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fvsm4x · 1 month

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house rules (roommate au)

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

"satoru keeps an infinite amount of space between him and everyone else."

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, slight angst, mentions of tampons (terrifying), suggestive comments, absurdly long, alternate universe characters

a/n: to all of my frequent readers--i have never claimed to be sane :)

in the broad spectrum of things, opening the door in nothing but your bathrobe and a ridiculously bright orange clay mask is not the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you.

oh no, puking on your first ever date at seventeen definitely takes the cake. finding your seventh-grade friends bent over a table reading your diary--in which you wrote many explicit things about them, not to mention, yourself--might be even worse. riding your bike into the pond by your house in front of all of your--much older, much cooler--neighbors, even. picking up your coffee in your favorite cafe and spilling it, which was not only devastating but humiliating because you managed to spill your mocha on every other drink waiting there (effectively banning you from returning) still haunts your dreams. even walking down the street and trying to pretend like you didn't just trip over air in front of every single one of your peers still lingers in your mind, waiting for a moment of peace before it attacks.

you're used to the feeling of dread in your stomach and the nights spent thinking about all of these moments, like a scrapbook in your mind--just there to make your skin itch.

but, it does get a little bit worse when you realize the man you've opened the door to is none other than a potential roommate; and when you remember that you forgot he was coming.

or when you have to pull your robe tighter around your abdomen just to make sure that you don't give this man a show before you even shake his hand.

"is this apartment 214?" he asks, looking right at you--and your legs, naturally--with a confused grin on his face, but grin nonetheless.

so immediately you slam the door.

you turn around, with wide eyes, face crackling from the movement, and check your phone frantically. yes, it is the 18th, and yes it is 11:32, which means he was supposed to be here over a half-an-hour ago.

and also you've just slammed the door in his--satoru gojo, the only person who's even bothered to respond to your ad about an available room--face.

oh, fuck.

so you groan, refraining from knocking your head against the door just in case he can still hear, and open it again. a little bit less this time.

"gojo?" you ask, voice rough and slightly irritated.

"the one and only. i'm pretty sure this is the right apartment," he says, and you don't fail to notice his tone of voice as he continues, "but if it's not, then fate must've brought us together."

you narrow your eyes, hoping that he doesn't notice the specks of dust that ebb from your skin. "you're late."

"and you're less than dressed."

"i thought you stood me up."

he snorts. "so you started an impromptu spa day? or was this supposed to be another perk of the apartment?"

you glower, opening the door a bit more just so he can see the fury in your eyes. "i don't think someone who doesn't even text to cancel has any right to judge my self-care practices."

"i didn't cancel. i'm here."

"you're late."

"so i've heard..." he drawls.

you blink at him, and he blinks back--or at least, you're assuming. because he's wearing sunglasses even though it's cloudy outside.

and he's aggressively taller than you. he might not even fit through the door.

you don't look away, waiting for him to break. which he does because you're well-practiced in men of his standard. "so, are you going to let me in?" he asks.

"are you going to apologize for being late?"

"i'm sorry that i'm late," he says, immediately, with an air of fake sincerity. "i got stuck in traffic. i would've called, but my phone died."

"really?"

the smile reappears, as if from magic. "no, but did it make you want to let me in?"

you glare even harder--which is tough, honestly--and begin to shut the door. until your plan is interrupted by a foot. "excuse you," you say, to this man, who you already hate. and his stupid chelsea boots.

"look, i'm sorry. i'm trying to ease the tension--because honestly i wasn't expecting to get an eyeful this early in the morning, and you seem uncomfortable--"

you slam the door against his foot again.

gojo doesn't even wince. "and also, you're, like, the only person with a room in the middle of october. and i... could really use a place to put my bed. so, can i look around, at least? i'll keep my eyes closed every time i'm facing your direction. i can even give you my rent money today if it works out."

something in his voice already implies that it will.

and, well. despite your very short robe and your very dry face mask, he is the only person who's even inquired about the room. and you desperately need a roommate; someone to clean up with, someone to make coffee for, someone to argue about toilet paper direction with, and, most importantly, someone who has money and can keep you from getting evicted from the only place you've lived since high school.

so you sigh. think about moving back home and suffering at the will of your parents.

it takes about three seconds to say, "will you wait out here while i get dressed?"

an eyebrow peeks out from behind the sunglasses, as white as his hair. "how long?"

"ten minutes. maybe twenty."

"do you have a chair?" he asks and moves his foot from the door.

and so you close it without answering and rush to your room to find something that's still clean.

there's nothing that you'll actually wear, but satoru gojo doesn't deserve your fresh appearance anyway. he can have day-old wrinkled jeans and a t-shirt you got when you were twelve.

as slow as humanly possible, you remove the face mask, trying to keep your hair out of the way, and think about putting on makeup--which you probably would have done, had you remembered he was even coming--but decide not to.

in reality, it only takes about seven minutes for you to look mostly presentable and get rid of the mugs you left cluttered around the dining room table.

but you wait an extra four, just to mess with him.

and then, eleven minutes later, you open the door again to the man leaning against the wall, playing what looks like candy crush on his phone.

you attempt a fake smile.

"hey," he says, with that same grin, "you have clothes."

you drop your face. "i will close this."

he isn't phased, just pockets his phone and leans in to look behind you at the entryway.

you roll your eyes, but open the door anyway, and usher him in. he rubs his feet against your welcome mat and toys with a keychain you have hanging from a coat rack, then looks to you, like he's waiting for a tour. which, you guess, he is.

"there's only two rooms, one bath. it's not very big, so if you need a lot of space..."

"i can manage," he says, and follows you as you walk into the kitchen. "did you decorate?"

"um... sort of."

"sort of?"

"i, uh, had a roommate before and he bought most of the decorations before i moved in. but i've added a few things. i'm not picky about aesthetics."

gojo hums. "why'd he move out?"

"we were together and he cheated on me," you say, flatly, as you have been for the past month and a half. "and then told me i couldn't use his netflix account anymore after i broke up with him."

gojo merely blinks and gestures toward the wall behind you. "so you didn't buy that dancing frog thing?"

you turn around, rolling your eyes. "no. i forgot that was there."

"okay, good, 'cause that's hideous."

you snort, but nod your head and walk down the hallway. gojo's footsteps follow you as you open the door to his potential bedroom. "it's the bigger of the two," you tell him, "but the bathroom is next to mine."

"did you change rooms?"

"what?"

"when your ex moved out. why take the smaller one?"

"oh," you rub a finger against the wall, rubbing dust off of it. "it was his room before we got together. and then we shared my current room. this was his man... den?" you try, shaking your head. "gaming room? slaughterhouse?"

gojo snorts.

"what?"

"oh, nothing," he says, airy like he's teasing you. "just curious."

you step back so he can walk around, check the carpets for stains, or look for drywall you could've hidden a body behind. but he doesn't, only watches you as you furrow your brows.

"you're not going to look around?"

"it looks like the pictures."

"yeah, but what if there are, like, bugs in the carpet? blood on the walls?"

"are there bugs in the carpet?" he asks. "blood on the walls?"

"not that i know of..."

"great, then it's perfect," he says, and steps out of the room again, whistling as he goes.

this time, you follow him, like he's the one giving the tour.

he pauses at the door a couple of feet down. "this your room?"

"yes."

"can i see?"

you scowl. "no. what do you mean 'it's perfect?'"

"i mean, i'd like to live here. it's nice. besides the frog."

you lean against the wall, trying to inspect him for any mechanical parts. is this a ploy? some joke? "you've barely been here five minutes."

"twenty with all the time i waited outside..."

"you can't just take one look and say 'yup, this is good.'"

"can't you?" he asks, challenging.

"no."

gojo's grin seems to widen, impossibly. "well, i'm not picky."

and somehow you doubt that.

but you don't get the chance to tell him that, or anything else, because he leans against the wall, still smiling at you, and asks, "so, are we roommates now?"

"you haven't even seen the lease. or heard about the house rules."

"house rules?" he repeats, dubiously. like you're making this up (which you are).

"yes."

"such as?"

"no..." you pause, 'cause this is a fickle argument. something about his stupid smile makes you want to argue with him. or maybe it's the hair. or the sunglasses. "murdering anyone in the apartment."

he laughs, unexpectedly, and sighs. "well, i guess i'll take my murdering someplace else."

"and... you can't leave any utensils in the sink."

"okay."

"and i'm not cleaning up any beard shavings, or sharing my tampons with you, or any people you have over."

"these are very extensive," he says, unserious. "anything else?"

"i..." your brows furrow. "no hogging the bathroom. hot water is fickle. and you have to recycle."

"it might be challenging, but we'll figure it out."

"these are not negotiable."

he only continues to smile at you.

eventually, after staring back with a frown that feels slightly permanent for more than a minute, you sigh again. at least you won't have to worry about moving out.

"fine. you still want to live here?"

"mmhmm."

"okay," and you stick your hand out for him to shake like this is a business transaction.

and it seems that you'll be seeing a lot more of that grin in the future.

living with satoru gojo is not... well, it's not hard. he's a normal enough roommate.

he pays his rent on time and doesn't touch the coffee you make in the morning most days--coughing when he does. he man spreads on the couch and watches movies way too loud and doesn't hang his bag up at the door, preferring to, instead, set it on the counter like a maniac. he whistles when he walks, and wears his stupid sunglasses 80% of the time, and grins at you when you're irritated, and, honestly, he's not really half bad.

he doesn't leave any huge messes for you to clean up (mostly because he doesn't use the kitchen or the dining table ever). he doesn't invite people over that keep you up all night (because he's gone most nights). and, actually, he keeps the bathroom quite clean (even if he takes up well more than half of the shower space with his weird face creams and deep conditioning treatments).

but satoru gojo is hard.

it's not what he does, but rather who he is. with his infuriating good looks--taking up most of the fair share for the rest of the population--and his subtle charm, which, if you didn't know who he was, might actually work on you, and his morning voice and his messy hair and just the way he lives.

like breathing is just what he's supposed to be doing. like he doesn't need to worry about a thing because nothing should matter if he decides he doesn't want it to.

so easygoing and naturally intuitive and far too exhausting for you.

because, as a fatal flaw of your own, you love to mess with him. somedays you'll hope he shows up just so you have someone to fight with. just so you'll be irritated instead of stressed, frustrated instead of exhausted.

it's kind of addicting, in a way. and masochistic, but you've never claimed to be completely sane.

and honestly, gojo's just asking for it.

after a mere month of living with his aura around, you come to expect his cockiness. you live to take him down a notch.

so when he's up this early in the morning, whistling like it's his god-given right, you scowl at him just as he enters the room.

"woah," he says, sliding on a bar stool in front of you. "starting early this morning?"

"you're banned from talking to me until noon."

"is this about the ice cream i ate? cause there was only a little left..."

"no it's--" you pause, frowning at him. "you ate my ice cream?"

he lays his entire torso on the counter, pathetically. "i was dying, okay? low blood sugar was going to kill me, and i couldn't see anything else but that ice cream and it wasn't even very good anyway, so, really, i was saving you from having to endure the rest of it."

"you ate my ice cream?" you repeat.

"i'll buy you more. a better kind. and then you'll understand that i was doing you a favor."

"i might kill you."

"i thought we banned homicide from the apartment."

"i was going to eat that," you whine, shoving his hands away from trying to grab your mug.

he smiles, too bright for so early in the morning. "yesterday you told me sweets weren't an appropriate breakfast."

you scoff. "yeah, cause that's all you eat. you need a green smoothie or something in the morning just to keep your heart beating for the rest of the day."

"my heart beats very well, thank you. wanna feel?"

you roll your eyes and sigh into your mug. "i'll be expecting three pints of ice cream as an apology later tonight."

gojo has already moved on, typing away on his phone, probably to some groupies he manipulated into loving him. "i can't. it's flip night at laurent's tonight, and suguru has already threatened me into coming."

"why did you say laurent's like i'm supposed to know what you mean?"

"laurent's," he repeats, looking at you.

you blink.

"the bar?" he questions, like you're crazy.

"okay, sorry, i don't exclusively hang out at bars filled with frat boys."

"it's very sophisticated,” he corrects, his frat boy nature very obvious. “i mean, i frequent there."

you laugh.

"clearly you've never been."

"i'm still expecting ice cream."

he sits back in his chair. "i have class all day."

"like you've never skipped a class."

"encouraging ditching?" he asks, mock appalled. "what kind of roommate are you?"

"the kind that doesn't steal her roommate's food. just get one of your servants to pick it up.”

gojo waves a hand at you, and that statement, apparently. and then he types another thing into his phone—to said servants you assume—and grins again. his face must’ve missed the feeling. "how about i buy you a drink instead? you can come with me tonight. meet my friends. maybe make some of your own."

"haha," you cross your arms. "if they're as bad as you, then i'm good."

"you'd probably love them. they also like to torment me, even though i'm pretty and perfectly nice to them."

"i seriously doubt that."

his eyes--oh, yes, this early in the morning he skips the sunglasses--sparkle like gems. "i have to play wingman for suguru, but it probably won't take long. you can mingle. meet someone. i think you could use a way to relieve some of that stress."

"oh, you mean the stress that you cause?"

gojo grins and you realize that you've fallen into his trap. "i'm willing to help out whenever you like," he says, deviously, "you just haven't asked yet, sweetheart."

"nor ever will," you grind out.

gojo hums and taps his fingers against the countertop. the two of you stare at each other, grin matching scowl, and eventually, he loses the contest. "so, can i plan to steal you away from eternal solitude at six?" he asks.

and just because he's right--in his weird, satoru gojo way--you nod. it might be nice to get out of the house; and meet people other than the lost freshman at work. and because you know that gojo will continue to bother you about it otherwise. he’s a very difficult person.

as if proving it, he grins all pleased with himself, so you add, "but you're buying all of my drinks." before he can get too ahead of himself.

it's not nearly loud enough in this bar. as soon as you walk in, you're sure of it.

because even with a band up on the stage, singing about loving someone or money or drugs, you can still hear gojo as he flirts with every single living thing in his twenty-foot vicinity.

he's got his grin on, styled his hair all fancy, and his clothes are signature in the way that you've probably seen him wear the same thing fifty times. maybe in a row.

but the people in this bar don't care. no, they flirt back like they already know who satoru gojo is. and maybe they do.

you don't really care, but you do have to drag him along so he can show you where you're supposed to sit and tell you the names of his friends before you get drunk enough to forget.

it takes three minutes of trailing after gojo like a lost puppy to remember that you hate going out. that you hate everything about your so-called roommate and you should've shoved his invitation down the drain along with him.

as if gojo can hear this thought, he peeks over his shoulder, smirking at you. "enjoying the view?" he asks, and you try to trip him by stepping on his heel.

unfortunately, he only swings around, walking backward through the crowd like it's going to part for him.

oh, wait. it does.

you frown at him.

"what? you don't like the music?" he pouts because that would personally offend him, of course.

"where are we going? i think we've passed that table four times already."

"i have to say hi," he says like this is obvious. "it's rude to just walk into some place without greeting everyone."

"do you own this bar?"

"what? no."

"then find your friends so we can sit down," you grumble, trying not to lose him in the sea of people. it's unlikely that you've ever seen a bar this packed. more like a club, honestly, but you wouldn't put it past gojo to lie.

eventually, he does lead you to a table, announcing, with a flourish. "don't worry, everyone, i'm here," while he bows--because of course he does. "and," he adds, "i brought a stowaway."

you peek around his shoulder to meet three people, all staring at him with the same unamused expression. one, suguru--from the many photo albums and 'trips down memory lane' gojo has bombarded you with--gives you a little wave. the other two just continue to stare at gojo.

"everyone, this is y/n, my favorite roommate. y/n, that one is suguru," he says, pointing towards him, "which you already know. the short one is shoko, and the blonde one is--"

"nanami," you cut in, "hey."

gojo frowns, looking between the two of you. "you know each other?"

"we have analytics together," you answer, sliding in to sit across them, next to gojo, naturally. "i usually cheat off of his notes."

"she gets me coffee," nanami adds, like this information is imperative.

gojo grins again. "why didn't you say anything nanamin?"

"because i didn't realize."

"who else could i have been talking about? do you know several pretty girls named y/n? you a player?"

nanami has a very familiar frown on his face, and is about to say something when suguru seems to kick gojo under the table. "satoru, i told you to stop referring to other people as 'players.'"

gojo merely rolls his eyes. "can't fight the truth," he says.

you almost smile. almost. but your eyes drift over to shoko, who sighs. "how'd you get stuck with this one?" she asks, not harsh, but not quite soft.

"he promised me alcohol."

she nods knowingly.

speaking of, you turn towards him. "you and i both know there's only one reason i'm here."

gojo flicks your forehead, but stands up. "i'll be right back," he says, "don't miss me too much."

and you all watch as he walks away, conveniently stopping at least four times to talk to several different people.

you groan. "he's not coming back is he?"

"he will," suguru says, not quite reassuringly. "probably. in an hour or so."

you cover your eyes with your hands and listen as the three of them laugh at you.

it probably is an hour or two later that you see gojo again.

you'd fallen into smooth conversation with his friends, talking about classes, and dancing, and the fact that you all shared a common enemy. it was easy enough, talking to them, like ripples in a pond. but surely if gojo had stuck around, it would've been more of a tsunami. you could see the appeal--at least for someone like your roommate. they all seemed responsible enough.

but shoko, after a twenty-second lull in conversation, decided she was better off drinking at home, and nanami quickly agreed. watching them, compared to gojo, disappear into the crowd was a different experience.

you bite your cheek unnervingly, wondering if it made you a bad roommate to want to let gojo suffer here alone and walk home by himself.

suguru pats you on the shoulder when he stands up a moment later, brushing his pants. "i'll go find satoru," he says, softly. you feel that same irritation when you realize that gojo had probably lied to you about coming here for suguru. it was almost infinitely more times likely that suguru had come here for him. "do you want me to tell him you went home?"

"how likely is it that he'll go home with someone else and it won't matter if i wait for him anyway?"

the dark-haired man considers this with a sly grin on his face. "if i tell him you left, he'll find someone to cling to. but if you're here he'll go home with you. probably drunk, though."

you run a hand through your hair, waving him off. "it's fine. i'll wait, then. but tell him that the homicide clause doesn't apply to outside the apartment."

suguru laughs, not questioning this, and walks away.

you sit there, toying with a glass someone had left behind, watching the people around you dance like it really was a club. with absolutely no one watching. not even god, evidently.

as usual, gojo lied--even though you hadn't really believed him when he said this place was sophisticated. the clear air of stale beer and vomit is enough to prove that.

you almost laugh bitterly, but then a mop of white hair appears in the chair next to you, and his grin is wider, larger than you'd remembered.

how long had that taken?

"hello hello, roomie," he sings, leaning close to you. he moves his chair, shuffling across the floor so that he's near enough to touch. "i heard you were threatening me again."

"you could hear that over the sighs of your fan club?"

gojo giggles, like he's in on the joke. his breath falls on your face. "i like it when you tell me you're going to murder me, you know."

"of course you do. how much did you drink?"

"it's not the quantity," he whispers, "it's the quality."

"your friends told me you could get drunk off of hand sanitizer."

gojo leans back, his long legs knocking against yours. "are they spreading those rumors again?"

you kick his foot away from yours but don't say anything. his eyes seem somehow wider right now, even behind his dark shades. almost like you could see them.

you blink, and gojo does it back. his lashes fluttering just enough to tell.

it almost makes you smile. laugh a little bit at his innocence--especially right now, when he's clearly not himself--some more unperturbed version of who he normally is (if that's even possible). he probably wouldn't even remember if you did laugh at him. but you refrain anyway.

gojo gasps suddenly. "oh! let's go to the store. you want ice cream, right?" his elbow slides onto the table as he rests his chin on a hand.

you kick his foot again. "i wanted a drink," you correct, "but apparently you got distracted."

"'s not my fault," he almost slurs, sadly.

"are you ready to go home?"

"i'm ready to leave. so we can get your ice cream. want to share a spoon?" his grin is unabashed. you could tell him that he is a vile, disgusting creature right now and he would probably agree.

you don't, for whatever reason.

"i don't think anywhere's open, and i don't want to drag you around while you're this drunk."

he taps your thigh with a finger. "hey. i'll have you know that i am a very proficient walker."

"oh, really?"

"learned when i was a kid and everything."

"wow, gojo, i'm very impressed," you deadpan, and look around. "do you need to say goodbye to suguru?"

he frowns. then points to himself. "gojo," he repeats, and into the crowd, "suguru."

like he's an actual toddler.

you shake your head and stand up, still looking. "can you text him?"

"i guess," he mumbles, getting out his phone and almost dropping it. he frowns like this is deeply upsetting.

so you grab it from him. "what's your passcode?"

"one one one one." you look at him with a brow raised. "cause i'm number one," he answers, pridefully.

you scoff, but look through his texts anyway, and tell suguru that you're taking him home--and never ever coming out with him again--and then hand it back to gojo.

he smiles at you. you roll your eyes.

then he grabs your hand, and begins to pull. "c'mon before they find us," he says, and it doesn't make any sense.

but were you really expecting it to?

perhaps the aftermath of drunk gojo is even more entertaining than the actual thing.

shoko hadn't been kidding when she said he was the worst drunk--and even worse when hungover.

how do you know this? oh, because you woke up at one in the afternoon--perfectly respectable for a saturday--and as soon as you dared to even open your door gojo was already groaning about the noise. so you slam it a little as you leave.

there's a grunt, like a dying cat, and two minutes later he is walking into the kitchen with slits for eyes and cotton for hair. you're not sure what he's wearing--some video game shirt--but it's wrinkled enough to match your roommate's appearance. disheveled and slightly peeved, he's almost glaring at you--like he's capable of such a thing.

you try not to laugh.

"where's the bacon?" he asks, almost slipping off of the counter as he leans on it. his hands rubbing at his eyes.

"sorry?"

"wheres the bacon?" he repeats, his voice a different register this morning. "i need emergency bacon."

"so make some. there's a pan and probably a package in the fridge."

he whines, falling against the counter again. his natural habitat. "i can't make it, i'm dying. you really want your terminally ill roommate to cook for himself?"

"i want my overdramatic roommate to act like an adult for a change."

he blows a raspberry, and his face is hidden beneath the tile of your table. you can only see his hair, which looks surprisingly soft for his state.

"did you lose some pigment in your hair?"

gojo snaps up, immediately, gasping. he pulls a strand so he can look at it, blinking rapidly. his panic quickly fades, and he blows the strand out of his eyes. "it's just dirty."

"from what?"

"i forgot to buy new bedsheets," he grumbles, once again hiding his face.

"your bedsheets are dying your hair?" you ask, with a raised brow.

"they're dirty," he repeats, rolling his eyes as he sits up. "i need to go to the store."

"um..." you look at him as he slumps against his own body, feeling greatly concerned for his survival abilities. "you buy new bedsheets?" you confirm, "instead of washing them?"

he waves a hand, blowing you, and your clearly audaious sentence away. "bacon," he says, flatly.

you roll your eyes. "pan," you point, "stove."

gojo looks like he might start crying.

and it might be his state or the fact that you don't think you've ever seen him like this--in the month you've known him--all lost and confused and a little bit ruffled at the edges. gojo's snark is usually in its top form when you see him in the morning.

so, just this once, you grab a pan, and turn on the burner.

"i'll be expecting payment for my time," you say, as you grab the bacon from the fridge.

and maybe you get your first real smile from your roommate.

you're lying on the couch reading a book when he appears, swarming like a fly.

"hello, roommate," he says, uncharacteristically pleasant, and then he sits on your legs. you try to kick him, but it proves futile because apparently he's a giant, so you wiggle your way out from under him and sit up, frowning.

"don't you have a room?" you ask.

"i could ask you the same thing," gojo tries to tickle your feet, but you move them away before he can. your frown turns into more of a glare. "what?" he asks, "we can't hang out?"

"no."

gojo pouts. "but we're roommates," he says as if it's an explanation. like being roommates binds your souls and forever intertwines the two of you.

"we are roommates because i had an extra room and you had money. that doesn't seem like thrilling grounds for friendship."

"well, how about the fact that i let you use my hair dryer the other day?" he lays down on the other side of the couch, smirking at you. "that's a friendly thing to do."

"that's the polite thing to do. i'm trying to train you. speaking of which..." you point towards the floor, "down boy."

he takes off his sunglasses, throwing them on the coffee table--which probably explains the broken mug pieces you found in the trash the other day--and lays back with his arms behind his head. his eyes are closed. "i can't be trained."

"clearly."

you sigh and relax in your corner of the couch, picking up your book again. his presence lurks like a nightmare, but, you figure, eventually, he'll get bored.

you just can't entertain him. it's like the advice you'd give to a kid being bullied: they only care about your reaction...

as if proving your point, after twenty-seven seconds of silence, he opens one eye, peeking at you. "whatcha reading?"

"a book."

he plucks it right out of your hands, inspecting the cover. how he got across the couch in 0.2 seconds, you don't know.

"what is this?" he asks, snickering a little. "word porn?"

you take it back. "it's called romance, gojo. not that i'd expect you to be familiar with anything of the sort."

he smirks, laying back down. "i have references if you need proof."

you shake your head, flipping him off, and continue to scan the words on your page without retaining any information.

seriously, his presence is impending doom itself.

"it's okay," he whispers, "you don't need to be embarrassed. everyone craves intimacy."

"i crave my fist on your face."

he snorts. "that's not very friendly."

you sigh, dropping the book again so you can look at him and his obnoxious eyes. "look, i'm tired, it's been a long week, and if you don't leave me alone i'll probably lock you outside."

"probably?"

"it's that or throwing you out the window."

gojo laughs once again, but mimes zipping his mouth shut. you roll your eyes and open your book again. your feet are entwined, but you don't mock this--if only because you're sure that gojo will start an argument about it.

the quiet lasts for two minutes and then he turns on the tv.

you groan and he laughs at you.

you're getting used to having him around, at least. and in turn, his friends. because they seem to be a package deal.

after that night at the bar, gojo--apparently--feels much more comfortable having them over. trying to bake cookies with shoko or interrupting what's supposed to be a study session between the four of them.

at least, you think, watching this happen, that you're not the only person forced to endure him.

but it's kind of... nice to see him act like a normal person, for once. to get teased by someone other than you and pout like a begrudged younger brother. the person who invites his friends over for game night (getting aggressively angry every time he loses) isn't satoru gojo, the man whom everyone is drawn to. he isn't some drunk guy charming everyone around him or a roommate that you just happened upon.

he's just another college student, laughing along with people who aren't nearly as bad as him.

and, naturally, you find yourself intertwined with these 'hang-outs' because the apartment is small, and you don't want to be left out--no, you choose not to think about how pathetic it is that satoru gojo has more friends than you do, so please don't bring it up.

and it's on this night when you're not playing uno with the four of them, but rather, watching behind all of their backs and trying to mess with gojo as much as possible.

you pretend to be idly cleaning in the kitchen, when really you're standing behind him, mouthing to suguru what color he has whenever he's about to win.

"hmm," the sly-mouthed man says this time, "green."

shoko puts down a seven, and gojo groans again. "seriously?" he asks, but begins drawing cards.

you try--and fail--not to giggle behind him. to which, of course, he turns around with an obvious glare in his eyes. "what are you doing?"

the sink isn't on, and there are no dishes to be seen in the kitchen. nonetheless, you point uselessly to the roll of paper towels on the counter. "cleaning."

"you're cleaning air?"

"sorry, i didn't realize i was banned from loitering in my own home."

he turns back around, looking at suguru for a moment, then back at you. it's very hard to keep the smile off of your face, especially when nanami looks like he's about to break and shoko is pretending to rifle through her cards again.

how many times have you done this to him? oh, just a mere eight.

to be fair, it would've ended a long time ago if gojo wasn't such a sore loser.

he looks back and forth once more. then he frowns. "what are you doing?"

"do you want me to go hide in my room, gojo?" you ask, trying to scowl. "because i will. i was just trying to be hospitable--"

"nanamin," he interrupts. "go."

so another round of cards is placed, and this time suguru plays normally, keeping his face straight to not draw any suspicion. you lean against the wall, enjoying yourself.

(don't tell anyone, but this is the most fun you've had in a while).

and then, after a couple of rounds go by, you finally clear your throat. gojo turns to glare at you through his sunglasses and says "go stand behind suguru if you're going to watch. i don't trust you."

you raise your brows but do as he says.

and when shoko has to draw the next time, you smile and tap a couple of times on your thigh.

suguru does his best impression of gojo's grin, and says, "draw four," to shoko.

she smiles back. turns to gojo. "draw four," she repeats.

and he stares at the two of them, then the cards stacked on top of each other, and then to you, right across him. "what are you doing? i know you're doing something."

"satoru, she's just watching--"

"no, she's smiling." he looks back to you, "you're smiling. you don't do that unless i'm in pain."

"so you just assume that you're losing cause i'm... what? drawing your cards for you? shuffling the stack so only you get the bad hands?" you cock a brow at him, willing yourself not to look at anyone else at the table. it would only end in disaster.

"i--" gojo runs a hand through his hair. then he sighs and begins drawing his eight cards.

and several rounds later--with gojo losing once again--you've begun moving around the table like you're inspecting each player. gojo doesn't let you look at his cards though.

and it takes a while before he notices anything. particularly after suguru wins for the third time in a row.

he looks at everyone--brows pulled together, irritated eyes hiding behind his sunglasses, and his cheeks are flushed from how frustrated he is--and as soon as you start laughing at his face, everyone else does too. suguru throws his cards down and shakes his head. nanami shuffles the deck while trying to keep his laugh muffled--but it's there. and shoko is outwardly laughing at him, pointing at gojo and then at you.

"are you guys stealing the cards?" he asks, almost disbelieving, his voice so childlike that you start laughing even harder. "look at the deck! it's half the size that it was."

and then he's standing up and inspecting you, sticking his hands up your sleeves and finding dozens of cards hiding there, falling onto the floor.

gojo gasps in outrage, but it doesn't even matter to you.

everyone else is clutching their stomachs and gojo begins to pout. "you're all traitors," he's saying, and "how long have you been doing that?" and you almost can't breathe--

so yeah. you don't really mind these kinds of nights. and you don't complain about the messes gojo and his friends leave behind.

you shouldn't have given suguru your number. this much is obvious.

but, to be fair, you weren't exactly thinking when you were talking to him about a self-help book you'd picked up, and he was mentioning a podcast, and then he was taking your phone and putting himself in it--which, in itself, should not be dangerous--telling you that he'd send you a link and that you should let him know if you liked it, and that was that.

and really, there shouldn't be any repercussions to this. suguru is your sort of friend, and sort of friends can text on occasion.

except for the fact that he's also satoru gojo's friend. so when you wake up at ten--silently thanking yourself for taking a day off before a week of back-to-back classes and work--he's already texted you, and it's obvious that you failed somewhere in life.

maybe when you accidentally invited a demon into your house and allowed him to stay.

from suguru :p :

hey satoru is supposed to be in class right now and he won't answer me

can you please kick him awake?

but maybe it wasn't a mistake. because at least you have a good excuse to give gojo a bruise.

so you creep down the hall, reluctantly knocking on his door even though it ruins the element of surprise (you're not a monster) and listening as there's no response.

gojo must be asleep. or dead. honestly, you might've killed him in your sleep--wouldn't be the first time.

so you peek the door open, realizing now that you haven't been in his room since he moved in, and watch as a figure slithers under the covers almost before you notice. gojo is completely covered except for the foot he's left hanging off of the side of the bed.

"get up," you tell him, looking around at the sparse decorations he's put up. there are books, candy wrappers, and socks all over the floor, but it's not the messiest room you've ever seen. which is slightly surprising, considering all that you know about gojo.

he whines from under the cover, turning so you get a view of exposed skin on his back. "sleeping," he says as if you might believe him.

so you creep over trash and textbooks and pull the blanket right off of him.

gojo is already looking at you, pouting. his hair is in his eyes and his mouth is puffy--probably from kissing his pillow in his sleep. "what if i was naked under here?" he asks you, very seriously. "i don't let just anyone see that, you know?"

"you're wearing the same silk pajamas you wear every night."

he tries to pull the blanket away from you, his fingers peeling yours away. he huffs. "it's the principle. you don't just wake a man up from slumber."

you snort. "did you travel a century in your sleep?"

"yes, now go away." and then he falls back into the blankets, his words muffled.

"you have class, your highness. i've been sent to fetch you."

one eye appears from under the blanket. "how do you know my schedule?"

"telepathy. now get up."

"i can't," gojo fake coughs. "i'm sick."

"suguru said you'd say that."

he groans, turning over and muffling a few explicit words that sound like a curse upon his best friend.

you poke his back. "did you sleep through your alarm?"

he doesn't answer. his body has gone limp like you might not notice that he's there if he stays still for long enough. so you pull his hair, turning his head towards you. "you're not usually this whiny in the morning," you tell him.

"why are you so mean to me?"

you hum, pretending to consider it. "i think it's the hair. i find it pretentious."

"i could sue you. discrimination is very serious. i've got a good lawyer, too."

"i'll sue back for mental damages."

he laughs, and wiggles from your grasp.

you sigh and finally sit down at the edge of his bed, observing the lollipops he's left lying on his bedside table. gojo's bones seem to crack as he sits up with you, moaning the whole way.

you're silently observing him--with his slightly red eyes and heinous mouth. you're not used to seeing him like this in the morning; usually, he's chipper and annoying. when he walks into the kitchen in the morning you half expect him to start singing.

but this gojo is tired. he rubs at his eyes. "did suguru text you?"

"yup."

"he's a terrible friend."

you nudge him, almost like an agreement. "why aren't you in class?"

"what's even the point of going? it's not like i get a reward."

"i think the reward is graduating, but you might have to fact-check that one."

he nudges you back and then takes your hand. his fingertips are soft as they trace the tendons and veins he can see on your skin. his hands are softer than you'd have expected. his eyes are wary as they look towards the floor, his mouth twisting in displeasure. but he doesn't stop touching you, he does so idly that you almost don't notice. "i have an a in the class," he tells you, "and i already know most of the material so why would i go to every lecture?"

maybe it's the way he says it; so sure and nonchalant, in his typical over-dramatic fashion. maybe it's just that he's never mentioned any of his classes to you, or the fact that he's taking any. maybe he's just crazy--that's the most likely option--but you're suddenly curious.

