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strwbrysugu · 10 months ago

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out of the woods

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

satoru gojo finds hope in the simplest things.

because despite it all, if anyone was allowed to fall straight into despair – if anyone had the right to – it would be him.

but he simply can’t.

only because every time he finds himself at the edge of the cliff, there’s always something pulling him back.

a bratty six year old with spiky hair, his smiley older sister, or you – his beloved coworker that he, by the grace of god, charmed right into his hand. a bored salesman, an over-enthusiastic pink-haired high school student, and the ingredients to rice balls.

he supposes that’s why the words don’t hit him. that every other time, there were two, four, or six hands pulling him back. but the depths of this won’t impact anyone the way it would impact him. that he’d fall on his own this time.

there would be a pair of hands missing.

all he can think about is that the chairs in the ward are rather uncomfortable, that all hospitals have the same, shitty fluorescent lights, and that megumi’s probably wondering why the two of you haven’t called him to check on him after his mission yet.

that you would have made some shitty joke about sitting in his lap instead of sitting in the chairs, that you’d complain the lighting in the room was too dingy to take any good pictures, and that you’d call megumi the second you knew he was home.

“so when will she remember?” gojo asks.

shoko looks at him, steely eyes staring back into his, and it’s enough to push him over the edge. he can tell there won’t be any pulling this time.

“we have no idea of knowing when she’ll be out of the woods. it could be three days for all we know.” shoko states.

“or three years.” gojo states.

shoko swallows hard.

“or three years.” shoko affirms.

satoru realizes there’s three stages to it, two weeks after the fact.

first, the slow walk to the edge of the cliff, with everything looming below him – the mere fact that he could sense that something went wrong when kugisaki returned from her mission alone.

second, the pause right at the edge, where the rocks begin to crumble under his feet. there’s a wide expanse in front of him, ice cold water that he could plunge into at any second, and he can slightly feel himself leaning forward – someone telling him straightforwardly, shoko’s warm hands on his shoulders when he explained.

and lastly, the plunge. it’s cold air obliterating his ears as he falls, the crush so hard that he can barely stand when it happens. and he makes no efforts to stand back up once he’s fallen, because for all he knows, his limbs are broken – when he has to sleep in his bed without you for the first time.

satoru gojo finds hope in the simplest things, until he doesn’t. because the woman he’s spent four years loving doesn’t even remember who he is.

the first thing you remember is icy blue eyes. in some object permanence, child-like type of way, it’s the only thing that makes you feel safe now.

that and the fact that he’s always here.

“okay, y/n. can you tell us what you remember?”

shoko is standing across from you – gloved hands on her clipboard as she holds her pen firmly in her hand.

“my name is y/n l/n. i’m a jujutsu sorcerer and a teacher at jujutsu tech. i lost my memory three months ago on a mission with one of my students when i got struck by a curse.”

you try not to visibly wince. or make long pauses. only because it makes shoko and satoru’s faces droop a little more when you do. recalling the memories gets easier, more repetitive as time goes on, but it still feels like a warm sting rod is hitting the raw parts of your brain at times.

“do you remember the student’s name?” shoko asks.

“kugisaki.”

“okay, that’s good. do you know who we are?” she asks.

the instruction is helpful. the questions feel like a soft guidance – like each of your memories has been placed in a room that you need to unlock and that she’s presenting you right at the doorstep of the room.

“you’re shoko. my doctor. but we were friends before in school.” you add.

“that’s right. what about him?”

you look over at satoru, at the way he’s stiffly sitting in the chair next to you.

every time you look at him, the smiles are always genuine. soft and sweet – always accompanied with a gentle nod to encourage you. but you can tell from his posture, from the darkness under his eyes, that it must bother him all greatly.

though, he has every right to be upset, to be tired.

“that’s satoru. he was here when i woke up. and he’s my husband.”

shoko scratches on the clipboard before she gives you a smile.

“that’s good. anything else?”

you frown.

“no. no, i don’t think so.” you murmur.

she gives you a nod, as she sets the clipboard down. and when she starts rummaging through her drawers, you feel your heart sink at what comes next.

“wait. wait, can we not do that today?”

shoko looks back at you, quickly flickering her gaze to satoru, before she meets your eyes again.

“it’s really best if we try little by little, everyday. i need to be careful when we use reverse cursed technique on something so malleable as a brain and memories, so it needs to be in small amounts. but consistent. we can’t skip and lose precious time.”

you look over at satoru, reaching for his wrist. his skin is searing and warm under your fingertips, and you squeeze hard over his pulse point.

please.

satoru gives you a nod, before sighing, and looking back up at shoko.

“can i talk to her alone?” he asks.

shoko gives him a curt nod, before shuffling out of the room and sliding the door closed. you look back at satoru, as he gestures for you to talk.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position with your friend….i mean, our friend.” you clarify.

“s’okay, bug. what’s wrong?” he murmurs.

satoru watches as you squint your eyes, an elongated pause in your response.

one of shoko’s directions to him was to try to sprinkle normalcy in as much as he could – nicknames, memories, common phrases – in hopes that something would trigger in your memory and help you remember.

he’s supplied you with each story when you don’t remember and he can tell that you’re trying to commit them all the memory again. to retrieve the memories that he’s told you.

“bug.” you state.

“that’s right.”

“because…”

“we were on a mission and-” satoru adds.

“and the curse was a bug.” you finish.

satoru smiles brightly. it almost feels like praise, when he looks at you so warmly. when you can remember something.

“big insect type thing.” satoru confirms.

“and i hate bugs. so you started calling me bug because…”

you frown.

“i forgot why you did that.” you state.

satoru scoffs.

“it’s called flirting, princess. though, that was never your forté.”

you smile.

“you have horrible game.” you respond.

you can tell that the tiny gripes make satoru really happy. you recall shoko telling you a story about how it related to something from before, but you can’t really recall exactly what it was. regardless, the smile you always get feels good.

“oh yeah?” he asks.

“mhm. you think calling the girl you like a bug is flirting?” you state.

“girl i love. and you can’t even accost me for it, because it worked. we’re married, idiot.”

the blunt admission makes your chest hurt. only because you can tell that he means it earnestly.

and that it must be painstakingly true – that satoru gojo loves you – because he’s still sitting here three months later, when you can barely remember his name at times. or the fact that you clearly must have been in a very loving relationship with him if he’s still sitting here with you when he could, and maybe should have, run.

you squeeze hard on his pulse point again, your hands still curled around his wrist. he uncurls his hand from your hold before locking his fingers in with yours and squeezing your hand back.

“you’re like a space heater, satoru.” you state.

“it’s part of my charm. when we still slept in the same bed, you’d always put your ice cold feet on my legs and try to steal my warmth.” he states.

“and you’d let me?” you ask.

he smiles.

“and i’d let you.” he affirms.

you swallow hard.

“sorry. i’ll do the treatment thing. i just hate how it makes me feel after. s’kind of like…my brain got fried? and sometimes it jumbles things up more so i feel like i’ve barely made any progress. and….and i want to remember you all really badly i just-”

you feel the warmth on your cheek this time, his nimble fingers transferring warmth to your face this time.

“we know. just take your time, okay? we’re not going anywhere.”

six months after the fact, satoru throws you a birthday party.

it’s hard not to hold onto him like a tether when you go out in big crowds – the overstimulation nauseating at times. and it makes your chest swell that he firstly, realizes it, and second, refuses to leave your side because of it. you lock your fingers in with his as he lightly guides you through each of the people in the room.

“y/n sensei!”

you swallow hard as four people present themselves to you, a harsh squeeze on satoru’s fingers. he obliges quickly, a hand on your back as you shake your head. pink hair, brown eyes.

“you’re choso?” you ask.

you watch his face fall quickly, before he shakes it off.

“no, no. this is choso. but you were close, he’s my brother! we talked about him last time i saw you.” he responds, gesturing to the boy at his left.

“right. i’m sorry. it’s todo.” you state.

“no, no. he’s todo.” the boy responds again, this time gesturing to the boy at his right.

you feel another hand loop around you – cold hands on your shoulders – that you welcome. that you easily recognize as one of the other constants, besides satoru.

“ignore yuuji. and i promise, it’s just as confusing when you can remember it too.” megumi states.

you smile.

“are you flattering me, megumi?” you ask.

satoru reaches forward, and much to megumi’s dismay, flicks his forehead.

“you’re such a mama’s boy.”

“oh, leave him alone, satoru.” you state.

the group of them smile, even the ends of megumi’s mouth upturning, as satoru feigns shock by clutching his hands to his chest. you give them all a smile as they break up into their own conversation.

satoru gestures for you to follow him into the kitchen and you give the group of them a smile as you walk away. you push yourself onto the counter as satoru reaches for the birthday hat and a tiny little book before he makes residence in between your legs.

“okay, you ready, bug?” he asks.

“for?”

“you love to take pictures. lots of them. you’re kind of the sentimental type. so…”

satoru hands you the book as you start to flip through all the pages. each one has four little polaroids in it – of you and him, megumi sprinkled in here, with little captions on each of them.

new year’s 2021

megumi’s sweet sixteen

shotgun wedding :D

“shotgun wedding?” you ask.

“we had a quickie court wedding before we actually got married because we couldn’t wait. anyways! we have to-”

“wait.” you state.

satoru stops, bright blue eyes staring into yours expectantly. you can tell that he’s trying to brush it off quickly from the way he’s jittery as he shakes the camera in his hands.

“i know you don’t like to remember memories like this one because they make you sad but-”

“they don’t make me sad.” satoru states.

“don’t- don’t lie. i can hear you crying sometimes in the other room after we talk. and i feel bad but, but maybe it’ll click or something?” you ask.

satoru sighs, before giving you a nod. and he recounts one of the best days of his life, in as much detail as he can.

“what if we got married tomorrow?” you ask.

satoru looks over at you, your glasses still perched on your nose as you work through the crossword puzzle in the newspaper. satoru always thought that it was a little bit corny that you did it right before you went to bed, like a little elderly lady, but knew better than to poke fun at your “enrichment time in your enclosure” as you so poignantly termed it.

“huh?” he asks.

“like. went to court. got married.” you shrug.

satoru reaches for the newspaper, before quickly shoving it straight to the side – not short of any protests from you – as he crawls straight into your lap, nose only a few inches away from yours.

“i was still doing that, idiot.” you state, cupping his face in your hands as you squeeze hard.

“you want to marry me?” he asks, voice laced with excitement.

you scoff.

“are you dumb? we’re engaged, satoru.”

“but you want to marry me. tomorrow?” he asks.

satoru watches as you pause, eyes so full of love that it makes his chest hurt.

“dunno. was just thinking about it.”

“and?”

“stop trying to get me to say something cute.” you state.

“so you admit it. there’s something cute to say?”

you smile, before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“no.” you state.

“c’mon. we’ll do it tomorrow if you tell me. i’ll wear a nice suit, you can wear that silky white dress you have. have sushi with megs after, he can be our witness. pick up rings, get a bouquet on the way.”

you smile brightly.

“you’ll really do it?” you ask.

“of course. s’nothing i wouldn’t do for you.” he whispers.

you lean forward, pressing a warm kiss to his lips.

“i just don’t like that you’re not my husband already. and i get the whole big wedding and clan members and blah blah blah but…i just want to be married to you now. i don’t really care how it happens, i just want that day to be here already.”

satoru smiles, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek.

“it’s settled then. we’re getting married tomorrow, bug.” he responds, before pushing off of you and shuffling under the sheets.

you smile hard, following suit by placing your glasses on the nightstand and curling up into his arms.

“s’bad luck to sleep in the same bed? because that means i’ll see you tomorrow morning?” you ask.

“maybe. but who's going to keep your feet warm if i don’t sleep next to you?”

“very good point, satoru gojo.”

you look back down at the picture, pressing your fingers against the polaroid wrapped in the plastic. the two of you stayed true to your word – a plain but white dress and a simple suit – with your arms wrapped around his neck as you both cheese into the camera.

you note that glittering necklace around satoru’s neck, as you press your fingers to the chain around yours. you had the necklace when you woke up, the only other jewelry you had besides the golden little band around your ring finger – which you assumed was the wedding ring satoru gave you when you got married.

“you have one of these too?” you ask.

satoru smiles, before reaching into his shirt and pulling out the necklace. and surely but not, he has the same necklace as you with the little paper airplane charm hanging at the end.

“we couldn’t find rings on the way to the courthouse. so you picked these shitty airplane necklaces from one of the stands on the way there.” he states.

you smile, as you look down at the picture.

“and we ate with megumi after?”

“uh huh. he got really mad at us after. you kind of whined that you didn’t get a first dance so i decided to move all the furniture around to make room and kind of broke his science fair project.”

“oh my god. no wonder that kid hates you.”

“shut up. we stayed up fixing it. and he doesn’t hate me. he actually danced with us a little bit too – though it was definitely against his will.” satoru adds.

“you tease him too much. leave the poor baby alone.” you state.

satoru’s eyes go wide as he places his hands on your shoulder, the look on his face so excited as he smiles.

“y/n?”

you raise your eyebrows.

“yeah?”

his face falls just as fast.

“oh. nothing.”

you frown.

“what happened?”

“nothing. it’s stupid, i just-”

“it’s not stupid! what is it?” you ask.

he looks at you, before pulling back a little.

“i thought you remembered for a second. that’s always the line you use when i tease him – leave the poor baby alone.”

you frown.

“sorry.” you whisper.

he shrugs.

“s’okay. it’s kind of nice if you think about it.” he states.

“how?”

“well. it’s obvious that big parts of us are shaped by the people that are around us. your best friends, your co-workers, your partners.”

you reach for his hand.

“you wonder how much of it is the stuff you experienced that makes you act the way that you do and how much of it is actually you, you know?” he states.

“exactly! sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt, but-but i think about that all the time. like if i can’t remember, will i still be the same person i was before? the person you all loved? or if this is going to change me so drastically that i’ll be someone new.”

satoru smiles.

“the former.”

“huh?”

“you’ll be the same person you were before. cheesy as hell, but the cuteness will make up for it.”

you roll your eyes.

“how are you so sure?”

he pauses, before placing his hand in your palm.

“one of my favorite things about you is that you were, or are, really compassionate. we always joked that megumi was our kid, but really. you were like his mom – understood him in ways i didn’t, always knew what he was thinking and how to fix it too.” he states.

“yeah?”

“and one of the things megumi hates most is when i tease him in front of yuuji. s’got a big crush on him.” he states.

you look over at the two of them, at megumi and yuuji laughing at choso three feet away and try your best to recall every memory of the two of them together. if megumi always smiled so brightly when he was around him.

“you got real mad at me. told me to leave your poor baby alone. you’ve always cared for him in that way and i can tell that you still do. you might not remember him, but he’s still your baby. you might not remember who you are but you’re still you.”

it’s silent.

“you’ll be the same. you’re still going to be the girl i loved and you’re still going to be my wife.” he whispers, warm tears in his eyes.

his voice wavers on the latter part of the statement.

almost like he doesn’t believe it.

you place your hands on his shoulders and squeeze hard.

“satoru.” you whisper.

he shakes his head.

“sorry. i didn’t mean to say it like that, i just-” he states.

you place your hands on his cheeks and squeeze hard.

“from the type of guy you are, i can tell that i probably fell in love with you all over again hundred times in one day.”

satoru smiles, a tear spilling as you quickly wipe the wetness on his cheek.

“this isn’t any different. i’m not sure about a lot of things, but-but this i am. your eyes are the first thing i remember from when i woke up. i’m almost positive they’ll be the last thing i remember when we’re old wrinkly people too.” you murmur.

satoru wraps his arms around you, tucking your face into his neck, as he squeezes you hard into his frame. you can feel his heart racing underneath you, his pulse point rapid as he slowly breathes in. and surely, it comes to a standstill.

“what did i say? told you that you’d still be cheesy as hell.” satoru states.

you scoff.

“does the cuteness make up for it?” you ask.

“a hundred percent.” satoru responds, before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

satoru takes the picture, after snagging one of the little party hats and securing it on top of your hair, and quickly scribbling on the developed polaroid before tucking it into the book. satoru runs off to the little cake, quickly lighting all the candles as you take the quick second to look down at the picture.

a very forgetful bug turns twenty-six <;3

“hey, i’m home!”

satoru shuffles back into the apartment, arms aching and sore from his mission, as he rummages through the kitchen. the fridge is empty leave for a few condiments and he makes a mental note to order takeout.

“did you want to order something?” he calls out, halfheartedly registering you walking towards him as he shuts the fridge door.

he’s taken aback when he feels your arms wrap around him from behind, your arms nearly squeezing the breath out of him.

“ow, bug. you’re hugging too hard.”

he turns around only to find tearfilled eyes staring back at him, immediately dropping his phone in his hand to cup your cheeks.

“woah, hey. you okay?” he asks.

you shake your head, bringing your eyes to your sockets to rub the wetness away. you can barely say the words, the pounding in your head and racing in your chest not coming to the standstill.

“what’s wrong?” he asks.

“do-do you remember the first time you cried in front of me?” you ask.

satoru pulls back, albeit a little bit confused, as he frowns.

“um. let me try and think. maybe at our real wedding?” he asks.

“no. no, that’s not right.” you whisper.

“huh?”

“you cried for the first time when megumi got hurt when he was out with nobara and yuuji. he didn’t call either of us afterwards and you were sad that maybe he didn’t need you anymore.” you state.

satoru hums in response.

“that’s right. i totally forgot. idiot got twenty stitches and didn’t think to tell either of us.”

you deflate, putting your hands on his shoulders as you squeeze.

“satoru.”

“what?”

“you forgot. but i remembered.” you whisper.

satoru brings his hands to your sides, squeezing hard as you see his eyes - icy blue - filled with warm tears.

“y/n. are-are you serious?” he whispers.

“yeah. s’all kind of fuzzy and i have a really bad headache but i remember you and-”

you can barely finish your sentence because satoru’s hands – now cupped around your neck – have pulled his face flesh with yours and he’s pressing his lips to yours. it’s enough to shock you to your core, nearly stumbling in his arms, as you feel his tears start to fall onto your face.

“you’re back. you-you remember me.” he whispers.

“yeah. yeah, i am. i do.” you whisper, nearly hiccuping from the lack of air reaching your lungs from the tears.

you rest your forehead against his, the two of you heaving in tandem as satoru runs his hands all over you – on your cheeks, your biceps, the length of your back.

“i know that it was still you before. and-and i still loved you the same, of course i did – you’re my wife. but you don’t know how fucking happy i am that you’re-”

“you’re insane, satoru. i can’t believe you…you stayed. and you-”

“you’re mine. of course i stayed.”

“i know, but…i didn’t even remember you. and now that i look back on it, sweetheart. you must have been so upset and alone, you…you barely even smiled. or made any shitty jokes. i’m sorry i didn’t notice.”

“you didn’t have anything to go off of. s’okay.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, his face tucked into yours as you run your hands in his hair and softly murmur into his ear. you’re not sure when the crying starts, when he starts trembling under you, but you have every intent to keep him in your arms as long as he needs to.

“satoru, you did so good.”

“yeah?”

“so good, sweetheart.” you murmur.

satoru frowns.

“i tried really hard to keep it together for you. i-i didn’t want to make you feel bad or that-”

“you did keep it together for me. but you can let go now, i’m here to catch you.”

it’s enough to leave him sobbing in your arms, your quiet whispering in his ears not reaching him. he’s positive that he’s made you say it a hundred times at this point – that you love him – and he’s more than thankful that you’re willing to oblige.

satoru realizes there’s three stages to it, two weeks after the fact.

first, it’s the hand being extended to him. it was so quiet that he barely realized it at first – the fact that you were trying to pull him back, the first second that you remembered. warm hands squeezing his frame, the same way they always had.

second, the realization. the water he was drowning in was so cold that he could barely remember the extent of the warmth and when it returned, it was so sweltering that he could barely remember that he was freezing a few seconds ago. sweet honey eyes – being so full of love that he can see it pouring out of your eyes when you look at him.

and lastly, being pulled up. it’s warm air tickling his skin this time – the smell of your perfume, cold feet on top of his when he goes to bed, a kiss on the forehead, two little airplane necklaces, matching golden wedding bands.

satoru gojo finds hope in the simplest of things. in the mere fact that you were looking at him.

an: our very first 1989 song!!! I thought ironically that it would be very funny if I did an amnesia au to out of the woods. and then I accidentally wrote all of it.

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @torureadz @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga

#sobbing at 6 in the morning #fic recs

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strwbrysugu · 10 months ago

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Did you have a previous username? I'm trying to remember who you are lol. (Idk anything about jjk so I'm confused why you appear on my dashboard😅🫣)

LOL my old username was zukochi! maybe u followed me bc of atla?

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strwbrysugu · 10 months ago

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back to school days : gojo satoru

includes: fem reader, friends hinting to lovers, non curse au, suguru and shoko being active third and fourth wheels, in denial reader, pining (and teasing) gojo

satoru’s changed his wallpaper.

you try not to feel like a stalker for realizing he’s changed it a day after he does, but in your defense, you happen to always be seated next to your friend, and noticing his wallpaper as he checks the time isn’t exactly your fault. it was different from yesterday, and it’s not a creepy thing that you noticed.

it’s by chance, and it just so happens that you’re not the only one who notices either.

“you changed your wallpaper?” suguru points at the phone in satoru’s hand, stretching a hand across the table and waving his fingers, “let me see.”

“inoue waka,” he grins, handing the phone over for suguru to get a closer look. “isn't she hot?”

shoko glances at you. you pretend you don't notice as you take a sip of your milkshake.

inoue waka is pretty, sure, but you didn't think satoru was into girls her type anyway. he seems less shallow than looking at women in bikinis all day—but then again, you suppose he is just a guy, after all.

you don't even really care that satoru's wallpaper is some random girl on a beach in a bikini. you had, of course, wanted to think your friends were better than frothing at the mouth over women who were half naked, but boys will be boys, and satoru is just a boy. who is your friend. and nothing more.

and you don't care that he's really into someone like inoue waka.

"you sure you won't get in trouble for this?" suguru snorts, but his eyes linger on the screen a bit longer than they really need to. you'd reach over and smack him across this table if you could—why is he encouraging this?

"with who?" satoru chuckles, "my mom? what's she gonna do, take my phone away?"

"she really ought to," you say pointedly, "walking around with a bikini photo as your lock screen isn't exactly a very dignified thing to do," you scold.

maybe if you weren't so focused on satoru, you'd notice suguru try to hold back another snort and shoko elbow him as she pretends to clear her throat to stifle a chuckle.

you don't care that satoru's wallpaper is inoue waka because the idea of a girl being his lock screen is a big deal—it's not. sure, you held a schoolgirl crush on him back in the day a few years ago in grade school, but you're adults now. time has passed and he's grown, you've grown, and those things fade with time. you don't nurse that lovesick little hope you did back in the day because you and satoru are really good as friends—very good, actually. a great duo, in fact.

it's simply your job as a friend (and as a woman) to instill some respect and dignity in him so that he views women like they're people, not a pair of tits to ogle.

that's all there is to it. really.

"why," he chuckles, leaning in closer as he stares into your eyes over the lenses of his sunglasses, "you jealous?"

he's just joking, like he always does—that's what you tell yourself, anyway, when he takes a sip from your straw and steals a bit of your milkshake. his eyes never leave yours even as you watch him swallow, and it's almost intimate, watching him do this one tiny, regular, normal little thing. you've shared drinks with each other since you were teenagers—not just him, in fact. shoko and suguru share a cigarette all the time; it's nothing new.

but a small, stupid, lovestruck part of you that's still hooked on your teenage days is screaming, his lips touched where yours were!

"jealous of what, asshole?" you snort, shooing him away from your drink as you steal it back. he pouts, reaching for it again before you smack his hand away.

you're a bit compelled to give him back your drink once he flashes you those curled lips of his, but he already drank his, and it's his fault for inhaling everything as soon as he gets them. you'll take your time to savor your milkshake, and satoru can sit and watch. and sulk.

"that you're not my wallpaper anymore," he wiggles his eyebrows like he's got you cornered. you think he might for a moment with the way you blink.

okay, so you were his wallpaper—but so were shoko and suguru. it was a group photo, and changing it from that does, in fact, replace you, but it replaces the other two people in this equation as well.

you roll your eyes as you scoff, staring at him in amusement. "i don't know, satoru. i think you only made that your wallpaper to prove to people you actually have friends."

"i'm not his friend," shoko says instantly, "i'm only here for you."

"hey," suguru frowns, "i shared my fries with you."

"okay," shoko concedes, "and for your fries too." suguru pulls his platter away at that, and shoko sighs and mumbles, "okay. i'm here for you two. no one else."

she makes sure to gesture between you and suguru as she throws satoru a glance, and he pouts again, looking at her in disbelief.

"what about me?" he gasps.

"you never pay for your own food," shoko scoffs, "fucking leech."

it's not so bad, you think: being friends with satoru has its perks. he's funny and endearing and makes for a good source of entertainment when everyone agrees to tease him in unison. there's a fond smile on your face before suguru snaps at your face and pulls your attention back.

there's a knowing smirk on his face as he says, "you've had your mouth open over the straw for ages now. are you gonna take a sip or keep staring?"

luckily, satoru is still whining away as shoko pushes his buttons on the side, and neither of them seems to hear suguru or notice the embarrassment flooding your features. you sputter, trying to hide the way the question makes you flustered enough to slam your drink down a bit harder than you intend to.

"i'm not staring, you jerk. i was just...listening in."

"yeah," he snickers at your answer, lips twitching into an even larger grin, "some great listening skills you had back there."

you can feel more heat creep to the back of your neck—just because you weren't listening to suguru doesn't mean you weren't listening to something. you're not good at splitting your attention, that's all. it's just that satoru is very good at demanding attention to center around him without even trying, and old habits die hard.

you weren't staring at him on purpose.

"hey," you're interrupted by satoru's incessant tapping on your shoulder, making you reluctantly turn away from suguru's knowing gaze before you sigh and pretend to look at the man next to you in weariness.

"what, satoru?"

"that's no way to talk to me," he huffs, "and tell shoko i am, in fact, very handsome! i am, right?"

shoko rests her cheek on her palm as she flutters her lashes at you, grinning deviously as suguru perks with interest. both of their gazes tell you they're thinking the same thing—this should be good.

"yeah," shoko baits, "is he?"

"no. you're hideous," you grumble, not looking at satoru's wounded expression as you glare at your two friends across the table. some friends, really—it's like they pray for your downfall.

"that's a lie," satoru huffs, crossing his arms stubbornly, "everyone at this table is in love with me. admit it."

"oh, i bet someone is," shoko mumbles under her breath, earning a warning glance from you—you're not in love with satoru. it was a simple crush. it's history now.

satoru reaches for your drink again, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he takes it from your grasp. it's a fleeting moment, but you both pause at the contact, eyes meeting before you quickly glance away and he takes a quick sip from your milkshake, and both of you pretend it didn't happen.

your bottom lip is tugged between your teeth as you chew on it nervously, and satoru's ears are suspiciously close to a dusty pink. it doesn't mean anything, after all—it's just an accidental touch.

suguru seems almost pains before he tiredly says, "it's getting late. we should go home."

"right," satoru nods, still holding onto your milkshake like it's his. you'll probably let him have it—you were having trouble finishing it, anyway. and it doesn't hurt that he's been eyeing it since he finished his. "i'll walk you home," he turns to you.

"wha—" you try to protest, but shoko cuts you off before you can.

"great idea! suguru and i will go out for a smoke. see you guys."

they're off before you can say anything else. it's just you. and satoru. and you suppose that stupid wallpaper of that bikini model that lights up on the table as he gets a notification. you eye it for a moment and he can't help but grin.

"you're so jealous," he chuckles. "knew it."

"am not, you idiot," you click your teeth in irritation, "your ego needs a reality check."

"i'll change it just for you," he hums, leaning closer until his elbow brushes against yours on the table, closer and closer until your arms are pressed against each other and his head is leaned closer to yours and you can smell his cologne.

it's expensive, just like the rest of him.

"keep your little bikini picture," you roll your eyes, "it makes no difference to me—"

"how about this one?" he hums lowly, looking at you expectantly for your answer. there's a grin on his face that tells you he's teasing you, but there's an anxious little tap of his foot that you think might say otherwise.

you look over—it's a picture of you and satoru. you're sleeping, head rested on his shoulder as he smiles to himself and scrolls through his phone. the picture has to be taken by suguru—only he would take it from a tilted angle like a moron.

"when was this?" you furrow your brows, "and why do i look like that? don't you dare—"

but he laughs, low and smooth and in that soft little boyish way that makes him feel just a bit more reachable. a bit more touchable. a bit more possible to be yours.

"it's cute," he murmurs, "you were drooling."

"satoru," you hiss, "if you're always this annoying, you'll die single."

he grins—it's amused and soft and slightly awed all in one. it makes you pause, and then you feel it: the steadily building thrum of your heart. satoru is just a schoolgirl crush, but you don't know if you've ever outgrown those high school days.

at least not the moments that feel like him. the moments that smell like his expensive cologne and taste like the strawberry milkshake you get because you know you'll end up sharing. the moments where somehow, in some way, it's always the two of you that are always left alone. together.

