#Jujutsu kaisen x reader angst

[selarina]

continuation to this

so, that night gojo satoru leaves with no jacket and half a broken heart and for the first time since he was 12 years old, he takes a sip of alcohol as he slouches against his home bar.

it's bitter, and it tastes a bit too much like soy sauce for his liking but he sips and sips until he sees the engraved "S.G" inscription at the bottom of his glass.

"hello, husband," a voice comes from behind him, interrupting his sob fest.

and for a moment, for dumb little moment, he thinks it's you. the voice sounds nothing like you though, it's far too high-pitched, but he's dreamt of this far too much for him to imagine someone else calling him husband.

aya tsukino materialises next to him, and seats herself on a seat beside him. she moves with a certain a quiet sleekness that he barely caught her moving from behind him. or maybe, he's finally out of it. "excited for the wedding, then?" she deadpans as she pours herself a drink.

"thrilled," he parrots back, merely a barren echo of emotions.

there's more truth in this room than there's been in your shared room for weeks. because it's simple really— gojo doesn't want to marry her, and aya couldn't care less as long as she got the money his family had.

before they had even exchanged any words, it was clear that they had this silent agreement that the two of them had little to do with love and everything to do with societal expectations and status.

as gojo attempts to take another sip from his empty company, he can't help but replay the events of the evening in his mind. your anger, and the way you stood up for the love you believed in. it'll haunt him for the rest of his life.

he wonders if you'll genuinely come to understand that he did have you in mind when he left you. he doesn't want you to be a mistress, a dirty little secret. he's seen how it broke his mother apart. how could he wish the same fate upon you knowing how his mother's life ended?

you're strong, and he believes you will persist and he will see at the end of his life sleeping grey and old in his bed as he stares at the way the sunlight hits your laugh lines.

but he also remembers the way you cried in secret. he never brought it up, he never brings it up. he was just waiting for the day you'd be comfortable enough to cry in front of him but for now, he settles for meaningless presents he brings afterwards to wipe off the blue from your face.

he places his glass down with a clink, and he hears a resembling clink from aya. "i'll ask you this only once, gojo satoru," she speaks up. "do you want this marriage?"

"i never wanted this marriage," his reply is immediate.

"of course not," she says. "i meant, do you still want to go through with this?"

he doesn't respond. the both of them know the answer to that, it's written all too clearly on his soppy little face.

"what if i don't," he finally speaks. "what about your money? your status?"

"my money..." she feigns to ponder. "as someone who's always sought out money, i can tell you one thing about it. money, it comes and it goes. i'll find another way as i always do," she says. "i will be fine."

"your father—"

"—is a terrible man, who will go on his pissy campaign against me but i hope it's not presumptuous of me to expect you to come to defence when needed. you know, for all the trouble?"

he chuckles with no mirth. seems trouble is all he's capable of causing the past few days. "of course," he responds.

aya smiles, she supposes there's one benefit of having the strongest sorcerer as her ex-fiancé. she stands up, as she pulls her coat snug against her body as she prepares to leave. "besides, you're not the only rich high-status man in town, you know?"

"well, they're not all me," he replies. his smug demeanour returning to him like it's breathing a new life into him.

"wow, a bonus too," she chuckles.

"and who was that handsome man with you on friday? blonde, glasses, chiselled like a—"

"nanami kento," he replies with a grin.

"nanami kento. is he rich?"

"not as rich as you," he replies. it's true. he's rich, he worked on wall street after all and nanami is a smart man, he has so much in his savings account, it's enough to feed an entire nuclear family. why he saves up is something that's beyond gojo.

"well, he's handsome. tell mr. kento i said hello," she smiles facetiously.

"tsk, fine." he grins again. "get out of here."

-

it's been a week since you heard about the wedding falling apart. and since, you've been hearing about it daily, almost hourly if you're being honest. after all, you're at the centre of it. it only makes sense.

there's a whole slew of narratives running around, cheating, money laundering, even murder. but the most popular one was about how aya was the rosaline to your romeo and juliet. gojo's as romeo as he comes — handsome, influential and maybe a bit endearingly dumb but you fail to see how you're juliet. she was rich, influential, beautiful — everything you've been starkly reminded that you are not.

but everyone's talking about the romance of it all and you haven't heard from gojo himself so it's strange to take their words to mind or heart. you ignore them, forming a ready-made response sheet in your head to every possible question you encounter across the week. they become white noise, as you go through your day like a pre-programmed robot.

but that changes on a hot, dusty afternoon as you're sitting in a cafe, awaiting a man you were advised against seeing, and he's late. of course, he's fucking late. he broke up with you and he has the audac—

he walks in. he looks exhausted, lankier than usual, and there's a cruel part of you that likes it. to know he looks as miserable as you've been seeing. there's the other, familiar part of you that wants to run your fingers against his sensitive eyes as you feed him with the warmth of the diner's food.

but you do neither, you neither smile nor frown. you sit in place as you wait for him to come and sit opposite you.

"hey," his voice sounds gravelly. "i'm sorry i'm late."

"nothing i'm not used to," you reply with a glare as you cross your arms.

his hands reach for the menu as he plays with the edges of the paper. he always orders the same breakfast meal from this place. he must be nervous.

"i... i wanted to talk to you," he starts. "i want you back."

"excuse me? you can't just—"

"i'm willing to do anything. anything. if you want to take it slow, i understand. if you want to take your time, i understand. if you want me to get down on my knees and beg, i understa—"

"do it."

his eyes widen, you can tell — even though the black glasses are blocking his eyes, you can tell. it only lasts for a split second, because you blink with contempt and he's beside you. on his knees, as he stares up at you. he barely stares up at you — he's so tall, he's almost eye-to-eye with you. but even so he hunches his back, makes himself small.

"i'm sorry," he says again, as he takes off his glasses placing it onto the table in front of you. his eyes are alarmingly blood-red, and it takes every muscle in your body to hold back from running your fingers over his. "like i said, i'll do anything. just pleas— take me back."

you stare, and he stares back at you. you're too lost in the way he looks at you — at your mercy — that you miss the strange and baffled looks from people around you. and when you finally do, your cheeks flush with heat.

"okay," you say. " please, get up now."

"no, let me— let me stay," he says. pleads. "just let me stay until you take me back."

"fine," you sigh, as if there was any real objection from your side. "get up now."

"really?" his blood-red eyes gleam, you could almost see a tinge of the vibrant blue coming back to life.

"yes," you groan as your hand grip his elbow. "i was willing to be your fucking mistress. did you really thin— i would say— mmpph"

and just like that he's up, sliding next to you on your seat, as he kisses you. you're ashamed to admit that your first thought was the idea of getting kicked out for public indecency but your second thought was about how you think you could stay like this forever. despite the public gawking at you through mean and baffled stares.

"i'm serious about doing whatever it takes," he says, sincerity laced in his voice. "you shouldn't let me get away with this lightly."

you smile. "I hope you mean it," you reply. "and i won't. i’ll make you work for it, just a little."

he nods with a smile, "anything. i'll make it up to you."

"you have to do the chicken dance," you say, seriously and firmly.

"what?"

"you have to do the chicken dance. right now in the middle of the diner and i'm taking a video," you pull out your phone. "and... i'm sending it to nobara."

his eyes widen, almost like he's feeling actual fear. "not nobara," he gasps. "but she's so mean, baby."

"well, you said anything."

he sighs. gojo looks around the crowded diner, his tall frame rigid and tense. he glances at you, then at your phone, and finally resigns himself to the absurd request.

"fine," he mutters, standing up from the seat as he begins flapping his arms and doing a clumsy version of the chicken dance in the middle of the diner.

[osachiyo]

USING THE SAFEWORD - gojo , geto , toji , nanami

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ c/w. . . n/sft content (mdni), fem!reader, choking, overstimulation, hair pulling, spanking, rough sex, hurt + comfort, use of the safeword, oral (f + m receiving), reader is unable to use safeword in some of these, these men are so soft for you please don't be too mad at em :(

disclaimer ! safe words and boundaries are very crucial when having intercourse. never ever ever feel shy to use your safeword because it literally is there for your safety.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ note. . . I've been wanting to write something like this for a while <3 lmk if y'all want a bsd version next :D as always, happy reading and hope y'all enjoy !

Satoru

You felt dizzy─ so fucking dizzy as Satoru's fingers tightened around your neck. You tried to let him know by slapping his forearms, clawing at them─ doing anything to get him to loosen his grin but to your fear, he was too deep in the pleasure of your sweet cunt gave him. His free hand only pinned your hands above your head─ grumbling something about you to "keep still 'n let me fuck you right".

