comesatimecomesashadow

[comesatimecomesashadow]

gonna post a fic about gojo helping reader with college math (stats) because i do not get one bit of probability equations and i quite literally spent about half of the lecture staring at gojo edits thinking shit was funny (it wasn't)

[comesatimecomesashadow]

this was a rollercoaster i 100% paid to be on; would do it again

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on. 

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend. 

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned. 

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast. 

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up. 

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek. 

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand. 

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway. 

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that. 

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake. 

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.” 

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit. 

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself. 

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness. 

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench. 

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him. 

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.” 

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself. 

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with? 

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him. 

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded. 

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings. 

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too. 

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well. 

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend. 

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings. 

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted. 

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself. 

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on. 

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole. 

satoru. of course.

he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it.

but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands. 

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know. 

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn. 

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff. 

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away. 

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here. 

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him. 

“why did you leave me?” he asks. 

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists. 

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love. 

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days. 

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly. 

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out. 

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead. 

you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.

satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head. 

his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying. 

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.

satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight. 

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper. 

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.  

“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray. 

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion. 

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could. 

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt. 

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you. 

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating. 

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.

yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known. 

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him. 

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

[comesatimecomesashadow]

in my sleepless solitude *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ satoru gojo / fem reader

fic type *ೃ༄ comfort, angst

cw *ೃ༄ reader is implied to be lower class, descriptions of insecurity

summary *ೃ༄ when you feel insecure about him spoiling you so much, he shows you that it's not because he feels bad, but because he loves you.

note *ೃ༄ he would pay all my medical expenses (can you tell im american yet)

masterlist *ೃ༄

It always lingered. 

Like the smoke on the streets of the city you called home, the feeling of being too much and yet never enough lingered. It stuck to your skin, melted into it until it became part of you; Until it became truth. Despite the fact that you’d gotten the job you dreamed of and achieved everything you’d wanted to in your life, you were at a loss.

 Being in a relationship with someone like Satoru was a new experience because of the fact that the two of you came from vastly different worlds. Satoru always made it a point to spoil you. Whether it was with his sweet words or his highly expensive gifts- he made it a point to give you everything he had. Even after five years of dating, he remained loyal to the art of showering you with every ounce of admiration he possessed. 

However, he couldn’t stop the shame. 

You knew status didn’t mean anything to him — if it did, he wouldn't be here, with you — but you felt the difference between the two of you whenever you were in public. In fancy restaurants or lavish getaways, you always felt like you didn’t.. belong. You knew it was irrational and that he couldn’t care less about it, in fact, he liked taking you out and seeing you experience the greater things in life — but just because it was irrational didn’t mean your heart would stop feeling or that your mind would stop thinking these thoughts. 

You sigh and allow your eyes to travel across the visage of your sleeping lover beside you. His soft snoring brought a slight smile to your lips; your heart ached as you gazed upon him. The pale moonlight seeping in through the window like melted gold washed over Satoru’s porcelain skin, smooth and pristine as ever. Snowy white hair framed his face so beautifully, it almost seemed to glow underneath the blanket of the moon’s pale light. 

Your fingernails dragged softly over his cheek; The touch was featherlight, as if he was something sacred. To you, he was that and more. To feel his skin under your slightly calloused hand was an ethereal thing. He was perfect, everything you wanted and even beyond that. You wondered if he thought the same about you, wondered if you were enough like he was for you. 

You couldn’t afford fancy gifts for him like he did for you, couldn’t take him to wonderful places he’d never seen before like he did for you; Heartfelt letters and home-baked goods were all you could offer him in terms of gifts, oftentimes.. You wondered if he had settled for you. 

He could certainly do better; He could’ve gone for a woman with softer skin, maybe a woman that was easier to love, one who was on his level — unlike you, with a prickly fence of thorns that guarded your heart and skin that turned thick through the years to survive. As you continued to let your skin  traverse the peaks and valleys of his visage, you wondered how it was exactly, that a man like him could love a woman like you.   

Your thoughts were interrupted when he began to stir from his sleep. He smiled while your thumb drew lines back and forth on his cheek. “What’re you doing?” he spoke, his voice rough with sleep. 

“Just looking at you.” you said, smiling softly when his crystalline eyes fluttered open. He pulled you in closer with your head on his bicep as he ruffled your hair. 

“Creepy.” he jokes. 

A small laugh escapes you, “As if you don’t enjoy it.” 

“Mm…..” He pretended to ponder on it which earned him a pinch on the cheek. “Ow!” He hissed and held his cheek dramatically, “ Is this how you repay my love and admiration?” 

“No,” you lifted yourself off his arm and inched upwards to place a kiss over his cheek that you pinched earlier, “This is how I repay your love and admiration.” He smiled fondly and pulled you down to place a chaste kiss on your lips before letting you settle back down beside him. 

“How long have you been awake?” 

“An hour maybe?”

“Really? You’ve been watching me for that long?” chuckling, he stroked his thumb across the skin of your hip back and forth tenderly, his way of letting you know he was there. You pulled the blanket higher and curled into his side, you didn’t want to speak about it; Didn’t want to tell him about the thoughts you tried so hard to keep quiet when you were with him. 

“God forbid a woman appreciate her man,” you rolled your eyes and splayed your arm across his chest. He had a way of making you feel safe, it pained you that your thoughts of shame couldn’t let you enjoy the feeling. 

