𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 🌷♡ ͏͏ is fighting demons while you hump his thigh in your sleep.
♡. 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓫. older clanhead!satoru :: age gap (40s/20s) :: arranged marriage :: smut :: wet dreams :: satoru's fighting a losing battle
⊹ ꒰ 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 ꒱ ⊹
"Are you scared I'll pop your hip if you let me bounce on it?"
You chirped one day during breakfast.
He choked up his mouthful of rice. Hacked with tears in his eyes while you had the audacity to rub smooth circles on his back. Hellish minx with your hands softer than heaven.
Satoru was the strongest, and you tested all forty four years of that strength.
"You are actually going to kill me," he grunted, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
Your eyes glimmered. "You've got a hefty life insurance, rightttt?"
Never in his life had it been so hard to fight a smile. You were something else. A demon and a doe, placed into his scarred hands.
You were all he was looking for and everything that he shouldn't want, even three months into your marriage.
Every day, you chipped away at a new section of his sanity. Made his slowly failing hormones surge and erect. Ahem, in more ways than one.
It was the way you spoke to him. Silk and smooth.
The way you batted those bratty, bambi eyes at him.
The way you flaunted that pretty body of yours. Teases of skin with your kimono dipped below your shoulder. Or the towel you'd prance around in the room with, agonisingly slowly as you went about your morning routine.
Yeah. Satoru had accepted that he was married to a crazy girl. A young girl. Who looked like she was a second closer every day to jumping his bones and giving him more wrinkles in his thighs.
To say he didn't fantasise about it would be a lie. Satoru thought about the things he could do to your soft, tender body more times than he'd like to admit.
Were you all big talk? Would you crumble the second his worn hands slipped between your thighs?
Would you be able to take him at all?
Guess that's a thought that'll remain just that. A thought. A guilty fantasy he'll condemn himself for until the day he closes his eyes.
After much whining and those puppy eyes that his infinity had no chance against, he loosened up enough to cuddle you. Hold you through the night when you curled into him and tucked yourself under his chin like a cat. You sure were as mischievous as one.
But in your sleep, without those damning eyes and pretty smiles, Satoru could admire you without the threat of a vein popping. Or a stroke. Or a heart attack.
The tender slopes of your face. The gentleness of your brows. The softness of your lips. Angelic. You were angelic.
Well, when you weren't trying to hump his thigh.
Somewhere in the dead of dawn. On a day the gods decided to test his every ounce of patience, Satoru awoke to the softest, sweetest sound.
A moan.
Groggily, his eyes fluttered open. Halfway through a stir when he heard it again—
"toru."
His stare shot down. Hands already on your waist and a scold rising to his tongue.
Only to see that you were fast asleep.
Brows twitched in a small pinch. Face blotched in the darkness. Lips parted. Your fingers curled into him while your hips rolled in a stuttered rhythm.
He took a breath. Then two. Three. Enough for him to catch up to what was happening.
You were dreaming.
"Mm. . . Satoruuuu."
Worse, you were dreaming about him.
Stewing in guilty pleasure, Satoru watched for a selfish moment. Your scrunched up face. Your hips rutting on his haphazardly.
His breath lodged in his throat.
A damp spot bloomed on his thigh.
Fuck.
He grit his teeth. Summoned all his strength. Squeezed his eyes shut and said every affirmation under the sun.
I will not touch my wife who's half my age.
I will not help her horny dream self.
I will not drive myself crazy with her sweet moans.
I will not be tempted by her little wet pussy on my— NO.
He gulped. Hard. Glaring to the ceiling as he fought off demons while you humped him like a rabbit in heat.
Eventually, he found the strength to grip your waist. To stop you. More importantly, the strength to not pull you over his crotch and grind up into that sweet cunt.
Your moans stirred into whimpers. Stirred into shudders. Your bucking hips slowing until they laid motionless.
Peace.
Or well, as much peace as he could have with a heavy, hot throb between his thighs.
This was a comic. Fucking. Joke.
There you were. Sleeping soundly with a content smile on your face. Like your wetness wasn't smeared on his thigh and you weren't humping the hell out of his leg just a moment afo. Looking as beautiful as you were damning.
Fuck. He was gonna lose his mind.
Sucking in a breath, Satoru slowly unwinded his limbs from yours. Slipping away before he broke all of his vows. Not tonight. Not ever.
Even through the ice cold shower, he was staring at his pulsing erection. Refusing to go down. Standing high at attention.
He almost wanted to slap it.
Slap himself.
Slap whatever divine force brought him here. Strung him between all of his morals, and his sweet young wife.
"Toru?" Your petal voice called out.
He groaned. Slumping his head against the tiles. Oh yeah. You were gonna give him a stroke.
tags 18+ minors dni !! very self indulgent hehe … i’m so soft for him y’all don’t understand 🥹
his lips are cold at first. always cold, like he’s been pressing his mouth to the rim of a glass full of ice just to feel something. you’ve learned to expect it but it still makes you gasp every time, that first shock of chill against your warm mouth, and he loves it. you can feel him smile into the kiss, that infuriating curve of his lips that says got you.
he doesn’t rush. satoru gojo could move faster than light if he wanted to but he kisses you like the world outside doesn’t exist. his hands find your face first, always. long fingers spanning your jaw, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones in slow hypnotic circles. he tilts your head to the side and deepens the kiss, easing you into it, letting you feel every second of it. his bottom lip slots between yours and he just rests there for a moment, breathing you in.
then his tongue traces the seam of your lips, asking, always asking even though he knows the answer will be yes. you open for him and he hums into your mouth, pleased and low, the vibration traveling straight down your spine. he tastes like sugar and something sharper underneath, like the candy he definitely stole from your stash and the mint gum he chewed to cover it up. his tongue curls against yours lazy and thorough, exploring, and his teeth graze your bottom lip just hard enough to make your breath catch. he soothes it immediately with a soft sucking kiss that leaves your lip slick and tingling.
his mouth wanders. it’s a problem, actually, because he can’t stay in one place for long. he pulls back from your lips and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then the bow of your upper lip, then the tiny crease where your smile would be if you weren’t so breathless. he kisses the tip of your nose, your cupid’s bow, your cheek. by the time he’s finished mapping your face your eyes are closed and your lips are parted.
he kisses your closed eyelids, left then right, feather-light. his lips brush your lashes and you feel them flutter against his mouth. he exhales a laugh and the air ghosts warm over your skin.
then he’s at your jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses down to your chin, then up the other side. he finds the spot just beneath your ear and latches on, sucking gently, not enough to leave a mark but enough to make your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt. he kisses the shell of your ear, the delicate skin behind it, the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. he breathes there, nose pressed to your skin. “you’re so warm,” he says, “smell so good.”
he kisses your throat. your collarbones. the hollow at the base of your neck where he can feel your heartbeat rabbiting against his mouth. he stays there for a long moment, just feeling it, and when he pulls back his eyes are dark and half-lidded and his lips are pink and kiss bitten and wet.
he kisses you on the mouth again, harder this time, less controlled. his composure slips and his hands drop from your face to your waist, your hips, pulling you flush against him. he kisses you like he’s starving, like the taste of you is the only thing that keeps him human. his tongue slides against yours and his teeth click against yours because he’s smiling again, he’s always smiling, even now. especially now.
his hands roam. up your sides, down your back, fingers splaying wide like he’s trying to touch all of you at once. they settle on your lower back and he presses you closer, impossibly closer, and he’s so warm now, all that cold burned away by the heat between you. he kisses the corner of your mouth again, your chin, the tip of your nose. a quick peck to your forehead. your left cheek. your right cheek. back to your lips.
he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, and you can feel his lashes brush your brow.
“hey.” he says, voice wrecked.
“hey.” you breathe back.
he kisses the bridge of your nose. “you’re my favorite.”
you roll your eyes but you’re smiling, he can feel it.
tags 18+ minors dni !! very self indulgent hehe … i’m so soft for him y’all don’t understand 🥹
his lips are cold at first. always cold, like he’s been pressing his mouth to the rim of a glass full of ice just to feel something. you’ve learned to expect it but it still makes you gasp every time, that first shock of chill against your warm mouth, and he loves it. you can feel him smile into the kiss, that infuriating curve of his lips that says got you.
he doesn’t rush. satoru gojo could move faster than light if he wanted to but he kisses you like the world outside doesn’t exist. his hands find your face first, always. long fingers spanning your jaw, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones in slow hypnotic circles. he tilts your head to the side and deepens the kiss, easing you into it, letting you feel every second of it. his bottom lip slots between yours and he just rests there for a moment, breathing you in.
then his tongue traces the seam of your lips, asking, always asking even though he knows the answer will be yes. you open for him and he hums into your mouth, pleased and low, the vibration traveling straight down your spine. he tastes like sugar and something sharper underneath, like the candy he definitely stole from your stash and the mint gum he chewed to cover it up. his tongue curls against yours lazy and thorough, exploring, and his teeth graze your bottom lip just hard enough to make your breath catch. he soothes it immediately with a soft sucking kiss that leaves your lip slick and tingling.
his mouth wanders. it’s a problem, actually, because he can’t stay in one place for long. he pulls back from your lips and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then the bow of your upper lip, then the tiny crease where your smile would be if you weren’t so breathless. he kisses the tip of your nose, your cupid’s bow, your cheek. by the time he’s finished mapping your face your eyes are closed and your lips are parted.
he kisses your closed eyelids, left then right, feather-light. his lips brush your lashes and you feel them flutter against his mouth. he exhales a laugh and the air ghosts warm over your skin.
then he’s at your jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses down to your chin, then up the other side. he finds the spot just beneath your ear and latches on, sucking gently, not enough to leave a mark but enough to make your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt. he kisses the shell of your ear, the delicate skin behind it, the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. he breathes there, nose pressed to your skin. “you’re so warm,” he says, “smell so good.”
he kisses your throat. your collarbones. the hollow at the base of your neck where he can feel your heartbeat rabbiting against his mouth. he stays there for a long moment, just feeling it, and when he pulls back his eyes are dark and half-lidded and his lips are pink and kiss bitten and wet.
he kisses you on the mouth again, harder this time, less controlled. his composure slips and his hands drop from your face to your waist, your hips, pulling you flush against him. he kisses you like he’s starving, like the taste of you is the only thing that keeps him human. his tongue slides against yours and his teeth click against yours because he’s smiling again, he’s always smiling, even now. especially now.
his hands roam. up your sides, down your back, fingers splaying wide like he’s trying to touch all of you at once. they settle on your lower back and he presses you closer, impossibly closer, and he’s so warm now, all that cold burned away by the heat between you. he kisses the corner of your mouth again, your chin, the tip of your nose. a quick peck to your forehead. your left cheek. your right cheek. back to your lips.
he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, and you can feel his lashes brush your brow.
“hey.” he says, voice wrecked.
“hey.” you breathe back.
he kisses the bridge of your nose. “you’re my favorite.”
you roll your eyes but you’re smiling, he can feel it.
𝜗℘ ˖ ࣪ . ˖˙ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. satoru picks you up after a long day at uni. sensing your jealousy about the attention he’s getting from your fellow students, he makes it up to you in his own way.
tags \\ warnings. olderbf!gojo x female reader. fluff, tiny bit of angst, suggestive (make out sesh). age gap (reader above 20, gojo early 30’s). jealousy. reader gets called ‘princess, baby, beautiful.’ not proof read !
satoru’s arrival, as per usual, serves as pure entertainment for many students. it’s not often that they get to see such a tall and handsome man around campus after all.
you patiently stand there, waiting for that said man to come and get you. the increase in giggles and whispers around you can only mean one thing: he’s nearby.
your boyfriend’s car comes to a stop in the distance. satoru steps out of the driver’s seat a second later, one of his hands running through his fluffy, snowy hair.
‘. . damn, he’s fucking hot,’ ‘yep. heard he’s in a relationship though. sucks,’ ‘girl— do i look like i care? need him so baaaaddd.’
it’s infuriating to hear those words while you, his girlfriend, are standing close to them. you decide not to give those girls any attention nor do you try to speak up. it’s not worth the effort.
satoru closes the car door behind him, his hands in the pockets of his slacks while he strolls up to where you’re standing. it’s as if he’s walking down a runway—graceful, confident, every step executed with perfect balance.
he can hear the murmurs from the students around, but he simply does not care. his steady gaze has been fixed on you the moment he spotted your figure from across campus.
“cute,” satoru mutters under his breath with a small smile, blue eyes taking in the sight of you standing there against a wall. the way you’re fiddling with the strap of your bag while pretending not to have noticed him is quite endearing.
you look down at the ground until a pair of black oxfords come into view, stopping right in front of yours. you slowly tilt your head back until you’re face to face with the man himself.
“hey, beautiful,” satoru greets, his voice smooth and slightly deep, a faint smirk playing on his lips. his knuckles brush against your cheek while he admires your every feature, acting as if he hasn’t seen you in days.
you nod in response, whispering a small ‘hi’ before your eyes dart around campus again. your bottom lip pushes forward just a tiny bit to form a small pout.
. . and there it is. satoru knows that look in your eyes like the back of his hand. he’s seen that same pout before, along with the hint of jealousy lurking behind your gaze that you try so hard to hide.
he understands why you’re feeling that way.
the other girls on campus, the way they ogle him and whisper, it would make any woman insecure. but to him, there was no need for that. satoru is yours, and he’s made that known to every single soul around you a million times before.
perhaps they need to be reminded once more.
satoru wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, his touch gentle yet possessive. he can see how you’re trying to act all normal, though he knows you way better than that.
the pad of his thumb rubs small circles into your hip as your lover leans in and speaks in a low yet intimate voice that only you get to hear, “oh? look at you, acting all tough with your little pout.”
“tell me. what’s up, princess?” satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ticklish skin. he lowers his head to your face and plants a small kiss on your nose, gaining a mix of delighted yet irritated whispers of the people around you.
“usually you jump right into my arms after seeing me— y’know, like a lil’ bunny,” satoru starts sulking as well, pressing your body flush against his. “where’s my cute ‘n clingy babyyyy?”
his over-exaggerated whine makes your nose scrunch up, though you can’t deny the truth. he knows you better than you know yourself. he can see right through your attempt to disguise your jealousy, yet you’re still too stubborn to admit anything.
“whatever. come on,” you roll your eyes before grabbing his arm and tugging him forward. you want nothing more than to escape your surroundings. you’re getting tired of the continuous and unwanted attention satoru is getting.
it’s irksome. you know satoru doesn’t give them the attention they so desire, he never will, yet you still feel this pang in your chest whenever you see those girls shamelessly ogling your boyfriend.
satoru, being naturally observant, notices your sudden eagerness to leave campus. he can tell that your jealousy is growing worse because of the other students that keep on eyeing him. while he is used to the attention, he hates seeing it affect you.
the whispers and giggles from the other women are like white noise, insignificant background fodder that barely warranted his notice. you’re all he sees and listens to—no matter what.
your presence, your voice, your body, your soul. . . you’re the only one he cares about. he just wishes you’d realise that more often.
satoru wordlessly allows himself to be dragged off. his gaze is fixated on the back of your head, a mixture of amusement and worry glinting in those blue eyes of his. he can’t help but feel guilty. even if he didn’t really do anything wrong.
he wants to make it up to you, somehow.
once you reach the car, satoru gently shoos your hand away from the door handle the moment he catches you try to get in yourself. he reaches around you and pulls it open with a soft ‘click’.
satoru then surprises you by kissing your forehead—his free hand coming up to cup the back of your head. his fingers bury themselves in your hair. a subtle smirk tugs at his glossy lips as he senses the envious glares from the other, irrelevant onlookers.
that’s exactly what he’s trying to accomplish. to make it known to the world that he’s your man. he’ll gladly do it over and over again, until all of them finally take the hint.
“ladies first,” satoru gestures, his voice gentle and loving. he pulls back and smiles at you with his dimples showing. you’re slightly taken aback by the smooth gesture before thanking him in a small murmur.
“thank you.”
it’s silent for a good couple seconds after satoru gets into the driver’s seat. he settles his keys into the ignition switch, though doesn’t turn them. instead, he faces you with a small sigh.
your lover already recognises what’s up. you probably won’t talk to him until the jealousy subsides. but that isn’t how he wants to fix this situation— he wants you to communicate with him.
“hey,” satoru tries to get you to look at him. your body is slightly turned away, your eyes looking out of the car window. it’s painfully obvious that you’re upset with him, even when it isn’t specifically his fault.
“don’t hide from me, c’mon,” he chuckles and tries to make you feel better by bringing your hand up to his lips. satoru leaves small kisses on your palm, eyes peering over the rims of his sunglasses to gauge your reaction.
you still don’t turn to face him. you’re too caught up in your own feelings— too stubborn to talk about the jealousy and insecurities that are bugging you. you know it’s unfair to your partner, but you currently can’t fix your own emotions.
sensing your insistent reluctance to face him, satoru places his hand gently under your chin. his fingers curl around your jaw and gently guide your gaze to meet his. the sight of your downcast expression, plagued with insecurity, tugs on his heartstrings.
“oh, my sweet little baby,” satoriu sighs once more.
without another word, the gap between you quickly closes as satoru leans in, his lips meeting yours in a firm but soft kiss. a soft gasp escapes your lips at the suddenness of his kiss, but the tension in your shoulders slowly starts to dissappear as you melt into his embrace.
the touch of his calloused fingers on your jaw is a wordless command you cannot resist. the kiss is a silent form of reassurance, a way for him to remind you of his feelings for you.
his want and need for you.
satoru can nearly taste the jealousy etched into your initial resistance, which he seeks to silence with his touch. thus, he deepens the kiss with renewed vigor. his free hand cups the back of your head and gently tilts it upwards to gain a better angle.
“mh. sweet,” satoru’s tongue swipes over your bottom lip. he eagerly swallows the faint taste of candy that you had eaten earlier. his tongue delves into your mouth the moment your lips make way, memorising every part of it.
he doesn’t let go of you until you’re both breathless. the sorcerer pulls back, though keeps the distance between your lips at a minimum. his cheeks are painted a soft pink, eyes half lidded and lips even glossier with your saliva now coating them.
“haah—fuck,” satoru catches his breath while his free hand rubs up and down your waist. he resists the urge to pull you into his lap and ravage you right then and there. he’ll leave that for when you’re home.
his gaze is on your parted lips once more. he simply cannot hold himself back from leaning in. his body moves closer to yours, caging you in between him and the passenger seat.
“i’m all yours,” satoru murmurs against your soft lips. he cups your face as he places a quick peck on your mouth. “only yours,” another chaste kiss causes your smile to find its way back onto your face. “don’t you forget,” and a third kiss finally makes you giggle.
your lover hums in satisfaction. he nuzzles his nose against yours, grinning widely as he successfully managed to coax the jealousy away—to gain his beautiful, happy girlfriend back.
“there she is,” satoru coos and squeezes your cheeks together.
you huff at the feeling of your lips forced into a deformed ‘o’ shape, yet the bright smile tugging at your lips doesn’t disappear. “sorry for acting so childish,” you apologise for your own behavior. if it wasn’t for satoru taking the initiative to make it up to you, you would have given him the silent treatment.
your boyfriend shakes his head. he ruffles your hair affectionately while his lips settle on your cheek. he tenderly nibbles on the plush flesh, “no need to apologise. ‘t was cute,” he replies in a muffled voice.
satoru pulls back and his thumb brushes over the subtle mark that his teeth left on your skin. “besides,” he pinches your cheek before cocking his head to the right. your eyes follow the direction he’s looking at— which is your car window.
