This was not how you thought your Halloween was gonna go. Blood-stained heels leave behind a bloody trail as you try to help this man that's stuck in this weird flesh-like construction, only to end up stuck with him in a room full of skeletons for what seems like an eternity. Luckily the two of you can find solace in each other during these dark times.
Tags/Content Warnings: MDNI/18+ only, Dead Dove Do Not Eat: gore!!! blood (A lot of it), injuries, bodies, decapitation, body mutilation/horror, depictions of wounds, death of background characters, vomit, traumatised Gojo and reader (both in different ways), angst, hurt/comfort, panic attacks, ptsd, nightmares, isolation, forced proximity, sex as a distraction tactic, heavy making out, biting to the point of bleeding (it's messy and it's supposed to be), marking, feelings of going insane, skeletons as friends!! Bunny as a nickname (used once), open ended, Gojo is seen as an albino in this fic (go argue with a wall)
Word Count: 18k
A/N: This is basically what I think it would be like if I was on platform B5 during the Shibuya incident. Also if you skipped over it, please please please read the tags as this is a heavy fic. Art by @/nyank0z on x. Divider by @/strangergraphics & @/cafekitsune.
There’s panic everywhere. People are running, screaming, crying—both children as adults alike. Someone shoves you out of the way, and you stumble upon the tiled floor, heels clacking as you catch yourself against a pole.
The problem is that there’s nowhere to run. While there’s mass panic, people’s screams getting cut short, crimson splattering against linoleum and clothes, heads rolling on the floor, there’s also the few people that are calm. They, too, have assessed the situation.
Nothing to do. There’s nothing to do, but wait to get brutally murdered by unseen things. There’s monsters everywhere—and the next second, there are none left. They are all clumps on the ground, beheaded.
Heads, heads, heads. There are so many of them, most of them have their eyes and mouths wide open, blood still pouring from their necks, pooling underneath them, matting their hair, staining their faces as they roll and roll and roll; getting kicked over and over again by people who want to get out of here.
Taking a step forward, your foot bumps into… something. A dull thud you can’t really hear, but can definitely feel. That’s when you make the mistake of looking down.
Your cute, white platform heels are splattered in crimson. The sticky, red substance is on your soles as well, and if it were paint, you would’ve made a joke about always wanting red bottoms before, but now is not the time.
The second thing you notice is the thing you bumped into—a head, cut straight through the middle. Brain matter is splattered everywhere. And blood, so much blood.
Gagging, you force your eyes closed and take a step back. That’s a sight you won’t ever get out of your mind, no matter how much you shake your head. Not that you think you’ll survive long enough to even think back on it, anyway.
Forcing your eyes open, you turn around, trying to see if any of the stairs are open. That’s when you see him—a white-haired man who appears to be stuck in… something. His arms are bound behind his back as he’s talking to a black-haired man in front of him.
Blood rushes through your veins, heartbeat in your ears. You don’t hear anything over the dull thump thump thump, but you just know your heels are click clacking on the once-white floors, leaving behind crimson footprints.
You nearly slip a few times, the sticky substance making the already polished floors even harder to navigate, and you nearly wipe out just before you’re standing behind the white-haired man.
“It’s okay, we can get you out of here,” you whisper—or maybe you’re shouting? You’re not sure. All you know is that you’re tug tug tugging on the fleshy things that are keeping him bound in place, to no avail. The eyes on the corner cubes look at you, trying to claw at the fleshy substance, and if it had a mouth, you’re sure it would be laughing at you.
Fingers trembling, you go to see if it has any weak points, fingers skimming over the man’s forearm that’s still restricted, trying—and failing—to see if you can just get your fingers under it. To free him and get the two of you out of here.
You’re aware of the eyes that are on you—too many eyes. Blue, amethyst and those black ones that aren’t human, but you just can’t…. can’t give up now. This man is looking so lost, so you keep trying, whispering under your breath that it will be fine.
And then it’s all black. You’re falling, but also not. Your hair whips around your face and you can feel the way your headband shifts on your head by the sudden draft, but you’re still standing. Completely dark, until it’s not.
Stumbling, you instinctively shoot a hand out to try and keep yourself from falling. Luckily that seems to work, because your hand grazes something… gritty? Huh, a brick wall?
Sight returns to you next. For a second you think this has to be a joke—a prank you weren’t in on. Because your hand is on something round and white and— and…
Oh god, oh god, oh god oh god oh god.
Gagging, you turn slightly to the side, before emptying the contents of your stomach onto the floor. Your hair dangles in front of your face for a second, before you can feel someone pull it away from your face, holding it in a neat ponytail.
You’re still throwing up, but you blindly jab your elbow behind you, the touch scaring you. A warm hand clamps itself over your elbow, preventing it from going any further. “Easy now, that’s it, let it all out.”
A warm voice comes from behind you while the hand is rubbing small, soothing circles on your underarm. It’s a sweet gesture, honestly.
Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you finally look behind you, and sure enough, you’re met with white hair. Only this time it’s standing up, and a blindfold is placed over his brilliantly blue eyes.
A Kakashi cosplayer. Of course you tried to save a Kakashi cosplayer out of everyone in the crowd. But then again, what else could you have done? Leave the poor guy behind while everyone was getting slaughtered left and right? No, that wouldn’t be right.
When he notices you looking at him, he lets go of your hair, and it gently sways back in place. From the corner of your eye you can see bits and pieces of gunk—whether it’s your own vomit or flesh or even brain matter, you’re not sure, and you honestly do not want to know, either—in the strands of your hair. Fucking fantastic.
Putting his arms in the pockets of his jacket, he walks to the other side of the… room? and goes to sit down. Straight. Onto. The. Skulls.
Another wave of nausea hits you as you turn back around and heave.
The stranger is up in a flash, right behind you as he holds your hair out of your face once more. This time he isn’t touching you, which you’re honestly grateful for.
A few minutes later, he goes to stand on the opposite of the room, leaning back against the wall of skulls that are rattling. That’s right, the whole room is made of white, rattling, human skulls. You go to stand in the middle of the room, not touching anything but the bones you’re standing on, staining them in crimson.
“You should’ve just ran, you know,” the man finally speaks up, having crossed his arms over his chest. There’s a faint sadness to his voice that you don’t want to think about right now, so you just huff and roll your eyes. “I’m serious. I tried to get you out of there, but you kept trying to free me.”
Ah, so he had tried to talk to you. Not that you heard him, though. The blood rushing through your veins alongside your heartbeat in your ears and the confused murmurs of the people made you not be able to hear anything.
“Yeah well, I’m sorry I tried to do something,” your own arms cross over your chest, trying to cover some of your cleavage. “No one could get out, and then I saw you in that… thing, and I couldn’t just not help.”
The man lets out a humorous laugh, shaking his head while he finally slides down the wall, rubbing his hands over his face. “Of course I get stuck in here with a non-sorcerer.”
Wrinkling your nose you look down at your outfit—yet another mistake of the night. You were so focused on the skulls that you had forgotten that there are all sorts of… gunk on you; mostly blood. Your pristine white heels still stained in crimson.
In a flash you’re crouching, trying to wrench the stupid things off without touching anything that isn’t leather or whatever the fuck these cute heels were made of.
When you and your friends made plans to go out for Halloween tonight, you didn’t expect your night to end like this. Well, who would have guessed, anyway. It isn’t a normal occurrence, so you didn’t really think about people being massacred.
The tight body con is sticking to your skin, crinkling as you’re crouched down, and you can vaguely remember your friend telling you that you should put lube on it to keep it nice and shiny. No thank you, you didn’t want to walk around all sticky. Seems like that part didn’t really work, though, cause the crimson substance is sticky on your skin.
Once you get the heels off, you throw them to the far end of the room, not wanting to have them anywhere near you any longer.
It’s when you look down that you notice the second thing—flesh. Stuck in your fishnets. Swallowing down the bile that’s threatening to rise up your throat, you clamp your fingers on one of the pieces before yanking it off.
There’s a slight tearing sound that doesn’t sound like anything fabric, before you throw the piece away again. Your hands shake as your breath gets shaky. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inha—
Two big hands clamp themselves over yours. “It’s okay. Hey, hey, look at me. Here—” he puts your hands over his chest as he takes a biiigg breath in, nodding at you to follow him, which you try to do. “That’s it. Can you do it again for me?”
Slowly, the two of you get your breathing back under control. A few tears have escaped from your eyes as you look up at the man. His blindfold is around his neck now, those bright, blue eyes staring down at you with concern.
“There we go, all better,” he whispers as he keeps looking you over. “Close your eyes.”
“I.. wait, what?” That is not something you expected to hear from the guy, not after he just called you a ‘non-sorcerer’—whatever the fuck that means. You thought Naruto and his friends were Ninja’s, but maybe they’re called sorcerers over there? “C’mon, I’ll clean you up. Just close your eyes.”
Your mouth opens and closes a few times before you finally nod. Heavy pieces of hair graze your cheek, leaving behind a wet substance on your skin, but you don’t try to wipe it away.
There’s the sound of him pulling something out of his pocket before he whispers a ‘I’m going to touch you now’, which he only does when he gets your little ‘okay’ in return. The first touch of a tissue against your cheek makes you jolt, but you keep still.
The stranger wipes your face clean—he even wipes your forehead and chin, which you hadn’t even realised were stained with whatever—before he cleans your hair as best as he can with the tissue. It’s when he balls it up and throws it over to the same corner as where your shoes are that you decide to speak up.
“I’m sorry you got stuck with me,” you mumble, feeling him crouched in front of you as he plucks things out of your fishnets while he wipes away all the blood from your skin with a new, clean tissue. “I don’t think you would’ve wanted to be stuck with someone in a sexy bunny outfit.”
The ears on your head droop a bit at the mention, and you’re glad you can’t see them, because you do not want to see if they also have blood and brain matter all over it. But then again, he didn’t clean them, so surely they aren’t dirty?
“You don’t have to apologise,” he says, still crouched down in front of you, meticulously wiping you clean. “I should’ve known it wasn’t really him.”
That confuses you just a little. Is he talking about the black-haired man that was standing in front of him? Now that you think back on it, it did seem like they were having a conversation of sorts.
Clearing your throat, you shift your weight slightly as he makes his way toward your back, going to wipe away whatever is on your calves. “Still, I’m sure there’s better company to be had.”
He just hums, a sound that barely travels over the rattling of the skulls underneath your feet. Your toes curl in, actually feeling them now that you’re focusing on them. It’s not something you want to focus on, but there’s literally nothing else to think about but that and all the bodies.
The rattling reminds you of mere minutes ago, when the train tracks started to rumble and people thought they could get out. Hope in their voices as they announced the train was coming—coming to save them from being slaughtered.
People were still dropping like flies left and right by unseen forces. Thud. thud. thud. thud. Another body. A head dropping from its neck. Piles upon piles of people who were standing there mere seconds ago—from laughing to annoyance to panic. Laughter turned into screams turned into silence.
You could hear it, the train coming closer and closer, big headlights illuminating the space as people pushed and pushed and ran towards the doors, trying to get in and get out of here. The savior in this horrid, horrid place.
The click clack of your heels turned faster and faster, until you, too, were stood behind people, trying to get onto the train that had just gotten here. People were pushing and shoving, elbows catching ribs, tender skin bruising under the force.
Thud. thud. thud. More and more screams got cut off.
You didn’t dare to look to the sides, just focused on the blonde hair of the girl with angel wings in front of you. It was swaying wildly as she looked around and pushed people out of the way to get closer to the doors, her own heels click click clicking on the tiles.
And then the doors opened with a hiss, the sound that should’ve relieved you, the sound that would’ve meant you guys could get out of there—only that wasn’t the only sound that was made. Weird gurgling noises were made before the first scream ripped itself from someone’s throat.
Countless of… monsters stumbled out of the train—blue, green, purple; all sorts of sickly hues and deformed limbs—biting and clawing at anything and everything they could get their deformed hands on. The biting of the heads, flesh tearing, clothes ripping, the sound of blood spraying out of wounds.
No, no, no, no— shaking your head, you ran back, as far away as possible from the train, from the monsters that poured out of there. The polished tiles that were once white were now covered in a pool of blood, the sound sick to your ears as it muffled the footsteps.
Stepping back, you shake your head. “No— no. no. This can’t be happening—”
Instead of your foot landing on blood-slicked tile, it fell onto leather. A shoe is underneath you, knee pressing into your calf as you stumble back, falling right into the arms of the stranger that was cleaning you up from all the horrors that happened mere minutes ago.
“It’s okay… Nothing to see here. Just me and you,” the man whispers into your ear as he wraps an arm around your shaking body. One hand cards itself through your hair as he whispers how everything is okay now, that there are no more monsters.
Sobs tear themselves from your throat, fat tears cascading down your face as you bury your face into his jacket, dampening the fabric quickly.
Your fingers claw at anything you can reach—his back, his arms, his thighs, your own thighs. The sound of your fishnets ripping has you scream out, fingers clawing at your own ears and eyes. Just get it out, get it out, get out.
Big hands gently take a hold of your fingers, preventing you from hurting yourself any further. They’re soft, big in only a way that makes sense if the person attached to it was also big. “Hey, hey… no hurting yourself. C’mon, let go of your ears.”
You can’t. Can’t get rid of the sounds, the visuals. Flesh tearing, blood splattering and draining from a wound, clothes ripping, limbs popping off like Lego pieces.
It’s on the floor, the ceiling, clothes—on you. It’s on you. There’s blood and gunk and brain matter on you. Fingers twitching, your arms jerk in his hold trying to scrub away the blood . There’s so much of it—your heels once white are now red.
The stranger doesn’t let go of your hand, just holds on a little tighter as he cradles you against his body, still whispering in your ear that everything is fine now. That nothing will hurt you in here, so you have to stop hurting yourself. But how can you? How can you when there’s so much on you.
Blood. There’s so much blood, the copper scent filling your nostrils with each stuttering inhale. It’s dripping down your face, onto your legs, onto your shoes. Drip. Drip. Drip.
“Can you open your eyes for me, please?” the white-haired man’s voice is a little more desperate now, still cradling you against his chest in a way that constricts your hands. Fingers are still clawing at him, no doubt leaving behind angry marks, if not worse. But you can’t focus on that right now. “C’mon, open your eyes. Promise nothing will happen.”
Swallowing, you do. Blinking a few times, your vision is blurry with tears, body still trembling, fingers now digging into his jacket. The first thing you see when your vision clears up is those brilliantly blue eyes, the ones you saw earlier.
Once he sees you look at him, he smiles. Small, a little brittle, but real. It’s there on his glossy lips, directed at you.
“See,” he whispers, arms still holding you tight in case you want to claw your own flesh out once again, gauge it all out, scrub it clean until there’s only tendon and nerves remaining. “Just me. And you.”
Taking is a stuttering breath, you go to look beside you when he quickly grabs your chin and directs your gaze back over to him. “Just focus on me for now, okay?”
And you do, not once looking back from those beautiful shades of blue until your breath finally evens out. Until your heartbeat slows down enough for him to grab a—new—tissue for your face. This time not because there’s blood and gunk on it, but because of the snot and the tears.
You accept the tissue with clammy hands, before you wipe your face, grimacing slightly at the feeling. God, you probably look like a mess—you certainly feel like one. Your gaze drops down a little to his jacket, seeing the way it’s soaked through at a spot, no doubt your doing.
He follows your gaze and chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse things on my clothes than a bit of tears and snot.”
Well that certainly doesn’t help you, because it immediately makes you think back at the blood and the— shaking your head quickly, you lean back slightly. His grip loosens, but he keeps you on his lap, afraid that making one wrong move will send you over the edge once more.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, voice hoarse with the way you were sobbing and screaming—yes, you were screaming. At one point Gojo thought he would go deaf, but he couldn’t just let go of you with the way you were trying to gauge your own flesh out.
“It’s okay,” he reassures you, hands still on your waist and hip—in a respectful way, of course—as he looks at you. Your gaze finally flits down—half because you’re shy with the way he’s devoting his attention on you, not that he can really do much else here in this hellhole, and half because you just remembered he was cleaning you up.
Sure enough, your skin is entirely clean. The only blood you can see is on a few of the skulls a few meters away where you were stood when you still had your heels on. Following the trail, you see the way you walked, before the stranger puts a hand before your eyes.
“You might not wanna look there. Blood and your stomach’s content,” he meekly says, white bangs falling in front of his eyes slightly.
Right, you threw up because of the vibrating skulls. The entire walls and floor are spanned in them, no other sounds being made apart from your breathing. The sound that triggered the flashback of the train and the people.
“Sorry,” you mumble again—this time without you really knowing what you’re apologising for; the fact that you threw up and he had to hold your hair back, or the fact that he was cleaning you up and you quite literally stumbled into his lap while having a panic attack, or the fact that you got him all scratched up during the episode. Well, whatever, you’ll apologise ten times over if you need to.
“Like I said, not the worst thing that has happened to me,” his smile returns to his face as he finally lets go of your waist, but doesn’t move you from his lap. Shrugging off his jacket, he lays it down on the ground for you, patting it with his hand. “You can sit on this, if you want.”
That’s honestly so sweet—everything he has done so far is incredibly sweet. All the gross things that have happened in the past, what, twenty-ish minutes were all things he didn’t have to do, but did so anyway without a second thought.
Shuffling off his lap, you go to sit onto his jacket, and it’s big enough for you to even stretch your legs a bit. Pulling your knees up, you wrap your arms around them while putting your chin on them. It’s only now that you remember that you’re half-naked.
Your cheeks heat up in an instant, heartbeat going wild behind your ribcage as you pull your knees up further, trying to hide your cleavage from the man’s gaze. Not that he’s looking at you, he’s respectfully looking away, fingers fiddling with each other on his lap as white wisps of hair gently fall over his eyes.
“Were you out with friends?” The question falls from your lips before you can stop it, having to say something to fill the silence. To not think about what just happened on the train platform.
He looks up at that, cerulean gaze lifting up to your bunny ears before they find your eyes. He just looks at you for a second, a beat too long, causing you start squirming in place.
Right, he probably doesn’t wanna be reminded of the fact that his friends could very well be dead.
Luckily—or unluckily—for you, you were the only one who had to catch the train to go back home. All of your friends were still bar-hopping, but you had an early morning and couldn’t afford to go home late tonight.
“No, I got… called into work,” he mumbles, then puts on a smile that stretches thin at the edges. Winking, he pulls his blindfold up, hiding those pretty blues from you once more. In a way, you’re sad that he decides to hide them.
The blue is actually perfect, but you thought Kakashi had a red eye or something like that with markings in it instead of those beautiful blues he’s sporting. Where did he even get those contact lenses from? And why would he go into work with a cosplay on? “Working while in cosplay?”
He raises one, snowy brow at that. It peeks out just over his blindfold. Leaning back onto his elbows, he plays with the fabric a little, pulling it away from his face before he lets it snap back against his skin. “This isn’t a cosplay.”
At that you raise your own eyebrow. If it isn’t a cosplay, then what is it? His hair isn’t gray as far as you can see, but rather stark while. The only people who have white hairs are— “Oh! You’re an albino… then why the blindfold?”
The words slip out before you can even stop them. People might not like it if they get called an albino, after all. Or maybe they do, you’re not sure. All you know is that you put a hand in front of your mouth, clamping it shut.
He laughs at that, a full chested laugh that rings in the space, echoing slightly off the walls. Pearly whites on full display, and gosh, doesn’t he have cute canines! They’re slightly sharp, poking into his bottom lip—not vampire sharp, just natural.