"maybe not," he murmurs, leaning closer, breath just fanning over your lips, "i still have some hope left for me." and then he stands and stretches as he grabs your milkshake and looks at you expectantly. "c'mon, i gotta walk you home. it's getting dark, y'know."

you stand, he takes a sip of your drink, and there's a notification on his phone that suspiciously looks like suguru's contact. you don't get a glimpse of what it says, but you do get a glimpse of his wallpaper.

it's you—of course, you're sleeping and not at your best moment—but it's you all the same. you're not jealous of inoue waka—but if you were, you'd think that maybe you really wouldn't really have to be.

reblogs appreciated!

ctrltoru — do not repost, translate, or plagiarize.

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strwbrysugu · 10 months ago

Note

hiii i heard you wanted some requests 👀 and I'm super glad you're back !! I missed you a lot lot <3

My head has been so full of post-dinner date Gojo ideas. The domesticity of getting unready with him and cuddling in bed right afterward. It's just so simple but so cute. oh oh and doing nighttime skincare with him :( having him sit down and rubbing in the different creams into his skin and the way he would lead into your hands. ahhh he has me so weak (_ _)

Feel free to use any of these ideas to write or take inspo from if you want! Gojo is such a cutie :3

Anyways, have a lovely day, and remember to take care of yourself!!

pairing. gojo satoru × gn!reader

content. bunch of fluff + comfort, reader has smaller hands than gojo (in case that bothers anyone!!) & sits on his lap, sappy reader + gojo!! read slowly for maximum enjoyment <3

sticky-note. nonnie u are so goated for this idea, i think this might be my fav gojo fic so far 😭 I MISSED U MORE!! hope u have a wonderful day and thank u for sending this in 🫶

satoru thinks your hands are pretty.

they’re smaller than his—of course they are. he can’t think of a single person who has bigger hands than him. he enjoys it, though. your touch is stimulating in a way; fingertips completely gentle as you rub the latest lotion that you bought onto his face.

“can’t keep your hands off of me, huh?” he leans back and grins, but you can’t even be annoyed by his teasing. there's a shine in his eyes that you haven’t seen a very long time—and you are more than happy to see it now.

“mhm,” you hum, softly kneading his cheeks like you would with a baby. his blindfold is off and his demeanor seems so relaxed, his face basking into your soothing touch. it’s hard to hold back your own smile. “you just have that type of charming effect, y’know?”

“you’re being awfully nice today,” he remarks suspiciously, peeking an eye open to look closely at you. you pinch his cheek in return. “what’s the occasion baby?”

you roll your eyes, pulling back your hand for a moment to scoop up a bit more lotion. you swipe it lightly onto his forehead. “what? i can’t give you attention? can’t i spoil my boyfriend for once?”

the tips of his ears redden at your words, making you giggle at the rare but pleasant sight. “....i mean, you can, but—”

“shh,” you shush him. he closes his mouth instantly. “no more talking! this is the most important part because i have to smooth out all the wrinkles in your forehead.”

he lets out a big gasp, being playfully offended—narrowing his eyes with an indignant look. the smile you didn't even know you were sporting grows wider at how cute he is. you wouldn't say it that out loud though, of course.

it is so beautifully quiet and peaceful. you can’t think of the last time you spent time with satoru like this: seated on the living room floor of his apartment as you slap your whole skincare routine onto his face. his back is against the couch with his legs sprawled out, but not too sprawled out so you are more than comfortable on his lap. it’s nighttime so the curtains are draped over the window, but you love the warm, dim lighting of his living room. gojo satoru is gorgeous, but is especially pretty in this lighting; with his head comfortably tilted back and eyes closed, but not forcefully or harshly shut as if he’s in pain.

for the longest time, you've been used to seeing satoru in pain. not in a physical way—but in an emotional and mental way that tugs at your heart strings just seeing him in that state. you know the burden that comes with being the strongest: there will always be a significant power divide between you and the people you love, which will never not be difficult for the other party to ignore. it also doesn’t help that he is so happy-go-lucky all the time, despite the jujutsu sorcerer duties that keeps piling rocks onto his shoulders.

but now in this moment, he is all yours. he isn’t the strongest, nor is he Gojo Satoru. he is just yours—just the lover boy who melts into your open arms whenever given the chance. just a boy who had to give up being a boy so he could be a man for others to look up to him. just someone you would want to depend on you, the same way you lovingly depend on him.

“i love you,” you suddenly whisper, in the midst of just simply applying lotion onto his skin. your slow, comforting movements make him want to fall asleep, but your words make him wide awake.

“out of the blue?” his head shoots up, eyes wide and visible despite being behind his messy bangs. he sits up and stares at you, the same glimmer back in his eyes. “i mean, i’m not complaining—”

you interrupt with a huff, “i say it everyday, jerk.” you place your hands on his chest to wipe away any of the lotion moisture left on your palms. he doesn’t bat a single eye. “what do you mean ‘out of the blue’?”

“i know, but...”

your jaw drops a bit. you actually cannot believe your eyes as satoru tilts his head a bit to the side, shyly averting his eyes as you see a tint of scarlet on his cheeks. “it just feels so intimate right now, so...”

good lord. you want to baby him so bad. you want to shrink him and keep him in your pocket and always protect him wherever you go.

“you’re too cute for my well-being,” you breathe, going back on your earlier words. “you know i always mean it when i say i love you, ‘toru.”

“stop,” he whines. he raises an arm to cover his face, eyes still unable to look at yours. “don’t compliment me. i don’t think i’ll be able to handle it right now.”

you can’t help but laugh, squeaking in surprise when satoru pokes at your sides with a little pout. you want to tease him, you think. you might as well with a smile permanently on your face now.

these are the type of moments you crave: moments when satoru tears down his walls and lets himself act like he’s a little boy all over again in front of you. it’s not like he necessarily had walls up with you in the first place, but being a jujutsu sorcerer has always meant protecting and guarding yourself at all times no matter the cost.

but now, you have him. and he has you in his arms, the one that sneak around your waist and warmly wrap around you to keep you close to his chest. it's cuddly but protective, both of your laughs drowning out any other background sounds.

and you are more than willing to protect him yourself.

#crying #this is so sweet #fic recs

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strwbrysugu · 11 months ago

Text

YOU'RE A MEAN ONE, MISTER GOJO ─ SATORU G.

synopsis: satoru gojo is spoiled and arrogant. he's also the next in line to inherit his family's fortune. his father sends him far away in a small town for a week in hopes that he'll 'change' for the better. instead of the usual five-starred hilton hotels, he stays at a local inn and starts to befriend the owner's daughter.

tropes: small town romance, christmas au, golden retriever x black cat

MILESTONE EVENT || MILESTONE MASTERLIST

contents: fem!reader, spoiled rich boy!gojo, acts like an ass to everyone but hopelessly falls in love with you at first sight, feels like a really bad hallmark movie, mentions of wealth class differences, reader isn't a tsundere - she's just indifferent for the most part and introverted word count: 7.5K (idk i will uh make the fics shorter in the future) a/n: thank you anon for requesting this!! idk if this is what you wanted but hopefully you like it!! :3 everyone also give a round of applause to @popponn for beta reading this big mess LMAO

Satoru Gojo has a lot of expectations, but this certainly isn’t one of them.

He isn’t particularly excited about spending a week away from his big city penthouse to be rotting in a small town motel in the middle of nowhere but, his father, CEO of Gojo Corporations, heavily insisted that he ‘needs this’ and that ‘it’ll be good for the company’ — whatever that means. Satoru is confident that his father thinks he’s incapable of running the family business after last month’s run with the paparazzi and his third fling of the month. It wasn’t his fault that they got caught doing drugs at one of Zenin's parties, everyone else was doing the same thing, it just so happened that the cameras were only focusing on him.

Well, that’s what he gets for signing up to be the son of one of the richest men on Earth.

“You need to start taking this seriously,” he recalls his father slamming his fist down at the desk before throwing a bottle of Henessy at the wall. “I don’t want this company to go bankrupt just because I have a son who only thinks with his dick.”

Ouch… but he’s not wrong about that.

So now Satoru finds himself driving up a winding road somewhere very deep in the mountains. Exactly five hours away from the city. And, for the past three hours, all he’s been seeing are miles and miles of pine trees, sheets of snow, and — he had recently learned this from Suguru — sugar shacks. Apparently when you’re out over a hundred miles into wilderness territory these sap houses are littered everywhere. The fact that Satoru is beginning to count more shacks than designer cars on the road is really starting to get to him.

“This whole thing is so fucking stupid,” Satoru has also been talking to himself throughout the journey in order to not lose his mind. “He could’ve just sent me door to door caroling instead of whatever this is.” Satoru doesn’t know how to sing well, but he does know all the lyrics to ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ and that usually gets him all the tips. He wonders if he can manage to make a small side hustle when he starts wasting his week here.

He takes a sharp turn up around the hill before finally recognizing a big red sign with the name ‘Mistle Town’ as seen on the postcard his dad left him before leaving. It takes him another five minutes of driving through said small town, which is quite literally something out of one of those really bad holiday movies that his mom would force him to watch when he was little, before arriving at the inn. Upon arriving, Satoru is noticeably disappointed at the lack of valet assistance and, the size and design of the inn, is rather lackluster.

First, it just looks like a regular white farmhouse. Maybe having a max of ten rooms, none of them being penthouse sized, Satoru assumes. There are a couple of flowerbeds out front, all covered in a couple of inches of snow, and there’s subtle signs of holiday decor slowly bleeding its way outside. He sees someone dressed in an oversized puffer by the entrance, arms occupied with red tinsel and large white ornaments, and figures that the first nice thing he’ll do is to help out a random stranger — just to prove something to his dad.

Satoru parks his Rolls Royce in a spot furthest away from everyone else in the parking lot and sends a ‘im alive and well’ text to Suguru, because he’s very much so going to be in frequent contact with him for the remainder of the trip, before heading up.

“Need a hand?” He points out the obvious but still manages to throw a smile as if he’s already fixed the situation unfolding in front of him.

Satoru’s presence seems to pull you from your busy trance. You wiped your body around, nearly smacking the damn tinsel in his face, and made a small surprised noise.

“I’ve got it,” you muffle out and he looks entirely unconvinced but, whatever, he tried anyway.

Satoru gives you a few encouraging pats on the back before heading inside, failing to realize his strength and causing you to lose your balance, making a few ornaments tumble to the ground. Thank god they’re all plastic though.

He pretends to not hear you yelling after him as he enters the double doors, immediately greeted by the scent of roasted coffee beans and leather. It’s the precious hour in the morning where nobody comes by, right after the cleaning staff had just finished vacuuming, when he struts in. He immediately spots someone vaguely familiar by the front desk. Long black hair, a red poofy bow tie in the back, and a distinctive scar across her face. The woman isn’t working alone, a man with another facial marking is next to her, brewing two cups of coffee by the espresso machine.

Satoru looks at the woman again and outwardly smiles. “What are you doing here?”

“Ugh,” Utahime’s composure immediately falters at the sound of his voice, not that it’s a big shock. “Helping the family business, what else?” she throws back with a certain sharpness to her tone, and waves off the casual talk. “Have you even mentally prepared yourself for what you’re getting into?”

Satoru simply shrugs and saunters over to a nearby seat by the counter. “Nah, honestly just planning to fuck around till I get back.”

Utahime flushes a little, though it’s mainly from frustration. “Satoru Gojo, you really are—”

“Utahime,” the man next to her speaks, handing her a cup of coffee, and slides Satoru a freshly brewed one, too. “I can explain the details to him, if you would like?”

The older female rubs the bridge of her nose and exhales a long, overdue sigh. “Please do, Choso.”

“Yeah,” Satoru leans into the counter, lips pointed down at this new face. “Please, do tell.”

“You’re basically our little Santa helper.” A new voice rings out from behind him. It spooks Satoru from his seat and he whips his head around to be met with your narrow eyes.

“Huh?”

“Also think of this as an unpaid internship.” You start laughing when he gags on his own saliva at your statement. “Okay, you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.”

Satoru swallows. “U-Unpaid…?”

Now it’s Utahime’s turn to speak, she huffs and tosses a couple of stockings into his arms. “Your father sent us a lengthy email a few days prior regarding your bratty behavior. So, of course, we came prepared.”

“Prepared…?” He feels the fabric in his hands and whines at the grainy texture. This is so not 100% real wool.

If Satoru thought he had any chance of actually taking over his father’s company, because he knows the difference between supply and demand, he’s wrong.

Customer service is not his forte. He’s always thrown emails and sponsorship paperwork at his many assistants, and Satoru doesn’t even know his own email log-in password. So, when you walked up to him first thing the next morning with a brown apron, the inn’s logo large and embroidered in the center, telling him how to function all these coffee machines that he’s seen behind hundreds of counters, it invoked some fear into his already wrecked nerves. Plus, no one dared to warn him about the clientele during a holiday rush.

“I want a venti peppermint frappe with two pumps of chocolate, three pumps of hazelnut, replace it with almond milk, one shot of espresso, and top it off with a drizzle of caramel on top.”

He slumps against the counter. “You sure you want all of that?”

“Can I please get a half dozen sfogliatella and a cannoli?

He starts picking at his cuticles and sneers. “Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”

“My change is supposed to be five dollars, you only gave me three back?”

Satoru groans. “You’re trying to scam me, aren’t you?”

By the end of his four hour shift, Satoru feels like he’s just done more charity work than he’s ever done in his life — actually, maybe this could also be comparable to the time where he did the ribbon cutting ceremony at Chanel; gotta support small businesses, right?

“Gojo.” You’re seated across from him behind the counter, arms crossed and pursed lips.

He barely spares you a glance as he idly plays whatever shitty mobile game that’s number one on the app store. “Mhm? What is it?” He clearly knows you’re upset, your voice practically screams ‘I will end you’ in the most monotonous way possible. But can you blame him? Of all places, Satoru does not want to spend his winter break here.

You jerk your head to the side, fingers rhythmically tapping away on the counter, clearly unimpressed. “It hasn’t even been a full day and you’ve managed to piss off every single customer.”

Satoru expression shifts, brow creasing, and sighs, grabbing a handful of mint chocolate from the freebie candy jar by the register. “Don’t be dramatic,” he rolls his eyes and shoves three pieces in his mouth before jabbing a finger at a young man. “I didn’t piss him off!”

You glower, cheeks slightly puffed out. “That’s Yuuji and he’s practically a family friend and Choso’s little brother, so he doesn’t count,” you explain before adding, “Plus, he’s literally nice to everyone. You’re not special.”

And for a second, Satoru considered arguing that fact. Having been born into wealth, granted whatever wish he wanted, his butlers and maids are always on speed dial, that’s the lifestyle he’s used to. Placed on this tiny rock called Earth just to take over it one day, is what his father used to always say to him. But how can he, Satoru Gojo, take over when he’s stuck working a minimum — scratch that, unpaid — wage job as punishment?

Instead of fighting, Satoru slumps against the counter and pouts, like a little kid who just got their toy taken away. You and your sister Utahime have a clear advantage over him, by somehow being close, yet distant, friends to his family. Maybe karma is real.

“I’m putting you on ski lessons later.”

Satoru’s ears perk at this. “Oh, so I get some employee benefits, right?”

You roll your eyes, digging deep in your pockets to pull out a sheet with his name next to a list of others. “Wrong. You’re in charge of teaching five year olds how to ski.”

“Huh?”

Somehow that sounds even worse than being a barista. Kinda.

By the end of his first day of unemployment, Satoru tries to convince himself that a full change of scenery is nice. Well, he has to convince himself, otherwise he’s stuck dreading each coming day for the rest of the week.

“Tired yet, Gojo?”

You flop down on a spare armchair in his room, squishing his Canada Goose jacket underneath. He’s too tired to yell at you to get off and tumbles onto his bed, feet dangling off the edge, letting out a loud groan when his face immediately makes contact with the rough wooly blanket. Surprisingly to him, everything just feels so comfortable that the quality of the products doesn’t even cross his mind.

Sure, the air in the room is a bit musty, and he can feel his cheeks flaring up from the sudden change in temperature and the dull aching nag in his legs from demonstrating ski tricks to toddlers, but there’s an odd sense of fulfillment swelling in his chest just about now. He almost suggests taking over Choso’s lesson but, according to the hotel pamphlet, there’s going to be an ice fishing tournament tomorrow and he kinda wants to check that out, too.

“Exhausted,” he mumbles into the sheets, eyes squeezed shut. Satoru wiggles his body around for a few moments before slipping out of his snow boots and stares out the window, noticing flickering green and purple lights in the night sky. “Woah, are those…?”

He hears you laugh beside him. “Yeah, northern lights. We see them all the time during the winter.”

“Only seen them bitches in ‘Polar Express’.” Satoru finds himself saying whatever’s on his mind right now, his brain too whipped out to control his mouth. “You guys are lucky to see this every night.”

“I know you’re all pooped out from today but,” he feels the mattress dip by the edge and your fingers poking at his thighs. “Did you wanna head up to the balcony and watch them for a bit?” you say this experimentally, waiting for his reaction.

Satoru might be a stranger to most natural phenomenons, having to zone out all the time whenever he did go on family vacations to a fancy national park when he was younger. Though, during the short time of spending his time here, it makes him think about packing up and leaving behind the fast paced city life for a bit of natural beauty and brightness.

“Carry me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re like a giant.”

He manages to gather some energy to sit up on his elbows. “You should at least have some form of hospitality to a family friend, you know?”

You eye him for a long moment, and then finally huff, breaking the contact to kick your feet into the festive carpeted floor. “Alright, just don’t lean your whole body weight on me.”

“Wouldn’t count on that.”

Both of you end up tumbling onto the balcony rails around one in the morning. As expected, Satoru couldn’t keep to his promise, throwing his ridiculously long arms around your shoulders, and whining the whole way up the stairs. It’s not his fault that the inn didn’t have an elevator installed. In all, it’s not a bad day — a bad night, even.

You straighten him against the railing before throwing a blanket over him. The fabric is thick and heavy, and Satoru forgets the ache in his limbs as he watches the way your eyes focus, eyebrows knitted, when you’re making sure he stays bundled up against the winter air. Once upon a time, Satoru never would’ve thought he would actually enjoy being in the company of someone who’s actively trying to teach him a lesson.

“Okay,” you say suddenly, almost like a reminder that you need to breathe, and pull away from him once he’s wrapped tightly like a swaddled baby.

You both sit in silence for a moment, and Satoru feels the urge to fill all that silence. He supposes maybe that’s why most people find him so annoying. He never really shuts up, always wants to add the last comment to everything. Though, with the help of Suguru by his side, it’s gotten slightly easier and bearable for others but, when his head is big and full of loud thoughts, it’s so hard trying to calm the buzzing noise in his head and —

“Gojo, look,” your pointer finger darts at the illuminated skyline in the distance and he snaps his head, following the trail, before gasping.

He feels your other hand tugging at the blanket when he finally makes out two faint bright lights in the distance. You squirm slightly next to him, to the point where your shoulders touch, and Satoru finally breathes, because suddenly, there’s heat rushing in. The loud, rough winds around him seem to die down and he’s aware of the slightly gazed expression on your face as you look into the far distance.

“Did you make a wish?” he finds himself whispering.

You grin. “Yeah, gonna make you work here for eternity,” you reply back in good natured spirit.

Something stirs inside Satoru. Something important. Well, Satoru-level important, so in the grand scheme of things, not very — but still. He unravels parts of his blanket and throws it over your head, making sure that it messes up your hair, and laughs when you throw him another pout.

“Did you make a wish?” you adjust the blanket so it covers your shoulders, moving a little closer to him, avoiding the cool breeze.

Satoru nods but presses a finger to his lips. “Not telling, though. Might not come true if I do.”

“Oh, shoot. Maybe I should’ve kept mine a secret then.”

He rolls his eyes and nudges your waist with an elbow. “You will definitely not see me here again.”

Satoru realizes, very fast, that his life has become very different, very quickly. And it might not be the bad kind of different.

Over the course of the next few days, he’s practically glued to your side as you’re showing him all things related to hospitality that his father tried to drill into him when he was a pre-teen. Obviously, it didn’t work at the time. Satoru’s known for being defiant just because he wanted to, and eventually his father stopped with the after school etiquette lessons. You, on the other hand, unfortunately have him tied around your fingers.

“You need to tidy up the edges more, Gojo.”

“There’s barely a wrinkle in these sheets!” He points at the bed sheet on the mattress, the one that he’d been working on for the last ten minutes in vain while you stood next to him with slightly concerned eyes. It’s a room service type of lesson today and, even though Satoru has never made his own bed before, he’s positive that he didn’t leave behind any smudges that might catch anyone’s eye.

“Did you check tuck in the sides? Or are you trying to get off easy for today?” You say, there’s a mild accusation in your tone when you speak, smiling as you step aside.

And, despite the warm smile, Satoru frowns a little, because guess who forgot to tuck in the sides?

When Satoru ducks his head around the mattress and sees a good loose chunk of the sheets hanging off and groans when you’re right. “It’s not my fault that they’ve made them so big for no reason,” he replies, somewhat embarrassed, rubbing the back of his head and messing up his already ruffled hair.

You roll your eyes and stick a tongue out. “You’re getting the hang of it though, maybe even faster than Yuuji when he first offered to help.”

He flushes at the unexpected praise and quickly fixes the sheets, turning his whole entire body away from your sight. “Better than Yuuji, right?”

“Oh? So, you only work better with compliments, Gojo?” You sound amused, as if a lightbulb just popped on top of your head.

Satoru flattens out the bed once more, strangely now feeling satisfied with the final outcome before turning around, sticking out a tongue of his own. “Only if it’s from you,” he answers, honestly.

You laugh, and hopefully it’s not at him. “I thought you would be more annoying to deal with.”

“So, I’m just regular amounts of annoying?” He points out, with a fake frown, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the sheet.

You turn your gaze, seemingly in deep thought, before responding with a small shrug and grin. “Possibly a perfect amount of annoying.”

Satoru feels the blood rushing to his cheeks, again. “Well, of course, it’s the perfect amount because I’m perfect,” he replies, instantly, but suddenly he’s shy and feels the need to go to the next room to fix their stupid sheets before he combusts in front of you.

“Gojo,” you say, almost hesitantly.

He swallows and rubs the back of his neck, wiping off evidence of his sweaty palms. “Yeah?”

“You missed a spot,” and your pointer fingers direct at the far right corner of the bed frame. He must’ve pulled the sides too hard and it caused the other side to flip over. Ugh, he’s not cut out for this at all.

“I’m… uh, still better than Yuuji, right?”

“Mhm, getting there, Gojo.”

By day four, Satoru has surprisingly adjusted to the rules and responsibilities. He’s not entirely sure what’s gotten him mildly well behaved, Suguru is a bit surprised by the daily updates being less… aggressive and whiny. What started as long vent paragraphs about the lack of heated flooring and needy customers, soon turned into photo albums of kids face planting into the snow and unconsented selfies with you in the background. Satoru absolutely makes sure you end up looking the worst out of the two because he’s gotta let his best friend know who’s the prettiest and he’s definitely racking up a blackmail album of all of your worst moments in case anything happens in the future.

It’s closing time and he just got back from the reindeer shed out in the back, covered head to toe in all things hay and snow. First things first, and no one bothered to tell him, but reindeers smell bad. Like, really bad. Especially at the end of the day, where their pens are covered in shit and countless carrots and apple bits from the little kids overfeeding them. Satoru is vaguely aware of the fact that he smells, just like he’s vaguely aware that the hotel lobby is oddly quiet from the usual banter between you and the usual workers.

Utahime and Choso are sitting by the cafe bar, seemingly deep in conversation about ordering more supplies for next week. Satoru thinks about interrupting their session with probably an unrelated dumb question, but the idea dies when Utahime notices his presence and motions him to come over.

“You stink,” Satoru casts a half-glare at Utahime and begins picking out some of the scattered hay pieces stuck to his sweater.

“For the record, I became good friends with Rudolph and Vixen today,” he grumbles back and Choso throws him a pat on the back.

“Hey, I don’t mind your stink, by the way. Smells kinda nice,” Choso offers up, but Satoru only shoots him a very unhappy look.

“If you think I smell nice then I’m really worried about what you think smells bad,” then he turns over to Utahime again, who’s engrossed in whatever is on her clipboard right now. “So, what did you need from me?”

“My sister,” she starts and taps away at the clipboard before handing it over to him. It’s pages upon pages of invoices from the past month. “Could you hand this to her? She should be in the back.”

“You treating me like an errand boy?”

Utahime scoffs. “What? Don’t wanna see her?”

“No, I do,” he responds, a bit too fast for his own liking, and straightens out. “Uh, is that all?” Satoru hopes his face doesn’t betray how much he’s a bit excited to interact with you, given that today was a full day out in the trenches, and he absolutely needs to hear you say his name at least twice a day in order to have a good night’s sleep.

Choso is trying really hard not to laugh, and Satoru takes it as a sign that he currently has a cheesy smile on his face — go figure. “One of the corner rooms upstairs requested a weighted blanket, mind also doing that too?”

There’s a certain relief that floods through Satoru and he thinks maybe he can take on a few more tasks for the night if that means spending a little more time with you, even if his body is screaming that he needs to take a two hour long shower.

“Hey,” he starts to say when he rounds the corner, “Where’d you put those weighted blankets again?”

Satoru expected to walk in on you neck-deep in paperwork. You’ve mentioned earlier in the week that this year would be the busiest and there’s a bunch of stuff due. Something about end of the year tax returns and inventory counts, it all goes out his ear but he remembers something similar that his father told him in a prior conversation. He thinks he could probably help you figure out some of it, but that might be a bit much.

What he walks in on, thought, is you sitting in your little makeshift office. You’re on your laptop, the screen’s tilted just right enough that he gets a glimpse of what you’re looking at. You’re looking at flights and hotels, even got a whole spreadsheet on the second monitor. From what he’s seen of you so far, you didn’t come off as the type to talk about your future that much.

His voice catches you by surprise and your expression flickers from something vaguely focused to embarrassment real quick. You hastily close out the tabs and go back to the hotel’s homepage.

“What is it, Gojo?” And there’s this awkward, oddly frantic moment of you fumbling around with the keyboard and mouse, like a teenage boy who’s just got caught looking at porn.

“Ah,” Satoru thinks seeing your flustered side is rather adorable, to say the least. “You tryin’ to plan a vacation or something?” He struts over to your desk, placing a firm hand onto the back of the chair, and there’s this smile on his face that just screams ‘gotcha’.

Your face scrunches up but it’s not out of annoyance. “Kinda?”

Even with a grumpy look, it’s a good look on you. Makes you kinda dark, brooding, and beautiful, and it turns your eyes into dark storm clouds, or some other weird, waxy poetic shit that Satoru can’t figure out the words to. Either way, Satoru thinks you look cute and can’t stop noticing your little facial movements. You’re more expressive than you would probably imagine.

“Ooh, where to?”

You sigh and start playing with your thumbs. “Malaysia. My friend told me great things about it and I’ve been meaning to go for a while now but time and money are always iffy.”

“Makes sense, I can imagine that being an inn assistant doesn’t pay all the bills.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say. You huff and glare, an icy-death glare, at him. If looks could kill, Satoru is sure that he’ll be six feet underground by now.

“Weighted blankets are on the second floor closet by the laundry room,” you answer his initial question curtly before shutting the laptop. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“It was just a question,” he mumbles slowly, and maybe even a little dangerously. “If money’s an issue—”

“Gojo.” Your voice is fixed and rigid, one that leaves absolutely no room for debate. “Your dad was right about you; you always just fall back to your fame and wealth.”

As you’re busy staring, Satoru realizes that you’re kinda being a total ass to him right now.

“That’s not fair,” his voice is rising and can’t seem to put a stop to the words spilling out. “Don’t bring my dad into this conversation.”

“Or what? You can go back to your privileged life anytime you want. This is just a field trip for you while others actually have to try hard and make a living.” You spit out.

“No one forced you to become an inn worker, you know? If you’re so worried about money then you could’ve just found another high paying job.” Satoru wrinkles his nose and his volume continues to rise.

You immediately offer him a dark glare and it comes off in a cut-throat way that shuts Satoru up mid thought. The rest of his counters die in his throat when you start making hand gestures at the office exit and he gets the hint: ‘leave before I lose my shit’ is the calling he sees.

And it works, because he finds his tone shifting a little, awkwardly kicking the floor and backing off. “Whatever…”

That was last night and, by now, Satoru is realizing that he’s kind of a giant asshole and the guilt is slowly eating away at him. Was he always like this? It couldn’t have been — he’s only met you a few days ago, and this is only meant to be a quick, ‘vacational’, getaway. Sure he might be a bit selfish and a dick, but he had been able to function perfectly fine before all of this, hadn’t he?

Satoru’s not really sure.

It’s noon, and he’s lying in bed. Choso had asked him to cover his shift at the cafe, and he’d agreed, readily, even though it’s supposed to be his day off, because you’re working. Choso had texted him, though, saying that you had simply said you’d work the entire shift by yourself.

Of course. It’s absolutely not funny anymore.

Satoru sighs. He’s going to apologize, that’s for sure. It wounds some of his pride, yeah, but whatever, this tension between you guys, though, isn’t worth it. He finds himself wasting his entire morning away rotting in bed. There are things that he could be doing, that he looks forward to, like feeding the reindeers or demonstrating basic ski moves to little kids. Choso and Yuuji totally got him addicted to yelling out ‘pizza’ and ‘french fry’ at every chance he gets. They also got him addicted to a shitty relationship forum they both browse, but somehow the idea of reading other people’s relationship drama, when he’s facing drama of his own, is kinda mentally exhausting.