“You looooooove me,” he teased and kissed your forehead, “You should get some sleep though, you’ve got work in the morning right?” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me…” 

“You can always quit,” he shrugged, a sly smile on his face. 

“Yeah, If I wanna end up homeless.” you scoffed, “You’re a bad influence, y’know that?” 

“You can always come live at mine, you know that right?”

He was only half-joking because if you genuinely asked to, he’d have your things over at his place in a heartbeat — nerdy posters and all. “Yeah, yeah. I know, ‘Toru.” 

“We could spend every morning together,” 

“A nightmare, truly.” 

“You jest!” he spoke, “You know you love waking up to me beside you.” 

“I only wake up because you snore suuuuuper loud,” You smiled when he gasped dramatically. You were lying (slightly), but he didn’t have to know that. 

“Liar.” he accused, “I do not snore.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Your laughter died down after a few minutes, the room now occupied by a comfortable silence. Here — with him — time felt as if it stood still. He could just exist beside you and you’d be content like that. “..S.. Satoru?” you whispered his name like it was a secret you kept close to your heart. 

“Yeah?” 

“...” You bit your lip, “Do I.. make you happy?” 

If your face wasn’t buried into his side, you would have seen the crease in between his eyebrows caused by confusion. “Of course you do, can I ask why you’re asking that?” 

“No reason,” you lied, “I was just thinking..” 

“About what?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” you gave him a weak smile before getting comfortable to sleep beside him. But if there was anything you learned about Satoru, it was that he never made anything easy. Especially not when you showed him glimpses of the sides you kept hidden. 

“Hey,” He cupped your cheek, making you look up at him, “Talk to me, yeah? What’s bothering you?” 

“It’s nothing,” you insisted, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying. You weren’t looking at him and that was reason enough for him to assume there was a deeper issue at hand. 

“Honey, If you can’t even look at me it’s not ‘nothing’.” His voice was softer, sleep long gone from it. His heart ached when you continued to bury your face into his side like a scared child. What was it that was plaguing you so deeply that it brought you to tears? 

“I don’t wanna talk about it..” 

“I don’t want you to carry these feelings by yourself.” 

“Just leave it, Satoru,” you let out a shaky sigh. 

“______.” 

Your eyes fluttered open upon hearing your name from his lips, and so seriously too. “It’s not that big of a deal okay?” 

He brought a hand to your cheek to wipe a tear that’d escape you. “It is, to me. I’m not going to judge you, alright? I just want you to talk to me..” 

You sat up, your back turned to him. “It’s nothing, I just.. I feel like you deserve better than me.” He stayed silent, letting you speak your mind. “I feel like I'm holding you back and you deserve more than I can give you, someone better.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

“Satoru, you’re too good for me, can’t you see that?” you turn to look at him, your bottom lip wobbling. “I know it’s stupid but.. Don’t you feel embarrassed to be with me?” 

“Never.” 

You turn away and scoff, “You should be.” 

“Where is this coming from? Who’s got you thinking things like this?” he questioned. He couldn’t understand why it was that you were speaking so shamefully of yourself, as if you weren’t enough for him. 

“Satoru, I didn’t grow up with much and you know that,” you began, “You buy me these expensive clothes and gifts, take me to fancy restaurants and I'm grateful for all of it.. But I can’t give you any of that. You offer to pay my rent like it’s nothing, like money isn’t a problem for you at all..” 

The confusion is evident on his face, “Because it isn’t..? I want to do these things for you because I love you, you know that right?” 

“I know, I know..” you rub your eyes, “But, I don’t know I just.. I feel like you deserve someone who’s on your level, someone who doesn’t have to work all the time or-” 

“______.” he brings you into his lap, “I don’t want anyone else.” 

“Satoru.. You,” you sighed, “You don’t know what it’s like to feel like charity work; When you’re out with me, taking me to these really nice places I feel like I shouldn’t be there. Like I don't ..belong.” 

He cups your cheeks, raising your head so that you can look at him. “Listen to me, okay? You’re not charity work, I spend money on you because I love you and want to do it of my own accord. I don’t feel like I have to spoil you, I get to do that.” 

You frowned, your eyes getting glassier the more he spoke. 

“And I'm not ashamed of you, there’s much more to you than what you can offer. Hell, you could just breathe and I’d give you the universe just ‘cause!” He smiled when you laughed at his words. “Status doesn’t dictate the way I love you, alright? I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I have to.” 

You nodded and surged forward to engulf him in a hug, “I’m sorry.” you cried. 

“You’ve got nothing to feel sorry for, m’kay?” 

He only received a nod in response.

“I love you with everything I am and money sure as hell isn’t going to change that.” Satoru returned your hug, cradling you close to him, as if you’d disappear if he let go. He knew he couldn’t change your feelings about it, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him from showering you in his love. 

[comesatimecomesashadow]

rip gojo u wouldve loved 2025 brainrot terms

[comesatimecomesashadow]

hes so nonchalant trust, no one's more nonchalant than him fr

you're going to ibiza for a girls holiday. gojo is NOT okay.

satoru gojo thinks heartbreak should be illegal. specifically, this heartbreak- the one where his girlfriend is about to board a flight to ibiza with shoko and the rest of her friends while he stays home to rot like yesterday’s milk.

you’re attempting to cram your sunglasses into an already overstuffed carry on when he flops onto your bed behind you with the grace of a man who’s just been shot. he doesn’t just flop, he bounces twice, then rolls over dramatically until his face is buried in your blanket.