“You know, I don’t think anyone has ever said that to my face before,” he chuckles, swiping away a stray tear that threatens to soil the fabric. Sitting back up, he lets the blindfold fall around his neck again, hair falling down into his face.
And it’s true, in all of his life, people either looked at him as ‘The Strongest’ or ‘The Six Eyes bearer’, and never just as a person. There has always been some sort of strength test as far as he can remember, even from when he was a mere child.
Back at the estate, he was isolated from all the other children, having to train at the bright and early age of three years old, never being able to just play with the other kids.
Of course he had tried sneaking out before, tried to just be normal kid, but his caretakers always found him and drug him back towards the estate, to his room which was plain, for the Six Eyes cannot have his focus wean on silly things such as toys.
When he got to high school, he wasn’t reminded that he was the strongest constantly. No, Geto and Shoko saw him as a normal person—to a point, of course. But that all changed after he defected. The shared laughter turned into silence.
And fuck, hasn’t it been long since someone just looked at him like a person rather than Gojo Satoru, The Strongest sorcerer of the modern world.
An albino. Granted, that’s the first time someone has actually said that, out loud. While white hair was prevalent in the Gojo clan, he was an albino after all. But no one, and he means absolutely no one had said that before, considering they thought the Six Eyes were this pretty blue, but it was actually never confirmed to be.
Maybe being stuck with a non-sorcerer isn’t as bad as he initially thought it would be. Honestly, anything is better than being alone here. The lady in a sexy bunny costume, stuck, with him. It’s laughable, honestly. It’s also definitely something that… thing didn’t account for, judging from the look on his face when the two of you got sucked into the realm.
Looking over at you, he really looks. Not at the costume, but at the person. You still have a mortified expression on your face after calling him an albino, scrambling to undo your mistake of blurting out the first thing that came to mind.
It’s cute, honestly. The slight flush to your face only adds to it, and Gojo can see the way your blood is rushing to your cheeks, further solidifying the fact that you’re utterly embarrassed.
The bunny ears on top of your head shift with each movement, headband thiiiss close to falling from your head until you push it back. It’s the only part of you that didn’t get stained in blood. The white fluff is still completely white. But that little cotton tail however… yeah even thinking back on it, he winces.
Your shoes definitely aren’t faring any better, being thrown to the side the moment you finally took them off. Skulls still painted velvet from where you walked, but he doesn’t mind as much. Blood, he can do. Exorcising curses really isn’t for the weak-stomachs, and if you did have one, you would overcome it sooner than later.
Luckily your body con itself is completely black, but he did have to wipe some off—not that you noticed that part, too busy reliving the past thirty minutes in your mind to completely know what was going on in the meantime.
The little tail couldn’t be saved, but he did try to wipe off most of the blood, the once-white fluff now a more pink-ish color.
You’re still trying to cover yourself, and he wishes he had something other than his jacket to offer. Luckily it isn’t cold here, but he can’t imagine how uncomfortable it is to be stuck with someone you don’t know whilst being half-naked.
God, he really pulled a non-sorcerer into his nonsense. But then again, it’s probably better you’re here rather than outside right now. Here you can’t be attacked—can’t die the gruesome death many, many others have suffered.
A chill runs up his spine. He tried, he really did, but of course he had to be caught off-guard. A brain using his former best-friend’s body as an vessel to catch him off-guard, truly sick and twisted.
You’re scrambling closer to the white-haired man, apologising over and over again until he finally holds up one of his hands. “It’s okay, really. I don’t think anyone has ever connected the dots before.”
That makes you shut up, perched on your knees as you’re leaned forward, eyes still wide but your mouth finally having stopped moving. “I— really?”
“Really,” he confirms, a small smile still gracing his lips as he looks at the wall before his eyes slide back over to you. “People don’t really look at me that way.”
You tilt your head at that, looking him over—like actually just looking. Not thirsting over him, though he can see the way your heart starts to beat a bit faster, not looking at him like he’s the strongest, but just assessing him as a person.
“You have white hair, and white eyelashes. Your eyes are bright blue—which is a common thing in albinism, though people often think they only have red or purple eyes because of the lack of pigment in the eyes, but if they just looked it up they would see people with albinism most often have bright blue eyes—and your skin is slightly on the pink side, almost as if you got sunburnt—did you get sunburnt?”
He wasn’t ready for the assessment, nor the whole explanation behind the eye color in people with albinism. And the way you’re so confident, saying it with your full chest, it just… does something complicated to his heart.
All this time he liked to hide behind sarcastic quips to not show any vulnerability. That has been drilled into him since he was younger, after all. The Six Eyes cannot cry. The Six Eyes is stronger than anyone else, control your emotions. The Six Eyes— Never was it Satoru the toddler. People cared about his status, his symbolism in the sorcerer world, rather than the person who was beneath all of that.
And here you are—a complete stranger—just rambling on about how he’s an albino out of everything. Most of the time when non-sorcerers—both men and women alike—came up to him, it was to tell him how hot or pretty he was, or to just slip their numbers into his hand, trying to be discreet while absolutely failing at it.
But not you, the person he got stuck in this god-forsaken prison with. No, you just see him as he is. An albino person, albeit a pretty one at that.
The two of you talk a bit more about anything and everything, him trying to keep your mind off what just happened on the train platform. The exchange of names is a quick thing, and it sometimes still surprises Gojo that someone doesn’t know his name.
Of course he knows non-sorcerers don’t know his name, but he isn’t around enough of them for him to actually feel that—sure he goes outside and everything, but he doesn’t have the time to just strike up a conversation with whoever he so pleases. He has duties to do with deadlines, and enough people are already pissed at him because of his carefree persona.
He sees the way your eyes flit to the corner where your shoes are, and it’s like everything suddenly slams back into you—the bodies, the screams, the monsters. The chatter immediately dies, smile vanishing from your face as you pull your knees up to your chest.
You’re not sure how much time has passed, but it feels like it has been hours already, and maybe it has. But you’re not sure. Your bag lay somewhere abandoned on the platform, which has your phone and everything in it.
Gojo apparently also doesn’t have a phone with him. Why he doesn’t, you’re not sure, but it’s not something you’re going to ask him, either. So it’s just up to you to guess how long it has been.
The light in the room doesn’t change, even though the two of you have been silent for a while now, so there’s no indicator of the sun setting or rising or anything.
You start picking at your nails, trying not to show how restless you’re becoming, but it’s getting harder and harder the more time slips through your fingers.
The silence grows uncomfortable, the two of you having nothing to talk about. It’s almost as if the words get stolen right from your throat every time you try to voice something, anything so you two aren’t alone in this room. The only sounds right now are the skulls rattling, jaws snapping together as the two of you just breathe.
It’s hard to do that—breathe. The room feels tinier than before. It wasn’t that spacious to begin with, but with each inhale it seems to be closing in on you even further.
Gojo is just lounging back, one arm propped behind his head as the other plays with his blindfold. He occasionally mumbles something to himself, but he doesn’t try to address you even once.
Why on god’s green earth would he just… lie there?! Acting as if any of this is normal. As if it’s normal what happened mere hours ago. …Has it even been hours? It feels like it has, but you’re not sure.
The sound of his blindfold snapping against his skin has you flinching slightly. It’s not something he’s doing on purpose, clearly lost in his own mind, muttering to himself about things you don’t bother to ask, but the snap snap snap makes you slowly inch away from him.
You shift where you’re seated right now, the rough texture of the skulls grates against your skin with each shift. Your toes curl in, trying to not think about the fact that you’re seated on skulls. You’ve been seated on skulls.
They’re everywhere. Underneath you, behind you, in front of you—as far as the eye can see. White, round, gritty, jaws snapping against each other but never actually biting. It’s all you can focus on, how much white there is.
Skulls, Gojo’s hair, the stupid bunny ears that have flopped over, obstructing your view with a patch of fuzzy white hair. White, white, white. The only things that aren’t white are your costume and Gojo’s clothes.
Looking around, it’s all you can see. White skulls snapping together. If it weren’t for the skeleton in the far right corner, you would’ve thought that this was a room full of skulls—hell, at first you thought they were only skulls—but they’re full on skeletons. Stacked so tight together you can’t see them.
But that’s all there is to the room. Skeletons. White as far as the eye can see, except for the two anomalies that are you and Gojo. Blinking you look around again, skulls, skulls and more skulls. No necessities such as water or food.
No water or food.
Shit. The two of you are trapped here in a prison without fuel. Is that… is that why all these skeletons are here? Because they starved to death.
Your mouth suddenly feels parched, swallowing a few times, you try to get rid of the sensation, but it doesn’t help. If anything, it makes it worse—bile threatening to come up the more times you swallow.
Looking over at Gojo, you note how he’s still now. Finger no longer playing with his own blindfold, nor murmuring to himself. His head is tipped back, arms crossed over his chest.
Does he not realise the situation the two of you are in?
Standing up, you can feel the gritty texture of the skulls through your costume, scraping against your back slightly. It’s not something you’re currently thinking about. No, if anything, you turn around to face the wall, fingers skimming over the skulls, careful not to get bit by them.
Surely this prison can’t be endless. Your fingers skim across the wall of skulls, rattling under the pads of your fingers as you try to find something—anything that confirms your suspicions. Sure, Gojo said there wasn’t anything the two of you could do, but you just refuse to believe that. refuse to believe that someone build a prison that truly had no out.
What the fuck even is this thing. Back outside it was all fleshy with eyes that actually moved, tracking movement every time you pulled on the flesh that was wound tightly around Gojo’s arms, the thing not budging even an inch.
In here, it’s all rattling skulls and skeletons as far as the eye can see. You’re not sure of these skeletons are real skeletons, but to safe your own sanity, you’re just going to pretend like they’re fakes from a Halloween store. Just prop skeletons, nothing to be afraid of.
Trying to take one of the skulls—skeletons, really, but you’re gripping the skull between your fingers—you try to move it, maybe there’s some sort of mechanism like in movies where you have to pull a specific book in a bookshelf to make the hidden passage open up—or in this case, the exit.
The skeleton surprisingly moves, pulling it clean from the wall, as it tumbles over with a crash. The bones scatter on the ground with faint clink clink clinks, and you jump slightly at the sound. Looking over your shoulder, you see Gojo already eyeing you, then the skeleton, then you again. You meekly smile at him before turning back towards the wall. To no one’s surprise here, there’s another skeleton behind the one you just pulled out.
When you try to pull that one out, however, you’re stopped. That one is truly stuck. Yes, it’s still rattling, bones clinking together, but it cannot be moved like the one you just did.
Maybe that’s where you can find the secret passage.
Looking up, you’re suddenly aware of just how tall this room is—it’s dark up top, but you can faintly see where the realm ends.
With a determined huff, you do a few stretches, try to get your muscles nice and loose. You can do this, you can totally climb skeletons to take them down one by one, trying to find the secret passage. Gojo said something about not getting out of this thing any time soon, so why not?
Grabbing onto one of the skulls of the skeleton higher up, you wrench your foot on top of another skull, trying to find balance, before you haul yourself up. You can hear Gojo mumble out a concerned ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ along with him standing up and walking over to you, but you just continue your climb. Another skull grabbed, another meter gained.
It goes well for all of three meters, before one of the skeletons gives way. Unluckily for you, you were holding onto it, and your entire back bends backwards, arms flailing around as you try to grip onto something, to no avail.
Hair whips around as you fall quickly, a small yelp leaving your lips as you close your eyes and brace yourself for impact.
The impact never comes—well it does, but not in the way you thought it would. The skeletons would be hard—possibly breaking under the weight of your fall—and would definitely hurt you, no doubt leaving behind bruises for the next weeks to come. But instead of bone, you get caught by soft, but strong muscles.
A slight grunt leaves Gojo’s lips as he catches you from midair, knees slightly buckling under the weight, but he keeps the two of you upright. Refusing to topple over. Cradling you closer to his chest, he furrows his brows, concern and annoyance clear on his face. “What did you think would happen?”
For a moment you can’t reply, can’t do anything other than just stare into his eyes. Those blues that are beautiful to look at, only this time there’s an emotion swimming in them that hasn’t been here yet. It makes you swallow slightly as you look down, fingers fiddling slightly.
“Just thought there might be a secret passage somewhere,” you mumble out, clearly embarrassed by the fact that you fell, but also because you just… decided to climb a wall full of skeletons without even letting him know.
“And you thought it would be wise to climb the wall of loose skeletons?” Well he doesn’t have to say it like that—like it was a stupid plan to begin with, almost as if he’s scolding you, which he honestly is.
You’re old enough to know better, old enough to know you can’t just scale anything. Even if they weren’t loose, there would be a good chance of falling down, and the two of you can’t have that. What if you broke a bone? Or got a concussion? Or even worse, got a hole in your head and bled to your death?
“Sorry,” There it is again, the same word you’ve been saying on repeat today, though this is the one instance where you should actually apologise. He did not have to catch you, probably needing to hear you whine when you got bruised.
Sighing through his nose, he closes his eyes and tips his head up. After a few seconds, he finally looks down at you again before finally putting you down onto your feet. “Just… don’t bother. I’m telling you, we can’t get out of here.”
With that he goes to sit back down onto the ground, this time pointedly not looking at you. You feel the slight burn in your chest and behind your eyes—you never did well with disappointment, so it doesn’t surprise you when that feeling bubbles up behind your ribcage once more.
“So I’m just supposed to, what, sit here and wait until we get out?” You can feel a vein start to tick on your neck, jaw clenched as you look at him. He’s just… laying there! As if the two of you aren’t trapped in a room full of skeletons that are rattling and vibrating, jaws snapping slightly.
You just can’t believe he’s so carefree about all of this, as if this is a normal occurrence. Like he spends his Friday nights like this, in a room full of bones that ‘can’t be opened’. It absolutely enrages you just how he just doesn’t seem to care.
“I’ve told you, we can’t get out of here from the inside. It’s a prison designed to keep whatever is in it in. Only the person who trapped us can let us out, and considering he isn’t going to do that, we’re going to be here for a while.”
He isn’t even looking at you while he explains this… prison thing to you. And what does he even mean with the fact that there is no door on the inside, that’s just weird. This is real life, not some sort of wizard world.
“Yeah, right. And I’m a wizard who likes to make little cubes that can’t be exited from the inside,” you sarcastically reply, crossing your arms over your chest as you tap one foot on the skull below you.
Seriously, all he’s saying is that this is a magical room that just so happens to trap you guys inside for what seems like forever.
If you had to choose a death, you’d probably much rather be on the outside, where people got decapitated instead of dying of thirst, dehydrated until you’ll just shrivel up and eventually become one of the skeletons yourself. God it will be so slow and painful.
“I know you aren’t a sorcerer. I would’ve known the moment I saw you,” he replies, vaguely tapping his blindfold before he sighs out and lets his head fall back against one of the skeletons he’s leaned against. There is that word again, ‘sorcerer’. He said it when the two of you first got here, but you didn’t think too much of it, but maybe there’s more behind his words than he lets on. “Just… my students will get us out of here.”
“You're a teacher and you expect your students to get you out while hundreds of people die outside? No offense, but how would they have any idea that you're in this—what's the word? magical cube in the first place?”
It just… it just doesn’t make any sense. Does he really think he’s important enough for his students to lay their lives on the line, just to get him out of here? Self-centered much.
Sure, he is sweet, and you have no doubt that he can be sweet towards his students, but this is just ridiculous. Does he really think that his students out of everyone would get you out of here? Why not his own friends, or like, his family or something like that?
Gojo just shrugs at your question, putting his blindfold back on as he doesn’t elaborate any further, which doesn’t help the situation the two of you are in at all.
The argument spirals from there, with you getting more and more agitated while Gojo just stays seated and throws out sarcastic quips. While he isn’t directly being mean back, it does irritate you that he just doesn’t seem to care all that much about the situation the two of you are in.
He keeps going on about the fact that the two of you can’t get out of here and that his students will come up with a plan, but he isn’t really giving out more.
What fucking moron would think their students would go out of their way to save their teacher? Seriously, there is no way he’s that important to the youth that they would risk their lives for him.
At one point he just… stops responding to you. You’re not sure if he’s even looking at you—the blindfold making it hard to see where exactly his gaze is now—but he has his lips tightly sealed. The motherfucker is stonewalling you!
With a huff you go to sit down onto his jacket, crossing your arms over your chest. With an annoyed sigh you try to call out to him a few more times, but he just stays quiet. Rolling your eyes you lay down. Your lids are starting to feel heavy, and you’re not surprised by it even in the slightest.
When you were stood on the platform, it was only eight p.m., but considering the fact that you’ve been in this god forsaken cube prison thing for over what feels like hours already, you aren’t surprised that the sleepiness is hitting you like a train.
No, fuck, not like a train. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will away the thoughts that immediately flood your mind again—green, purple, blue monsters spilling from the train, tearing the flesh—
Shaking your head, you exhale. Okay it doesn’t hit you like a train, but rather like… like a plane, or something heavy hitting. Maybe a car or something—okay enough of that, just… go to sleep.
You peek over your shoulder once more to look at Gojo, but he’s turned away from you slightly. He really isn’t looking at you. Fine by you. You’re just going to sleep, or try to anyway.
You shift on the jacket once again, skulls rattling under it, making your entire body vibrate, just enough to feel it. It’s almost like a mosquito buzzing past every few seconds with its high pitched bzzzz that makes you snap your eyes wide open once you hear it.
Sighing out through your nose, you stretch out a little, your toe sliding of the cool velvet lining of Gojo’s jacket and onto the gritty texture of one of the skulls. It’s not colder by any means, but the difference in textures throws you off slightly.
The longer you try to fall asleep, the more restless you get. Peeking an eye open, you look at Gojo, who’s sitting upright with his arms crossed, biceps bulging in his shirt as his head is leaned back, blindfold back on. You’re not sure how he’s just… asleep like that—like there aren’t tens of skulls rattling both underneath and behind him.
He looks rather peaceful like this, eyes no longer shifting around, looking around the room for an out. No he’s relaxed like this, tension slowly bleeding out from his form, making him sag a bit more than he has let himself ever since the two of you got trapped in here.
Smiling, you turn around again, trying to see if you can sleep on your other side, like that maybe, maybe would help. The moment you do, though, a riiiippp can be heard through the endless space the two of you occupy.
A scream immediately tears itself from your throat, airway getting constricted slightly as your pulse hammers in your ears. The sound reminding you of all that has happened today, and what if something happened to you—you can feel something dig into your toe, straining against it, and you’re almost a hundred percent sure something just tore your toe clean off.
The skulls. The skulls are biting you. They don’t just rattle, why would they just rattle, that doesn’t make sense. They have thrown Gojo in here to let him die—not to just trap him, but to die in this god forsaken prison—the skulls are alive. Oh god, oh god they’re alive. They’re going to eat the two of you, eat you until you’re nothing more than just bones yourselves—
“Hey, hey… it’s okay, nothing happened,” Gojo murmurs, crouched in front of you now. He isn’t touching you, but his blindfold is off as he looks at you with that concerned, cerulean gaze of his, the same eyes that have had that look in them since you got here. “Nothing happened.”
“My toe,” you whimper out, heart still hammering against your chest as you refuse to look down at the damage—at the fact that you can feel something cutting into the flesh. You just cannot handle seeing another injury.
Fat tears are starting to roll down the apples of your cheeks as you take shaky inhales. They don’t fill your lungs completely, having you gasping for air more and more, until you’re completely ventilating. Panic courses through your veins as your hands clamp down onto Gojo’s forearms, whispering about your toe being gone.