“i think everyone finally realised that y’re the one ‘n only girl for me.”
your heart drops as you only then remember that satoru’s car windows aren’t tinted. that means that everyone on campus probably has seen the little make out session you had with your boyfriend just now.
your eyes quickly dart around the crowded area. the way your fellow students are glancing at you - some with envy and others with embarrassment - tells you more than enough. . .
you clear your throat and try to hide your face with the sleeves of your top. you don’t know how you’re going back to university after today without facing the humiliating consequences of your (satoru’s) actions.
your shameless boyfriend sits there and grins from ear to ear, proud of his accomplishment and oblivious to your embarrassed state until you speak up again;
“. . satoru, please drive away as fast as you can.”
your snow leopard hybrid boyfriend satoru gets the zoomies (・∀・)
the first crash happens at 2:17 in the morning.
you know this because the sound is so loud, so violent, so utterly destructive, that you jolt awake with your heart in your throat and immediately slap around your bedside table for your phone like a woman being hunted.
your screen lights up: 2:17am.
from the living room comes a second crash. then a thump. then the unmistakable sound of enormous paws skidding across hardwood.
you stare at the ceiling, questioning your life choices.
“toru.”
silence, too much silence.
you sit up slowly, clutching the blanket to your chest. “satoru.”
a blur of white and grey shoots past the bedroom doorway making you blink. then two seconds later, it shoots past again in the opposite direction.
oh.
oh, no.
“satoru, are you having zoomies?”
there is a pause. then a deep, chirping trill echoes from the hallway, sealing your fate.
you groan and fall back against the pillows.
because snow leopard zoomies are not like house cat zoomies. house cat zoomies involve little claws, frantic hallway laps, maybe one knocked-over cup if the cat is feeling malicious. snow leopard zoomies involve a creature the size of a very expensive couch launching himself through your apartment like a furry missile with abandonment issues.
another thunderous thump shakes the wall and you finally throw the blanket off and stumble out of bed.
the hallway is dim, silvered by moonlight sneaking through the blinds. somewhere in the apartment, claws click against the floor as satoru scrambles for traction.
then he appears.
a massive snow leopard skids around the corner, fluffy tail whipping behind him like a banner. his pale blue eyes are enormous, pupils blown wide. his ears are perked. his mouth is slightly open in what can only be described as a deranged little grin.
he freezes when he sees you.
you freeze too.
“hi,” you say slowly.
his tail gives one excited lash.
“no.”
he crouches.
“satoru, no.”
his back end wiggles.
“do not pounce on me.”
he pounces anyway.
though not fully. even in his most unhinged animal form, some part of him is always careful with you. he lands short, front paws slapping against the floor right in front of your feet, shoulders low, tail lashing. then he springs backwards, head tossing like he’s challenging you.
you look down at him and he looks up at you. then he lets out the smallest, most ridiculous chirp.
you cover your face.
“you woke me up because you want to play?”
another chirp.
“at two in the morning?”
his whiskers twitch and you sigh.
“you are so lucky you’re cute.”
that, apparently, is permission. because satoru bolts.
he rockets down the hallway, hits the rug, slides halfway across the living room, then scrambles upright with all the dignity of an apex predator who has absolutely no business living in an apartment with polished floors. his paws thump wildly as he tears in a circle around the coffee table.
you follow him into the living room, yawning.
the damage is not as bad as you feared.
one cushion on the floor. one throw blanket dragged halfway across the room. a decorative bowl overturned but not broken. the remote has vanished, likely sacrificed to whatever ancient spirit possesses snow leopard hybrids after midnight.
satoru crouches behind the couch so only his ears are visible.
you narrow your eyes. “i can see you.”
the ears flatten.
“you are the size of a small horse.”
his tail flicks up from behind the couch.
“yes, i can see that too.”
slowly, dramatically, he peeks over the back of the couch. his big blue eyes blink at you. once. twice. then he ducks down again.
you stand there, arms crossed, trying very hard not to smile.“are we playing hide and seek?”
he chirps.
“you’re very bad at it.”
he pops up again, offended. you take one step toward him but then he vanishes.
the next second, he bursts from the side of the couch and races past you so closely that his tail brushes your calves. you yelp and grab the armchair for balance.
“satoru!”
he skids near the kitchen, turns too sharply, and bumps his hip into the cabinet. a soft thud. he pauses immediately.
you gasp. “oh my god. are you okay?”
satoru turns to look at you. for one sincere second, you are worried. then he flops dramatically onto the floor on his side. all four paws limp. tail still.
dead to the world.
you stare at him. “be so serious right now.”
nothing.
“satoru.”
his ear twitches, the only indication that he’s heard you.
“you cannot fake your own death because you bumped your butt.”
he releases a long, tragic huff.
you walk over and crouch beside him. “poor baby. did the mean cabinet attack you?”
his eyes remain closed, but his tail thumps once.
“devastating. should we sue?”
another tail thump.
you reach out and rub his side, fingers sinking into thick, impossibly soft fur. “my brave boy.”
his purr starts instantly. deep, smug, and utterly shameless.
“oh, i see. this was a scam.”
he rolls onto his back and your mouth falls open.
“do not show me your belly as a distraction.”
his front paws curl against his chest. you stare at the white fluff of his stomach. he blinks up at you.
you last for all of two seconds.
“fine.”
the moment you touch his belly, his paws close around your wrist. gently. carefully. like a trap made of velvet and enormous claws he would never use on you.
“you big baby.”
he kicks lightly at your forearm with his back paws. not enough to hurt, just enough to play.
“are you bunny-kicking me?”
he makes a pleased little sound.
you laugh, tired and helpless, as he bats at your sleeve, catches your hand, releases it, then catches it again. each time you pull away, he follows with laser focus, head tilting, whiskers forward.
it’s so deeply unfair that something so dangerous can be this cute.
you wiggle your fingers and his pupils grow wider.
“no biting.”
he opens his mouth anyway.
“toru, come on.”
very slowly, with exaggerated innocence, he closes his mouth around your sleeve instead of your hand.
you gasp. “you little criminal.”
he tugs and you tug back. his paws clamp around your wrist again.
the two of you enter what can only be described as the world’s lowest-stakes tug-of-war, except your opponent is a giant snow leopard with supernatural strength and the emotional maturity of a spoiled house cat. he could win instantly.
instead, he lets you pull your sleeve free just enough to think you have a chance, then tugs it back with a delighted chirp.
“you are enjoying this way too much.”
his tail sweeps across the floor and you make the mistake of laughing.
satoru freezes. his head lifts. his ears perk.
you know that look.
“no.”
he launches up.
you scramble backwards, but he is already moving, bolting around you in one fast, fluffy circle before darting back into the hallway. his paws thunder against the floor again.
zoomies: resumed.
you stay on the floor for a moment, dizzy with sleep and laughter, listening to him tear through the apartment with the unrestrained joy of a creature who has remembered he possesses legs.
he does three laps.
then four.
then something falls over in the bedroom.
“satoru!”
he reappears in the hallway with one of your slippers in his mouth.
you gasp. “drop it.”
he freezes and the slipper dangles from his teeth.
“drop. it.”
his ears flatten.
“don’t you dare.”
slowly, very slowly, he lowers the slipper to the floor.
you soften. “good boy.”
his tail gives an enormous, happy flick. then he picks it up again and runs.
“are you serious?!”
by the time you catch up to him, he has dragged the slipper onto the rug and is lying with both front paws planted over it like a dragon guarding treasure. his chin rests on top. his eyes are half-lidded with satisfaction.
you stand above him, hands on hips. “that is mine.”
he purrs.
“give it back.”
he presses his chin more firmly onto the slipper.
“you have three beds, two blankets, and an entire closet of stolen hoodies to nest in.”
his eyes flick toward you.
“do not act impoverished.”
he rolls his cheek against the slipper and you soften despite yourself. because of course. of course it smells like you.
“oh,” you say quietly. “you missed me?”
his purr falters for half a second. then grows softer.
the zoomie-bright energy in him shifts. still playful, but less frantic now. he blinks at you slowly, once, then again, the universal cat language of trust, affection, love.
and your heart twists.
“baby,” you murmur. you lower yourself onto the rug beside him.
satoru immediately abandons the slipper and presses his massive head into your lap.
“there he is,” you whisper, scratching behind his ear. “my poor neglected boy.”
he huffs.
“you slept beside me for four hours.”
he huffs again, more offended this time.
“sorry. my poor, tragically abandoned boy.”
that seems to satisfy him.
he melts into your lap as much as a giant snow leopard can, purring so deeply you feel it through your legs. his body is still buzzing faintly with leftover energy. every now and then, his paw twitches like he’s imagining another sprint. but mostly, he’s here. heavy and warm and soft beneath your hands.
you stroke along his face, over the bridge of his nose, down to the plush fur under his chin.
his eyes flutter closed.
“sleepy now?”
he refuses to answer.
“all that chaos and now you’re tired?”
his tail curls around your ankle.
“mm. thought so.”
you keep petting him until the last of the wildness drains out of his body. the apartment goes quiet again except for the soft rumble of his purr and the distant hum of the fridge. moonlight spills across the rug. the overturned cushion lies forgotten near the couch.
satoru nudges your hand so you scratch under his chin.his back paw kicks once making you pause.
he opens one eye and you smile.
“still does that, huh?”
he goes very still.
“your little foot,” you clarify.
his ears flatten.
“no, ‘s okay, it’s cute.”
he grumbles, then presses his face into your stomach to hide.
you laugh softly and bend over him, kissing the top of his head. “don’t be embarrassed. i love your little foot.”
the shift happens against you.
one moment your arms are full of dense fur and enormous warmth, and the next, that warmth folds inward, reshaping itself in a shimmer of pale light. paws become hands. the heavy body across your lap becomes long limbs and bare skin beneath an oversized sleep shirt. soft rounded ears become white, triangular snow leopard ears tucked into messy hair, and his thick spotted tail remains curled around your ankle like he is not quite ready to let go.
satoru ends up half-sprawled over you in hybrid form, face buried in your stomach, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.
“don’t call it my little foot,” he mumbles.
his voice is scratchy with sleep.
you grin. “but it was little.”
“it was not little. nothing about me is little.”
“it kicked.”
“lies.”
“it kicked twice.”
“you’re being mean to me after i almost died.”
“you bumped your hip on a cabinet.”
“yeah, violently.”
“the cabinet is fine.”
he lifts his head just enough to glare at you. his cheeks are pink. his ears are still slightly flattened from embarrassment, though one of them twitches when you reach up and smooth your thumb along the base.
“don’t try to distract me by being cute,” he says.
“i think that’s usually your move.”
“and yet here you are, weaponizing tenderness.”
you cup his face and he goes quiet.
his eyes soften immediately, all the leftover mischief giving way to something sleepy and open.
“hi,” you whisper.
his mouth curves. “hi.”
“zoomies over?”
“for now.”
you smile. “that’s ominous.”
“i’m a mysterious creature.”
“you stole my slipper.”
“also mysterious.”
you continue. “you tried to eat my sleeve.”
“affectionately.”
you laugh, and his tail gives a pleased flick around your ankle.
then his expression changes. not very dramatically. just enough that you notice the soft drop of his gaze, the way his fingers curl into the hem of your shirt.
“couldn’t sleep,” he finally admits.
your teasing fades.
“yeah?”
he hums.
“bad dream?”
“not bad.” he shifts closer, resting his cheek against your stomach again. “just woke up and you were asleep, and everything was quiet, and then i got restless.”
you run your fingers through his hair. “so naturally you caused property damage.”
“barely any property damage.”
“pretty sure the remote is missing.”
“the remote knows what it did.”
you smile, but your touch stays gentle.
satoru’s ears relax slowly beneath your hand. in hybrid form, he can hide behind words better. jokes. grins. that bright, unbearable charm of his. but his tail always gives him away. right now, it’s curled around you like a question.
you tug lightly at his shirt. “come here.”
he obeys instantly, crawling fully into your lap despite being far too tall for that to make sense. he folds himself around you with the determined lack of shame of someone who has never once believed in personal space. long arms around your waist. face tucked into your neck. ears brushing your jaw.
“you are heavy,” you wheeze.
“strong mate,” he murmurs.
“absolutely not. do not caveman me at two in the morning.”
“strong beloved.”
“better.”
his laugh is warm against your skin.
for a while, the two of you sit there on the rug in the moonlight, tangled together beside the couch. you scratch slowly at the base of his ears, and he makes a sound so soft it’s almost embarrassing. his tail slides over your lap, heavy and plush. every time your fingers pause, it flicks against your thigh in complaint.
satoru lifts his head, looking very pleased with himself.
his hair is a mess. his ears are perked again, alert and fluffy. there is still a faint wildness in his eyes from the zoomies, but it has gone soft around the edges. domesticated by your hands. by your lap. by the sleepy warmth of being loved without needing to ask for it.
you brush your thumb over his cheek.
“you feeling better?”
satoru leans into your touch before he can pretend not to.
“yeah,” he says softly. then, after a beat, “you always make it quiet.”
your chest aches. “is that good?”
he looks at you like the answer is obvious. “it’s my favourite.”
you pull him closer.
he comes willingly, melting against you with a sigh that sounds almost like his old purr. maybe it still is, buried somewhere deeper in his chest. you feel it when he presses close, a faint vibration of contentment.
“bed?” you murmur.
he shakes his head against you. “couch.”
“we’ll wake up sore.”
“worth it.”
“you say that because you’re going to sleep on top of me.”
his silence is damning.
“satoru.”
“i had a very active night,” he whines.
“you had zoomies.”
“exactly. athletic recovery is important.”
you roll your eyes, but when he pulls you down with him onto the rug first, then onto the pile of fallen blankets and couch cushions, you let him. it becomes less of a couch nap and more of a nest, one he constructs with great seriousness by dragging the blanket over both of you and tucking his tail around your legs.
finally, when you’re tucked against him and his arms are snug around you, the apartment settles. no more crashing. no more skidding paws. no more stolen slippers. just satoru breathing softly beside you, one ear pressed slightly crooked against the cushion, his tail twitching slower and slower as sleep creeps back in.
you scratch under his chin one last time and his foot kicks. only once. but his eyes snap open.
you stare at him.
he stares at you.
“don’t,” he warns.
you press your lips together.
“i said don’t.”
“i’m not saying anything.”
“you’re smiling.”
“i’m allowed.”
he narrows his eyes, then tucks your head under his chin so you can’t look at him anymore.
“go to sleep.”
you laugh quietly against his chest. “goodnight, my big baby boy.”
he groans. “awful. cruel. unlovable.”
“you’re very lovable.”
his arms tighten around you. a second passes in silence. then, very quietly, “yeah?”
you soften. “yeah.”
his tail curls happily around your calf.
“good,” he mumbles.
and with the last of his wild little midnight storm finally gone, satoru falls asleep wrapped around you, warm and heavy and impossibly soft, like the whole apartment was only ever meant to be a place where he could run himself breathless and still end up safe in your arms.
🏩 "𝑺𝑨𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑼 𝑮𝑶𝑱𝑶," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ sfw headcanons w/ husband 𝒢ojo 𝒮atoru in canon compliant universe #⃝ 𝓦ARNINGS ◦ ₊ㅤ ㅤ﹙ mentions of gojo possibly dying fluff megumi & tsumiki cameo tooth rotting fluff ໒ִ 𓈒ིྀ ˚ ℳINA'S 𝓝OTES ⫽ ୧ྀ ─ do we like this new type of set up, and should i do a nsfw ver. of this post? plz reblog / like 2 support⠀ ⃘໋ׅ♡
♡⃘𓈒 ℋusband!gojo who never took off his blindfold, and was struggling to find ways to cover his eyes properly. That was until his 27th birthday, 3 years into your marriage where you, his wife, made custom black blindfolds to block out most natural light and sight so that he could rely on his senses comfortably. No more accidental headaches or nosebleeds, thanks to you. "how do I look?" he had strutted around, posing for you with the newly made blindfolds, as you smiled sweetly and squealed, gushing over how handsome he looked.
♡⃘𓈒 ℋusband!gojo who never leaves home without kissing your cheek and hugging you while complimenting you. Even if it was 6 in the morning, his arms would wrap around you in bed, his breath brushing against the back of your neck, as he talked softly while spooning his sleepy wife. "you're so pretty... I'm g'nna be thinking of you all day... I'm gonna miss your soft lips so badlyyy.." he'd whine, before planting soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks, as you'd squirm and grumble, half asleep, but he'd leave to go teach.
♡⃘𓈒 ℋusband!gojo who loves showering you in gifts, he has the money, in fact he has a lot of it. What’s the point of it all if he doesn’t use it to shower you with gifts you like? You want that new dress? Gifted to you personally within a few hours. You want to try out that new restaurant downtown? He has a reservation there for the weekend. You need Sylus’s new myth cards? He’s already swiping his card and pulling on your account, just so you can wake up to a fully maxed out Sylus Vampire myth. He gets a little drunk on the kisses and praise you give him.
♡⃘𓈒 ℋusband!gojo who didn't often argue with you, but was always the first to reach out for you and want to fix the problem. You got angry at hime once for not paying any attention to you over the week, as he was busy with exorcising curses and teaching through most of the day, leaving him only a few hours to cuddle and sleep with you. The both of you had went back and forth for an entire hour, until you gave up and just walked upstairs, trying to cool down. He was the first to come to you, hold you, and talk softer. “I’ll make time for you. I haven’t forgotten you, but I need you to know it’s not always easy to balance all these things in my life. I love you, and I always will, but sometimes I just need you to be there for me when I’m struggling, okay?” He explained to you softly, before you had apologised and made up with him that night. Even if he wasn’t the one in the wrong, he’d be the first to reach out for you again.
♡⃘𓈒 ℋusband!gojo who tries his best to avoid upsetting his pretty wife. He’s seen all those videos that Megumi texts him, about the terrible husbands and the women in the comments venting about the things that their husbands do wrong. It’s almost like a symbiotic relationship they have. Megumi sends him all these videos to make sure that Gojo doesn’t mess up being a husband, and Gojo makes sure to give you an excuse whenever you wanted to spend time with your ‘children’ with Gojo.
♡⃘𓈒 ℋusband!gojo who treats Megumi and tsumiki like your biological children in your married house, making them visit over from their dorms to play house every week. He tries to avoid it best he can, knowing how Megumi could be, but there were times where he just wanted to make you feel apart of a normal family for once. He’d dress up all nicely, search up ‘dad jokes’ on his phone before Megumi arrived, and made sure to crack the cheesiest ones so that you could laugh and giggle at him. So that you could connect with Megumi and Tsumiki about how “cheesy” their dad was. He watched you three from the living room, as Megumi was washing the dishes, while Tsumiki was drying them next to him, and you were cleaning up the kitchen counters, chatting with them like they were you children, referring to gojo as their dad so naturally.
♡⃘𓈒 ℋusband!gojo who is scared of leaving you alone. He fears that one day, this all might end. That he might never get to be able to see you old, wrinkled with lines that told stories about how much he made you laugh. He fears for the unknown, the mysteries of the future where his wife may have to buy her own flowers to put them at his grave. He knows that those thoughts aren’t reality, or at least for now, but he does watch you sleep peacefully at night and hold you just a bit tighter so that you remember how he holds you in the future.