This was getting bad─ black spots started to appear in your vision, tears gathering in your lashline as you flailed and kicked your legs─ desperate to tell him you don't want this anymore. The continous thrusts of his hips made you sick to your stomach─ fuck, were you gonna pass out? fortunately for you, as if the heavens had heard your aching pleas, Satoru's grip loosened a tad─ just enough for you to gurgle out your safeword. It took satoru a full few seconds to register what flew out of your mouth─ quickly getting off of you, his still hardened cock pulling out of your cunt. His brows were pinched as a worried frown graced his shiny lips, "babe─"

That's when he realized the tears pouring out of your eyes weren't because of pleasure─ but pain. He reached a hand out to you but that only made you flinch away, your eyes widening in fear and for a split moment, he felt his heart stop. Fuck, what did he just do?

Satoru's own eyes were open wide, hands balling into tight fists as he watched you sniffle and shiver, small hiccups leaving your swollen lips. "Fuck I─ baby, I'm so sorry, I just─" he thought about what to say next─ that he lost control? That he never meant to hurt you? He swallowed hard, pretty eyes glossed over from worry and pure guilt.

You sniffled before laying on your back, lifting your arms to make grabby hands at satoru who only let out a breath of relief, gently cradling your face in his palms as he sputtered apologies after apologies to you─ hands shaky as he pulled you to his chest and muttered soft "I love you's" and "I'm so sorry's" into your hair, soft lips pressing gentle but reassuring kisses on the top of your head he holds you against his chest.

After a few moments, the snow haired man finally found it in himself to speak, "what happened, baby? Did I go too hard?" His voice was barely above a whisper. You nuzzled your face further into his chest─ tears smudging on his skin as you shook your head, "jus' couldn't breathe," you peaked up at him, and his frown deepened, heart clenching as he stared at your glassy eyes. " 'm so sorry, sweet girl— does it hurt?" He rubbed little shapes into the bare skin of your back, lips pressing gentle kisses on your temple. You finally smiled, shaking your head again— "no, jus' a little bit sore. Think there'll be marks though."

Satoru let out a breath of relief at that, shoulders burying his face into your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. "That's good— don't want my pretty girl to be in pain." You hummed in response, staying like that for a while— basking in the comforting silence until you spoke up again.

"Toru?"

"Hm?"

"Let me choke you instead."

Suguru

You've been like this for god knows how long— spread across your shared bed, knees to your chest and with Suguru between your legs, making out with your cunt.

"Holy fuck— this pussy is so fuckin' perfect f'me, isn't she?" He growls— talking as if your pussy was a living being. You only moaned in response, trying to buck your hips up to meet his mouth, only to receive a harsh slap on your clit from Suguru. He 'tsked', running his clean hand through his raven locks before glaring at you, "stop—" smack! "movin'—" smack! "s'much—" smack! "whore—" smack! Each word was punctuated by a harsh slap to your pussy. You squealed with each hit— poor cunt burning from the brutal treatment your boyfriend was giving you.

He went back to using his tongue, but something was wrong— it didn't feel good anymore, only pain. Hours of overstimulation mixing with the pain of his harsh hits only made it sting and burn.

"Sugu! h-hurts— no more!" You babbled, but he couldn't hear you— too busy eating your pussy which basically had him in a trance, leaving you with no choice but to whimper out your safeword.

It took him a couple of seconds to register before he paused— blinking up at you before apologies after apologies left his mouth, checking to see if you were hurt anywhere before you calmed him down by placing a hand on his chest, " 'm not hurt, Sugu— jus'.. too much," you panted, letting him pick you up and place you on his lap— " 'm so sorry, princess. Didn't mean too go too far," there was genuine regret in his voice, the bottom half of his face still soaked with your juices. You reached a palm to wipe off the liquid from his chin before grinning up at him— he only kissed your cheek in return.

"You forgive me?" He pulled away to look at you, a small pout adorning his thin lips. You only kissed his nose in response, earning a chuckle from him, "I'll take that as a yes then."

You two stayed like that for a couple minutes— just in each other's arms as Suguru started humming a random song, the gentle tone of his soothing voice slowly lulled you to sleep, not before you heard a faint, "I love you so much, angel," accompanied by a soft kiss on your shoulder.

Toji

"Oh, fuuck— yeah, fuckin' slut— takin' me s'well in that tight lil' throat, heh," Toji growled, hips bucking up into your face as you gagged and choked around his unbelievably fat cock. Tears and snot were dripping down your face— ruining the picture perfect makeup you had worked so hard for, mascara running down your swollen cheeks in inky streaks, lipstick smudged all over your lips and even staining your boyfriend's length in rings.

Seriously, though. Did you really expect him to be gentle with you after prancing around in that tiny little dress the whole evening? You should be grateful he didn't bend you over the dinner table and fuck you in front of your friends and co-workers.

He basically shoved you down to your knees once you arrived back home— slapping the leaky tip of his flushed cock against your face a couple times before stuffing it into your poor throat and here you were— getting used by Toji Fushiguro like his personal flleshlight as you went light headed from being deprived of breathing for so long. It seems as if he had forgotten you were human and needed to breathe— the tightness of your throat basically making his mind go blank.

You tried to scratch, claw and slap his thighs— which only made him fuck your face with more vigor, not realizing those were signs telling him to stop.

A sloppy mixture of your drool and his precum dripped down your chin in stringy webs, making a mess on the polished floor beneath you as he yanked you by the makeshift ponytail he made— pulling you off his cock with a wet "pop!", giving you the chance to gurgle out your safeword breathlessly. Toji's eyes visibly widened, slowly letting your hair go before kneeling in front of you, gently patting your back as you coughed and heaved— trying to get air back in your poor lungs.

"Too much?" His voice was gravelly, as he wiped the sweat off your face, helping you back up to your feet. You could only nod in response, his brows pinching as tears kept rolling down your face. Gently sitting you down on the couch before he walked away to get you some water.

You immediately relaxed feeling the cool water hit your throat, soothing the bruising throb of pain your boyfriend's cock had given you.

He placed the glass away before sitting next to you, wordlessly wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you to his lap.

"Sorry I went too far, ma', wan' me to make it up to ya?" He whispered into the softness of your hair, gigantic hands playing with your much smaller ones as you leaned into him.

"Mhm, can you or—" "Order Chinese? Got'cha," he cut you off, pulling his phone out from his pocket. You smiled, snuggling further into him, "and cuddles." Rolling his eyes, he hummed, "Anything my princess wants."

Kento

"Slap!"

The deafening noise cut through the heavy tension in the room, your ass burning from the sting of Kento's harsh palm cracking down on the soft fat— "t-twenty f-four!"

He hummed, voice deep as his rough palm smoothed over the battered skin of your ass, spreading your cheeks to peak at your sopping cunt— the vibrator set on it's highest setting, but he knew better than to let you cum. Right as you were about to release all over the sheets— the vibrations of the small pink toy suddenly stopped, cruelly ripping your orgasm away from your grasp. A pitiful sob left your lips, legs thrashing around— "no! W-why, please— p-please let me cum, Ken—" Another brutal slap to your bruised ass cut you off, a low growl leaving Kento's lips as he smacked you again and again— your wails egging him on further— "fucking count."

The safeword left your lips before you could even think— hiccups and sobs escaping your throat. Your husband stopped immediately upon hearing the magic word— snapping out of his daze and rushing to your side. "Are you okay, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?" His voice was laced with worry, his heart ached in regret as he watched you sniffle, curling to yourself.

"Fuck, love— I'm so sorry I—" He quickly undid your restraints and took the vibrator out of you, tossing it aside before grabbing a glass of water and handing it to you. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Does it hurt too much?"

You shook your head, to his relief, and took the glass of water from him— muttering a small "thanks."

After you had fully calmed down, he also applied some ointment on your sore bottom, being as gentle as possible not to hurt you.

He also ate you out later— to make up for all the edging, Small apologies were leaving his lips the entire time as he made out with your cunt— calling you his good girl, placing a gentle kiss on your clit after you reached your peak.

note. im sorry if this sucks ass ya'll, i had this sitting in my drafts for a while and just had to get it out :(

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated ♡

[haikyuuhoo]

if i could bring you anything, i swear to god i'd bring you peace

pairing: suguru x reader

wc: 811

a/n: had a sad girl moment yesterday, so enjoy this fluff i dredged up from the depths of my drafts <3

listen

The muffled sound of your music goes quiet, and you wait a few beats before pushing yourself up to check what’s wrong. You take a deep breath as you breach the surface of the water, lungs burning at the intake of air, and your eyebrows pinch together almost immediately in annoyance at the sight in front of you.

“What are you doing?” Suguru isn’t even trying to hide the amused, albeit slightly concerned, look on his face. He’s sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, spinning your phone between his fingers.

“Having a sad girl bathtub moment, what does it look like?” you huff, leaning forward to grab the device—he really had the nerve to stop the music in the middle of such a good song—but he holds it above his head and out of your reach.

