satoru gojo and his special grade sorcerer ex-wife are assigned to a mission together. part i , trash magic.
word  count:  1449.
genre:Â Â multi-chapter.
characters:  satoru gojo & special grade sorcerer ex wife.
trigger  warning:  none.
she is just as beautiful as the day she has left him.
no blindfold is enough to keep the woman out, not a barrier she would not beam right through with the force of a thousand suns. it hurts him, the way it did the first time he saw her - how bright she was, how all consuming. how she refused to be ignored or dulled out, a headache for the six eyes but an enchanting addiction for the man that bore them. the sonorous echo of the footsteps that echo through the hallway, the courtesy of the cherry boots she had always adored. ysl's loveshine candy glaze adorning her cupid's bow, and those eyes! oh, those jewels of eyes. it gets so, so hard to remember why he had let her walk away from him when she looks as ethereal as she does. he's missed even that cocky grin of hers, the one that seemed to exist solely in purpose of finding that one nerve no one has even found before and stepping on it with the soles of her pretty heels.
â my, my. are my eyes failing me, or is mrs. gojo blessing the headquarters with her grace? â the click of his tongue comes with a bold reverence, the gesture one of mockery but never of disrespect. his zeal and cockiness seem to have drawn an invisible line around the shape of her, his knee bending to the authority without question. not everything was about power, and even if it was, those nails had an unearthly precision when it came to sinking themselves into the dearest corners of his heart.
â still yearning? â a pout bends her mouth, faux, teasing. â oh câmon, donât be like that, honey. left your name in the court, remember? â her bracelets gleefully rattle as she pats his shoulder a bit too friendly on her way past him, the simple whiff of her shampoo dazzles him, the mockery duly ignored and brushed aside for the scent of belanis, amber and juniper. talk about yearning. â still the same shampoo, i see. â he trails along her, his footsteps lighter than hers, quick on his feet and airy as he always had been. â attachment problems, perhaps? â he tries his hand at teasing her back, quite a miserable attempt but forgiveness was mandatory - she had a unique gift of unraveling him, just as she does now, with nothing more than a snort and a roll of her honey eyes. â mhm, youâd know a thing or two about those. â already bored of the conversation, she brushes everything aside with a wave of her hand, a clear dismissal. â do you know what theyâve summoned me for? i came all the way from bulgaria for this, there better be an apocalypse waiting on us. â
right, bulgaria. hopping from country to country, a faithful pilgrim on the path of something she would not grace him with the understanding of - research, it was, to understand how their world worked better than they did. a noble cause, truly. however, it did not keep satoru from wondering often if yuki would ever stop rattling the brains of people he loved, or if it was him who was so, so in love with things that would gladly dedicate themselves to a path that did not belong to him. people that would truly never be his. people that he could beg and plead for but would not return, doomed to be waiting for something that would not come.
well, that is enough to spoil the mood, the thought process faster than he could stop, and the shift in his demeanor only takes a few blinks before he stands a bit straighter. â dunno, â he shrugs, matching her pace, chin held high. â yaga has been weird for a minute now. and i donât like the way that tengenâs barriers have been glitching now. do you feel the shift in the resonance? â he asks, curious for her input. satoru would not deem himself a man that looked for answers in others, but the wife that was no longer his was quite damn good at filling the gaps for him, quite good at being the lighthouse in his void, which just made things unnecessarily harder.
he watches the way her eyebrows scrunch together in concentration, her steps slow down. the silence stretches between them, and satoru respects it, before she eventually speaks. â when did this start? â she asks, not quite worried but rather intrigued. maybe it was not him, who was so in love with things beyond their reach. â this is weird. itâs like someoneâs fucking with the frequency. â she glances around, lips pursing into a thin line with consideration. â i wannaâ hear what yaga says. â she concludes eventually, continuing to their stroll from where they left it.
the familiar door of their once teacher, now principle, is pushed open after two knocks.
â you didnât left a hole in the world you didnât squeeze into and you still got no manners, â yaga sighs, glancing up from the amount of paperwork that has piled up on the oak desk. â have i said come in? â
â bold scolding from a man that begged for me come help. â she grins, unfazed as she easily slides into one of the chairs. in front of the desk, one leg thrown atop the other and for a second satoru can recall their young years, when they had sat countless times on those chairs as culprits of stupid pranks and silly little mistakes they have lied about over and over again. theyâd get a scolding, then theyâd go and beat each otherâs ass on the training field until they tired of it and laid half dead on the ground, bickering about how the other played unfair. life had seemed much simpler back then. the adolescence awkwardness has left her, but the blind confidence was still vigorously intact. â youâre looking good, yaga. as healthy as a horse. whatâd you do with the hair? looks shiny. â she gestures, and yaga sighs, clearly on the way to regret his decision. â i donât know why bringing you home would be a good idea, i forgot how much of the antics of this idiot youâve picked up. â he scoffs, pointing a finger at satoru, to which satoru replies with a frown and a â hey! â
â rude and incorrect. the only thing i got from satoru was abandonment issues and trust problems, â she solemnly claims with her index finger in the air, like sheâs drawing a very objective and very factual point. she doesnât look at him, and he doesnât know if he would feel better or worse if she did. â do continue, though. â she elegantly gestures, clearly uninterested in the answer yaga might have. â satoru says tengen is glitching. whatâs up with that? â
â thatâs what youâre here to figure out, â yaga smiles, but it is not the happy kind. it rarely ever is. â we cannot be doing all the work for you now, can we? i assigned you and satoru together. â he leans back in his chair, scratching behind the ear of a cursed corpse in the shape of a house cat snoring at the corner of his desk. â believe me, it was unfortunate calling on my part as well but unfortunately we have bigger problems than your divorce. put those techniques of yours in good use and try to get along, would you? for the sake of the rest of us. we need to understand whatâs going on with tengen, this is a top priority mission. â
he doesnât know what to make of the sigh she releases, sitting uncharacteristically silent across her, feigning listening to the conversation when all he can think about is how heâs supposed to be around her when just half an hour gets him as on edge as it does. eventually, she meets his gaze, the gleam undecipherable. â it seems like itâs gonna be you and me, then. in that case, â she leans forward, elbows rested on knees. â i kindaâ donât wanna have this conversation in front of yaga but it is what it is⌠â a deep sigh, then the forced slump of shoulders. â letâs not be weird about things, yeah? weâve faced greater foes, we can be adults about this. â
satoru takes a look at the olive branch she extends, and despite the sudden urge that rises to break it just to see her feel anything, anything at all, he manages to nod in response. but even as he nods that he knows deep inside that this is a horrible fucking idea and that he wonât be able to get his head together as much as for a blink. â yeah. â two fingers rub at his chin, thoughtful. â letâs be adults. â
Š written by lotuseye. do not translate or copy my work.
â [âĄ] ; souls tied by fate will inevitably cross paths again. ・°. gojo satoru
tags: endgame gojo satoru, afab!reader, slow burn, pregnancy, regret, hurt/comfort, angst, co-parenting, vulnerable gojo satoru, past suguru geto x reader, past rejection, longing, bittersweet, I'm dramatic so I write dramatic shit, chapter one of ten
wc. 2.7K
prologue | part 2 [soon!]
The decision settled in your heart like a stoneâcold, hard, and undeniable. You couldnât stay at Jujutsu High anymore, not after everything that had happened. There was nothing left for you here but the constant reminder of Gojoâs rejection, and the emptiness it left inside you. Suguru Geto had offered a new path, one that resonated with the bitter anger building in your chest. It was risky, dangerous even, but at this point, you didnât care. What did you have to lose?
The world outside Jujutsu High seemed vast and unforgiving, but it was nothing compared to the loneliness you felt within its walls. Getoâs name was whispered among the students with fear and disdain, but you saw something different now. He had the strength to break away, to challenge the system that had let him down, and if anyone could understand the pain of rejection, it was him.
The first step was to find him, which was easier said than done. Geto was no longer a visible presence in the sorcerer world. He had gone underground, building his own network of cursed users and spirits. The whispers about his whereabouts were few and far between, but you clung to the faintest rumors like lifelines, searching for any clue that would lead you to him.
Your chance finally came one evening, as you overheard two upperclassmen talking in hushed tones about a recent sighting of Geto. They mentioned a remote area where cursed energy had been felt, a place known for being a hideout for rogue sorcerers. It wasnât much, but it was a start.
You left that night, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. You knew the consequences of what you were about to doâif anyone found out, youâd be labeled a traitor, just like Geto. But that didnât matter now. All that mattered was getting away from the pain that had consumed you and finding a new purpose.
The journey was long and arduous, taking you through unfamiliar streets and rural roads. With each step, the doubt in your mind grew louder. What if he didnât want you? What if he turned you away, just like Gojo had? The thought of facing yet another rejection made your stomach twist in knots, but you pushed forward. You had to know. You had to try.
Finally, after what felt like na eternity, you arrived at the rumored hideoutâa dilapidated building on the outskirts of na abandoned village. The air around the area was thick with cursed energy, almost suffocating. You hesitated at the threshold, fear creeping up your spine, but you steeled yourself and stepped inside.
The interior was dark, lit only by the faint glow of cursed energy radiating from various objects strewn about. You could sense the presence of others, though you couldnât see them. Shadows moved in the corners of the room, watching you, but you kept your focus straight ahead.
And then, you saw him.
Suguru Geto stood at the far end of the room, his back turned to you as he spoke quietly with one of his followers. Even from this distance, his presence was commanding, the air around him heavy with power. There was something about him that felt both intimidating and strangely familiar, as if you were looking at the reflection of everything you had been feelingâthe bitterness, the anger, the sense of abandonment.
He turned around slowly, his gaze landing on you with a piercing intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. His dark eyes seemed to see right through you, reading every thought and emotion as if they were laid bare before him. For a moment, you wondered if you had made a mistakeâif this had been a foolish, reckless decision.
But you had come too far to turn back now.
âWhat do we have here?â Getoâs voice was smooth and calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. He studied you, his expression unreadable. âYouâre not one of mine.â
You swallowed, your throat dry, and forced yourself to speak. âI came to find you,â you said, your voice barely above a whisper. âIâIâve been studying at Jujutsu High, but I canât stay there anymore. Iâve seen⌠Iâve read about what you believe in. And I⌠I want to join you.â
There was a flicker of amusement in Getoâs eyes as he raised na eyebrow. âYou want to join me?â he repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. âAnd what exactly do you think you have to offer?â
Your heart sank at his words. You knew you were nothing compared to the powerful sorcerers that surrounded him. You were just a student, someone who had been cast aside by the very person you had admired most. But you also knew that your desire to serve his cause, to belong somewhere, burned stronger than anything else.
âI donât have much,â you admitted, your voice trembling. âIâm not the strongest sorcerer, and I donât have any followers. But I understand how it feels to be abandoned, to be rejected by the world. Iâm ready to serve your purpose, whatever it takes.â
For a long moment, Geto said nothing, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence was suffocating, each second stretching into eternity. You stood there, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for his judgment. In that moment, it felt as if your entire life hung in the balance. If he accepted you, you would have a new purpose, a new place to belong. But if he rejected youâŚ
Finally, after what felt like na eternity, Getoâs expression softened, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
âYouâre eager,â he said quietly. âThat much is clear. But eagerness alone isnât enough. My cause isnât for the faint of heart. Itâs dangerous, and it requires a level of conviction that few possess.â
You nodded quickly, desperation creeping into your voice. âI understand. Iâll prove myself, if you give me the chance.â
Geto regarded you for another long moment, as if weighing his options. Then, with a slight nod, he turned away from you, signaling the conversation was over. âVery well,â he said. âIf you want to join me, go back to Jujutsu High. Pack your things. Leave everything behind. Once youâve done that, come back. If youâre serious, Iâll know.â
Your heart leapt in your chest at his wordsâhe was giving you a chance. It wasnât a full acceptance, not yet, but it was something. You bowed your head quickly in gratitude before turning to leave.
As you stepped out of the hideout and into the cool night air, your mind raced with a mixture of excitement and fear. You had taken the first step toward a new life, toward leaving behind everything that had hurt you.
Now all that was left was to return to Jujutsu High, pack your things, and leave for good. There was no turning back now.
The night was unnervingly quiet as you made your way back to Jujutsu High, the soft rustling of leaves the only sound accompanying you. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows across the ground. Your mind buzzed with the events that had just unfoldedâGeto had accepted you, even if it was only tentative. The prospect of belonging to something, of having a purpose again, gave you a strange sense of comfort, but it was wrapped in na unsettling realization.
To fully embrace this new path, you had to leave everything behind.
As you approached the school grounds, a wave of nostalgia hit you. The familiar hallways, the training grounds, even the library where you had spent so many hoursâall of it felt like a distant memory, as if you were already na outsider looking in. These places had once held significance, but now they were nothing more than relics of a past life. You had made up your mind; you would abandon all of it for a chance at something moreâsomething that could give meaning to the ache you carried inside.
The dormitory was dark and still when you returned to your room. Your belongings were strewn about, a quiet reminder of the life you had lived here. You hesitated for a moment, standing in the doorway and letting your gaze drift over the small space that had been your home for so long. It was strange how quickly it all felt irrelevant.
With a deep breath, you began packing your things. You moved with mechanical precision, folding clothes and stuffing them into your bag, taking only what you absolutely needed. As your hands grazed over small personal items, you realized how little they meant now. There was no point in holding onto these thingsâmementos of a life you no longer wanted to be part of. A gift from a classmate, a framed photo of your team during a mission, a charm you had once carried for protectionâthey all seemed to mock you now.
Your hand hovered over the chocolates you had made for Gojo, the same ones he had so casually rejected weeks ago. They had been sitting untouched for so long, the once carefully crafted gift now rotting and forgotten. A bitter taste filled your mouth as you stared at the box, the last remnant of your foolish hopes - now laying in your trashcan.
As you zipped up your bag, you felt a strange sense of liberation. You were finally doing itâleaving behind the person you had been, the person who had been too afraid to act, too afraid to take control of her own fate. You were stepping into a new future, one where you could be strong, where your pain had a purpose. Suguru Geto had shown you that.
You slung the bag over your shoulder, taking one last look at the room. It felt distant already, like a ghost of a life you once knew. Without hesitation, you turned and left, walking silently through the darkened halls of Jujutsu High. Every step away from the dorms felt like shedding na old skin, leaving behind the memories and emotions that had weighed you down for so long.
Your feet moved automatically, each step taking you further from Jujutsu High and further from Gojo, you didnât dare look back, afraid that if you did, you might falter, might hesitate. You had made your choice. You had committed to this path, and there was no turning back now.
The night air was cold against your skin, and with every step, the familiar halls and grounds of Jujutsu High faded into the distance. There was na ache in your chest, a deep, gnawing pain that threatened to overwhelm you, but you forced it down, telling yourself that this was the right choice. That Geto would understand, that his ideals would give you the strength you needed to find purpose.
By the time you reached the outskirts of the town, the sky had started to lighten, a soft glow spreading across the horizon as dawn approached. You kept your head down, avoiding the few early risers who were beginning their day. No one paid you any attention. To them, you were just another traveler, just another person passing through.
Your destination was clearâthe same dilapidated building you had found before, where Getoâs presence had been strongest. The cursed energy in the area was unmistakable, and the faint pulse of it called to you like a beacon, guiding you back to him.
As you walked, the reality of what you were about to do began to settle in. You were leaving everythingâyour friends, your teachers, your life as a jujutsu sorcerer behind. The people you had trained with, the ones who had fought alongside you, they would all consider you a traitor. But for some reason, that didnât hurt as much as you thought it would. You were tired of being invisible, of feeling like na outsider in your own life. With Geto, maybe you would finally belong somewhere.
After hours of walking, you finally reached the hideout once again. The building loomed before you, dark and foreboding, just as it had before. There was a tension in the air that hadnât been there the first time, as if the entire area was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
You hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside.
This time, the space felt different. The shadows seemed heavier, and the cursed energy more oppressive. You could sense other presences hereâGetoâs followers, cursed spirits lurking just out of sight, their eyes on you, watching, waiting. But you didnât waver. You had already made your decision.
As you ventured deeper into the building, you found him in the same spot as before, standing with his back to you, his long dark hair spilling over his shoulders. He was speaking with one of his followers in a low voice, but the moment you entered the room, his attention shifted. Without turning around, he acknowledged your presence with a quiet, âYou came back.â
His voice sent a shiver down your spineânot out of fear, but because of the power it carried, the certainty in his words. It was so unlike the doubt you had felt at Jujutsu High. Here, in Getoâs world, there was no room for second-guessing. Everything he said, everything he believed, had a purpose. You wanted to be part of that.
âI did,â you replied, your voice steady despite the nervousness you felt. âI left everything behind, just like you said.â
Geto finally turned to face you, his eyes sharp and assessing. He looked you over, taking in the sight of you with your bag slung over your shoulder, your expression determined despite the fear you tried to hide. A slow, almost approving smile curled at the corner of his lips.
âAnd why, exactly, should I take you in?â he asked, his tone calm but laced with a challenge. âWhat can you offer me that my other followers canât?â
You had expected this question, but it didnât make answering it any easier. You had thought about this moment the entire way back, rehearsing what you would say, but now that you stood in front of him, words failed you. What could you offer? You werenât the strongest sorcerer, you werenât experienced in battle. All you had was your conviction, your desire to follow him.
âIâIâm not the strongest,â you admitted, your voice faltering for just a moment before you regained your composure. âBut Iâm ready to dedicate myself to your cause. Iâve seen how the world works, how it doesnât care about people like us. I want to change that, to be part of something greater.â
Getoâs eyes remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He studied you for what felt like na eternity, and you could feel the weight of his judgment pressing down on you. Then, finally, he spoke again, his voice softer, but no less commanding.
âConviction is important,â he said, his tone thoughtful. âBut dedication without strength is a liability.â
You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, Geto raised a hand to silence you. âStill, youâve come this far, and I can see that youâre serious. Iâll give you a chance to prove yourself.â
Relief flooded through you, though it was quickly tempered by the realization of what that might entail. Geto wasnât someone who handed out second chances easily. Whatever he asked of you, it wouldnât be simple.
âYouâll stay here, for now,â he continued, gesturing to the room around you. âTrain with my followers, learn from them. When the time comes, weâll see if youâre truly ready to stand by my side.â
You nodded, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. This was what you had wantedâa chance, a purpose, something to fight for. And now, Geto had given it to you.
âThank you,â you said quietly, bowing your head in gratitude.
Before you could fully process it, a voice rang out from the entrance of the hideout, sharp and commanding.
âSo, this is where you ran off to.â
Your heart froze in your chest.
Satoru Gojo stood at the threshold, his blindfold gone, revealing his piercing blue eyes that glowed with a mixture of anger and something elseâsomething deeper, more intense.
He had found you.
notes: thank you for reading the first chapter! if you wanna be tagged just let me know!
Book says ur pupils dilate by 45% when U see something U like. Nice trick! I'll use it to figure out what you like next time! It wont work. Its already in effect when I see U
note : divider is from @/toastray. I have nothing to say this was supposed to be a couple hundred words but yk.
wc : 2.7k
tags : @lottiies @luvrgreyy
desc : heâs been in love with the memory of you for too long, falling back in love with the newer you took a matter of seconds. fluff, bit of angst (?), au, re4rLeon, fem!reader, not proofread, I talk a tiny bit about sex at the end but thereâs no smut.
Leon doesnât remember the sound of your voice, itâs been too long, too many years have passed since the day you died.
Six years was all the time the two of you had together. Six good years. All a really, really long time ago. Leon hates it, he knows heâs forgetting, memories are serving less and less of a purpose to him everyday. How is he to remember lying under the trees with you when those trees have been cut down and turned to homes and firewood? How can he remember you gutting fish for the two of you to eat when the fish have left the river you lived by?
The home you originally lived in had been torn down and rebuilt dozens of times by now, Leon wasnât always there, even when he was, it wasnât very lived in after you died. Heâs been around the world more times than he can remember, before you, with you, after you. No place looks the same. Leon has many homes, stays there for a few decades, packs up, and moves to the next house in the next country.
