CHAT, AM I THE 4SSHOL3? ───── OO9. RAIN, RAIN GO AWAY? NO, SICK, SICK GO AWAY.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⋮ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ⋮ Your long term boyfriend, Hayato made a disgusting post about you on Reddit. I mean, who even thinks that it’s a good idea to put your name on a Reddit username? Your Reddit obsessed best friend sent you the post and it was closure to his already shitty attitude to begin with. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of crying and yelling — You just packed and left for good (not before you changed the Netflix account password though, and Spotify). When your now ex-boyfriend went batshit crazy after your departure, your best friend suggested her older brother to look after you.
Except, all he’s good at (probably) is studying and his looks.
Himiko snapped a picture of her brother — who by the way, is currently itifully laying down on his bed, bundled inside a heap of blanket, accompanied by some Pokemon plushies around his head. Gojo muttered out a few incoherent curses under his breath, flailing his hand in a futile attempt to stop his siter from snapping any more pictures of his miserable state.
“I’m sending this to (Name).”
He pressed his elbow on the bed, pushing himself up to sit, “No, why would you even do that?” His eyes rolled back and his body forced itself back down, sweat bundling right by his hairline.
His breaths were heavy and ragged, he’d come home a bit later due to the storm — and trafic was crazy. He’d wore his wet shirt to the point of it drying down again. Hence, the fever when he woke up. Gojo had barely been able to call in sick for work, the pounding in his head was brutal, unlike any other headaches he’s had before.
“Oops, finger slipped. She’s gonna take care of you while I’m gone for the day, get well soon, ‘Toru.” Gojo didn’t even — no, actually, he had lost the abilty to fight back the moment that headache slipped into his head, “Bye!”
For someone he deemed a sister (and actually is one), she seemed too happy right now.
You kicked your shoes off. The text made it to your phone right as you were about to go out for gorceries. Keyword — were.
Given a spare key, you went inside their home. Not even bothering to knock, “Satoru?” You called out. No answer. In a rush, you climbed up the stairs — inhaling sharply, “Satoru? I’m coming in,” you mutter, pushing the door handle to his room down.
It was truly a pitiful sight. Gojo was laying on his side, his head wasn’t even on a pillow, it just hung uncomfortably. Cheeks flushed, he was breathing through his mouth, each huff and puff coming out ragged and sounding painful. You didn’t switch on the light in his room, afraid to bring him more discomfort than he already is feeling.
However, you did take a couple of steps. Your hand raising his head and you slipped his pillow under. At that moment, his eyes flutter open slowly, half-lidded but he could make out it was you behind the blur coating his vision, “(Name)?” He whispers out.
You hum, “That’s me,” he forced a smile to his lips, even that was painful.
“What are you doing…” He groans out, shifting to lay on his back, “What time is it?”
“As we speak, it is…” You taped your phone screen twice, igniting it, “Nine AM.”
He lets out another pitiful groan, “It’s still that early?” He subconsciouly gripped on your wrist — the same particular wrist that’s currently holding the back of his head, “I’m so hungry… I can cook for us—”
“No, aboslutely not in that condition. I’ll cook,” you mutter out, pulling the blanket up to his chin. However, Gojo kicked the blanket off, “Satoru, be still, you’re sick.”
“’Ts too hot,” he whines out, “I can sleep without the blanket.”
“Then get more sick? Come on, lay still!” You try tucking him back, but all he does is kick the blanket off then shifts the other way, his back facing you. You narrow your eyes, “Listen here you, you’re sick and you’re not cooperating well — I tell you to put this on so you wouldn’t get worse, but it seems like you want to get worse! Suit yourself!”
Gojo lets out a loud whine like noise, shaking his head, “But, it’s too hot for me!”
“So? You can teach little gremlins but can’t hold a little heat?” He grumbled under his breath incoherently — begrudgingly letting you tuck him in like a child, “Now that wasn’t so hard, right?
By the time you stepped out, he was already snoring. Since he was hungry, you had decided to just cook a simple porridge, topped with scallions and a little soy. Now, you weren’t really the best cook in the family, so Gojo just had to eat do whatever creation you made.
In your defense, it didn’t look bad at all. It looked like a bowl of normal looking porridge with bits of eggs that you had mixed in, topped with a little scallion garnish. It doesn’t smell like anything — Besides the soy sauce you dribbled in five seconds ago.
Using your knee to open the door to his room, Gojo was already sitting up, face flushed. He was pushing away the blanket, but the sight of you holding a tray made his eyes lit up in happiness, “What’s that? Takeout?”
You shook your head, “No, I cooked.”
