.

You lifted the mug to your lips and drank to the last drop.

Imagine this: it was Megumi Fushiguro who approaches you first.

A month after your husband's death, Megumi showed up at your door, hands in his pockets and eyes fixed to the ground. You were horribly, painfully aware of the shadows your eyes, so dark they looked like bruises, your unwashed hair, the clothes that you had slept in for two (three, four?) days now.

"I came to check in on you," he said in a low voice. "Ichiji says that he hasn't seen you in a while."

"I'm fine," you answered quickly.

Perhaps, a bit too quickly judging by the way his brows drew together. You have said it so many times that it was almost automatic now.

Megumi didn’t respond. Instead, his eyes were fixed at a point just above your shoulder, never quite looking at your face.

He was looking, you realized, at the state of disarray behind you. The dirty clothes strewn about on the floor, the wrinkled pile of laundry that was more than a week old because you didn't have the energy to fold them, the piles of takeout containers, leftovers rotting inside their styrofoam shells.

Satoru would have despaired, seeing you like that.

But that was the point, wasn't it?

He wasn't there.

Not anymore.

The silence streched on between the two of you. Neither you or Megumi had ever been good with words. You had always relied on Satoru to bridge the gap, with an awful joke or some ridiculous game he wanted to play. You wondered if Megumi felt it too, the way his words lay heavy inside his throat, unspoken. He had always been too quiet, even as a child.

Then, stiffly, he said, "I thought that a walk might be good…for both of us."

You stared at him. You hadn't been sleeping well for days now, your hair hung around your face in greasy strands. There was a stain on your shirt.

But Megumi was here, and he was trying. And God help you, you knew that Satoru would have wanted you to try, too.

So you nodded, followed after him without changing. And as you did, you could have sworn you felt a little push on the small of your back as you left the house.

The two of you didn't talk as you walk, and already you could feel the effects of your confinement. Your legs were already beginning to burn, sweat trickling down your back. Megumi kept his eyes straight ahead, still refusing to look at you, but you had a feeling he was slowing his pace so you could keep up.

"Megumi," you panted. "Why did you invite me out?"

He paused just outside of a park. You remembered this place, if only just barely. Your memories of it were hazy, as if looking through a fog: you and Satoru used to take Megumi and his sister there. You sat down on the bench without asking. This one had the perfect view of the playground. Satoru had always said that keeping an eye on them wasn't necessary. Megumi had always been too serious, even at six years old, preferring to look after his sister instead of playing with the other kids.

But there were no children here now. It looked strangely sad, lonely in the way abandoned places were lonely.

Like the house now, like you. An aching emptiness where joy once was.

"Do you remember this park?" Megumi asked as he took to a seat next to you.

You were confused, then try for a smile. You could almost feel the muscles in your face creak in protest, everything inside you turned to rust.

"I'm grieving, not senile," you said. "Satoru and I used to take you and your sister here.”

You glanced at the monkey bars, where the children would have competitions on who could get to the furthest rung. And you remembered, with a sudden wave of heartache, that Satoru would always insist on joining. Always winning, every time.

And then he'd buy them ice cream. Especially when one of them started crying.

But now the metal rungs were broken, twisted and pointed up at the sky like reaching fingers. Beside it was a crater where the slide used to be. You blinked, and through the haze of blunted emotions, you felt a blip of surprise. Had a storm moved through Tokyo? In your state, a hurricane could have torn the roof off the Gojo compound and you wouldn't have noticed.

"What…happened here?"

Megumi sighed. "Several curses manifested here three days ago. Strong ones. Sent several kids to the hospital. It took Yuji, Nobara, and me to exorcise them."

He gazed at the ruined structures, silent again. You wondered why he was telling you this. You were a non-sorcerer, could barely even see the haziest figures of curses.

And now, your one greatest link to the Jujutsu world was gone.

Megumi continued, "There's been an uptick in curses lately. I was wondering if you'd noticed."

When you shook your head, Megumi added," We found two other on the street corner where you and…where you live."

With a painful little twist that you realized that he had been about to say you and Satoru. But now, the the house was yours and yours alone. And it was too big and too empty and you couldn't imagine it being a home ever again.

You could already feel the conversation slipping away from you. Ever since Satoru’s death, things had taken on a fleeting quality, like a dream that was already fading the moment you wake. Unremembered and unimportant. But this was Megumi speaking, and Satoru would have wanted you to care. So you forced yourself to remember what you knew about curses: how their presence would sometimes leave people feeling ill, a malaise hanging over them like a dark cloud. But you had felt like that ever since you opened the door and had been given an urn instead of your husband. You had the suspicion that you will feel this way forever.

Silently, you shook your head.

"Nothing out of…"

You swallowed. You had been out of the say was nothing out of the ordinary. And yet, with Satoru dead, how could anything be ordinary ever again?

You were suddenly struck with the thought that this was your ordinary now. This yawning absence where he used to be. Your heart rose in your throat and lay there, as heavy as a stone. This was how it always started: a crying jag so awful and so bitter that you would not stop for hours. Had you been in the comfort of your own home—house—you would have given into it. Cried until all of the tears had been wrung from you like a wet rag. There was a bitter sort of relief in it, to be able to do something with all this grief instead of holding it inside you.

But you weren't in your bedroom or your bathroom or the kitchen or any of the hundred little places where the reality of your loss would swamp you over you like a wave.

You were with Megumi.

And Satoru would have wanted you to put him first.

So again, you just shook your head. You didn't trust yourself to speak.

Megumi sighed and leaned back. He tried to smile at you, but it looked more like a grimace.

"I'm glad. That's…well, that's the last thing you need."

"It's the last thing you need, too," you said softly. "You're grieving, too."

He does something odd, then. He leaned his head against your shoulder. He has grown so tall now that he has to crane his neck to do it, but it was a comforting weight. And you remembered how Satoru used to wrap himself around you, long limbs wrapping around you like a vine.

It made you smile—a real one this time—thinking that perhaps there would still be something left of him.

"I'm not…I'm not him," Megumi said quietly. "But I'll make sure that none of these curses will hurt you."

"Thank you," you said softly.

Imagine this: as the hours stretched into days into weeks, you found that you didn't need Megumi's protection.

It wasn't because you had grown strong—God no, you barely had any sort of cursed energy yourself—but because you found that curses seemed to avoid you.

You could just barely see their hazy forms, at a corner store where a murder happened, at a school, at a sharp turn in a street corner where cars would often crush themselves against each other. Dark and twisted, sometimes crawling on all fours, skittering away from you like bugs before a light.

You had asked Megumi about this several times, wondering if he had set one of his shikigami after you, but he had only looked at you in confusion and shook his head.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion then, that was making you see things. Perhaps the curses were nothing more than shadows dancing, your eyes gone too dry from all the nights you spent crying.

Perhaps, you would always feel like this now.

Perhaps this has become your ordinary.

And you would have gone on thinking that, if not for the gas station.

Imagine this: it was a silly thing, not knowing how to pump your own gas. Satoru had never let you do it on your own, when he had been alive.

(The thought cut through you like a knife. The sharp sting of loss.)

He always had Ichiji or someone else do it for you. Sometimes he would do it himself, always with such a magnanimous air, as if it was a great sacrifice. Always, it made you laugh.

And now, in the middle of the night, you found yourself at a gas station. Quite unsure about what to do.

At first you were alone, in your pajamas, shivering in the cold night air.

And then you weren't.

You had thought, initially, that it was just an old man. He was certainly dressed like one: white shirt that hung too loosely on his frame, worn cotton pants. You thought that he looked a little bit like you: rumpled and tired, gotten out of bed at midnight just so he could escape his thoughts.

That should've been the end of it.

But it wasn't.

Imagine this: it began with a muttering sound, like the chittering of insects. A single word, whispered over and over underneath someone's breath until, out of sheer curiousity, you strained to hear it.

Hungry.

Hungry.

And then, faster. More desperate. A maddening rhythm.

Hungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungry.

And when the old man turned to face you, you realized that it was not an old man at all.

It was a hideous thing, its shirt left unbottoned to display its stomach, horribly distended, like a corpse left to rot in the water. Its neck was inhumanly long, and so thin that its head dangled onto its shoulder like a broken branch. But worst of all was its face: its mouth gaped open in an endless scream. Its eyes rolled madly in their sockets like. You must have made a noise, because in the next moment, those horrible eyes found you.

And for once, they held still.

It smiled without teeth, and you could see the dark hole of its endless throat. Some distant part of you wondered if it swallowed its prey whole like a snake, if its belly still contained living human beings trying to claw their way out.

It spoke again, Hungry.

You screamed.

It took one step toward you, grinning madly. Spittle frothed over its lips like a rabid dog. Its thin chest heaved in excitement.

It reached out toward you.

And stopped.

Its fingers twisted unnaturally as it struggled to touch you, never quite reaching, as if it had hit an invisible wall. So close like this, you could see that its nails were cracked and bloodied, the flesh underneath black with necrosis.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You had only seen something like that once.

But then, something pushed back. The wall between you and the curse yawned wider, and its fingers were forced backward. Further and further until they bent, like the curled legs of dying spiders. Its mouth worked furiously, opening and closing without sound. As if it was trying to scream, but couldn't quite remember how.

Then its bones snapped. With such violence that the blackened tips of its fingers burst like rotten fruit. The air was filled with the stench of decay, as something that wasn't blood sprayed all over its shirt, the floor. You gagged, stomach heaving.

And it kept going. Oh God, it kept going.

Whatever force that was pushing back at it curled its arm backward until its bones were crushed—pulverized—the sound like rolling gravel. Backwards and backwards until the shattered remains reached its elbow, a mass of pulsing flesh and powdered bone.

Blackened tears streamed from its eyes like oil.

It was hurting.

Whatever was doing this was toying with it.

"Stop it," you whispered, your throat raw. "Stop it."

The air grew still for a few seconds, as if the world had somehow held its breath.

And then, it listened.

Something pressed downward onto the curse—you saw the way its face twisted, the skull fracturing as if under an immense weight—then it exploded. Crushed from above by something unseeable, bile and blood and bits of flesh flying outwards, yet not a single—neither flesh nor bile nor bone—struck you. Your clothes remained perfectly pristine.

You stood there for several seconds, staring at the crater where the curse once stood. Whatever had crushed it had done so with such force that bits of flesh were embedded into the cracks in the concrete.

And then, you doubled over and vomited on your shoes.

Imagine this: after Satoru Gojo's death, you are beginning to think that you are being haunted by more than just grief.

The coffee mugs come every morning now, despite you having the locks changed multiple times. There were fingerprints in mirrors you haven't touched, the mark of someone's palm smeared across the glass patio door.

Megumi came around to warn you several more times, seemingly worried, warning you about powerful curses. But you never felt threatened by them, not since your encounter at the gas station.

Whenever you left the house, something would flutter at the edges of your vision, like the wings of a bird in flight. But it was never quite there when you turn. You could almost hear your husband’s laugh, whenever you stood at the doorway in helpless frustration.

Your dreams were haunted by his eyes, and there weren't two or four or even six.

There were hundreds, if not thousands. All staring at you with an intensity that seemed to burn your skin.

Sometimes you would wake up screaming.

Imagine this: three months after your husband's death, you found yourself at your limit.

The dreams and the coffee and the handprints left on glass windows as if someone had been watching you from the outside. It all had the air of a game. A sick and twisted game that was driving you insane. The kind of game he would play, the ones that made you suspect that there was something more underneath the smiling, playful veneer he always showed. Something darker. Something hungry. You thought of your husband, who used to tease and taunt you until you either laughed or yelled at him.

(Imagine this: you thought for just a second, what a sweet relief it would be: to be devoured instead of being left alone to grieve)

In the morning, the mug was there to greet you. The way it had every day for the past month.

But instead of drinking it, you pour it down the drain, and when something fluttered at the edges of your vision, like the wings of a startled bird, you ignored it.

(You used to do this, too. Ignore whatever things he did until he broke and apologized.)

(Satoru always did love attention.)

You set the empty mug down on the counter, and turned to the kitchen. When you spoke, it had the air of a challenge. Perhaps you were only talking to empty air or perhaps you were talking to something else.

"Satoru."

Nothing moved. But in that silence, you felt the same sensation as you did at the gas station. Like time had stopped, like the world was holding its breath. His name sounded brittle when you said it, as if it could shatter at any moment and cut you at its jagged edges. Three months after his death, it was hard to feel anything but grief. It was hard to hope, harder still to separate that hope from delusion.

But you were tired and sleep-deprived and every night you went to bed, all you could see were those eyes, staring at you.

Staring. Hungry.

(Hungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungry)

"Satoru, please."

Silence. So loud it was almost deafening.

You thought to the old man at the gasoline station. Something had killed him. Something powerful. Megumi had told you that when curses died, they dissolved into dust. But this one had been crushed so violently that bits of flesh had been crushed into the stones.

Something had done that. And whatever it was, it hated.

You thought of your husband, who used to laugh as if he didn't have a care in the world. Who used to tease and taunt and joke with you until you laughed like that too.

You thought of fingerprints smeared across glass surfaces.

You thought of the eyes in your dreams, staring, hungry.

You thought about how sweet it would be, to be devoured instead of being left alone to grieve.

"Satoru," you said. "I need to know if it's you. I need…I need you to stop hiding from me, my love—"

No answer.

You thought of the nights when his teasing went too far, and you had to lock yourself in the bedroom to get away from him.

"And if you don't—" Your voice wavered, then cracked at the edges like glass.

"Megumi told me about an abandoned hospital. It's near where we live…where I live. He said that curses were manifesting in them. He told me so that I wouldn't go near it. But if you don't…you don't show yourself, I'm going to that hospital and see—"

The mug on the counter rattles, then it shot backward like a bullet fired from a gun, hitting the mirror behind it with a splintering crash. Shards of glass sprayed everywhere, yet none of them hit you.

You stared at the mirror, the pulverized remains of the mug, chest heaving and cold sweat trickling down your face. Never, not even in your worst fights, had Satoru ever done anything like that. You couldn't even imagine him doing something like that.

(But then, you couldn't imagine him destroying that curse in the gas station. Not with such violence, such wanton cruelty.)

And for one, frightening, heartbreaking second, you wondered if it really was your Satoru. If, perhaps, you were stuck instead with a curse who only looked like him, and longing did the rest. You thought of the eyes in your dreams, as clear and blue as a summer sky.

But then you thought to yoursef: you would know them anywhere. Three months could not erase a lifetime of intimacy, and you knew your husband's face better than you did your own.

You knew this, too: Satoru would never hurt you.

Trembling, you walked to the wreckage to inspect it. It was a full length mirror, and it had been struck with such force that only a single shard remained attached to the frame. In it, you could see a sliver of your face. Sweat ran down your face like tears. A single eye, the pupil so wide that it looked like a black hole.

And something behind you. The barest hint of a figure, like smoke in the shape of a person.

You looked over your shoulder, but nothing was there.

No one but you.

You glanced at the mirror again, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. No, something was definitely there. It had the same hazy quality of curses. Satoru had told you that regular humans couldn't see them, except perhaps at the point of death. There were a few just like you, who could just barely see the ghostly impressions of them, like colors in a faded painting—but they were usually dismissed as fake psychics or charlatons.

Your fingers reached out, trembling, to touch the mirror. Cradled the figure in the palm of your hand, the way you used to cradle him in your arms.

And you felt a longing so profound that it felt more like hunger, and you leaned forward just so you could see every inch of him. When your breath fogged against the smooth surface of the grass, you let out a strangled cry.

"No!"

You hastily wiped at it with the edge of your sleeve, wanting—no needing—to see him again. And in your haste, the jagged edge slices clean through your palm. It was so sudden that at first, all you felt was heat. Blood welled up from the cut.

The air in the room grew heavier, the figure in the mirror shimmered, like smoke from a bonfire disturbed by a sudden wind. It struggled to retain its shape. Injuries always held a strange sort of fascination with Satoru. He never got them, not even a paper cut or the barest hint of a bruise. And he would always react with alarm whenever you got one.

"Satoru…" you croaked.

When you turned around, this time you could see him. Not just his reflection, but him.

Satoru.

Your husband, who you lost three months ago. Who left your arms as a bright and warm and smiling man and had come back to you as an urn. Death had changed him, perhaps in the way it changed all humans.

(Your husband, who you lost three months ago. Who left your arms as a bright and warm and smiling man and has come back to you a horror.)

He had always been tall, but while in life he had made himself small—easily fitting into a room without commanding it—in death, his presence was almost suffocating. He wore the same outfit he did when he left: traditional robes, as white as freshly fallen snow. When you had first seen him in them, you couldn't help but think of prisoners on death row wearing the same color, the fabric carefully, deliberately folded right over left. They were blindfolded, too. So they wouldn't try to run as they were led to the noose.

White, you had thought, had always been for the dead.

When you had told him this, Satoru smiled at you and pulled his blindfold off. That way, he had joked, he could see death coming.

(And did he? Did your husband who never failed to make you smile, who always told terrible jokes, who wore white on the day he died, see his death coming?)

(Was it terrible?)

(Did it hurt?)

As your gaze traveled further down, a small sound escaped your throat. The sound of a songbird caught in a trap, a desperate, broken little trill. It was the sound someone made as their last hope dies.

(Yes, you thought. It did hurt. Your husband, who never failed to make you smile, who always told terrible jokes, who wore white on the day he died, had suffered.)

There were tears on his clothes, gaping and terrible. One across his torso, and another across his arm. Underneath them, the flesh had been so hastily stitched together that you could see where the black threads had come loose, where the wounds still gaped and bled sluggishly. Oh, they had treated your husband like a doll whose limbs had come loose, hastily shoving parts back together so he could be toyed with once again.

(If it had been you, you would have labored over each stitch, would have used a needle so small that he wouldn't have felt it going in. If it had been you, he would have been treated with care.)

What was it that Shoko Ieri had said?

His body wasn't in a fit state for viewing. We proceeded directly with cremation.

"Oh, love," you said in a voice like heartbreak. "What did they do to you?"

To both of you?

Instead of the blindfold you had grown used to, he was wearing bandages. Wrapped so tightly around his head that, had he been alive, it would have hurt. You imagined the eyes behind them, shut forever.

A chilling thought entered your mind, so horrible that your stomach churned in disgust: perhaps they had taken those too. Perhaps, behind the bandages, there were only empty sockets.

After all, they had taken everything else.

A noise rose from your throat, a high-pitched whine, like something wounded. And Satoru—or the ghost of him—started, as if to catch you.

You saw them then.

His eyes.

Oh God, his eyes.

They were not on his face, but instead they were floating above him. Orbiting him like planets. Blue eyes, vibrant as a summer sky. Others, gone milky and blind, as if plucked from a corpse.

(Did they take those too?)

A few of them held still, looking at you with an intensity that was so familiar that it made you want to weep.

You thought of the curse at the gas station.

You should have been frightened. You should have screamed.

Instead you thought of Satoru. You thought of his eyes. Soft with love as he looked down at you on your wedding day. Heavy-lidded and hazy with pleasure. Narrowed into a smile, just beginning to crinkle at the edges, the beginnings of laugh lines that he would never age into.

A thousand different eyes, and you know them all.

(A thought, so terrible that it made you want to vomit: did they take those, too?)

It rang inside your head like an echo.

When you reached out to touch him, your fingers were trembling.