He had been gifted with everlasting life for being some hero, for fighting monster when those were still a thing, it was well after he had married you, he didnât tell you, but he thought youâd spend forever together. Didnât happen, obviously. You got sick, he took care of you, nothing helped.
Leon prayed to whatever God that had bestowed his immortality to him to give it to you too, to keep you alive, to make you healthy again. He received no answer and you died not long after, Leon was left to spend the rest of his eternal life alone, but the world was his, and he has all the time that the universe has to offer. But what had he done to not be granted the one thing he wanted in the world? Why would some God reward him just to let him live the rest of his life miserable?
Leonâs seen everyone fall in love, but love evolved from courting to dating apps, heâs seen an embarrassing amount of shitty first dates. But heâs also seen a lot of good ones, ones where the first date turns to a second one, then a third, then a fourth, then before he knows it, those twenty-something-year-olds he had seen fall in love in a small restaurant were now taking their teenagers to the mall and going to high school reunions.
You would have loved this, or he hopes you wouldâve. Because he really wishes that you were there to cuddle up to him on the couch and watch tv with him until midnight, he wanted to take you on cute dates, he wants to buy you things and renew your vows once every few years.
He wishes that the memories are clearer in his head, he can really only see them when he closes his eyes, or when the weather is a certain way, or when a certain smell hits his nose. Leon wants to feel your skin against his again. he wants to hear you talking directly into his ear and see that smirk on your face when you suggest something you know he won't refuse.
But it's been so long and he knows that your body has long since decomposed and your grave has been swallowed up by the ocean, a good half of the time since then he's been living on auto-pilot, the other half he's painfully aware of your absence with each day that passes.
He's not even sure he'd be able to hold you correctly, should you fall back into his arms one day. Would you still love him despite that?
He's gone so long without a lover, would he remember how to kiss? The Hollywood movies don't do it justice, kissing. But no one in those movies kissed like you had, Leon's seen all kinds of romance movies, read all kinds of books, he's always imagined you and him as the main characters, but you never kiss him the way you used to.
Would you even choose him? There were so many different men out there and so many new ways to meet someone and stay connected, there was no rush to get married or have kids, would Leon be the man you'd pick once again? He hopes so.
He doesn't remember Beowulf having a wife, and Beowulf had been great. He knows that many heroes aren't able to keep their wife and their glory at the same time, the decision is often made for them, and they go on fighting until they die. But Leon stopped fighting with the same determination when you passed, he still did it, people needed protecting, but if he wasn't there to protect you, then was there really anything to fight for?
Despite all of this, he's still here. Leon looks the same as he did all those years ago, some things have changed, a lot, really, but not just about him. The world around him has grown, he's watched generations come and go just to get to some shitty grocery store in Raccoon City twenty minutes before they close at eight.
Leon doesn't like to have to work all the time, he thinks it's crazy how he went from hero to cop, more money was needed to live now than he ever imagined would be possible. He has money saved up from years and years of work, but he can't keep using the "generational wealth" excuse when he's got no family.
He doesn't like being bugged much, either. Maybe that's why he's buying his dinner when he's already supposed to be in bed, could be why he works so much even though he can't stand it sometimes, too.
Leon should have grabbed a shopping cart, the basket he carries is overflowing with shit he doesn't even need, when has he ever even eaten Devil Dogs and Zebra Cakes? He really needs to eat more than just pasta and steak every other night, maybe stop getting deliveries from the pizza place, too. He's looking over the ingredients on the back of a cereal box he knows he's going to get no matter what when there's a soft tap on his shoulder, he sighs and stops, turning around and preparing to be asked a question a cashier would know the answer to rather than him.
But Leon freezes the second his eyes land on your face. He must've gone crazy, it can't be you, can it? You're not really standing in front of him with a basket in your arms, wearing a winter jacket over your sweatshirt and smiling at him as if you're some stranger to him.
"Where did you get those?" Your voice is quiet when you speak, his gaze doesn't even follow your hand when you point at the sweets in his basket, he just stands there and admires you for a few seconds.
Leon wants to cry, he wants to hug you, he wants to kiss you, tell you to run away with him, find someway for you to become immortal and stay by his side until the world ends. But he doesnât, you look at him like heâs a stranger.
"Oh- Th-the uhm, the Zebra Cakes?" Leon finally asks after a few seconds, you only nod. "The e-end of aisle six." Why is he stammering? He's thought about all the things he'd say to you for hundreds of years, and he's instantly throwing every single word out the window the second you come out from whatever corner of the world you've been hiding in.
"Alright, thanks." God, it really is you. Your smile's the same, you look the same, you smell the same, you sound the same, you just- it's you. He remembers the way you sound again, God, please donât ever take your voice away from him. He stops himself from reaching for your wrist when you walk away, knowing that you don't remember the things he does and that it'll only make you feel weird about him. But he'll settle for knowing that you're alive and that you're in the city, and that hopefully this won't be the last time he sees you.
â
The next time Leon sees you is on the subway a few weeks later in December.
You're not really looking when you step into the train, reaching up too high for the pole to hang onto and instead grab onto his hand. Your hands are so cold, you really need to wear gloves. But you gasp and pull your hand away when you feel his warm hand touch your skin, instantly holding lower down on the cold pole and looking at him.
"Oh my God, I'm sorry!" It's cute how quickly you apologize, it brings a smile to his face.
"No- No, youâre fine." He wants so badly to wrap his hand around yours, to hold you close and keep you warm, but he couldnât, he was still a stranger to you. Being in a crowded train and standing a few inches apart was enough for now.
Leon just watches you, you donât notice because youâre too busy staring down at your shoes, but his eyes are tracing over the curve of your nose, the way your eyelashes look when you blink, how kissable your lips look. He missed this view, although he'd much rather have you looking back at him with the same adoration in your eyes.
Neither of you speak again for the rest of the ride, you can feel him staring at you, though, you donât entirely mind, youâd probably looking at him if his eyes werenât burning holes through your skull.
You havenât left his mind since he saw you at the grocery store, heâs been trying to figure out ways to find you again without getting put on some kind of radar, heâs too impatient to let things happen naturally, but itâs really the only choice he has.
He knows you recognize him, he canât help but wonder if youâre getting some kind of vision from the past of him kissing you, of you resting on top of him in the sunlight, of him looking at you with awe in his eyes as you laugh at a story he told you.
But he canât think about that for long, the train comes to a stop and you leave again, looking back over your shoulder at him and giving him a small goodbye smile. Where have you been all these years?
â
Sometimes, shitty dates were a good thing.
Both parties normally end up having a bad rest of their night, but if some man-child asshole you had been put on a date with hadnât just thrown a whole tantrum and stomped out of the bar, you wouldnât be sitting next to Leon.
He didnât know youâd be here tonight, he was just here because he wanted to grab a drink after work, but this was better.
Itâs awkward, he really, really doesnât hope you think heâs stalking you. How small could a city be? Is it really so odd that the man you said a few words to at a grocery store and bumped into on the train would be sitting next to you at a bar?
Leonâs always had a staring problem when it came to you, heâs sure youâre too pretty for him, not that you were really his anymore. And Christ, youâre still beautiful, maybe even more so now. Modern clothes look good on you, he likes your dress, your shoes, the way you did your hair, the color you painted your nails.
He has to stop staring, because now youâre looking back at him. Leon expects for you to yell at him, or slap him, or something, but you just smile at him and turn towards him a tiny bit more.
âSorry, didnât mean to stare, zoned out.â Leon apologizes once his eyes snap up to yours, you had moved from your table up to the bar a few minutes ago, most likely embarrassed. You brought your drink over, too, though you didnât really pay attention to it, just circling the lip of the cup with your fingers and taking a few sips every few seconds.
âItâs okay, I donât mind.â Your smile only grows, Leon has to bite back a grin threatening to stretch across his lips. Once again, heâs not sure what to say. Does he ever really know what to say now, though? You take the words right out of his mouth and turn them into broken mumbles that he tries to cover up with a fake cough or forced chuckle.
That didnât use to happen, heâd still get nervous around you, but seeing you now made him feel like he was falling in love again.
âIâd feel like Iâve seen you beforeâŚ?â You say, you know youâre right, you just want him to talk to you because you havenât been able to get him out of your head, for some reason.
âOh, uhm, yeah- Yeah, I think Iâve seen you around, too.â Is he seriously fucking blushing right now?
âHm, small world.â You take a sip from your drink, he does the same.
âSo, uh, bad date?â Leon asks before he can stop himself, he knows the answer, but you were probably going to get mad at him, get offended and ignore him if he sees you again.
âYeah,â You sigh, âItâs fine, though. Blind date.â Leon nodded, staring down at the ring of water his glass left on the countertop. âYou just here for a drink?â
âMhm,â Alcohol was like water to him now, not the way that he drinks it everyday, but that it hardly has an effect on him anymore. But he canât sit here and drink glass after glass unless if he wants people to get concerned, so he just sips on one or two for an hour and leaves. Youâre drinking the same drink as him, though, so he decides to stay for longer than usual.
And to his amazement, you stay, too. You laugh and nod at the stories he tells you, he listens intently to the ones you tell in return. Of course youâve been living a different life than the one he had with you, but this is already getting better than the last. And you seem⌠into him? More into him than you were with your actual date, heâs not complaining.
By the time you and Leon go your separate ways, itâs pitch black outside, well, not really, itâs never completely dark in a city. The lights of driving cars and buildings illuminate you beautifully, like youâre something holy.
Leon finds a napkin with a phone number scribbled on it in his jacket pocket, it mustâve been yours, he couldnât be happier.
â
Whatever higher being blessed him with another chance with you, heâd praise for the rest of eternal life. Because after a few hour-long phone calls and a couple more coincidental meetings, heâs taking you out on dates and youâre holding onto his arm and kissing his cheek.
Itâs better than he remembers, the city offers more things for the two of you to do, and heâs up for anything you suggest.
Leon is finally able to feel your skin underneath his fingertips, feel your lips against his, listen to your voice in his ear, buy you nice things, have you cuddle up with him on the couch, he has you back.
You look so peaceful when you sleep, your head resting on his bicep, his naked skin pressed against yours. Itâs been a year, you both still look the same, but he knows youâre changing. Leon hadnât had sex in so long that he was sure that he wouldâve fucked it up, you had taken charge, and it had been soft and slow, anyway. Nothing for him to worry about.
Heâs been awake for an hour, just looking at you, trying to imprint this memory into his mind in case you were to disappear soon. But you finally start to stir, blinking your eyes a few times as you start to wake up.
âLeonâŚ?â You mumble, he pulls you closer.
âGo back to sleep,â A kiss to your eyebrow, then the bridge of your nose, your lips twitch up into a sleepy smile.
âMm��� âkay. Love you.â You yawn, resting your hand on his chest as you close your eyes again and nestle into his shoulder. He hasnât heard that from you in ages, he doesnât know if you meant to say it, but heâs thankful you did.
When you're both children, you overhear him being referred to as inhuman, between his power and his lack of a mark. The next time you see him, you use a marker to write your name on his skin, too young to understand what it means.
You forget, but Gojoâ
Gojo never does.
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.
masterlist
pairing: gn!reader x gojo
wc: 2.6k
notes: thank you to my beta, as always! especially for putting up with my bratty ass and reading this early so i could post it earlier. this has been a fun fic to get started and i hope you enjoy the prologue!
content warnings: none. see masterlist for series content warnings.
The Gojo boy doesnât have a soulmate.
You donât think youâre supposed to know; itâs only ever talked about in hushed voices. The clans all speak like that, sometimes, each word a butterflyâs wing as it flutters from their mouths.
The servants, however, are louder.
One of them has a voice like a lark, a sweet, trilling song. It carries. You learn to hear her coming, to recognize her shadow against the shoji. You know the edges of her by heart. Sometimes she spreads her arms out as she makes her way through the hallway; her kimono sleeves flare out behind her like wings.Â
âThereâs something wrong with the Gojo heir,â she sings one afternoon, her fluting voice half-muffled by the shoji. âThose eyes of hisâitâs like he can see right through you. And Fujioka says he doesnât have a soulmark.âÂ
Another servant hushes her. âDonât gossip,â she chides.Â
âItâs true, though!â
âThat doesnât mean you should repeat it.âÂ
She huffs, grumbling something too soft for you to hear anything aside from the melody of it. The other servant laughs quietly before chivvying her forward. You watch until their shadows disappear, leaving only the hallway light to filter golden through the shoji.Â
You return to your coloring book.
The Gojo boy doesnât have a soulmate, but that doesnât mean anything to you.
Not yet.Â
â
Thereâs a boy in the courtyard.
Heâs hopping from stone to stone in the koi pond, his snow-white hair glittering under the morning sun. He moves like a dancer, each step sure and swift, never once slipping on the wet rock. When he gets to the biggest rock in the pond, he crouches down, his back to you, and drags his fingers over the surface of the water. The koi rise to meet him, firework scales flashing in the sun.Â
You watch him from the engawa, peeking out at him from behind one of the columns. Youâve never seen him before, and youâd remember him, with his starlight hair.Â
âWhoâre you?â he asks, not turning around.
You stay quiet.
âI know youâre there,â he says. âYou canât hide from me.â
He glances over his shoulder and the world goes blue.
Itâs the cold burn of a cometâs tail streaking through the velvet night. Itâs oceantide, relentless and unyielding. Itâs a slice of the sky brought down to earth, heaven devoured.
Then he blinks, and heâs just a boy again.Â
âWhoâre you?â you ask, stepping to the edge of the engawa.Â
He lifts his chin. âI asked you first.â
You introduce yourself the way your mother taught you, bowing to him shallowly.Â
He scoffs. âYouâre not even from the main clan.â
âAre you?â
âIâm not part of your stupid clan.â
âOh.â
He stares at you, his crystalline eyes sharp-edged, all prismatic ice. âYou donât know who I am?â
âNope.â
He rises to his full height, unfolding like an elegant crane. âIâm Gojo Satoru.âÂ
You tilt your head. The servantsâ humming gossip made the Gojo heir sound ethereal, a fallen star that had burned away into human form as it plummeted through the heavens. His eyes are otherworldly, and you can feel the power rippling out from his lean form, as unstoppable as the tides, butâ
âYouâre just a boy,â you say.Â
He scowls. âAm not.â
âAre too.âÂ
âIâm Gojo Satoru,â he says again, deeper this time, an intonation, a promise, a curse. His eyes flash, St. Elmoâs fire, a lightning strike of blue. âI have the Limitless and the Six Eyes. Iâm not just a boy.â
You would believe him, but the last bit sounded more sulky than anything else. Youâre about to tell him so when someone calls your name. You glance over your shoulder, but there are no shadows against the shoji yet.
When you turn back around, there are wet patches shining on the stones in the koi pond, an imprint of the past, but nothing else.
The Gojo boy is gone.
â
Your mother is hovering.Â
She smooths down your yukata, chasing creases from the thin cotton with trembling hands. There hadnât been time to change; sheâd pulled you out of your lessons and hurried you down the hallways of the estate.Â
âBow low when you meet him,â she tells you, though she hasnât bothered to tell you who âheâ is. âUnderstand?â
You nod.Â
Thereâs a fine layer of sweat gleaming at your motherâs nape as she kneels before the shoji. She reaches out to open it; her kimono sleeve slips down, revealing the elegant curve of her wrist. You focus there instead of the opening shoji, the slow slide of it a hissing snake, coiled to bite.
The shoji clicks, a chime of teeth, its maw wide open. You take in a deep breath and step through, your gaze on the tatami mats. Someone shifts.
âOh, itâs you.â
You glance up, directly into the gaze of Gojo Satoru. His eyes are as otherworldly as you remember, a crisp, clear blue framed in long lashes, like a snowy-edged mountain lake. He tilts his head as you gape, his hair gleaming bone-white in the sun streaming through the open shoji.Â
You blink. âWhatâre you doing here?â you ask, and next to you, your mother hisses in a low, sharp breath.Â
Gojo shrugs. âDunno. The clan said I had to come and they caught me when I snuck out.â
The woman behind Gojo clears her throat. âGojo-sama,â she says, her voice like the shivering leaves when the summer breeze stirs to life, âtheyâre a candidate for you to train with.âÂ
He eyes you. âWhy?â he asks. âTheyâre not very strong.â
âHey!âÂ
âYou arenât, though,â he says. âI can tell.â
You throw yourself at him.
His eyes widen, a devouring sea, and he grunts as you make impact. Heâs sturdier than you thought; heâs slight, but itâs all lean muscle, even though he canât be much older than you are. Your mother calls out your name, horrified, but Gojo is already recovering, grappling with you for control.Â
By the time the adults pull you apart, Gojo is nursing a rapidly-purpling mark high on his cheekbone. Your split lip aches; you tongue at it and wince. You can taste blood, sour and metallic. You glare at Gojo even as your mother bows deeply to the woman.
âMy deepest apologies,â she says, tightening her grip on the sleeve of your yukata and forcing you to bow with her. âI donât know what came over them.â
The woman clicks her tongue. âThe child should be punished,â she says, and your mother stiffens. âI would suggestââ
âNo.âÂ
Everyone looks at Gojo. He thumbs at a rip in his kimono, grinning widely. It bares his teeth.Â
âIâll train with them,â he says.
âGojo-samaââ
âI said Iâd train with them. Now can we go? I want a popsicle.âÂ
The woman sighs. âYes, Gojo-sama.âÂ
Gojo sweeps by you and your mother. He pauses right next to you. âYouâre weak,â he tells you, ignoring the way you bristle, âbut at least youâre fun.â Â
Heâs out the shoji before you can respond.
â
Summer settles over Kyoto, a wet lick of heat. Even the wind seems to feel it; it ripples honey-slow through the trees, barely strong enough to stir the air. Frogs move into the koi pond in the courtyard; they sing along with the cicadasâ sawing choir.Â
âCatch it!â Gojo shouts as your hands spear through the murky pond water. It gushes free from between your fingers as you come up empty-handed, the frog you were aiming for frantically disappearing further below the surface. âYouâre so slow.â
âAm not!â
âAre too,â he counters, holding out his cupped hands. A plaintive ribbit sounds out from between them. âI already caught one. It was easy.â
âYouâre annoying.â
He stares at you, his blue eyes icy. âYouâre annoying.â Â
âYouâre the one who came over.â
He rolls his eyes. âWe train at your estate.â
âHow come?â
âHow come what?â
âHow come we train here? Your estate is probably better.â
He shrugs, opening his hands enough to peer down at the frog. It glistens in the sunlight, the same deep green as the lush courtyard. It makes a break for freedom; he closes his hands again, his long fingers sewing the gap shut. âI like it better here.â
You wrinkle your nose. âWhy?â
âI just do,â he says, voice flat.
You donât ask again.
â
âWhy are we here?â
Gojo blinks, his long white lashes sweeping over the sweet curve of his cheek. âWhy are you whispering?â
Your cheeks heat. The Gojo estate is a sprawling, massive maw; youâve felt devoured ever since you set foot in it. Even the golden light that slants through the shoji feels cold. There are ikebana arrangements lining the halls, the leggy, deep purple irises sculptural as they rise proudly from the vases, but it still feels like a mausoleum.Â
âWeâve just never trained here before,â you say, taking care to use your regular voice. âSo why are we here now?â
He shrugs. âThey insisted.â
âWho?â
He dismisses the question with a wave of his hand, his long pianistâs fingers cutting through the air. You roll your eyes, long used to his occasionally imperious ways. The two of you continue along the hallways, you trailing after him closely, as if caught in his gravity, an orbiting moon.Â
You almost run into him when he comes to a sudden halt. You peek around himâin the last few months, heâs gone through a growth spurt, one that your mother says will come when youâre his age, and heâs too tall to peer over his shoulderâand see a servant bowing low, her ebony hair glinting.
