i hope you write more because i'm gonna eat up all your fics RRAAAAHHHH
aaaaahh thank u sm!! I have more writing lined up so I'm definitely gonna post more soon! thank you for the sweet ask heheh i hope your pillows are always cool
Waking up early is a curse Satoru usually avoids. The world's too quiet, too still, too full of space for thoughts he'd rather not have.
Today, he doesn't mind.
You're still asleep. That much is obvious from the way you're sprawled across his chest, one leg thrown over his, hair a disaster he can feel against his chin. Your hand is fisted in his shirt like you're worried he'll escape while you're unconscious.
He won't.
He shifts, just slightly, and your grip tightens. Even in sleep, you're possessive. The thought makes him smile into the dim morning light.
Forty minutes. He's been awake for forty minutes, watching the gray turn gold through the curtains, feeling your breath warm through the fabric of his shirt. He could move. Should, probably. His back is starting to complain about the angle and there's coffee to be made, emails to ignore, a whole world waiting for him to be Gojo again.
Instead he traces lazy patterns on your shoulder, feather-light, and watches your face.
You make a noise. Something soft, displeased, and your nose wrinkles like you're arguing with someone in a dream. He wants to know who. Wants to find them and fight them, probably, which is ridiculous because it's a dream and he's Gojo Satoru and he doesn't get jealous of imaginary people.
He does, though. A little.
The sun climbs higher and he keeps watching. Catalogues the way your eyelids flutter, the faint part of your lips, the absolutely unfair softness of you right now. No guard. No performance. Just... you.
He could take a photo. Should, for blackmail.
His hand stills on your shoulder and he doesn't reach for his phone.
You're starting to wake up. He can feel it in the tension creeping into your limbs, the change in your breathing, the way your forehead furrows like you're trying to remember what consciousness feels like. He should look away. Pretend he was asleep too, or bored, or literally anything other than completely absorbed in watching you exist.
He doesn't.
Your eyes crack open.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
The first thing you register is warmth. A solid chest beneath your cheek, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat, arms loose around your back like you're wrapped in something too good to be true.
The second thing is the staring.
You force your eyes open and immediately want to close them again. Everything's too bright, edges blurred, and there's a shape looming over you that takes several blinks to resolve into anything human.
Satoru. Propped on one elbow, looking down at you with an expression that's half grin, half something softer.
"Morning," he says.
You squint at him. Your eyes feel gummy, your brain feels like it's wading through syrup, and you know without looking that your hair is doing something unfortunate. You probably look like roadkill.
He probably looks like he was carved by angels.
"Stop," you mumble, voice rough with sleep.
"Stop what?"
"Looking at me."
"Can't help it." He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering. "You're very look-at-able right now."
"I'm very what?"
"All squinty and confused. Like a cat that just got woken up from a nap." He demonstrates, squinting dramatically and wrinkling his nose. "'Where am I? Who are you? Is this reality?'"
"I don't look like that."
"You absolutely do." He drops the expression, smiling softer now. "It's cute."
You groan and try to bury your face in his chest, but he catches your chin, gentle, keeping you where he can see you. His thumb traces your jawline, and his eyes have gone serious in a way that makes your stomach flip.
"What?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing." But he doesn't look away. "Just... looking."
"For how long?"
He shrugs, all casual innocence. "Awhile."
"How long's awhile?"
"Long enough to notice you drool a little."
"I do not—"
"You do." He's grinning again, all teeth, and you feel your face go hot. "It's okay. I still like you."
"You suck."
"Mm." He leans in, nose brushing your cheek, and you can feel him smiling against your skin. "But you like me anyway."
You don't answer. Can't, really, not with him this close, morning — soft and unexpectedly tender. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and there's something there, something he isn't saying, something that makes your chest ache in the best way.
"Go back to sleep," he says quietly.
"You just said I drool."
"And I meant it affectionately." He settles back against the pillows, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his side again. "Thirty more minutes. Then I'll make you coffee and you can yell at me properly."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, and you hear him take a breath like he's memorizing this too. "Now close your eyes. You're ruining my view."