“Like you’re trying to see how long you can hold your breath. Like you dropped your ring but it fell down the drain when you were trying to get it and you don't know how to tell me so now you’ve given up. Like maybe I should be more worried. Should I be more worried?” He raises an eyebrow and you let out a quiet sigh, your shoulders sagging slightly with the motion, and the sight makes it feel like a weight has settled on his chest.

“No, I’m fine, can I please just have my music back?” You stick your bottom lip out in a pout, giving him the puppy dog eyes you know usually make him fold.

But Suguru still doesn’t hand over your phone and instead sets it on the counter. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Rough day?”

His voice is so soft it threatens to break down the walls you’ve been holding up since you got out of bed that morning.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I just didn’t know when you’d be home, and—”

“You could have texted me.” Suguru frowns, but you wave him off.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I wasn’t gonna bother you.”

Suguru lets out an almost exasperated laugh, and the sound makes your belly warm. “Anything that makes you want to do this is a big enough deal to me.” He grabs your phone off the counter. “Tell you what. You have until I’m done making dinner to finish sad girl bathtub hours. You can still be sad, and we can talk about your day if you want to, or we can do something else. But what I’m not going to let you do is turn into a human-sized prune in our bathtub.” He sets your phone on the edge of the tub and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Okay?”

You nod slowly, relaxing at the lingering feeling of his lips on your skin before tilting your head up to urge him into a kiss.

Suguru hums into your mouth, pulling back for a fleeting moment to nudge his nose against your cheek. “Say okay,” he whispers.

 “Okay,” you breathe, and you lean closer to capture his lips again and deepen the kiss. You pull one hand out from under the water and cup his jaw before pushing your fingers into his hair, your teeth flashing in the briefest glimpse of a grin at the way he jumps when water trickles down his neck.

He pulls away and you have to fight off a laugh as he wipes at the back of his head and noticeably shivers. “I’ll call for you when dinner’s ready.”

“Or…” You tilt your head to the side and give him a sweet smile. “You could join me?”

Suguru huffs out a ‘no-fucking-way’ laugh and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. That water is way too cold.” You pout, but he’s already standing up and turning toward the door. “I mean it. We can have sad girl blanket burrito hours or sad girl movie marathon hours, but we’re not going to have sad-girl-getting-hypothermia-in-the-bath hours.”

And this time you do laugh, and in that moment you both know he’s made the breakthrough you needed from him. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you at dinner.”

He nods, and he begins making his way back out of the bathroom when you call for him.

“Suguru?”

He turns back around and raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

“I love you,” you murmur with a voice so soft it makes his heart swell. “And thank you.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I love you too.”

You watch him leave the bathroom and then close your eyes, letting yourself take what feels like the first deep breath you’ve been able to manage all day. And then you look at where your phone is still resting on the side of the tub, waiting for you to press play, and you reach forward and pull the drain.

fun fact i felt like i needed to title this some phoebe bridgers lyric but i'm sadly not a phoebe girlie and i couldn't lie to y'all like that

reblogs & comments always appreciated <3

[meiieiri]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 [gojo satoru]

synopsis: in every other universe and lifetime he has yet to lead, megumi will always cherish the painfully brief time he felt the warmth of a proper family and would have gladly referred to himself as the son of the strongest.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader | song inspo: chemtrails over the country club, scott street | visuals: megumi’s jacket

warnings: angst-ish, canon-compliant violence (mostly caused by our pookie wookie megumi who doesn’t tolerate scumbag bullies), mentions of bullying, and possible (bc i’m delulu) character death. | a/n: i just want megumi to have one last moment with his dad please, gege, i’m on my knees here. also hehe, get the title? ya’ll get it? someone please shove that arctic-haired freak to the NORTH! 🥹

Nobara Kugisaki is the classic definition of an Instagram girlie with a passion for fashion.

Honestly, she could appropriately appraise clothes without a second glance, and she could differentiate big fashion brands just by the fabric and silhouette alone even without a brand logo.

It happened on a Monday afternoon while she and Yuji were having a quick coffee in the lounge. Yuji is currently playing one of his Nintendo Switch MMORPG games that he bought from the mall last Saturday while Nobara was scrolling through her phone, swiping left as she watches her mutuals’ Instagram stories. The trio is incomplete today since Megumi mentioned he’ll be running some errands with you and Satoru today.

After positively getting envious of Mei Mei’s supposed extravagant shopping trip in Ginza today, Kugisaki promptly mutes any stories from her for a full twenty four hours. Then, as she swipes left yet again, she nearly drops her phone on the ground which would pretty much set her off on a rampage because she just got its LCD screen fixed. But luckily, she holds onto it.

“Fushiguro has an Instagram account?!”

Yuji himself hits pause on the game he’s playing and leans over the table to see what Kugisaki is talking about. No way. Fushiguro? That sulky, couldn’t-be-bothered-to-care-but-I-actually-do-care embodiment of teenage angst having an Instagram handle? What would he even post on there?

Their questions are answered as Fushiguro’s feed pops up, and it’s filled with his pictures, but that’s not the issue. The two dunderheads didn’t seem to mind that in every photo, Megumi looked like a magazine cover boy, what caught their attention is the apparel he’s wearing.

“What the hell?! He’s wearing Arc’teryx?” Kugisaki couldn’t believe it. She zooms in on the candid shot of Megumi in what looks to be a ski resort and an audible gasp escapes her throat. No way. No frigging way. She does a quick image search and sure enough, she is redirected to Arc’teryx’s official website. See? Kugisaki never misses when it comes to fashion.

Yuji’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he sees the price tag. “One thousand five hundred US dollars?!”

“And look at this! He’s literally tagged in Gojo and Y/N-sensei’s stories.”

Sure enough, the first they see is Satoru’s story which has a video of you picking out new clothes from the rack for Megumi to try on in the fitting room. You looked so cute and teeny tiny next to the teenager and Kugisaki giggles at the thought you walking around with two literal giants in the mall, one of them being your ward and the other, your arctic-haired husband of three years.

“There’s another one!” Itadori says excitedly. The next is a story you took, it’s a photo of Megumi and Gojo, their backs turned and their hands fully occupied by shopping bags, seemingly unaware of the camera. In the photo, they’re checking out new sneakers in Onitsuka Tiger’s storefront window. In a flash, Kugisaki switches off her phone, and immediately begins to head out the door. “Hey, where’re you going?”

Nobara knows that particular galleria, it should be in Tokyo Midtown. “Out, maybe I could borrow Gojo-sensei’s or Y/N-sensei’s credit card!”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come along?”

Gojo chuckles under his breath. It’s honestly amusing how you won’t normally ask that, given his newfound title as the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer of this generation. A skirmish with a grade two cursed spirit? Pfft. That’s practically child’s play to your white-haired boyfriend. A rogue grade one cursed spirit that turned out to be a special grade? Maybe you’ll sneak some bandages in his bag just in case. Bottom line is you wholeheartedly trust Satoru will always make it out of a mission in one piece.

But here you were seemingly more tense than usual which is incomprehensible because today’s hardly dangerous mission is simple.

Track down the son of Toji Fushiguro.

“I think I got it, babe.” Satoru leans his head in through the rolled down car window to plant a kiss on your forehead. He pats your cheek lovingly, setting off in the direction of the house after taking one last confirmatory look at the address written down in the file sheet. “Well, let’s hope he’s nothing like his dad. Promise you’ll check on me if I don’t come back in an hour?” he teases.

You lightly slap his wrist. Sometimes you wonder how you fell in love with this literal man-child. He’s just so insufferable. Gorgeous in every way but insufferable all the same. “I’m pretty sure a six-year-old boy isn’t gonna try to murder you. If he does, let the record show that I sympathize with him completely.”

“You meanie!”

Sticking his tongue out at you when you blow him a kiss, he disappears into the small street adjacent to the neighborhood’s main road. Coming here, Satoru was uncharacteristically nervous. At the rest stop earlier, you watched the scene tensely from the convenience store window. For once, the obnoxiously loud sorcerer was quiet, hands in his uniform pockets, his cerulean orbs trained on the pavement, his foot kicking the asphalt pebbles on the ground, deep in thought.

To be honest, he had no obligation to make the journey here even if this entire affair was born from Toji Fushiguro’s final words that sounded almost like a desperate plea. “In two or three years, my kid will be sold off to the Zenin clan. Do whatever you will with that.” Satoru doesn’t know why — he’s not exactly the brightest when it comes to his interpersonal relationship skills so he could be wrong about this — but those twenty one words sounded more like four simple words: “Please save my son.”

And so, in a matter of only thirty minutes, you spot Satoru from afar, his hand protectively around his would have been assassin’s six-year-old son as they walk back to the car. Looks like the little boy had made his choice.