âGojo-sama,â she says. âPlease follow me. The elders are waiting.â
He sighs, a dramatic heave of his chest. âWhat do they want?â
âThey didnât specify.â
âUgh.â
âGojo-samaââ
âIâm coming, Iâm coming,â he says. âGo tell those geezers Iâll be there soon.âÂ
You wince right along with the servant. Gojoâs disdain for the elders is not new, but it still unnerves you every time, as if they will come along and smite you down.Â
âCâmon,â Gojo says to you. âLetâs get it over with.â
The servant clears her throat. âOnly you, Gojo-sama.â
He glares, his blue eyes burning, a comet streaking through the sky. âNo,â he says. âTheyâre coming.â
âThey cannot.â
âI said theyâre coming.âÂ
âItâs okay,â you tell him, eyes wide. âReally.âÂ
Gojo looks back at you. For a second, his mouth is a wound, tender and pink, but in the next breath, itâs gone, frozen under a layer of ice.
âFine.âÂ
You bite your lip, but heâs already walking away. You catch yourself before you reach for him. He disappears down the hallway, his hair glinting like exposed bone.
The servant turns to you. âThis way,â she says, her voice perfectly neutral.
You follow her to an empty room; she slides the shoji shut behind herself as you settle onto the cushion at the chabudai. You gaze around the room. Thereâs not much to take in; itâs wealthy in a subdued way. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve and then get to your feet.
You slide open the shoji leading out to the engawa; it opens onto a huge, lush courtyard. The plush flowers are weighted down by their own blooms, their stems curving like a dancerâs back. A shishi-odoshi rings out with a hollow thud; a few songbirds scatter, their wings rustling like leaves as they soar towards the sky.Â
You step out onto the engawa. Itâs still early enough that the sun slants onto the wood, warming it. You sit down and bask in it, tilting your face up for the sunâs sweet kiss. You lay back, your eyes fluttering shut.
A voice wakes you.
âHeâs an insolent brat!â a man hisses. âHe needs to be taken in hand!â
âHeâs too powerful,â another man answers. His voice is calm, but you can sense the ripples in it, the thing lurking underneath. âWe can only do what weâre already doing.â
You go still. They can only be talking about Gojo. Their footsteps echo; theyâre drawing closer and closer.
âItâs not enough.âÂ
âHeâs still young. Maybe we can mold him.âÂ
The first man snorts. âYou donât believe that.â
âNo, I donât.âÂ
âThereâs something wrong with that boy,â the first man says. âThose eyesâthat powerâand not even a hint of a mark. Heâs barely human.â
Their footsteps are starting to fade; their voices become murmurs. But you still hear it when the second man says:
âI donât think heâs human at all.â
Then theyâre gone, fading from your world like malevolent spirits, dissipating on the wind. You unclench your fists and find that your nails have bitten into your skin, little half-moon curves cutting through the leylines of your palms.Â
Gojo shows up a mere minute later. He slides open the shoji with a bang; his eyes find you immediately.Â
âCâmon,â he says, stepping out into the courtyard. His eyes are shadowed; his lips are pulled tight, an unstitched wound. Heâs heard them, you realize. Youâve never seen him bothered by other peopleâs opinions; your chest aches, a pressed bruise. You open your mouth to say something, but you canât find the words.Â
He grabs your hand as he passes by you, tugging you along behind him, ignoring your surprised yelp. âLetâs go before those stupid geezers find me again.âÂ
âWhere are we going?â
âAway from here.â
âBut my shoesââ
He glances back at you and you drown in blue.Â
âOkay,â you say quietly. âLetâs go.âÂ
He doesnât answer; he just tugs you along. You stare at the back of his head for a moment, trying to make sense of the expression youâd seen flash across his face before heâd turned around again. You canât understand it, but you know one thing.
Heâs never looked more human to you.
â
The next time you see him, youâre prepared.
You uncap the marker with your teeth. You reach out for Gojoâs arm; he pulls away before you can grab hold, as quick as a darting fish.Â
âWhat are you doing?â he asks.
âGive me your arm.âÂ
âWhy?â
âYouâll see.âÂ
He eyes you for a moment, but gives you his arm.
You push up his yukata sleeve to expose the tender underbelly of his wrist. You start to write, laboring over each stroke of the marker, keeping it as neat as you can. The silver ink covers the rivers of his blue-green veins as it sinks into his skin, a childish tattoo.Â
âThere,â you say, finishing with a somewhat-shaky flourish. âNow you have a mark.â
Gojo stares at you, his cerulean gaze lit from within, the sea beneath the sun. He covers the katakana of your name with his free hand, careful not to smudge the still-drying characters. Under the shadow, they fade to gray, but they still glint and glimmer the same way real soulmarks do.Â
You hum, pleased with yourself, cap the marker, and toss it to the side so you can start training.Â
You donât know it yet, but itâs your last session with him. He disappears into the dawn like a fading star, spirited off to Tokyo to continue his training. Youâve only spent six months with him. Still, it aches, a pressed bruise, but youâve always known he would outgrow you; his power is a black hole, always devouring.Â
Life, ever unmoved, continues on.Â
The boy you knew fades from your memories, though you never forget him. Itâs impossible, with the stories that come out of Tokyo, how he completes missions that no one his age should be able to handle.Â
Still, you forget things. The tilt of his mouth; the cadence of his voice. He becomes a shadow of himself, a shade with burning blue eyes.Â
You forget that you once wrote your name on the delicate inside of his wrist.Â
Summary: The rain ruining his plans might have been the best possible luck.
Warnings: MDNI, Fluff, Smut, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Creampie
Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi
âItâs raining.â You point out, face nearly pressing on the window as you stare outside. It was going to happen sooner or later, the dark clouds had been adorning the sky the entire day, yet the day went dry.
âRaining?â Zayne sounds surprised, as if he hadnât been staring at the same dark sky a couple of hours earlier. He stands up, walking over to look out the window as if he didnât trust your word. You swear you hear him sigh when he confirms that itâs indeed raining.
âIs everything okay? Is our date still on?â You look at him, worried about his reaction. He wants to say that the rain will be over in ten minutes and the plans are still on⌠But it doesnât look like itâll stop any time soon.Â
âThe rain is going to make things more⌠Difficult.â Zayne answers, not wanting to give up on the date idea just yet. There is no hope though, you canât go stargazing when itâs storming out. You stare at him, trying to study the look on his faceâ A task thatâs difficult since the man does a great job at suppressing any trace of emotion. âMaybe we have to change a couple of things.â
From now on he will leave the dates to you and only you, because the one time he plans something itâs ruined before it even begins. Itâs what he gets for trying to be romantic, thereâs a reason youâre the one that usually takes on the role.Â
âLike?â You ask, and he isnât sure how to answer. He already had everything planned out, and he put his all to the specific date so now his brain is empty. The lack of answer makes you chuckle. âSo weâre staying in?â
âUnless I get a reservation in time.â Zayne reaches for his phone to look up restaurants nearby, trying to salvage the night but you snatch the device from his hands. He raises his brows, wondering what you have in mind.
âLetâs stay in. We can cook something, play a couple of games⌠Other stuff.â You respond, and Zayne fights back a smile. Itâs great to have someone pick up his slack. âI found this new recipe that Iâve been dying to try.â
âTell me what you need, and Iâm on it.â He says, and you canât help but smile. Heâs willing to do anything when you have his attention.Â
âI think we have everything, I just need you to chop up some stuff.â You tell him, and he nods in response. Heâs not a great cook since he barely has the time or energy to make his own meals, but at the very least heâs great at chopping up stuff. âYou can be my sous chef.â
âYes, maâam.â Thereâs a subtle smile on his lips, and it overflows your heart with joy when you notice it. You wonder why he smiles but itâs never unwelcome. Especially from him.
You kiss his cheek before telling him, âLetâs get to work.â
After nearly burning the house down trying the new recipe, you surprisingly end up with a delicious meal on your table. Youâre enjoying your meal, too busy stuffing your face to keep up a proper conversation. You donât need to talk either way, each otherâs presence is enough to satisfy any need for interaction. Though Zayne canât help but comment,
âSurprisingly it doesnât taste burnt.â Which makes you roll your eyes. He canât help but bring it up when you told him a million times that you had it under wraps.Â
âI told you I had it handled.â You respond. âOr do you not have faith in me, Dr. Zayne?â
âDr. Zayne?â He raises a brow, and you hum in response. He lets out a low laugh before answering, âI do have faith in you⌠But I am allowed to draw some conclusions when I see a flame coming from the pan.â
âThat wasnât a flame.â You argue, and he slightly shakes his head.
âThen why did the fire alarm go off?â He points out, and you puff out a breath. You cross your arms, your appetite gone because your boyfriend wonât allow you to have the last word. He never does, and it might be his only defect. He couldnât be perfect.Â
âNext time Iâm leaving the cooking to you then.â You pout. He doesnât want you to feel bad for the light fire, it could happen to anyone plus you were cooking a new recipe.
âYouâre a far better cook than I am.â He responds, hoping that itâll make you feel better. Heâs staring at you, trying to decipher what you feel based on the expression on your face. You only stick out your bottom lip, clearly not happy with what heâs said.
What did he say wrong? He said all the right words, you should be gleaming not⌠Looking disappointed.
âOnly because you donât have time to pick up the skill, if you did then you would be saying something far much different.â You end up telling him, and he takes a moment to look at your face. Heâs not sure how to answer. He ends up by telling the truth,
âProbably.â And the moment the word leaves his lips, he realizes he couldnât have picked a worse answer. You look absolutely mortified, and he doesnât know how to deal with it.
âProbably? Youâre not supposed to say that.â You say, and he gives you a subtle nod. Heâs not supposed to tell you the truth then.
âWhat am I supposed to say then?â He sounds ever so serious, and one swift look at his face makes you think that he is, indeed, serious.Â
âNo, I doubt it. Youâre the best cook ever, dear.â You end up answering, almost laughing at your own response. You see a twinge of a smirk on his face, and you feel like youâve accomplished something. He lets himself loose around you, and often laughs at any stupid joke that you make, but it still feels rare when you actually see him smile.
âAlright then, so not the truth. Simple.â He answers, and the smirk that comes to his lips doesnât fill you with pride like it usually does. You puff out a breath and he says, âRepeat the statement.â
âNo.â Your answer is firm, therefore he wonât bug you to do it. Heâll drop the subject.Â
You two continue eating, and for once heâs the one that makes most of the conversation. He should apologize, he shouldâve chosen better words.Â
âIf it makes you feel better, the one time I plan a date⌠It starts to rain.â Zayne hopes that by admitting his own failures, heâll make you feel better. You canât help but chuckle.
âThat doesnât mean that you suck, it just means that the weather isnât on your side.â You reassure him, face turning to look out the window. The rain still falls, much harder than before. âPlus Iâm enjoying the date. Well, I was before youââ
âIn my defense, I was initially complimenting the dish.â He argues, and you canât help but laugh. A petty argument from a compliment. Though youâd argue that it was backhanded, Zayne isnât all that great with wordsâ Unless itâs with him coming up with a witty comeback, or of course, explaining medical terminology.
âHow about you start cleaning up while I look for a game we can play?â You change the topic as you finish up your meal. Zayne immediately nods, more than willing to fulfill the task that youâve assigned. He begins to clear the table, and you stand up to look for the games that are hidden away. Games that youâve gotten to play with him but youâve never had the time to actually sit down together and figure out.
You look for something thatâll make the night more fun, and also something that you have yet to play⌠But you still land on an old game. Something that gets both of you competitive. You end up pulling an old game that youâve played a dozen times with him. A game that makes you want to break up with him, but when you make up itâs a memorable night.
You set up the table with the game, and wait for Zayne to finish up in the kitchen. Youâd offer to help if he was doing any other task, but you arenât going out of your way to clean up, even if it is to help your amazing boyfriend. Maybe you can take a peek at the cards as you wait for him to come back to the table.
âOkay, Iâm ready.â Zayne walks back to the table, grabbing the cards that you definitely didnât take a quick look at, and shuffling them. âWhoâs going first?â
âI am. I donât trust you while playing kitty cards.â You respond, and he hands out two cards. You frown as you look at them, knowing that youâre starting off on a bad foot. Your assist cards can help you make a comeback, so youâre only praying you get lucky with that.
âI should be the one saying that, I saw you look at the cards.â He lets out a low laugh as he gives himself three cards. He takes a seat across from you before commenting, âGiven by the look on your face, you didnât get all that lucky.â
âIâm going to win. Mark my words.â
Though youâre as competitive as you can be, luck simply isnât on your side. Zayne doesnât help your case, using every card that he has, against your favor. You glare at him with every move he takes, and he smirks, proud of his every move.
âCan you leave me alone? I barely have any points, thereâs no point for you to null my card.â You complain, and Zayne shakes his head.Â
âI have to take every possible precaution.â He answers, putting down a card that takes away your turnâ And if that isnât horrible enough, he takes away one of the kitty cards that youâve put down. âLast time you won, I heard about it for weeks.â
âLast time I lost, you also heard about it for weeks. Matter of fact, we almost broke up.â You point out, and you watch as the corner of his lips turn. Heâs trying his best to fight back a smile, and you have to roll your eyes. âAnd if you keep up with your act, we might actually break up.â
âItâs just a game of kitty cards.â Zayne says, which makes you glare at him. You cross your arms, a scoff leaving your lips. Just a game of kitty cards? The game becomes a very serious matter when youâre as competitive as you are.
âIf you donât take it seriously, then you should let me win.â You claim, and Zayne knows that unless he stops playing, your date will completely go sour. He just fixed matters after his unnecessary comment, he canât let himself nearly ruin the date once again. He could try to let you win, but at this point thereâs no way you can make a comeback. Plus, itâs not satisfactory for him.
âHow about we stop.â He suggests, and you know you canât win.
âFine.â You answer, a hint of attitude in your voice just so he notes that youâre not happy with him. Â
âWhat were we going to do today?â You ask him, beginning to clear the table. The sight of the unfair game is keeping you mad, so itâs best to clean up. Zayne joins you.
âStargazing.â He responds, which perks up your eyebrows. Where exactly? âItâs a place not too far from here that gives a perfect view of the city, and I thought itâd be a nice date. I bought a couple of snacks to have a late picnic, but the universe isnât on my side.â
âThat is such a cute date!â You comment, eyes looking out the window to see that the rain has calmed down. âWe can still do it.â
Zayne looks in the same direction. Itâs not what he pictured, but itâs not a bad idea.
âJust for a minute.â He grabs your hand, fingers intertwining with yours before he guides you outside. Your anger is long forgotten when you feel his large hand lightly squeezing your own. Thereâs still some light rain when you exit the place, but you arenât staying outside for too long so itâs not an issue.
âLook, thereâs a full moon.â You immediately point to the sky. The clouds had been hiding the moon all night, and now you finally get a chance to glance at it. âJust look at it, itâs so beautiful.â
âIt really is beautiful.â He answers, though his eyes arenât looking at the moon. His thumb traces lazy circles on the back of your hand, as he finally looks up at the sky. Stargazing is a dumb date if you arenât going to the countryside. In a way, heâs glad his plans were ruined.Â
You look back at Zayne, a foolish smile coming to your lips. Stargazing wouldâve been nice, even if you donât get a great sight, laying next to him for a whole night is the type of date that you need. You donât even need to talk, each otherâs presence is more than enough for you to be satisfied.
âWhy are you smiling?â He finally looks back at you. Itâs not a complaint, heâs overjoyed to find you smiling. He just wonders whatâs going on in your mind. Two fingers come up to his face, brushing away the hair thatâs on his forehead before you get on your tip-toes to press a kiss on it.
âYou are so cute.â You tell him, and he chuckles. Out of all words that you couldâve picked, cute is the one that he least expected.
âCute?â He responds, and you hum in response. Nevertheless, itâs a compliment so heâll accept it. He smiles back at you, gaze getting lost into your eyes. You have the most beautiful eyes heâs ever seen, maybe thatâs the reason heâs so desperately in love with you. âCute. Iâll take it.â
âLetâs go inside before you get sick.â Thereâs a mischievous smile on your lips as you say the words. Heâs the one that usually says the phrase, but the tables have turned. Zayne lets go of your hand, hands falling on your waist before pulling you closer.
âLetâs enjoy the moment a little longer, I donât mind getting sick.â His nose brushes against yours, his eyes looking into yours ever so lovingly. His supple lips land on yours, pulling away within seconds. âItâs barely even raining.â
âJust a minute then.â You tell him, and he nods in response. However, Zayne doesnât care to look at the sky. Apart from the full moon, thereâs nothing thatâs worth noting.
He loves the feeling of the rain on his skin, every droplet is a subtle reminder that this is real. Heâs living in the moment. Whatâs happening right now is not a fragment of his imagination. The way you look at him, the way you laugh, the way your hands wrap behind his neckâ Itâs all real.
âOkay, we should go now. I donât want you to get sick⌠And I also donât want to get sick.â You say, and he smiles. He lets go of you, allowing you to go inside without an issue. Youâre not going inside without him though. You grab Zayneâs hand and drag him inside, knowing that if he gets sick, youâll end up getting sick as well.
âIâm going to get changed.â You tell him, and he mindlessly follows. Heâs seen you naked many times, thereâs no need to be shy⌠Except he is the one that gets shy at the mere thought of seeing you naked. Heâs already flustered at the idea of you getting changed; but he still follows.
âWhat do you want to do now? Watch a movie?â You ask him, getting to the room. Thereâs a sudden increase in temperatureâ Or is it just Zayne? Why does he feel hot?
âA movie⌠Sounds fun.â He swallows thickly, watching as you begin to lift up your shirt. His cheeks turn pink at the sight of some skin, but you never take off your shirt. You notice heâs staring, and you fight back on smirking.Â
âDo you have something else in mind?â You watch him step towards you, ever so slowly. Heâs hesitating. Should he? He doesnât want to turn the sweet night into something⌠More. But he does.
He wants to feel every inch of you, and frankly, the shirt that you have on outlines everything which doesnât really help. Maybe heâs a pervert for the thoughts that creep into his head, but itâs hard to think differently when you look like this right before him.
Before you know it, Zayneâs lips land on yours, tongue exploring your mouth before it finds your own. His tongue presses against yours while his hands desperately try to take off the damp clothes that cover your body. Very skilled hands struggle, nerves overtaking him at the thought of feeling your body. An action heâs done many times before, but he turns into putty each and every time.
Youâre not as nervous though, hands going to his belt and unbuckling it without an issue. Your hands go into his boxers, feeling him up which makes the man pathetically whimper into your kiss. He can come undone from a single move. And even when your hands are wrapped around his cock, heâs too nervous to touch under your shirt. Â
You pull away, a string of saliva connecting your lips until you pull far enough that the bond breaks. You take off your shirt, and Zayne is watching you as if he were a teenager all over again. Cheeks burn red at the sight of some skin, itâs truly pathetic. Itâs not just some skin though, youâre getting completely undressed in front of him.
âYouâre the most beautiful woman Iâve ever seen.â Heâs dumbfounded, itâs as if heâs never seen this before. This is nothing new to him, but it always feels like the first time⌠Thatâs a good thing, right?Â
His lips land on yours again, though he takes more risks this time as his hand fondles your breast. His lips donât last long on your mouth, choosing to kiss down your neck, before his lips land on your breasts. His lips kiss every inch of your skin before his tongue circles around your nipple.Â
Itâs nice, but you need more. Your body is begging to feel every inch of him. Luckily for you, itâs as if Zayne can read your mind.
âI need to taste more of you. Please.â Thereâs desperation behind his eyes, itâs as if he needs it. You get on the bed for him, legs spreading without a shame in the world.He stares down at you and he licks his lips. Maybe this is how he shouldâve led the date in the first place.
âYouâre so gorgeous.â He says as he gets on his knees. He kisses your inner thigh, working his way up. So gentle and shy, but he doesnât want to get ahead of himself. Doing things slowly is what makes this more exciting.
âSmells so sweet.â He finally gets to your pussy, the tip of his nose pressing against your clit before he kisses it. His lips feel so soft on you. He kisses your clit again before his tongue begins to flick it. Tastes even better than he remembered.Â
Sweeter than he could ever imagine.