"what class is it?"

"theoretical physics."

you whistle, shaking your head. "and you already know most of it?"

gojo drops your hand and looks at you. his eyes are wide. maybe he's just realized that he's been talking to you this whole time. "when i was a kid my, uh, my dad had a bunch of textbooks in his office that i used to read through every time i got in trouble," he grins, "which was a lot."

"i can imagine."

"well, it turns out you can only read something so many times before it becomes ingrained in your brain."

you pull at his bedsheet. "do you have a test today, or something?"

"no, suguru just thinks i'm lazy."

you laugh, because he is. gojo rolls his eyes at you so you don't say it. you're a little bit surprised, actually. you knew that gojo wasn't stupid (or at least, you might've known) but there's something about the proof of it. like you can't just read right through him. like maybe there's still more to learn about your roommate and maybe there always has been.

or maybe you're just tired, and he's always had the strange ability to draw irrationality out of you. and also he's an idiot.

"i just..." he starts and his smile fades, but only a little bit. he keeps a layer on while he peels a layer off. "i mean, i like the class. math is cool. but i just don't feel like it today, you know?"

and there's something about his voice as he says it. steady and true, as always, but softer. but compeltely honest.

and you've heard him complain about a million things, like every time you and suguru talk about something he doesn't understand or when the door isn't unlocked when he gets home, or when you won't add his one shirt to your laundry. you've heard every whine and every groan come from his lips.

but he's not complaining about this. just confiding.

and there's such a drastic difference that it takes you a moment to respond.

but you do eventually. "yeah, i know," you tell him and rest a hand on his thigh to squeeze.

and the way that gojo looks at you after--like you might just be saying it to make him feel better--is perplexing. his eyes are blue and maybe you've just noticed this--just started to realize that you're actually sitting with him like a normal person. and that he actually looks grateful.

you shake your head, willing yourself to look away, because maybe there is something sort of magnetic about your roommate. and it feels impossible to only have noticed this now. to realize how warm he is next to you, and how your muscles tense up when he shifts. gojo is looking at you, and it might be the first time.

so you stand up, flicking his chin. "i'll tell suguru that you're puking your guts up."

"really?"

"yup. but next time you sleep through a class i'm going to wake you up by pouring ice water on your face."

he grins. "cruel."

"and i'll record it."

you step over candy wrappers and dirty socks as you leave his room, and as soon as the door is closed you sigh in relief. you're probably better off never opening that door again.

it's a ridiculously cold night when he shows up.

you're sitting at the front desk in the library, pretending to study for a mid-term, and trying to smile at the fifth lost library card you've heard about tonight. you got this job at the beginning of the year, and it pays horribly. but at least you can sit around and study, most weekends it's quiet enough to take a nap, and no one tends to bother you when you're drooling all over the reception desk.

most weekends, that is, because as soon as he walks in through the door--letting in air so brisk that it has the potential to kill you--it gets significantly louder.

because satoru gojo is not affected by trivial things such as snow, or blizzards, or the fact that the library is supposed to close in less than ten minutes...

still, you don't really notice him--a rare circumstance that you will question later that night--until he's right next to you, breathing in your ear.

"slacking on the clock?" he asks, and just for a moment, you almost disembowel him with the pen you're holding in your hand.

but then you grunt, used to this sort of intrusion from your roommate, and push his head away. "how did you find me?" you ask him, because, honestly, this job is just an escape from his neverending antics at your house (no, it doesn't matter that you got the job before you knew that such an annoying person could possibly exist).

"i microchipped you in your sleep," gojo says, smoothly, sitting in the chair right next to yours, swiveling around. "i thought i told you about that?"

you blatantly look at the clock and ignore him. "you know that the library closes in seven minutes?"

"...and?"

"so go torment someone else," you answer, standing up with a stack of fileable papers, "i'm busy until eight."

"i'll help," gojo says, eager as always, and takes half of your stack. "where to?"

it is from two months of experience that you know he will not leave you alone. even if you chew off his fingernails and keep them to make into necklaces, gojo will follow you around as long as you make it clear you don't want him to.

so you walk towards the copying room, smiling at all of the sleep-deprived students you pass by and rolling your eyes when gojo does the same.

"how did you even find the library?"

gojo walks like he has absolutely no equilibrium; knocking into you every couple of steps, and then falling in the other direction. it must be a consequence of all of his strenuous leaning.

so he bumps into you as he replies, "tracker," like it's obvious.

you snort. "no, seriously. i didn't think you knew that libraries existed. aren't you allergic to reading?"

"hey!" he tries to trip you. "i'll have you know that i am very studious. top of my class."

"that's why you pay suguru to write your papers for you, right?"

gojo makes a small noise in the back of his throat. "he doesn't write them," he grumbles. "well, not all of them."

you snort and open a door for him to follow through.

"my study group meets here on wednesdays," gojo answers, finally.

"you're a part of a study group?"

"where do you think i go all of the time?"

you briefly consider this, setting the papers down. "cemeteries to mourn all of the people you've annoyed to death, probably. or your girlfriend's house." you shrug.

gojo sets his stack on top of yours, diligently lining them up. "i don't do that every night," he drawls, rolling his eyes. and then he winks at you. "and i don't have a girlfriend. thanks for asking."

you mess up his stack and turn away from him. "sorry, i meant girlfriends as in plural. girlfriends."

"nope, again."

gojo follows closely behind you as you begin to lock up all of the spare rooms, turning off lights and looking for any lost items. "commitment issues?" you ask, fake sympathy clouding your voice.

"sweetheart, if you want me, then just say that. you don't need to pretend to worry about anyone else." his cockiness is infuriating, but you don't even bother to scold him for it. you turn towards him with sharp eyes.

"do i seem worried to you?"

"no, but you're a bad actor," gojo hums, fingertips grazing along your skin as he inspects your face. "denial is serious. you might want to see a doctor."

"you would know," you answer, glaring and pulling away from him. the two of you walk as people begin to trek out of the library, no longer held captive by the idea of studying.

gojo is much too close, as usual, his sweater brushing against yours.

"how'd you even know i was here?" you ask him, after a minute of silence.

"please," he answers, grinning down at you. "i got a PI as soon as you gave me my key."

you squint. "did you actually?"

he laughs. "no. you told shoko, and shoko told me..."

you nod, clearing the desk of your things, tossing your bag at gojo for him to carry. "so why are you here?"

he clears his throat, unplugging the cord to your computer and wrapping it around his hand. "i was walking by, and i thought i'd see if you wanted to come with me for drinks after your shift."

"drinks?" you repeat, taking the cord from his hands.

"flip night."

you groan. "i am never participating in that again after what happened last time."

"it wasn't that bad."

"i had to drag you home and you almost threw up in my hair."

gojo smiles. "consider yourself lucky."

you push him out of the way and put your coat on. then you turn off the lights and push in all of the chairs, gojo not helping at all. "i didn't even get my drink," you remind him.

"okay, so let me make it up to you."

and his voice is a bit different. still arrogant, naturally, still smiling and easy--but maybe he means it? maybe beneath his, frankly, soft exterior, he feels bad for getting drunk before you could? maybe he's not actually a complete monster?

you laugh that thought away as soon as it comes.

you sigh. "are your friends going to be there?"

"yes, our friends are. they suggested i invite you."

you sigh--again, because the air is quite thin when gojo is around--and consider it. for just four seconds. but eventually, you shake your head. "i can't," you tell him, looping your arm around his so you can drag him out of the building.

"why not?"

"i'm tired, and i still need to study for a test on monday..."

"do it in the morning."

you give him a blank look. "i won't want to study if i'm hungover."

"then don't study."

you let go of his arm, shivering from the cold. gojo, of course, is not wearing a jacket, or even a little bit bothered by the air. "you're a terrible influence."

he grins. "i get it from you."

you shake your head, keeping the smile off of your face. "maybe some other time? when it's not freezing, and i don't have a big test?"

gojo looks like he wants to argue with you some more--which he usually does--but eventually, his grin ebbs into something simple and he nods. "okay, but you have to come next time i ask."

"no. what if i'm sick, or something?" you definitely would not put it past him to ask you as a method of torture.

"that's what alcohol is for." he sticks out his hand, too big and too sly.

but you relent, shaking with him, and rolling your eyes.

"okay, gojo. have fun. do not wake me up when you get home."

and you turn to walk away, but his hand catches your wrist. "what are you doing?" he asks, brow furrowed.

"...going home?"

he lets go of you and flicks your forehead. "you're not walking back by yourself," he says, like it's a crime. "c'mon."

and he falls into pace with you, even with his longer legs and fervent energy.

"this is stupid--" you start to complain, but gojo reaches for the strap of your bag, sliding it off of your shoulder. he then slings it on his own, and pulls you in a bit closer by the hem of your jacket.

he doesn't say anything, just shoves your hand in his pocket, and whistles as he walks you home.

its a couple of weeks later when you're standing at the door again, trying not to open it more than necessary.

but, really, how wide is too wide? will a half-opened door signal any longing? will he think that you want him back if you open it more than three inches to pass him his box of stuff that he'd left behind and take your key back?

how do you navigate the trade-off of a frog statue that will probably haunt your dreams till the end of time?

"key," you say, without any pleasantries, not bothering to even really look at him.

even though he looks just the same, your ex. still the lying cheater you'd almost fallen in love with.

is it wrong to miss his netflix password more than him?

"thanks," he says, and you've probably been standing there with him for thirty seconds when a head appears on your shoulder.

white hair gets in your eyes, and you try to push gojo away, but he's already intruded on this exchange and you know he's not going to leave.

"go away," you tell him, not very softly.

"hello," gojo holds his hand out over your shoulder, because, again, he is ridiculously tall. "i'm--"

"key," you say again, swatting his hand away.

your ex looks at your new roommate--with all of his charm and irritating sunglasses and perfectly shaped teeth--with obvious disdain. you want to push both of them out the door and live here by yourself forever, but unfortunately, living prices disagree.

so you grab the key from his hand, give him a bland smile, and slam the door with gojo's fingers still in between.

he pulls them back just in time, still almost on top of you, and smiles when you turn around with a scowl. "a friend of yours?" he asks, slyly. he's about as subtle as a third-grader.

"no."

he messes with your hair idly, pretending to fix it. "i noticed an obvious absence where our dancing frog used to be."

"i told you, that's not mine."

"so you gave it away?"

you cross your arms. he is far too close to you. "you told me it was hideous."

"it was," he nods, vehemently, and you know his eyes are grinning at you behind those dark shades. "but now there's an empty spot on that shelf."

"we can put your tongue there when i cut it out," you give him an innocent smile and walk past him to sit on the couch. your pocket burns with the key you put there, metal like an obvious stain on your skin.

it's not that you care about him anymore, really. you don't, not even when you lay alone at night and think about him. it's more that... he doesn't think about you. he didn't, and he wouldn't have, even if you were still together.

is it wrong to be wanted by someone whose opinion is worth about as much to you as a penny you could or could not pick up on the street? should you crave being cared about by someone as awful as him?

you want to throw his key in bleach. maybe take a dip yourself.

gojo follows you, throwing himself down on the couch, and brushing you as he does so. he is very used to this kind of proximity, and the annoyed look you give him. "so that was your ex?"

"yes."

there's a brief pause, and a nice person might leave it like that. might try to console you, tell you better off. but satoru gojo is not nice, and he probably never has been. "really?" he asks. then clicks his tongue.

you interrupt whatever obnoxious statement is supposed to follow: "if you're about to say that there are a lot of more eligible bachelors, including yourself, then i'm going to say that you should probably make a zillow account."

gojo pinches your thigh. "i would never say something like that."

you look at him, just barely able to make out the shape of his eyes when he's this close. "you told me that last week when i was complaining about dating apps."

"well, it was true then."

you roll your eyes.

"i wasn't going to say that anyway."

you hum, relaxing into the hold his legs begin to have on yours. despite his abrupt and terrible personality, gojo is very warm. and he's already intruded into so much of your space--your home, your head--that it almost feels normal.

with his thighs pushing against yours and his fingertips trailing up the back of your neck.

you should slap him away, but you don't.

the last person you cuddled with was the same man who gave you the greasy key in your pocket.

you look at gojo with inquisitive eyes. "really? no bad pickup line? you were going to say something meaningful?"

"would've blown your mind, but you interrupted..." he teases, and pulls on a strand of baby hair.

"whatever will i do now?"

his hand falls from your neck, and if you weren't as comfortable as you are currently, you might think about what he's doing.

like the fact that you haven't even questioned this, or his following you around, or the fact that he knew you needed someone to pull you away from that door.

you don't think about that, but maybe you should.

still, his hand wraps around your shoulder, and you slump against him without question.

"i was..." his voice is softer, calmer than you've maybe ever heard it. it should jolt you away from him. it should do anything but keep you planted on the couch right next to him. "i was just going to say that i'm glad he's an idiot."

"getting turned on by my pain?"

he laughs. "no, but, i mean, your pain my gain."

you don't even notice it when he slips off his glasses, his fingers curling around your forearm.

"where else would i find a roommate that threatens me with bodily harm?" he asks, right in your ear.

it's true enough, you guess. and at least for a moment, you don't want to rip off his arms.

and gojo mutters something that sounds like "stupid," but you aren't listening.

gojo has called in your agreement; that is the only reason you're sitting at the bar, watching him dance around with shoko--purposefully stepping on her toes--and sipping on some drink he ordered for you.

it's terribly sweet and reminds you of lotion but you drink it anyway. it's not like you bought it, and you're sure that gojo wont buy you anything else until finish it. plus it's giving you a light buzz, just enough to feel comfortable sitting there, and not like you want to run away.

it's not as busy as it was last time, the music slightly quieter, the air in the room less stiff. gojo seems less energized tonight--considering that he hasn't abandoned any of you to talk to the houseplant in the corner--even with the dancing.

which he is terrible at. it's like watching an eight-month-old learn how to stand. or a man trying to impress absolutely no one. his limbs move like they aren't even attached to his body.

"is he drunk?" you're asking suguru and nanami--who have been sitting there longer than you have. "i didn't see him order anything."

nanami laughs and suguru ruffles your hair. "that's satoru completely sober."

"...are you sure?"

"yeah, he doesn't usually drink. even that," he nods to your drink which you're sipping with a wince, "is too bitter for him."

you raise a brow, watching shoko frown at him, and then nudge him away. "he drank last time i came, though?"

suguru nods, looking away like he knows something you don't and nanami snorts.

"what?"

"he was nervous last time," nanami answers. he's got less than a smile on, but it's better than the frowns you've observed sitting next to him in class.

your brow furrows. "about what?"

suguru is about to answer, nudging nanami not very subtly, when the very topic of conversation pops up, bumping into you as he squeezes himself in between you and suguru. his presence is an interruption in itself, but he's smiling like he always does, acting like he's been there the whole time.

you might've pushed him away a week or two ago. now you just sigh and move a little so he can fit.

"did you miss me, sweetheart?" he asks you, leaning against suguru. "don't worry, i'll dance with you next."

"no, and i don't dance."

gojo rolls his eyes. "everyone dances."

you look pointedly between him and the group of people dancing in the middle of the room. an image of him almost tripping over shoko makes you smile. "well some people shouldn't."

suguru laughs and gojo grins even wider at you--his hair is slightly sweaty and his eyes are peering at you over the glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. "let's test that theory," he says, taking a step back. his tone is nothing less than suggestive. and his fingers wiggle towards you, beckoning for you to follow.

there's a twinge in your stomach and you adjust in your seat, frowning at him. "i told you that i don't dance."

"well, i do. and you owe me for last time."

you balk. "owe you for what? making sure you didn't get murdered on the street?"

gojo pouts, his face so unserious and completely genuine at the same time. "you made me dance all alone. you didn't even come watch."

"you left me--"

"just one dance?" he asks, leaning in towards you. his eyes are sparkling. "i'll get you another drink."

"you'll get me that anyway."

"i'll let you pick it this time."

"that's usually expected, you know?"

he ignores that, "c'mon," he pleads, "you know that you want to."

"i don't know that, actually."

and then someone coughs behind gojo and you realize that your friends have been listening to this entire interaction and that you'd completely forgotten they were there. how long has he been standing like that? just two inches away from your face?

"just go, y/n," shoko says, "put the rest of us out of our misery. i've been listening to him whine all night."

"hey--" gojo turns, his voice defensive.

but you take another sip of your drink, sighing as you stand up. "fine," you tell him, rolling your eyes when he turns to you with a smile. "one dance, and you can't ask me for anything else tonight."

his teeth are like rows of knives. sharp and inviting. "okay."

he holds his hand out for you again, and you take it, feeling that strange pull in the pit of your stomach.

it's probably just the alcohol, though.

you don't know how long you've been dancing with gojo.

it started with one dance where he didn't do anything except twirl you around and sway with you, like he'd accepted the fact that you weren't exactly light on your feet, singing along to the music in your ear, making snide remarks about where you'd placed your hands. moving them like pieces on a chess board.

his breath was hot on your ear. condensation on a glass.

and then you'd gradually moved to letting him lead you, after who knows how many songs, following his steps and not apologizing when your foot slammed against his, or when you bumped shoulders with him, probably creating marks on your skin.

and then his hands were on your hips, his chin resting against your shoulder, and it felt almost nice to be dancing with him. almost relaxing to forget momentarily about where you were and who you were with. it shouldn't surprise you that you're comfortable with him, but it does. there's no worry about the way you're looking at him or if anyone is watching the two of you--but then again, you might be slightly drunk.

gojo hasn't commented on how long the two of you have been dancing, and evidently, you've let the alcohol sway you into staying for more than just another song.

so now, with his lips on your ear, you're almost smiling into him. your heart is fast, and the adrenaline rush you're experiencing is a pleasant thing; if someone ripped out your heart right you wouldn't even notice.

"see?" gojo says, his voice just a murmur with all of the music swimming in your ears. "you're not so bad."

it sounds like something else to you.

"you won't be saying that in the morning," you tell him, stepping on his toes, but he doesn't pull back or move too quickly. if you thought rationally about his movements you might notice that everything he's doing is slow; like you're an animal he's trying not to scare.

"i'm used to it," he pulls back a little bit. "shoko does that too."

"'cause you deserve it."

he laughs and leans in, so you follow him.

are you just swaying now? or is he leading you in something more complex? a dance you've never heard of, or a simple in and out?

you don't know, and you really don't care.

after a moment, you sigh. "i've never danced with anyone before," you whisper to him, almost like not saying the words at all. it might be a lie, you're not quite sure.

your words are just thoughts now with no sort of intervention between your brain and your mouth. intoxication fills your lungs.

"really?"

"mhm," you hum, "no one's ever asked me."

"i don't believe you," his voice might be teasing, or serious, or he might be barking at you.

you laugh anyway. gojo's hands are firm against your skin. he feels kind of hazy, like a dream. so you laugh again.

"you okay?"

"i think i might be a little drunk."

he snorts, his breath short. "really? i didn't think you'd be a lightweight."

"you're a lightweight."

"yeah, but you already knew that. i only drink when we come here, anyway. nanami doesn't like having to drag me home."

"you're heavy," you agree, looking up at him. you can see his eyelashes from under his glasses. you can see his tongue as he moves it, and the tip of his nose. you can almost feel it when he swallows.

"sorry," he teases. his face looks different under these lights. it looks different when you're looking at him this close.

"you're kinda pretty," the words fall from your mouth as you think them, and you grin. "huh."

it shouldn't be an odd realization, but it is. his skin is almost translucent, and his mouth is sinful. his eyes are wide and bright and satoru gojo could be a sculpture if he wasn't a man.

gojo looks down at you, his brows raised. "you just noticed?"

"i don't look at you a lot."

"oh, please," he shakes his head. "i've caught you staring."

"i only stare when i'm worried that you're a robot planted by aliens or something. you say weird things."

he laughs, and his hands squeeze your waist. he could stab you in the back right now and it wouldn't even matter. you're not even worried about it. he could flirt with you all night and you don't think you'd quite mind.

you giggle at the thought, heart beating fast with every breath that comes from him.

"what?"

"you're not a bad roommate, you know?" you ask him, but maybe you're asking yourself.

"i'm not?"

"no. you're actually... kinda considerate. my old roommate--my ex--he never wanted to go anywhere with me. he wouldn't have asked me to dance."

"why not?"

"i think he thought i was stuck up. or embarassing. or not worth it," you breathe, almost airly, the words are true but they don't matter to you. not like this, pressed up against him. "i don't know."

gojo's brow furrows. "how?"

your brows furrow. "how what?"

"how could he think you're not worth it?" he repeats, and you laugh back. because it's a joke.

"you'd have to ask him."

"i don't think i'll ever be talking to him," he answers, voice rough. "it wouldn't be good for either of us. and i don't trust people with such terrible taste."

you giggle at the thought of the frog sculpture, the disgusted look on gojo's face. you can almost see through him.

"you shouldn't," you answer, not even thinking.

there's a moment where the room is quiet, everyone inhaling at the same time, and then exhaling. you feel like you fit here, somehow. like everything is moving at just the right place. this silence is a comforting feeling, the bubbles bursting in your stomach reiterating it.

"hey," gojo says, interrupting that feeling.

"what?"

"you're a good roommate, too. you're not stuck up. or embarassing."

"i'm not?"

he smiles at you. "well, you're a little mean."

you smile back. "only to you, satoru."

his face drops, but you don't notice. you lean against his chest again, your eyes fluttering shut. if you were focused enough, you could feel his heartbeat. but you don't. and you don't watch as he swallows. as his voice falters, for only a single second.

but you do look at him when he says, "my friends like you."

"they do?"

he laughs, pushing his sunglasses back up on his face. "wasn't it obvious?"

you shake your head. you're not sure how long you've been standing with him, or if it even matters. you're not even sure if you're still in the bar, or your bed, being covered with your blanket, tucked in by gentle hands.

how long has it been now?

"i like you too," gojo whispers, "just so you know."

and you could be at home, with your roommate. you could be right next to him. it doesn't matter, because you only whisper, "good," and then it's all gone.

when you wake up the next morning, gojo is already laughing at you.

your headache is a curse. your mind is in shambles. and your body aches with the manipulation of only one person.

you hate your roommate and his terrible taste in drinks and that he doesn't even say anything when you slump against the counter, not even bothering to make fun of you or complain about how terrible you are when you're drunk.

he just smiles easily, ruffling your hair.

and when he starts to cook some bacon in the pan, you don't say anything, but you go and stand next to him, letting him hold you up.

there are no words. only the popping of oil in a pan.

and that feeling, of course. because it wasn't the alcohol.

so maybe satoru gojo is your friend. you will not admit this to anyone aloud, but you concede a little bit in your head, because it's a fragile place there, and you're a terrible liar.

and so maybe you hang out with him sometimes.

it's not just the game nights or study sessions anymore. you sit on the couch and play with your phone and he sits down next to you. he'll rub your feet, or massage your legs and you let him.

only because he's kinda good at it, of course.

and sometimes you'll turn on a movie and he'll appear out of nowhere, complaining about whatever you picked, but laying down nonetheless. and after several minutes he'll move closer to you, resting his head on your thigh. and you might play with his hair, but only because it's unreasonably soft.

and some mornings when you wake up and make yourself breakfast, not even trying to be quiet, you'll make a little extra. but it's not for him, it's just a coincidence.

and he stops by the library on his way home from suguru's, or some girl's house, and the two of you will walk home together, talking about class, or the weather, or whatever gojo wants. you let him do this, because it's usually dark outside, and you don't like walking home alone.

and if he barges into your room sometimes--obviously not knocking--you only complain a little bit. and then you let him lay in your bed and mess with your things.

but only because it's the easier option, of course.

and you've missed the feeling of having someone near. and satoru gojo is easy to be around.

"gojo," you gasp, as soon as the door opens in your face. and then you scowl. "don't you knock?"

he pushes you so he can move past, raising a brow at you. "i live here." his hands are empty, and he's not wearing a coat again. just a weird button-up probably more expensive than your share of the rent. how he's survived over two decades, you're not sure.

your brows furrow at him. "well, you could give some warning if you're going to kick open the door. what if you broke my nose?"

"well, why were you standing right in front of the door when i kicked it?" gojo mimics, flicking you away, then looking down to your hands where your wallet and keys are piled up. "you going somewhere?"

"to the store."

"it's eleven."

"why thank you for that update, gojo. i really appreciate it," and then you move beside him to open the door.

but gojo grabs your hand, making sure to roll his eyes at you where you can see it, and pulls you away so he can step in front of the door. "what could you need from the store right now?"

"i need stuff."

he crosses his arms, uncharacteristically stern. "like what?"

"stuff. girl stuff. you wouldn't get it."

he gasps, mouth dropping. "oh no, did i steal too many of your tampons again?"

"first of all, that's against the apartment rules, so you better hope not. second of all, please move," you glare at him. "i need to hurry."

"you can't leave right now."

"i believe there's such a thing as free will..." you try and push him away, but he doesn't budge. "and you're not the boss of me."

"it's too late for you to walk to the store. go tomorrow."

you cross your arms. "when have i ever listened to you?" you ask him, feeling that familiar irritation crawl up your skin.

but then gojo is pulling your arms apart and resting them at your sides and saying "stop that," as a gentle chide. and that irritation molds. you push his hands away.

you want to push his hands off of the edge of the earth just so that he'll never touch you again.

"seriously, gojo, i need to go. they close at midnight."

"you can't walk to the store by yourself in the dark."

"i can do whatever i want."

"then i'm locking you in your room until tomorrow. you're grounded."

you poke his shoulder. you can't decide if he's serious or not. his voice is always teasing, and you can't see enough of his eyes. and you can't trust a single thing he says. "when did you become so overbearing?" you ask him, trying not to grind your teeth.

"when i realized how weak you are."

"weak?" you balk at him. "i'm not weak. please retract that sentence before i accidentally punch you."

"you can't even push me away from the door. i'll take my chances with your fists."

"that's because you're irritating me," you tell him, as you try to do it again. "anger distracts me."

he laughs at you, leaning even further against the door.

"gojo," you whine, trying to pinch him away instead. "stop being an ass. just get out of the way."

he holds a hand to his chest, offended. "i am showing concern about your safety," he claims, shaking his head at you.

"you are ruining my mood."

"oh, good."

you scowl. "move. right now."

"that was very intimidating," he grins at you, "but maybe try again."

you groan and try to stab him with your key, which he pushes away, still smiling, still completely the worst.

"i--" you sigh, "i don't like you very much."

he snorts.

then you pout at him, fluttering your eyelashes. "please, gojo. i'll be back in fifteen minutes."

"what is that?"

you frown. "what?"

"what's wrong with your face?"

you throw your arms up, shaking your head. then you mutter another thing about hating him under your breath and finally turn away. you set your keys and your wallet on the counter, pouting as you sit down on the couch.

gojo is there a moment later, laughing at you. "was that supposed to be convincing?"

"don't talk to me. ever again."

you shake your head, fed up with him and everything about this living situation. how are you locked in your apartment right now?

gojo tilts his head back, and then pauses for a moment.

"then how am i supposed to ask if you want to come with me to the store?" he asks, nonchalantly. "i need some stuff."

and you should be angry at him--you should probably break one of his fingers or cut his hair off in his sleep. you should tell him that you hate his company and that if he ever tells you what to do again--

but instead, you jump up from the couch, smiling at him. "let's go," you say, quickly, before you change your mind.

and you don't get to see it when gojo smiles back at you, softly.

"hey," he whispers, "you shouldn't sleep here."

gojo is shaking your shoulder gently, his breath on your face, his voice soft--even in the haze of disrupted sleep. there's a warm feeling in your belly as he speaks to you, an unknowing smile on your face.

"hmm?" you answer, trying to remember who you are and why you're here. who he is.

"it's almost midnight. what are you doing on the couch?" gojo is helping you sit up. his hands are ridiculously warm, and you don't think about how nice they feel on the bare skin of your back.

"gojo?"

he laughs. "the one and only. c'mon, i'll tuck you in."

"did you just get home?" you must still be sleeping, because his hands are so soft right now. and his voice is so quiet--like the creaking of an old house.

"yeah. are you going to get up?" he's kneeling in front of you, and his face is bare. you almost want to laugh at how bright his hair is even in the dark.

"where were you?"

he shakes his head, smiling up at you, and moves from the floor. "c'mon, sit up," he beckons, trying to get you to move your head from its place. you wince. eventually, he gives up and your heart almost disappears when he picks you up, tapping your legs so that you'll wrap them around his waist.

you do it, but only because you don't want to fall.

"why are you so tall?" you complain as he carries you to your room, feeling much more awake when you're this high in the air.

gojo snorts. "i'll take that as a thank you," he whispers in your ear and sets you on your bed. then he sits on the edge and takes your socks off, pulling the covers out from under you. his movements are slow as he covers every inch of skin he can see, his breath the only sound between the two of you.

it's colder when his hands move, and he looks at you for a moment as if trying to make sure he's satisfied with his job.

"are you going to make fun of me for this in the morning?"

gojo grins, squeezing your leg as he stands up. "probably. but only a little."

"okay," you yawn, blinking as he backs up towards the door.

"night, sweetheart," he whispers to you, and then a flash of hair is all you see before your door is closed and you drift back to sleep.

and in the morning you wake up and can't remember how you got in bed. gojo doesn't say a thing.

satoru gojo can say so much without saying a single thing.

when he burst into your room--surprising you because you hadn't realized he was home--throwing himself on your bed and mumbling something about hating his life, you didn't say a word.

and he'd sat there for ten minutes while you typed out a paper on your laptop, glancing over to him every couple of minutes, slightly worried because he hadn't moved an inch.

you've seen a lot of his moods recently. you've seen him excited about some movie you didn't understand, exhausted after a long day of classes, angry when suguru and you leave him out of a joke. but most of that, you assume, is just him being himself. every feeling he has is probably seven times larger than the average person's.

but now that he's groaning into your bed, you can tell, just from the way his body deflates, that there's something wrong. you could see it when he walked in the room, and felt it because he'd told you he was getting dinner with his parents tonight.

but if you know one thing about him, it's that he won't talk about it if you ask.

because after a couple of weeks of spending more and more time with him, you'd quickly realized that you didn't actually know much about his life. he doesn't tell any stories about his childhood, or high school years--minus the ones that he tried to suffocate suguru for letting slip. he doesn't mention his parents much, and when he does, it's nothing but the bare minimum. he mentions classes so offhandedly that you hadn't even known how extensive his studies were until suguru was teasing him about an award he'd gotten a couple of years ago.

he could talk to you for hours on end, but he wouldn't say anything.

so after realizing this, you'd resorted to asking suguru about it.

that night, gojo was asleep on the floor between your feet. his hand was under his head, and he was snoring loud enough for you to notice. you'd sat down to watch a movie with him after he'd claimed that you and suguru were losers for being tired at this hour and that he was the youngest of you all.

suguru only smiled a little bit at your question.

"satoru keeps an infinite amount of space between him and everyone else," he'd said softly, into the warm air of your apartment. "even with me, and i've known him since we were kids. his family..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

you'd frowned. "what?"

"he's always been too much for them, in a way. i mean, you know, he is too much most of the time. but he does all of it purposefully; the arrogance, the bravado. i don't know... i think he just wants to control whatever image everyone has of him. to the extent that his personality is based on pushing people away, just so he can figure out who's actually going to stick around."

you'd watched him then, with his fluttering eyelashes--his sunglasses lying on the ground next to him--and his bright hair. the gentle movement of his lips as he dreamt. he was softer like this, less forceful, less of a burden, and more of a boy.

and beautiful, of course, but that's an offhanded thought you wouldn't acknowledge.

"so, he doesn't talk to you about--" the words felt wrong, and you almost felt guilty for talking about him like this, with his best friend. but still. "--important stuff?"

"he talks to me about a lot of things. but, no, not really. i get a long-winded rant sometimes, but not often."

"then how are you supposed to know anything about him?"

suguru smiled at you, looking between you and gojo like there was a secret he didn't want to tell. he sighed. "satoru doesn't really tell me any of the important stuff because we've known each other for so long. i understand how his family is because i've watched him deal with them. i can guess how he's feeling based on his expression. but for people he hasn't known as long, like you, getting to know him is like i-spy."

suguru didn’t need to elaborate. you got it.

like trying to find little hints of him hidden between all of the mess. you'd snorted and agreed.

and it feels even more true now, with him cowering in your blankets. but still, you say nothing.

you get it, to a certain degree. vulnerability was one of the feelings you liked to push away; secrets were only supposed to be coveted by you. getting close to people was a dangerous thing, risky in its own way.

but, thinking that gojo doesn't trust you--couldn't trust you... it's more irritating than it should be. and maybe that's just because you're arrogant, and think yourself to be trustworthy. or maybe it's because you trust him, in your own unique way, even with all of his too much and extremeness.

you don't say that to him though, just like he doesn't say anything to you.

"hey," you push him with a foot. "are you drooling on my comforter?"

there's a moment of silence, then gojo rolls over. "not a lot."

you roll your eyes at him and type another sentence--a collection of words that have nothing to do with the actual essay you're writing, naturally--waiting for him to say something else.

and, predictably, he does. "why aren't you paying attention to me?"

"i'm busy, gojo."

"no, you're not."

"i am doing homework."

he looks up at you. his sunglasses are somewhere on your floor. "well, then you're definitely not busy," he grins.

you swat away a hand that tries to steal your computer.

"aren't you supposed to be at dinner?" you ask him, trying to seem like you don't care about the answer.

he sighs again. "canceled."

"why?"

"my dad had a meeting or something."

"oh."

you let the silence wade for a minute or two, trying to be discreet when you watch his face for any signs of discontent. but gojo just has his eyes closed. his hands above his head.

eventually, you nudge him again. "did you eat anything?"

he shakes his head.

"do you want me to make you something?"

an eye opens. he turns over and rests his head on his hands, squinting at you. "are you being nice to me?"

"not intentionally."

he snorts, poking you, almost in awe. "you are."