You mixed the porridge to get it all even, scooping a little bit before blowing on it, “Alright, I don’t know if it tastes to your liking, but — let’s try it out. Egg porridge,” Gojo parts his lips, and you feed him the spoonful that you just blew on. Nervously examining his expression, every twitch of his face making you nervous, “is it okay?”
Gojo nods his head, parting his lips again for a second bite.
Thankfully, he did not throw another tantrum. He finished the bowl quickly and laid back down after you gave him some medicine, “Are you feeling better?”
He puffed his cheeks out, “A little. Thanks for cooking,” seemingly deep in mind, he looks at you, “if you’re bored, I got a Nintendo you can play. There’s Mario Kart and all… and if you want to go home, you can—”
“I’ll wait ‘till Himiko comes home, that okay with you?”
Gojo nods his head with a shy smile. Now that you realized, when Gojo wasn’t wearing his glasses, he looked rather… ethereal. Like, a sculpture. He shuts his eyes, exhaling loudly. When he fell asleep, that’s when your stomach began grumbling loudly in an attempt to get feed — well, leftover porridge it is.
You mixed the porridge, setting it on the counter.
Let’s dig in. You mentally chanted in your mind, taking a first bite. Your actions were halted and you slowly stood up, walking towards the sink before spitting the porridge in your mouth. A string of saliva hanging as you washed your mouth.
It’s fucking salty. You ditched the whole bowl, carrying a big glass of water for Gojo who was fast asleep upstairs — slamming the door open seemed to wake him up abruptly, “Jesus Christ, Satoru. You should have said that it was salty as hell, I couldn’t even swallow it!” And he ate a whole bowl of it!
He stammered, “H..uh? What? What happened?” The remnants of sleep still stuck to his face, his face was less flushed, but he was still obviously unwell. Lips chapped and pale, you shoved the rim of the glass in between his lips, holding the back of his head before tipping his head back along with the glass — the water forced down into his throat.
Gojo pulled himself back, wiping his lips with the sleeve of his hoodie. Sending you a look of disbelief, “I ate it because it was good, so what if it’s a bit salty?” He mumbles out, throwing himself back onto the bed, “I can eat that for dinner too—”
“Nu-uh, I’m ordering takeout for dinner.”
Gojo groans out, “I’m fine with the porridge.”
“I’m not. That’s a health hazard, I’m never cooking anymore,” you mutter, clutching onto the glass of half-empty water, he shifted on the bed, facing you, his body curling into a fetal position, “listen, don’t feel bad about calling my food shit, because I almost killed you today. And that’s not good. Alright?”
He huffs, “It’s just a bit salty.”
“For someone who’s usually quiet, you’re pretty annoying when you’re sick, huh?” You mutter through gritted teeth, a forced smile on your face. Gojo grins weakly, “Not funny.”
“I’m gonna nap..” He murmurs softly, holding back a yawn from escaping, “Will you be here when I wake up?”
Sighing out. Truthfully speaking, his current state had already tire you out badly — but, since you were afraid of him dying alone. And considering you were the last person here, that would make you a witness, which was not a good look at all.
“Yes, probably.” You replied.
He smiles softly, “Okay,” he whispers out, “okay…” You sat on the floor, back pressed to his bed frame. His breaths grew softer by the second, and his fingers were peeking out from under the blanket, your eyes roamed over his fingers slightly. Reaching out, you prod at it, lightly tapping on his fingertips.
Occassionally his fingers would twitch. Your cheek pressed against the messy mattress of his bed, eyeing his peaceful resting face. He looked peaceful — unlike his usual jittery self, he actually looked like he’s enjoying a good sleep. Your fnger traced his fingers gently, counting the seconds that passes by.
Until, he traps your fingers. It was two of your fingers, your index and middle. Jesus, that scared the hell out of you. He didn’t wake up, oddly. However, his finger curled around yours like a vice, and you didn’t pull away in fear of waking him up.
So, you stayed in that very position. Soon enough, falling asleep, using your arm as a pillow — your head right by where the two of you are connected.
By the time you stir awake, the room was a veil of darkness. Gojo’s fingers were still tightly clamped against yours. The position you slept in wasn’t the most convenient one — hence, why your back was hurting, and your joints were sore. Pursing your lips, you held back a loud groan when you heard the satisfying ‘crack!’ resounded.
The brightness of your phone was blinding. Your eyes needed to squint heavily to try to make out the time: 21.37 PM? Jesus, the two of you had been sleeping for at least… well, a worth of a good night sleep… Actually, even more. There was a message from Himiko right under a notification from an e-commerce app.