And you could see with the way Satoru protectively held Megumi back from crossing the street on a green light that he has also made his choice. Just thirty minutes ago, you were bantering with the version of Satoru that would be reluctant to go out of his way to help someone, now, you were face to face with someone new, someone who has been changed almost in a blink of an eye.

Stepping out of the car, you make your way towards the pair, a faint smile on your lips at the sight of Megumi’s tiny backpack slung over Satoru’s shoulder. Your boyfriend gently nudges Megumi over in your direction, introducing him and you crouch down to meet the little boy’s hesitant eyes. “Hi there, Megumi.” Your voice is as carefully gentle as a psalm, you didn’t want to overwhelm him more than he probably already is. “I’m Y/N.”

“Hello.”

“Ice cold,” Satoru whistles, ruffling Megumi’s hair. But you figured that would be the case. A quiet breath of laughter comes from Satoru when you smile endearingly at the kid’s curtness.

As the three of you settle into the backseat, you and Satoru share a fond look when Megumi who has acted all guarded and silent the entire ride home from Chiba begins to drift off to sleep, his arms hugging his backpack but he was dangerously teetering off the seat, so Satoru gently picks him up, allowing him to lay his tiny head on his shoulder.

“He’s gonna stick around with us for a long time, huh?” you whispered, rubbing Megumi’s back as he slept soundly in Satoru’s arms, the three of yu blissfully unaware of just how much your life has changed. You came to Chiba and there was only you and Satoru, now, you were three. And though you know Satoru doesn’t intend to step in as a guardian, you could tell he was slowly settling into the inevitability of that fact. This boy needed a new start, a home, and people to guide him as he grew.

“…Yeah, he will,” Satoru answers, his eyes filled with wonder himself. Earlier when he first met Megumi, he told him to become strong enough to keep up with him.

But for now, maybe this was enough.

For the most part, Megumi is a good kid.

He diligently helps you with the housework without needing to be told twice the same way he diligently trains under Gojo’s tutelage. He studies hard despite only being in primary school, and he’s well-mannered in every way…at least to you, the kid won’t pass up the opportunity to scowl and call Satoru a lanky freak when he’s being pestered by him.

Because he’s so young to be sleeping in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s dormitories, you and Satoru settled into the idea of renting an apartment near the campus premises. Since you and Satoru are eighteen years old now, it was high time that the two of you start growing into your roles as functional adults which means leasing an apartment, paying the bills, growing your careers and taking your relationship to the next level.

Of course, you and Satoru both piled in cash when it comes to raising Megumi. Satoru mostly shouldered rent, monthly utilities and Megumi’s tuition, being a rich guy like him, those were practically small beans to him. You, on the other hand, shouldered the groceries, Megumi’s clothes and other needs.

One day, while on your way to pick up Megumi, you pass by the trendy Daikanyama district due to a road closure leading to the Ebisu district where Megumi’s primary school is. The inconvenience is nothing short of serendipitous as you and your boyfriend really did need a quick breather and some time for yourselves.

“I feel like I’m gonna turn into a wine dad very soon. Who would have known enrolling a kid would be that tough?” Satoru huffs, his hand protectively around your waist as you walked past boutique after boutique. “Like how am I supposed to know what his blood type is for the school clinic record?”

You hummed, sneakily stealing a kiss from him to which he responds to by pulling you closer, and pretending to bite off your ear. “For all the school knew, Megumi is ours. That would explain why they felt a little icky towards us when they saw how young we are back in that parent-teacher meeting.”

“Mmph, fair point. A cute son will come from a handsome father after all—“

“—Oh please. You’re okay at best.”

“You didn’t say that last night when I had you all folde—“

“—Please do not finish that sentence in public.”

Digressing, Satoru sighs, planting a contrite kiss on your warm cheek as the two of you leisurely walk down the picturesque lane of Tokyo’s very own version of Soho. Once you reach the main road, a certain outerwear apparel store catches your eye. You stop in front of the store window, looking curiously at the displayed winter items. “Megumi’s birthday is coming up soon, no? We should get him something nice.”

“Hmm? Oh right, the 22nd is coming up,” Satoru hums thoughtfully, leading you inside the store. There, the two of you split up to look for a nice gift for Megumi. There, he is approached by a staff member who asks if he’s looking for anything in particular. Satoru clears his throat, nodding. “I’m looking to buy a gift for my son.”

Somehow, you heard that from across the store and you shoot Satoru an amused look when he refers to Megumi as ‘his son’.

“Right, and how old might he be? We have a batch of new arrivals that came in today. They’re perfect for kids aged four and above.” At that, you rejoin Satoru and the sales staff leads you to check out the items at the front of the store. You and Satoru sort through the rack and find one that the two of you agree on: a fleece two-toned gravel winter jacket.

After paying for it, the two of you rush to get to Ebisu elementary school. Making your way to the gate, Megumi instantly spots you and Satoru, the latter being very difficult to miss since he pretty much towered over everyone else.

“Hi, kid, d’you have fun today?” you crouch down to give Megumi a hug. Between you and Satoru, you were the more clingy one towards Megumi, there’s hardly any hesitation in your heart when you pull him in for a warm embrace or carry him in your arms. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind one bit, but if Satoru did any of the those things to him, he’ll probably headbut him.

“It was fine,” Megumi says shyly once you pull away. “Oh and I got a hundred on the math homework you helped me with.”

“You did?” you smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Megumi.” Satoru smiles, going to ruffle Megumi’s hair only for the little boy to duck away from his hand and hide behind you.

Chuckling at the kid’s antics, Satoru concedes, putting up his free hand in surrender while his other one held onto the gift bag you got. Megumi reads the name of the store: “The North Face”. Following Megumi’s gaze, Satoru grins, handing Megumi the bag. “Here, we got you something. Call it an advanced birthday gift.”

Megumi’s expression screamed: “You didn’t have to.” but you don’t miss the look of surprise and gratitude that shined through his features. You gently nudge him to open it and his breath hitches in his throat when he sees the gift you got him — the first gift he’s ever received.

“Happy birthday, Megumi,” you and Satoru greet the little boy, with Satoru helping Megumi to try it on.

That was the first time Megumi initiated a heartfelt hug and the first time he ever included Satoru, his little arms trying their hardest to include the two of you, so you decide to help him out, and your and Satoru’s arms engulf the little one.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t know what happened, but I’m headed there now. Alright, see you soon. I love you.”

Everything happened so quickly. One minute you were in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s teacher lounge organizing the first years’ missions for the next few days when you receive a call from Ebisu elementary school, informing you that Megumi got into a horrible fight and was now in the school clinic ready to be picked up, the next you were dashing out the door hurrying over to the school with your heart pounding in your chest.

There, you are the quintessential picture of a frazzled mother looking for her son in the school clinic.

“Y/N!”

“Megumi,” you breathed, your eyebrows knitting together in worry. Gathering him into your arms, you sit on the tiny hospital bed. “What happened? They said you got into a fight? And where’s your jacket?” He was wearing the jacket you got for him this morning when you and Satoru dropped him off, actually, he’s been wearing it a lot, indicating it’s one of, if not his favorite jacket.

Before Megumi could even speak, it looks like the kid that he got into a tussle with had already tattled on him to his mother and now said mother is furiously berating you and Megumi, not caring if anyone else in the clinic could overhear the scandalous remarks she’s throwing your way.

“I want full disciplinary action against this boy!” the middle aged woman all but screeches to the school’s principal, pointing an accusatory finger at Megumi who doesn’t flinch but you hear him sniffle. He’s never been yelled at like that before.

“Ma’am, please, let’s settle this like two rational adults—“

“—Oh I will, I can’t say the same about you! Are you not the least bit ashamed that you couldn’t teach your son good morals?” She then theatrically goes to place her hands on her son’s shoulders. And you have to be honest, with that bruised lip of his alongside his bleeding nose, Megumi had done some serious damage to the boy.

“I — Megumi is a good kid, not once, have we ever seen him hit someone for no reason—“

“—So you’re saying it’s my son’s fault yours is emotionally unstable? This boy doesn’t need a good talking to, what he needs is psychological intervention!”

“Alright, can everyone just please calm down?” The principal, too, seems visibly uncomfortable with the vile words the other parent was spewing at you like machine gun fire. “We’re all here to fix the problem, not make it worse.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you could tell this conversation has reached an impasse. Clearly, there’s no way you could reach a mutual understanding of what should be done to resolve the issue.

The older woman looks at you in disdain, grumbling under her breath at the humiliation of being scolded, “What should I even expect from an irresponsible woman who got knocked up before she was even an adult?”

“Don’t you dare talk about my wife or my son that way.”