They hadn't even given you a body to bury, the opportunity to see his face one last time, to brush his hair out of his eyes and whisper goodbye.

And now he was here, he was here. And it was both a miracle and a monstrosity.

Was he a curse now? Or a spirit? Some sort of vengeful ghost that crawled out of its grave—urn—because the world hadn't grieved enough or sacrificed enough or mourned enough at his passing?

(The thought wormed its way into your head, hot and traitorous: they would deserve it, if he had come back as a horror, bitter and vengeful. They had starved him in life, he should get to feast on them after death.)

(And you thought again: it was better to be devoured, than to be left alone to grief. Unlike the rest of them, you would welcome it.)

You felt something cold against you, and you looked down to find your palm cradled in both of his. His skin was ice-cold. And yet, the sensation made you smile. Even in death, he still found ways to look after you.

"Does it bother you?" You asked.

He made a gesture then, a quick dismissive jerk of the head. And it was so him that it made you laugh. You hadn't laughed in so long that you were surprised you could still do it, that it hadn't rusted inside you like everything else.

He always made it so, so easy to be happy.

"You don't have to act tough, you know," you said, and in your voice, you could hear the barest hint of teasing.

You didn't think you had it in you to be ever playful again. But here you were. Laughing, joking. And God, it was so sweet you felt like weeping.

"I can bandage it, if you want," you continued.

Satoru always had made a big deal when it came to your injuries. Pretending to screech and faint. And yet, there always had been some sincerity in his dramatics. A discomfort with being confronted with your mortality.

An irony then, that it was him who had died first.

A drop of blood falls to the floor, staining the carpet below, and the multitude of eyes follow it. And the figure in front of you shimmered, like a sigh, like an intake of breath. You thought again of the creature at the gas station, its voice like the endless chittering of insects.

Hungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungry.

Your mouth went dry at the realization

But while the creature had only inspired fear in you, the kind reserved for lightning storms and broken bits of glass and creatures with sharp teeth, looking at Satoru, tenderness welled up in you like tears.

This man, who had been sewn together carelessly like a child's toy, who had not even been given the decency of a body to bury, who had never failed to make you laugh, who held your palm in his upturned hands was starving.

Those eyes.

They looked at you with need.

And yet, he wouldn't take from you what wasn't freely given.

And it was so him, so Satoru, that you almost laughed again. It was such a small thing, you thought. Just a little bit of blood. You blinked as the form shimmered again, as fluid as smoke rising from an incense stick. And then—

"Oh."

He had bent at the waist, your palm still held in his, as if delivering a kiss. And he drank so slowly, so carefully that you barely even felt it.

And this time, you were sure that it was not just a hallucination, some illusion of grief. Your mind, however broken, could never conjure a sensation as cruel as this: his lips, now cold, once again touching your skin. When he straightened up, his figure had grown solid, more there. When you reached out to him, you could almost feel the warmth of him against your fingertips.

"You can take more," you said hoarsely. "If you want."

To see him, you would have given everything you have. You would bleed your veins dry until they ran as clear as glass, you would wring yourself until there was nothing left.

(It was such a small thing. Just a little bit of blood.)

But again, that achingly familiar gesture. The jerk of his head, as if dismissing his own needs.

No more. It seemed to say. Not from you. Not today.

Your breathing stuttered to a halt, and then, you laughed. And the sound was horrible and broken. Your husband, who had never failed to make you smile, who wore white on the day he died, who had been put back together like a child's least favorite toy was hungry. And he would not take more from you. Not today, at least.

(It was such a small thing. Just a little bit of blood.)

Your husband, who had starved in life, but would not starve in death.

You would make sure of it.

After all: it was better to be devoured, than to be left alone to grief.

And unlike the rest of them, you would welcome it.

[tofumiao]

Let me photograph you in this light

[reixlle]

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

[polymerclay-heart]

Here Kitty Kitty<3

Cat!Gojo Satoru x reader

The same week your beloved cat goes missing, Gojo Satoru enters your life. It’s uncanny how similar this man looks and acts to your cat. It’s almost like…no that’s impossible…right?

word count: 12.5k

(smut, slight pet play, gojos a freak but what else is new, based on this post, for @indiewritesxoxo's Lust-filled Love Fest thingy!!! banner link)

Before you found Snowbell, you never had an interest in pets.

You owned a fish as a child. By that, you mean your parents felt the great misfortune of watching you clamber through your childhood home with a gap-toothed smile and a carnival fish trapped in a plastic bag that screamed, ‘I’m your problem now’. At your current age, you wondered how it was even legal to let a child win an arcade game that gave them a living, breathing thing to take care of. Back then, you were just happy watching your newest source of entertainment float around in a glass tank, going ‘blub blub blub’, unable to understand why your parents looked more exhausted by the minute.

From what you could remember, it lived a long, happy life. It lived the rest of its days happily swimming around next to the TV. Despite barely meeting the basic requirements for sentience, your parents were determined to give it a proper life. The words ‘This life is our responsibility now’ cycled throughout your home. They did well to instill a strong sense of responsibility in you that has carried on to this day.

When you grew up, that remained. As much as you gushed over cute kitty videos or dogs that knew tricks other than ‘sit’, you weren’t invested in the concept of a pet. Taking care of a fish already seemed like a daunting task the moment you entertained getting one.

If Snowbell hadn’t come along, you might’ve eventually gotten a foster animal. Or, you would’ve rescued a senior dog. Something small and not too barky.

You weren’t initially planning on keeping the cat. When you brought him home, you thought at most he would’ve stayed the night before you dropped him off at the local shelter. One night turned into two. Two nights turned into a week. Before you knew it, Snowbell became the second member of your household.

You tried to do the right thing, at first. You knew Snowbell probably had an owner who was worried sick looking for him. There was no way that wasn’t true. Despite the grim, sooty conditions you found the cat in, it was clear he was well-cared for and domesticated. His sweet blue eyes and long white fur were clear indicators that he wasn’t the average streetcat. As much as you tried to look for his original owner, nothing came of it. For the time being, Snowbell was stuck with you.

He never once hissed or scratched at you. He was such a sweet kitten, perfectly happy to lounge around on your bed or your sofa, dutifully waiting for you to come back home. You never had any problems other cat owners had with their cats scratching up their wooden furniture or making litter accidents. Life with him was peaceful and domestic. Idyllic, even.

Still, there was something strangely off-putting about Snowbell. You could never fully explain it. As pretty as his crystal-blue eyes were, you felt like there was something more underneath. Sometimes, it really felt like Snowbell was laughing at you. There were times he did things that were too human and less animalistic. Pet owners often overestimated how smart their animals were, but you were sure there was something about Snowbell you could never put your finger on.

Maybe that was the issue. You personified him too much–humanized him.

Snowbell disappeared through an open window one sunny day, just like any other cat would have.

You had been an emotional wreck that night. You cried all throughout the night and barely got any sleep. Pathetically, you cuddled the spot of the bed Snowbell used to lie on, as though his lingering warmth would be nestled in the pillows. You almost called in sick for work the next morning before inevitably deciding to sludge your way through the day. You hadn’t even remembered opening that window, but it wasn’t like Snowbell sprouted human hands and pushed it open himself. Guilt for being a shitty pet owner clung to you like dirt.

Snowbell disappeared on Monday. That night, you called every shelter you could think of in search of him. The volunteers on the other end assured you they’d call you if they saw anything, but you doubted anything would come of it. On Tuesday, you and some of your friends went out on a failed search. On Wednesday, you left out food and your shirt outside your apartment in a feeble attempt to lure him back. On Thursday, you went out to search for him again, but alone.

Snowbell disappeared on Monday. By Friday, you were starting to lose hope of ever finding him.

The door rattled as you shut it behind you. You were supposed to call the landlord about it ages ago, but you never got around to it. Non-urgent, but extremely annoying. Yet another thing tacked onto this terrible day.

Tomorrow was the weekend. You knew you wouldn’t spend it lounging around your apartment, catching up on that show you put off. You would be outdoors, continuing your search for hidden corners and pockets.

On the way out, you ran into your neighbor. Tachibana smiled at you–those pitiful little smiles you’d give to someone who got drenched by a speeding car careening over a puddle. Perhaps, in her eyes, there wasn’t much of a difference between the current you and someone like that.

Her daughter lingered just behind her. She was a sweet girl. Last you remembered, she was about to enter elementary school. She wore her hair in a trimmed bob with a bright blue headband. It reminded you of Snowbell’s bright eyes, the way he would track your movement across the apartment with such intelligence.

You were close enough with Tachibana and her daughter to exchange greetings. Some type of small talk. Tachibana gracefully danced around the glaring topic because she had lived in society for quite some time now.

Dani was less perceptive towards social norms. She peered up at you with big softened eyes.

“Have you found him yet?” She asked before her mother could hush her.

Despite the ache in your heart, you smiled down at her.

“Not yet,” you said, “but I’m sure he’ll turn up soon.”

You weren’t the only one dealing with the loss of Snowbell. The few times you had to leave for a last-minute trip, you often left your cat in the care of the Tachibanas. Dani adored that cat, snuggling him every time she saw him. Snowbell mostly tolerated it. He got along well with most of your friends and neighbors.

Dani frowned, clearly not convinced, but she said nothing more about it. She gave a wave as she and her mother brushed by you and back into their apartment. You smiled until their door shut and locked behind them.

The act was exhausting. You were glad you didn’t pass by anyone else as you wandered out the glass doors, onto the busy streets of the city. People brushed by you, completely oblivious to your misery. You didn’t fault them. Why would anyone pay attention to a stranger? You certainly wouldn’t.

You glanced down at your phone. There was nothing. No alerts, no beeps, no missed calls from someone having found your pet. You expected it. It still sank your heart.

You tucked your phone in your pocket, shuffling around with the missing cat posters under your arm. It was your last batch. Once you put these up, you promised yourself you wouldn’t make any more.

You didn’t want to spend Friday night like this. Not many people would. Your friends tried to talk you out of it, encouraging you to go out with them like you were grieving a break-up. Maybe to them, that’s what you were doing. Maybe they thought you needed a break from your misery.

But the thought of Snowbell being out there, alone, lost, and cold. Completely helpless. Injured–maybe even dead. It was all too much for you to think about abandoning the search for even one night.

By the time you stapled the last poster, the sun had already sunk well below the horizon. Oranges and reds streaked across the sky. In a few hours, it would be well into the night, limiting your vision.

If that wasn’t enough, it started to drizzle. The smell of rain hit your nose. The air started to mist ever so slightly, causing the area around you to take on a faint-blue hue. Apparently, everyone was smarter than you. The streets were empty, with the few people left carrying umbrellas or coats. Cold drops hit your hands, your face, your clothes. It wasn’t enough to soak you, but the dark marks on your clothes got more and more prevalent as the seconds passed. For lack of better words, this severely dampened your mood. You knew all those hours of you putting up missing cat posters would turn into soggy, unreadable scraps by the end of this storm, whisking away into the drain to never be seen again.

It was as though the universe itself was telling you to give up.

You’d try again tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, the rain would clear up. You pulled out your phone to check the time when you stumbled. Your fingers slipped, and you lost your grip on your phone, lips pulling up in a cringe when it crashed onto the ground and slid away from you.

You cursed to yourself as you made your way towards it. You really hoped it hadn’t cracked in the fall.

Pale, lithe fingers reached down and plucked it off the pavement.

It’s like he stepped off a runway. His clothes were expensive just from the look of the fabric itself. Despite the drizzle, he remained perfectly dry. His white hair framed his face perfectly. You couldn’t see his eyes, covered by black sunglasses. He might have been the most beautiful man you ever saw.

He silently offered your phone. You accepted it with grateful hands.

“Thank you.” You told him. Where had he even come from? You thought you were alone on this side of the road.

Pink lips curved into an easy-going smile as he towered over you. The stranger hadn’t stepped back once he handed your phone back. Instead, he leaned forward ever so slightly.

“Cute wallpaper.” He commented.

You glanced down at your phone. Your lock screen showed Snowbell in mid-stretch, baby-pink paws reaching towards the sky as he lounged on your bedsheets. You’d had many pictures of Snowbell, but you thought that was your favorite snapshot.

It was one of the few things you had left of him now.

You feigned a smile.

“Oh, thank you.”

The stranger didn’t register your clipped tone. “How long have you had him?”

“Barely a few weeks.” You honestly said before wincing. “I…I’m actually looking for him so–”

When people comment on your cat’s disappearance, there’s often a twinge of pity somewhere in their eyes. It made you feel small–pathetic. You steeled yourself, readying for that same look before he finally left you alone.

There’s none of that.

“I was about to ask.” The stranger hummed. “I thought he looked familiar. I think I’ve seen him before.”

Your eyes snapped up to his face.

“You’ve seen him?” What followed was a barrage of questions: Where was he? What did he look like? Was he injured? How long ago was it?

The stranger barely even flinched at your demands for answers. Even as you leaned into his space, he barely backed up. His smile grew wider as he opened his mouth to speak.

You jumped at the clap of thunder. The already darkened sky swirled with angry gray-blue clouds. The drizzle threatened to intensify.

He glanced up and clicked his tongue.

“How about we talk somewhere indoors?”

🐾

As soon as you stepped into the restaurant, the weather got ugly.

Rain thumped against the window, spraying water onto the soaked concrete sidewalks and roads. Puddles grew across the ground. Thunder rumbled as lightning streaked across the sky every so often. The wind aggressively blew past your shelter, changing direction every few minutes. You’d hate to be stuck out there at that very moment.

Compared to the storm's harshness, the restaurant was a haven. The warmth heated your cheeks as you shrugged off your coat. It looked a bit on the expensive side. Warm candlelight illuminated each table. You sat in a comfortable chair with a red plush seat, watching the waitress happily fill your cup with fresh water.

He was already glancing at the menu as you awkwardly sat across from him.

“What are you thinking of getting?” He asked as he flipped through the laminated pages. “Oh! The eel here is to die for. You’ll love it, promise.” He assured you.

You pursed your lips. “I’m not actually–”

“This also seems good.” He shoved the menu in front of your face, and you reflexively flinched back. “Wanna try it?”

You forgot how you even got to this point. When he suggested talking indoors, you thought he meant a brief shelter from the rain.

“Are you ready to order?” the waitress cheerfully asked.

“Yes!” He said before rattling off a long list of various foods and treats. He then turned to you with a questioning hum.

“Just the water is fine.” You told her, and she happily gathered your menus before she hurried off.

“Isn’t this place adorable?” He asked you. “I found it a while ago. I think a nice, quiet dinner with rain right outside sets the perfect tone.” He leaned back in his chair.

You stared at him and tried to figure out what he was even talking about.

“You said you saw my cat, right?” You changed topics. “Where did you see him?”

“I definitely saw him!” He told you. “A couple of times, actually. Trust me—would never forget that face. He’s really easy on the eyes, huh?”

Your eyes flitted down as you thought of pretty white fur and sparkling blue eyes. You spent hours a week grooming him, fluffing out his soft fur, and making him the best version of himself he could be. He was the prettiest kitten you’ve ever laid your eyes on, and you couldn’t help but make him even prettier.

“He is,” you agreed. You found yourself smiling just thinking about him.

“Really?” He leaned forward. A mischievous smile spread across his lips. “He’s handsome, right? Really handsome?”

Your eyes narrowed as you continued to eye him. Why was he trying to goad you into complimenting your cat?

“Of course he is,” you responded. It felt more and more like he was making fun of you. Were you wasting your time here?

He leaned back, looking oddly satisfied.

“I’m sure he’d be happy hearing you say that,” he told you. “Cats are really good about these things, y’know. Emotions and all that.”

“Right,” you said, hoping to ease him along into the conversation you really wanted to have. “So, again, you said you–”

“Oh, food’s here!” He cut you off and pointed excitedly to somewhere behind you. “I’m starved.”

Sure enough, the waitress stepped into your vision with a friendly smile pressed on painted lips. You watched as she set down pretty porcelain plates and bowls, most crowded in his direction. The smell of steaming veggies and heaps of rice drifted into your nose. Your lips twitched into a frown as the plates continued to pile up before the waitress set something right in front of you.

You moved, quick to correct her blunder. “Oh, I never ordered anything–”

Your words caught in your throat when you realized it was your favorite dish.

“You should try it!” The man urged. “They make it really well here.”

You watched him for a minute. He paid you no mind, continuing to chow down on his meal. How did he know this was your favorite meal?

When you asked him, he stopped eating, looking amused.

“No way, I was right?” He laughed, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “You seemed like the type of person who would like this type of stuff. I guess I’m good at reading people.”

So it truly was a coincidence. You glanced down at the meal. Compared to how you made it at home, the restaurant’s version was immaculate. You weren’t too upset. After all, you weren’t a chef. The scent of the food reminded you of all those times you had to fight off Snowbell. He’d go wild anytime you made it. He would constantly appear in the kitchen, eager for a tasty swipe. You’d feed him scraps, letting him enjoy your hard labour every once in a while. You didn’t do it too often, afraid he might get sick, but you secretly appreciated how much he liked it.

In those times, he felt more human than cat.

“What are you waiting for?” A voice snapped you out of your thoughts. The man gestured to your plate. He was halfway done with his own meal. “The food won’t eat itself.”

It wasn’t like you could refuse, right? He’d already ordered it. You felt it was rude to reject his offering, no matter how strange this man was.

You took a bite.

“It’s good,” you said. You took another one.

He nodded along. “I told you!”

His voice quietened a bit after.

“Still, I think it’s better homemade.”

You agreed with him.

You took another bite. Then, you took another. After your tenth bite, you suddenly realized how little you’d been eating lately. Your free time was spent thinking about Snowbell and worrying about him. You barely had time to sleep, let alone eat a hearty meal.

Sometime after that, your belly was full, the plates were cleared of food, and it was still raining. You found yourself perched right at the doors, hearing the murmurs of the other restaurant’s patrons behind you. You watched as the rain lightly tapped at the crystal glass. The more you thought about the way this night ended, the more humour you found.

Earlier, you had been stuck out in the rain before being picked up by a strange man. It almost paralleled the night you found Snowbell.

(You stumbled onto him one random evening after work. You were hurrying home, eager to get out of the rain. The umbrella you held kept most of the moisture off your clothes, but you could feel water drip through your shoes and up the cuffs of your pants. You could almost imagine chucking them off and enjoying a nice warm shower.

Just then, you saw a streak of white.

Barely a glimpse. At first, you thought it was a plastic bag hurtling into an alleyway. You should have pressed on and ignored it. For whatever reason, you followed the gut feeling nestled deep inside of you.

It was a filthy alley. Trash littered the walls and splattered across the ground. The rain made the smell of garbage even more pungent. You scrunched your nose as you peered around.

Something rattled right behind a garbage can. You crouched down as you tried to steal a peek behind the dumpster.

“Come out here.” You clicked your tongue, trying to be as enticing as you could. You thought it was a small dog, at first.

A shadow peeked out of the dumpster.

The prettiest kitten you’d ever seen blinked at you.

Despite the rain that soaked it to the bone, you could make out pure white fur that was tarnished by mud and water. Flattened ears and a pink nose.

The most notable feature of the animal was its eyes.

The brightest blue you’d ever seen.

Like the cloudless sky on a summer day. The color of a calm, peaceful lake, with barely a ripple of disturbance. There was so much life packed within those eyes. They almost put you in a trance, and momentarily made you forget the rain and the harshness of the wind. The warmth and peace that lingered beneath those irises was enough to push away the cold.