Low moans escape your lips as you feel his tongue work on you. The sound of your voice is perfect, all the motivation he needs to do this. Itâs his reward for the night, and he couldnât be happier. Itâs perfect. Youâre perfect.Â
He kisses your clit, two long fingers running through your folds to gather your slick. Once his fingers are lubricated enough, he slowly pushes them in. He begins to suck on your clit and your eyes roll to the back of your head. You moan his name, pleasure already consuming you.
He curves his fingers so they hit just the right spot. You bite down your lip, feeling embarrassed at the thought of being too loud. Heâs looking up at you, and the look on your face is something he wants to have ingrained in his memory.
His fingers pick up speed, and your hands grip the bed sheets. Pleasure consumes you, your climax slowly overtaking your body. Youâre moaning his name again, unable to contain yourself as sex clouds your mind.Â
âThatâs it, baby! Thatâs so good.â You canât help yourself as your boyfriend hits all the right spots. Itâs music to his ears. Even when heâs been congratulated for his many achievements, this is the best thing heâs ever heard.
Your breath gets caught up in your chest, your body quivering as you finally reach your climax. Zayne pulls out his fingers, tongue continuing to lap at your cunt until heâs finally satisfied. He presses a kiss on your clit when heâs finished.
âI need you, baby. Please.â You say, and Zayne canât afford to waste another moment. It hurts to even think with the uncomfortable feeling thatâs in his pants. He walks to the nightstand to get the bottle of lube before giving all his attention to you. He gets undressed before getting on top of you.
âAre you sure you want this?â Zayne asks as he pours the lube all over his dick. Maybe he should consider some sort of protection, but he needs to fully feel you. He needs to feel every inch of your body.Â
âI need you, please. Give it to me.â Your voice is enough to drive him wild. He runs the tip of his cock through your folds before slowly pushing himself into you. He bites his lip, not wanting the pathetic noise that leaves his throat to be audible. You feel so nice and warm around his cock, so fucking perfect in every single way.
âItâs so good.â He mutters, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as he feels you around him. He bottoms out, stopping to give you time to adjust.Â
âMove.â You tell him, and Zayne begins to move with slow thrusts. His eyes focus on your face, watching as it contorts with pleasure. Itâs hard for him to not get nervous when you look like this, so fucking perfect.Â
âYouâre so tight.â He says, hands gripping the bed sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, hands going to the back of your neck to push him down. Your lips meet his in a messy but passionate kiss.
You drive him insane.
âYouâre doing so good, baby.â You praise him, and you hear a groan come from his throat. His thrusts pick up speed, slowly losing himself inside of you. All composure comes undone when it comes to you.
He watches your hand move down your torso, and before you can even finish your thought, his hand takes over. His fingers play with your clit, doing everything just right. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, moaning his name over and over again.
âFuck.â He curses, a word that rarely leaves his lips. But what else can he say when youâre squeezing around him? He shuts his eyes, too overwhelmed by everything that goes on. Your hands go to his back, nails digging into his soft flesh which makes him moanâ The slight pain heightens the pleasure.
âZayne, Iâm gonnaââ You begin, pleasure overtaking your body as another climax approaches. Zayne hits all the right spots, he simply knows your body too well.Â
âI know, dear. I know.â Heâs out of breath. Heâs close too. Itâs just too much for him to handle. But youâre one step ahead of him. Your nails drag along the skin of his back as pleasure gets the best of you. You see white, finally reaching your high.Â
âGood job.â He praises you, knowing that heâs not going to last much. Youâre just too much for him, which in the context, is a wonderful thing. His thrusts get sloppy, getting more vocal by the second.
âCan I finish inside?â He asks, and you frantically nod your head, not even having the words to say yes. You pull him into a kiss, and he groans into it as he releases his warm cum into you. A dragged out sigh leaves his lips when he pulls away from the kiss.Â
He stays buried inside of you, not wanting to leave your warmth just yet. He stares into your eyes for a bit, getting lost in them once again. Thereâs a certain spark in them, one that heâs noticed only appears when you look at him. The same spark that appears in his eyes.
âCan we cuddle?â You ask him as he pulls out of you. He lays down beside you, turning his head to look at your sweaty face.
âClean up first.â He says, though you donât listen and nuzzle up next to him. He rolls his eyes, but he still wraps his arms around you. âI admit, this is much better than stargazing.â
âWe couldâve done that there too.â You respond without missing a beat, and his face gets completely red. He definitely wasnât imagining that. He supposes that you couldâve, but it wouldnât be as specialâ It would be even more special, it just would be indecent.
âI like it better here.â He tells you, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. âItâs warm, and thereâs no bugs around.â
âYouâre right.â You chuckle. âCould you imagine if a mosquito bit youââ
âHow about I run you a bath?â Zayne cuts you off, knowing that the question thatâs about to leave your lips is absurd. He doesnât want to hear it.Â
âWill you join me?â You question, getting off him. He takes a moment to look at you before nodding in response.Â
á° pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader
á° 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 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.
á° warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)
á° chapter. 12/x (probably 18)
á° words. 11.3k
a/n. man the color scheme for this chapter is kinda giving BRAT lolol...i mean gojo IS brat. anywho, i don't have much to say at the beginning of this chapter but i do have a LOT to say at the end of it sooo see y'all at the bottom!! hope u enjoy. also BIG THANK YOU to @whereflowerswenttodie who beta read parts of this chapter for me n convinced me not to scrap it lol
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âžÂˇĚŠÍęł moodboard no.1 :: âŹ.*ďžplaylist
11:03am you: hi!
11:03am you: good luck today
11:03am you: incase i donât see you
11:05am Gojo Satoru: Why wouldnât you? Arenât you gonna be on the field for your newsletter shots?
11:07am you: i mean yes but idk where iâm gonna be stationed so
11:07am you: it might not be on UTokyoâs side of the field
11:08am Gojo Satoru: Okay then Iâll look for you before the game starts
11:10am you: no pls donât. coach yaga thinks i distract you. i donât want to get yelled at again. he scares me :(
11:12am Gojo Satoru: Haha youâre silly
11:13am Gojo Satoru: East side entrance at 2
11:13am Gojo Satoru: Be there
11:14am you: or be square?
11:15am Gojo Satoru: Yea whatever shape you wanna be in is fine cutie
Itâs a bright sunny day outside, perfectly blue sky with a scattering of fluffy clouds seen outside the window of your shared room in your apartment, and you realize spring is fully here from the way birds chirp past the glass. Youâre stuffing your camera case full of chilled Kodak film rolls, your last stash left, and itâs the last piece of equipment you pack before slinging the strap over your shoulder and heading out the door.
Mina had offered to give you a ride to the stadium since your carâs still at the shop, but youâre happy you opted for the bumpy bus ride and although you come close to low-grade concussions from the bang of your head to the window at every other speed bump, the music in your ears while someone else is operating a public transport vehicle helps you think creatively before shooting shots.
It was surprise enough that Mina of all people was going to this game, and when you questioned her about it in the morning, she looked at you like you were absurd to assume anyone from UTokyo wouldnât be at this game, and sure enough, itâs all anyone on Instagram has been repping on their stories or talking about in the bustling minutes before lectures. Even Utahime was going to this game, and she hates all intercollegiate sports. You knew the game was a big deal, given the way Coach Yaga was yelled at via email by the Dean of UTokyo to make sure the team wins today because a multimillion dollar Nike sponsorship would be greenlit by the prospect (for some reason you were ccâd in an email chain among divisional higher-ups, but you werenât opposed to snooping in on conversations that were entirely outside of your tax bracket).
Itâs because itâs the second to last home game before the season ends, and apparently this has been statistically the best season the UTokyo D1 Menâs Soccer team has played since the new millenia. No pressure to the players on that fact, but failure wasnât much of an option for them anymore.Â
And you can feel the stakes the second you step inside the stadium. Packed would be an understatement, there were people flooding the aisles, overbooked for the sake of the university pocketing an extra buck no doubt, but spectators could care less since they were able to at least get in on the basis of that irresponsibility in the first place, despite the stadiumâs capacity having long been reached before the pregame festivities even start. Banners and signs drape over railings with the schoolâs striking blue and golden colors, every single replay screen is lit up and brightly pixelated at every north, south, east, and west entrance for inclusive viewing. As you pass VIP security and make it into the lower field-level entry, the scattered chants from the crowd amplify in volume and you almost wince a little to yourself from the noise. The stadium felt like a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the collective heartbeat of everyone inside.Â
Youâve never been more overstimulated in your life, except instead of finding it frightening, it was electrifying. And for once, you think you can understand what an athlete must feel when playing on their own home turf surrounded by those that are wholeheartedly rooting for them.
Hana is quick to spot you, panic clear across her face as she regards you with a couple pages with your assigned vantage points, a rushed briefing session, and then sheâs darting down the sidelines to make sure equipment is set up appropriately where needed. Sheâs understaffed, given you told Utahime about Kaiâs little intervention last week and she made a nasty point to the university (and possibly a handful of legal threats) and they relented in firing him. So now the three of you were down a photographer, and the extra work shows in the instructions she gave you as you skim the sheets.Â
A glance at your phone tells you itâs close to 2pm, and your eyes take in the expanse of green on the field. UTokyoâs players practice kicking shots off to the right goal post, while YCUâs players practice shots off to the left. You canât spot where Gojo is, but you faithfully head down to the East Side entrance like he asked you to.Â
When you round the corner, you almost crash right into an Ichiko mascot, but swiftly dodge, and then you stop in your tracks when you see Gojo standing right at the concrete entrance. Heâs leaning back against the adjacent wall, arms crossed at his chest, and heâs stretching his neck side to side with a creased brow, an intense look in his eyes, lost in serious thought, scanning the wall across from him like heâs mapping out plays in his head.Â
When you approach him and catch the corner of his eyesight, he leans off the wall and flashes you one of his so extremely charmed to see you grins on reflex, and suddenly thereâs nothing your senses seem to pick up on except him. Like everything else around you just disappears.
âHey, you,â he says when he comes up to you, and you walk him like a dog back to a corner thatâs tucked further away from noises and sights. You lean your back against the wall now, the coolness of concrete seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and he stands a step in front of you. Your hands toy with the strap of your camera.
âAre you ready to win today?â you ask him, and look off to the right into the flourishing seats that are still being filled to the brim, âclearly thereâs no pressure.â
He breathes in deep, and releases it slowly, like there really was tension to relieve. âWeâve got no choice but to win.â
âIs that something Coach Yaga says to you guys often?â you ask him, because the man recited the same thing about five times in that email chain. âAlso, apparently you take years off of his life.â Another thing he recited about five times in that email chain.
Gojo only addresses what he wants to address, as per usual. âYeah, itâs something he says to us often.âÂ
âSo,â you say, âwhat did you want to talk about?â
He looks at you puzzled, tilting his head to the side. âNothing. I just wanted to see you.â
Itâs hard to assume that he didnât have something to talk about with the intention of telling you to meet him here, because this is the same place you confessed to him a few weeks ago, and so is also the place he so painfully rejected you. But maybe he doesnât think about these kinds of things as much as you do. âI see.â
His tongue pokes to his cheek as he studies your anticipating expression, and then he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. âWhat are we doing? I mean, I like you, and you like me too, at least I hope you still do. Why donât weââŚwhy donât we just give it a go already? I donât see how we can move forward if you wonât at least let me take you out on a date.â
Your hands stop fidgeting with your camera strap from his words, and you lick your lips, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with him so your gaze drifts down to his chest in front of you. His uniform is clean, no smudges of dirt or grass, just pure white fabric underneath heat-pressed blue and golden accents, and of course, that signature number 10. Youâre sure heâs all youâll ever think of when you see that number now for the rest of your life.Â
You know when you want something so bad you donât know what to do once you have it? Because it almost seems too good to be true?Â
âI just wanted to let stuff between us breathe for a little bit,â you confess, âitâs just, it was a lot to deal with. Being around you when I thought you didnât want me the way I wanted you. I donât know if this is odd to say, and maybe Iâm overthinking it, but I just feel like somewhere along the way, I kind ofâŚforgot who you were for a little bit.â This kind of vulnerability would have you running away with your tail between your legs with anyone else, but not with him. Not after everything.Â
His expression softens, melting away that confrontational energy he had earlier, and he nods slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but he canât seem to find words. The presence of them is there, though, you can feel them. But what good are his thoughts if not voiced?Â
âI just wanted to spend a little bit of time getting to know you again, I guess.â You squeeze your arm in reassurance of yourself because he wasnât giving it to you. You let out an awkward laugh. âI donât really know what Iâm saying right now, to be honest.â
You can tell heâs at a crossroads, and you think back to this week and his efforts to get you to open up to him again. You know how he feels right now, because itâs exactly how you felt when he rejected you. Like when someone is so close, yet so far, you can feel that theyâre within arms reach but never truly. And theyâre slipping away for some reason that you may never know, but all you can do is assume that itâs a fault of your own. Youâre not really sure what he can do to make you feel secure about this whole thing anymore, and you can see the slight panic in his eyes when he realizes that too.
âI donât mind waiting,â he tells you, rushed with a desperation entirely contrary to his words, âwhatâs a week or two when I want to spend a lot more of those with you anyways.â But he takes a deep breath, like heâs already mentally preparing himself for an agonizing wait in his head.
Thereâs a sound over the stadium speakers, something technical and sporty and goes entirely over your head in dismissal, but to Gojo it seems to have a different effect, as heâs suddenly attentive and stands up straighter, that focused expression on his face from earlier resurfacing. You realize he needs to get back to the field.Â
âCan we continue this conversation after the game?â he asks you hastily, already turning towards the center of the stadium. And he adds an obligatory, âsorry.â
âYeah, sure,â you quickly agree, suddenly feeling like youâre taking up his time.Â
He gives you a small smile, unsure in its presentation but pure in its intention. But he can only take one step towards the field before you reach out and pinch the fabric of his jersey to keep him still. He feels the tug of it and fully faces you once again.Â
âUm. Just a sec,â you say, âI have something to give you before your game.â
âOh?â he looks at you with interest, âI fucking love things.âÂ
âYou have to close your eyes though.â
ââŚwhat is the thingâŚâ He squints at you with a what are you up to expression.
âJust close your eyes!â you snap at him.
âOkay, okay, jeez,â he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face and then he closes his eyes. âYouâre scary as hell sometimes. Excuse me for being cautious.â
You roll your eyes, useless because he doesnât see it, and then take a step towards him. You cup his jaw with the palm of your hand, his cheek twitching slightly from the unexpected contact, and then you raise on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek. Itâs short and sweet with the sound of a peck.
âFor good luck,â you whisper, then you quickly lower yourself back onto your heels, take a step back and tuck some strands of hair behind your ear. The ground suddenly interests you.
He opens his eyes, blinking a few times with shock and his hand comes up to brush the tips of his fingers against the spot you kissed him, and then his gaze goes comically dazed when he reaches out to hold you. âAlright, câmere you,â he says, closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he leans down to kiss you but you laugh and push his face away.
âNo no no, only on the cheek for now,â you say with a small laugh.
He does nothing to restrain his frustrated groan. âYou canât do something that cute and then expect me to be chill about it.â
âIf you win, then, maybe Iâll let you kiss me for real.â
âMaybe?â
âYes. Maybe.â
Heâs close, towering over you near this bustling east side entrance that he seems to like so much, and his eyes drop to your lips. âAlright. I like those odds.âÂ
You give him a smile and slip away from him to get back towards the field, and you feel his eyes on you as you walk away.
The pregame events are a blur, with blaring music accompanied by the sounds of the sports announcers clipping across the speakers, finally quieted down in time for the players to line up on the field for the national anthem which was then followed by UTokyoâs alma mater.Â
Youâre stationed on the same side of the field as Minato, UTokyoâs side, while Hana is covering the sidelines of the opposite end with the opponents goal post. Minatoâs filling up a cup of Gatorade for himself at the athleteâs station and then he comes back around to find you.
âAre you ready to take your shots? I see Hana wanted you to shoot on film today,â he says to you as he sloshes around Glacier Freeze in a flimsy plastic cup.
You twist your aperture dial with your thumb. âYesss, all set. Iâll try to keep up.âÂ
He nods at you in approval.
The atmosphere feels nerve wracking. Something felt different about this game, the stakes feeling high. Well, of course theyâre high, because if they lose today then theyâre out of the tournament. But the stakes feel high for other reasons too, an energy you can pick up on but canât quite discern.Â
Your eyes drift across the field where you can see a referee placing a ball at the center of the field. Off to the right, you can see Gojo standing with a few of his other teammates, including Geto, Nanami, and Choso, and theyâre all gesticulating to various corners of the field as they discuss what you can only imagine have to do with their plays for today. And you realizeâ itâs their last college soccer season. Their second-to-last official home match before the championship, and for those of them that havenât qualified for the national league, it may be their second-to-last match of this caliber for the rest of their lives. One of the final chances that they have to prove something of themselves. The determination was palpable.Â
The chief refereeâs whistle cuts through the air with three short chirps, and that gathers the attention of all the players on the field. UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kickoff, and YCUâs players choose to attack the left side goal.
Your stomach churns with anticipation, the crowd hushing too as all the players take their places on the field. If you feel nervous, you can only imagine how the athletes feel. Thereâs a rhythm that youâve learned over the past couple of months getting to know the sport, where players stretch out their necks and kick out their feet and take subtle deep breaths as they survey the stands. Idle moments before the start of the match where they have no choice but to look forward and only forward, so they take a moment to stay in the present for as long as they can gather. Youâve never been much of a sports spectator, and perhaps youâve only recently had some personal interest in the team, but you realize you feel pride in your school as you stand behind chalk sideline and see UTokyoâs colors scattered across the field in uniform. And fuck, you wanted them to win. You wanted them to win with fierceness and wrath, and itâs a desire you share with the crowd.Â
Gojo spends a minute talking to the referee before the black and white striped man pats him high on the back in the good sport and urges him towards the center of the field. He lifts his foot up onto the ball, rolling it back and forth underneath the spikes of his cleat, and you can see it in his eyes, even from all the way over here, that he seems to have different ideas in mind for this game too. High stakes. Pre-determined, set with will, evident in the clench of his jaw and the concentrated furrow of his brow as he surveys the field with his eyes, and youâre lost in the sight for what feels like forever because you can hardly register the chirp of the refâs whistle.Â
And then the kickoff starts.Â
The ball is tapped to Geto to start the play, and the first few minutes were intense as the ball was passed back and forth between UTokyoâs players, placing pressure on YCUâs defense as they inched closer and closer towards the goal. A pass between UTokyoâs #4 was intercepted by YCU and the ball was rushed down towards the left side, the crowdâs horror evident in the uproar as they raise to their feet in fearful anticipation, and with ruthless offense, YCUâs forward takes a clear sink shot towards the goal, and the crowd holds their breath before they watch Choso lunge for it in air, gloved hands firmly grabbing the ball and then pulling it to his chest with a possessiveness you can only expect to see from a skilled goalie, before he crashes down into the ground and the crowd releases relief in the form of rowdy roars.
Ten minutes in, with everyone on their toes, each team tested each otherâs defenses. UTokyo were known for stellar offense, especially within the past few years with players like Gojo Satoru and Takuma Ino joining the league as powerful forwards, but UTokyoâs overall offense was still statistically second to none other than YCU. And the pressure YCU was putting on UTokyoâs defense was wearisome to say the least. You glance to see Nanami, who is UTokyoâs best defensive player, huffing and puffing as he stands between two light-footed YCU players in an attempt to guard, and fails an attempt to steal the ball before it gets to the feet of YCUâs striker #6, passed in a split second off to his teammate, with a fake so seamless that it has Choso just a couple inches away from touching the ball before itâs sent flying into the net.Â
The noises from the crowd are still loud, but dampened in spirit.Â
With the referees hand signal up in the air, the current score is confirmed. 0-1, YCU.Â
Coach Yaga calls for a sub, in which he switches Nanami out for who you believe is a 2nd-year defensive player name Yuta youâve seen around practice with a promising statistical record for interceptions, and you watch as Nanami takes the bench before he swipes the sweat off his face in exhaustion. God. Just fifteen minutes into the match, and YCU already has UTokyoâs defense winded from play.Â
You bring your camera up to your face, forgetting for a moment that there was still a job to do here, and you position the direction of the lens towards the center of the field, where Gojo takes his place at the ball once more. Yuta briefly passes by him, signaling some play to him by holding up a number three, likely something Coach Yaga asked him to pass on to Gojo, and you see him briefly nod, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes slowly and pulls his jersey up to wipe at the sweat at his forehead.Â
The referee chirps the whistle, Gojo taps the ball to Yuta, and the play starts.Â
YCU immediately puts pressure on UTokyoâs offensive play once more, with eager movements to steal the ball, but itâs passed between UTokyoâs players with ease, more practiced and more sure. The kind of play that you and the rest of the school was used to seeing from them. However, Geto loses the ball on a left-back pass, but right when YCU makes attempts to cover field in a long-shot kick towards the left, Yuta intercepts the ball and swiftly passes it to Gojo.
