gossamii

[gossamii]

it hurts to be something, it's worse to be nothing with you

ship: satosugu

characters: satoru gojo, suguru geto

tags: inspired by a laufey song, song: promise (laufey), canon compliant, post-star plasma vessel | hidden inventory arc, geto suguru-centric, sad ending, internal conflict, romance, angst, swearing

tw: suicidal thoughts, blood and injury, depression

word count: 5105

link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62247469

inspired by this edit: https://www.tiktok.com/@wo.ormy/video/7299929589093272878?_r=1&_t=ZT-8t59QgRAFml

ᯓ ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - �� ) ✧

Suguru Geto is going to run away from Jujutsu Tech.

No, not just Jujutsu Tech, but jujutsu society as a whole. He can't take it anymore, plastering on a fake smile that's been worn so thin even Shoko felt it fitting to ask if he was okay instead of making a joke about how dead he looks. He can't handle the loathing he feels in his gut toward non-sorcerers, toward the people who cause problems for them and don't even know it.

Suguru wants to make a difference, and he can't do it here.

There's just one thing holding him back from leaving it all behind without a thought. Or rather, who.

Satoru Gojo. The man, the myth, the legend. Suguru's one and only. His best friend, the only one he ever had.

The two of them used to be closer. They don't see each other much, nowadays, and Suguru can't help but wonder if the cognitive dissonance in his mind would have settled on a different conclusion had Satoru been there. But both of them were busy with different things, and before Suguru knew it, he found himself wanting to eradicate all non-sorcerers and make a better world for those who deserve to rest.

Suguru can't just leave without sparing Satoru so much as a glance, because Satoru's the reason he hadn't killed himself years ago from the copious amounts of nauseating curses he's had to consume for the 'greater good'. And oh, will Suguru show them the greater good once he's out of here. But he has to offer Satoru something of a goodbye, at least; he deserves that much.

He knows he can't just spill his guts before Satoru and trust him to be fine with it. Satoru will pitch a fit, going on and on about everything Suguru taught him back when he knew less about the world, when he was nothing more than a dumb kid with some noble notions of purpose. His purpose now is anything but noble, he'll admit, but it's true and righteous in his heart. That's why he can't risk Satoru stopping him from pursuing the only thing that might fill this ache possessing his entire soul.

Again, that doesn't mean Satoru will get nothing in the way of a goodbye—he just won't know that's what it is. Suguru feels a little bad about it, knowing Satoru might think that Suguru's finally getting better when he reaches out to him, oblivious to the fact that it is simply the calm before the storm.

In a way, it's like how depressed people get happy before committing suicide. They try their best to give all their loved ones closure and good memories before committing an irreversible act. The only difference between that and what Suguru is about to do is that he will be committing homicide instead.

Homicide. Suguru repeats the word in his head like a broken record, whispering it to himself in the dark haven of his room, muttering it under his breath in different tones. It doesn't feel like homicide, what he wants to do. He doesn't have a particular target, really, just an overarching goal: rid the world of useless non-sorcerers so sorcerers, the superior people, don't have to kill themselves for an endless job.

Idly, he recalls a blurred memory of Toji Zen'in referring to himself as a monkey. Suguru can't help but think it's the most apt nomer for their kind that exists.

He manages to ignore the roiling in his stomach from both curses and nerves as he reaches for his phone and pulls up Satoru's contact. There are a few unopened messages; despite their distance, Satoru never stopped spamming him with pictures, random texts, and dumb memes. On the days where Suguru could bear to open them, he only could manage to react to a few of them before feeling a pit of longing and emptiness in his gut.

The latest picture is a selfie next to a tied-up man Suguru assumes is the curse-user Satoru was sent to apprehend. Behind his circular shades, one of his eyes is squished shut in a wink, and his tongue is playfully stuck out. Suguru likes the message, scrolling up to read a few more texts complaining about the elders before going down to the bottom to begin typing out his message.

» Do you know if you'll be free anytime soon?

That's the message he lands on after what must be an hour of typing, deleting, and retyping again with slightly different phrasing. He knows he can't assume that Satoru will have free time—if he did, he knows he would be bothering Suguru much more than he does. And he doesn't want to be too blatant with his intentions, but he knows Satoru knows him well enough to understand what he's trying to ask.

» !!!

» SUGURU!!!

» why???

» do u wanna hang out???