A smile spread across your face as you crouched even lower, hoping you’d make yourself seem less threatening.

“Hi there.” You cooed at the cat, who only stared right back. “Are you lost?”

When you reached out, the creature barely flinched. It appeared more confused than anything as you stroked the top of its head before dropping down to scratch its cheek.

Eventually, your affections seemed to win the cat over to your side. Before long, it leaned into your touch, as if enjoying your petting. Happy at the progress you made in such a short time, you attempt to lift it from the grimy ground. Thankfully, the cat allowed you without much fuss. You tucked it under your arms, keeping it in the shelter of your umbrella. Considering how well it did with strangers, it was clear the cat was domesticated. Did it slip away from its owner when they weren’t looking?

“Poor thing.” You were awed by the sweet little kitten. “Where’s your owner?”

You continued to observe it. No collar. No distinct marking of a claim. You debated going online on missing pet forums. Maybe someone reported the poor guy.

How long had the poor thing been outside? It couldn’t have been any more than a day. The cat was practically a white beacon begging to be noticed. There’s no way this cat wouldn’t have been snatched up by a predator if you hadn’t stumbled upon it. In the harsh city environment, it was utterly helpless.

You hummed, glancing up at the sky.

“Looks like we’re both caught in this weather.” You talked out loud. “It’s a good thing we found each other, right?”

The cat continued to stare at you with large blue eyes. You smiled before tucking it into the warmth of your coat.

“You’re okay now.” You told it. “I’ll keep you safe.”

You knew you were just seeing things, but you swore the cat understood you, somehow.)

“Does it look like it’s going down?” A voice asked.

The man stood by your side, peering out the same window you were. You watched as his sunglasses crept over his nose, close to dropping down, before you glanced away.

“No.” You told him. “I don’t think the rain will stop for a long while.”

He hummed in agreement. “If we waited for it to stop, we’d probably be stuck here for hours.” He didn’t sound too upset at that, you couldn’t help but note to yourself.

You nodded along. Just like the rest of the week, tonight had ended in a bust. No Snowbell. No cat. You were stuck in a warm building after eating a delicious meal, while your cat was probably out in the cold somewhere, waiting for you.

Something stung in the back of your eyes.

You were a shitty pet owner.

“I saw him yesterday.”

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. He stared right at the glass. You waited for him to say something more, but he remained silent.

“Was he–” You swallowed. Your mouth felt dry. “Was he okay?”

“Yeah.” He told you. “He looked great. You took great care of him. I can tell.”

Relief snagged at your heart, weighing your shoulders down with a type of pain you’d never felt before.

“I tried to catch him, but he was a bit too slippery for me.” He clicked his tongue.

You failed to muffle your laugh. Snowbell had easily coaxed himself into your arms the first night you found him. You shouldn’t have been proud of this, but you felt something oddly like pride to know you were the only person he cuddled up to.

“Thank you.” You told him. “For the meal and for letting me know you saw him. It was really nice of you to do all of that.”

Outside, the rain dwindled ever so slightly. In the morning, a light fog would drift over the city, suffocating the streetlamps and the roads. The potholes in the streets would be filled with soot and water far into the afternoon with the sun blaring overhead. A bare heat would fill the city, gentle from the rain, but still warm.

“You really miss the guy, don’t you?” He asked.

You didn’t bother to answer. It’s not like you ever tried to hide your desperation. Everyone in your life thought you were crazy for losing it over a pet as you had in the past days. No one told it to your face, but you knew that’s what they thought. To others, you were some cat-crazed person who wandered the streets. You did miss him. You missed him more than anything.

“I don’t think the rain will stop anytime soon,” you said, “I'd better go before it gets too late.”

“I could drive you back,” he suggested.

You shook your head, insisting you’d be fine. You expected him to push back at your refusal. He seemed to take your rejection in stride, reaching out with something in his lithe fingers.

“Take this, then.” He settled the bundled-up umbrella into your limp hand. You recognized what it was after you instinctively grabbed it.

“No, it’s fine—“ You tried to insist, but he waved you off.

“Just take it. I’d hate for you to walk out in this weather without one. You should’ve had an umbrella in the first place.” He berated you, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

“Just give it back when we search for your kitty.”

You blinked up at him.

“We?” You repeated his words.

He nodded eagerly. “You planned on searching for him tomorrow, right?”

Of course you were, and the day after that, too.

“I’ll come with you.” He declared. “Two heads are better than one, right?”

What was so appealing about skulking outside, searching for the slightest hint of white fur? This man was such an enigma; you didn’t understand him. You knew you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. The more eyes you have, the better. Yet, you couldn’t help the feeling that rested in your stomach.

“Why?” You asked, but it sounded more like a demand. “Why do you want to help me?”

The man tilted his head downward. The softest laugh left his lips at the same moment his sunglasses slipped down his nose.

His eyes.

The brightest blue you’d ever seen.

Like the cloudless sky on a summer day. The color of a calm, peaceful lake, with barely a ripple of disturbance. There was so much life packed within those eyes. They almost put you in a trance, and momentarily made you forget the rain and the harshness of the wind. The warmth and peace that lingered beneath those irises was enough to push away the cold.

They looked familiar.

“I knew somebody who lost their pet, once,” He told you as his lips quirked up. “It’s a sad thing. No one should go through that.”

Everything he said sounded like a joke, but you saw the sincerity in his eyes.

“This person.” You glanced outside when the sear of his gaze got too much. “Did they ever end up finding their pet?”

He nodded. You didn’t know why that gave you so much relief.

“If you have time tomorrow, then yes,” you said, “I’d really appreciate the help. Thank you.”

“Great!” He clapped his hands together before pulling out his phone. “Let’s exchange numbers, so we can meet up tomorrow.”

You agreed, wordlessly handing him your phone before you realized something.

“I don’t even know your name.” You said out loud.

He laughed again.

“Gojo Satoru.” He introduced before raising a finger in the air to point at you. “But you should call me Satoru.”

You hesitantly received your phone from his hands. The contact name ‘Satoru :3’ stared back at you.

“We should speak more comfortably with each other. After all, we’re gonna be kitty hunting buddies, right? ”

🐾

(The best thing about Snowbell was how sweet he was.

Not just to you (but mostly to you). He was loved by everyone on your floor. Children like Dani adored him, and often asked about him whenever you ran into her. You’ve read that cats were often aloof and hated strangers, but Snowbell wasn’t like that at all. He was liked by everyone and everyone loved him.

And then, Hatori came along.

You’d known Hatori for a while, actually. You two weren’t friends–barely a step up from acquaintances. He was a nice guy and you two were similar in age. Whenever you passed him by in the halls, you made small talk but you never went out of your way to do anything more.

So when you briefly mentioned having a plumbing issue and Hatori offered to take a look at it, you accepted immediately.

“Thanks again.” You told him as you led him into your apartment. “Seriously, it’s been driving me up the wall. All that noise.”

“I get it.” He assured you. “The one in your kitchen, right?”

You nodded. A fluff of white caught your attention. You were about to point your cat out to Hatori when all Hell broke loose.

Snowbell made a sound that was almost demonic before he rushed at Hatori. You barely stopped him before he could get to Hatori’s foot, holding him up by the scruff as he thrashed around in your hold. You kept him to your chest as your cat continued his onslaught. If looks could kill, Hatori would’ve been dead ten times over by now.

“I’m sorry.” You told Hatori as Snowbell continued to thrash and struggle. It was getting harder and harder to keep a hold on him. “He–he’s usually not like this.”

Hatori stepped closer to the door.

“I should go.” He concluded.

“I’m sorry.” You told him again.

Snowbell didn’t stop until Hatori was long gone. His fit was bad. At one point, he’d even hacked something up because of how stressed he was. You coddled him the best you could, apologizing to him over and over. He settled in your arms hours later and peacefully purred into your chest as you stroked his head.

You’d never seen him act like that before, but maybe you were wrong about him liking everyone. Maybe he had a bad experience with men and that’s why he acted like that? You should probably bring it up to your vet the next time you go to the clinic.

Either way, this was the last time you’d ever bring Hatori over.

You kissed the top of Snowbell’s head. His pretty blue eyes blinked up at you.

“Don’t worry,” you cooed, “you’re the only man for me.)

Twenty minutes later, Satoru still hadn’t arrived.

You crossed your arms as you lingered near the streetlight. People meandered their way through the busy street all around you. As the minutes ticked on, you grew more and more frustrated. You should have expected this. From the short while you’d known Satoru, he was not the most punctual guy in the world.

He turned up eventually, practically skipping up to you with a smile on his face.

“Didn’t have to make you wait too long, right?” He grinned, completely ignoring the frown on your face.

“I was about to leave.” You chastised. “You need to be more respectful of people’s time.”

He raised his arms up in a semblance of an apology.

“Whoops, my bad,” he said, “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose. I’ve been swamped at school. Lots of stuff to catch up on ‘cuz I took an unprompted vacation a few weeks ago.”

He mentioned being a teacher a couple of times, but you can’t imagine him doing that. Sitting around and grading papers doesn’t seem like the type of job Satoru excelled at, but maybe that was just because you saw this side of him rather than anything professional.

“Okay!” He clasped his hands together. “So far, we’ve checked the area around your apartment. Maybe we should broaden the search a little.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, your initial frustration waning.

“Maybe we should stop thinking like humans and start thinking like cats.” He told you with the utmost seriousness. “Places like underneath bridges and dark places scared little kitties might crawl into for shelter.”

That was a pretty good point, actually. There was a chance Snowbell wandered off somewhere, maybe in a crevasse you wouldn’t think to look for him in.

With a plan secured, the two of you set off. You and Satoru checked wherever you could think of: underneath bridges, in the park, and on the outskirts of a clump of trees. Each time, you came up empty. Any cat you did see never resembled Snowbell in the tiniest bit. They were often so skittish and wary of humans, shrinking away when you came close.

You still left a bit of wet food for them when you turned away. Maybe it had to do with your lost pet, but any stray cat chipped away at your heart.

Satoru passed the time as he often did, talking and yammering about anything he could. So far, the two of you had gone ‘hunting’ five or so times–each trip ending in nothing. Despite how disappointed you were after every failure, Satoru was more chipper than ever. Most would find how talkative he was absolutely annoying, but you didn’t mind one bit. His upbeat attitude felt comforting, like it was his own way of assuring you everything would be okay.

You often felt like you knew him forever. However, it was more realistic to assume you’d known him for three weeks at most. Maybe even less. He was just that type of person. That personality of his reminded you of Snowbell. He was a little like that too, yowling like he was trying to start a conversation with you even though you didn’t understand his language.

Lots of little things Satoru did reminded you of Snowbell, actually.

A couple hours into the search, Satoru suggested taking a break. You didn’t argue.

“There’s a cafe a little ways from here.” Satoru suggested. “I love their coffee.”

You’d seen the surgery contraptions he calls ‘coffee’ and you’d rather not relive that experience. Also, everytime Satoru brought you to a restaurant, he always insisted on paying, leaving you more and more guilty for taking advantage of him. These outings were starting to feel less like searches and more like dates.

You almost laughed, but you held your tongue. Ridiculous. He was just being a nice guy.

“My place isn’t that far from here,” you said as you turned to him. “Let’s just stop there and I can make us something to eat.”

For the first time, Satoru genuinely looked lost for words. He blinked at you behind his sunglasses.

“You never let me pay.” You explained. “The least you could do is let me cook for you.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Sure! Let’s go!”

You eyed him. He reeled himself back.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve had a home cooked meal,” he told you.

“Hm.” You walked away, not at all fighting the urge to tease him a bit. “So, what. You’ve just been surviving on instant noodles this whole time? Poor baby.”

“I eat.” He told you after he caught up to your pace. “How else do you think I got these muscles?” He playfully flexed but even underneath those baggy clothes you saw his bicep. You forced your eyes away and hoped he didn’t notice.

“Let’s just get you something before those precious muscles of yours get all flabby.”

You let him into your house ten minutes later. Satoru walked in and slipped off his shoes. He placed them next to yours before he looked around.

His steps were slow as he surveyed your home. You watched as he walked up to a window, hands drifting over the glass.

“...Smaller than I remember.” You heard him say.

“What?” You asked.

He pointed out the window.

“From the ground, the buildings look a lot bigger, right? But when we’re up here, they are a lot tinier,” he said.

Right, of course that’s what he meant.

He wandered to your photographs, scanning over the various knick-knacks and other things you’ve kept over the years. He smiled when he caught the lone picture of Snowbell, framed and proudly displayed. He lightly tapped on the glass.

“What a cutie,” he told you.

You agreed, stepping closer to admire the picture as well. Snowbell had always loved attention and he was oddly very photogenic. Anytime you whipped your camera out, he would stretch and purr and create these adorable poses for you to snap away at. You often wondered if you should make an instagram for him so more people could enjoy his adorableness.

Maybe you missed your chance.

“Seriously, the cutest little guy.” Satoru continued. “Terrible name choice, though.”

You rolled your eyes. This argument again. You couldn’t tell if he did it on purpose or if he genuinely had a personal vendetta against the name ‘Snowbell’.

“It’s a cute name,” you argued back.

“It’s uncreative. Especially for a work of art like that.” He pointed to the picture of your cat. “Lemme’ guess, you’d name a black and white cat oreo.”

‘Cow would be cuter,’ you thought, but you decided not to give him more ammo.

“It just stuck. Besides, I didn’t come up with the name. My neighbor did.”

It was a couple days after you brought the cat home. Back then, you weren’t sure if you were keeping him. His original name was even more uncreative–‘Cat’. Then, when you were helping Tachibana lug up groceries, her daughter asked if she could see photos. After showing her the numerous pictures you snapped of ‘Cat’, Dani excitedly exclaimed how similar ‘Cat’ looked to the cat in ‘Stuart Little’. Thanks to her, ‘Cat’ turned into ‘Snowbell’.

“Ah,” Satoru said after your tangent, “So Dani came up with the name, then.”

You nodded, but then you blinked.

“How did you know her name?” You asked.

“You mentioned her,” Satoru breezily replied.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Pretty sure you did.” He smiled. “How else would I know?”

Your mouth opened, when a knock came from the door. You decided to table the discussion for now.

You smiled when you saw who it was.

“Hatori!” You greeted. “What brings you here?”

Hatori lingered by the door, polite and reserved as always. He gave a pleasant wave.

“Hey, hope I’m not a bother,” he said, “just hoping I could borrow a cup of sugar.”

You gave a smile. This isn’t the first time he asked for favors like that. You didn’t mind. It was nice to see a sweet tooth that doesn’t go overboard with his sugar like somebody you knew.

Like he’d been summoned, Satoru appeared behind you. You bumped into his chest just as you were about to let Hatori inside. He was so close. You could feel his breath on your back. His faded cologne lingered in the air.

You glanced up. Through his sunglasses, Satoru full-on glared at Hatori.

He’d never looked that upset before. Usually he was all goofy and happy-go-lucky. Now, he was stiff, coiled up like a spring.

“Sorry.” Satoru gave a smile filled with sharp teeth. Had he always had fangs? “We’re all out.”

Hatori blinked. So did you. He reacted first.

“Sorry.” Hatori narrowed his eyes and he looked between you and Satoru. “Who are you exactly?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Satoru reached past you and slammed the door in Hatori’s face.

You remained frozen even after Satoru retreated back into the apartment, slumping onto the couch.

“Uh, what was that?” You demanded after a bit of recovering.

“What?” Satoru whined, immediately going back to his usual attitude. You wondered if you imagined it all. “He was bothering you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“He wasn’t bothering me. He’s my neighbor.”

“You should stay away from him.” Satoru finally told you.

You stared at him as he lounged over your couch as though he owned it. Sunlight streamed through your window, illuminating his hair.

You should have been mad at him. You should have kicked him out. And yet, you could still remember his presence imprinted on your back as he kept you on him. You wondered when your heartbeat would slow down.

“Why?”

“He’s bad juju,” he responded. “I can feel it.”

You gave him a look. “Right. Okay.”

“I can tell with these types of things!” He argued back. “Stay away from him. He’s bad news. He might make spiders crawl out of your sink!”

You rolled your eyes and turned away.

“Do you want food or do you just want to make more conspiracy theories about my neighbor being a spider whisperer?”

“Food, please.” Satoru immediately sprung up from the couch and followed you into the kitchen.

Again, you knew you should’ve been more upset with him. Yet, you weren’t.

It oddly felt familiar.

🐾

The cold made the alcohol bearable.

It warmed your stomach, flushing your cheeks with heat as you felt the burn travel down your throat. When you were younger, you despised the taste of alcohol. You could never understand why anyone would willingly drink the stuff.

These days, you still didn't understand, and yet you drank anyway.

You had to stop soon, but for now, you tossed your head back in reflex, taking another gulp. The bar remained sparse of people. There was nobody in the corner you stashed yourself in, surrounded by empty glasses. You preferred this. You don’t want anyone seeing how miserable you were.

Six weeks had passed since you last saw Snowbell. Truthfully, you stopped looking for him by the second. It was clear what happened to him.

He was dead.

If the universe was merciful, his death was quick. Maybe a predator snatched him up before he blinked. Other deaths sounded far more gruesome: eating something poisonous and collapsing on the hard floor of a cold alley, being hit by a car, or just starving to death.

A more hopeful part of you still believed he might have been picked up before you could send those missing posters out. He was a pretty kitty. His white fur was long and his fluffy tail curled so elegantly. His sweet blue eyes were wide and earnest. The chance of someone seeing him out and about and falling in love with him the same way you did was highly plausible.

Maybe they had seen the posters and just didn’t want to give him back. You think you would be fine with that. You just wanted to know he was okay. A sign. The slightest hint of–

“-Started without me, I see?” A voice teased from your left.

You didn’t bother looking up.

“You don’t drink.” You reminded him, but you didn’t argue when Satoru slipped into the seat across from you.

“Still, it hurts to be left behind.” He arched his plush lips into a faux pout before his mischievous smile was back on his flawless face.

You didn’t even tell him you’d be here, and yet, he showed up anyway. That was always the thing with him. He always just showed up, no matter where you were.

His outfit mirrored the cold that lingered outside of the bar. He was dressed in an expensive looking coat, something that nicely shaped his shoulders and torso. His fluffy white hair contrasted with the dark sunglasses he always wore on his face as he surveyed the mess you surrounded yourself in.

You thought you were about to receive a lecture from him. His smile faded ever so slightly.

“You’ve been crying.”

You didn’t bother denying it. Slowly, you reached up, brushing at your face. Your eyes felt raw, your skin felt open and vulnerable. Your nose felt oddly stuffy, like you were recovering from a fever.

Satoru watched you. You gave a helpless shrug.

“It’s the same thing I’m always crying about.” You admitted. That’s all you really wanted to say, but the words suddenly started pouring out and you couldn’t help yourself.

“I know how stupid this all looks. Trust me, I’m aware.” You started, looking into the glass of your golden brown drink because looking at him would be too much. “He was just a cat. That’s what everyone says to me.”

‘You need to move on,’ ‘You should get another cat if you care that much’. You’d heard all those things and more. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hate the people who’ve said that to you. They wanted to help, in their own way. To them, it was more like watching a child bawl over a lost toy. They didn’t understand.

“He…he wasn’t just a cat to me.” You bit your lip. “He was family. So yeah, the thought of him out there in the cold, miserable. I…I just really hope he’s happy.”