Megumi looks up, tears in his eyes when Satoru strides in, his normally shining blue eyes dark with a fury that cannot be quelled. You can’t even feel the butterflies that went wild in your stomach when he accidentally referred to you as ‘his wife’ without so much as a stutter because you’re honestly this close to chewing the vile woman out. It didn’t matter if she insulted you, but if she does so much as insult and make your boy cry, you and Satoru will give the weasel a matching patch on her scalp where there should have been hair had you not ripped it out.

But now was not the time to prove her right.

People have always judged you and Satoru for being acting parents at such a young age, often giving you rude stares when you’re out and about doing the most menial of things like shopping at the supermarket or spending some time in the kōen, people found your current situation disgusting, borderline immoral, which is why you initially had trouble looking for an elementary school that would properly entertain you, Satoru and Megumi and not dismiss you three as a bunch of kids playing house.

“Satoru…” you rub your boyfriend’s arm soothingly.

“Babe, she insulted you and ‘Gumi,” Satoru whispers sadly. “I can’t just let her do that.”

All of a sudden, Megumi’s voice cuts through the tension in the room. “Daisuke was being mean. He ruined Hana-chan’s project and made her cry.” At that, the kid named Daisuke bites his lip, his skin turning pallid at the revelation. “And when I told him to apologize, he and Kaito…” Megumi whimpers, trailing off. He averts his gaze from your and Satoru’s, feeling guilty.

And right then and there, the story becomes even clearer when an unexpected witness comes to Megumi’s defense.

“Megumi-kun? We found your jacket, it’s not too damaged, but you may want to have your mama and papa wash it when you get home.” The school nurse walks in and hands you the ruined jacket, it had been cut all over but since it’s fleece, the damage isn’t too bad, not only that, it had crayon marks all over it and it smelled of the dumpster.

“…Daisuke and Kaito ruined my jacket and I punched him,” Megumi sniffles. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t apologizing for punching Daisuke, that much you could tell, he was apologizing to you and Gojo for supposedly not taking care of the gift you two got him just last week.

The vile mother scoffs at your son’s apology. “Save your breath, you little liar—“

“—He wasn’t talking to you,” Satoru glares at the woman, effectively shutting her up. “Come on, we’re going home.” With that, Satoru, being careful with him given his sprained wrist, carries Megumi out the clinic. You offer the principal a polite nod, indicating that you’ll cooperate with any sanction she seems fit for Megumi, Kaito and Daisuke, before following Satoru and Megumi to the parking lot. A melancholic smile appears on your lips when you hear Satoru reassuring Megumi that you’ll just wash and mend the jacket once you get home to which, Megumi only buries his face in the crook of his father figure’s neck.

If there is one good thing that happened today, it’s the fact that you proved to yourself and to each other that, no one in this world is allowed to hurt or insult your family.

Satoru wakes up to an empty bed and he doesn’t pretend to wonder where you are. He stays like that for a full minute, simply staring at the ceiling while your side of the bed slowly loses its warmth. He knows you’re hurting, and he knows just how much this entire ordeal has taken from you. First, you had to deal with him being sealed in the Prison Realm, now this…

You really just couldn’t catch a break, could you?

Slowly, Satoru gets up and pads across the hallway, entering a painfully familiar room. The owner of the room has only since recently moved out, but for ten years, this room is one he normally frequented with you, whether it be on Christmas mornings to greet the little prince that occupied such a special place in your heart or on nights when the three of you just simply needed to hold each other, searching for comfort, while you slept.

The door creaks open and Satoru’s eyes well up with tears, his heart plagued by the same emotional turmoil that was haunting you day in and day out. “I just want our boy to come home…I want our son back,” you cried as you held the jacket Megumi had outgrown, the same one he wore almost everyday that winter when he first came to live with you and Satoru.

Instantly, Satoru sits next to you on Megumi’s bed, hushing your cries, kissing away each agonizing tear that slipped from the confines of your sorrowful orbs.

“He must be so scared,” you sniffled, picturing Megumi in the darkest crevices of Sukuna’s soul, trapped and alone. “I don’t even know if he’s alright, if he’s even slept at all or if he’s being tormented by Sukuna day in and day out. What if he’s in pain? What if he’s cold?” you sobbed into your husband’s chest, your cries growing more desperate with each hour Megumi isn’t home safe.

“Shh, shh…I know, sweetheart…I’ll get him back, I promise I’ll bring him home.”

Or he’ll die trying.

Somewhere in the void, Megumi Fushiguro is in a state of catatonic stasis. Is this what limbo feels like? He just wants to sleep, to give in and let Sukuna’s soul consume him.

It’s so cold…so…cold.

No! He can’t give up, more than his desire to tap out and just live and let die…he wants to go home where he belongs.

You and Satoru must be so worried about him and he was worried too, what if something had happened out there while he was here? What if…something happened to the two of you when he hasn’t even done a thing to thank you both for all the love you’ve given him throughout these years? So with his last inch of consciousness remaining, he spends it on a silent plea.

“Mom…dad…please come find me.”

[gojossocks]

Pathetic

Pairing: AU!Sukuna x reader Genre: angst Content: the title says it all, pathetic ‘kuna core. Sukuna cockblocked himself because he's afraid of commitment :DD a bit of gojo x reader at the end bc y/n deserves love. Wc: 1.2k

“Stop being so pathetic.” He had declared, his words cutting through the air like shards of ice.

But you, ever resolute, had refused to let his harshness deter you. Sukuna knows how much his sentence has hurt you. Your hands were trembling as you reached his, desperately seeking connection. Tears glistened in your eyes, your voice was quivering but you smiled at him through your blurred vision.

“We could work it out right, ‘Kuna?” you implored, your voice soft yet it held so much weight. “Please talk to me. I don’t need anything else! I just need you. We don’t have to get married or anything. I am content just being with you. I love you.”

Sukuna’s gaze remains distant, his eyes fixed on the table behind you. He isn’t looking at you anymore. His response was dispassionate and void of the warmth he used to give you. “It’s not that. I just don’t love you anymore, Y/N.”

He watched you break and he watched you swallow your sobs as you clutched his hand tighter. “That’s okay,” you whispered, your voice desperate, barely more than a breath. “You loved me once, I could make you do it again. Tell me what to change and I’ll change for you, love.”

“I don’t care. I’m leaving.” He pulled his hand away, leaving you alone in your once shared bedroom. He still remembered the sounds of your sobs down the hallway as he walked out of your life.

Sukuna was always sure of himself that day he left you. He had said it so indifferently, so carelessly, as if he didn’t spend years being loved by you. He thought he moved on quite easily— bouncing from one woman to another, getting drunk on his own success, and wasting the rest of his twenties on meaningless connections. The hollowness of it all continued to haunt him.

It’s been half a decade trying to ignore the ache that has been gnawing at his heart. And it wasn’t until he saw you again did the gravity of his actions finally catched up to him.

It was supposed to be your anniversary and Sukuna finds himself pathetically walking into the places you once walked with him. He claimed he forgot about you but his feet always drag him to the remnants of you every year, without fail. He convinced himself it was just a mere coincidence that he walked to the same park where he first hugged you, how you fit right into his arms like you were made exactly for him. He finds himself dining in the restaurant you love so much, and he wonders if you still go there to order your favorite food.

He didn’t want to lay on his bed because he would think about how you used to run your hands through his hair when he’s upset or stressed. He would think about the warmth and comfort radiating out of you when he pulls you closer to him.

He told himself he had forgotten about you when he still hadn't thrown away the polaroid of the two of you, smiling softly as you kissed his cheeks. It was still in his wallet and he never bothered to change the photo. He remembers the way you clung to his arm, excitedly pointing out the changing leaves as autumn envelops the weather. He called you an idiot but you scrunch your nose at him and pulled him to a kiss. He remembers you dragging him into a movie theater to watch a cheesy romantic comedy. He got bored midway but he stayed anyway because he didn’t like seeing the pout on your face.

And he couldn’t rid what you had left him despite not taking any of your belongings when he left. He finds you in his morning coffee, how he drinks it with creamer and sugar because you told him it tasted better. He still gets your favorite laundry detergent every time he shops and he still folds his shirts the way you taught him to.

He thinks of you every sunrise, you once told him it’s a privilege to see the sun come alive right before your eyes and he stays up until morning just so he could pretend he’s seeing it with you.

Why is he mourning over a person who is very much alive?

He lets himself wonder if you think about him too, if you’ve forgiven him. His hands itch to call you to apologize or to ask to see you. He stops himself every time.

In the first year of your break up, he scrolled through your social media accounts to catch a glimpse of your life. You blocked him on everything the following year.

He drowned himself in his vices once more to numb that void you left. And once the party’s over, he would return to his empty mansion, clutching the only relic he has of you— the sweater you left at his place. It didn’t have any traces of your favorite perfume anymore yet he still hung on to it. In those moments, he allowed himself to regret his decision.

