fayevalentiinee

[fayevalentiinee]

thinking about gojo with a hyper feminine and girly girlfriend, absolutely adoring the way you are and always being the one to encourage it, loving to buy all your expensive makeup, or the short skirts and crop tops that show just a little too much cleavage for him to ogle at.

even just watching you apply your makeup, watching you paint your eyes with liner and apply pink blush to your cheeks with a smile before finally applying your sparkly lipgloss has him so impressed. he wonders sometimes how he bagged such a pretty girl, resting his palm on his cheek as he admires you with a small smile on his lips.

and you’re sweet like candy, thanking him for all the expensive gifts with a kiss as you leave a pink lipstick stain on his cheek while gojo wears it like a badge of honour, replying to you with a sweet ‘you’re welcome, baby.’

however, he can’t deny the bitchy and bratty attitude you catch sometimes that gojo just feels the need to fix as he watches the way you roll your eyes as him and the way you huff with crossed arms. and those mean little comments. those are what set him off the most. it gets his cock twitching when you insult him, something he realised he lowkey got off on, but he won’t tell you that, not when he needs to correct that attitude of yours first.

so instead, he’ll have you laid beneath him completely bare as you whimper out from gojo’s thick cock abusing your gummy walls, sweet yet mocking praises coming from his lips. he loves fucking the attitude out of you, smiling at how quick you drop the bitchy comments and how your eye rolls from earlier turn into ones of pleasure.

but, gojo can be a little cruel. he never lets you cum when you want to, making you wait until your eyes are brimming with tears and your legs are shaking uncontrollably beneath him, causing gojo to chuckle at your pleading figure.

“please, baby.. m’sorry, just wanna cum..”, you beg with a soft voice, your orgasm ruined once again by your boyfriend who’s just so clearly enjoying himself.

“but you were just so mean to me today, i’m not sure if you deserve it yet.”, he hums to himself, pretending to think as he looks down at your trembling form, almost feeling bad for you. but gojo knows you secretly enjoy this, that you crave it.

but don’t worry. after a while, gojo will reward you with countless orgasms that same night for being so good for him and taking your punishment like a champ, later kissing your forehead as he wipes away your tears of pleasure while looking down at your ruined makeup with a smirk.

god, you love how your sweet boyfriend tames the brat in you, all while tending the the rest of your spoiled needs.

[fayevalentiinee]

❝ You can’t make her fall for you even in a year. ❞

When Gojo Satoru takes on a reckless challenge, a simple game turns into something far more complicated. But not all feelings come without a cost.

p2 -> here // mlist. -> here

“Let alone a month? Impossible.”

Geto had said, sipping his drink with that knowing smirk of his — just enough to needle Gojo, to fuel him the way only he could.

The challenge hit the air like a spark against gasoline.

Gojo tilted his head, all swagger and ease, flashing a grin sharp enough to cut glass.

“This’ll be a piece of cake. Watch me.”

Everyone in their year knew you. Or rather, they knew of you. Quiet, solitary, with a stare that could silence a room and a voice so rarely heard, it felt like a secret. You sat alone at lunch. Read between classes. Moved like mist through the halls — untouchable. Unbothered. And you didn’t like noise, or crowds, or arrogance — the very things Gojo Satoru practically bled.

You were also striking. Not in the curated, social media kind of way. No, yours was the kind of beauty that demanded nothing. Magnetic. Natural. Elusive. The kind people looked at twice, even when you tried to disappear.

It was supposed to be a game.

The first day, he found you tucked beneath a tree between buildings, a book open in your lap and your headphones in. He approached with his usual bravado — lazy smile, hands shoved into his pockets, sunglasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose. A practiced flick of hair, a sparkle of teeth.

“You know,” he said, voice cocky, “I'm jealous of that book. You're always staring at it.”

You looked up slowly. Then — you smiled. Not big. Not bright. But real.

“Dummy,” you said and turned a page.

That smile stuck with him longer than it should’ve.

The days blurred after that. Every morning became a new experiment in seeing that smile again. He slid into the seat next to yours before class, just to read his horoscope aloud:

“Apparently I’m fated to have a mysterious romance with someone who hates fun. Sound familiar?”

He brought you coffee — black, no sugar, just how you took it, of course he did his homework about you. He quoted lines from your favorite author (he stayed up late the night before memorizing them). He lingered at the vending machine between periods because you always passed through at 10:15.

Once, during a sudden downpour, you shared your umbrella with him, both of you pressed close beneath the shallow canopy. Your hand brushed his. Neither of you moved.