"whyyyyy are you doing this to meeeeee," he mumbles, voice muffled in your pillow. "what did i do. name one war crime i committed to deserve this." you flick him on the forehead. he doesn’t even flinch, just cracks one icy blue eye open to watch you wrestle with your zipper.

"stop being so dramatic," you say, fighting a smile. "it's a weekend, satoru. three days."

"three days is seventy two hours," he corrects you, flinging an arm out for maximum tragedy. "do you know how many minutes that is? do you know how many times we'll need to facetime just so i can stay alive?"

at this point in your relationship, he's long past pretending not to be clingy. right now, his hair’s a mess, his shirt is half untucked from where he’s been crawling around your floor in protest, and you’d bet good money that if you tried to actually drag your suitcase out the door, he’d just cling to the handle and let himself be wheeled along like luggage extension.

outside, shoko honks the car horn. three short threatening beeps. she's been ready for twenty minutes.

"satoru!" she yells through the window. "get off her!"

he ignores her completely- too busy rolling onto his stomach so he can grab you around the hips, chin digging into your thigh like he’s anchoring you to the floor.

"you're gonna meet some european dj with a man bun then you’re gonna come back saying stuff like ‘babe, the ocean changed me.’ and then i'll have to join a monastery." he whines dramatically.

you snort, patting his head like a sulky cat. "you'd get kicked out of a monastery in two minutes."

outside, shoko honks again. you glance at your phone- four unread texts from her that say i'm leaving you here if he tries to climb in my trunk.

when you finally manage to zip your bag and drag it toward the door, he scrambles after you on his knees. before you can even slip your shoes on, he’s wrapped himself entirely around your legs from behind, arms locked like a vice around your thighs, cheek smushed against your lower back.

"satoru-" you try, exasperated. you tug forward an inch. he drags with you like a six foot weighted blanket, feet sliding across the floorboards.

"try leaving now," he says, voice muffled, clinging tighter. "try it. see what happens. i'm part of the outfit now."

"are you done?"

"never."

eventually, you have to bribe him off with three kisses, a promise to text him when you land, and the threat of shoko physically dragging him out of the doorway by the hair.

when you finally manage to peel him off you long enough to escape to the door, he stumbles after you in his socks, hair sticking up everywhere. he dramatically plants himself in the hallway like a guard dog who failed obedience school.

"i'm gonna spam you," he threatens, pointing a finger at you like you’ve committed a crime. "you're gonna regret this. i'm gonna send you so many sad selfies you’ll have to turn your phone off. you did this to yourself."

"can't wait," you laugh, leaning in to kiss him just to shut him up.

and when you land in ibiza, your phone connects to the airport wi-fi before the wheels even finish taxiing, and immediately you’re hit with a barrage of notifications that make shoko side eye you over her sunglasses.

38 unread messages
9 missed calls
4 instagram stories tagged with your handle

you open them in order of damage control. the first story is a dramatic black and white close up of gojo’s face, half buried in your pillow, captioned, when your reason for living leaves you for a european man bun 🕊️💔

the next is even worse. he’s lying on your side of his bed, dramatically clutching the shirt you forgot to pack. the caption reads, i put on her perfume to remember what happiness smelled like.

you snort so hard you nearly drop your phone on the moving walkway. shoko just flicks your arm. "i'm confiscating your phone if you laugh at him again. he's training you to enable this."

you ignore her. the third story is the worst. gojo in full grayscale filter, standing in your apartment wearing your fuzzy pink slippers. marvins room playing in the background.

he zooms in on the slippers with the caption, stepping into her role since she stepped out of my life.

you cover your face with one hand. "he's so stupid. should i just block him?"

shoko hums, pulling her suitcase along. "no. let him suffer. it's free entertainment."

you try to pocket your phone. a mistake. another ping. he's texted you forty more times since you opened the app.

toru: have you landed???
toru: did you get kidnapped by ibiza pirates???
toru: i’m outside the airport
toru: JK but i would be if nanami didn’t physically tackle me
toru: you know what
toru: i’m buying a ticket right now
toru: you think i won’t?
toru: you think i won’t show up in a speedo and ruin a girls trip???
toru: i would look so good in a speedo
toru: send feet pics
toru: ok JK but for real call me when you see this
toru: ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა
toru: that’s the face i’m making rn

you can practically see him pacing around your apartment, wearing your slippers and sniffing your hoodie like a love struck puppy with abandonment issues.

you facetime him while you wait for your bags. it rings once. once. he picks up like he’s been standing there, phone in hand, ready to pounce.

"BABY!" he's way too loud- the echo of your empty apartment behind him, your pillow in his arms like a hostage. "did you land? are you safe? are the ibiza men uglier than me?"

you roll your eyes. "yes, yes, and yes."

he gasps. "you didn’t even look yet. you can’t know that for sure-"

"i know," you say sweetly. "nobody’s prettier than you, toru."

he beams like you just handed him the winning lottery ticket. "ughhh. say it again." shoko rips the phone out of your damn hand.