You thought you felt tears prick into the corners of your eyes. You blinked them away.

When you looked at Satoru, you felt yourself frowning.

“Stop doing that.” You told him. Your voice was tight and stern.

“Stop doing what?” Satoru repeated.

“Stop smiling like that.” You insisted. “You always do that. You–you always get this really big smile whenever I start gushing about him.”

“I’m not smiling.” Satoru denied, while still openly smiling.

“Liar.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn't complain much further. He had this trick he liked to do sometimes. You just looked at him, and you instantly felt better, even a bit.

Snowbell used to have that effect on you, too. Anytime you cuddled with him, his presence washed away any stresses you had. There was just him and his soft fur.

Satoru laughed and shook his head.

“The way you speak of him…it’s nice.” He told you. “It’s nice to hear that. Your cat’s lucky to be so loved. I’m sure he’d be overjoyed to hear how much you missed him.”

You stared up at him.

“You think so?” You asked, your voice hushed.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He did that often, too. He talked about things like he knew more than he let on–like he knew a secret you didn’t.

Or maybe that’s just the way he talked. He’d always been so odd and eccentric. From the short time you’d known him, he always dragged you from one place to another. He was constantly rambling about things you couldn’t catch onto. You’d call him ditzy if you didn’t know any better.

“You know what I think you should do?” Satoru suddenly piped up.

You looked up at him questioningly.

“I think you need something to get your mind off of the whole thing. Clear your head!”

You glanced around at where you were, what you were doing. Yeah, this was getting a bit pathetic.

“Okay.” You agreed. “Like what?”

His smile curled in mischief.

🐾

“What am I supposed to be waiting for, again?”

“Just hold on.” Satoru’s muffled voice came.

You crossed your arms, but you stayed put. Satoru’s apartment was huge. Even from your place on the lavish couch, you could see the wealth sprawled across his place. A bit empty, like he barely lived there.

Presently, he had tucked himself inside his room and told you ‘It’s a surprise!’ You had no idea what he meant by that, but knowing him, he was probably going to come out in something extremely ridiculous. Your imagination took off without you. You could totally imagine him waltzing out after stuffing himself in a hot dog costume.

He didn’t come out in a hot dog costume. Somehow, his surprise was both less and more mortifying than that.

He still wore his usual black clothes, but there was a new accessory he styled himself with. On top of his head sat two white, fluffy ears. You stared at them in disbelief.

“Tada!” He posed like he just unveiled something.

You got up.

“I’m leaving.”

He was in front of you in a flash, reaching the door before you could. A nervous smile spread across his face as he tried to usher you back inside. You’d never seen him look so unsure before, it almost caught you off guard. With those fake cat ears on he looked even more ridiculous.

“Just hear me out for a second.” He tried to say. You glowered at him, but you relented, flopping back down to the couch.

“Think of it as a therapy exercise,” he finally suggested

“A therapy exercise,” you repeated, incredibly suspicious.

He nodded before sitting himself in the space next to you.

“Studies have shown that petting animals reduces stress in humans and all that, right?” Satoru pondered, but a part of you wondered if he was pulling all this out of his ass. “Since we don’t have a cat right now, well…this is the next best thing!”

You stared at him, wondering if he truly thought you were this stupid. His glasses were off, abandoned back in his bedroom, so the blue of his eyes could stare right into you.

“Try it!” Satoru suggested, tilting his head down to show off his new ears.

Well, Satoru has always been a bit weird, right? He was strange, constantly blabbering about things that never made sense, but he was harmless. From the short time you knew him, he’d never revealed himself to be anything but that.

You sighed, but you reached up and gently patted his ears, hoping that would be the end of it.

They were softer than they looked. Almost delicate in nature. The fur was clearly fake but it was smooth and silky and the blooming pink hidden underneath the fur of the ears had such a deep resemblance to your own lost kitty.

“There.” You told him as you pulled away, albeit a bit reluctantly.. “Is our therapy session over?”

“Not yet.” He cheerfully replied. “We got movies too! You’ll love this one! It’s about a cat who wastes all his previous eight lives, and now he’s on his ninth and…”

You tuned out of his rambles, already knowing how this night will end. Truthfully, you didn’t mind a movie night with Satoru. He was fun to hang out with. Maybe a movie night would be good for you–it would cheer you up.

You thought it had to do with those eyes, mostly; they were why you were so agreeable to go along with his whims. A part of you thought he was well aware of your kryptonite, but you could never prove it.

An hour or so later, you were well into the movie when you glanced down at your lap. The setting changed. Satoru ordered pizza a while back and inhaled three whole slices before you finished even one. Half-finished cans of soda laid on the table. When the movie started, you and him sat at a respectable distance between each other.

Now, Satoru’s head settled on your lap with your hand absentmindedly drifting across his hair and faux ears.

The shade of the cat ears almost blended into ivory locks. His hair was soft, just as silky and smooth as that stupid prop he still wore. You wondered what products he used, if he used any at all when Satoru caught you looking at him.

He blinked slowly at you, like he’s fighting off sleep. Ivory, white lashes fluttered closed to meet the rounded parts of his cheeks before that brilliant blue spilled out open all over again. It was something Snowbell used to do. Once, you looked it up and discovered it was a way cats showed silent affection towards their owners.

You smiled. Satoru caught it.

“What?” He questioned.

You shook your head even before your mouth opened up.

“Do you remember the night we met?” You asked as the movie faded into the background.

He nodded and you wondered if he thought of the same night you were–the night when you were cold and wet and miserable and Satoru was a stranger holding out your phone with a smile you couldn’t decipher.

“It’s really strange.” You admitted. “You pop out of nowhere. You know my favorite foods–you know things I didn’t even know about myself. You’re always there when I need you the most.”

Your voice trailed off to a whisper when he rose up to meet you. He was so close and you realized just how many colors his eyes have. Colors you’ve named before: deep navy, rolling cobalt, the softest sapphire, the brightest tanzanite.

He looked into your eyes, too, and you wondered if he did the same thing you did.

“I’m good at reading people.” His voice was equally low and hushed.

“Are you?” You asked.

He tilted his head.

“Am I?” He repeated.

It’s like the world around you disappeared. The TV, Satoru’s living room, the bustling city, faded into irrelevance the longer you stared at him.

“There’s something about you.” You continued because there was nothing left to say. “I think I’ve felt it since the day we met, but I don’t think I could internalize it until now but there’s something familiar about you. I…”

‘I know I’m going insane, but I think you might be my cat.’

The words sat on your tongue, but you couldn’t bear to say it. It was all so ridiculous even as this full grown man sat in front of you wearing cat ears looking at you like you were everything in this universe. You wanted to laugh. Then, you wanted to cry. So much happened in just days and yet nothing happened either.

You were not sure who leaned in first, but neither of you pulled away.

His lips were soft. It was like his hair but a different texture. They were plump and full of life and adoration as he kissed you. A hand reached up to grab your cheek, holding you in place as he continued to kiss you.

You sighed into his mouth and Satoru stopped kissing you and started to eat you whole.

He pressed you into the sofa and you went down with a small ‘omph’ that he swallowed up too. Greedy, was the only word you thought as he kissed you again and again. He wanted it all, and he wouldn’t stop until he got it.

He only stopped when your head was spinning and you gave a low whine. Even then, he pulled away with such reluctance you could still taste it lingering on your teeth.

You were panting, heavy and needy and hot all over. He barely looked affected. His expression was oddly blank, like he was dazed. You would’ve believed he thought nothing of the kiss had it not been for the tight way he still held you, like he was terrified you’d disappear if he wasn’t constantly holding on. That, and the–

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Yeah?” You breathed. Your eyes trailed down to watch his Adam apple bob with anticipation.

The longing in his voice, it almost matched the intensity of his mouth. He burned so hot, you should have been afraid he’d burn you.

Instead, you reached up to pet the fluffy ears that rested just on his head. He shivered, eyes closing in a way you swore he could feel your fingers tickle the fur.

The slightest of smiles tugged at your lips. A tease.

“What else were you waiting for, pretty kitty?”

His eyes sharpened, there’s the softest hitch in his breath before he was on you all over again.

Rougher, pressing into you like he wanted to imprint his pattern all over your body so you could never forget his space and shape. Teeth that might have been fangs tugged at your lips as his fingers played with the hem of your shirt.

You shuddered as his long, lithe fingers crawled underneath your shirt, pushing it up and over your chest. The fabric pooled around your neck, proudly showcasing your tits, barely covered by the flimsy bra he was clearly eager to rip off.

His hands were cold as they pressed against your feverish skin. You felt goosebumps rise at just his touch as he reached for your bra to feel your tits. The fabric fell away and left you bare and utterly vulnerable to him.

He cursed, barely pulling back from devouring your lips to glance down at his unveiled treasure. Fingers tapped at your chest, eager to explore.

“Can I…?” He asked like you’d say no him–like you ever could.

Your nipples were hard and tender to the touch. A whine left your throat when he gripped them, squeezing at your supple flesh. It almost felt perverted and lingered on desperation.

“You’re so soft.” His tone almost made you laugh. It was like he could hardly believe it himself, needing to touch you more in order to truly prove that fact of the world.

You want to say something teasing when his mouth is dropping down again to lavish your jaw, trailing all the way to your neck and chest. He mapped your body with his lips and tongue before they finally landed on his prize.

“Satoru..” You could only sigh because he was barely touching you and you already felt everything. You relaxed against the pillows and the leather fabric, completely giving yourself to him. Heat pooled at your core as you twitched underneath him.

“Hm?” He asked, still lapping away at your skin. “It hurts, baby? Want me to make it better?”

He swirled his tongue over your nipples, flicking over them like he’s teasing the flesh. Eventually, he couldn’t help himself anymore. He took your entire nipple into his mouth, groaning as he did so, his voice vibrating your skin.

You felt like you were on fire, and yet, it was not enough. Your body was sparking and bursting into flames as you reached up to grab Satoru’s hair, keeping him there as he nuzzled and adored your tits. He’d barely done anything and you already felt like you were high. Your head was up in the clouds as he continued to ravish you.

“Satoru.”

Your voice was pitchy and drowned in want.

“Please please please.” You begged, uncaring to anything else. “Need you.”

He lifted himself from your chest with a loud, debaucherous pop. Your chest bounced lightly with the movement, nipples shiny and perky from his actions. You could already feel the ache on your skin. You were going to wake up tomorrow with marks all over you–you just knew it.

“Yeah?” He asked. His eyes were darker now, twinged with a type of hunger that should have scared you. His cheeks were flushed, dappled with the prettiest red you’d ever seen.

“Need me?” He repeated, hovering closer to your mouth, just inches away.

You nodded. His mouth curled.

“Gotta’ use your words. C’mon, you can do it.” He goaded, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. You heard the condescension in his voice. In any other scenario, you might’ve just rolled your eyes. In this one, you wiggled your hips, helpless.

“Need you, please, Satoru,” you told him, “need you deep in–in my pussy.”

He shuddered at your words. There was the tiniest breath, a sigh of excitement, before he was pulling away to curl up at your hips. Eager hands gripped at your flesh, pulling down your shorts with a practiced ease.

“Oh, anything for you,” he said as he pulled apart your thighs to look at your vulnerable flesh.

“Anything.”

You were almost embarrassed at the way he looked at you. He practically drooled, licking his lips like he was trying to taste your heated scent. You expected him to rip off your panties the way he was clearly dying to, but instead he spread your thighs wider to lick up a stripe at your inner thigh. You jolted at the hint of teeth so close to your cunt.

“Bad kitty.” You tried to scold but it came out more like a whine. “Kitties don’t bite.”

“This one does.” He purred into your skin before biting you once more.

Just when you were about to complain again, he finally decided to put his mouth to proper use. Satoru eased off your panties, dragging them down your shaking thighs. He didn’t get them all the way off, like he did with the rest of your clothes. Instead, they tangled up your legs, leaving you completely exposed.

He took his prize like a vulture, swooping down to your cunt. His long tongue licked up and down the entire length of your pussy. Words melted back into your tongue as he worked your wet slit.

“Oh.” You sighed as Satoru’s head disappeared in between your thighs.

You thought he was saying something back. Something rested in his voice as he lapped deeply into your cunt lips–a dark tone you can’t place. You didn’t care. It didn’t matter as your thighs tightened around his head, like you wanted to keep him trapped there forever.

“Satoru.” You barely managed out as he licked the nub of your clit, lightly suckling on it as you felt a wave of tremendous pleasure roll down your back.

“Feel good, gorgeous? Don’t be shy, lemme hear you.” He said, his voice slightly muffled as he continued to eat you out.

As though to coax more sounds from your lips, his fingers delved into your pussy lips to rub slow circles onto your clit as his tongue entered your walls. You give him what he wanted, arching your back as your voice got louder and louder. You could hear the debaucherous slick sounds emanating from his mouth licking away at you. They were barely covered by your own moans of pleasure.

“That’s it. Fuck.” He hissed into your trembling thighs as you felt yourself tense up.

“You sound so cute when you feel good.” Satoru purred. “I’m so glad I’m the one who made you feel like this. All for me.”

You barely registered the darkness in his words. At some point, your legs were propped up on either side of his shoulders. Your fingers fisted into his hair, coaxing him deeper into your wet, needy heat. Satoru barely needed the extra encouragement, eating your pussy like it was all he was made for–like he’d die if he did anything else.

Your whines crested into something else. Satoru picked up on it, eagerly moving forward and picking up his pace as your pussy walls trembled from the constant attention he gave you.

“Gonna come for me?” He pressed. “S’ okay. Let go, gorgeous. You can do it. Just a bit more–”

Your back arched, but Satoru anchored your hips, keeping you in place as your orgasm rushed through you. It was the strongest you’d ever come, wave after wave of pleasure fizzed up your toes as they flexed and curled to assuage the intensity.

Satoru kept going until your body flopped down, exhausted by his ministrations. Even then, he only pulled away when your whines turned into pathetic begs of ‘too much’. You watched him rise from in between your legs with bleary eyes. He wiped away his mouth with the back of his hand, never taking his eyes off you.

You must have looked like a mess as you lied there, breathless. He wasn’t much better. His cheeks were dappled in pinks and red as his blue eyes simmered with ocean foam.

“Come here.” Your arms felt like cement but you reached up anyway, caressing his hot skin, coaxing him down. He followed like he was leashed, tethered to your fingers, crashing his lips onto your own.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, sour and sweet. You wondered what he was tasting as he ate your pussy, absolutely relentless. It felt like he’d happily suffocate in between your thighs, lapping away at your folds for the rest of eternity.

That didn’t sound too bad. A part of you hungered to push his head down to your clit again, let him worship your cunt in waves of ecstasy.

But another part of you felt something hot and heavy rest at your thigh, barely obscured by the denim of his jeans.

“Was I good?” He asked between feverish kisses, bringing you back to him.

“Mmh,” you agreed as his teeth nibbled on your bottom lip. “You were so good,” It’s all you could say, mind muddled and soupy by the orgasm.

Satoru moved down, lavishing your jaw and upper throat in kisses.

“Such a good boy–good little kitty.” He practically melted at your words, whining at your throat as you stroked his hair and fluffy ears.

“Yeah?” He asked, lips pulling away from your collarbone.

You nodded. “The best boy.” You continued as you wiggled your hips with need. “But Satoru–”

“I know.” He pulled away, and you mourned his warmth before you saw the way he straddled you as he fiddled with his belt.

“I’m hurtin’ too, gorgeous. Waited months for this.” Months? But hadn’t you met Satoru five weeks ago?

You ignored every alarm bell ringing in your head just in time to see his cock bob between his strong thighs. He looked painfully hard. Precum leaked from a mushroom-shaped tip as his cock touched your bare thigh.

Your mouth watered.

“Ready, baby?” That growl in his voice was back again as he leaned over, chest hovered above your own.

You never broke eye-contact as you licked your lips. You could still taste remnants of him in your mouth.

“Fuck me, Satoru.”

His eyes flashed. He was going to ruin you. You couldn’t care less. You wanted him to.

His cock slipped through your folds, teasing at your clit, still wet from him earlier. Your eyes rolled back into your skull at the first press of him at your battered pussy. You hissed at the same time he did, but you still managed to keep your eyes on him, wanting to admire what you did to him.

His expression was almost pained as he eased himself deeper into your cunt. His eyebrows were pinched together, and his jaw was clenched like he was physically holding back from crying out at the mere touch of your warmth. It looked like he was doing everything he could to stop himself from coming the moment he entered your pussy. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore, collapsing into your shoulder to whine at your shoulder.

“I–I can’t do it.” He whined but you could still feel his cock stretching out your hole. “You’re so warm and tight. Feels like–like I’m home.” He babbled.

You tried to laugh, but it came out as a strangled moan.

“Don’t say stupid”-- You barely stifled a moan as he pushed himself deeper inside you–”things like that.”

He bottomed out with a stuttered gasp, clinging onto you like you were his lifeline. You’d never felt more full in your entire life. He pressed all the way into your womb. If you looked down, you were half-afraid you’d see his cock imprint itself onto your belly.

“Fuck.” Satoru hissed in your ear. “Look at you. You’re…you’re a perfect fit.”

If you could speak, you might’ve agreed. His cock stretched you out oh so nicely, each curve nestled into the deepest, wettest part of you. A spit of precum dribbled out of your stuffed hole, lecherously coating your pussy lips.

“You okay?” Satoru asked when you shuddered underneath him.

You nodded, tucking your head into the crook of his neck.

“Can I move?”

“Please.” Your voice was soft and keening. “Please, please move, ‘toru–”

“Shit, quit that.” He lightly berated. “I’m tryna hold back but your voice drives me crazy…moving, so hold on, gorgeous.”

You moved on instinct, rather than on his order. A particular thrust left you gasping, making you reach up and cling onto his smooth nape. Satoru barely flinched at you clawing at him, curling his lips as he continued to stuff you full.

The way he fucked you was messy, bordering on desperation as he drilled you into the couch. The stretch against your walls left you breathless and panting for more. The cool air of Satoru’s apartment felt like aloe against your heated skin as he picked up the pace, filling you up with his cock over and over again.

“Shit. You feel like heaven.” He said through gritted teeth. “You’re squeezing me so good–do you feel good? Am I making you feel good?” It didn’t even feel like dirty talk. It felt like he was genuinely asking, scarfing down any lick of praise as he continued to drill you against the sofa.

Your pussy spasmed around his cock, bearing down on him like you never wanted to let him go. Your thighs were painfully clenched as you wrapped your legs around his narrow waist. A hand dropped down from Satoru’s neck to your clit.

Before you could relieve the pressure, Satoru snatched it up. He grabbed your wrists holding them above your head. He reached down with his other, circling your clit with his thumb and turning your head into mush all over again.

“Oh, yes,” your eyes rolled up as his cock pistoned into you. “Satoru its–its–”

“I know, baby.” Satoru lowered himself so his cock hit something deep and spongy inside of you. “Just gotta hold on a bit more. I’ll take care of you.”

Something rumbled in his throat. It almost sounded like he was purring as he rutted into you, and maybe that should have been your final sign, but you could hardly care less as you creamed around his cock. Your mind floated as he fucked you the way he wanted to, the way you begged him too. It was an endless build up that seemed to last for centuries.

Your orgasm hit the minute he slammed his cock into that spot all the way inside of you, rolling away at your clit at the same time. Your back arched as you came around his thick cock. Your pussy milked him for all its worth, gushing around him as Satoru staggered and swayed above you.