What would his life turn out if he told you what was on his mind?

It finally dawned on him when he saw you that day. You were still as radiant and you were smiling just as bright. You still looked like the same woman he walked away from years ago. The same woman he still loves. Only, you looked happier, your joy evident in every step you took. Sukuna watched you emerge from your favorite cafe, holding your coffee in one hand, a ring on your finger. The sight sent a shiver down his spine.

In your arms, cradled tenderly, was a child. Sukuna knew without a doubt that he was yours, the same eyes that had once held his heart were now reflected in your son’s eyes. White strands adorned your son’s hair, and Sukuna suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He had never entertained the thought that he would ever see you with someone who wasn’t him. But now, as he stood there, he couldn’t deny the fact that he had no place in your life anymore.

You had settled down and gotten married to none other than Gojo Satoru.

He watched as your husband approached you, whispering something in your ear that made you giggle and smile harder. He watched as Gojo brushes your hair out of your face, taking your son from your arms so he could hold your hand.

Sukuna watched as Gojo Satoru gave you everything he couldn’t.

It felt like the gods were mocking him. And oh how Sukuna knew he messed up when he saw how you looked at Gojo the way you used to look at him.

It was supposed to be him.

He turned and walked away again before you could see him, paying his last respect to your own peace and happiness. Every step he took felt like daggers into his heart.

It’s pathetic, isn’t it?

wanna read more?

[emmaiooo]

you're weak.

958 words

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

6:43 PM.

“we’re still on tonight right?”

      “sorry. can’t.”

“why???”

“hello…?”

you huffed at the message, why is he not responding? it's not like he has some teen boy shit to do. opening your phone once again, you dialed geto. “yo it’s geto, leave a message after the beep.” you sighed, “you guys didn’t abandon me right..?” you whispered after the beep, then hung up and laid on your bed. 

NEXT DAY - 7:56 AM.

“morning guys!” you smiled happily at the duo, bringing your hand up to give gojo a high-five, like you always do. “oh uh, not right now y/n, we have class.” gojo shuffled away from your presence. you froze. “o-okay.” you gave him a weak smile, and turned around to walk to your class. as you walked away, you saw from the corner of your eye that geto was whispering something to gojo. damn, where is shoko?

4:12 PM

“here.” shoko handed you a drink as you were sitting on the stairs of jujutsu high. you looked up, shoko had a cig in her mouth as you grabbed the sparkling soda from her hand. “thanks.” you mumbled. you both sat there in silence, waiting for someone to say something. “seems like they’re ignoring you.” shoko said, finally breaking the silence. “where were you shoko?” you asked, opening the soda can. “had a bunch of tests for medical school, passed with flying marks.” shoko smiled as she made a peace sign next to her face. “hah, really? you definitely cheated.” you giggled, letting out a breathy laugh. “i’m…going to go to medical school now, so i’ll be absent more.” shoko said, taking a breath from her cig. “oh…okay.” you said quietly, looking down. shit. now what are you going to do? you wished you were in a normal highschool, with a normal amount of kids, so there's not only just four people in your grade. you don’t even have anyone to hang out with now, no one to talk to. even the first years shunned you. haibara said he had bad feelings from you, and nanami is just not talkative and listens to haibara. utahime didn’t like you either, and mei mei is only interested in getting money, which you had none of. stupid fucking curse. your cursed technique always scared people, you had sharp fangs and always had a pale look on you. you looked like you were cosplaying as a vampire to normal human beings. everyone hated you because you were scary to look at. 

FEW MONTHS LATER - 11:30 AM - THREE SECOND YEAR STUDENTS SENT TO TAKE CARE OF A SPECIAL GRADE CURSE; ONE SEVERELY INJURED.

“you’re so fucking stupid! can’t even do one thing right when we asked you to! this doesn’t make sense at all, you are a special grade sorcerer!” gojo yelled at you, you have never seen him this mad before. “sa-” you said, before getting cut off by gojo. “don’t call me satoru. it’s gojo to you.” he spat out, looking at you without his glasses, which had long been gone since the fight with the curse. “g-gojo, we still managed to kill the curse, and shoko can use rct on geto!” you tried reasoning with satoru. indeed, it was your fault that you made a small mistake on the mission, but gojo couldn’t be blaming the whole thing on you right? geto can survive this, the doctor’s said it too. you don’t get why gojo is so upset about this whole ordeal. gojo groaned loudly, “y/n this is why you can’t do shit. i’m going to talk to yaga about not having any missions with you anymore, you can go on missions by yourself. you’re a special grade anyway.” gojo rolled his eyes as he started to walk back into geto’s room. you sat there, letting all the words sink in. just one more year, one more year with them and you can finally leave. 

2 MONTHS LATER - 9:23 PM

“y/n! are you okay? where does it hurt?” shoko ran to you, “you’re so stupid, why did you go alone on this mission?” shoko was panicking, already trying to heal you after you called her when you were on the brink of death. “uhm…i…” your eyes were blurry, looking around and spotted two males. you could see the anger in gojo’s eyes and the horror in geto’s face. “did you exorcise the curse?” geto asked calmly. shit..you forgot geto needed the curse to eat. “no..” you looked away from him. “oh my god y/n!” gojo groaned and put his hand on his head. “the best thing you could’ve done for us was to trap the curse and wait for us to get here! but now we lost a special grade for geto to absorb.” gojo was clearly irritated. “b-but the curse could’ve killed me! how could you say that?” you cried, thinking about how unreasonable gojo could be. “you’re a special grade and still can’t seem to carry out a simple task, you’re weak.” gojo said with venom, making your heart hurt. “she did her best gojo.” shoko tried to reason with him, still healing your wounds, “and that was good enough.” 

the next day, your wounds were all healed, and your mind was clear. 

“y/n, you sure about moving to kyoto?” - geto

        “yea.”

“alright, we’ll miss you.” 

like hell they would, you thought to yourself. they wouldn’t understand no matter how much you explained to them your feelings. especially gojo, he was born as the strongest, the whole world power balanced after he was born. you could never compare to someone like him. 

get stronger.

the words rang through your head. 

get stronger. 

and you will. 

(honestly this did not turn out the way i wanted it, might get a rework.)

[joi-me-hoi-me-noi]

Hello, I saw that your requests were open and I wanted to ask if I can make one hehe, you don't have to do it or anything like that, but I'll leave the idea here anyway hahaha.

I would like to request a teen! Satoru Gojo x fem! reader and kid!Megumi (or gender neutral) Where Satoru Gojo and reader have known each other since they were little and they are both powerful, therefore when it is time to go on the mission to protect Riko Amanai she is also sent along with Satoru and Suguru,She also suffers because of Toji Zenin and basically everyone is traumatized (here we stick to the canon, doing the daily angst that our dearest Gege gives us..:) ) And basically after the events, reader and Gojo go to Megumi to make Touji's last words come true,I'd like to see a little bit of domestic fluff and a little bit of angst hehe...Reader seeing Toji in Megumi but at the same time wanting to stop because she knows they are completely different people. Happy ending :D

A/n: Thank you for this wonderful request, I'm pretty sure this is the first request regarding JJK in general so yippeeee! Enjoy!

DIFFERENCE BETWEEN (TEEN!GN!Reader x TEEN!Gojo) [ft. KID!Megumi]

"Stay here with Misato, just in case that man manages to make it down here."

You simply nod, looking away. Something felt wrong, you could feel it in your gut. You feel Suguru's hand on your shoulder and you look up at him.

"Satoru's got this, he's the strongest there is. You probably won't even be needed."

You turn to Riko, the sadness building up inside of you. She looked like she was about to cry as well. You had so much fun with her, you'd miss her so much. She rushes into you for a hug, and you hug back tightly, your eyes welling with tears.

"I'm going to miss you." She buries her head in your shoulder. "I'll miss you too, bug."

You let go of her and watch as she walks forward with Suguru, leading her to the end of her life.

You and Misato finally hear the elevator coming down. Satoru made quick work of that guy; it really didn't take that long either.

"That must be him, right?" Misato looks at you, happily.

You start to smile as you felt the elevator growing nearby. Soon it fades, you detect no cursed energy from the lift at all. You start to activate your technique and Misato gets prepared to fight.

The elevator doors open then everything goes black.

"Y/n... Y/n!"

Your eyes slowly open as you wake up with a bad headache. You blink a couple of times and finally adjust to the bright light. Shoko stares at you in relief, smiling softly at you.

"W-What happened?" You suddenly remember the elevator and-

You sit up quickly, groaning in pain and being calmed by Shoko.

"Easy. Easy!" She touches her hand to your back softly, rubbing up and down.

"Is Satoru okay?!" She nods.

The door to the clinic opens to reveal Suguru, a solemn expression on his face.

"Suguru, what's wrong?"