Gojo says your name then, in a tone you only hear when a parent is trying to calm their child down. “Nothing happened to your toe. No injury. No blood. Your fishnets ripped, that’s what you heard—what you’re feeling right now is the nylon straining against your skin.”
Shaky pupils find themselves toward your own feet, swallowing the nausea down as you try to confirm what he’s saying. And sure enough, there’s no blood to be seen. No actual injury as you originally thought there was, just your own fishnets pinching your toe.
“Just take them off, that way they can’t be ripped any further,” Gojo says after a while, when he notices your breathing pattern return to normal.
“Huh?” you mumble out, still looking at your toes, wiggling them for good measure—trying to see if everything still works as expected. To see that they’re really still attached to your foot rather than having been cut off.
“The fishnets, take them off. This is the second time they ripped, and you’ve clearly had a flashback both times,” he clarifies, blue eyes still trained on your form with concern.
Swallowing, you give a shaky nod, before you realise you’re still holding onto his forearm—fingers absolutely digging into the flesh, leaving behind angry marks, and you’re pretty sure you punctured the skin on some places.
A gasp leaves your mouth as you quickly retract your hands. Mouth opening to apologise over and over again, Gojo holds a hand up, cutting you off from even thinking of doing such a thing. “It’s fine, really. Just a few marks. This is nothing I haven’t endured before.”
He wont mention the fact that he was on the brink of death once, torso and neck having been slashed open, blood pooling around him as he focused his cursed energy on his neck while he used RCT to regenerate himself. There’s still a faint scar on his chest from it, but no one ever sees it, for good reasons.
Biting on your lip, you just look at him for a little bit. He really isn’t easily startled—not with you throwing up, nor with the blood or now with the fact that you’ve accidentally hurt him.
“Can you turn around?” you finally whisper, because if you have to take the fishnets off, you have to take the entire bunny costume off, which isn’t something you had planned on doing for the night unless it was in your own apartment where you were alone — which is also why you didn’t mind going commando under the costume, choosing to forgo pasties or skin-colored tights. The costume was too high-cut to even consider wearing panties, so that didn’t help, either.
He raises a brow, but quickly does as he’s asked. Back towards you, you just look at him for a few seconds, looking at the way his muscles bulge under his fitted tee, even though he isn’t actively flexing. It’s not something you noticed when he had his jacket on, but then again, you didn’t notice much when he still had it on—too busy freaking out and everything.
“You’re aware I can feel your gaze on me, right?” he teases you without turning around, still staring straight ahead at the skulls on the other side on the room. Heat immediately rushes to your face as you look away from him and down to your own costume.
Standing up, you try to get the stupid thing off, but it’s harder than you expected, taking embarrassingly long for you to get it off to take off the fishnets. When you finally do, you heavy out a sigh as if you’ve done ten hours of manual labour, instead of taking off a costume.
After removing the fishnets, you just stand there for a minute—butt naked, behind a stranger you’ve known for a total of… what, thirteen hours? You’re not sure how much time has passed, but all you know is that it’s weird for you to be in this predicament.
Looking down, you see the costume. Right, you have to get it back on again. Well, shit… Huffing and groaning you put it back on, but you can’t properly get to the zipper that’s on your back—your friend helped you get ready earlier, and now you’re trying to do it alone, hands bent at an awkward angle as you try to find the zipper.
You look to your right, where Gojo is still not looking at you. Fuck it… clearing your throat, you try to get his attention, which you note that you have when he hums under his breath. “Can you… help me zip this up?”
Warmth blooms on your face once again as you hold up the top part of your costume to prevent your breasts from spilling out of the slutty thing. It really isn’t helping that this was your costume of choice for the evening.
Gojo turns around to look at you, one snowy brow raised, but he stands up himself. Fingers warm against your skin, you jolt slightly at the feeling, touch still being a trigger for you as you try to calm yourself damn. Zipping you up, he tugs on the zipper slightly before whispering a “done”.
Clearing your throat, you step back. the two of you awkwardly stand there for a few more seconds before you motion toward the jacket on the floor. “I’m just… gonna try to sleep.”
“Mhmm,” he murmurs as he watches you drop to the floor and roll onto your side—away from him. Gojo goes to sit down, forearms perched on top of his knees which he’s brought to his chest. Luckily it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep this time.
He’s been eyeing you ever since you fell asleep. The twisting and turning didn’t stop, even after sitting just a bit closer to you. Your bare legs brush over the skulls and skeletons
He still feels guilty that all he could offer was a jacket. Sure, it’s a big jacket, bigger than most, and it does act as a sort of blanket for you, but you’re still barely dressed. Halloween night normally is one of the busier nights for sorcerers, the scares and fright of people attracting more and more curses, but this one he didn’t see coming.
While he’s glad you’re in here with him, he also feels like it’s unfair to you that you got dragged into something, a world that you weren’t even supposed to be in, even less of all know of.
Sure, he knows with how many people died that the government couldn’t suppress the fact that there are sorcerers out there in the world, but he does wonder how they’re going to phrase it.
He snaps out of his thoughts when he hears you start to mumble in your sleep. Frantic ‘no’s’ falling from your lips as a small, sheen layer of sweat starts to form on your body. You start to twist and turn even more now, the jacket crinkling under your body, and he wonders if he should wake you up.
Before he can even do that, you wake up with a gasp, eyes wide, as a small scream leaves your lips. Gojo is in front of you in a second, reassuring that it was all a dream—well, that you’re not living in that horrible nightmare right now. He unfortunately can’t help with the fact that whatever you dreamt about really did happen.
So he’s trying to comfort you, your arms wrapped around his waist as you sob into his chest. Fingers clenched into the fabric of his t-shirt. It dampens where you press your face, but he doesn’t even feel it, merely keeping himself busy with trying to calm you down.
The two of you sit there for a long time, long enough for you to have stopped crying, eyes completely red as dried tear tracks streak your face.
He can see the way your blinking is starting to slow down again, but every time your eyes close for more than a second, you jolt upright again, frantically looking around the room.
“Go lay down,” he whispers, looking at the way you’re trembling. Swallowing, you shakily nod, hair and those stupid bunny ears swaying with the motion as you go to lay down. He grabs your hand and puts it around his wrist, pressing your thumb right over his pulse point. “Go on, sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
There’s slight mistrust in your eyes, but you do as he says. Your breathing slows down slightly after a few minutes, thumb digging a bit harder into his wrist as your subconscious slips away from you.
Gojo stays like that, sitting upright while you keep ahold of him in your sleep, small, angry crescents left behind in his skin where you’re unconsciously digging into his skin. While you keep waking up every odd hour or so, it’s definitely better than it was before. Plus, it’s only the first night after something so traumatic happened, so he can’t blame you.
The bags under your eyes are horrible, but at least you got some sleep. Gojo on the other hand, didn’t get in more than an hour of sleep, but he doesn’t mind. If it’s anything he’s good at, it’s going without sleep for days on end. His title as being the Strongest unfortunately also comes with things people don’t even think twice about.
Days are spent in silence, neither of you really saying anything when you’re awake. You’ve let go of him somewhere on day three, his skin all red and angry, but he once again reassured you that everything is okay.
Eventually, after what you think is five days, the two of you get to talking. Surprisingly it’s Gojo who begins the conversation. “Remember what I said about you being a non-sorcerer?”
You turn toward him, your hair all messy from where you kept tossing and turning in your sleep. You’ve carded your fingers through it countless of times, but it keeps that slightly static-y look to it—his jacket, as nice as it is, does not do any wonders to your hair.
“Mhmmm, still don’t know what that means,” you answer, looking him in the eye. He’s removed his blindfold, the fabric hanging around his neck as his bangs fall over his forehead.
“You ever believed in wizards?” What a weird question. Sure, when you were younger you did believe in it, but when you grew up you realised that magic was nowhere to be found in real life. It was like Santa got taken away from you for a second time, honestly.
He continues after he sees you nod your head, going on a whole spiel about how there are these people that are called sorcerers. People with cursed techniques—abilities, essentially—that are fueled by cursed energy—negative emotions that forms into a sort of energy that the sorcerers can use for said abilities.
It’s a ridiculous story, really, and you interrupt him multiple times during it, but you don’t prevent him from talking. And he can see the way you doubt him, eyeing him as if he’s gone insane.
But then again, you are trapped inside a room full of skeletons that are moving. Not only that, from the outside it’s a weird, flesh contraption with eyes on them that follow your every move. So maybe it isn’t as crazy as it actually seems.
Gojo goes into detail about what curses and sorcerers are, and why they exist in the first place. It’s nice in the way that it keeps your mind off everything that has happened the past week.
The conversation lasts days, mainly because you don’t really believe him and keep trying to talk about how cool it would be to actually have powers. Which Gojo sighs at, because he really does have powers!! He just… can’t use them in here.
At one point you’d snorted at him and told him he was just a shitty math wizard—blue and red and hollow purple and Infinity and whatever else kinda math he had to do for his powers to work—which he faked being offended at, only to laugh about later.
You also learned that this prison isn’t specifically made for Gojo, but it has been specifically used to seal him. And in the process, you somehow also got sealed—something he still isn’t sure about how that happened in the first place.
With Gojo being the Strongest and everything, they just wanted him out of the way to enact their plan; whatever that may be.
In the span of a week you’ve learned everything there is to know about curses and sorcerers, sometimes having Gojo re-explain something because you didn’t really understand it or simply because you forgot something.
There’s a whole world out there co-existing with the ‘normal’ one without anyone knowing. It honestly fascinates you a little. And hey, if Gojo made all of that up just to entertain you, kudos to him, because it certainly has you excited.
After getting to know lots about the sorcerer world, you start giving out details of your own life—what type of job you have, where you grew up, hell, you even told him all about your friends.
At the mention of your friends, the two of you fall silent for a bit. You’re not sure if they’re safe or if they had been slaughtered, but you don’t want to dwell on it too much. If they died, you just hope it was a quick and painless death. If they’re still alive, all you can hope is that they didn’t get scarred by the incident too much.
The conversations last, what feels like days on end. Sometimes you keep nodding off, head falling forward slightly as your hair falls in front of your face like a little curtain, before your brain supplies the repressed memories.
You always wake up with a scream, and every time Gojo is right there with you. You’ve also noticed that he doesn’t really sleep himself. Sure, there are times he nods off, but only for an hour or two before he’s awake again.
While you aren’t sure if he also has nightmares like you do, you do know that he doesn’t scream or startle awake like you do. It’s simply like a switch got turned off and on whenever he goes to sleep and wakes up; always sitting upright, arms crossed over his chest as he lets his head fall back against the skulls.
Time in here feels odd in general. The same type of light shines down on you two constantly. There’s no way of knowing if it’s day or night, and Gojo every so helpful decided to tell you that time just doesn’t flow here—whatever the fuck that means—because his Eyes told him that.
Well in a way you’re glad that time doesn’t pass, because it means you don’t starve to death, but it also makes you feel all the more isolated.
Whenever you and Gojo aren’t talking, the silence feels suffocating. The rattling of bones and the snapping of the jaws makes you pick the skin around your fingers—something Gojo has scolded you for because the blood always takes you right back to the train station.
At one point in time, Gojo has told you that you two could just sleep together. When you’d looked at him with this scandalised look in your eyes, he quickly clarified that you two could just hold each other. Not in a sexual way, but because it clearly helps whenever you hold his wrist when you go to sleep.
Yes, that’s something you still do months later. Sure, you and him have gotten closer together to a point of being actual friends—well that’s what you like to believe anyway—but it’s still one thing to hold his wrist at night, and another of him actually holding you.
Eventually you relented, the position awkward at first. You’d tried to sleep, but each inhale and brush of his chest against your back just made you more and more aware of him actually holding you. While, yes, it did kind of calm you down, it absolutely was no help with getting to fall asleep.
Once you did fall asleep however, it was… better. The dreams weren’t as vivid as they once were, dulling to something more manageable. You slept for longer periods on end, not waking up as much during the night. (Was it even considered night?)
It also seemed to help Gojo. While you’re not sure if he always slept, it was clear that he was at least resting more. His breathing evening out while he relaxed slightly.
And with that, time seemed to pass fairly quickly. You’d long since stopped counting, but if you had to make a guesstimate, you’d say it’s been around two years since the two of you had been trapped in this hell-hole.
All you could hope is that it wouldn’t be much longer, because the loneliness—despite being in here with Gojo—had started to get to you a little.
“C’mon, enough sulking around. Why don’t you teach me how to fight?” You nudge Gojo with your toe, the fabric of his jeans soft under your flesh. He’s been sitting there, zoning out for the past few days. The two of you haven’t moved much, and you didn’t really mind, but right now you were bored out of your mind—you have been for the past… year, honestly.
His head lazily lolls to the side, bangs swooping across his forehead as those ceruleans find your form. They’re slightly lidded, hazed over with a boredom you’ve been seeing too much lately.
The two of you have shared a lot of stories… a lot. And it isn’t weird that the two of you eventually also had nothing new to talk about, considering you’ve been stuck in here for years. Curses, childhoods, everything and anything was shared to the point you had even tried to talk about other things, such as mangas, but eventually you even ran out of things to say about those.
A lazy hum slips from his lips, not even bothering to really move. Sure, you didn’t particularly want to train, much less spar with the strongest sorcerer alive—though you’re a hundred percent sure he would go easy on you—but you’d do anything to feel less bored.
Nudging him a little harder, you try to get him to actually reply, make him stand up and teach you how to fight for when the two of you get out of here. “Seriously, what if we have to fight once this realm opens and I just don’t know how to even defend myself?”
“Then I’ll just protect you from whatever’s trying to attack you,” he easily replies, blinking slowly as a yawn escapes from his lips. You’re not sure how long the two of you have been awake for, but you do know it hasn’t been long enough for him to be yawning like that. “I am The Strongest, after all.” He supplies.
“Yeah, well, ‘The Strongest’ is currently stuck in a box, so the least he can do is teach me how to defend myself,” you huff out. Going to stand up, you wipe away invisible dust, feeling the way your skin is indented where you were sat on the skulls.
The velvet of Gojo’s jacket is nice, and it keeps you from actually feeling the gritty material of the bones, but sitting for hours or days on end still makes your flesh almost mold to the shape of the bones.
You can see the way Gojo rolls his eyes at your statement, still not bothering to get up. He’s told you before that you should just meditate and keep your mind empty in order not to go insane. Unluckily for him, you can’t do that sort of stuff for too long on end, because surprise surprise, you still get bored.
It also doesn’t help that you still have nightmares. While it has happened years ago at this point, you still remember what happened on the train platform like it was yesterday, and your heels that lay abandoned in the far corner of the room are an ever present reminder of it.
The red almost hurts to look at, and you quickly snap your gaze away from them. The splatters of blood do not help your mentals whatsoever, so you turn back to the only other (living) person in this room.
Bending at the waist, you grab a hold of Gojo’s arm, trying to haul him up. A grunt leaves your lips as you put all your might in trying to get him up to spar with you, only for him to lay there, boneless. It’s like trying to pick up a toddler who doesn’t wanna be picked up—letting their entire body flop to the floor , not helping you at all.
“Come on you big oaf. Get. Up,” you grunt out as you plant your feet and try to put all your might in trying to get this lazy fuck to stand up.
Said lazy fuck unfortunately isn’t really a lazy fuck. He has been working out ever since the two of you got here. Not every day, but enough for him to build muscle. Before, he filled his tee out pretty nicely, more lean muscle than anything. Now? Now he’s buff, as if he crushes skulls for fun. He doesn’t, and can’t, not here anyway, but he looks like it.
You still remember the first time he dropped to the ground and just started doing pushups. No announcement, no sound, just dropped and started doing them as if it was normal. A few fays later, when his chest was starting to get more muscle and he could do more and more pushups, he started to ask you to sit on his back, give some extra weight. And you had done so.
Shaking away the thought, you pull once more, only for Gojo to give one, firm tug on your own arm. Toppling over, you squeak as you faceplant right in his chest. His arms wrap around your waist as he puts his chin on top of your head. “Or, we can just lay down and sleep.”
“Let go of me,” you wiggle in his grasp, and he tightens it slightly with a stubborn ‘no’. “Seriously, Gojo, we haven’t been awake for long enough to go back to sleep. Why are you so sleepy in the first place, you used to work out all the time.”
Your voice is slightly muffled by the fact that you’re currently pressed into his pecs, lips grazing against his tee with every syllable you utter.
“We’ve been awake long enough to take a nap,” he easily replies, though his voice sounds far away, like he’s thinking about something he isn’t currently voicing. His grip tightens a fraction. “Now stop squirming and close your eyes.”
“Promise me you’ll teach me how to fight after you wake up?” You ask him, finally stilling in his grip. Honestly, you couldn’t even put up a fight even if you wanted to. Sure, Gojo worked out, but you didn’t. You were used as weights for him whenever he needed you to—squats, bicep curls, sitting on his back when he did pushups, etc.
He just hums in reply, tracing small, nonsensical circles on your back. Rolling your eyes, you finally relent. “Fine, but I’m gonna hold you to that promise.”
Luckily you didn’t have to do any convincing when the two of you woke up from your nap. Gojo still had that far-away look in his eyes, but he at least got up.
Now the two of you are standing across from each other, just looking for a bit before he tells you how to adjust your stance properly. When he tells you, he also shows you, sometimes correcting your stance so you have proper form.
“All right, throw a punch at me,” he says, hands still in his pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet slightly. Okay, just… throw a punch, nothing to be worried about. With a slight jab forward, you try to hit him right in the side, but Gojo only steps to the side, your arm not even grazing him. “Again.”
This continues for a while, you just trying to hit him while he boredly sidesteps all your attempts at hitting him. It’s only when sweat is starting to beat down your neck that he finally tells you to take a break.
Flopping down onto his jacket you let out a long, suffering groan. There’s slight movement beside you, before you can feel Gojo nudge you slightly. “Not bad.”
“Not bad? I didn’t even hit you once!” You turn your head to the side, watching him sit there with a slight smile on his face—the one you haven’t seen in ages.
He just looks at you, really looks. The way you’re sweating because you finally had a work out in… however long the two of you have been here. Little wisps of hair are sticking to your nape and forehead, a small layer of sheen glinting in the weird light that spills onto the two of you.
You noticed when he zoned out for too long, of course you did. The two of you have been stuck here long enough to know little tells from each other.
Just like he knows whenever you feel restless, a small finger twitch alongside the slight furrow in your brow is a dead giveaway. Or when you’re having a nightmare again. It isn’t as bad as it used to be, but he still knows when you’re having a bad dream. Always pulling you closer, stroking your spine whenever you begin to toss and turn next to him. It’s something he found out after a year of being here.
He still had his horrible sleep schedule ingrained in him, only having slept for four to five hours a day for as long as he can remember, so he was awake most of the times you were asleep. Now, he sleeps through the night. Well… whatever you can call the night.
Time doesn’t flow here, so it’s difficult to know just how much time has passed, but he does know that he sometimes wales up after you do, which surprised him when it first happened. You had a small smile on your face as you muttered about him being a sleepyhead.
It felt… nice, honestly. Not having any responsibilities for the first time since he was born. That doesn’t mean he likes it in here, though. As much as he likes your company, he’d much rather be with his family—his students and colleagues.
That’s been something he’s been thinking about lately, and he knows you’ve noticed. His mood has gone down significantly, and you’re trying anything and everything to not get him to think whatever he’s thinking of, but it’s hard not to.