He didn’t last all that long after. There was a feral snarl before his cum sprayed all the way inside your womb. There was so much of it. Some dribbled out of your sore pussy all over your cunt lips.

Minutes later, when you barely put yourself together after that mind-numbing orgasm, you could still feel Satoru deep inside you. His head settled into the crook of your neck as he tried to regain his breath. You felt butterfly kisses across your skin as he lavished you in exhausted affection.

You stopped him when he tried to pull out, using the last bit of your strength to cinch your legs around his waist.

“Stay,” you mumbled, “‘feels nice.”

He smiled against your neck. You felt his arms wrap around your waist as he laid down with you. The couch was probably a snug fit considering how tall Satoru was, but you could hardly care less.

“Yeah?”

You hummed. You thought he said something else but you were too tired to care. Nestled in the arms of a man who fucked you silly was a good position to pass out in.

Just before you fell asleep, you noticed the funniest thing.

Between the pussy eating and the rapid fucking, those stupid, fluffy ears still remained on top Satoru’ head.

🐾

You woke up to sore legs and an aching body.

Your stiff limbs complained whenever you moved. Blearily, you opened your eyes. Sunlight poured in through a window. It was late-morning, at the very least.

Your environment also changed. The last thing you remembered was falling asleep next to Satoru’s warm chest on his sofa. Now the only thing you felt below you was a springy mattress and fluffy pillows. You laid naked underneath a bulky blanket.

Satoru was nowhere to be found, but the spot beside you was warm. Outside the room, you distantly heard a muffled phone call. Bits and pieces.

“Lost the curse user? That’s fine…got really curious about the…nah, it was my fault for getting caught up in that…yeah, I guess things mostly worked out…should thank him, honestly–”

You must have dozed off. When you opened your eyes again, Satoru was underneath the sheets with you. He watched you with a strange smile on his face, propping his chin up with his hand. His white hair was tousled like he’d never left. He was shirtless, proudly showing his bare skin when the light marks you left on him. With slight disappointment, you noted his cat ears were gone.

“What?” He asked, noticing your souring mood.

You scowled and turned away from him.

“You bit me,” you said, pulling an excuse out of the air. “‘Can’t believe you did that. Get out. I’m banning you from the bed.” You lightly nudged him with your foot.

Neither of you acknowledged that it was his bed in his apartment. Instead, Satoru whined, slumping over you in a bear hug.

“I’m sorry!” He kissed your shoulder, lightly licking over a mark he made the night before. “Please forgive me!” He caught onto your smile. “You’re into groveling? I’ll keep that in mind for next time–”

“Shut up.” You lightly scolded, but you sank into his hold regardless.

“Can I use your shower?” You asked after a few minutes of cuddling. As much as you liked this moment, your skin still felt clammy from last night.

“I can draw us a bath.” Satoru rubbed his cheek against yours with a satisfied sigh. “I got lavender scented bubbles and everything.”

“That sounds nice.” You nodded, but neither of you moved.

He practically invited himself into your shower time, but you didn’t mind. It was a little cute how eager he was. Or maybe that was just you missing every sign in the book. After all, this guy spent weeks and weeks helping you skulk around outside searching for your cat. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so surprised he was this forward.

Speaking of your cat….

“Satoru?” You called.

There was a hum against your skin as his head buried into the crook of your neck.

“I don’t think I need to worry about Snowbell anymore.” You tell him. “I…think he’s fine. Wherever he is.”

“Yeah.” Satoru said in this voice that you couldn’t read. “Wherever he is.”

You needed to shower, but he was so warm and the bed was so soft and perfect. You couldn’t help but drift off again, letting Satoru cling onto you. Distantly, you wondered maybe….

…maybe next time, you could convince him to wear a tail, too.

[polymerclay-heart]

Here Kitty Kitty<3

Cat!Gojo Satoru x reader

The same week your beloved cat goes missing, Gojo Satoru enters your life. It’s uncanny how similar this man looks and acts to your cat. It’s almost like…no that’s impossible…right?

word count: 12.5k

(smut, slight pet play, gojos a freak but what else is new, based on this post, for @indiewritesxoxo's Lust-filled Love Fest thingy!!! banner link)

Before you found Snowbell, you never had an interest in pets.

You owned a fish as a child. By that, you mean your parents felt the great misfortune of watching you clamber through your childhood home with a gap-toothed smile and a carnival fish trapped in a plastic bag that screamed, ‘I’m your problem now’. At your current age, you wondered how it was even legal to let a child win an arcade game that gave them a living, breathing thing to take care of. Back then, you were just happy watching your newest source of entertainment float around in a glass tank, going ‘blub blub blub’, unable to understand why your parents looked more exhausted by the minute.

From what you could remember, it lived a long, happy life. It lived the rest of its days happily swimming around next to the TV. Despite barely meeting the basic requirements for sentience, your parents were determined to give it a proper life. The words ‘This life is our responsibility now’ cycled throughout your home. They did well to instill a strong sense of responsibility in you that has carried on to this day.

When you grew up, that remained. As much as you gushed over cute kitty videos or dogs that knew tricks other than ‘sit’, you weren’t invested in the concept of a pet. Taking care of a fish already seemed like a daunting task the moment you entertained getting one.

If Snowbell hadn’t come along, you might’ve eventually gotten a foster animal. Or, you would’ve rescued a senior dog. Something small and not too barky.

You weren’t initially planning on keeping the cat. When you brought him home, you thought at most he would’ve stayed the night before you dropped him off at the local shelter. One night turned into two. Two nights turned into a week. Before you knew it, Snowbell became the second member of your household.

You tried to do the right thing, at first. You knew Snowbell probably had an owner who was worried sick looking for him. There was no way that wasn’t true. Despite the grim, sooty conditions you found the cat in, it was clear he was well-cared for and domesticated. His sweet blue eyes and long white fur were clear indicators that he wasn’t the average streetcat. As much as you tried to look for his original owner, nothing came of it. For the time being, Snowbell was stuck with you.

He never once hissed or scratched at you. He was such a sweet kitten, perfectly happy to lounge around on your bed or your sofa, dutifully waiting for you to come back home. You never had any problems other cat owners had with their cats scratching up their wooden furniture or making litter accidents. Life with him was peaceful and domestic. Idyllic, even.

Still, there was something strangely off-putting about Snowbell. You could never fully explain it. As pretty as his crystal-blue eyes were, you felt like there was something more underneath. Sometimes, it really felt like Snowbell was laughing at you. There were times he did things that were too human and less animalistic. Pet owners often overestimated how smart their animals were, but you were sure there was something about Snowbell you could never put your finger on.

Maybe that was the issue. You personified him too much–humanized him.

Snowbell disappeared through an open window one sunny day, just like any other cat would have.

You had been an emotional wreck that night. You cried all throughout the night and barely got any sleep. Pathetically, you cuddled the spot of the bed Snowbell used to lie on, as though his lingering warmth would be nestled in the pillows. You almost called in sick for work the next morning before inevitably deciding to sludge your way through the day. You hadn’t even remembered opening that window, but it wasn’t like Snowbell sprouted human hands and pushed it open himself. Guilt for being a shitty pet owner clung to you like dirt.

Snowbell disappeared on Monday. That night, you called every shelter you could think of in search of him. The volunteers on the other end assured you they’d call you if they saw anything, but you doubted anything would come of it. On Tuesday, you and some of your friends went out on a failed search. On Wednesday, you left out food and your shirt outside your apartment in a feeble attempt to lure him back. On Thursday, you went out to search for him again, but alone.

Snowbell disappeared on Monday. By Friday, you were starting to lose hope of ever finding him.

The door rattled as you shut it behind you. You were supposed to call the landlord about it ages ago, but you never got around to it. Non-urgent, but extremely annoying. Yet another thing tacked onto this terrible day.

Tomorrow was the weekend. You knew you wouldn’t spend it lounging around your apartment, catching up on that show you put off. You would be outdoors, continuing your search for hidden corners and pockets.

On the way out, you ran into your neighbor. Tachibana smiled at you–those pitiful little smiles you’d give to someone who got drenched by a speeding car careening over a puddle. Perhaps, in her eyes, there wasn’t much of a difference between the current you and someone like that.

Her daughter lingered just behind her. She was a sweet girl. Last you remembered, she was about to enter elementary school. She wore her hair in a trimmed bob with a bright blue headband. It reminded you of Snowbell’s bright eyes, the way he would track your movement across the apartment with such intelligence.

You were close enough with Tachibana and her daughter to exchange greetings. Some type of small talk. Tachibana gracefully danced around the glaring topic because she had lived in society for quite some time now.

Dani was less perceptive towards social norms. She peered up at you with big softened eyes.

“Have you found him yet?” She asked before her mother could hush her.

Despite the ache in your heart, you smiled down at her.

“Not yet,” you said, “but I’m sure he’ll turn up soon.”

You weren’t the only one dealing with the loss of Snowbell. The few times you had to leave for a last-minute trip, you often left your cat in the care of the Tachibanas. Dani adored that cat, snuggling him every time she saw him. Snowbell mostly tolerated it. He got along well with most of your friends and neighbors.

Dani frowned, clearly not convinced, but she said nothing more about it. She gave a wave as she and her mother brushed by you and back into their apartment. You smiled until their door shut and locked behind them.

The act was exhausting. You were glad you didn’t pass by anyone else as you wandered out the glass doors, onto the busy streets of the city. People brushed by you, completely oblivious to your misery. You didn’t fault them. Why would anyone pay attention to a stranger? You certainly wouldn’t.

You glanced down at your phone. There was nothing. No alerts, no beeps, no missed calls from someone having found your pet. You expected it. It still sank your heart.

You tucked your phone in your pocket, shuffling around with the missing cat posters under your arm. It was your last batch. Once you put these up, you promised yourself you wouldn’t make any more.

You didn’t want to spend Friday night like this. Not many people would. Your friends tried to talk you out of it, encouraging you to go out with them like you were grieving a break-up. Maybe to them, that’s what you were doing. Maybe they thought you needed a break from your misery.

But the thought of Snowbell being out there, alone, lost, and cold. Completely helpless. Injured–maybe even dead. It was all too much for you to think about abandoning the search for even one night.

By the time you stapled the last poster, the sun had already sunk well below the horizon. Oranges and reds streaked across the sky. In a few hours, it would be well into the night, limiting your vision.

If that wasn’t enough, it started to drizzle. The smell of rain hit your nose. The air started to mist ever so slightly, causing the area around you to take on a faint-blue hue. Apparently, everyone was smarter than you. The streets were empty, with the few people left carrying umbrellas or coats. Cold drops hit your hands, your face, your clothes. It wasn’t enough to soak you, but the dark marks on your clothes got more and more prevalent as the seconds passed. For lack of better words, this severely dampened your mood. You knew all those hours of you putting up missing cat posters would turn into soggy, unreadable scraps by the end of this storm, whisking away into the drain to never be seen again.

It was as though the universe itself was telling you to give up.

You’d try again tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, the rain would clear up. You pulled out your phone to check the time when you stumbled. Your fingers slipped, and you lost your grip on your phone, lips pulling up in a cringe when it crashed onto the ground and slid away from you.

You cursed to yourself as you made your way towards it. You really hoped it hadn’t cracked in the fall.

Pale, lithe fingers reached down and plucked it off the pavement.

It’s like he stepped off a runway. His clothes were expensive just from the look of the fabric itself. Despite the drizzle, he remained perfectly dry. His white hair framed his face perfectly. You couldn’t see his eyes, covered by black sunglasses. He might have been the most beautiful man you ever saw.

He silently offered your phone. You accepted it with grateful hands.

“Thank you.” You told him. Where had he even come from? You thought you were alone on this side of the road.

Pink lips curved into an easy-going smile as he towered over you. The stranger hadn’t stepped back once he handed your phone back. Instead, he leaned forward ever so slightly.

“Cute wallpaper.” He commented.

You glanced down at your phone. Your lock screen showed Snowbell in mid-stretch, baby-pink paws reaching towards the sky as he lounged on your bedsheets. You’d had many pictures of Snowbell, but you thought that was your favorite snapshot.

It was one of the few things you had left of him now.

You feigned a smile.

“Oh, thank you.”

The stranger didn’t register your clipped tone. “How long have you had him?”

“Barely a few weeks.” You honestly said before wincing. “I…I’m actually looking for him so–”

When people comment on your cat’s disappearance, there’s often a twinge of pity somewhere in their eyes. It made you feel small–pathetic. You steeled yourself, readying for that same look before he finally left you alone.

There’s none of that.

“I was about to ask.” The stranger hummed. “I thought he looked familiar. I think I’ve seen him before.”

Your eyes snapped up to his face.

“You’ve seen him?” What followed was a barrage of questions: Where was he? What did he look like? Was he injured? How long ago was it?

The stranger barely even flinched at your demands for answers. Even as you leaned into his space, he barely backed up. His smile grew wider as he opened his mouth to speak.

You jumped at the clap of thunder. The already darkened sky swirled with angry gray-blue clouds. The drizzle threatened to intensify.

He glanced up and clicked his tongue.

“How about we talk somewhere indoors?”

🐾

As soon as you stepped into the restaurant, the weather got ugly.

Rain thumped against the window, spraying water onto the soaked concrete sidewalks and roads. Puddles grew across the ground. Thunder rumbled as lightning streaked across the sky every so often. The wind aggressively blew past your shelter, changing direction every few minutes. You’d hate to be stuck out there at that very moment.

Compared to the storm's harshness, the restaurant was a haven. The warmth heated your cheeks as you shrugged off your coat. It looked a bit on the expensive side. Warm candlelight illuminated each table. You sat in a comfortable chair with a red plush seat, watching the waitress happily fill your cup with fresh water.

He was already glancing at the menu as you awkwardly sat across from him.

“What are you thinking of getting?” He asked as he flipped through the laminated pages. “Oh! The eel here is to die for. You’ll love it, promise.” He assured you.

You pursed your lips. “I’m not actually–”

“This also seems good.” He shoved the menu in front of your face, and you reflexively flinched back. “Wanna try it?”

You forgot how you even got to this point. When he suggested talking indoors, you thought he meant a brief shelter from the rain.

“Are you ready to order?” the waitress cheerfully asked.

“Yes!” He said before rattling off a long list of various foods and treats. He then turned to you with a questioning hum.

“Just the water is fine.” You told her, and she happily gathered your menus before she hurried off.

“Isn’t this place adorable?” He asked you. “I found it a while ago. I think a nice, quiet dinner with rain right outside sets the perfect tone.” He leaned back in his chair.

You stared at him and tried to figure out what he was even talking about.

“You said you saw my cat, right?” You changed topics. “Where did you see him?”

“I definitely saw him!” He told you. “A couple of times, actually. Trust me—would never forget that face. He’s really easy on the eyes, huh?”

Your eyes flitted down as you thought of pretty white fur and sparkling blue eyes. You spent hours a week grooming him, fluffing out his soft fur, and making him the best version of himself he could be. He was the prettiest kitten you’ve ever laid your eyes on, and you couldn’t help but make him even prettier.

“He is,” you agreed. You found yourself smiling just thinking about him.

“Really?” He leaned forward. A mischievous smile spread across his lips. “He’s handsome, right? Really handsome?”

Your eyes narrowed as you continued to eye him. Why was he trying to goad you into complimenting your cat?

“Of course he is,” you responded. It felt more and more like he was making fun of you. Were you wasting your time here?

He leaned back, looking oddly satisfied.

“I’m sure he’d be happy hearing you say that,” he told you. “Cats are really good about these things, y’know. Emotions and all that.”

“Right,” you said, hoping to ease him along into the conversation you really wanted to have. “So, again, you said you–”

“Oh, food’s here!” He cut you off and pointed excitedly to somewhere behind you. “I’m starved.”

Sure enough, the waitress stepped into your vision with a friendly smile pressed on painted lips. You watched as she set down pretty porcelain plates and bowls, most crowded in his direction. The smell of steaming veggies and heaps of rice drifted into your nose. Your lips twitched into a frown as the plates continued to pile up before the waitress set something right in front of you.

You moved, quick to correct her blunder. “Oh, I never ordered anything–”

Your words caught in your throat when you realized it was your favorite dish.

“You should try it!” The man urged. “They make it really well here.”

You watched him for a minute. He paid you no mind, continuing to chow down on his meal. How did he know this was your favorite meal?

When you asked him, he stopped eating, looking amused.

“No way, I was right?” He laughed, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “You seemed like the type of person who would like this type of stuff. I guess I’m good at reading people.”

So it truly was a coincidence. You glanced down at the meal. Compared to how you made it at home, the restaurant’s version was immaculate. You weren’t too upset. After all, you weren’t a chef. The scent of the food reminded you of all those times you had to fight off Snowbell. He’d go wild anytime you made it. He would constantly appear in the kitchen, eager for a tasty swipe. You’d feed him scraps, letting him enjoy your hard labour every once in a while. You didn’t do it too often, afraid he might get sick, but you secretly appreciated how much he liked it.

In those times, he felt more human than cat.

“What are you waiting for?” A voice snapped you out of your thoughts. The man gestured to your plate. He was halfway done with his own meal. “The food won’t eat itself.”

It wasn’t like you could refuse, right? He’d already ordered it. You felt it was rude to reject his offering, no matter how strange this man was.

You took a bite.

“It’s good,” you said. You took another one.

He nodded along. “I told you!”

His voice quietened a bit after.

“Still, I think it’s better homemade.”

You agreed with him.

You took another bite. Then, you took another. After your tenth bite, you suddenly realized how little you’d been eating lately. Your free time was spent thinking about Snowbell and worrying about him. You barely had time to sleep, let alone eat a hearty meal.

Sometime after that, your belly was full, the plates were cleared of food, and it was still raining. You found yourself perched right at the doors, hearing the murmurs of the other restaurant’s patrons behind you. You watched as the rain lightly tapped at the crystal glass. The more you thought about the way this night ended, the more humour you found.

Earlier, you had been stuck out in the rain before being picked up by a strange man. It almost paralleled the night you found Snowbell.

(You stumbled onto him one random evening after work. You were hurrying home, eager to get out of the rain. The umbrella you held kept most of the moisture off your clothes, but you could feel water drip through your shoes and up the cuffs of your pants. You could almost imagine chucking them off and enjoying a nice warm shower.

Just then, you saw a streak of white.

Barely a glimpse. At first, you thought it was a plastic bag hurtling into an alleyway. You should have pressed on and ignored it. For whatever reason, you followed the gut feeling nestled deep inside of you.

It was a filthy alley. Trash littered the walls and splattered across the ground. The rain made the smell of garbage even more pungent. You scrunched your nose as you peered around.

Something rattled right behind a garbage can. You crouched down as you tried to steal a peek behind the dumpster.

“Come out here.” You clicked your tongue, trying to be as enticing as you could. You thought it was a small dog, at first.

A shadow peeked out of the dumpster.

The prettiest kitten you’d ever seen blinked at you.

Despite the rain that soaked it to the bone, you could make out pure white fur that was tarnished by mud and water. Flattened ears and a pink nose.

The most notable feature of the animal was its eyes.

The brightest blue you’d ever seen.

Like the cloudless sky on a summer day. The color of a calm, peaceful lake, with barely a ripple of disturbance. There was so much life packed within those eyes. They almost put you in a trance, and momentarily made you forget the rain and the harshness of the wind. The warmth and peace that lingered beneath those irises was enough to push away the cold.