"i'm just trying to make sure you don't die, okay? who knows what you've eaten today."

he crawls up your bed, sitting right next to you so he can rest his head on your shoulder. and you should push him off, but you don't. "it's okay. i'm not very hungry."

"that's not what i asked."

gojo laughs against you, his hair brushing against your neck.

you shouldn't say anything more. you shouldn't even entertain him and his antics, and you shouldn't even care (but you do. for some, stupid, infuriating reason).

so you look at him, and your voice is soft when you ask, "you okay?" to him, hoping that it doesn't seem too intrusive. wishing that you didn't actually care if he was or not.

gojo's eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, you get that feeling again.

that feeling in your stomach that makes you want to jump away from him. that makes your hands want to shake, and your voice fade. that feeling that you know--too well, too much--but can't get rid of.

like an itch you're not really supposed to scratch.

gojo swallows. "yeah," he answers, with no grin, no conceit. "i'm okay."

and it shouldn't feel like a relief to hear, but it does. you nod, look away, and go back to your computer. back to your actual life, which shouldn't have any satoru gojo in it.

but a minute later he adds: "i'd be better if you made me dinner, though."

and you pull on his hair a little. you try to pretend like his smile doesn't fill you with butterflies.

this shouldn't be happening.

it's the only reasonable thought running through your brain at the moment. the only echo you can discern, the only words you can make out in the jumble of anxiety and horror running through your mind.

he should not be this close.

gojo had only picked you up from work once again, his easy smile meeting yours as soon as he walked through the door--you'd been waiting, wondering when he was going to show up.

at seven-thirty he was there, letting in the cold air and sitting in the seat next to yours, complaining about the fact that you had a job that diverted your attention away from him while you rolled your eyes.

he sat there for the half an hour remaining in your shift, distracting you.

two months ago you would've kicked him out. would've called some make-believe security.

but you just listened while he talked to you about space theories that didn't make any sense.

and then he'd grabbed your bag for you, turning off the lights before you could, pushing in chairs while you organized the reception desk.

and his hand grabbed yours before you thought to notice--swinging along while the two of you began the walk home.

and halfway there, gojo stopped, looking up at something. "hey," he'd poked you. "look at the stars."

you'd done it, begrudgingly, squinting. "i can count, like, three."

"there's at least five."

"why did you stop me to do this? it's cold."

"because they look nice," he argues, looking down at you. "you have no eye for beauty."

and, really, you might've agreed with him. you might've pushed him away from you and told him to hurry up and you might've not cared at all.

but you could see his eyes, just a little bit, behind his sunglasses. and his smile was alabaster, and that feeling--that gasping for breath, trying to hold on to anything feeling--was there again.

and it was poking you. like a push in some direction. like a laugh telling you that you were too afraid to do anything.

you were looking at him. right at his face and the only thing you wanted to say was that he was wrong.

he was wrong because at least you knew that he looked beautiful.

but those words wouldn't leave your lips--that thought couldn't leave your head--so you were only staring at him. wishing that you'd never let him into your apartment and that he hadn't started becoming a person to you.

it wasn't fair like this.

"what?" he whispered, his smile dropping, like he could tell there was something wrong with you. like he knew you that well.

if he'd kept on smiling, you wouldn't have done it. you wouldn't have pushed up on your toes and leaned into him, and you wouldn't have kissed him like you did.

like you're doing.

and it would've been fine because you never would've started this knowing that it would eventually have to stop.

and even though it takes him less than a second to kiss you back--his lips molding to yours like an automatic reaction--you know that you shouldn't be doing this.

that you can't be doing this. not with him. not like this.

so when gojo's hands move to your waist, his breath even in your mouth, you push at his chest. and you want to run away.

"i'm--" you swallow, trying not to taste him, the bubblegum flavor of him, and almost flinch away. "i'm sorry."

gojo's mouth is frozen from where he stands two feet away. his hands are in the air like he doesn't know what to do with them. "you..."

and you've never heard him speechless before. just the idea of it makes you blurt out whatever comes to mind. "i shouldn't have done that," you tell him, and, "i didn't mean to--i don't--" you shake your head. "sorry. i'm sorry. can we forget about this? can we get home because i'm really cold?"

"you kissed me," gojo says, so simply.

the words are another blow to your heart. you were hoping that he wouldn't have noticed.

and wince and watch him, his face as it shifts, moving with each thought in his head.

"gojo, i'm really--"

"no," he interrupts, taking a step towards you.

"what?"

"that's not my name."

you frown. "yes it is?"

he shakes his head. "no, it's satoru. you've said it before, you know. you should keep saying it."

"when have i said it?" you ask, momentarily blinded by how he demands this. who is he to demand anything?

"when you were drunk."

you scoff. "i'm not just going to call you by your first name cause you want me to," you tell him, "who do you think i am?"

and then satoru laughs, shaking his head at you, his grin full-force on his face. "are you serious? you kissed me and now you don't want to call me by my first name?"

you freeze. "i said i was sorry about that," you say, weakly.

you feel like who you've always felt around him. not as easy, not as cool, never as smooth. you feel like a child caught doing something they're not supposed to. you want to run away from him, but he knows where you live.

"you're sorry?"

"i didn't mean to."

he quirks a brow. "you didn't mean to?"

"it was an accident?"

he takes another step closer. "it was an accident?"

"are you just going to keep repeating everything i say?" you ask, voice hard. this must be a dream.

satoru shakes his head at you. "no, but i have a question."

"...okay."

"if i try to kiss you right now, are you going to try and murder me? i know that we're away from the apartment right now, but it would really ruin the mood."

you stare at him.

it must be answer enough because he steps forward and he kisses you again. but this time, it feels less mechanical. his lips are soft and smooth as they push against yours--and he pushes like he's demanding something from you. like he knows more about what you can give than you do.

and he grins against you like he's doing everything exactly right.

but when satoru pulls back, your eyes stay shut. you try and banish the feeling in your stomach from your body, but it doesn't respond to idle threats.

"we shouldn't do this," you whisper to him. you don't open your eyes. you don't want to see his face and fall victim to another one of his schemes.

"why not?"

"the last time i kissed one of my roommates..." you imply, hoping that you don't have to tell him that you're scared.

"oh, right," he brushes some hair from your face. he has not moved an inch away from you. "i forgot that you're experienced."

"wasn't it obvious?"

he laughs, and then nudges your cheek with a finger. "look at me."

you shake your head.

"c'mon, just a little."

his voice is so soft. satoru is whispering like it's just for you. and you've never heard him like this and you don't think you want to see him.

"please, sweetheart?" he asks, one last time, and you have to. if only to put yourself out of your own misery. "good. now listen--"

"don't tell me what to do."

he rolls his eyes. "listen," he repeats. "i know you don't like me very much. and i know that you only keep me around for my rent money and my pretty face--"

you kinda want to hit him.

"--but i've wanted to kiss you for weeks. and i'm not good at the..." he swallows, blinking just briefly. "all of the telling stuff, but i want to be. with you. for you."

you're not sure if that's the end, or if it's the beginning. your eyes are stuck on his smile, and you're not listening to anything he said.

he's very close right now. so accessible. and it's just another reason to want to push him away.

satoru clears his throat, nudging your head with his nose. "and i'm tired of shoko and suguru calling me a coward, so it'd be great if you'd mention that you kissed me first."

your brows furrow. "you told shoko and suguru?"

"i didn't say anything," he almost swears. "they tricked me into admitting it."

"when?"

"...the day after i introduced you to them."

you pull away to observe his face. "really?"

he groans. "stop looking at me like that," he says, "it's mean."

you almost smile at him again. then close your eyes. "okay."

"havent you listened to anything i've said to you?" he asks, rhetorically. "i flirt with you every day."

"you flirt with everything."

"mmm, true," he leans his chin against your head, breathing you in. "now that i've poured my heart out for you, can we go home? it's cold out here, and i'd rather make out on our couch than that bench over there."

"who said anything about making out?"

"please," he wraps an arm around your shoulder, and smiles down at you--with all of the typical swagger--and maybe this time you let him.

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fvsm4x · 1 month

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You sure do love angst huh 😞 my heart has been broken multiple times because I keep rereading your ffs 😭

Angst>>>> everything else

#﹒︵ cht ﹕

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fvsm4x · 1 month

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DOES THIS MEAN WE’RE GETTING A REGRET CHP 2 UPDATE?!

YESSIR

#﹒︵ cht ﹕

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fvsm4x · 1 month

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Guess who is at shibuya rn🤭🤭

#ima show shibuya the real incident

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fvsm4x · 2 months

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uhm, around what month do you think you would post the "regret" series chapter 2?? i really want to know what happened after chapter one's ending😞😞

Probably only next month since i‘m going to japan soon and I wont be having any time to write:((

#﹒︵ cht ﹕

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fvsm4x · 2 months

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Hi, I'm sorry for asking if you've already answered before, but are you going to continue the “Regret” series? Thanks. <3

Yessss i‘m gonna continue it!!

#﹒︵ cht ﹕

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fvsm4x · 2 months

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how’s your leg now love?

also loved the new release!!! it’s so well written, i cried for the reader so much :// ❤️❤️

MY LEG IS ALMOST FULLY HEALED THANKKS FOR ASKINGGG<333

I‘m glad you liked it xx

#﹒︵ cht ﹕

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fvsm4x · 2 months

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Will there be still a Part 5 of Gojo fic? 😭😭😭😭

Yess there will!!!

#﹒︵ cht ﹕

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fvsm4x · 2 months

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❝﹝ ᝰ 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 part 4 ★ ˙ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི.ᐟ﹞

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Your boyfriend, who you loved more than anything, who was your will to live, broke up with you.

｡𝐂.𝐖: ex-boyfriend! Gojo satoru x depressed! female reader , sexual assault , attempted rape , dark themes.

｡𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.2k+

｡𝐀/𝐍: I lied to y‘all, part 5 idk when

taglist: @3zae-zae3 @sexeyess @silkija @dancinhhillary @musicarose @vanevafu @labelt-san @cl16void @feellaaya @animechick555 @nanmiik @ichikanu @cupidszvlvr @pinksaiyans @phoenix666stuff @coffeeluvr96 @alpha-mommy69 @isaacdaholi @xx-rfg-xx @certainduckanchor @ambalikadubeyy-blog @r0ckst4rjk @xxemmarldxx x @starrylibras s @lady-cryptstone @sparklydhokla @hoeforchoso @sweetlilhoshi @getou0309 @n8mareee @integers @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @skittleabyss @softnorth @maliakealoha @avalordream @dazaisfavgf @thebacksack @darkphoenix3432 @mwtsxri @nothisispatrick300 @andioopsworld @sup-hoes-its-me @yihona-san06 @s3r-en-d1p-ity @mandysfanfics @adanfore @rainydayssmokescreens @luvvmae @aquamarine001 @chilichopsticks @tinyjeo @adoretaylor @girlsvvish @misfits1a

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

As you stepped out into the night, the cool breeze brushed against your face, signaling the arrival of darkness and a slight chill in the air. Seeking warmth, you slipped your hands into the pockets of your jacket and began to walk away from your apartment.

The night sky stretched above you, a vast expanse of inky blackness punctuated by the shimmering glow of yellow and white stars. The trees swayed and danced in the cold wind, playfully pushing strands of hair away from your face.

The biting cold weather caused your lips to tremble slightly, and your eyes threatened to release the tears you had been holding back since you were inside your apartment. The wind, instead of offering solace, seemed to intensify your emotions, pushing you closer to the brink of tears.

Why were you crying? Was it because Geto had found someone else? Someone who was more beautiful than you? But deep down, you knew that you didn't have romantic feelings for him. So why did you feel this pang of jealousy? Perhaps it was because he seemed so happy, while you were not.

They appeared to be blissfully happy together, almost too happy. Yes, there was no denying it - you were undeniably jealous. You couldn't help but imagine yourself in their shoes, with Gojo by your side, sharing moments of happiness, embracing each other with radiant smiles and blushing cheeks.

But that reality was no longer possible. Gojo had made it clear that he didn't want you. He had found someone else to shower with his affection. You had hoped to move on, to forget about your feelings for Gojo and find solace in someone like Geto - someone kind, gentle, and reliable, who would never hurt you or betray your trust like Gojo might.

But try as you might, you couldn't bring yourself to love Geto the way you loved Gojo. Gojo still held your heart in his hands, even though you wished he didn't. Why didn't you deserve to be happy? What had you done to deserve this treatment from Gojo? These questions echoed in your mind, leaving you feeling lost and hurt.

The desire for happiness consumed your thoughts, leaving you questioning why it seemed so elusive. It felt as though life had dealt you a cruel hand, and you couldn't help but wonder if you had done something to deserve this constant ache in your heart.

The decision to let Geto live with you in the apartment that Gojo had gifted you now seemed like a double-edged sword. On one hand, it had provided you with a sense of security and companionship during a time when you had nothing and no one. But now, with Geto having found a girlfriend, their presence together in the apartment served as a constant reminder of the past, of the moments you had shared with Gojo.

However, the thought of kicking Geto out of the apartment never crossed your mind. He had been there for you when no one else was, offering you a place to stay and a shoulder to lean on. The debt of gratitude you owed him was immeasurable, and you couldn't bear the thought of hurting him by asking him to leave.

But the reality of the situation was hard to ignore. With Geto now in a relationship, the dynamic between the two of you had shifted. The once frequent and cherished moments you spent together were slowly dwindling, replaced by the presence of his girlfriend. The pain of this change cut deep, reminding you of the void that had been left in your own heart.

It was a bittersweet realization. On one hand, you wanted Geto to find happiness and experience the joy that you had yearned for. But on the other hand, the thought of losing the closeness you once shared with him was almost unbearable. The loneliness that settled in your chest was suffocating, and you couldn't help but wonder if this was the price you had to pay for allowing yourself to love someone who didn't reciprocate those feelings.

As you continued to walk through the night, the weight of your emotions pressed down upon you, making each step feel heavier than the last. The tears that had threatened to spill earlier now streamed freely down your face, mingling with the cool night air. The world around you seemed to blur, as if mirroring the confusion and pain that consumed your thoughts.

In that moment, you longed for a respite from the ache in your heart. You yearned for a glimmer of hope, a sign that happiness was still within reach. But as you trudged forward, the path ahead appeared uncertain, and the darkness seemed to stretch endlessly before you.

As you continued your leisurely stroll down the bustling street, completely engrossed in your own thoughts, an unexpected interruption abruptly jolted you out of your reverie. Without warning, a firm grip seized your arm and forcefully pulled you aside, causing your heart to skip a beat and adrenaline to surge through your veins.

Startled and disoriented, you swiftly pivoted to confront the source of this sudden intrusion, only to find yourself face to face with two imposing figures towering over you. Their intense gazes, marked by dilated pupils and flushed cheeks, betrayed a mixture of desire and mischief. Smirking down at you, their eyes seemed to devour your presence.

One of them, his hand still clasping your arm, gradually allowed his fingers to glide up your forearm, tracing a tantalizing path towards your shoulder. With a deliberate and almost hypnotic motion, he entwined his fingers in your hair, playfully twirling it around his own digit. His voice, laced with a hint of seduction, broke the silence, "What brings such a beautiful lady like yourself here?"

As the words escaped their lips, a shiver ran down your spine, causing your heart to race in your chest. You couldn't help but feel a mix of apprehension and curiosity, unsure of what this encounter would bring. The intensity of the moment seemed to freeze time, leaving you suspended in a state of uncertainty.

Their gaze bore into yours, and you couldn't bring yourself to meet it fully. You felt a knot forming in the pit of your stomach, your thoughts racing as you tried to make sense of the situation. What did they want from you? Why were they looking at you like that? Fear began to grip you, making it difficult to find your voice.

Summoning every ounce of courage you had, you managed to muster a response, your voice trembling with a hint of caution. "What do y-you want from me," you stammered, your words barely audible. You hoped your timidity would shield you from whatever intentions they had.

Their smirks deepened, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of unease. Their amusement was evident, and it only fueled your anxiety. What were they finding so amusing? You felt their presence so close, their breath grazing your ear as they whispered. It sent a chill down your spine, making your heart skip a beat.

„Oh, we're just looking for a little adventure. And it seems we've stumbled upon someone who might be up for it.“

The mixture of fear within you intensified. You knew you had a choice to make, but indecision clouded your thoughts. Should you let fear dictate your actions, or should you embrace the unknown and venture into uncharted territory? The thought of the latter sent waves of panic through you, but there was also a strange allure to the idea.

Summoning all the courage you could find, you forced yourself to meet their gaze, though your eyes quickly darted away.

You mustered a response, your voice barely above a whisper. "Uhm- I don‘t think I‘m up for that little adventure of yours…" Your voice trailed off, your words lacking the conviction you wished you had.

Their eyes sparkled with newfound interest, and you couldn't help but wonder what you had gotten yourself into.

The person standing before you leaned in closer, their eyes sparkling with mischief and a sly smile playing on their lips. Their words were laced with an enticing promise, "Oh, come on," they said, their voice dripping with seduction, "we guarantee that we'll give you an unforgettable experience."

Feeling a surge of discomfort and unease, you instinctively took a step back. Their gaze was fixated on your smaller form, making you feel vulnerable and unsafe. Your lips trembled slightly as you averted their intense gaze, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control.

With every intention of escaping this unsettling situation, you slowly began to walk backwards. But your attempt at retreat was abruptly halted when a hand forcefully grabbed your face, yanking you back towards them. The grip was rough, and it sent shivers down your spine.

"Where do you think you're going, miss?" the person holding your face sneered, their voice dripping with an unsettling mix of dominance and aggression. They pushed you further into their personal space, their other hand wrapping possessively around your waist, leaving no doubt about their intentions.

A whispered plea escaped your lips, your face contorting with fear and your eyes welling up with tears. You knew all too well what they wanted, but you refused to let anyone use your body against your will. The weight of their desires and the intrusion into your personal boundaries felt overwhelming.

Why did these things always seem to happen to you? Why did Gojo have to betray your trust and cheat on you? Why did Geto have to replace you? And now, why did these strangers feel entitled to possess you?

A sense of despair washed over you as you contemplated your seemingly endless streak of misfortune. Perhaps, you thought, you didn't deserve happiness after all. Maybe you were destined to endure these hardships. But deep down, you couldn't fathom what you had done to deserve such torment. The answers eluded you, leaving you feeling lost and helpless.

„P-please let me go.“ you whispered, your trembling hand instinctively reaching out to push against their chest, hoping to create some distance between the two of you. But instead of relenting, they tightened their grip on you, their hold becoming even more suffocating. The room suddenly felt smaller, as if the walls were closing in on you, and the air grew heavy with an unspoken tension. Panic coursed through your veins, causing your heart to race and your thoughts to spiral into a frenzy of fear and desperation.

What had you done to deserve this? Why did it seem like these unfortunate circumstances always found their way into your life? It was as if the universe had conspired against you, casting you as the perpetual victim of misfortune and suffering.

Maybe, just maybe, in another life, you deserved to be happy. Perhaps there was a parallel existence where the scales of fate tipped in your favor, where joy and contentment were your constant companions. It was a fleeting thought, but one that offered a sliver of solace in the midst of your current turmoil.

The hand that had been on your face now moved, sliding down to your neck, gripping it tightly and pushing you closer to the person who had trapped you. Just as their lips were about to meet yours, a voice abruptly chimed in, shattering the tense atmosphere.

"Oi... what the hell do you think you're doing?!" The voice came from behind, and you swiftly turned your head, your heart sinking even further as you recognized the unexpected intruder. It was Gojo. What was he doing here? His presence sent shockwaves through your already tumultuous emotions, leaving you even more bewildered and distressed. His expression mirrored your own surprise, as if he had stumbled upon a scene he hadn't anticipated.

"Get away from her!" Gojo's voice boomed, cutting through the tension like a blade. He swiftly moved towards you, positioning himself as a protective barrier between you and the ominous figure that had threatened you mere moments ago. The stranger, who had been momentarily caught off guard by Gojo's sudden arrival, now wore a scowl, their arrogance faltering.

"This doesn't concern you. Mind your own damn business," they sneered, their voice dripping with disdain. "Give me back the girl. She was certainly enjoying herself," they added, a twisted smirk forming on their lips.

Gojo's gaze shifted from the stranger to you, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of your tear-stained face, frozen in fear and anguish. His protective instincts kicked into high gear, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Enjoying it? I don't think so," he retorted, his voice laced with a mixture of fury and concern. "Look at her—she's fucking crying."

The question echoed in your mind, reverberating with confusion and disbelief. Why was Gojo, of all people, coming to your aid? What compelled him to intervene in this dangerous situation? But in that moment, as you stood there, vulnerable and broken, his unexpected support offered a glimmer of hope.

"These are happy tears," the man sneered, taking a menacing step towards Gojo and aiming a punch at his face. With lightning-fast reflexes, Gojo caught the man's fist and twisted his hand, eliciting a cry of pain from his adversary.

"Happy tears, huh? More like pain tears," Gojo growled, forcefully throwing the man to the ground before turning to confront your shocked and motionless figure.

As Gojo stood before you, his eyes blazing with determination, he extended a hand towards you, offering his help. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

"I-I'm okay- thank you," you muttered, taking a step back from him. Confusion and a whirlwind of emotions churned inside you as you struggled to make sense of the situation. The man who had replaced you, who had broken your heart, was now standing before you offering assistance. Memories flooded back, the pain of his betrayal still fresh in your mind. Where was his girlfriend? Why was he here?

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over, and you quickly wiped them away, refusing to let him see your vulnerability. You couldn't bear the thought of appearing weak in front of him, especially after three long months of trying to move on from the heartbreak.

Feeling a mix of embarrassment and anger, you turned away from Gojo, avoiding his gaze, and took a step forward to leave him behind. But just as you thought you could escape, a hand grasped your wrist, halting your movements.

As you turned around, your eyes met Gojo's figure standing there, his posture tense, his gaze lowered, and his expression a mix of emotions. His voice was gentle as he released your wrist and asked, "Hey... are you sure you're okay?" His concern was palpable, evident in the way he studied your tear-swollen eyes, a clear indication of recent distress.

Gojo's heart twisted at the sight of your tears, aching with the uncertainty of their cause. Was it his fault, or the dangers you had faced? The sight of you in pain tore at him, leaving him feeling helpless in his desire to ease your suffering. Despite the complexities of your shared history, his instinct to protect and console you remained unwavering, even though he felt clueless about how to mend the fractures in your heart.

"I'm fine, thank you for your help," you replied, avoiding his gaze, the weight of the moment suffocating you. You just wanted to escape the intensity of the situation. The air around you felt heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, creating a tension that seemed to thicken with each passing moment.

"Hey... um," Gojo began, his voice soft as he struggled to find the right words. His fist clenched as he averted his gaze, his internal turmoil evident in the way his brows furrowed with self-reproach. The silence between you was pregnant with unspoken apologies and unaddressed grievances, adding layers of complexity to an already fraught interaction.

"I messed up, I'm sorry," Gojo finally admitted, his voice tinged with regret and a hint of desperation. The vulnerability in his tone was a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor, revealing a side of him that you rarely saw – a side that was raw and exposed, stripped of its usual facade.

Your eyes widened at his admission, your heart racing with a mix of emotions. You searched his face for any signs of deception but found none. The lines of worry etched on his face, the sincerity in his eyes, all seemed to point towards a genuine remorse that tugged at your heartstrings, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you.

"I'm so, so sorry, y/n," Gojo continued, his brow furrowed with genuine remorse. "I know I've hurt you in ways I may never fully comprehend. I can't erase the past, but I want you to know that I truly regret everything I've done." His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths and unaddressed wounds, creating a palpable tension that seemed to envelop the space between you.

You listened to his words, sensing the sincerity in his voice, yet the wounds he had inflicted remained raw. You were torn between the hope of reconciliation and the fear of trusting him again. The foundation of trust that once bound you together had been shattered, leaving behind a jagged edge that seemed impossible to mend.

As Gojo stood before you, his apology hanging in the air, each word felt like a heavy weight on your shoulders, a painful reminder of the hurt he had caused. Memories of being replaced, evicted, losing your job, and discovering his betrayal flooded your mind, a storm of pain and betrayal you had tried to bury. The ache in your chest grew with each passing moment, the conflicting emotions swirling within you like a turbulent sea.

"I'm sorry, please give me another chance," Gojo pleaded, taking your hand in his, holding on as if his life depended on it. His touch was warm against your skin, a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled between you. The weight of his hand in yours felt both comforting and suffocating, a reminder of the bond that had once held you together, now frayed and fragile.

As you felt his hand in yours, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. The warmth of his touch stirred memories of happier times, of shared laughter and stolen moments of intimacy. But beneath the surface, a current of pain and betrayal still lingered, threatening to pull you under.

You looked into Gojo's eyes, searching for answers, for a glimpse of the man you once knew. His gaze was earnest, his expression a mix of regret and determination. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored the turmoil in your own heart, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness.

"I don't know if I can," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. The weight of his apology, of the past that loomed between you, felt like a heavy burden you weren't sure you could bear. The wounds he had inflicted ran deep, leaving scars that seemed impossible to heal.

The realization that Gojo had a girlfriend sent a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through you. Doubt and insecurity gnawed at your insides as you grappled with the implications of his relationship status. Would he betray her with you again, repeating a cycle of deceit and hurt? The mere thought of being entangled in such a web of deception made your stomach churn with unease.

His words echoed in your mind, a cruel reminder of the comparison he had drawn between you and his girlfriend. "She's better than you," he had said, a dagger to your already wounded heart. The question lingered like a shadow in your thoughts - if she was indeed better, why did he seek you out again? Was it a game to him, a twisted manipulation of emotions that would end with you cast aside once more?

"You have a girlfriend," you spoke, your voice tinged with a mix of hurt and skepticism. "Right now, it feels like you're just repeating the same pattern that hurt me before."

His grip on your hand tightened, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness evident in his touch. The warmth of his thumb tracing soothing circles on your palm offered a sense of reassurance amidst the storm of emotions swirling between you.

"I know it's complicated, and I understand your hesitation," Gojo began, his voice tinged with regret. "I never intended to hurt you. But being with her made me realize the depth of my mistakes with you. I can't change the past, but I want to make amends, if you'll allow me."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the unspoken questions and doubts that clouded your mind. Would history repeat itself, with Gojo playing with your emotions once more before discarding you like before? The memory of past wounds still fresh, the scars still tender, made it hard to trust in the sincerity of his intentions.

Gojo's gaze met yours, his eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions - remorse, longing, and a glimmer of hope. His grip on your hand remained firm, a silent plea for a second chance, for understanding, for forgiveness.

"Me and her broke up," he confessed, his eyes avoiding yours as he gazed down at the ground, his expression pained.

As he uttered those words, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swept through your mind. Did he seek you out because he wanted to rebound from his recent breakup? Would he just use you as a temporary replacement until someone better came along, only to discard you once again?

You knew deep down that you deserved more than being someone's second choice. You craved genuine love and loyalty, to be someone's priority and not just a convenient option to fill a void.

The ache in your heart intensified at the realization that Gojo had only turned to you because of his recent breakup.

"S-so, you only want me back because you're no longer with your girlfriend? How could you- play with my feelings like this…?" you questioned, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

As you stood there, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air, you couldn't help but feel a mix of anger, hurt, and confusion swirling within you. Memories of the past flooded your mind - the times he had come to you for comfort, the moments of laughter and intimacy you had shared. But now, it all felt tainted by the realization that perhaps it had all been a facade, a temporary distraction for him until something better came along.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your trembling voice as you continued to confront him. "I thought what we had was real, that you cared for me beyond just a temporary fix. But now, I see that I was just a convenient option for you to turn to when things got tough with her.."

His eyes met yours, a flicker of guilt and regret passing through them. "I didn't mean to hurt you..p-please," he began, his voice filled with remorse.

But your walls were up now, your heart guarded against further pain. "Intentions don't erase the damage done," you replied, tears spilling down your face.

„At least give me a new chance- I promise…I‘ll be better..please..-“ he begged, falling to his knees and looking up at you.

As he knelt before you, his voice filled with desperation and his eyes brimming with tears, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. His words tugged at your heartstrings, stirring up memories of happier times and the love you had once shared. Despite the pain and betrayal you had experienced, a part of you still longed for the connection you had with him.

His hand holding onto yours felt familiar, comforting in its own way. You could feel the intensity of his emotions radiating off him, his vulnerability laid bare before you. The urge to comfort him, to offer reassurance and forgiveness, warred with the anger and hurt that still lingered within you.

You gazed into his pleading eyes, searching for sincerity and remorse. The guilt began to gnaw at you, whispering that perhaps he deserved a second chance, that people make mistakes and can change. The inner turmoil threatened to overwhelm you, clouding your judgment and weakening your resolve.

A part of you wanted to believe his promises of change, to hope that things could be different this time. The idea of rebuilding what was broken, of finding a way back to the love you once shared, flickered in the depths of your heart. But another part of you, the part that had been wounded and scarred by his actions, hesitated to let down your guard once more.

But it wouldn‘t hurt to give him a second chance, right..?

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fvsm4x · 2 months

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Part 4 of maybe in another life will probably be the last chapter !

#[♡’—𝐦𝐚𝐱‘𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬｡•́]#I only wrote 2.5k words so far…#writers block hitting hard rn #i rlly have no motivation to continueing writing but oh well

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fvsm4x · 2 months

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⋅♡⸝ CUPID’S QUIVER.

love is blind, but it sees all. although satoru should know better, love becomes a lunacy he clings to until he can’t anymore.

🏹 f!reader ⊹ semi-curse, mythology au ⊹ angst/tragedy. semi-fluff. soft smut. strangers to lovers ⇝ lovers to exes ⊹ dc. semi-yandere!satoru; he follows reader around a lot lol ⊹ 18+ heavy making out. soft sexual language. body worship. whiny!satoru for the agenda ⊹ satoru is eros + ares, love/war god. blends aspects of cupid x psyche lore + jjk cts concept. some religious undertones? i kinda stitched different myths together like a quilt ⊹ reader is a museum curator/director ⊹ 15.5k ⊹ footnote. wow can’t believe i finished this after sitting on this idea for like half a year. we ball! ෆ header. ෆ playlist.

꒰ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ! ꒱

ACT I. UNDER THE GAZE OF LUDUS, BY SONG OF ITS LAUGHTER.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is fickle, love is knowing. it lives and dies a thrilling spectacle.