He fucked up when he got captured, like really fucked up. And now his students and colleagues alike have to free him. How ironic, the strongest merely reduced to nothing because he was caught off-guard. Memories of a certain black-haired friend flash through his mind.
While Gojo has shared a lot about himself and his students, there are things he hasn’t shared with you. Such as what happened for him to get captured like this—the real reason why he got captured, not the one he gave you. While it’s true he got caught off-guard, he never told you about Suguru. And maybe it’s better you don’t know.
But it all makes him think, makes him doubt things. Sure, the two of you will get rescued eventually, his students will succeed in that, that much he’s certain of. But will people only get him out of here because he’s the strongest, or also because he’s Gojo Satoru, the man beneath the legend.
He eyes you again. You’re kicking your feet a little while you grumble something at him, poking him in his thigh for emphasis, but you’re not actually mad.
You, maybe the only person who has actually seen him—the real him that he closed off ten years prior. Sure he hasn’t told you everything about his childhood, but he hasn’t done that to anyone. It’s simply not something people needed to know.
If you two had met before this whole incident, would you have come to save him—despite being a non-sorcerer—because he’s Gojo Satoru, or because he’s the Strongest?
With a defeated sigh, he lets his head fall back against the skulls. The rattling of them makes his mind run rampant, but it’s not something he can help. It’s been running amok for these past few days. It’s what you noticed in him when you told him to spar you. Sure, it’s a good idea for you to actually be able to defend yourself, would the two of you ever get out of this prison, but he also knows it’s a distraction tactic.
What he doesn’t expect is for you to so forcefully poke his leg he has to jerk it away with a hiss. You’re pointing to the other side of the room where one of the skeleton lay. “Keiko just told me you didn’t teach me shit, so stop zoning out and get up so you can properly teach me this time.”
Wait what now? Keiko? Who the fuck is Keiko? And why are you acting as if there’s anything here that can talk to you other than him. Maybe the time in this realm has you finally losing your marbles a little. “Keiko?”
“Yes while you were moping around these last few days, I made some friends,” you finally stand up again, walking over to the skeleton you were pointing at. “This is Keiko, she knows martial arts. And she just told me you didn’t do shit, so get your ass up and fight me.”
Right, okay so you have gone crazy. Maybe it’s the lack of water after you worked out. Your brain deprived from the fact that you were sweating and not getting any liquids into your body. But then again, he has worked out here before without a problem.
“Right… Keiko. And who are the rest of your friends?” He slowly asks, because you did say you had multiple of them.
Your face lights up as you quickly go to arrange the skeletons, they rattle in your hold, not quite sitting upright, falling to the side before you put them against the wall with a huff and a pointed finger that says ‘stay right there’.
Once you’ve arranged five skeletons, you turn back to him, hair swaying wildly as you stretch your arms out. “meet your new friends! Keiko, as I've already told you. Then we have Sota. Sota likes to teach ballroom dances, great teacher if you ask me, unlike someone I know—”
You eye him then, lip slightly curled up in mock seriousness. Gojo just rolls his eyes and points to the skeleton next to “Harry”.
“—Right okay, so this is Akari. She makes candles. We should buy some from her, support small businesses and shit.”
He almost snorts at that. Yeah, you’re definitely off your rockers, and this just confirms it, but he lets you continue introducing the last two skeletons to him.
The first one is a doctor, and when he asks you what type of doctor it is, you just throw your hands up and tell him you don’t know because the skeleton refuses to tell you because it would be a HIPPA violation!
That, he does genuinely chuckle at. The sound foreign to his own ears when it slips out from between his lips. He can see the way you pause then, eyes softening at the sound of his laugh. A small smile graces your own lips, eyes crinkling slightly.
After a few moments, you finally point at the last skeleton with a flourish. “And this over here, is Tomoe. She’s a sorcerer whose powers are necromancy!”
“Cursed Technique, first of all. Second of all, that’s not how a technique works. C’mon, Bunny, I tried to teach you this so many times. You can’t just work with the dead if you were to infuse them with cursed energy.”
You huff at that, letting your head fall back with a groan, and Gojo swears you stomp your feet a little like you’re throwing an actual tantrum. “Oh my goooodd, you’re such a buzzkill! Tomoe said she’s a necromancer, so she shall be a necromancer.”
“Well she wasn’t a very good necromancer if she ended up dead,” Gojo sarcastically replies.
Crossing your arms over your chest, you pout at him. “Everyone dies eventually! Just because she worked with the dead doesn’t mean she couldn’t die.”
“Why couldn’t she just be a pediatrician or something?” Gojo asks then, genuinely curious. Why would you choose the skeleton to be a sorcerer out of all things when you have a real one right in front of you? And the Strongest one at that.
“Because she told me she was a sorcerer!” You whine, annoyed that he isn’t just fucking listening to you. “And just so you know, Tomoe doesn’t like you and said they would win in a one v one against you.”
“You’re insane, you know that, right?” Gojo mumbles out as he sees you carefully put all of the skeletons back to where they were laying before.
Turning around, you dust off your hands and walk straight up to him. Putting your hands on your hips, you look down on him. “Insanely funny, thank you very much. You’re just jealous of the fact that I made friends in here other than you.”
“Mhmmm, friends that can’t talk to you while you have a living, breathing one sitting right here,” he rolls his eyes at you. And you smile at that, because he seems almost jealous of the fact that you ‘made friends’. Obviously all of this was just to get him out of that funk he’s been in these past couple of days, and it does seem like it worked, even if only a little bit.
Sitting down next to him, you nudge him with your shoulder. He hums, a sound that comes deep from within his chest. “You doing okay, Satoru?”
It takes him a bit to respond, eyes tracing over the skeletons you just used. They’re neatly arranged, put back together, and it makes his chest a bit tighter. You care so much about menial stuff, and it makes him feel incredibly soft.
“Yeah, just… room is getting to me a little.” He vaguely gestures to the thousands of rattling skulls, not really saying anything. But you hear it loud and clear; he’s feeling lonely, isolated even, and you can’t blame him for feeling that way. It sucks being stuck in this prison for so long, despite the two of you keeping each other company.
Letting your head gently fall onto his shoulder, your fingers find his, giving his hand a slight squeeze. “We’ll get through it, together,” you whisper.
You can feel his shoulder relax a bit. Exhaling through his nose, he gives a small kiss to the crown of your head. “Together.”
He wakes up in a cold sweat, heart racing from the nightmare he just had. His mind is still reeling from it as he sits up, his back pressed against the wall, the rattling of the skulls absolutely not helping him right now.
He can see you sit up from the corner of his eyes, concern etched all over your face as you try and touch his knee. Jerking it away, he puts his hands in his hair, running his fingers through the white locks as his fingers tremble.
You’re calling out to him, he can see your lips move, almost as if it’s in slow motion. Hands kept meticulously to yourself, but still hovering over him. He can hear the way you’re calling out his name, but it comes out all warbled and distorted.
Breath comes harder now, chest heaving up and down as he looks around the room. Skulls blur together until he can’t see them individually anymore. Six Eyes is overloading his senses, even as he squeezes his eyes shut.
Pulling up his knees, he puts his head down between them, fingers still at the back of his hair, almost ripping out the hairs. The oxygen in the room feels thin, as if his lungs aren’t filling correctly.
Inhale. exhale. inhale. exhale. inhale exhale inhale. exhale. inhale inhale exhale inhale. His breath stutters with every intake, chest absolutely quaking as a tear slips from his eyes. His entire body is now trembling—or maybe it’s because of the rattling skulls beneath him.
Gentle fingers cup his jaw, forcing his head up. Your face is blurry, but the concern is right there. “Satoru, what’s going on?”
Opening his mouth to answer, he chokes out a sob. You coo at him to take it easy and that he just needs to focus on his breathing. When you finally utter the words panic attack, he nods his head in agreement.
“Okay… okay, uhh— shit I don’t know! Think about something that makes you happy, maybe?” you’re getting more frantic now. You’ve never seen someone have a panic attack before, so you’re not sure what you should do. The only thing that comes to mind is that people put little bags to their mouths to breathe into, but you guys obviously don’t have that here.
When he shakes his head, pupils shaking as another tear escapes, you swear. Looking around the room, you’re trying to find something, anything for him to help his mind get off this. “Okay, just— try and slow your breathing for me, okay? Here, breathe with me.”
You put one of his hands on your chest as you take a big inhale of breath, trying to get him to at least get some oxygen in his system, but after a few failed attempts, it’s clear that that isn’t going to work.
“Satoru I need you to look at me and give me a clear answer, okay? I need your breathing to calm down, and I read somewhere that if I slapped the person it would shock them out of it—“
“What?” he croaks out, the words not fully comprehending in his mind.
“Yeah… it’s a bit rude but if it helps I’m willing to do it, so tell me if—”
“No slapping, no…” he whimpers, folding in on himself once again. He jolts slightly from where he’s sitting, almost as if he can feel something that isn’t there. Maybe an old memory or something like that, because his breathing starts to get more erratic than before.
“Okay, okay. No slapping, got it. Uhhhh…. fucking why is that the only thing I’ve ever picked up from watching tv. Okay would it help if I just talked to you, maybe that would calm you down? Or I could hold you like you did me—”
Before you can even continue rambling on about the—limited—possibilities, Satoru wraps his arms around you, burying his face into your neck as he hyperventilates. Your hands are laying limp by your sides before you carefully put on into his hair and the other on his back.
“Hey, you’re fine,” you whisper into his ear, carding your fingers through his hair. Going to properly sit, you maneuver the two of you so he can properly cling onto you. “Wanna tell me what brought this on?”
He mumbles something into your collarbone, voice muffled, and you can’t hear exactly what he’s saying. “Sorry, can you say that again?”
“‘Was alone,” he hiccups out, breath still erratic as he whimpers. Your hands stop their movement for a second before they resume their ministrations. He got a panic attack because he had a nightmare that he was alone?
“You’re not alone now, Satoru,” you put your cheek on top of his head. “I’m here y’know.”
You’re not sure how long the two of you sit there for, time flows weird in here anyway, but after a while his breathing finally goes back to normal, a few tears dried on his cheeks as he slowly but surely lets go of you.
Tilting your head down, you look him into the eye. “You okay?” you whisper, almost as if you’re afraid to break the moment and have him have another attack. Luckily he doesn’t, but he does shock you by leaning forward and putting his lips onto yours.
It’s soft in a way you didn’t expect it to be—lips a bit chapped, but nothing unbearable—as he leans in further. You let yourself get lost in it for a second too long, a second that lets you forget all about the rattling skulls and the isolation and the fact that you’ve been here for years already, if you had to guess.
But when his tongue traces the seam of your lips, you finally pull back, lips parted, eyes wide as you look at him. The person you’ve been stuck here with for what seems like an eternity. The one they call the strongest because he has powers that trump everyone else’s.
He’s seen you at your most vulnerable moments, the ones where you woke up screaming and crying. Held you through it all, telling you it’s okay to let it all out, that it’s okay to feel this way after everything that happened.
Now it’s your time to see him at his most vulnerable. His lashes flutter open, little tear droplets still clinging to his white lashes, eyes slightly red as he looks like a kicked puppy. A small breath leaves his kiss-bitten lips, swollen and red, glossy by his own spit.
“Just help me forget… please,” he whimpers out, hands uselessly clenching beside him as he stares you down. “Let me know I’m not just making you up.”
It’s something he did when he was younger—making up friends, playing with them whenever he was alone in his room, having completed the training for the day. There weren’t many things that he owned, just a blanket he got to keep and his bottle of water.
Heart beating out of his chest, like it wants to claw itself out and present itself to you. Present the ugly truth that he’s kept hidden about his childhood—how empty and hollow his heart is. Blood pouring down his fingers as he would give it to you.
Would you caress it, or would you crush it between your dainty fingers? Put your teeth in it and rip a chunk out of it? The same way all of the people in his life have done until now. Stomping, crushing, clawing at his heart until nothing was left.
Would your mouth be stained red as you would put your lips to the organ, pressing feather-light kisses to it, show the care that you have been showing ever since the two of you got stuck here? Or would you sink your teeth in them, make it hurt a little?
The same sort of red that you were covered in when this realm opened. Skin stained in crimson, bathed in the velvety color that was sticking to you.
So he represents it to you—his heart. Vulnerable and still beating despite having been locked up here with you. Will you accept it in your dainty hands, keep it warm for him. Or will you crush it by denying his one wish?
Do you finally see him for the monster he really is? The one that enjoys the fighting, enjoys ripping off the limbs of curses as they pop out of place. Sounds of flesh and curse tearing, the same way flesh tore back on the platform that was stained in red.
He sees the way your eyes look at him—really look, trying to confirm if he’s really asking you what you think he’s asking, seconds bleeding together, just like his bleeding heart trying to thump itself out of his ribcage. He would tear it open for you, show you just how sincere he’s being.
There’s a slight change in the way you look at him, like you’re starting to really see the Gojo Satoru underneath the persona he’s been wearing all his life. The one who’s afraid of the dark, afraid of being alone, even when the room is full of people, the one who can’t let himself cry, because he’s the strongest.
“Is that what you want?” you finally breathe out, biting on your lip slightly as you can’t look away from him. The person who you’ve been stuck with for what seems like an eternity, asking you to help him forget by giving himself all of you.
There’s a slight pang that goes through your heart as you think about it. Snow-white hair falls into his eyes, but he holds your gaze. Bright blue eyes holding your gaze as he shows you him at his most vulnerable—the part he hasn’t shown you in years.
Buried beneath all the layers of faux-confidence and self-assuredness is just a boy who is trying to keep himself together, keep himself sane in this prison that makes you want to cry and scream and lash out.
A shaky nod escapes him, snow-white hair bouncing up and down with the motion, one of the skulls shifting under his grip, fingers white from how hard he’s digging them into the poor thing. For a moment you think it might crack under pressure—his finger, not the skull. You’ve long since found out that the skulls are indestructible.
Blood rushes up your cheeks, spreading warmth over your face and chest as you finally lean forward, softly putting your pillowy lips onto his again. So soft, he almost can’t believe you are touching him again, not helping with the feeling that you’re just some part of his imagination he’s had since he was all but a small boy.
Shifting around, he leans back against the wall of skulls, rattling against his back. The feeling real in a time where everything feels like sand slipping through his fingers, time bleeding out before his mind gives out.
Gripping your hips, he puts you onto his lap. Your weight settles on top of him, thighs bracketing his, skin soft and dimpling under the tight grip he has—all real. Real, real, real. You’re real. The soft hitch of your breath as he presses his mouth further against you is so real. Heart beating out of your chest in an erratic rhythm, also real.
But it’s not enough. Not enough for him to forget his childhood, the one he so desperately wants to forget especially in times like these. Not enough for him to know that you’re real and not just made up, the flesh under his fingers dimples the way it should, feels the way it should, but what if he’s just imagining it.
Digging his nails in further, you gasp out into his mouth, hips jerking on top of him as they pierce the skin. Blood rushing down, reddening the skin. Droplets of red stain his nails, sliding underneath them, burying themselves in the cuticles as a reminder that this is it.
Your own nails dig themselves into his shoulders, not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave behind your own marks.
Tongues clashing in a battle of dominance, he suuucks on it, tasting your saliva. That part that doesn’t belong to him, telling him that it’s enough. Sharp canines find themselves into your bottom lip, pulling on it slightly, biting just a bit too hard, puncturing the skin.
It leaves behind a smear of red on his own lip, which he licks off with a groan. The copper taste filling his mouth, painting him in crimson before he surges forward again, lips melding together in a fight that neither of you know how to stop now that it’s been started.
Messy, that’s what this is. The clash of teeth and tongue, spit and blood mixing together. It’s on your lips and chin, dribbling down it before Gojo leans down and licks it up,leaving behind a pink trail on your skin before he finally dips his head down further.
Pillowy soft lips land onto your neck, kissing and biting the skin as he marks you up. Red blooming under his mouth as he trails it down to your collarbones. Your head falls back, giving him more access, fingers twining into his hair, pulling on it when he nips at your skin again and again.
Leaving behind marks in his wake, he finally looks up at you. The way your pupils are blown out and eyes half-lidded. Blood on your skin, just like when you got here, only this time your own rather than someone elses.
Bringing his thumb up, he smears it all over your lips, watching the way it spreads. It’s messy. It’s beautiful. He can feel his cock jump in its confinements, pressing up against your heat.
Your lips wrap around his digit, muscle swirling around it as you lap the red, sticky substance from his finger. And if that wasn’t enough to get him over the edge, the way you bite on it, making a small pinprick on the pad of his finger, certainly is.
With a growl he flips the two of you around. Your bare shoulders find themselves onto the skulls, hair shaking underneath you in a small halo. The sight of you so… marked does something to him; makes his heart beat a bit faster in his ribcage, almost knocking on it to get out. Blood rushing through his veins as he just stares for a moment.
Finally he leans down, suckling softly on the exposed part of your breast. The parts where your bunny costume doesn’t cover your soft flesh. Marking it up, leaving behind blooming bruises and teeth-indentations in its wake.
He just bites and bites and sucks, until he finally gets to the fabric. Pulling it down with his teeth, one of your breasts spills free, nipple immediately hardening to the air in this god-forsaken place.
“You look beautiful,” he almost groans out, looking at your face twist up in pleasure as he wraps his lips around your hard peak. Swirling his tongue around the bud, he lathers it up in his saliva, leaving behind a small sheen on your skin, before he gently bites into it.
Mewling out, you wrap your legs around his waist, fingers tightening in his hair as your back arches from the uncomfortable skulls beneath you.
When he had asked to forget, you didn’t realise he would absolutely devour you in the process. But you’re not complaining about it even one bit. It’s the first time in forever you felt something different than that ever-present dread that has settled deep in your belly since you first got here.
That feeling has been replaced by warmth shooting through your core, absolutely throbbing around nothing as blue eyes stare up at you, drinking in every reaction he’s pulling out of you.
His lips are red, dried blood starting to crust on his chin as he finds your other nipple. He twists and turns it with his teeth, pulling on the bud before soothing it with a lap of his tongue. The sting leaves you hissing out, but you don’t tell him to stop.
Your hips roll up, brushing against his bulge that’s twitching with need. Your core is hot and heavy, fabric clinging to your folds. There’s a small layer of sweat that’s starting to form on your skin, leaving him with this mix of copper and salt in his mouth.
A small sting on his tongue makes him hiss out, a droplet of sweat entering a small wound he didn’t know he had, before he smiles at the feeling—the feeling of him feeling something, proof that he isn’t fading away.
Cock stirring in his pants, he grinds down onto you. The swell of your breast presses against his cheek as you mewl out, pulling his head down to meet your skin. The flesh soft against the apple of his cheek, hair brushing against your skin as he puts his forehead onto your chest.
“Need you inside of me,” you say—and it’s the first thing you’ve asked from him in what feels like hours. There’s another roll of his hips, bulge catching your clit over the fabric, and it has you positively moaning out. “Please.”
And how can he say no to that? No to the person who makes him feel real, makes him feel seen. He would trust his heart with you, would look at you like you hung the moon with the way you so delicately hold onto it, like a baby bird with a broken wing.
Your hands tug on his hair, pulling him in, the same way he’s sure you would wrap your fingers around his ribs, pulling him in, cradling him against your body. Leaving behind a bloody mess of proof that everything is real.
Would you polish the bones? Make them clean until no blood remains? Crawl inside of him, keep him warm and company wherever he goes. The same warmth that wraps around him as he enters you in a swift movement.