Himiko:
Business meeting running late, might stay over at a co-worker’s cuz I wanna get drunk lollzzz
Himiko:
Actually, I am drunk haha
Himiko:
How’s ytoru?
Himiko:
He ded lol?
That was approximately 37 minutes ago — you sighed, using one hand to type rather slowly.
You:
No, he’s not dead
You:
I almost killed him with my porridge though
You:
Don’t get TOO drunk, you’ll be on the news.
Guess that makes a sleepover then. Sleepovers weren’t really rare in between you and Himiko — You’ve slept on her bed for a week straight while you were trying to pay off some debt (and had to get exterminated from an old apartment) in the past. This was practically a second home to you, you could just go ahead and pick out some clothes of hers.
Puling your fingers out of his grip, he stirs awake. And you stop.
“Mm… What time is it?”
“As we speak?” You mumbled, “Nine-fourty five. Night.”
He sat up, “Nine-fourtyfive? Are you serious? Actually? I got to grade a quiz due tomorrow — my students are going to be pissed that I forgot,” he scrambled up, his steps faltering slightly the more he takes. Eventually, he leans his head on the wall by the door before looking back at you, “actually? Can you help me with it?”
So, this is how you ended up sitting on the floor of his room, a small table in front of you. Your back pressed against his bedframe like a rest, and he was peeking over your shoulder, “Everytime a student gets over seventy, put a cute sticker on the front of the page. The answer sheet is right there, you just have to tend to the papers and make sure they’re the same.”
“What’s the point if you’re still sick tomorrow?”
He coughed, “I can send the papers to school. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten sick,” you huffed, the red pen gripped tightly in between your fingers as you marked the papers.
“What if they get below fifty?”
Gojo inhales sharply, “Someone got below fifty?”
“Daiki Jinbei.” You sound out the student’s name, messily written on the top of the paper, “Oh, he wrote down. Quote unquote, Gojo-sensei, I’m so sorry that I couldn’t get a good score today. My mom—” Your eyes skimmed through the messily written sentence, heart sinking, “— threw my books away and I had to borrow from a friend during break time before the test. I am so sorry, I will do better,” the sentence ends with a little sad face.
You look over your shoulder. Gojo was blinking up the ceiling, “That isn’t the first time it’s happened. His parents are divorced, and his father left him — his mother isn’t the most nurturing mother out there, and… he’s struggling to keep up, I’m not sure he could.”
With furrowed brows, you tell him, “You’re his teacher, right? Have you talked to him?”
He nods. “I did. he didn’t tell me anything besides that — and he refused an extra tutoring from me after school. I tried talking to the principal, but he said it wasn’t any of my business, and that I should just keep myself out of their family problems,” you chewed on your bottom lip.
“What should I write?”
Gojo cleared his throat, “It’s alright. Let’s do better next time,” he mumbles out, “and put a little smiley face.”
“…Okay.”
You did as said, not wanting to pull this matter out because the look on his face tells you that this wasn’t what he wanted as well. It took a while to grade the papers, but you were done, putting it back in their respective files. Gojo was staring up the ceiling, “I wish I could have done more as their teacher.”
His words made you look over your shoulder, “You caring mean something. I’m guessing, this kid still loves his mom despite what she’s doing — and maybe if he tells you about it, chances of his mom getting arrested are… bigger.”
Gojo furrowed his brows. “That’s the thing, they shouldn’t even be worrying about their mom getting arrested at this age, they should be playing and… making memories.”
You nod. “You’re right. Maybe we can do something later. ‘Kay?” Gojo bobs his head, “Alright, let’s just order something to eat right now. I’m not going to attempt another murder with salt — what are you craving?”
“Curry. Katsu curry. Maybe some tuna mayo onigiri too…”
“Alright. Call me if you need anything, I’ll wait downstairs.”
wc: 2k || art creds: @/_3aem || based off those tiktoks w the crying knight & wedded princess🥀 || angst
summary! jester!gojo has spent his entire life being madly in love with you, the princess he lived to serve. he'd grown up with you, making you laugh and fall more deeply in love with him with each passing year. only now, he has to watch as his princess is given away to another man, all because he wasn't born of pedigree. (for my angst loving babies, i live for you.)
the first time you'd heard satoru's jester bells ring for you, they were small and bright, stitched into the hem of a fool’s coat.
he had been much younger then, jingling them around as he trained in the art of humour.
he tumbled into the great hall of your castle with a wide, devilish grin, tripped on purpose, and made you laugh so hard the governess scolded both of you for being too loud. then, much later, when the room cleared out of all the important men and women, he bowed his jester hat too low and whispered that, "i would trip a thousand a time more if it meant hearing that sound, m'lady."
even as a child, your face blushed a fair pink when he'd say such foolish things.