But what disarmed him wasn’t your beauty. It was you.

You weren’t cold. You weren’t aloof. You were thoughtful. Dry-humored. The kind of clever that came without arrogance. You asked questions when he spoke, even when he was being ridiculous. You remembered things he hadn’t meant to say.

And you made him laugh. Not his usual performative kind, but a real, breathless, rib aching laugh he hadn’t known he’d missed.

He still cracked jokes. He still wore his sunglasses indoors and teased Nanami until he got that quiet glare in response. But when he was around you, he slowed down. Spoke softer. Listened harder. Sometimes, he didn’t even try to impress you — just sat near you in the courtyard while you read, the silence between you both soft and weightless.

One afternoon, he offered to carry the stack of books you’d borrowed from the library. You paused, eyes flicking to his hands like you weren’t used to people offering. Then you handed them over without a word. At your dorm door, as you took them back, your fingers grazed his.

That night, he lay awake in bed replaying that brush of contact, wondering if you’d felt it too —or if he was just losing his mind.

He stopped talking about the bet. Stopped joking about it with Geto. Stopped needing to prove anything.

There was a look in your eyes now — calm. Trusting. He didn’t want to break. Ever.

You made him feel seen. Not as the loudmouth rich prodigy. Just as a boy. A boy who didn’t quite know what to do with the weight in his chest when you looked at him like that.

So when the thirtieth day came — though he hadn’t counted in weeks — he asked you to meet him on the rooftop.

The city was dipped in gold. The sun was just beginning to fall. It was quiet up there. Open sky, gentle wind. Your kind of peace.

You sat beside him on the ledge, legs dangling, your shoulder brushing his. You talked. About everything and nothing. The color of the sky. The taste of that strawberry flavored gum you hated.

He cracked a dumb joke — something about marrying you just to create a tiny version of himself that would terrorize the world with your face and his attitude.

You laughed. Harder than he expected. You leaned into him without thinking.

He turned toward you — really turned this time. Looked at you like you were something sacred, memorizing your features as if committing them to memory.

“I’m in love with you,”

He murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, hand lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

Your gaze dipped to his mouth. Eyes half-lidded. The breath between you two thinned.

“I know, i...”

You whispered and leaned in. Just as his lips grazed yours—

Crack.

The slap echoed in the quiet. Not harsh. Not angry. Just… decisive.

Gojo blinked. His cheek stung, but that wasn’t what hurt.

You stepped back. Calm. Poised. The soft edge of your voice sharpened with finality.

“I know,” you said again, voice steady as ever. “The bet’s over now. You can drop the act.”

Then you turned and walked away. No parting glance. No trembling. No explanation.

Just the quiet click of the rooftop door closing behind you and the echo of your absence ringing louder than anything else.

For the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru sat in silence, no grin , no comeback—

Alone with the weight of his own heart.

You knew from the very start. That’s why you played along — because it was a challenge for you too: to shatter his ego, piece by piece, with a smile.

The sunset dimmed behind you, fading just as you did — from his game, from his reach, from him.

That slap didn’t hurt, Gojo thought — because as your hand struck his cheek, he could feel that you were the one hurting more.

And because he knew — deep in that quiet part of himself — that he was the reason for your pain, he felt the burn rise until it slipped down his cheeks.

[fayevalentiinee]

How it feels commenting on a mutuals post like a grandma and fumbling the interaction

[fayevalentiinee]

The strongest

[fayevalentiinee]

“toji!”

…

“toji fucking fushiguro if you don’t get your ass in here right now i promise i will sick this thing on you!”

toji grumbles and goes downstairs, only to find you cowering in the corner of your living room—a shoe in one hand, wad of paper towels in the other.

“what’s the problem?”

“that! that thing!” you scream, pointing a finger at the opposite corner of the room.

toji just stares at you, underwhelmed—but he sees the tears running down your face and the way your chest heaves. you’re spooked, genuinely—if he didn’t know any better he’d think there was an intruder.

“alright, calm down, baby,” he tries to settle you down, gaze going over to where your finger is pointed.

across from you is some bug, mindlessly throwing itself into the wall. it’s big, he’ll give you that—but doesn’t seem to be causing actual harm to anything. and just as he thinks it’s harmless, it zips to the other side of the living area, hurdling straight towards you. you shriek, running over to your husband to hide behind him.

he almost laughs, a grin coming onto his face from seeing you so scared over nothing—it’s sweet, honestly.