Heart pumping in your hand as you cradle it closer to your chest, the way he’s pumping in and out of you right now.
Licking a broad stripe up his neck, you leave behind marks of your own. Porcelain skin cracking under your teeth, warmth blooming instantly. Pale skin turning red wherever you touch him, bleeding for you in the way his heart bleeds for you.
His lips meld with yours once more. Blood-red against blood-red. It’s something he didn’t know he needed, and it was in front of him all this time. You suck on his tongue, the same way your gummy walls suck him right back in whenever he pulls his hips back.
Clamping down on him, you shatter. A moan bleeds from your lips in the form of his name—not in the way he’s ever heard it before.
He spills inside of you with a stutter of his hips, your name leaving his lips before he kisses you once more. The sound overwhelming to him. Your warmth and his mixing together, until it all bubbles out of you.
There’s a moment where he wants to ask if you’d bleed for him, but he bites his tongue. Bleed you did, the evidence right there; even if it was just for him to forget for a little while—forget about him being Gojo Satoru. Right now he’s just Gojo Satoru, the man whose heart has been bleeding for almost three decades.
His tongue finds your core, lapping up your mixed juices. Red and milky white mixing together until it’s all pink, just like that cotton tail on your tailbone. Would you clean him like this—with your tongue, or would you take a different approach?
Collapsing against the ground, he pulls you onto his chest. A small, nagging voice in the back of his mind tells him he went too far. Marks bloom on your skin bright and fresh, but there’s a small smile gracing your lips.
“You think we have to wait much longer before we get out of here?” you whisper, voice a little hoarse from all the noises he pulled from you. He sighs into your hair, trying not to think about how much longer the two of you will be in this hell-hole. “I have no idea.”
The lower half of this guy is in full display on my bluesky account (link in bio).
"Its" not the final design shape I've landed on, but in the moment, it felt like it suited him - something weird, carrying a fair amount of mileage, and unsettling to have in your face.
summary: You had always heard a weird, mocking voice in the back of your head telling you that the things were going to end just like that between you and Satoru. The Prince and the Pauper. You were destined to eventually drift apart.
Or not?
tags: AU, angst to fluff, breaking and making up, classical disparities, insecurities, gojo is a certified loverboy and a yearner as usual. mdni! eventual smut, p in v sex, soft emotional sex. nobamaki cameo!
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT! PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BLOG!
word count: 13.9k
author's note: hi everyone!! this is not the oneshot i wanted to finish in may, but i had some ideas brewing for quite a long time, though the concept is not really original. happy ending won, soooo enjoy and let me know your thoughts! art in the banner by @/yamada_souko. dividers are mine.
Looking back, you realised you had never got it easy for Satoru.
The tale as old as time: the Princess and the Pauper. Or, in your case, the Prince and the Pauper.
And you couldn't put it in a better way.
Satoru Gojo — the Prince of the campus, the heir to the Gojo Enterprises, the man who would get the business world in the palm of his hand, the captain of the university basketball team, whose face was plastered all across the campus, the president of the Alpha Delta Nu, so on and so forth. You got the gist. The crowd parted before him, the Universe shifted itself to accommodate his presence: he walked in every room as if he owned it, which he pretty much did — ruling every place with a charming grin and a quick wit. Guys were wishing to be like him. Girls were dying to be beside him. He barely granted anyone more attention than needed — keeping people at arm's length, except for a couple of his friends. Of course, you didn't belong to them. Not like you desperately wanted to. You were well aware of the hierarchy of the university: people like Satoru Gojo rested at the top, eyeing the crowd down. People like you? Scrambling to get to the middle. If you were lucky enough.
One spring day, you realised that either Satoru Gojo didn't know about those unspoken rules or couldn't care less about them. Because you couldn't come up with a plausible explanation for why he suddenly started pestering you. Or, in his eyes, flirting.
It began rather innocent: him accidentally bumping into you, flashing an apologetic grin; asking for a vacant place at the cafetery at your usual table in the corner, the one where the noise cut down a little and you had a better view on the students — naturally, that place become the center of everyone's attention, because wherever Gojo was, the crowd followed; helping you to get a book from the highest shelves in the library and then crushing your study sessions; waiting for you after the classes just to walk you out to the next campus with an excuse that it was on his way (it didn't. Business majors classes were hold in the corpus 20 minutes away from yours).
At first, you politely declined every single invitation to a frat party or a match. Then you tried to ignore him, but your disinterest would even more pique Gojo's attention. After this, it turned into clipped, gritted-out "no's". You even attempted to talk to his friend, Shoko Ieiri, the girl you shared the Advanced Chemistry class with.
"I don't think there's something I can do," she would murmur, eyes firmly set on some sample through the microscope, when you turned to her as a last resort. The sigh that left your lips was truly desperate. Shoko's gaze softened a tad as she looked up finally, since your presence kept looming over her like a tiny, grumpy cloud. "Satoru can be pretty stubborn, unfortunately. Especially, when he's pretty set on something."
"Yeah," scoffing under your breath, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. "Unfortunately for me. Am I another check mark on his to-do list? I just don't get it." The pencil in your hand almost snapped from the strength of your grip.
"Listen, I am not in a position to advice your something or anything," Shoko's lab chair screeched — the sound annoyingly loud in the tense silence of the lab — as she turned to face you fully. The irritation at her words flared up in you, but you forced yourself to listen to her. If not her, then who?! "But you might try to hear him out. He's not that bad of a guy."
Grimacing at her, you turned to return to your own table. "If he's not that bad, he would've taken a hint long ago."
An indifferent shrug was the only response you got.
After talking to Shoko, Gojo's pitiable attempts at "courting" you had weakened severely until coming to a complete halt. You couldn't believe your luck. But what annoyed you even more than Gojo himself was the way you would jump at seeing the familiar spark of frosty white hair in the crowd; the way your heart would do a little flip at the sound of his distant chuckles. The way the loneliness would engulf your usual table in the corner of the cafeteria without his company: you subconsciously craned your neck to see him, for all his persona and the impossible height were impossible to miss, and slumped in your seat, when he didn't happen to stroll in with a familiar effortless grace in his stride. In the quietness of the library, after the countless hours of studying, you could basically hear the grin in his voice as he handed you a couple of blueberry muffins and the bergamot tea from your favourite bakery — you didn't have the slightest idea how he managed to find out your usual order — and tapped on your nose, remarking that you actually should eat.
Somehow, Satoru Gojo annoyed you enough to...like him. Managed to creep under your skin like an itch you couldn't get rid of.
Or… didn't want to?
***
One basketball match changed everything.
"Sorry, sorry, oh— sorry again," you mumbled awkwardly, navigating through the crowd and somehow managing to balance two beer cups on your way to your seats.
"Geez, finally, where have you been?"
Rolling your eyes at Nobara, your bestie slash roommate slash the only person who made your university life not so miserable, you handed her the cup and tried to shout through the cheerladers' voices, the endless roaring of the crowd and the music coming loud from the speakers.
"There was a line!"
"Huh? What?"
"THERE WAS A FUCKING LINE!"
She took a sip from her cup with a satisfied nod and grimaced at you. "Don't scream at me."
Her audacity stole your voice, and you slumped down in your seat, huffing rather indignantly.
"Hey, don't pout. Sorry for that." Nobara lightly elbowed your side and opened a pack of salted peanuts, offering you a truce.
"Can't believe I agreed to go with you," a light grumpiness coloured your voice as you drank from your own cup.
"Aw, that's because I am awesome and you love me so, so much," she chirped gleefully and planted a kiss on your cheek. With her head on your shoulder, Nobara sighed dreamily at the sight of Maki Zenin — the manager of the university's basketball team. "She's so cute, isn't she?"
Meanwhile, Maki gestured widely, screaming something at her phone (not very pleasant as you might assume from your seat) and threw her bag at a guy in front of her. The guy followed her figure with puppy eyes.
Your lips twitched with a barely concealed smile that you hid behind another swig. "An angel, truly."
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"
Her words fell on deaf ears because at that moment, some airy melody rang from the speakers, followed by the joyful voice of the commentators to finally announce the start of the match.
Swallowing nervously, your eyes darted across the court, and the moment your gaze landed on the tall figure with stark white hair, your heart galloped at a racing speed.
"Who are you gawking at, huh?"
Gojo might've really had the eyes on the back of his head — he wasn't called Six Eyes for nothing, some weird sixth sense that you assumed related only to the basketball court — because that very moment he turned around and briefly scanned the audience. His eyes widened in surprise as he spotted you: the bright blue of his gaze and the joyous smile that broke on his face caught you so off guard you nearly dropped the cup. Like he was happy to see you there. Actually happy.
You offered Gojo a shy wave — a subtle move of your fingers — that only made his grin wider. Then, Suguru Geto tapped on his shoulder, and he quickly turned back.
Your hand fell limply to your side.
"Babe, what the hell was that?" Nobara hissed, jerking her chin towards the players gathered around for the last guides from the coach Yaga. "Have you just casually flirted with Satoru Gojo? Don't you hate his lungs?"
The next words came in a breathy voice. "I don't know anymore."
Your knowledge of basketball was rather... limited, but you dutifully roared along with the crowd the moment your university scored yet another point. The people's excitement was contagious, seeping right into you as well and lacing your voice with joy. You booed at the judge when he gave advantages to the rivals, screamed at the top of your lungs and held your breath at the last quarter. Your team went neck-and-neck with the other, and every point was crucial. You could see it in the way the player's uniform was drenched in sweat, their hair stuck to their temples, and laboured breathing. The stakes were too high.
The scorebox showed the fifteen seconds left — mere moments for you and the whole eternity for those at the court. Your eyes drifted to Gojo, as driven to him by some unknown force. His sharp gaze quickly darted from one teammate to another, calculating the last opportunities to score. And then...it found you amidst the sea of spectators. Cheeks flushed, hair a total mess, chest expanding with deep breaths. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in. Adorable.
But for you, the moment Gojo's gaze landed on you felt completely different — resembling more of a bolt of lightning that sent every nerve in your body on fire. You couldn't hear your own thoughts with the blood pounding at your temples.
Gojo barely tilted his head, nodding towards the basket and mouthed.
"This is for you."
He dodged one guy, then the other with perfect dribbling — you barely saw anyone in their element as much as Gojo was at the basketball court — and finally went for a shot.
Time seemed to stop moving in the gym of the Jujutsu University. The hundreds of eyes watched the ball cutting through the air with an impeccable trajectory.
Until it went through the net without hitting the rim and sealed the win.
You barely released a shuddering breath when Nobara crushed you in a hug, her beer mercilessly spilling on you both, but no one gave a damn. The crowd erupted with an ecstatic cheer and rose to their feet right then and there. The commentators were on the verge of crying, judging by their voices, but your world narrowed to one particular person. Gojo's teammates ruffled his hair, patted his back, and hugged him by the shoulders; someone even put him in a playful headlock, to which he responded with a wide grin.
A tight knot in your chest slowly seemed to loosen a bit.
Gojo found you later, at the party.
You stood a little away from the crowd, watching Nobara laughing with Maki Zenin near the bonfire. The light painted her auburn hair in copper tints every time she tilted her head, and judging by the way Maki's gaze lingered on her form, she noticed that too. A little smile curled your lips at the sight of lovey-doveys.
"Your friend has a crush on Maki, huh?"
Putting a can to your lips, you mumbled absent-mindedly, "She's pretty obvious."
"They both are, actually."
A light brush against your shoulder finally caught your attention. You lazily shifted your gaze, only to gulp at the sudden proximity to Satoru Gojo.
He stood beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, watching the rest of the party unfold with a faint smirk on his face. Standing there, existing, like he wasn't the one who flipped your world upside down a couple of hours earlier.
A forced smile made your cheeks hurt as you tumbled out nervously, hastily wiping your mouth, "I am— I, I mean, congratulations! You did so great! I don't understand much about basketball, but you—," your worried your bottom lip for a second before breathing out, "you were magnificent."
At your words, Gojo finally turned around. His grin softened into a gentle smile that showcased a pair of dimples on his pale cheeks. The firelight danced on his hair strands that seemed more ivory tinged now.
"You think so?"
"I do!" A sudden feeling of boldness flooded you as you stepped forward and reached for his arm to show how sincere you were. Or maybe it was just a beer.
Gojo immediately cast his gaze down and slowly wrapped his long fingers around your wrist. You gulped, but didn't look away from his face. The gods clearly spared nothing in sculpting it, otherwise you couldn't explain the sharpness of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips and the prominence of his cheekbones.
No one had a right to be that beautiful. Satoru Gojo wasn't aware of it.
His thumb pressed just a tad against your soft skin to feel an erratic pulse beneath it, but you did not attempt to pull your hand away. On the contrary, it felt strangely...natural.
"I am glad you were there." A gentle murmur hit you harder than expected.
Breath bated, you searched Gojo's face for any hint of the usual theatrics and grandeur until you saw none.
"You are?"
"Yeah".
The words about the last shot were on the tip of your tongue already, but they quickly died at the sight of shimmering blue in his eyes as Gojo finally looked up and released your hand from his grip.
You already missed its warmth.
"Listen, I knew I was a jerk towards you. Crowding and flirting and so on. I know, I know," a self-deprecating chuckle left his lips as the ironic roll of his eyes followed. You watched every expression, soaked it like Gojo was about to disappear again from your life. "I am not proud of this, I admit. I want to apologise to you for this."
You parted your lips to answer, but Gojo cut you off with a slight shake of his head.
"But I am not going to apologise for my feelings," his voice grew stronger, rising from the gentle murmur to the steady tone, eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity that left you speechless. The people's cheerings fade into the background, and that chilly evening, thick with emotions so deep you couldn't name them, enveloped both of you in its bubble.
"I meant everything. I do like you. I like the way you smile when you finally grasp the concept you've been studying. The way your voice goes all that animated when you talk about the book you were reading. That little sparkle in your eyes when you saw the last cherry pie in the cafeteria...I love it all. And that shot was for you. I really meant it."
"I am gonna ask you just this once, and if you reject me, I will step back and never bother you again. You have my word," the weight of Gojo's promise would almost physically pin you to the ground, if not for the desperation lurking behind his gaze, darting between your eyes and your lips. He forcefully tore it away to glance right into your face. "Will you go out with me?"
You didn't believe what you were about to say. But hey, that day was already weird enough. You offered Gojo a crooked smile. "Yeah."
"Just one date, you won't — ", he blinked in surprise, a light frown crossing his handsome face. "Wait, what?"
You stifled a laugh and nodded, stepping closer, until you felt the hard planes of his chest. "I will go out with you."
A slow, almost dopey in its joy, grin curled Gojo's lips, until a small disbelieving chuckle left him. "You will? Just like that?"
Now you couldn't contain a smile either. "Just like that, Gojo."
A whoop full of happiness cut through the air and the noise of the party that slowly came to its eventual end as Gojo swept you off your feet and twirled you in a bone-crushing embrace. Your laugh was the prettiest sound Gojo had ever heard.
"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I swear you won't regret it!"
Satoru Gojo kept his promise. And many others he whispered in the dead of the night to you beneath the star-spilt sky. His hand was a steady anchor amidst the stormy life that awaited both of you. His voice offered you peace of mind when the world was a little too harsh for you. His fingers traced reverently the silk of your skin every time he shared a night with you. His gaze was the first you searched for in every crowded room. His arms had become the safest place in the world.
Satoru memorised the way you organised your life, but you were more than happy when he eventually disrupted your usual order. Not because he was doing that on purpose. Rather, since that was Satoru: he was too big for your world, and you didn't want him to shrink himself into someone he wasn't. Dimming Satoru's light was the last thing you wished.
He had learnt by heart the things that even you didn't pay attention to: for example, your toothbrush always had to face the door — Satoru wordlessly turned it the way you preferred; your favourite plant was Zamioculcas that he made sure was always watered visiting you; you usually carried a few packs of wet cat food for the stray babies in your enormous bag — he ordered large boxes, so you wouldn't run out of them; your drink of choice was Margarita that you shared only while hanging with Nobara — Satoru learned on his way to pick you up; you hated the loud harsh sounds, and Satoru was the first one to whisper sweet nothings to you and rub soothing circles against the small of your back until you calm down. In other words, he made your life easier.
You, on the other hand, only added more difficulties to his. Satoru never told you that, not even mentioned in any way that you were somehow different from him. But some things didn't have to be pointed out to catch your eye.
Like his Prada glasses, which cost like your monthly rent or two. Satoru could leave them somewhere without batting an eye. Or the luxurious gifts he would get you out of nowhere just because you barely glanced at something while strolling. That warmed your heart, yes, but the cheque that Satoru couldn't care less about startled you. You stayed in the lab until you almost fainted from fatigue just to finish the project before the deadline to get an extra payment to spend on the gift, since you were adamant that the relationships were about taking and giving in equal measure. Not to mention the one social gathering he invited you to, just off-handedly, before the day it actually happened; you drained your bank account to look presentable by his side, and lived on the instant ramen the entire month after. Maybe if you had accepted Satoru's offer to live together, none of that would have happened, but you learned the hard way to rely only on yourself. Luckily, the iron argument sealed the deal: your tight schedules at the lab and his as a pro basketball player didn't match well.
The Gojo family was another... topic. While no one said anything directly to your face, you noticed the way their brows knitted in confusion for a fleeting second, eyeing you up and down. Sensed the baffled glances and fake, saccharine sweet smiles behind your back, questioning the fact of your presence. No. Your existence. The mere raise of the brow from one of Satoru's distant cousins at the sight of your shoes — the ones you borrowed from Nobara, who got them after the Fashion Week in Paris, albeit last year's Dior collection — had you doubting your entire life.
Complaining had never been on your list, though some thoughts did cross your mind. You made sure not to voice them, stoically listening to all the hushed whispers. Not once did your smile falter in front of them. It was the least you could do for Satoru. You knew he didn't have a lot of joy in standing up for you every single time, so, eventually, the gatherings got shorter, the invitations came rather rarely, and the calls, already small in number, would always leave him in a bad mood. The sound of your name appeared quite frankly between the gritted words and heated yells.
"Don't worry, baby," Satoru's lips always found the crown of your head in the reassuring kiss when you asked him what was going on. The bitterness in his voice poisoned your already tired, insecure mind even more. He was a master at hiding his emotions, but never from you. "I got this."
A strained smile — the corners of your lips lifting just barely — was your usual answer.
"Of course."
Satoru then offered you a quick grin that never reached his eyes. His large hands cradled your face in the gentle, trembling grip, and the faint murmur would twist yet another knife between your ribs. "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"
Leaning into Satoru's palm like a kitten, seeking warmth, you bit inside of your cheek not to cry. Your hand came up to cradle his hand against your cheek just to memorise the way it perfectly engulfed your face.
"I love you."
Not to dwell on the way you voice cracked, akin to ice beneath one's feet, you simply moved forward to capture his lips in a kiss, until all you could taste were tears. Yours, his... Did it matter anymore?
And then, under the pale moonlight coming from the lone crescent peering right into the bedroom of his large penthouse, your gaze drifted unabashedly over Satoru's face, taking in every flutter of the long, snowy eyelashes. Every breath that left his lips. Every faint twitch in his expression, and even every tiny snore. Your finger tenderly traced the bridge of Satoru's nose, making its way to the perfectly sculpted mouth and down to the sharp cut of his collarbones. Committing each pale freckle and beauty mark to memory.
For you knew that night would be your last one.