» omg r u actually gonna leave ur room for once???

» Something like that.

» !!!

» when do u wanna hang?? i can get whenever off i just have to say no to whatever missions they assignment me >:)

» Satoru...

» kidding!!

» not rly but

» anyway

» does friday work?

» Friday's fine.

» If you're busy, we can always reschedule.

» I'm always busy, but they don't need me THAT bad ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

» AAAAAAA WE HAVEN'T HUNG OUT IN MONTHS

» It's getting late, I'm going to head to bed.

» AWWW SUGURU UR SO MEANNN

» fineee gn 凸( •̀_•́ )凸

They haven't hung out in months, indeed. And they likely never will again.

Suguru desperately prays something happens during their hangout that will change his mind about this whole thing. It's a flimsy concept of a plan, more idealistic than anything, but he knows he can't stay a jujutsu sorcerer—not with his current beliefs.

It's wishful thinking to hope Satoru can change months of unraveling and reweaving his moral code in a single day, but Suguru thinks he deserves to spend one last day yearnfully dreaming that things might go his way before he sets all hell loose.

✧˖*°࿐

Suguru awakes to a pounding on his door. Vicious, relentless, headache-inducing.

Familiar.

"Suguru!" he hears Satoru's cheery timbre float through the door to his ears, much more chipper than most people would be at—a glance at his clock tells him it's seven o'clock in the morning on the dot. "Suguru, wake up!"

"Good morning, Satoru," he greets as he opens the door, eyes rising to meet his. He registers a moment of hesitation in Satoru's brilliant blues, but perhaps it's a trick of the light, because when he blinks it's gone and replaced with the dazzling smile he missed so much.

"Suguru!" Satoru lunges forward to hug him, and as Suguru embraces him in return, he congratulates himself for managing to work up the motivation to properly groom himself last night. He even did his old hair routine, with all the expensive oils and and conditioners and products Satoru bought him to keep it healthy. He figured, if he knows Satoru, they would end up closely entangled like this sooner or later. He'd rather not give off the air of grimy depression he knows he typically holds.

Despite his efforts, though, Satoru still comments, "You're so skinny. You been dieting?" His hands slide to his biceps, squeezing the muscles that have all but withered away. Suguru was faintly aware of how the hug didn't feel quite right, how there's simply less of him for Satoru to embrace. He wonders what Satoru thinks about that.

"Where do you want to go?" he asks instead, steering the conversation away from himself. He doesn't want to fall down that rabbit hole, doesn't want to accidentally reveal something he shouldn't to Satoru. "I still need to brush my teeth, so come up with something in the meantime."

"You invited me out and didn't have a place to go in mind? Boring." Satoru's voice has that lazily playful drawl it always has as he follows Suguru to the bathroom. "I heard Takeshita street's been filling up with some good dessert places lately, though, so we could check it out."

"You're going to give yourself diabetes," Suguru sighs as he stuffs his toothbrush into his mouth, glancing at Satoru from the corner of his eye. "Are you planning on wearing that out?"

Satoru is merely dressed in a t-shirt and blue plaid pants, and Suguru doesn't doubt that's exactly what he wore to bed. Satoru simply shrugs. "Why not?"

"You look like you don't care for yourself." He tilts his toothbrush in his mouth, closing his eyes as the bristles stingingly abrade beneath his gums. "Uncouth."

"Yeah, well, maybe I am uncouth," he retorts, and there's a brief pause before he turns to Suguru with a Cheshire-like grin. "You should be uncouth with me!"

"Mm?"

"We can both wear pajamas!" He grabs Suguru's arm and shakes it aggressively. The action is so familiar, and it feels so normal, that Suguru can't help but feels some of his apprehensions melt away ever so slightly. "Please, Suguru? It'll be fuuun!"

"What's fun about wearing pajamas outside?"

"Breaking societal expectations or something!"

"You do enough of that on your own." He spits out the toothpaste and rinses out his mouth and goes to wash his face. "Don't drag me into your idiocy."

"You're so boring, Suguru…" His eyes are closed when he hears a thud, and he dries off his face before opening his eyes and finding Satoru sprawled out on the floor. "Guess I'll just die."

"You'll die if I don't wear pajamas with you?" Suguru can't help but huff out a laugh as Satoru nods rapidly before whacking his head against the tile. "How dramatic."