♡⃘𓈒 ℋusband!gojo who never leaves you with doubts of returning home when he leaves in the morning. He’s the one with the fears, as you already know of your husband’s capabilities and gloating, but he needs that reassurance. While he may appear cool, collected and smiley all throughout the day, even when dealing with dangerous curses, his mind is only focusing on one person and repeating the same phrase over and over again. As if to not forget who’s waiting for him at him.
“I miss my wife,” he pouted with a sigh, before exorcising a special grade curse with ease, and already taking out his phone to see what you were doing.
‧₊ ˚⊹ gojo buys you lingerie for valentine's day 18+
cw fingering, pinv, bit of dirty talk kinda, creampie, satoru js loves you bruh, also lowk minimal foreplay myyy baaaddddd i rushed this and its not proofread at all…. hope u enjoy tho happy vday everyone <3
you had hoped that the lingerie satoru bought for you would have lasted longer than just a couple of hours.
he showed up at your door on valentine’s day, bang on midnight, carrying a small white box adorned with a red, satin ribbon tied into a neat bow. he towered over you, black tshirt hugging his toned arms, joggers low on his hips.
“happy valentine’s, baby. got something for you.” he crooned, leaning down to place a peck on your lips.
you were caught off guard, clad in your home pyjamas—a tank top through which gojo could see your nipples poking out and the sluttiest pair of shorts that didn't leave much to the imagination. his cheeks tinged a pale pink as he raked his eyes over your figure.
“toru, you didn't have to!” you dragged him into your flat, kicking the door shut behind you. snaking your hands up around his neck, you pulled him into a kiss. it was tender and loving, the two of you just enjoying one another’s presence.
“hey, hey,” he pulled back and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “you haven’t even opened it yet. don’t get too eager.”
giggling, you took the box from him and tugged on the ends of the silky ribbon. it slid undone, gojo catching it from falling to the floor instinctively. then you opened the box.
inside, on a plush velvet cushion, was a gorgeous two-piece set of lingerie. it was a dark crimson with floral designs swirling in delicate lace. picking up the panties, you realised they were very skimpy and crotchless.
with a small gasp, you looked up at your boyfriend. his usual, confident demeanour had dissipated, leaving him a blushing, stuttering mess in front of you.
“i, uh, thought you might like it…” he murmured. “i mean— you don’t have to wear it if you don't want to, i can return it if you want!”
he continued to ramble, unaware that your own underwear was dampening with the thought of him picking this set out for you.
“i hope it’s not too much, or too creepy—please don’t take it the wrong way—i just… do you like it…?” he mumbled out the last part as if he were afraid of your response.
“satoru…” you inched closer to him, raising your hand so that your palm was flush against his cheek. “it’s beautiful, i can’t believe you bought this for me. it must have been so expensive.”
your words seemed to have an immediate effect on him. he nuzzled into your touch, shoulders relaxing as the corners of his eyes began to crinkle into little crescent moons.
“don’t be silly,” his mouth twitched up into a smile. “i’d spend every last drop of the gojo clan’s money on my pretty girlfriend.”
you laughed, looking down to admire your new outfit. “thank you, toru. i love it so much.”
as he pulled you into another kiss, you felt the air between the two of you become charged with a tension that made your face feel hot and your thighs squeeze together. his tongue slid over yours with no real aim, hungry for your taste and the heat from your mouth. his scent drove you insane, one of his arms curling around your waist to pull you infinitesimally closer to him.
with one hand still around the gift, you took one of his hands with your free one and brought it lower, lower, until the pads of his fingertips were brushing against your shorts.
“fuck, baby,” he groaned. “already this wet for me? we haven’t even started.”
could anyone blame you? your hot boyfriend had showed up unannounced on valentine’s day with the sexiest lingerie for you. you let your head fall against his firm chest, attempting to find friction between his hands and your shorts, but they were so soaked that they just clung to your cunt helplessly.
“not yet, baby,” satoru smirked. “go change into my gift first.”
he didn't have to ask you twice. you were already halfway to your bathroom, peeling off your sticky underwear and slipping into the lingerie. you looked at yourself in the mirror. just how was satoru so good at everything? including shopping for women’s lingerie?
the lace curled up your skin, the colour flattering your complexion perfectly. your hardened nipples were practically on display, the neckline of the bra plunging low. your legs were bare aside from thin garters that were attached to the underwear, which had a small bow on the front as if you yourself were a present waiting to be unwrapped. you couldn't wait for satoru to see.
“how do i look?” you stepped out of your ensuite into your bedroom, where your boyfriend was already on your bed, shirt off, propped up on his elbows.
his gaze dragged over you slowly, swallowing every inch of your body. he didn’t say a word, just beckoned you over to him, and you obliged happily.
you straddled his lap, thighs placed either side of him. he could almost smell the desire that was dripping from your pussy and down your inner thigh.
“you look fucking incredible,” he breathed out, and you could already feel his dick straining in his sweats. “my pretty girl, can’t believe this is all for me.”
before you could respond, satoru was pulling down your bra and latching on to your nipple. his soft, warm tongue pressed circles into you, lightly sucking and biting to elicit small moans from your mouth that he could swear were going to send him straight to heaven. as one hand steadied you at the waist, he slipped a long, slender finger between your sticky folds, gathering your arousal and spreading it over your clit.
“satoru, please,” you whispered, hips grinding down into his palm, trying desperately to rub your clit against his plush skin.
“please, what, baby? don't know what you want if you can't tell me.” he was muffled against your boobs, spit leaking down from the corners of his mouth down your skin as he practically made out with your nipples.
you were already panting as his middle finger rubbed circles into your sensitive bud, your slick pooling in the palm of his hand as the knot in your stomach tightened.
“please, i want to cum—” you whined, desperately rutting into his hand like you were starved for his touch.
“already?” he teased, never letting up his ministrations. “so needy for me.”
then he plunged two fingers into your sopping hole, curling them up to hit the soft spot inside you that made your toes curl and your head thrown back in complete pleasure. he continued to work at your clit with his thumb, easing in and out of you. usually he would start with one finger and build up to two, but you were just so cute and desperate and so so wet today, how could he resist?
“hah— toru, gonna— fuck!” and with a crook of his fingers, white hot bliss coursed through your body as you rutted against him.
before you could even process your orgasm, satoru was flipping you over on to your back, pushing down his joggers and boxers to reveal his red, drooling cock. a thin sheen of sweat covered his chest, glistening against his lean, muscled abs. his eyes were dark and glossed over—hazy with an ineffable mixture of love and lust.
he was already breathing heavily, already so worked up from fingering you to your high. your hair was splayed across the pillow beneath you, eyes glassy post-orgasm, lips slightly swollen from where you had bitten them in the daze of pleasure.
gojo grabbed his dick and pressed it against your panties, gliding it through the opening in the underwear and through your silky, dripping lips.
“please fuck me, toru,” you whimpered, desperate to feel him inside you.
but satoru was preoccupied with admiring you. he was still teasing you with his cock almost reaching where you wanted it to be, but he just couldn't get enough of how sexy you looked in this getup. already so ruined from just his fingers, looking like the prettiest girl ever posed up in the outfit that he picked out for you. god, he wished he could savour the moment forever.
but that small opening in your panties just wasn't going to cut it, unfortunately. not with the sheer size of gojo. it was as though lust completely clouded his judgement as he pulled your underwear to the side with such force that they ripped open with one foul swoop.
“satoru?!” you exclaimed, looking down at where his dick met your pussy to see the ghost of what used to be a very lovely pair of underwear.
“oops…?” he grinned sheepishly. “jus’ wanted to make sure nothing was in the way of your pussy.”
your head fell back against the pillow with a sigh, but any trace of annoyance that you may have had was immediately yanked from you when the squuueelch of satoru pushing himself inside of you reverberated throughout the room.
the two of you moaned in tandem. you at the feeling of him stretching you out so good as he always does, with the tip of his dick grazing the spongy spot inside of you. him at the obscene feeling of nirvana that he was blessed with as your cunt clenched around his cock, almost making him cum right there and then.
“shit, toru, what are you waiting for? move.”
and move he did. he started slow, easing in and out of you to get you used to his size. but it just felt too good. he couldn't help himself from rolling his hips into faster and faster until he was a whiny mess, face and chest flushed red, ivory hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, eyes screwed shut from the pure ecstasy that flowed through him.
you felt no different. as satoru thrust into you, hot fire built up in the pit of your stomach, fingers gripping the bedsheets tightly.
“nghh— feels so good, satoru,” you wrapped your legs around his waist and somehow it felt even better.
“f-fuck, baby, i know,” gojo’s voice cracked as he tried to catch his breath. “i love you, you’re—hah—so good to me. can’t thank you enough.”
“all yours, toru,” you panted. “i love you too.”
“fuck! ‘m gonna—”
and at those words, satoru’s hips were stuttering into you as his head fell into the crook of your neck, hot cum spilling into you. your pussy literally fluttered around his cock, milking him dry in one go.
he was still thrusting shallowly into you when he brought his hand back down to your clit, helping you to climax once more. you cried out his name between incoherent strings of curses and moans, hands flying to tangle themselves in his hair, tugging at his strands.
satoru collapsed on top of you in a heap, kissing into your neck and trailing up your jawline until he ended up at your lips.
“i love you, toru,” you whispered as your heart tightened with affection.
“i love you so much more, thank you for being with me,” he mumbled into you. “happy valentine's day.”
‧₊ ˚⊹ gojo buys you lingerie for valentine's day 18+
cw fingering, pinv, bit of dirty talk kinda, creampie, satoru js loves you bruh, also lowk minimal foreplay myyy baaaddddd i rushed this and its not proofread at all…. hope u enjoy tho happy vday everyone <3
you had hoped that the lingerie satoru bought for you would have lasted longer than just a couple of hours.
he showed up at your door on valentine’s day, bang on midnight, carrying a small white box adorned with a red, satin ribbon tied into a neat bow. he towered over you, black tshirt hugging his toned arms, joggers low on his hips.
“happy valentine’s, baby. got something for you.” he crooned, leaning down to place a peck on your lips.
you were caught off guard, clad in your home pyjamas—a tank top through which gojo could see your nipples poking out and the sluttiest pair of shorts that didn't leave much to the imagination. his cheeks tinged a pale pink as he raked his eyes over your figure.
“toru, you didn't have to!” you dragged him into your flat, kicking the door shut behind you. snaking your hands up around his neck, you pulled him into a kiss. it was tender and loving, the two of you just enjoying one another’s presence.
“hey, hey,” he pulled back and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “you haven’t even opened it yet. don’t get too eager.”
giggling, you took the box from him and tugged on the ends of the silky ribbon. it slid undone, gojo catching it from falling to the floor instinctively. then you opened the box.
inside, on a plush velvet cushion, was a gorgeous two-piece set of lingerie. it was a dark crimson with floral designs swirling in delicate lace. picking up the panties, you realised they were very skimpy and crotchless.
with a small gasp, you looked up at your boyfriend. his usual, confident demeanour had dissipated, leaving him a blushing, stuttering mess in front of you.
“i, uh, thought you might like it…” he murmured. “i mean— you don’t have to wear it if you don't want to, i can return it if you want!”
he continued to ramble, unaware that your own underwear was dampening with the thought of him picking this set out for you.
“i hope it’s not too much, or too creepy—please don’t take it the wrong way—i just… do you like it…?” he mumbled out the last part as if he were afraid of your response.
“satoru…” you inched closer to him, raising your hand so that your palm was flush against his cheek. “it’s beautiful, i can’t believe you bought this for me. it must have been so expensive.”
your words seemed to have an immediate effect on him. he nuzzled into your touch, shoulders relaxing as the corners of his eyes began to crinkle into little crescent moons.
“don’t be silly,” his mouth twitched up into a smile. “i’d spend every last drop of the gojo clan’s money on my pretty girlfriend.”
you laughed, looking down to admire your new outfit. “thank you, toru. i love it so much.”
as he pulled you into another kiss, you felt the air between the two of you become charged with a tension that made your face feel hot and your thighs squeeze together. his tongue slid over yours with no real aim, hungry for your taste and the heat from your mouth. his scent drove you insane, one of his arms curling around your waist to pull you infinitesimally closer to him.
with one hand still around the gift, you took one of his hands with your free one and brought it lower, lower, until the pads of his fingertips were brushing against your shorts.
“fuck, baby,” he groaned. “already this wet for me? we haven’t even started.”
could anyone blame you? your hot boyfriend had showed up unannounced on valentine’s day with the sexiest lingerie for you. you let your head fall against his firm chest, attempting to find friction between his hands and your shorts, but they were so soaked that they just clung to your cunt helplessly.
“not yet, baby,” satoru smirked. “go change into my gift first.”
he didn't have to ask you twice. you were already halfway to your bathroom, peeling off your sticky underwear and slipping into the lingerie. you looked at yourself in the mirror. just how was satoru so good at everything? including shopping for women’s lingerie?
the lace curled up your skin, the colour flattering your complexion perfectly. your hardened nipples were practically on display, the neckline of the bra plunging low. your legs were bare aside from thin garters that were attached to the underwear, which had a small bow on the front as if you yourself were a present waiting to be unwrapped. you couldn't wait for satoru to see.
“how do i look?” you stepped out of your ensuite into your bedroom, where your boyfriend was already on your bed, shirt off, propped up on his elbows.
his gaze dragged over you slowly, swallowing every inch of your body. he didn’t say a word, just beckoned you over to him, and you obliged happily.
you straddled his lap, thighs placed either side of him. he could almost smell the desire that was dripping from your pussy and down your inner thigh.
“you look fucking incredible,” he breathed out, and you could already feel his dick straining in his sweats. “my pretty girl, can’t believe this is all for me.”
before you could respond, satoru was pulling down your bra and latching on to your nipple. his soft, warm tongue pressed circles into you, lightly sucking and biting to elicit small moans from your mouth that he could swear were going to send him straight to heaven. as one hand steadied you at the waist, he slipped a long, slender finger between your sticky folds, gathering your arousal and spreading it over your clit.
“satoru, please,” you whispered, hips grinding down into his palm, trying desperately to rub your clit against his plush skin.
“please, what, baby? don't know what you want if you can't tell me.” he was muffled against your boobs, spit leaking down from the corners of his mouth down your skin as he practically made out with your nipples.
you were already panting as his middle finger rubbed circles into your sensitive bud, your slick pooling in the palm of his hand as the knot in your stomach tightened.
“please, i want to cum—” you whined, desperately rutting into his hand like you were starved for his touch.
“already?” he teased, never letting up his ministrations. “so needy for me.”
then he plunged two fingers into your sopping hole, curling them up to hit the soft spot inside you that made your toes curl and your head thrown back in complete pleasure. he continued to work at your clit with his thumb, easing in and out of you. usually he would start with one finger and build up to two, but you were just so cute and desperate and so so wet today, how could he resist?
“hah— toru, gonna— fuck!” and with a crook of his fingers, white hot bliss coursed through your body as you rutted against him.
before you could even process your orgasm, satoru was flipping you over on to your back, pushing down his joggers and boxers to reveal his red, drooling cock. a thin sheen of sweat covered his chest, glistening against his lean, muscled abs. his eyes were dark and glossed over—hazy with an ineffable mixture of love and lust.
he was already breathing heavily, already so worked up from fingering you to your high. your hair was splayed across the pillow beneath you, eyes glassy post-orgasm, lips slightly swollen from where you had bitten them in the daze of pleasure.
gojo grabbed his dick and pressed it against your panties, gliding it through the opening in the underwear and through your silky, dripping lips.
“please fuck me, toru,” you whimpered, desperate to feel him inside you.
but satoru was preoccupied with admiring you. he was still teasing you with his cock almost reaching where you wanted it to be, but he just couldn't get enough of how sexy you looked in this getup. already so ruined from just his fingers, looking like the prettiest girl ever posed up in the outfit that he picked out for you. god, he wished he could savour the moment forever.
but that small opening in your panties just wasn't going to cut it, unfortunately. not with the sheer size of gojo. it was as though lust completely clouded his judgement as he pulled your underwear to the side with such force that they ripped open with one foul swoop.
“satoru?!” you exclaimed, looking down at where his dick met your pussy to see the ghost of what used to be a very lovely pair of underwear.
“oops…?” he grinned sheepishly. “jus’ wanted to make sure nothing was in the way of your pussy.”
your head fell back against the pillow with a sigh, but any trace of annoyance that you may have had was immediately yanked from you when the squuueelch of satoru pushing himself inside of you reverberated throughout the room.
the two of you moaned in tandem. you at the feeling of him stretching you out so good as he always does, with the tip of his dick grazing the spongy spot inside of you. him at the obscene feeling of nirvana that he was blessed with as your cunt clenched around his cock, almost making him cum right there and then.
“shit, toru, what are you waiting for? move.”
and move he did. he started slow, easing in and out of you to get you used to his size. but it just felt too good. he couldn't help himself from rolling his hips into faster and faster until he was a whiny mess, face and chest flushed red, ivory hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, eyes screwed shut from the pure ecstasy that flowed through him.
you felt no different. as satoru thrust into you, hot fire built up in the pit of your stomach, fingers gripping the bedsheets tightly.
“nghh— feels so good, satoru,” you wrapped your legs around his waist and somehow it felt even better.
“f-fuck, baby, i know,” gojo’s voice cracked as he tried to catch his breath. “i love you, you’re—hah—so good to me. can’t thank you enough.”
“all yours, toru,” you panted. “i love you too.”
“fuck! ‘m gonna—”
and at those words, satoru’s hips were stuttering into you as his head fell into the crook of your neck, hot cum spilling into you. your pussy literally fluttered around his cock, milking him dry in one go.
he was still thrusting shallowly into you when he brought his hand back down to your clit, helping you to climax once more. you cried out his name between incoherent strings of curses and moans, hands flying to tangle themselves in his hair, tugging at his strands.
satoru collapsed on top of you in a heap, kissing into your neck and trailing up your jawline until he ended up at your lips.
“i love you, toru,” you whispered as your heart tightened with affection.
“i love you so much more, thank you for being with me,” he mumbled into you. “happy valentine's day.”
clingy gojo never gets tired of hearing you say you love him.
“baby.”
you woke up to the familiar sound of exaggerated sighing coming from the other side of the bed. not just any sigh –no, this was the full satoru gojo special: a long, theatrical exhale that somehow managed to sound both heartbroken and annoyingly smug at the same time. you cracked one eye open, already knowing what was coming.
“do you even love me?” he whined, voice muffled against the pillow he was now clutching like a jilted lover.
you groaned, burying your face back into your own pillow. “satoru. it’s literally seven in the morning. i haven’t even had coffee yet.”
he rolled closer, slinging a long arm over your waist and yanking you against his chest with zero effort. “exactly. seven in the morning and you haven’t said it once. not a single ‘i love you, satoru, my handsome, amazing, perfect boyfriend who deserves all the sugar in the world.’ i’m dying here. wasting away. look at me– i’m practically translucent from neglect.”
you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. this was routine. as routine as his daily sugar intake and his insistence on wearing those stupid designer sunglasses indoors. you’d been together for twenty five months, three weeks, and four days (he kept count, obviously), and not once had the man gone more than twelve hours without fishing for verbal confirmation that you were still obsessed with him.
you wrote him letters. you baked him those stupid mochi waffles at 6 a.m. on sundays. you once spent an entire evening color-coding his sock drawer. it didn’t matter that you left sticky notes with terrible poems on the bathroom mirror (“roses are red, your hair is white, i’d fight a bear for your morning bite”): he’d decided your full-time job was proving your affection on demand.
you twisted in his arms, cupping his ridiculously pretty face in both hands. “satoru gojo, i love you more than i love sleep. more than i love the last slice of matcha kasutera. more than i love when you shut up for five whole seconds. happy now?”
he leaned in, peppering your face with loud, obnoxious kisses until you were giggling and shoving at his chest. that megawatt grin probably got him out of traffic tickets and into your heart in the first place.