SATORU.

the delirium bred from gentleness. it inspires, emboldens, and molds the fiery depths of passion in its hands. but love is a screeching sticky thing, all madness and frenzy nonetheless, coated in complicated and bittersweet nectar that clings to whatever it dares to touch. love is satoru.

of course, satoru knows of love, embodies everything it both is and has the potential to become if made free and not contained within the divinity of his spirit. he knows that love is saccharine sweet and he knows the grip it leaves behind in flesh is bloodied, a talon embedded impossibly deep. it’s not the type of thing that breathes or expands in languid pulsations; it grasps and digs and pours, flooding you with its delusion. but a mouthpiece for mania. love is the world satoru sees through his six eyes, all contained and divided in his left eye and right — his eros, one called ardor ꒰with its three eyes: mania, pragma, and ludus ꒱, and ares ꒰with its three eyes: alecto, tisiphone, and megaera ꒱. love is the thick, enchanted fabric that serves as a holding for them both. cupid’s quiver, that’s what the other gods taunt — but still, their breaths catch in their throats if he motions to pull off the sheath, to unleash the world he sees on all of the others in quick and inescapable shots, the tips of blue and red eros mingling and devouring until the world is made hollow by an incendiary purple. of course, he stops himself and forbids such an outcome. after all, love is patient; love is kind. but of course, he rivals with the temptation of it, too. after all, love is greedy; love is evil. as long as he loves, there will always exist a degree of love that is something akin to hatred. truth be told, more than anything, satoru hates the gods and wishes he could leave them all to crumble under the weight of his influence, but he doesn’t want to be stuck with managing the chaos he would create with his otherwise innocent glances. and the old gods would surely try to punish him even more. he can’t find the adoration in dancing around destruction. there’s no delight in dysfunction. as such, he can’t bring himself to fold in a despicable and foolish fashion. instead, he both hides and dwells in a comfort zone — a place that’s more a margin between worlds, crafted just for him by kenjaku the phanes himself, a limbo of sorts he can stretch at will. he calls it his infinity, an endless space where he chooses to gaze upon both the mortal world and the divine. it keeps him out of harm’s way, keeps him from being made into a weapon, and keeps him from making grave mistakes like falling prey to the devastation of his own curses again. he’s not immune to a desire and need for love. he tries to satisfy his urges by living vicariously through others and satiates his impulses of distaste through semi-harmless trickery. sometimes, he tugs the left side of his quiver and lets out a soft call to signal his favorite eros, ardor. ꒰ when there’s no will, which of its eyes will peek falls to the whims of the eros. ꒱ “red,” he’ll breathe it quietly, eyes locked on a target. he’ll feel the pressure building in the center of his eye for only a moment before a shining strip of red gleams across the space between him and his target, his eros piercing through time and space to reach its mark. when it hits — depending on the strength of his eros and which of its eyes he wills to gaze — it gives the mark a burst of affection, a rush of hormones, a flutter in their chest that explodes into unyielding devotion, or perhaps, it merely sows the seeds for love to flourish and ferment — ardor does have a bias for yearning. other times, he calls himself distributing “fair misfortune” by finding individuals undeserving of ardor’s loving embrace and instead making them familiar with its cold shadow, his other eros, ares. “blue,” he’ll whisper as if afraid to be heard in the cube of his eternal silence. he’ll carefully lift the fabric over his right eye, the building of the same pressure but thicker, and he’ll watch his spiteful eros seethe and slice through anything to reach its mark. it offers only distaste on the tip of the tongue of your desired, a petulant weapon that embodies all of existence with the smallest degree of love.

all that remains is anger and confusion, disgust and despair, revulsion and repulsion. neither of his eros ever misses a shot, but these are delights he’s only supposed to indulge in sparingly, and harmlessly. that is, until right now, as he stands in front of yuki the aphrodite, staring at her beautifully crude expression with disdain. he tries to process her odd request. “you want me to do what now?” satoru asks again, face bunching in perplexity. yuki sighs, evidently agitated by satoru’s response and demeanor. she’s always been a peculiar goddess to him, always adored and admired but never understood. no one could ever make sense of her motives, and for being the embodiment of beauty and pleasure, satoru has never seen her act in light of a beautiful spirit or intent. her poise gleams with a chimerical radiance but satoru knows her heart is a shadowless void. in front of him, she lies prettily across pearly marble, draped in robes threaded by the shimmer of stars the astraeus personally plucked from the cosmos for her. yuki’s light-colored hair flows in fluffy waves that sink to the floor, a perfect golden river to watch flow down. “you heard me. find the mortal girl choso dares to claim’s beauty can rival mine and shoot her with one of your little eros, make her fall in love with a pig or something — nothing cute, either, something ugly and brutish, one that smells of grime — and return to me so i can see for myself.” the aphrodite is ruled by her pride, by her demand to be revered and highly regarded, acknowledged for power with only insidiousness to show for it. satoru believes gods that practice no restraint and show no mercy exemplify the very things he detests about his precious blue eros, his ares. at least ares is contained, albeit forcibly. satoru’s eyes are glistening, crystalline prisons each of his eros lives behind. “i see you’ve lost your mind to vanity entirely.” satoru grumbles. “i won’t be doing that.” “what?” yuki sneers, nose squishing in irritation. with a sympathetic hum, satoru shakes his head. “i won’t be doing that and i’m insulted you’d think to even ask me — or rather, demand of me. i’m not one of your little things, yuki.” satoru stands upright, shoulders squared as he sees yuki clearly through the fabric covering his eyes. he’s immune to her wiles with his quiver, he’s found. but still, she makes him unbearably nervous. “satoru, do you forget who you speak to? i am beauty and pleasure embodied! you would really think to reject my request?” he looks around for a moment. “uh…yes. do you forget who you speak to? if you’re beauty and all the subsequent notions, why do you even care how a mortal girl’s prettiness measures?” “well,” she huffs, sitting upright, a perfect pout on her lips that any other man would become a pool of liquid over. “choso believes such a thing. choso.” confused, satoru just stares. “and that’s negating your divinely bestowed perfection how?” yuki’s frustration erupts and a cloudy fluff comes flying at his head. satoru doesn’t flinch and doesn’t move as the object hits the barrier of his infinity, and then the floor, in a soundless heap. “if you, a literal love god, can’t fathom why i don’t want choso’s eyes to stray from me, then you’re no god but a pitiful fool!” she wails. satoru sighs. “i have more important things to do in that realm than help you bully mortal girls at your discretion for taking one of your many lovers’ attention away from you without knowing you exist.” yuki clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. “you do nothing there worth mentioning. you merely fooled kenjaku the phanes into making you a precious domain to dwell in. you’re perfectly protected from everything while nothing is protected from you, if you don’t want them to be. don’t mock me when you’re a coward fashioned as a god.”

satoru didn’t fool kenjaku, per se, but he certainly exploited his favor by exaggerating the peril associated with his capacity, so much so that kenjaku the phanes gave him a prison realm to lock himself in or free himself from at will. he goes into it habitually with a thick will but seldom contains the will to be released. it is for his safety; it is for the safety of others. but it’s more a place he can breathe freely without the fear and disdain others regularly teem with when near him. he can feel all of it, and does. being a god does not make him indestructible to the irrational whims of emotion. in fact, satoru would argue that being a creature of love’s spectrum means he is the irrational whims of emotions. ꒰ he can never teeter too far in either direction, lest kenjaku take the privilege of his will from infinity; then, he’ll only have endless imprisonment. of course, satoru can never let the other gods know of this clause, as he’s certain they’ll betray him before geto the helios’s sun sets across the pillowy skies. ꒱ the other gods are bitter, but satoru’s unusual manifestation of his divine might is deeply concerning. ꒰ when he was born, gods gouged out their eyes to be free of his gaze, to be liberated from the understanding that whether his eros of madness or bliss would strike is unknown, but the degree of its damage is devastation and ruin. brilliance followed by a rapid decay. he only controls them with his quiver. should it be taken, it would set all of chaos free in every blink. ꒱ so, what yuki says isn’t false, but it isn’t true, either. any other time, satoru would have left the vain aphrodite unfulfilled and physically shaking with the pain of his rejection, but today, satoru’s interest is admittedly piqued.

what mortal could possibly surpass beauty and grace itself?

“i’ll go see this girl, and if she’s of threat, i’ll indulge your dreadful desires, but if she’s nothing short of a mortal girl who commits no crime against humanity nor divinity by challenging your appearance — which i’m certain of — then…i’ll simply leave you to suffer the same fate as toji the apollo for wasting my time.” her eyes go wide at the sight of his nonchalant shrug and she gasps. “you! you beast of a man! honestly! you preach and prattle about this and that only to threaten to use your eros to make my lover despise me and repel my presence after making me lovesick for them? i can be no worse than you.” “objectively false, you can. and are. but it’s irrelevant to argue.” he grouses with a deep sigh. “i regretfully ask…what do you know of her?” satoru’s sickened by both the perfection and menace in her grin, but yuki lulls her head back to bask in the warmth of geto the helios’ sun.

the first time he sees you, it feels a little jarring. guided by the hands of geto’s sun, satoru finds you quickly. his awe ricochets around his spirit, bouncy and delighted, but his gaze on you — everything about you is pristine, vivid and vibrant. it stirs something in him, makes his chest erupt with fluttering feelings and feathery tickles. for a being born of the flawed, you’re too close to perfect. you’re the furthest from aphrodite and yet, your own charms are whimsical and songlike, your aura chiming around you in a sweet symphony that falls upon his spirit and strikes him with wonder. inside of a large building where the art of painters and sculptors alike are displayed, an ode to the apollo no doubt, you wander tirelessly with a chipper smile on your face and a skip in your step. your joy never falters and neither do you. your eyes are twinkling like you woke and strung the flickers of dying stars inside them for good measure. giddy, cheeks full with elation like you’re gluttonous for it. you smile and smile, and everyone smiles with you, for you, because of you. admirably charming, hands sweep around you in a flurry while your mouth makes shapes and babbles out words he can’t make out. satoru gauges your context through rigourous observation: the motions of your arms, the twitch of your smile, the little spark of curiosity in your eyes or the determination that combusts there, too. for a blink, satoru understands yuki’s frustrations with your existence. he stands there, a dreadful stirring in his heart, emotions twisting and knotting until they squeeze tight in his gut and make his right eye thrum. all of these people get to speak to you. their ears get to taste the drizzling honey of your voice. they get to receive the unfurling tenderness in their hearts from direct eye contact with you. it makes him feel ill, disgustingly ill. right away, he hates it. he becomes the pinnacle of what it means to detest. he does understand that such feelings are unreasonable, but neither love nor war is a source of reason, only madness. so of course, in self-interest and personal eccentricities ꒰ with a pinch of spite toward yuki the aphrodite to sate the crueller parts of him ꒱, he decides to watch you, to observe you closely and with great focus. for a moment, he becomes your adoring shadow, hiding within infinity’s soundless clutch where you can’t hear or see him and he’s only able to capture faint murmurs of you. he’s grateful he can see you, that no matter where you go, he can simply follow. with his limits, of course. ꒰ he’s no sukuna the zeus and certainly no yuki the aphrodite. ꒱ satoru can still admire you like this, enamored and elusive. well, until he’s standing next to you, glancing over your shoulder to read the same words you do and imagining the embosoming sound of your voice as you read them, when you turn to face him. you jolt and jump, a feathery yelp, then immediately look up at him with a soft smile, blinking to reclaim the loss in your composure. your lips are misshapen by the fright you swallow down as you take notice of him. “oh goodness! you scared me. d-do you need help with anything?” satoru stands there, dazed and stupefied for a few reasons:

one. you can see him, which means he let his will to keep his infinity standing tall waver. two. your voice is drenched in silky allure, a touch of benevolence over a thick layer of compassion. three. you’re utterly bewitching, a spellbinding loveliness that lingers. four. he can sense your saffron ghost seeping into spaces it shouldn’t; he knows the scent of you will be what haunts him.

a small gasp, your words threaded by worry as you cautiously place a hand on his arm. “sir, do you have a visual impairment? did you lose your aid?” “no, no,” satoru breathes. “i see quite clearly. my eyes…they’re…sensitive.” you blink, riddled with confusion. “sensitive?” taking in his words, you hurriedly take a step back from him, a flimsy infinity of your own to keep him out. he’s no sukuna, so he’ll respect the obvious boundary you’re placing. “then…” your voice trails, quieter now, a lullaby’s endeavor, cautious but calculating as you observe him. “is there something you’re looking for?” and satoru isn’t entirely certain why, but he feels bashful, embarrassed, and ashamed. the tint of roseate spills across his face, filling the point of his nose and cheeks. then, in an instant, he’s gone from your vision, safely tucked behind a thick wall of space and time, watching your eyes go round with astonishment, paralyzed and unable to speak. he watches you blink at the spot he stood for a few minutes before you slowly reach your hand out and run it through the space. satoru, amused but still flustered, can’t fight the breathy chuckle that tumbles out of him. he watches the alarm contort your face, finding your deep state of confusion adorable by every perceivable measure. a beauty that rivals that of the aphrodite? no, one that surpasses it.

ACT II. A GARDEN IN WHICH ONLY MANIA BLOOMS.

love is blind but it sees all; love is protection, love is obsession. it snarls as much as it sings. it bares teeth to smile and to bite down.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is an open palm, love is a tight fist. it clings to only notions that mean it will persist.

SATORU.

satoru feels that keeping his closeness is inevitable. his presence becomes more like a game he plays with you. you wander around and he matches your every step, a lingering thing that follows you pathetically and waits for you to look for him, waits for your inquisitive, questioning eyes to sweep the span of the room in knowing suspicion, remembering him and his interesting marvels. his disappearing acts. aside from that, he can feel the way your heart yearns for an explanation, as desire is a direct line to he and the favor of ardor. his heart thumps each time he’s flooded with the feeling of your meek tug on him. the warmth of you is always everywhere then, filling and shaping around his bones. he likes to appear before you when he catches you ruminating about him, when you wrestle with your notions in your lonesome as if to breed the thought that he was summoned by you rather than obsessively taking every step with you. he only does it when you’re at this place where your labor is kindness and assistance, watching you relentlessly. only when you’re here, only when you come to this altar where toji the apollo himself would weep at the worship mortals have made of his artistic devotions. only when you willfully become part of this public spectacle. it feels fair and respectfully intrusive.

since we’re all here to observe you.

that’s his discipline with himself, how he stops his heart from rotting from the pleasures of luxuriating in the sight of you, how he stops ardor or ares from making a mess of his divinity entirely, both monsters but harmless so long as he maintains his sanity. a smirk as his infinity dissolves. “are you thinking about me again?” satoru never tires of the way you squeak when he casually unveils himself. only fondness ferments in his chest when your eyes widen and your hands fly over your mouth to conceal the sound of sharp surprise. you always stare at him in awe for a moment. “you,” you murmur, your hand pointing right at him. satoru sighs with a smile. “me,” he watches you go through the motions of disbelief — slapping your own face and pinching your cheeks to test the limits of your dreams. “why do you keep doing this?” you inquire in distress, brows furrowed as you clutch your head in your hands. “are you a ghost?” satoru can’t fight the way his lips curl into a smile as he cracks a heart-shimmering laugh. “you think i’m an apparition?” “i don’t know what i think!” you whisper harshly, eyes pointing around the perimeter as you fear being heard talking to yourself. again. “okay? but there’s no way you’re real. i’m losing it.” “real or false, you worry about the wrong things, i fear.” he informs you as he rests in a seat. “i keep telling you exactly who i am.” you give him a hard look, one that he adores as much as the smile you reserve for your patrons, and you snort. “as if i believe you’re the love god, cupid.” “cupid is such a weak-willed name you mortals have plagued me with. even the other gods spite me over it. it’s nowhere near as bolstering as satoru the eros, love and war’s divine archer.” he announces himself in a wistful voice that makes the corner of your mouth subtly twitch. your face painted in feigned surprise, you ask, “you? a divine archer?” “yes, me. a divine archer. is that amusing?” his head leans to the side as he notes your biting smile. “no, no,” you shake your head. “it’s just…you don’t seem like the kind with good aim? you know, perpetual blindfold and all.” satoru huffs a laugh. “looks are as deceiving as love and war.” “hm…” you look him over critically, a finger resting against your chin before you motion at his body. “if you’re cupid and an archer, where’s your bow? and your arrows? wings? why aren’t you more cherub-like?” satoru’s lips curl and curve in disgust of your notion. “cherub-like? i’d rather die. i don’t need your useless, manmade tools. my eyes are my bow; the eyes of my eyes are my arrows. this perpetual blindfold is a quiver that holds them, lest i douse the world in the devoted delusions of love in its totality and leave it bleeding out war, an endless wound that cannot dissolve until nothing is left. you would never want to see my wings. it would mean the aforementioned.” baffled and mortified, that’s how his tactless remarks leave you. you awkwardly squeak and clamp your lips shut tight, looking down as your eyes squint in confusion. “i…forget i asked.” you jostle your head as if to shake away the memory of his admission. “even if you actually are cupid, your true title’s too long. carving it in stone and etching it in gold would’ve been a big hassle for such a morbid freak.” satoru’s eyes narrow, masked by his quiver. “are you mocking me, pretty thing?” “considering i think i’ve lost my mind, i’m mocking myself.” you grumble and grip your head. “how do i make you go away? how do i get you out of my mind?” he hums, a finger tapping on his chin before he shrugs and chirps, “you don’t.” you pause, cocking your head to the side. “what do you mean?”

“i mean…” he stands and stretches to his full height. “i’ve taken an interest in you, and i don’t see myself growing apathetic anytime soon. the scandal of it all is thrilling enough; everyone in the olympus murmurs about the mortal girl that supposedly rivals even aphrodite’s beauty, but only myself and two others have actually seen you. i can’t say i’ve had my fill of being greedy with you.” for a moment you’re quiet, staring at him as you take in his words. then, you clutch your gut as you begin bellowing. you laugh so loudly it startles him. it sends him into the center of a blossoming, though, an abrupt descent. the sound of it makes his heart burst with a fondness so sweet, his head feels airy and light. if you could see his eyes, you would witness the moment he falls into a pool of ensnared devotion and drowns. instead, you hear him huff as his palms curl into tender fists. “now i know you’re lying.” you say through giggles. “is this an elaborate pick-up scheme? me, a rival of aphrodite’s beauty? who says that?” even his irritation is polluted by admiration and passion. “it’s only the truth. you caught the eye of choso the aether. that’s one of the gods the aphrodite enjoys tinkering with so it’s left her feeling embarrassed and looked down on. she wants me to have a look at you…and humble you.” “h-humble me?” you sputter nervously, every spark of humor dying on your breath. it doesn’t take an oracle to determine the conclusion you arrive at. satoru shakes his head, stepping closer out of instinct. of course, you aren’t aware of how grossly comfortable he’s become ingulding in your proximity. he rests a palm on your head, the weight of it making you groan. “your pretty head is full of useless worries. i’ll never harm you in any way.” it’s the first time satoru truly touches you. everything sings; everything shines. all of it shimmers. your brows bunch and your nose wrinkles, an adorable habit he stores away. “then…are you really just here to watch me?” “eh, no,” he shakes his head, grinning. “i’m intended to make you fall in love with something as hideous and unsightly as yuki’s bruised perception wishes you were, but i’ve decided i won’t indulge her antics of vanity this time.” he pats your head and withdraws, afraid to take too much too soon, afraid for his already consuming desire to become so willfully edacious. you give him a pointed look but your eyes never leave him. “but you’ll indulge yourself?” satoru grins and gives a simple response, one he stuffs to its brim with rhapsody and playfulness as it slips from his lips. “without hesitation. i didn’t find you first but i’ll be the one to keep you.” “who knew a love god would be so shameless.” his response is a recital, an avowal memorized in its every angle by his tongue, without falter, something embedded he exhumes just to dedicate to you. large hands cradle your face, his voice a poem unraveling, “love is blind but it sees all; love is pride, love is humility. it stands, stretched to the full height of its glory, and it kneels, sinking into the depths of its reverence.” satoru watches your moony expression form and his lips curve. “you don’t even know me.” you murmur, wispy and uncertain but still coated in captivation. quipped from a clever god, “then tell me what you want me to know. i’ll master you — mind, body, and spirit. whatever you wish.” you stare, concern filling your every breath, tainting every second you spend peering into him. blinking, you watch him before your eyes flicker down. “this…this isn’t real. it can’t be.” “so you circle back to doubt?” satoru snickers, pulling away from you as he observes you with a cocked head. “have i truly not convinced you of my existence? surely you don’t believe if i were an apparition that you, in all your naivety and mortality, would even have the means to perceive me.” your face drops, possibly insulted by truth. “are you calling me weak and stupid?”

“weak? yes. although, you really can’t help it. you mortals are born a frail people. stupid? i wouldn’t assign such an attribute to you, no.” you huff, indignant, and look off to the side. “whatever you’re implying, i resent it.” “you’re merely human. you have shortcomings you can’t help and sight in which you lack. not to ring the horn of hubris, but should you not show gratitude to a god that chooses you to gaze upon him?” you stare at him blankly before asking — no, sneering, “should i have to show gratitude for being followed home and watched?” a foolish grin. “i’ve never followed you home. rest assured, i keep a tight grip on my own vices. i try to behave from time to time.” “is that so?” you grumble, disbelieving. “it is so.” satoru sighs, his tone resolute and carved out of his disgust. “i’m a god of love, not of perversities. i’m no sukuna the zeus. i would rather you think me an apparition, a falsehood, than be thrown into a cast of similarities with him.” there’s traces of a laugh bubbling up, but you cough it away, much to satoru’s amusement. “is…zeus as awful as the myths say?” “it depends on what they say, but he’s likely worse.” satoru grouses in disdain. sukuna the zeus is not one with an ounce of good or mercy in his heart. born a monster of a god with a taste for man, sukuna has shown he only wishes to watch all the realms move to the tune of his malevolent volatility. you take a breath and plop down to rest in your chair at the small personal table. “i can’t believe this is my life. sitting in my office talking to a love god about the sincere realities of mythology and deities.” he hums, perching himself on the corner of the table. “does this not make you blessed?” “being followed around sounds closer to a curse.” he lies, because love is honest but love is deceiving. “i have important duties to tend to, i’ll have you know. i don’t waste all my spare time observing your precious whims.” it’s a blatant, seething lie, a vibrant and colorful one he’ll parade as the truth to preserve his pride. he does waste all his spare time observing your every whim. he’s honest in his commutes, not ever following you home outside the walls of this dimly-lit den. although, the desire to eats away at him. ares howls frequently in the night. there’s force in the pull your passing thoughts have on him, but he can never tell you how you leave indents in his spirit whenever you think of him, whenever you ruminate on your musings of his eyes, your irrepressible thirst to see them and name their pigment, when you’re lost in your wonderings of him, when you yearn for his peculiar presence. all of it makes him putty. all of it squeezes and stretches him. all of it changes his shape. “w-well, if you’re going to keep this up, i obviously can’t stop you. i ask that you maintain respectful boundaries, including not appearing so abruptly before me.” satoru merely smiles down at you —smitten— absolutely adoring you in every way. “i will…abide by whatever words you wish to use as chains to keep me here.” emboldened by your charm and indulging a bit too much in his own ardor’s blissful blood, satoru grabs your hands, cradles them in his own as he peers into your glittering eyes. it’s then that he notices the way you look back at him as if you can see right through every barrier he’s made, every one that was forced on him, every one he hid behind. right to the core of him. it feels like although he controls the war brewing in his irises by tucking his weapons behind a sheath, he doesn’t have to hide. not from you. he conceals his eyes but you look at him as if they gaze bare. satoru brings your soft fingers to his lips, supple flesh tingling against your hands with the soothing vibrations of the cosmos. “i will…” he breathes. “…adore you, if you allow me. protect you with my life. make your heart as immortal as mine in the way i only speak eternal devotion over you.”

enchanted, your lips part and he feels the way yearning passes through first in a soft pant. he feels you pulling on him, tugging on his heartstrings. making his eros tremble. ardor’s will to pledge fealty to the flutter of your lashes as you wake; ares’ promise to ravage all that oppose or threaten you. instead of accepting his declaration, you ask, “w-what’s so special about me? what do you do that’s so uninteresting that you would…adore me, of all things. of all people.” what does he do in the time he’s away? a sleepless god, he waits until you leave for rest to find other things to do. he goes where love calls him, where it pulls him closer and begs for his embrace. “i love, of course. i do my best to keep war from erupting as a result of it by helping others love in doses. i watch, mostly. sometimes i play.” you ask, with an airy tone of confusion, “play?” he nods. “as i’m a war god, i have to release my inevitable frustrations somewhere. gently, of course. i wouldn’t want to leave the world in ruin…again.” satoru chuckles, soft lips leaving feathery kisses all along your fingers. one. two. three blinks. a frantic whisper. “leave…the world in ruin? again?” suddenly, you pull your hands from his grasp and he lets them slip through. he isn’t surprised by your reaction. in retrospect, perhaps he should have eased you into that fact. you seem to be in disbelief over his identity already. “well, yes. there was a time when i was a young god that traipsed the heavens and below causing all the trouble i could with my eros. i’ve matured so don’t concern yourself with my past.” it’s then that the door swings open to your office. as fast as they push through, satoru’s infinite prison is up. the sudden streams of voices become muffled, dull and blurry. he watches you, a look of deep contempt taking his expression as you keep glancing right where he stands — when you could see him before these new mortals came to interrupt — before they bulldozed through to steal your eyes and attention away from him again. gritted teeth and a clenched fist, this is how he’s left to stand. ares simmers at the slight of it all, the derogative undertones in satoru not having you to himself when he wants and having to accept such a condition without qualms. satoru adores you, thinks the words you speak make you shine brighter than geto’s sun. he thinks the way you smile would make yuki the aphrodite vengeful. but he hates being at the mercy of you and your fragille, mortal dealings. he wants you back right now. ardor soothes him, reminds him of his commandments while he waits and watches you tensely. like a mantra, he hears it over and over until his breathing steadies.

love is blind but it sees all; love is tender smiles and loosened flesh, love is temperance and tolerance. it is the willingness we make labors of.

it doesn’t take much time before satoru becomes visibly perturbed by the constant intrusions and obligations that stand in the way of the words he wants to hear flutter from your lips, velvet petals of sweet sentiment falling softly over him. instead, his efforts are often interrupted, often put on hold or silenced to tend to the incompetence of your underlings. it’s becoming tiresome; he makes no move to hide his grievance. he tells himself to breathe. he can feel something monstrous and thick filling his gut. a sludge of an emotion, weighing on all of him, stickiness slinking up the cavity of his torso, caching all of him. it takes every modicum of his will not to be petulant and do the same with you, pull you into the walls of his infinity, an extension of the lover’s prison, so only he has the privilege of gazing over the object of his affection and obsession. you — the one who inspires the poetry in his blood to boil. ares hums within him, makes his right eye feel heavy, delighted by the envious rush and what it makes satoru envision.

she’ll never have the time i deserve with her, that belongs to me. it would be an easy problem to solve. she’ll hate me of my own accord.

of course, ardor reminds him of love’s addictive embrace, to loosen his grip to maintain his strong footing. acts of war are easy, but acts of love feel better. he prefers it. he prefers you. to all others. he knows what it means to have you and the sacrifice that comes with keeping you. a pretty and sparkling treasure, laden with novelty for him to marvel at and little mechanisms that make him feel content. together. he takes a deep breath, and finds himself unclenching his hands as he sits, stretching his fingers to loosen the tension. satoru closes his eyes; he meditates on ardor’s fervent whispers which usually he subdues to know mental clarity and peace.

love is patient; love is kind. love holds the weight of its temptations.

in contrast, ares seethes.

love is imposing; love is momentum. love holds the weight of its triumphance. it never cowers in the face of restraint.

satoru sighs and drowns out their never-ending bickering.

satoru watches how time trudges on, and stretches itself thin between the two of you. he remains ardent and attached, endlessly and proudly devoted to you. the sticky feeling comes back one late afternoon when satoru dutifully follows you into the elevator, unseen and unheard. as he does each day to bid you a silent goodbye, squeezing out every second of your presence he can. all things follow their natural rhythm — until, the presence of another lingers for no reason. he smiles too endearingly at you, and touches your shoulder too casually. satoru can feel it rolling off this man, obviously an underling, but has no boundaries in how he approaches you. clearly above him in every facet, satoru’s distaste and resentment bubble to life, face scrunching up in disgust. the man reeks of it, his fondness for you. his longing. in his infinity, he dwells in swelling silence, his insides in tightly-wound knots. satoru’s chest rises and falls — his stiffened shoulders, too. ares bursts to life when he sneers, angry eyes zoned in on the wretched man.

the audacity to desire her so openly while being so weak and undeserving.

for a moment, satoru’s fingers twitch. he shouldn’t do it. he told himself that he wouldn’t with you, never with you. and yet, satoru can’t help the way he reaches up and pinches the top half of his quiver, the barrier that holds in the rapture his gaze would cause to dawn on all that exists. he does his best to keep the effects small, hardly noticeable but effective. peeling down the cover of his quiver, calling on ares eye of megaera, his eros of disgust, satoru watches a blue stripe swipe across the air, penetrate through all it must, and catch you on the left side of your neck. you don’t wince, but when it hits you, your eyes blink rapidly, as if just given some injection that you feel shooting into your veins. as you stand before him, satoru watches with satisfaction as your eyes — once alight with delight and trading even the faintest drop of desire — go dark and dull. your facial expression falls, your smile fading and emptiness taking its place. a grin spreads across his face, pleased now. he isn’t sure what you say but he watches the man’s eyes widen slightly before his brows crinkle in confusion and you offer him a professional salutation, your body language straight and alert, then you walk right around the underling, continuing on with a slight roll of your shoulders, shaking off ares’ excess, he’s sure.

what is one more secret?

and yes, satoru will tuck it away with him, another truth he hides under the pink of his tongue with glee.

love is honest, love is true; love has no need to tremble behind the cowardice of manipulation.

and for a moment, satoru does feel guilty. but when you exit the building, he waits for a moment and appears right next to you, his infinity down. he doesn’t usually try to pass the boundaries but as you walk away, his feet continue to follow, as if their departure is beyond his will. “if you’re thinking of following me home, don’t.” you grumble sharply, picking up the speed in your steps. “the nerve,” satoru’s head tilts to the side in wonder.

are you aware?

“i’ll stay here, if you wish.” satoru says, stopping just at the edge of the property. “i’ll be here when you return tomorrow.” when you hear his voice, you pause and turn to face him. you seem shocked to see him, perhaps regarding his presence as the underling he handcrafted your fresh disgust toward. you blink, the edge on your voice dissipating as you reply. “i…i didn’t think i’d see you again today.” satoru takes a careful step forward. “i didn’t know you wished to. i only planned to watch you leave, but you seemed particularly…upset.” for a moment, you just stand there. satoru takes your contemplation and tilts his head back, basking in the warmth of the helios’ vibrant sun and grins to himself, feeling his insides ablaze with his admittedly orchestrated glory. he can feel you tugging on his heartstrings, of course he can. especially when it’s all for him. “don’t want me too much or i might start getting the wrong idea, pretty thing.” bashful, you shy away, tilting your face with the softest sigh. he doesn’t mean to make you nervous but he’s had enough of playing coy and never fully defining the lines of which your boundaries are drawn or willing to stretch. cautiously, his hands clutch your shoulders, nearly breathless from the warmth in his belly, nearly dizzy from feeling himself grant your desires and resolve your yearning. you want him to touch you; you want daring fingers to ghost along your skin. but his touches now are more innocent in fashion, fond at best. “tell me what you want, pretty.” he murmurs, his hidden eyes gazing over the features of your face, a thick thumb brushing over your plump lip. “i’ve chosen to adore you, so naturally i’ll give you anything of which you desire and derive pleasure.” you don’t notice when his infinity reaches out to hold you, to cradle your frame. you don’t notice that the sounds of the world around you muffle and go numb, sucked into his embrace that stretched on through eternity. soft and feathery, your response flutters, “you can walk home with me, but i…i won’t let you inside.” ardor’s spirit blazes within him — emboldened and vivacious, ready to relish in new proximity. a chuckle rumbles in his chest; a sly grin spreads across his lips. “any time spent in the presence of my beloved is time i deeply cherish.” you’re flustered — hot face and wet lips, side-swiped eyes and a wary glance. but still, you walk alongside him, snug in his infinity, step by step.

ACT III. THE DILIGENCE OF PRAGMA’S EMBRACE.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is expansive, love is all-consuming. it takes even the shape of nothingness, clings to its empty form, and stretches it further.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is faith, love is lingering. it would wait an eternity at an entrance it knows with unearned certainty will open.

SATORU.

time flows on, and satoru weaves himself around adoration with ease, your name a flowering breath on his lips whenever the time permits. you entertain his senseless notions. you wait for him, more voracious and fervid as days move along, as if it’s all you ever have to do. your melodic laughter travels down the beautiful marble-plated halls, the waves of its sound etched into the ridges of intricate designs that decorate the ceiling and line the floors. he tunes his infinity to your perception, stretching it around the whole of you, making it wider to mold around the specificities of your shape, around the breathiness of your voice. an endless indention in himself just for you. all so the symphonic outburst of your elation is only his to hear, his joy to cultivate and claim. all naturally, too. he thinks he adores that most about you. loving you is a natural reaction to mingling with your existence. the fondness and affection that seeps out of you when he lets himself freely feel your call remains untouched by his divine eyes. he keeps them securely imprisoned behind his quiver. he swears he’ll never let them touch you again since his last provocation. he doesn’t need to anymore. he has so much of your attention that he no longer reasons the necessities of envy, jealousy, or spite of all things. but still, indulgent as ever, he’ll always take as much of you as you’re willing to give. gluttony is as fair as war in love, to him. “are you nearly ready to go?” satoru grumbles, watching as you make furious clacking noises at your desk. “all this dreadful noise. what are you doing?” you snort. “i’m typing. i’m a museum director. i both receive and deliver emails.” “your typing is tedious and the sound is awful. does it not annoy you in the slightest?” shrugging, your eyes never leave your screen. “it’s just what i’m used to. you should be used to the sound by now, considering you never go away while i’m working.” “false,” he protests with a pout. “i make myself scarce for your little…conclaves.” your typing pauses and your eyes dart up to stare at him for a moment. “my meetings are fundamental to my position here which, again, is funda—” “fundamental to your livelihood…yes, yes, i know. we all know as you only force this mantra on us every chance that presents itself. you’re worse than ardor. are you not tired?” “of you? sometimes. of my job? yes.” a short response as your typing resumes, tormenting him with enforced patience. he shifts, sitting up in the tufted chair he always drags next to you and sinks down into to sulk about waiting for your attention. “do you prefer me over this place?” is all satoru hears in your sometimes and inquires about. “what do you like most about me?” you laugh. “like about you? nothing at all.”

there’s a quiver in your words; you lie. of course you do, love is pride, after all.

satoru takes your hand, ever brave, ever dauntless. he brings your curved knuckles to his lips. any other time you would shake off his affectionate pestering, but your desire sings as you feel his lips graze over the ridges and dips of your fingers. “well, my most beloved, i like everything about you.” your body shifts and your head snaps in his direction, eyes lingering on him, curious and probing. “is that so?” a terse nod. “it is so. i adore you. i love you. i’ll linger here for as long as you do.” today, he hears something new. it’s something small and playful, uttered under a meek tone and a thick blanket of apprehension, but he hears it ring true above it all — the love. “you did swear to protect me, after all.” satoru smiles, strengthened by all the ways in which you make his heart weak. “of course, i’ll commit to my devotions.” wispily. fluttering. adoringly you sigh, “as you should.” ardor and ares both coat his tone. “for you, i’ll do anything.”

these days satoru walks you home; these days satoru slips inside quietly after you, your hand laced obligingly in his — tugging and pulling, all pining and impatience. closer. you always want him closer. his hands are always greedy and grabby, taking what he wants in the name of pleasure, but they become gluttonous monsters when the door closes. your hips are taut to his as he presses you to the wall, your cheek cold against the dull-toned paint and drywall, his warm tongue licking stripes from your collarbone up to your ear. his pants huff into your ears, steamy and thick; your wet whimpers graze against the wall, all of it enticing him, making him grip you even harder — one hand with fingers digging into your hips, one gripping your jaw to prep your lips for an engrossing kiss. it’s not enough but he can’t wait on enough. satoru tugs you along to your bedroom, his muscles flexing and twitching with need. it’s taking everything not to spread you wide on the hallway floor. once your bed is in sight, you’re pushed onto your back, your hands gripping the fabrics of his finely stitched robes to pull him down with you. the thickness of satoru’s knee is a median between your legs to keep them pried apart while his large body hovers. one arm above your head, the other gripping your hand and knotting your fingers in his.

“do you know what you’ve done to me?” he breathes shakily, lips still pillowing over yours as he leans his forehead against your own. “do you know how hard it was to resist you today?” “no, i don’t. tell me.” playful words woven between passionate kisses. his lips latch to your neck, grunting as he loses his silent battle with his urge to bite and pinch your skin. “near impossible. you mortals are different. everything clings to you so perfectly. and all day. all day. all i could think of was getting my hands on you, caressing your curves, kissing every inch of you.” satoru wants to love you like this — obsessively, indulgent to the point of painful, unbridled with need forged from greed. he laps at your neck, impish whines elicited from you with every motion. “you controlled yourself well. good boy.” amusement and arousal blend together on your tongue; he wants to know the taste of it. “don’t patronize me like an animal.” satoru grits, untangling your hands to hike up the fabric of your skirt and part your thighs. “i’m a god, not your plaything, not your little pet.” wit unrelenting, he can hear the smirk on your lips. “well…you do follow me around like a lost puppy.” “if i went anywhere else, my love would surely have a fit.” he muses, nipping at your neck with playful force, making you yelp underneath him. lips trail down with ease and your fingers slide into thick, pearly tufts. “this is true. maybe i should get you a leash.” “hush,” he growls, biting you in spite. you tug his hair, pulling the god by his nape, granting you a lewd sound, a mewl so slick and pathetic it wets the air. his mouth collides with yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues lapping over the other, a whimpering mess as he tears away at the intricately woven robes that always drown him. it reveals all of him to you: every curve of his build, the long and toned limbs, broad-shouldered and big, every inch of thickness in his muscles, the glaze of lust that glistens in the way all of him flexes with every staggered breath. you get all of him. leaking length and all. the fabric of your skirt bundled up the top of your thighs, your legs parted before him — his hands can’t help but wander in curiosity and delight. ardor compels him to hold you close, to keep your skin flush against his, a warmth he can sigh into. ares compels him to grab and grip and claw the pleasure right out of your body to claim for himself, doomed to the brutality and ferocity of need.