A smile spread across your face as you crouched even lower, hoping you’d make yourself seem less threatening.

“Hi there.” You cooed at the cat, who only stared right back. “Are you lost?”

When you reached out, the creature barely flinched. It appeared more confused than anything as you stroked the top of its head before dropping down to scratch its cheek.

Eventually, your affections seemed to win the cat over to your side. Before long, it leaned into your touch, as if enjoying your petting. Happy at the progress you made in such a short time, you attempt to lift it from the grimy ground. Thankfully, the cat allowed you without much fuss. You tucked it under your arms, keeping it in the shelter of your umbrella. Considering how well it did with strangers, it was clear the cat was domesticated. Did it slip away from its owner when they weren’t looking?

“Poor thing.” You were awed by the sweet little kitten. “Where’s your owner?”

You continued to observe it. No collar. No distinct marking of a claim. You debated going online on missing pet forums. Maybe someone reported the poor guy.

How long had the poor thing been outside? It couldn’t have been any more than a day. The cat was practically a white beacon begging to be noticed. There’s no way this cat wouldn’t have been snatched up by a predator if you hadn’t stumbled upon it. In the harsh city environment, it was utterly helpless.

You hummed, glancing up at the sky.

“Looks like we’re both caught in this weather.” You talked out loud. “It’s a good thing we found each other, right?”

The cat continued to stare at you with large blue eyes. You smiled before tucking it into the warmth of your coat.

“You’re okay now.” You told it. “I’ll keep you safe.”

You knew you were just seeing things, but you swore the cat understood you, somehow.)

“Does it look like it’s going down?” A voice asked.

The man stood by your side, peering out the same window you were. You watched as his sunglasses crept over his nose, close to dropping down, before you glanced away.

“No.” You told him. “I don’t think the rain will stop for a long while.”

He hummed in agreement. “If we waited for it to stop, we’d probably be stuck here for hours.” He didn’t sound too upset at that, you couldn’t help but note to yourself.

You nodded along. Just like the rest of the week, tonight had ended in a bust. No Snowbell. No cat. You were stuck in a warm building after eating a delicious meal, while your cat was probably out in the cold somewhere, waiting for you.

Something stung in the back of your eyes.

You were a shitty pet owner.

“I saw him yesterday.”

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. He stared right at the glass. You waited for him to say something more, but he remained silent.

“Was he–” You swallowed. Your mouth felt dry. “Was he okay?”

“Yeah.” He told you. “He looked great. You took great care of him. I can tell.”

Relief snagged at your heart, weighing your shoulders down with a type of pain you’d never felt before.

“I tried to catch him, but he was a bit too slippery for me.” He clicked his tongue.

You failed to muffle your laugh. Snowbell had easily coaxed himself into your arms the first night you found him. You shouldn’t have been proud of this, but you felt something oddly like pride to know you were the only person he cuddled up to.

“Thank you.” You told him. “For the meal and for letting me know you saw him. It was really nice of you to do all of that.”

Outside, the rain dwindled ever so slightly. In the morning, a light fog would drift over the city, suffocating the streetlamps and the roads. The potholes in the streets would be filled with soot and water far into the afternoon with the sun blaring overhead. A bare heat would fill the city, gentle from the rain, but still warm.

“You really miss the guy, don’t you?” He asked.

You didn’t bother to answer. It’s not like you ever tried to hide your desperation. Everyone in your life thought you were crazy for losing it over a pet as you had in the past days. No one told it to your face, but you knew that’s what they thought. To others, you were some cat-crazed person who wandered the streets. You did miss him. You missed him more than anything.

“I don’t think the rain will stop anytime soon,” you said, “I'd better go before it gets too late.”

“I could drive you back,” he suggested.

You shook your head, insisting you’d be fine. You expected him to push back at your refusal. He seemed to take your rejection in stride, reaching out with something in his lithe fingers.

“Take this, then.” He settled the bundled-up umbrella into your limp hand. You recognized what it was after you instinctively grabbed it.

“No, it’s fine—“ You tried to insist, but he waved you off.

“Just take it. I’d hate for you to walk out in this weather without one. You should’ve had an umbrella in the first place.” He berated you, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

“Just give it back when we search for your kitty.”

You blinked up at him.

“We?” You repeated his words.

He nodded eagerly. “You planned on searching for him tomorrow, right?”

Of course you were, and the day after that, too.

“I’ll come with you.” He declared. “Two heads are better than one, right?”

What was so appealing about skulking outside, searching for the slightest hint of white fur? This man was such an enigma; you didn’t understand him. You knew you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. The more eyes you have, the better. Yet, you couldn’t help the feeling that rested in your stomach.

“Why?” You asked, but it sounded more like a demand. “Why do you want to help me?”

The man tilted his head downward. The softest laugh left his lips at the same moment his sunglasses slipped down his nose.

His eyes.

The brightest blue you’d ever seen.

Like the cloudless sky on a summer day. The color of a calm, peaceful lake, with barely a ripple of disturbance. There was so much life packed within those eyes. They almost put you in a trance, and momentarily made you forget the rain and the harshness of the wind. The warmth and peace that lingered beneath those irises was enough to push away the cold.

They looked familiar.

“I knew somebody who lost their pet, once,” He told you as his lips quirked up. “It’s a sad thing. No one should go through that.”

Everything he said sounded like a joke, but you saw the sincerity in his eyes.

“This person.” You glanced outside when the sear of his gaze got too much. “Did they ever end up finding their pet?”

He nodded. You didn’t know why that gave you so much relief.

“If you have time tomorrow, then yes,” you said, “I’d really appreciate the help. Thank you.”

“Great!” He clapped his hands together before pulling out his phone. “Let’s exchange numbers, so we can meet up tomorrow.”

You agreed, wordlessly handing him your phone before you realized something.

“I don’t even know your name.” You said out loud.

He laughed again.

“Gojo Satoru.” He introduced before raising a finger in the air to point at you. “But you should call me Satoru.”

You hesitantly received your phone from his hands. The contact name ‘Satoru :3’ stared back at you.

“We should speak more comfortably with each other. After all, we’re gonna be kitty hunting buddies, right? ”

🐾

(The best thing about Snowbell was how sweet he was.

Not just to you (but mostly to you). He was loved by everyone on your floor. Children like Dani adored him, and often asked about him whenever you ran into her. You’ve read that cats were often aloof and hated strangers, but Snowbell wasn’t like that at all. He was liked by everyone and everyone loved him.

And then, Hatori came along.

You’d known Hatori for a while, actually. You two weren’t friends–barely a step up from acquaintances. He was a nice guy and you two were similar in age. Whenever you passed him by in the halls, you made small talk but you never went out of your way to do anything more.

So when you briefly mentioned having a plumbing issue and Hatori offered to take a look at it, you accepted immediately.

“Thanks again.” You told him as you led him into your apartment. “Seriously, it’s been driving me up the wall. All that noise.”

“I get it.” He assured you. “The one in your kitchen, right?”

You nodded. A fluff of white caught your attention. You were about to point your cat out to Hatori when all Hell broke loose.

Snowbell made a sound that was almost demonic before he rushed at Hatori. You barely stopped him before he could get to Hatori’s foot, holding him up by the scruff as he thrashed around in your hold. You kept him to your chest as your cat continued his onslaught. If looks could kill, Hatori would’ve been dead ten times over by now.

“I’m sorry.” You told Hatori as Snowbell continued to thrash and struggle. It was getting harder and harder to keep a hold on him. “He–he’s usually not like this.”

Hatori stepped closer to the door.

“I should go.” He concluded.

“I’m sorry.” You told him again.

Snowbell didn’t stop until Hatori was long gone. His fit was bad. At one point, he’d even hacked something up because of how stressed he was. You coddled him the best you could, apologizing to him over and over. He settled in your arms hours later and peacefully purred into your chest as you stroked his head.

You’d never seen him act like that before, but maybe you were wrong about him liking everyone. Maybe he had a bad experience with men and that’s why he acted like that? You should probably bring it up to your vet the next time you go to the clinic.

Either way, this was the last time you’d ever bring Hatori over.

You kissed the top of Snowbell’s head. His pretty blue eyes blinked up at you.

“Don’t worry,” you cooed, “you’re the only man for me.)

Twenty minutes later, Satoru still hadn’t arrived.

You crossed your arms as you lingered near the streetlight. People meandered their way through the busy street all around you. As the minutes ticked on, you grew more and more frustrated. You should have expected this. From the short while you’d known Satoru, he was not the most punctual guy in the world.

He turned up eventually, practically skipping up to you with a smile on his face.

“Didn’t have to make you wait too long, right?” He grinned, completely ignoring the frown on your face.

“I was about to leave.” You chastised. “You need to be more respectful of people’s time.”

He raised his arms up in a semblance of an apology.

“Whoops, my bad,” he said, “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose. I’ve been swamped at school. Lots of stuff to catch up on ‘cuz I took an unprompted vacation a few weeks ago.”

He mentioned being a teacher a couple of times, but you can’t imagine him doing that. Sitting around and grading papers doesn’t seem like the type of job Satoru excelled at, but maybe that was just because you saw this side of him rather than anything professional.

“Okay!” He clasped his hands together. “So far, we’ve checked the area around your apartment. Maybe we should broaden the search a little.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, your initial frustration waning.

“Maybe we should stop thinking like humans and start thinking like cats.” He told you with the utmost seriousness. “Places like underneath bridges and dark places scared little kitties might crawl into for shelter.”

That was a pretty good point, actually. There was a chance Snowbell wandered off somewhere, maybe in a crevasse you wouldn’t think to look for him in.

With a plan secured, the two of you set off. You and Satoru checked wherever you could think of: underneath bridges, in the park, and on the outskirts of a clump of trees. Each time, you came up empty. Any cat you did see never resembled Snowbell in the tiniest bit. They were often so skittish and wary of humans, shrinking away when you came close.

You still left a bit of wet food for them when you turned away. Maybe it had to do with your lost pet, but any stray cat chipped away at your heart.

Satoru passed the time as he often did, talking and yammering about anything he could. So far, the two of you had gone ‘hunting’ five or so times–each trip ending in nothing. Despite how disappointed you were after every failure, Satoru was more chipper than ever. Most would find how talkative he was absolutely annoying, but you didn’t mind one bit. His upbeat attitude felt comforting, like it was his own way of assuring you everything would be okay.

You often felt like you knew him forever. However, it was more realistic to assume you’d known him for three weeks at most. Maybe even less. He was just that type of person. That personality of his reminded you of Snowbell. He was a little like that too, yowling like he was trying to start a conversation with you even though you didn’t understand his language.

Lots of little things Satoru did reminded you of Snowbell, actually.

A couple hours into the search, Satoru suggested taking a break. You didn’t argue.

“There’s a cafe a little ways from here.” Satoru suggested. “I love their coffee.”

You’d seen the surgery contraptions he calls ‘coffee’ and you’d rather not relive that experience. Also, everytime Satoru brought you to a restaurant, he always insisted on paying, leaving you more and more guilty for taking advantage of him. These outings were starting to feel less like searches and more like dates.

You almost laughed, but you held your tongue. Ridiculous. He was just being a nice guy.

“My place isn’t that far from here,” you said as you turned to him. “Let’s just stop there and I can make us something to eat.”

For the first time, Satoru genuinely looked lost for words. He blinked at you behind his sunglasses.

“You never let me pay.” You explained. “The least you could do is let me cook for you.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Sure! Let’s go!”

You eyed him. He reeled himself back.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve had a home cooked meal,” he told you.

“Hm.” You walked away, not at all fighting the urge to tease him a bit. “So, what. You’ve just been surviving on instant noodles this whole time? Poor baby.”

“I eat.” He told you after he caught up to your pace. “How else do you think I got these muscles?” He playfully flexed but even underneath those baggy clothes you saw his bicep. You forced your eyes away and hoped he didn’t notice.

“Let’s just get you something before those precious muscles of yours get all flabby.”

You let him into your house ten minutes later. Satoru walked in and slipped off his shoes. He placed them next to yours before he looked around.

His steps were slow as he surveyed your home. You watched as he walked up to a window, hands drifting over the glass.

“...Smaller than I remember.” You heard him say.

“What?” You asked.

He pointed out the window.

“From the ground, the buildings look a lot bigger, right? But when we’re up here, they are a lot tinier,” he said.

Right, of course that’s what he meant.

He wandered to your photographs, scanning over the various knick-knacks and other things you’ve kept over the years. He smiled when he caught the lone picture of Snowbell, framed and proudly displayed. He lightly tapped on the glass.

“What a cutie,” he told you.

You agreed, stepping closer to admire the picture as well. Snowbell had always loved attention and he was oddly very photogenic. Anytime you whipped your camera out, he would stretch and purr and create these adorable poses for you to snap away at. You often wondered if you should make an instagram for him so more people could enjoy his adorableness.

Maybe you missed your chance.

“Seriously, the cutest little guy.” Satoru continued. “Terrible name choice, though.”

You rolled your eyes. This argument again. You couldn’t tell if he did it on purpose or if he genuinely had a personal vendetta against the name ‘Snowbell’.

“It’s a cute name,” you argued back.

“It’s uncreative. Especially for a work of art like that.” He pointed to the picture of your cat. “Lemme’ guess, you’d name a black and white cat oreo.”

‘Cow would be cuter,’ you thought, but you decided not to give him more ammo.

“It just stuck. Besides, I didn’t come up with the name. My neighbor did.”

It was a couple days after you brought the cat home. Back then, you weren’t sure if you were keeping him. His original name was even more uncreative–‘Cat’. Then, when you were helping Tachibana lug up groceries, her daughter asked if she could see photos. After showing her the numerous pictures you snapped of ‘Cat’, Dani excitedly exclaimed how similar ‘Cat’ looked to the cat in ‘Stuart Little’. Thanks to her, ‘Cat’ turned into ‘Snowbell’.

“Ah,” Satoru said after your tangent, “So Dani came up with the name, then.”

You nodded, but then you blinked.

“How did you know her name?” You asked.

“You mentioned her,” Satoru breezily replied.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Pretty sure you did.” He smiled. “How else would I know?”

Your mouth opened, when a knock came from the door. You decided to table the discussion for now.

You smiled when you saw who it was.

“Hatori!” You greeted. “What brings you here?”

Hatori lingered by the door, polite and reserved as always. He gave a pleasant wave.

“Hey, hope I’m not a bother,” he said, “just hoping I could borrow a cup of sugar.”

You gave a smile. This isn’t the first time he asked for favors like that. You didn’t mind. It was nice to see a sweet tooth that doesn’t go overboard with his sugar like somebody you knew.

Like he’d been summoned, Satoru appeared behind you. You bumped into his chest just as you were about to let Hatori inside. He was so close. You could feel his breath on your back. His faded cologne lingered in the air.

You glanced up. Through his sunglasses, Satoru full-on glared at Hatori.

He’d never looked that upset before. Usually he was all goofy and happy-go-lucky. Now, he was stiff, coiled up like a spring.

“Sorry.” Satoru gave a smile filled with sharp teeth. Had he always had fangs? “We’re all out.”

Hatori blinked. So did you. He reacted first.

“Sorry.” Hatori narrowed his eyes and he looked between you and Satoru. “Who are you exactly?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Satoru reached past you and slammed the door in Hatori’s face.

You remained frozen even after Satoru retreated back into the apartment, slumping onto the couch.

“Uh, what was that?” You demanded after a bit of recovering.

“What?” Satoru whined, immediately going back to his usual attitude. You wondered if you imagined it all. “He was bothering you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“He wasn’t bothering me. He’s my neighbor.”

“You should stay away from him.” Satoru finally told you.

You stared at him as he lounged over your couch as though he owned it. Sunlight streamed through your window, illuminating his hair.

You should have been mad at him. You should have kicked him out. And yet, you could still remember his presence imprinted on your back as he kept you on him. You wondered when your heartbeat would slow down.

“Why?”

“He’s bad juju,” he responded. “I can feel it.”

You gave him a look. “Right. Okay.”

“I can tell with these types of things!” He argued back. “Stay away from him. He’s bad news. He might make spiders crawl out of your sink!”

You rolled your eyes and turned away.

“Do you want food or do you just want to make more conspiracy theories about my neighbor being a spider whisperer?”

“Food, please.” Satoru immediately sprung up from the couch and followed you into the kitchen.

Again, you knew you should’ve been more upset with him. Yet, you weren’t.

It oddly felt familiar.

🐾

The cold made the alcohol bearable.

It warmed your stomach, flushing your cheeks with heat as you felt the burn travel down your throat. When you were younger, you despised the taste of alcohol. You could never understand why anyone would willingly drink the stuff.

These days, you still didn't understand, and yet you drank anyway.

You had to stop soon, but for now, you tossed your head back in reflex, taking another gulp. The bar remained sparse of people. There was nobody in the corner you stashed yourself in, surrounded by empty glasses. You preferred this. You don’t want anyone seeing how miserable you were.

Six weeks had passed since you last saw Snowbell. Truthfully, you stopped looking for him by the second. It was clear what happened to him.

He was dead.

If the universe was merciful, his death was quick. Maybe a predator snatched him up before he blinked. Other deaths sounded far more gruesome: eating something poisonous and collapsing on the hard floor of a cold alley, being hit by a car, or just starving to death.

A more hopeful part of you still believed he might have been picked up before you could send those missing posters out. He was a pretty kitty. His white fur was long and his fluffy tail curled so elegantly. His sweet blue eyes were wide and earnest. The chance of someone seeing him out and about and falling in love with him the same way you did was highly plausible.

Maybe they had seen the posters and just didn’t want to give him back. You think you would be fine with that. You just wanted to know he was okay. A sign. The slightest hint of–

“-Started without me, I see?” A voice teased from your left.

You didn’t bother looking up.

“You don’t drink.” You reminded him, but you didn’t argue when Satoru slipped into the seat across from you.

“Still, it hurts to be left behind.” He arched his plush lips into a faux pout before his mischievous smile was back on his flawless face.

You didn’t even tell him you’d be here, and yet, he showed up anyway. That was always the thing with him. He always just showed up, no matter where you were.

His outfit mirrored the cold that lingered outside of the bar. He was dressed in an expensive looking coat, something that nicely shaped his shoulders and torso. His fluffy white hair contrasted with the dark sunglasses he always wore on his face as he surveyed the mess you surrounded yourself in.

You thought you were about to receive a lecture from him. His smile faded ever so slightly.

“You’ve been crying.”

You didn’t bother denying it. Slowly, you reached up, brushing at your face. Your eyes felt raw, your skin felt open and vulnerable. Your nose felt oddly stuffy, like you were recovering from a fever.

Satoru watched you. You gave a helpless shrug.

“It’s the same thing I’m always crying about.” You admitted. That’s all you really wanted to say, but the words suddenly started pouring out and you couldn’t help yourself.

“I know how stupid this all looks. Trust me, I’m aware.” You started, looking into the glass of your golden brown drink because looking at him would be too much. “He was just a cat. That’s what everyone says to me.”

‘You need to move on,’ ‘You should get another cat if you care that much’. You’d heard all those things and more. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hate the people who’ve said that to you. They wanted to help, in their own way. To them, it was more like watching a child bawl over a lost toy. They didn’t understand.

“He…he wasn’t just a cat to me.” You bit your lip. “He was family. So yeah, the thought of him out there in the cold, miserable. I…I just really hope he’s happy.”