"Your view of what?"
He doesn't answer. Just holds you tighter, and you feel his lips curve against your hair.
"Sleep," he says. "Or I'll tell everyone about the drooling."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
You close your eyes, smiling despite yourself, and let the warmth of him pull you back under.
Maybe you didn't hate mornings that much.
A/N. part 14 of "Satoru as Your Boyfriend" series!! all parts will be found here!
You knew Gojo couldn't spell "team" even if someone tattooed it to his forehead. Unfortunately, you still have to go on the mission with him — and of course it goes sideways
pairing: teen!gojo x gn!teen!reader
content: light-hearted, bickering, reader and gojo used to be rivals, some action, sfw
word count: 2k+ words
notes: This was supposed to be a drabble for the prompt "don't ask me that" and went a little out of hand. It's part of a longer series I have in mind. Have fun, enjoy, or else
audio version!
Missions each come with their own sets of troubles. Mostly because categorizing curses by grades 1 to 4 is a bit of an oversimplification. A grade 4 curse that comes in a swarm of a hundred can be the downfall of a sorcerer who can’t, well, adapt. But that’s the key to success, isn’t it? Or to surviving, one could argue. Adaptability. If you face a hundred curses, target multiple at once or you’ll be fighting until you’re out of breath and out of wits. If you face just one, take a real close look at what you’re dealing with. You never know what you get, and you never know which one is your last fight. So take a real good look at your problem and don’t waste a second.
That’s your philosophy to survival. The problem today is less deformed than a curse, but no less deadly.
You are running. Plants and roots fly by as you sprint through the forest at breakneck speed. Dangerous. To your detriment, you are close to out of breath and wits. Your throat is parched, your vocal chords feel like sandpaper rubbing together to form barely cohesive sounds.
Your problem does not care. “Keep up, slowpoke!” it screams over its shoulder. “It’s gonna get away!”
Gojo Satoru is the most obnoxious kind of problem there is. Taking the team out of team player, he races behind what he swears to be your target’s cursed energy direction. Direction, not energy. Energy you would see as well.
“Wait up?!” you croak. Jumping over roots, dodging branches and spider webs, and keeping up with Gojo Satoru is an act of excellence. He is but a blur of white hair against the continuously darkening forest ground. Until he suddenly stops.
“Was that necessary?” you pant. You come to a stop next to him in what feels like the middle of the forest. “Is this it?” ‘It’ being the direction the ever-persistent cursed energy residue which sits upon the forest like a heavy blanket. Gojo and you are to find the source of it and vanquish it. Gojo is here because he can make sense of the thick cloud of residue which lingers like a bad perfume. Find a direction. You are here because you can pick up on the finer subtleties. A macro vision and a micro vision. But to find subtleties, one must get closer to the target. A task that sits with Gojo.
“It’s here somewhere.” Gojo looks around, sunglasses on his nose despite the setting evening sun.
You’re finding your breath, though your sides hurt. A single mission with Gojo makes you feel like you’ve never trained for real. “Are you sure?” You scan the area for traces of cursed energy.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“You inspire confidence.”
“It’s hard to check everything at the speed we’re going,” he shrugs. You don’t bother being offended anymore. Yes, Gojo is just so grand that being near a human must be a weight on his ankles.
“We’ve covered a five kilometer radius around Point Zero.” You strain to pull the map out of your backpack’s side compartment and study it. “Surely we would’ve come across something.”
“No, two.”
“Pardon?”
Gojo squeezes his head into your space to look at and careless dig his finger into the map. “We’ve covered two kilometers. We’re here.”
You look up at him with your eyebrow arched. At the speed he was chasing through the woods, how would he know where you are? Meanwhile you absolutely have kept track of your location, if only to make sense of your search pattern later. Part of the reason why you’ve been so behind and so out of breath. You dig into another part of the map, farther away from the red dot marking the original curse sighting.