"satoru. shut up. she’ll text you later." she hangs up before he can protest, then tosses your phone back at you like it’s infected.

sure enough, by the time you’re in the hotel lobby, his stories have doubled. one's a video of him sitting at nanami's desk wearing sunglasses inside, captioned the sun doesn’t shine when she’s gone. another is just his hand dramatically pressed against the window with thinking about her.

when you finally text him that you miss him too, he replies in half a second.

toru: I KNEW IT
toru: you love me more
toru: i’m making a powerpoint about it
toru: sending u slides later
toru: enjoy ur trip baby 🩷🩷🩷

three days later, you come home with salt in your hair and a mild sunburn on the bridge of your nose, dragging your suitcase through arrivals while shoko threatens to abandon you at baggage claim if you don’t buy her a coffee first. you’re halfway through customs when your phone lights up again.

toru: where are you😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

you don’t even bother replying, because the moment you clear the sliding doors into the arrivals hall, you spot him instantly. there’s no not spotting him. he’s tall enough to block out the overhead sign, standing dead center with his sunglasses on.

but he’s not alone. flanking him like two deeply uncomfortable bodyguards are yuji and megumi, each gripping one corner of the same massive piece of torn cardboard scrawled in permanent marker.

'WELCOME HOME BABY (no ibiza djs allowed)'

there's even a sad doodle of a little crying stick figure labeled 'me' with a huge speech bubble that says 'DON’T LEAVE AGAIN.'

yuji’s beaming at every passerby like this is the highlight of his week. megumi is staring at the floor like he wants it to open up and swallow him entirely. and you? you stop in your tracks. shoko wheezes behind you, chokes on her iced coffee, and mutters, "no way. no. he's your problem now," before speed walking off to the taxi stand.

satoru spots you immediately. like a guard dog with perfect senses and no shame. he nearly drops the sign in his rush to get to you, barking an order over his shoulder- "hold it up straight, yuji- megumi, c’mon-" slipping through the sea of families and luggage carts until he’s practically skidding to a stop in front of you.

"you’re here,"!he breathes, like you didn’t just spend the whole weekend texting him hourly updates and proof of life selfies.

you try-try-to keep a straight face. "what's with the sign?"

yuji yells, "it was his idea!" at the same time megumi mutters, "can we go home?"

gojo pouts like you kicked a puppy. "you abandoned me. it's my legal right to embarrass you at least once." then he throws his arms around you so hard he nearly knocks you backward over your suitcase- picks you up a few inches off the grimy airport floor like you’re a carry on bag he plans to personally smuggle home.

he's warm, expensive aftershave and the faint cling of your own shampoo from his mourning routine.

"i missed you so much." he says into your hair. "i was so brave while you were gone. so strong. so stoic."

"you spammed me fifty memes about dying alone," you mumble into his jacket.

"stoic," he corrects, and when he sets you down, he cups your face like he needs to confirm you’re real. thumb brushing the sunburn on your nose, grin so wide it’s blinding.

"you're never leaving again," he says, so sweet you almost don’t notice the tiny edge underneath. "next trip? i'm coming too. i'll pack my speedo."

you flick his forehead. he pretends it hurts as you both giggle.

behind him, yuji's still dutifully holding the sign high for everyone to see and megumi's giving you a deeply apologetic look.

and as gojo drags your suitcase toward the exit for you, cardboard sign tucked proudly under yuji's arm now like a trophy, you catch a glimpse of what he scribbled on the back.

'IBIZA MEN, IF YOU’RE READING THIS: STAY AWAY FROM MY GIRLFRIEND.- LOVE, HER BOYFRIEND. 6’3. LIMITLESS CURSE ENERGY.'

[comesatimecomesashadow]

gojo with a spontaneous artist s/o....

・❥・

.

.

.

he's used to you deleting/scrapping sketches he thought wouldve been really cool had you finished them; used to you getting random ideas for your ocs/fanart at random hours of the night when you should be sleeping.. he thinks its amazing that you can draw the things you see or feel. the way art blends into your daily life and in turn, his life, makes him admire you from afar when you think he isn't looking. he loves when you're with him at boring meetings and lets you draw on his hand/arm if you're bored (he's saw you drawing on yourself and asked you to do it on him too c:).. but what he loves most, is your separate sketchbook he finds one night after coming home from a grueling mission. he knows you never let him look at one of your sketchbooks without supervision- so he just smirked to himself as he sneakily took it from your hands while you slept.

he didnt expect to find sketches upon sketches of himself doing everyday things; you had one of him listening to music, another, he recognized as a picture you had saved of him in your phone- his heart warmed with adoration when he saw what he looked like through your eyes.

he had never seen himself look more .. human, and yet, you captured it all so perfectly.

・❥・. . . masterlist

[comesatimecomesashadow]

The door creaks open. The world stays still.

Simon wasn’t supposed to be home until dusk.

He moves quietly through the hallway, boots in one hand, duffel slung over his shoulder. The lights are off, the afternoon sun slipping golden through the blinds. Everything smells… different.

Clean.

Soft.

Lived in.

Then he hears it.

Not a hum.

A voice.

Theirs.

Singing.

It’s faint. Coming from the kitchen, carried on the rhythm of something clinking softly. Dishes? Glass? Maybe the broom nudging a stray bullet casing they'd kicked out from under the couch.

They don't know he’s here.

Simon stops just outside the hallway arch, careful not to make a sound.

Their back is to him. Their barefoot, wearing a pair of his old cargo pants rolled at the waist and a faded t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder.