He reaches for his hairbrush next, but it's almost like Satoru teleported with how fast he is back on his feet and in Suguru's personal space. He snatches the brush from his hands, spinning Suguru around before he can so much as react, and takes a section of tangled hair in his hands.

"I missed brushing your hair," Satoru whispers, tone uncharacteristically tender. Suguru feels a blush exploding on his cheeks, biting his tongue lightly as Satoru gently drags the brush through his hair.

"Is that so?" is all he can think to whisper in response.

Suguru feels more than sees Satoru nod, brush dragging in a soothingly repetitive motion. He can hardly feel it stutter when it encounters a clump of tangles, instead smoothly breaking through them before moving onto the next section. "So soft," Satoru muses, reminding Suguru that the other is only able to brush his hair so skillfully because there was a time he loved it enough to learn how. "Pretty."

To this, Suguru can't think of any response, so he simply hums in acknowledgment and closes his eyes as he savors the sensation of Satoru's fingers and the brush running through his hair to detangle it. Devastatingly, Suguru realizes this might be the last time Satoru brushes his hair. He chases the thought away before it can devolve into something worse.

"All done," Satoru murmurs into his ear, resting his chin on his shoulder and smiling at him through the mirror. Suguru stares at himself as well, looking better than he has in months, and hates how much fucking easier it is to care for himself when it's for Satoru. "Want me to put it up?"

"Do whatever you want," Suguru tells him, smiling faintly at the way Satoru's eyes positively glisten before he positions himself behind Suguru and begins playing with his hair once again. Suguru's tired enough that he might fall asleep standing up from the comforting sensations tickling his scalp. Satoru could do Suguru's hair in the most ridiculous style and Suguru wouldn't care because he feels so warm and fuzzy.

All good things must come to an end, though, and Suguru can't help but let out a mournful sigh when Satoru tosses the braid over his shoulder, retracts his hands, and declares, "Done!"

Suguru's hand rises, feeling over the curves and loops of his neatly braided hair—it's done so it naturally rests over his left shoulder. Satoru's usually on his left, so he probably intentionally braided that way just so he has easier access to play with it. Judging by the grin plastered on his lips and the way his eyes keep darting between his face and his hair, that's exactly what's going on. Suguru's happy to know he can still read Satoru just as well as he could a year ago.

"Thank you, Satoru," he says with a warm smile, and Satoru's eyes widen for a moment before his expression melts into a matching wide beam as well.

"Welcome, Suguru! To Takeshita street?"

"Sure, Satoru."

It's only when the two of them are over halfway there that Suguru realizes Satoru successfully managed to get him out of his room in his pajamas as well.

✧˖*°࿐

"They really have opened a lot of dessert places on this street," Suguru can't help but remark as the two of them sit on a bench eating their respective desserts. Satoru got a large container of melon-flavored kakigori drenched in condensed milk and buried in mochi that will most certainly have him complaining of a brain-freeze later. Suguru simply got a small red-bean filled taiyaki, taking occasional bites of Satoru's dessert when he offers it (i.e. forces it down his throat) to him.

"Right?" Satoru agrees, shoving a large spoonful into his mouth and humming happily. "It's like Heaven."

"Is the only required constituent for your version of Heaven the existence of sweets?" Suguru chuckles, taking as tiny of a bite as he can without looking finical. As much as he wants to enjoy this final day of reprieve, there's little he can do to quell his turbulent stomach. "You must be a simple man."

"Nuh-uh!" Satoru shakes his head quickly before bringing a spoonful up to Suguru's lips. He accepts, parting his lips and allowing the cool dessert to settle on his tongue. It quickly melts, saccharine sweetness momentarily taking over any other taste. "There's one more thing."

The last sentence comes out hushed, as though Satoru is uttering some mortal secret, and after a few moments of Satoru looking at him with an expression crossed between impish and expectant, Suguru leans in. "What is it?"

Satoru leans in as well, lips cool from the kakigori brushing against the shell of Suguru's ear as he whispers, "Suguru."

Then he leans back and goes back to happily humming and kicking his feet as he continues to eat his kakigori, leaving Suguru a blushing mess.

He parts his lips to say something but quickly shuts them because, well, what is he meant to say in response to that? Make a jab at how forward Satoru is with his flirtations? Try to reciprocate?