“We’re here. There’s Mount Odake.” You point in the direction the mountain lies, trees in the distance lining a pathway uphill to the sky.
He shakes his head and digs into the map. “That can’t be. We’re here and that’s Mount Mitake. We haven’t covered that much land yet. I think we need to branch out.”
Your head raised to the sky, you study the mountain you both claim to be another. You’re pretty confident in your map reading abilities. Gojo, however, should be more familiar with the mountains surrounding Tokyo than you. You know the Kyoto area much better. Still, there is a curse out here somewhere and reading a map should really be least important part of the job.
You whip your phone out. “Let’s just check where we are.”
“No way there’s reception.”
Now, that’s one thing he’s right about.
“Let’s check the next 3 kilometers,” he suggests and already looks ready to keep sprinting.
You are quick to intercept. “If we’ve covered two, we cover the next two. But if we’ve covered five like I said, then we return to Point Zero again and start over. Curses don’t travel that far once they’ve found something to kill. We’ll be running away from it.”
Gojo looks at you with something like surprise, then points back to the mountain. “That’s Mount Mitake. We’re two kilometers from Point Zero.” He speaks with the confidence of a thousand suns. And with any other person, that is something for credibility that you would take into account. But this is Gojo Satoru. You’ve never heard him say anything with less confidence.
“Gojo, do you have any idea how long we’ve been running around?”
“What’s that matter? Let’s go. It’s getting away.” He turns to leave and jogs a few steps before noticing you aren’t following. You stand planted in your spot, examining the long-limbed sorcerer.
“Do you have any lead?” you ask. “Any cursed energy residue, a scent maybe, a feeling, something? I don’t know how your power works.”
“It’s visual. And it’s all around us, we need to find where it’s coming from.”
“I can see as much. You know that’s the direction we just came from, right?”
You question him properly now, the way he stands where he does and the very direction he was just about to take you. The sureness of his posture, how straight his back is, how wide his grin.
“I think my visual range is a little bigger than yours.” He points to his sunglasses for emphasis.
And there you had a thought. You did think it weird that you were put on this mission with him. You might have the micro vision for cursed energy he lacks, but did he really need it? Was that really the reason you were here? You assumed it was, but you’re starting to question things in this moment. They did give you the map. You’ve been tracking your movements. Which are, by the way, as erratic as Gojo’s temperament.
“Of course,” you concede. “Should we continue North then?”
“Just follow me. And try to keep up this time.” He moves now in the opposite direction than before, straight forward as you’d come earlier. When he passes you, you attempt to stop him. Your hand doesn’t reach his chest; it reaches nothing but an invisible barrier around him, which he stops for nonetheless. Most graciously.
“How about going North?” you ask again.
“Why North?”
“That’s where you wanted to go, right? Farther from Point Zero?”
He scans you now, perfectly aware of the oddities, and draws the right conclusion: “You think I don’t know where I’m going.”
“I don’t think you know where North is. If you know where we are, you’d know which way is North.”
The sun has set by now, serving as absolutely no visual indicator for where which direction of the sky could be. Through the sunglasses, you catch his gaze go astray. You clutch the map to your chest. “No peeking!”
“I’m not peeking! North is right there.” His finger extends to point straight to the South-East. With the confidence of a million suns.
“Which mountain is that one?” You point to Mount Nokogiri.
“Hinodesan.”
You take a deep breath. Many things make sense now. Including why you were given the map. “I did wonder why you covered some spots three times and some only once. You absolute goof, if you’ve no sense of direction, why are you leading? That’s South-East. That over there is Mount Nokogiri. And we are five kilometers from Point Zero. We’re heading back North where came from. At this speed, the curse is gonna ambush us.” You don’t wait for him this time. You take off northward, sprinting with refreshed lungs. He keeps up with you.
“Let me see the map.” He tries to pry it from you.
“Careful!” You dodge a boulder with a yelp, keeping your balance without grace. “Don’t grab me.”
“Lemme see it, how is this North?”
“Gojo, just trust me on this. We’re wasting time.”