“it’s not funny toji, please, i opened the door and it flew in and it won’t stop!” you’re crying out, tears still streaming down your face because the bug tried to attack you. did he not see that?!

“okay, okay,” he sighs, eyes following the bug as it flies everywhere.

toji takes his slipper off his foot, laser-focused on the bug—and when it flies towards him—

wham!

he knocks the bug down to the floor, leaving it twitching and it’s wings fluttering. toji kneels down to inspect it—yeah, you had the right to be scared. this thing is weird looking, to say the least—but he disposes of it outside without a word.

“thank you,” you mutter, pressing yourself into toji’s chest and hugging around his waist. you wipe your eyes on his shirt and sniffle, controlling your exasperated breathing.

“you’re fine, baby,” he coos, running a big hand over the back of your head.

your savior.

[fayevalentiinee]

Sitting on Gojo Satoru’s lap while he played video games with his friends was your idea — now you’re fighting to stay quiet while he plays with your pussy like it’s a part of the game.

mdni , f!reader

You should’ve known better than to sit on Gojo’s lap while he was playing video games.

He warned you.

Well — he teased you about it. Let his hand settle on your thigh with that lazy, lopsided smile and said, “You sure you wanna be here baby? I’m not gonna stop just ’cause you’re aching for some attention.”

"I'm not feeling needy." You glared at him while saying that.

But you climbed into his lap anyway, arms around his neck, nose tucked under his jaw. He smelled warm and familiar — faint traces of his afternoon cologne still lingering on his skin, all sandalwood and soft musk — and you just hummed, wiggling into his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Now here you are: flushed and writhing on his thigh while Gojo chats casually with his friends through his headset, his fingers buried up to the knuckle inside you like he’s toying with his favorite stress ball.

“Mhm, nah, I see ‘em — pushing left,” he murmurs into the mic, voice smooth as silk. His tone is calm. His fingers are anything but — curling slow and deep inside you, warm and maddeningly deliberate.

You’re soaked. Have been since you first climbed into his lap — panties clinging to your skin, now shoved to the side and forgotten, as he lazily works two fingers inside your dripping heat while his other hand stays glued to the mouse.

And you’re struggling.

Thighs twitching. Chest fluttering. Trying so hard not to squirm or gasp while he treats your cunt like just another distraction.

He leans in close, brushing his lips over your temple. “So quiet now, sweetheart,” he whispers, low and indulgent. “Didn’t think you had it in you. You were moanin’ like a little thing earlier, beggin’ for me to touch you… but not needy, right?”

You bury your face into his hoodie, cheeks burning.

“Mm,” he coos, slow and sultry. “Where’d that bratty little voice go, huh? Thought you were gonna claw your way into my lap just to be ignored?”

You whimper — soft and humiliated. But you still rock your hips into his hand, helpless for the curl of his fingers.

He chuckles, deep and velvety, clearly pleased. “There she is.”

Through the headset, his friends are still laughing — loud and oblivious. Gojo doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pause. Fingers still nestled inside your wet heat, he tilts his head toward the mic.

“Yeah, I’m good, just lagged for a sec,” he says lazily, before leaning back into you, lips grazing your ear again. “Don’t worry, they don’t suspect a damn thing.”

You clench around his fingers, trembling. He feels it. Of course he does.

“I got you,” he murmurs, low and coaxing. “You want attention, baby? I’ll give you all of it. Just gotta keep those pretty noises down for me, yeah?”

His fingers move again — slow, steady drags that glide over that perfect spot inside you until your hips stutter and your head tips back onto his shoulder. You bite your lip, desperate not to whine.

He loves how sensitive you are — how even the smallest twist of his fingers sends you fluttering around him. It’s addictive. Your body’s like a secret only he knows how to unlock.

“That’s it,” he purrs, brushing his mouth over your ear. “Such a good girl for me.”

You’re gushing around him, sticky and hot, but he stays gentle — not cruel. Just persistent. Just slow, teasing, relentless.

The wet sounds are obscene — slick and embarrassing. And every time he presses just a little deeper, the heel of his palm bumps your clit with feather-light pressure that makes your back twitch.

He hasn’t touched it directly once. Just skirted around it — enough to keep you squirming.

“Sensitive little thing,” he breathes, lips curling. “Bet you’re already close for me, huh?”

“Oi, Satoru,” someone calls through the mic, “you lagging again or what? You’re barely moving.”

Gojo laughs — that cocky, lazy sound like he’s barely trying. “Relax, man. I’m just playin’ one-handed.”

“Oh my god, are you eating again?”

Another snort. “You’re always fucking around.”