Instead, he takes a large bite of his taiyaki, larger than all of his previous nibbles combined. His jaw slowly works at the waffle-like dough and red bean, buying him more time to think of what he could possibly say. Or stew in the memory of Satoru's cold lips against his ear. Both work.

Satoru's eyes flicker to him behind his shades, scrunched from his wide teasing smile, and Suguru feels himself flush a deeper shade of crimson. He doesn't break the gaze, though, and the two of them merely stare at each other as they eat their desserts.

It's a bit of a strange scene from an outsider's perspective, watching two well over six feet tall men in pajamas stare at each other while emphatically chewing, but neither of them are thinking about anything but the other's eyes.

Despite Satoru having significantly more food than Suguru, they both finish their desserts at the same time. Suguru's eyes flit down to Satoru's upper lip, noticing a tiny smear of the kakigori. Without much thought, he swipes it away with his thumb, and when Satoru's large eyes stare up at him, an idea so obvious it must be written by a shojo author falls into his lap.

Suguru brings his thumb to his lips and licks the stray melted flavored ice before drying his thumb on a paper napkin, suggestive gaze never leaving Satoru. It's a reward how quickly Satoru's cheeks light up pink in time with the flavor of melon exploding on Suguru's tastebuds one last time.

When he returns from throwing away their trash, he wears a superior smirk over Satoru's pout. The flirting has turned into a game, and between the two of them, neither have been known to back down from a challenge, no matter how far it goes.

Which leaves room for a lot to happen.

"What's wrong, Satoru?" Suguru can't refrain from snickering as the two begin walking away from Takeshita street to nowhere in particular. "You're being awfully quiet."

Satoru lets out some sort of indignant noise, not so much as sparing Suguru a glance but reaching over to capture his braid in his hands—Suguru didn't have any doubt about his braid theory, but it's always gratifying to be proven right. His hands gently caress his silken hair, the very fingers that wove its plaits dancing over them, and one finger dips down to twirl the bottom section of hair beneath the hair tie around it before returning to play with the rest of his hair.

"Suguru," murmurs Satoru. His voice has something of a distant quality to it, like he isn't quite on this plain of existence. Suguru can't quite tell if it's a question, or if he's just saying his name.

So he responds with, "Satoru," saying nothing more and leaving Satoru to fill the void of silence if he so chooses.

He doesn't, and the two of them walk in silence that is perfectly balanced on a tightrope between comfortable and uncomfortable. Familiar yet tense, the two walk together, and their walk leads them to a park they used to hang around at. It's packed with people, considering it's Friday just before noon, and Suguru bitterly finds himself narrowing his eyes at the lack of cursed energy he senses from most of them.

The two of them lower themselves to sit at the base of a tree, shoulders brushing against each other as they take in the sight of all the people. Families having picnics on blankets, parents sitting at the tables and benches to watch their kids, most of them somewhere on the jungle gym but a girl with matching chesnut hair and eyes and a boy who is smiling at her so sappily it makes him think that must be how he looks at Satoru are playing in the sandbox.

"Suguru," he hears Satoru utter yet again, and this time he fully turns his head to face him.

"What is it, Satoru?"

"Why did you want to go out to today?"

The question catches him by surprise, though maybe it shouldn't because it's a completely rational question. "I don't know," he replies, looking into Satoru's vibrant aquamarines and hoping his six eyes fail to see his lie. "It's been a while since we've gone out, hasn't it?"

"But why now?" Satoru urges. "Why today? Why not months ago? Why all of a—” He cuts himself off, looking to the side and bringing his knees to his chest. "Why all of a sudden, Suguru?"

Suguru swallows hard. Satoru knows something is wrong. Satoru knows, because of course Satoru would know, because he's fucking Satoru.

Unfortunately for Satoru, Suguru knows him just as well, which means he knows just how to focus his lie to exploit his emotions to rid any of his suspicions.

"Both of us were busy, and for a bit, I thought it was maybe for the best." His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "But I missed you, Satoru."

As they say, the best lies are sprinkled with truth.

"Suguru…”

The cherry on top is Suguru's hand going to Satoru's cheek, cupping it gently and feeling the smooth skin beneath his calloused hand. Initiating the contact he is so used to receiving. Bringing his lips to Satoru's ear, pressing against it ever so lightly, and whispering, "I couldn't stand not seeing you any longer."

Suguru is an asshole. A manipulative, conniving asshole. He has never claimed to not be one.