“say it slower. with feeling. and maybe throw in something about my calves.”
you flicked his forehead. “you’re such a drama queen.”
-
you were flipping blueberry pancakes –extra chocolate chips, edges slightly burned because he once declared ‘crispy is a personality trait’– when familiar arms wrapped around your waist from behind. a chin that weighed approximately one metric ton of clinginess dropped onto your shoulder.
“baby.”
“yes, satoru?”
“you love me?” he purred, voice still sleep-rough.
you didn’t miss a beat, sliding a pancake onto the plate. “satoru, i woke up just to make these because you sent me three tiktoks about them at midnight. i think the answer is yes.”
“okay, but do you really love me? or is this all an elaborate prank because i’m too hot and you’re trying to humble me?”
you flipped a pancake with more force than necessary. “i wrote a haiku about your eyes last week. again. and i hate poetry.”
he chuckled. “read it to me. right now.”
“i’m not reading anything out loud again. you recorded the last one and set it as your ringtone.”
he pouted –full bottom lip jut, baby-blue eyes wide and glistening like he was one second away from fake tears. “so you don’t love me.”
“satoru.”
“it’s been twenty whole minutes since you said the l-word. i could die.”
you rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “i love you.”
he tightened his grip and hummed like he was thinking very hard. “okay but… would you rather get your entire face atrociously burned off in a freak pancake-related grease fire… or watch me go on one single date with another woman?”
you froze mid-flip. the spatula hovered. you slowly turned in his arms, eyebrows raised so high they were basically in your hairline.
“are you serious right now?” you poked his chest with the spatula. “satoru, i spend forty-five minutes on skincare every night so i can look like a glazed donut. i visit my dermatologist once a month, that gives you a hint of how vain i am. besides, our face is our calling card to the world. so yeah. i’d rather watch you go on a date with someone else.”
he gasped like you’d stabbed him. “you’d let me date another woman?!”
you couldn’t resist him when he got like this. you wiped your hands on a dish towel, pulled open the junk drawer, and retrieved the folded papers.
“i’d sit in the café across the street, eat my feelings in the form of their entire pastry case, and then kidnap you on the way home while blasting our song. because i’m not an idiot and i know you’d text me memes the whole date about how bored you are.”
he stared at you for half a second, then burst out laughing so loud the neighbor’s dog started barking. he scooped you up, spun you once, and planted a sticky chocolate-chip kiss on your cheek.
“you’re so mean when you’re logical. i love it. marry me right now.”
“you already asked yesterday. i said yes. again.”
“yeah but you didn’t say it with enough enthusiasm.” he stole a pancake straight off the spatula, burning his fingers and not caring. “say it like you mean it this time.”
you sighed, clearing your throat. “satoru gojo, light of my life, thief of my pocky, i would marry you in a denny’s parking lot at 3 a.m. wearing crocs and a trash bag if that’s what you wanted. now sit down before i actually burn my face on purpose to escape this conversation.”
he cackled and plopped into his chair like an overgrown puppy. you set his plate in front of him –extra whipped cream, because he was a child– and sat across from him with your own.
“there. evidence of love. delivered fresh daily.”
-
you were comparing two brands of hojicha powder when satoru materialized at the end of the cart like a teleporting menace, holding up a family-sized bag of strawberry kitkat.
“baby,” he said, voice dropping into full dramatic mode as usual. “how much you love me?”
you didn’t bother to look up. “i love you enough to let you buy the jumbo pack even though last time you ate them all and then complained your stomach was staging a coup at 2 a.m.”
he abandoned the kitkats in the cart and draped himself over the handle. “would you rather break your nose and never have it set properly again… or break up with me?”
you finally met his eyes. he was using his letal weapon: pouting. the characteristic bottom lip, sparkling blues, the whole oscar-worthy performance. a passing grandma actually slowed down to stare.
you leaned on the cart, deadpan. “seriously? i need my nose to breathe, satoru. besides being functional, the nose determines the shape of the face. and i am allergic to dust. having it permanently broken would cause me a lot of trouble. so yeah. i’d rather break up with you.”
he clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “you’d break up with me?!”
you patted his cheek. “i’d cry for three days straight, eat ice cream in your purple hoodie, and then show up at your door with a powerpoint titled ‘reasons we should get back together’ that includes graphs of how much i spoil you. because i’m logical, not suicidal. now help me pick the good hojicha before i add ‘makes me answer dumb questions in public’ to the breakup slide.”
he stared, then started laughing so hard an employee three aisles over dropped a jar of mayonnaise. he rounded the cart, lifted you clean off the ground, and spun you until you were both giggling like lunatics between the wasabi and the instant ramen.
“you’re ridiculous and i’m obsessed.” he murmured against your hair. “i’m keeping you forever. even if you’d dump me for breathing.”
“only temporarily. i have receipts for every sweet i’ve ever bought you. that’s legally binding in at least four countries.”
-
evening rolled around and you were curled up on the couch watching some mindless action movie he’d picked because “the explosions remind me of how my heart feels when you walk into a room.” (his words, not yours.)
you were half-draped over his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back under your shirt. all of your letters were proudly taped to the fridge like kindergarten art projects, as they should.
during a quiet scene he suddenly tightened his hold. “baby.”
you already knew. “yes, satoru?”
“do you even love me? like, love-love me? the forever kind?”
you twirled a strand of his snowy hair. “i spend fifty minutes every morning rhyming your name with something different each time. i think we’re good.”
he looked down, chin digging into your head, eyes sparkling with revelry. “would you rather i move to another country… or get hit by a bus?”
you blinked slowly, processing the new level of ridiculous. “that’s not even the usual format. but i’d rather you get hit by the bus. at least then i could camp out at the hospital, yell at doctors, bring you all your favorite sweets, and nurse you back to health while you’re stuck being extra clingy and dependent on me for months. if you move to another country, i’d be stuck with long-distance, terrible time zones, crying over video calls, and worrying you’re out there eating better yakitori without me. no way. i’d take the bus every single time.”
he tried to hide his smile. “you’d let me get flattened for dairy?!”
you booped his nose. “priorities, bae. i’m keeping you near me. now shut up so we can finish this movie.”
he tackled you into the cushions, kissing your face so aggressively his glasses went flying somewhere into the void. between kisses he kept muttering: “you’re so mean… so logical… i love it so much… more than sweets… more than winning… more than–”
you laughed and cupped his stupidly pretty face, kissing him quiet. “i know, you big dramatic baby. and i love you so much it’s embarrassing. i write you letters because texts feel too temporary. i say it every day because you deserve to hear it every day. i put up with your ridiculous hypotheticals because they make you smile like an idiot and i’m weak for that smile. you’re my favorite person in the entire world, satoru gojo.”
he melted and pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck with a happy little hum. “you’re the best, i swear.”
-
you were half-asleep, curled against his chest, when the question came again, softly into the dark. he couldn’t help it.
“baby… do you love me?”
you didn’t open your eyes. you just hooked a leg over his waist and mumbled. “yes, honey; enough to spoil you rotten and be logical about it. now go to sleep before i change my mind.”
for a long moment, there was only silence. no dramatic gasp, no theatrical clutching of his chest. just the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your hair, the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the half-drawn curtains. then his arms tightened around you –not the usual playful squeeze, but something deeper, almost desperate.
“god, i love you.” he murmured in a way that made your sleepy heart stutter. his fingers traced lazy circles along your back, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked just a little. “i never got to hear those words before. no one truly loved me until you came into my life. you choose me every single time, even when i’m such an insufferable brat. i don’t know what i did to deserve you, but i’m never letting go.”
you felt the heat of his smile against your temple, soft and genuine. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.
“you big sap,” you whispered, voice thick with affection. “i’m keeping you forever too. even if you keep asking me every day for the rest of our lives.”
-
the next morning, gentle sunlight slipped through the curtains as satoru slowly woke up. his arm reached out across the bed on instinct, searching for the cozy warmth of your body curled against his. instead, his fingers met cool, empty sheets.
he blinked, lifting his head with a sleepy little pout.
“baby…?”
before disappointment could settle in, his eyes landed on a neatly unfolded napkin resting right on your pillow –your fancy handwriting covering it in careful black ink.
he sat up, a small smile already tugging at his lips as he picked up the note and read:
« my dear satoru,
i woke up early because i saw online that a super special limited edition of those premium sakura daifuku from the exclusive wagashi shop just dropped this morning. i ran out to grab a fresh box for you before they’re gone. i’ll be right back! but in the meantime, i hope this will be enough:
i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you (x∞) ♡
ps: missin ya rn. »
satoru stared at the paper, his thumb gently tracing over your enthusiastic words. his heavenly irises softened in that rare, unguarded way only you ever got to see. another warm, genuine smile bloomed across his face as he pressed the napkin to his chest, right over his heart.
in that moment, with your loving note in his hands and the promise of your return, satoru knew without a doubt that true love only comes once in a lifetime.
when you open your eyes, satoru sits beside you while he holds your dead body. you don't understand what happens, but satoru smiles, looking at you with those reddened eyes. "I'll explain to you."
satoru made you into a curse so you stay on his side. what makes it hurt is that because he couldn't accept your death, so now here you trapped. satoru didn't force you to fight against the curse or people who annoyed him.
your arms encircling around satoru's shoulders, sit on his lap while listening he makes jokes or simply talks about his day. and you listen, and throw some comments. this feels like before you died.
the door being knocked twice before it swings open. your presence disappears the second megumi walks in. satoru makes sure no one knows he has cursed his own wife.
"gojo sensei, i heard you were talking from outside, you're not going insane, are you?" his tone is judging, but satoru knows megumi is worried. megumi knows about your relationship.
"i was on the call," satoru smiles brightly likes he was to be. "why don't you take yuuji and nobara shopping? it's all on me." he hands the card to megumi.
megumi glances at the card back to satoru before taking it. he wants to ask more but the sign is so clear satoru wanted to be alone. satoru waves when megumi walks out his office room.
after makes sure no one is around, your arms slip around him from behind, your chin rest on his shoulder, no warmth, no breath, but he leans in. "why don't you join them?"
"i still want to talk with you, sweets." satoru smiles more soft at you.
"I'm listening, satoru."
very short, missing scene of my first story from here, thank you for reading 🤍
Gojo always acted like leaving for missions didn’t bother him. He’d keep grinning with his hands shoved in his pockets, sunglasses crooked on his nose, leaning down just enough to steal one last kiss before disappearing for days—sometimes weeks.
“Don’t miss me too much, yeah?” he’d tease.
But the second he came back?
That man was Insufferably clingy.
The first sign was always the silence. Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive was physically incapable of shutting up for more than thirty seconds. But, he’d walk through the door and just… hold you, face buried in your neck. Arms wrapped tight around your waist. Breathing you in like he’d forgotten what home smelled like.
“Missed you..” he’d mumble, voice rough with exhaustion.
Then came the attachment issues.
You stood up to get water? Suddenly he was trailing behind you, tall and sleepy, chin hooked over your shoulder while you filled the glass.
Trying to cook? His arms locked around your middle from behind the entire time, whining dramatically when you told him he was in the way.
“Toru, I can’t stir the sauce well enough if you’re hanging off me.”
“Yes you can. I believe in you.”
And at night? It was worse, way worse.
He’d practically drape himself over you like a blanket—legs tangled with yours, one hand under your shirt resting against your skin like he needed constant proof you were really there.
If you tried to move even an inch, his pale lashes would flutter open immediately.
“Where’re you goin’?”
“The bathroom.”
“Okay. I’ll wait.”
“…You do realize I’m coming back, right?”
“Mhm. Still waiting.”
And yeah, sometimes you’d call him dramatic when he groaned, “You love your phone more than me.” after you answered a text in the middle of him talking.
But you’d never really change it.
Because every lingering touch, every sleepy hug from behind, every moment he insisted on being close—
it all meant he came back.
Back from the missions.
Back from the danger.
Back to you.
So if Satoru Gojo wanted to spend the next week attached to your side like you might disappear if he looked away too long?
a world alone | gojo satoru x you
→ fluff, high school (?) au, growing up | 1.5k
Liking Gojo Satoru is the easiest thing you've ever done in all your years of living, which is almost funny because admitting it out loud feels like the hardest thing you can imagine.
He's already there when you turn the corner, white hair catching the morning light that flows through the windows, long legs stretched out in front of your locker, oblivious to the fact that he makes everybody else walk a little faster when they pass him, laugh a little louder when he's watching, try a little harder to be interesting when he turns his eyes in their direction.
"You're late," he says, not looking up from his phone, thumb scrolling lazily through something you can't see, though you know from previous knowledge it's probably either memes or sports highlights or some combination of both that only makes sense to him.
"I'm exactly on time, actually, if you want to get technical about it, which you never do, but I'm clocking in at 7:42, which is precisely when I said I'd be here." You stop in front of him, close enough now to smell his shampoo, a citrus scent diluted by sunlight that follows him everywhere, something warm and expensive that makes you think of summer afternoons even in the dead of winter, even at 7:42 in the morning when the sky is still deciding whether to turn gray or gold.
"You're early," you add, because he is, and because you saw him check his phone 3 times from the stairwell where you were hiding, telling yourself you weren't waiting for him to arrive even as you counted down each second.
He lifts his head at that, his eyes finding yours immediately, "I wanted to beat the crowd," he says, which is ridiculous, because it's 7:42 am on a Tuesday and the hallway is empty except for you and him and a building service worker mopping something suspicious near the water fountain.
Gojo doesn't move from your locker, and you don't ask him to, because this is the routine you two share, the push and the pull, the way he always finds reasons to be exactly where you are.
"Move," you say, but your voice lacks conviction.
"No," he says, and grins, all teeth and trouble.
"Satoru." His name sits differently in your mouth than other names.
You're young, and nothing is easy, and this boy with his white hair and his blue eyes and his smirk is your biggest headache of all, the way he looks at you like you're ordinary and extraordinary in the same gaze, like you're the only person in the room and also just another person in the room, and you never know which version of yourself you're supposed to be.
"Say please," he says, stretching the words out like sweet candy, like he has all the time in the world and nowhere else he'd rather be than here, blocking your locker, blocking your exit, blocking every reasonable thought from your head with nothing more than his existence.
"I'll say nothing, I’ll just wait," you tell him, crossing your arms, trying to look tough and probably failing because he's smiling at you like you just told him the best joke he's ever heard, your stubbornness a gift he didn't expect to get this morning but will absolutely treasure.
"You'd wait?" He tilts his head, and you watch the way the light catches the scar near his jawline, the one he got during basketball practice last semester when he dove for a ball he didn't need to dive for, when he made the shot anyway because of course he did. "For me?"
The question lingers in the thick air between you. Instead of responding, your gaze drifts to his lips, at the way his lower lip is slightly chapped, at the small imperfections that make him real, make him reachable, make him someone you could touch if you ever worked up the courage to try.
"You're staring," he says, and his voice is softer now, and you wonder if he's nervous, if this game you play costs him something too.
"You're in my way," you reply, but it sounds like an excuse even to your own ears, sounds like the weakest protest you've ever made, because the truth is you don't want him to move, you want him to stay exactly where he is forever, blocking your locker and every sensible plan you had for this morning.
“Am I?" He shifts then, just barely, his shoulder brushing yours as he finally steps aside, but he doesn't actually give you the space you're (not) asking for; he stays close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that you have to decide between pulling him closer or running away. "Or am I exactly where you want me?"
Your fingers fumble with the locker combination, once, twice, three times, the numbers blurring because he's watching you fail with delight.
"You're not real," you murmur, finally getting the lock open, finally discovering something to do with your hands that isn't reaching for him.
"And yet," he whispers, leaning in close enough that his breath hovers over your ear, "you're still smiling."
The bell rings then, loud and jarring, and the hallway floods with students carrying backpacks and coffee and the weight of another Tuesday, and Gojo disappears into the crowd like he was never there at all, leaving you with your locker open and your pulse hammering.
The first snow of the year falls on a Sunday, the sky intentionally picked the one day you had no obligations, no excuses, nothing between you and the quiet white of it settling over everything.
You notice it from your window. You were not supposed to go outside. And yet you find yourself at the park after a certain white-haired boy spammed your messages.
You have your hands in your pockets and your breath in little clouds in front of you, and you are thinking, specifically, about nothing. Gojo is standing at the edge of the fountain that's been turned off for winter, looking up at the sky with his face tipped back, and his eyes closed, catching snowflakes the way children do.
His white hair disappears into the snow, and you feel your heart skip a beat. It was not supposed to do that. You had an agreement with yourself, a firm and reasonable arrangement to keep yourself small, to keep the safe empty space you'd made so carefully around yourself. Your heart was supposed to be empty and quiet and safe from boys with white hair and blue eyes who make it do complicated things.
Nothing in life is easy. You learned that early, the way most students do, slowly and then all at once, the weight of it arriving in pieces small enough to carry until it’s suddenly too heavy to carry on your shoulders, until you're sitting in a counselor's office being asked what you want to do with the rest of your life at an age when you still can't decide what to eat for lunch, until the future stops being something distant and soft on the horizon and becomes something with a hard deadline.
Nothing is easy. School isn't easy. The person you're supposed to be growing into isn't easy. The choices that are somehow both enormous and completely ordinary are not easy to make.
But choosing to love Gojo Satoru is easy. Embarrassingly, inconveniently, against all possible odds, easy. The way breathing is easy, the same way your feet know the way home without thinking. Easy in a way that makes no logical sense, given that he is a headache in human form, given that he takes up more space in your head than anyone reasonably should, given that he makes you fumble your locker combination and forget your own sentences and stand in parks in the snow instead of staying home like a rational person.
It should be hard. You have thought of every reason it should be hard.
He is too much, too loud in quiet rooms, too certain in uncertain ones, too comfortable in his own skin in a way that feels almost irritating when you are so busy trying to figure out what your own skin is supposed to feel like.
But still. You would rather have the headache than not have it. Would rather stand in the cold feeling your heart do its elaborate thing than go back to the quiet you thought you wanted, the secure space you made with yourself before you knew what it would cost you to keep it.
The future is enormous and vague, and coming for you whether you're ready or not, and you are so exhausted sometimes of how much there is to carry. Nothing is easy.
But you look at Satoru standing in the snow with his eyes closed, and his face tipped up like he is completely unbothered by the cold, by the world, by any of it, and the complicated thing in your chest ever so slightly calms.
It's the easiest thing you've ever felt. That's the part that scares you most.
author's note: unsure if i like this but i yearn to post;; all i know is that im sleepy and my back hurts
How Boyfriend!Gojo Satoru deals with you when you’re moody 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
“Stop looking at me,” you snap. “Stop touching me. Just stop.”
Satoru points to himself, eyes wide and jaw dropping. “What did I do?”
“Can you leave, Gojo? I can’t deal with you right now.”
His jaw drops even more.