On second thought, maybe he should post on that forum, actually.

It might not be such a bad idea.

Or maybe he could reach out to Suguru and ask how to apologize?

His best friend is a bit more grounded and attuned with other people’s feelings compared to him, afterall. Satoru’s not good at this stuff and he’s always just cut others off whenever they do argue, but this feels different. And, well, for the first time in forever, Satoru is desperate.

“I fucked up big time and I need to apologize, help me out here?”

Suguru scoffs over the line. “Wow, what happened to saying ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’?”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Hi, hello. How are you? How do I make a sincere apology?”

“I’m good, thank you. Now, for your request, depends on how big the fuck up is.”

He bites his tongue, finding the right words to essentially not sound like a huge dick but, no matter how he wants to rephrase it, the outcome is the same. “I might’ve implied that she’s poor and needs someone to take care of her?” It sounds so stupid, so mean, and so degrading now that he’s saying it out loud.

He hears Suguru sucking in his teeth and sighs. After a couple of pauses, his best friend finally speaks. “That’s pretty fucked up.”

Satoru frowns. “Okay, yeah, it is,” and he sits up in his bed when a snowball makes an impact against the window. It’s Utahime. And, currently, she’s throwing him the nastiest glare that a woman has ever given him in his life. “Um, I’ll call you back, buddy…”

“What? I haven’t given you—”

“Don’t have time for unwarranted advice right now.”

“You called me!”

“Bye!” Satoru ends the call before shuffling towards the window, swallowing a hard lump, and inches the glass panel just small enough for him to hear coherently and not big enough for her to punt him across the face. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

But Utahime is in an obvious shitty mood and Satoru’s lack of charming antics aren’t going to work this time. “I’m going to apologize, I promise,” he tries to insist.

“This is all your fault,” she immediately gets to the point and it makes him shrink back just a tiny bit. He’s starting to see that the bluntness runs in the family. “Just get your ass to work.”

“But my shift doesn’t start till—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Utahime starts to form an even bigger snowball and raises it to the window panel. “Ass out of bed, now.”

Okay, so as much as Satoru had tried to tell himself that this week wouldn’t be bad, it’s really starting to get fucking awful.

Everyone’s in a shit mood. Yuuji tries to crack some jokes but the usual crowd isn’t having it. You’ve been throwing Satoru dirty looks while working behind the cafe counter together and he’s been put on drink duty — which is his worst nightmare — while you’re attending to the customers because you’re young and cute enough for them to be nice to you. Satoru has spilled hot coffee and chocolate on himself like four times so far, and the shift just started. He’s terrified that the rest of this week is going to be like this.

“Can we talk?” Satoru whisper shouts over the espresso machine.

He sees your shoulders tensing up but immediately relaxes them afterwards. “Did you hear something, Yuuji?”

The boy looks up from the bar counter, it’s his day off and he’s catching up on some homework, but the seemingly growing tension that’s unfolding in front of him is making it painfully hard for him to focus on anything engineering related. Yuuji scratches the back of his neck before darting his eyes back and forth between the two of you. Normally, he would be the voice of reason, but Satoru doesn’t blame him when he shakes his head.

“N-Nah, must’ve been the wind or something...”

Great, he’s been reduced to an air draft.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you agree without missing a beat. As the next customer in line spends an eternity holding everyone up, debating whether to get the seasonal muffin or french toast to go with their drink, you continue, “Thought I heard a rotten brat for a second.”

He absolutely doesn’t expect the harsh insult. Satoru widens his eyes at the outburst and there’s a small pause, the silence ticking in between everyone, and he’s sure that you’re glaring him down somewhere in a small reflection on the counter.

Satoru debates whether to call out your name and shake some sense into you, but Yuuji quickly swallows and makes a motion with his hands to his throat, a universal signal saying — ‘I wouldn’t test the waters, if I were you’.

And, after the customer finally decides that they didn’t want any pastries with their coffee order, you finish the transaction before announcing that you’re going on a small fifteen minute break to “stretch”. Though, anyone could see that you’re planning to cool off before you manage to actually blow up in Satoru’s face.

“How the hell am I going to talk to her?” he groans to Yuuji once you’re finally away. He’s managing the cash register and, surprisingly, finishes taking the remaining orders quite smoothly compared to his first day. At least he can pat himself on the back for this.

“You’ve really pissed her off, dude,” Yuuji replies and Satoru just rolls his eyes because that’s all he’s been hearing from everyone else all day today. “You should talk to her when she’s not… charged up.”

“Way to point out the obvious.” Sometimes he forgets that Yuuji is a bit oblivious. How is he doing so well as a mechanical engineering major?

Yuuji makes an audible ‘pop’ and whistles. “What did you even say to her?”

Satoru groans into his hands. “Did she not tell you?”

“Well, she wasn’t exactly in a chippy mood to talk about anything this morning — outside of work, that is.”

“Here’s a little TLDR version: might’ve said something classist.”

“Might’ve?”

“Okay, definitely said something classist.”

“Then…” Yuuji drums his fingers against the counter, deep in thought. “Y’know, whenever me and Megumi fight, I always invite him out to the movies to try and cheer him up. Might not be applicable to you but…”

Satoru blinks. “Are you suggesting a date would help?”

“Maybe not a date—”

“No, I’m sorry for calling you dumb, you’re so right—a nice date might work!”

“You never called me dumb, though?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, kiddo.”

Satoru unravels the ribbon on his apron and throws it in Yuuji’s general direction, not caring if he tossed the stained uniform directly in his face. He hops the counter and pats the younger male on the shoulder, flashing him a genuine smile because, hey, maybe Yuuji actually is smarter than he looks.

“Gonna totally invite you to the wedding.”

It’s no secret that Satoru Gojo hasn’t been on a proper date in a pathetically long time.

He has swiped right on a number of highly influential celebrities and figures on dating apps before. Matched with nearly all of them. Gone on…maybe a lot of first dates with not a lot of second dates coming right after. Who cares though, everyone’s just there for the photos and followers anyway. Satoru knows that he’s attractive and that he personally loves big, lavish dates but, at this point, he knows you enough to understand you absolutely hate big gestures.

After a short winded conversation with Suguru and Utahime, separately, Satoru has concluded on not buying you first class tickets to Malaysia.

“Are you trying to get her to hate your guts?” Was the general consensus of the conversation with said people.

So, what’s the next best option if he can’t fly you out to Malaysia? The answer is pretty simple — bring Malaysia to Mistle Town. And no, he’s not going to be relying on his black card for anything, even though the back of his mind is telling him otherwise.

Choso blinks several times at Satoru’s printed out proposal. The colorful letters and Google image photos of beaches and coconuts slapped poorly onto the document screams back at Choso and Yuuji, bright and early on Christmas Eve.

It’s unusual for Satoru to be bouncing excitedly in place for someone other than himself. So this catches everyone off guard.

Yuuji whispers something intangible to Choso, but Satoru is able to make it out as, “Do we even have coconuts here?”

To which Choso replies, “It’s winter, so I don’t think so.”

And Yuuji moves onto the next question in queue, “What should we do about the lack of palm trees?”

A patient sigh from Choso, “We could always trim the pine trees outside?” He lamely suggests.

“It’s a good idea, no?” Satoru jumps right back in, completely missing the flat vibe from the brothers. He frowns. “Why are you guys giving me that look?”

And, like his best friend and your sister, the brothers throw him a confused head tilt.

“Well,” Yuuji weakly starts, “Your plan ‘Project: Bring Malaysia here in hopes of Y/N falling in love with me’ doesn’t really sound that great… even on paper.”

Satoru grins, fully expecting that to be the response. “I’ll order the things, don’t worry about it. I just need to borrow your lungs for this project.”

Yuuji scratches his cheek in confusion, laughing nervously again. “Our lungs…?” he echos.

“How long do I have to keep this dumb blindfold on, Choso?”

“U-Um,” Choso shoots Satoru a brow as he carefully guides you through the hotel lobby.

It’s currently decked out from head to toe in all things yellow, green, and pink beach themed inflatables. Choso and Yuuji reminded Satoru last night that maybe two flamingos would’ve been enough to get the message across, but seeing that he ordered a whole colony? Yeah, he’s sending the rich boy prayers as he reels you in further, avoiding collision with the colorful balloons and seven-foot tall palm trees, too.

“Choso?”

He squeezes your shoulders when Satoru shoots him a thumbs up. “Ten seconds.”

Satoru quietly walks over to both of you, tip toeing so the sounds of his loafers are minimized against the flooring. Once he’s inches away, Choso retreats off into a different room, mouthing to him words of final encouragement, which Satoru gladly took.

You appear restless under the blindfold. “I swear to god, if I take it off and there’s a giant pile of reindeer shit in the middle of the lobby I will actually kill somebody—”

And Satoru quietly debates whether or not he wants to keep you like this for a little while before revealing the big surprise. Seeing you flustered and confused is a very cute look on you, after all. But, he’s gotten you this far and it would absolutely kill him to leave you on such a bad notice. It’s now early evening, and the sun’s just starting to set enough that the golden rays illuminate your features from this angle. It takes Satoru back to his first private meeting with you on the balcony and he remembers why he’s even doing this in the first place.

Carefully and slowly, he slips down the blindfold and softly calls out your name. “Hey, take a look around you.”

Your eyes are blown wide when you see his face. Anger and frustration dissipate from your face when you soon realize that Satoru carries a soft expression. He watches as the emotions wash off as quickly as they came. Then, you finally take a look around your surroundings and gasp. “You—You did all of this for me?”

Satoru tenses a little, a bit on the edge. “You want the short or long answer?”

You don’t notice because you’re too preoccupied with the numerous fake flamingos around you. “On second thought, maybe no answer would also work.”

He laughs at this, slightly, before turning shy again. He feels silly, ashamed, and it makes his cheeks flush. “I wanted to say sorry again for what I said earlier.”

“You finally want to talk about it?”

He looks at your idle hands and then back to your face. When he sees that you don't move them away as he inches closer, he takes both of them into his palms, giving them a tight squeeze. “Yeah, I was a big idiot and I thought I was trying to help in the beginning but I just sounded—no, I am—a giant ass.” Satoru concludes.

The atmosphere grows quiet and heavy again. The air humid and thick despite the opened windows and you’re looking at him. Then, there are tiny little smiles that break out on your face, like freckles and stars in the sky.

“You’re such a pillow princess,” and he outright blushes ten shades darker at the nickname, “you’re lucky you’re cute.” Coming from you, that’s as good as a love confession.

I like you, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. He really likes you and doesn’t want to fuck this up.

But, everyone knows that Satoru Gojo is a child at heart.

Satoru doesn’t know who gives in first; realistically, it might’ve been one of those stupid, rare, impossible moments where it’s completely shared. Suddenly the gaudy blow up palm trees and inflatable pool blur from his vision and he feels the world roaring around him when your palms rest on his cheeks. He ducks his head down but you’re the one who closes the distance between.

You taste like strawberries and lavender, smell like warm cocoa, and feel softer than any sherpa blanket he’s had. Satoru closes his eyes and his vision goes white, his hands shakily snake around your waist, pressing you hard against his chest as if you might disappear at any moment. Satoru sighs into the kiss, it feels pleasantly warm, that throb in his chest, it’s a slow, steady thrum of simmering desire and comfort. He’s pretty sure he’s adding way too much tongue, the drool and saliva that comes dripping between you two will be uncomfortable soon, but for now, it adds to the blissed out, satisfaction you’re both basking in.

Finally, you pull away, shortening yourself a good several inches from planting the rest of your feet on the ground. Your eyes are glossed over, watery and looking at him without vexation. “You’re something else.” You say, but there’s no bite.

Satoru doesn’t speak for a moment. He’s too focused on the feeling of your warm fingers sprawled all over his heating face. Too focused on the dull pulse of both nervousness and infatuation slowly spreading through his body because you’re giving him that look. This all feels romantic and stupid, he thinks.

“I’m sorry, again.” The words are quiet, hesitant, and Satoru almost regrets them the moment he speaks.

You shift around a little, now dancing on the balls of your feet, but the grasp you have on his cheeks is still relatively firm, even applying a bit of more pressure as if it’s your way of showing reassurance. You tip your head; your eyes are so vivid and bright, it sends a shiver down Satoru’s spine. In this moment, he remembers every single thing between them in shocking detail — the awkwardness, the tension, the frustration, the dumb banters, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed.

“I’ll forgive you if you give me a private city tour,” you laugh. “And come back to work with us again next year.”

Satoru offers a small smile. “Unpaid?”

“Will you say no if it is?”

He hugs you tighter, a chuckle bubbles in his throat. “I don’t think I can say no because it’s you.”

Though, while some might think that Satoru is the real loser here for being whipped so hard over a small town girl, you know that deep down the real loser is you. Because you managed to have the son of a CEO wrapped around your fingers and now you will never know peace again. But you’re not really complaining; instead, you’re working even harder to save just enough to eventually see your dream destination while Satoru whines and sends an ungodly amount of selfies everyday when he’s back home. And you won’t allow yourself to get snappy because, well, you’re very much head over heels for him, too.

#fic recs

3K notes · View notes

strwbrysugu · 11 months ago

Text

to no one's surprise, gojo knows almost everything.

for example, he knows that he's your best friend.

he knows that you like hanging out with him more than suguru (even when you fervently deny it), that you have to have your phone in your hand at all times or else you'll freak out, and that you prefer the smaller, simpler moments over grand ones. he knows that utahime's eyes look sharper and she looks happier because shoko gifted her a new eyeliner, and he also knows that toji's been working out because of the new girl that's in his math class, not because he's suddenly interested in leg day.

simply put, gojo knows everything about everyone.

"and then what'd she do?" he leans back on the bench, his finger flipping the pull tab on his soda cap as the wind scatters snowy air everywhere.

"we just talked afterwards," you shrug, staring at the other college students that are throwing snowballs at each other, "it was nice talking to her again, it's been a while."

"i bet. she's a fucking monster," he chortles before he takes a swig of his drink, guzzling down the lime soda like a starved man.

"oh!" your eyes brighten, and you look at him.

you can't help but burst out in laughter when you see his face, but you quickly compose yourself, keeping your smile in check, "she also said the funniest thing—she said that she thought you had feelings for me!"

his eyes widen in surprise, his jaw dropping ever so slightly. "that's wild."

"i know right?" you snicker, fixing your collar with your glove as puffs of vapor escape your lips. he joins you in raucous laughter over the hilarious misunderstanding, the chuckle bubbling up his lips at the notion of liking you as more than a friend.

"hahaha!"

his smile drops.

"suguru, what do i do?!"

his roommate lies on the couch with a bored look on his face, his fingers swiping across his phone screen as he plays candy crush.

"just confess."

"i confess that i want you to die."

"if it's between you being a miserable pain in my ass and satan, i'm choosing satan, dude."

gojo raises an eyebrow. "why are you just assuming you're going to hell?"

"because i've associated myself to you." geto's lips quirk up to a smile as he hits a combo, the rainbow array of colors blinding his eyes and almost (almost being the key word) distracting him from the white hedgehog across him.

"help me out first, and then die later. c'mon, don't be stingy!"

"i literally already gave you advice, just tell 'em how you feel."

"...one small problem with that."

"what?"

"i—" gojo opens and closes his mouth indignantly as he tries to explain his feelings in a way that won't make geto violently ill. he raises his eyebrows before he gives him a smile that's as innocent as possible, "well i actually don't know if i like them like that? it was an in-the-moment realization kind of thing, but i'm actually still a little confused—"

geto drops his phone on his face, a thwack! permeating through the small living room as his roommate makes a squeak in horror, kicking his feet against the leather chair he lies on.

"are you fucking serious?" geto sits up immediately, hissing as the pale red welt on his nose confidently becomes less pale, his flip phone pathetically flinging off his shoulder onto the couch, "they literally can't do anything without you, i saw them forget how to chew on rice because you left them on delivered for two minutes, and you're a useless brick if they aren't always in your sight! you two have the most unhealthy relationship i've ever seen!"

gojo crosses his arms, glaring, and geto sighs, rubbing his forehead in annoyance. "...respectfully, of course."

"talk shit about them again and i'll skin you alive. i'm serious."

"that's literally my point."

"that doesn't mean you get to be mean! take it back!"

geto bites the inside of his cheek, staring at him with beady eyes. "for being so fucking observant," he says slowly, "you know nothing."

"what's that supposed to mean?" gojo's eyes narrow, suddenly on the defensive.

"haibara's been eyeing them up lately, y'know," geto shrugs candidly, "i think he's gonna say something soon. who knows? it might even be today."

gojo stares gobsmacked at the man in front of him, his jaw on the floor as he formulates his friend's own words; geto can even see the exact moment the lightbulb goes off in his head, and like a robot, he stands up straight.

"suguru, i need to go! good luck on candy crush!"

"sharon from quebec ain't got nothing on me."

by the time he finishes the sentence, his friend has already left the front door wide open.

suguwu: don't make fun of him (y/n): ??? suguwu: you'll see

the key to your apartment unlocks itself, and right on time, gojo slams the door wide open, sweating and panting like a bulldog.

"what's this—?" you can barely get the words out before gojo grabs your shoulders frantically, tilting his head to stare into your eyes.

"i like you." he says confidently, "i was fighting for my life arguing with suguru, and i'm not even gonna lie, he fucked with me a bit, but i came out with a clear head, and i know i like you. so don't date haibara, he's a cool guy and all, but he's not right for you. a-and honestly, you'd be in a three-way with his best friend if you were with him, and that sounds like a nightmare."

you have no idea who haibara is, but you stay silent to let him continue speaking. he was always the more talkative out of the two of you (he's also the warmer of the two of you, which is confusing because his hands feel like ice against your sweater).

his hands go from your shoulders to your arms, and he swallows. "i'm usually not stressed when i'm talking to you, y'know," he admits, rambling on, "normally i love talking to you and it makes me feel really good and free, but i honestly feel like i'm gonna puke right now."

"did you take the train here?"

"yeah."

"aw,'toru!" you soften instantly, placing your hand up to his cheek. he melts against your touch instantly, his jaw leaning into your skin as he lets out a sigh. you frown at his negligence, "you know the train hurts your stomach, why did you do that?"

"i just really wanted to see you." he pouts, "like i said, suguru was really fucking with me."

"i'm gonna murder him."

"please do."

"...and satoru?"

"hm?"

it's really cute, actually—how he's forgotten about his very mission when he came here. you suppose you can't blame him too much, he's just arrived from his magical chariot (the train) after slaying the dragon (fighting the urge to throw up on said train), and every prince deserves a reward for his troubles. gojo especially, deserves a happy ending, and you couldn't be more honored to give one to him.

"i like you too, just by the way. yuki may be a monster but her intuition is amazing; i was just about to take the train over to your place, actually!"

he gasps. "but the train hurts your stomach!"

you smile sheepishly. "i guess i just really wanted to see you."

his jaw drops for the tenth time today, and he pulls you into a tight hug (he can't help it, his heart feels so full right now), burying his head into your neck, murmuring against your shoulder. "i love you, i love you, i love—"

"i love you too." you smile because you do love him. he's been your best friend since grade school, your number one supporter since you were born, the man that you've admired before you knew what admiration was. "since you're here, wanna watch a movie?"

"absolutely!"

while he hums, cutting up fruit for your impromptu movie session, you take your phone out.

(y/n): i'll beat ur ass in candy crush if u come for satoru again suguwu: ??? (y/n): you'll see 😐

justice for suguru 🗣️ inspired by but i like you by boynextdoor and villain w/ a crush :) NOT MY BEST WORK LMAO just something a little bit shorter to feed u until the wrio fic comes out!

#i love love love #fic recs

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strwbrysugu · 1 year ago

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“i love you.”

satoru hears you say it when he’s clumsily wiping the food crumbs off of the table, his eyes determined on cleaning the table to perfection and tongue poking out between his lips in concentration.

he lifts his head up to take a look at you.

apron still tied around your frame, arms crossed over your chest, you are leaning against the counter, your expression soft as you smile at him.

there is a look in your eyes he often sees by accident; whenever he looks at you suddenly and for a brief second your pretty irises reveal to him a lot more than your words ever could before you turn away quickly, acting as if you weren’t staring at him. a look full of admiration and fondness he himself can barely contain when he is reminded of your presence in his life, but it’s kind of weird to receive that look instead of giving it, like he usually does with no shame.

you don’t turn away this time though, still gazing at him and satoru wonders if you’re even aware of your own actions. does he look like that whenever he stares at you? he always stares at you, attention automatically switching to you and not wavering, whether you are staying by his side or just temporarily, busy with work and errands and your life.

satoru steps closer to you, ignoring the stinging pain in his thigh where he just bumped into the table’s sharp edge, like he always does when manoeuvring through your tiny(in his words) kitchen. he doesn’t make a scene though, choosing to keep his dramatic yelps of pain inside for tonight, just so you have that bright beam on your face for a little longer. he likes it a lot.

his hands find place on the edge of the counter, caging you between them. you don’t mind, eyes just languidly following his as he leans in a little bit. you lean in too, eyelids almost closing as you tilt your head up, breathing the same air as him.

satoru presses a soft kiss onto your corner of your mouth. your lashes flutter and you huff in frustration, slapping his chest lightly.

“you had some crumbs there.”

he smiles cheekily, eyes roaming over your features as you roll your eyes lightly at his words.

“and here too,” his lips land on yours, moving away quickly, just they way he knows it will irritate you enough. “and also here.” another kiss, this time on your jaw.

that continues until you grab the sides of his face, effectively stopping him from attacking your face with short pecks and kisses as you pout at him. satoru can’t help the lovesick, wide smile that takes over his face when your thumbs caress his cheekbones, following the labyrinth your eyes mold as they wander over his face attentively, full of adoration for him and only him.

“sato—”

“i love you.”

#🥹#fic recs

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strwbrysugu · 1 year ago

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₊˚⊹。these traces of love, they outline you | gojo satoru

wc: 12.9k

summary: the 5 times gojo’s sure you’ve changed his life + the 1 time he hopes to change yours.

contains: f!reader, pronoun she, 18+ nsfw (not super explicit but the act is there), symptoms similar to synesthesia, reader’s cursed technique, sparring, drunk call, pet names (cutie, silly, pretty, baby, loml), nervous feelings, tummy ache, food descriptions, surprise appearance of one character, emotional tears!!, internal thoughts and insecurities.

a/n: primarily in gojo's pov! & best read if you’ve gone through the other parts in the series! (lots of callbacks and references + better context!), lots of songs as inspo (would gladly share if you’re curious!), will add descriptions for the food in the a/n at the bottom!, from conceptualisation to actual writing this piece is my baby!!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +04b (extra). if you're ready (let me) <- you are here

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Gojo thinks he might pass out.

There’s a feeling of unease sitting deep in his gut, nervous and gurgling. His hands have always been restless and fidgety but never this sweaty, and his head feels like it’s floating—even more than that first time he attempted a 24-hour stint on keeping up Infinity.

It’s eerily quiet in his office as he waits for your meeting to end, the white colon on his digital clock taunting him as it flicks on and off—16:27. 3 more minutes until you finish.

He paces around the room.

Attempts at any distraction are thwarted when everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you. There’s a photo hanging by the door, the mix-and-match of couch cushions in varying hues—all souvenirs you’ve given him from places you’ve been to. The coffee table books hold your touch too, and as he runs his hand over his face. he’s hit with that signature scent, clean and subtle from the hand cream you use.

Waiting in his office today has been absolute torture, but what’s made it more excruciating is the fact that he knows you’re aware of absolutely nothing.

To you, this is just like every other Friday.

You’d done your usual morning routine, kissed him on the nose with the promise to meet him in his office after work, as you always do. And it feels like a big joke when he thinks about it now, because while he’s been on edge this entire day about it, you really have no clue what’s coming.

To him, this could change everything with you.

He’s been feeling it for a while now, the ripple effect of loving and being loved by you—how he can recall every time a single drop of you has shifted something deep within him, marked and colored you.

There’s not a lot that Gojo wants now that he feels like he truly has it all, but when he thinks about all the times he’s sure you’ve changed his life, he hopes that with this one thing, he can change yours.

1 — UNDER YOUR TOUCH, WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH

The weather today is good—sunlight peeking behind cloud pillows and the occasional gust of wind passing through the space you’ve put between you and Gojo. It’s neither too humid nor too dry and though Gojo does get the occasional sniffle from his pollen allergies around this time, he woke up earlier completely fine.

So, the weather today is good, perfect even, for a brush-up on sparring practice.

You’ve kept a sizable distance away from him since it started, and every attempt he’s made to draw nearer, you’ve only moved away farther—a push-and-pull, an old dynamic that shows itself in the ways you engage in battle.

Gojo’s hands stay tucked in his pockets, his stance one you know perfectly well as relaxed but still guarded. He’s gotten a lot bulkier than the days you used to spar often, the past few years having filled in all the areas of what used to be slim, lean muscle. He doesn’t move because he knows the style you fight with, how you stay on defense until your opponent charges, utilizing their own strength against them.

It’s the only way you’ve managed to win against someone as deadly as Gojo, equal-parts lethal in speed and strength.

So when a cluster of clouds pass by and the sun glares directly into your eyes, Gojo smirks, then bends his knees as he lunges for an attack.

Your senses are sharp and reflexes quick; in the split second that a white-and-black blur appears before you, you attempt a high kick, only for it to be blocked with his forearm. He uses his other hand to twist around your ankle, trying to flip you over, but you see right through his motives. You huff, furrowing your brows as you narrowly escape, slipping your ankle out before he can fully grab a hold of it.

Most of this practice has felt like a stalemate, with the both of you waiting on the other for the most part of the hour. Gojo can see how it’s wearing you down, this entire thing being dragged out, and if he’s being honest—this is exactly what he wants.

Sparring out here with you today, while still meant for actual training, is also just an excuse to do this for old time’s sake—the way you huff and frown, jaw clenched as your fists ball up tightly like you’re doing right now.

He kind of misses seeing you like this, impatient and frustrated, so unlike the tenderness you always regard him with.

A smile threatens to form on his lips, and he bites it back down.

You only ever get like this sparring against him.

The tension breaks when you decidedly throw a punch; it’s a desperate attempt to get the fight moving but he ducks, arm securing itself around your waist as he locks your hip with his. Before you can even comprehend, your body is lifted across his back and lowered down to the grass below—the only thing in sight being two blue skies, beaming at you.

Somewhere during the commotion, he managed to remove his blindfold, hair let loose, fluffy and white almost like the clouds above you. Gojo isn’t taking this seriously at all; he’s way too soft, having cushioned your fall by carrying most of your weight instead of throwing you down like anyone seriously sparring is supposed to.

He doesn’t care though. All he really wanted this afternoon was to reminisce with you.

You’re kept underneath him, one of his arms remains wrapped around your waist while the other cradles the back of your head—and it’s there, that frown on your face, that pout he’s witnessed for years evolve into what it is now. Beads of sweat collect at the crease between your brows, your temples tensing as you breathe out.

Gojo at 17 would have teased you relentlessly for this, but he feels different now, warmth settling in his chest as he stares; he can’t help it, the words coming out of his mouth—

“You’re so—”

But he doesn’t even get to finish.

Everything around him blurs, green and blue blending in motion before he finds himself on his back, completely flipped over. He’s met with the sight of you, smug smile pulled wide with your hands resting on his chest. And his heart—

Can you feel it under your fingertips? How it’s beating a mile a minute?

A shiver runs down his spine, the pinpricks of grass tickling the nape of his neck. The shock is tingling, his eyes fully open as he processes what just occurred.

In the lapse of time he’d been a little too preoccupied staring at you, you managed to inch your leg to wrap around his, locking it at the last minute to flip him over—it lands you where you are now, on his lap, straddling his hips.

“Sneaky.” he gazes fondly, grin teasing.

You catch your breath, “Do I win?”

“Only because I let you get too close this time.”

Which is a lie, he knows, because having you near him like this, with some form of touching—you could never be close enough.

You roll your eyes, his fingers grabbing hold of your thighs. The grass pricks at your knees through the fabric of your leggings, and Gojo knows that if you stay like this any longer, it’s going to start to itch.

“Did I hurt you anywhere?” you ask, already assessing him for any point of injury. Your eyes go over his face before trailing down his arms, rarely exposed today in his black compression shirt.

“Yeah,” he pouts, pointing to his lips, all pink and puckered out, “kiss it better?”

Asking for this is against his better judgment, he’s aware; with the way you’re situated on his lap, this could escalate into something else entirely. You shake your head, swatting at his chest. His grip on your thighs loosens as you get off him, but the curl of your lips is extremely telling.

As you stand up to dust your knees, Gojo gazes at you fondly. The sun hides behind you from where you tower over him, but the halo effect around your head is just as blinding.

“Lie down with me,” he pats the space beside him. You quirk your brow but follow anyway.

He requests, not asks, because the weather today is good, and it’s making him a little bit sentimental, remembering earlier days with you.

You lie down, positioning your head to align with his. And for a few moments, Gojo doesn’t speak, just looks at you once and smiles before turning to face the sky, hand placed behind his head as he sighs.

You do the same for a while, this shared silence warm and just right.

“So rude,” he jokingly tuts, “interrupting me while I was talking earlier…”

“You shouldn’t have been so distracted then,” you tease back, sneaking a glance only to lock eyes with two skies.

He wonders if you can tell—how he’s always looking at you in the stolen seconds before you notice him.

“Well, you shouldn't have been so distracting then,” he holds your gaze.