Their singing under their breath. Low and smoky, not quite on-key, but perfect in that raw, unfiltered way. The lyrics are slow, something English and melancholy. Something only someone raised in shadow would carry like that.

“I’ll be…

holding onto you…”

They wipe the counter, still singing softly, unaware of the way they're pouring themselves into the space. Like it’s theirs now. Not claimed. Not conquered. Just… chosen.

Simon stays frozen in place, struck silent by the intimacy of it.

They move with casual precision. Stacking plates, rinsing out mugs, pulling a sheet off his rarely-used couch like they've done this a hundred times. Like taking care of things is second nature when it comes to him.

He leans one shoulder against the wall, watching.

His flat doesn’t feel like a bunker today.

It feels like a home.

And somehow, without him ever saying it, they're the reason why.

They turn to grab a towel and freeze mid-step when they see him standing there. Big and silent. His expression unreadable in the shadow of the hallway.

“Jesus,” they breathe, hand on their chest. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

“You sing,” he says, deadpan.

They scowl. “Clearly not anymore.”

“No, I mean… you sing. In my flat. While cleaning.”

Y/N shifts, suddenly aware of the domesticity they've been caught in.

“i was… waiting. I figured I’d tidy up.”

Simon drops his bag gently by the door, watching them with something unreadable, eyes sharp but soft at the corners.

“That song,” he says, voice quieter now, “where’d you learn it?”

Y/N hesitates. “My mother. Maybe. Could’ve been someone from Valkyrie. I don’t really remember.”

He nods once. Moves slowly into the kitchen, picking up the towel they left and brushing their hand with his as he passes it to them.

“I liked it.”

They eye him, a little skeptical. “You hate singing.”

“I hate bad singing.”

“Oh, so I’m tolerable now?”

He meets their gaze. “You’re… familiar.”

That lands heavier than either of them expect.

Because he doesn’t say words like pretty or talented or sweet.

He says familiar and in Simon’s language, that means safe. Known. His.

Y/N softens, setting the towel down. “You’re home early.”

He nods once. “Was ready to be.”

They study him for a moment. “You’re not used to this, are you?”

He shakes his head. “Not even a little.”

Then, after a beat.

“But I could be.”

Y/N steps closer, wiping their hands on the front of their shirt.

“You want to be?”

Simon watches them for a long moment. Then, quietly.

“I came back early to see you.”

There’s no smirk. No flirt. Just truth.

They blink once. Twice. Their fingers twitch like they don't know whether to touch him or step away.

He solves it for them.

Simon reaches out, cups their face gently, and leans down to press a kiss to their forehead. Soft, lingering, reverent.

Then, against their skin.

“Sing in here anytime you want, love. Especially if you’re wearing my clothes.”

Y/N huffs a quiet laugh, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He kisses the corner of their mouth. “Maybe. But I’m yours.”

~

The world is asleep. But Simon isn’t.

The room is dark. Save for the silver sliver of moonlight slipping through the blinds, casting pale lines across the bedsheets. Rain taps against the glass. A car passes once, distantly.

Simon lies on his back, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

He can’t sleep.

Not from nightmares. Not tonight.

Just… awake. Like his mind hasn’t quite caught up to the stillness his body is allowed to have now.

Beside him, Y/N shifts in their sleep. One bare leg tangled with his. Their hand rests low on his chest, right over the scar from Caracas. Their face is calm, softened in a way only sleep ever manages.

Then,

They hum.

Barely audible.

That same song.

Not fully awake, not fully asleep.

It’s instinct. Deep. Subconscious. Like their mind is soothing itself in the only way it knows how.

“I’ll be…

holding onto you…”

Simon swallows.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

Just listens.

Their voice is rougher now, feathered by sleep, but it still settles into something in his chest, something he’s never had a name for.

Not comfort.

Not longing.

Just home.

He closes his eyes and lets the sound carry him, not far, not away, just… in.

To the shape of their breath.

To the curve of them against him.

To the quiet promise they never say aloud.

You’re not alone anymore.

Their humming fades after a few minutes. Slows. Softens. Until it disappears altogether into silence.

They exhale, nestle closer. Their hand shifts on his chest, fingers brushing gently over his heart like their checking to see if it’s still beating.

Simon finally speaks. Barely above a breath.

“Keep doing that, and I’ll fall asleep.”

Y/N's voice is barely audible, slurred with sleep. “Then go to sleep.”

“You always hum when you’re safe,” he says.

Their quiet.

Then, softly.

“Then maybe you should too.”

Simon lets out a low, half-laugh. “You’ll be waiting a while for that one, love.”

But still, he turns on his side, facing them fully, one arm wrapping around their waist, drawing them in close.

Their legs tangle. Their breath is warm against his throat.

Neither of them says I love you.

Not yet.

But when Simon finally drifts off, with her in his arms and that song lingering like a ghost on the air, he knows.

He doesn’t need to hear it.

Not when they're already singing it.

~

Hope you guys liked it!💚

I work a slow dead-end office job with nothing to do. So there's gonna be a lot more of this. ✌️🏾

[comesatimecomesashadow]

normalize blaming college for the lack of motivation to do hobbies

[comesatimecomesashadow]

this is how i wish to be courted

the first note appears on your fridge.

"don't forget to eat today. or i'll cry. seriously. i'm very sensitive.” it's signed with a doodle of satoru's sunglasses and a dramatic stick figure with tears.

you roll your eyes, toss it in the junk drawer, and forget about it.

but then you find another one. this time it’s on your bathroom mirror.