He doesn’t quite agree with the sentiment, or simply can’t let a thing be, constantly obsessing over details. Maybe it has to do with all the impressions he takes note of in every moment. Either way, he doesn’t cease his conquest for the map. In retrospect, you blame yourself for what happens next.
Preoccupied with a piece of paper and an argument, you miss the micro detail. The slightest of shifts in the ground ahead. A mere spasm of cursed energy. You don’t notice it until you reach it and the ground splits beneath you.
Something enormous shoots out of the ground and you jump in opposite directions. You unravel the whip clasped to your hip, the map forgotten. Mid-jump your leg barely dodges a set of razor sharp talons, which obliterate the map instead. You careen to a halt at a safe distance, and look at the mess you’ve made.
A big hole in the ground. Next to it sits a grotesque version of an oversized toad with bubbling spikes on its back and talons bigger than talons should be. You don’t want to know what is oozing out of those spikes. There are too many eyes attached to the deformed head and the screeching is anything but natural.
At least you’ve found your curse. You have to hold your ears to withstand its vile croak.
Gojo seems intact on the other side of the toad, high up suspended in the air where it can’t reach him.
“That’s a fat thing,” he yells.
As if understanding, the toad jumps forward on massive hind legs. Unfortunately, it ignores the strongest, and comes straight for you. Fortunately, you have learned your lesson in paying attention, and your’s is wholly where it belongs. You see the movement before the toad moves, the slight shift in its cursed energy signaling the direction it’s going to take. The micro vision advantage. You rear out of the way, your whip finding purchase around a tree’s branch, giving you the momentum to propel yourself towards it. The toad eats dust, turns, and—lacking any sense of self-preservation—barrels towards you again full-force.
You and Gojo know your dance. You are an excellent strategist, great foresight and speed. Gojo is an excellent fist, raw power at his very fingertips yearning to explode. Together, you can make quick work of any curse you come across.
The stupid toad-curse and its bulging eyes are busy chasing you. One of its front feet lunges at you, claws at the ready, when Gojo’s fist crashes into its side. The amount of cursed energy concentrated in his hand is ridiculous. It’s too late to get out of the way. You can only turn your back to it as the toad explodes into a splatter of slime and purple squishy matter.
The screeching stops. Your entire backside is soaked. Your hair now wet, sticky, and slick with goo. When you lift your gaze, you see that a radius of the forest is no better off than you. It’s gross, but not retch-worthy this many years into being a sorcerer. You turn around, whip dangling in your hand, and a sour expression on your face.
Gojo beams at you. He is entirely dry and unaffected— instead there lies a suspicious pool of said slime right at his feet. Deflected by his Infinity, and simply sunken to the ground. “Hey, that was easy.”
You can’t help but sound grumpy. “Can you aim somewhere else next time?”
“Oh, sorry. It was way squishier than I thought. How was that a grade 2?”
You don’t feel like explaining the grading system, or that he is simply stronger than most curses you come across. Hence most of everything is squishy to him. Hence it’s boring to only use half his strength all the time. Hence more boom, more splash. Much to your disgruntlement.
“Just— Hit it when I’m behind a tree next time, will you?” You’re picking soft chunks of organ matter out of your hair and flicking them to the ground.
“Not my fault you can’t beat it yourself,” he says with the hubris of a thousand suns.
Today, however, you’re feeling petty. “Sure thing, big man,” you retort. “Remind me, which way is North again?”
Gojo stops to glare. “Don’t ask me that.”
“Don’t gloat then.”
“Whatever.” He dusts himself off, which is only insulting because there is nothing on him. “We’ll need to hose you down before anyone lets you into a car.”
It only occurs to you then. “Where’s our map?”
Gojo finds a water-logged shredded piece of what seems like might have been a map one day. “You remember the way back, right?”
“Only if you carry me,” you say with open arms, dripping of disgusting curse parts.
Gojo grimaces. “Let’s find a river or something.”
“You can still smell through your Infinity, right?”