"you're quite the glutton for trouble, jester."
"does it bother the princess?" he'd smile.
"i suppose not." you'd laugh, your voice a few octaves higher than it was now, years later when you'd both grown up, not of age just yet, but old enough to be left in the care of the jester.
he grows much taller, the golden bells that adorn the peaks of his hat and collar start to fade. you grow too, hair braided with pearls now instead of silk ribbon, lessons traded for councils and ledgers.
yet, the incredibly close bond you'd shared since childhood was ever the more stronger as time passed. he still finds you behind the tapestries when court grows dull and filled with too many deep commanding voices, spilling the embarrassing stories he'd heard jesting for the big figures in the room. with each tale you'd try to muffle your laugh, and each time he'd pull your hand down.
"ts' my job to make you smile, m'dam. please, don't hide such a pretty thing." you'd smile as he kissed the back of your knuckles.
even now, you still sneak him sugared figs and bits of stolen wine. you'd sometimes pull him out into the courtyard to share with him your lunch.
you'd talk for hours, sometimes. hours and hours about the ins and out of everything you could think of, from the way your father would nit pick each and every thing about you, to your plans to sneak off with him one day.
"you do dream big, m'lady." he'd say, a solemn smile on his fair face.
"am i not allowed to dream for a life with you?" you'd ask, lightheartedly.
"oh, but of course, anyone can dream. but you know, in your case, that's all they'll ever be.. dreams." he wasn't smiling anymore.
now, you're both at that age. the age where the kingdom decides you're ready for such unfathomable, adult things.
the day the betrothal is announced, the court applauds both you and the soon to be king.
you were supposed to be with your prince the night your engagement was announced, but instead, you'd been off to find satoru who wasn't standing suit by your bedroom door like he'd usually be.
you spot him in the narrow passage by the kitchens, his pretty face scrubbed clean of his jest paint.
“you didn’t come see me,” you say quietly.
“i'd known not if i was allowed,” he answers, turning to face you.
“since when has that stopped you?"
he looks at you with this look. a sad look. a sad look no jester should ever wear.
“since now, m'lady."
the silence and sheer chill of the walls crept into your heart, you hated it.
“say something foolish,” you demand. "please, brighten my ever decaying mood."
he smiles, but it's only small, and very, very tired. “i'm afraid i’m fresh out.”
after that, time spent together slips away from both of you.
fittings. lessons. letters sealed with wax you do not recognise. the prince is kind in that weird way strangers are kind to passer byers. he'd quiz about your favourite cliches, and you'd drone out whatever answer you thought he'd like to hear most.
satoru never bothered with cliches, he'd tell you of things far more relevant.
at night, you sit in your chambers and listen for his bells that never come.
gojo still finds you, only when he can. once, in the armory, dust motes drifting through thin light.
“you’re avoiding me,” you accuse. "stop it at once." you say, staring up at him with a pouty look.
he leans against a rack of old spears. “i’m only practicing.”
“for?"
“for when i must watch you leave, i can't make a scene.”
you cross your arms. “you’re terrible at that.”
“i know.”
another time, in the chapel after midnight, candles burned down to their wicks as you sat together in the pews.
“say it,” you whisper.
“say what.”
“whatever it is you keep swallowing down.”
he exhales through his nose. “i'm afraid it is but against the law, m'lady.”
“i am the princess, i am above such law.”
"you can be such a brat." he teased as he slips closer. not touching you, though, never touching anymore.
“i love you,” he says, finally, there's no joke to soften it up.
your chest goes rigid. “but you can’t.”
he nods. “oh do i know...”
you want to scream, to fight and say this isn't want you signed up for, but all you can muster up is a soft, "and i have loved you for many years, as well."
you both go quiet, because what can a princess with no real standing in this and a mere jester do in such a situation..
the night before the wedding, you find him beneath the eastern tower stairs, just like always. you'd just received a letter via your maid, informing you that the castle would be sending away your jester in order to "keep the future queen's mind on her duty."
you were in shambles.
“they’re sending you away,” you almost yell.
“yes, after tomorrow,” he replies. “seems cleaner.”
“cleaner? for who.” you spit.
he smiles. “everyone else.”
you step closer. “please, satoru. nevermind them.. stay.”
he laughs, soft. “don’t ask me to be so cruel, m'lady.”
“you’re a jester,” you say. “that’s your job.”
“hm, not to you.”
you want to stab your stomach with a dagger, this was all eating you up from the inside and you were losing more and more of yourself with each passing day.