“you look hot today. but also brush your teeth please.” there’s a tiny cartoon of you with... vampire fangs?

you groan internally, "gojo…”

it escalates fast.

within days, you’re finding sticky notes in increasingly stupid places. inside your cereal box “good morning, cereal thief 🥣^_^ ”, on your shampoo bottle "your hair smells really good, but i promise i'm not a weirdo about it.”, on the ceiling above your bed "dream of me or else >:( "

you confront him the next time he pops by unannounced, which is basically every other day.

“why,” you demand, shoving a handful of neon sticky squares at his face, “are you turning my apartment into a scrapbook?”

he feigns innocence, pushing his sunglasses up dramatically. “aw, you found them all? you’re so diligent, baby!”

“i'm serious!” you sputter. “one of these was inside my shoe.”

“hah- oh yeah, that one said, ‘don't step on my heart.’ cute, right?”

you threaten to throw him out. he refuses to stop.

but you start saving them.

you tell yourself it’s just because they’re funny, who wouldn’t keep a note that says “drink water or you’ll shrivel up like a sad raisin 💧” next to a crude drawing of a raisin with your face?

but some start to get weirdly sweet.

"hope today’s nice for you, even if i'm not there to annoy you.” or, “if you’re sad, open the freezer.” (inside your freezer was a note that said, "there, now your sadness is frozen.”)

then one night, you find the motherlode.

you drop your phone behind your tv stand and when you drag it out, there’s a single sticky note stuck to the back of the screen.

different handwriting. rushed, messier than his usual.

“if you ever get bored, piece them together.”

you spend the whole next day on your floor, surrounded by neon scraps of satoru's idiocy. it's like building a conspiracy board. arrows, tape, strings of doodles.

it hits you- numbers hidden in the corner of some notes, a doodle that matches another, words that line up when you overlap them.

hours later, your living room looks like a detective’s office and you’re staring at a single final message, pieced together from a dozen random half jokes.

“hey dummy. i love you. don't throw this one out, okay?"

you sit there for a minute, cheeks burning, surrounded by all his stupid doodles, and for once, you can’t even find it in yourself to be mad about the mess.

you hear your door unlock (he made himself a spare key). he pokes his head in, grinning.

“so?” he calls out. “did you figure out my puzzle, sherlock?”

you launch a sticky note at his face. he catches it in his mouth.

“you’re an idiot,” you say, heart hammering in your chest.

he crosses the room in two strides, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, and spins you around until you squeal.

“yeah,” he says, burying his face in your neck, “but i'm your idiot, huh?”

on your wall, the final note stays up for good.

even satoru doesn’t dare peel that one down.

[comesatimecomesashadow]

smug little prick (affectionate)

I swear college gets you so unmotivated to do the things you love ARGFFHFHFHF

Anyway I have some sort of motivation back now!(Please Shadow give me strength😔🙏)

But this popped up in my mind just thinking about Shadow and how you want to kiss him but don’t want to seem forward so you do this instead:

Imagine it’s just the two of you, sitting somewhere quiet, maybe even a little coffee shop that he always seemed to take you on purpose.

You : I’d like to kiss you hedgehog man..~

Shadow turns his head towards your direction side eyeing you a bit before putting his coffee beans down. Chewing the last bit down, licking his lips.

Shadow: Alright….but your so darn ugly

As he grabs your cheeks with his gloved hand, his claws indenting your skin a bit before bringing your shocked face closer to his. Eyes closed as he kisses your lips. Moving away and continuing to eat the rest of his snack. You’re just sitting there, flustered mess as you grab your face thinking in a million years he would never do that.

Shadow having the biggest smirk on his face.

[comesatimecomesashadow]

hihi kinda new to your blog, but is it okay to request something with ii about like coming out as nonbinary to him and him obv supporting the reader and stuff? maybe little tidbits where he messes up and uses the wrong pronouns / name or addresses them incorrectly and he quickly fixes it or like he takes the reader to queer friendly places to bond with other nonbinsry people? idk just shooting a shot lollss

also take all the time you need and feel free to ignore this if you'd like, no worries!!!

; 🕯

do you see me? *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ iii / nonbinary reader ( platonic )

fic type *ೃ༄ headcanons, fluff, comfort

cw *ೃ༄ mentions of body dysmorphia, insecurity around one's identity, that's about it !

summary *ೃ༄ what would happen if you came out to iii.

note *ೃ༄ first of all, i'm sorry this took so long ー life got complicated and i had so many asks to answer TwT; second of all, I hope you enjoy this even though it's a little short ówò !

masterlist *ೃ༄

ᡣ𐭩 . . first of all, III would be honored that you trust him with your identity; He’s happy that you feel comfortable enough with him to tell him something as important as that. With that said, he definitely sends you memes and reels about being nonbinary to make you laugh :3. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . his strong-suit is being random and a little brain-rotted so he’s really chill but also has the capacity to be a little bit of an idiot (affectionate). If he messes up with your pronouns, he immediately corrects himself and apologizes. If anyone else gets your pronouns wrong, he’s definitely correcting them out of respect. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . if you deal with body dysmorphia or insecurities around your identity, he tries his best to make you feel accepted and happy within yourself. He knows he can’t change your perspective, but he can support you. Whether it be through his humor or genuine words, he’s always open to listening to you talk about your struggles. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . he’s definitely down to take you to lgbt spaces that make you feel confident in yourself; he loves hanging out in spaces like that because there's a certain air of freedom (or pride if you will). He thinks it's cool that there are spaces where you can bond with others like you and he takes this time to get to know other nonbinary people so he can learn more about what your experience might be  as well as how to help if you ever feel down. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . I personally think that III (the character not the person), is the most likely to be unlabeled both sexuality-wise & gender-wise mainly because he sees himself as everything and yet nothing at the same time (if that makes sense), he’s just chill like that. He likes what he likes (wink wink, vessel+ii & iv) and he doesn’t really dwell on it too much; he’s very open to listening to your experiences and asking questions about what it's like :). 