You thought you felt tears prick into the corners of your eyes. You blinked them away.

When you looked at Satoru, you felt yourself frowning.

“Stop doing that.” You told him. Your voice was tight and stern.

“Stop doing what?” Satoru repeated.

“Stop smiling like that.” You insisted. “You always do that. You–you always get this really big smile whenever I start gushing about him.”

“I’m not smiling.” Satoru denied, while still openly smiling.

“Liar.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn't complain much further. He had this trick he liked to do sometimes. You just looked at him, and you instantly felt better, even a bit.

Snowbell used to have that effect on you, too. Anytime you cuddled with him, his presence washed away any stresses you had. There was just him and his soft fur.

Satoru laughed and shook his head.

“The way you speak of him…it’s nice.” He told you. “It’s nice to hear that. Your cat’s lucky to be so loved. I’m sure he’d be overjoyed to hear how much you missed him.”

You stared up at him.

“You think so?” You asked, your voice hushed.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He did that often, too. He talked about things like he knew more than he let on–like he knew a secret you didn’t.

Or maybe that’s just the way he talked. He’d always been so odd and eccentric. From the short time you’d known him, he always dragged you from one place to another. He was constantly rambling about things you couldn’t catch onto. You’d call him ditzy if you didn’t know any better.

“You know what I think you should do?” Satoru suddenly piped up.

You looked up at him questioningly.

“I think you need something to get your mind off of the whole thing. Clear your head!”

You glanced around at where you were, what you were doing. Yeah, this was getting a bit pathetic.

“Okay.” You agreed. “Like what?”

His smile curled in mischief.

🐾

“What am I supposed to be waiting for, again?”

“Just hold on.” Satoru’s muffled voice came.

You crossed your arms, but you stayed put. Satoru’s apartment was huge. Even from your place on the lavish couch, you could see the wealth sprawled across his place. A bit empty, like he barely lived there.

Presently, he had tucked himself inside his room and told you ‘It’s a surprise!’ You had no idea what he meant by that, but knowing him, he was probably going to come out in something extremely ridiculous. Your imagination took off without you. You could totally imagine him waltzing out after stuffing himself in a hot dog costume.

He didn’t come out in a hot dog costume. Somehow, his surprise was both less and more mortifying than that.

He still wore his usual black clothes, but there was a new accessory he styled himself with. On top of his head sat two white, fluffy ears. You stared at them in disbelief.

“Tada!” He posed like he just unveiled something.

You got up.

“I’m leaving.”

He was in front of you in a flash, reaching the door before you could. A nervous smile spread across his face as he tried to usher you back inside. You’d never seen him look so unsure before, it almost caught you off guard. With those fake cat ears on he looked even more ridiculous.

“Just hear me out for a second.” He tried to say. You glowered at him, but you relented, flopping back down to the couch.

“Think of it as a therapy exercise,” he finally suggested

“A therapy exercise,” you repeated, incredibly suspicious.

He nodded before sitting himself in the space next to you.

“Studies have shown that petting animals reduces stress in humans and all that, right?” Satoru pondered, but a part of you wondered if he was pulling all this out of his ass. “Since we don’t have a cat right now, well…this is the next best thing!”

You stared at him, wondering if he truly thought you were this stupid. His glasses were off, abandoned back in his bedroom, so the blue of his eyes could stare right into you.

“Try it!” Satoru suggested, tilting his head down to show off his new ears.

Well, Satoru has always been a bit weird, right? He was strange, constantly blabbering about things that never made sense, but he was harmless. From the short time you knew him, he’d never revealed himself to be anything but that.

You sighed, but you reached up and gently patted his ears, hoping that would be the end of it.

They were softer than they looked. Almost delicate in nature. The fur was clearly fake but it was smooth and silky and the blooming pink hidden underneath the fur of the ears had such a deep resemblance to your own lost kitty.

“There.” You told him as you pulled away, albeit a bit reluctantly.. “Is our therapy session over?”

“Not yet.” He cheerfully replied. “We got movies too! You’ll love this one! It’s about a cat who wastes all his previous eight lives, and now he’s on his ninth and…”

You tuned out of his rambles, already knowing how this night will end. Truthfully, you didn’t mind a movie night with Satoru. He was fun to hang out with. Maybe a movie night would be good for you–it would cheer you up.

You thought it had to do with those eyes, mostly; they were why you were so agreeable to go along with his whims. A part of you thought he was well aware of your kryptonite, but you could never prove it.

An hour or so later, you were well into the movie when you glanced down at your lap. The setting changed. Satoru ordered pizza a while back and inhaled three whole slices before you finished even one. Half-finished cans of soda laid on the table. When the movie started, you and him sat at a respectable distance between each other.

Now, Satoru’s head settled on your lap with your hand absentmindedly drifting across his hair and faux ears.

The shade of the cat ears almost blended into ivory locks. His hair was soft, just as silky and smooth as that stupid prop he still wore. You wondered what products he used, if he used any at all when Satoru caught you looking at him.

He blinked slowly at you, like he’s fighting off sleep. Ivory, white lashes fluttered closed to meet the rounded parts of his cheeks before that brilliant blue spilled out open all over again. It was something Snowbell used to do. Once, you looked it up and discovered it was a way cats showed silent affection towards their owners.

You smiled. Satoru caught it.

“What?” He questioned.

You shook your head even before your mouth opened up.

“Do you remember the night we met?” You asked as the movie faded into the background.

He nodded and you wondered if he thought of the same night you were–the night when you were cold and wet and miserable and Satoru was a stranger holding out your phone with a smile you couldn’t decipher.

“It’s really strange.” You admitted. “You pop out of nowhere. You know my favorite foods–you know things I didn’t even know about myself. You’re always there when I need you the most.”

Your voice trailed off to a whisper when he rose up to meet you. He was so close and you realized just how many colors his eyes have. Colors you’ve named before: deep navy, rolling cobalt, the softest sapphire, the brightest tanzanite.

He looked into your eyes, too, and you wondered if he did the same thing you did.

“I’m good at reading people.” His voice was equally low and hushed.

“Are you?” You asked.

He tilted his head.

“Am I?” He repeated.

It’s like the world around you disappeared. The TV, Satoru’s living room, the bustling city, faded into irrelevance the longer you stared at him.

“There’s something about you.” You continued because there was nothing left to say. “I think I’ve felt it since the day we met, but I don’t think I could internalize it until now but there’s something familiar about you. I…”

‘I know I’m going insane, but I think you might be my cat.’

The words sat on your tongue, but you couldn’t bear to say it. It was all so ridiculous even as this full grown man sat in front of you wearing cat ears looking at you like you were everything in this universe. You wanted to laugh. Then, you wanted to cry. So much happened in just days and yet nothing happened either.

You were not sure who leaned in first, but neither of you pulled away.

His lips were soft. It was like his hair but a different texture. They were plump and full of life and adoration as he kissed you. A hand reached up to grab your cheek, holding you in place as he continued to kiss you.

You sighed into his mouth and Satoru stopped kissing you and started to eat you whole.

He pressed you into the sofa and you went down with a small ‘omph’ that he swallowed up too. Greedy, was the only word you thought as he kissed you again and again. He wanted it all, and he wouldn’t stop until he got it.

He only stopped when your head was spinning and you gave a low whine. Even then, he pulled away with such reluctance you could still taste it lingering on your teeth.

You were panting, heavy and needy and hot all over. He barely looked affected. His expression was oddly blank, like he was dazed. You would’ve believed he thought nothing of the kiss had it not been for the tight way he still held you, like he was terrified you’d disappear if he wasn’t constantly holding on. That, and the–

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Yeah?” You breathed. Your eyes trailed down to watch his Adam apple bob with anticipation.

The longing in his voice, it almost matched the intensity of his mouth. He burned so hot, you should have been afraid he’d burn you.

Instead, you reached up to pet the fluffy ears that rested just on his head. He shivered, eyes closing in a way you swore he could feel your fingers tickle the fur.

The slightest of smiles tugged at your lips. A tease.

“What else were you waiting for, pretty kitty?”

His eyes sharpened, there’s the softest hitch in his breath before he was on you all over again.

Rougher, pressing into you like he wanted to imprint his pattern all over your body so you could never forget his space and shape. Teeth that might have been fangs tugged at your lips as his fingers played with the hem of your shirt.

You shuddered as his long, lithe fingers crawled underneath your shirt, pushing it up and over your chest. The fabric pooled around your neck, proudly showcasing your tits, barely covered by the flimsy bra he was clearly eager to rip off.

His hands were cold as they pressed against your feverish skin. You felt goosebumps rise at just his touch as he reached for your bra to feel your tits. The fabric fell away and left you bare and utterly vulnerable to him.

He cursed, barely pulling back from devouring your lips to glance down at his unveiled treasure. Fingers tapped at your chest, eager to explore.

“Can I…?” He asked like you’d say no him–like you ever could.

Your nipples were hard and tender to the touch. A whine left your throat when he gripped them, squeezing at your supple flesh. It almost felt perverted and lingered on desperation.

“You’re so soft.” His tone almost made you laugh. It was like he could hardly believe it himself, needing to touch you more in order to truly prove that fact of the world.

You want to say something teasing when his mouth is dropping down again to lavish your jaw, trailing all the way to your neck and chest. He mapped your body with his lips and tongue before they finally landed on his prize.

“Satoru..” You could only sigh because he was barely touching you and you already felt everything. You relaxed against the pillows and the leather fabric, completely giving yourself to him. Heat pooled at your core as you twitched underneath him.

“Hm?” He asked, still lapping away at your skin. “It hurts, baby? Want me to make it better?”

He swirled his tongue over your nipples, flicking over them like he’s teasing the flesh. Eventually, he couldn’t help himself anymore. He took your entire nipple into his mouth, groaning as he did so, his voice vibrating your skin.

You felt like you were on fire, and yet, it was not enough. Your body was sparking and bursting into flames as you reached up to grab Satoru’s hair, keeping him there as he nuzzled and adored your tits. He’d barely done anything and you already felt like you were high. Your head was up in the clouds as he continued to ravish you.

“Satoru.”

Your voice was pitchy and drowned in want.

“Please please please.” You begged, uncaring to anything else. “Need you.”

He lifted himself from your chest with a loud, debaucherous pop. Your chest bounced lightly with the movement, nipples shiny and perky from his actions. You could already feel the ache on your skin. You were going to wake up tomorrow with marks all over you–you just knew it.

“Yeah?” He asked. His eyes were darker now, twinged with a type of hunger that should have scared you. His cheeks were flushed, dappled with the prettiest red you’d ever seen.

“Need me?” He repeated, hovering closer to your mouth, just inches away.

You nodded. His mouth curled.

“Gotta’ use your words. C’mon, you can do it.” He goaded, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. You heard the condescension in his voice. In any other scenario, you might’ve just rolled your eyes. In this one, you wiggled your hips, helpless.

“Need you, please, Satoru,” you told him, “need you deep in–in my pussy.”

He shuddered at your words. There was the tiniest breath, a sigh of excitement, before he was pulling away to curl up at your hips. Eager hands gripped at your flesh, pulling down your shorts with a practiced ease.

“Oh, anything for you,” he said as he pulled apart your thighs to look at your vulnerable flesh.

“Anything.”

You were almost embarrassed at the way he looked at you. He practically drooled, licking his lips like he was trying to taste your heated scent. You expected him to rip off your panties the way he was clearly dying to, but instead he spread your thighs wider to lick up a stripe at your inner thigh. You jolted at the hint of teeth so close to your cunt.

“Bad kitty.” You tried to scold but it came out more like a whine. “Kitties don’t bite.”

“This one does.” He purred into your skin before biting you once more.

Just when you were about to complain again, he finally decided to put his mouth to proper use. Satoru eased off your panties, dragging them down your shaking thighs. He didn’t get them all the way off, like he did with the rest of your clothes. Instead, they tangled up your legs, leaving you completely exposed.

He took his prize like a vulture, swooping down to your cunt. His long tongue licked up and down the entire length of your pussy. Words melted back into your tongue as he worked your wet slit.

“Oh.” You sighed as Satoru’s head disappeared in between your thighs.

You thought he was saying something back. Something rested in his voice as he lapped deeply into your cunt lips–a dark tone you can’t place. You didn’t care. It didn’t matter as your thighs tightened around his head, like you wanted to keep him trapped there forever.

“Satoru.” You barely managed out as he licked the nub of your clit, lightly suckling on it as you felt a wave of tremendous pleasure roll down your back.

“Feel good, gorgeous? Don’t be shy, lemme hear you.” He said, his voice slightly muffled as he continued to eat you out.

As though to coax more sounds from your lips, his fingers delved into your pussy lips to rub slow circles onto your clit as his tongue entered your walls. You give him what he wanted, arching your back as your voice got louder and louder. You could hear the debaucherous slick sounds emanating from his mouth licking away at you. They were barely covered by your own moans of pleasure.

“That’s it. Fuck.” He hissed into your trembling thighs as you felt yourself tense up.

“You sound so cute when you feel good.” Satoru purred. “I’m so glad I’m the one who made you feel like this. All for me.”

You barely registered the darkness in his words. At some point, your legs were propped up on either side of his shoulders. Your fingers fisted into his hair, coaxing him deeper into your wet, needy heat. Satoru barely needed the extra encouragement, eating your pussy like it was all he was made for–like he’d die if he did anything else.

Your whines crested into something else. Satoru picked up on it, eagerly moving forward and picking up his pace as your pussy walls trembled from the constant attention he gave you.

“Gonna come for me?” He pressed. “S’ okay. Let go, gorgeous. You can do it. Just a bit more–”

Your back arched, but Satoru anchored your hips, keeping you in place as your orgasm rushed through you. It was the strongest you’d ever come, wave after wave of pleasure fizzed up your toes as they flexed and curled to assuage the intensity.

Satoru kept going until your body flopped down, exhausted by his ministrations. Even then, he only pulled away when your whines turned into pathetic begs of ‘too much’. You watched him rise from in between your legs with bleary eyes. He wiped away his mouth with the back of his hand, never taking his eyes off you.

You must have looked like a mess as you lied there, breathless. He wasn’t much better. His cheeks were dappled in pinks and red as his blue eyes simmered with ocean foam.

“Come here.” Your arms felt like cement but you reached up anyway, caressing his hot skin, coaxing him down. He followed like he was leashed, tethered to your fingers, crashing his lips onto your own.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, sour and sweet. You wondered what he was tasting as he ate your pussy, absolutely relentless. It felt like he’d happily suffocate in between your thighs, lapping away at your folds for the rest of eternity.

That didn’t sound too bad. A part of you hungered to push his head down to your clit again, let him worship your cunt in waves of ecstasy.

But another part of you felt something hot and heavy rest at your thigh, barely obscured by the denim of his jeans.

“Was I good?” He asked between feverish kisses, bringing you back to him.

“Mmh,” you agreed as his teeth nibbled on your bottom lip. “You were so good,” It’s all you could say, mind muddled and soupy by the orgasm.

Satoru moved down, lavishing your jaw and upper throat in kisses.

“Such a good boy–good little kitty.” He practically melted at your words, whining at your throat as you stroked his hair and fluffy ears.

“Yeah?” He asked, lips pulling away from your collarbone.

You nodded. “The best boy.” You continued as you wiggled your hips with need. “But Satoru–”

“I know.” He pulled away, and you mourned his warmth before you saw the way he straddled you as he fiddled with his belt.

“I’m hurtin’ too, gorgeous. Waited months for this.” Months? But hadn’t you met Satoru five weeks ago?

You ignored every alarm bell ringing in your head just in time to see his cock bob between his strong thighs. He looked painfully hard. Precum leaked from a mushroom-shaped tip as his cock touched your bare thigh.

Your mouth watered.

“Ready, baby?” That growl in his voice was back again as he leaned over, chest hovered above your own.

You never broke eye-contact as you licked your lips. You could still taste remnants of him in your mouth.

“Fuck me, Satoru.”

His eyes flashed. He was going to ruin you. You couldn’t care less. You wanted him to.

His cock slipped through your folds, teasing at your clit, still wet from him earlier. Your eyes rolled back into your skull at the first press of him at your battered pussy. You hissed at the same time he did, but you still managed to keep your eyes on him, wanting to admire what you did to him.

His expression was almost pained as he eased himself deeper into your cunt. His eyebrows were pinched together, and his jaw was clenched like he was physically holding back from crying out at the mere touch of your warmth. It looked like he was doing everything he could to stop himself from coming the moment he entered your pussy. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore, collapsing into your shoulder to whine at your shoulder.

“I–I can’t do it.” He whined but you could still feel his cock stretching out your hole. “You’re so warm and tight. Feels like–like I’m home.” He babbled.

You tried to laugh, but it came out as a strangled moan.

“Don’t say stupid”-- You barely stifled a moan as he pushed himself deeper inside you–”things like that.”

He bottomed out with a stuttered gasp, clinging onto you like you were his lifeline. You’d never felt more full in your entire life. He pressed all the way into your womb. If you looked down, you were half-afraid you’d see his cock imprint itself onto your belly.

“Fuck.” Satoru hissed in your ear. “Look at you. You’re…you’re a perfect fit.”

If you could speak, you might’ve agreed. His cock stretched you out oh so nicely, each curve nestled into the deepest, wettest part of you. A spit of precum dribbled out of your stuffed hole, lecherously coating your pussy lips.

“You okay?” Satoru asked when you shuddered underneath him.

You nodded, tucking your head into the crook of his neck.

“Can I move?”

“Please.” Your voice was soft and keening. “Please, please move, ‘toru–”

“Shit, quit that.” He lightly berated. “I’m tryna hold back but your voice drives me crazy…moving, so hold on, gorgeous.”

You moved on instinct, rather than on his order. A particular thrust left you gasping, making you reach up and cling onto his smooth nape. Satoru barely flinched at you clawing at him, curling his lips as he continued to stuff you full.

The way he fucked you was messy, bordering on desperation as he drilled you into the couch. The stretch against your walls left you breathless and panting for more. The cool air of Satoru’s apartment felt like aloe against your heated skin as he picked up the pace, filling you up with his cock over and over again.

“Shit. You feel like heaven.” He said through gritted teeth. “You’re squeezing me so good–do you feel good? Am I making you feel good?” It didn’t even feel like dirty talk. It felt like he was genuinely asking, scarfing down any lick of praise as he continued to drill you against the sofa.

Your pussy spasmed around his cock, bearing down on him like you never wanted to let him go. Your thighs were painfully clenched as you wrapped your legs around his narrow waist. A hand dropped down from Satoru’s neck to your clit.

Before you could relieve the pressure, Satoru snatched it up. He grabbed your wrists holding them above your head. He reached down with his other, circling your clit with his thumb and turning your head into mush all over again.

“Oh, yes,” your eyes rolled up as his cock pistoned into you. “Satoru its–its–”

“I know, baby.” Satoru lowered himself so his cock hit something deep and spongy inside of you. “Just gotta hold on a bit more. I’ll take care of you.”

Something rumbled in his throat. It almost sounded like he was purring as he rutted into you, and maybe that should have been your final sign, but you could hardly care less as you creamed around his cock. Your mind floated as he fucked you the way he wanted to, the way you begged him too. It was an endless build up that seemed to last for centuries.