It’s incredibly cheesy but a part of you still feels like melting—he sounds so sincere; no lilt, no tease, no Gojo-typical flirting laced into it.

You scrunch your nose, shifting on your side to face him, the arm used to support your head now resting against your cheek. He follows, taking one last look around him before turning to you. His other hand rests on your hip, fingers splayed out while his thumb draws hearts on fabric.

You reach for him.

The gesture is small, just your finger running across his cheek, but it nudges something in him—a memory of you and how you’ve always touched him like this: softly, kindly.

“Remember when you used to do this?” he takes your hand, long and lithe fingers wrapping around yours as he guides them over his ear.

Your eyes widen in recognition and he blinks, taking you in as he stares, “Wanna do it now?”

Concern reveals itself in the furrow of your brows, “Is it hurt—”

“No,” he chuckles, already knowing what you’re about to say.

The last time you did this for him, he didn’t even have to ask. One look and you knew—it’d been the night of his final conversation with Suguru. His skull-splitting migraine ensued after bickering with Shoko on what to do with the body. You were there; you heard everything, and when she gave up arguing and left, there was only one thing you could do.

With his head on your lap by his office couch, you tuned out the sounds.

He doesn’t prefer you using your cursed technique this way; it takes a considerable amount of your cursed energy to focus its effects solely on another body—and frankly, it’s a waste of time for you to spend all of that on him, at least in his opinion, personally.

You’d struggled a lot with your technique back in high school, having to learn how to fully manipulate different sonic hues: white noise, brown noise, any and all of it in the entire spectrum. Being able to amplify, distort, reduce, and isolate them into their respective hues covers only the bare minimum when it comes to understanding your technique.

It’s tedious work, and when one of your senses holds so much more power over the others, the information that flows through it can be overwhelming, overloaded even. Sorting through all that noise—he gets it, gets you, and how it must hurt too.

And yet you, at 17, still figuring out how to grasp it all, came knocking on his door when you noticed he hadn’t come for dinner. Quietly, you placed your hands over his ears and selflessly offered your discomfort for his relief.

The first time you did this for him, you’d only heard of his migraines from Shoko. You witnessed it yourself when he opened his door and looked so unlike himself: blindfold secured tightly but haphazardly, strands of hair sticking out oddly; his room seemed to be blacked out completely.

Gojo Satoru is no stranger to sensations beyond what any human should be subjected to, but when you laid your hands on him that day, cursed energy tickling his ears as it flowed through your fingertips—he’d never felt more normal, more human to be able to hear things without conjuring a visual of it.

It’s almost like you silenced his mind—enough to hear himself, and you, and the buzz of the white noise you’d amplified to flow through him in his blacked out room.

You’ve gotten a lot better at controlling it now, the task in itself barely causing you any ache or struggle at all.

“Just like old times,” he nudges you.

So you keep your hand where he’s left it, covering his ear with your palm as your fingers rest on his temples. Cursed energy flows from your touch, all sounds drowning out.

He keeps his eyes on yours, watching as your expression shifts with every sonic hue you focus on—an upgrade to your abilities the more you’d gotten the hang of it.

You concentrate hard for white noise, creating your own mix to emulate radio static, transitioning out to green noise the moment you highlight the sound of birds chirping. Then, you ease it to brown noise, intensifying the soft whistles of the wind to mimic it.

It’s weird how sentimental he’s been feeling lately—without any trigger or anything, but the more he leans into your palm, the more it gets him thinking.

Touch had begun as extremely foreign to him—a god revered and valued but never really truly loved, untouchable with infinity, and the pedestal he’s always stood on.

It was never supposed to be important to him.

Until you.

From your kindness that first day, and the many more that followed: of fingers brushing and hand-holding to breaths mingling and bodies moulding, moving—you’ve always touched him in ways no one else has, in places no one’s been able to reach.

And if it wasn’t important then, completely foreign, it’s important now, so much that he looks for it everywhere, all the time, even. The way you scratch the short bristles of his undercut, fingers dragging down to the nape of his neck; the way you tap his collarbone thrice, run your fingers across his lip, and intertwine your fingers with his at random.

When Gojo thinks about your touch, he thinks about how gentle it is, with intent and purpose. How it’s always been careful for him but never of him, and that’s made the biggest difference.

He blinks, and you follow two times, focusing on him.

All he hears is a heartbeat now, a little too fast to be at rest, but still steady and grounding—

The way he feels when he’s with you.

Whether it’s his or yours, from your cursed technique or just the blood rushing in his ears, he knows this is pink noise, the one you’d so excitedly shown him when you first mastered it.

The pink noise that resounded all throughout his twenty-somethings, when he first realized that you meant more to him than what you were.

2 — WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME

The bed feels cold tonight.

Gojo’s been staring at the lights on his ceiling for the past 30 minutes, and though his pillow is cool and blanket soft, he’s wide awake—nowhere near falling asleep any time soon.

He shifts to the side, the space beside him taunting, empty.

He misses you.

For the past week, you’ve been off to a much-needed girls trip with Shoko and Utahime. He’d even offered to pay for the entire accommodation—to which you and Utahime declined, while Shoko shrugged, crossing her arms as she snorted, “If he really wants. At least he’s being useful.”

You’d compromised and agreed that he could pay for an evening out in some nightclub.

Now, he regrets it. A little bit. Maybe.

Gojo’s bed is big, a king-size that fits the height of him and all his long limbs, and while it’s comfortable and spacious–supposed good things–he feels anything but comfortable in how spacious and vacant it now feels.

He turns to the other side, facing his sidetable instead.

The digital clock reads 01:17 and he sighs; you still have a few days left.

The next time you bring up being away for this long, he’s going with you. Even if he has to spend the entire day on his own, he’ll do it—as long as he gets to end it next to you.

If he’s really thinking about it, nothing’s stopping him from teleporting there right now. He could hop in quick, give you a hug, hopefully a kiss, and maybe even get lucky if you allow him to steal you for the night. He’ll teleport you right back in the morning and it’ll be like you never left, even.

He could do it. You can never resist him when he gives you his googly eyes.

If you’re already back from—

Bzz bzz. His phone vibrates.

He reaches for it over his night stand, instantly sitting up once he reads that it’s from you—the nickname he just recently changed your contact to.

(It was always just your name, simple and straightforward, easy to find; when you return, he’s probably going to change it back because you prefer it that way—for safety purposes and everything.

But while he still can, he’s going to keep it like this: a petname with an obnoxious string of emojis that he associates with you).

1:20 a.m.

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> satoourur are u awaeke??

The corner of his lips curl up, endeared at the image of you hunched over your phone, fingers slipping as you clumsily press the wrong letters. So cute.

1:21 a.m.

< yes cutie? ( ˘ ³˘) 💕

1:21 a.m.

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> casll?

He stares at it for a good minute or two, trying to decipher this rare, drunken code from you. But before he gets the chance to respond, your face appears on his screen, a photo of you he’d taken months ago, mid-chew special Daifuku.

You’re calling.

He grins, biting his lower lip. His feet slip inside the house slippers by the side of his bed as he gets up, swiping his phone to answer before holding it against his ear.

“Miss me already?” he teases, padding out of his bedroom.

“Satoruuu,” you drawl. Definitely drunk, if not tipsy.

Even like this though, Gojo aches when he hears you speak; there’s a twinge that pokes at his ribcage, making him wish he was right next to you.

The music around you sounds muffled, almost as if you’d stepped out just to make this call—another thought that makes him ache.

He walks down the hall towards his kitchen and stops, realizing: if you stepped out of the club, does this mean you’re alone? He trusts you can take care of yourself, but if you’re this inebriated…

“Are you with Shoko and Utahime?” he asks casually, attempting to mask his worry. His hand digs deeper into his pocket, shifting his weight to his other foot.

“‘Nside.” you slur.

You don’t actually sound that drunk, more sleepy if anything, really, but his heart still picks up pace. Maybe he should just go to you already.

“You should go to them,” he urges, continuing his walk to the kitchen.

“M’be later,” you sigh, and he hears a bit of rustling on your end—a soft curse and a small thud, “w’na talk t’you.”

Another ache.

He can picture it: you, in some sidestreet, phone clutched to your ear as you tuck your hair back before sighing, legs buckling as you clumsily drop down to sit.

“Oh?” he lilts, eyebrow lifting. A smirk forms on his lips, head tilting as he wedges his phone between his neck and shoulder. He reaches for his refrigerator, “Got something to tell me, pretty?”

He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting you to say, maybe a recount of your day, or something funny that he’s bound to laugh at, whatever it is.

“Just miss you.”

He wasn’t expecting you to say this—

—in an exhale, with a slight tremble, like it’s been waiting to be let out. Vulnerable.

There’s another ache, and he nearly drops the water bottle.

He should really just go to you.

His phone nearly slips from his neck, the thump of his heartbeat on rampage as he readjusts it.

He swallows, “I miss you too.”

And it’s odd, how it sounds when he says it, a bit shaky too. A stillness settles in the room and it echoes off every kitchen equipment and countertop. He can’t even get himself to tease you for this one.

“I can go there now, if you want.” he offers, almost a whisper, before attempting a chuckle. It comes out flat, tinted a little sad, “Blink twice and I’ll be there when you open your eyes.”

You giggle on the other end, and it fills him in this moment.

When he looks around his apartment now, steel finish and walls accented black, the backsplash of his kitchen a grayish hue of iron—it reminds him of luxury fit for a bachelor, sleek in its utility.

He’s lived here since his mid-twenties, and he likes how it’s designed, the colors and feel of it right up his alley. The furniture remains simple, modern and minimalist, filling the spaces of his open floor plan down to the two bedrooms and office space.

But right now, it feels so empty.

“Silly,” you chuckle, he can hear your grin forming, affection dripping, “my silly baby.”

Now his heart really aches.

The subtle static makes you sound unreal, strung together by radio waves; it’s rare enough for you to call him ‘baby’, and for you to say it when he can’t even see or hold you while you do it—it’s cruel; a test of his restraint.

He rests his back against the kitchen counter, arm coming across his chest to rest under his elbow, supporting the one holding his phone–you–by his ear. His teasing is softer tonight, tinged by yearning, so he hums, “Your silly baby, huh? Any chance it could be your silly ‘Toru instead?”

The way he says ‘‘Toru’ is a pitch lower, slower, and exaggeratingly more seductive in his banter; it’s what you call him in bed, or by accident, and in the moments you find yourself needing him in ways he can only satisfy by being your lover.

If you say it, he’s definitely going to teleport himself over.

You giggle again.

“S’that your fav’rite one?” you mumble, words blending together. He can imagine your cheek smushed against your knee, arms curled around your legs as you sit on concrete, “‘‘Toru?’”

When he thinks about it, you aren’t too big on his nicknames—at least, not as much as he is with you. You only call him three things: baby (which truthfully, he had to convince you to), ‘Toru (first whispered in the moment, heat fueling it), and Satoru (since you were 16, weighted and grounding throughout all the years you’ve known him).

Is ‘‘Toru’ his favorite?

For obvious reasons, maybe.

But—

“I like everything you call me,” he smirks, shifting his weight.

“Sweet-talker.”

He closes his eyes, head tilting back as he leans further—and he swears, he can see you, the image of you rolling your eyes and scrunching your nose seared into his eyelids.

God damn, he really misses you.

“You love it,” he murmurs.

A beat. He hears the faint honk of a car before you drown it out, sighing.

“I do,” you whisper, admittance ringing in his ears, “I love you, Satoru.”

He hears this all the time, but tonight it just aches; the way you say things so sincerely, so honestly even in an inebriated state—how you call him Satoru and it’s still weighted, still grounding, like who he is resides right there, in the softness of your lips.

Gojo’s always been relevant but when you call him Satoru, he feels more than just the name.

If you’re asking about his favorite, he thinks this might be it—in every handwritten note you leave, his name scrawled in your hybrid of semi-print-semi-cursive letters; in every call you pick up, opening always with a ‘Satoru?’, end pitched higher, sweet and curious.

“C’n I tell you somethin’?” you ask (even when you don’t need to, even when he’s already listening).

“Let me guess, Utahime has a travel ick and Shoko—”

“Satoru.” you scold, rolling your eyes, but there’s no bite. The next bit you say under your breath, a little fragile, “‘M serious.”

The nervousness sits in his stomach; this conversation feels significant.

He takes a seat on his barstool.

“Listening.”

For a while, it’s only your breathing; knowing you, you’re probably thinking, crafting what to say carefully.

You sigh again, and—

“I worry sometimes,” you admit.

He furrows his brows, “About?”

“That maybe bein’ with me’s a lil’ boring?”

And this… this aches in a different way.

How can you even think that?

You chuckle anxiously; he can bet you’re biting your lips, a habit you’ve picked up from him.

He rests an elbow on his kitchen island, leaning onto it as he tilts his phone closer to his ear.

“Apologize right now,” he commands, sternness making him feel a little guilty, “that’s the person I love you’re slandering.”

But you only laugh, real and more relaxed, nervousness dissipating.

“My bad, my bad,” you play along before mumbling, “‘m just sayin’, there’re lotsa others who are more everythin’ y’know?”

He wonders what’s got you thinking like this, if it’s triggered by seeing people at the club, perhaps younger and far livelier—how you spent those years of your life exorcizing curses and making a home for two kids.

“So what? They’re still not you.”

And he means it, genuinely.

Your breath hitches and he grins, swinging around on the bar stool.

Those years of youth were still fun, he thinks, and it’s precisely because of you—how you’d made the apartment the four of you stayed in as fun and homely as a teen barely pushing twenty could.

You had your fair share of mishaps and adventures—rushed breakfasts and Megumi’s ‘my dog ate my homework’s. Tsumiki had to miss a day of school once because you accidentally booked her a birthday gift trip to Disneyland on a weekday.

(And he got scolded a lot, ‘Satoru’ exhaled with a look. But it would only last a few moments; you can never stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try).

There was no way you and Gojo had the maturity and responsibility of actual parents (maybe more like inexperienced guardians, really), but you tried your hardest to give Megumi and Tsumiki a home.

Home, what he’s beginning to realize reminds him of you.

He looks around him now, at the details of his interior, and begins to think of yours—your apartment, a little more wooden and lived-in; there’s a lot more wear but also a lot more love, never empty like his feels right now.

“If being with you was so boring, I wouldn’t be itching to go to you right now.” he confesses, fiddling with the string of his sweatpants.

You laugh again before it falls into comfortable silence.

Muffled conversations and the occasional beep sound in your background. There’s a couple giggling around you and he thinks that could be the two of you—if only he were with you.

“Satoru,” you call him softly.

He hums, letting it sink in—the way you say his name, distinct in how you stress his consonants despite the softness around his vowels.

When you say ‘Satoru’, it always feels targeted, speaking straight to who he is.

“‘M so happy it’s you,” you whisper shyly, but it’s bright—unmistakably smiling, the visual of your eyes crinkling.

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, drunken affection and vulnerable confessions, but there’s that ache again, and all he wants to do is go to you, hold you. Be with you.

For a while, Gojo’s been resigned to the fact that there are some things he can’t give you: how you’ll never know true peace because he’ll always be linked to jujutsu society; how choosing him means choosing the tumultuous, the unpredictable.

And while you’ve already told him that you prefer this life with him better, for you to say you’re happy, that it’s him—

He’s thankful it’s you, too.

Tears collect at his lash line, pools of gratitude, “I love you.”

“Hmm? you’re coverin’ the mic w’your double-chin,” you joke, just to hear him say it again, he knows.

(There’s no way he has a double-chin from how you complain about his jawline being too sharp all the time).

“I love you.” he repeats, louder, steadier, pressing it into his phone’s microphone.

He’ll repeat it again as many times as you want him to.

You giggle and he echoes it—like that couple from earlier, your own version.

The clock reads 02:47, and he normally doesn’t like being up this late, barely getting enough sleep as is. But if you’re the reason why, he doesn’t mind staying awake.

3 — TUCKED IN BED, WHEN I LIE CORRECTED

“Satoru, you can’t keep eating sweets on an empty stomach.”

He turns beside you, the dull rumbling of the Shinkansen hardly masking how loudly he asks, “Why not?”

An old man seated across the aisle looks your way, grumpy by the folds between his brows—as if he’d been woken up by Gojo’s whining. You bow your head slightly in apology.

It’s been an early day so far, with you and Gojo catching the first train out from Kyoto to Tokyo. Departing at 06:14 doesn’t exactly leave room for food stops, so all you have are the two water bottles handed out from yesterday’s meeting and a pack of (now) half-eaten Hi-Chew that Gojo picked up from the convenience store last night.

“You’ll get a stomach ache.” you whisper, with emphasis.

He fiddles with the stick of Hi-Chew, tossing it between his fingers before popping one piece out.

The seats in the Shinkansen are spacious enough for Gojo to stretch his long, gangly legs, but despite all the free room in your row, he’s chosen to encroach on your space, sticking to you shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Nonsense,” he tilts his face, sunglasses sliding a few centimeters down the bridge of his nose, “I do this all the time.”

And his eye, clear and bright blue amidst the morning haze zipping past the windows of the train, winks at you.

Heat warms your cheeks; it’s too early for this.

The moment you look away, hiding your smile, he knows he’s got you.

Or not.

Because you seem to have gotten him—

—tucked in bed, nursing this stomach ache that could have been avoided if he just listened.

To be fair, he does do it all the time: a few candies, sometimes gummies first thing in the morning, last thing at night. So he’s right, it’s nonsense; he probably got this from something else.

(Even when you’d both eaten the same meals—how you always order to share because you like tasting a little bit of everything).

Which is why, you insist it’s from the sweets, his beloved Hi-Chew to be specific. And though he wants to, he can’t argue much when he’s curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach while writhing in bed.

“I made you tea,” you stand by your bedside, holding out your mug—small cereals patterned all over it.

He opens an eye, hair mussed up from all his squirming. The pain in his stomach is radiating, a knot that tightens in waves; this is different from the twist-y pop-y sparks of jealousy, and is nothing compared to the sting of multiple slashes.

Still, it’s a pain he doesn’t understand: a mixture of feeling gassy and bloated, like he needs to run to the toilet only for it to turn out futile. What makes it worse is that when he catches a glimpse of you, a lock of hair perfectly out of place, the sensation in his stomach intensifies—like butterflies flapping (or maybe just another wave of radiating pain).

“S’hot,” he grumbles, half of his face mushed into the pillow.

The mug in your hand is piping hot, steam lifting from it, and Gojo doesn’t like drinking hot things; he’s burnt his tongue enough times on hot chocolate that he swears any hot liquid is out to get him.

But you don’t know that about him—he’s never told you, he thinks.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed.

“That’s kind of the point, baby.” you chuckle, tone doting with a hint of pity, “It has to be.”

Your hand rests on his thigh, attempting to soothe him. He catches your eye and whines.

“If I blow on it, will you drink?” you plead, “Please?”

At this point, he doesn’t know what hurts more: this stupid stomach ache or how nice you’re being.

You could have said ‘I told you so’ the moment his stomach started gurgling when you both arrived in Tokyo—but you didn’t. Instead, you asked him what exactly he was feeling and had him change into his pajamas as you nursed him to bed. Then, you cooked him real food, a bowl of Okayu for his stomach to digest something plain and non-irritable.

You haven’t stopped moving since you both got back from Kyoto, unpacking both your things while simultaneously darting in and out your bedroom, checking in.

How you speak to him is so gentle, caring, doting—even when you have every right to hold it against him.

He pushes himself up, leaning back on the headrest. You smile, lovely, and beautiful, and every bit healing that it eases the pain a little, somehow. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you blow on his tea, scooting closer.

A gurgling sound comes from his stomach again, but it’s manageable, and he bears it as he takes you in—how you’ve barely had the time to change out of your clothes since this morning. You’re tired, he’s sure, but you don’t mention it as you take care of him.

The bed as you draw nearer, bringing the mug to his lips—he’s a grown man and he can definitely do this on his own, but you always take such good care of him.

Who is he to say no?

Sips of peppermint coat his tongue, warm as it eases down his throat. He wraps his fingers around yours, drinking a third of the mug before urging you to set it down.

“I’ll heat up a hot compress,” you motion to get up, placing the mug by your bedside.

He stops you, grip loose on your wrist.

“Have you eaten?”

You stare at him, a little surprised, but you nod.

“Just stay with me, then. Don’t need that thing.”

Your brows furrow, pouting, “But it’ll help,”

“Hug me instead,” his fingers play with yours, intertwining, “or I’ll hug you. Either.”

You shoot him a look, disbelieving, but he musters up a wink, for you, despite the new wave of pain arising.

“Okay,” you sigh, knowing you can’t exactly argue. As you get up, you land a kiss on top of his head, rubbing his knuckles as you get ready for bed.

When you come back, dressed in your pajamas, he’s turned to his side, lifting the comforter to welcome you in. You lie face-to-face with him, his arm reaching out to rest on your lower back, pushing you closer.

“You sure this is enough?” you whisper, breath tickling his chin.

“Mm, yeah,” he hums, hugging you tighter as he grins, “you’re hot.”

You hit his arm lightly, and he chuckles.

It turns quiet, then he shifts, resting his forehead against yours. White strands, as pale as your pillowcases tickle your eyes.

He nuzzles your nose, hiking your leg up to rest on his hip while slotting his leg between your thighs—like a pretzel, twisted into each other tight.

“You’re too good to me.”

He’s said this before, and no matter how much you say it isn’t true—he’ll always think it, believe it.

You frown, gripping his waist, “I don’t like seeing you in pain, you know.”

And he thinks you’ve always been like this: hands outstretched farther than his, offering yourself to help carry whatever pain, struggle, or burden you can. You cry for the sadness others feel, share the hurt of anyone who needs it. You’re the pillar, the support for everyone around you—from Yuuji, Megumi, and Tsumiki all the way back to Utahime, Suguru, and Nanami.

You’ve always been this way, ever since he met you.

“Does it still hurt?” you mutter, concerned, fingers grazing his stomach.

It does and it doesn’t—the pain is unfamiliar but he can take it, having gone through far worse. If he’s being really honest, a part of him just likes being babied by you.

“Better,” he inches back a little, lips curling into mischief, “would definitely go away with some Hi-Chew.”

You shoot him a look, then pout.

“Satoru.”

He figures there are still a few things you don’t know about him: how he really dislikes hot drinks, how discomfort turns him into a whiney, needy baby, and how he remains incredibly stubborn, maintaining what he stands for (but maybe you know this already).

“Hey, you should be thanking my Hi-Chew’s. It helps with energy when we fu—”

You swat at his chest in hopes of shutting him up.

He clears his throat, correcting himself instead, “—make love.”

This is hardly the time or situation to be talking about the other things you do on your bed, given that he’s been out of commission, curled in on himself the entire day on it. But you sigh, resting your palm on his cheek.

He turns to peck your wrist, hand coming up to cover yours.

“Just because you were fine doing it before, doesn’t mean you always will be.” you whisper, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone.

And Gojo thinks he’s right most of the time, if not all the time, but—

“We’re not old, but we aren’t as young as we used to be, you know? Have to take better care of ourselves now…” you continue.

—when you talk to him like this, you humble him. Immensely.

He’s always known that if he were to give in to anyone, it’d be to you.

Things are different now, he knows; his considerations have changed too—like how to lay the foundations of a new, ideal jujutsu society, with all the political and diplomatic gymnastics he knows is necessary; what to do with all this downtime, with all this life and no more death looming overhead; there’s also you, where this relationship is headed, what he plans to do.

“What will I tell everyone when the love of my life, Gojo Satoru, the strongest, gets knocked out by sweets?”

Then you joke around like this so casually, kissing his nose and calling him the love of your life like it doesn’t bear commitment that spans your–his–entire lifetime—it shakes him a little.

He holds his breath, eyes staring at yours. You seem completely unfazed—a slip of the tongue maybe, so he lets it go.

“Okay, okay,” he pinches your nose as you scrunch it, “I’ll try, but no promises.”

You kiss his wrist in return—the softness of your lips always turning him a little delirious when he feels it. He pulls you closer to his chest, palm pressed to the back of your head as his other arm wraps around you, squeezing you tighter.

“But don’t complain if I only last one rou—”

He gets kicked in the thigh.

4 — WHEN IT'S YOUR WAY OR DOWN THE DRAIN

There’s the right way, then there’s the Gojo way.

Sometimes there’s an overlap, but most times he’s just unorthodox. Gojo’s always had his own way of doing things, but now, he’s throwing all that down the drain in lieu of doing things your way (which in this case, he’s decided is the right way).

Between the two of you, you’re definitely better at cooking.

He isn’t inept at it per se; all these years, he’s managed to get by. It’s just that, he’s only ever made quick, simple things—barely having the time or need to make things on his own when you seem to have an extra plate on standby.

Long cooks like this, for real, big meals aren’t his forte at all.

This is the fullest his kitchen has ever been, a trip to the grocery store producing bags overflowing with the ingredients he needs. He tightens his apron (yours, actually) by his waist, pale pink a stark contrast to his black shirt and gray lounge pants. It’s tiny on him, barely fitting, but it covers enough to (hopefully) save him from any mishaps.

With all the ingredients lined up on his kitchen counter, he stares, hands on hips as he contemplates where to begin.

You’ve mentioned before how his kitchen is every cook’s dream: complete equipment, all high-grade with steel surfaces for easy wipe downs and more than enough real estate to move around. It’s a shame he’s barely used it over the years, either too busy out on missions or lately, too often staying at yours.

The unease makes him fidgety.

There’s an air of confidence that normally surrounds Gojo in everything he does, but it wavers just a bit with this one.

He has to get this right.

It’s your anniversary—the third (officially), but the number doesn’t matter as much when the years have always blurred the lines of what you are to each other.

The past two celebrations were cute and fun, adventurous in how you’d spent the first one on a trail date up north, and the second one fruit picking in a farm, just west of Tokyo—things you’d both done for the first time, together. Now, there’s added pressure because this is your thing; everything on the menu for tonight’s home cooked dinner is based on your recipes.

You know all of this by heart. And though he’s aware he doesn’t have to impress you, he wants to.

He glances at the clock: 15:05 in white, 4 hours until you arrive. The table hasn’t been set up yet and he’s barely dressed, an array of ingredients on the table waiting to be transformed into four of your recipes he plans to attempt.

Gojo is no quitter, but it’d be stupid of him to underestimate how fast time flies.

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contact list—then he shoots a text, pocketing the device as soon as he hits send.

In the amount of time between asking for help and said help standing outside his door, ringing the doorbell, Gojo’s managed to do most of the prepwork: slice all the vegetables, set the rice cooker, and mix together all the sauces and glazes so he can set them aside for later.

“Just type it!” he shouts from the kitchen.

Four beeps sound from the door, a soft woosh following as it opens. Help enters in the form of spiky hair and a deadpan gaze, putting on house slippers by the genkan as he drags his feet to the kitchen counter.

“Megumi!”

The younger boy sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his joggers, long sleeves wrinkling higher. “Why did you call me?”

“Oh!” Gojo claps his hands together, “I need your help.”

Megumi looks him over, eyes zeroing in on the pink apron, then the bowls of sauces and chopped vegetables in front of him. The rice cooker is steaming beside the sink while empty pots and pans line the burners of the stove.

“With cooking?” Megumi shifts his attention back to Gojo as the older male nods. He mumbles, “You made it sound like an emergency.”

(“Come here now.” in proper punctuation, lacking any of his usual emoticons—only ever being used in the most dire situations).

Gojo furrows his brows, “It is!”

Megumi stares.

“Anniversaries are emergencies.” Gojo stares back, holding the silence for a few seconds before he continues, demeanor turned serious, “Think of it as doing this for your Sensei, not me.”

There’s a crack in Megumi’s resolve that Gojo knows only appears when it comes to you; a soft spot that exists because you’ve always been closer, warmer—an accumulation of all the times you were adamant on being present because the kids deserved someone there, especially when he couldn’t be.

Megumi sighs, resigned, as he pushes up his sleeves, trudging over to the sink. He turns on the tap, soaping his hands until it suds, “You should have asked Itadori.”

“Yuuji wouldn’t know how it’s supposed to taste though.”

“Sensei’s recipes?”

Gojo nods, fanning out pieces of paper from the recipe folder you keep in your kitchen drawer, “Your favorites.”

Megumi scrunches his nose, embarrassed as pink tints the tips of his ears.

His relationship with Megumi has always been a bit weird, a not-quite-parent-maybe-kind-of-distant-guardian-and-good-but-annoying-mentor-slash-benefactor kind of weird. And he’s sure that the boy isn’t too fond of the idea that he knows small, seemingly trivial things about him like his favorite food, but if there’s anything they can settle on, it’s definitely love for you.

“Do you have another one?” Megumi turns to Gojo, pointing to the hair band pushing back his hair.

There’s a different kind of care in cooking that he’s now realizing, coming face-to-face with the pot of dashi he’s just started boiling—a patience that comes with waiting and an efficiency meant for multi-tasking.

During the 30 minutes of soaking the kombu, they split tasks: Gojo takes duty rolling the Temaki on his own, while Megumi seasons the Wagyu and prepares the Sunomono. It’s not long before Megumi is directed to setting up the table as Gojo focuses on the Miso Soup.

There’s a reference photo, some picture he pulled online. The gray plates and silverware on his dining table match the iron-hued backsplash and steel surfaces of his kitchen, sleek but softened by the vase of red and white camellias from the florist you frequent.