For the last hour or so, you’ve been scrolling through your phone, annoyed by the lack of good things to read or catch up on. Meanwhile, your boyfriend’s been lounging beside you, long leg thrown over the back of the sofa, head propped up on his arm as he watches cartoons on the TV and throws caramel popcorn into his mouth. Once in a while, he’d say, “Baby, baby! Look at this!”, “Do you think I should dye my hair? Maybe pink like Yuji and we can go around pretending to be twins?”, or something along those lines. Every time he reached for you, trying to get your attention, you’d shake him off, glaring.
You’ve reached your limit. But it seems so has he; he turns the TV off and grumbles, “Fine. I’ll go since I’m clearly not wanted here. I’ll just put my life on the line fighting curses, or whatever.” Satoru teleports out of your living room.
Guilt hits you instantly — what is wrong with you? He’s never spoken to you like that, even at his worst. He was spending his free time, which is far and few between, with you, although you’re not very amusing right now. And there you were talking down to him, like he was a child. You’re a terrible girlfriend.
Sighing, you call his phone. He picks up on the first ring. “Satoru? Can you come back? Please.”
He reappears before you barely a second later, arms crossed and chin up. Satoru haughtily asks, “Something you need?”
“Yes, for you to forgive me,” you reply, rounding the coffee table to hug him. He doesn’t return it but he doesn’t push you away either. “I’m sor—Oh.”
Something sweet’s shoved between your lips. You chew on a piece of chocolate chip cookie, blinking up at him.
Satoru, holding a bag of them and feeding you like you’re a duck, says, “I know, I know. I’m incredible, unbelievably handsome, I deserve to be treated like a prince, you want to worship my very existence for all eternity, and so on and so forth. Save it, babe. I already know all of that. Just like I know you’re nearing the time of your month. Must suck being a woman, huh? Better you than me though.”
Then he teleports himself back on the sofa, with you in his arms. TV back on, he presses a wet kiss to your cheek and adds,
“Gosh, you’re scary when hormonal. It’s hot.”
I hc he doesn't hold grudges, not against his fave people at least
summary: Years passed since you saw Satoru Gojo in your life — your situationship, who slipped away from your life like nothing had happened. Like you were nothing to him. Or, maybe, on the contrary, and you were his everything? What would happen if you suddenly met him at your flower shop?
tags: mdni! situationships, exes to lovers, reconciliation, some angst, some fluff, mutual pining, YEARNING, like A LOT. you fell first, he fell harder and it drove him crazy. panic attacks, floristry, some themes about rediscovering your life passion, the reader is kinda insecure. eventual smut: dry humping, fingering, emotional sex, a little bit of size kink, creampie, oral sex (f receiving).
word count: this part is 12.5k. total: 35k (bear with me here...).
author's note: this is officially the biggest thing i have ever written! and my first time ever writing smut. you've been warned. it should've been one post but tumblr's limits...art by @/boom_sate225. dividers are mine.
you might like listening to the playlist
part 2
This day started as usual.
Your phone alarm rang sharply at 6 a.m., jolting you awake. With a groan, you tapped to hold it and rolled over to have the last minutes of peace and serenity. The bed was warm, the pillow was comfortable, the blanket embraced you in the softest of hugs… Slowly, you drifted to sleep once again.
Only to hastily scramble to get ready an hour later.
"Shit, shit, shit," you cursed under your breath, trying to pull your pants on. A glance at the clock — 7:30; you must've been the fastest person in the world at that moment— totally a record.
Miraculously, you still had time to stop by your favourite bakery, which conveniently hid between the stalls with flowers and newspapers, to grab a coffee and a pastry. The street bustled with people at that hour: one man barked orders into his phone, with another gentleman, probably his assistant, hurriedly trying to keep up with the boss's pace. A pile of files in his arms dangerously leaned toward the ground.
Poor guy.
Your polished shoes clicked on the pavement, each step dripping with determination as you hurried to the bakery. You could’ve smelled its tantalizing scents even from a distance — cinnamon, cardamom, vanilla, and chocolate intertwining in a mouth-watering mix.
"Slept in, huh?" A barista, a tall guy with soft eyes and kind of a weird hairstyle of ponytails, observed you quietly and handed your order: a hot bumble with caramel syrup and a ham-and-cheese croissant. Your stomach growled at the scent of the pastry, and you gave the guy a quick smile. If you remembered it right, his name was Choso.
"Kind of, yeah," you swiped the card and quickly grabbed your order before you would drop dead to the overwhelming delicious scents in the bakery. You almost downed the drink in a few large gulps. "Thanks and bye!"
"Have a nice day, miss!"
You sped up to hop in your bus, the one that left the station at 7:35 sharply and arrived at your work exactly at 7:57.
“Sorry,” you murmured apologetically as you bumped into one lady, who only huffed in irritation, without sparing you a single glance. You fought the urge to grimace at her.
Slowly, you made your way to a lone window seat that wasn’t usually occupied at this hour. Mentally, you had long ago declared it your own and would sigh inwardly if other passengers, obviously, not aware of your claim, sat there.
This time, luck was on your side. You quickly fished a book — something to kill time and occupy your mind, besides the usual routine you were clearly drowning in. Your grip on the book tightened: not the best time to delve into and psychoanalyze your life as you tried to lose yourself in yet another magical fantasy world…
“Oh no, my fair lady,” a mysterious knight’s voice drawled, the voice muffled by a half-opened visor. Isabelle thought her heart almost jumped from her chest right into the knight’s hands. “I am here to rescue you.”
Isabelle could almost hear playfulness sipping in the knight’s tone, and it brought a quick grin on her face. Oh, her future husband would be enthralled when the morning would carry him the news about his precious wife-to-be, who would appear to be missing…”
You scoffed softly and reached for a pencil. Faint scribbles adorned the empty margins of the book, a carefully crafted tapestry of your thoughts and emotions.
“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure, if I were Isabelle, since…”
A sudden honk pulled you back to reality. The bus suddenly jerked forward again, and a string of muttered curses from other passengers wafted to you through the irritated crowd. Someone bumped into you, causing the pencil to fall from your grip.
“Ah, shoot it,” you huffed under your breath and bent over to take it back.
And then, as you looked up, you saw it.
A sudden flash of white hair.
Your insides got cold in an instant. The surrounding world ceased to exist around you for a moment or for a small eternity; you weren’t so sure. The pencil almost snapped in half in your hard grip as a thousand thoughts rushed through your anxious mind.
“What the hell is he doing there? He shouldn’t be there— no, he is not supposed to be there, in your city! You fled there, and he had the entire Tokyo! What if he saw you? Worse, what if he saw and now wants to talk to you? Shit, shit, shit!”
Your eyes nervously darted to the exit — only to see that the white hair was already missing. You blinked. Blinked again. No, not even a sight. You slumped in relief against the seat and closed your eyes.
What was going on with you, really? Is he the only man in the world with hair colour like this? Could’ve been some cosplayer! Yeah, that must be it!
Or not?...
Deep down, you knew the right answer. You could’ve recognized the silvery tone of his strands if you were a thousand miles away from him. You ran your fingers through them countless times, memorized the way they caught the moonlight and looked like spilt silver under your gentle touch.
With a long sigh, you put the book in a bag. The phone caught your eye, and you froze at the sight of the display.
8:17.
Memories engrossed your tired mind to the point you missed three stops.
“This day couldn’t get any worse,” you thought, rushing through the maze of irritated people, totally indifferent to your inner turmoil.
Oh, how wrong was that.
***
Flowers had always brought you peace and serenity.
Ever since you were a kid, your mom’s garden welcomed you with a warm embrace, shielding you from the cold touch of reality. Nothing could hurt you there; a few scratches were a fair price for solitude and tranquillity. Sitting under sakuras, amidst the vivid blossoms of magnolias, peonies, and tulips, quietly observing the nature you were surrounded by, you had learnt to see beauty in every soft petal, dew drop on the branches, foggy morning mist, or sunrays, shyly sipping through the branches.
Or maybe you were just a lone kid with a good heart and rich fantasy, and that gave roots to your need for escapism. Who knows.
You would like to think you still carried that fragile ability to see something precious even in the most mundane things, but you knew nothing would be as breathtaking as it appeared in childhood. Adulthood had long sharpened and hardened you into someone a child you would hardly recognise.
Sometimes you wondered what she would say when you looked at her now?
Your hands were still covered in stitches, calluses bubbled on your fingers, and the dirt seemed to be permanently itched under your nails, but the excitement from your gaze had long given in to exhaustion.
When did a person lose the sparkle that once ignited their entire being? When adulthood falls so hard on your shoulders that you don't even have a chance to take a breath?
You had never thought you would be one of these gloomy people. Especially surrounded by the beauty of nature, as you wished for as a kid. But fate had other plans for you: the florist’s job found you in the middle of rediscovering yourself once again, rather than you finding it, and the rose-coloured naive dreams about designing bouquets, arrangements, and organising events quickly shattered, leaving invisible scars that later would scream of burnt-out.
Surely, amidst the usual routine, you found your own moments of enjoyment. Designing was your main passion, and seeing the fruits of your work, happy smiles and gratitudes from the customers, was worth scars, hurt knees, and sprained wrists. You were glad to bring people warmth and steadiness in the middle of the storm, which some events might look like. Shame the rest of the job was way more demanding, mentally and especially physically.
You were cauterizing stems, which actually was Nobara's work, but Utahime seemed so worked up that morning that you didn't dare to poke a dragon any more and decided to shield your friend from the boss's wrath. When Nobara sauntered inside the room, you gave her a glance, already preparing yourself for an inevitable round of investigation.
"So," she drawled with an all-knowing smile, a mischievous glint flashed in her eyes as she leaned on the table next to you. Still not touching the stems. "How was your date yesterday? Tell me everything!"
Ah. Yes. Your date.
Partially, the reason you were late to work. Not even in the inappropriate sense you sometimes wanted it to be.
Your grip on the pruning shears tightened. You tried to deflect.
"Nothing worth talking—"
"Oh, come on! I've been dying to hear everything! Spill the tea!"
Nobara was really relentless when she was in a mood, so after a couple of seconds, you decided to end your suffering as quickly as possible. Like ripping the band-aid off.
"That was fucking awful."
You could swear Nobara's nose twitched like a hound that scented the blood. The corner of your mouth lifted in amusement.
"I swear, all these date apps, blind dates, so on and so forth are not my type of thing," you murmured and sighed, looking around the room for any clue that could've helped to solve a mystery of human hearts. "No, I am serious!"
You told her everything. How you matched with a guy on a goddamn Tinder, who seemed…adequate at first sight. That you felt like something almost clicked in that unexplainable way, when you just…know.
You really hoped after him and dozens of unfruitful attempts to meet your fate spontaneously, and let Cupid’s arrows pierce you, your dating apps would result in something. However, with every swipe, weird dialogues and unambiguous hints at the end of coffee dates, your confidence that the male loneliness epidemic had been really justified only grew further. Yesterday’s attempt should’ve been the last one before locking yourself in a tower (your apartments), with only a jester (another 2000’s romcom) to keep you company. Sounded like a perfect plan.
“Everything was fine, before that jerk started asking whether I was like these females—”
“Ew,” Nobara grimaced. “Females? That’s a red flag already. Might be one of these podcast guys. They are all beyond saving.”
“I know, right? Should’ve told him to fuck off right that instant. Anyway,” you snipped a poor rose’s stem with more force than necessary and continued. “These females who like to invite poor men to the fanciest restaurants and make them pay!”
Nobara gasped, thoroughly scandalized, handing you a lighter.
“He did not!”
“Oh yes, he did. And that’s not even the worst! Then he asked when I would be ready to quit my job, because his wife and the mother of his children shouldn’t work,” deep-buried irritation from the godforsaken dinner slowly started to bloom in your chest, so you didn’t even notice you were holding the lighter near the stem longer than usual. Luckily, Nobara intervened before you almost set the flowers on fire.
“Hey-hey, gimme that,” she snatched the possible tool of destruction from your hands and quickly put the stem in a vase. You blinked in surprise and slumped on the nearby chair with a long, exhausted sigh.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she flashed you a warm smile and then added, barely audible. “Was my task, anyway. So, you were saying?”
“Yeah, right,” you dragged your hand over your face, “after we left the restaurant, the asshole offered to give me a ride.” You drawled the last word, double entendre clear in your voice, as you stared at Nobara with a telling gaze.
She, of course, understood. Slowly dragged her gaze from the flowers and stared back at you. A murderous glint flashed in her eyes. The lighter only added to her dangerous image.
You sighed once again and murmured, staring at the ceiling. “So, that was it. What’s even worse is that he seemed so nice and gallant and—,” you gestured vaguely before dropping your hand in desperation. The next words felt like shards; tears stole your voice. “I am not cut out for the relationships, clearly. Maybe something is fundamentally wrong with me, I don’t know! All this staff”, you drew a sharp exhale and angrily wiped your nose, “is not for me. I am way better alone”.
Hearing your voice, so uncharacteristically broken, Nobara kneeled in front of you. She squeezed your hands.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. Believe me. All these men are assholes that do not even deserve the strand of your hair!”
“Uhm, Nobara, flowers there—”
“Ah, fuck these flowers,” she waved dismissively. “I’ve got a bigger potential catastrophe on my hands,” you snorted at her words, and a big, bright grin broke on her face. “You are smart, pretty, kind, and just so wonderful! These guys? They can suck my—”
“Nobara!”
“Okay, okay,” Nobara rolled her eyes and leaned in closer, her grin morphing into a conspirational smile. Your eyes narrowed playfully. “Tell you what? We finish here, and I am taking you to that new mall, finally making you buy that slutty dress I’ve been talking about for days, then we crash into my flat, order whatever you want, and re-watch “Love Actually” for the hundredth time! How’s that?”
You couldn’t help but smile genuinely at Nobara’s suggestion. It was impossible to brood with her around.
“That sounds perfect.”
Your thoughts drifted to the morning once again. Something in your guts was telling you that you were right initially. Or maybe it was more of a wishful thinking, because his image would haunt your mind every failed date and every sparkle you misguessed as the beginning of something new. And yesterday was particularly shitty.
You weren’t that obsessed with your ex-situationship. So what if even after all the months you had been apart (though you doubted whether you could truly say that; you never had been together), he was the only person who had lit up your whole world? Pfft. Every girl had a story like this.
At least you hoped so. Stupid Gojo.
Despite all the things that happened between you (and did not), you couldn’t bring yourself to hate Gojo. His stupid white hair, ivory under the sunlight; a stupid grin that broke his face anytime you would say something funny, and that chuckle, Gods, that fucking chuckle of his was your biggest reward and the strongest undoing.
Then you would remember the way he ended both of you, destroying the root before your love could even blossom, and the urge to punch him would multiply drastically.
Just like now.
You were in the middle of preparing the next customer’s order and racked your brains on where to put a couple of black tulips, so they would look presentable enough. Then you struggled with the overall composition, the wrapping paper didn’t work much, you cut your ring finger and —
Stop that.
You took a deep breath. In and out. In and out.
That was it. The effect Satoru Gojo had on you.
“I definitely should get over this guy,” you murmured in the void, not addressing anyone in particular, but Nobara heard it. She turned around sharply, the large heart box with roses dangerously swaying in her hands. Her narrowed eyes seemed to pierce right through your soul, through the pregnant pauses, creeping between the endless conversations about your love life, the sadness you carried in the unsaid words.
She saw the raging storm in your weary eyes, and her glare softened immediately, lips parting to tell you something only Nobara could tell — but in the moment, the doorbell in the main hall rang obnoxiously loudly, and she hurriedly headed upstairs.
Your gaze dropped to the bouquet. The black tulips in the middle caught your attention immediately. A satisfied grin tucked in the corner of your mouth.
The flowers were pretty. Gorgeous. The fragile beauty of nature wrapped in the softest of touches. Nature’s most delicate gift. They didn’t hurt anyone. Not in the way people do, at least.
Nobara’s voice called you suddenly, pulling you back to reality. Your brows furrowed slightly: her voice sounded strangely strained. You headed up as well.
“My mother loves black tulips.”
“Really? Huh. That’s rare. Not everyone even thinks about what flowers they like.”
“Nah, she thinks about everything. And more. Like you.”
“Do you think this ribbon fits well, or should I find the lacy one? I am not quite sure.”
Your gaze flicked to Nobara, and then—
You rooted to your spot. The poor bouquet almost fell from your weakened hands, but that was the last thing that was on your mind.
Not when Gojo Satoru was staring back at you.
His eyes searched for every expression on your face, every bat of the eyelashes, every flicker of colour in your eyes, every twitch of your lips, soaking it up with the intensity that could rival the wanderer's thirst in a desert. Looking, dazing, gawking, drinking in your features. Like he wasn’t sure whether he should grab and kiss you till he got his fill or just admire from afar, like the most exquisite flower under the glass.
He stared. And stared. And stared.
And gods, you stared back.
His hair caught the sunlight, giving him an ethereal look, and you swore to God, the blue of his eyes brightened even more, though now his gaze seemed to carry more weight. You remembered them flashing with the charm and the mischief; it was still there, though you couldn’t help but notice adulthood setting into his features. Your gaze drifted over his frame, clad in a dark blue suit (probably worth your month’s rent), greedily fixing the broadness of his shoulders, the tight pull of the fabric on the chest, the little mole between his collarbones, peeking out from the unbuttoned shirt.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Why was he here?” An anxious thought beat against your ribcage with a deafening thump-thump, suddenly twice its usual size. “He wasn’t supposed to be here! And found me!”
Deep down, you knew. Of course, Gojo could. You moved to another city, not the other hemisphere.
But it was Kyoto. A fucking metropolis!
Gojo was from Kyoto.
You fixed all the details almost unconsciously, committing his features to your memory as if he were about to vanish right this second. Neither of you dared to move; silence wrapped around you like a thick blanket, trapping you in its suffocating confines.
Nobara’s gaze flicked between Gojo and you, but luckily, she didn’t ask anything. Must’ve been obvious.
“You go back. I’ll handle it,” she whispered to you, and the strange spell cast on your room was dispelled. You gave her a quick, unsure grin.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”
Nobara opened her mouth to protest, but your pleading look silenced her. With the last suspicious look at Gojo, she disappeared into another room.
You stood behind the register, trying to look as professional as ever. Trembling in your hands and the waver in your voice were a dead giveaway, though. Gojo’s eyes briefly flickered to your frame. His eyes softened almost imperceptibly.
“So, long time no see, Gojo. How’s that been?”
Gojo grimaced slightly but didn’t comment on you using his government name. Instead, he just stepped closer to the register, as if unsure whether he could approach you.
That startled you. Gojo was never about hesitance in any way.
“It’s been…okay,” he answered vaguely, and you couldn’t help but notice his timbre deepened. Tone smoothened, became richer. The Kyoto accent was back. You remembered how he desperately tried to sound more like a Tokyo guy.
Stop.
What on Earth were you thinking?
Focus.
“We’ve decided to reopen the Kyoto branch, and Gramps wanted to make me in charge of it.” You felt his gaze on you, and its intensity sent shivers down your spine. You nervously tried to issue him a receipt, but the terminal seemed to stop working at the most inconvenient moment ever. Heat slowly crept your cheeks.
"... and I've got a lot of things to look through and deal with a bunch of old fossils," Gojo continued, grimacing at the mention of old men who were probably a part of the shareholders' board. You noticed he told about himself rather vaguely, almost indifferently, as his own life couldn't feel less interesting.
You dreaded Gojo's next question. Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask—
"And how have you been?"