ᡣ𐭩 . . If anyone were to disregard your identity or was annoying about it while talking to you, he’d definitely put them in their place via telling them directly that they’re being disrespectful as hell. III isn’t one to beat around the bush and is 100% the type of friend to defend you no matter what. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . When you have doubts about your identity or issues with feeling confidence within yourself, he cheers you up with reassuring words about how the only opinions that matter are your own :) he then would take you for froyo as emotional support >:D

[comesatimecomesashadow]

something something satoru with an metalhead s/o; imagining his fascination at the way you know the lyrics to songs that are unintelligible to people not familiar with the sounds. he probably gets startled at the way your playlist switches from something calm like jazz or rap to brutal guitar chugs and filthy false chord screams..... if he took you to a metal concert and you drag him into the pit he's lowkey wondering if its a free for all with the way everyone's moshing and running around; he finds it romantic when you send him metal songs with endearing lyrics :)

[comesatimecomesashadow]

Hello !! Thanks sm for answering my question about which yugioh characters you write for ! :) Could I possibly request dating headcanons for Joey? The brainrot has been INSANE. ty!! :))

summerboy *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ joseph 'joey' wheeler / gn reader

cw *ೃ༄ joey's corny ass jokes /j

fic type *ೃ༄ headcanons

summary *ೃ༄ what it's like to date joey wheeler :).

note *ೃ༄ yeah of course ^^ !! sorry it took me so long to answer anon TwT, i hope you enjoy nonetheless !

masterlist *ೃ༄

ᡣ𐭩 . .  it’s kind of no surprise that joey’s a little bit of an idiot about ninety percent of the time, but he’s even more so when he’s in love. Now, if this isn’t a deal breaker for you, then he’s your guy! :) 

ᡣ𐭩 . . he requires a lot of patients simply because he can be a bit dense. But that doesn’t mean he’d be a bad boyfriend, he’s just a dummy with a big heart; it’s one of his most endearing qualities. He isn’t good with subtlety; If you were to send signals to him about literally anything, it’d go completely over his head until Tea or Yugi pointed it out to him — like i said, patience. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . now, just because joey isn’t the smoothest of guys, doesn’t mean he isn’t a sweetheart. If something’s bothering you and you’re being subtle about it, or hinting to it, he might not get it at first. But he’ll definitely catch onto it and ask you what’s wrong. He’s a great listener (most of the time) and if you ask him for help, he’s completely willing to help you out with whatever’s bothering you! 

ᡣ𐭩 . . if someone was bothering you, like a classmate or something, he wouldn’t hesitate to step in and defend you. Speaking about defending, this boy gets into a lot of stupid fights. It could be about anything but mostly it’s him just defending his friends against bullies. That being said, you’ll probably find yourself patching him up after fights while he sports a big dumb smile like he didn’t just get his shit rocked. 

“You know i’m not going to tell you to not get into fights, because you will regardless, but at least be a little more careful joey. Please.” you look at him with a stern stare as you wrap a blue band-aid around the cut on his cheek. 

“Yeah, yeah, i’ll try but I can’t guarantee anything.” he says smiling at you brightly, “Either way, I've got you to patch me up after, don’t I?” 

ᡣ𐭩 . . joey fits into all the love languages but i think he’d prefer expressing as well as receiving love through quality time and physical touch. We can’t deny the boy’s a little lonely, especially given his home situation, so spending quality time with his lover. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . whether it be unplanned adventures after school, like checking out a new arcade or listening to music with him at a park, he’s all for it. He’s the master of cliches and would definitely take you out to the movies or dinner dates at a fast food place. He’d share milkshakes and food with you, feeling a warmth in his chest when you smile at him. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . for physical touch, the guy’s a puddle if you hold hands with him or let him wrap his arm around you while he walks beside you. He’s a complete gentleman in the sense that he’s the type of boyfriend to pull the hem of your shirt to move you away from the side that’s close to the road on the sidewalk while the two of you carry on with conversation. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . he’s pretty touch starved so feel free to nap with him whenever the two of you are with the rest of the gang at yugi’s house. Just knowing that you trust him enough to fall asleep around him, with him, does things to his heart. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . aside from physical touch and quality time, he’s also a hugeeee fan of acts of service. If you offer to feed him when he’s unwell, he turns into mush and vows to keep you safe from all the dangers of the world (he’s delirious).

ᡣ𐭩 . . as for jealousy, he’s definitely one to get jealous pretty easily in the sense that he feels like he isn’t enough for you, that you deserve someone better (please tell him that he is enough :c). He’ll do everything in his power to treat you like the royalty you are and show you that he can be enough and that he is worth it.