Megumi doesn’t say anything, frankly because he’s gotten used to walking in on Gojo searching up these things: a youtube video of trail dates and articles of ‘the top 10 best farms for fruit picking’. There was also that time he found Gojo’s browser open on a catalog of lingerie.

(Megumi’s been trying really hard to forget that).

These aren’t things Gojo’s done before, much less thought of—romance and all.

But he admits, it’s hard work, wiping off the sweat on his brow caused by the heat from the stove.

“Why,” Megumi sighs, “Why are you cooking anyway?” He mumbles, adjusting the silverware on the table, “Couldn’t you just reserve some place?”

Most of the cook has been silent, with Gojo too focused and Megumi barely saying a word. So while adding the katsuobushi after the kombu boils, the older male answers.

“I would have, but she said she wanted to stay home,” he turns away from the pot, leaving the katsuobushi to soak as he shrugs.

Megumi snorts, straightening out the black tablecloth, “Don’t you have anywhere you want to go?”

It’s a simple question. Innocent.

But it hits him then, how what you say follows; how ‘anywhere he wants to go’ is wherever you are, how he’s choosing to cook this meal for you instead of just ordering in—-how he’s now considering you, in everything.

This isn’t his strong suit, far from it, really, but because he’s thinking of what you want—suddenly he’s domesticated, cooking for you in hopes of romancing you (even though he already has you).

You come first now, and he finds that he doesn’t mind.

He turns back to the stove, straining the soup through a fine-mesh sieve before adding miso paste, dissolving it into the dashi.

“I guess not.”

The thought stays with him, even as he drops in the tofu, dried wakame seaweed, and green onion. Even as he waits for it to finish cooking, moving the pot atop a different burner while grabbing a spoon to dip in it.

“Megumi, come taste,” he calls behind him.

And when the boy sidles up next to him, he feels nervous, fingers trembling as he hands over the spoonful of Miso Soup. He stares at Megumi, eyes wide open, anticipating.

The boy arches an eyebrow as he takes the spoon, blowing on it gently. He takes a small sip.

“I added less salt because—” Gojo speaks up, a bit panicked, fingers scratching at his nail beds.

“She’ll like anything you make, even if it tastes bad.”

Gojo’s brows furrow, “Are you saying it’s bad?”

“Or bland.” Megumi adds, smacking his lips.

“So it’s bland?”

The horror on Gojo’s face is laughable, but Megumi continues, deadpan.

“No, it’s okay.”

Gojo sighs in relief, then pouts, “Don’t mess with me like that.”

“I don’t.” Megumi sets the spoon down, walking back to the dining table to finish setting up.

The 18:03 on his digital clock flickers, and the rest of the cook continues: he heats up the skillet for the Wagyu—Matsusaka Beef, grade A-5, heavily marbled, meant to be tender and sweet. Some oil is drizzled onto the pan before cloves of chopped garlic are thrown in, followed by the beef, cut into bite-sized pieces. He adds a bit of soy sauce and red wine, to draw out the sweetness (or so he’s read), then finishes it up by plating it.

And, there really is a different kind of care in cooking, he’s now realizing; how, when he stares at what he’s cooked in the past hour, he’s thought of you through it all—your preferences, the way you make things. How big meals aren’t his forte, but for you, he tries anyway.

“Do you need me to do anything else?” Megumi asks, adjusting the camellias in the vase one last time. He takes off his hair band and ruffles his hair, hands tucking inside his pockets immediately after.

Gojo looks up from the spread of food on the kitchen counter, motioning for the boy to come closer, “Taste test everything with me.”

Lined up are a plate of Temaki, a wooden board of Wagyu, a plate of Sunomono, and a bowl of Miso Soup. For every bite he takes, Megumi follows. And honestly? He thinks everything tastes… okay.

The Temaki bursts with the sweet umaminess of buttery salmon dotted with ikura, the yellow daikon pickles adding a tart balance that complements the salmon well by simultaneously being sweet and salty. The avocado adds extra creaminess, while the cucumber and corn provide a freshness that lifts everything else. For some added decoration, he uses radish sprouts to mimic leaves on the filler plants of bouquets—the main reason he chose to make this: it looks like the bundles of flower arrangements you keep on your desk. What ties everything together though, is the crunchy, crispy texture of the nori, giving contrast to the creaminess it holds inside.

There’s a reason why Wagyu is so expensive, and it’s being told in the way it melts into his mouth right now, sweet and tender. He paid a pretty penny for this, but it’s worth it because he can’t wait for your reaction.

The Sunomono is meant to be a palate cleanser—with sesame seeds sprinkled on it, mild and sweet, while wakame seaweed and cucumbers serve as the base ingredients. The sauce is meant to be light, just a mixture of rice vinegar and soy sauce, seasoned to taste—and maybe his is a little lackluster compared to yours, but he swears you have some form of magic when it comes to cooking.

After each bite, Gojo looks at Megumi for his reaction—but the boy gives nothing away, face blank and devoid of any emotion. None of them are as good as yours, definitely, but for his first shot at this, they aren’t too bad. He’d pat himself on the back for it.

“They don’t go together.” Megumi regards the entire spread with his chopsticks.

All his hard work? Shattered.

Gojo is dumbfounded.

It’s too late to change everything now.

Should he just scrap everything and order takeout?

“But they’re not bad.” Megumi continues, washing his chopsticks by the sink before heading for the bathroom to change out of the house clothes he’d borrowed in lieu of an apron.

When he emerges, long sleeves and joggers, he asks one last time if that’s all he needs to do, taking Gojo’s nods as a sign to take his leave. The older male remains rooted behind his kitchen counter, frozen from the crisis he’s facing.

You arrive a little later (thankfully), giving Gojo enough time to figure out this whole debacle. He’s ultimately decided to feel around for how the night goes, then he’ll act accordingly—if you show any sign that you aren’t happy, he has the delivery app ready.

He dresses in simple slacks and a white button down, fiddling with how he’s rolled it up; the thought of you finally seeing everything he’s prepared for tonight makes him nervous—the table set-up, the ambiance, the food.

(He’s even cleaned up his bedroom).

Then he senses it, faint traces of your cursed energy by the door, and he holds his breath. The beeps on his lock count down the seconds to your entrance; and when he sees you come in, surprised and so amazed at the entire thing, the tightness in his chest eases up immensely.

All he told you was to wear something nice.

And, by god you did.

You walk up to him, pretty and smiling in the simple dress you’d opted for tonight—a midi slip-on with a cardigan thrown on top. Black has always looked good on you, uniform or not, ever since up to now.

But in white, you’re radiant. Glowing.

He reaches for you.

The grin on his face is lovesick as he grabs a hold of your waist. You instantly tiptoe up to kiss him, hands on his shoulders as you land a soft peck that transfers a light sheen of lip gloss onto his lips. The view behind him shows the table set-up, a pop of white and red amidst all the food he’s prepared for tonight.

Your eyes widen, gasping, “Did you make all of that?”

He nods, pulling away from you as he grins cockingly, “Call me chef.”

But he immediately bites his lips, restless as he shifts his weight. He hopes you don’t notice how nervous he is—if you weren’t able to tell from his heartbeat, pressed against his chest.

“You didn’t have to,” you pout at him, eyes watery as you swipe your thumb across his lips, wiping off the residue of your lipgloss.

“Guess I’ll just undo everything then.” he chuckles, hands sliding to rest on your lower back, fingers tapping against silk.

You roll your eyes, and before his hands get the chance to grab you lower, you’re whisking him away, holding his hand as you lead him to the dining table.

He pulls out your chair and you sit, the rare gesture making you giggle. As he settles in the seat across you, there’s a disconnect between the expression on his face and his body language—eyebrows wiggling and lips smirking, meant to be lighthearted and teasing, but he won’t stop fidgeting, shifting as he readjusts his seating.

As you reach for the Temaki, he sucks in a breath, entirely hyper aware of every move you’re making. When you bite into it, he’s waiting. Anticipating.

Your eyes fall shut as you chew, humming, then you grin. But when you open them and they catch his, it’s like you can tell—what he’s feeling. The furrow on your brows deepens as you look at him, concerned, “Hey, what’re you thinking?”

How he hopes he hasn’t fucked this up, this dinner. What if the Miso Soup is too bland? Isn’t at all to your liking? What if the Wagyu’s dried out? Isn’t cooked properly?

If he can’t get this right, this seemingly simple thing, how can he do everything else? Consider you the same way you’ve always considered him?

He’s so sure of you his heart could burst at it, but what if he can’t ever come to terms with himself? With what he’s able to—

Then he feels it, your hand on his as you reach for him across the table, rubbing the back of it, soothing.

He doesn’t even realize how much he’s worrying.

“Megumi said it doesn’t go together,” he stares into your eyes, breathing slowly, grounding. It’s been a while since he’s given you a non-answer, but you accept it, patiently.

“Megumi was here?” you ask gently, brow arched curiously.

He nods, “Asked him to help a bit.”

You hum, looking back at the food on the table before taking his other hand, soothing, “Well, that’s Megumi’s preference. Mine will be different.”

The smile you give him is warm, like the Miso Soup you’re reaching for right now. He watches you take a sip.

“S’good, better than mine.” You hum and he knows you’re lying but it’s still comforting, the fact that you’d do this for him.

So if this is your effort for him, he isn’t going to waste it.

The rest of the dinner has you making the most exaggerated sounds, your ‘mmm’s and ‘ooo’s emphasizing how good the food is if he still doesn’t believe it. Your reactions are over-the-top and definitely overplayed, but it makes him laugh—has him grinning in his seat the more he relaxes.

You help clean up, even though he insists that you shouldn’t.

“It’s our anniversary, Satoru.” you bump his hip, shooing him away from the table as you stack up the dirty plates.

When he finishes washing the dishes and turns to find you, sitting atop his kitchen counter, nibbling on a piece of strawberry from the special Daifuku he put out for dessert, he approaches you.

“Don’t be greedy now,” he rests his hand on your knee, coming to stand in between your legs. You hike your dress up a little bit, just to give him some space.

You chuckle, cupping your hand under his chin as you feed him; he eats the entire thing, half-bitten by you already. And as the tips of your fingers touch his lips, sticky and syrupy from the strawberry coating, he takes them in his mouth, sucking lightly.

He holds your gaze.

“Thanks for doing all this,” you blink twice as he releases your fingers, interlacing them with his, “s’not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life.”

You say it again—how you call him that so casually.

What do you mean it’s not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life?

You do it for him all the time.

He hums, moving closer. His other hand rises higher, kneading the flesh of your thighs through the smooth silk of your midi dress.

“Thought you were going to spit it out for a second there,” he swallows his nerves.

“Stop,” you frown, grabbing him by his belt loops before pressing your lips against his forehead, landing a loud ‘smack’, “go away silly thoughts.”

He chuckles when you blow a raspberry on it, laughter easing up as you drag your lips down to the center of his brows, tense from all the worrying earlier.

You always seem to get it right, he thinks, this whole relationship thing—always knowing what to say.

He tilts his head up, leaning closer to kiss you on the lips, fully. The breath he lets out mingles with yours, sweet with hints of strawberry, and when he catches your bottom lip you lean back, hands coming to rest on his cheeks.

You nip on his upper lip, playful but lightly, and he groans, hand reaching up to slot itself by your neck.

It’s there, underneath his fingertips, the pounding of your heartbeat.

As you squirm on the kitchen counter, you pull away for a moment, restless from the growing heat. The action is subtle but dangerous as your cardigan slips off your shoulder, revealing the strap and lace of your lingerie.

Blue eyes land on familiar pink, one he’s certain he’s caught you in before, but seeing it now, under white, it does something to his brain—blood rushing, ears ringing.

He leans closer, grabbing you by the waist as he runs his lips against along your neck, nipping on sensitive skin.

“‘Toru,” you gasp, breathy as you grip his shirt.

“Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs against your skin, muffled. He sneaks one glance at you, pupils blown, before hovering over your temple, lips barely touching, tickling as he whispers, “anything.”

Your fingers trail lower, pinching at his shirt before you tug, untucking it from his slacks. You turn to him, finding his lips, sliding them over his as you match his rhythm. It’s careful and slow, the way you unbutton his shirt, but it’s like he said—

This is your way; he’ll follow anything you say.

5 — WHEN ALL I SEE IS ME AND YOU

Gojo never thought he’d make this decision all because of your joint streaming subscription.

It’s a normal weekend, regular in every way possible—just a night in for the both of you. He usually stays over at the end of the week, but it’s been bleeding into the weekdays too, lately.

The sound of splashing water against tile echoes along the hallway; you normally play songs when you shower, but he guesses today isn’t that kind of day.

He plops on the couch, pointing the remote to the TV as he selects the streaming app. Normal weekends consist of movie nights, half actually paying attention to the screen, and half paying attention to other things—either way, it ends in falling asleep.

When the homepage lights up on the screen, he spots two accounts: yours and his. And it’s joint, under one household—your home.

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been thinking about this more lately: how the past months have been a slow realization coming to terms with himself, and where he sees this relationship going, but the visual in front of him sparks an influx of things he’s been noticing.

The pajama pants he’s wearing now exist as a pair to a matching set he has with you, but tonight, he’s opted for a white t-shirt because his pajama top is tucked somewhere in the drawers of your bedroom.

(You keep it with you because you like how it fits more, you say, but he thinks it’s because it smells like him, and you sleep with it when he’s away).

There’s another pair of chopsticks you always wash now, too, plain bamboo with a ring around the handle, light blue. You’d bought it from a market down the street a year ago, and told him it reminded you of him—how it’s his from now on, in the container of utensils by your kitchen sink.

He’s always known how intertwined your lives are, a decade and more of learning one another is bound to entangle you somehow. But the past few years have caused knots, impossible to unravel—a thought that doesn’t scare him as much as it used to; a thought he now thinks doesn’t sound so bad as long as it’s with you.

As long as it’s with you.

The creaking of the bathroom door snaps him back, the soft pads of your footsteps growing louder as it reaches the living room.

“Oh, you haven’t picked a movie yet?” you ask, ruffling your hair with your towel.

He puts on a smile, facing you as he hands over the remote, “You pick tonight.”

You barely pay attention to the movie, snuggled up against his chest, constantly looking up to kiss his neck. He’s the same, distracted, but not for the same reasons you are.

It’s a lot to resist, the way your hands creep under his shirt, warm against his stomach, but the sinking feeling in his gut makes it impossible to focus anywhere else.

“Not the time?” you tap his cheek, and he tilts his chin down, acknowledging you. The look on your face is anything but disappointed, and it tugs at him, makes him feel guilty that he’s making you worry. That he can’t give you what you’re looking for right now.

“Maybe later,” he takes your hand, lips grazing your fingertips, “I’ll get ready for bed.”

You nod, sitting up as he taps your hip. He knows you can tell something’s bothering him—it’s impossible to hide anything from you at this point, but this realization feels like a long time coming, like it’s been brewing, now spilling.

He gets up, kissing the top of your head before walking to the bathroom.

When he steps in, it still smells like you—the shampoo and bodywash you use. (Technically, it smells like him too—he’s started using yours because it feels like keeping you with him, everywhere he goes).

As he finishes brushing his teeth, reaching for his towel hooked beside yours, he remembers how none of this existed when it was just you. You only ever had one hook for one towel, how he used to share it with you only to realize that it would never dry in time for the next use.

Then he found it, some time last year, when he walked in to take a shower and saw a hook installed right beside yours, presumably his.

The lights are adjusted for him too; fluorescent white too bright, a pain for his Six Eyes. You noticed when you caught him washing his face in the dark, so you changed the bulbs to soft white, tinged a bit yellow, warm.

And the thing is, he never asked you to do any of this.

You just… did.

Because that’s you.

And it’s making him realize even more how he wants to keep it this way, how he wouldn’t mind if this was the rest of his life, everyday.

The mood shifts when you both get in bed, and if you notice it, you don’t tell him. Whatever was bothering him before has settled, his head clear, more focused to reciprocate your earlier advances.

He’s gentle when he touches you, taking the time to love you. Your clothes come off one by one with no haste at all, slowly, almost painfully.

But he kisses you all over, leaves marks on places only he can see—by your hip, at the center of your chest, and another one, visible, on your neck below your ear. This is more than what he usually does, but he feels determined tonight.

“Off,” you whisper, as you tug at his shirt, pulling it off before throwing it to the side of your bed.

He holds his breath when your fingers land on his chest, dragging across his collarbones before you tap thrice. This is a spot you’ve loved so intently, he’s become sensitive to it every time you come close. You leave kisses along it, some wet, others dry pecks, but it makes him shudder all the same, every time.

As he hovers above you, arm bent by your head, his fingers trace your lower lip, tugging only to let it bounce back; he kisses you, noses bumping, softly at first before it turns hungry—lips overlapping, biting. His tongue runs over your lips, smooth and warm.

There are more touches, more gazes; lips brushing and breaths mixing. The heat between you is shared, intermingling, and when he’s in you—

—it’s too much, how he feels looking at you right now, like you’re everything, the only thing seared into his memory.

There’s a life he wants to give you, and though he knows there are others who might be more able to—he can’t let go of you, refuses to. He can’t bear the thought of anyone else being this close, doesn’t even want to think about someone else waking up next to you—the bed hair he always looks forward to, the lazy smile against squished cheeks, the hands that always reach for him, first thing.

These traces of you have made him want the whole of you, and if this is him being selfish, then so be it.

His arms wrap around your back, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around him, and you’re both moving, timing in sync, and he’s crying.

He tucks his face into your neck, and he’s sure you feel everything—wet tears, shuddery breaths, but you don’t say anything. You hold him tighter, fingers scratching his undercut as he gets closer and closer.

Gojo Satoru is a man of impossibilities.

And this life he thinks you deserve—he wants to be the one to give that to you.

+1 — WITH MY KNEES ON THE FLOOR, WHEN I ASK FOR MORE

He shouldn’t even be feeling this way, because what’s the worst thing you can say?

It’s just you.

It’s just you—

And… maybe it’s because it’s you, that the .01% possibility of you even saying no—

—it makes him feel sick.

He looks back at the clock: 16:30. The walk from the conference room to his office will take an extra 3? 5? minutes.

The room feels tighter, smaller, floorboards practically worn down from how much he’s paced around it.

He’s rehearsed what he wants to say, how he’ll grab your hand and look you straight in the eyes as he does it. Fear and excitement churn in his belly, how he’s imagining the look on your face.

If you were here, you’d tell him to breathe—to follow you with every inhale and exhale.

If you were here, you’d smile at him, lips curled up softly, gently, the one he loves.

If you were here—

—the door opens, and you step into the room.

Now that you’re here, he doesn’t know what to say.

You stand before him in your uniform, smiling, just as he imagined you’d be. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkling, the way he’s noticed they have since you were 17.

He must be doing a terrible job hiding how he feels because your demeanor instantly shifts, face contorting into worry, brows furrowed and frown forming. You drop your bag as you walk to him, hands reaching to cup his face.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice hushed and delicate, “Did something happen?”

Your fingers are warm on his cheeks (or is he too cold?), tilting his head lower so you can look him in the eyes. He can’t breathe, can’t hear you properly; you’re drowned out by the thumping of his heartbeat.

“Need to tell you something,” he manages to mutter.

Your eyes widen before you nod, lowering your hands as you speak slowly, “Okay, do you want to sit first? I have water—”

He shakes his head, hand reaching for your wrist, “I think… you should sit.”

The pause alarms you, your body turning rigid. He has no idea what’s going through your mind, and you give nothing away as you mumble an ‘okay’ while walking to the couch.

He stays beside you, not too far but still placing a bigger distance than he normally would—for the 0.01% probability that this isn’t what you want, that he isn’t too close, forcing you into an answer you might not want to say.

The words float in his mind, but none of them string together to form the sentences he wants to tell you. Does he take it from the start? How this whole thing has always terrified him? How he never thought this was meant for him, but here he is, still learning but loving every second of it?

There are things he’s never had to consider before that he cares so much more about now—all because of you, how it’s for you, how he wants to do better by you.

You call him the love of your life and he hasn’t told you, but you’re that and more for him, too.

He practiced this, damn it.

Why can’t he remember a single thing?

The silence between you is tense, tainted by overthinking on both ends. You look like you’re waiting for bad news, and Gojo’s too stuck in his head, turning over the right words to say instead of reassuring you.

“I’ve been thinking lately,” he starts, fiddling with his fingers. His feet won’t stop bouncing, knee fidgeting. He’s biting his lips, a tell-tale sign that there’s a lot he isn’t saying.

You place your hand on his knee to calm him down, and he stops bouncing it, looking at you as you muster up a small smile—far from being genuine, but it’s the fact that you’ve mustered it, as if to say: ‘it’s okay, you can tell me; i’ll always want to hear all of it.’

He swallows, “This arrangement isn’t working.”

Your face drops, brows furrowing, “What arrangement?”

His heart is pounding.

“I stay over at yours too much.”

Too much, that mine doesn’t feel like I belong there anymore, he fails to add.

“I think we need more space.”

Your hand slides off his knee as you tuck it between your thighs. There’s a frown on your face he can’t seem to figure out, and the fact that you’re giving nothing away, whatever you’re thinking—he’s turning even more nervous right now.

“Okay,” you finally say, tone flat, “when do you want me to return all your things?”

He tilts his head at you, confused, “What—”

“Actually, can I…” you shift around, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before clearing your throat, “can I ask if it’s something I did?”

And his heart drops, straight into his stomach.

It’s not like that at all.

He’s hit with déjà vu; this conversation feels so familiar, so similar to one he’s had with you before—on the sofa chair across this couch, laying himself bare the same way he is now.

The couch dips as he scoots closer to you, reaching for your hands.

“It’s not—”

You scoff sadly, “Please don’t give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ thing,” then your tone drops, blinking away your tears, “if you’re going to break up with me, Satoru, just tell me why. Honestly.”

He blinks.

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he once told himself he’ll never tell you.

But now seems like it’s fitting—the right time to say it.

“You remember when I was unsealed?” he moves to the floor, getting down on his knees in front of you. You nod as he rubs circles over your knuckles, “When I first saw you, it was pretty scary.”

He brings one hand to your cheek, catching a tear with his thumb. You pout, the crease between your brows growing deeper.

“You ran yourself dry because of me.”

When he thinks about it now, he still feels guilty.

He believes that people are accountable for their own actions, and he still believes that with you, definitely—but he knows your reasons, why you acted that way, desperate for hope everyday. And for that, he takes responsibility.

“I didn’t want that for you, still don’t.”

Your frown deepens, tears welling up even more.

Do you still think he wants to do this without you?

He can’t take this, seeing you cry; he promised himself he wouldn’t be the reason behind this anymore.

“I’m not breaking up with you.” he tells you firmly, surely.

You blink.

Then your shoulders drop as you breathe out—what he hopes is relief. When your eyes meet, a little less sad, he sees the stars in them, glinting like they do when you look at him.

This should be his answer already, how much you brighten at the thought of staying with him. But—

“I still think you deserve more,” he brings your hands to his lips, brushing them against it, and as you’re about to interject, he chuckles, “but I’m also too selfish to leave that up to someone else, you know?”

“Soooo,” his hand reaches for his pocket, fishing around until he feels for what he’s looking for. He takes out his phone, swiping and scrolling until he finally stops, placing it on your lap for the both of you to see, “I’ve been thinking lately…”

He looks up at you, the two skies you’ve always been drawn to, waiting. The unease in his stomach returns, churning.

It’s a compilation of properties: houses, apartments, plots of land—all scattered around Tokyo, some central and some further on the outskirts.

Your eyes widen, tilting your head to the side as you attempt to read what’s on his screen. You turn to him immediately, eyes still watery; the expression on your face is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and confusion, like you don’t exactly know what he means.

“We don’t have to choose from these, it’s just a few brokers I talked to recently. We can look for others if you want, in quieter areas too—”

Then you smile, beaming, tears falling from your eyes, “Satoru,” and you breathe out his name but it sounds like I love you.

There’s a quiet life he can’t give you, but he likes this one with you much better too. He takes your hands, placing one on his chest, over his heart, and the other on his cheek. Then, he leans into it, kissing the insides of your wrist before staring back at you sincerely.

His heart is beating wildly, he’s sure, but if he can continue to make you this happy—

“Make a home with me?”

a/n: food descriptions—temaki is easy hand-rolled sushi, sunomono is japanese cucumber salad.

thank you notes: @stellamancer the actual birthday gift for u :') + @em1e for listening to me talk abt the entire plot and even reading the first few scenes!! + @mididoodles @kissxcore @itadorey @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for always being so supportive when am sharing my progress posts ilu + @crysugu @soumies @augustinewrites @ufo-ikawa no reason other than i just love u ᰔ i reply so slow when am writing smth...

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#this is so beautiful #so well written #love like this!!!!!!#i love this little series so much actually #fic recs

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strwbrysugu · 1 year ago

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how you can help palestine

*i regularly update this post with any new info i find so please always reblog the original post*

Donations

donations currently reaching gaza:

help buy e-sims for people in gaza (PLEASE HELP CONNECT GAZANS TO THE WORLD. if you would like to stay updated, please follow @/Mirna_elhelbawi on twitter)

currently holafly e-sims are needed. please donate.

donate to get food packages to gaza - care for gaza

support palestinians: buy a keffiyeh from the last and only factory in palestine - hirbawi

secondary donations:

palestine children's relief fund

palestine red crescent society

save palestine - islamic relief canada

send medical supplies to gaza - palestinian american medical association

click to donate - arab.org

donate for the recovery of hisham awartani - gofundme

one of the three palestinian students shot by a racist in vermont for wearing kufiyas and speaking arabic. hisham’s injuries have left him paralysed from below the chest.

help bring down israel's weapon trade - palaction

NOTE: journalists based in gaza are saying a demand for ceasefire is the priority as not all donations are reaching gazans (focus on the donations that are directly reaching gaza). so please contact your local MPs every single day demanding as such. palestine need a permanent ceasefire.

Petitions

petition to investigate war crimes committed by israeli military

demand ceasefire - amnesty.org

open call for immediate ceasefire

american government call for immediate ceasefire

american government to stop funding israeli military

ceasefire and increase humanitarian assistance - oxfam au

petition to get canva to address their pro-israel stance

invoke the genocide convention to call for ceasefire in gaza - world beyond war

location specific petitions

gaza call for ceasefire - oxfam (UK)

end israeli occupation - parliament uk (UK)

email your MP - medical aid for palestine (UK)

protect gaza civilians - islamic relief (UK)

stop fuelling genocide - action network (USA)

@ biden: call for ceasefire now - move on (USA)

ceasefirenow.com - jewishvoiceofpeace (USA)

call congress and demand a ceasefire - uscpr (USA - they provide a script of what you should say, so don't worry about it)

note: you can call everyday. they tally the number of calls per issue. so more calls = higher chance for them to take action. p.s. you mainly go to voicemail so don’t worry about phone call anxiety. fight through it just this once please.

australia call on israel to stop attacking palestinians - apan (AUS)

immediate ceasefire and increase in humanitarian aid in gaza - actionaid (AUS)

email your MPs - stand with palestine (AUS)

[EN5622] call for ceasefire and end to occupation - parliament of australia (AUS)

closes 13 dec @ 8.59pm AEST

[EN5628] retract governmental support to israel and demand ceasefire - parliament of australia (AUS)

closes 13 dec @ 8.59pm AEST

sign to send letter to MP for ceasefire - nccm (CANADA)

ceasefire now! - ijv (CANADA)

ceasefire and allow aid to enter gaza - oxfam (CANADA)

house of commons petition 4661 (CANADA)

closes 9 dec @ 11.03am EDT

cessez-le-feu et un couloir humanitaire - le mouvement (FRANCE)

write to your député - assemblée nationale (FRANCE)

skydda civilbefolkningen i gaza! - mittskifte (SWEDEN)

singaporeans call for immediate ceasefire (SIN)

contact your elected reps and demand a ceasefire (GERMANY)

write to the EU demanding a ceasefire (EUROPE)

template of letters you can send (EU)

guide on how to contact your MPs in EU

p.s. if the template is outdated, just use it as a guide and add a few sentences here and there that reflect the current situation. i can’t find any recent templates so :/ at least this is something

multiple actions you can take to help palestine - plant een olifbloom (NETHERLANDS)

includes: links for donations, emails to MP, emails to media, links to petitions and demonstrations

den haag, maak nú werk van vrede in israël/Palestina - the right forum (NETHERLANDS)

māori call for palestine - ourActionStation (NZ)

special visa for palestinians in gaza with family in NZ - NZ parliament/pāremata aotearoa (NZ)

deem israeli actions as war crimes - NZ parliament/pāremata aotearoa (NZ)

basta ao genocídio em Gaza! - awaaz (BRAZIL)

globo e grande mídia, parem de desumanizar civis palestinos - the intercept (BRAZIL)

Campaigns

friends of al-aqsa

❥ UK-specific

urge your MP to speak up for palestine

hands off al-aqsa

stop administrative detention

petition for UK to stop arming israel

❥ International

boycott puma — email them to end their partnership with israel

boycott coca-cola

palestine action

join the resistance

islamic relief canada

urge your MP to rally for ceasefire

decolonise palestine

poster campaign to raise awareness on the war crimes being committed against palestinians | (very very important please share + read the sources provided)

text/call campaign for people living in USA

text CEASEFIRE @ 51905 to call for a ceasefire

text RESIST @ 50409 to send a letter to your representatives to pass HR3103–a bill that prohibits tax dollars from going to israel

download 5Calls app to contact members of your congress | (more info)

fax campaign for people in the USA

go on this website to send 5 free faxes per day

here’s a link to a pre-written fax copy you can download to send (the first link on the linktree)

here’s a video that explains how to fax your senator (it’s very easy and all you need is a valid email address)

BDS movement

get involved in boycotting companies associated with israel

please let me know if you have any more links. i will add them in. and please reblog the original post!!