Satoru loved you, and you loved him. He loved you fiercely, with the force so burning it could rival the Sun itself. It was only fair for you to step back and let him shine. Not to drive another wedge between him and his family. You loved Satoru enough not to burden him with your presence. He should soar up in the sky, not stay chained on the ground by the dead weight of you and waste his time knocking some sense into his parents.
A muffled sob escaped your throat as you pressed a small kiss between his collarbones. The next thing you felt was Satoru's strong arm curling around your waist to pull you against his strong chest. The faint smell of musk still clung to his skin, but you had never revelled in it as you did now.
"Why aren't you asleep, baby? Something's wrong?" Satoru's voice came in a deep, throaty tone that would usually have your toes curling.
The edge of the blade dug deeper into your heart, drawing blood.
"Nothing, love. Just some weird thoughts, that's all."
A boyish grin adorned his face — so handsome even in the middle of the night — as he lightly flicked your forehead.
"Your head will hurt from all the overthinking. Head so tiny, yet so many thoughts. Come here," Satoru let a shuddering yawn and tucked your head under his chin, nuzzling gently against your hair. "Better?"
Biting on your lip, you prayed to all the gods that Satoru wouldn't hear the tremble in your voice. The steady beat of his heart lulled you to sleep, but you knew you wouldn't close an eye that night. "Yes."
"Try to sleep, okay?" Satoru's finger came to play with a lone strand of your hair. The smile in his voice was evident. "And if you don't, just wake me up. We can talk or watch that documentary you mentioned earlier. I mean, did Tyra really not take any accountability?"
You gathered any ounce of your strength not to fall apart right then and there.
"Of course, Toru. Go to sleep now."
He sighed in mock exaggeration. "Always so bossy."
His chest rose steadily under your cheek. His skin felt warm under the weight of your palm. You registered it all subconsciously, clinging to every part of Satoru.
And only when his breath fully evened, you allowed yourself to whisper to the night.
"I love you. And I am so sorry."
***
You sincerely thought you were a nice girlfriend for scheduling your breakup over the weekend. Waited until Satoru finished showering and emerged all smiley and happy from the bathroom. Waited until he recalled all the TikToks he sent to you in the early morning, not even knowing you already had blocked him on all the socials. Waited until he dug in the last breakfast you cooked for him — fluffy pancakes with strawberry jam.
"Babe, this is so delicious," Satoru hummed, pointing a fork at you. "Are you sure you didn't wanna become a chief? I mean, this is the gift from the heavens."
"I think we should break up."
Satoru paused mid-way, mouth still open. He slowly closed it and heaved a hollowed chuckle, chewing on the pancake with more force than necessary. "Very funny, sweets. An excellent joke."
Straightening in the seat, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Weren't you clear enough?
"I said we should break up."
That time, Satoru finally stopped chewing and slowly lifted his gaze at you. The electric blue pierced deep in your soul as he pressed again, "And I said it was an excellent joke."
"Satoru," the movement of your throat was sharp as you fumbled with words. "I am not joking."
The desperate flex of his fingers caught your attention immediately when Satoru curled them into a fist before taking a deep breath. The smile that carved into his lips was as sharp as the knife.
"Care to explain why?"
A thousand thoughts twirled in your mind those days like a restless whirlpool, each of them seemingly worse than the previous: "I don't love you anymore", or "You suffocate me with your love", and the traitorous "I cheated on you."
All of them lie, of course.
So, you settled on offering Satoru the least you could do — the truth.
"We just don't work out, Satoru. It's better to break up before — "your voice was so tiny and fragile, Satoru thought he was hallucinating: his worst nightmare coming to reality, " — things get more serious."
The loud, screeching sound of the chair being pushed away, followed by a self-deprecating, disbelieving laugh, filled the room. You glanced up at Satoru only to find him pacing around like a caged animal. Your words punched him right in the gut.
"We don't 'work out?' Before 'things get too serious', huh? Sweets, that's gotta be a joke. The most shitty, not funny and cruel joke you have ever pulled on me, but okay," he nervously carded his fingers through the white hair, before walking to you. "Tell me this is it. Please."
You cast your gaze down, not able to see the way his eyes frantically searched your face for any hint of a joke and hear the crack in his voice, usually so steady and certain. A rock, a lighthouse in your stormy ocean.
The shake of his hands was violent as they came up to frame your face. You choked on a heavy sob, trembling like a leaf with the tears blurring your eyes so hard you couldn't see anything.
"But we were —, are working just fine. Have I done something wrong? Is it because of me? Just tell me what to do, I swear I'll fix everything!"
"It's not about you, Satoru. Never has been. It's about me."
His white brows furrowed in confusion. "You? What about you? But you are perfect for me," he chuckled almost tenderly — a small sound frayed around the edges — that only ripped your heart out. "You listen to all my stupid jokes, know how many sugar cubes I put in my coffee, and put the curtains down because you know how sensitive my eyes are. You stayed with me at the hospital after the injury and cheered for me the loudest." His voice rose just a tad to coax a smile from you. "You have never told me how to be someone I am not. Always seen me, not the Gojo heir. Not the star player. How can it be about you? No one in the world knows me as well as you do. Like —," his gaze swept across the room like something might've helped him to talk you out, "like your last Christmas gift, huh? That premium card you swore you just stumbled upon in the store, but I knew better how much it — Wait."
Satoru's smile slowly died as the realisation downed at him like a wicked joke of fate. "No, no, no, no. That can't be it. Is that because of money? My status? I told you countless times that it doesn't matter to me! What I have is yours." His voice dipped into the fragile, almost sacred warmth that he reserved only for you. "All I have is yours."
You couldn't do that anymore. Not even in the wildest thoughts did it occur to you that breaking up with Satoru would hurt that badly. It rather resembled a never-ending torture.
He never understood it. Growing up in a family that barely made ends meet. Pouring your blood, sweat and tears into studies to get a tuition fee waiver, because there wasn't any other option for you to get into the university. Scraping by taking double shifts at the cafe. Fighting tooth and nail over the place in the chemistry lab.
And never would.
Pushing Satoru away, you closed your eyes in defeat before forcing yourself to look back at him. He didn't dare to mutter a word, watching your face twist with pain as you shouted.
"It matters to me! It matters to me, Satoru, how fucking inferior I feel next to you!"
Something in his gaze faded away. He didn't recognise his voice when it came in a short, fractured breath, devoid of all strength.
"What?"
A violent sob rattled your frame as you hid your face in your palms. You cried and cried and cried until your chest tightened with pain, and you managed to utter hoarsely. "Every time I get into your home, or every time someone sees me besides you, I want to run and disappear into the cave. Don't you see that, To — Satoru?" No. He wasn't your Toru anymore. "I am like, dunno, a disastrous glob of ink on Monet's painting. A patch of dirt on the Versace gown. A bling-bling amidst Graff's and Harry Winston's. Well, you get it. Something to wipe away or hide in the closet. Someone who doesn't deserve to stand by your side."
"I don't get it," Satoru dragged his hands over his face and shook his head, letting out a humourless laugh. His eyes flashed with a weird gleam. "Did my parents or anyone at that point say something to you? Because if they did, I fucking swear —"
"No one said anything to me, Satoru! It doesn't matter. Because they say it to you —"
"And as I said, I don't care — "
"BUT I DO!" The rise of your voice to a frenzied cry startled both of you. Satoru stared at you with a gaze so desperate that a kiss of the gun would've been more merciful. You fiercely wiped your snotty nose — hell, you must've looked so ugly — and walked over to cup his face. He watched your every move as if you were about to disappear. In a way, you were going to.
"I do not want anyone to say something about me to you. I do not want you to fight with your family over me. I want you to be happy. Do not be torn between me and the world you belonged to."
Satoru wanted to shake you by the shoulders just to knock some sense into your head, scream and shout what a total bullshit your words were, but instead, he got rooted to the spot by your doe eyes. His stomach twisted at your next words.
"You'll meet a beautiful, smart, and kind girl, who wears pearls that cost more than I will ever be able to make, plays Brahms at the family gatherings, and who doesn't turn red in the face, while asked about favourite Japanese modern artists. Well, now I know plenty." You couldn't help but huff a tiny chuckle. Nothing twitched in Satoru's face. "And you will fall in love with her, and your whole family will like her. Everything will be just fine."
Satoru couldn't believe what was happening. Nothing in his life could ever prepare him for the pain that would follow with your leaving him. It didn't feel real. Probably, never would.
He slowly tilted his head down and rested his forehead against yours, whispering, barely audible. Like every word cost him a fortune. "Please, baby, please. I swear on my life, I will do everything. Just don't leave me. I don't —," Satoru's hands slip up your face as well, but you closed your eyes in defeat. Any ounce of strength left in your body evaporated. His arms fell to his sides as he croaked out helplessly. "I don't know who I am without you."
"You are you, Satoru. Always have been and always will be. A brilliant, wonderful, kind boy with a golden heart. And I..I am just me," you pressed your lips in a thin line before forcing a smile. "But I will work on it. As I said, it's all because of me."
"You don't get it." Somehow, Satoru's lifeless whisper hit you harder than any scream would. Because Satoru never raised his voice at you. Even now. There was a hunch to his shoulders that you rarely saw, if ever, as he turned from you and gripped the edge of the table. "I want to marry you. To become your family. But guess that doesn't matter anymore. Before things get too serious, huh?"
The room spun around you as you knitted your brows together, slumping in the nearest chair. Marrying… you?
But, on the other hand, it didn't change anything. You were still miles away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the societal hierarchy.
"I am so sorry, Satoru," words clawed up your throat as you shook your head.
Satoru finally turned around, and the dimmed, utterly devastated blue of his gaze tore you apart at the seams. "You are not sorry. If you were, you won't be leaving me now."
You didn't have enough in you to counter this. Words seemed meaningless, slipping like sand through your fingers.
"Please, Satoru. Let us go. It is for the better."
You had never seen an expression that hopeless and defeated on his handsome face.
"Is that what you want?"
"No," you wanted to scream, to shout, to cry out loud. "How can I possibly want to leave you? I have to. For both of us."
The silence stretched thin between you for so long, Satoru sincerely thought you didn't hear him. He stepped forward only to see you giving a short nod, almost cruel in its curtness.
After all, he never denied you everything. Even that. Even if it killed him from the inside.
Standing by the door with your bag, you couldn't help but steal a last glance at him. You parted your lips to say goodbye, but nothing even remotely plausible came to your mind. Satoru sat on the couch, shoulders slumped and gaze fixed on the floor. His name left your lips for the last time.
"Satoru."
His head snapped up as if he had been waiting for it that entire time. Maybe you changed your mind?
"Yes?"
That fragile hope in his tone twisted your insides.
"I love you."
Before he could answer, you slipped out of his apartments. And his life.
***
These months, the four agonising months, marked by Satoru's absence in your life, had sucked. Mildly put.
You sincerely thought you were doing the right thing — well, still were — breaking up, sparing his life from your presence, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. In a way, it was the opposite.
Pushing the love of your life away and then grovelling in the silence of your small apartment after putting on a brave face and assuring everyone that you were okay sucked. Crying yourself to sleep sucked. Feeling your heart breaking to pieces each time your gaze stumbled upon something that instantly reminded you of Satoru — like a photo on the fridge, his note with a smiley, kissy face between the pages of your comfort book and the tome of the manga he was reading — sucked. Walking around the places you used to hang out sucked.
What sucked even more was the fact that Satoru's presence seemed to linger everywhere. His laugh haunted you while you were lounging on the couch. The look of pure happiness on his face was ingrained in your mind while you were walking in a familiar park. And when your eye caught sight of a ball? Didn't even mention it. Perhaps that was your punishment. Now you were subjected to a lifetime of loneliness.
Still, you tried to do the thing you promised Satoru the final time you saw him. Attempted to go out of your shell. Took on some hobbies. Had a lot, a lot of time for self-reflection (given that you were free most of the evenings when you didn't throw yourself into work). And took small steps to discover what made you whole.
What and not who. That realisation sank on you with the force of a tidal wave. Kept you awake in three of the morning. Occupied all your thoughts until you finally, finally, were getting used to it. Still, there was a lot to be done. You only wished for Satoru by your side, though. Were you allowed to think about him, after all?
The revelation, of course, only made your mind drift to Satoru even more. How was he? Was his injury getting better? Did his father officially appoint him as the next CEO?
Gods. You sure had no right to worry about him anymore. Not after breaking both of your hearts. An utterly desperate and lifeless look on his face flashed every time before your eyes when you closed them.
You dragged your feet back from the nearest combini: Friday had finally marked the end of a long, exhausting week (not like you had many left, huh) and you treated yourself with sushi and a bottle of wine. There was nothing you wanted more than to run a bath and put Sex and the City on, rotting under the blanket. It would've been thousands of times better if Satoru were there, but alas...
A few raindrops fell on the asphalt, successfully putting the train of your miserable thoughts to a halt, and you hurried to the entrance of your block. Quickly fishing a pair of keys, you glanced up from your bag as something caught your attention in the periphery, and you got immediately rooted to the spot.
You would recognise the set of those shoulders, now slightly hunched, everywhere. A grey hoodie did nothing to hide his figure. White tufts fell over his forehead under the hood, and something twisted viciously in your chest at the sight. Your fingers twitched with the urge to feel the silk of that hair under your touch.
You took a deep breath, trying to take a rein over your hammering heart, and stepped closer, calling the man out softly. Rather hesitantly.
"Satoru? What are you doing here?"
Satoru went rigid for a moment at your voice. His shoulders tensed even more. Your throat clogged up.
But then he turned around and smiled. A tiny, almost pathetic lift of his lips, and he offered you a small wave. Just like the one you gave him at that basketball match.
"Hi, ba —" Satoru immediately corrected himself, wincing just for a second. His smile wavered, as did your composure. "Hi."
The effort that took you not to drop your things right then and run into his arms was only between you and the gods.
"Hello to you too." Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped forward. That totally wasn't the way you imagined that meeting would go.
"What are you doing here?" You prompted again, trying not to sound either harsh or desperate. Desperate to hear his voice. See his eyes. Look at his face.
"Just... was going around. Stumbled at your place. You still live here." Satoru lifted one shoulder in a nervous shrug, and his little smile morphed into a quick, uneasy grimace.
You didn't question those stalker-ish tendencies, but the doubt was clearly evident in an arch of your brow, because Satoru instantly raised his hands in surrender.
"No, really. I guess my legs just carried me there. Some memory, you know," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but then sighed, seeing your suspicion. "Come on, sweets. If I had been stalking you all that time, I would've done it way more discreetly."
That brought you some relief. "Guess you would've."
His Adam's apple bobbed with an effort. "Can we, uhm, talk?"
Something in your guts was telling you had a pretty good sense of the way this talk would go. You weren't sure it was the right time and way.
Casting your gaze down, you worried on your bottom lip before breathing out, "I'm — I'm not sure this is a good idea, Satoru."
"Please", his voice took on a pleading edge. You closed your eyes for a brief moment. "I just want to know how you are. That's all."
He was lying. And he knew you were well aware of it.
But, in the end, wasn't that what you wanted? To see him, at least? Well, here Satoru was.
Thunder roared somewhere in the distance, and you were pretty sure that soon you both would be drenched to the bone.
"Besides, you don't want to get me standing under the rain, do you?" An amusement curled Satoru's lips before he let a humourless chuckle. "Have some mercy on your ex-boyfriend."
That sounded like a slur coming from Satoru. You glared at him. His smile turned even sharper.
Torn between the current state of your... relationship, and the fact that Satoru was standing right in front of you, you completely didn't know what to do. You didn't part your ways that badly. And you had never wanted to be that person who would resent his ex and scowl at every mention of them.
Because that was never true. You loved Satoru. And, judging by the yearning lacing his gaze and the nervous flex of his hands as he awaited your response, he still loved you, too.
After minutes of debating, with the rain intensifying, you finally gave in and nodded towards the entrance.
"Get in."
Satoru's wide smile now resembled more of a child's on Christmas.
"Yes, ma'am."
The weight of Satoru's gaze, burning a hole in your back, felt rather physical. The tension in your kitchen threatened to suffocate you both, while you busied yourself with making tea and a gigantic cup of hot cocoa for Satoru.
You placed the drink in front of him, and Satoru shot you a small, curious grin.
"Whoa, marshmallows."
"Yeah," you still absent-mindedly bought them at the grocery store. Habit. "You know, three years of always getting your marshmallows weren't in vain."
Satoru looked at you as if he seriously considered offering himself as a sacrifice at your altar.
Damn those puppy eyes.
Rubbing your palms up and down your thighs, you cleared your throat and offered an awkward smile. God, you wanted the ground to swallow you. "So, uhm, how have you been, To — Satoru?"
He pressed his lips together and leaned back in his seat, right hand on the back of it, like he was incapable of sitting straight. Well, some things never changed.
Satoru didn't look at you, instead glancing out of the window at the heavy rain, drumming against the windows.
"Not so good."
You immediately dropped your gaze, hugging the cup with sea buckthorn tea. The scorching liquid might've burnt your hands a little, but it was nothing in comparison with the sharp pain in your chest.
Licking your lips, you forced yourself to look up at Satoru. He was still staring at the rain like it held something only visible to him. The muscle in his jaw jumped.
"I am sorry, but —"
Satoru released a long sigh and turned to you. You almost flinched at the sight of his eyes — usually so bright blue, flashing with mirth and charm, now reduced to the lifeless, dull grey. Under the better light, you also noticed the dark bags under Satoru's eyes, the hollow in his cheeks and even the light stubble. You had never seen him like it. Like he aged ten years or more in those months.
That was all because of you, right?
Tears filled your eyes so fast you couldn't even blink them away, when you felt salt on your lips.
You wanted to apologise once again, but then Satoru leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, feverishly running his fingers through the white strands. Were you a little crazy, or even his hair seemed more…ashy?
"I am not gonna lie, I have never felt more awful and pathetic and miserable — well, you get it, in my entire fucking life," he waved his hand dismissively, and you closed your eyes just for a fleeting second, because you couldn't afford even a moment of not looking at him. That talk went even worse than you imagined. "But after you left, something has…changed."
You sat upright and drawled hesitantly, "Like…what?"
He huffed a humourless chuckle, and his eyes flashed with a weird, almost malicious glint. Your insides went cold.
"Well, I just told my father that he can suck my dick —"
You slowly covered your face with one hand. That was not good. Very, very bad, actually.
" — if he even for a moment thinks I was going to marry one of the girls he and my grandfather suggested. And then he started threatening to cut my trust fund off, blah blah, blah. Like I've ever given a single fuck about it."
Something in his tone was telling you that wasn't everything that had changed.
Satoru's voice sharpened in a way that could cut even the hardest steel.
"That was okay. Nothing I've heard before. But when he started talking about you," his voice dropped to a whisper and dangerously cracked. You couldn't hear it anymore. "That's where I draw the line. He knows that. Now everyone knows that."
A loud groan left you as you dropped your head in your hands.
"What have you done, Satoru?"
He just rolled his eyes. Harsh and sharp. "What I should have done, obviously. A long time ago. Tell all of them to fuck off."
"Oh —"
"Mildly put," Satoru scratched his head with a mild grimace. "And then got kicked out of the house. Trust fund cut off, obviously."
You couldn't believe what you had just heard. Satoru might've thought that his words would somehow soften you, so you could coo at him or whatever. But never did he expect you to slam your fist against the table and grit throught your teeth.
"Have you fucking lost your mind?"