He smirks, flicking your clit with a teasing brush of his thumb that makes your thighs jerk.

“I am fucking around,” he mutters, low under his breath — just for you — and you slap his chest weakly in protest.

He laughs again, softer, and kisses your temple. “Just multitasking,” he says sweetly into the mic. “Takin’ care of something real important. I'm still gonna carry you.”

“Sure you are.”

You nod frantically against his neck.

“Mmhmm,” he hums, giving your clit the lightest nudge with his palm. “You’re flutterin’ so sweet around my fingers. You always get this soft for me, baby?”

You whimper. You’re trembling. Clenching so hard it aches.

But he doesn’t tease. Doesn’t scold. He just wraps his arm tighter around your waist, pulling you in, and nuzzles your temple with a softness that makes you melt all over again.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, slow and reverent. “C’mon, baby. Let go for me. Lemme feel you fall apart.”

And you do.

With a strangled, broken little sound, you cum hard — clenching and gushing around his fingers, hips stuttering as he strokes you through it. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, whispering praise into your skin as you tremble in his arms.

He smiles.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, quiet and in awe. “Look at you. So fuckin’ beautiful like this.”

You’re still twitching, soft and boneless. And he moves so gently — easing his fingers out, glistening with your slick, admiring the mess you’ve made of him.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, turning you in his lap to face him.

He hums, content, then licks your cum off his fingers like it’s nothing.

His friends are still talking. Still clueless.

And Gojo’s already pulling a blanket over you both, tucking you into his chest like you’re just cuddling for warmth.

“You good, sweetheart?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head.

You nod, breathless.

He smiles, rubbing circles into your thigh. “Knew you just needed attention.”

Then he unpauses, grabs the mouse, and slides back into the game like he didn’t just make you fall apart.

He kisses your forehead, shifts the mic, and grins.

“All right, back in it,” he says cheerfully, as if nothing happened. “Had a…situation to handle.”

Then he throws you a handsome wink that makes your stomach knot all over again.

[fayevalentiinee]

*clears throat* pseud change !!

riiee -> faye

[fayevalentiinee]

Roronoa Zoro, who if you ever got hurt, blames himself deeply for it. Even when it makes no sense. Even if he had nothing to do with it, no way to stop it — it doesn’t matter.

That night, he doesn’t say a single word. He barely eats, doesn’t celebrate with the others. While the crew drinks, eats, and laughs under the stars, Zoro volunteers for the night watch, sending the others to rest.

When the ship is quiet and the moon is high, he trains. Harder than usual. Until sweat becomes blood, and his body screams for rest.

His blade sings in silence. His motto, runs through his head like a curse as he remembers images of you hurt, injured, bleeding.

“If there was nothing I could do in that situation… then I should’ve been stronger. Strong enough to change that.”

Roronoa Zoro , who guards the ship all night, chasing some impossible standard of strength — ends up falling asleep beside you in the end. He doesn’t ask. Just leans into your shoulder, quiet, body finally giving out.

You wake to find him curled slightly toward your warmth, breathing steady, swords near, walls down.

Roronoa Zoro, whose affection is always gruff, always hidden in blunt words and tired scowls. But around you?

Those hard eyes — the eyes of a man who can cut mountains — soften just enough to give him away.

Sanji would tease him for it if he noticed. Zoro would deny it with everything he’s got. But it’s there.

Roronoa Zoro, who knows you're strong beyond question, still steps — almost instinctively — between you and danger, whether it’s a bar full of strangers or a battlefield full of chaos, the hidden message of his stance is clear:

“If anything touches you, it’ll go through me first.”

Roronoa Zoro, who likes it when you join him for training, whether it’s the middle of the day or deep into the night.

He won’t say it out loud, but he’s grown used to the sound of your footsteps approaching him, your breathing beside his in rhythm, your quiet presence watching his powerful swings, as he attempts to master a new move.

It’s become your unspoken ritual. Your routine. His peace. Your shared silence.

mlist. -> here

[fayevalentiinee]

— Act like you love me , Celebrity!au

Summary. After a messy tabloid scandal damages his public image, Gojo Satoru — a globally famous actor and model known for his flirtatious persona and chaotic interviews — is forced by his management team to enter a fake relationship to rehab his image.

You, a normal set assistant with no social media presence, are chosen as the “mystery partner” because you saved him from a falling light rig during a photoshoot and went viral for it. You want nothing to do with him, but the payout for faking this relationship for six months could change you and your family's life.