“i don’t mean to be impatient, but i don’t want to wait anymore. i can’t.” he rasps and whines. “i can’t wait. i need to feel you around me.”

that’s as much forewarning as he can give before he yanks down your panties and pushes his way between slick folds, a relieved moan as he buries himself inside and grips your thigh for steadiness, releasing it once he establishes a slow but thorough rhythm. each time his thrusts carry him back into you, your moans fill the air and your hands travel needily down his back. “my love,” he breathes shakily. satoru nuzzles his face into your neck, panting heavily as he moves his hips slowly, enjoying the tepid feeling of your walls and the pleasure of tight embrace. he bites down, needy teeth seeking grounding, and grunts from the feeling of unyielding bliss blossoming in his gut. a soft mewl, tender and hesitant. “s-satoru,” “perfect.” he sighs, his hips melting into yours. “let me hear you.” and you do. only a language of urgency spoken between your bodies, the bed a culture of devotion and cacoethes. your hands, ever-enthused maunderers, travel through ivory tussocks and tug, oh so innocently, on the knot of fabric tied around the middle of his head.

he stiffens. his movements still but he breathes heavily. “don’t.” he moves his palm from grasping and clutching the meat of your thigh, now reaching to wrangle in the explorations of one of your trespassing hands. he locks his fingers around yours, hips rocking while he brings them to his lips, kitten licks accompanied by a chorus of both your whines. “what? you never remove it. i want to see your eyes. you’re my lover.” your voice is enchanted by love and inspired. in love with him. truly and genuinely in love. he can feel it fluxing and flowing throughout him, starting from his sternum, lotus-like and flowering, each time he pushes in, feeling your yearning explode inside him while you pulse around him. the taste of adoration is sweet when he kisses you, too. “i know.” a tender mumble. “but my eyes are unlike yours. i can stay by your side for all of time. i can make it so eternity never separates us, but you can never look into my eyes, okay?” your fingers squeeze his tight, but your voice is soft and shaky, trembling as you take his slow grinding. “is this…a god’s problem?” satoru’s kisses are erratic and consuming—mixtures of plump pecks, a lapping tongue, and gentle tugs on your lips. the only constant is the ferocity of his panting: in your mouth, on your skin, in the dips and crevices of flesh he finds. he nods as he keens and whispers, a twinge in his heart, “this god’s curse.” “okay.” your free hand still clutching his hair, you grip and tug until he lifts his head to face you, all to leave a gentle kiss on his lips. “i love you. as long as i can have you by my side, i don’t have to see anything you don’t want me to see. i’ll be curious, but i won’t peek.” there’s a swelling in his chest that makes him think he may just burst, a rupture of exaltation and honor. full and clinging to new feelings of closeness. satoru chuckles and pecks your lips again and again, more pressure applied with each kiss to ensure his devotions are sealed by another. “are you becoming sweet for me?” “i’d rather die.” the sneer in your voice becomes a sigh sung to the tune of ecstasy. a giddy smile. another nip at your bruising flesh, a rush of love in the quickening pace of his hips. “you know…i’ll never let that happen.”

he feels it first in the dead of night, sukuna the zeus and his incessantly demanding calls, but he doesn’t leave right away. he can’t. you’re wrapped around him, limbs entangled with his as usual. you’re resting peacefully. your heart is calm. he can’t ruin that. he won’t. your arms are locked around his frame, clutching him with all the strength you can. your breathing is steady and relaxed, head tucked under his chin. you’ve been sleeping more, sleeping better, since he started staying. you’re more refreshed upon waking. your smile, already knee-weakening and dazzling in its composite to satoru, is even more brilliant, more authentic. and truthfully, he isn’t ready to leave your grasp. your hands are the only things that know how to hold him well. they’re calling and calling, reaching and reaching — all the gods. he can feel the irritation of their desire to see him unfurling throughout his body, tainting the time he wants to spend being foolishly in love with you, and he subdues it. he’s not hiding out so much as he’s settling in and making a home. infinity is only fair if it includes you, too; reality is only full if it includes him. satoru spends a lot of time finding a fair balance between both. sometimes he gets to hold you in the comfort of your room, his infinity a blanket over you both, spending the night staring into an ether and relishing in the pinnacle of safety he feels while you sleep. ardor fills him with hymns of new avowals, each like a little burst of accomplished joy, in marvel at its new, unique discoveries.

love is security. love is sanctuary. love is an idle season. love is stillness. love is ease. love is rest. love is staying even longer. love is waiting for tomorrow. love is hold me. love is let me.

when your eyes flutter awake, the sorrow cascades and drenches him. it’s harder for him to leave when you’re so committed to doing the things he adores, such as gracing the dawn of day with your waking breath and sleepy eyes, your languid movements, the way you tangle yourself more intricately with him. “pretty thing,” he dotes fondly. satoru leaves a soft kiss on your forehead first. he drinks up your sigh, gentle and drowsy, then presses his next kiss to the tip of your nose. your morning eyes peer; he kisses both cheeks in a tender succession. you hum happily. “g’morning.” “mine,” hushed and sweet as he finally kisses your lips, lingering. “a g’morning indeed.” you pout and narrow your eyes. “are you making fun of me? i’ll kick you out.” “i would never.” he mumbles in amusement. “i have to leave regardless. so take my love while you have the chance. don’t waste time being bratty about it.” he says it casually, the privilege of an immortal god’s tongue at the prospect of time passing. but you freeze and stare with suddenly widened eyes. “lea…ving?” you murmur, head tilted as if confused by the word, as if averse to the feeling of it on your tongue. you sit up abruptly, looking at him in shock. “are you leaving me?” satoru could have cried from the fear in your voice. the slight quiver, the heightened pitch, and all the anguish swimming around your eyes in anticipation. they glisten and all of him crumbles to dust. “not forever,” he assures you and rises to embrace you. “i’ll be back, but i do have to go and it might be for a while.” “what? satoru, what are you talking about? you never said anything about leaving.” your voice is pained and ringing with betrayal. “so you’re just leaving?” he sighs deeply, keeping you up against his chest. “i’ve been bothered for weeks now by other gods and now the zeus is involved. i can’t exactly ignore him despite wanting to.” “you said you would stay by my side.” when satoru hears you sniffle, he tries to make sense of the shame he feels unravelling in his gut. he tries to understand how this might feel for you, insecurely attached to his presence but loving him this much despite it only to be told at random you’re being left for an unforeseeable amount of time. he finds himself pleading because right now it feels like love is humility and love is kneeling. “please,” he murmurs. “i’ll be back. no matter what, i’ll be back. don’t be angry with me. i love you so much. please.” somehow, it only makes the soft crying become longer and louder. “i’m not crying because i’m angry at you! i’m crying because i wasn’t expecting it and i’ll miss you.” it takes him one hour to tell you he’ll miss you, too, without words and emotion betraying him. it takes two for him to be willing to peel himself away from you long enough to say goodbye. he wonders if he’ll recover from the feeling of you yearning for his return before he even fully departs.

ACT IV. BITE MARKS IN THE SHAPE OF MAGAERA’S DISGUST.

love is blind but it sees all; love is clarity, love is contradiction. it blurs the lines of lunacy and devoutness with intent — lucid and deliberate — all to live there.

YOU.

from the dawn of the week, everything is unusual. first, satoru is called away to the olympus out of the blue and can’t fully disclose why. now gone for the third day with no contact, your anxiety is heightened and lengthened, wondering if it was all an elaborate dream bred of illness. then, your work days are full of random hiccups and hang-ups. all the odds are seemingly against you. the only thing championing this experience is your ability to long for him. now, as you arrive home, you’re met with the most peculiar sight. a tall, paler woman, sparkling with beauty in the glimmer of the sun, with long and flowing locks of gold that reach the ground; the tresses gleam, too. she stands as still as a statue and as beautiful as any artwork, her every feature chiselled to perfection. as you walk up to your door, her eyes catch you and a slow smile stretches across supple lips.

captivating but daunting.

you notice her clothing, light and twisted white fabrics, the familiar and cosmic-looking twinkles woven into the seams. you’re instantly reminded of those intricate twists you watch satoru perform dutifully. you wonder, for a moment, if this is someone satoru knows — a goddess, perhaps. “uh…hello,” you chirp sweetly, smiling just as prettily. you watch the woman’s face go blank in an instant. all expression vanishes, her star-like eyes flittering with something you can’t quite name. awkwardly, your gaze darts before looking at her once more. “are you looking for someone?” for a moment, she merely observes you with a blank expression. but then, a soft tenderness tugs at her features, tugs at your heart to bear witness, and she smiles. “you must be the mortal thing that’s kept him hidden all this time.” her voice is a song, sweet and melodic. so soothing you miss the way she sharply eyes you up and down, sneering. “this is all?” she sounds confused in her asking, quiet for a moment, and then holding her curved waist tightly while her laughter becomes a symphony in the air around you. your heart dives into your gut, enamored by her presence and natural grace. “here i was thinking his extended absence was a witness of my disgrace but they were all useless worries. of course! i knew they would be. they must! yuki the aphrodite, the divine vessel of beauty and desire, could never truly be bested by the blemishes of mortality’s weakness to time.” you don’t know it right then, but the day you meet this goddess, yuki the aphrodite, the divine vessel of beauty and desire, your life is doomed to descend into a flurry of utter chaos. “i—sorry, who are you?” you ask, trying to shake away the foginess of your mental state. “are you…is it satoru you’re looking for?” she sighs, mumbling to herself. “i suppose i shouldn’t waste the efforts of my venture.” “what was that?” you ask, struggling to make sense of her words. your thoughts are muddled by her pristine presence. “no,” she finally replies, roseate eyes twinkling and capturing all your wonder. “i’m here for you, mortal girl. i have something of great importance to discuss. take me in and prepare your offerings for me.”

you don’t believe her; you trust him — you don’t want to believe her; you want to trust him. doubt creeps in slowly in the dead quiet of the night, a languid steep when you’re sleeping and you can’t go with him, when you realize you can never go with him.

'mortals don’t set foot in the divine realm the same way the living don’t set foot in the underworld.'

he’s vague in the details of his disclosure. before, satoru used to be so honest, he became tactless and blunt. now, he’s perceivably more calculated. you notice. it riddles you. why the abrupt movements and obvious secrecy if he isn’t lying to you about it all, about why he showed up in front of you, why he courted you, who he was supposedly answering to? in your frantic mind, you continue to hear yuki the aphrodite’s song of a voice.

'it’s the weight of his consequences; he’s cursed to unending solitude.' 'gods don’t love mortals; we use them for fodder.'

satoru says he loves all but he’s never been in love, that he’s always been alone until you, that he’d been certain his immortal life would be doomed to that notion perpetually, but claiming you and making you the center of his devotions made a new god of him.

'he lies. he kills. he unleashed war on all the world in a blink for sport shortly after being born. he’s no man. he’s a monster that’s supposed to be imprisoned to loneliness. of course, he would not tell the mortal he manipulates he’ll squash them in his palm to sate the old gods and lift his curse.'

you remember what he said near the beginning of this unorthodox love: well, as i’m a war god, i have to release my inevitable frustrations somewhere. gently, of course. i wouldn’t want to leave the world in ruin…again.

your lips purse together. you want so badly to trust him, to be in his corner without hesitation, but aphrodite pointed out inconsistencies you now question and they can’t all be a result of coincidence.

'his eyes hold the truth, all of it; it is why he wills your ignorance.' 'satoru can’t be trusted, but he’ll know i plan to turn him in to the zeus if i attempt to get closer.'

he made you swear that you would never remove his quiver, never look into his eyes but the why of his boundary confuses and frightens you. if he only plans to use your love for him to sacrifice you to the old gods in exchange for true freedom from his infinity, you can’t stay here in a doomed paradise with him, biding your time in feigned bliss and counting down your days. if satoru is deceiving you, using you to hide from the zeus and plot the initiations of war, then continuing to love him is a willful act of brutality against man. but if the aphrodite is lying to you, deceiving you, then whatever makes satoru fear your gazes meeting will come true. such odds are poor but you’ve made your choice. the sacrifice for solving must be the comfort of ignorance.

'use this, if you wish to see the truth of him in his eyes. force sleep on him. remove his quiver. wait until he wakes. you will know then, the moment you look into his eyes, all that he’s done and will do.'

so when satoru comes home from whatever god-bearing duties of the zeus he claims, you decide to brew him tea. it takes you a long time to let him go when he first arrives home, a long time to relinquish your hold on unblemished intimacy, but he doesn’t mind and even welcomes it. you do your best to disregard the ardent tone in his greetings, in his soft laments of yearning and claims of the weight of your absence being heavy in his chest. you do your best to ignore the way he tugs your hand, how he wraps his arms around your waist, how he clings close to you. it almost makes you hesitant to lead him to your dining table. almost. he sighs upon sitting, stress heavy in his voice. guilt screams within you. you shouldn’t steep his tea with the scentless liquid, but curiosity drags delicate fingers over the open vial and tips it over the rim of a glass, listening to the soft pour of your coming betrayal. with a loving kiss to the head, you offer him the wretched tea, and he drinks it without thought — gripping his cup with trusting fingers — sealing your fate and his. “it’s good.” he hums. comfortable. safe. unsuspecting. “thank you, my love.” unable to stay and watch the next few minutes unfurl, you spare a soft smile and soundless nod before retreating into your shared bedroom, waiting on bated breath until you hear the abrupt thump of a body slumping onto the table, the shattering sound of a glass breaking as it falls to its death, the patter of laced brew pouring what’s left ot itself from the surface of the table onto tiled floor. it’s ironic that your next step is merely to wait but your impatience is what makes you cling to such drastic methods. pupils blown from aphrodite’s influence, heart shaking in fear as it anticipates the coming consequences of your doubt in him, you return to the table. he’s out cold, a sight you’ve never seen. although aphrodite assures you he’ll feel nothing during his sleeping state, you still unknot the tie of his quiver with careful fingers. the texture is soft on the surface but stiff in structure. you clutch the enchanted fabric in trembling fingers. you notice the bundle of snowy lashes that line the seam of his eyes.

like angel wings.

you always imagined they’d be beautiful. now you sit in front of him, diligent and dutiful, muttering useless apologies to the air he can’t hear, cursing yourself for your weak will. but you wait, eyes wide and alert, prepared to peer. you swallow down the thrill of your curiosity’s coming satiation, the joy of knowing you’ll know the sight of your lover in full. you remind yourself that you’re undeserving of deriving pleasure from this. this is truth you choose to take with no remorse for the destruction of his established limits.

it’s only because i love him; it’s only because i don’t want to die.

SATORU.

satoru wakes in a groggy stupor. when his eyes slowly open, confusion befalls him. has he slept? the first thing he notices is how bright the light pouring in through the window is, how it makes his eyes ache. the next thing he sees is you…staring at him with wide eyes, freshly-blown pupils and parted lips. a thickened black fabric is held tightly in clenched fists. it takes him too long to realize it’s his quiver. the fear that stirs in his chest is immediate as he realizes your awe is from the sight of his eyes. he clasps them shut tight, but deep down he knows it’s for nought. dreamily, you sigh his name. “s-satoru,” “NO!” his hands reach out in front of him wildly, until he feels you, until he snatches his quiver from you with frantic, terrified breaths. “what have you done?!” he doesn’t mean to shout out at you, doesn’t mean for his initial reaction to be rage and fear alone. he stands to his feet, panting wildly as his fingers fumble to retie the knot. fear eats him alive where he stands. agony in full force can take the strength from a god’s knees. he stumbles clumsily until his back hits the wall with force. his head hangs while cold thoughts blow into his mind with brute force, a blizzard of sorrow and sorry and spurn and spite. you speak but you tremble. it seems your mistake dawns on you, lays thick on your brittle voice. nearly a whisper, but still holding all your achings for penance, your yearning for atonement. “satoru…i’m…i’m sorry.” he’s sure your regret must be sour the way your face scrunches; vinegary. bitter. hard to taste but impossible to avoid.

treason tastes the same. satoru’s bleeding heart spirals. he laments in anguish, “why? you betray me? me? what have i done to make you want to be rid of me?” you carve a hole out of his chest. you don’t know it but you’ll leave with it, likely die with it clutched in mad hands. so this is what it means to be truly abandoned, to be loved and willingly left. none of it makes sense to him, how you've changed your mind and turned your back on your own vows to him. you said as long as he would stay by your side, you wouldn't peek. a dark thing lurches in his gut; heartache grips him and makes him feel sick. but love still wails and sings and bellows with jubilance at the sight of you. it overwhelms him. it plucks the bones out of his ribs, one by one. "you said you loved me. you swore you wouldn't look." perplexed and disbelieving. "why...would you? do you not —"

do you not want to love me anymore? is that why you want me to leave?

unable to move, unwilling to even speak it, the dark thing rolls over in his body. he bites his lip to stop the way it shakes, but he feels warm liquid start to gather. “rid of you? no, satoru. never.” a desperate cry. “then why?!” “i just…i just wanted to know the truth about you. aphrodite said…” his breath hitches when yuki’s honorific comes softly spilling from your lips. immediately, his lips flatten into a thin line. ares swells, a vengeful beast drawing life from the strength of its loathing. “the aphrodite was here?” his blank tone followed by your careful nod. “and she spoke to you?”

satoru watches as your body goes shy; you hold your own fingers and look at your feet in shame. when you start to speak, your voice is timid. “yes…she…told me about your past. that you plan to…to sacrifice me to the old gods. she said…if i looked into your eyes…i would see it all…and know the truth.”

an abysmal sigh. robbed of the mundanity he’s grown accustomed to and normalcy he adores, all because of the aphrodite. aphrodite and likely the zeus, too. satoru realizes he's been bested, that this is his punishment for experiencing joy without their consent. after he's so capable of taking everything away, what does he deserve aside nothing? they use his own eros against him. the lover he so desperately desires will grow to look upon him with disgust and seething hatred. just as he did to the apollo, just as he'd done to realms above and below. alone. because he himself is love but he doesn't deserve it. crestfallen, he croaks, “did you find what you were looking for?” “no…” you whisper it regretfully as you fall prey to weakness and sink into your chair, shrouded in defeat. “there was nothing. it was for nothing. i’m such an idiot. i was…i should have trusted you. i’m sorry.”

you don’t know yuki. you couldn’t have. i’m a fool, too. loving so freely. tying my hands in devotion. making you a target to them.

his heavy feet drag across the floor until he stands in front of you, a mountain made of his woes with isolation at its peak. and satoru, poor satoru, drowning in dolor and resentment and love, falls to his knees and wails. “satoru, please. i’m sorry, love. i didn’t…i shouldn’t have been…” tears sputter out of your eyes uselessly. “i was fooled…” the truth comes out, sniveling and whimpering. “we won’t last much longer.” he cries quietly, teeming and oozing morose notions. sunk to his knees, he lays his head on your lap, eyes safely guarded again. satoru surrenders to this new, crippling grief he finds. his limbs wobble from the weakness. even his arms shake with the weight of his sobs. “what do you mean, my love? i’m right here. i’m fine. nothing happened when i saw your eyes.” he notes the wispiness in your voice, the almost dreamlike murmur when you mention the sight of his eyes. your dagger of betrayal shoves in deeper. “they were beautiful. so…blue. like the sky. like the sea. like love as it wades.”

like love as it weeps?

your words, dazed and dulcet, are so far away as you speak them. your rakes through his hair, once soothing, now cease as you fall into silence. a moment passes. your loving sigh fills the air. “like angel wings,” you murmur. satoru’s eyes squeeze shut, fat tears spilling from the sides. within him, both his eros grieve. they sing with remorse, apologetic for what they’ve done, for your misfortunate fate they didn’t mean to seal.

ACT V. ALECTO THE UNENDING, ETERNITY'S TORTURE.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is forgiveness, love is resentment. it lingers in fragility and cradles its weaknesses, drenching them in immunity.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is languid, love is impetuous. it exists as an avalanche — slow and foreboding, and as a volcano — abrupt and erupting.

SATORU. day one.

the morning after betrayal finally comes. he spends the whole night in obsessive cycles of thought about how this will end, how he can stop it once it begins, how he can forgive you for the heartache you’ll leave him to cradle, how to love you as he’s always done, how to find gratitude somewhere in the trauma, how to spend the last of his time with you in bliss. you sleep the night away, calm, curled up to his body, because he’s angry but at least he’s home. time drags him through its thick currents of night and he ruminates on his losses while he wades. when you wake, the first thing satoru does is smush your cheeks between his palms and carefully examine your eyes for any sign of distress, any evidence of deterioration. “what are you doing?” you ask softly, careful not to show him your frustration. “i have to go to work.”

nothing. not a trace. maybe there wasn’t enough time. maybe it trickles. maybe the sight of their eyes won’t touch you, after all.

satoru huffs defiantly, letting go of your face. “i’m coming with you.” “don’t you always?” a soft giggle. your warm smile. ardor surges throughout him, an ichor-warming excavation to remind him he knows you. he loves you. he doesn’t have to fear you. quietly, satoru clings to the delusions of his hope that maybe…maybe. but…he doesn’t dare speak them aloud. the gods are always listening somehow.

day two.

no changes in your eyes. no slight detuning of your laughter. no crooked, misplaced smiles. nothing. you kiss him with the same tender lips; you hold his hand just as tightly. nothing changes as you both fall back into the comforts of your habitual movements. satoru keeps his sorrow in a crevice within himself and you…now free of aphrodite’s wicked touch, he supposes…have seemingly forgotten any of it ever occurred. or perhaps, the feigning is how you hold your grief, too. the one thing that does change is the extension of his infinity. he keeps it stretched to hold you at all times, especially as you walk around so freely. you talk to him as you always have on your way to your work and home. he notices you always meander around most in the daylight. you love spending time in the sun. he listens to the bright bumble of your words; his head tilts up towards the sky, stone-faced. geto’s sun has always had its eyes on you, hasn’t it?

geto the helios, even you betray me? my oldest friend.

nothing changes in you, but his heart knows more grief than it can take. ardor closes its eyes in rest, unable to endure the daily exertion of mourning. but ares is fueled by its need for retribution.

day three.

when you leave for work that morning, nothing changes. he just can’t be by your side. you sometimes have tiresome, elongated meetings that carry on, weaving in and out of an entire day. as much as satoru loves to linger, the waiting while watching them relish in your attention instead of him maddens him. it’s best if he stays home where your scent douses everything and he knows for certain you’ll return to him with all of your adoration just for him. each day begins the same: you wake up, he cradles your cheeks, he observes your eyes for even the slightest hint of dilation, he kisses your forehead, he murmurs his devotions over you — much closer to wrapping someone in prayer, and finally allows you to fully rise. you leave as you always do but satoru is admittedly uncertain of what to do with himself when matching your steps isn’t the entirety of his day. so he lies in your bed, wrapped inside a chrysalis of saffron and silk, and shrouds himself in the blissful feeling of you yearning for him the moment you leave him. it mollifies ardor for a time. but. approximately one hour passes before you come stumbling back in through the front door, kicking your shoes off at the entrance while you call for him. although confused, he still appears and greets you with an adoring smile. “returning already, pretty thing?” you nod, opening your arms to him. “mhm, i got there and…the idea of going the entire morning and afternoon without you made me want to die...so i came back home.” “how dramatic. you just couldn’t stand it, huh?” he murmurs, wrapping you in his arms, lips against your temple. “pretty thing needs her satoru. i don’t blame you. i wouldn’t want to leave me either.” of course, he jests and expects your snippy response in reply but instead, he feels your yearning for him explode in his chest. he feels the way you push closer, clutch tighter; he hears the edge of a whine in your voice as you speak. simpering, you cling to the fabric of his robes. “yes, all of that. i can’t stand the thought of being without you.” he doesn’t let you go but he stills and whispers, “my love, look at me.” the request comes soft and you do look as you’re told, abstracted eyes and a foolish smile. satoru’s palms cup your cheeks for the second time that day. he stares intently, observing the shape, noting a new wobble in the roundness, something slightly misshapen and enlarging. satoru whimpers at the sight. worry fills him as he stares and stares, praying for his discovery to come out false, just a mirage made of his anxiety. he can’t let you go when he still wants you for longer. for the second time, satoru hears you ask him, “are you leaving me?” and he still says no, but he omits the dreadful thing to protect you from fear.

you’re leaving me.

day six.

satoru feels sickened by himself for enjoying your clinginess. his heart can’t help it, to chase even falsified bliss. to be filled with the aching of knowing you’re gone but still warm-blooded and yearning in his arms — how unfair. how cruel. he has no choice but to hold you in the arms of questions that feel more like pleas.

why can’t i have you? why can’t i keep you? you’re mine but why can’t you be mine? why can’t you stay? just a little longer.

the lunacy spreads in the dead of night; you wake up stranger than the days passed. he knows it won’t last but he relishes in it despite it. you haven’t left in days. a bed is a home you don’t abandon. you leave behind your responsibilities and he leaves the remnants of his hope. you take a seat on his lap and the only thing you move is your hips. driven to an obsessive need for pleasure. hot with it, a sheen of sweat as you dig your nails in deeper. shaking in the night and longing for him; his body, his length, his murmurs in your ear, his warm tears falling on your back. he closes his eyes, lets the pleasure he feels shamelessly consume him. you’re on your way to a steep decline. he’ll steal these intimate moments for himself. as many as he can. little somethings to remember you by. something to remind him, for a time, your mouth tasted like everything love should be. just in case when the time comes and the sight of your lips curving into disgust starts to make him forget. just in case he can’t remember what it’s like to be loved by you.

ACT VI. A SMALL CACOPHONY OF WRATH, TISIPHONE’S ORCHESTRA.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is acceptance, love is denial. it is all screeches of dissonance and a looming madness contained in a warm embrace.

love is blind, but it sees all; love is gluttonous, love is self-serving. it doesn’t savor, only swallows; it never nibbles, it always devours.

SATORU. day thirteen.

satoru won’t say it aloud, but he’s scared. of so many things. mourning and loving and being alone. his broken heart and the wrath it’ll undoubtedly unleash. ares says everything’s days are numbered if yours are. every hope he has that he may not lose you, in the end, is squandered by the rapid shift in your behavior over the last weeks. he sees it clearly, the pupils in your eyes growing larger by the day. filling your eyes, filling your mind with delusions, filling your speech with nonsensical strings. it was a soft cling at first, tender fingertips holding lightly to the flesh, but it’s slowly becoming your nails digging into an open wound you made. you won’t let him leave your side anymore. your eyes are wild, blazing with disdain as you grip his arm. “where are you going? are you leaving me?” “my love, please,” satoru murmurs, trying to subdue your suspicions of his attempt to leave. “i’m not leaving you. i’m not.” always frantic. always afraid. satoru knows you can’t help it, knows you don’t mean to, knows he can’t stop your spirals once you’re triggered. hands up in surrender, he sits right back down in your bed and looks at you with wounded eyes you can't see, another wrench in his gut you’ll never know of. you settle into his lap, less loving and more possessive. “i wasn’t leaving. i’d never leave you.” satoru coos, his weakening attempts to make you docile, still true to his tongue. “i love you. you’re my pretty thing. i’ll never go anywhere.” your head shakes, tears pouring and lips sputtering words in a frenzy. “you can’t just get up and try to go somewhere without telling me! i don’t know what’s happening! i don’t know what’s happening and you can’t leave me! you can’t leave my side or i’ll die! if you walk away, you’ll leave me here to die and why would you leave me? you said you love me. don’t you love me, satoru?” “of course i do. i love you so much.” satoru listens to your whirlwind of teary rambles, watches your sanity dissolve. he holds you in love while you sob in confusion and the overstimulation of sensation makes you shiver. he glances over the scars littering different parts of your body, mauling yourself to be free of all the feeling that fills you at all times. all the feelings that say you’ll die if you’re not by his side. you’ll die if he doesn’t love you back. you’ll die if he leaves you. they all burst to life and leave you a wailing mess in his arms. imprisoned by every sliver of love and unable to escape its chaotic swarms. a war in your lungs. a war in your belly. a war on your flesh. all you do is scream. he doesn’t know how much longer until they tell you that you’ll die if you can’t get away from him. you’ll die if you don’t kill him first.

day twenty-one.

a blood-curdling scream. the incessant rattle of metal chains. “EVIL ASSHOLE! I KNEW YOU’D TRY TO KILL ME! I KNEW YOU NEVER LOVED ME! I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL YOU! I HOPE YOU DIE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT I HATE YOU!” since day sixteen, the god has lost all semblance of peace. “SATORU!” shrieking and sobbing his name descending to loving pleas. “please, satoru. i love you. i won’t hurt you. satoru! SATORU! STOP IGNORING ME! SATORU, ANSWER ME. ANSWER ME. TELL ME YOU LOVE ME, SATORU! PLEASE!” ares and the strength of its rage is the only thing keeping satoru’s body standing. as time passes, ardor accepts the coming days will be your last. whenever satoru has the strength to make a decision that leaves him fractured in every way. his heart breaks. all of him weeps until what’s left of love is defeat. you’re no longer yourself. a stranger takes space in your body and all it does is scream. in satoru’s mind, you’ve already died. you’ve already left him. what he’s holding is the sight of a person he wants to see, wants to be able to remember and remind himself of in the luxury of passing glances. he thinks he didn’t love those things enough. you’re a screeching mess he keeps his infinity perpetually stretched around, whose arms he keeps chained to a wall to stop you from hurting yourself, to stop you from hurting him. he hasn’t seen you smile for some time. all you do is wail and cry and make yourself bleed. a monster made of your own temptation. he still loves you, still adores you in every way. even like this. for all of time, he will.

love is blind but it sees all; love is eternal, love is unconditional. it is the only thing that owes nothing to space or time.

but he knows this is only torture for you. satoru has three options:

one. let you kill yourself in a fit of murderous delirium — both in an effort to escape him and an inability to kill him. two. let you die trying uselessly to kill him. three. kill you himself — quickly. devoutly. with honor and in love. pour enough of how much he adores you over your bones to fill an eternity, someone worthy of ceremony. you’re still someone who laughs and fills a room with delight.

tears stream freely underneath his quiver when he enters the room he’s now holding you prisoner in, a sad fact that makes him hate not only himself but all of them even more. when he enters, you go wild, writhing and pulling at the restraints he keeps you attached to. “LOOK AT ME, YOU ASSHOLE. LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID TO ME! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! DIE! I HOPE YOU DIE! YOU DISGUST ME! I SHOULD HAVE NEVER TRUSTED YOU!” unable to take it anymore, unable to hear you in pain like this, hysteric and senseless, unable to endure the loss of his only home and the betrayal from all sides, he unties the knot of his quiver. he lets it fall to the ground the same way he falls to his knees, and stares at you. because love is standing but love is kneeling, too. he hears you go silent as you stare at him in his full glory, watches your body go calm as you see crystals stream down his cheeks, surely shimmering as they fall. your screaming finally ceases, replaced by awe swimming around your crying eyes. your soft smile; it must be your parting gift to him. “like angel wings,” adoration on your dying breath. “satoru,” all that’s left is your sigh faded into demise, satoru’s amethyst tears, and both ardor and ares filling his vision with a loving lilac. so lovely, so alluring and sweet, so undoubtedly yours, you don’t even feel the crack of your neck in his hands. painless. you fade with pleasure in your sights, with a moment of remembrance. you fade not knowing you’ve dissipated into nothing, not knowing you’re cradled lovingly in his arms, not knowing how he cries for you, not knowing how he hurts, not knowing the depths of his adoration for you. only satoru has to live with the sacrifices of knowing.

but he loves you, so he will live with the sacrifices while the realms live with the consequences of crossing him. any cost of loving you, he’ll gladly pay. over and over, until death manages to capture him and take him to meet the hades himself. when he finally has the strength to leave your side, ardor goes cold within him, paralyzed by grief. one eye blinks in darkness. nothing shown. nothing felt. nothing seen. but ares is alive with the light of a promise. ardor rests and ares makes satoru keep its word. thus, he finds a way to adore devastation. only when it’s dedicated to you.

he burns the quiver to dust, his first declaration of war on all, both above and below.

everything’s days are numbered if yours are.

𝜗𝜚 tags: @yunymphs. @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat. @shunsuis. @avatarofstars. @softgirlgonehaywire. @sweeteaas. @kentopedia. @angelzrulez21-blog. @slowstorms. @dollsuguru. @seeingivy. @uroldall.

#[♡’—𝐦𝐚𝐱‘𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬｡•́]

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fvsm4x · 3 months

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i think you spelled unlimited wrong on your navi, unless it was intentional 🧍‍♀️

OMG I JUST REALISED THAT HELPP AHSJSUJAJAJA THANKK YOU FOR MENTIONING IT imma change it rlly quick😭😭

#[♡’—𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐞｡•́]

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fvsm4x · 3 months

Text

─ ✰ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒.

— synopsis: 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔, the popular guy in your class, chooses to sit next to you, of all people. you've fallen head over heels, what happens next?

— warnings: highschool au! angst, fluff in the beginning, will not be writing a part 2, swearing, gaslighting, betrayal, just a bet troupe, gojo being a dick or everybody generally, 3.4k words!

— a/n: not my proudest work to be honest :( also tried another formatting lmk if u liked it! comments and reblogs r very much appreciated i will love u forever

"yo. can i sit here?" gojo satoru grins, effortlessly sliding into the empty seat next to you and making himself at home.