The crowd immediately rises to their feet in anticipation, watching as Gojo shuffles the ball down the field, dangerously close to off-field boundaries, a signature tactic he uses because he knows thereâs not a single player in the league that can match him in precision and control to keep the ball in-field on a steal, and he swiftly passes it towards Geto with a side-swept kick, beelining down towards the goal post, in perfect time for Geto pass-back to meet his feet and when Gojo was this close to a net, there was no stopping him.Â
He draws his right foot back, and explosively kicks the ball forward, chipping the grass under it in the motion, and itâs sent flying towards the goal, and then threaded past the goalie right to the back of the net. The cheers that erupt across the stadium rumble the ground beneath you.Â
1-1, even match.
UTokyo spends no time celebrating, other than a few pats to Gojoâs back as he nods in acknowledgement, no emotion on his face other than pure concentration and greed. The greed to win, like a righteous sin. He stretches his neck out, panting slightly as he takes his place towards the right side of the field and the referee chirps his whistle to signal YCU to start the kickoff.
They quickly make attempts in moving the ball towards their scoring-end of the field, but face push-back from UTokyoâs defense, unable to make it much further past the midfield line, and you bring your camera up to take a snap of Gojo, who you see is still standing off to the right side of the field. But when you position it and peer through the viewfinder, that space he once stood at was empty. You pull your camera down, and blink at the sight, and then the crowd is picking up in volume once more.
Gojo sprints down the flank, cutting past every defender, and moves towards YCUâs attacking goal, which was a shocking place to be for a center forward, but you could feel his desire and determination to steal this back-and-forth ball, and succeeds when YCU makes an open pass, thinking they were in the clear, only to have Gojo sneak in at the last moment and get the ball at his feet.Â
The play moves by in a flash, a blur that you or anyone else in the stadium could hardly keep up with it, movements so fast you were shocked a human being was capable of even running that far in such a short amount of time, and in an almost embarrassingly easy play, Gojo makes a fool out of YCUâs defenders as he slips the ball through the legs of his last obstacle before he struck it with sharp precision, sending it soaring to the corner of the goal, past the outstretched arms of the goalie, and into the net.Â
2-1, UTokyo.
It was electrifying, the feeling that strikes through the stadium, one that reaches you in your own blood. Youâre shocked, standing here, after witnessing Gojo score two goals within the matter of minutes, against one of the top three teams in the league. Itâs a shock that reaches everyone, including Coach Yaga whoâs standing about ten feet down the line from you, his arms crossed, and you see his eyes for the first time as he takes his sunglasses off to get a better look at what heâs seeing.
You trail his sight, dragging your gaze across the field until it lands at Gojo, who is barely acknowledging the encouraging pats and shakes and goodhearted shoves that his teammates were giving him, because he was focused. It might sound crazy to say, but you swear his eyes looked like a fiercer shade of blue, like they were lit up, and youâre insanely glad youâre not one of YCUâs defensive players at the moment because you feel fearful of him even just standing on the sidelines.Â
Your gaze trails back to Coach Yaga, who slowly puts his sunglasses back on but his brows are narrowed tightly as he crosses his arms over his chest tightly.
The âathletic zoneâ... Youâve heard of it before. A state of pure focus, of peak performance, where an athlete experiences optimal concentration and a sense of effortless control over their actions. In which they perform at their highest level, where time slows down, any and all distractions fade away, and theyâre completely immersed in their sport at hand. At the task at hand.
Coach Yaga seems to pick up on the fact that Gojo was on the edge of tapping into that state.Â
YCU makes a substitution, and you watch in anticipation as they begin the kickoff.Â
Thereâs fire in their veins with desperation to even out the score once more, rushing the ball down the off-field line, one of their center forwards mimicking Gojoâs signature attack pattern, and Yuta struggles to keep up with the expert dribbling of a fourth-year player with more experience on him, so much so to where he completely leaves the ball unguarded and thereâs an open shot, but Geto places pressure at the last moment, in a fierce battle for the ball, before YCUâs center forward loses the ball over the goal line.Â
Choso picks the ball up, tapping on it harshly a few times as he surveys his eyes down the field, and all offensive players begin to shuffle towards their attacking goal in anticipation for the goal kick. He signals his hand down and then holds up two fingers in the air before placing the ball down on the six-yard box. He tightens the strap of one of his gloves, eyes squinting, and you follow his gaze down to a part of the field where you note UTokyoâs best aerial players are located and being guarded by YCUâs defense. And with complete trust in his team, thatâs exactly where he kicks the ball.Â
Geto makes first contact with the ball, his chest colliding with two other YCU players as his head comes out on top and he headbutts the ball closer towards the inner field, and Gojo immediately gains access to it with a bounce of his knee. The crowd holds their breath, fear that theyâll lose the ball to a steal in the split second it spends floating in the air, but Gojo urges it forward with a bounce off of his chest and then rushes it straight down towards the goal post.Â
You wonder what sight he sees right now. Where youâre dead center, at no angle, lunging towards the sight of an open goal with a sole goalie standing in the center, anticipating to block your shot, and three defenders on your tail. Thereâs no room for error, no time to think, only instincts that you cultivate in the last leading milliseconds. They say that, in sports, athletes channel one hundred hours of practice in just a brief second on the field. A split second success that was years in the making. You canât even imagine possessing that level of perfection in your body, or possessing that level of confidence that you can follow through with it in a moment as dire as this.
It was unreal, the way Gojo fades away from all the defenders, and faces no fear when confronted with the sight of the goalie in front of him while drawing his foot back to kick the ball. You lift your camera up at the last second, no time to think about aperture or ISO, just like he had no time to second-doubt a single twitch in his muscles, and his foot makes contact with the ball so harshly that you can hear the explosive sound even among the delirious cheers from the crowd, before he hook, line, and sinks it straight past the goalieâs head, rushing by like a scarcely deflected bullet, and into the net behind him.Â
3-1, UTokyo.
The whole stadium is momentarily speechless, all players and referees and recruiters and reporters and coaches and employees alike, before the most deafening cheers youâve ever heard in your life scatter across the stands.
Thereâs a moment of brief reprieve, where the players can catch their breath while YCU makes yet another substitution, as if theyâre just trial-and-erroring it at this point, and the cheers in the stadiums remain idle as you canât tear your gaze away from Gojo.
Itâs one of those moments where you realize that someone who you thought was so familiar to you was actually someone you hardly knew at all. You knew he was a talented soccer player, everyone on campus knows it, potentially one of the best to ever grace the league, and the amount of times you passively watched his plays on a lecture hall projector screen as your professor enthusiastically broke them down during class, even before you met him, was good enough for you to realize that he was insane, a one-in-a-million, a talent you cannot replicate, one you have by divinity. One you were born with.Â
And yet, somehow, getting to know him these past couple of months, he just felt so human. For someone so seemingly beyond you, he felt soâŚclose? In those moments where it was just the two of you, it was hard to imagine that he was capable of such greatness, and that so many people were rooting for him with wholehearted tears in their eyes and cheers from their hearts, because most of the time, when he was with you, he was just a dorky idiot. You find that your heart is beating fast in your chest, that feeling of being unsure of what to do with what youâve been wanting resurfacing powerfully.Â
âThis is insane,â you hear Minato say from beside you and you jump a little from your thoughts being interrupted.
You twiddle with your camera straps. âI knowâŚalmost done with the first half and weâre up 3-1âŚI thought YCU are number one in offense for the league?â
âOh, yeah, I mean, yes, that is insane too. But whatâs even more insane is that three of the goals so far have been scored by one player.â He tips his chin towards the right sight of the field and you trail his line of sight. âBy Gojo Satoru.â
Your brow furrows as you watch Gojo, his hands on his hips and his mouth slightly open as he indulges in a few shallow breaths to gain energy while YCU prepares for kickoff. Three goals, by just one player. Your eyes widen when you realize that is insane, especially for a D1 semi-final qualifying match.
âYou know what the divisional record is for most goals scored by a single player during a championship match, y/n?â Minato asks you as he lifts his camera up to take a picture of the area Gojo was standing in.Â
You shake your head and wait for his response.
He drops his camera down and glances at the photo on his screen. âFour. During Keio Uni vs. Osaka Uni, near the beginning of the tournament back in 1997 by Osakaâs center forward number 24, Yuji Nakazawa. Meaning no oneâs managed to beat that record since the new millenia, for a couple decades. Although a few players came close.â
You blink at him, and Minato is jerking his chin over in the direction of Gojo again.
âI think heâs trying to beat the record.â
You can only widen your eyes at Minato in realization, and then the chirp of the refereeâs whistle draws everyoneâs attention back to the field.Â
The sports announcers go wild on the speakers, the crowd raving all the same, standing to their feet like the team just won the championship match.
âLADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! We are watching HISTORY in the making!! Gojo Satoru, UTokyoâs very own 3-year consecutive MVP, has scored his 34th goal of the season, highest of any player in this yearâs season so far, and is now on the road to beat the leagueâs long-standing record for most goals scored by a single player in a championship match since 1997!!â And the crowd roars even louder as you stare out at the field in awe.
YCU starts the kickoff following the prompt short chirp of the refereeâs whistle, and with two minutes remaining on the clock for the first half, make desperate attempts to book it down the field towards their attacking goal, one of their midfielders making a clumsy attempt to strike the ball to the net in the final minutes of the half, and Choso easily catches it in his arms, right before the buzzer of the timer sounds, and the match moves into halftime.Â
All of UTokyoâs players immediately flock towards Gojo in sportful glee, finally having a chance to surround him and harass him with harsh pats on his back and ruffles of his hair for his play in the first half. Choso even puts him in a headlock because they all donât know what else to do with their excitement and adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Their win for today was basically confirmed with the way he was playing.Â
You catch a glimpse of him through the crowd of people, and he has a boyish grin on his face, reveling in the embarrassing amount of attention from his teammates, that focused look from before dissolving into his normal self again. But you can see through him, as well enough as youâve learned to at least, and you can tell heâs not satisfied. Heâs thinking itâs not enough. Thereâs still more to be done, and itâs not time to celebrate yet.Â
His eyes scan down the sideline until they find you.Â
Your heart jumps a second in your chest. He stands up straighter, despite his teammates still clinging to him, and thereâs a twinkle in his eyes when your eyes meet.Â
Cheerleaders take their place out onto the field, performing their numbers with loud music blaring, and the recruiters seated at their white tables get up to roam across the sidelines in discussion with referees and with Coach Yaga and with whatever players they can sink their greedy teeth into, as well as sneak at refreshments while theyâre at it. You can see off to the right that Hana has reunited with Minato and sheâs showing him some of the shots she took over at the opponent's side.Â
UTokyoâs players start to make their way to the benches to grab for towels and drinks of water and to sprawl across in rest, and you hear loud familiar laughter approaching as you watch the players sprawl across the benches, so you avert your eyes towards the source of the sound.Â
You see Gojo approaching the benches, two of his teammates slung with their arms around him in some type of adrenaline-drunken glee as they talk dramatically and theatrically which Gojo entertains with his own drunk-off-of-adrenaline glee. And you raise an eyebrow at his demeanor when he makes eye contact with you.
âThereâs my freaky little photographer,â he says, and heâs standing up straight andâwait, is he puffing his chest out as he makes his way towards you? Oh for fucks sake.
Gojo has always been confident around you, for as long as you can remember, but in the fair few moments heâs been cocky, heâs been a menace. And you can only assume the testosterone-induced high of being on the verge of breaking a league record in front of the entire school then subsequently getting homiesexually praised by his teammates for the better part of the past five minutes, not to mention with the crowd and the reporters feeding his ego with a spoon across the speakers, heâs been transformed into the final boss of cocky.
His teammates surround you too, their hands on their hips as they assess you and Gojo when he meanders right up to you, arms held out to hug you, a sleazy sight youâve seen probably six times this week, and you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks as you place a hand on his chest to keep him away.
âYouâre sweaty and gross, please stay away from me,â you reprimand him, âthis is an expensive lens that is not humidity-proof.âÂ
âHey, youâre the girl that Kentaro socked in the face with a ball the other day at practice, right?â one of his teammates asks, leaning in towards you to take a closer look at your face.
âOh yeahhh, âcause Satoru wasnât paying attention,â another one of his teammates chimes in teasingly, hardly heard over the loud remix playing in the background as the cheerleaders continue to perform on the field.Â
You shrink a little from where you stand. Gojoâs got an irritated look on his face and heâs shrugging his teammateâs elbow off of his shoulder.
âI really hope youâre getting my good angles,â his teammate to the left comments before winking at you, and you purse your lips together.Â
The one on the right leans in too, looking at your cheek with an assessing look in his eye. âAt least it didnât leave a scar on your cute faceââ
Gojo shoves the both of them back and away from you by elbowing them in the chest, and they make deep eugh noises before stepping away and rubbing at their sternums with pouts on their faces.
âGet the fuck away from her,â he grumbles, âsheâs mine.â
Your cheeks flush slightly with warmth at the attention, and you watch as his teammates scurry away to adhere to some social hierarchy Gojo seems to possess over them.
You raise an eyebrow at him. âYours?â
âYes. Eventually. Whatever, did you see me out there?â he turns his torso towards the field and points behind himself with his thumb, âwhen Iââ
âOh god, you know whatâs soooooooooo super sexy to me?â you interrupt him. âWhen guys are humble.â
âOh câmonnn,â he curls his arm around your waist and pulls you to him, to where you stumble a little on grass and he holds you when you fall into him with more clumsiness than grace. âTell me you arenât at least impressed by me.â
You pout, because you are, and youâd really like to give him some reassurance and validation, but for some reason his cocky attitude is setting you off. âSatoru,â you sigh, wiggling a little in his hug, but he holds you tighter, âIâm working right now. Cut it out.â
He lets go of you at that, sober enough from the adrenaline to realize youâre being serious, but he steps into your space so only you can hear him. âWhat? Are you embarrassed?â
âOf what?â Your face twists with confusion.
âOf me. Are you embarrassed of me?â he asks.
âNo. Why would I be embarrassed of you?â you ask with sharpness.
âI donât know, just, sometimes I feel like youâre always annoyed by me,â he says with a sigh. âItâs like, youâre really sweet sometimes, and then kinda rude out of nowhere, and itâs sort of messing with my head.â
You pout. âYou were messing with my head for weeks.â
âAnd Iâm sorry about that,â he quickly interjects, like he already knew you were brewing up that counterargument, âbut you donât have to act like youâre all disinterested and indifferent just to get back at me for it.â He places his hands on his hips and wipes his temple on the round part of his shoulder when he feels a drop of sweat trickle down from his hairline. âYou donât have to act embarrassed around me either.â
âIâm not embarrassed,â you deny, and your cheeks feel hot, and for some reason you feel angry. âIn fact, Iâm the one that should be asking you that question. Because I still very clearly remember that time you said I was just someone you know in front of your friends.â
He groans and tilts his head back with frustration. âCan you just let that go? Things have changed between us since then. Move on.âÂ
âYou kissed me and then pretended I was just a stranger to you in front of your friends,â you grit as you cross your arms. âThatâs the level of sincerity that I know from you, Satoru.â
âOh, okay, so thereâs nothing else Iâve done that shows you that Iâm serious about you?â he asks rhetorically with incredulity, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief.
No. Thatâs not true, not true at all. But heâs pissed you off now and so all logic was to the wind. âDoesnât matter. If youâre not embarassed of me, and if youâre really serious about me this time, then fucking prove it.â Youâre speaking out of spite, and you fear youâve just set him off too.
âFine,â he says, and he grabs the microphone straight out from a passing reporterâs hand, replacing it with a gatorade bottle. The reporter stares at the bottle heâs now holding with confusion. âI will.â
âW-Waitââ you squeak out, feeling the hair at the back of your neck bristle in anticipation and a shiver gets sent down your spine. The cheerleaders are making their way off the field at the end of their routine, and you can hear the thumps across the loud boisterous speakers when Gojo whacks his palm to the microphone to make sure the thing was on before he jogs to the center of the field.
The crowd is already cheering, ecstatic to see the afternoon's star player and pride & joy of their school, and Gojo takes a moment to soak in all the glory in comical appreciation with bowing towards all 360 degree angles of the stadium.
âUhhh,â you hear Choso from beside you, whoâs strapping his thick goalie gloves tightly to his wrists, âWhy the fuck does Satoru have a microphone while standing in the middle of the field.â
âIt canât be for any publicly decent reason,â Geto muses.
All you can do is watch.
âHi, uh,â Gojo starts, static blaring slightly across the speakers and the crowd winces with him, âsorry. Iâm Satoru, Gojo Satoru, you might know me fromâuh, the game youâve been watching?â
Cheers all around, because as if a single person wouldnât know who he is. The stands were rowdy and most definitely drunk off of sidestep beers the stadium has been serving all afternoon long.Â
Gojo is about to continue speaking, when he catches sight of the table of recruiters in the corner of his eye and he turns to face them out of respect. âOh, yeah, uh, number 10,â he tugs his jersey up at the shoulder to stretch out the fabric, the 1 and the 0 flattened in view, âdivision player ID 233-997. Coach Yaga keeps my business cards in his purse if you want one.â
âSAAAAATTOOORRUUUU!!!!!â you hear Coach Yaga yell from somewhere in the distance.
âAnywho,â Gojo continues, and the music dims slightly, so he glances at the stop clock on the screen, which shows him heâs got roughly five minutes left to pull off whatever idiocracy he had in mind before the second half of the game starts. âJust here to say that thereâs this girl I really like.â
The crowd gets louder, almost deafening, and sonically mostly feminine in (delusional) hope heâs gonna name call one of them.
Gojoâs voice is crisp and clear through the speakers as he clarifies. âSheâs standing over there,â he says as he nonchalantly points to your exact latitude and longitudinal direction, âwith the big camera slung around her neck that looks like it could pull her down to the center of the earth. Yeah. Sheâs super cute and I really like talking to her.â
âUh-oh,â Geto murmurs from beside you, and you glance at him to try to get a read on the situation but you canât.
Gojo starts to pace across the center of the field now, like heâs working the crowd. âBut get thisâshe thinks Iâm not fuckinâ serious about her!!!â
The crowd groans with him in unison. Yep, most certainly drunk. Or high off of glee. Either way, heâs playing them like a violin.
âHuh?â Gojoâs voice sounds distant now, away from the mic, and you can see on the large pixelated screen that heâs being interrupted by someone that looks like one of the videographers, âoh, whatâs that? This is being broadcasted? Uh-huh. Oh. Iâm not allowed to cuss? Oh fuck, okay. Erâ shit, okay. Waitâshoot, okay.â
Chosoâs smirk is heard from beside you, and you catch Geto and Nanami shaking their heads in your periphery.
âLIKE I SAID,â Gojo continues into the mic, âthe girl I like thinks Iâm just messing around, so. Uh. To show her that Iâm serious about her, Iâm gonnaâŚâ He looks up at the sky to ponder, and you can hear people shouting all sorts of suggestions of nonsense from the crowd. And instead of saying proclaim my undying affection for her through a romantic soliloquy straight from my heart in the presence of the entire school, he saysââIâm gonna strip. Yes. Down to my tighty whities, Imma strip.â
Hâ
Huh?!?!?