— pairing. celebrity Gojo Satoru x f!reader

— content/tags. fake dating trope , eventual smut , eventual angst , celebrity au

— info. to join the taglist for the upcoming chapters comment under this post.

art by @/_3aem on twt

[fayevalentiinee]

— Act like you love me , Celebrity!au

Summary. After a messy tabloid scandal damages his public image, Gojo Satoru — a globally famous actor and model known for his flirtatious persona and chaotic interviews — is forced by his management team to enter a fake relationship to rehab his image.

You, a normal set assistant with no social media presence, are chosen as the “mystery partner” because you saved him from a falling light rig during a photoshoot and went viral for it. You want nothing to do with him, but the payout for faking this relationship for six months could change you and your family's life.

— pairing. celebrity Gojo Satoru x f!reader

— content/tags. fake dating trope , eventual smut , eventual angst , celebrity au

— info. to join the taglist for the upcoming chapters comment under this post.

art by @/_3aem on twt

[fayevalentiinee]

i’m feeling so soft here’s a little suguru draft

you usually didn't have bad dreams, but when you did, they shook you to the core. you wake up, feeling yourself already choked up, and looking at the bed, you were so far from his arms, it almost made you feel sadder.

geto feels when you gently wake him up, your small hand against his back, rocking his body. when he turns around, the first thing he notices is your sniffles, followed by the tears staining your puffy cheeks.

"what's wrong?" he asks in a deep but hushed voice. he pushes any messy hair out of your face and brings you close, listening to you explain your dream.

"...and then you kicked me out and said you hated me," you whimper, letting yourself fall onto his chest. his heart ached seeing you this way; curled up and defeated.

he ran his hand up and down your back, hoping to sooth your nerves.

"why would you say that to me?" you whisper, still so caught up in what you experienced in your sleep.

"it was just a dream, baby, okay? you know i would never say that to you in person. right" he asks, tilting your chin up to look at him.

"right. m'sorry... you were just being so mean." he kisses your forehead, attempting to reassure you. geto thinks it works, considering how you snuggle up closer to him, bringing the sheets up to your nose.

"i know, baby, i know. now try to go back to sleep, it was just a bad dream." you nod, fluttering your eyes shut, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

"'kay but please don't let go of me tonight." you request with one last sniffle. geto brings you into a big hug.

"i promise baby, i'm not letting you go anywhere." with that, you're able to drift back to sleep, your bad dream becoming nothing but a distant memory.

a/n: do u guys want a version of this with anyone else?

[fayevalentiinee]

would a celebrity au where Gojo gets into a big ass scandal and his management team makes him fake date the reader who wants nothing to do w this bs until she hears about the paycheck to cover up the drama be received well as a series 🙂‍↕️

[fayevalentiinee]

Wrong number?

In which you text the wrong person to come over. cw: cursing, threats of decimating towns, suggestive, crack.

[fayevalentiinee]

ill never get why people make allegations against others on social media instead of taking it to proper legal channels especially when they have evidence like why are you showing it to ME

[fayevalentiinee]

❝You ruined me.❞

When the storm outside mirrors the chaos within, some truths drown in silence — and others burn hotter than the rain. That was exactly the case for Gojo Satoru when it came to you.

p1 -> here // mlist. -> here

Gojo Satoru noticed your absence almost immediately in the days following the incident —and he hadn’t regretted something this deeply in a long, long time.

Of course, he noticed. He always had. Even before the bet, he’d been watching you — drawn by something he couldn’t explain. You were magnetic.

That was why he could never turn the dare down when you were the subject. It was never about proving himself with girls. It wasn’t even about proving Geto wrong.

It was you. Then suddenly, you were gone. Not literally — but gone from him.

You began switching classes. Changing your usual routes. You stopped showing up in the places that once gave you peace — the quiet courtyard, the corner table in the library, the tree you always read under.

That tree became a silent monument to your absence, one Gojo couldn’t pass without feeling the hollow space you left behind.

He tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. But denial crumbled the moment he sought out one of the few people you ever willingly spoke to.

Unfortunately for him, she was fiercely protective of you.

Sharp tongue. Calm demeanor. And absolutely no patience for him.

“Where is she?” he asked Shoko that day, trying too hard to sound casual.

But everyone in his circle had already noticed the shift in him — even the most oblivious, like Haibara. Gojo looked unwell: jittery, unfocused, scanning every hallway and courtyard like he was searching for some divine treasure.

He snapped more often, even at Geto’s harmless jokes. His sunglasses were frequently missing, and during classes, he’d squint out the window at that damned tree like he was expecting someone to appear out of thin air.