It's just that the honeyed words that spill from his lips are so honest that it makes him want to kill himself for allowing Satoru's eyes to gleam with false hope.

And because he's being moved by emotions right now, guile so convincing he's moved himself, he whispers three words. Not the three words one would think, no—those are too embarrassing to admit out loud, no matter how emotional he may be. But the words he murmurs may be just as heart-wrenching.

"I need you."

Satoru's eyes sparkle brighter than the most refined sapphires, and Suguru knows he's going to hell when he receives Satoru's kiss. Not just receives, but utterly melts into it, soft lips moving against each other and hands holding each other steady.

"You have me," Satoru says firmly, those blues so certain it feels like a knife to Suguru's heart. "You have me, Suguru."

"Satoru," he speaks against his lips, going back in for another kiss but both of them freezing when they hear a child screaming. It makes them painfully aware that they're in the middle of a park during its busy hours, and they exchange a look before bursting into laughter. "We should get out of here, huh?"

"Yeah," Satoru cackles, taking Suguru's offered hand and looping arms with him once they're both standing. "Where to, Suguru?"

"Away," he says simply, moving back onto path and guiding Satoru away from the park. Where to, neither of them know once again, but today they have the certainty that wherever they go, they will be together.

✧˖*°࿐

They end up on some cliff a ways away from Jujutsu Tech when the sun begins to set. The day was well spent: grabbing lunch together, exorcising a few pesky low-grade curses, going to a clothing store and trying on some ridiculous outfits just for laughs, stealing a few kisses here and there, and finally making their way up to this cliff. They're in prime positioning for stargazing once the sun sets, cuddled up with each other and a pack of daifuku Satoru insisted on getting.

"Thank you for indulging me today, Satoru," Suguru says, hand idly feathering along his waist beneath his thin t-shirt.

A soft laugh escapes Satoru. "Like I didn't need it. I finally had a good excuse to take a break from working my ass off."

"Your good excuse is me?" Suguru deadpans.

"Exactly!"

"I fail to see the logic."

"You don't have to because it worked!" Satoru nuzzles against his neck, long lashes fluttering against Suguru's skin. "I didn't say it earlier, Suguru, but I missed you, too."

It's Suguru's turn to laugh. "I figured as much."

There's something about staring up at the ever-darkening sky with his one and only curled up at his side that fills him with bittersweet melancholy, and his breath catches as he whispers, "Satoru?"

"Yeah?"

"You deserve the world."

Satoru blinks somewhat owlishly before smiling up at him, radiant in the way the sun is after a cruel, harsh winter. "I don't need the world as long as I have Suguru."

Suguru's lips press into a tight smile, and he brings his hand down to find Satoru's and interlace their hands. They fit together perfectly—lock and key, pieces of a puzzle, whatever overused sappy analogy fits. Suguru and Satoru. Satoru and Suguru.

Maybe Suguru should stay. Just for moments like these with Satoru.

It stings because if this was what it all was, Suguru could envision himself resisting the urge to defect from jujutsu society. If he knew at the end of every tumultuous day, Satoru was waiting for him with open arms, he might be tempted to stay.

But he isn't, and that's because of the state of current jujutsu society. That's Suguru's purpose, the very thing he wants to fix.

In the future, there might be two kids who unequivocally love each other the way he and Satoru do. They deserve to be able to revel in that love instead of fighting for their lives. God knows Suguru would love to pass this job on to someone else and enjoy a peaceful life with Satoru if he could.

As things stand, though, he can't. If he stays, nothing gets better. They perpetuate the cycle of meaningless early death, of no rest for the strong, of sorcerers sacrificing themselves for monkeys that elicit their demise.

If he stays, he and Satoru still don't get a happy, domestic future because society is still shit and if no one else is going to do anything about it, Suguru will.

"Satoru," he breathes more than says, face buried in his hair as tears brim his eyes. "Satoru. Satoru."

"Suguru?" Satoru attempts to look up, but Suguru holds him fast.

"I want to stay like this forever." If he raises his voice even slightly, he fears it may crack. "I don't want tomorrow to come."

"Suguru…" Satoru worms his way out of Suguru's tight hold, repositioning so now it is Satoru cradling Suguru instead of the other way around. When he takes his face in his hands oh so gently, a single tear slides down his cheek, and when Satoru wipes it away with a bitter smile, more follow in its wake. "I know, Suguru. I know."