A strange kind of desperation laced Gojo's voice. As if he knew he had no right to ask that, but just could not help it. His Adam's apple bobbed with effort, and if you paid more attention, you would've noticed the flex of his fingers.
You forced a strained smile, your heart did a stupid little flip.
"I...am doing alright," you gestured vaguely around the shop as if it could've answered his question. However, Gojo's gaze was glued to you, searching, observing, examining the fatigue that was deeply etched into your features, the light dust of pink on your cheeks, a nervous smile hiding at the corner of your lips, and a small cut on your chin. You were even more beautiful than he remembered. Was it ever possible?
"It's for your mom, right?" you blurted out before even thinking, earning a surprised look from Gojo. Your eyes widened; probably, he thought you were a stalker or just a lunatic for asking that.
Nervously, you explained, fingers fumbling with the ribbon. "I remember you told your mom liked black tulips." Gods, why did you ask that? Is there really a kind of question for your ex-situationship at your first meeting?
Your heart beat anxious staccato against your chest. You prayed the ground would swallow you whole as Gojo remained silent.
Slowly, his initial shock and confusion melted into an undeniable affection, and he smiled, a soft, quiet smile that reached his eyes, crinkling at the corners.
You released a breath you didn't know you were holding.
"Yeah. She still does. That's for her. I...," Gojo's smile faltered a little, "she flew from Tokyo for some business, and I am gonna meet her. I asked my assistant to pick a flower shop close to it. With good reviews, of course,” his gaze quickly swept the surroundings, landing on various arrangements, bouquets and vases. Strange tightness coloured his tone, and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.
"Ah. I see."
"Yeah."
So, he didn't stalk you. Good to hear.
A loose strand of hair fell over your forehead, and you put it back with an annoyed sigh. Gojo's gaze followed it with a tender ache; you thought you imagined it.
Gojo's lips parted slightly, and then he abruptly closed his mouth again. A little frown formed between his brows.
"Listen, I know it's not the right moment, but I would like —"
You swallowed anxiously, but in that second, his phone rang. Whoever that was, you were beyond grateful for a little respite after everything that had just happened.
Gojo Satoru.
Your something. Your almost everything. Your childhood wish for a friend. Your teenage longing for love. Your yearning to be seen.
Your invisible string draped over months and cities. Forever snapped.
Or?
"Ijichi, I told you already," Gojo's voice came out way too harsher than it was with you; a mask slipping back on his face, "I'm busy with something right now."
Annoyance flushed in his eyes as he listened to a hasty voice on the other side of the phone. He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.
"Uh-huh. I got it. Be in five minutes."
The anxious voice, Ijichi's, as you presumed, mumbled something back, but Gojo didn’t pay attention.
Silence wrapped around you once again, unsure and hesitant. You took a deep breath, on the verge of blurting something about maintenance or a sudden supply of birthday cards, or anything, before Gojo's voice cut through the mess that your head was, softer than you ever expected.
"It was nice seeing you."
You rehearsed words suddenly seemed meaningless. A look of surprise crossed your face at his words, and before you could articulate your confusion in somehow coherent words, Gojo already left with a curt nod. The bell jingled obnoxiously loud, and you slowly took a deep breath.
Gojo's cologne was still lingering in the air, enveloping you in his scent.
Lost and confused, you slumped in the nearest chair behind the register, brain short-circuiting on what had just happened. Something you had never dared to think about in your dreams. Gojo was tucked in the deepest corner of your heart; you rarely allowed yourself to truly reminisce about what you were and never became.
And you couldn't shake the feeling he wanted to ask you something before the call.
Or were you just making things up? Wishful thinking?
***
The day when you met Gojo was as clear as ever in your mind. No. When Gojo met you. Really met.
You had seen Satoru Gojo all the time at the campus: his frosty white hair impossible to miss, laugh booming loudly in the university halls, enough for people to turn their heads, all sharp grins and snarky remarks — confidence walked hand in hand with him as he basked in the attention. He moved like a person who had never forced himself to be small. To fit into some box. People orbited around him, inevitably driven closer by his overwhelming presence: planets pulled closer by the gravity of the Sun.
You, on the other hand, were one of the satellites, surfing through the vast expanse of university life.
Naturally, your paths with Gojo didn't cross very often: sure, he was in your periphery all the time, effortlessly catching your attention with his jokes and... everything; you shared a couple of classes and had a bit of awkward exchanges in the library over behavioural theory of management. You weren't even surprised: for all Gojo's lack of discipline in the classes, he really had a sharp mind.
Sometimes he gave you a bright grin in greeting, to which you answered with a short nod, putting on an air of confidence, despite the frantic beat of your heart and the speed at which your palms got sweaty.
So, as it was etched in the laws of the universe, you quietly observed Gojo from afar, not daring to collide with his orbit more than needed. Burning in the Sun's light would bring long-lasting scars.
Oh, how right you were.
This shouldn't have happened. He should've just walked past you like many others on that rainy day, when you were standing right next to your stall, teeth chattering as the coldness embraced you in its harsh hands. Your gaze quickly swept the surroundings — the majority of students had already left their standings. No wonder, with the weather like that, who would've been foolish enough to stay at the volunteer fair?
You were. Though you preferred to think of yourself as responsible and kind.
A deep chuckle pierced through the monotonous cacophony of the rain, and inevitably, your gaze landed on Gojo. He was hanging out at his friend's stall, helping to put things in the boxes. Geto, if you remembered it correctly. Surprisingly, he was also helping one of the city's animal shelters. You tried not to dwell on his charity box, which showed way more promise than yours.
You were so focused on not freezing to death at that point that you didn't notice Gojo walking to your stall. The bag with his volleyball (because of course, Gojo was ridiculously good at everything) uniform hit his leg with every step.
He stood right in front of it, a curious grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked ridiculously handsome, even with a silly umbrella.
Gojo kept examining the various brochures about the shelter, pictures of cats and dogs, seeking their homes. His gaze softened imperceptibly.
Meanwhile, your world just tilted off its axis.
"Hi," you gave Gojo a nervous smile.
He looked up immediately and hummed in acknowledgement. "Hi."
An awkward silence fell upon you. Your brain short-circuited as you anxiously tried to scramble for the right words, but they just flew out of your mind right then. Nothing. Blank screen. Error.
Gojo didn't seem to notice your mental struggles, still glued to the stall.
Just when you were about to finally introduce him to the shelter you had been volunteering for, he suddenly reached for the wallet and threw bills in the charity box. A lot, one would say.
You blinked. Blinked again. Maybe you were hallucinating from standing all day in the cold.
"What the hell are you doing?" You blurted out, and deep crimson painted your cheeks in embarrassment.
What the hell were you doing?
Who on Earth would say something like that to a person, willingly donating to your stall?
You hoped he wasn’t very petty.
Instead, his white brows knitted in confusion. He took a step back to examine the box before dragging his gaze, the brightest of blues, to you.
"Donating, I guess?"
"Yeah, no shit," you scoffed. Backing wasn't an option by this time. "That's like...a lot."
A look of realisation crossed Gojo's face, before a cracking bright grin, as if the Sun finally peeked through the heavy clouds. Suddenly, the cold didn't bother you as much as before.
"Ah, it's nothing. Really," he drawled lazily and nodded at the photos again. "Besides, it's only for the good."
He was kind of insane, you thought. But hey, who would've said no to the charity money? Especially if you did less than expected at this fair.
"Then... thank you," you breathed out in relief, but immediately grimaced at how empty and basic it sounded. Quickly, you added. "Really, thank you! It would do a lot for the shelter, and —"
You reached for a simple box, adorned with a colourful ribbon, resting among others, to gift him. Nothing much, but you spent your whole evening preparing them.
"There's a postcard, a cap and a mug!" You shrugged casually, fingers toying with the ribbon, and handed the box to Gojo. "A token of appreciation, if you wish".
He examined the box with a sharp look, and for the moment, you felt really silly. His long fingers curled around the box, brushing briefly against yours — a warm touch, despite the rain, sending sparks of electricity up your arm.
Did Gojo notice that too?
He almost left, and you almost could breathe in relative calm, when something must've popped into his mind, and he abruptly stopped in his tracks.
"Wait...are you this girl from the management class? The one with the old Gakuganji? Sitting on the left side, third row?" His eyes briefly scanned your face. You felt like a butterfly under his piercing gaze. "We talked about Mayo's behaviour theory in the library, remember?"
Remember. Did you remember.
Did you remember him.
The carefully constructed unreachable image of Gojo in your head seemed to have its first cracks. You had never thought he would ask if anyone remembered him. You had never thought he would remember your place at the lecture. The Sun didn’t simply bother to pay attention to the satellites.
Gojo might’ve interpreted your stunned silence in a completely different way.
“I mean, your hair is…different. And the hood,” he gestured vaguely, and you quickly put the lone strand behind your ear.
“Yeah, uhm, that’s…that’s me.”
Gojo didn’t answer this, studying your face with intensity that might’ve pierced through your entire being. As if he were searching for an answer to a particularly tricky question only you could give him.
Or maybe it was just an effect of his eyes — a shade that certainly shouldn’t exist in the world, putting all the world’s blues to shame. He was still stuck around your stall, as if glued. As if he didn’t want to leave.
You didn’t even dare to think about it.
“Why are you alone? Aren’t the stalls supposed to have two volunteers? Suguru told me.”
You sighed, reminiscing about how Nobara almost coughed her lungs out today, but her stubborn ass somehow insisted on coming with you. Eventually, it ended with you locking her up in the dorm room.
“They are. I should’ve been there with my friend. She fell ill.”
A mischievous glint flashed in Gojo’s eyes as he arched his brow. “Really fell?”
“Really, really. Nobara’s not like that.” You scoffed at his implications and crossed your hands on your chest.
Gojo’s face sobered. “Nobara? Kugisaki? The lead cheerleader?”
You nodded.
He nodded back. “Yeah, she’s not.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion. What the hell was going on there? Why did he, Gojo Satoru, out of all people, stay by your lonely stall and ask you weird questions?
Creepy.
Gojo’s gaze flicked to the sky, just as the deafening sound of thunder boomed out of a sudden, then back to your face. The rainy pit-patter against the stall’s shade intensified, pulling you out of the strange daze to hastily pack the stuff back. The framed pictures landed in the box with awkward thuds as you threw them in the box. How you were going to take all of the stuff back to the dorm remained a full mystery.
You picked two of them with a grunt, and the hair fell on your forehead, obscuring the view. The box on the top dangerously slid down, earning a string of curses and a couple of desperate groans from you, when a pair of strong hands suddenly took them from your weakened hands. The rain didn’t help the situation at all.
You almost slipped, losing balance, but quickly stabilized yourself, gripping the same very pair of hands. There was no objection. From the person, obviously.
Gojo’s gaze pinned you to the ground when you looked up. His messy white fringe fell on his forehead (you felt a strange itch in your fingers to brush it away), and some strands, wet from the rain, stuck to his forehead. The soft brightness of his eyes was gone, replaced with something darker and more intense, you weren’t sure you could name it. You just stared back and wondered if the lost people in the oceans saw that exact shade of blue before drowning in their unforgiving waves.
You never saw Gojo that close, obviously. You didn’t know his lashes were so long and soft, fluttering with every breath he took; his nose was crooked just a fraction, and pale freckles dusted his cheeks.
You swallowed, not daring to step back, and just froze like a deer in the headlights.
Maybe that was the way goddesses crafted the invisible strings. A whim, a caprice of fate, looking down at the people and deciding to grant their hearts the greatest wishes, just to weave them forever into the endless canvas of the universe.
Little did you know that it was he who got rooted to the very spot. Froze. Stilled. Whatever. Gojo’s entire universe had just fallen off the axis and flew towards hell. The black hole, one might say. With such clarity that he was, honestly, surprised that no one saw it.
That was the day when he first saw you. Really saw. The lone girl near the animal shelter’s stall, who observed people dismissively walking past her with an understanding and forgiving look. Whose entire face lit up when she talked about the rescued dogs and cats, to the people who would actually come up to the stall. The kind smile that transformed her face into a painting of the finest craft as she gifted the gift boxes. Who stubbornly chose to stay at the fair in the rain and cold. All alone, because her friend got sick. And, naturally, he walked to you, drawn like a moth to the flame.
A shot of electricity shook through Gojo’s body. The ground dropped away from his feet. The biggest fuckass tsunami hit him and filled his lungs with you, you, you.
That was scary. That was dangerous. You were dangerous.
The sudden clap of thunder above pulled you out of this strange haze. You stepped back; Gojo blinked — a storm in his eyes gave way to a warm sea breeze.
“They are heavy. I’ll walk you to the dorm.”
Your cheeks heated up, and you quickly babbled.
“There’s no need, really. I am okay—”
You almost flinched at the particularly deafening sound of the thunder and threw your hands up, answering with a weak grin.
“Seems like I do not have much of a choice.”
Gojo only chuckled.
His shoulder lightly brushed against yours the whole time to the dorm, sending light sparks up your arm even through the hoodie. You noticed how he subconsciously fell into step with you. Gojo gave you his umbrella, with some Digimon on it, and at first, you tried to shield him from the raindrops as well, but Gojo was so tall that your arm quickly hurt.
None of you said anything, besides light humming from Gojo’s side, and it felt strangely…nice. You expected desperately scrapping for words to fill the uncomfortable silence between you, but there was no need. Maybe you still existed in that small babble, where time stopped and held you in its tight embrace.
“So, that’s me,” you nodded at the doors and made a grab for the boxes.
Gojo frowned. “They are heavy. Come on, let’s get inside.”
Nobara certainly would ask you questions about how Gojo ended up in their room. You realized that you didn’t want to share this strange moment of...whatever it was with Gojo, with anyone else yet. Besides, she was still sick.
You forced a smile. “Thank you a lot, but I am fine. Really. And Nobara’s sick, so…”
Gojo blinked in confusion, but seeing you weren’t going to step back, nodded. He handed you the boxes back, which made you almost double over under their weight.
“See you at the lectures,” he waved to you, a charming grin curled up on his lips, and you found yourself smiling back. For a couple of moments, you watched his tall figure retreating, mulling over whether you should ask Gojo what the hell was going on, thank him properly or just say anything. You were so nervous, you could barely hear your own thoughts with the blood roaring in your ears.
Your gaze quickly dropped to the box, the shelter’s logo immediately caught your eye, and the idea popped into your mind so fast your anxious mind had hardly registered it.
“Hey, Gojo!”
He stepped in his tracks and turned right that instant at the sound of your voice. Like he had been subconsciously wishing for it. His eyes seemed so bright, burning you with their electric blue.
God. What had you done? What were you going to do now? Your suggestion seemed so utterly stupid. Maybe Gojo would get tired of your hesitance and walk away?
“Yes?”
Oh, fuck. He was still standing there, head tilted in curiosity. You swallowed. There was no backing down now. Your grip on the boxes tightened.
“Come to the animal shelter this weekend,” you blurted out. His eyes widened slightly, but you continued. “Your donation was the biggest. There’s a prize for it!”
For a long, painful second, you were sure he would come up with some polite excuse to decline it. To your biggest surprise, a big grin broke on his face.
“I’ll be there. See you.”
You watched Gojo walking away, still not quite believing what had just happened.
The days leading up to the weekend were filled with nervous excitement. Even when Gojo came for your number to text you about it, anxiety was still buzzing deep in your bones.
Turned out there was no reason for it.
He actually showed up. That time. And many others.
You met at the shelter countless times — Gojo was more than welcome there. Your awkward, occasional conversations in the library turned into full study sessions, when both of you were glad to just share a bit of space. You learnt each other’s coffee orders by heart, favourite books, movies, shared favourite quotes, and had endless conversations under the starry sky about everything and nothing all at once. He would usually point at the bunch of stars and come up with the most ridiculous constellations and histories about them. You couldn’t remember a single moment when your cheeks didn’t hurt from smiling with him, a warm feeling blossomed in your chest every time his lips curved into a soft, gentle grin, the one you had already learnt was reserved only for you. All your camera film was filled with him, but you never complained.
You had never felt anything like that before; your heart was filled to the top with unspent, unrestrained love, so, naturally, it overflowed and flooded everything.
Maybe that was it. Maybe you loved Gojo so fiercely and desperately that it scared him. You never questioned or tried to define your relationship with him — you both were so happy that you thought that taste of honey would linger on your lips forever, living in the warm, miraculous daze forever. For Gojo, whose entire life was carefully built around expectations — the grades always had to be perfect, his future predetermined, written up to the smallest detail the moment he was born, the weight of his family's prestige settling heavily on his shoulders — being with you was a breath of fresh air. He didn’t have to put on any front: a star student, a team captain, the Gojo heir…he was just Satoru with you. And maybe he got a little bit too used to the fact that you simply took everything he offered to you, without asking for more. Without demanding. Without expecting. And when his heart started to jump every time he saw you, his chest tightened with a loving, tender ache at the sight of your smile and all his thoughts gravitated to you wherever he was, Gojo knew he was gone. Completely.
He didn’t know how to love someone that much. Selflessly, unconditionally, handing his heart on his palm. The painful vulnerability that came with your love stripped him bare, to the bone, exposed the deepest corners of his heart and soul — something he didn’t even dare to look at himself. And that scared him. No amount of hiding his horror of being loved behind the usual mask of a fool could hide it. So he did the best he could for both of you. At least, that was what he thought.
Left you.
He sincerely thought that was him protecting you from the inevitable break-up. He didn’t know how to love. He didn’t know how to be loved.
Turned out Gojo just protected himself.
Slowly, your dates shortened, turning into quick meetings and then vanished completely with his weak excuses. Calls postponed, messages left on delivered. He gradually slipped away from your life, leaving a hole so big you didn’t know whether it was even possible to fill with something, someone else who wasn’t him. He ripped your heart and took it with him.
What was even worse was that despite everything, you couldn’t even bring yourself to hate him. Despite taking away your air with him. You cried yourself to sleep on countless nights, threw yourself into studies, volunteering, working, and everything that could even remotely help you to find closure. You were so lucky to have Nobara by your side — wordlessly, she picked up the shards of your shattered heart and carefully glued them together.
Over time, you grew tired of seeing your own sad, tear-filled gaze in the mirror, the sorrow in the bags under your eyes, hollow cheeks — solitude etched into your soul. You didn’t deserve it. If he weren’t the one, then be it. You couldn’t let a man define all your future.
With strange calmness and melancholy, you blocked him. Moved to another city. Got to work in a flower shop, something that you discussed with Gojo a lot of times. Took up hobbies. Squeezed yourself into bustling, busy Kyoto life as much as you could. Met other people, despite how much you wanted to hide in your shell.
Got over Gojo. At least, you thought you did, safe for times when your mind naturally went to reminisce about him after failed dates; for the fingerprints of him were all over the pages of your life.
Only for everything to return after meeting him today.
***
Saying that Gojo didn’t cross your mind the next days would be a lie.
You wish you were a liar.
Why did he happen to visit your flower shop? Was it really random?
And more importantly: would he visit again?
The one part of you, young, naive and endlessly romantic, built sandcastles and told you that she wanted it to happen. The other, sharpened by adulthood and the cruelty of the world, destroyed them without batting an eye and told you not to be foolish. The second voice sounded suspiciously like Nobara’s.
You were too scared to trust the girl with the dreams way bigger than her, living in a fairytale, where princes would always find their way to princesses, fight all the dragons and have their happily-ever-afters.