...huh? isn't that the popular guy who's usually surrounded by his friends? he's constantly the subject of admiration among the girls in your class, eliciting swoons and whispers of infatuation wherever he goes. confusion creeps in as you wonder why he didn't choose the empty seat next to suguru. there's no conceivable reason for someone like gojo, popular and charismatic, to opt for the seat beside you. you feel a sense of self-consciousness settling in.

nevertheless, you nod softly, though you're well aware the question was more of a rhetorical one. he's fashionably late, by twenty minutes, to be precise, unabashedly ignoring the scolding glares from your teacher about punctuality. instead, he buries himself in the deep blue plastic seat, sticking his tongue out when the teacher turns his back, letting out a huffy pout from the lecture.

nervously, you glance up from your notebook, cautiously stealing a peek at your new desk buddy. he's pretty─ real pretty, snowy white lashes adorning his pretty cerulean spheres, dainty fingers idly spinning a pencil out of sheer boredom. and as if kissed by the blush of a gentle sunrise, his lips possess a natural rosy hue, smooth and plump, belong to him like a delicate work of art. you wonder just how many kisses they've stolen. caught in a moment of admiration, you find yourself staring a tad longer than socially acceptable.

his eyes flicker, locking onto yours, and the realization hits you—oh, he caught you staring. shit. immediately, you break eye contact as you cough awkwardly. you swiftly attempt to play it off, pretending as if you were engrossed in examining the intricate texture of your silver-grey desk instead. your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you hope he hasn't interpreted your lingering gaze as anything more than idle curiosity.

...should you say something? try to deny you were very clearly eye fucking him? he probably thinks you're a freak now. perhaps he sat next to you out of pity, and now he regrets it. out of sheer embarrassment, the words die in your mouth before they could ever leave, keeping your gaze glued to the floor as you refuse to acknowledge that his presence ever existed.

however, it appears that gojo won't let you suffer the embarrassment in peace. when your stern teacher turns away, he subtly slides a ripped edge of his blue-lined paper towards you, bearing a simple 'hi :)'. he's attempting a conversation, a surprising but welcome distraction from the awkwardness of being caught staring. an opportunity to salvage a bit of your dignity. now, the challenge lies in crafting a response that strikes the right balance.

would 'hey' sound too dry? but 'heyyyy' makes it seem like you're a little too interested. you opt for a casual 'heyy' with your black pen, scribbling the reply with extra caution to avoid prying eyes. as soon as the teacher is out of view, you subtly slip the note back to gojo. his lips curl into a slight smile upon reading your response.

two minutes pass by before you get a response. 'do you get this lesson? i'm soo lost..' accompanied by a small doodle of a crying suguru. you can't help but stifle a giggle; the drawing is poorly done, yet undeniably cute. the teacher swiftly turns around at the sound, prompting both of you to scramble and make it look like you're diligently focused on the lesson. the suspicious gaze lingers for a moment before the teacher returns to the whiteboard.

'maybe it's cause you missed like, half of the lesson.' you write back. he rolls his eyes playfully upon reading your retort, swiftly countering with a pout. "it's not my fault this class is so boring.'

'who said philosophy was supposed to be fun?' you reply. in response, gojo eagerly accepts the note, maintaining the subtle exchange of eye contact. 'hey, be nice to mr. aristotle, he's a great guy :(' he sends back. and thirty minutes seem to pass in the blink of an eye.

the bell chimes, signaling the end of the philosophy session and the need to transition to your next course. reluctantly, you stow your textbook in your bag, feeling a twinge of sadness at the realization that this amusing interaction might have been a one-time occurrence.

it's been a while since you've genuinely laughed. so when his ocean blue eyes latch onto yours with a genuine sense of hope, you quickly fold when he asks you if you're interested in sitting with him again tomorrow.

in those thirty short minutes, you learn three things about gojo satoru. firstly, you realize you've sorely misjudged him. he's not just another nepo-baby cheating his way through school; he's actually quite smart, smarter than he lets on. he's especially good in biochemistry, and he promises to help you study next time.

secondly, you discover that he loves sweets, just as you do. you both agree that kikufuku mochi is better than strawberry dango, and he even tells you about his favorite shop. maybe you can go together sometime.

and thirdly, he doesn't tell you this outright, but you learn that gojo is insecure. what strikes you the most is the glimpse of uncertainty you catch beneath his confident exterior. it's not about his looks or intelligence, but it's actually about his relationship with suguru. he's afraid to lose him, a fear that seems to drive him more than anything else. he overcompensates for his self-doubt. but you find that his flaws make him all the more pretty.

it's peculiar, the speed at which gojo somehow effortlessly integrates into your daily life. how he's feeling is how you're feeling, which is usually reflected on his friendship with suguru. if they had a fight, he'd be sad, and if everything was alright, he was too. but either way was okay with you, you just want to be there for him. what was once a dreaded fourth period now stands as the radiant highlight of your entire day.

despite the limited instances of verbal communication —perhaps a mere once or twice— the inexplicable truth remains: you've fallen head over heels for him. the simple act of passing notes with satoru becomes more than a routine; it evolves into the sole force that awakens you in the morning, the singular thought that propels you forward and keeps you going throughout the day.

and just maybe, the hopeless romantic within you fervently clings to the belief that his sentiments go beyond mere friendship. his actions seem to carry an extra layer of care, an attentiveness that extends beyond your platonic friendship. he notices the little things that escape the notice of others. it wasn't lost on him when you shed tears the other night due to the weight of stress; he went out of his way to procure your favorite candy bar, a sweet gesture aimed at brightening your spirits.

he took notice of your new haircut, expressing in a note that it frames your face nicely. he had comforted you when a classmate aimed a subtle insult your way, he wrote that the words of someone whose foundation didn't match their face shouldn't hold much weight. he even made an effort to be punctual for class, all to engage in the shared exchange of silly notes with you. and honestly, even if he didn't like you back, you'd be fine.

because your heart swells with gratefulness at the fact that he chose to sit with you. he wanted to be your friend even when nobody else did. you trusted and loved him with your whole heart, because that's what you believed he deserved.

so imagine your surprise when you overhear his conversation with suguru that day.

"just a day more, then you win the bet." geto groans, tossing his head back in exasperation. the two of them linger in the now-empty classroom, the echoes of other students long gone.

"yep, twenty four hours, then you owe me three hundred dollars." satoru sings, playfully nudging his best friend's shoulder. he's all sunshine and smiles, swinging his feet from the desk he's currently sitting on.

"and it wasn't even that hard. i just had to get 'em to fall for me." suguru rolls his eyes. "dude, if i was you, i would've tapped out the first week. how'd you manage to do it?" he huffs, clearly annoyed at the impending financial loss.

satoru mischievously grins. "just used my charm." he fluffs his hair with a smug expression on his face. "can't believe it worked so fast, though. they must be real desperate for someone's attention. all it took was for you to fuckin' pretend like you cared." suguru grouches, being a sore loser. you don't hear the rest, the notebook you had lost long forgotten.

a lump forms in your throat, a sensation of dread creeping up on you. you desperately want to believe he's not talking about you, but you can't shake the realization that to him, you were nothing more than a pawn in a bet— a tool used for his amusement. you're overwhelmed by a sense of stupidity, a painful realization sinking in, drowning every rational thought.

he never cared. you could fall dead at this moment and he wouldn't even spare you a glance. you should've known. why would he? you feel stupid for allowing him entry into your life, stupid for naively believing in his sincerity, and stupid for daring to love a heartless jerk who played with the fragile strings of your heart.

they're right. you are pathetic. you just blindly fell for the first person who gave, or rather, pretended to give a shit. a relentless ache throbs in your chest as you stubbornly refuse to succumb to tears over a boy— a resolution crumbling like fragile glass. despite your stubborn determination, an uncontrollable torrent of hot tears streams down your face, distorting the world into a watery blur.

the desperate yearning for someone to choose you, to envelop you in unconditional and pure love, had fueled your hopes. and for a fleeting moment, you believed you'd found it, only to witness your heart being ruthlessly trampled blue. clutching onto the tattered shreds of your dignity, half-broken and bleeding, you muster the strength to leave swiftly before they catch a glimpse of you.

the bitter taste of betrayal lingers in the air, each teardrop is a testament to the shattering of dreams, the dead hope that once soared. the yearning for a love that stands unwavering proves to be a mirage, leaving you grappling with the shards of a love that was never truly yours.

that day, you learn one more thing about gojo satoru. he's just like everybody else.

cerulean eyes, like pools of shimmering azure, flicker with concern as they scan the empty seat beside him. minutes stretch into eternity on the clock, each tick of the second hand amplifying the weight of his worry. nine twenty morphs into nine fifty pretty quickly, and he can't help but be a little annoyed. at this rate, you'll only get in twenty minutes of 'talking.'

you're always punctual—eight fifty-five on the dot. but today, the clock ticks on, and there's no sign of you anywhere. his brows furrow with concern, a nervous flutter dancing in his stomach. did something happen to you? the mere possibility sends a pang of anxiety through him, and he fidgets restlessly in his seat, unable to focus on the lesson before him.

yet, when his gaze shifts to meet suguru's, he swiftly masks his apprehension with an air of nonchalance, as if feigning indifference to your absence. but inwardly, his heart races as he anxiously awaits your arrival. when you finally walk in, he's already scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, filled with questions about what could have delayed you today. yet, as he extends his hand to pass you the note, his eager smile fades into confusion and disappointment.

you walk right past seat thirteen, your usual spot, without so much as a glance in his direction. instead, you approach a random girl and ask if you could sit with her. his heart sinks, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as a torrent of thoughts flood his mind. is something wrong? are you upset with him? he replays every interaction in his mind, searching for any misstep. but he can't find one. he's been careful to maintain the perfect facade when you're around. perhaps you simply forgot, he reasons with himself, attempting to quell the rising tide of hurt and confusion.

yes, that must be it.

...just a simple oversight.

"hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!! just wait a moment!!" gojo's voice cuts through the chatter of students eager to leave as soon as the bell rings. he grabs your wrist, his touch gentle yet firm, halting your attempt to blend into the rush. his heart races in his chest, the sudden surge of adrenaline making his palms clammy.

"um... you didn't sit with me today." he mumbles, the words coming out in a rush, his voice tinged with uncertainty. his fingers toy with the ring around his finger, his gaze fixed on the ground as he struggles to find the right words to continue the conversation. he doesn't like the way you're looking at him. there's a flicker of irritation in your gaze, a departure from the usual warmth and affection that he's grown accustomed to. normally, when his eyes meet yours, your cheeks tint pink, your pupils dilate, and you give him the cutest starry-eyed look. but not today.

"yeah," you mutter casually, your eyebrow raising ever so slightly. there's a certain coldness in your eyes that sends a shiver down his spine. you're about to leave again, but he moves to block the door, a frown creasing his forehead.

"did i do something wrong? i don't understand why you're suddenly acting so bitchy," he huffs, irritation lacing his voice. the words tumble out before he can stop them, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "no," you reply simply, your tone devoid of any emotion, as if you genuinely don't care. it stings his ego, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"you can 'use your charm' to make a new friend. since it's so easy for you, right?" you mutter, your voice trembling with suppressed anger. you promised yourself you'd hold it together, but the wound is still raw, etched deep into your mind as a flush of resentment rises within his eyes widen in shock, a pang of guilt stabbing at his heart. you heard that? no, no, no... he hadn't meant for you to be there. he had been so careful, or so he thought.

"i didn't mean it, i just-" he stutters, desperately searching for an excuse, but he knows it's futile. there's no chance you'd believe him now, would you? his heart sinks. he doesn't want you to hate him. "i was easy, right?" you laugh bitterly, each word dripping with sarcasm and pain.

"i hope that three hundred dollars was worth it. not that you even needed it, though. you think toying with people is fun? you're a dick, satoru, go to fucking hell." you hiss, your words laced with venom, cutting through the air like a sharp blade. "let me explain-" he protests, desperation evident in his voice as he tries to reason with you. but you're too angry to even consider it.

"explain? explain what?'" you explode, your voice rising with each syllable, oblivious to the judgmental glances of passersby. you scoff, tears threatening to spill over.

"i didn't mean it," he cuts you off, his own voice strained with emotion. "you're my friend, i just—" his voice cracks. "friends don't manipulate other people's feelings." you interrupt, your voice laced with venom as you spit out each word. you're aware you look like a mess, mascara staining your cheeks. "friends don't trick and hurt you on purpose!" you yell, tongue dripping with malice. "and here's the thing. you may be the greatest, satoru, but you will never, be enough. not for suguru, not for anybody."

you almost regret saying it. targetting his biggest insecurity. but then again, he deserves it. "how could you say that?" his voice is broken, quiet, as he mumbles it out as a whisper. the eyes that you once found so stunning suddenly look just like everybody else's. they well with tears, but are quickly blinked away. "you don't get to cry, satoru," you scoff, unzipping your bag and opening the front pouch.

you toss all the letters you've written in class, all the sticky notes, every single ripped paper, every little doodle, flipping your bag over and emptying it on the floor. every single heart fluttering moment you experienced seems so dead now. "you don't get to act like you cared. it's only fair, after all." you manage to muster, fighting to keep your voice stable. tears drip down your chin as your bottom lip trembles.

every step feels like a battle, a relentless tug-of-war between what your heart wants and what your mind knows is right. leaving him behind is like tearing off a piece of your own soul, but you convince yourself it's for the better— for your own sanity, for your own self-respect. each stride forward is heavy with the weight of goodbye, each breath drawn in a struggle against the ache in your chest. and as you finally turn away, a part of you dies inside, a piece of your spirit crumbling in the wake of shattered trust and broken dreams. you can feel his eyes on your retreating figure, the silent witness to your silent agony.

this time he doesn't try to stop you. and when you leave, gojo finally allows himself to cry.

today, gojo finds himself seated next to suguru, reclaiming his former spot from before the bet. yet, everything feels different now. the idiotic jokes his friends make just aren't as funny anymore. their presence is irritating to him. he laughs, but the sound lacks the same genuine joy it once held with you. he smiles, but it's a mere shadow of the radiant expression he wore in your presence. his heart may feel a fleeting sense of happiness, but there will always be a hole where you once were.

his so-called 'buddies' don't even notice that he's at his lowest point, and he can't help but think about the way you would've noticed immediately.

how you would've sent him a cute note with his favourite candy attached, because you kept them in your bag just for him, for these kinds of days. he feels so numb. he's always been so confident, yet he can't even muster up the courage to pass by your desk.

and he can't help but wonder what might have been if he had chosen differently that day, if his intentions had been pure from the start. would you two have gotten somewhere? he supposes that now, he'll never know the answer. his eyes cloud over at that thought, slouching back down into his seat.

he never had the chance to tell you how sorry he was, how he would take it all back in an instant if he could. he didn't mean to hurt you. he was stupid and careless. and yet, he tries to convince himself that he'll be okay. that he'll be able to get over you one day. one day, when he's married and has two kids, he'll look back at this and laugh. so then why does his heart feel so heavy? you're not suguru, it's true. but suguru never made him feel this way. and he's confused with his own feelings.

he doesn't know what love is.

he's only sixteen.

perhaps he'll never know. but for him, love was sneaking kikifuku mochi into class for you to share. it was sending you cat memes at three am in the morning, only for you to groggily respond with your own. it was doodling you in his notebook in his spare time. it was how what you were feeling was how he was feeling too.

you were right, it seems.

gojo satoru, the greatest, yet not enough to make you stay.

#[♡’—𝐦𝐚𝐱‘𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬｡•́]

2K notes · View notes

fvsm4x · 3 months

Text

all too well g. suguru

pairings: geto suguru x fem! reader (satoru x reader maybe?)

cw: lovers to exes, depression, i used suguru's eye color in the manga, angst, self-sabotage, fighting (satoru and suguru), mentions of blood, cutting of hair, i used suda manami for the plot sorry 😔, crying, a lot of cursing!

a/n: another angst fic hehe sorry :p

maybe you were the problem all along, maybe you forced him to something he didn't want and suguru got tired of you. that must be it. but if you were really the problem, you were willing to change, just for him to go back.

how can a person love someone to the point that they couldn't live without them? how could a person like you love someone that you still couldn't forget about them despite being separated for several months already?

geto suguru was supposed to be your high school sweetheart, he was supposed to be the person you'll be with until you grow old. why did a simple argument ended everything? but was it really that simple?

graduating high school, you and suguru decided to stay at a same dorm, not wanting to get separated again. you've started to get to know him more. you found out the things he loves and hate the most. you still remembered when he told you he hates it when you're not around. but now, you wonder if that's still the thing he hates the most.

being in a 4 year relationship with suguru, you've got to know him better. you always notice little changes about his behavior, his attitude and if something is bothering him and you hate the fact that he hid his depression to you very well. he was all happy infront of you and you didn't even know that something was already wrong.

you only found out about it the night he ended everything. he told you he fell out of love. it was sudden, you couldn't even process the words he uttered not until he embraced you, both were speaking in hushed voice, scared that one might break if one raises their voice.

"i'm sorry, but it's best if i'm away from you." he muttered, still embracing you.

"why? am i bad for you?" you said, not returning his almost cold embrace as you lean your cheek on his chest.

"mhm.. i wanted to focus on myself for now." you were speechless and you kept telling yourself that you should say something but everything was stuck at your throat.

say something! you said to yourself.

you felt suguru arms slipped away from you as he stood meters away and smiled at you.

"was i— a burden?" fuck, you were supposed to comfort him! don't be selfish right now.

"no." he answered plainly. "none of this is your fault, it was my decision."

"h-hey, we're in this together, my—"

"stop—" he stopped you before you could even reach him. "please respect my wishes." he said.

"suguru, what's wrong, hm? come on, tell me. i'm sorry was i hurting you? am i being too much? if so, i'll change! i will!.. suguru just— please?.. you're all i have."

a sob left you when he shake his head left to right, you hate how he said those words that broke you and still embraced you to comfort you.

"i'm sorry, i really am but if this continues, i'm afraid i'll break."

"but i'm here, i would love to be with you. your problem is my problem, right?

"you don't understand, (name)."

"tell me, so i could understand." you muttered as suguru pulled away by holding your shoulders.

"you're being stubborn."

"but— you'll be back, right?"

"i don't know." he said as he took his gymn bag on the bed and you stood there, frozen on the ground, lips quivering as you cry. you don't even care if you look miserable in his eyes, because once suguru stepped a foot outside, you know it's all over.

suguru held the door knob on his hand, he wanted to look back but once he did it, it would break down the walls he built himself and would tell you that he didn't mean everything he said, but he couldn't just do that, suguru needs his time alone and it was for the best, for him, and for you perhaps?

"suguru." fuck. he cursed when you called him with your voice breaking, his hand on the door knob tightening. "remember that i love you, okay? if you need something, i'm here, always."

"yeah, thanks."

and it was finally over.

being emotionally attached, it was hard without him by your side. you used to wait for him so you could eat dinner together but now, you can only only stare at the leftover food on the table for hours until you didn't want to eat anymore.

you waited, day and night as you sit on the couch staring at the door as if miracle would happen and he would come in there. you've lost track of time, you think even reality. you couldn't help but wait for him.

none of your or his friends came by to ask if you were okay but you forced yourself to think that everything was all fine because suguru will be back, right? you know he would.

a month passed, you thought you were getting better. you started going out after locking yourself in your room but seeing people around you, you couldn't help but think of the days he was still beside you and decided to just come home. you weren't getting better yet. will you ever be? yes, you eventually will.

winter was your favorite season, you and suguru loved to cuddle with thick blankets around your bodies with a mug of hot choco with marshmallows.

how many months has it been? 7 months? it's not like you're counting. you're doing good now, but the memories were still there.

you were more than ready to see him again, in a high school reunion your old classmates held so you could celebrate christmas together. you hope he will be there.

"i can't find it!" you cursed, already searched every corner of your cabinet and the scarf he gave you wasn't there, you couldn't find it. another curse left your mouth and decided to just wear a random scarf from your cabinet.

"i love your hair! it looks so healthy despite being so long!" you closest friend among them, utahime said.

"ah well.." you were cut off when you heard voices from the entrance of the private room of the restaurant.

"they're here." utahime said as she stood up, welcoming your old classmates and your heart increased its pace as you heard a familiar voice.

as you recalled it, none of your friends except his best friend satoru and shoko knew you were dating back then since both decided to be private. his friends were very observant that they found it out themselves.

"yo!" a surprised gasp left your mouth when satoru threw himself on you, his arms around your shoulder as he flexed his blue eyes to you and then he brushed his slender fingers on your hair as you felt heat in your cheeks when he complemented it. "what a nice hair you have, it reminds me of someone." he said.

satoru cleared his throat at he sat properly beside you.

"oi suguru, you did not inform us that you'll bring your girlfriend with you!"

you didn't know if you were taken aback at the words you heard or the way satoru pinched your cheeks, forcing a smile to form.

"what are you doing, satoru?" you said as you caressed your burning cheeks that he pinched.

satoru was about to say something but you stopped him.

"it's fine." you said, mainly assuring yourself as you smile at satoru. it's already been 7 months after all. it would be a surprise if suguru doesn't have someone new knowing that he have the looks.

shoko sat to your opposite as they trap you in the middle.

"where the hell have you been these past months?" shoko said, trapping you on her arm as she grind her finger in your hair. you laughed in response as she finally released you. "so, how have you been?"

"good."

"doesn't look like it."

"i'm fine, let's not talk about it for now." you muttered. "let's enjoy this day."

"alright, talk to me if you need something."

being around with your old classmates, you noticed that satoru and suguru weren't in good terms. when did it happened? they were literally roasting each other the moment everyone sat on their own seats.

"they fought, 3 months ago." shoko whispered to you as if she just read your mind.

"what happened?" you asked as shoko shrugged.

"i only found them beating each other and when i was about to ask them, they left."

you look away from satoru and did not expect to see purple eyes looking at you, but he was quick to avert his gaze.

you gulped the lump in your throat as you stare at the same scarf you were looking for, wrapped around his new girlfriend's neck. her pink her looking good with the pink with white tip knitted scarf. maybe it was just identical to the one he gave you, right?

the reunion was still a long way but you couldn't be in the same room with him anymore. earlier, you were too excited, even more than ready to see him again but now, you just wanted to be away from him.

"shoko." you yelled at your friend's ear, the loud sound of the karaoke draining your energy as shoko leaned her ear close to your mouth. "i'll be leaving now, i'm getting dizzy with the loud noise." you said as she prepares herself to stand up. "it's fine, i can go by myself, i already called an uber."

"are you sure?" she said as you nod.

you decided not to inform your other classmates anymore as you left the restaurant, your whole façade finally dropping as you quietly sob whilst covering your mouth.

what did you do to deserve this kind of punishment when you were just loving someone genuinely, was that a sin?

suguru's hair wasn't as long as you remembered it, instead it was cut the same length as his best friend. hair holds memories? what a bullshit phrase. now you just wanted to pull your hair out as you cry.

you thought waiting for 7 months was enough but do you have to wait more months? even years? of course, suguru was someone you already saw in your future, on the aisle as both of you exchange vows.

7 months has passed you still couldn't move on but suguru? he was there, with someone. he finally moved on from you. you just hope that the 4 years of being together was happy for him.

"hey." you were fast to wipe your tears as the person revealed himself.

"here." satoru said, handing you a handkerchief.

"what is this for?" you forced a laugh as you sniffed, accepting the handkerchief on his hand.

"you okay? i can take you home."

"thanks for the offer, satoru, but i already called an uber." you said as the surroundings went silent and silence made you cry even more.

"i'm sorry." you said, concealing your cries with a laugh as you wiped your tears with the handkerchief satoru gave you.

"why are you apologizing?"

"i look miserable, right?" you joked as you heaved a heavy sigh.

"i should really take you home."

"it's fine, it'll be fine later. i was just surprised." you said. "so, when did they?.."

"3 months ago." satoru answered.

"ah, is that so?" you asked as satoru hummed in response. "i'm happy for him." you said but your voice shaking.

"are you?" satoru teased as both of you laugh. "i'm here, you know." he suddenly said.

"stop joking like that, satoru. suguru is your best friend, i just couldn't betray him like that."

"i'm just joking." satoru said, placing his arm around you, caressing your hair with his hand.

your phone released a sound as you noticed that the uber was already near and satoru pulled away from you.

"thank you, satoru."

"of course. you still have my— and shoko's number right? call us if you need something."

"yeah, thanks again." you said as satoru ruffled your hair.

"there goes the uber." he said as the uber stops infront of you and you were surprised when satoru opened the front door. "take her home safely or i'll beat you up." he said.

"satoru!.. don't mind him mister."

"i'm just kidding." he laughed as you huffed in response. satoru watched as the uber disappeared on his sight as he released the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"so, you're starting your plan now huh?" suguru said as he appeared behind him.

"ha? what plan?" satoru rasped as he placed his hands inside his pockets.

"stop pretending satoru, we both know what you feel for (name). it's your chance now, you can take her, i don't care."

""suguru is your best friend, i just couldn't betray him like that." she said. see how she's still worrying for you? i wonder why an innocent person like her decided to choose a bullshit person like you." suddenly, satoru cheek was met by suguru's fist as suguru held him by his collar.

"say that again!" suguru said but satoru gave the same punch he received as suguru stumbled back a bit.

"hey!" shoko's voice entered their senses as she went between them. "the fuck are you two fighting for again!" shoko yelled but she was being ignored by the two men.

"did you know suguru, i am aware of my bad habits before in high school that's why i let you be with (name) even if it hurts me because i know you are the best for her, i didn't expect you to be like this, come on!"

"stop talking as if you know everything."

"i don't fucking care, i just know that if i had her first, she wouldn't be like this. she was crying, because of you! we didn't even know you broke up with her until we saw you with your new 'girlfriend'."

"then fucking take her!"

"oh i will! just watch, geto suguru."

suguru removed shoko's hand that was gripping his sweater as he wiped the blood on the side of his mouth before going back inside.

"gojo what the fuck?" shoko said.

"forget what you heard, shoko."

"you fucking dumbass! where are you going?"

"leaving this shit reunion."

satoru was supposed to be home but what was he doing in your front door?

he cleared his throat before knocking at the door but minutes already passed, there was no answer.

satoru slumped his shoulders deciding to just leave but then the door was suddenly opened a bit as you peeked.

"satoru? what are you doing here?" you said as you open the door to fully welcome him.

satoru's mouth agape as he looked at you with slightly widened eyes.

"oh this? lovely is it not?" you said as you brushed your fingers with your new short layered hair you cut yourself. you weren't even finished cutting it when you heard a knock on the door.

"yeah, suits you." he said.

"is that for me?" you said, pointing at the plastic of foods on his hands.

"y-yeah, uhm.. shoko wanted to give this."

"really? i'll thank her later!"

"no! i mean- i'll just say it to her."

"okay?.. want to go inside?"

"sure."

was cutting your hair made a difference? you think not because even if you cut it already, the pain was still there. maybe you weren't really getting better, maybe not all, not anymore.

#[♡’—𝐦𝐚𝐱‘𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬｡•́]

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fvsm4x · 3 months

Text

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.6 devil's advocate

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 6/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 10.7k

a/n. so sorry for the wait! i'm really excited for this chapter, it's one that i've been waiting for since before i even started the series, and it was a lot of fun to write. i hope you enjoooy <3 if there are typos, your mind is just playing tricks on you

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 (pending)

Life after realizing you had feelings for Gojo Satoru seemed to pass by in slow-motion, as you spent a significant portion of the day consumed by thoughts of him. Although it was against your better judgment, it was nice to have your mind occupied by something that wasn’t career stress, school stress, or financial stress. It’s been a minute since you’ve felt this way about someone, and it was healthy to indulge in some escapism, right?

You find yourself scrolling through his Instagram page for the second third time today, captivated by the attractive photos of him in his soccer uniform, kicking at the ball with a determined look on his face. Your gaze fixates on the blue follow-back button staring back at you on his page, remembering that you still haven’t followed him back. Pulling your phone away from your line of sight, you glance up at the ceiling, take a deep breath, and swiftly tap the blue button. You clutch your phone to your chest right after, surprised by the butterflies in your stomach, but it’s only ten seconds before you’re back to perusing his photos.

You sigh dreamily from where you were laid back on your bed. Mina looks up at you from her desk with an irritated expression on her face.

“What’s with the dreamy sighing every thirty seconds? I’m trying to study here,” she says to you.

You throw her a look. “Oh please, I’ve had to deal with your dreamy sighs every single time you were on the phone with Todo for the past two weeks. You can handle a few of mine.”

Mina’s eyes widen at your words and she turns in her chair to look at you intently. “Wait…who are you dreamily sighing for?”

You blink in response. “Oh, uh. No one? I mean, what’s that one actor’s name–the one in that show we were watching?” You tap your finger to your lip, pretending to be in deep thought, but Mina wasn’t buying any of it since she promptly stood up from her chair and snatched your phone out of your hand. You yelp and sit up on your bed to try and grab it back from her but she has that I was the eldest sibling in my household grip on your phone.

“Is this…Gojo Satoru’s Instagram page?” she asks, extending your phone out in front of her and tilting her head to the side at the screen, as though she was trying to wrap her head around it.

“Stop! You’ll accidentally tap on something,” you’re squealing at her, arms flailing out in an attempt to grab at your phone. She eventually hands it back to you and you’re sighing with relief before flopping back down onto your bed, fingers eagerly swiping up on the screen to make sure she didn’t accidentally like one of his posts from four months ago.

“Are you crushing on Gojo Satoru?” Mina asks with her hands on her hips.

You meet her gaze with a hint of guilt. You haven’t kept Mina up-to-speed on a lot of the things that have happened within the past three weeks, including the night last week when Gojo stayed with you out on the road after you got your flat tire and then kissed you. It’s been about five days since then, and you feel that if you fessed up now, she’d be mad that you didn’t tell her right away.

“I’m…” you start as you look at her and she raises an eyebrow at you that makes you sheepishly sit up on your bed, pretty much kneeling in front of her. “Maybe. A little bit? I don’t know.”

She looks at you with surprise before walking backwards and sitting onto her bed, facing you. She presses her lips together, deep in thought, and there’s an almost concerned expression on her face. “When did this develop?”

You end up explaining pretty much everything that has happened between you and Gojo as of recently, her face staying neutral through even the most surprising details, and by the time you’re done explaining and waiting for her to give a response, you realize you’re tensing your shoulders and holding your breath.

She sighs, sulking a little and her bed frame creaks underneath the mattress. “I can’t believe you kissed Gojo Satoru and you didn’t tell me about it, like, practically the second after it happened. Also, you never told me that’s why you called me that night! It makes sense now why your car has been in ‘service’ for almost an entire week. I feel so horrible you went through that and I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’s okay,” you assure her with a small smile. “I’m fine. It was really nerve-wracking in the moment,” you say as you glance down at your hands, twiddling with your thumbs as the memories of that night flash through your mind. “But having him there really helped calm me down,” you admit in a hushed tone. When you look up at Mina, she wears a soft and knowing expression on her face.

“That’s good, I’m glad,” she murmurs and returns your smile with one of her own, but her eyes still look at you with caution.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just I don’t really know Gojo that well. From what you’re telling me, he seems like a nice guy,” she comments, “but the fact he’s been really diligent in following-through with this whole film photography assignment of yours makes me wonder where his head’s at with you.” She finishes her sentence, but you continue to watch her since you could tell she had more on her tongue. “I just hope he’s not messing with you.”

“Messing with me?” you ask her. There’s a part of you deep inside that’s wondering the same thing, but the thought of having to confront that feeling in order to get an answer makes you want to stay in blissful ignorance instead.

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth and looks at you for a few seconds. “Maybe I’m overthinking it. It’s just a crush, right?” Her phone chimes with an alarm noise and she grabs it to turn it off. “Oh shoot, I’m going to be late for class,” she groans, leaping up off of her bed and stuffing all of her things on her desk into her bag. She gives you a goodbye over her shoulder just before she heads out of your shared room and then you’re all by yourself.

Mina’s last question to you hangs in the air. You didn’t really know how you would’ve answered, because you didn’t know what you expected to come from your feelings, if anything at all. You’ve had feelings for plenty of other guys before, some turning into something more and others turning into nothing at all. Having feelings for someone wasn’t really something to worry about or complicate.

You lay back down onto your bed with a sigh and go to the messages on your phone, clicking on Gojo’s name. It was so bizarre that he was now in your list of actual text messages since you had his number now, but the two of you have only exchanged a few texts since that night you last saw him. He sent over his practice schedule for the week, which was pretty packed and busy since their big game on the 28th was in just two days, and when you zoom in on the picture you see that he has practice in about ten minutes from now. You assumed that since he never texted you about it, they were probably just doing drills out on the field or some other exercises. But you missed him, and you wished that you did have an excuse to visit him. You didn’t care about tweaking your camera angles, fixing the exposure, or trying out different light sensitivities for your photos so they come out immaculate. You just wanted to see him again.

Tossing your phone to your side, suddenly frustrated by how mentally drained you feel, you look around the room and decide to tidy up a bit to distract yourself from all your emotions. As you start to pick things up off your desk and place them back on the shelf, you notice that you still have a netted bag full of washed laundry to fold. You dump all of the clothing onto your bed, consisting of sports bras, multiple pairs of jeans, your nice panties and also your grandma undies. One of the articles of clothing catches your eye, and you pull it out from the pile. It was Gojo’s jacket.

Your heart skips a beat in your chest as you take in the sight of it, all the memories of that night flashing back into your head. You remember the chill of the air, the deep sound of his voice beside you, the gentle look in his eyes, his lips pressed against yours. Gojo had kissed you, so that had to have meant something, right? Maybe it was a spur of the moment thing, an emotional decision because the two of you were alone, and it was dark, and it was cold, and you two were reveling in each other’s warmth, but it was still something he initiated. It was so brief, the moment cut so tragically short that you still find yourself craving more despite the fact it happened almost a week ago. Mina wasn’t home that night, and instead of spending the rest of it curled up by yourself like you ended up doing, you could’ve easily invited him inside. You wonder if he would’ve taken you up on the offer, and how far you two would’ve gone. And now, because you were imaging it, you find it in your heart that you wanted it. Before you know it, those feelings you swore you wouldn’t complicate started to feel complicated. If all the novels, movies, poems, and folklore of this world have been any indicator, when it comes to matters of the heart, it’s always impossible to defy.