You donât even have time to be horrified or scared, youâre just bewildered beyond belief that thatâs what he came up with.
What the fuck kind of reassurance did you ask for. And what the fuck kind of reassurance were you about to get?
The crowd goes wild, itâs no surprise to say everyone and their mothers wants to see him naked, even the straight dudes would dig it for the gym inspo. And he points straight to you, sleazy look on his face and youâre going to ignore the fact that he just winked at you too as he crosses his arms to hold the hem of his jersey and pulls it up over his head in the most raunchy and slutty way a man can take his shirt off.
The music manager is quick with the bit, and is most definitely a fellow Gen Z college student, because Justin Timberlakeâs SexyBack (ft. Timbaland) starts playing across the speakers and the crowd goes ballistic.
âAyo whyâs Satoru Magic Mikeâing the field right now?â one of his other teammates calls out through a mouthful of protein bar, âWhat the fuck did I miss?â
The cameraman does Godâs work in a hella zoom-in of Gojoâs sweat glistened abs, then pans up the naked expanse of the perfect taut skin across his chest, and you canât help but stare even among all your horror. Itâs like when a male bird embarrasses the fuck outta himself to attract a female bird sitting on a perch, except instead of within the context of a NatGeo documentary, this was your real life. Everyone wants him, but heâs making a fool out of himself for you.Â
He pretends to stretch his arms up into the air, a cover-up to flex his biceps, and then he kicks his cleats off, and the socks come off too. Entirely unnecessary, as showing one's ankles is simply too slutty, but alas heâs a whore. And when his thumbs dip into the waistband of his shorts, and thereâs anticipating screeching from the crowd, he finally gets chased by security.Â
Except heâs an intercollegiate D1 athlete, why the fuck wouldnât he be able to outrun a bunch of dudes in black?
The camerawork on him is phenomenal as he runs across the sidelines of the field, eliciting a wave down the bleachers. So good in fact that youâre pretty sure the camera man could shoot for the Olympic track and field, with the way the stadiumâs got a clear sight of Gojo mouthing the lyrics Them other fuckers donât know how to act from the song still blaring with satirical rage on his face as he makes a fool of the men chasing him around the perimeter of the field.
And then he does it, drops his shorts, discards them with a kick, and heâs down to his tighty whities as promised. Cameraman has got to be displaying some previously undiscovered level of talent as he zeroes in on a shot of said tighty whities, with Gojoâsâforgive me, I need to be crassâhuge bulge prominent in Big Dick Energy fashion except his tighty whities have little red hearts in rows across the fabric so do with that duality what you will.
Heâs outrun security with a steady grin on his face as he eats up the drunken crowdâs cheers and riots and roars and you feel like youâre the only sane person in this stadium, or maybe youâre just not used to the fanatics of a college sports crowd. You peep the men in black trailed all the way on the left side of the field where they abandoned their pursuit of Gojo.
He taps imaginary pockets at his thighs, very muscular thighs you take indulgence in noticing, as if he expected to find something there, and he looks around when he doesnât. He shrugs and grabs the microphone of the next passing sports commentator he spots, and then he makes his way back to you.
His breathing is a little shallow, and he inhales deep to catch his breath. âBaby.â The crowd SCREAMS at the way he purrs the word into the mic. âWill you do me the honor,â heâs huffing and puffing, heard across blaring speakers, âof being my lawfully wedded girlfriend?â And then he holds the mic to your lips.
âW-Whaââ you stutter, and thereâs chanting across the crowd with words that barely make sense until you finally realize theyâve started to yell say yes! say yes! say yes! âOh my gosh, okay, yes, fine, now please, for the love of god, put some freaking clothes on!â
The crowd goes wild with cheerful glees, and Gojo shoots fists up in the air in celebration as he runs all the way towards the center of the field with high knees, and youâre gawking at the sight, before he falls backward onto the grass and makes delirious snow angels on the ground. You see Coach Yagaâs vein popping in his neck from pure agitation as he storms off towards the center of the field to knock some sense into Gojo, but you know that Coach Yaga canât kick him out, because they still have a game to win. The perks of being the most valued player in the league is getting to act like an absolutely insane idiot because you know they still need you in the end to bring it home.
You glance to the right, seeing his teammates nodding slowly then getting back to wrapping athletic tape around ankles and stretching out shoulders, with immediate acceptance of his actions like it wasnât even out of character for him to do. And you realize again that you donât know Gojo as well as you think you do.
And then the halftime timer is up.
You see Gojo approach the benches in a quick jog, squeezing some water into his mouth with his green gatorade squirt bottle, and when your eyes flit up to the screens on all four entrances, you see that the cameramen are still all focused on him accompanied by the continued buzz of conversation among the crowd following his public spectacle. But he seems to already be past any semblance of embarrassment as he takes the attention with ease, before he glances up to make eye contact with you and then lightly jogs right up to you.
âDid that prove to you that Iâm not embarrassed of you?â he asks you, cocking a brow with a smug look on his face as he gets all up in your personal space.Â
âI donât know, but Iâm certainly thoroughly and expeditiously embarrassed of you now,â you say, cheeks feeling flush when he leans forward so he can make eye contact with you at eye level. âIâll have to move to a different country.â
His grin is relaxed. âYeah well you asked for it.â
âMaybe. But I underestimated what a lunatic you are.â
âYouâre my girlfriend now, youâve gotta get used to it.â
Your heart skips a beat in your chest. âSatoruââ
âTomorrow,â he cuts you off, âHinode pier. Iâll pick you up at six. Itâs a date, so wear something cute. And preferably easy to take off.â And then heâs attentive to the chirp of the refereeâs whistle in the air before jogging backwards towards the feel and eventually turns on his heel towards the field while youâre left with warm cheeks and a heart that felt like it was moving at a mile a minute.
The timer for the second half refreshes on the screen while you loosely hold your camera in your shaking hands. It occurs to you that you havenât taken a single photo of him before the start of the kickoff, and so you bring the piece of consolidated metal up to your eyes, peering through the viewfinder and focusing it on the center of the field. And there he was. Your muse.
Gojo lets out a breath, which you can see even from here that itâs shaky and staggered with resistance, and he lifts his jersey up to swipe at the sweat trickling down his face as he eyes the ball underneath YCUâs playerâs foot just prior to the start of the second half. There it wasâthat look again of pure focus.Â
3-1, forty-five minutes on the clock. And the referee chirps the whistle to start the second half.
Itâs immediately evident that YCU has returned to the field following halftime with renewed energy, pressing high down the flank relentlessly past UTokyoâs defense, so fast it was hard for anybody to even keep a steady eye on the ball with the fluidity of their passes. The persistence pays off in the fake double-pass that slips past Getoâs feet, a moment of hesitation in the broken flow of UTokyoâs defense, and one of YCUâs strikers has the perfect line of shot towards the goal before digging his foot under the ball and sending it flying towards the corner of the goal post, scoring themselves a goal within just the first five minutes of play.
3-2.
The pressure mounts at the next kickoff, and with about seven minutes of solid play, with back-and-forth passes, multiple attempts at both goal posts to no avail on either side, it was clear that exhaustion was bustling in the veins of all the players.
One of YCUâs offensive players seems to capitalize on this, jumping on a defensive lapse of a pass Nanami attempted to make towards Yuta, and the ball is swiftly stolen then raced back towards the goal post. Choso prepared himself at the line, light on his feet paired with a solid stance, but in a millisecond of a moment, YCUâs offense unexpectedly passes the ball to a player racing up the midfield, and the player chips the ball neatly into the exposed corner of the goal despite Chosoâs attempt to lunge for it in mid air.
Equalized, 3-3 game, momentary shock across the playersâ faces, and the crowd bustles with something that sounds less like glee and more life fear. YCU was prepared to live up to and hold onto their title as the leagueâs number one offense, and as Minato explained to you during your time working in this job, an offensive team isnât good at scoring goals, but rather exceptional at breaking down the other teamâs defense.
Your eyes zero in on Geto, who stands in the center of the field for kickoff, and heâs huffing and puffing. He's the lead of defense for the team, and you can only imagine the level of pressure he feels right now. He glances around to his players, over to Nanami who seemed to share the same level of exhaustion, and then he glances towards Gojo who stood in front of him off to the right. Except you notice that Gojo looks relaxed, albeit still exhausted, but thereâs a composed expression on his face even in the moment of heightened stakes. With locked eyes, Geto nods at Gojo and raises two fingers up into the air to signal a play, of which Gojo seems to respond to by closing more distance between him and the goal post prior to the kickoff, positioning himself almost directly in front of it, to which YCUâs defense immediately begin to guard him in a tight radius.Â
The kickoff begins, with Geto making a few passbacks with Nanami as they close distance towards the field before passing it off to UTokyoâs string of offense and then receding back to their defending goal. UTokyo continues to close distance, raising stakes for YCU as their defense begins to falter under pressure, and the ball gets passed to Gojo, who only keeps it in possession for less than three seconds before he passes it back to Yuuji, a risky decision to make in the second half of a semifinal match, but the first-year swiftly unleashes a powerful shot that rockets past YCUâs goalkeeper, up towards the corner, exceptâ
It bounces off the metal of the goal post, shot off with projectile speed back towards the center of the field, but with razor-sharp reflexes, Gojo headbutts the ball in air, twists his torso and strikes the ball with his foot past a dumbfounded goalie who canât even move an inch to guard the ball that he already knew was going to sink right into the goal, and thatâs exactly what it does.Â
The stadium erupts with the momentum.
4-3, UTokyo.Â
It was a sweet moment, one you manage to capture on camera of Gojo running up to Yuuji and ruffling his hair in reassurance, despite the missed goal. Your heart feels warm in your chest, feeling your own sense of melancholy that this was one of the last times theyâll ever get to play together on a team.Â
Your eyes widen when you glance at the scoreboard, realizing that heâs tied. Gojo is tied for the most goals scored during a championship match. There were less than three minutes left on the clock. UTokyo either preserves their lead, or they risk moving into overtime, which, judging by the exhaustion on the UTokyo playersâ faces in the wake of YCUâs relentless offense this entire game, moving into overtime would be a hefty, hefty risk.Â
YCUâs center forward takes his place in the center of the field, fire evident in his eyes as he glances across the field. YCU are light on their feet, channeling everything in their bodies into these last moments of the game as they prepare to start the kickoff. You glance across UTokyoâs players, and although they look spent, there was a resolute look to all of them. It wasnât the time to give up or feel at ease even near the end of this grueling battle. Now was the time to play.Â
The referee chirped his whistle, and the kickoff began.
YCU immediately presses hard, as all their other plays have been all game, in their desperation to score. You can already see UTokyoâs midfielders move sluggishly in comparison to YCUâs offense, a drag to their feet as YCU pushes past the first layer of defense towards their attacking goal. Geto takes an aggressive approach, making moves to steal the ball while Nanami and Yuta guarded both flanks, and there was a relentless pass-off happening that ate up more than a minute of the remaining time.
Nanami succeeds in stealing the ball, but immediately loses it under his feet by a YCU midfielder, who makes a broad pass down the sidelines to YCUâs star forward who then powerfully kicks the ball towards the unguarded area of their goal, a dangerous shot that was clear towards the crossbar and Choso makes a leap for it, high into the air, his glove brushing against the ball, the entire crowd holding their breath in anticipationâ
And the ball lands in the net.Â
4-4, tied game. With one minute and seventeen seconds left on the clock.Â
There was no time wasted in getting back to center field. No time spent dwelling in the horrific roars of the crowd as they watch with anxiety and fear. No time spent to process or consider or signal any plays. Not even a single second used to catch breath. When there is this much at stake, an athlete thrives on momentum.Â
To your surprise, Gojo isnât the one that takes place at the center of the field to start the kickoff. Yuta stands there instead, and you notice his eyes are erratic as he surveys all corners of the field.Â
The referee chirps his whistle.Â
Yuta immediately passes it off to the side to UTokyoâs midfielder, who curls it towards their attacking goal with a swift pass to Ino, who closes distance towards the goal, but one of YCUâs defender slips in, undoing any progress they had made in their offense by stealing the ball and sending it back towards mid-field. Forty-three seconds. The crowdâs roars heightened as YCU continued to push forward, thirty yards now from scoring, and UTokyoâs defense was desperate to stop them but their momentum was cracking in the wake of their exhaustion.Â
It was a moment you donât think you could ever fully or truly recall, one that you wish you had focused all your energy and attention to so that you could commit it to memory for the rest of your life. The image of Gojo pushing all the way to ten yards before their defending goal, a place where no center forward should really be at in a game like this, but it was exactly what their defense needed. It was exactly what the team needed. It was exactly what the school needed. For the ball to be in his possession.
With twenty-two seconds left on the clock, he steals the ball from right under YCUâs offensive feet, and then charges towards the opposite side of the field. The crowd rises to their feet, thunderous roaring that overtook any and all senses, as Gojo weaves through forwards, center forwards, midfielders, and defenders, covering the entire span of the field in lightning time. Fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards, twenty hards, ten yardsâ
In a moment you couldnât believe, he digs his foot underneath the ball, and sends it flying out towards the goal. There was not even a margin of an inch in which it slipped past the goalieâs hands, past his head, and swiftly flew right into the net.
With three-two-one seconds, the match was over.Â
5-4, UTokyoâs win.
The final whistle blew, and for a moment, there was silence. As if the world paused to catch its breath. Then, all at once, the crowd erupted with glee that shook the entire stadium at its core. Flags waving, scarves held high, toasts of beer held up to the sky, it was deafening, and it almost makes you want to cry. Thousands of voices shouting in unison, celebrating the hard-fought victory of their schoolâs team. A type of pride that was fostered, and well-deserved, and long-lived.
You quickly glance towards the field again, and see Gojo standing right at the same spot where he had kicked the last and final goal, staring towards the net. You canât see the expression on his face, but it surprises you how still he is. Like a statue, staring at the goal with the ball tucked into its corner. The very epitome of what it means to succeed in this sport was right in front of him, and it seemed like he wanted to soak the visual in for as long as he could.
His trance is abruptly interrupted when his teammates swarm in, rushing over like a wave of pure adrenaline. They slap him on the back, ruffle his hair, shout his name, the sounds of gleeful disbelief mixed with exhausted sighs of relief swarming into the air. And Gojo finally melts away from the tension of the match and into the celebration as he weakly returns the embraces of his teammates while he catches his breath.Â
âITâS OFFICIAL!! ITâS OFFICIAL!! UTOKYOâS VERY OWN GOJO SATORU HAS OBLITERATED OSAKA UNIVERSITYâS RECORD FOR MOST GOALS SCORED BY A SINGLE PLAYER IN A CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!!âÂ
The speakers are blaring the voices of the sports announcers, along with ambient music to match the intensity of the match that everyone had just witnessed.Â
You should probably be doing your job. You know, take a picture of the huddle of players on the field as they bask in the glory of a close victory, but instead your feet start moving on their own. Like a magnet drawn to him, you make your way towards Gojo, only a slight hesitation in your step as you stop about ten feet away, suddenly unsure. But when he makes eye contact with you, all that fear melts away.
He hastily pats the backs of some of his teammates, acknowledging their praise at the center of the huddle before tightly squeezing past them to make his way over to you. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of pride in your schoolâs team, but more importantly, in him. What was the acceptable thing to do? Run to him, into his arms, and hug him while he twirls you around? Tackle him to the grassy ground? Kiss him like your life depended on it? You have no clue what the acceptable or sane or normal thing to do is. But heâs made his decision for you when he walks right up to you, his hands holding your waist as he pulls you towards him. He smells earthy, of grass and salt and sweat and of all the hard work he poured into today, the wear and tear of the game evident in the wear and tear of his jersey. He only manages to huff out an exhale at the sight of you, like some relief washing over him just by looking into your eyes. Forget the fact that the crowd was all watching and that all of the screens you could see past his head were focused on the two of you, because all you could hear or see or think was him.
âI believe you owe me a kiss,â he says, huffing as he catches his breath but that doesnât stop the smile that makes its way onto his face.
You nod your head, giving him your own version of a sweet smile as your arms slide up past his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, and he leans down to kiss you.
You hear a swell from the crowd, some teasing comments off in the distance from some of his teammates, youâre pretty sure you hear Coach Yaga yelling at him to get back to the benches, but it all melts away with the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he kisses you at the center of this stadium.
It was a moment so pure, so sweet, so picture perfect, and for once, youâre not the one behind the camera taking the photo. Youâre the one thatâs in it.
.
.
.
.
.
[end of kickoff ch12]
a/n. aaa thanks a lot for reading!! pls the fucking public stripping scene was so stupid i apologize on behalf of kickoff gojo for his behavior đđ iâll put him in his cage dw
this chapter had some of what i consider to be the most challenging aspects of writing for me (internal conflict, grand public gesture, sports jargon) and so writing it felt like an uphill battle the ENTIRE time i wrote it and edited it. i considered scrapping it sooo many times cuz i just wasn't happy w it...but whatever i can't expect to be 100% happy w every chapter i put out there haha. i think kickoff has become a lil sacred for me since i've been working on it for a while now but likeee...sometimes u just gotta say fuck it we ball (tbh kickoff gojo probably says that to himself before a match)
anywho, i am veryy thoroughly excited for what i've got planned for the chapters to follow, especially moving into the last angsty arc before the end of the series!! so i look forward to picking up momentum w this series again :0 honestly chapters 10 through 12 were the most difficult things i've written so far for a lot of reasons, but i have a feeling things will go more smoothly for me creatively going forward since what i've got planned falls well within my writing comfort range
oh also there seems to be a little confusion about the number of chapters left, as i know i had originally said 12, but i anticipate that there will be about 18 chapters of kickoff total!! so still around six chapters left before the end :)) much lovee thanks for reading!!
OH WAIT ONE LAST NOTE I'M SORRY i didnât really have a way of organically incorporating this into the story n iâm not sure if iâll get a chance to in the upcoming chapters, so i just wanted to share this part of ch7 (gojoâs pov chapter) that is relevant to this chapter:
During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojoâs fatherâs team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojoâs father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online todayâthe moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.Â
the record that gojo broke in this chapter is the same record that his father almost broke before he got the call that he was going to be a dad :0Â
⸠you're all caught up!
additional notes. please do not pressure me for updates or ask when i will next update (read rules); taglist is currently closed (consider subscribing to the story on my ao3 for email updates if you'd like! :0)
â [âĄ] ; you sprouted love like flowers, growing a garden in your mind and watering the petals with every unshed tear. ・°. gojo satoru
tags: hanahaki disease, fem!reader, fluff, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional growth, vulnerable gojo satoru, recovered feelings, love after trauma, reconciliation, slow healing, happy ending, chapter one of four!
wc. 6.8K
âł part 2
At Jujutsu High, power was everything. It determined your place, your worth, and sometimes even your fate. And you, a second-year student with a cursed technique so insignificant that no one ever seemed to remember your name, found yourself lingering in the background. It wasnât by choice, but youâd grown accustomed to it. After all, how could someone like you stand out when surrounded by others like Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro?
Your cursed technique wasnât something anyone would envy. It barely held up in combat situations, more suited for distractions or temporary barriers. Compared to the raw physical strength and resilience of Itadori or the strategic mastery of Megumi, your abilities felt⌠lacking. As a result, you were often overlooked, blending into the scenery like another unremarkable stone on the path.
But there was one person who never blended in. Satoru Gojo.
The first time you met him, you were overwhelmed by his sheer presence. His easy smile, the lazy confidence in his voice, and those striking cerulean eyes hidden behind his blindfold. He was untouchableâboth in power and in personality. Students revered him, teachers respected him, and the world feared him. And you, much like everyone else, were drawn to him.
You told yourself it was admiration at first. How could you not admire the strongest sorcerer alive? But over time, admiration twisted into something deeper, something more dangerous. You began to notice the subtle ways his hair would fall into his face when he tilted his head, the low chuckle in his voice when he made some sarcastic comment. His casual dismissals toward the world around him only made you more curious, more desperate to be seen by him.
But Gojo was always preoccupiedâteaching, fighting, keeping the balance between the worlds of curses and humans. And you⌠you were invisible in his orbit. A flicker in the corner of his eye that never quite caught his attention.