You couldn’t afford to think about it. Closing off, guarding your heart like Cerberus wasn’t an option either, so you did what any reasonable, mature grown-up would do: bury yourself in work.
The large shipment of items, flowers and vases among them, had just been delivered to the shop, before one of your most frequent customers’ jubilee, so you were in dire need of all hands available. As a cruel joke of fate, Nobara was on the other side of the city, and Utahime argued with the suppliers, who messed up an important order again; her angry voice cut through the relative serenity and silence in the shop. Honestly, totally understandable.
Your back hurt from standing for God knew how long, a band-aid on your left hand had already asked for mercy, and the strain in your neck screamed for relief. You tried not to pay attention to the tightness in your shoulders; the exhaustion gave you a much-needed escape from your own mind.
The bell chimed in greeting; your head snapped up to greet a client, only to be met with a familiar flash of snowy hair.
Your heart skipped a beat, and light pink dusted your cheeks.
The little girl sheepishly peeked out of the window in her sandcastle.
“Didn’t expect you to see you here, yet so soon,” you mumbled in greeting, hastily wiping your hands off the apron and, unconsciously, clasping them behind your back. For some reason, you didn’t want Gojo to have a look at your scratches. Not when he was dressed to kill. Probably you.
You dragged your gaze from his figure and stood behind the register. The familiar position gave much-needed strength to deal with the headache Gojo Satoru was. Like you were the one in control.
You didn’t quite recognize your voice, all sharp and business-like, when you asked him.
“How can I help you?”
Gojo didn’t answer you straight away. His gaze swept the surroundings — scattered boxes, vases waiting to be filled, a bunch of balloons — until it landed on you. Something tender and endlessly fragile flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked it.
“I am here to talk to you and your boss, Miss Iori. I’ve been told I have to wait a bit —”
“...and if you are gonna sell me ranunculi instead of peonies once again, when I specifically asked for the fucking peonies,” you both turned your heads towards Utahime’s office, her voice gradually rising in pitch as she spoke. You swallowed. “I am gonna stick them all up in your ass and —”
You quickly exchanged glances with Gojo. His lips curled into a full-blown grin, the amusement dancing on his face, so unrestrained that you forgot what all the fuss about was.
“She’s a little busy now,” you chuckled in return.
“I see,” Gojo finally turned to you, with the same smile he once stole your heart, and leaned on the register, his long fingers lazily drumming against the surface.
“Actually, it’s even better. I want to talk to you first,” Gojo’s voice, soothing around the edges, dipped to that tone you were all familiar with. Deep and sweet, thick as honey, dying on your tongue in dizzying aftertaste.
“You see, we’re going to have an event soon, and among everything we need florists, obviously.” He flashed you a quick smile, but seeing confusion written all over your face, quickly schooled himself. Gojo glanced around the shop once again: the holiday postcards seemed to pique his interest way more than your reaction, then his gaze drifted to Utahime’s office once again, and finally, he dared to look at your face again.
“And?”
“I want you to be the main designer of the event.”
Gojo’s words didn’t catch you completely off guard. Deep down, you wanted that day not to be a strange accident. Longed to see him again. Needed to allow yourself a moment of foolishness.
A beat of silence passed between you, charged with the heaviness of unspoken words and feelings, deep buried inside to a point you doubt whether you both had even happened. Otherwise, why didn’t you ask him straight away to find someone else? Go from your sight and never return?
Why didn’t you have the strength to resist his gravity? Was it even possible? To deny the Sun its power, when the burns still echoed in your heart with raging ache?
Gojo’s eyes were glued to your face, desperately seeking any clue his expression might hand him. His voice dropped to a desperate whisper.
“I am not going to force you into anything. If you don’t want to deal with this,” the sudden wavering crept into his voice; a grimace briefly crossed his face, “dealing with me, I understand that. But I want to ask you not to do it. You’ll have all the creative freedom you want, all the communication will be handled by my assistant, and we won’t even meet, unless you want it. I promise. Just…just don’t reject the offer because of me. Please.”
Your gaze narrowed, steel slipping into it. As much as the sapphires of his eyes urged you to surrender, to capitulate, to yield, your dignity screamed in objection.
“Why are you so adamant about this? Why do you want me to do this?”
His lips curled into a small knowing smile, bitter around the edges. His finger lightly tapped on the bunch of receipts, eyes drifting to the forgotten band-aid on your hand. The tightness in your shoulders didn’t go unnoticed either.
“I think you need it. To feel in your place once again.”
How.
How did he manage to dig into your chest and rip your heart, revealing all the quiet battles you had been fighting? After all those years? Making you seen, even now?
But why did he think he still had a chance to tear you apart? To open apart old scars, the ones you were slowly stitching together?
The sudden anger bloomed bright in your chest, dipping all your words in venom.
“You promised me a lot of things, Gojo. I don’t quite remember you keeping them.”
A sparkle of icy fury flashed in Gojo’s eyes, and his jaw tightened. You didn’t allow yourself to flinch as he stared right into your eyes — the swords clashing in a deadly dance.
You dug your nails into your palm hard enough to leave crescents.
“Come on, say something. Give me a reason to hate you.”
The anger in his eyes slowly melted into an ache until guilt flooded the blue of them. Gojo stepped back with a sigh. His fingertips twitched as if he wanted to reach you, but then stopped halfway.
“I know I had hurt you. And believe me, this is not how I imagined us having a conversation like this,” Gojo’s gaze caressed your features, memorizing them, as if it would be his last chance to see you at all. Miraculously, you hold yourself from giving in to the apology and regret that laced his voice. You weren’t ready to face everything once again. Your heart was still bleeding for him. “If you want to talk about it — “
A subtle shake. “I do not.”
“Okay. Okay. I understand. Then just think about what I said. Please.”
Your gaze dropped. You wanted to hate him. You wanted to look right into his face and say “fuck you”, among many other things you were desperate to cry out. To scream, to push, to take him apart like he once did to you.
But you couldn’t.
You didn’t notice Gojo left the shop until the annoying doorbell chirped right through the haze of your mind.
Exhausted, you dragged your hand over your face and slumped into the nearby chair, deep in thought.
***
Utahime didn’t urge you to anything, and while you were grateful for that, the answer she hoped for was visible in the tight set of her shoulders as she looked through the bills, the tired sigh that would escape her every time she dealt with the suppliers, not to mention the rude customers. The jubilee was the last big event before the usual dry period.
Your inner scales gradually tipped towards Gojo’s offer more and more, with every strain in your neck, headache pounding with deafening force at your temples and endless scratches on your palms.
One evening, with you and Nobara crashing on your couch, you finally felt the scales tipped in Gojo’s favour. As the days blurred into a limitless working routine, where the only light was his words, whispering in the back of your exhausted mind with more and more annoying insistence, you found yourself eventually thinking about his offer more and more.
“So, you gonna text him or what?” Nobara mused, swirling the wine in her glass, sitting with her legs tucked. The Friday evening downed at you with a startling surprise.
You mindlessly twirled a business card that Gojo left for you at the register the day he visited the shop. Strangely, it completely slipped out of your mind. A quick brush of fingers against the plastic — an elegantly written GOJO SATORU caught the light — until it hit the coffee table. Nobara reached for it to examine.
“Whoa, as cocky as ever.”
“Well, he’s the CEO or whoever,” you murmured dismissevely and took a gulp from your own glass. The liquid bloomed bitterly at the tip of your tongue, and you put it away with a sigh.
Even wine didn’t help. You slowly tilted your head back until it hit the back of the couch.
“Okay, let’s look at this from the other side,” Nobara discarded the card somewhere and sat cross-legged. You cracked one eye open, and the sight of her business-like expression almost made a groan slip your lips. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
When Nobara was in a mood, nothing in the world could stop her. You slowly straightened, but her next words made you choke on your own breath.
“It’s not like he’s gonna confess that he was a massive jerk and ask for your hand in marriage.”
You spluttered, heat rising your cheeks. “Nobara!”
The small decorative throw pillow landed on her face with the precision of a sniper. She huffed and rolled her eyes.
“Just saying. Not like that’s ever happening.”
A silence fell upon both of you, while you chewed on your bottom lip, musing over Gojo’s last words, which still lingered in your heart with a dull ache.
Nobara narrowed her eyes and cocked her brow in a silent question. You swallowed and gave in with a sigh.
“He tried to talk to me that day,” you paused, choosing the next words, fully aware of Nobara’s glaring daggers in you. “Just admitted he hurt me, but I wasn’t ready for this whole conversation. Like, at all. You know what I mean, right?”
You slowly dragged your gaze to her, only to meet her softened gaze, full of sympathy. Wordlessly, she opened her arms, and you fell into her embrace. A quiet sniffle escaped you as you buried your face in her hoodie. Still without saying anything, Nobara brushed a lone hair strand behind your ear.
She indeed knew what you meant.
When she held you in her arms, after Gojo ghosted you, brushed off like you never ever happened in his life. When she was by your side without even asking, dragging you back to the world, where Gojo was no longer a part of you. When she helped you to stand on your own once again.
Nobara knew. You knew. Creeping between the cracks of things you never said.
“I don’t know what to do.” Your voice got muffled by the fabric, but your best friend heard you all good. She patted your head with a soft, melancholic smile and murmured.
“I think you do, sweetheart.”
You went still in her arms, before mumbling something affirmative, and pulled back. Your fingers nervously trembled as you typed Gojo’s number.
“I won’t let him get me this time.”
Nobara watched you with a serious face, chin resting in her palm, elbow digging into the plush of the throw pillows. God, she hoped you were right. Not like her, or you would survive another heartbreak by Gojo Satoru. This time, it might come crushing even more.
She moved closer, your thighs brushing against each other’s, as she peeked at your screen. Her eyes briefly scanned the text before giving an approving nod.
You exhaled sharply before anxiously hitting the send button.
The three dots appeared in your chat alarmingly fast. Like Gojo had been chained to his phone, waiting for your text. You slowly exchanged glances with Nobara.
“He’s typing something.”
“Thanks, Sherlock.”
You threw her an annoyed glance. “Shut it.”
Not even a minute had passed since your own message when the phone dinged with a notification from Gojo.
Gojo
22:54
Hi. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to text at all. Of course, my offer is still up and will be. Told you it’s yours. We can meet on Monday to discuss the details, if you’re free.
“Oh, he’s so sweet, it’s disgusting,” Nobara fake gagged and reached for her long forgotten wine. You didn’t dignify it with a response.
You
22:56
yeah, monday works for me. what about 2 p.m.?
Gojo
22:56
Totally fine. See you then.
You watched three dots appearing and disappearing in the chat, and your grip on the phone tightened with each passing second.
Gojo
22:58
Good night.
Your heart did a stupid flip, totally not needed and surely out of place. You shouldn’t have this reaction to Gojo Satoru. Shouldn’t!
With a sigh, you blocked the phone and stared up at the ceiling, mulling over what Monday would bring to you.
***
The clock in the Gojo’s reception barely hit 2 p.m., when his secretary, a tall blonde woman with a polite smile, invited you into his office. Honestly, you regretted not asking to meet you at least at a neutral territory the moment you stepped into the cold, pristine walls of the Six Eyes Corp. The ride in the elevator felt endless, your anxiety rising with each passing second, and the sight of an entire horde of managers and support staff running around didn’t help.
Corporation shmorporation.
Wait. Would you become another cog in this soulless capitalism machine the moment you agree to Gojo’s offer?
You didn’t have time to think through it properly, opening the door to his office.
It was bigger than the reception, but not as enormous as you imagined. The first thing that caught your eye was the panoramic windows, with the entire Kyoto spread before your eyes. The walls were adorned with beautiful paintings: you squinted your eyes to examine them, which probably belonged to the brush of some niche Japanese artist. His workplace was surprisingly neat, especially given the way you remembered Gojo, when you both were…were. The laptop, a bunch of papers to be signed, pens in a holder, and…wait for a damn minute.
A mug. A simple mug just near a stapler. Slightly cracked, the logo rubbed off, but the image of a winking cat was still visible.
Blood pounded in your ears, while you tried to get a grip on your anxious thoughts. You took a tentative step closer to observe it better, but there was no point in it. It really was the same mug you gifted him at that fair. A prize for the biggest donation. His donation. Gojo kept it in his room, and you drank from the mug more times than you could count. He would often joke that it was his favourite trophy.
And he kept it. On his table, in his office, where he ruled the world that this corporation was. Why?
Why? Did he think of you? Did he recall that fair? The shelter?
Ironically, Gojo didn’t notice you. His back was facing you as he talked to someone over the phone, looking at the city beneath his feet. You allowed yourself a moment of shameless gawking at his back in the crisp white of a button-up. His voice was clipped, words short, and exhaustion laced his words. You felt bad for intruding this place for a moment, especially when his shoulders dropped, as he ran fingers through the hair: the clear white of it catching the light in a way that stole your breath. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, exposing the map of the veins on his forearms, muscles slightly flexing with every move. You swallowed and quickly looked away.
He finally acknowledged you with a slight tilt of his head and dismissed the call with a quick “Not now. Busy,” gesturing for you to take a chair.
You carefully sat, fingers fumbling with the strap of a bag to get your notebook, as Gojo slumped in his chair, which screamed The Big Boss™. He hooked his thumb in the tie with irritation to loosen it, and your gaze briefly flicked there. You smiled sympathetically.
“Rough day?”
“A bit.”
Your grip on the notebook tightened. “We can reschedule, I don’t mind.”
Gojo’s white brows knitted together in confusion, and he immediately straightened up. “No, why would we? I am peachy.”
Your shoulders dropped in a shrug. “Okay.”
“Wanna some coffee or tea? I hope Mei Mei offered you something.”
“Ah, yeah, I’ve just had coffee. Thanks.” Yes. Coffee was a totally plausible excuse for your fidgeting.
“I see.”
Inevitably, you kept sneaking glances at Gojo, pulled closer by the gravity. He twirled the pan between his long, pale fingers, checking something on the laptop, his eyes briefly scanning the screen. Then suddenly he looked up, catching you red-handed just mid-gawking. You briefly dropped your gaze back to the notebook, while his lips curled into a little smug grin. You cleared your throat, the business-like mask slipping on your face.
“So, I’ll need to know what exactly the kind of event it is going to be, a venue, and a budget at first. If you have something specific in mind for the design, I’ll also be glad to hear.”
Gojo’s grin softened as he listened to your questions, head tilted, a dreamy gaze caressing your features. You looked so charming, sitting all serious in his office.
Only when you cocked your brow in an attempt to hurry him did he realize he was shamelessly staring at you all this time. Well done, Gojo. Very professional. He quickly typed something on the laptop just to avoid your gaze.
“It’s gonna be an annual charity event for our foundation. They used to be hosted in the Tokyo branch, but this year the board decided to hold it there, in Kyoto.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you ran a foundation”.
A smile broke on Gojo’s face, and he hummed. “Well, a lot of things changed since —” he abruptly cut them off, probably having realized he sounded kind of insensitive. You hold your breath, “since I became the CEO.”
You breathed out and marked something off in your list.
“I see. That’s…that’s really good. I am glad things are taking on a better turn.”
“Me too.”
Gods, that was so awkward. This really should’ve been a call. Gojo, however, either didn’t notice this strange atmosphere or simply decided to ignore it. He examined you with his bright blue gaze, head tilted to the side. A curious smile played on his lips, and you hated that he was effortlessly charming even now. Always had been. You pressed a pen to your lips. His gaze flicked there, as if hypnotized.
“What about the venue?”
“The hotel next to the main building. We have a partnership with this chain, so it’s kinda a mutual offer. You should’ve seen it on the way here.”
Oh yes, you did. The said building screamed luxury, not the grotesque hyperbolized one, but something way quieter. The kind that clearly told you would’ve been odd there.
Okay, you thought. You would be working there, not catching glimpses of visitors and the staff.
Another mark in the notebook.
“Budget?”
Gojo waved his hand in dismissal. “Unlimited. The floor is yours.”
You arched your brow, humming. You didn’t have a lot of luck in encountering your exes, who wanted you to work for them with an unlimited budget. “What if I asked for, I don’t know, Juliet Roses?”
He hummed in return, fingers drumming against the wood of the table. Then leaned slightly in, amusement lacing his tone as he drawled.
“I don’t understand much about that. But sure, whatever you want.”
You pressed your lips into a thin line, earning a deep chuckle from Gojo. Teasing the guy who had more money than you would ever be able to make wasn’t as funny as you thought.
After this, you discussed the setting, a couple of specific ideas you already had outlined and some technical details. Gojo tried to crack some jokes, but you weren’t as enthusiastic about them as he was, so he quickly put on a business guy mask on. At the end of the meeting, your mind buzzed quietly with all the information, but a familiar feeling of excitement flooded you: hours of brainstorming, crafting, and creating waited for you. A big heartfelt smile broke on your face as you packed your things back into the bag.
Gojo offered to walk you back to the elevator, and you didn’t find any excuse to refuse him. The silence stretched between you, not unnecessarily heavy, but you wouldn’t call it comfortable. Your gaze swept the surroundings, landing on a couple of managers, who were stealing sneaky glances at both of you and whispering something to each other with sharp smirks.
Ugh. Like you were back in the university once again, meeting dumbfounded gazes of students, the moment they eyed you up next to Gojo.
He was humming something to yourself, completely unbothered, leaning on the wall with the air of confidence that suggested he owned this whole world. And he surely did, if the world closed in on this corporation.
You quickly looked over your shoulder. “Didn’t it bother you?”
He stopped humming, eyes briefly flickering to your face. A lopsided grin curled his lips. “What are you talking about?”
Ah, as usual. He didn’t even notice the gaze, the whispers and the gossiping. Again, the sun didn’t bother to pay attention to satellites.
You wordlessly glanced at the girls back and stared at the elevator. Gojo watched you with his head tilted and followed the direction of your gaze. The moment his eyes landed on the gossiping managers, his jaw tightened, and the steel crept into his voice. “Ah. I see.”
Your head snapped towards Gojo, and without much thinking, you grabbed him by the wrist. “I didn’t mean anything, let them be — “
“Hey, Chloe!” His voice boomed across the hall, causing one girl to nearly drop her binder. You could see her swallowing with effort even from this distance. A charming smile tugged on the corner of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes, as he drawled in a deceptively sweet voice. “I presume you already finished the monthly report, since you have plenty of free time?”
The crimson crept up Chloe’s cheeks as she gripped the binder tighter, babbling. “No, Mr. Gojo, I was merely —”
His smile turned more wolfish as he tilted his head. “Then get your friend outta of here and do something useful.”
Chloe briefly exchanged glances with her friend before quickly making their way to the offices. Gojo watched until their figures disappeared and turned to you with a mischievous smile.
“Nah, it doesn’t.”
You couldn’t help but smile in return. “They are gonna talk even more, you know.”
His shoulders dropped in a lazy shrug, but his gaze fixed you with its usual intensity. You forgot how the sharpness of it used to make your breath bated.
“There’s nothing to talk about. Unless?”
Your heart stammered against your ribs at the innuendo in his tone. Inevitably, you remembered the mug from the shelter on his table, and while you were debating whether to bring it up or keep your mouth shut, the elevator behind finally dinged. A sign, hah?
You hastily stepped forward just to hide from Gojo when his fingers brushed against your wrist.
“Wait — “
“You look beautiful today.”
“I like your blouse, this colour suits you.”
“You curled your hair, right? I love the way they frame your face.”