Shoko regarded him with a long, unreadable look before lighting a cigarette.

“Why?” she asked coolly. “Trying to finish the game?”

He had no answer for that. He knew he was in the wrong — should’ve told you, should’ve explained, shouldn’t have let it begin as a joke. Should’ve admitted he’d been drawn to you long before the dare.

Now his thoughts looped endlessly — should’ve, shouldn’t have, circling around his head in a repetitive cycle. The guilt was a weight on his chest, making every breath harder than the last.

A week passed before he finally saw you again.

Across the courtyard, your gaze landed on him for a single moment — then slid right past, as if he was no one to you, a stranger.

Your look wasn't angry. Not hurt either, just... indifferent. Like you were trying to erase the memory of him before it could cut too deep into your soul that you bared to him.

Gojo’s breath caught. He stepped forward, reaching a hand out instinctively — but stopped short of touching you.

“H...” The sound lodged in his throat.

His sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t force you to stay, couldn’t demand your attention — because some part of him knew he didn’t deserve it.

His hand hovered in the space between you, then dropped, useless and heavy at his side.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

The world moved on around him — students laughing, wind rustling the trees — but all Gojo could feel was the cold, that same empty silence you left echoing behind.

He stood there, arm still half-outstretched, like someone trying to catch something they had no right to hold.

You never looked back. Of course you didn’t. Why would you?

He stayed rooted to the spot long after you disappeared around the corner, throat tight, chest burning. The sky felt too bright. The air too thin.

He ran a hand through his hairb— frustrated, helpless, ashamed. And then he laughed.

Low. Bitter. The kind of laugh that didn’t sound like him at all.

“God,” he muttered. “I really fucked this up.”

He sank onto the nearest bench, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His sunglasses dangled from his fingers, forgotten.

Because what was the point?

He couldn’t take back a moment. Couldn’t erase a dare. Couldn’t return to that first time he saw you beneath that tree and choose better.

He never should’ve led with a line. He should’ve told you the truth the moment it stopped being a game. He should’ve—

The list was endless. A voice finally broke through the spiral.

“You look like shit.”

Gojo didn’t look up. He didn’t have to. He knew that voice.

Geto sat down beside him anyway, eyes like a fox trained on the same corner you’d vanished behind.

“She’s really not talking to you, huh.”

No answer.

Silence stretched between them — thick, heavy. Heavier than any curse they’d ever faced.

“I didn’t think you’d actually fall for her,” Geto added, his voice lower now. Quieter, softer.

Gojo’s jaw clenched. His fingers tightened around the bridge of his glasses.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Me neither.”

It started as a drizzle. Then, it became a downpour.

You’d always loved this kind of weather — used it to settle your nerves, to drown out the world. You never faced your emotions directly. Instead, you buried them in distractions: a good book, a warm drink, ambient noise.

The window fogged up as the rain picked up. You stepped closer, pressing your fingers against the glass, absentmindedly tracing patterns into the condensation. Before you realized it, you were drawing something.

Your hand stilled at what you drew.

A familiar cartoon face stared back at you — Gojo, grinning the way he always did when he’d sneak doodles into the corners of your notebooks. “I’m annotating,” he once claimed with fake solemnity. For which you’d smack his arm while laughing until your sides ached.

Your smile faltered. Then your breath caught.

Through the blurred pane and streaking rain—another Gojo.

You blinked, rubbed your eyes. Squinted through the downpour. No illusion. He was really there.

Standing beneath your window, looking up — the tree behind him, the one you hadn’t approached since that day, stood like a silent witness to whatever was about to happen. Once your sanctuary, now only watching.

He stood motionless. Soaked to the bone. Hair plastered to his forehead. Shirt clinging to his frame. Hands buried in his pockets like they were the only thing holding him together.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not now. Not in this place. But there he was: under the bare limbs that had once held your laughter, your silence, your peace.

Now they were just like branches. Reaching but empty.

The moon was hidden behind dense clouds. The world outside glowed blue and silver — washed out and breathless in that way only rainstorms could render.

You opened the window, he looked at you from down there. Eyes hollow. Expression unreadable. And then — he broke.

“You win!” he shouted, voice cracking. “Okay?! You fucking win!”

No response. Only the rain. He paced, dragging both hands through his hair until his scalp stung.

“I was stupid. I am stupid. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. I didn’t know it would matter. I didn’t know you would matter this much. But you—”

His voice collapsed.

“You ruined me.”

The words fell from him like a confession. Desperate. Shattered.

