Omg Hello I saw you accept requests!!!! I was wondering if you could write one of Gojo and reader taking a night stroll. And reader tells Gojo that whenever their time comes for death she hopes that she would die first becuz she can’t bear the thought of not living with Gojo. How do you think Gojo would react? I feel like he would be upset and tell reader to not say stuff like that. I saw this in a Kdrama where the wife said that to her husband, but he actually agreed because he said he would went to send her off in death beautifully and then follow her right after🥲. Sorry if this too much but I feel like Gojo would really love his women a lot, but isn’t the best at expressing at times.
ʚ The Other Side of Forever ᵎᵎˎˊ˗
synopsis. "I don't want to live in a world without you," you say. Gojo Satoru stops walking. The streetlight catches his face. "Then we'll go together," he says. Like it's the simplest thing in the world.
pairing. engaged!gojo satoru x f!reader
content & warnings. soft angst, bittersweet, established relationship (engaged), talks about death (not graphic), emotional, comforting in a sad way, gojo being quiet and vulnerable, night stroll, hand holding, forehead kisses, winter setting.
word count. 2.1k+
A/N. this request came from a very lovely anon — thank you so much for trusting me with this idea!! i hope i did it justice <3 🫂
The streets were empty.
It was late — too late to be out, too late for anyone to be awake. The shops were closed, their windows dark, their signs turned off. The only lights came from the streetlamps, casting golden pools on the wet pavement. It had snowed earlier — not the heavy kind, not the kind that stuck, just a light dusting that melted as soon as it touched the ground. The air was still cold, still sharp, still bit at your cheeks and made your breath fog in front of your face.
Winter had settled over the city like a blanket. The kind of winter that made everything quieter. Slower. Softer.
You were walking home.
Not fast. Not slow. Just... walking. His hand was in yours, warm and familiar, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles on your skin. He'd been quiet for the last few blocks — not the heavy kind of quiet, not the sad kind. Just... peaceful. The kind of quiet that came after a long day, after a good meal, after hours of being together without needing to fill the silence with words.
You liked this. The cold air. The empty streets. The way his shoulder brushed against yours every few steps, solid and warm through his coat. The way the snowflakes caught in his white hair and melted there, tiny drops of water glistening under the streetlights.
Your engagement ring caught the light too — a small, simple thing, perfect because he knew you. He'd proposed on a quiet evening, just the two of you, stumbling over his words because he was so nervous. You'd said yes before he even finished asking.
You didn't want this night to end.
You never did.
You weren't sure when the thought first came to you.
It had been sitting at the back of your mind for a while — months, maybe. A shadow you'd been ignoring. A question you'd been too afraid to ask yourself, too afraid to say out loud, too afraid to give weight to.
But tonight — walking under the streetlights, his hand in yours, the sky above you a deep, endless blue — the words slipped out before you could stop them.
"Satoru."
"Mm?" His voice was soft. Sleepy almost. Content.
You looked up at the sky. At the stars. At the way the blue seemed to go on forever, dark and beautiful and infinite.
"I don't want to live in a world without you."
He didn't answer right away.
You felt his hand tighten around yours. His thumb stopped moving. His whole body went still beside you — not frozen, not scared, just... listening. Waiting.
"Satoru."
"I heard you." His voice was quiet. Different. Rougher. "Why are you saying that?"
You looked down at the pavement. At the cracks. At the thin layer of snow that hadn't quite melted. At the way your shadows stretched long and thin behind you, two figures connected at the hands.
"I've been thinking about it," you admitted. Your voice was smaller than you wanted it to be. "About the future. About... what happens. About what comes after."
He didn't interrupt.
"And I realized — I don't want to be the one left behind."
He stopped walking.
You stopped too.
The streetlight above you hummed softly. The snow had started falling again — tiny flakes, barely visible, catching the light like little falling stars. The sky was still blue. The night was silent.
"Sweetheart," he said.
"Let me finish." You looked up at him. His face was half in shadow, half in gold. His glasses — the ones he wore just for you, the ones that made him look softer, younger, more human — caught the light. Behind them, his eyes were fixed on you. "I hope I die first."
His expression didn't change. But his grip on your hand tightened. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to feel.
"I can't—" Your voice cracked. The words were hard to get out, like they were stuck in your throat, like they didn't want to leave. "I can't imagine waking up one day and you're not there. I can't imagine coming home to an empty apartment. I can't imagine living in a world that doesn't have you in it."
He didn't speak.
"So I hope I go first." A tear slipped down your cheek. You didn't wipe it away. "Because I don't think I'd survive losing you."
The words hung in the air between you, heavy and fragile and too big for the quiet street.
He stared at you. His eyes — visible behind his glasses, visible because he always took them off for you, because he trusted you — were unreadable. But his jaw was tight. His throat moved as he swallowed.
"You can't say things like that," he said finally. His voice was lower than before. Rougher.
"Why not?"
"Because—" He stopped. Swallowed again. "Because it's not fair."
"Fair?"
"You can't just—" He looked away. His hand slipped from yours. For a moment, your heart dropped — but he didn't walk away. He just ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit, something he did when he didn't know what to say. "You can't just tell me you hope you die first. What am I supposed to do with that?"
You didn't have an answer.
He turned back to you. His eyes were wet. Not crying — not yet — but close. The streetlight caught the moisture, made his eyes look like they were glowing.
"Sweetheart," he said again. Softer this time.
"Satoru—"
"I've thought about it too."
You froze.
"I've thought about it a lot." His voice was barely above a whisper now, fragile in a way you'd rarely heard. "More than I should. More than you'd want me to."
"Then you understand," you said.
"I understand that you're scared." He stepped closer. His hands found your face, cupping your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn't realized were still falling. "I'm scared too."
You closed your eyes.