"I gave Riko a choice of continuing to live or to die. She chose to live her life."

You smile, happy he gave her a decision.

"She's...um..."

You laugh softly, smile slowly fading. She couldn't have...

"She's alive and back at home with Misato...right?"

He stays silent, looking at the shiny floor of the clinic.

A sobbing scream was heard from inside the clinic as Gojo listened silently near the door.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

You shoot awake from your bed, looking over at your boyfriend who is still sound asleep. Your hand unconsciously rubs the spot where Toji Zenin's bullet almost killed you. You let out a sigh and escape from the bedroom and into the kitchen area.

"You're fine." You open the fridge, the glow illuminating your face with the most perfect uncomfortable amount.

You lean your head against the fridge door and take a deep breath before grabbing a water bottle. You couldn't help but rest your head against one of the counters and sob. You hated how your traumatic experiences will always come back to haunt you. You wipe your eyes, take another deep breath and take a sip of your water.

Your ears pick up a light pitter-patter sound approaching slowly. You turn towards the noise, observing Megumi with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, stopped in the middle of the dark hallway.

"Hey Megumi, you shouldn't be up. What's up?" You crouch down in front of the counter as he continues his silent approach.

"I heard you crying and I couldn't sleep." The kid looked so much like him, he scared you sometimes.

"It's nothing to worry about." His eyes are so similar to his father's.

"I think it is if you're crying. Did you have a nightmare?" Everything is similar to Toji.

"So-Something like that. I'm almost an adult, it's nothing."

Megumi just stares at you blankly for a moment before wrapping his blanket-winged arms around your neck.

"Everyone's afraid of something." He leans in closer to your ear, whispering. "It's okay to admit it, I'm afraid too."

You smile and hug him tight, rocking him back and forth on the kitchen floor. He made you feel better, way better than before. He's just a kid, Y/n. He's not his dad.

"Let's rest together, yeah? It might be easier to sleep that way." He nods, tiredly.

You scoop him up and walk over to the couch. You lay on the couch with him cuddled up into your neck, softly breathing. Megumi fell asleep quickly. You brush your fingers through his hair, watching him fall into a deeper sleep. Soon, you follow him into a better dream than before.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Satoru wakes from his sleep and walks into the living room, knowing you got up in the middle of the night. He spots Megumi cuddling with you in his sleep and you hold him tightly.

'Cute...'

He touches the small scar on the side of your head and then kisses it, bending down slowly. You're more comfortable with Megumi and he hopes you'll get closer to him from here on out.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

[dearestgojo]

Geto x reader

Warnings: 18+. Angst. Cheating. Betrayal. Infidelity.

Wc: 961  | JJK Masterlist | Main Masterlist

There were things you'd come to expect from Suguru throughout your short courtship. Things he himself had set up from the very beginning. Like him opening every door for you, a warm cup of tea waiting for you whenever you visited his apartment, or the extra pair of flats he kept in his backseat for whenever you got tired of wearing your heels on dates. But for him to tear your heart to shreds, now that had been somewhat of a surprise.

The signs had been there, and you'd just chose to turn a blind eye to them. The fact it took him twice as long to respond, the lingering scent of rose-scented perfume in his car, and the barely there look in his eyes when you were together. Yet, despite being aware of them, it didn't stop your stomach from twisting. It didn't stop the tears from burning the edges of your eyes while you fought to hold them back. Or the knot that formed in the back of your throat, lodging itself there for you to feel the dull ache every time you swallowed. You had chosen to ignore all the little cues because some part of you had hoped that you'd simply been seeing something that wasn't there.

You had been too trustful. And from past experiences, you should've known better.

He'd promised not to hurt you ever, yet here you were, sitting silently in front of him with your heart bleeding on the table as he kept talking, as if everything was the same. Even when you barely replied, humming or nodding when needed, he continued as if the very thing you need to live; hadn't been ripped from your chest and was now beating loudly in front of him. It made your insides burn with anger.

The nerve of him to look at you with his cunning face, smiling softly at you when he'd been wrapped in the arms of someone else hours earlier. And just not any other person, but one of your friends that had once listened to you vent about past heartaches. Discovering that was like taking a knife to your already exposed heart. 

Clicking your tongue to the roof of your mouth you pick up what's left of pride, and stood up from the table, interrupting him in the middle of a sentence when your chair squeaks along his floorboards. He looks up at you for the first time the entire evening, actually looks at you, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed tightly together. His dark eyes flow you into his small kitchen, watching as you put your cup into the sink before you slip into the pair of rubber gloves and start washing it. He watches the way your movements are stiff, the muscles of your back tight, and how your silence rings throughout the room, slowly seeping its way into his own bones. A sudden shiver runs down his spine.

"Are you okay?" he asks, picking up his half-full cup of tea, making his way over to you carefully, "You've been quieter than usual."

You look at him over your shoulder, the look on in your eyes making him stop like a deer caught in headlights. To anyone else the smile you give him would've been sweet, a normal smile any girlfriend would give their boyfriend, but Suguru feels uneasy, guilt swelling in his chest, because there's a knowing layer to the way your lips curl. 

"I'm fine," you answer, but you aren't fine. You and Suguru both know that now, the only thing either of you is unsure of is who will address it first. 

Letting out a heavy sigh you turn to scan at the wall above the kitchen sink, eyes surging with tears for the nth time today. You thought you could do this. Come here and face him. Give him a piece of your mind. But doing that would be like admitting you had fallen for the same tricks you'd said you'd never believe again. That'd you'd let yourself once again be sweet-talked into a man's arms and bed.

Suguru closes the distance between you and him as your sniffles start, cup left and the end of the counter when his strong arms engulf you. "Hey what's wrong?" he asks, feigning like he doesn't know what's troubling. The look in your eyes and your smile were giveaways that you'd likely found out already, but if he started apologizing now he'd be confessing to the crime. And Suguru didn't want to face the fact that he'd dragged out this break-up far longer than needed simply because he liked having you around. He'd also have to admit that, for the first time in his entire dating history; he'd cheated. He was standing with the very men he'd said he'd never be. His arms tighten around you and he pulls you deeper into his chest, murmuring into the crown of your head, "I'm always here for you."

The anger that's been bubbling inside of you suddenly spills over, and you're pushing your way out of his hold. Pushing him back into the counter, his elbow bumps into the cup causing it to fall over and shatter as it hits the ground. There's an exchange of words you barely recall before the sound of the door slamming rings in your ears. You hardly even recall how you made it back home two hours later when you're crying into your pillowcase. Or how you ended up wrapped in the warm arms of your roommate. 

All you remember three days later as your delete messages and unanswered calls, and block two numbers, is the hoarseness of your throat as you yelled and the shattering of your heart as the door closed behind you.

© Copyright 2023. Dearestgojo. All rights reserved.

[dazaiandhislovelybandages]

9. "If I'm desperate it's all for you." For Nanami?

Last Call {Nanami Kento}

When the battle in Shibuya reaches its peak, Nanami decides to give you one last call just in case

A/n: so... since the request wasn't really specific, I took it upon myself to figure out the rest of the plot.

Pairing: Nanami x sorcerer!reader

Trigger warnings: mentions of character death, mentions of anxiety and panic that are purely related to the situation,

Truth be told, neither you nor Nanami had expected the events of Shibuya to go that far. Having Gojo there had once been a comfort but now that he was gone, it was pretty much obvious that it was a life or death situation for many sorcerers and normal people.

But you had faith in both yourself and the rest of the sorcerers that were going to be there despite originally being somewhat conflicted about the participation of the students.

Nanami didn't say anything. You knew how he was, confident that the whole thing would end up in a matter of seconds. Everyone believed the same thing. Until Gojo was sealed.

There was a moment when you thought you should probably call Nanami after the news broke. "Just to hear his voice." You kept repeating to yourself, trying to prevent the panic and anxiety from settling in. He was a grade 1 sorcered after all, of course he would get the short end of the stick.

You nesorcver ended up doing it because you had to deal with some curses.

With your own battle having come to an end and with no further orders from above, you waited, keeping an eye on the rest of the sorcerers, helping whenever you could.

"I'm going in."

His voice startled you, almost making you flinch. You didn't have to turn around to unerstand that he was beyond frustrated. It was clear from the sharp tone in his voice even though Nanami always spoke in such a gentle and soft way to you.

When you turned around, he was standing right behind you, leaving little to no space between the two of you. Under different circumstances he wouldn't have done something like that but you needed that level of comfort and so did he.

"In?" You knew what he meant but the denial had started settling in; that this was far from over. It wasn't about defeating a couple of curses, lifting the veils and hoping to find Gojo hidden under some cardboard boxes.

"The next battles require at least grade 1 sorcerers." He said, looking down at you as you fixed his shirt and hair slightly. His chest was heaving, his own battle with Shigemo having just ended.