Satoru blinked in shock, watching you suddenly stand up and turn from him, your hands curled into fists by your sides.
"What?"
Taking a deep breath, you tore your gaze from the windows and threw your hands in the air.
"Are you an idiot?"
Well, that kind of hurt. "I don't understand."
"Satoru." Oh no, he knew that tone. That only meant you were seething with rage. There were no means of escape, especially as you loomed over him. "So let me get it straight. You fought with your entire family, they kicked you out of the house and left you with no money."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"All because of me!?"
Satoru didn't like the way you said "me". As if you were something not even worth mentioning. The dirt beneath his feet.
"Satoru, we are not together! I am not your girlfriend anymore, I am not even in your life! We don't even talk! You can't throw your life away because of me! That's stupid!"
"Well, maybe I am stupid, hasn't it occurred to you?"
"Satoru," your voice trembled on the edge of tears. Why didn't he understand you?! "I am serious. This is serious. This is your life! This is all you have— had, especially given you can't damn play with your injury now!"
Satoru didn't answer you. You only saw the way he swallowed with effort, and the look of utter longing on his face told you everything.
You helplessly slumped back in your chair and hid your face in your palms for a small eternity. Satoru didn't dare to interrupt. He just watched you, soaking up every feature as if you were about to kick him out of your apartment forever. That was an option. You were pretty pissed.
He attempted to soothe you, "But there's something good."
You slowly glanced up, and Satoru almost snorted at the look of total disbelief in your eyes. "Such as?"
Satoru quickly stood up and kneeled between your chair, taking your hands in his. Cold as usual. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed your palms with his thumbs. As usual.
"I mean, you said it yourself, sweets. That is all I have known for my whole life. Rich kid, golden youth, spoilt guy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, all that stuff. I thought maybe it was it? My chance to find myself, huh? I don't want to be their toy to boss around all because of money."
Something crawled up your skin and twisted sharply in your chest as you breathed out, "What do you mean?"
Was he serious? So you both were doing the same thing all that time?
Satoru squeezed your hand harder and gave you a crooked smile.
"Just been here and there. Doing…some stuff."
You tilted your head in a silent question. He chuckled breathlessly and shook his head.
"Don't laugh, okay? I am teaching some kids basketball at school."
"Oh," your lips curled up in a tender smile as something warm bloomed in your chest. "That's really nice. You like it?"
"Yeah," Satoru's answer was immediate. And for the first time that evening, you saw a familiar spark in his eyes. "Kids can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but they are really cute. Listen to me, call me Gojo-sensei. Kinda gets in your head, you know."
A small snort escaped you, and the wide grin broke on his face. Oh, how he missed that precious sound.
"Where do you live now?"
"Crashing Suguru. He's not particularly happy when I drown my misery in another pint of strawberry ice-cream — "
Your smile slowly disappeared.
" — when he brings in some girl, but I bribe him with dark chocolate. You know he can't live without it."
"That he can," you uttered in a strained voice. Satoru's grin wavered as well, and he hesitantly reached to tuck the lone strand of your hair behind your ear. His hand trembled a little.
"What about you? There are boxes everywhere," he leaned back with a soft murmur, glancing around your apartment with packed staff around. "Moving out?"
Your heart suddenly felt twice its size, thumping violently against your ribs. "Uhm, yeah. Moving out."
"Where?"
Well, that was it. You squirmed in your seat, and Satoru's hand slowly fell to his side. He just waited.
"Eh…France."
He pinched his brows together with a slight frown and repeated incredulously, "You are moving to France?"
Satoru's sharp blue gaze seemed to pierce through you. Unable to meet it, you looked away.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Sighing deeply, you stood up and leaned against a kitchen counter, hugging yourself. Satoru immediately rose to his feet.
"That was a pretty much hard time for me too. Not delving into details, but…yeah. I felt like shit. Everyone was dating someone, or building a successful career, or, I don't know, just doing something meaningful," you gestured vaguely and combed your hair with a shaky hand. Satoru just stared at you like a lone, kicked puppy. "While I willingly kept fucking my own life over. Cooped yourself in that place. Left the love of my life."
Something in your face softened at the last words. Satoru forgot how to breathe.
"And that certainly shouldn't be…in vain, whatever. I told you I was going to work on myself, and I kind of do. Step by step, but I am going there."
"I still don't understand. I am happy for you, really am, but why are you leaving Japan? What about your mother, your job?"
What about me?
"My department's had its financing cut. My presence is not required anymore, as they said. I am just working the last two weeks, and that's it."
"Oh. I am..I am sorry to hear it."
"As for my mom," you didn't seem to hear Satoru's words at all, staring somewhere past him. "You know, she's never really cared that much about me anyway. She'll survive."
As cruel as your words might've seemed, you were right. Your mother was an…interesting woman indeed.
Satoru desperately cling to anything that could make you stay here like a lifeline.
"What about Nobara?"
Surely, you couldn't leave her. You two had been together from the first time he saw you at the university campus.
"Actually, she was the one who offered me that."
"Huh?!"
"She's recently been promoted at her job to the French edition of their magazine. Fashion weeks, runways, photoshoots… You know her, she's been ecstatic about it. So, when she asked me about it…I said I would give it a thought. I mean, it will be a nice fresh start, won't it? I don't have anything left here, so…why not? Gotta take risks, something like that."
Satoru couldn't believe his own ears. That would've been his nightmare coming true, if not for the fact that his worst one already was real. No. He wouldn't let you go that time. That was the stupidest thing he had done in his life, and if he had to beg…well.
The worst thing that you seemed pretty confident about it. But looking closely, he saw your hands trembled a little by your side, and your gaze darted nervously around. So, there still was some chance.
He ran his fingers through his hair. The gears seemed to work nonstop in his mind as he glanced around for any clue or sight for support. Until…
He weakly breathed out, "I am going with you."
Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "You what!?"
Satisfied with your reaction and his genius mind, Satoru smirked lazily, "I am going to France with you."
Did you stare in The Office or something? Was there a hidden camera to look at?
Helplessly blinking, you finally managed to utter, "Excuse me? You going to France? With me?"
"I know, I know what you are thinking. He's crazy, an idiot, proper name, last name, backstory stuff, but hear me out!" Satoru walked to you and squeezed your shoulders, his eyes frantically searching your face for a hint of understanding. You still stared at him as if he had just announced he was going to fly to the Moon, no less. "You broke up with me because, citing "you felt inferior to me," right?
Pressing your lips into a thin line, you gave him a flat look. "Correct."
"But I am not superior in any way to you now! You're discovering yourself, me too, so why don't we do that together? Start everything from scratch? Including," his Adam's apple bobbed with effort as his hands slowly slid down your figure to rest on the dip of your waist. Your skin tingled at the contact. "Including us."
Blood defeaningly roared at your temples, and your heart jumped right into your throat. Wouldn't it be strange and weird? Getting back together after you pushed him away? After breaking both of you?
One of Satoru's hands drifted upwards to cradle your face, while the other pulled your figure closer to him. Your head spun at the sudden proximity. His thumb delicately traced the line of your jaw and settled on the apple of your cheek.
"How is that stupid and weird, if I love you?" Shit, had you been musing aloud? "And you love me."
You parted your lips to answer, but then Satoru tilted his head down just a bit, and it was enough to feel the faintest brush of his lips against yours. With knees slightly trembling, your hand flew up and twisted the fabric of his hoodie for support. Your tongue darted out to lick your lip for a mere second; it was enough for Satoru's gaze to flick there and stare at your mouth as if hypnotised.
"Or you don't?" You almost leaned in for a kiss when he suddenly pulled away, despite being a breath away from devouring you. You gulped and lifted a pleading gaze at him — and not like the look on Satoru's face was any better. A strange kind of bitterness settled in your chest at the shakiness of his voice: he really doubted it. Well, you gave him a good reason to, didn't you?
It baffled you. No. Weirded out in the worst way possible.
So, instead of answering, you simply stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. A feathery, almost invisible, but it was enough for Satoru to release a groan and kiss your back.
You forgot how to breathe. The room spun around you, and if not for Satoru's hand holding at your waist, you would've collapsed for sure. The familiar sense of heat shot through you as you boldly slid your hand up Satoru's toned shoulder, grazed his undercut — wait, did he actually whimper at that or what — and ran your fingers through the silky white hair. The months of raw longing, poured in that kiss, laced every brush of your tongues, stifled moan and impatient tug with desperate want. Damn, you almost forgot his lips slotting perfectly against yours, his gently nipping at your bottom lip, and his hot, raspy breath fanning over your cheek when you pulled away before delving in again and again.
Blinking away dizziness, you managed to gather your bearings together just to mumble, "Does it count as an answer?"
Satoru's chest rose up and down as if he had just run a marathon, and he slowly shook his hand in response before tilting your chin up. His eyes resembled more of a stormy ocean than a breezy sea, but his hold was as tender as always.
"I love you, Satoru. Still am and always have been. I told you the same when —," you swallowed the lump in your throat, "— when I left you." Voice sinking into a small, almost miserable whisper, you went on, "And I am sorry for that, so damn sorry, you didn't deserve it."
"No, no, no, baby, stop it," now both his hands cradled your face as his gaze gently caressed every twitch in it, every shift, every freckle and mole. "You did what you felt right to. I accepted that, even though it was the hardest thing in my life. Believe me or not, I felt so stupid and shitty and miserable for letting you go, but I had to respect that. I only wish I had noticed you feeling that way sooner," he ended with a small, bitter smile, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose before gently nuzzling it. "Missed you so, so much."
As much as you wanted to lean into Satoru's touch again with no care in the world, you felt the need to apologise for once again, "No, Satoru, but — Maybe if I told you that instead of going away, we wouldn't be apart these months. I am sorry."
"Stop that," his voice cut you off, not firmly but enough to shut you up. "Really, stop. I am not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. And maybe I need that too. Shook me good to realise what things really mattered in life."
A sad sigh left your lips when you remembered what happened between Satoru and his family. Yes, they were jerks, but you never wanted to be the reason for the wedge between them.
"But hey, now we're two psychos together, trying to figure out what to do with their life! Together, right?" Satoru's gaze carefully searched yours, and as you nodded enthusiastically, his face broke into the brightest grin possible. Maybe only rivalling the one he gave you when you agreed to go out with him at that bonfire party.
"Love you, love you, love you," you murmured between kisses, nuzzling against his jaw, eliciting shaky moans. Your hands slid under his hoodie to feel the hot skin under your palms, but the sudden roaring of the thunder made you jump.
"Oh, fuck."
Satoru wanted to tease you at first, but he quickly bit his tongue, remembering that noises like that still scared you. You mindlessly gripped his hoodie tighter, pressing your frame against his for comfort. His hand cradled the back of your head, and he tucked it under his chin, whispering soothing words.
"Maybe you wanna lie down or something?" Whispering into your hair, Satoru pressed his lips against the crown of your head as another tremble shook your body at the particularly frightening sound. His gaze briefly flicked at the sky through the windows. "Yeah, not getting better soon."
Without further ado, you sighed in response and gripped his hand to walk to your bedroom. In every other situation, his hands would've been on you in a second, but not now. Especially given that you had just gotten back together.
Your bedroom hadn't really changed: your favourite stuffed plush bear sat over the sheets, guarding your sleep; a stupid lava lamp that Satoru once gifted you was still on the bedside table, not to mention the horde of houseplants (he sadly noticed the absence of some) at the windowsill. You hadn't packed the bedroom stuff yet, though a couple of boxes obediently waited in the corner.
After all those months, Satoru's presence felt kind of weird in your bedroom, but now, with his hands enveloping you in an embrace, you had never felt happier.
You both stayed up the whole night: gods, you almost forgot how easy it was to talk to Satoru. He told you more about the kids he was teaching, the school, and that he tried to do some modelling photoshoots. It turned out pretty good. "Might be a nice gig," he shrugged nonchalantly, but you noticed his eyes sparkling with mirth.
You filled him in on the work drama, places you visited in your attempts to go out of your shell, hobbies you tried — his eyes widened at the mention of drawing and pottery, and he demanded to see your works the first thing in the morning.
You snorted quietly. "I don't think they are anywhere as good as your photos."
Satoru huffed under his breath and lightly nudged your shoulder. You both lie face to face now, smiling and giggling like a pair of students you once were. You felt as if you were floating in happiness.
"Come on, baby, don't be shy. I am positive they are nice."
"No, Toru, they are not. Believe me, my first flowerpot was disastrous." You turned a bit and waved at the deformed blob of clay, hiding in the corner. Satoru followed your move: his lips pressed into a thin line at the sight of a poor thing.
"Uhm…well, it's not that bad." His shoulders shook with a barely suppressed laugh, and you rolled your eyes good-naturedly.
"It's okay, you can laugh."
The laugh he let was truly thunderous, and even you, the mighty creator, couldn't help but laugh alone.
"Babe, I am sorry, it's just looking at me like I have to end its suffering," after some time, Satoru finally wept some tears and breathed out weakly with his hand on his stomach. You both looked at the hopeless blob. "Why do you keep it, anyway?"
Sighing in response, you murmured, "Dunno. I can't bring myself to throw it away."
Satoru just hummed in response and settled back against the pillows. "Will you take it to France?"
Your heart skipped a beat at the mention, and you just shrugged indecisively. The light mood you had slowly evaporated. After some minutes, you rolled back to face Satoru again, only to find him already watching you closely.
"Were you serious?"
He tilted his head in question; his hand came up to brush a hair strand behind your ear. "About what?"
The next words came in a hesitant whisper.
"Moving with me to France."
Satoru's thumb traced your bottom lip before he dropped his arm to the side. Shrugging casually, he lifted a steady gaze on you. "Are you still thinking about moving there?"
You swallowed nervously before nodding. "Yeah."
"Then I was serious too. We're dating again, it's only logical then."
You couldn't fight with that argument.
"Guess it is. I just…," you lifted one shoulder, still doubtful. "Can't believe you do that for me."
And he couldn't believe you questioned it. But instead, Satoru just blinked at you and muttered in the most serious tone possible.
"I told you I was going to marry you. Yes, I still want to. I wasn't joking and trying to hold you back in the heat of the moment —"
You wordlessly glanced at him.
" — okay, I did, but I was serious. And still am. Hell, baby," the mattress dipped under his weight as Satoru scooted closer. "You're the only thing — not a thing, person, I mean, you're the most serious I've ever been about anything and anyone in my life. I swear. Where you go, I follow."
His voice cracked at the last words, and you let a shuddering breath, cupping his face.
"Are you sure? What will your family say? Job? Suguru?"
Satoru lifted a corner of his lips in a small grin, recalling the same arguments he used to talk you out of moving.
"I am pretty sure I can find something there. Isn't this a part of discovering yourself, too? It could be pretty fun. Who knows, maybe I have some secret talent for pastries. Not just eating. Baking! Plus, I know French," he beamed at you like the Sun. You couldn't help but grin back. "It's a little rusty, though."
You both snorted, but then a frown crossed Satoru's face, and his tone turned more serious.
"Suguru…he'll understand. We still will be talking, right? Not as we used to, but…hey, now I will have an excuse to send him even more stupid memes."
"I am sure he will be ecstatic about it."
"He won't have any choice, heh. And my family…honestly? I don't really care. We both said everything we wanted to each other. I do not see any sense in bowing and scraping."
Your face crumpled in a grimace as you recalled that you were one of the reasons that entire thing happened, and hunched your shoulders. "Still sorry about it."
"And I am still saying you shouldn't be."
Minutes passed between you in a relative silence, interrupted only by the car noises and distant humming of the refrigerator as you stared at the ceiling. Finally, you turned to look at Satoru. Moonlight painted his features in an even more breathtaking way, highlighting the sharp jawline and illuminating the blue of his eyes.
"So…we are really going to France."
Satoru smiled at you — the gentle one he saved only for you — and reached for your hand to interlace your fingers slowly.
"We really are."
***
The morning sun crept through the blinds, bathing a bedroom in a soft, ethereal light, and its beams lazily caressed your face in feathery kisses. As your nose twitched at the sensation, begrudgingly, very begrudgingly, you blinked and reached for your phone. It came to life with a faint buzz; you tried to focus your bleary gaze on the time and sighed in relief as you still had half an hour before the alarm.
A careful attempt to sink back into the sheets didn't go unnoticed by the whole mountain of heat and muscle beside you. Satoru's arm snaked around your waist with an energy too restless for a sleepy man.
"Where are you going to, huh?" His voice, still deep and thick with sleep, felt like a pure sin against your nape. A shudder ran through your body as he gently nuzzled the soft skin there and pressed his lips against the point that shouldn't drive you crazy like it did. "Morning, ma choute."
Amusement curled your tone as you breathed out a chuckle, "Your favourite word, huh?"
Instead of answering, Satoru hummed something unintelligible against the curve of your neck, nosing it, while his lips found your pulse point.
"Can't help it. Not my fault if it fits you perfectly. So sweet," his head went into a dizzy, hazy state at the whiff of your chocolate shower gel and something so uniquely yours. "So soft." The hand that rested leisurely on your belly lazily drifted upwards to cup the tender swell of your breasts. Your breath caught in your throat as you arched into Satoru's touch with a quiet, sleepy moan.
"Ah, Satoru…"
When your voice dipped into that syrupy bedroom voice, laced with so much want, Satoru never could help himself. His hips bucked involuntarily, eliciting a surprised gasp from you, as you felt the throbbing of his length against your backside.
Your hair fanned over a pillow like a halo, catching the bright light, and Satoru's heart skipped a beat. He gently bit down on your pulse point, and as your gasp rose in a tone, he quickly soothed it with a lick of his tongue.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Can't believe you're mine." The heat crept up your body all the way to your cheeks, not only at the way Satoru rolled your nipple between his fingers, palming at the soft skin there, but at the bewilderment in his voice. As if he were actually shocked.
Another moan left your lips as you closed your eyes in the utter pleasure, coursing through your body and tightening your insides into the sweet knot. Subconsiously, you pushed your trembling thighs back against his front, to which Satoru responded with a low hiss.
"You're in a teasing mood today, huh?"
A sharp pang of disappointment shot through your body when his hand left your chest.
"Satoru…"
"Shh, patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait, don't they?" You almost whined at the loss of the contact, but then his hand — god, that hand — wrapped around your throat with a light grip, just enough to turn your face and capture your lips in a lazy, unhurried kiss. He licked at the seam of your mouth, and you immediately opened it, granting Satoru access. Your tongues lazily tangled, exploring each other; you slid your free hand down his toned pecs, sharp abs and wrapped it around the already hard cock. Giving it a few unhurried pumps, you heard Satoru moaning unbashfully against your mouth.
"Oh, fuck, yeah, keep going, love. Just like —, oh, just like that."
You fondled his balls with a sly smirk, to which he responded with a sharp, almost desperate cry, and…stopped.
"Hey, baby," the pout was evident in his voice, "That's not fair. Like totally not fair."
With a smirk widening, you turned just a tad to see his half-lidded gaze darkening with lust. "Haven't you just preached to me about patience, Toru?"
Satoru's head hit your shoulder as he let a groan, followed by a disbelieving laugh. "Vixen. You drive me crazy, you know that?"
"Yeah, yeah, yet you're still not inside me." After rolling your eyes impatiently, you finally heard the sheets rustling. Your insides clenched in anticipation.
Laughing quietly, Satoru kissed your shoulder, pulling you closer against his front. His hand slid under your hip, lifting it for better access, and hoisted it over his own. You almost whimpered as the thick head of his cock nudged your already wet entrance.