UPCOMING PROTESTS

PALESTINIAN LITERATURE READING LIST

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strwbrysugu · 1 year ago

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you are part of me. (gojo satoru x reader)

summary: when gojo satoru loves, he is loud about it. and he doesn’t care if you don’t love him back.

word count: 3604

warnings: fem!reader, friends to lovers, very mild angst, swearing, gojo being gojo, canon compliant storyline

Gojo Satoru enters your life at 16 years old.

His presence suffocates the room, his cursed energy is something not best ignored. Quiet, yet noticeable. Like something that’s bubbling just under the surface. It’s almost as if a very dangerous animal has been reigned in, held back on a leash. That’s how his cursed energy feels to you. You, who is a mere novice. New to the world of curses and sorcery, landing in Jujutsu Tech after everything near and dear to you was ripped from you by this world.

He intimidates you.

He is loud, lean, but very tall. He demands attention when he walks into a room. He is jovial, a little aloof (you're not sure if it’s on purpose), big goofy grin and round, almost comical sunglasses. His hair is so bright, and his eyes are so blue, it’s almost blinding to look at him.

He is everything that you are not.

He is a year older, and your classmate Haibara can never stop talking about him and Geto. Nanami does not enjoy being around them, but he holds them in regard because they are his seniors. Shoko might be the only one he truly respects, and that almost makes you fear her. You make up your mind to try and stay as invisible as possible around them. You do not enjoy the spotlight.

Unfortunately, Gojo thrives in the spotlight, and he has a knack for pulling other people into it with him.

“Oh hello. Fresh meat?” He is grinning down at you, eyes barely visible behind the dark, circular lenses. “And aren’t you cute. You better toughen up sweetcheeks, or the big bad curses are gonna eat you up.”

You don’t know what exactly he means. You’re too caught up in the fact that he called you cute. It makes you heat up under the collar of your brand new jujutsu uniform. And his intense stare makes you fidget.

You do not like it.

You just frown at him and turn away, taking advantage of the fact that Nanami was leaving the room and going along with him. You don’t notice how he stares at the back of your head as you leave, but Geto sure does. The raven haired boy lets out a pained sigh before leaning back on the creaky classroom chair.

“Here we go.”

Gojo hums questioningly, glancing at his best friend once you have left the room.

“You’re going to fixate on her now. And you’re going to be an insufferable prick about it.”

Gojo doesn’t deny it. He merely settles into a chair of his own, feeling the corners of his lips twitch.

……………….

Life at Jujutsu Tech isn’t as bad as you expected.

Your room is spacious enough to hold all your belongings. It has a nice view of the gardens, and is warm enough that you sleep comfortably through the nights. Your classmates are easy to get along with. Haibara loves carrying the conversation, and while Nanami isn’t as energetic, he shares a lot of your interests so you love talking to him.

The deep, sorrowful ache in your chest is slowly subsiding. Very slowly. Oftentimes, you remember your old life. You remember the smiles on your parents’ faces, and you shed tears in the late hours of the night. But they are gone. And you are here. You can’t do anything about it.

And then there’s Gojo Satoru.

For someone who is apparently the ‘strongest’, part of a major jujutsu clan and heir to the infamous Six Eyes, you would think he would be a busy person. But somehow, he finds a way to always be lazing around the campus, and unfortunately, he loves engaging you in conversation.

“Fresh meat!” He hasn’t stopped calling you that. He hasn’t even learned your name. Or introduced himself. Of course, you already know who he is. But it would be the polite thing to do, wouldn’t it?

You would soon learn that Gojo Satoru has no manners, and no amount of scolding could teach him any.

“Heard you took down a fourth grade all by yourself. Congratulations!”

You eye him with a scowl, while all he does is grin back at you.

“You’re mocking me, senpai.”

Gojo places a hand on his chest, gasping so loud it was comical, acting shocked at your accusation.

“I would never!”

You sigh deeply, a regular habit you have developed since the boy had decided to shadow you, continuing to make your way back to your room as he trails behind you. While a fourth grade may not be a big deal to someone like Gojo, it is to you, who has never interacted with, let alone fought a curse.

You open your room door, stepping in and looking back to stare at your senior as he smiles down at you. You wait for him to say something cheeky like he usually does, about how you should invite him in so you can hang out, or his usual ‘let me take you out to dinner’, which he loves tossing around whenever he sees an opening.

“I’m real proud of ya, sweetcheeks.” He says instead, and his voice is softer, having lost the sharp edge that it usually carries.

There it is again, the heat under your collar. The little knot in your throat.

You close your room door in his face.

………………

“He likes you.”

“He doesn’t. He just likes to annoy me.”

“That’s his way of spending time with you.”

“I’d rather he leave me alone, then.”

“That’s an impossible ask.”

The chocolate icing on your brownie melts in your mouth as you chew on it, giving a disdainful look to Utahime who is apparently hell bent on proving this nonexistent crush Gojo seems to have on you. You don’t believe her. Mostly because you don’t think Gojo is capable of liking you, of all people. You also doubt his ability to genuinely give a shit about anyone that isn’t his closest friends. You’re just some underclassman that he thinks is fun to pester every now and then.

(‘Every now and then’ in this context means ‘every possible second of every day’.)

Utahime takes a big gulp on her coffee, and you have to wonder why the hot liquid doesn’t burn her throat as it goes down. Your phone pings again, for the seventh time in the last half hour, and Utahime stares pointedly at the unsaved number on your screen. You swipe the phone off the table quickly and flip the switch to ‘silent mode’.

“You haven’t saved his number? Ouch. He’s not gonna like that.”

You roll your eyes and glare at the screen of your phone. How long has he been texting you with random crap?

“I don’t give a shit what he likes.”

“You will. When he whines about it and never lets it go for the rest of your life.”

You sigh defeatedly and give your friend pleading eyes. “Can we please talk about something else? I see and hear Gojo enough during the day. I don’t need to talk about him with you too.”

When your friend agrees, you are blessed with a wonderful, Gojo-free afternoon of chatting, shopping and excessive eating. You’re still buzzing as you climb up the steps to Jujutsu Tech at sundown, rummaging through the tote bag where you had dropped all your little purchases. Just small knick knacks that made you happy to look at.

“Did ya get me anything?”

You yelp and jump, nearly falling off the step behind you but catching yourself before you can faceplant on the concrete. Gojo lets out an annoying cackle at your reaction, making you glare up at him.

“What is wrong with you?! I could’ve gotten seriously injured!”

He scoffs, walking the few steps between you two, hands buried in his pants pockets. “Like I would let that happen. You gotta trust me more, sweetcheeks.”

You ignore the now familiar way your ears and neck heat up, choosing to walk past him and continue your way up the steps.

“So? Got me anything?”

You groan internally, knowing he wouldn’t leave this alone. If you say no, he will complain about how he isn’t important enough in your life to warrant a little gift. If you then say he isn’t, that will result in even worse (and louder) whining, and you don’t have the energy to deal with that right now. You scramble through the bag slung over your shoulder, pulling out a cute carrot shaped pen with a smiley face on it. You had gotten two pens, one carrot shaped and one that looked like corn. You just thought they were insanely cute. It’s okay. You can afford to lose one.

Gojo eyes the pen when you hand it to him. “Why did ya get me this?”

He clearly knows you just pulled a random object out. He just wants to see what you will say.

“It’s…. tall and thin. You’re tall and thin.” You deadpan.

Gojo snorts, seeing through your very obvious lie. “You love me so much, don’t you?”

You stop in your tracks, watching Gojo’s back as he keeps walking, unaffected by your shocked gaze.

“Senpai-”

“See ya tomorrow!” He calls, twiddling the pen around his fingers as he disappears near the landing of the stairs.

Your heart races at his words. You feel angry and frustrated. But you’re not sure at whom.

………………….

When it’s Shoko’s birthday, you are forced to be around Gojo all day.

It’s a harrowing experience, one that can only be withstood by god’s toughest soldier, and god thinks that is you, apparently, because as per his usual habits, Gojo doesn’t leave you alone.

“Oh, this is nothing.” Geto comments, sipping on some fruity punch that you are almost sure contains alcohol. Both of you watch as Gojo tries to tie a conical party hat on Nanami’s head, while the boy in question puts up a valiant fight to try and keep his upperclassman at bay.

“He once had a crush on the daughter of some prominent gang leader in Tokyo. Almost landed himself in jail with the kind of stunts he pulled.”

You blink at him, watching as he brushes some strands of black hair off his face. “Seriously?”

He nods, smirking at your shocked silence, watching the gears in your head turn. “Don’t worry, he won’t do that to you.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “What makes you sure of that?”

Geto shrugs, watching the way Gojo’s eyes flit to you every now and then. You fail to notice it, too caught up in making up scenarios in your head where Gojo does something potentially illegal and lands both of you in serious trouble.

“You’re different.” Is his simple reply. It does nothing but confuse you more.

Later in the night, Shoko forces you to down an alcoholic drink. You sputter on the horrific taste of it, trying to get out from under her hold as she laughs at your reaction. Haibara enjoys your misery just as much, while Nanami’s face is blank. You are sure he is trying to erase tonight from his memory entirely.

The night is cold, but your hands are warm and your head is buzzing with happiness. Your cheeks hurt from the constant smiling and laughing. Every now and then, your eyes would meet brilliant blue ones. You are so cheerful that you even giggle when Gojo makes some lame pun at Geto’s expense. So cheerful, in fact, that you don’t protest when he decides he wants to walk you to your room.

You hum the song you had sung karaoke to, walking without so much as a thought in your head. Gojo is munching on a mini chocolate bar, one hand in his pocket. For once, he is silent.

When you stop at your door, you turn to look at him, trying to search his eyes. You find nothing, and you feel the sudden urge to know more about him. Geto’s words roam through your head.

“Senpai,” You whisper. “Why am I different?”

He smiles then, not his usual toothy grin, but softer, kinder. It makes him look even younger than he is. Somehow, it seems he knows exactly what you mean.

“Because I’m in love with ya, sweetcheeks.”

He leaves it at that. And you don’t ask any follow up questions.

……………………..

Gojo’s love is loud.

He never says the word after that one night. But he never exactly negates his declaration. He continues to be around you as much as possible. He loves pinching at your cheeks until they sting, loves draping an arm over your shoulder and laying a sloppy kiss on it when he can get away with it. He is much taller and stronger than you, so pushing him away does nothing except spur him on even more. You realize that he is naturally a very touchy-feely person, so you dismiss his affection as just him being annoying as hell. Both of you settle into a strange dynamic, one where he teases you endlessly and you try not to appear affected by it.

It’s unconventional but it works. You will even go as far as saying that he is your friend.

When you refer to him as such, he stares at you mouth agape, before letting out a big whoop and crushing you into a hug. You protest his grip and try to free yourself, failing as usual. Deep in your chest, your heart stutters at his proximity.

Gojo Satoru doesn’t have a single subtle bone in his body.

He introduces you as his girlfriend to curses, claiming it doesn’t matter because they are all stupid and can’t understand him anyway, so he can say what he wants. Besides, he’s gonna kill them mere minutes later. You don’t even know where to begin to fight his logic on that, so you just facepalm and let him do it, provided he doesn’t say it in front of actual people.

“You say it like being my girlfriend would be so bad.”

“It would be the worst thing known to mankind. I would kill myself actually.”

That earns you a very strong pinch on the cheek, one that has you yelping and pushing him away. It leaves behind a red mark that makes you hold back a smile every time you see it in the mirror.

Sometimes you wonder how easy it is for him to talk to you like this. He seems to not have an ounce of fear of rejection, no matter how many times you have told him that you aren’t interested. Like he is confident that it simply isn’t true. He makes it seem effortless, to attach himself to you and declare that you’re his ‘favorite’ person and one day he would be your favorite person too.

You try to ignore how accurate you think that is. And how close he is to actually becoming your favorite person. You can’t possibly let him find that out. He would become even more unbearably smug than he already is.

And so you continue to bask in this…. strange limbo. You warm yourself in the glaringly bright light of Gojo Satoru. And you secretly pray that it never goes away.

When Geto defects, you almost lose him.

You find him on the steps of Jujutsu High, staring out at god knows what, completely silent. In your years of knowing him, you had never seen him sit in one place for so long. He doesn’t even budge when you sit next to him. You don’t say a word. And neither does he.

The wind moves gently through his silver locks. The blue in his eyes has dulled and darkened. You sit on those steps for hours.

Something changes between you two after that evening. Somehow, Gojo is more…. human to you now. You see him struggle to come to terms with what has happened, to truly realise the unfair responsibility that he bears on his shoulders as the strongest sorcerer in the Jujutsu world. You sees how that changes him, how it dims him, and how he matures in that time.

Yet Gojo is still Gojo. Even years later, he continues to love you loudly and proudly. He is still constantly attached at the hip to you, even more so in your adult years now that you live off campus. He is somehow always at your place, even after you take away his emergency key because he never uses it for emergencies. There is a ‘Gojo drawer’ in your storage closet, huge bathroom slippers and an extra toothbrush. His preferred brand of shampoo and conditioner are housing in your cabinet, spares that he keeps for when he crashes in your guest bedroom.

(Let’s be honest. It’s less of a guest bedroom and more so Gojo’s room at this point).

You commute to work together in the mornings, which you think is funny since Gojo can just teleport wherever he wants. He says it’s because he wants to spend more time with you.

Oh yeah, he still constantly says he is in love with you.

Years and years after his first declaration, Gojo has still not budged. At this point you are so used to it that it doesn’t bother you anymore. Like it’s second nature. Like Gojo is meant to love you. Like there was never any doubt about it. Your mutual friends have accepted it too by now. No one bats an eye when Gojo whines about missing you. Or when he waltzes into your on-campus office claiming “two hours is enough time for us to be apart”.

You don’t know when exactly it settles over you. How important Gojo is to you. How you can’t go a day without him. How you get pissy and irritable when he goes on missions overseas that take weeks at a time. The transition is so smooth that sometimes you think you were always meant to love Gojo, just like he was always meant to love you.

‘Senpai’ becomes ‘Gojo-san’. Which becomes Satoru’.

It never occurred to you that Gojo was still, technically, a friend. You were with him so often, bickering and snickering, cuddling and lounging around. He was a part of you, like you were a part of him.

Then you hear words that shock you to your very core.

“In my eyes, you two are already married.”

Never in a million years would you have expected Ijichi to say those words. Everyone else is one thing. But fucking Ijichi?

You stare at the back of his head when he says them, the silence in the car deafening. You know Ijichi well enough to be certain he isn’t saying these words falsely, even if he means them lightheartedly. If this is what Ijichi truly thinks, then….. Is it what things are actually like?

It takes only a few minutes of reflection for you to realise that he isn’t far off. Gojo is so deeply ingrained in every nook and cranny of your life that it is beyond irreversible now. There is no way to untangle your lives. He is part of you, just as you are part of him.

It’s almost as if the universe is nodding in confirmation when you open the door to your apartment and find Gojo sprawled on the couch, flipping through TV channels. He is wearing sweatpants and a black T-shirt that looks unfairly good on him, especially since he clearly isn’t trying at all.

He stands up and you notice on the coffee table before him that he has laid out a myriad of snacks, both savory and sweet to cater for your varying taste buds. You spot at least three of your preferred treats in them. Your heart beat slows down, settles. Like you are at peace again. You feel a warmth under your collar. One that you haven’t felt since you were a wee teenager just stepping onto the Jujutsu High campus. You eye the back of Gojo’s head.

“Hey.” He calls, barely glancing back at you, eyeing his treasured snack collection as if contemplating which one he should start with. “Some shitty American reality show is on. You wanna make fun of ‘em together?”

He turns to look at you when you don’t respond, raising an eyebrow. Brilliant blue eyes bore into you.

“You okay?”

You walk closer to him, still silent, until he is mere inches from you, craning your head up to look at him. The background noise from the TV gets tuned out.

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

Gojo blinks. “I’d kiss you back.”

Your breath hitches. The knot in your throat tightens. No hesitation. No shock. Not so much as a stir. It’s like you’re asking him what to make for dinner.

“Okay.” You whisper. And then you’re leaning up, pressing your lips to his.

His hand reaches up to cup the back of your neck. The other stabilizes you at the waist. His lips are soft and smooth, almost dainty, slowly picking up intensity as he presses closer to you. Your heart is racing a mile a minute, and as you press closer to him, you feel that his is just the same, the only indication that he is affected by you just as you are by him.

When your lips part, you don’t open your eyes. Your foreheads touch and you let yourself feel, truly feel, the effects of his touch on you.

“I love you.”

Gojo’s smile is soft. His touch is tender. Comforting. Familiar. “I know.”

#</3 #these are killing me #so sweet 🥹#fic recs

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strwbrysugu · 1 year ago

Text

lover

satoru gojo x f!reader

you've loved him three summers, now you want them all

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: FLUFF. good old sweet wedding vibes, you being an idiot, satoru being a bigger one and making dirty jokes constantly, and just being the best lovers in general

an: I named nanami's wife daisy after my sweet @daisynik7 who I always subconsciously associate with nanami now. please make sure to check out her work + support her bc she's the sweetest person to ever person!

Nanami Kento is made for loving. And you only realize it now, minutes away from his beautiful bride walking down the aisle, that he always has been.

“Y/N!”

You’re thrown out of your thoughts to see your lover looking at you just past Nanami’s shoulder, hands erratically shaking in the air as he beckons for you to walk over. You give him a smile, handing your bouquet to Shoko, before you walk over.

Satoru’s quick to lace his hand around your waist, a soft kiss being pressed to your temple, as you look at Megumi and Yuuji in front of you two, horribly failing to put their boutonnieres on.

“Hi boys. Satoru.” you state, leaning into Satoru’s touch. He’s rubbing small circles into your back as he smiles down at you, the soft aura of warmth in the air present in his constant touches.

“Hi Y/N. We-this shit is so hard.” Yuuji states, exasperated as he fumbles with the pins in his hands.

Megumi holds the pins and the flowers up into the air, his nimble hands twisting both in his fingers.

“You’d think this type of stuff is self-explanatory, but it’s starting to feel more like rocket science.” Megumi grumbles.

You fight the urge to laugh as the two of them grow more frustrated with the premise, trying their best to avoid having Nanami come over and put them on himself.

“Okay, how about you both hand me those before one of you stabs each other with the pins?”

You hold your hands out, softly fixing the flowers to Yuuji’s coat jacket, and then Megumi’s, before you pull back and admire both of them in full. Yuuji’s pink hair has been brushed down to perfection and Megumi’s wearing that expensive cologne that Satoru bought him for his birthday last year - the two of them the picture perfect groomsmen. Fitting perfectly in, with that soft love that’s blooming in the room.

You reach forward, cupping the sides of both of their cheeks, as you fight the emotions, that overwhelming, sickly sweet feeling that’s overflowing when you look at them.

“You both look very handsome.” you murmur, rubbing your thumbs on the softness of both of their cheeks as you watch the pink flush rise on both of their necks.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Megumi murmurs, while Yuuji all but wraps his arms around you.

The two of them shuffle away - more like Megumi being dragged by the wrist to go talk to Nanami with Yuuji - leaving you and Satoru standing slightly to the left of the altar. You turn to him, your hands instinctively reaching for his suit, fixing the little flowers pinned to his chest and his pink tie. He brings his hands up, crushing yours in his own, and stopping you in pursuit.

“Y/N.” he states, the tone in his voice teasing.

“What?”

“You’re already losing your bet, sweetheart. I saw those tears in your eyes when you were looking at Megumi and Yuuji.”

A stupid bet the two of you had made, since Satoru’s so convinced that you won’t even last five minutes when the ceremony starts. You roll your eyes, lightly shoving him, before you turn around to look at them.

Satoru’s quick to pull you flesh against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both watch. His soft breaths are enough to tickle your exposed skin, his warmth enveloping yours. Megumi and Yuuji are smiling brightly, laughing with Nanami right at the center of the altar.

They’re made for love too. Overflowing with it even.

“They’re sweet boys, Satoru. I-I’ve seen them in so many compromising situations. Cradling each other’s bloodied bodies, blank faces when they thought they lost each other, they-”

The wave of emotion is back in full flesh, this time tinged with the harshest bit of regret. At the three of them, so animated, when you’ve never seen them like this before. That they don’t get to be like this all the time. That when tomorrow comes, the only difference will be that Nanami will put his life on the line, but this time with a silver band encased around his finger.

A harsher loss if she ever has to lose him.

“Shh. I know, sweetheart. It’s-”

“I’m happy for them. For Kento. It’s nice to be in a room like this, being suffocated by the warmth of love.”

“I think that’s actually just me putting my entire body weight on you.”

You scoff, turning around as you place your hands flat on his chest. He’s pulling you closer to him, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek as you jokingly protest.

“Satoru.”

“You love it. Though, if you’re interested in me putting my weight on you in other ways, if you know what I mean, we can-”

“You dog. That didn’t even make any sense. And we’re at a wedding.” you scorn.

“Well, it obviously made sense if you’re scolding me for it.”

“Shut up, you’re so-”

There’s a soft clinking of the bell, indicating that they’re about to start the reception, that Nanami’s soon to be wife is about to stroll down the aisle any second. You turn back, giving Satoru a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek, before you stroll back to the other side.

And relish in the fact that Satoru has the marks of love on his face, that Yuuji and Megumi seem to glance at each other every time the officiant makes a comment about true love, and that Nanami Kento is about to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loves most.

You lose the bet at the two minute mark. When Nanami erupts into a fit of his own smiley tears, when he takes his hand in hers for the first time. At getting to spend forever, with his Daisy in the meadow.

The question, later on, catches you off guard.

“Whose that?”

You turn your head, to where Amelia - one of Nanami’s childhood best friends - is pointing, the look on her face filled with curiosity.

“Who are you talking about, Amy?”

“Him. The tall one, with the white hair and blue eyes.”

You swallow hard, biting the side of your cheek, as you smile.

“Satoru. Satoru Gojo. He was one of Nanami’s groomsmen.”

“Is he single?”

Your suspicions, the ones you’ve held from the combined bachelor and bachelorette party, are confirmed. That Amelia, like many others met you before, wants him.

It’s not the first time it’s happened. Satoru, naturally, has a gravitating sense to him. It’s in the way he stands, the way he smiles and talks that he can’t help but catch people’s attention. And you can’t even blame him for it, because it’s the thing that drew you to him in the first place. That magnetic force about him.

Like you’ve manifested him solely by thinking about him, he’s suddenly right at your side, his hand sliding around your shoulder.

“I saved you a seat at the table. I’ll just be in the bathroom, okay?”

“Okay, love. Sure.” you respond, watching the embarrassed flush spread across Amelia’s cheeks. You give her a warm smile, so as to curb her feelings, as Satoru leans closer to whisper into your ear.

“Blink twice if you’re going to meet me in there.”

You roll your eyes, before clenching them tightly shut and giving him his answer.

“You’re no fun, Y/N L/N.” he groans, pressing a kiss to your cheek before running off to the other side.

You turn back to Amelia, as she all but starts word vomiting.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I had no idea, I didn’t mean to insinuate anything and I didn’t even know that you two were-”

“That’s okay, Amy. How could you have known?”

She somewhat deflates, cheeks still bright pink, as she mumbles.

“I really am sorry. I just figured since he wasn’t wearing a ring or anything, you know?”

“Of course. I’m really not mad, please don’t feel embarrassed.”

The two of you link your arms together, as you start strolling towards the table. You take a second to admire the soft fabric of the dresses you’re wearing, at the matching little bracelets secured around your wrists.

“How long have you been dating?”

“It’s been three years.” you state, your affection for him glowing in your chest.

“Are you guys engaged?”

And you’re not sure why, but every fiber in your being is begging you to say yes.

“No.”

“Well, sometime soon. God knows, that’ll be you up there sometime soon.” she states, lightly squeezing your hands before she splits and walks towards her own table.

You turn your head towards the door, to find Satoru excitedly wrapping his arms around Ijichi, that you realize it.

That Nanami Kento is made up of love. That Megumi and Yuuji and Shoko and Nobara and everyone around you always has been.

That most of all, Satoru Gojo was made for loving. And it’s your deepest, sincerest wish that he’s made for loving you.

For the rest of your life.

Almost six hours later, and deep into the night, you and Satoru are both lugging an extreme amount of weight to your front door.

It turns out that Megumi Fushiguro and Yuuji Itadori can not hold their drink for the life of them. Which means that you and Satoru have to drag the two of them home, so they don’t do something embarrassing or commit an accidental murder on the way home.

“Stand there. I’ll come get him in a second.”

Megumi leans a majority of his weight on you, the sweet wine smell hanging on his breath as you watch Satoru lead Yuuji to the living room.

“Satoru. I told you that you forgot to turn the Christmas lights off.” you groan, only now noticing the little golden lights twinkling in the dark of your apartment.

“Chrr-istmas? It’s Jann-uary.” Megumi slurs, slightly shifting on his weight.

Satoru’s quick to catch him before he stumbles, signaling for you to let him go, as you head to the kitchen.

“Well, this is our place, Megumi. If you were so morally opposed to our decorations, maybe you should have stayed sober enough to go home.” Satoru adds, both Megumi and Yuuji dazed off on your couch.

You set the two glasses of water and Baby Aspirins on the table, ruffling their hair, before you shuffle into your shared bedroom with Satoru following. You’re both quick to help each other, you unpinning Satoru’s boutonniere while he attends to taking off your heels, before you both stumble into the bathroom together.

“Satoru.”

“Hm, sweet?”

“Do you remember Amy? Amelia?” you ask.

He pauses for a second, rolling over the thought, before he leans against the counter and turns to you. He’s holding your toothbrush in his hand, already set with the paste, before reaching for his own.

“No. Who’s that?”

“She’s one of Nanami’s friends. You met her at the bachelor/bachelorette party.”

“What’s she look like?”

“Short, long red hair and a lot of freckles?”

“Hm. Doesn’t ring a bell. Why do you ask?”

“Oh. She just thought you were cute. Was asking me if you were single.”

There’s a wide smirk spreading across his face, as he wraps his arms around your waist and makes the motions to tickle you.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re too cute! Are you jealous?”

“No.” you grumble, cheeks turning hot at the premise.

“Yes, you are.”

“How could I be jealous? Are you forgetting what we did in the bathroom?”

“Aw, you’re so possessive, princess. It’s so sweet.” he adds, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder, as he makes the moves to start removing your makeup.

Satoru’s love language is acts of service, down to his bones. Meaning that any small task you could do for yourself - like taking your shoes off, making your breakfast - it was something that Satoru always beat you to doing.

But his favorite? Taking off your makeup, massaging your little serums into your skin, and pressing a kiss to the top of your head before the two of you go to bed.

“You’re the only one for me, silly girl.”

“I know that. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Oh?” he asks, fully laughing as you shove him.

“Well, she did say another thing. That got me thinking.”

He sets down the little bottle of wipes, securing his hands around your waist as he lifts you to sit on the counter. He stands in the little space between your legs, squeezing the sides of your waist as he patiently waits for you to talk.

“Well, she asked me if we were engaged? And I was just kind of thinking about….why we weren’t.”

“Oh.”

Satoru’s face is devoid of any emotion, as you make your best efforts to backtrack.

“I-I’m not saying that as an insult to you! I just mean that….maybe I realized that I want to be with you forever. And I’ve always known that, but I really want it. Right now. We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or the day after, but I know that if something did happen, I’d hate to know we never got to cross that.”

You lock your fingers in with his, rubbing your fingers into his calloused skin as the admission, so vulnerable it makes your chest hollow out.

“You just mean the world to me, Satoru. I want everyone to know it, from the little metal band that goes right here.” you murmur, lifting his hand to your lips and pressing a kiss right into the little divot of his ring finger.

It’s at this moment that Satoru Gojo doesn’t know what to do. And he fully curses that bitch Amelia, who he can’t even fucking remember mind you, for putting this stupid thought into your head.

For throwing a wrench into his plans.

Because in earnest, Satoru Gojo would be crazy not to marry you. Not when he loves you so much, when you fill every empty part of him so tenderly with love that he can’t even remember the pain of that loss at all.

So much so, that he’s been planning out the perfect proposal for months. Just for you, here and now, to suggest it to him in your shitty bathroom.

“You don’t have to say anything, Satoru. I know marriage is a big thing to think about. We can talk about it another day.”

He watches you smile at him, so genuine and kind, before you press a kiss and pad out the room to change out of your dress. And the entire moment makes his heart sting.

That you think for a second that he has to consider whether or not he wants to marry you. That it doesn’t even hurt you, that you’re willing to wait for when he’s ready. That you think he isn’t dying to call you yours, to wear a ring proudly on his finger and tell any living, breathing soul that you’re his.

The following morning, he recounts the situation to a very hungover Megumi and Yuuji. And the two of them are half there, which adds up to one fully functional brain, in Satoru’s eyes.

“Shit. So what did you say?” Megumi asks.

“Nothing? I’ve been planning out this stupid proposal for weeks, I couldn’t just do it then and there!”