ᡣ𐭩 . . all in all, he’s an 8.5 out of 10 boyfriend, he might be slower than most, but he’s got a huge heart and that’s all that matters. :) 

[comesatimecomesashadow]

yu-gi-oh! masterlist *ೃ༄

note *ೃ༄ read my rules to request something. (i will not be writing anything suggestive for characters that are minors like yugi, joey, etc.)

key *ೃ༄ ❀ = fluff| ❖ = angst| ★ = tw| ❤︎ = comfort| ✦ = series | ♣︎ = request

yami yugi / atem *ೃ༄

none yet !

seto kaiba *ೃ༄

none yet !

marik ishtar *ೃ༄

egypt [ ❀ / ♣︎ ] - ishtar marik x gn reader

ೃ' . ⁀➷ in which . . . you learn what it's like to work for marik.

stellar [ ❀ / ♣︎ ] - ishatar marik x fem reader

ೃ' . ⁀➷ in which . . . he takes care of you during your period.

joseph 'joey' wheeler *ೃ༄

summerboy [ ❀ ]

ೃ' . ⁀➷ . . what it's like dating joey wheeler.

ryo bakura *ೃ༄

none yet !

main masterlist *ೃ༄

[comesatimecomesashadow]

soul eater masterlist *ೃ༄

note *ೃ༄ read my rules to request something. (i will not be writing anything suggestive for characters that are minors like maka, blackstar, kid, etc.)

key *ೃ༄ ❀ = fluff| ❖ = angst| ★ = tw| ❤︎ = comfort| ✦ = series | ♣︎ = request

dr. franken stein *ೃ༄

none yet !

lord death *ೃ༄

none yet !

spirit albarn *ೃ༄

none yet !

main masterlist *ೃ༄

[comesatimecomesashadow]

*walking to the counter* "excuse me sir- uh.. how do I explain this there is a black feathers in my waffles-" *lifts a waffle up to show said black feathers*

(I love the waffle house crack fic, I need more 🗣🧇 we need Ferry/Jerry as the mascot🦩 /j)

the waffle house : waffles [feather edition] *ೃ༄ a sleep token waffle house au.

note *ೃ༄ drawing these lil comic strips is honestly the highlight of my week, thank you for the ask that inspired the comic strip above, galaxy-tacos ! :DD

general masterlist | series masterlist *ೃ༄

The diner was busy as always. III was intentionally adding extra whipped cream, or chocolate chips or whatever he felt like, into food items that didn't require an extra of anything; IV was trying not to react to the hasty customers that asked for their food quite rudely and II was running around managing the busy shift like there was no tomorrow.

Rush hour was chaotic as hell (as per usual) and yet, Vessel was nowhere to be seen. Usually, he could be seen around the diner helping with the lunch hour service but for about a week now, he wasn't as involved as he used to be.

II was about to go to the back and check Vessel's office, but right before he could, a nervous customer called for him. "Excuse me, uh.. how do I explain this.." they muttered to themselves before holding up a waffle.. with black feathers stuck to the golden brown breakfast food. "There are black feathers in my waffles..?" the statement came out more like a question.

Under the mask, II was sweating bullets. "My apologies, I'll take this, yeah?" He pointed to the plate which the customer allowed him to leave with. "I'll go n' get you a new plate, alright? I'm sorry about this."

"No worries! It's not that serious..!" the customer waved it off but II was about to explode. Surprisingly, that wasn't the craziest thing a customer had found in their food but II assumed III was up to no good.. again.

"Mate, did you do this?" II always asked III about his shenanigans, though at this point it was unnecessary since nine times out of ten ー it was almost always III's doing.

"That," he inspected the waffles for a moment with a careful eye, "-was in fact, not me. I didn't know we had birds?"

"We don't." II answered in an annoyed tone. "Get them a new plate yeah? I'll go check if V knows anything about this."

When II made his way to his employer's office, the last thing he expected to see was Vessel examining familiar black feathers under a magnifying glass with a notebook of notes on his desk behind the numerous stacks of papers that were already on it.

Upon seeing II at his doorway, frozen in place as if he'd seen a ghost, Vessel stood up and held the feathers up for II to see. "I've been finding these feathers all around the diner- but I can't for the life of me figure out where they've been coming from." Vessel sighed and looked up to II from behind his desk. "But anyway, did you come here for something? Is there another disagreement going on?"

"..No. It's actually related to the feathers," II crossed his arms, "There were feathers on a plate of waffles that went out. Do you think we've got a crow or some type of bird camping out in here?"

"No, The feathers are too long for it to be a bird as small as a crow. In any case, stay vigilant for any birds that might have come in, yeah?"

II nods, "Yeah, i'll tell the others as well."

While II and the kitchen staff continued on with the lunch service like usual, a suspicious black-feathered bird sat at a table with a menu. It's a wonder how nobody seemed to notice it. . . :)

( Jerry says: "A waffle a day keeps the cryptid away C: )

[comesatimecomesashadow]

something something simon seeing you so fascinated by children but also terrified of them and feeling a pain in his chest knowing the both of you dealt with issues that held you two back from maintaining a normal relationship. knowing that the topic is heavy for the both of you because of how 'messed up' you both were. knowing how you seemed to have a childlike wonder about them whenever you interacted with children despite claiming to dislike them. it hurts him knowing he's unsure whether he can give you that or not.. and you're hurt knowing you dont know if you'll ever be ready for that.