You started to resent how your heart quickened every time he entered a room, how your thoughts always drifted to him when you were supposed to be training. And yet, there was nothing you could do. He was untouchable, after all. Out of reach in every way. You told yourself over and over that your feelings were foolish, that they would pass. But they didnât.
Instead, something began to change.
It started as a tightness in your chestâa strange pressure that made it hard to breathe. At first, you thought it was just nerves, the result of constantly being on edge around Gojo. But the tightness grew worse. Every glance at him sent sharp pangs through your lungs, each breath becoming more labored. You tried to ignore it, tried to pretend it was nothing.
Then the petals began.
The first time it happened, you coughed violently in the privacy of your dorm room, spitting up something soft and delicate. When you looked down, you saw it: a small cerulean petal lying in your palm, shimmering faintly in the dim light.
Hanahaki. The name came to you like a curse, like something youâd only heard about in stories. A disease born from unrequited love, where feelings rooted so deeply in your heart that they grew into flowers, slowly suffocating you from the inside out.
You couldnât believe it at first. You stared at the petal, trembling, hoping it was a mistake. But the next day, another petal came, and then another. Each time you saw Gojo, the flowers in your lungs bloomed more violently, until your chest ached with the weight of it.
You couldnât tell anyone. How could you? How could you explain to your classmates, to Gojo, that your cursed technique wasnât the only thing making you weak? How could you admit that your body was betraying you, all because of feelings you were never meant to have?
So you did the only thing you couldâyou hid it. You avoided Gojo as best you could, keeping your distance, hoping the flowers would stop growing if you just ignored them. But every stolen glance, every overheard laugh, every fleeting interaction only made it worse.
You knew you couldnât go on like this. Sooner or later, the petals would consume you entirely. But the idea of confessing⌠of letting Gojo know how you felt, terrified you. He would never return those feelings. Why would he? You were just a shadow, a forgotten student with a weak cursed technique, not someone worthy of his attention.
And yet, as another petal fell from your lips, you realized that you were running out of time.
The question wasnât whether you would confront your feelings. It was when. And what would happen when the strongest sorcerer in the world finally noticed the weakest in his shadow?
You had always been good at keeping secrets. It was easy, blending into the background, letting others take the spotlight while you remained unnoticed. But thisâthis was different. The weight in your chest had grown unbearable. Every breath felt like inhaling thorns, each cough delivering a fresh bloom of cerulean petals into your hand. The once delicate flowers now felt like lead lodged in your lungs, suffocating you from the inside out.
You needed help, and there was only one person who could provide it.
Shoko Ieiri.
The walk to her office felt impossibly long, every step weighed down by hesitation. Shoko had always been approachable, if not slightly aloof. You respected her for her skill as a healer, and for her unflappable demeanor. If anyone could help you understand what was happeningâor at least buy you some timeâit was her.
As you arrived, you hesitated outside her door, clutching a fistful of crumpled petals in your pocket. You knocked softly, your heart thudding louder than the sound of your knuckles against the wood.
âCome in,â came her voice, calm and indifferent as always.
You entered, trying to steady your breathing as much as possible. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and incense, a strange combination that somehow fit her perfectly. Shoko sat behind her desk, sipping from a cup of coffee, her eyes tired but alert as they glanced up at you.
âYou look like hell,â she remarked bluntly, setting her mug down. âWhatâs up?â
You swallowed, the sharp taste of petals lingering on your tongue. âI need your help⌠with something.â
Shoko raised an eyebrow, gesturing for you to take a seat. âAlright. Spill it.â
You sat down, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and desperation swirling in your stomach. For a moment, you considered lyingâtelling her it was something minor, something fixable. But the weight in your chest reminded you that this wasnât something you could ignore any longer.
âI⌠I think I have hanahaki,â you said quietly, pulling the crumpled petals from your pocket and placing them on the table between you.
For the first time since you entered, Shokoâs expression changed. Her usually indifferent gaze sharpened, and she leaned forward slightly, examining the petals with a frown.
âYouâre sure?â she asked, though the answer was obvious. The vibrant blue petals spread out on her desk, a damning confirmation of the truth.
You nodded, unable to meet her eyes. âIâve been coughing them up for a while now. Itâs getting worse.â
Shoko let out a long sigh, running a hand through her hair. âHanahaki⌠itâs rare. Most sorcerers donât deal with it because theyâve got other things to worry about. But Iâve seen it before.â She sat back in her chair, folding her arms. âYou know what this means, right?â
You nodded again, your throat tightening. You knew exactly what it meant. The disease would continue to progress, the flowers growing more and more until they either filled your lungs entirely, or until you did the one thing you were terrified to doâconfess. Only then would the blooms wither, depending on whether or not your feelings were returned.
But you also knew that the latter was not a possibility.
Shoko seemed to sense your thoughts. âThereâs no cure for hanahaki, other thanâwell, you know. Confession. And even then, thereâs no guarantee itâll work. You could stillâŚâ
Die. She didnât say it, but you both knew it was an option on the table. An unspoken shadow hovering between you.
You felt a sharp pang of fear, but forced yourself to remain calm. âIs there any way to slow it down? I donât know if Iâm ready toâŚâ Your voice trailed off.
Shoko leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temple. âI can give you something to ease the symptomsânumb the pain, make it easier to breatheâbut itâs just a band-aid. The flowers will keep growing. You can only delay the inevitable.â
A heavy silence fell between you as you processed her words. You had expected this, but hearing it confirmed still made the weight in your chest tighten. Delaying the inevitable was all you could do. It wasnât enough, but it was something.
After a long pause, Shoko spoke again. âYou should tell him, you know. The person youâre in love with.â Her voice was soft, unusually gentle for someone so pragmatic. âIt might be the only real solution.â
Your heart skipped a beat, and you stared at her, wide-eyed. âI canât. Heâhe wouldnâtâŚâ You stopped yourself, not wanting to say it out loud.
Shoko raised an eyebrow, her gaze narrowing slightly. âHe wouldnât what? Listen? Understand? Or are you just scared he wonât feel the same?â
Her words cut deep, but you couldnât deny the truth behind them. You were terrified. Terrified of Gojoâs reaction. Of his inevitable rejection. He was too far above you, too unreachable. Confessing your feelings would only cement your insignificance in his eyes.
"Itâs Gojo," you finally admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper, the name heavy on your tongue. You looked down, unable to meet Shokoâs eyes, the weight of your confession settling between you like a secret that had been waiting too long to be spoken.
"Heâs the one IâŚ" Your voice caught, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotions from spilling over. "Heâs the one causing the hanahaki. Iâve loved him for so long, and he never noticed. And nowâŚ" You trailed off, your chest tight with the familiar ache, knowing that simply saying his name wasnât enough to change anything, but it was the truth you had been hiding, and now it was out in the open.
Shokoâs expression darkened as she watched, her hands folding together in thought. "You should have come sooner," she murmured, moving to grab a few supplies. "Youâre lucky itâs still early enough that we might be able to manage the symptoms."
She began to work, carefully checking your vitals and preparing something to dull the pain. "Thereâs no cure for hanahaki exceptâ" She paused, giving you a knowing look.
"I know," you said quietly, avoiding her gaze. The cureâhaving the love reciprocated, or undergoing surgery that would remove the flowers but erase your feelings entirely. The thought of forgetting Gojo completely... it hurt almost as much as the disease itself.
"I can give you something to slow it down," Shoko said finally, handing you a small vial. "But it wonât stop the petals from blooming. You need to deal with this, one way or another."
You nodded, taking the vial with shaky hands. "Thank you," you whispered, though it felt hollow. No remedy could fix the real problem.
As you left the room, Shokoâs words echoed in your mind. You knew the truthâthere was no escaping this. Not without facing your feelings for Gojo head-on. But how could you, when you were nothing more than another faceless student to him?
The petals continued to bloom, their cerulean hue a constant reminder of the love that would never be returned.
The days blurred together, one petal after another blooming in your lungs. The nosebleeds were no longer occasionalâthey came daily, seeping through tissues and staining your hands with the undeniable proof of your condition. You tried to ignore it, to act like everything was fine, but the fatigue was becoming too much to bear. Each breath felt heavier, and the tightness in your chest was growing more unbearable by the day.
Shokoâs office became a second home. Every time you felt the blood creeping toward your nose or the cough rising in your throat, you found yourself standing at her door, face pale and eyes pleading for somethingâanythingâto dull the pain. Each time, sheâd hand you another vial or patch you up, her expression more concerned than the last.
âYou canât keep going like this,â she said one afternoon, the frown on her face more prominent than usual as she wiped the blood from your upper lip. âYou need to either let it run its course or... you know the alternatives.â
"Iâm not ready," you muttered, avoiding her gaze. You knew what she was implying, but you couldnât bring yourself to face it. "Not yet."
Shoko sighed, leaning back against her desk. "You know Iâll have to tell Gojo eventually, right?" She said it like it was an inevitability, which, in many ways, it was.
Panic shot through you at the thought of him knowing. He couldnât. Not now, not when you were still trying so hard to keep yourself invisible to him. "Please, donât," you whispered, your voice shaky. "Just⌠donât tell him itâs me."
Shoko hesitated, her brow furrowed in concern. "You know heâll figure it out. Heâs not stupid, and the moment he realizes one of his students is suffering from something like thisâ"
"Promise me," you cut in, desperation lacing your voice. "Promise you wonât say my name."
She stared at you for a long moment, then sighed heavily, pushing her glasses up on her head. "Fine. Iâll keep your name out of it. For now. But you canât hide forever."
You nodded, relief washing over you. Hiding was all you had left. As long as he didnât know, you could pretend it didnât matter. You could stay in the background, where you were used to beingâunseen, unnoticed, just another face in his class.
It was easier to avoid Gojo when he was always so busy. Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, and the others constantly vied for his attention with their loud voices and powerful techniques. It made it simple to slip into the back of his classroom, your chair by the window offering a sanctuary where you could fade into the background.
He never looked your way, not when Yuji was busy cracking jokes or Megumi was asking pointed questions about combat. Gojoâs blindfolded eyes were always on them, his energy, his focus, everything wrapped up in the more powerful students. It was almost a blessing, in a twisted wayâhe didnât have time for someone like you.
You spent most of class staring out the window, one hand subtly holding a tissue against your nose, ready to catch the inevitable trickle of blood. You felt it coming now, the familiar warmth creeping down your nostrils, but you didnât move. It had become so common that it barely registered as pain anymore, just a constant dull ache in the back of your throat and chest.
When Gojo asked a question, you didnât raise your hand. You never did. It was safer to stay quiet, to let Yuji or Nobara answer while you watched the clouds drift lazily by outside. You were disappearing, bit by bit, wilting away as the petals bloomed inside you.
But every time Gojo laughedâevery time he made a careless joke or smiled that easy, charming smileâyou felt it. The tightness, the sharp pain of another petal taking root inside your lungs. You wanted to hate him for it, to hate yourself for letting it get this far, but those feelings only made the flowers grow faster.
There were moments, brief flickers of time, when his attention would shiftâwhen his gaze would sweep across the classroom, pausing on each student. Youâd hold your breath in those moments, praying that his gaze wouldnât linger on you for too long, that he wouldnât notice the fatigue in your eyes or the way you kept dabbing at your nose when you thought no one was looking.
But he never lingered. Not once. Not on you.
And somehow, that hurt more than the petals ever could.
Every time you coughed, every time a cerulean petal hit the ground, you felt yourself coming undone. You kept your distance from Gojo as much as possible, avoiding his usual haunts and slipping away during training sessions. But it was impossible to avoid him completely. Sometimes youâd catch glimpses of him in the hallways, laughing with the other students, his presence as overwhelming as ever. Each time, the flowers bloomed a little more, spreading deeper into your lungs.
You were running out of time.
One evening, after a particularly harsh coughing fit, you stumbled into the training yard, desperate for fresh air. The cool night breeze did little to ease the tightness in your chest, but at least here, you were alone. You leaned against a tree, struggling to catch your breath as another wave of petals slipped past your lips.
You hated this. Hated how weak you felt, how helpless you were against something as absurd as unrequited love. And yet, every time you thought about confessing, the image of Gojoâs indifferent smile flashed in your mind, and the words died in your throat.
Suddenly, you heard footsteps approaching. Your heart raced as you straightened up, wiping the petals from your mouth and stuffing them into your pocket. You looked up, expecting to see one of the other students, but it was Shoko.
Her usual cool, detached demeanor was still in place, but there was something different in her eyesâsomething that made your stomach twist with unease.
âI need to talk to you,â she said, her voice lower than usual.
You swallowed, already guessing what this was about. âWhat is it?â
She hesitated for a moment, then sighed, running a hand through her hair. âYour condition is getting worse, isnât it?â
You didnât need to answer. The way you clutched your chest, the way you struggled to keep the petals hiddenâit was all the confirmation she needed.
âIâve been holding off as long as I could,â she continued, her voice softer now. âBut I talked to Gojo.â
The world seemed to tilt beneath you. Your breath caught in your throat, not because of the flowers this time, but because of her words.
âYou what?â The question came out in a whisper, sharp with disbelief.
âI had to,â Shoko said, her tone firm but not unkind. âYouâre not going to make it much longer if this keeps up. I didnât mention your name, like I promised, but he needed to know.â
Your legs felt weak, and you stumbled back, leaning heavily against the tree for support. Of course, sheâd done what youâd askedâtold him without revealing your identity. But it didnât matter. The mere thought of Gojo knowing, of him even being aware that someone in his proximity was withering away because of him, made your chest tighten in ways that had nothing to do with the flowers.
âWhat⌠what did he say?â you asked, your voice barely audible.
Shoko gave you a long, measured look before speaking. âHe didnât take it as lightly as you might think. Heâs worriedâthough you know how Gojo is. He hides it behind his usual attitude. But this? Hanahaki? He knows what it means, and itâs not something he can ignore.â
You could barely process her words. Gojo? Worried? It didnât make sense. He was always so untouchable, so far above everyone else. Why would something like this even matter to him?
âDid he⌠ask who it was?â you asked, already fearing the answer.
Shoko nodded, crossing her arms. âOf course he did. He was⌠concerned. Itâs not every day that someoneâs literally dying over unrequited love. But I didnât tell him. I just gave him enough to know itâs serious.â
You felt a sharp pang in your chestânot the flowers, but something worse. Guilt. Guilt that your feelings had somehow become a burden for him, even without him knowing who you were.
âI⌠I shouldnât have asked you to tell him,â you muttered, looking down at your feet. âI just⌠didnât know what else to do.â
Shoko stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. âYouâre allowed to feel what you feel. And if this is the only way to keep you alive a little longer, then so be it. But you canât hide forever. Sooner or later, youâll have to face him.â
You shook your head, feeling a lump rise in your throat. âI canât. Heâll neverââ
âYou donât know that,â Shoko interrupted, her gaze sharp. âGojoâs a lot of things, but heâs not heartless. He might surprise you.â
You wanted to believe her, but you couldnât shake the overwhelming certainty that confessing would only lead to more pain. Gojo was untouchable. Even if he cared in some distant, detached way, it would never be the way you wanted.
Shoko sighed, stepping back. âI wonât push you. But just⌠think about it. You donât have much time left.â
With that, she turned and left, her footsteps fading into the night.
You stayed there for a long time, alone in the dark, the petals in your pocket a heavy reminder of the choice you had yet to make.
You sat at your usual desk in the back of Gojoâs classroom, your head leaning against the cool glass of the window. The hum of conversation filled the room, a low murmur as the other students talked amongst themselves, waiting for Gojo to stroll in with his usual swagger. You kept your gaze fixed outside, watching the leaves stir in the breeze.
It was easier this wayâhiding in plain sight, letting the louder students command the room while you quietly faded into the background. No one really noticed you, not even Gojo.
Still, there was a part of you that longed for his attention, even if it was just for a moment. A glance, a word, anything that would remind you that you werenât invisible to him. But every day passed the sameâGojo laughing and joking with the stronger students while you wilted away in silence.
You pressed a tissue to your nose, feeling the familiar warmth of blood trickling out. Another nosebleed. It had become so frequent that you almost didnât notice it anymore. Almost. The petals in your lungs shifted uncomfortably, a tightness building in your chest as you fought the urge to cough. The last thing you needed was to draw attention to yourself, especially now.
Shoko had promised not to tell Gojo it was you, but you knew her patience was running thin. You visited her office almost daily now, seeking some sort of relief, but there was only so much she could do. Hanahaki wasnât something that could be easily curedâat least, not without confronting the painful truth behind it.
You couldnât afford that. You werenât ready for him to know. What would you even say if he found out? The thought of confessing made your stomach churn, your fingers tightening around the tissue in your hand. How could you ever explain the way you felt when you were barely able to understand it yourself?
The door slid open, and Gojo sauntered in, his usual carefree grin plastered across his face. The room seemed to brighten at his presence, his energy infectious as he greeted the class with his typical enthusiasm. You kept your eyes trained on the window, refusing to meet his gaze. It was better that wayâsafer.
âAlright, kiddos, settle down,â Gojo called out, clapping his hands together. âLetâs get started.â
The chatter died down as the students turned their attention to him, hanging on his every word. You listened, too, but from a distance, as if you were an outsider observing a scene that didnât quite include you. His voice was the same as always, smooth and light, filled with that teasing charm that made the others smile. But for you, it was another reminder of how far away he really was.
As he spoke, you couldnât help but notice something different in his tone todayâan edge, barely noticeable, but there. He wasnât as relaxed as usual. His gaze, though still hidden behind his blindfold, seemed to sweep over the class with more intensity, as if he were looking for something.
Or someone.
You swallowed hard, your heartbeat picking up as a flicker of panic settled in your chest. He wouldnât know, would he? Shoko hadnât said anything. She promised.
But the longer he stood there, the more restless you became. You could feel his attention shift, his energy probing the room, lingering in places it hadnât before. There was something sharper in the way he moved, in the way he spoke to the studentsâlike he was searching for an answer to a question he couldnât quite articulate yet.
He didnât speak to you directly, of course. He never did. But that didnât stop the creeping suspicion that he was starting to notice something.
âEveryoneâs doing alright, yeah?â Gojo asked casually, his voice lilting, but there was an underlying concern that hadnât been there before.
Yuji, ever the optimist, nodded enthusiastically. âAll good here!â
Megumi grunted in agreement, and Nobara shot Gojo a playful smirk. The usual banter, the usual flow. But beneath the surface, you could feel it. Gojo was waiting for something. His attention drifted, not settling as it usually did.
You shifted in your seat, the petals stirring in your lungs again. The ache had become a constant companion, always there, always waiting for the next bloom. You pressed the tissue harder against your nose, trying to focus on your breathing, trying to stay invisible.
But it didnât work.
âHey, you back there,â Gojoâs voice suddenly cut through the room, casual yet commanding. Your heart stopped in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. âYou okay? You look a little pale.â
He was talking to you.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Gojoâs attention was on you. Your hands shook slightly, the tissue still pressed to your nose as you quickly tried to pull yourself together. You forced a weak smile, nodding slightly, though you couldnât bring yourself to look up at him.
âIâm fine,â you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a lie, but you hoped it was convincing enough.
Gojo didnât press, but you could feel the weight of his gaze linger a moment too long before he turned back to the rest of the class. The tension in the room slowly eased as the lesson continued, but you couldnât shake the feeling that something had shifted.
He had noticed you. And now, it was only a matter of time before he started to connect the dots.
As class ended and the other students filed out, you stayed behind, your legs weak and your mind racing. The tightness in your chest was unbearable now, each breath a struggle as the petals continued to bloom, slowly suffocating you from the inside out.
You stood, gripping the edge of your desk to steady yourself, but the world swayed around you, your vision blurring. You felt the cough building in your throat, but you swallowed it down, trying to hold it back.
Gojo was still at the front of the room, his back turned as he gathered up some papers. You glanced at him, your heart heavy with unspoken words, knowing that the distance between you was more than just physical. Even with his attention momentarily on you, he was still so far awayâtoo far for you to ever reach.