“You’re in my head. Every second. Every goddamn second. And I deserve it. You were right to walk away. You were right not to look back.”

Thunder rolled overhead, low and distant — like it was syncing with his collapse.

Gojo looked up again, meeting your gaze — clothes and skin drenched. His hands hung limply at his sides, rain tracing slow paths down his lashes.

He tilted his head back, staring at the sky now like it owed him an answer.

“But I miss you,” he whispered shouted. “More than I know what to do with.”

And he stayed there. For long seconds after the clouds passed. Long after the cars drove by, yearning.

Because no amount of rain could wash him away from you.

His gaze drifted back to your window hope clinging to him like a second skin, trembling and raw. Just one more moment. One more glance. One more miracle.

Instead… the window closed. Soft. Quiet. Final.

He stared at it, lips parted, rain drops now carving paths down his cheeks — hiding the things he couldn’t say. His expression twisted, something splintering behind his eyes.

A laugh broke from him — jagged, trembling, nearly a sob. It had become a habit, the madness of missing you cracking him open in strange ways.

He kicked a rock at the base of the tree. Hard. It bounced into the dark, clattering against nothing.

“Of course,” he muttered, broken. “Of fucking course.”

He dragged both hands through his soaked hair, pulling hard— like he could yank the ache out from the root.

Then — click. The window opened again. He froze. You stood there; Still maddeningly composed. But something was different this time. Something colder. Sharper.

He opened his mouth then—

Splash.

A full shower of water hit him square in the chest. It wasn’t rain this time. It was hot.

Not boiling, but hot enough to sting. Hot enough to jolt him. It seeped through his already drenched clothes, a shock of heat against the chill.

He stumbled back, blinking rapidly as steam curled off his shirt.

“What the—?!”

You stared down at him, still as stone, bowl empty now in your hands. Voice calm. Eyes glinting.

“You looked cold.”

Then—slam.

The window shut. Harder than before. Gojo stood there, stunned. Water dripping from every inch of him. Steam curling faintly off his chest like your contempt had a temperature of its own.

Another strangled laugh ripped out of him. Unsteady. Grief-laced. Almost hysterical.

“God, I fucking love you,” he whispered to the empty street.

Then, a quiet click echoed as the dorm building door unlocked — and the night held its breath...

taglist: @tootiecakes234 @slvvt4geto @redcellghost @slightlystressed @aroura-yuh @miiikooooooo @reveriennn

i think ts was too dramatic but bear w me

[fayevalentiinee]

❝ You can’t make her fall for you even in a year. ❞

When Gojo Satoru takes on a reckless challenge, a simple game turns into something far more complicated. But not all feelings come without a cost.

p2 -> here // mlist. -> here

“Let alone a month? Impossible.”

Geto had said, sipping his drink with that knowing smirk of his — just enough to needle Gojo, to fuel him the way only he could.

The challenge hit the air like a spark against gasoline.

Gojo tilted his head, all swagger and ease, flashing a grin sharp enough to cut glass.

“This’ll be a piece of cake. Watch me.”

Everyone in their year knew you. Or rather, they knew of you. Quiet, solitary, with a stare that could silence a room and a voice so rarely heard, it felt like a secret. You sat alone at lunch. Read between classes. Moved like mist through the halls — untouchable. Unbothered. And you didn’t like noise, or crowds, or arrogance — the very things Gojo Satoru practically bled.

You were also striking. Not in the curated, social media kind of way. No, yours was the kind of beauty that demanded nothing. Magnetic. Natural. Elusive. The kind people looked at twice, even when you tried to disappear.

It was supposed to be a game.

The first day, he found you tucked beneath a tree between buildings, a book open in your lap and your headphones in. He approached with his usual bravado — lazy smile, hands shoved into his pockets, sunglasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose. A practiced flick of hair, a sparkle of teeth.

“You know,” he said, voice cocky, “I'm jealous of that book. You're always staring at it.”

You looked up slowly. Then — you smiled. Not big. Not bright. But real.

“Dummy,” you said and turned a page.

That smile stuck with him longer than it should’ve.

The days blurred after that. Every morning became a new experiment in seeing that smile again. He slid into the seat next to yours before class, just to read his horoscope aloud:

“Apparently I’m fated to have a mysterious romance with someone who hates fun. Sound familiar?”

He brought you coffee — black, no sugar, just how you took it, of course he did his homework about you. He quoted lines from your favorite author (he stayed up late the night before memorizing them). He lingered at the vending machine between periods because you always passed through at 10:15.