The blue of his eyes pinned you to the ground as if you were a butterfly. Gojo’s lips parted, but the words never came, and slowly he let your hand go, letting the crowd in the elevator swallow you and take you away from him.
He inhaled slowly and stared at the ceiling.
What was the name of those flowers?
***
The next days passed in a blur as you started planning the event. Honestly, you hadn’t felt such a wave of excitement since…a long time ago. You didn’t blame your flower shop and Utahime, hell, you never could, but turned out when your hands weren’t constantly covered in all sorts of scraps, knees hurt from standing so much and back almost breaking from carrying the vases, you enjoyed your job well more.
Gojo kept his promise and didn’t contact you until it was absolutely necessary. However, you couldn’t hide the way your heart would skip a beat wherever he appeared at the venue or when he sent you a little emoji at the end of his texts. You told yourself not to live in illusions, but it became increasingly harder with his gaze caressing you, when Gojo thought you didn’t pay attention. The strange, tender ache in his eyes made your insides churn with some unspeakable feeling you weren’t ready to name at all, and for the sake of your mentality, you decided you would pretend it was a simple curiosity. The mug on his office table whispered insistently that you were wrong. You stubbornly shoved the thought away.
Gojo didn’t overstep, keeping your relationship on a faint, barely non-existent line of business partners and past acquaintances. Though sometimes he couldn’t help himself and…mishaps indeed happened.
For example, on your first day at the venue, you were greeted by an elegant bouquet of Juliet roses and pink hydrangeas. The florist in you critically examined the bouquet and admitted it was too your liking, but the thought that it was for you didn’t even cross your mind (tell about originality — giving flowers to the florist), when Gojo happened to peek in and noticed the bouquet didn’t move an inch.
“Is something wrong with the flowers? I thought you liked these roses.”
Too engrossed in your files, you didn’t even catch his words, staring mindlessly at the screen of your laptop, until a shadow loomed over the table and you begrudgingly had to look up. You stared at Gojo in confusion.
He nodded at the bouquet. “You didn’t like the flowers?”
Your brows knitted in confusion as you followed the direction of his gaze. “No. The composition is really good. I like the way the hydrangeas frame the roses. Juliet roses! The guy doesn’t play about his date,” you chuckled and added immediately. “Or the lady. Either way, the flowers are nice.”
A beat of silence passed between you, enveloping you in its warm embrace. A light pink dusted Gojo’s cheekbones, and he murmured in pretend nonchalance.
“So you didn’t check the card?”
Now you felt completely dumbfounded and slightly irritated that Gojo kept distracting you from the work at hand. “No, why would I —”
Your gaze briefly flicked to the flowers at one of the tables and back to Gojo, who kept eyeing with his usual intensity, stripping you bare of any defences. Then it hit you.
This bouquet was for you.
“Oh”, you murmured nervously, and forced a quick smile, involuntarily straightening up in a chair. Now you couldn’t wait to read the card. “I-I am sorry, I just thought. You know.” You twirled a pen between your fingers, mulling over the next words. There was a little excitement in telling your ex-situationship that you weren’t used to flowers. Usually, when the guys heard about you being the florist, they joked, “Then you are probably tired of seeing them,” as an excuse.
It stopped amusing you on the third date. On the fifth, you resisted the urge to smack them. On the tenth, you silently prayed they would shut up.
You muttered as politely as you could. “You didn’t have to, Gojo. Thank you.”
A strange melancholy lacing your voice didn’t go past Gojo. His tone hardened. “If you liked them, then I absolutely had to.”
He hated it. He absolutely hated the way your face dropped, sadness crept into your usual bright tone, and the smile became a little too tight around the edges. Despised how you automatically assumed the flowers weren’t for you. Hell, who else were they for?
And the thought of him being the reason you doubted yourself drove him insane to the point of keeping him awake in the night, browsing through your old photos; he couldn’t bring himself to delete. Not only as a memory of what he lost but as evidence of his own cowardice.
He tried to keep you at a distance, letting the contract and the strict confines of the agreement define you. He thought it would be easier this way.
But there was nothing easy about either of you. Never was. And in the end, he gave up. The lines blurred between you so hard that he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.
cw: mentions of self harm, depression/ anxiety, heavy angst, difficult topics
———————————————————————————————————
One would think, given Satoru's six eyes, he was quite observant. With the world on his shoulders, you who was his safe place and the only time he'd get a break from being the chosen one, the honored one, the satoru gojo, but simple be satoru, he tended to tone all the qualities that made him so great down - he shouldn't have done that, he should have known. Dating you for a few months now, he's never seen you leaving the house with short-sleeves. In fact, even your pajama shirts went up to your wrists, and yes, when both of you got together it was quite cool outside, maybe his mind is playing tricks on him and even now it was occasionally chilly outside. As a person that easily gets cold, it would be understandable and nothing to give any further thoughts, however it still bothered him, lingered in the back of his mind.
Even on warmer days, you didn't bother taking off those long-sleeves, you insisted on never going any further than making out during the broad daylight - which he admits, is sort of understandable as well and god forbid, they can only get intimate, when the room was fairly dark.
Nonetheless he feels as if you're hiding something from him, as if you're hiding yourself from him and whatever is concealed underneath those sleeves, isn't as insignificant as he had in the beginning thought.
"How was work?" Your soft hum, snapping him out of his previous thoughts, that he was so sunken in to the point he didn't hear you unlocking the door and stepping inside his rather spacey apartment.
he jolted when you pressed a cold soda against his neck, with a teasing grin - the worries gawking at the back of his mind, quickly forgotten as his gaze met hers, lips curving upwards in intrigue.
"the higher ups were a pain in the ass as always. You're home late, something came up?" His eyes following her movements, as she walked from behind the couch, to the front, halting in front of his sitting-figure. She then proceeded to hold out the cold cola, she figured he'd need after a long day after work.
"Hm-mhm, had to go to the gas station. There goes my money." She joked, before holding up a can of her own, opening it with a click. "Let's hope it was worth it."
"Want me to make you dinner?" His arms already moving around your body, pulling you against him by your curves, his head resting against your stomach. Those vibrant eyes you learned to love, staring up at you expectingly.
"Sure, that would be amazing." Pressing a kiss on top of his forehead, you words remained soft before both of you, pulled away from one another - satoru letting out a whiny groan before getting up himself.
While you decided to go change into something comfier, he moved into the kitchen as promised. You stepped inside his bedroom, searching through the few clothes you'd left at his, taking in an entire drawer for yourself. Not that he complained.
once found what searched for, you begun stripping down - before reaching towards the pajama long sleeve, putting it on. "Beautifullllllll, i need a new shirt, i kind of got tomato juice on me."
you looked up puzzled, mid-putting on your shirt, as he stood in the doorframe. His eyes immediately darted towards your arm, a small exposure of what's underneath that you in that moment, barely even registered.
He did.
"Yeah, hold on a second." Pulling it down your stomach, before moving towards one of his drawers and reaching for one of his favorite shirts. Your eyes flickered back towards his, a soft smile coating your lips - the scars on your arms completely slipping your mind.
his features paled visibly, and his brows knitted as he suddenly hurried over to you, not even bothering to meet that confused gaze of yours. Once in front of you, he grabbed your wrist urgent, and that's all that it was to take you to realize what this was about. The hand holding the t-shirt limply fell down your side, as you attempted to tug the captured arm away, though realistically you never held a chance against him physically.
Satoru was dead-silent, so were you. Especially from the man, usually so full of energy, this sort of behaviour was concerning to say the least. You felt your anxiety strike up, as he pulled your sleeve up, staring at several lines tearing through your soft skin.
You froze, eyes shooting back towards his oddly focused features, trying to read his reaction, trying to understand what he was thinking.
Was he mad? Did he think she was disgusting now? Exaggerating? Making a big deal out of nothing?
a thousand questions crossing your mind, as you slowly begun to tear up, eyes welling up - feeling stingy as you forced yourself to keep said tears from spilling and breaking down entirely. You opened your mouth to protest, to make up an excuse but, you were fairly sure he wouldn't take any of that.
Satoru was heartbroken. He didn't even realize your change in expression, his eyes solely tracing the lines on your arm. White, old scars, but also newer one's, deeper ones. He swallowed thickly, his ears ringing as his heart that had previously dropped to his very core, shattered into a million pieces.
"Fuck." He whispered to himself, god, how fucking stupid he was. He should have known, how could he be this dense? His grip tightened a fraction, before softening up entirely. He didn't know what to say, afraid of hurting you anymore. Knowing your in pain, like this, to consider and go through with hurting yourself throws him completely off.
"I'm sorry, i'm so sorry, satoru please don't be mad, i'm sorry." Your cries tearing him out of his focused state, eyes finally flickering up to the very woman he loves. He swallowed once more thickly, watching tears slowly run down your cheeks, his shirt long dropped on the floor, as you moved to wipe said wetness off your face - "stop looking at me like that, please."
"what is this?"
He breathed out quietly, expecting an answer and praying it wasn't who he thought it was. He knew what it was, most likely as he wasn't entirely stupid, but he certainly wished you'd come up with a plausible excuse, with a name, someone he could easily get rid off and in that way, make sure nothing would ever hurt you again. He repeated himself at your silence. "(y/n), what is this?"
"it's nothing. It's none of your business." A quiet sniffle, as she wiped the burst of tears from a few seconds aside, not even willing to meet his eyes anymore, knowing she couldn't face their pain.
"Nothing? None of my business?" He repeated, more sternly than before. The rather neutral - no, a tone that didn't wanna accept this all happening at first, faded. His hand moved to grab your other wrist, pulling up your sleeve, equally far as the other. "This isn't fucking nothing! You're covered in cuts, this is my business!"
His words were too intense, his gaze was too. You couldn't muster up an excuse, you didn't know what to say. You simply felt tears welling up once again, yet refusing to let them fall a second time.
"(y/n)— baby, you're my girlfriend. Of course, this is my business. There are countless scars all over your forearms, i'm not letting you push me away." His tone softening, as he saw how watery your eyes got. "Sweetheart, what did you do?"
You simply shook your head, sniffling gently, "just, please forget about it. I don't wanna talk about it."
"forget about i-?" Though before raising his voice, or worsening the situation, he inhaled deeply, to soothe his growing frustration, and the churning worry. "Baby, your arms— this isn't something i can just forget about."
he sighed, moving his hand from your wrist towards your cheek, wiping a tear off your face. His touch was tender, careful. Still afraid he'd cause even more damage.
you hurt yourself. You hurt yourself.
"Just talk to me, darling, i need you to talk to me. Why would you do that to yourself? I don't understand." His words were desperate, and genuinely scared, because for once he didn't understand, to him this was far worse than carrying the entire world on his shoulders.
his breath hitched. He didn't understand. He'd been acting like a damn fool, the same way he had with suguru back then, he couldn't loose you too.
"It's just, you wouldn't understand." You murmured, subconsiously leaning into his touch and the gentle caress on your jaw.
"Then make me understand." He said firmly.
You paused for a second, avoiding his eyes - before finally staring at the ground beneath them, nervously nibbling on the bottom of your lips. "I've just been feeling shitty. And, every time i feel really sad, i just do this and then, i feel better about everything."
he didn't get it to be honest, though he was glad she was finally opening up to him, instead of deflecting. His arms quickly wrapped themselves around your smaller figure, pulling you against his chest. That seemed to be the last push, towards your breakdown, as you sobbed softly against his chest.
"I know it doesn't make sense and I'm sorry, i just don't know how to stop. It's the only thing that clears my head, when my thoughts get too loud, it's the only way for me to feel even slightly better about myself."
His hand moves to the back of your head, while he buries his head in the crock of your neck, towering over you. "It must have been so hard. I'm sorry for noticing only this late."
"I didn't know you carried this amount of pain, so please, let me help you out. Let me carry this pain, let me help you sort out all the things that bother you and push you to your breaking point. I'll help you get clean, so whenever you feel this way, i want you to come to me."
"It's not- your fault." You sniffled.
"Baby, this isn't about who's at fault. I love you so much, and i care about you, it pains me to see you like this. You deserve to feel good, to think you've been inflicting harm upon yourself is, i just don't want you to feel this alone with your issues ever again."
"I love you too." You whispered, hiding your face in his embrace, suddenly so much warmer than it usually already is.
"We'll make this work together. We'll get you proper help and learn how to deal with those overwhelming feelings otherwise, so you don't feel like you have to let them out on yourself."
Satoru promised, his hold on you tightening. You finally felt heard, even if he didn't understand you fully yet, it was the first time someone has reassured you and promised you, to find a solution. To simply be there for you, if that's what you need, the first time someone cared.
"God, i love you so much, (y/n.)
———————————————————————————————————
If you're struggling with sh, depression, anxiety etc, please make sure to reach out. I want you to know, that you are never alone and that as hopeless as times seem, a brighter time always awaits you, there are people who care and you genuinely deserve to feel good about yourself, you deserve to be the best version of yourself.
︵ ೀ fluff. satoru confesses he's been in love with you for years but he's too high on pain meds to remember it the next morning
you never thought you'd see satoru gojo—your best friend since high school—slumped in your passenger seat, cheeks puffy, drooling a little, and giggling at literally nothing.
"they took my teeth," he mumbles, voice slow and syrupy from the pain meds. "four of them. like little monsters living in my mouth. gone now. i'm toothless, baby."
you laugh softly, keeping your eyes on the road. "you're not toothless, toru. you still have most of them."
he turns his head to look at you, those impossibly blue eyes glassy and unfocused. a lazy, dopey smile spreads across his swollen face—so different from his usual smirk, the one that's been making your heart skip since you were seventeen.
"you're so beautiful," he says suddenly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "so, so beautiful. why are you always so beautiful? it's unfair. i've been asking the universe to stop for years but it never listens."
your cheeks flame. "you're high as hell right now. stop talking nonsense."
"not nonsense," he insists, trying to sit up straighter but failing miserably. he reaches over and pokes your arm with a clumsy finger. it's such a satoru thing to do—he's always been touchy with you, always throwing an arm around your shoulders, always pulling you into his lap during movie nights, always playing with your hair when he's bored.
you've learned to ignore the way your skin buzzes under his touch, the way your breath catches when he gets too close.
but this feels different.
"i've loved you for so long," he continues, words tumbling out without his usual filter. "like… so long. since we were teenagers. maybe longer. i don't even know anymore. every time you laughed at my stupid jokes i wanted to kiss you stupid."
your hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles going white.
"satoru."
"no, listen," he continues, completely ignoring your warning tone. his head lolls to the side as he stares at you with heartbreaking sincerity. "i used to lie awake at night thinking about you. wondering if you ever looked at me the same way. but you always treated me like your idiot best friend… so i stayed that way. because having you like this was better than not having you at all."
the car falls quiet. you don't know what to say. your heart feels like it's trying to climb out of your throat.
you think about all the years between you—late-night convenience store runs, falling asleep on each other's shoulders during long train rides, sharing earbuds and ice cream and secrets. the way he knows your coffee order by heart, the way you can read his moods even when he's wearing that stupid sunglasses, the way you fit into each other's lives so seamlessly that everyone always assumed you were dating.
you never corrected them. neither did he.
you pull into his driveway and turn off the car. satoru is still watching you, eyes half-lidded, that soft, lovesick smile still on his swollen face.
"i love you," he says again, quieter this time. "not in a best friend way. in the 'i want to marry you and make you breakfast every morning' way. even if i burn the toast."
you let out a shaky breath and force a smile, your chest aching.
"you're really out of it, toru. let's get you inside."
he lets you help him out of the car without much protest, though he keeps trying to nuzzle into your neck and tell you how soft you smell. you manage to guide him into his apartment—you know the code by heart, have your own toothbrush in his bathroom, own drawer in his dresser—and get him into bed, pulling the blanket up to his chest.
"stay," he mumbles as you turn to leave, reaching out to grab your wrist. his touch is warm and familiar and it makes your heart crack a little.
"i will. just sleep, okay?"
he pulls your hand to his lips and presses a sloppy kiss to your knuckles, eyes already fluttering closed. "love you," he whispers one last time, the words soft and slurred.
you sit on the edge of his bed for a long time, watching him sleep, your heart aching in a way that feels both brand new and like it's been building for years.
★ ★ ★ ★
the next morning, you're moving around satoru's expensive kitchen, barefoot on the cool tiles, making something soft enough for him to eat. porridge with a little honey and mashed banana. the sun filters softly through the windows as you stir the pot, your mind replaying his sleepy, drugged confession on loop.
i've loved you for so long.
you swallow hard and keep stirring.
you hear the soft pad of footsteps behind you before you feel him. satoru steps up close, still half-asleep, and rests his chin gently on top of your head with a tired little hum. his arms loosely wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you back against his chest.
this is normal. this is what you do. you've been living in this intimate in-between space for years, toeing the line between friendship and something more, both too scared to cross it. but now everything feels different.
"morning," he mumbles, voice raspy and muffled against your hair. "smells good. you didn't have to cook."
"your mouth is hurt," you say, trying to keep your voice steady even as your pulse races. "porridge is safer than toast."
he makes a pleased little sound and nuzzles the top of your head, his white hair tickling your forehead. the casual intimacy of it—something that used to feel completely normal, just satoru being satoru—now makes your cheeks burn and your hands tremble.
he has no idea what he said to you last night.
"you're too good to me," he sighs, pressing a lazy kiss to the crown of your head. "what would i do without my favorite girl, hm?"
"toru…" you start, unsure how to even begin.
"mm?" his arms tighten a little, warm and solid around your middle. "you okay? you sound weird."
you close your eyes for a second.
how are you supposed to tell him that your best friend—the man currently cuddling you like a koala, the same man who's been your person since you were kids—confessed he's been in love with you for years? that while high on pain medication, he told you he wants to marry you and make you breakfast every morning?
you force a small smile, stirring the porridge one last time before turning off the stove.
"i'm fine. didn't sleep much."
he doesn't look fully convinced. he tilts his head, studying you with those piercing blue eyes. then he asks the question you've been dreading.
"…did i say anything weird last night? when i was high on those pain meds?"
your heart skips.
you look down at the pot, pretending to check the consistency of the porridge. the silence stretches for a second too long.
"no," you finally say, shaking your head. "you just talked a lot about how they stole your teeth. called them little monsters and all that." you try to laugh, but it comes out shaky.
"sounds about right," he says with a soft chuckle. "i knew those meds were strong." he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "thanks for taking care of me. i don't know what i'd do without you."
"anytime," you whisper.
he pulls back and smiles at you—that bright, beautiful smile. completely unaware. completely oblivious to the fact that he told you he's been in love with you for years just hours ago.
"smells really good," he says, looking down at the porridge. "you're spoiling me."
you turn back to the counter, scooping some into a bowl for him so he won't notice the way your hands shake slightly.
"only because you're injured," you say. "don't get used to it."
satoru laughs softly behind you and wraps his arms around your waist again, resting his chin back on top of your head like it belongs there. like you belong there.
"too late. i'm already used to it. used to you."
you close your eyes for a second, leaning back into his warmth, letting yourself have this moment. his heartbeat steady against your back.
he doesn't remember.
and for now… maybe that's okay.
maybe someday you'll be brave enough to tell him the truth—that you've been in love with him too, for just as long, in the same desperate, hopeless way. that every casual touch, every sleepy morning, every shared secret has been carving him deeper into your heart.
but for now, you let him hold you in his sun-bright kitchen, and you pretend that this is enough.