The petals in your lungs fluttered violently, and before you could stop it, a wet cough escaped your lips. You doubled over, clutching your chest as the tissue in your hand was soaked through with blood.
It was getting worse.
You could feel itâGojo was also beginning to put the pieces together. His usual carefree demeanor was still there, but underneath it, you noticed subtle changes. The way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long, the occasional pause in his speech as if something was pulling at the back of his mind, the shift in his tone when he asked how you were doing.
He was connecting the dots, slowly but surely.
It had started out small. After that one class where your coughing fit had drawn his attention, Gojo had seemed more⌠aware of you. You werenât used to that. For so long, you had been the invisible student, blending into the background while he focused on the stronger, louder ones. But now, it felt like you were always under his watch, even if it was subtle.
You couldnât help but notice how often his blindfolded gaze would drift in your direction during class, the easy-going smile on his lips faltering for just a moment when your breath hitched or your shoulders tensed with the effort of keeping another coughing fit at bay. He never called you out in front of the others again, but the worry was thereâhovering beneath the surface, waiting for you to crack.
It was getting harder to hide. The petals were growing larger and more frequent, blooming violently inside you whenever you were in his presence. It wasnât just the physical pain anymore; it was the emotional strain of knowing he was starting to figure it out. Each time you saw him, the flowers bloomed more aggressively, as if they, too, could sense that time was running out.
You sat in class, staring blankly at the notes in front of you, the familiar weight of exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders. The tissue box on your desk was nearly empty again, and you were already clutching another tissue in your hand, waiting for the inevitable. Your lungs felt tight, each breath more difficult than the last as the flowers took root deeper inside of you.
Gojo was at the front, as usual, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed as he casually spoke to the class. He seemed as relaxed as ever, but you could feel his attention on you, even if he didnât directly address it. Every time you shifted in your seat or raised a tissue to your nose, you could sense his focus sharpening, though he kept his distance.
âAlright, kiddos, letâs wrap it up for today,â Gojo said, his voice light and playful as he clapped his hands together. The students began packing up, Yuji and Nobara already bickering about something as they made their way out of the classroom.
You stayed behind, as you often did now, waiting for the others to leave before making your quiet exit. But today, Gojo lingered, too. You could feel the tension in the air as you stood from your seat, your legs unsteady beneath you. The weight of his gaze was palpable as you gathered your things, your hands trembling slightly.
âHey,â Gojoâs voice was softer than usual, and when you turned to look at him, you saw that his posture had changed. He wasnât leaning against the desk anymore, his arms uncrossed and his expression⌠unreadable. âYou feeling alright?â
It wasnât the first time he had asked, but this time, there was something different in the way he said it. It wasnât casual concernâit was heavier, like he already knew the answer but was waiting for you to say it out loud.
You forced a smile, one that didnât reach your eyes. âIâm fine,â you lied, the words sticking in your throat as you grabbed the tissue box, clutching it tightly to your chest like a lifeline.
Gojo didnât move, didnât take his eyes off you. His smile, too, faded a little, replaced with something more serious, more focused. âYou sure about that?â he asked, his tone light but his words pointed.
You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze as you tried to make your way toward the door. But your body betrayed you. The familiar tightness in your chest returned, and before you could stop it, a violent coughing fit overtook you. You doubled over, one hand clutching your chest as you brought the other to your mouth, the tissue doing little to contain the blood and petals that escaped.
Cerulean petals fluttered to the ground, streaked with red, their delicate beauty a stark contrast to the pain tearing through your lungs.
You didnât have to look up to know that Gojo had seen. The room was painfully silent, and you could feel his gaze burning into you.
âWait.â His voice was firm now, no longer soft or teasing. You heard his footsteps approaching, and your heart raced in your chest as panic set in. You couldnât face him. Not like this.
But it was too late.
Gojoâs hand gently caught your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. âLook at me,â he said quietly, his tone serious but not unkind.
You hesitated, your breath shaky as you slowly turned to face him. His blindfold hid his eyes, but you didnât need to see them to know the concern that was etched into every line of his face. For once, there was no trace of his usual cocky smile, no hint of the lighthearted jokes he often used to deflect serious situations.
âYouâre not fine,â Gojo said, his voice low, steady. âYou havenât been fine for a while, have you?â
The tears that had been building behind your eyes finally spilled over. You wanted to deny it, to insist that you were fine, that you didnât need his help, but the words wouldnât come. All you could do was shake your head, the weight of your secret crashing down around you.
Gojoâs grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, a silent reassurance. âWhy didnât you say anything?â he asked, his voice soft but filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten for a different reason.
âIâŚâ You swallowed hard, struggling to find the words. âI didnât want you to know.â
Gojoâs expression softened, though the concern in his voice never wavered. âItâs hanahaki, isnât it?â he asked, already knowing the answer.
You nodded, the weight of the truth finally too much to carry alone. âYes,â you whispered, your voice barely audible. âItâs hanahaki.â
Gojo exhaled softly, his hand still resting on your shoulder as he processed your admission. âDo you know whoââ He stopped, the realization dawning on him slowly. âWait⌠is itâ?â
You couldnât meet his gaze, your silence enough of an answer.
It was him. It had always been him.
And now, he knew.
The silence between you and Gojo was thick, the weight of your confession hanging in the air like a storm cloud. You could feel his gaze on you, sharp and penetrating, but it wasnât enough to make you look at him. You stared at the floor, your hands trembling as you clutched the empty tissue box, your breath still shaky from the violent coughing fit that had exposed everything.
âWhy didnât you tell me sooner?â Gojo asked quietly, his voice stripped of the usual playfulness, replaced by a gravity that was foreign on his tongue.
You felt a surge of frustration bubble up inside you, mixing with the pain in your chest. Why hadnât you told him? The answer was painfully simple, yet tangled in a mess of emotions youâd tried to suppress for so long. You tightened your grip on the box, swallowing hard before finally speaking, your voice thick with unshed tears.
âWhy would I tell you?â you muttered, your words sharp even though they came out barely above a whisper. âYouâre always so busy, Gojo-sensei. You didnât even know I was here before today.â
Gojo stiffened slightly, but you didnât give him a chance to respond.
âItâs not your fault I have a meek technique that didnât catch your attention,â you continued, the bitterness in your voice surprising even yourself. âI was just⌠invisible. So why would I tell you?â
You finally looked up at him then, meeting his gaze for the first time in what felt like ages. His blindfold still obscured his eyes, but you could see the way his jaw tightened, his posture tense. There was no easy smile now, no casual demeanor. Just the weight of his presence, heavy and serious in a way you had never seen before.
âYou thought I wouldnât notice?â Gojo asked quietly, his voice softer but carrying the same intensity. There was no arrogance in his words, just genuine confusion, as if the idea of him not noticing was somehow inconceivable.
Your frustration boiled over, and you shook your head, the words spilling out before you could stop them. âI donât need to think anything, Gojo-sensei,â you said, your voice louder now, trembling with emotion. âI know you didnât notice.â
Gojo opened his mouth as if to respond, but he hesitated, his expression tightening. It was the first time you had ever seen him at a loss for words. He wasnât used to being called out like this, to being told that he had missed something important. Especially something as important as one of his students suffering in silence.
You took a step back, pulling away from his grip as you fought to steady your breathing, the petals still stirring in your lungs. âItâs not your fault,â you added, quieter now, your anger giving way to the exhaustion that had been building inside you for so long. âI didnât expect you to notice. Why would you? Youâve got students with real potential, students who deserve your attention.â
Gojoâs expression softened, and he took a step forward, his voice calm but firm. âYouâre one of my students, too,â he said, his tone laced with a sincerity that cut through the pain. âI shouldâve noticed. I do notice.â
You laughed bitterly, shaking your head again. âYou notice now because Iâm dying, Gojo. Not because of anything else. If I didnât have thisââ you gestured toward your chest, ââyou still wouldnât see me.â
His shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his frame loosening as he let out a slow breath. âThatâs not true,â he said softly. âYouâre not invisible to me.â
The vulnerability in his voice startled you. Gojo wasnât supposed to sound like thisâhe was always so confident, so sure of himself. But now, standing in front of you, he seemed almost⌠regretful.
âMaybe I was too caught up in everything else,â he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression tight. âBut that doesnât mean I didnât care. I care about all of you.â
You looked away, the words landing heavily in your chest. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he truly cared about you the same way he did Yuji or Megumi or Nobara. But the reality was, you had spent so long on the sidelines, watching as his attention was always pulled in a hundred different directions, that it was hard to accept that you could matter, too.
âIâm sorry,â he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, more serious than you had ever heard it. âI should have seen you sooner. I shouldâve been there.â
The sincerity in his voice cracked something in you, and for a moment, the anger and frustration ebbed away, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.
âItâs too late now, isnât it?â you whispered, your voice barely audible.
Gojo didnât answer right away, and for a moment, the silence felt unbearable. He stepped closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder, but he didnât touch you. âItâs not too late,â he said quietly. âItâs never too late.â
You shook your head, biting back a sob as another violent cough wracked your body, more petals spilling from your lips. They fell to the ground between you, fragile and blood-stained, and you stared at them, your breath coming in short, painful gasps.
âHow can you say that?â you choked out, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. âLook at me, Gojo. Itâs too late.â
Gojoâs expression darkened, but there was a determination in his voice as he spoke. âNo,â he said firmly, his hand finally resting on your shoulder, grounding you with his touch. âItâs not too late. Weâre going to figure this out. Iâm not going to let you go through this alone.â
His words, so certain and filled with resolve, made something inside you tremble. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe, if only for a moment, that maybeâjust maybeâthings could change.
But as the petals continued to bloom inside your chest, you couldnât help but wonder if you had already run out of time.
notes: i'll be posting one chapter per day - so please stick around! If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know <3
cw. a lil age gap, but everyone is well over 18 (Gojo and Reader are ~40, Yuta is ~30)
Imagine the way ex-husband Gojo's eye twitches seeing how Yuta Okkotsu treats you.
You and Yuta had only seen each other in passing over the years. In fact, you never even officially met until he was several years out of school on the account of your innate technique causing Rika to go haywire. So while there was always a possibility of you seeing someone after the divorce, Satoru would never in his wildest dreams have guessed who it'd be. He'd heard through the grapevine that you only started seeing more of each other last year.
Satoru has to see you at the biweekly joint staff meetings between the Tokyo and Kyoto schools, made especially awkward after not one, but two (2) post-divorce make outs. The last time he kissed you while you were fighting, you shoved him away and booted him out of the house using your technique. Granted, you kissed him back, but you're not exactly on great terms right now.
So, it's bad enough that he has to see you as much as he does. Even worse is now that everything's out in the open, he has to watch you fawn over someone that's not him.
"You're so sweet!" you cry when Yuta surprises you during your lunch break with takeout from your favorite restaurant. "Thank you so much, but you really didn't have to do all this for me."
Yuta places a hand on the small of your back and guides you towards the door to the courtyard. Adjusting the picnic blanket slung over his shoulder, he asks, "Why not?"
"It's so much effort," you reply.
"For you? Nothing feels like much effort," Yuta says with a cheeky grin.
Satoru just catches a glimpse of you covering your face with your hand - as you always do when you blush - and then the two of you are out the door. It takes all his effort not to gag at how cheesy that was. Never mind how genuine Yuta looked about it.
Of course Satoru had taken you out for lunch while you were together. All kinds of lunches. Mom and pop shops, food stands, upscale restaurants, you'd done it all. Your new suitor wasn't doing anything for you that he hadn't done.
Suitor. What was this, the 1800's?
Suguru appears at his side while he stares after you.
"Was that Yuta?" he asks. "I'm impressed. He's supposed to be at a week-long training in Ibaraki."
Ibaraki? The prefecture that's over two hours away? He came all this way to have lunch with you?
Alright, Satoru never did that. Not that he wouldn't have! He totally would've if he'd, you know, thought of it.
Suguru seems oblivious to the emotional bomb he just dropped on his best friend. "I'm starving. Let's hurry up and go eat. I'm good with anything except KFC," he complains.
It takes a couple tries to get his attention, but Satoru eventually pulls himself out of his thoughts. He comforts himself with the notion that Yuta would be gone by the time he returned.
Imagine that while Yuta himself may be absent, his presence damn near haunts ex-husband Gojo to death.
You're already back in the meeting room by the time he and Suguru return from lunch, only you now have a full water bottle (he noticed you pout when you drank the last of it earlier), a sleeve of oreos sticking out of your bag, and a cute travel mug full of some hot drink that you definitely didn't have before.
If Satoru wasn't so preoccupied with insisting to himself that, 'I totally did things like that back in the day!' and provided his ex-wife wasn't the woman in question, he'd be thinking, 'Yuta Okkotsu, I was unfamiliar with your game.'
Even more frustrating is how energetic you look. You have your notes out and are nibbling on an oreo, kicking your feet back and forth as if there's not another two and a half hours left of this meeting.
It's not that Satoru doesn't want you to be happy. Quite the opposite, actually, since he'd gladly give his life if he thought he could guarantee your eternal joy and safety. He's just not sure what Yuta has that he didn't. Or doesn't.
"What does she see in him?" Satoru murmurs to himself later, when a bunch of the staff members go out for drinks. You're at the bar laughing with Yuki and Shoko.
He regrets speaking out loud when Sukuna snorts from behind him.
"How much time do we have?" your coworker says with amusement. He slides into the booth, nursing his sake bomb with ice. It's a travesty of a drink, if you ask Satoru, but to each his own.
"Great, it's my least favorite person," Satoru gripes.
Sukuna seems to take great pleasure in Satoru's misery. "I think Okkotsu's earned himself that title."
Now, Satoru hates the taste of alcohol nor is it ever a good idea for someone constantly using a cursed technique to get drunk, but he can't bring himself to care at the moment.
He snatches the drink from Sukuna's hand and downs the whole thing in one go.
Imagine how baffled ex-husband Gojo is when his son delivers a cursed artifact to him instead of you.
"Where's your mom?" he asks.
Sen hands over the small box covered in talismans while his best friend, Nao, lingers by the office door. Rolling his eyes, he says, "We had a mission in the area, so Sukuna-sensei had us deliver this."
"Not what I asked you, kid," Satoru replies, leaning back in his chair. He gestures for the boys to have a seat, but neither move.
Nao, who has a tendency to stir the pot if he thinks it'll be funny, pipes up, "She's on vacation for a week."
Since when did you take vacations? And why hadn't he heard of this?
"What's she doing for a whole week?" he asks.
Nao replies. "Okkotsu finished his training and whisked her away to some onsen in Obanazawa."
Sen smirks. "That snowy place that looks like it's from Spirited Away? How romantic."
"Super romantic." Stir, stir, stir, Nao Zen'in.
Sen was not a fan of anyone trying to get close to his mom. He'd seen how the divorce hurt you, but so far, Yuta worshipped the ground you walked on, so Sen was at least willing to not be too hostile towards him if it meant antagonizing his father.
Sen and his friend quickly say their goodbyes and head out to do whatever it is high school boys do. Once they're gone, Satoru pulls out his phone and searches 'onsen obanazawa.' The results show Ginzan Onsen, a place with traditional Japanese architecture with a beautiful snowy landscape. But according to the reviews, though a wonderful and charming place, it wasn't from the best onsen in Japan. He wants to scoff at the fact that his supposed 'replacement' chose anything but the best for you, but then he sees where Obanazawa is, which is in Yamagata prefecture.
Where you grew up. Where you and Satoru met.
How had it never occurred to him to bring you back there?
When he mopes on Suguru's couch later that evening, he tells his best friend the whole story. Suguru's delicate features are twisted into a grimace the whole way through.
"Why are you making such an ugly face?" Satoru asks miserably.
"I've never been ugly a moment of my life, Satoru."
"You know what I mean."
Suguru sighs and clicks his tongue. "They're not official?"
"So she keeps saying."
Though reluctant to kick his friend while he's down, Suguru decides that Satoru needs to know so he can mentally prepare himself.
"He's taking her on a romantic trip to a beautiful resort in her home prefecture. They may not be official now, but after a trip like that, there's no way she's coming back without a label. Hell, if they were official, she'd most likely be coming back with a ring."
Hearing that, Satoru contemplates finding a nice spot in the cursed artifact archive and falling into a coma for at least the next thousand years.
The plot McThickens
Find the other installments of this AU [here] | Find the #gojo sentaro lore [here] | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]
and a cn player actually put this to the test (thankfully with homemade ballistic gel, NOT with their actual butthole) and they even [ documented it here ] and i can't stop laughing
gojo satoru x reader - a small fic of some vanilia sex with satoru
cw : AFAB, smut, oral (F receiving), p in v, unprotected, vanilia
this can be lowk ass because I am tired asf while writing this, hope you still enjoy (also sorry for being inactive for so long I was so busy w everything)
You were snuggled up with Satoru in his bed, just like every other night. Laughing about some stuff that happened today when he suddenly stopped and just looked at you with a small smile
"What? Do I have something on my face?" You asked, confused while he just snickered and shook his face.
"No, I'm just admiring how beautiful you look" He said, tightening his arms around your waist, giving you a peck on your forehead.
"Toru, I don't have any makeup on and my hair is a mess-" he shushed you with now a kiss on your lips "So what? You always look like a goddess."
"Oh shut up..." looking away, your face flushed. You'll never get used to the amount of compliments he gives you. "Nuh uh, don't look away~ lemme admire that face"
Softly grabbing your face with his hand making you look at him, staring into your eyes. A few seconds have passed before you connect your mouths, both closing your eyes.
The kiss was slow and passionate at first, your hands buried in his hair while he gripped your waist, he bit your lower lip making you gasp as his tongue entered your mouth, intertwining your tongues together.
The kiss quickly turned messy, into a make-out session, when you both separated, a string of salivia connecting you. He then went for your neck, kissing, nipping and sucking it, probably leaving a ton of marks.
"So fucking pretty..." he whispered before tugging at your (his) shirt, looking at you for permission. You nod and he takes it off slowly. Staring at your perfect breasts, he lowers his head again, attaching himself to one of your nipples while his other hand massaged the other one.
A small whine left your mouth as you laid your head back closing your eyes, gripping onto his hair. He left a few marks there aswell before kissing down your stomach, all the way to your panties, sliding them off aswell.
He groaned, liciking a stripe up your pussy. "So tasty, all mine..." one of his fingers entered you while his tongue focused on your clit. "O-Oh god...!" you moaned, pulling at his hair.
He adds in a second finger, stretching you out and finding your sweet spot in no time. Your back arched, your moans getting louder as you were getting closer to your release.
"P-Please... hnngh m'so-" you whined, your heels digging into the mattres. "I know, love." His voice muffled, not disconnecting from your pussy.
Both his mouth and fingers sped up, you gasped, one of your hands gripping onto the sheets while the other onto his hair. You came with a loud moan as he swallowed all your cum.
You were breathing heavily, trying to calm your body down. He raised from between your legs and kissed you, making you taste yourself.
"S'good for me." He stood up, taking his sweats and underwear off. His tip so angrily red, leaking pre-cum. Grabbing your legs, putting them on his shoulders, he teased your entrance with his cock before slowly sliding in. Both of you letting out a moan.
He let you get adjusted before starting to move, gripping your hips. You looked so fucking beautiful, head threw back, eyes squeezed shut, eyebrows furrowed and biting on your lip.
"Shit, you feel s'good sweetheart..." he groaned, leaning down to nip on your neck. His movement slightly sped up. Your insides were molded perfectly to fit his cock, it made you feel so good and full. His tip kissing your cervix.
"M'close a-again-!" you moaned, your nails scratching his back. "Me too baby- fuck-!" one of his hands went to your clit, making random patterns just to get you closer.
Letting out a loud moan, your walls tightening around his member, pulling his head towards you, making him kiss you as you came. Not long after, he whined coming right inside of you. Fucking his cum deeper into you.
Both of you panting, he waited a few minutes, catching his breath before pulling out. Watching his cum leak out.
"You did amazing, love." he gave you one more kiss, pulling your hair out of your face.
"I'm gonna run us a bath, alright?" You nod, feeling tired.
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