“You said nothing? She probably feels like shit right now.” Megumi adds, rather unhelpfully.

“Do you have a ring?” Yuuji asks.

Satoru fishes around in his pocket for that light green, velvety box before handing it to Yuuji. He doesn’t miss the way their eyes go wide, the soft smiles on their face, as they admire the ring.

One Satoru took six months to pick out and then had to end up custom designing. So that it could be perfect for you.

“I’m so happy for you, Gojo-sensei. You’re made for each other.” Yuuji adds, excitedly smiling at him as Satoru takes the box back.

He admires the little glimmering gem, warmth pooling in his own chest, as he tucks it safely back into his pocket when you trudge out of the bedroom. You’re half asleep still - one of Satoru’s favorite sights - as you groan and reach for the warm cup of coffee that Satoru had already prepared for you.

“Morning. How are your heads?”

“Pounding.” Megumi groans, bringing his fingers up to his temples as Yuuji slides him a glass of water.

“We’ll make breakfast, yeah?”

You and Satoru move to make the two of them eggs, giving each other soft smiles as you hear the two of them murmur behind your back.

“Hey, Satoru?”

“Yes, princess?”

“About last night…”

Satoru freezes up, giving Megumi and Yuuji a look, as they both all but end their conversation and immediately start eavesdropping.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I-I wasn’t trying to pressure you into something.”

“You didn’t-”

“I did. I guess I just felt weird when Amy brought it up and all, especially since we were at the wedding. But we don’t have anything to prove to anyone and you know, marriage is a social construct anyways, so…”

Satoru can tell very quickly that you’re trying to backtrack from the tone in your voice. That it’s so dejected, that you can’t even force yourself to say the words like you mean them.

"What we have, right now, means the world to me. Your heart has been borrowed and mine's been pretty much blue ever since I was able to know what that meant, but it hasn't been for so long. And that's really all that matters to me, Satoru. Really. That we get to stay together, like this."

And that stupid feeling in him twinges again. That you want nothing more to be together, to be married, but you’d put it aside to keep him in your life if you had to. That you’re more than willing to do anything for him, that you think he won’t move mountains to give you anything you want.

Especially this thing. This thing that he’s wanted since the moment he met you.

You neatly plate the eggs onto the dishes, before sliding them in front of Megumi and Yuuji and giving them bright smiles.

“I’m going to go get ready for work. I’ll see you guys later, yeah?”

“I love you.” Satoru adds, rather urgently.

And when you soften, give him your tender smile, Satoru knows that he has to do this sooner than later. In fact, when you arrive home from work.

“I love you too, Satoru.”

You arrive home, particularly sore and bloodied, to find Satoru waiting for you in the kitchen. A horrible habit of his, coupled with his insomnia, means that he always waits up for you, when you’re out on a mission.

Satoru’s quick to move towards you, the metallic smell of blood in the air, as he reaches forwards, his anxious hands running across your skin and feeling for any cuts and bruises.

“Y/N.” he murmurs, nearly pleading as his eyes go wide.

“I saw Shoko before I got here. It’s all minor, I’m just a little sore.”

Satoru’s hands are all but trembling as he wraps his hands around your face, trying his best to ignore that metallic taste of blood on your lips and focus more on the sweet, vanilla taste of your chapstick. He’s breathing hard as he rests his forehead against yours and you absentmindedly bring your hands up to his chest.

“Hi Satoru.” you whisper.

“Hi Y/N.”

“I’m okay.”

“I know you are. It just never gets easier seeing you like this. You getting a paper cut is basically the end of the world for me.”

You giggle, earning a soft smile from him, as he tilts your face slightly up. You press a kiss to the palm of his hand, before deflating directly into his arms and wrapping yourself in his embrace. It’s only then that you notice the lit candles on the dinner table and the smallest bouquet of pink flowers.

“What’s the occasion?”

“You. You and me specifically.”

You look up, giving him a confused look. And then he’s holding a little green box in his hand, flicking it open and turning it towards you.

You immediately feel the tears well in your eyes, the shining engagement ring glimmering in the box.

“Satoru.” you whisper.

“You kill me, you know that?”

You swallow hard, looking at his blue eyes as he pulls you closer to him, his hands secure around your waist.

“You really think I don’t want to marry you? I’ve been waiting for the fucking day since I met you, sweetheart.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been trying to plan it out. For months. For basically the past year. And-and it’s so hard when I want every second of it to be perfect. To be a testament to us and-”

You bring your hand up, the tears freely flowing from your eyes, as you rub your thumbs into the softness of his skin.

“You’re so ridiculous. Anything would have been perfect. It’s you.”

The softness in his tone, your words, are enough to bring the tears to Satoru’s eyes, as he quickly whips out his phone and hands you it. It’s open on a photo album, filled with pictures of you and Satoru. Specifically, Satoru holding up the little ring box with you in the peripheral, unbeknownst to you.

“Satoru.”

“I’ve been taking pictures of you. And the ring for like the past six months. It’s been under your nose the entire time.”

“Oh my god. You’re so fucking stupid, Gojo.” you respond, laughing as you shove him.

He’s leaning against you, your temples pressed together as you look at all the pictures. At his glittering smile, in each and every one of them.

“I hope you know that I’ll always want to be with you, married or not. After everything that's happened, after everything we've been through...I…I just want to be where you are. I want to go where you go and I…I want us to be this close forever.” he murmurs.

He takes the ring box back from your hands, carefully plucking the little ring from the plush, before holding it out in front of you.

“Will you marry me?”

Satoru Gojo is a lover. And you only realize it now, when it’s pouring out of him, in that sweet smile and that honey sweet tone, that he’s always been made for loving you. And you, for him.

“Of course, I will.”

He slides the little band onto your finger, quickly lifting your hand to press a kiss to it, before wrapping his arms around you. And pressing his plush lips against yours, warm and soft and so deeply fulfilling that it makes every bone in your body ache.

He pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, as he laughs.

“Can we consummate our engagement?”

“That’s not a thing, dumbass.” you deadpan.

“I’ll make it a thing.” he responds, all but dragging you by the wrist into the room with him.

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist:

@invisible-mori @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg

pls let me know if you'd like to be added to the satoru as taylor swift songs taglist!!!

#i'm supposed to be getting ready for class #but now i'm crying #and it's only like #6 in the morning #this is so sweet #fic recs

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strwbrysugu · 1 year ago

Text

12:03 pm — gojo satoru

synopsis. gojo tries to convince his first years that he was able to pull you.

contents. fluff, crack??, whipped!gojo, mentions of having a kid, he is SO in love with his wife it's disgusting, the first years are sick of their teacher

“[name] sensei is a good looking woman, isn’t she?” yuji remarked, nonchalantly propping his feet up on the desk. “you think so too, right gojo sensei?”

a sly smile played on the corners of gojo's lips, eventually blossoming into a wide, dreamy grin. “good eye yuji! she's undeniably the most beautiful woman on this planet.”

megumi, seated at the desk beside yuji, couldn't hide his grimace.

nobara's expression mirrored that of a disgruntled sea urchin. “dream big, you two. she’s way outta both of your leagues.”

“she is, isn’t she?” gojo sighs dreamily, his gaze far away. a dopey grin settles over his face; like a man walking on air. it was deeply unsettling to the first years to see a grown man behave this way.

megumi rolled his eyes and muttered his disapproval, choosing to ignore his sensei, who had casually seated himself backwards on a chair.

gojo propped his chin with both of his palms, leaning closer into the first years students. “do you think i’d stand a chance with a woman like her?”

megumi buried his face in his hands, audibly groaning in response.

“a sensible woman like that and you? fat chance.” nobara deadpanned, squinting disapprovingly at her teacher. her negative comments elicit a grunt from the snow-haired man.

yuji’s eyes flit nervously from kugisaki to gojo.

“sensei! i think you have a chance with [name] sensei!” yuji tried to reassure his white haired teacher, offering a thumbs-up. gojo responded by affectionately ruffling yuji’s hair.

megumi couldn’t help but speak up. “she’s a married woman, you know,” he mutters to his friend.

yuji’s eyes widened, “you’re kidding! who do you think got the honor?”

“but she’s so young!” kugisaki exclaimed, slamming her hand on the table.

their discussion is cut short when the shoji doors of the classroom slide open abruptly.

with hands on your hips, you stood sternly before your first year students and their teacher, an air of authority about you.

satoru couldn't help but gulp; you were indeed captivating when you were upset. it’s not his fault that you look so cute when your eyebrows furrow and you puff up in anger.

“i waited for half an hour in the courtyard to start today’s lesson and yet here i find my students, along with their sensei who should be in kyoto for a meeting.” a wry smile graced your lips, sending a chill down everyone’s spine. the three first years bowed their heads in shame.

yuji thinks this is the first time he’s seen his teacher nervous. a bead of sweat appears on the side of gojo’s face.

“honey!” he quickly stands up and walks towards you. with every step he takes, nobara’s face scrunches up at his disgusting conduct.

“don’t.” you warned, raising a finger up to keep satoru at an arm’s length. he respected your wishes to some extent, grasping your hand and placing it within the hold of his own. the diamond on your ring finger glistened as satoru toyed with it.

gasps filled the room as yuji and nobara observed the display of affection. just how inappropriate could their sensei get, and why were you allowing it? what would your husband think?

satoru tenderly caressed your hand in his, cradling it as he leaned in closer. “please forgive me; it was an honest mistake.”

“honest mistake my ass. yaga told me that this is the second meeting you’ve skipped out this month,” you stated, peering fiercely into his blindfolded eyes. satoru’s cocky demeanor wavered, replaced by a nervous chuckle.

“the first time was when i took you to naha, remember?” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “and if i remember correctly, you enjoyed our night out,” your eyes widened, recalling the romantic trip satoru had organized.

feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you attempted to pull away, but his grip on your hand tightened.

“forgive me?” his voice softened, lips curving downward, giving him the appearance of a dejected kitten.

a sigh escapes your lips. he was going to be the death of you.

“fine. but this is the last time,” you warned, “and you owe me for covering for you.”

satoru straightened up, nodding fervently. “have i mentioned how much i love you?” wrapping an arm around you, he placed a kiss on the top of your head, despite your futile attempts to stop him.

“this is…” yuji’s jaw dropped.

“so inappropriate! shame on you!” nobara’s chair makes a harsh screech with how fast she leaves it to come to your aid.

“kugisaki–” you attempted to calm her down, but she clung to your elbow, desperately trying to pry you from satoru’s embrace.

satoru’s hold on you tightened as he wrapped his other arm around your frame, pulling you close. he plops his chin on top of your head and resists nobara’s attempts to free you. like hell he’s letting anybody take his girl, not even his own student.

“crushing on a married woman is one thing, but to openly flirt with her– ” kugisaki struggled. you tilt your head in confusion.

satoru’s strong arms flexed as he fought to maintain his hold on you. he nuzzled your neck. “’m fine right here,” he inhaled deeply, as if trying to take in as much of you as possible.

“[name] sensei! how can you stand there and let this man disrespect your marriage?!” nobara implored, wide-eyed, disregarding all respect she had for her teacher. “how will your husband react when he finds how gojo sensei behaves around you?” she looks desperate, and you want to laugh at the sincerity behind her actions. you get it now.

only your idiot husband would pull a stunt like this.

“i hope your husband can fight because i’m willing to fight him to the death for your hand,” satoru mutters from your neck. you take your hand from nobara’s shoulders to shove the six-foot-three giant away.

“you seriously didn’t tell them, satoru?” you ignored his whiney protests as you created distance between the two of you.

“tell us what?” kugisaki demanded. yuji was on the edge of his seat, nervously watching the unfolding scene, while megumi put his head down in embarrassment.

satoru looks at you with a deep frown on his face. uncertainty clouds your mind as his silence forebodes something. wetting his lips with his tongue, he quickly closed the gap between you, too fast for you to escape. a secure hand rested on your lower waist as your husband dipped you down to deepen the kiss.

had you not been so absorbed into the kiss, you would have heard the scandalized gasps from your students.

you managed to place a hand on his chest to separate yourselves, “satoru, stop.” his eyes remained fixed on your lips, but he complied.

“yuji, nobara.. satoru and i are–” you hold up your ring finger for display.

“happily married!” your husband finished for you, a triumphant smile on his face. he squeezed you close, throwing up a peace sign. “been madly in love since i met her!”

“what– no way! you pulled her?!” nobara spluttered, head whipping from satoru to you, unable to wrap her mind around the revelation.

yuji’s jaw is still on the floor, “megumi, you knew about this?!”

the sea urchin looks the other direction, avoiding his friends’ judgemental gazes.

“they… raised me.. sorta..” he mumbles under his breath. your heart melts at his confession. unlike you, the other first years don't take too kindly to his comment, as they start shaking him by the shoulder and starting their own interrogation.

“and we did a good job too! don’t you think we’re ready for our own?” satoru smiles down at you jokingly, his hands snaking around your waist and his hands sneaking onto your stomach. he leaves a couple of soft pats.

“you’re cuter when you’re quiet, y’know?” you whispered. taking advantage of your students' attention on megumi, you place a single finger on his lips, hoping your husband does not notice the way your face feels like it is on fire.

he does.

“no need to be shy now,” satoru said, grinning wolfishly, “we’ll continue this at home.”

your face flushes even deeper.

unbeknownst to you, the first years had fallen silent, observing how gojo whispered in your ear, successfully turning you into a flustered mess. perhaps they should give more credit to their sensei.

notes. not proof read (oh no). this was just a random scenario that has been plaguing my mind during halloweekend so i typed it on my phone at a party LOL this is me desperately trying to get out of my writing slump

#crying rn #so cute #fic recs

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strwbrysugu · 1 year ago

Note

pls do "the story of us" for ur gojo x taylor swift series 🙏🙏

the story of us

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my taylor as gojo series

content: gojo is ur roommates best friend, he is annoying (more teen gojo I am arrogant bastard vibes then sweetie teacher baby gojo), hoes are fighting, hoes are in the most complicated situationship on the planet earth, mistletoe, ice skating, sukuna as an annoying ex, mysterious evil dad figure for gojo

an: proof im the most annoying writer ever. made a poll for taylor as gojo to, for a second time now, ignore those options and write a completely different songs. sincerest apologies but gojo as taylor fans come get yall juice.

“Good morning, you hag.” Satoru states, in a fell swoop, crashing any hopes you had of having a good morning.

“Good morning, you garden troll.” you respond.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes, rummaging through the cabinets for a bowl, as he jumps up off the couch and joins you in the kitchen, keen and eager to annoy you bright and early in the morning.

He’s leaning on the granite countertops at your side, his blue eyes peering over those god awful sunglasses he’s always intent on wearing - despite the fact that it’s quite literally raining outside - and gives you a jeering smile.

“So, do all girls wear granny nightgowns or is it just you?” he asks, twisting the end of your pigtail braids in his hair. You immediately smack his hand off and glare, turning around to reach for the milk.

“Do all boys have tiny dicks and overcompensate with a shitty personality or is it just you?” you iterate back, earning a satisfying glare back from him.

With his snow white hair and annoyingly glimmering blue eyes, your roommate's best friend, Satoru Gojo, is quite literally the biggest nuisance you’ve ever met in your life. Clearly a rich kid, trust fund type, you can tell that Satoru, in earnest, has never worked a day in his life. And his lack of tact and self awareness truly reflects that.

It’s embedded deep in the way that he acts. Because Satoru saunters from place to place, showing up at your apartment with no consideration or respect for you and Suguru, bats his pretty eyes at his professors when he’s failing, flirts with girls before he cheats off of their tests, and the list goes on and on.

One thing is clear. That he’s a spineless, pathetic little manchild.

And you’re not sure why, what it is specifically about you, but he’s clearly made it his personal mission in life to antagonize and irritate you.Maybe it’s the fact that you yelled at him the first time he ever showed up in this apartment, that you couldn’t help but disagree with every word that came out of his mouth, that at his core he just agitated you - but it led you to this horrible predicament that you’re in now.

That you ended up having to room with Suguru, when Sukuna dumped you and kicked you out. And that, of course, the universe was always in your favor, and you ended up at the one place Satoru was when he wasn’t shamelessly flirting with any living organism, which was right outside your room.

Right on cue, the front door slams open and Suguru’s barging in, wildly out of breath and panting. His usual fixed, pristine bun is in a mess, his pupils wide and dilated as he looks at the two of you.

“Fucking perfect!” he pants, leaning down on his knees and trying to catch his breath.

“G’morning Suguru. You okay, there?” you ask, giving him a strange look.

“Okay, okay. You guys are dating.”

“Huh?” you both ask, eyes boggling out of your heads.

“You’re dating. Be-be in love, I don’t know, be in love!” he shouts, immediately running back out of the door and slamming the door shut.

You and Satoru give each other a look before shrugging, returning back to your bowl of cereal and Gojo to his phone. And on cue, Suguru strolls back into the apartment, more calmly and with a girl at his side. His cheeks are still flushed in pink, the panting subsided but still present in his voice.

“Y/N, Satoru, this is Hiromi. Hiromi, this is my roommate Y/N and her boyfriend, Satoru.”

You swallow hard, realizing quickly what’s happening here. And out of the kindness of your heart, groan at the fact that you’re going to have to oblige.

Three months ago, you got dumped by Sukuna. Because as much as you and the two of you had moved past, he had finally exhausted all ends and had enough of you.

Quite literally, enough of you, because he went as far as packing your things and taking your key, fully intent on never letting you back in. And out of the kindness of his heart, one of your only friends - who was free of any attachments to Sukuna - had an empty room in his apartment that he offered to lease to you.

Suguru, naturally, was the perfect roommate. Always cleaned up after himself, offered to listen whenever you needed him, saved leftovers for you when you had a long day. Except for the stupid white haired plus one that came with him, it was perfect.

For you. Because while Suguru was all but willing to offer you the spot in the room, insisting that it never caused an issue, he might have been fibbing the truth to save your feelings. Something you found out from Satoru, who is naturally a loudmouth.

That since Suguru has a female roommate, you’ve put a damper on his…..romantic endeavors. Because they’re increasingly enthusiastic, so into him, until the shit hits the fan.

They find out that you’re his roommate. And you think it’s a little ridiculous, but they all cite the same reason for not talking to him past the second or third date. Because to them, there’s no way in hell that he isn’t crushing on you, that you don't cuddle at night, and that you definitely coddle each other in a way no one else does.

Because nothing is more ironic than losing a guy to the girl he lives with and they’d rather cut their losses before getting involved.

Which proves that Suguru must really like this girl. Because if he’s going this far, lying to her the second before she walks in, it must mean that he really wants her to stick around.

Is it moral? No. Is Suguru lonely? Yes.

“Hiromi. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” you respond, setting your bowl down and extending a hand to her.

She gives you a warm smile back, laughing at Satoru flaunting some stupid line about chivalry before he presses a kiss on top of her knuckles. Satoru must be enjoying himself too much, because he’s now snaking his hand around your waist, leaning down to press his temple against yours.

“Would you like to stay for breakfast? Poor Suguru has third wheeled with us far enough.” he asks, as she politely nods in response.

You and Satoru lead Hiromi to the breakfast table - Satoru now eating your bowl of cereal - as Suguru starts setting out to make breakfast for all of you. You and Satoru sit side by side, sparing each other an awkward glance, as Hiromi shamelessly ogles you.

“So how long have you guys been dating?” Hiromi asks, politely folding her hands flat on the table.

“Well. Um, I moved here right after I broke up with my ex-boyfriend. He kind of left me with no place to live and I kind of met Satoru here. And then it just happened.” you mumble, cheeks turning pink.

Satoru, again, has no concept of personal boundaries. He slings his hand around your shoulders, planting a wet kiss on your cheeks, before responding to her.

“Don’t mind her, she just gets really shy when she talks about her feelings for me.”

“Satoru.”

“But rest assured, I promise you that you don’t have to worry about Suguru and Y/N, if that’s what you’re trying to pry about.”

Her face immediately goes pink, as you look over at Satoru, who flashes you a knowing smile and squeezes your shoulder.

“I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry, I hope you understand. It’s just that…it’s kind of a weird situation. And I know that probably says more about my insecurities than anything but-”

You reach over, placing your hand over her folded ones.

“It’s a normal thing to be concerned about. If I was you, I probably would have asked a hundred berating questions already.”

“Yeah. She gets really possessive.” Gojo unhelpfully adds.

You shoot him a glare, before returning to look at her and smiling.

“But I promise, you have nothing to worry about. I-I don’t even think about Suguru like that. And we’re never here alone, Satoru’s always here with me.”

“Like you, I too am possessive over my girl. Despite the fact that she quite literally makes it so easy for us by wearing the most unflattering pajamas, I’ll be here to stamp out any budding feelings, if that makes you feel better.”

“Yeah. Satoru really knows how to take the romance out of a room. I know better than anyone.” you respond, earning a laugh from Hiromi as she releases that awkward tension in her shoulders.

You kick the tiny divots on the floor, patiently waiting for your matcha latte at the bar. Your anxiety is growing by the second, the unexpected morning rush and the heavy foot traffic outside indicating that you were going to be late to your morning class if your drink wasn’t made in the next few minutes.

You’re thrown out of your thoughts by a tapping on your shoulder, only to find a boy, with blonde hair and brown eyes smiling at you.

“I like your shirt.”

You look down, at your boygenius the record shirt, and look up to smile at him.

“Thank you! What’s your favorite song?”

“We’re In Love.” he responds, giving you a warm smile.

You’re not sure why, but hearing him say the words has the blood rushing to your cheeks. You hold your hand out to him, swallowing that deep warm pit in your throat.

“Y/N.”

“Kento. It’s nice to meet you.”

And really, the moment - your stupid coffee shop meet cute - comes crashing down when you hear that agitating, grating voice at your side.

“And I’m Satoru!” Satoru states, standing at your side and too blissfully happy for seven in the morning. You glare at him, as he gives you an annoyingly irritating smile.

“Your drink is here, babe.” Satoru states, holding your dark green matcha latte in his nimble hands. From the way it’s half full, you can tell he already downed half of it in the few seconds you were talking to Kento.

“Thank you.” you grate out, giving Kento an awkward smile.

“Well, Kento. It was nice meeting you but we have a class to get to.” Satoru adds.

He cocks his head to the side, blue eyes peeking over his sunglasses, as he looks at you.

“Ready to go?”

You groan, knowing internally that whatever shred of a moment you just had was gone, as you sigh.

“Yes. Bye Kento.”

You glare at him as you walk out of the store, Satoru reaching over to pull the hood of your rain jacket up, as the two of you start marching through the downpour. He’s walking at your side, sporting some very light clothes for the way it’s raining down.

“I don’t like matcha. We should start getting iced vanilla lattes.”

“I didn’t realize we were sharing. And that was really rude, Satoru.“

“Everything that’s yours is mine, sweetheart.”

“Really? What are the three numbers on the back of your credit card, boo boo bear?”

“666.” he responds, flicking the side of your cheek.

“That’s fitting.” you murmur back, as he slides the drink out of your hand, again.

You and Satoru march in silence, trudging through the puddles collecting in the holes of pavement, the silence enveloping the two of you.

And really, for what seems like the hundredth time, you’re racking your brain trying to figure Satoru Gojo out. You’re not sure what it is about him, what drives him to act the way he does, but every answer you find leaves you with a hundred more questions you want to answer.

In the few months you’ve been living with Suguru, you’ve been able to ascertain a few things.

First and foremost, there is no one Satoru Gojo loves more than his friends. From the way he affectionately talks about Suguru, and their hometown friend Shoko, it’s evident enough that whatever friendship he has with the two of them means the world to him.

Second, Satoru Gojo is extremely comfortable in his sense of self. From the way he carries himself, enthusiastically chats with strangers on the train and feels so comfortable stealing your lattes after the bar, you can tell that no one has tried to stomp that spirit out of him. Other people, more meek and timid like you perhaps, get that childlike wonder stamped out of them. But here Satoru Gojo is, at the ripe age of twenty-one, still sporting it like a proud badge he wears.

And third, Satoru Gojo loves to irritate you. You’re not sure what it is about you exactly, whether it’s the fact that you’re Suguru’s roommate so it leaves you off limits to any of his usual charming compliments he leaves for other girls, but Satoru treats you like no one else. Always pulling at the ends of your hair, “lovingly” making fun of your clothes, and obviously, stamping any chance you have of romantic endeavors.

Satoru swings the door open for you, walking all the way to the front of your class. He holds out a five dollar bill and gives you a cheeky grin.

“What for?”

“Thanks for the latte, princess.”

You glare, snatching the bill out of his hands.

“You’re welcome.”

Right on cue, a girl all but appears out of thin air at your side, giving you and Satoru sickly sweet smiles.

“Hi Satoru.”

Satoru’s leaning against the frame now, an irritating move you’ve seen him do countless times - one to show off his stupidly toned arms - as he leans down and smiles at her.

“Hi Sammy. How are you?”

“Pretty good, now that you’re here.” she responds, twisting the ends of her hair in between her fingers.

You fight the urge to gag as Satoru laughs, leaning forward to tuck the stray hairs by the side of her ear.

“Right, so. I’ll see you later, babe?” you ask Satoru, giving him a smile.

He looks over, glaring with his bright, angry blue eyes.

“Y/N.” he responds, tone warning.

“And Satoru, sweetheart? Do remember to grab toilet paper on the way home. Suguru is getting really tired of cleaning up your skid marks.” you respond, reaching forward to pinch his cheek and settling into your seat at the front, watching him seethe at the front door.

When you walk into the apartment, Satoru’s incessant comments are the final nail in the coffin on what might be the worst day ever.

“Ouch. I think I just went temporarily blind. You look horrible.” Satoru asks, momentarily taking his eyes off of the movie he was watching with Suguru and Hiromi.

And the comment - so pathetically hitting you the last place you needed it - is enough to send you crying in a fit of your tears, as you lock the door behind you.

Satoru looks over to find Suguru and Hiromi glaring at him, Suguru more angry and Hiromi more disappointed. He can’t pick which one is worse. Well actually, you crying in his face is the worst thing that happened in the past few minutes, but their reaction is right up there with them.

“What?” Satoru asks, shrugging.

“Satoru.” Suguru berates.

“What? I was just joking.”

“I don’t understand how you and Y/N are dating. I mean, you can hardly even call it that.” Hiromi states, looking at him rather unhelpfully.

Suguru’s eyes go wide at her side and Satoru swallows hard, thinking of his collateral. Because in earnest, Satoru’s not really sure what Suguru sees in Hiromi, why he would ever think this would be the best solution to his issue.

But when you followed Suguru’s lead, all Satoru could really do was oblige.

“That’s just how Y/N and I communicate. It’s our love language.” Satoru says, giving her a halfhearted smile.

“You know she hates it right?” Hiromi asks.

“Well, I don’t know about-”

“Who would want to wake up every morning and have someone just constantly berating them? Just teasing them, making fun of every little thing you say. And sure, it’s fun sometimes to banter with your partner but…it can’t really be easy for her. She doesn’t have many friends. And the one person who's supposed to like her being…rude can’t help either.” Hiromi adds.

“Well, I just…tease her because that’s how I know to talk to her. That’s just how I am. And she has plenty of friends.” Satoru responds.

“Not anymore. They’re all friends with Sukuna, who I’m positive she wants nothing to do with. It’s probably why she even tolerates you in the first place. Granted, I’m not trying to speak on your relationship but from what I’ve seen, it’s….you kind of have to make adjustments for her.” Hiromi states.

“I don’t know if that will-”

“Just be there with her. It’ll help her. I think deep down, she just wants someone to be there with her. At her side to support her.”

Satoru gives Suguru a glare, before obliging and knocking on your door. He takes a deep breath as he walks in, finding you slumped on the floor next to your vinyl player. The gray vinyl is scratching on the table, soft guitar music emanating from it as you lay on your side. Satoru follows suit, lying flat on the ground next to you until the two of you are face to face. And in earnest, Satoru feels horrible. At your pink eyes, flushed cheeks, and puffy skin. Because for god knows whatever reason, what he had said was enough to make you cry.

Satoru never understood it. Why people assign him so much importance when anything he’s ever had to say has been discarded all together. It’s why he’s unsure of what to say to you right now, when he’s never had to say anything at all.

“Hi Y/N.”

You stare back at him blankly, his blue eyes void of any of their usual excitement as he stares back at you.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You divert your attention, the question so…agitating, that all you can do is watch your vinyl spin around on the table, at the little pin digging into the plate.

“Is um….I don’t really know how to do this whole…comforting thing. It’s kind of awkward. Is this that band you like?”

You give him a meek nod, which he smiles at, before squinting at the small print on the vinyl.

“Ah. I get it. You’re trying to be Cool About It. Whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

“That was lame. Even for you, Satoru.” you respond, wiping the snot off of your nose.

“Well, I personally think you’re hot. Being Cool About It was never going to be your thing either.” he responds.

He’s not sure what it is about what he said, but suddenly your face is falling and you’re kind of…glaring at him. You pull your hood up and turn away from him, because the embarrassment of having Satoru Gojo in your room pitying you right now would be the actual nail in the coffin before you went full on off your rocker crazy.

Satoru’s quick to move, now sitting crisscrossed near your head and looking down at you.

“Are you playing hard to get so I’ll call you hot again?”

“No. I’m trying to get you to stop pitying me.” you murmur back, pulling the hood over your face.

“I don’t pity you.”