“will you at least watch?” you ask, on the brink of tears.
he brings a hand up to wipe at your eyelid, a gesture he'd done so many times before, but he had to stay true to his, and the kings vow. letting you go was the best he could do for you.
“yes,” he says at last. “i’ll watch.”
the day comes and harsh stone presses cool through the soles of your shoes.
the weight of white, expensive silk rests delicately upon your shoulders, it's uncomfortable and heavy in a way armor must feel to knights who had sworn to wear it. your jewelled crown sits perfectly on your styled hair.
satoru stands just beyond the archway of the venue, dressed not in bells or paint but in plain linen, as close to invisible as a soulful man like him can manage. when he turns to see you, his eyes soften so sweetly his breath leaves his chest in a long deep sigh.
his eyes trace you over without an ounce of shame, it's as if he's attempting to learn your figure by heart in the few breaths he has left in his aching lungs. you look like something out of the old tapestries you'd used to hide behind, adorned in gold threads and beautiful silks, far too holy for the long life you have lived together in empty rooms and forgotten castle corners.
“look at you...” he says unsteadily. “aren't you a breathtaking spectacle.”
you try to laugh, like you always did at his silly little comments, but today you find the sound he loved so much to hear just wouldn't come..
before you can say his name, before you can break down and tell him you don't want this, before the call comes from inside the chapel to advance, he steps forward and drops to one knee on the stone.
“satoru,” you whisper, oh so frightened.
“please, m'lady. let me,” he murmurs.
he takes your hand. his fingers close around yours with a foreign strength that guts you. he presses his lips to your knuckles slowly, for the final time. this is the last honest thing he is allowed to do.
“i’m sorry,” he says into your skin. “i am so very sorry i wasn’t born a prince, o-or a governor. i’m sorry i couldn't be of better blood to of been worthy of your love. i learned how to make you laugh instead of how to keep you.”
your eyes get stingy. “please, don’t.”
he looks up at you then, eyes shining, face bare of all pretense. “i would have made you smile forever,” he says softly. “if they’d of let me, my princess.”
you brush your thumb along his cheek without thinking, catching the wet there. one tear slips free despite everything he is doing to hold himself together.
“i wish my dreams were to come true.” you tell him.
"i wish i'd of made them come true, my love. that's on me."
a voice calls your title from inside the chapel.
satoru squeezes your hand once more, like he is trying to pass something to you through your delicate skin.
“you look stunning,” he says, clearing his throat looking down. “such a sight.”
you want to stay, god, you want to fall to your knees with him, forget crowns and alliances and every rule that has ever touched you. but of course, instead, you let your hand slip from his desperate handling.
when you turn away, you do not look back. you cannot.
the doors open and light pours in through magnificent stained glass, coloring the aisle in reds and blues meant for saints and martyrs.
only, you couldn't appreciate the sight with your vision so blurred from tears. the deep, harmonic music rises and falls with each crescendo, slow and ceremonial. it doesn't give you any sort of feeling of joy or peace, no. it feels eerie and like your life was all a lead up to this gut wrenching loss. the loss of your jester.
at the back of the chapel, satoru watches you walk toward another man, a man lucky enough to be born worthy of you. he remembers the courtyard stones under bare feet, your laughter screeching too loud for court.
he imagines what it would have been like to reach for you where you stood now, to lift you into his arms and run far away, to make a spectacle worthy of the stories they tell children. he imagines the guards. the blood. the way you would look at him when it was over.
he stays where he is.
as you're about to hit the podium, you look back.
just once.
your eyes land on him like they always have.
... he is crying.
a single tear slips down his face, catching the multicoloured light before it falls.
...
the after celebration blurs into a pageant of duty. cups raised in the air, laughter spills from approving mouths. the prince stands closer to your ear and says something meant to make you smile. you do, but it's passable. nothing of the smile satoru could bring from you.
.
in the crowd, a jester bows one last time.
no one notices when he slips out through the side gate. no one calls his name. the road waits, indifferent and open.
years later, people will tell stories.
they will say the princess was beloved. they will say the marriage brought peace. they will say the jester left to chase brighter courts, richer crowds.
no one will say that once, in a quiet castle, a fool loved a princess with everything he had and asked for nothing in return.
but sometimes, when the wind moves just right through the corridors of your new home, a faint sound carries with it. not bells, but something softer. a laugh remembered. a presence felt but never named.
and in that moment, solemn and aching in its own way, you wonder if somewhere on a long road, a man in worn shoes still keeps a space for you, so carefully protected and untouched, like a relic of a beautiful life that almost was.
2087
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