Suguru doesn't cry much. He doesn't judge others for crying, but it's just not something that has ever helped him alleviate any difficult emotions. It just makes his head hurt, his vision watery, his sinuses clogged.

But Suguru would sob for an eternity if it meant Satoru would be here to console him.

"Shh." Satoru's hands undo the braid to soothingly and uninhibitedly play with his hair, and Suguru releases his instinct to repress his sobs because fuck, this is going to be the last time they get to have this beautiful thing they have and Suguru knows he's never going to find anything better because who could be better than Satoru? "It's okay, Suguru. It'll be a while until we can do this again, but it's not like this is going to be the last time we see each other, right?"

Poor Satoru.

Poor, poor Satoru, because he doesn't know that this is the last time. If they see each other again after this, they'll be enemies because Satoru has a heart of gold and is too good to do something like join Suguru in his endeavors, and Suguru can't stay. In another life, Suguru believes they don't have to have a last time and they just get to be happy together, but in this one, that's simply not a possibility.

"I think you're my soulmate," Suguru croaks out as he stares at Satoru, not even bothering to hide his disinterest in the stars above.

"I know you're mine," Satoru returns with a beaming smile. Suguru chokes on his tears again at the lack of hesitation with which Satoru says it, at the overwhelming trust he has that he'll definitely never see again in this lifetime.

A week later, Suguru Geto officially defects from jujutsu society, unnecessarily killing all one-hundred-twelve villagers to save two little girls and being branded as a curse-user with an order to be killed on sight.

A bit after that, poor Satoru confronts Suguru one final time. Neither of them cry, but it's a damn close thing. Satoru, because he just doesn't understand. Suguru, because he knows he's irreparably damaged their bond. Satoru's hysterical, and Suguru forces himself to be stoic lest his resolve be swayed by the one person who has the power to do so. They part ways, and no one needs to know it, but a single tear escapes Suguru's eye as he walks away. This time, there is no Satoru to wipe it for him.

Ten years later, despite Suguru's countless crimes that he feels no remorse over, Satoru kneels and whispers the words Suguru was too embarrassed to say but so desperately wanted to when they were students together. Suguru blushes, a feat considering his profuse bleeding, and laughs heartily. He thought Satoru's resentment would've eclipsed his feelings for him by now, but clearly, he underestimated Satoru's love for him.

They must be soulmates, to love each other so twistedly.

Suguru accepts his defeat graciously, goading Satoru and trying to get him to kill him faster if not to make the burden a little lighter. He pokes fun at how his lip trembles, the glassiness of his eyes, the shake in his voice.

"If you don't kill me, I might bleed out," Suguru chuckles deliriously.

Satoru falls to his knees, eyes screwed up with poorly concealed emotion as he presses his hand flat over his heart. "Suguru." He stares at him with so much intensity that Suguru can't do anything but pay rapt attention, even as his vision phases in and out. "I love you, got that?"

"You already said that." He grins tiredly at Satoru. "Or did you forget?"

"I need to make sure you know."

"I know, don't worry." His strained smirk softens, and it takes an effort, but he manages to focus his gaze on Satoru, staring into those beautiful azures he fell for long ago. "I love you, too."

Something in Satoru seems to lighten, expression lifting ever so slightly. "We'll find each other in our next lives, yeah?"

"Yeah," Suguru agrees, eyelids fluttering over his eyes as he grows weaker from the blood loss. "That was always the plan."

Satoru is strong, not allowing a single tear to fall as he takes the life of his best friend, his lover, his one and only. It's quick and painless, he made sure, and despite being the one to finish him off, he still checks for a pulse. He wants to throw up when he feels nothing, but he needs to stay strong for Yuuta and everyone else who has fought so hard.

Suguru and Satoru's souls have always been connected. Not just linked, but deeply intertwined with each other. No matter the universe, no matter how their story ends, these two will find each other and love each other until the end.

Satoru won't tell anyone this, but he yearns for the day he dies so he can finally be with Suguru again. And maybe—no, without a doubt—Suguru is waiting for him, too.

[gossamii]

top notes: caramel, milk, and sugar

character: toji fushiguro

tags: fem reader, pwp, established relationship, cunni, p in v, cuddling, soft toji

word count: 1860

link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62217913

ᯓ ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Sleep evades Toji, and it’s all because of you. 