Your orgasm hit the minute he slammed his cock into that spot all the way inside of you, rolling away at your clit at the same time. Your back arched as you came around his thick cock. Your pussy milked him for all its worth, gushing around him as Satoru staggered and swayed above you.

He didn’t last all that long after. There was a feral snarl before his cum sprayed all the way inside your womb. There was so much of it. Some dribbled out of your sore pussy all over your cunt lips.

Minutes later, when you barely put yourself together after that mind-numbing orgasm, you could still feel Satoru deep inside you. His head settled into the crook of your neck as he tried to regain his breath. You felt butterfly kisses across your skin as he lavished you in exhausted affection.

You stopped him when he tried to pull out, using the last bit of your strength to cinch your legs around his waist.

“Stay,” you mumbled, “‘feels nice.”

He smiled against your neck. You felt his arms wrap around your waist as he laid down with you. The couch was probably a snug fit considering how tall Satoru was, but you could hardly care less.

“Yeah?”

You hummed. You thought he said something else but you were too tired to care. Nestled in the arms of a man who fucked you silly was a good position to pass out in.

Just before you fell asleep, you noticed the funniest thing.

Between the pussy eating and the rapid fucking, those stupid, fluffy ears still remained on top Satoru’ head.

🐾

You woke up to sore legs and an aching body.

Your stiff limbs complained whenever you moved. Blearily, you opened your eyes. Sunlight poured in through a window. It was late-morning, at the very least.

Your environment also changed. The last thing you remembered was falling asleep next to Satoru’s warm chest on his sofa. Now the only thing you felt below you was a springy mattress and fluffy pillows. You laid naked underneath a bulky blanket.

Satoru was nowhere to be found, but the spot beside you was warm. Outside the room, you distantly heard a muffled phone call. Bits and pieces.

“Lost the curse user? That’s fine…got really curious about the…nah, it was my fault for getting caught up in that…yeah, I guess things mostly worked out…should thank him, honestly–”

You must have dozed off. When you opened your eyes again, Satoru was underneath the sheets with you. He watched you with a strange smile on his face, propping his chin up with his hand. His white hair was tousled like he’d never left. He was shirtless, proudly showing his bare skin when the light marks you left on him. With slight disappointment, you noted his cat ears were gone.

“What?” He asked, noticing your souring mood.

You scowled and turned away from him.

“You bit me,” you said, pulling an excuse out of the air. “‘Can’t believe you did that. Get out. I’m banning you from the bed.” You lightly nudged him with your foot.

Neither of you acknowledged that it was his bed in his apartment. Instead, Satoru whined, slumping over you in a bear hug.

“I’m sorry!” He kissed your shoulder, lightly licking over a mark he made the night before. “Please forgive me!” He caught onto your smile. “You’re into groveling? I’ll keep that in mind for next time–”

“Shut up.” You lightly scolded, but you sank into his hold regardless.

“Can I use your shower?” You asked after a few minutes of cuddling. As much as you liked this moment, your skin still felt clammy from last night.

“I can draw us a bath.” Satoru rubbed his cheek against yours with a satisfied sigh. “I got lavender scented bubbles and everything.”

“That sounds nice.” You nodded, but neither of you moved.

He practically invited himself into your shower time, but you didn’t mind. It was a little cute how eager he was. Or maybe that was just you missing every sign in the book. After all, this guy spent weeks and weeks helping you skulk around outside searching for your cat. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so surprised he was this forward.

Speaking of your cat….

“Satoru?” You called.

There was a hum against your skin as his head buried into the crook of your neck.

“I don’t think I need to worry about Snowbell anymore.” You tell him. “I…think he’s fine. Wherever he is.”

“Yeah.” Satoru said in this voice that you couldn’t read. “Wherever he is.”

You needed to shower, but he was so warm and the bed was so soft and perfect. You couldn’t help but drift off again, letting Satoru cling onto you. Distantly, you wondered maybe….

…maybe next time, you could convince him to wear a tail, too.

[reignpage]

who knows how accurate this is to canon, but I want to die every time I imagine babyjo seeing curses for the first time and being so scared of the monsters that he cried and cried but no one ever came to comfort him. he cried in the way children do, with hiccups, hyperventilating, all snotty and red in the face. they probably scoffed at him too. disappointed and disgusted by his display of weakness. babyjo didn't understand why they were so mad at him for crying, why no one was protecting him from the monsters.

he couldn't shut his eyes, because he still saw them. everywhere. all at once.

babyjo eventually learnt to self-soothe. he had to. because no one would talk to him until he stopped crying. because he didn't like disappointing everyone. he might have had a blanket or toy he brought with him everywhere till it was dirty and torn apart because it was warmer than how everyone else holds him. because no one hugged him. no one rubbed his head or patted his back, no one sang lullabies to get him to sleep, or reassured him after he woke up from a nightmare

maybe someone higher up decided that the heir shouldn't have a teddy or blanky — it's an embarrassing display of vulnerability the gojo clan cannot afford — and they snatched it from him. no one listened to him when he begged to have it back. and he begged for so long.

once again babyjo was alone.

that's why, if he ever has a baby, best believe he's spoiling the little thing with all the toys in the world!!! he doesn't believe in letting the baby cry it out. doesn't believe in saying 'no' or 'be a big boy'. dadjo always brings his baby up to eye level or he bends down. he hates towering over his baby. he doesn't believe in a child being able to identify their parent by their legs or their shoes.

dadjo dresses his mini me in the cutest, softest onesies and cuddles the hell out of his baby as a way to heal his inner child. he's the type to be admiring his baby and then suddenly getting cuteness aggression. "my shaylaaaaa," he'd coo, biting his baby's chubby cheek.

oh and he totally compares his baby with all other babies. 'my baby doesn't scream endlessly like that in public' + 'my baby eats all their vegetables' + 'my baby can build tower blocks as tall as they are'

but dadjo also always tells his baby, 'you're perfect just the way you are. even if you're not the smartest, the biggest, or the strongest. just grow up healthy. and take care of your mommy. she gets sad when I'm not with her.'

[to00fu]

project hail mary but gojo (i havent watched it)

[natto-zeddo]

idk how this one movie broke my writer's block like crazy, but it was just so peak in general I loved it. There were def moments with Grace that I couldn't NOT see nerdjo and I was like "damn, I see a great tragedy here"

so many x reader fics have reader treat Gojo as if he is more than a tool. what if we reverse that ;]

[soupydumplings]

summer's lease hath all too short a date

submission for @madamechrissy's object!gojo event hehe - congrats on 50k followers & happiest of birthdays to one of the first jjk authors i became obsessed with (wdym we are mutuals!!!! I'M NOT WORTHYYY)

characters: yukata obi!gojo (emperor!gojo) x childhood friend/servant!fem reader

veiled secrets is by far one of my fave works by chrissy - if you have yet to read it, please do!!!!

tags(s): angst, mention of character death, reincarnation, crack, inanimate but sentient gojo, references to chrissy's emperor gojo, perspective switch, yearning&pining, asshole gojo (some redemption?), japanese legend, flower language

word count: 2.5k

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines... But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Emperor Gojo was transcendent. Ephemeral. A beast in battle, and an even more feral one in bed. His bright blue eyes always reminded you of summer – the glistening pond and the vast skies.

Compared to summer though, Emperor Gojo was far more beautiful, and by far more temperate.

Like a fleeting firework display. Burning bright and brilliant, but untouchable up close. Ever since his enthronement ceremony when he came of age, he was lost to you.

Yes, he had gained immense power, stepping into the role he had been destined for: the nation’s Weapon.

But he also finally recognised that you were far beneath his station.

Years of frolicking as bosom buddies, cheeky flirting just… gone.

You knew it was never going to go anywhere, but your traitorous heart loved that white-haired miscreant for years anyway.

Each time he stuck his tongue out at you, each time he skipped his lessons to play with you in the fields, each time he held your hand like he wasn’t put off by your calluses and weathered skin… hope bloomed you in. Dangerous, treacherous hope.

You would have loved him no matter which lifetime, you thought. Even if he weren’t Emperor. Perhaps especially so.

That title burned your tongue and clawed at your heart.

Emperor.

One of the many privileges of being Emperor was the honour of having concubines. Being slighted by the love of your life was already a difficult pill to swallow, but knowing that his gender granted his indiscretion legitimacy, while you were relegated to a life of perpetual servitude and shadows…

You could only bend and kiss the ground, watch the boy you loved grow into a god you resent. Resentment aside, he was still a god you worshipped devoutly.

But what choice did you have?

You've sworn yourself to him, at his altar. You were a willing participant, and a heartbroken one at that.

"Nah, I'd win," he boasted to his gaggle of concubines, as you prepared their teas and robes. 

Steam from the opulent bath swirled and rosewater permeated the air. The scent from the oils was pleasantly saccharine, but it did little to tamp down the nausea from seeing Gojo entwined in a tangle of limbs and breasts.

Resolutely averting your eyes, you focused on the task at hand. Methodically folding robes and pouring sweet tea in delicate china while the most esteemed Emperor continued with his bravado.

The Gojo state, for all their folly, had decided to lead the charge against their longest enemy, the barbaric Ryomen clan, without waiting for allies or support. This foolhardy battle plan was spearheaded by the one and only Six Eyes, a revered war title bestowed upon Emperor Gojo after his legacy of going undefeated and unmatched for hundreds of battles.

Six Eyes, they called him – for his foresight, his vision, his ability to see through deception and stealth.

Of course, those piercing eyes never once saw your devotion, never saw you, you’d think bitterly.

In an ironic twist, Emperor Gojo had insisted that you were to be his personal servant, dishing up his nightly dessert. A great honour, he had claimed, which he could entrust to no one but you. 

A younger version of yourself many moons ago would have swooned and sighed, relishing the task. After all, this was the only way two star-crossed lovers of different stations could ever be together – through stolen seconds and engineered moments alone.

You know now, or rather, finally could admit it to yourself, that it was because Gojo knew you’d never have the audacity or malice to poison him. 

He never had to call for the poison checker if it were you. He’d get his dessert much quicker that way.

It seemed that all you were to this man was what you could offer; what you could do for him.

The syrupy glaze would waft into your nose, but it did little to disguise the dry sand that filled your mouth each time you laid eyes on his Majesty and beloved concubine of the week.

You were never one to be bold or daring, so you never once dreamt of being awarded the title of a concubine. Someone of your background could never.

So what were you expecting?

That your beloved Satoru would swear off other women, renounce his title, and run away with you to live happily ever after in a small cottage?

Scoffing, you shook your head lightly. Even as a child, Gojo was driven by ambition and power. 

“I’m going to be the strongest!” His pitchy adolescent voice belied his skill and prowess. You never once doubted him. It was evident in the way he wielded his sword, and moved in combat. Watching with stars in your eyes, you’d gasp at the effortless way he dominated his trainers and challengers.

A true hero, you used to think. The saviour of our land. 

There was no one on earth who would rival him as a teenager. What more when Gojo was crowned and at his prime?

GOJO SATORU HAS BEEN DEFEATED. HE HAS FALLEN IN BATTLE. SURRENDER NOW AND WE WILL SHOW YOUR WOMEN AND CHILDREN MERCY. GOJO SATORU HAS B-

Gojo was having a bad week. Not only did he have to fight Sukuna (ugh), but he was made to leave the castle before he could say goodbye to you in person. 

Yes, you were probably busy with chores or whatever you had to finish before your lunch break, but he knew seeing his face would make your day. You were sweet like that.

Worst of all though, he freaking died. 

That distinct, unforgettable moment of being severed – that was only second to his regret and guilt. 

Third on the list of grievances was probably how his first and only true defeat was broadcast throughout his kingdom by enemy knights on horseback, trying to undermine his nation from within. 

Could one feel such an intense turmoil of emotions even when dead?

Perhaps it was his punishment for his crimes while living. Whilst he was a fine leader and merciful fighter on the battlefield, he was ultimately just a cruel boy. 

A boy who flirted unabashedly with a girl who kissed the ground he walked. A boy with no intentions of actually ever communicating maturely or being the bigger man.

A boy who let down the only real thing in his life time and time and time again.

You were the only thing on his mind at the end; fittingly so. After all the times he dismissed you or snubbed you… if anyone had the right to haunt him for all of time, it was you.

He loved you. In his own stupid, selfish way. He did really love you.

He loved the way your eyes crinkled, the way your hands were rough from use. Despite your flaming blush each time he grabbed them, he never let you pull away.

You saw him for him. As Satoru. Not a weapon, not the future Imperial leader. Just a boy who loved sweets and pranks.

You saw him. Could he say the same?

God, he was a fool. Propelled by some unknown drive, perhaps a part of him knew his end was imminent, he had attempted to make amends before his battle.

The right approach, the proper approach would be to actually speak to you, and begin his litany of apologies, and to try to rekindle whatever relationship he could salvage.

Of course Gojo Satoru wouldn’t take the easy route. That would mean he wasn’t a fool.

No, he decided to commission a yukata, with a blue obi (for no reason, definitely not to match his eyes), despite it being winter.

The royal tailor was momentarily perplexed by the odd request, but still familiar enough with Emperor Gojo’s whims that he compiled readily.

He had the garment wrapped pristinely in a heavy box, and ordered another servant to send it to your room when he left for battle.

Now, once again, the right and easy thing to do would have been to give it himself. To explain why he did it, and perhaps even extend an invitation to you for both of you to attend a summer festival together in said matching yukata. 

That would have been the right thing to do.

But now Gojo found himself fucking sealed in that very box, awaiting summer’s arrival, praying that you’d decide to open his (first and) final gift.

Perhaps it was the fact that you filled his mind in his final moments, and that this was his divine retribution - but he found himself as the obi he had commissioned for you.

Cursed with sentience and reflection but unable to speak; to be reborn without a mouth though he was aching to scream.

In darkness over the next few months, he came to learn that his nation had prevailed from hushed whispers and gossip. That his student and distant relative, the prodigy Okkotsu Yuta, was able to defeat Sukuna and take control of the Gojo state.

The pride he felt for Yuta warred viciously with his own shame and guilt, though what emerged triumphantly was actually his sense of relief.

Tragically, it was only as an obi that he was finally free of his responsibilities and burdens. 

At least, he still had you. His one consolation. He could finally be with you as just Satoru.

However, sealed away in the gift box, he was utterly helpless when he heard your gentle weeping in the dead of night.

He did not deserve your love, much less your grief. 

Each time you mourned him, Gojo was made to relive his death, and more painfully, his failure in life when it came to you. 

It seemed so unfair that both of you would be punished for his folly and sin.

Stiffly, as best as he could as a starched piece of fabric, Gojo prayed for your release and freedom.

He prayed that you’d find peace, that you could let go of him, something he should have done for you when he was alive.

Time as an obi… felt neither here nor there. Eventually, Gojo surmised that it was indeed summer.

The air in the box felt especially musty and damp, though he need not concern himself with the high humidity levels anymore since he had no locks to maintain or sweat glands to perspire.

How many months has it been? Or had it been years? 

You never once opened the box, and Gojo did not feel like he wanted to compel you to. His final act of what he deemed generosity, was probably just an additional burden weighing you down. 

What good is an expensive gift when you would never come to learn of its significance and his intention? It was just like his past self to throw money at a problem, but never to actually open up and be vulnerable.

Being an obi seems to only further compound his long list of regrets, but that was probably the point of his reincarnation into this form. To learn, to grow, to change – even though it was too little too late. 

Summer rolled around again. How many summers it had been since his death, he knew not. 

The tedious doldrums of life as an obi was frankly, quite bearable. Routinely, he’d wait patiently, until you returned to your quarters after a day’s work.

In the evening, he relished your quiet tears and companionable silence as you washed up, read, and got ready for bed. 

In another life, this would be his nightly routine. Coming back to you after a long day of meetings with the higher-ups and council, after walks around town and polite smiles directed to his people. 

You’d be there, waiting for him at home. Would you have a pair of children together? A boy with his hair; a girl with your smile?

If he had a heart, it’d break a second, third, forth, fifth time over and over and over again. In the light of day when you left to perform your imperial duties, Gojo counted down the seconds for your return.

Was this what it was like for you when he was alive? Waiting tirelessly for someone who never spared a thought for you?

Fortunately, your grief mellowed with time. And in time, you stopped weeping at night. Gojo had once thought that the worst thing in life was to be forgotten, but he realised he didn’t care if he was remembered anymore. 

He just wanted you to stop hurting.

He supposes he’s finally got his wish as an obi.

Watching you get dressed, finally unboxing his gift now that enough time (years?) has passed. 

Methodically, you slipped on the yukata, adjusting the front panels, before reaching for the obi.

Oddly, Gojo comes to find, being pulled and tugged and stretched did not hurt. Maybe it was the designated purpose of an obi, so being wrapped tautly and filled with tension felt surprisingly natural for him.

Or maybe it was because you were the one wearing him.

Unexpectedly, the pain came a little later, after you were done getting dressed.

It pierced him like a lance, an agony so sharp and so visceral. To his horror, it even paled in comparison to his actual death.

You were dolled up, and strolling around the local festival hand in hand with someone else. Increasingly sensitive to each movement and touch, Gojo became hyper aware of each time you leaned into the other man’s larger frame and wrapped your arm around his bicep.

Was this what it was like for you? Dying a thousand deaths each time wordlessly? Watching from the shadows, unable to interject?

At least, Gojo comforts himself, he would never truly forget you. 

It was his turn to watch over you silently, steadily. Cling to you like second skin, literally. And there was no one to stop him this time round.

It seems, he tells himself, that you would never forget him either. The love and grief might have faded, but you care for Emperor Gojo still. 

As the fireworks sizzle to an end, you and your lover take a detour before heading back to the servant quarters. 

You stop by the royal mausoleum, leaving behind a bouquet of blue hydrangeas, as your fingers trace over the golden letters etched in smooth stone, 五条悟. Emperor Gojo Satoru.

It’d be funny, if it weren’t so damn tragic. 

The tale of the Ajisai, 紫陽花, had been passed down from generations: the story of an emperor who gave his neglected lover a bouquet of blue hydrangeas as a sign of contrition and remorse. 

It ought to have been him who offered these flowers to you, not the other way round, Gojo thinks desperately. Overwhelmed with the need to speak, to say something, anything, Gojo would be driven to tears if he could cry.

Worst of all, he notices that they match his eyes, and your obi.

He supposes the flowers have to do all the talking for him now. All he can do now is feel how you intertwine your fingers with another man’s, walking hand in hand, leaving his gilded tomb behind.

Until another lifetime.

big shoutout to @madamechrissy once again!!! big love & lots of kisses to u angel

this was also not the usual object!crack fic but i hope you like it! i'd love to try my hand at sillier fics in the future hehe but the angst bug got me this round

gojo art is official gege akutami, edited on canva by me // others are stock image/free use on procreate // divider by the lovely @/saradika-graphics

Reblogs, comments, likes would be greatly appreciated! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟthank you taking the time to read!

Please do not translate, copy, or feed my work to AI. Basic DNI rules apply for minors; please be kind in the comments! Hate speech or intolerance of any kind will not be accepted.

[natto-zeddo]

that's one way to learn a lesson, I guess. love the way you wrote how Gojo absolutely fumbled this timeline.

[dqnquality]

[to00fu]

happy birthday gojito

[natto-zeddo]

Can't believe i missed Gojo's birthday in my holiday. Time to use my five minutes of scarce screen time just for him (⁠｡⁠ﾉ⁠ω⁠＼⁠｡⁠)