You bring the jacket to your chest, the fabric now smelling like the laundry detergent that all of your other clothes smell like, and no longer of him. It was the polite thing to do to wash it, but the absence of his scent on the soft material just made you miss him even more.

Closing your eyes in disbelief at the thought that crosses your mind, you resolve to act now and deal with whatever comes later. If you wanted to see him, you were going to see him. Besides, wanting to hand his jacket back to him wasn’t so bad of an excuse to drop by, right? What if it was a deeply sentimental article of clothing that is agonizing for him to be apart from? (a/n. he doesn’t even realize you still have it lol)

You grab your tote bag as well as his jacket and head out of your apartment, down to the ground floor, and walk down the street until you reach the bus stop that takes you to campus. You make it there in about forty minutes, the bus dropping you off near the central area. As you start walking towards the expensive art sculpture near the practice fields, you pass by the school’s mini convenience store and the bottles of strawberry vanilla soda splayed out in the display case catches your eye. You then find yourself inside buying two cans. One for him, one for you. Maybe he’ll be open to hanging out after practice, and you could properly treat him to something nice for all of his help.

Soon enough, you’re walking across the grassy hills that lead to the field. It was a slightly gloomy day today, with the sun only peaking through the clouds every five minutes or so, but it was still beautiful and something about the fresh air made your chest swell with ease. Just as you get closer, you notice Geto and Nanami walking together in your direction.

“Oh, it’s y/n!” you hear Geto say when you approach them.

You greet the two of them with a smile. “Hello, it’s nice to see you two. Are you finished with practice?”

“No, we’ve still got about two hours left, but we just finished a pretty intense set of drills so coach is giving us a fifteen,” Geto says through strained breathing, and you finally notice that the two of them looked sweaty and spent. “What’s that in your arms?”

You look down at the strawberry vanilla sodas you were carrying and then back up at the two of them. “Oh…I just wanted to bring some soda for mr. center forward, as a thanks for getting me referee permission to be on-field on Thursday.”

Nanami crosses his arms across his chest and Geto’s eyes widen. “Damn, wish I had a cute girl go out of her way to bring me strawberry-flavored soda mid practice,” Geto muses.

“I don’t think Satoru deserves this level of kindness, y/n,” Nanami tells you with a shake of his head. Geto looks over at him with a wry expression before letting out a small laugh.

You give the two of them a smile. “No, really, he’s been helpful. Is he out on the field?” you ask, standing on tiptoes to try and peer over their shoulders towards the field.

“Yeah, he is, I think he stayed back since Coach Yaga was yelling at him about something,” Geto answers and he takes a glance at his watch, “he usually doesn’t stick around to take the lecturing for longer than two minutes so he’s probably somewhere hanging around nearby.”

“That’s good. Coach Yaga scares me,” you admit to the two of them, pretending to shiver at the thought of him yelling, and this earns a smile from Nanami.

“He’s really not that scary of a guy, just pretends to be one,” Geto informs you then lets out an exhale and places his hands on his hips after fully regaining his breath. “So, you’re going to be on the field with us on Thursday? That’s awesome, please cheer for us. Also, you should come out to the house party the night before the game.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You guys still party before your big games?”

Geto laughs. “I always forget you’re not in a sorority. Yeah, we do, I think the frat just wants an excuse to go crazy and picks our game schedule to go off of. You’ve no idea how many of our players have been in massive shit by showing up hungover to games.”

Nanami lets out a disgruntled noise. “It’s irresponsible, honestly.”

You give an apologetic laugh before fidgeting with the soda cans in your arms, eventually throwing them into your tote, and then peering over their shoulders once more as an impatient feeling washes over you, the desire from earlier to see Gojo consuming you in a way that was entirely distracting. Nanami seems to notice this as he uncrosses his arms and slightly nudges Geto with his elbow. Geto sends him a curious glance before looking back at you.

“Well, anyway. If you’re free tomorrow night, come by. Pre-game parties are usually pretty hype. Yuuji’s bouncing, so he’ll let you in,” Geto says to you, giving you a kind smile.

“Yeah, I’ll try to make it,” you say, returning his smile. The two of them walk past you and you continue to trek forwards until you reach the large hill that oversees the field.

Once you’re at the top, your eyes immediately scan the field for Gojo, and you quickly spot him at the foot of the hill talking to some people. You notice the group surrounding him weren’t wearing athletic clothing of any sort, so you assumed they were just his friends. He had a bright smile on his face and just the sight of it created a warmth within you. As you begin to stumble down the hill, your legs hasty in their stride, you see him leaning down forward towards one of the girls in the group with a playful look on his face. The girl looks up at him with a tilt of her head and you hear feminine, high-pitched laughter in the air as she steps closer to him, swatting at his chest from something he says. He’s fully grinning at her now, and it’s so painfully obvious they’re flirting that the feeling in your chest that was so excited to see him quickly turns sour.

He somehow catches you standing at the bottom of the hill in his periphery and his eyes widen. There’s a moment where you hesitate, but eventually take a deep breath and make your way through the crowd. A few within the group let out confused noises from the disruption and then you were standing right in front of Gojo.

“Who’s this?” one of his friends asks, particularly annoyed since you had accidentally nudged him to the side in your stride. You could feel the wide eyes from the men and the curious glares from the women.

Gojo’s standing there shocked, likely from the fact that he wasn’t expecting you to be here, and then glances around to the people in the group. “Oh, just someone I…” he starts, his facial expression softening slightly when he looks back at you, but you’re giving him a guarded expression, “...know.”

Your mouth opens slightly in disbelief, before you quickly close it. It’s true that you didn’t really know what you and Gojo were at the moment, it’s possible you would’ve answered the same, but his description of the nature of your relationship with him still hurts. He could’ve at least said your name or introduced you. And your disappointment from his words made you realize an unsettling truth, which was that you did want more from him, and you weren’t sure if that was something he was interested in at all.

The girl he was talking to earlier is glaring daggers at your side, and you suddenly feel suffocated surrounded by a group of people watching you with interest. The man in front of you, despite getting to know him for the better part of the past three weeks, started to feel like a stranger to you all over again. You shove his jacket to his chest, and he looks down at it with surprise before hesitantly grabbing onto it.

“Just wanted to return your jacket,” you mumble to him, trying so hard to sound neutral and sane. “I washed it for you.”

You hear a few of the men surrounding you coo something suggestive, a few laughs making their way between them as the women in the group scoff in denial. You ignore them and keep your gaze on Gojo. He’s looking straight down at you and scanning your features, and you notice his face briefly contorts into one of guilt when he registers the disappointed look on your face.

Reaching into your bag, you pause when you see the two cans of strawberry vanilla soda sitting at the bottom, the smiling cartoon mascot faces on the labeling staring up at you like some pitiful conscience. You reached in and grabbed one regardless, then extended it to Gojo. He blinks at it before looking up at you. When he doesn’t immediately grab it, you also shove it to his chest until he does. When his fingertips make contact with your hand as he takes it from you, the contact sends a shiver down your spine.

You bite your lip, faltering before you speak again. “For your help. Officially even now.” Then you turn around and push through the strangers spectating the whole scene to make it over to the grassy hills. You vaguely hear Gojo call your name out from behind you, his voice quickly drowned out by the voices of those surrounding him as they continue conversation, and soon enough you’re out of sight over the hill.

—

“So, you’re telling me that this guy goes out of his way to help you for this class assignment, in a way that’s unproportionate to the favor that you put in for him, he flirtatiously teases you any chance he gets, drives out late at night to stay with you when you’re stranded with a flat, has an earnest conversation with you about life, kisses you, diligently takes care of you until you’re home safe, and then when you run into him in front of his friends, he says you’re just someone he knows?” Mina’s recounting every single painful detail as she paces around in your shared room. “I know you both haven’t had a conversation about anything after that night, which is insane because you should’ve, but at least he could’ve said you were a friend?”

You scoff from where you’re laid down on your bed. “I caught him sliding his hands up a girl’s top in the bathroom at that SAE party last week, and when he tried to explain the situation to me he said that he and that girl are just friends. So, by his definition, we’re definitely not friends.”

Mina sighs. “Honestly, y/n, I know he’s charming and he’s been nice to you, but he still has a reputation for being a player.”

You look up at the ceiling, your pillow clutched in your arms for emotional support. “He almost looked like he didn’t even want me there. Like I was an unwelcome interruption. Some sort of nuisance.” You weren’t sure exactly how to read the expression he had on his face from your unexpected visit, but your brain had a habit of settling on the worst.

Mina sits down at her desk, turning her chair to face you. You were fully sulking like a heart-broken teenager and you didn’t understand why. He wasn’t any sort of title to you, and you haven’t even known him for that long. Barely a couple weeks ago, you were still resolved to the fact that he was some sort of mystery. An urban legend around campus that you couldn’t believe you were talking to because people like him didn’t usually talk to people like you.

“Why don’t you just ask him how he feels about you? Put an end to the guessing game. Be like ‘hey, jerk, I know it’s common-place for frat dudes to kiss girls like they’re a dime a dozen. But that’s not gonna fly with me, so fess up on your intentions’. Something like that,” Mina suggests, waving a finger in the air.

You glance at her annoyed. “Were you trying to do an impression of me? I don’t talk like that.”

“You kind of do, love,” she says with a smile on her face.

You look back up at the ceiling. “...I don’t want to have that conversation with him. It’ll hurt my pride. He should’ve been the one asking me what we are now, since he’s the one that kissed me.” You turn to gauge her opinion at your words, but her expression isn’t giving any hints. “Is that petty? I feel like I’m being petty.”

“No, girl, I agree with you,” she says with a sigh, “that’s how it should be, but almost never ends up being the case.” She looks up at the ceiling briefly, a thought forming in her head, before looking down at you with a sly smile.

“What?” you ask, already wearily anticipating her response.

“You want to know how to find out how he feels about you without asking him how he feels about you?” she says like it was some sort of sales pitch.

You turn onto your side and perch yourself up on your elbow, a little too interested. “How?”

She snaps her fingers. “Make him jealous.”

You look at her apprehensively. “Jealous?”

“I mean, that’s the foolproof way to tell how a guy really feels about you. Based on how he reacts when he sees another guy’s tongue shoved down your throat,” she says with a playful shrug.

You flop down on the bed again. “Now that’s petty.” You hug your pillow to your chest again, considering the option. You didn’t even know if Gojo would feel jealous if you tried to make him jealous, it’s possible he wouldn’t even care at all if he saw you with another guy.

“Yes, petty, but so what? We’re seniors in college, now’s our last chance to be petty. After we graduate, we’ve got to be fully functioning members of society,” she sighs, “you only get to be a petty college chick once.”

“How would I make him jealous?” you ask, still dwelling on her suggestion.

“Well, SAE is having that pre-game party tonight, he’s definitely going to be there. It’s your chance,” she says, tapping at her phone to glance at the time.

You hum to yourself. The mature part of you is telling you that it’s a ridiculous idea, but the angel on your shoulder that has weathered the pain of all your confusing feelings as of lately was starting to play devil’s advocate. After a minute’s silence, you cover your face with your hand and groan. “Oh god.”

Mina looks up at you again. “What?”

“I’m gonna do it,” you say, swinging your feet over to the edge of the bed so you’re sitting up, pillow still hugged to your chest as you look at her. “I’m going to go find out how he really feels about me.”

Mina’s smiling at you and hops onto her feet. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for the toxic version of you to make her appearance.”

There was still a couple of hours before the party, so you take a shower and spend some time doing your hair as well as makeup. Wearing your robe, you walk over to your dresser and open it to pull out a pair of jeans when Mina looks over at you and sighs. You send her a look and she makes her way over to you, nudging you to the side with her hip and shoving your jeans back into the drawer.

“You’re not wearing jeans to this party,” she groans, “do I seriously have to teach you everything?” Mina starts shifting through the clothes you had hung up on your hangers, eyes landing on something that was tucked away to the side. She pulls out your black dress, the one that had long, skin tight sleeves with a sweetheart neckline and the short hem that barely fell to the middle of your thighs. She pats at the soft and silky material, pulling on it in an attempt to smooth out one of the wrinkles. “Oh, yes, honey. This will definitely do.”

“It’s wrinkled,” you say in a poor attempt to get out of wearing it.

“Nothing my straightener set at 350 degrees won’t fix,” she says to you with a wink.

It takes Mina three minutes to prepare your dress for you while you anxiously pace around the room, fidgeting to yourself, and she eventually hands it to you to wear. The dress had an A-line silhouette cinched at the waist and the top half was tight, so you decided not to wear a bra with it. Just as you’re about to pull on a pair of biker shorts underneath to cover a bit more since the short fabric was hardly doing much, Mina sends you another disappointed look.

“y/n, please, you’re killing me here,” she says. “To make him jealous, you’ve gotta get other guys to look at you. That might mean being a bit risque with the attire tonight.”

You sulk your shoulders before sighing and tossing your biker shorts back into your closet. You turn around to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress over you and tousling with your hair before gasping a little as you take in your entire appearance. You looked good, and Mina’s playful cat-call from behind you only gave you a greater kick of confidence.

“Love it, cute but sexy at the same time,” she says with a smile. “It’s your turn to be the hottie at the party.”

You two decide to take an Uber to the frat strip, arriving at the host house close to 10pm, and you can already hear the loud chanting and music inside. As you make your way up to the driveway, a gust of wind breezes by and your hands immediately hold down the fabric of your dress in an attempt to not flash the group of people walking behind the two of you. Mina looks over at you with a mischievous smile. You make eye contact with Yuuji at the entrance and he straightens his posture when he sees you and Mina approaching.

“Hello, ladies. I see we’ve switched roles here tonight,” Yuuji says with a tip of his head. “Bombshell friend,” he gestures to you, “and-”

“If you call me a casual tomboy, I can’t guarantee I won’t smack you,” Mina says to him.

Yuuji blinks at her. “Head on in,” he mumbles and you two walk past him.

It hits you as you walk inside that this is the third SAE party that you’ve been to within the past three weeks, and yet the atmosphere still surprises you every time. The music was loud, but at this one, the people chanting was even louder. You notice there were posters and flags with the school’s colors and symbols plastered up and hanging from the staircase, as well as pinned up jerseys on the walls that looked a lot like the ones that the soccer players wear during matches. Oh, and derogatory insults for the opposing school were drawn across all the decorations.

“I’m going to go find Todo,” Mina says to you with excitement and then she’s skipping off into the heart of the party, leaving you alone.

You sigh and fidget with the sleeves of your dress, looking around the party, your heart beating fast in your chest at the prospect that you’ll lock eyes with Gojo but you don’t see him anywhere. As you walk inside, you notice that people are looking at you, and when you make eye contact with some, you notice a lot of them were men, and the attention has you itching for a drink. You quickly make your way into the kitchen and are satisfied when you see the insane amount of options that you can reach for on the island. You grab a White Claw, crack the can open and when you turn around, you jump a little from the sight of a person in front of you.

“Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the man in front of you says with an apologetic look on his face, and you recognize him as the one that was bouncing the last SAE party that you went to last weekend. “Just going to reach around you to grab…that.” He reaches around you to grab an entire bottle of tequila, his arm brushing against yours and his eyes meet yours with a smile on his face. “I remember you from last week. You’re stunning by the way, what’s your name?”

You tell him and he’s nodding his head slowly, a cheeky look on his face that you’re used to seeing when guys attempt small talk to distract from the other less-than-innocent things they have floating around in their heads. “Nice, I’m Ryota,” he says as he adjusts the snap-back he was wearing on his head, “you, uh, in a sorority?” He leans back against the kitchen counter in front of you and you wonder if grabbing the tequila was just an excuse to talk to you.

You find yourself turning away from him slightly, taking a huge gulp of the White Claw you had in your hands to realize that 8% ALC./VOL was not going to be enough to get you through the night, so you turned to face him again. “No, I’m not. Are you going to drink all that tequila by yourself or are you looking to share?”

He smirks at you. “There’s enough for two.”

You and this man you met literally two minutes ago cheers a few shots, throwing them back, and you notice that he does them almost effortlessly while you’re wincing from the fact that it’s been a long time since you’ve had hard liquor. He’s chuckling at your reactions as your face scrunches up from your third shot and you wave your hand in front of your face from the burn. A few people that walk in and out of the kitchen periodically give the two of you amused looks before walking back out into the loud party nearby.

“Can’t handle your alcohol?” Ryota asks and you sigh, your face already feeling flushed.

“I can, I swear,” you whine.

“Here, wanna?” he says to you as he hands you another shot and then he holds his outstretched arm up. You think he’s trying to cheers, so you tap his shot glass, and then he’s laughing. “No, hold your arm out.” You do as he says and he holds his arm against yours and soon enough he’s taking a step closer to you and you’re interlocking your arms at the elbow. You let out a small gasp from his proximity but his eyes on you are unwavering. He brings his shot glass to his lips and you do the same and then you both tip your heads back, the burn in your throat making you unwind your arm from him and shake your head until you’re leaning back against the island counter and you hear him laugh again in front of you.

“Y/n?” a familiar voice calls out that instantly sobers you up from the four shots of tequila you so valiantly threw back.

The two of you turn your heads to look at the source of the voice, and you see Gojo standing at the entrance of the kitchen. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him and you feel your heart skip a beat in your chest, still so shocked at just how breathtaking he was anytime you saw him. He was holding an empty bottle of alcohol in his hands. You straighten your posture but Ryota still leans against the counter nonchalantly.

“Hey, what’s up dude. Sorry, I was about to circle back with more tequila, but I got caught up in here,” Ryota says and flashes you a smile. “Do you know y/n here?”

You observe Gojo, who wears a tense expression in response to hearing his words, and then he locks eyes with you. A look of surprise swiftly passes across his face as he takes in your appearance, and you feel as if you're practically burning under his gaze. He looks back at Ryota and furrows his brow.

“Yeah, I do,” he mutters and rudely pushes right in between the two of you to make it to the fridge. “Seems like you do, too.”

Ryota seems to pick up on something from Gojo's tone that you don’t, because suddenly he’s standing up straight from the counter and turns to look at you with a contemplative expression. "I'll bring the tequila, or what's left of it I guess, out there," he mentions to Gojo, excusing himself with a brief glance in your direction. As he leaves and turns around the corner, a noticeable weight hangs in the air from how you and Gojo are alone in the kitchen now.

You lean back against the island, reaching for the White Claw you had opened earlier and take another sip. There was a muted buzz lingering in your head, and it felt good, offering a pretty welcome distraction from the fact that Gojo was standing just a few feet away from you, searching for something in the fridge. When he doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for, he closes the fridge door with a louder-than-normal slam, startling you, and then he turns around to face you.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” he declares with an edge to his voice, and you’re already rolling your eyes.

“Sorry, pal, should I send you a notarized attendance letter three business days in advance so I don’t end up cock-blocking you in a bathroom again?” you sneer at him.

He leans back against the fridge, facing you as he crosses his arms across his chest. Damn it, don’t stare at the muscles. Don’t do it. “What’s with the attitude?”

“I don’t have an attitude, this is just how I talk to my acquaintances,” you retort as you take another sip of your drink.

He takes a step forward to you, eyes shamelessly dipping to the neckline of your dress and then a little bit further to where the hem grazes your thighs. He places his palm on the counter behind you that you were resting back on and then he’s leaning closer to you, your grip on the can in your hand tightening. He was so close that you can’t think of anything but him. His eyes are on your lips when he speaks. “Are we just acquaintances?”

You narrow your eyes at him, all of your anger from yesterday and earlier today resurfacing at his question as you look up at him straight in the eyes. “Yes, I’m only someone you know, right?”

He’s sighing and you can tell he wants to pull away from you to display his annoyance, but he stays right where he’s at. The hand that was placed on the counter slowly inches towards your waist until his thumb is brushing against the fabric of your dress just underneath your rib cage. He starts to draw slow circles on the material, pressing into your skin occasionally, and you‘re breathless from the contact. “I’m getting the hint that you’re mad at me about something, but it’s hard to care when you’re looking like this.”

You let out a scoff at his words. You’ve spent the past two days suffering from his behavior, and he’s trying to get away with it by practically seducing you. But there was also a part of you that was entirely aroused by how little he seemed to care about your attitude and how much more he seemed to care about the way you were worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “Looking like what?”

The thumb that was pressing against the clothed skin of your waist retreats and his hand moves back to where it was before, laid flat on the counter next to you, except this time his other arm reaches out for the surface too. And now he’s got you caged-in, looking down at you like he’s trying really hard to not get even closer. “Looking hot as fuck? You’re kind of vain for making me say it out loud.”

You’re effectively dazed out of your goddamn mind at this point, using all the self-control you’ll have for the rest of a lifetime to not grab onto his shirt and pull him into you, all inhibitions lost to the wind. You wouldn’t even care if anyone walked in, you just needed him on you, touching you, kissing you right now. But there’s a tiny part of you that’s still mad at him, and fortunately that tiny part of you pulls through. “If you think trying to seduce me is going to make me not angry anymore, you’re out of luck.”

“I’m not trying to seduce you. You think this is me trying to seduce you? If that’s so, I’m starting to worry you won’t be able to take it,” he whispers that last part so suggestively that you’re weak in the knees from his words. He seemed so different, entirely preoccupied by taking in the sight of every inch of you in front of him that any sense of shame or guilt has left his body, and he’s just looking at you with desire.

“Satoru…” is all you manage to say as you look up at him, your thighs clenching from the arousal of just his presence surrounding you.

You see him close his eyes for a second and exhale before he opens them, his pupils all the way dilated and wild when he looks at you again. “Yeah?” he responds, his head dipping down towards yours slightly, lips just inches from yours, like he’s waiting for your permission to act.

“I…” you start, blinking up at him through your lashes, “...I was having a lot of fun earlier throwing back shots of tequila, and you kind of ruined that. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to it.” You place a hand on his chest, his gaze dropping to it in surprise as he watches you push him away from you all the way until his back hits the fridge with a thud.

“What the fuck?” he utters, his face contorted into a confusion you found incredibly comical.

You press up against him, looking up with round eyes and innocence, and you feel him immediately tense up. “Also, very inappropriate to treat someone you barely know like that. I’ll let it slide, though.”

The last thing you see before you turn away from him is his shocked expression, blinking at you with the rest of him practically motionless, and you skip out of the kitchen towards the main party happening around the corner out of his sight.

There were bustling people, a few guys coming up to you to talk to you, but you ignore them until you spot Geto, Nanami, some of the other soccer players, and a bunch of other people huddled around in a circle. You tap on Geto’s shoulder and he turns around to face you.

“Oh! Hey, what’s up, you made it,” Geto greets you, pulling you in for a brief hug which surprises you but was also pleasantly received as you hugged him back with a friendly pat. You could smell the alcohol from him. When he pulls away from you, he’s beaming. “We’re all doing rounds of shots, wanna join?”

“Oh my god, the words I’ve been wanting to hear all night,” you say and you join the circle, a bunch of people cheering as they usher you towards the center and you grab a shot glass from the small round table. A group of maybe fifteen people all raise their shot glasses up in the air, you included, and say some incoherent, non-rehearsed words of luck for the soccer team’s game tomorrow before everyone throws back their shots. You’re squealing and jumping up and down in excitement with Geto and watch as Nanami pretends to throw back his shot before dumping its contents into a red plastic solo cup in his hand instead.

“This is so much fun!” you’re yelling. “Can we do another?”

“Hey! New girl wants to do another,” one of the frat dudes calls out, which is followed by cheers and then messy pouring of tequila all over the table as people extend their shot glasses out to be filled.

Two, three, four, eventually five is your limit until you wander away from the circle, entirely tipsy at this point, over to where people were dancing in front of the DJ’s booth. You bump into some couples that were grinding up on each other, your drunk conscience shamelessly watching their movements, and then accidentally bump into a man so hard that it almost sends you falling back onto the ground but he grabs your arm and keeps you upright. His drink spills a bit out of his hand and onto your dress, making you giggle like a freak.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he’s yelling to you over the music.

“No, I’m sorry,” you yell back, and then you notice he’s wearing a jacket that mimics the patterns of the school’s soccer jersey and has an embroidered player’s number on the chest. It hits you that you’ve seen him on the field before briefly during the practices you’ve been to. “Are you on the soccer team?”

“Yeah, I am,” he says and he tells you his name but the music is way too loud to hear it, and you’re also sort of drunk at this point to register it anyways. But he was cute, and you decided you wanted to dance with him, and dance away is exactly what you do.

When he twirls you around and presses his chest against your back, your line of sight falls straight ahead to where you see Gojo sitting on a couch. Your heart sinks in your chest when you see a girl place a hand on his thigh and lean towards him, practically sitting in his lap, but the look on his face tells you he’s entirely distracted by something else. His eyes search the room for a few seconds, and when they land on you, he stills. When he tilts his head up to peer behind you and sees who you were dancing with, a look of shock crossed his face.

For fucks sake, you wouldn’t flirt with one of his teammates, right?

In your drunk, hazy mind, Mina’s words flash by in your head. The foolproof way to tell how a guy really feels about you is based on how he reacts when he sees another guy’s tongue shoved down your throat.

You turn around, reach up and pull the man you were dancing with down towards you, and you kiss him. The man hesitates, clearly surprised, before moving his lips against yours and just when you feel his hands make their way to your waist, you’re being yanked away from him by the arm. When you turn to look at the perpetrator, you see a very viscerally angry-looking Gojo in front of you and a chill runs down your spine.

Oh god, he looked pissed. If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under right now.

He pulls you by your forearm over to the stairs, and you’re protesting, trying to yank away from his harsh grip, but he doesn’t budge as he takes you up to the second floor and just when you two have made it into the secluded hallway, he pushes you up against the wall, caging you into it with his body.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he scowls at you, leaning in closer, tone so searing it’s enough to set you on fire.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you yell back at him, anger rising within you.

“You’re seriously turning out to be a real fucking pain in the ass,” he hisses the words, his eyes darting across your face before settling on your lips.

“Why do you care? I’m just-” you start but he interrupts you when his lips crash down on yours, taking you by surprise. His kiss was hungry, ravenous, all-consuming. So different from that night when he kissed you for the first time with nothing but tenderness. This one felt like he wanted to take everything from you, leaving nothing behind. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer to him, and your arms slide up past his shoulders, locking behind his neck, and he’s groaning against your mouth before biting at your bottom lip. When you grant him access, he deepens the kiss and the taste of him intoxicates you.

“If you imply that you’re just a stranger to me one more fucking time,” he’s growling against your mouth, “I’ll make sure we get real well acquainted with eachother against this wall right now.” His hands find the flesh underneath your ass and he easily hoists you up, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist. “Ask me if I give a fuck if anyone sees.”

“Oh my god,” you’re gasping, his words hitting you straight to your core, and when you feel his clothed erection pressed against the flimsy cloth of your panties, the self-resolution you once had was all but a distant memory. “Satoru, bathroom, please, not here.”

When you tip your head back, giving him access to your neck and he immediately indulges, peppering kisses down your skin, you roll your hips against his and he squeezes the flesh of your ass hard to reprimand the motion before he takes you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, then setting you up on the counter.

His kisses get lower until he’s at your collarbone, and he pulls you forward towards him on the surface to where you’re sitting at the edge and he has his hands digging at the soft flesh of your thighs. You’re squirming in his grasp, gripping onto his shirt for any sort of purchase. When his kissing reaches the neckline of your dress and his finger hooks the fabric, threatening to pull it down, he looks at you.

“Please,” you ask him simply.

He raises an amused eyebrow, pulling down the fabric slowly to just above where your nipples would be set free. “You think you’re in a position to ask for anything from me right now?”

“Oh my fucking god I swear, if you don’t yank my dress down, I’ll choke you,” you threaten him.

“Careful, pretty, I might be into that,” he chides, pressing a kiss to your chest.

You grab the wrist of the hand that was still hooked inside your cleavage, and pull it down harshly so your tits are set free and he leans away from you to take in the sight. He’s mesmerized for a moment, his hand wrapping around your rib cage and thumb poking the softness from the side before it eventually reaches your nipple and starts to play with it. “God, you’re so beautiful. Remind me why we didn’t do this the first night we met?”

When his mouth latches onto your nipple, you tip your head back with a moan and you’re not able to come up with an answer to his question. Because he was right, it was insane that the two of you didn’t. Your hand runs through the short hair of his undercut at the nape of his neck and then grips at the soft strands a bit higher as he sucks and licks at your breasts. You wrap your legs around him tighter, pulling his hips to you, and from the edge of the counter you start to roll your wet panties against the bulge at his front to get relief. He groans against your chest before pulling away.

“You need to relax. Real fuckin’ desperate now compared to when you were pushing me away in the kitchen thirty minutes ago,” he scolds, his lips finding yours again and one of his hands trails up the skin of your thigh. You open your legs even wider for him sweetly and he smiles against your lips, his fingers brushing the skin of your inner thigh and then finally pressing against your clothed core. You instantly jolt, entirely stimulated by the contact, and he pulls away from the kiss to watch you.

“S-Satoru…” you whimper because it’s all you can manage to say, your hips pushing forward, craving more of his touch, but he withdraws from your heat all together and steps away from you, his grip on your hips dragging you forward until you step down from the counter and you’re standing in front of him, looking up like you don’t even know how to breathe unless he talks you through it. He turns you around to where you’re facing the mirror, and it’s the first time you take a look at how messed up he’s gotten you. Your cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, eyes a little teary from the lust consuming you. Your tits that appeared plush and perked by the haphazard way the neckline of your dress was tucked underneath them were glistening with his saliva and you felt like you were about to go insane at the sight. You take a look at his face in the reflection, and he too looked like he was about to go insane at the sight.

“Bend over the counter,” he demands with a rough voice, but you don’t have much of a choice since he’s pushing down on your back anyways. You’ve risen up onto your tiptoes to accommodate the position and he lazily flips the fabric of your dress up over your ass before his hands hook into the side of your panties at your hips, pulling them down, and you feel the fabric practically peel off of you from how wet you were. And then he was on his knees behind you.

“Fuck, why didn’t we do this the first night we met?” he laments, marveling at the sight of you bent over for him.

“You already asked that question,” you mumble.

“Cause it still doesn’t make any fucking sense to me,” he sighs and then he drags his index finger into your folds, from your entrance that was sopping wet all the way down to your clit. You’re wiggling, pushing your hips out towards him, and you hear him let out a low, guttural sound in his chest at the sight. His finger experimentally pushes into you and you’re gasping, hand slamming against the mirror.

“You’re so sensitive. Need a second?” he asks like he’s genuinely looking out for you, and yet he doesn’t wait before pushing another finger into you regardless.

“Mhh..n-no, just need your tongue,” you say through a shaky breath, panting from where you were on the counter.

He groans at your request and pulls his fingers out of you, instantly making you whine, before giving you a different reason to whine when his tongue presses against your clit.

Your mind was going insane, still registering the shock that this was happening as you moaned from the feeling of his tongue on you, mouth latching on and sucking harshly at your sensitive core that has you writhing and grasping onto anything you could find for purchase. The man that was making a mess at the most intimate part of you right now seemed so different from that kind man last week that pressed that chaste kiss to your lips. This was like you had just summoned the devil and he was on his knees behind you.

You make a mental note to never doubt any of Mina’s advice ever again.

When his hungry lapping at your clit turns into slow, lazy licks against your folds, you whimper above him and attempt to grind against his mouth so his tongue is where you want it. “Mm…p-please, stop teasing, I wanna cum.”

He pulls his mouth from you and you feel how slick he’s made you, nothing but a mess of your arousal and his spit, before he pushes two fingers inside you and stretches you out inside with them. “But do you deserve to cum, is the question, sweetheart,” he drawls, curling his fingers inside and pressing on that spot that had your walls fluttering around him and building that tight knot in your lower tummy.

“Yes, I do, fuck,” you’re moaning as he slowly starts to pump his fingers in and out of you, “less talking, more licking my clit.”

His other hand finds your clit, fingers beginning to rub agonizingly slow circles, and you can feel the texture of his calluses across every single nerve ending of the aching bud. “What was that, baby? You want me to be stingy with my tongue? Alright, whatever you say, princess,” he sighs it like he has no choice but to be a fucking dick right now.

“No, oh my god, don’t be stingy with your tongue,” you cry out, your cheek pressing up against the mirror from the sheer desperation of wanting a release, “I’ll kill you.”

“Can’t make you cum if I’m dead,” he purrs. “God, your pussy’s going crazy right now, clenching around my fingers like it’s got a mind of its own. Can’t wait to fuck you,” he’s groaning, “so sweet, so tight, so wet. Exactly how I imagined it.”

“Y-You’ve imagined this?” you whimper to him when he starts to fully fuck you with his fingers.

“So many fucking times,” he grumbles, his other hand now gripping your ass and thumb spreading you more open. You blush from how exposed you felt to him, but the noises he was making from the deepest part within his chest made you realize he was a freak for it. He pulls his fingers out of you and then uses both hands to spread your folds apart as he laps at the wetness that was practically dripping from your entrance. “What your world would be like if this was your little ‘terms and conditions’ favor instead.”

His tongue latches onto your clit again and your knees almost buckle. “M-Make me cum and maybe I’ll finally regret the fact that it wasn’t,” you say to him, desperate to coax something feral from him that finally grants you release of the tension building at your core. You’re unable to stay still, squirming and squealing above him, so hopelessly at his mercy.

“Say you’ll never kiss another guy except me ever again,” you hear him grumble with his face still buried in your cunt.

“w-what…” you say, exhaling incredulously, “S-Satoru…you don’t make any sense…we’re not even dat-”

“Say it, and I’ll let you cum,” he tells you simply, pulling his mouth from you again just when you felt like you were about to topple over and you’re about ready to kick him in the face at this point. You try to look over your shoulder to read his facial expression but when his fingers take their position over your clit and he starts to draw stars, you quickly give up and rest your forehead on the mirror. Oh god, this was good, if he just kept going-

As if he could read your mind, he pulls his fingers from your clit entirely, leaving your core agonizingly empty from any part of his touch, and it makes you gasp. You’ve never felt more betrayed in your life.