You, with your warm perfume that smells like homemade cookies and everything good in the world. It suits how soft you are, your curvaceous body plush beneath his callous hands. You’re always so small beneath him, so delicate and so innocent-looking with your large eyes. 

But by this point in your relationship, Toji knows better than to be fooled by that. In the dimness of your shared bedroom lit only by the faint moonlight streaming through the window, he sees nothing but your face. He sees how your gaze traces his body so sinfully, following the outline of muscles that are the fruit of years of labor. He sees how your tongue darts out to wet your plump lips, probably envisioning the louche acts the two of you constantly engage in. He sees how your cheeks hotly flush when your eyes lock, and his stare is as hungry as yours. 

“Hey,” he says, voice low as he fondly takes in the sight of you. 

“Hey,” you return, smiling coyly as you lose yourself in his emeralds. Your fingers interlace behind him before you press the palms against his neck, and he pulls you closer, hitching one of your legs over his. His hands are on your waist, gently kneading your doughy skin as he pulls you as close as possible. 

You let out a huff of air as his hair tickles your skin when he leans into the junction of your neck and shoulder and inhales deeply—you still smell like that milky fragrance. Even after taking a shower, it still clings to you, as though permanently intermingled with your scent. 

“Toji,” you hum, your voice like the soft murmuring of a brook. It tickles his ears, and when he peppers light kisses along your neck in response, you giggle. “Woke me up just to cuddle?”

“Woke y’up to do more than cuddle, dollface,” he grumbles sleepily, a hand wandering down to your ass for emphasis. Another adorable laugh floats out of you, and the way his head slowly rises to meet your lips feels completely natural. The kiss is chaste and sweet—or at least it is for now—carrying the languidness of the night. Even as it grows passionate, your tongues twining feel more like a sensual caress than an all-devouring hunger. 

Moments like these with Toji, of languorous romance and bonelessness in each others’ arms, are rare, and both of you treasure them. 

His hands chase their own pleasure, choosing to tangle in your hair instead of exploring your body. They muss the soft locks, separating cared-for curls with a gentleness that has your heart melting—so he does pay attention when you rant about him ruining your curls, after all. You smile against his lips as you close the kiss, and his dark lashes begin lifting as though to question the action, but your answer comes swiftly when you tug the hem of his shirt. 

The minute it’s off, removed slowly instead of a rushed lusty haze, you mash your face against his large pecs and grin up at him. He can’t help but return the smile because damn it, if you aren’t the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. 

“I like your tits,” you declare, chomping down on the flesh of one with your lips sucked in to cover your teeth. One of his hands remains threading through your hair, and they briefly tighten when you press soft kisses to each of his nipples. His other hand, which had moved to rest on your waist, begins dragging your shirt upwards to match his state of undress.

You are quick to comply, haphazardly tossing it to the side before pressing your bare chest against his. He feels himself immediately begin hardening at the sight of you, and you feel it too, if your teasing smirk is anything to judge by. You plaster yourself even further into him, expression not shifting an inch as one of your hands goes to cup him through his pajama pants. 

“Hey there, gorgeous.” He blows a harsh puff of air onto your face that has you simultaneously wincing and giggling. He finally allows himself to make a more flirty move, a hand going straight to one of your breasts and brushing over the nipple. You let out a tiny noise, and he grins, “I like your tits, too.” 

“Mm, Toji,” you hum as he tugs you up his body to tease your nipples with his tongue. In retaliation, your hand moves from simply resting above his clothed erection to slowly palming over it. A quiet breath, almost a groan, escapes him, and it feels heavenly with his mouth latched on you. “You’re so good… I wanna ride you.” 

“That so?” He’s dragged you further upwards, now kissing at your squishy tummy that he loves fondling every second he gets the chance. “Can I get a taste of you, first?”

You nod, and the two of you temporarily detach from each other to remove your remaining clothes before you move to hover above his face. His strong hands on your thighs effortlessly carry your weight, an arousing reminder of the differences in your statures. You lower yourself onto him, and as he meets your lower lips in a filthy open-mouthed kiss, you are reminded that his size is not the only thing he has on you—he’s an absolute god at eating you out.