Once, during a sudden downpour, you shared your umbrella with him, both of you pressed close beneath the shallow canopy. Your hand brushed his. Neither of you moved.

But what disarmed him wasn’t your beauty. It was you.

You weren’t cold. You weren’t aloof. You were thoughtful. Dry-humored. The kind of clever that came without arrogance. You asked questions when he spoke, even when he was being ridiculous. You remembered things he hadn’t meant to say.

And you made him laugh. Not his usual performative kind, but a real, breathless, rib aching laugh he hadn’t known he’d missed.

He still cracked jokes. He still wore his sunglasses indoors and teased Nanami until he got that quiet glare in response. But when he was around you, he slowed down. Spoke softer. Listened harder. Sometimes, he didn’t even try to impress you — just sat near you in the courtyard while you read, the silence between you both soft and weightless.

One afternoon, he offered to carry the stack of books you’d borrowed from the library. You paused, eyes flicking to his hands like you weren’t used to people offering. Then you handed them over without a word. At your dorm door, as you took them back, your fingers grazed his.

That night, he lay awake in bed replaying that brush of contact, wondering if you’d felt it too —or if he was just losing his mind.

He stopped talking about the bet. Stopped joking about it with Geto. Stopped needing to prove anything.

There was a look in your eyes now — calm. Trusting. He didn’t want to break. Ever.

You made him feel seen. Not as the loudmouth rich prodigy. Just as a boy. A boy who didn’t quite know what to do with the weight in his chest when you looked at him like that.

So when the thirtieth day came — though he hadn’t counted in weeks — he asked you to meet him on the rooftop.

The city was dipped in gold. The sun was just beginning to fall. It was quiet up there. Open sky, gentle wind. Your kind of peace.

You sat beside him on the ledge, legs dangling, your shoulder brushing his. You talked. About everything and nothing. The color of the sky. The taste of that strawberry flavored gum you hated.

He cracked a dumb joke — something about marrying you just to create a tiny version of himself that would terrorize the world with your face and his attitude.

You laughed. Harder than he expected. You leaned into him without thinking.

He turned toward you — really turned this time. Looked at you like you were something sacred, memorizing your features as if committing them to memory.

“I’m in love with you,”

He murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, hand lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

Your gaze dipped to his mouth. Eyes half-lidded. The breath between you two thinned.

“I know, i...”

You whispered and leaned in. Just as his lips grazed yours—

Crack.

The slap echoed in the quiet. Not harsh. Not angry. Just… decisive.

Gojo blinked. His cheek stung, but that wasn’t what hurt.

You stepped back. Calm. Poised. The soft edge of your voice sharpened with finality.

“I know,” you said again, voice steady as ever. “The bet’s over now. You can drop the act.”

Then you turned and walked away. No parting glance. No trembling. No explanation.

Just the quiet click of the rooftop door closing behind you and the echo of your absence ringing louder than anything else.

For the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru sat in silence, no grin , no comeback—

Alone with the weight of his own heart.

You knew from the very start. That’s why you played along — because it was a challenge for you too: to shatter his ego, piece by piece, with a smile.

The sunset dimmed behind you, fading just as you did — from his game, from his reach, from him.

That slap didn’t hurt, Gojo thought — because as your hand struck his cheek, he could feel that you were the one hurting more.

And because he knew — deep in that quiet part of himself — that he was the reason for your pain, he felt the burn rise until it slipped down his cheeks.

[fayevalentiinee]

thinking about doing that tiktok trend with satoru where you pretend to be another woman that goes up to him in public but he fails every time…

not because he’s unfaithful but because he keeps forgetting that you’re pretending to be someone else and he can’t stand being mean to you.

“wait no I can’t do this— so you���re someone else?”

“yes you can just use that vivid imagination of yours to pretend I’m someone else”

“oh okay.” satoru tries to focus, getting back into his ‘acting’ mode. “let’s try again”

you go back to your starting position and walk towards him with the purpose of toppling into him.

“oh sorry!! wow you’re soooooo handsome, I didn’t mean to bump into you, can I get your number?” you run your hands over his biceps, keeping up your flirtatious gaze

“No. Stay away. I have a beautiful girlfriend waiting for me at home actually.”

“Oh do you?” You cross your arms, meeting his eyes. There’s a playful smirk on your face as you tease him.

and because it’s you Satoru can’t help but smile at your face.

“Satoru!!” you slap him lightly, “you failed. again.”

“But you’re really pretty right now baby, I can’t help but get distracted, I’m sorry!”