“Oh my god, okay okay okay!” you’re screaming, sticking your ass out to him and he’s chuckling at the sight. “I’ll never kiss another guy again! Fucking hell, Satoru, please, just make me cum,” you beg, whimpering and almost crying, your thighs twitching from the urge to clench together for some form of relief in his absence.

He seems satisfied by your begging, because he immediately grabs your ass with both hands, one of his thumbs pushing shallowly into your drenched entrance, and then his mouth finds your clit again. You close your eyes shut, and you could feel that you were just seconds away from cumming as he simultaneously sucks and licks relentlessly on the sensitive bundle of nerves. It’s when he groans against your center with such a primal frequency, sending shockwaves of vibrations to your center and throughout your entire body, that you fall apart for him and you come undone so violently that your knees entirely give out, and you’re screaming his name. He wraps an arm around your legs to keep you from falling as you squirm on the counter, your walls pulsing and clenching, hips twitching, and then you’re finally calming down. You lay blissfully on the surface, head down, breathing heavily with soft, remnant whimpers leaving your lips.

You hear Gojo let out a short exhale from behind you that almost sounds like he’s in disbelief. When you turn slightly to look back at him, you see he’s palming himself through his pants and looking directly at your cunt. “You’re dripping onto the floor, fuck.” He catches a drop of slick, clear arousal as it falls from your entrance, immediately bringing it to his tongue and licking it off his finger before standing up.

You barely manage to push your upper body up so that you’re standing, shaking arms working overtime to hold yourself up, and he comes up behind you to press his chest against your back, looking at you in the mirror. He was breathing heavily too, his mouth near your ear and his eyes lidded with lust. You reach your arm up and behind him to grab at the soft tufts of hair at the back of his head, your back arching from the motion, and he groans as he pushes his clothed erection against your ass, head dropping close to your shoulder from the pleasure and he presses a kiss to your skin. The image in front of you, with his broad shoulders and frame completely engulfing yours whole, your hips slightly rocking forwards and pushing against the counter from his indulgent grinding behind you, his hand reaching up to pinch and play with your nipple, it was all so erotic that you were already aching for more. He effectively finger-fucked, licked, and sucked the anger out of you, and that was a dangerous fact.

His fingers grazed up the side of your waist that the fabric of your dress still clung tightly to, and he loosely held onto you, sighing against the back of your neck which sent shivers down your spine. His eyes meet yours in the mirror. “So pretty like this. Turn around and face me, baby, reflection’s not enough,” he says to you and you do as he says, twirling around. His eyes take in the sight of you, his thumb coming up to press at the soft flesh of your breast and you can see it in his eyes that he was worshipping you.

You finally take in the entire image of his appearance. His chest was heaving, hair disheveled, shirt was wrinkled at the front from when you were grabbing onto it earlier. There’s a crease to his brow when he looks at you, and you realize that this is not the first time you’ve seen him look exactly like this in a party bathroom. Except the last time, it was from reasons other than your own.

And then there’s that sinking feeling in your chest again.

Just when you observe that spark of intense lust in his eyes, pupils dilated like wild, see it flash through his mind that he thinks he’s about to get lucky with you tonight, you find yourself pushing him away from you for the second time tonight. You’ve got him with his back pressed up against the wall while he looks down at you with confusion, and this time there’s desperation and panic there too.

You look up at him with a discerning softness, and all those tender feelings you’ve been experiencing for the past week come crashing down on you all at once, but your heart aches with their memory. When his eyes study your face, there’s a brief second where he’s surprised to see the way you’re looking at him, and his jaw clenches slightly.

“Thanks, I really needed this,” you whisper to him, hand patting his chest reassuringly as you try to keep your composure in front of him despite the hollow feeling in your chest, “gave me some clarity. Don’t follow me.” And then you step away from him, pull your panties back up into place, adjust the neckline of your dress up over to cover your tits, then you make your way to exit.

“What? Wait-” he scrambles, sounding stunned from behind you as you open the bathroom door, walk right out into the hallway and close the door behind you, not all the way but just enough so you were out of his line of sight.

You sigh to yourself for a second as you step to the side, fixing at your hair, then take a deep breath as you walk down the hall. It registers in your mind that he listens, never following after you.

a/n. reader is soooo messy for doing this to him right before his big game lol i'm like scared for her even though i'm literally the author hahha. i hope to see you in the next one! much love

➸ you're all caught up!

tag list: @who-can-touch-my-boob @getitsatoru @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice (decided to tag all interacts too just so it's not missed if that's ok! love you all sm)

#[♡’—𝐦𝐚𝐱‘𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬｡•́]#THIS WAS SO GOOD HOLY SHIT #THE ANGST>>>>>#THIS IS SO WELL WRITTEN #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk gojo

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fvsm4x · 3 months

Text

Two for the Price of One (JJK Oneshot)

TW/Warnings: Profanity, NOT POLY SATOSUGU, Fem Reader and She/Her pronouns, ANGST, Angst for Satoru and Reader, Bittersweet ending for Suguru and Reader, HIGHKEY MISCOMMUNICATION, Mischaracterizations of characters and unrealistic scenarios for the sake of plot, abandonment issues if you squint really hard, Reader slowly losing herself, Reader feeling depression/hopeless(implicit), SUPER UNREALISTIC/CRINGE/FRUSTRATION, Reader's has a healthy dynamic with her clan

Series: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader/Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader

AU: Canon

Pronouns: She/Her(Reader's clan has a unrealistic healthy and understanding relationship with her)

Word Count: 6.1k words

Summary: Gojo's lack of coping caused you to drift away and eventually depart after Suguru's defection from Jujutsu Society.

(A/N): I know it doesn't make sense and will make many frustrated with how dumb this is. I just wanted to write my emotions out with this one, okay? I know this wouldn't slide but I'm a sucker for these scenarios.

[!!!Unedited and not proofread!!! 2/7/2024 11:00pm CST]

It was hard on all of you.

More so for you and Satoru.

Ever since Geto’s massacre and defection, the higher-ups and Jujutsu society have been scrambling to get the chaos under control. Having a special grade user become a curse user was sounding red alarms as there was an immediate threat to present-day Jujutsu sorcery.

You knew something was up with Suguru. You did; your observation wouldn’t allow things to go unnoticed. It was a bit here and there, but never a significant concern. You tried coaxing him gradually to open up to you, but your efforts were fruitless. No bells were ringing until the post-Plasma Star Vessel incident. You felt the shift in Suguru’s aura; you noticed his lifeless stare—the growing dark circles around his eyes surrounding the tiny flicker of life left inside.

You tried being there for Suguru. You did anything and everything to accompany him and not leave him alone. It was selfish of you. To be desperate for your best friend to lean on you for support and not to go down a destructive path. You became even more worried when Haibara returned cold with a frustrated and traumatized Nanami. It was becoming more evident of Suguru’s deteriorating condition, you to confide in Shoko and even Yaga-sensei.

Grief is like love, a twisted parasitic curse. Even though a year has passed, your grief was a malevolent spirit that latched itself onto your shoulders with a vice grip. A bitter reminder of how Suguru never said goodbye to you. He technically did with Satoru. But it was more of him telling Satoru that he was severing ties with Jujutsu Society by questioning him with his newfound powers. All you got from Suguru was a simple letter Shoko gave you at your dorm. She was with you as you read it. Tear droplets stained the paper, words smeared, and became unreadable. Out of pure frustration, you ripped the paper in half—the tearing of paper cut through the sickening silence. Shoko hugged you as you sobbed in the aftermath. While you were mourning the loss of your friend and your lives together, you were also mourning your life after this would never be the same. It would only get worse from here.

Satoru is tossed onto multiple missions left and right, never catching a break.

And there was you, trying to return to your regular school life. Or how every day can it be now? One of your best friends just murdered an entire village and his parents, and the other one is overworking himself to the very bone. Shoko being there for you was a surprising one, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Given that she was the first one Suguru said goodbye to, she understood his actions.

The problem was trying to tell Satoru about it, but he would brush it off, saying that maybe it was the change in weather or sickness. When you tried to explain there was more to it, Satoru would wave his hand at you, saying,

“You’re overthinking too much, (Y/N)-chan! I’m sure Suguru is fine. We just have to give him some time.”

Though the tone was light-hearted, it provided no comfort. You know Satoru was suffering as well. Individuals process trauma differently, after all. You were seeing this first hand.

Satoru was overcompensating to the world of Jujutsu with his enlightenment, over-working himself and burying his pain through that charismatic mask he now dons. Suguru is the most common one: Insomnia, isolation, and depression. He slowly became a lifeless husk. On the other hand, you were coping by trying to move forward while acting like a rock for them. Despite the hard transition, you didn’t deny your trauma as you slowly worked to process and navigate through it. You had the support of Shoko, your teacher, and even your clan/family stepped in to support your mental health endeavors. They went as far as providing you with a therapist, who was also a sorcerer.

But in the end, you all were suffering in silence.

A year has passed since Suguru left, and you were getting by. You, Shoko, and Satoru would graduate in the third year and officially become Jujutsu Sorcerers. Yet, at this point, it felt more like only you and Shoko. Satoru still attended class and hung out, but missions mainly preoccupied his school life. He recently returned from Hokkaido, only to be sent out again to another one. This time, however, it was somewhere in Western Europe. That’s on the other side of the world. It would only be for a week, but still. You wanted him to rest or take a break, as he never did– not since the incident.

He wouldn’t be leaving for another seven days, so you had enough time to be with him. Yet it was challenging because Satoru didn’t let up. The ravine he created kept opening, the distance stretching far and deep, pushing you away.

Just like Suguru

You didn’t want to lose Satoru. You almost did, becoming a grim reminder of how much you cared for Satoru Suguru. To fall for your best friend was a betrayal to you. You didn’t mean it, but Satoru did things that made your heart warm and futtered. Suguru was the first to catch on; he saw your crush a mile away. Confiding in Suguru about it, you found solace in his words– feeding into an enviable delusion.

Unbeknownst to you, Suguru's eyes were able to hide his longing for you as you rambled about Satoru and your latest hangout together. Suguru always thought you and Satoru had a special connection—your two powerful chemistry and how you bounce off each other. He presumed Satoru had mutual feelings, but nothing was said. Once he left, he knew you had his heart. There was no space for anyone else to fill it but you. And Suguru was more than willing to live with reality. If the girl who gave his life light is with his best friend, so be it. He would settle with the heartache as long as you were happy.

But you weren’t happy at all.

Over time, you started questioning whether the life of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was worth it. Yes, you were born into the world of Jujutsu, and it has been your whole life. But the last two years radically changed that. You were already exposed to this life's dangers and cruelty; prepare to face it head-on no matter what. Yet second thoughts became third thoughts. Then, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh. The more you challenge your initial mindset, the more doubts seep into its cracks.

Why should I continue when I am nothing more than a placeholder in this world?

How can I save everyone if I can’t save one person?

Where is the meaning in all of this if I’ll just die alone in the end and be replaced?

Was this endless cycle of Jujutsu Sorcery worth it in the end?

You wondered if Suguru shared the same thoughts to push him to his decision. Now, you don’t blame him for leaving at all. It was grime. It was depravity. It was futile. You only stayed because you had your clan. You had Yaga-sensei and Shoko. But most of all, you had Satoru to shoulder the burdens of the Jujutsu world.

That’s… what you thought…

You decided to go to Satoru’s dorm to check up on him. Maybe squeeze a hangout in there. Gently knocking, you hope he was there since you couldn’t sense him around the campus. There was faint shuffling on the other side, signaling he was there. You softly call out to him as you knock again. Once opened, Satoru greeted you in his school uniform. You found it odd as he’s switched to his comfortable clothes after school hours.

“Hi, Toru! I just came by to see how you’re doing. The mochi store we always go to releases its seasonal flavors today! Why don’t you come with me? I heard one of your favorites returned, so I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“I appreciate the thought, (Y/N). But not today, I’m sorry.” Satoru said with a smile.

You couldn’t pinpoint his smile, tittering on, sad and strained. A tinge of uneasiness settled inside your heart, but you still wore your smile to not let it surface.

“C’mon, Toru! You don’t know if they will sell out today. Plus, the weather is great. I heard some festivals with food stands are opening up because of that. It wouldn’t hurt to go out just this once, Satoru.”

Satoru’s smile disappears at your insistence, replacing it with a fine line. His mood change didn’t sit well with you. You had previous attempts to get Satoru to care for himself. However, this is different than all your others because the band that holds your desperation began to wane itself thin. Your solid composure falters in bits. Your bright aura slowly dimmed as your now chapped lips twitched.

“Satoru, I know that you’re busy. Always on missions, meeting the higher-ups, your clan needing you more than ever, you have your hands tied. But it wouldn’t be too much just to enjoy yourself. Just come with me today before you go to Europe next week. It’s been a while since we hung out together.”

“Look (Y/N), I don’t really have time for this. I need to head out now, or it will get dark. Maybe another time–”

Then something inside of you snaps. You didn’t know whether it was your desperation or uneasiness, but you assumed both because your facade crumbles to reveal your emotions.

“You always put say later, Satoru, but never do! You haven’t taken a break in months! You’ve gotten paler, and your under-eyes are darker than before! You’re pushing yourself too hard and beginning to neglect yourself. Toru, Please! I’m worried about you! You know I can always help you–”

“For the love of God, (Y/N)! Can you STOP TALKING?! GOD, YOUR VOICE MAKES MY EARS BLEED! LIKE HELL YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND MY RESPONSIBILITIES!”

It was never your intention to snap. But the way Satoru was acting paralleled Suguru. Eat, sleep, and go on missions. It was always those three, the same ones Suguru was subjected to, that became a factor in his defection. Satoru was caught in the vicious cycle that pushed Suguru over the edge.

On top of your crippling fear of Satoru sharing the same fate as Suguru, Déjà vu struck you. Desperation emerged from within as you didn’t want to lose him, breaking your resolve before him. After all, desperation was fear in another form.

You weren’t the only one to reach a breaking point. Satoru snapped as well and at you, of all people. You guessed it was from all the stress and emotions he bottled up that exploded there. What Satoru was experiencing was valid and understandable; you knew this. Yet to blow up at you was uncalled for as you made it clear you’re only helping. Your eyes sting as you feel the formation of tears ready themselves, biting the inside of your bottom lip to keep your voice from breaking.

“B-but… Satoru… I w-was only trying to–” You stuttered out, forcibly pushing out words to fill the silence.

“Help? You were trying to help, (Y/N)?”

Once saying that Satoru let out a sarcastic laughter that could be mistaken for madness. Horror took over your face. Pain-filled eyes that were glossed over, showing your tears could spill at any moment. His laughter abruptly stopped, making it so quiet that only your staggered breathing could be heard. He meets his eyes with yours with the most disdained you have ever seen.

“Do you think you could help when you’re just dead weight? You thought you were on par with Suguru and me. Get that out of your stupid little head of yours (Y/N). You were never strong like us.”

“You don’t mean that, right, Satoru?” You said incredulity as you reached out for him. Only for your hand to freeze before him, not going any further. A chill flashed over you, adding to the aching that enveloped your soul.

Did he– Did he just use his infinity on you?

“Oh, but I do. Now, I need to be somewhere. Do yourself a favor, (Y/N), and don’t bother me with your weak presence.”

And before you knew it, Satoru was already gone. He had used his teleportation to get to where he was needed. Leaving you alone with the room to his dorm wide open. As the sounds of the crickets took over, they were paired with your small sniffles as you furiously wiped away your nonstop tears.

Were you weak to him?

Have you really been holding everyone back?

Were you that much of a nuisance to him?

Is this how Satoru really felt about you?

Has he always felt this way?

You never saw utter detest and contempt from Satoru. Your previous interactions had him irritated or annoyed, but never like this. This was the first time Satoru had blown up on you, let alone given you such a reaction. Before, you’d repeatedly remind him of your support and help. But it always ends the same way, pushing you away. After what happened, this will be the last time you’d do this for him.

You were once told that you can’t help someone if they aren’t reaching out for help. And this was a bitter example of it. Your efforts in having Satoru lean on you bore nothing. What’s the point in continuing this if nothing changes after multiple attempts?

You were tired, drained, and indifferent. Your tears keep falling as you enter your dorm, not even stopping as the sound of nature lulls you to sleep.

You let two days pass to let Satoru calm down and give him space. No interactions or anything to pass some time. You would try to contact him for the next four days after that. But your texts were left unanswered and on read. When you tried calling, your call went straight to voicemail. He blocked your phone number, too.

The weight of your doubts and Satoru’s words the other day are fueling impulsivity. If Satoru called you weak and dead weight, other sorcerers would think so, too. If you become a thorn in their side, you’re doing them a favor by pulling yourself out for them. Even if Satoru didn’t mean it, you knew there was some truth to it because he kept his infinity up. You could never forget how his blue eyes lit through his pitch-dark glasses as he spoke down at you. Giving away that he was conscious and level-headed when he said those words.

You were losing the war against your intrusive mind. Your doubts and thoughts gradually solidified in your consciousness. In the end, they won and consumed your psyche.

If becoming a jujutsu sorcerer would get in the way of others, then being a sorcerer wasn’t for you.

With your last attempts to contact Satoru, you had made your decision. A day before Satoru departs for Europe, you decide to pay your clan head a visit. It was sudden and unannounced; nonetheless, they allowed an audience with you.

They let you speak your mind, allowing whatever you need to be released and run free without judgment. Thus, you confided in them about everything.

This was too much; all of it was too much for you to bear any longer. You couldn’t see yourself as a sorcerer any longer after dealing with what you had experienced. Every day was a battle for you, and you lost every single one. You admitted you didn’t have or what’s left of you it in you to shoulder the responsibilities of the Jujutsu world. You didn’t want the life of a jujutsu sorcerer anymore. You wanted one where you would be at peace, not having to fight every day. To enjoy the rest of your days as a regular civilian.

Confiding also in missing Suguru dearly and how his departure left a hole in your heart that could never be healed. You weren’t strong enough to face the horrors and hardships anymore and wish to live a peaceful life.

Although your clan head was shocked at your confession, they were understanding and asked if this was something you truly wanted. An unwavering ‘Yes’ left you, and your clan head nodded. They gave you a choice: to go after graduation in a few weeks or leave now. If you leave now, they will deal with the rest as you finish the important schoolwork. It was just a waiting game with missions sprinkled throughout.

You could wait before leaving, but that’s wasting time. If you weren’t going to continue your life here, you might as well get a head start now in your new life. You finalize your decision with the head. They said they would have some members pick up your stuff from your dorms tomorrow morning, but you said it wouldn’t be much. As you took your leave, you told them you would keep in touch with the clan.

“What are your plans for what happens next, (Y/N)?” They curiously asked as your back was facing them.

“Hmm, I don’t know exactly. But I have an idea, (Clan Head’s Name). Thank you for all that you’ve done.”

With a reassuring voice, you turn to respectfully bow before leaving their room. Though they never said it out loud, they saw how your eyes were soft, like tremendous pressure was relieved from your body.

Thinking about it as you leave the estate, you never mentioned your fight with Satoru. Though it wouldn’t change anything. That night, you packed your dorm in your suitcase. Only leave your bedsheets, a pillow, and a few desk appliances behind. Your closet and drawers were empty of any clothes you had. By 10 a.m. tomorrow, any trace left of you would be gone. As you write a letter to whoever finds it about your whereabouts, your thoughts return to Suguru. To playfully think he did the exact same thing before his defection.

You looked at your school uniform as it hung on your door. You contemplated taking it with you but decided against it. You wanted no strings left to be attached to you when you left the world of Jujutsu Sorcery.

Morning came as you stared at the room you once called your own. The remainder of your things are packed in cardboard boxes for your clan members to get later. You glance back over to your desk as your school uniform is neatly folded on top of it. Your lips are graced with a sentimental smile as you close the door one last time.

As you walked along the campus, fleeting memories of your days here flooded your mind. You reminisced on the areas and places you spent your youth with your friends and classmates. Now you’re leaving Jujutsu Tech and the Jujutsu World forever. Never to come back. You get to the main entrance of the school.

Before taking another step, you sensed someone behind you.

“So you're leaving, too, (Y/N)?”

It was Shoko.

“Yeah. . . Shoko. I’m going. . .”

She blows out a large smoke cloud from her cigarette, giving you a blank look before sending you a smile.

“At least say goodbye to me. . . I don’t blame you for going. . .” Shoko adds as she holds out her arms. You chuckle at her gesture and give her a hug. By the slight firm grip you felt, she didn’t want you to go, but she couldn’t stop you either.

Once you break away from the hug, you remember something and fish out a folded paper in your bag. You handed it to Shoko, and she eyes it curiously.

“I was going to leave it in my dorm for someone to find, but I thought it work better if I gave this to you if I ran into it on my way out. My clan is sending some people to get the last of my things, so I won’t return to my dorm. Sorry I had to make you the messenger again, Shoko.” You bittersweetly said.

You find it ironic that your departure is similar to Suguru’s. Shoko is the first to see you two go while giving her a letter for the others to read. You laugh as you think this over.

Oh, how history repeats itself.

Shoko tucks away your letter before taking a drag from her smoke.

“Does he know about this?”

You knew she was referring to Satoru. You shook your head no, still have a small smile.

“No, unfortunately. Satoru and I got into a arg– disagreement a few days ago. I don’t know if he’s okay with me, to begin with, as cowardice to say. The only ones that know are you and my clan head.”

She hums at your response before going for another drag.

“Your phone number still the same?”

“I don’t really plan on changing my phone number. Even if I do, I text you the new number so you can give it to the others.”

“I see… See you around, (Y/N). Keep in touch, will ya?”

“I will. I’ll see you around then. Bye, Shoko.”

Giving Shoko one last hug, you wave goodbye as you leave Jujutsu’s High entrance, disappearing from view. Not daring to look back because regret might come if you did.

Shoko watches from afar, her cigarette being halfway done. She takes one last puff before extinguishing it with the bottom of her shoe. She looks at your letter. The paper was crisp with no wrinkles like it had been fresh from the printer. From this, Shoko knew you hadn’t written it recently, with no hesitation evident on the page itself. Unlike Suguru’s, her fingers tighten on your letter as she sighs while entering the school.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“What brings you here? He’s a busy man.”

“I’m just an old acquaintance of his. Just a simple chat. It won’t take long, I promise.”

The pretty attendant raises a brow at you as she guides you to one of the rooms. She looks you up and down before facing forward again.

“You have a substantial amount of curse energy. You have a curse technique then; aren’t you a jujutsu sorcerer?”

“I… I used to be… but not anymore… I chose to leave that life. I’m just a civilian that has a curse technique.”

You see the attendant smile out of the corner of your eye at your answer.

“I see. Geto-sama will be happy to be in audience with you then.”

You shouldn’t be here. You knew that. Walking in taboo territory could get you hunted down by the very society you were born into. It’s not a secret of Suguru’s position as both a curse user and a cult leader. You remember hearing about him reforming a cult that worshiped Tengen but dissolved after the incident. You found it interesting he hasn’t done collateral damage yet. No incidents or missions revolving around curses terrorizing civilians. Perhaps he was going for something on a larger scale, you thought.

But you missed Suguru dearly. Not in a sentimental reminiscing way. More as in yearning for him entirely. Everyone tells you it’s not the same with Suguru gone, obviously. Yeah, but Suguru plagued your mind after his defection. You want nothing more than to see him again. Yes, things couldn’t go back to the way they were. But you didn’t like the prospects of what your future would hold if you stayed.

You disagreed with Suguru ridding the world of non-sorcerers. But you understand and agree the current Jujutsu system is a dumpster fire that will never work. In the end, only those the higher-ups favor will get to stay while the rest are sent off to die. You didn’t want to be a part of that. You valued your life to know it shouldn’t be tossed around so easily by some dementia geezers who can’t even fight. And yet, he felt a tinge of regret as you didn’t stay to fix or break the system. So your only option was to leave and not involve yourself anymore.

The attendant takes you to the room, saying he will arrive shortly. Leaving you alone, you felt your heart race. You hope Suguru doesn’t kill you because he can sense your curse energy. Yet his letter was heartfelt and raw. His apology and the paragraphs after them for you and you alone, like a confession. Even though you ripped the letter, you keep the two halves. Strangely enough, there was an address and a few words at the bottom of the page.

‘You know where to find me.’

Here you are, waiting for him with the same letter he sent. As you wait, you can feel his energy get closer. You stare down, kneeling, the letter shaking like a leaf in your hands.

Then the door opens.

You let out a small gasp, not daring to look up as the footsteps approach his seat. A soft chuckle fills the room as you keep your head low.

“I thought I was mistaken when I felt your curse energy. But I now know my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. Please, lift your head so I can see you (Y/N).”

Your gaze meets Suguru’s soft eye and warm smile. Both genuine and kind. His eyes widen before returning back to soft when he sees the tears trickling down for your lovely eyes he could get lost in. You stumble to get up as you practically pounce at Suguru. His embrace was like gates opening for you and closing once you entered. You softly sob into his robes as he holds you tightly. Comforting you by gently rubbing your back and hair, giving a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I missed you so much, Suguru!” was all you said before you continued to sniffle and hiccup into him.

Suguru hums as he pulls away to better view your face. You felt self-conscious as he lovingly gazed at you. Your nose and cheeks were raw from crying, and your eyes became an irritated red. Suguru smiles, wiping away your endless tears with his thumb.

“Oh, (Y/N). I’m sorry for leaving you behind. You understand, don’t you? From my letter?”

You nodded to respond. Holding the paper in front of Suguru. He notices the tear stains and ink smudges from the words he wrote down.

“I would’ve told you in person, (Y/N). Believe me. But I couldn't once they announced my charges because you would be questioned as a possible accomplice. I didn’t want that for you. Do you know what it would mean for you to see me here now?”

“Yes, I’m aware. But I left of my own accord; it wasn’t just for you, Suguru. I wouldn’t be able to last long if I stayed. So I decided to go, leaving it all behind, all of it.”

He was a bit puzzled by what you meant. But it didn’t take long for him to piece it himself. Suguru figured something happened between you and Satoru but decided to stay silent out of respect for your privacy. You both stare with relief and tenderness. Suguru gingerly takes your hand and places a light kiss on your knuckles. You set your unoccupied hand on his cheek, quietly giggling as Suguru leans into your delicate touch. He sighed in contentment. Bring your hand up again to kiss it as he wraps his free arm around your waist. His sincere smile radiates down onto you.

“I guess we have some catching up to do then, (Y/N).”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru was in a better mood today than before.

Satoru cooled off his head after a couple of days from when he made that outburst at you. He was stressed and tired of being continuously sent out on missions, and you did make a point that he hasn’t taken a break in months. He remembered what he said to you that evening, which made him feel guilty.

He knows he hasn’t been around because the higher-ups have sent him out like a work dog. It was now you and Shoko with him. The stabilization you two had on him once Suguru left.

You’ve been only trying to help him for a long time. Be there for him in your own way while coaxing him to hang out. Yet he took it for granted and said some vile things at you because his bucket decided to overflow, and then out of all the times, it shouldn’t. You didn’t deserve that. You also didn’t deserve the silent treatment he gave you. He saw your text messages and listened to the voicemails you left. He did not answer because he was too prideful and stubborn to admit he was stressed and hurt you like that.

But sitting with his emotions and reflecting on how stupid he is for prioritizing his ego over you, he decided to cut down his pride and make it up to you. He unblocked your number and was going to call you. But he chose to just surprise you instead he chickened out. Satoru knew the European mission was a nuisance to his plans, so he had already taken care of it. By that, Satoru somehow teleported himself to where he needed to be in Europe, slayed the high-level curses, retrieved some curse objects, reported what he did, and teleported back to Japan in four hours.

He did all this at the last minute on the sixth day before Satoru left. He did this to stay and spend the whole week with you, make up for lost time, and give a proper apology.

Now, Satoru was strolling through Jujutsu Tech. He whistles as he holds a bouquet of (favorite flowers), a box with a (favorite color) bracelet with (favorite designs/charms), and a bag of mochi and daifuku for you two to share together. He walks around the grounds, trying to search you. He was told no classes today, so he went to your favorite spots. You weren’t anywhere.

‘Huh, that’s strange. (Y/N) would usually be in those places when class is not in session. I wonder where she could be.’

Satoru thought about dropping by your dorm but figured you were with Shoko. On the other hand, he couldn’t sense Shoko around either until Satoru felt it alongside Yaga-sensei. He sensed them in Yaga’s building, so he headed there.

Blissfully unaware of what would await him.

Satoru clutches your gifts to one side as he opens the door to enter. His six eyes hadn’t kicked in yet, but something in the air felt off. His sun smile hasn’t dropped yet as he scans around, wondering why the two were quiet when he entered.

“Yo, Yaga-sensei, Shoko! I’ve been trying to look for you guys. Do you guys, by any chance, know where (Y/N) is so I can give these to her?”

He looks at his teacher, and Satoru’s demeanor instantly changes. There, Yaga stood with his glasses off, clutching a piece with a stern frown. Satoru turns to Shoko, a somber expression replacing her lighthearted one. Satoru just looked back and forth between the two before his eyes settled on the paper in his teacher’s hand. Satoru stands stunned, hearing his heartbeat in his ears grow louder and louder. The air from his lungs disappeared as realization dawned on him.

Satoru clenched his teeth as he teleported to your dorm room, the clap resonating throughout the hall. He burst open your dorm door, and to his horror, your room was empty. The room was stripped of everything that made the dorm yours. The closet and drawers were emptied, and your desk and bed were bare of anything from you. What used to be your room is now an empty dorm room, ready for the next person to claim it. He frantically looks around in hopes of finding any reminder of you.

Then he spotted your old Jujutsu High uniform. Laying neatly on top of your old desk. Satoru just stares, not daring to pick it up. Because if he did, he would’ve broken down. He can’t stay in there anymore, to which he teleports back. He bears his pearly white teeth as he closes in on his teacher.

“Where the hell is (Y/N)?” Satoru lowly said.

“Gone, Satoru–”

“I know she’s gone! But where?! Why the hell is all her stuff gone?! Her room is completely empty!”

“Satoru,” Yaga tried calmly speaking, but he was clearly frustrated. “I know this is so sudden. But the (L/N)’s clan head said something came up with (Y/N), and they retrieved all her things. Her clan said they going to deal with everything else.”

Satoru's breathing became staggered. He could hear it growing louder. He tried his best not to let his voice crack, but it made him more angry.

“Everything else? The hell does that mean, sensei? Why would the (L/N) clan withdraw (Y/N) from school?! School ends in a few weeks! She could have graduated with us!”

“It…wasn’t their decision, Satoru… It was (Y/N)’s…”

Then suddenly, Satoru became flabbergasted. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This gotta be some twisted, cruel joke that was playing on him. His curse energy was flaring up, and his cerulean eyes lit lightly. The flowers from the bouquet were losing their petals, and his bag full of treats was getting smushed from his intense grip.

“What…?”

“The clan head said it themselves.”

“No…”

“She decided not to be a Jujutsu Sorcerer and leave Jujutsu society.”

“LIKE HELL SHE WOULD!!!” Just like that, everything came crashing down for Satoru. Not being in your usual spots on campus, the empty dorm; hell, he noticed your curse residuals becoming faint. The traces of them becoming weaker and weaker. Your presence here in Jujutsu High was fading faster than he could notice. The anger he built up showed itself as his emotions were on full display. Honestly, Yaga and Shoko don’t blame him for his outburst. Satoru held you close, after all.

“Satoru, please.” Yaga pinches the bridge of his nose as he clenches his teeth. “I’m just as lost as you are. This came out of the blue… Her clan confirmed it, and she said it herself.”

Satoru slightly flinches when Yaga holds the paper in his hand toward him. Gesturing for Satoru to take it.

“I didn’t read far into this because it felt like (Y/N) wanted someone else to do it.”

Satoru’s long fingers snatched the paper out of his teacher’s hands. His hands shake as he opens the paper up to see its contents.

It was a letter–from you.

His eyes slowly followed the words of your neatly written goodbye. His heart rips itself piece by piece as he continues reading. The guilt and shaming grew in him as he could feel the fatigue and jadedness from your thoughts. But the last paragraph makes Satoru even harder. Your frustration was transformed into desperation for a new life, a fresh start. Away from the endless curses and scrutiny of the higher-ups, away from the pain and hopelessness, away from it all. You didn’t want to throw your life away. You just wanted to live. Then, you end the letter with an apology. Saying sorry because you couldn’t tell them your honest thoughts, for not facing them in your departure, for not trying hard enough for everyone when it was needed. Then, the last line of your apology made Satoru’s blood cold.

‘Most of all, I’m sorry for being weak.’

He knew that line was for him 100 percent. You wouldn’t have written it down if he didn’t tell you. To Satoru, you weren’t supposed to be the one apologizing. It should be him. He was the one who yelled at you and said those cruel and discouraging things to you. The one who pushed you away and didn’t allow you a chance to help. His teeth clenched so hard out of pure anger that they would chip or crack if they could. The anger he felt for himself was tremendous. He was angry at Suguru, the higher-ups, and the Jujutsu Society. Angry at himself for being so stubborn and prideful, for waiting too long to act and apologize. But above all else, he was angry at what had become of the situation. Fully knowing he could do nothing to change anything as all was set in stone.

If he hadn’t been so prideful, he would’ve apologized to you sooner. If he didn’t blow up at you, you wouldn't become broken and hurt. If only he didn’t push you away, maybe you would have stayed– stayed by his side. But ‘if onlys’ are regrets of the past of the current reality. Now, he is living in it with the consequences of his own actions.

This is the price Satoru had to pay for his actions. He lost the only remnant that got him through this world by pushing you away. He lost his only two best friends in the world with no way of fixing it.

The price of becoming the strongest came at the expense of two of his most dearest friends.

Suguru was gone.

You were gone.

Forever with no signs of ever coming back to him.

Satoru, truly, was alone.

#[♡’—𝐦𝐚𝐱‘𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬｡•́]

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