You stand up, crossing your legs on the floor, as you turn to face him. And you know that Satoru in no way deserves any shape of the wrath that’s coming out of your mouth, but you can’t help it.

“You don’t?”

“Well, of course I-”

“Yes, Satoru, you do. Because really, you’re only here because Suguru or Hiromi asked you to be. They asked you to put whatever the fuck it is that you have going on inside your head and think for one fucking second how it is that you make me feel. When you make fun of me constantly, do every last thing to agitate me, quite literally flirt with every living microorganism on this goddamn planet but me. I know that you really, truly do not care. You’re just here because they asked you to be but god, please spare me of whatever shitty response you’re trying to muster up to make me feel better because there’s no point. I just feel horrible when I’m around you.” you shout.

You lean back against the back of your bed, your chest heaving, as you knot your fingers together and groan. Because if the day couldn’t get any worse, you just yelled at Satoru.

For no reason. After he tried to comfort you, in his own weird way.

He scoots up at your side, sliding his hand around your shoulder once again, and leaning your head against his shoulder. Your stupid tears are falling again as he rubs into your skin, the touch soft.

“All that because you’re mad I won’t flirt with you?” he murmurs.

“Of course that’s what you got out of it.”

He laughs, the lack of anger in his tone at your words soothing down the bouts of guilt in your chest.

“You’re not the type of girl I can flirt with.”

“Jeez. Thanks Satoru. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

He reaches forward to pinch your nose, before continuing.

“I mean, I’m obviously a guy who lacks self-awareness or tact, in quite literally any conversation.”

“Naturally.” you respond.

He gives you a pointed glare, before continuing.

“But I have self awareness when it comes to these types of things. I know I shouldn’t flirt with you.” he responds.

“And why’s that? I’m too ugly of a hag for you?” you spit.

“No. You’re the type of girl who could take my heart and run off with it if I let you.”

You shrug his hand off your shoulder, rolling your eyes.

“You’re full of shit, Satoru Gojo. And corny as hell.”

“You know you’re no good for me, right?”

You look at him, at his deep, ocean blue eyes for the first time, filled with an emotion you can’t quite place.

“You’d put me in my place too fast. Maybe too eager, too curious to figure out what it is I’ve got going on up and here. And I don’t know the answers to that either, but you’d want to make me figure it out. Whatever mess of things going on, I-I’d want to fix it for you. And as nice as that sounds, you’d probably break any semblance of structure I’d have left the second you go running. Which is something even I can’t handle.” he responds, lifting his hand to take yours in it.

You cross link your fingers with his, linking your hands together. And try to place the emotion, that dragging sound in his voice.

It’s desperation.

“Why do you think I would leave?” you ask, looking down at your intertwined hands.

Satoru smiles in response, reaching forward to trace his fingers along the edge of your lips.

“You’ve just proved my point.”

And when he pads out of your room, you realize that once again, he’s left you with a hundred questions left to answer. But the one you’re sure of is this.

That the emotion that was welling in his deep, crystal blue eyes was impassioned. That it was real.

In the following weeks, things change between you and Satoru, but not too drastically. You’re not required to keep your show up for Hiromi too often, because she’s quite literally too enamored with Suguru to even think about the two of you, and Satoru Gojo stays the same way he is.

He steals your lattes, pulls your hair, lovingly calls you an old hag, and stamps out any hopes you have for romantic endeavors. But somewhere around the grayness of November, he doesn’t stop by your apartment for three days.

“Hey. Where’s Gojo?”

Suguru looks up from his phone, giving you the most obscene look you’ve ever seen him muster.

“Huh?”

“Gojo? Satoru Gojo? That gangly idiot that’s always hanging around here?”

“Yes. I’m well aware who he is, Y/N. Why are you asking?”

“Dunno. He’s always around and now he’s not. Are you sure he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere?” you ask.

“He might as well be. His dad is in town. Spending time with him.” he responds, turning back to his phone and looking away from you.

You frown, leaning against the counter, as you reach for your phone. And you’re not sure why you do it but you slide into your chat with him and start typing.

you: are you enjoying your father daughter time?

satoru: are you missing me?

you: missing the free lattes that come from going to the coffee shop with you :/

you: come hit on the girl at the paper lantern. im craving a matcha latte.

satoru: i would never waste a free drink on a matcha latte.

satoru: and quit trying to whore me out for free drinks.

you: then buy me one.

satoru: well played.

satoru: the ice skating rink, on sixteenth and rockfield. i’ll be there in an hour.

You smile gleefully, wrapping your scarf carefully around you, as you head out into the cold to the ice skating rink Satoru had picked out. And you catch the back of his snow white hair, leaning against the railing as you eye the big, bright Christmas tree at the center.

You walk up to his side, lacing your hand through his, as you turn and give him a smile. He returns the gesture, some part of his demeanor muted today, as he turns to you.

“Hi Y/N.”

“Satoru. Where’s my drink?”

Satoru rolls his eyes, before reaching for the two cups on the ground and handing you one.

“Your shitty matcha latte. As requested.”

You smile, wrapping your arms around the drink, as he leads you to the stand to get your skates. His hand is soft on the small of your back as you walk up to the girl giving out the shoes.

“Sizes?” she asks.

“Eight.” you respond.

“Eleven and a half.” Satoru provides, as the girl whisks off to grab your shoes.

“Eleven and a half? What are you, Bigfoot?” you respond.

“You know what they say. Big feet, big…”

“Ego. But we knew that already.” you respond.

The two of you take the skates and head over to the bench, Satoru too quick with his own skates that he’s suddenly tying yours and dragging you onto your feet. The two of you stand at the front of the tiny little opening, the sudden awkwardness of the situation dawning on you.

That you don’t know how to ice skate.

“What are we waiting for?” Satoru asks, hands on both of your shoulders as he stands behind you. He rests his chin on the top of your head, his breath tickling the hair on your scalp.

“The rink to open up. There’s a bunch of people, I don’t want to crash into them the second we get on.”

Satoru frowns, bringing his hands around your chin and lightly moving your face to his.

“Are the people in the room with us? There’s like nine people here. And four of them are under the age of seven.” he deadpans.

“I don’t want to knock over a kid.” you whine.

“Yeah, that would be goblin on troll crime.” Satoru responds.

“Am I the goblin or the troll?” you ask.

“Troll. Obviously.” he responds, bringing his hands around your waist as he lifts you onto the ice with him.

You’re suddenly wobbling too hard on your feet and holding onto his extended arms with a deathlike grip, the cold air biting your skin as your legs turn to noodles.

“Okay, Raggedy Anne. Face me.” he states, voice soft as he turns you towards him. His hands are locked in with yours, the hold firm as he smiles.

“Satoru.” you whine.

“Just try to glide with me, okay? Our goal is to get to that side of the rink, by the end of our game.”

“What’s our game?” you ask.

“We’re going to play twenty questions.” Satoru states, mimicking the gliding motion as he instructs you.

You follow his suit, clutching hard on his arm every time you wobble, as Satoru starts to distract you with the stupid game he’s intent on playing.

“Me first. Why did you text me?” Satoru asks.

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere. It was surprisingly peaceful for the past few days, so I knew you had to be in some type of mortal peril somewhere.” you respond.

Gojo hums in response, as you try hard to pick the hundreds of questions you have to ask Gojo.

“Where were you the past few days?” you ask.

“Did you want me there?” Satoru asks, tone hopeful.

“You’re supposed to answer before you ask again. And I’m not sure if want is the word. But…I don’t know. It’s weird not having you around. All quiet.” you respond.

“My dad’s in town. Was kind of busy.”

You hum in response, rolling over the words in your head.

“I did want you around.” you add, earning a smile from him.

The two of you skate in silence, the wobbling minimal now as you try to reach the railing at the end of the rink that Satoru had pointed out, right near the small, brightly decorated Christmas tree at the end of the rink.

“It’s your turn, Y/N.” Satoru reminds.

“Right. Do you like your dad?”

“No. What happened with Sukuna?”

You swallow hard, so caught off guard by the question that you fall straight into the ice. You must have been holding onto Satoru too hard because he goes tumbling down with you, lightly rubbing the spot on his head that made contact with the ice. You reach forward, cradling his head in your hands.

“Fuck. Sorry, Gojo. That caught me off guard.”

“That’s my bad, princess. It came out of nowhere.” he responds, standing up on his knees as he holds his hand out for you. He’s wiping the excess ice off the sides of your clothes and you mimic his motions.

The two of you start silently skating towards the end of the rink again, hands linked together, as you figure out the right words to say.

“I live with Suguru because of him. He wasn’t the best.”

“I know that much, Y/N.”

“He…kicked me out. Like, put all my things in a box, put them outside, and kept my key.”

His hand tighets in yours as you swallow hard and continue.

“Dunno. I guess he just kind of sucked. I was trying to convince myself I liked him, that we were in love for a really long time. I’d write him all these really long love letters, that he basically read days after the fact that I wrote them. He’d compliment me once in a while, but then I realized when it was only when he wanted something.” you respond, sighing.

Satoru doesn’t respond, only squeezes your hand in response to the entire bout of word vomit you just gave him.

“Why don’t you like your dad?” you ask.

“He thinks I’m perfect.” Satoru responds, sighing.

“Boo hoo.” you respond, joking.

He smiles in response, his hand lightly loosening in yours. You tighten your grip against his again, giving him your best smile.

“I’m joking, ‘Toru. What did you mean by that?”

“I just mean. He expects so much from me, because I’m his only son. And when I was a kid, he was really hard on me for it. Made me attend all these shitty classes by myself, isolated me from other kids because I was meant to be something great. And I obviously pulled away from him because of it. But then, he kind of…shifted. He was vying so hard for my attention now, that suddenly I became free of all blame, all faults.”

“Well, we both know that’s not true.”

He snorts, dragging you to the end of the railing by the Christmas tree, as you both lean against the little glass panes.

“I just wanted him to be real with me. Tell me when I was good, tell me when I was bad. Not where he was criticizing every move I made but not when he was praising all of them either.”

You nod, turning to your side to hold both of his hands in yours.

“Well, you’re shitty when you’re mean to me. But you’re nice when you’re like this.” you state.

He smiles, that stupid lopsided grin, as he brings his hands around your neck and pulls you in against him. His lips are soft and warm, though you’re not sure how, against your almost frostbitten, cold blue ones. But the warmth that’s blooming in your chest, under your skin, from his hands, from his lips on yours is enough to bring you down.

He pulls back, resting his forehead against yours as he places a light kiss to the tip of your pink nose.

“What was that for?” you ask, breathless.

“Mistletoe.” Satoru responds, pushing off the little railing and slowly skating away, waiting for him to join you.

You look up, fighting the urge to smile at the small little bundle of leaves and berries above you, as you skate out and join his hand to go around the rink.

There’s an incessant pounding on your door that wakes you up, as you pull on the closest jacket and your glasses as you pad to the door. You open up to find him there, half bored on his phone, as he looks up at you.

“Oh. Hey. Was the spare not under-”

He all but lurches forward, wrapping his hands around your neck as he presses his lips to yours. He’s all too eager, because he’s walking into you so fast that he’s all but pushed you up against the wall behind you, his lips hanging off yours as he smiles into your mouth.

“Y/N.” he hums, smiling into your face.

“Good morning to you too.”

He smiles, wrapping his hands around your wrist, as he leads you back to your bed, quickly peeling your hoodie off your frame as he tucks you into the bed with him. And instead of doing what you thought he was going to do, he’s tucking you tight against his frame, your face tucked into his clavicle, as he brings his arms around yours and holds you tight.

“Did you come all this way to cuddle?”

“I came all this way to kiss you. This is just a bonus.”

You burrow yourself into his skin, leaning your head against his, as your thousand questions swim around in your mind. On what you’re doing, on why he’s here, on if you can even ask.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You have a weird, pinched up look on your pretty face. What is it?” he asks.

“Oh. I was just thinking.” you respond.

“About?”

“Um, what we’re doing.”

“We’re cuddling, silly.” Satoru responds, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your forehead.

“I know. But what does that mean?”

Satoru brings his hands up around your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he smiles.

“It means that I just had a really annoying fight with my dad. And I just want to hold you and not think about it.” he responds.

“Oh. Okay, yeah.”

You burrow yourself back into his arms, the two of you a mess of tangled limbs as you hold onto each other. And you’re not sure why you start talking, but you’re filling the silent space with your voice.

“I saw Sukuna the other day.” you murmur.

Satoru brings his hands down, rubbing into the side of your arm as he hums in response.

“Was it okay?”

“Kind of stupid.” you murmur.

“Why?” he asks.

“He came up to me to ask if I was going to go to the end of year banquet that they hold for the seniors going into the masters program.”

“And?”

“I mean, I was planning on it. And then he just felt the need to warn me that he’s bringing his new girlfriend and it was really awkward. He asked me if I was bringing anyone and I said no, just for him to smile in response and then walk away.”

“You should have said you were bringing me.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was bringing you.”

“Well, now you are. Plus, my dad…he always gets on my back to go to shit like that since he’s one of the donors. At least now I’ll have something to do there.”

“And what’s that?”

“Annoy you!” he responds.

You reach forward to flick the side of his cheek, before reaching forward to push the hair off of his forehead. The touch must be somewhat soothing to him, because it coaxes him to talk, in the slightest.

“When I was a kid, my dad forced me to go to events like that. All the time. And when I was there…he’d always yell at me for all these different things. My hair was too messy, I wasn’t standing right, I was too loud.”

You brush your thumb on the skin of his cheek, before reaching forward to press a kiss to his skin.

“And after I kind of figured it all out, I was so…irritated that I ever listened. And I’ve tried to stamp it out, that voice telling me to be quiet all the time. But sometimes when I see him…I don’t know. It just comes flooding back.”

You prop your hands up against his chest, resting your head on top of your hands as you look down at him. His eyes are shut as he faces your ceiling, a hand resting behind his head while the other one is secured, firmly around you. In the ray of sunlight peering out of your window, you notice that Satoru has the smallest patch of freckles around his nose.

“I always wondered why you were like that. But somehow, this makes it better.”

“Huh?”

“You were always so…you that sometimes it made me jealous. That you had this unstoppable, vibrant spirit, that you probably had life so easy that no one had stamped it out of you.”

You reach forward, tracing the skin on his cheek, as you continue to talk.

“But this is better. Someone tried to do that to you and you didn’t let them. You’re not weak or timid like me, you don’t let people like that shut you up like I do.”

“You’re not weak or timid.” he responds, cupping the side of your face.

“Satoru.”

“You’ve always stood your ground. Especially when it comes to me.”

“Well, you’re you. Sukuna is…”

“Nothing. You can handle an idiot like Sukuna. And I’ll be there, if he tries to say anything to you and you need me.”

You halfheartedly nod.

“And I’ll be there. If you want to annoy me instead of talking to your dad.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer. Always.”

Satoru presses a kiss to your cheek before running out the door, late for his class. And when you turn on your heel, you find Suguru giving you a wide smile, with an almost teasing look on his face. You glare in response, moving past him to do the dishes.

“Do you need something, Suguru?”

“Are you guys dating?” he asks, resting his chin in his hands as he gives you a jeering smile.

“What’s it to you?” you ask.

“My best friend…my roommate…seems like a very big deal to me.”

“Well, we’re just talking. I don’t know if it’s official, but I think it’s exclusive.” you respond.

“It’s definitely exclusive. He’s liked you for a while.”

You snort, as he comes up at your side and starts drying the dishes.

“No, I’m serious! I promise, he’s not coming around this much just to see me. And I’m sure you’ll make him very happy. Keep him in his place.”

“That’s what he said.” you murmur, smiling.

“Just, don’t get too heated if you guys get into an argument. You’re both the most stubborn people I know, but don’t let that get in the way of anything.”

“Okay, I’ll definitely take relationship advice from someone who pathologically lies to his girlfriend everyday.”

Suguru yanks on the edge of ear and you splash a good amount of dishwater at him in response as you both laugh.

“I’ll have you know, that I told her almost like two days afterwards because I couldn’t stomach it.”

“Huh? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It was just funny watching you guys try to be nice to each other. And then Hiromi was dead set on matchmaking the second she figured out Gojo was all but in love with you.”

You roll your eyes at him in response, as you turn out to walk to the coffee shop before your next class. And as you march to the coffee shop, music blaring in your headphones, you feel a tugging on your elbow as you almost walk in.

You turn around to find an older man, with blue eyes and light hair, smiling at you. And as you tug your headphones off and hear him talk, you know without a doubt that this has to be Satoru’s father.

“Are you Y/N L/N?” he asks, his hands folded perfectly against the crisp pressing off his suit.

“Sure. Who are you?” you ask, yanking your headphones off so they're resting around your ears.

“I’m Satoru’s father.”

“Oh, okay. Can I help you?” you asked, running through your thoughts as you think of what Satoru would want you to do most.

Walk away? Be polite? Insult him?

Insulting him is surely what you want to do. But knowing him, he wouldn’t even want you to talk to him for a second, so you should try your best to abort the conversation in its tracks.

“I’d like to talk to you about your intentions. With my son.” he responds.

“I'd love to do that. But I have to run to class, so I’ll have to go now.”

“Class? What’s your major?”

“Education.”

That must not be the answer he wanted, because he stiffens his jaw before talking again, which just builds onto another reason that this man irritates you.

“Right, well. I’ll be off then.” you respond, trying to move past him.

“Are you dating my son?”

“Not yet. But I think it’s headed that way.” you respond.

“Well, if you’re so intent on attending your class, here’s my phone number. I’d like for you to call me the second you’re out of your class so we can discuss more.” he states, handing you a shiny piece of cardstock.

You begrudgingly take it, shaking his hand as you all but sprint off to your class. But unbeknownst to you, Satoru was watching the entire thing play out from the window, with an ice matcha latte in hand just for you.

He trashes the cup as he walks out. He’s always thought matcha was disgusting anyways.

And three days later, you find Satoru in the library. In what might possibly, the most compromising of situations.

You’re a few weeks out from finals, the banquet at the end of the week, and buried with term papers that you need to write. Hence the need to procure your matcha latte, lock yourself in the library for the rest of the week, until you can go to the event with Satoru and let loose before you go home for break.

Except when you’re trekking through the library looking for a place to study, you find that a really large group is populating your usual prime spot near the window, with the big white board that you like to use.

But even more jarring than the stupid white board and spot you’re comfortable in, it’s who is taking up the spot. Because Sukuna and his friends are taking up the entire face and there’s a certain white haired idiot sitting all the way at the end, headphones over his ears as he types away on his laptop.

And you can hear your blood rushing in your ears as you walk up to him, all but yanking the headphones off your ears.

“Hi Satoru.”

“Hi Y/N.” he seethes back, matching the anger in your voice.

“I got you a drink, asshole.”

He looks down at your matcha latte, before looking back up at you and rolling his eyes.

“Always intent on not listening to me, aren’t you?”

“I learned from the best, asswipe.” you respond, marching off to the apartment and fighting down the angry tears that are falling out of your eyes.

With the load of finals behind you and the quietness that populates your apartment, you find yourself begrudgingly dragging yourself to the banquet. And curse yourself for letting Satoru convince you, for already putting in an RSVP so early that now you can’t take it away.

The room’s uncomfortably warm, the masses of people moving around each other, cheeks blushed pink from the drinks and flutes in all of their hands. You swipe one off of the tray as someone walks past, intent on filling that cold, awkward feeling in your chest with whatever warmth it can give you.

You take a spot near the corner of the room, a nice vantage point from where you can spot, eye who you can talk to first. Your partner from your English class is stuck talking to your professor, which is frankly a bleak option.

There’s the group of girls from your cohort, but they’re all talking to Sukuna and his girlfriend, which is a big no for you. And you’d love to talk to your advisor, but you’re positive occupying the solo spot on the wall is better than talking to the one professor that everyone hates.

And you spot Satoru, his white hair stark against the crowd, as he talks to Hiromi and Suguru. He’s all dressed up, his tie loose around his neck and the top buttons are undone. You suppose that’s as well as Satoru can present for an event like this anyways, and your heart stings at the premise.

Because there's nothing you want to do more than point it out. That everyone’s dressed up, but he can’t even be bothered to put himself together for this. And you want him to argue back, to sport that stupid shit eating grin he always uses when he argues with you.

It’s irritating. How much it’s killing you to not be with him.

You pull down the edges of your dress, trying to soothe through the creases that are lining on your green dress, as you try your best to stop that tense, uncomfortable feeling from settling in your skin.

On the most annoying cue ever, Sukuna walks up to stand by your side, two drinks in his hand. He gestures for you to take one, which you oblige, as you swallow the irritation on your tongue as he starts talking.

“Y/N.”

“Sukuna.”

“Did you poison my drink? Or are you morally above attempted murder?”

“I believe I am.”

“Shocking, given your track record.”

“Are you here alone?” he asks.

“What’s it to you?”

“It’s just that you RSVP'd for two people. Yet you’re the only one standing here.”

“Are you stalking me now?" you ask, eyeing him.

“Maybe a little bit. I was just curious to see who it was you were seeing now.”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just have to make sure that they take care of you. That’s all.” he states, shrugging

You roll your eyes, putting a sizable amount of distance between you two.

“That’s rich coming from you. Leaving me without a place to live is a real gesture of compassion, Sukuna.”

“Well, I think that-”

A girl, with short brown hair cuts the two of you off, as she excitedly points to the wallpaper above you.

“You’re both standing under the mistletoe!”

You look up, to find a small lock of the plant above the two of you, as you fight the urge to internally groan.

“Right, well. That’s my cue to leave.” you respond, setting the glass down on the table.

Sukuna wraps his fingers around your wrist, pulling you into him as you stumble on the edge of your heels.

“It’s just mistletoe. You have to honor it or that’s like…really shitty luck.” he states, giving you a smile.

“I’ll take my chances. It couldn't possibly be worse than this.”

“Look. I really hate being on bad terms. You were really important to me and I hate to think that you’re out there being mad at me.”

“Right, well. Get used to being disappointed then because I’m clear on where I stand.” you respond.

You make the motions to move again, as Sukuna yanks you back again. Except this time, Satoru’s at your side, nearly shoving him into the wall. He gives you a look, devoid of any emotion, as he adjusts his tie around his neck.

“You’re not going to kiss her.” he states, teetering on the edges of his heels. Like he’s almost bored, so disinterested in the conversation that he’s having with Sukuna right now.

“I was just joking. It wasn’t that serious, I wouldn’t even consider it honestly.” he states, as the words sting your ears. You don’t know whether to be relieved, offended, or extremely agitated by the premise of his comment.

“You’d be so lucky.” he snorts, as you swallow hard.

“Right. We are talking about the same girl, right?” he sneers.

Satoru groans, looking up to the sky, before taking his jacket off and handing it to you. You give him a confused look, to which he smiles, before turning back to Sukuna.

“Rather unfortunate that you chose to mess with the wrong girl. That and the fact that I have no semblance of manners when it comes to these types of things.”

And then Satoru swings straight for his nose, wincing and shaking his knuckles in the air as Sukuna slams into the wall behind him. There’s a loud gasp, head turning to look at the three of you as you swallow hard. There’s a small amount of bright, red blood falling out of his nose as Satoru gives him a shit eating grin.

“Thanks for holding it.” Satoru states, taking the jacket from your hands as the two of you watch Sukuna walk off into the side.

“Right, well-”

“Satoru.”

The two of you turn around to find his father, nose flaring and undoubtedly mad, as he appears at your side. Satoru storms out of the room, agitated, as you follow and run behind him. The air outside is significantly colder, snow sticking to the concrete.

“Are you okay?” you ask, the air so cold that you can see your breath in the air.

“Yes. Are you?” he asks back, turning around to look at you. He’s kicking the tiny flakes of snow in the ground, averting eye contact with you as he talks.

“Yeah. Now, I can yell at you.” you respond, shoving him.

“What’s your problem?”

“What’s yours?” he asks back, seething.

“You. You ignored me for like two days and then I found you in the library being all buddy buddy with Sukuna. And then you punch him in the face for no reason?”

“It wasn’t for no reason.”

“Right. Your hand just jerked through the air and just happened to hit his face.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?”

You groan, bringing your hands up through your temples, as your frustration comes to a head.

“Why are you pretending this is nothing? Like we're nothing?” you scream, tears burning your eyes at you look at him.

“When did I say this was nothing?”

“’m fucking dying over here to be the person standing next to you, because there’s nowhere else I want to be, and instead I’m standing in the corner trying to avoid you like the plague.”

His eyes twitch, his hands almost fidgeting at your sides as you angrily wipe your tears off your cheeks and smudge the makeup pressed to your face.

“You…you’re so fucking aggravating. You’re mean to me, then you’re nice. You act like you love me, but then you don’t. Your best friend tells me that I basically mean the world to you and then your stupid dad ambushes me outside a coffee shop and basically insults me but-”

“What?” he states.

“What? I just like…don’t know what page you’re on. You make no fucking sense, you’re so..so hot and cold with me instead of just telling me what’s going on. If you didn’t like me anymore, you should have just said that instead of hurting my feelings.” you state, crossing your arms as you turn back from him.

He comes up at your side, eyes wide as he looks down at you. He quickly takes his jacket off, wrapping it around your shoulders as the tears stream down your eyes.

“What did my dad say to you? Was it at the coffee shop?” he whispers, hands braced on your shoulders.

“Huh? How’d you know that?”

“Just, tell me.”

“Well, I was going to get my latte. He kind of pulled me aside. Asked me what my intentions were with you. Made some weird backhanded comment about me being an education major and-”

“And?”

“Gave me his business card. Told me to call him because I kept trying to leave. I think I threw it in a trash can or something.”

Satoru groans, leaning his forehead against your shoulder, as he curses.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” he murmurs, eyes pinched in regret as he lifts his head back up.

“What?”

“Shit. I-I got mad at you. For talking to my dad, behind my back and not telling me. I thought…he was asking you for information about me and you were obliging. That you took his card so you could call him.”

“You watched that entire thing?”

“Yeah. And I saw you shove the card into your pocket as you walked away and I just got so angry that I-”

“That you what?”

“Hung out with Sukuna. To make you mad.”

You glare at him, shoving him again for good measure.

“You did what?”

“I was upset! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to it was just that-”

“You didn’t even think to ask me? You just had to be petty?” you scream, your frustration building.

His eyes go wide, as he swallows hard. He burrows his hands into his pockets, lifting them from your shoulders as he casts his head down. You can tell that his skin is burning, it’s turning slightly pink, as you realize that the reason the two of you weren’t here together, stupidly laughing at everyone, was because of a simple miscommunication.

“Satoru.” you groan, lifting your hand to your forehead.

“Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

“In what world was that fair to me? You didn’t even think to ask?”

Satoru takes both of your hands in his, lifting them up to cover his eyes with. Your knuckles are flat against his forehead, the ends of his hair tickling your skin.

“Y/N. I’m so shit at this type of stuff. You’re far too put together for me.”

“I’m not expecting you to be put together. Just to kind of…work with me here.” you murmur, as he rests his head against your frame again. You’re wrapping your arms around his torso, deflating into his touch.

“Yeah, well. All I know how to do is fight and-”

“If you say you’ll love me rather than fight with me, I’ll forgive you.”

“Huh?”

“Just promise. That you’ll try to love me. And forgive me before you turn to fighting.” you murmur, cupping his face in your hands.

“Y/N. I-”

“You have so many walls that I’m trying to break through. Just try to work with me here when I’m trying to do it.” you whisper.

“There you go. Doing that thing again.”

“Doing what?”

“Seeing the best in me. Making me want to be better.”

You smile, leaning your head to the side.

“Is that so bad?”

“No. No, just. Try to be patient with me? I know I’m really shitty at this type of thing but-”

“As long as you stick around. And don’t ignore me for five days like a fucking asshole, I promise I will.”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the palms of your hands still secured around his face, as he leans his own forehead against yours.

“Okay. Just, give it to me straight when…when I do stuff like this.”

“Okay. I hate it when you’re stupid as fuck and jump to conclusions. Like genuinely, it’s really irritating that I spent all of finals week sleeping in my bed alone when it was obscenely cold and you weren’t there. And you just had to assume shit when you didn’t-”

“Okay, I get it. Get to the good parts now.”

“Ego-maniac.”

“Cmon. I’m wounded here.” he states, holding his bruised hand up to you. You take it in yours, pressing a kiss to the red skin before continuing.

“I like when you talk to me. And when we get to keep moving forward, past this type of stuff. It’s like…the best part of a story. You get to see the conflict be resolved and then keep going.”

He smiles hard, nodding at your words.

“You have to kiss me.” he states.

“Why?”

“I’m going to pretend I’m not offended by that heinous look on your face at the thought of kissing me. But, mistletoe.”

You look up, to find a set of tiny Christmas lights with little embellishments in them, one of which is mistletoe.

“That doesn’t count.”

“Yes, it does.”

“That’s not real mistletoe.”

He pouts, rolling his eyes at you.

“Fine. Don’t kiss me then.”

You wrap your hand around his wrist, yanking him down by the tie to press a kiss to his soft, warm lips. They’re enough to warm up your frozen, nearly frostbitten blue ones, as he shakes his arms around your waist, pulling you closer and smiling into the kiss.

And you take solace in the fact that at least for that night, the conflict is over. And the story continues.

taglist:

@porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg

lmk if you would like to be added to the taylor as gojo taglist or my general taglist <3

#this is so fuckin g good bye #the way that this made me feel #i love this series so much #i would d*e for it #fic recs

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