"Look at tha-a-a-t," the heat flooded your body even more at the cocky tilt in his voice and the way his fingers lightly grazed your folds. "For someone so soaked, you have a pretty big mouth running, ma chérie."
You attempted to glare at Satoru, but it ended rather poorly with the way your eyes were glazed with desire. Giving you a smirk, not even trying to hide his arrogance and smugness, he hastily fisted his cock and aligned it with your entrance, slowly yet surely filling you up inch by inch.
"F-fuck, you're so tight," Satoru's hot whisper fanned over your jawline as he pressed heated kisses up to your mouth. "So warm, so good, so p-perfect — babe, don't clench me like that, f-for me."
Your lips parted, forming almost a perfect "O" in its shape at the burn of the stretch, and the first loud moan tore from your chest, when Satoru finally gave you a shallow roll of his hips.
"Sa-Satoru, yeah…"
With no hesitation, you reached behind and tugged at the soft white tufts above Satoru's undercut, pressing his head into your nape to seek even more contact until your bodies fused in a messy, unintelligible tangle of limbs, needy touches and wanton moans. His hips built a slow, languid rhythm, moulding your insides into the shape of his cock; each thick vein and ridge of him against your velvet walls made your mind swim in pleasure, so overwhelming it drowned every coherent thought. One of his hands snaked up to squeeze your breasts, eliciting more shaky whimpers from you.
"Love you, love you so fucking much, you don't even, ngh, under-understand, shit, y-yes," Satoru slurred against your cheek after yet another sloppy kiss, his tongue darting to taste the salty skin as you literally cried in ecstasy when he hit that sweet spot inside. You were completely sure he would never let you forget this. His moves gradually lost their rhythm, giving in to a raw, primal desire. A string of desperate whimpers spilt from your lips, and you turned your head to muffle these cries in the pillow.
Wrong move.
Seeing it, Satoru's lips curled into a sharp smirk. He quickly wetted his fingers and dragged them down to press quick, tight circles on your clit, and with all the stimulation, your body jolted in pleasure. Heat, shameless and urgent, built at the base of your spine, coursed through your veins and lit every part on fire. His cock twitched inside you at the way you breathed out his name with such desperation that put all the prayers to shame.
"Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl, yeah? Cum for me."
Your thighs shook violently, which was a telling sign that you were close; he feverishly rutted against yours, rubbing your clit in quick motions, panting against the curve of your neck. His eyes rolled in pleasure as your cunt fluttered around him, coating his shaft in juices, and with a shameless guttural groan, he cummed too.
The sound of your name, spilling from Satoru's lips like it was the only word he knew, brought tears to your eyes. Of love, of longing, or devotion, you weren't even sure.
Satoru was still in you, behind you, wrapping you in his arms and scent, when you awkwardly tried to turn around. He lazily blinked at you — the blue of his eyes resembled the glimmering waves of the Mediterranean Sea, which lapped the shores of the city that had become your home. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you lean in to press a quick, almost chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. They twitched with a soft grin.
"Someone's awfully sweet. Good morning, I guess. Really good, that time. What if — "
Before Satoru finished, your hands framed his face, and you kissed him again, taking your time. He released a quiet, unexpected sigh and melted into it immediately, giving you all the reins. Sweet and soft, your tongue swept over his plump lips and explored his mouth, until you both pulled away to catch your breath. Resting your forehead against his, you muttered quietly.
"I love you."
Satoru didn't answer you right away; instead, he cupped your cheek, his thumb grazed the soft skin under your eyes, and he murmured back.
"I love you more."
You didn't want to delve into the endless fight of who loved whom more, so you just settled against his chest with a soft sigh. Satoru tucked your head under his chin and gently ran his fingers up and down your spine.
"How are you feeling? Wanna cuddle a little or go showering?"
"I wish we could cuddle more, but Nobara and Maki are coming in…very soon, actually."
Satoru stilled for a moment and released a groan, reluctant to let you go and leave that bed, jutting his bottom lip in the biggest pout known to the Universe.
"Is it today? Do we have to go with them, baby?"
"Yes. Toru, we promised them to show the Fine Arts Museum. Maki didn't visit it last time they were in Marseille because it was shut for some renovation. Apparently."
"Geez, I was hoping for a round two. And maybe three in the shower. Besides, we were there with Suguru last summer." His hand slid down to squeeze your butt in the last attempt to persuade you, but you stood your ground. With great effort.
"Satoru, no. We don't see them often. Get up."
Saoru's hand that reached to pinch your side as you hopped off to get to the shower, limply fell to his side. He groaned as his head hit the pillow, but as the sounds of water running filled the space, he enthusiastically got up and padded to the bathroom. He could be pretty…convincing when he wanted to.
Indeed, an hour later, Nobara suspiciously eyed both of you up and down — your hair told her everything she needed to know. Satoru didn't even try to hide a big dopey grin that screamed "I just got laid by the most gorgeous woman in the world". You elbowed him. Hard. His smile got even wider, so you sent him to help Maki with their suitcases.
"You know, I am so happy for you." You gave Nobara a cup of scorching latte, just the way she preferred. Her lips curled into an amusing yet soft grin. "No, really. You both look radiant."
She laughed heartily, nodding in gratitude; however, her gaze was fixed on your front yard. You followed the direction and chuckled as well, seeing Satoru and Maki trying to coax Nobara's cat — a fluffy, totally spoilt Persian named Lady — out of the carrier. She only hissed in response.
"Yeah. Me too. She's…I don't know how to explain it. But I am so happy she agreed to move here. The same is for you, by the way. Provence does wonders for both of you. Even Gojo."
You rested your elbows on the table with a melancholic sigh. Yes, the start of your journey in France was quite turbulent: a total mess with language, documents, fighting with landlords over the rent, and taking up any gigs for money…It only helped that you had some of it saved. Endless hours of work, tears and efforts poured into building your new life finally got its fruits: at one of the fashion shows, Nobara introduced you to the famous photographer, who instantly fell in love with your works. And Satoru…
"Phew, finally," the front door opened, revealing beaming Satoru with Lady in his arms, who…purred in content. Nobara's eyes widened in shock.
"Lady, what? He's a man! Have some dignity!"
"Can't help it if I am that charming," he scratched the kitty under her chin. "Even cats know that."
"That's, unfortunately, true." You squeaked in delight at Maki's tired voice and jumped into her arms. After a few solid minutes of hugging, you finally released her as she begged you to show her the bathroom.
"So, Gojo," Nobara drawled in a voice too casual. Satoru exchanged brief yet pointed glances with you. Lady cracked one eye open and yawned, staring at her catmom. "Do you have, by any chance, some calissons left?"
In Nobara's language, that meant she had been dying to taste them, but she would never admit it to Satoru. "Don't tell him, or his ego would grow even bigger!"
So you just happened to drop that you wanted to have those candies, and of course, Satoru whipped some up: they just waited to be baked. Judging by his cocky smirk, he already figured both of you out.
"Why do you call me Gojo? She's a Gojo too, you know?" The oven beeped a couple of times when Satoru put the tray with callisons inside. Nobara only rolled her eyes and hugged you with a grin.
And Satoru once decided to try his hand at the things that he loved the most in the world (after you, of course): sweets. In particular, pastries. To put it concisely, baking. It took a lot, a lot of time and years of learning in culinary academies under the guidance of chiefs, before he could finally name himself the one.
Marseille greeted you with arms open, the fresh scent of pastries lingering in the air, mesmerising views and the centuries of history ingrained in its walls. You left Paris after you realised it was high time to move forward, and since you mentioned a couple of times that you wanted to live in Provence for some time, Satoru started to look for a home and a place for his own bakery. His own thing. That he built only by himself, with no family barking and ordering him around. He and you. And Satoru could've never been happier for it.
You indeed had never made it easy for him. But now, seeing you laugh with your friends, among the paintings, with the sun casting a soft, almost amber glow on your figure, Satoru realised he would rather have things difficult with you than easy with anyone else. Because you were worth it.
i love how humans’ figures of speech and actions can translate differently to other species, and vice versa. we say and do things casually all the time, not realizing that to monsters, those same phrases and actions might mean something . . . completely different.
pairing: gn ! reader - ft. werewolves, orcs, minotaurs, succubi / incubi, dragonfolk, and vampires.
author's note: this'll be kinda messy, so sorry. just had a misunderstanding due to a language barrier today and somehow got inspired. sorry for the ramble lol.
[ pt. 2. ]
werewolves.
“so, when are you two tying the knot?”
the vicinity goes quiet. your werewolf friend freezes mid-drink, ears slowly turning red under messy, shaggy hair. “w-we’re not—! that’s . . . !”
“what?” you blink, confused at their weird reaction.
someone in the pack coughs into their hand. another is trying very hard not to laugh.
the werewolf mutters into their sleeve, mortified. “humans shouldn’t say mating phrases so casually.”
you stare. “i said marriage.”
“exactly!”
orcs.
you pat the orc who was helping you on the shoulder. "woah, you’re really strong, you know that?”
they go still. very still.
you notice the rest of the orcs nearby stop talking, too. one of them elbows another with a smirk.
the orc clears their throat, trying to look casual. “. . . you think so?”
“yeah?”
a radiant smile bloomed on their originally stoic face, a satisfied hum vibrating through their chest - their tusks seeming to be somehow glinting brighter under the sun. “you should say that again sometime,” maybe a day where the two of you weren't under the scorching sun.
now they're thinking, maybe going over to help the little, struggling human was worth it. even if they only had just been egged on by their friends to approach any human and flirt. . . . this may be a good distraction for a while.
minotaurs.
you notice a lost looking minotaur among the halls - and deciding to take pity, you approach.
“here,” you say, grabbing their hand. “the hallway’s confusing. c’mon, i’ll guide you.” asking them where they needed to go to, you lead the way once getting a shy response.
the minotaur follows quietly.
when you finally reach the exit, you turn around, tugging your hand to free it —
– and freeze upon feeling the vice grip on it.
they’re staring at your joined hands like you just handed them the world.
“ . . . what?”
their ears twitch, still staring. “in my culture,” they murmur softly. “. . . nevermind.” ignoring the fluttering feeling in their chest at being guided through the maze of hallways,
they stuff their tingling hand in their pocket. “can i have your number?”
demons.
“i promise i’ll help you tomorrow.”
the demon’s pen stops mid-signature.
“…promise?”
“yeah?”
their eyes narrow thoughtfully.
“binding or casual?”
“…what?”
“verbal promises can still count,” they say, pulling out parchment. “just for documentation.”
“IT WAS A FIGURE OF SPEECH.”
the demon sighs.
“humans are terrible negotiators.”
dragons.
you place the gold ring on the table. “i thought you might like it.”
the dragon stares at it.
then at you.
then at the ring again.
their wings shift slightly. “ . . . humans give courtship treasure very quickly.”
you choke. “WHAT.”
they gently slide the ring into their palm, inspecting it, before slipping it on their finger. it seems to be the perfect fit.
“ . . . i accept.”
“WAIT—”
incubi / succubi.
“sweet dreams.” you wave before heading to bed.
the cubi pauses in the doorway. “. . . was that intentional?”
“was what intentional?”
their smile is slow, amused. “humans wishing dream-based creatures sweet dreams.”
“. . . it’s just a goodnight phrase.”
“pity.” they lean against the doorframe. “i thought you were inviting me.”
your face burns.
they grin wider. “that blush is very convincing, though.”
vampires.
“you look delicious tonight.”
the vampire says it with complete sincerity.
you pause halfway through adjusting your collar.
“. . .thank you?”
they nod approvingly, gaze lingering just a second too long.
He'd snarled at every monster that came near you, sitting with his head on your lap tail wagging endlessly behind him as you coo over how fluffy and soft he is, never mind that you are the only human in a monster infested park but between your soft spoken words and the scratch of your nails behind his ears is everything right in the world now.
Sure, the moment the strange scent around you fades your probably gonna freak out and scream, but for now he will soak up every bit of cooing puppy talk you're giving him.
You'd been to the optometrist today, had eye drops and now the world is a lovely blurry mess, so where better to spend the hour your vision is fucked up than the park? Sure, you didn't realise that the world around you had dipped, bled and shifted into a world of monsters and abominations, not that you could have seen the shift, but the dog currently in your lap was so friendly that you didn't mind as much.
It will be a shame when its owner comes along to take them home, you've had such a wonderful time petting and coddling the sweet pup. Even if the person beside you sounds like they have been eating the wettest bowl of noodles known to man...
Beside you is a small tumbleweed-like monster made of vines and moss, rolling around on the small section of bench waiting for its turn to have the human pet it, never mind the occasional growl from the werewolf hogging your attention, or the small group of other monsters all waiting for their own turn under your hands, eager to be talked sweetly too.
Imagine if pussy portals were real. Imagine all the devious things that you can do with it, like connecting your own pussy to your personal pussy portal meaning that when you eat yourself out you can taste your own cum on your cunt.
Imagine buying a fuck machine online while you have work and just leaving your pussy portal thats connected to your cunt to be fucked by it while it records your pussy cumming as you try to work on your desk job normally after cumming twice and its not even lunch yet. And sending the video to the shop you brought it from when they asked how was it? 10/10 kept cumming nonstop all day long!~'
Imagine all the deals they have when getting a pussy portal, seeing a pussy portal infront of a store with a sign that reads '50% off for a live demonstration!' Imagine going in the store and seeing a big monster of a man naked and fucking a pussy portal connected to one of the employees cunts while she writhes in pleasure while being held down by other employees sucking her tits and seeing his eyes roll back while he gives her a creampie.
Imagine playing with yourself using a pussy portal. Deepthroating a fat dildo while using your other hand to fuck your pussy portal on another dildo-
Imagine being a camgirl that gets herself a pussy portal and makes a video of her fucking a dildo whilst overstimulating herself after by eating her juices out in her pussy portal. Imagine doing this twice, but only this time you'll give it to one of your followers for a week for free!
Well its only a week so, it couldn't be that bad right?
Imagine going on the sister website of the website you cam on that lets you find yourself with your following and lets you pick a random follower. And how lucky are you that you get a werewolf going in rut the day it arrives on his doorstep~!
When your research boat sinks in a freak accident, a colossal whale merman holds you and your friends on his back until a rescue team arrives several hours later. After that you keep spotting him lingering close by, keeping an eye on your boat. He refuses to leave to hunt, forcing your team to decide to start feeding him–a duty that falls on you because everyone else is rather afraid of the giant merman.
What was supposed to be a temporary solution becomes permanent and you worry that when you leave for your two-week holiday no one will want to feed him. A week later you're sunbathing on a cozy island somewhere and enjoying your time off when you spot a familiar dark shape far out amongst the waves.
You quickly realize it's not the boat he has been guarding, it's you.
Werewolf neighbor that can’t hold himself back from breeding you once he smells you ovulating.
Warnings: Oral (fem receiving), Major Breeding Kink, Slight Overstimulation, Knotting
Pairing: Male Werewolf x Female Reader ( Reader could be read as human or monster or hybrid)
You had moved into his apartment complex a few weeks ago, and he had tried to keep his distance.
He had only really seen you on that first day when you were guiding the movers to your apartment, which happened to be on the same floor as his. You had given him a shy smile, and he quickly responded with a tense nod before entering his apartment and slamming the door shut, already feeling his cock hardening.
Unfortunately, he could pick up on your smell whenever you were in the hallway due to his heightened senses. It never failed to send his blood rushing to his cock, but he always managed to keep himself locked away in his apartment, rutting into his own hand.
As he hears your door unlock tonight, he waits for the inevitable moment when your delicious scent will hit his senses. Like every other day, it does, but it is much sweeter this time. His cock is almost instantly hard, and a low growl is involuntarily released from his chest.
All of his instincts are screaming at him to breed your fertile pussy, and he groans at the realization that you smell so sweet because you are ovulating. His legs move faster than his brain, and before he knows it, he is in the hallway and pacing towards the elevator where you are calmly waiting.
He grabs you and pulls you over his shoulder, causing you to gasp. “ What are you doing?” you ask. He doesn’t answer and carries you back to his apartment and bedroom. He lays you down on his bed, and you stare at him wide-eyed. He watches as your eyes trail over his tall body stopping on his throbbing cock, hidden only slightly by some gray sweatpants.
He smirks as you lick your lips. He quickly strips you of all your clothes, pulling your legs apart to settle his face between them. You let out a low whine as his breath hits your wet center. “ I’m going to get this pussy nice and ready for my cock, and then I am going to spend hours breeding this beautiful body. Got it? I’m not stopping until I’m sure you are carrying my pups”, he says, his voice rough with lust.
You moan out a simple “please”, your body on fire with need. He licks a stripe up your slit and moans, giving you a grin before burying his head in your pussy and eating you like a god. Every lick has you clawing at the sheets and moaning in pleasure.
He moves to fucking his tongue inside your already dripping cunt, and you cry out at the feeling. His snout rubs your clit as he shakes his head back and forth, and you scream as you cum on his tongue, back arching off the bed.
He crawls up your body and doesn’t wait for your orgasm to end before starting to push his thick cock into your still convulsing cunt. Tears come to your eyes at the stretch and overstimulation, but you just pull him closer, needing to feel him fill you completely.
“Fuck. Your pussy feels so good. So fucking tight around my cock. You can take it. Just a little more”, he tells you. You look down, already feeling so full, and see that there really is still more. You whine, gripping the sheets and bracing yourself for the last few inches of his impossibly large cock, wanting to take all of him.
His clawed hand wraps around your hip, and he gives one last hard shove, pushing the final few inches inside of you. “Such a good girl. Taking all my cock. Fucking perfect”, he says, and your cunt clenches at his praise.
He slowly withdraws his cock, relishing in your soft mewls, before thrusting back in and starting a brutal pace. He nips along your neck and chest as your hands claw at his shoulders and back. He never relents in his thrusts, loving the feeling of your cunt clenching around his cock.
You cry out for him, your own release washing over you multiple times, but his instincts won’t allow him to stop until he has filled your womb with his seed.
He flips you over onto your stomach and enters you from behind, fucking you into the mattress. You moan at the new angle, his tip bullying your g-spot and your clit being repeatedly shoved into his silk sheets.
“I tried to leave you alone, pretty girl. I could fucking smell your sweet cunt each time you left your apartment and every fucking time I had to rut into my own fucking fist”, he says, each word followed by a harsh thrust.
“I tried, baby. I rea- fuck. I really fucking tried, but when you walked out today, I could smell this perfect fucking pussy ovulating. Your body practically screamed that it needed me to breed it. I just couldn’t hold myself back”, he growls out, and you feel his cock start growing at the base.
His knot starts catching on each thrust, expanding quickly with his fast-approaching orgasm. He switches to grinding, his knot no longer allowing him to thrust in and out of you. His cock rubs against your g-spot relentlessly as his hips grind your lower half into the bed harshly, your clit being dragged against the silk sheets over and over.
You scream in ecstasy as you cum once again, cunt clenching around his knot as you milk his cock for his seed. He growls loudly, claws digging into the mattress as his cum begins to fill your pulsing cunt, his knot keeping all of his cum locked inside of you. His short thrusts don’t stop as rope after rope of cum continues to fill you, the pressure and fullness making you whine.
After a few minutes, he finally stops and rolls you to your sides, keeping you pressed firmly to his chest and firmly locked on his knot. He releases a small chuckle when you give a small yawn and snuggle further into his chest. “Go ahead and rest, baby. You have a long night ahead of you once my knot goes down.”
🖤💕❤️❤️💕🖤
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