"I can't lose you," you whispered.
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"No," he admitted. "I don't."
He didn't let go of your face.
He just stood there, forehead pressed against yours, breathing the same cold air, sharing the same fear. The snow fell around you, melting on his shoulders, on your hair, on the ground between your feet. The sky was still blue — that deep, endless winter blue that made you feel small and infinite all at once.
"I used to think about it alone," he said quietly. His voice was steadier now, but softer. Like he was confessing something he'd never told anyone. "Late at night. When you were asleep. I'd lie there and think — what if something happened to you? What if I woke up and you were just... gone?"
"Satoru..."
"I'd hold you tighter. Try to memorize your heartbeat. Try to remember the way you feel in my arms." He laughed — a small, broken sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Pathetic, right?"
"No."
"I thought about all the ways I could lose you. Accidents. Illness. Time." He pulled back just enough to look at you. His glasses had fogged up from the cold. He didn't wipe them. "I thought about what I'd do if you went first."
"What would you do?"
He was quiet for a long moment.
"I don't know," he admitted. His voice cracked. "I don't know if I'd survive it."
Your chest ached. The kind of ache that felt like your heart was cracking open, slow and painful, leaking warmth into your ribs.
"But I also thought about the other way."
"The other way?"
"If I went first." His thumb traced your cheekbone, feather-light. "I hated that too. Because I didn't want to leave you alone. I didn't want you to hurt. I didn't want you to wake up one day and reach for me and find nothing."
"So what do we do?"
He didn't answer.
"You just said you don't want me to go first," you said. "And you don't want to go first either. So what's left?"
He looked at you. His eyes were wet now — tears slipping down his cheeks, catching the light, falling onto his glasses. He didn't wipe them away.
"Together," he said.
"What?"
"We go together." Like it was the simplest thing in the world.
You stared at him.
"Not now," he said quickly. His hands tightened on your face. "Not soon. Not for a long time. We have a wedding to plan first, remember?" He tried to smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "But... when the time comes. When we're old. When we've lived our lives. When there's nothing left but each other." He pressed his forehead to yours again. "Then we go together."
"Satoru..."
"I don't want to live in a world without you either." His voice was thick. "So I won't. I'll follow you anywhere. Even there."
You didn't answer with words.
You kissed him.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was desperate and messy and full of everything you couldn't say — the fear, the love, the weight of forever pressing down on both of you. His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you closer, and yours fisted in his coat, holding on like he might disappear.
The snow fell around you. The streetlight hummed. Somewhere in the distance, a car passed, its headlights cutting through the dark.
When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. His glasses were crooked. His lips were red. His eyes were still wet.
"That was—" he started.
"Shut up," you whispered.
He laughed — a real laugh this time, small and broken but real.
"Okay," he said. "Okay."
He pressed his forehead to yours again.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too."
"More than forever?"
"More than forever."
He kissed you again — softer this time, slower, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth.
When he pulled back, he was smiling.
"Let's go home, sweetheart."
You nodded.
He took your hand.
And you walked the rest of the way in silence, fingers intertwined, hearts still pounding, the snow falling softly around you.
He held your hand the rest of the way.
Not loosely. Not casually. Tight. Like he was afraid you'd disappear. Like he was memorizing the shape of your fingers, the warmth of your palm, the way your thumb pressed against his.
Neither of you spoke.
You didn't need to.
The words had been said. The fears had been shared. And somehow — impossibly — you felt lighter. Like the weight you'd been carrying had been split, and he was helping you carry it now.
The snow had stopped by the time you reached your building. The sky was still blue, but lighter now — the kind of blue that came just before sunrise, when the night was ending and the day was beginning.
He stopped at the door.
"Sweetheart."
"Yeah?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
You looked up at him.
"Promise?"
He smiled — soft and sad and full of love.
"Promise."
You changed in silence. Brushed your teeth. Turned off the lights.
When you climbed into bed, he was already there — waiting, his arms open, his chest warm. The blankets were cold, but he wasn't. He never was.
You curled into him, your head on his shoulder, your hand over his heart. You could feel it beating — steady and strong and real. Your engagement ring caught the faint light from the window.
"I can feel it," you whispered.
"Feel what?"
"Your heart."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "It's yours."
You smiled against his chest.
"You're so cheesy."
"You love it."
"I love you."
He pressed a kiss to your hair.
"I know," he said. "I love you too."
You woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains.
The snow had stopped sometime in the night. The sky was pale blue now, soft and quiet, the kind of blue that made you think of spring even though it was still winter.
Satoru was still asleep — his face soft, his hair messy, his hand still wrapped around yours. His glasses were on the nightstand. His lips were slightly parted. He looked younger like this. Peaceful.
You watched him for a while.
The fear from last night was still there — a quiet hum at the back of your mind. But it was smaller now. Softer. Bearable.
Because he was here.
Because he'd promised.
Because when the time came — years from now, decades from now — he'd follow you anywhere.
Even there.
You pressed a kiss to his forehead.
He stirred, mumbling something in his sleep — your name, maybe, or something like it.
You smiled.
"Go back to sleep, Satoru."
He did.
And you stayed there, holding his hand, watching the sunlight, grateful for every single second together.
A/N. they've promised forever, but forever hasn't started yet. the fear of losing that? UGH my heart TvT
P.S, to the lovely anon who requested this, i really hope i did your idea justice !! 🥹💞
Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3
The quiet beauty of a lonely nighttime walk through Toronto city streets. Sometimes the most mundane average building or shop front can look like a masterpiece work of art with the right amount of shade, darkness and lightning.
The moon casts the world in beautiful shades of red. The call cannot be ignored. Roaming out into the fields, making way towards the forest. Briefly her thought flashes to remembrances danger. Her hand falls to her side and smiles.