To Toji, there’s nothing that gets him rock-harder than the taste of you. Your scent is stimulating enough, but it’s the taste of you when his lips finally find purchase on your body that drives him insane—it’s the difference between catching a whiff of cake and getting to savor its flavor. And the fact that he gets to devour you while making you feel so good you can hardly finish your words? He genuinely can’t decide what’s better between this and penetration.

“Toj—ah!” When his tongue flicks at your clit through the hood and begins repeatedly lapping at it the way he knows you love, you can’t help but grind yourself against his mouth. His tongue thrusts into you, grunting breathlessly as he drinks you up. When you look down, his eyelids are fluttering, and you feel dizzyingly close to finishing.

That’s your sign to stop, or you might not make it to riding him. 

When you lift yourself from his mouth, he stares up at you with an adorable expression that truly can only be described as a pout. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he attempts to barter, desperately wanting you like an addict to a drug. Moments like these make it clear how utterly whipped he is for you. “You can survive coming twice. I’ll do all the work, promise.” 

“Ah-ah.” You put a finger to his lips, smiling sweetly at him as you drag your pussy down his body and leave a trail of slick in its wake. “I said I wanna ride you.” 

“Fine,” he relents after a mildly intense glaring battle of wills, though a frown remains etched into his features.

A soft laugh bubbles out of you as you gently take his dick in your hands and position yourself. The tip kisses your vulva, eliciting light sighs from both of you. “You’re really pouting when I’m about to ride you?” 

“Could’ve ridden me and let me finish going down on you,” he grumbles. 

“Nuh-hngh…” You have to cut off your response to focus on breathing as his cock breaches you. It’s monstrous in length, but what knocks the breath out of you every time is the thickness. You can feel him pressing up against your walls and force your body to relax so you can take him faster. “Toji…”

“Sucking me right in,” he groans, throwing his head back into the pillows. “God, angelface, feels so fucking good… Don’t know how long I’m gonna last…” 

“Good,” you pant, still gradually lowering yourself onto his length. “Me neither.” 

A whimper is choked out of you as his hands come up to squeeze your breasts, thumbs flicking over the nipples and multiplying your pleasure by a hundredfold. Your cunt flutters around him, and both of you moan in tandem. It feels like he’s endlessly filling you up, and just when you think you can’t get more full, he stuffs you even more. It’s intoxicating, and you hazily find yourself thinking that you never want to dismount his cock ever again.

Finally, he bottoms out deep inside of you, and you take a minute to shut your eyes and enjoy the sensation, enjoy the warmth of your bodies connected as one. “I love you, Toji,” you exhale, hardly a whisper. You can’t help it; something about tonight’s sex is so much more romantic than usual.

“I love you too, doll,” he returns without missing a beat, and your arousal pulsates at the evident strain in his voice. ”Love you—mm, fuck—love you so much.” 

Unable to take it anymore, you begin moving your hips, dragging yourself off of him inch by inch before pushing him back inside. A duet of your breaths and gasps fills the room, heaven to your ears. You pick up your pace to an unhurried bouncing, and the sight of Toji struggling to keep his eyes open amidst the pleasure he is fighting the urge to lose himself completely is almost enough to send you over the edge. Almost enough, but not quite. You need just a bit more. 

Toji might be as in tune with your body as you are because he notices how close you are, as well, and one of his hands falls from your breast to your clit. His fingers toy with the bud, only teasing it for a second before massaging it with a firm goalpost: make you finish.

And really, that’s all you need to send you spiraling into your climax. Your nails claw at his chest perhaps a bit too harshly as you bounce on his cock and moan his name, how good he feels, how perfect he is, all smashed together into an incoherent utterance along with a litany of curses. 

His hips rise to buck up into you as you ride him, and his hands fall into a bruising grip on your thighs as his climax washes over him. He ruts up into you, groaning much like you did with an unintelligible mixture of your name, several of your pet names, and praises of your body as you clamp down around him through the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

The two of you use each other to ride out your highs, and you pull his dick out before collapsing on top of him and nuzzling into his chest. “Pillow,” you murmur mindlessly, and his hand habitually rises to rest in your hair. It doesn’t play or mess with it, but simply rests. Like his hand, the two of you don’t exchange many more words, instead resting in each others’ arms and doing the simplest cleanups before conking out in each other’s arms.

Sleep no longer evades Toji, and it’s all thanks to you.

a/n: i've never posted to tumblr before so hope i'm doing this right! thank you for reading!