"I am grade 1." You quickly responded.

"We're packed."

"Nanami-"

"I have taken Ijichi to a safe place. Join him and wait for reenforcements."

"Excuse me?"

You knew what he was doing. Disclosing information to keep you safe even though one more person would make the situation slightly better. You knew he didn't want to offend your abilities or belittle you. He just wanted you safe but still... it hurt.

"Please, sweetheart, do it for me." Hearing Nanami like that was odd to say the least. He was pleading, begging you to stay safe without even attempting to 'argue'.

"Additional help won't hurt." Nanami turned his head to the side, a desperate attempt to keep his cool. He would fall down on his knees to beg you if he had to.

"Please."

"Instead of being desperate to keep me safe, you should be begging for help. Who knows what else they've got in store?"

"If I am desperate it is all for you, so please. Hide."

"And let everyone else suffer?"

"I'll suffer." He breathed out. "I will suffer if I come back and you're not alive."

Nanami never came back.

Tags: @vera-deville

[perictione00]

Selfish

Ch 4: Lost

Pairing: Geto Suguru x reader

Warning: Mentions of death and mental degeneration.

Synopsis: You left the Jujutsu World behind the moment the source of your warmth turned cold. So what happens when you come face to face with that one episode in your life that you wanted to obliterate? Simple, you reap what you sow.

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Ch 3

2008

It was so lonely. Life became so monotonous, so stagnant. You had no classmates or friends. You had stopped talking to Shoko and Gojo after Suguru left. After Gojo blamed you for driving his best friend insane. He wasn't wrong, but you didn't want things to turn out this way. The guilt of his parents' deaths, innocent civilians who loved him unconditionally, was taking a toll on you. The blood was on your hands, and you were drowning. There were constant voices in your head, telling you to let go and be free, but somehow you knew that you could never let that happen. You could never let go. The nightmares were back, but this time it didn't feel like it was the doing of any curse but yourself.

The incident hadn't only disturbed you, but it had Yaga questioning his ability to teach. How was he so blind to the suffering of his student? He regrets not asking Geto about his sudden weight loss or how hopeless his eyes looked when he was assigning him to his last mission. He had been so busy making his students capable that it took him too long to notice their volatile mental states. But not again. He's never going to lose another student of his to a lowly curse or an unacceptable ideology. He knew that he couldn't help people who didn't want to be helped, but in your case, the least he could do was try. And just like that, he noticed your deteriorating condition right away. The dark circles under your eyes, the paranoia in your body language. You were not present in the moment. It was obvious that something was wrong with you. His suspicions were proven right when you didn't respond to your name being called out twice.

"What's on your mind?" He asked, walking closer to you. Yaga was a man of few words, but he was willing to open up to his students if that was what it took to help them.

"Huh-oh, nothing". You replied absent-mindedly. The nightmares were getting out of hand. It felt like they were melting into your reality. Were you really surrounded by curses? Did one of them latch on to you? With every passing second, you were losing touch with reality.

"Suguru was troubled. He was already on edge. It's not your fault that he left. He had no one, but you do. You can talk to me anytime about anything that's troubling you."

His multiple attempts to understand you and his consoling words were falling on deaf ears. Maybe it was your fault. Everything turned foggy the moment he abandoned you. How could you not blame yourself when his actions reflected your conversations with him? Were you wrong to entertain such thoughts? Should you have tried harder to change his perspective? It was confusing to have to deal with everything all of a sudden. Was this how he felt when he was alone?

You went to a restaurant for a change of scenery. The same one where you tried new things with Suguru. It was an unconscious decision, and you didn't realize it until you took a seat. You were alone. You had never been alone at this restaurant. Was everyone looking at you? Were they pitying you for sitting alone? Should you start doing something on your cellphone to appear busy? Why was there so much noise in your head? People were talking too loudly. Were they screaming too, or was it all in your head? Was that curse staring at you? Why were you feeling like throwing up? Your heart's not beating normally. Your vision is turning bloody. What-?

"Here's your order—are you ok? Do you need anything? Please wait. I'll come with some water." The waitress said this as she ran to the counter.

You didn't know that you were sweating profoundly and breathing abnormally, basically hyperventilating. Your head was aching like hell, your throat was literally a desert, and you were trembling. Why was this happening right now, of all times? You didn't want more eyes on you. The feeling of utter helplessness and embarrassment was too much to bear. Fuck, your nose was bleeding. Why are the tissues so far out of reach? The voices were louder than ever.

It's them. It's all because of them. Kill them; you'll feel better, I promise.

They're looking at you. They're all looking at you.

No. Please stop.

You killed his parents. You wanted him to kill his parents.

Look at that kid laughing at you. Let's melt it.

Let go. Let go now.

Tears were streaming down your face. You were losing it. You wanted to stop thinking. You wanted to go back home. You wanted your parents.

"Hey. I'm here. I've got you." Suguru reassured you as he pulled you to his chest, shielding your body. He knew it the moment he felt it. This had happened before, your meltdown. The enormous amount of familiar cursed energy that he felt was leaking from this building attracted many 2nd grade curses in your direction. He wondered what would've happened had he not been here. In no way was he here to protect the unworthy souls that were crowding this place. He was here for you.

"What-...what? Are you real?" The shock was evident in your voice. You were sobbing, and your eyes were begging for his existence to be true, yet at the same time, you didn't know how to face him. How was he here? What was he doing here?

"You need to come with me right now." It was wrong. He should've been helping you, but instead here he was, requesting that you follow him.

"This is not real. No. God, please."

"Hey, hey, I'm here; I'm real. We need to get out of here." You were shivering, covering your ears with your hands. A few more minutes, and the curse energy surge would alert a nearby sorcerer.

"Here, please help yourself with some wat-" Finally, it was all silent.

Screams erupted in the cafe as the head of the waitress exploded, splattering blood everywhere. You had done it. You had crossed every limit, and there's no going back now. A broken smile decorated your hopeless face. In this moment, you had lost everything. How did it come to this? You didn't give in, so why was this happening to you? Were you never in control to begin with? What a fucking joke!

"It's okay. It's going to be okay. Come on, please." Suguru led your trembling form out of the cafe. He knew what you were going through. He knew that this incident was going to scar you forever. However, he does not regret it. He does not regret blind siding you. He does not regret killing the waitress. Geto Suguru was a kind man, but he was a man nonetheless. So when it came to you, he was shamelessly selfish.

Ch 5

[hornyanimegirl]

Mistake

featuring . . . GOJO SATORU

includes . . . angst

notes . . . this was inspired by @tojikai​‘s story Permanent Mark, please go check it out and read it because they are literally such an amazing writer

it’s crazy how one mistake, could ruin the rest of your life

Gojo never thought he would be standing as an observer on your wedding day. Not after all those years, not after all that love.

But really, who was he to blame except himself. The way he so childishly succumbed to his past feelings, to feelings of a childhood crush. Not a lover, not a girlfriend, a crush that never bloomed into anything more. The crush, that now tightly held his hand, as she watched the look of sorrow cross her boyfriends face.

Gojo remembers clearly the feeling of guilt that came over him all those years ago when the drama started, when he broke you into little pieces. He remembers how although he hated seeing you so shattered, he wished you would stay like that. Stay broken, he hoped no one else would pick up those pieces and put them back together.

He selfishly wished that you would never move on from him, because in reality, he still didn’t know who to choose. He thought that if things didn’t work out with Rie, he would run back to you. That he would glue the relationship he ruined whole again.

But, he wasn’t stupid. He knew there would still be cracks, there would still be doubt, there would still be pain.

So instead, five years ago, when he realized that the string of fate that attached you and him together was broken, he walked away. And instead of watching you break, he broke instead.

And Rie, had to see it all happen. She had to watch her boyfriend cry over a past lover. She had to hold her boyfriend as he called your name in his sleep.

But she still stayed, because where would she go? She had deliberately gotten into a relationship with Gojo because she saw the way he looked at her. She saw the longing in his eyes, and she hadn’t seen anyone look at her like that in such a long time. She didn’t want to throw it away.

So she desperately clung onto the hope that he would one day forget about his past lover and look at her with those same longing eyes. That instead of crying your name, he would be crying hers. Apologizing for everything that he put her through, for neglecting to see how she felt watching him cry over another woman.

The broken couple watched you, they watched you smile and laugh with your husband. A man that towered over your figure, and a face that always seemed to be supporting a smirk.

They watched as you brought your hand to trace over the scar on his lip, and brought his face down to give him a loving kiss. They watched as you both pulled away and gazed at one another with nothing but love in your eyes.

They watched with envy, with jealousy.

Because if Rie never chose Gojo, that might have been her right now. She might have been the one in the wedding dress with a man that truly loved her. A man that truly cared for her.

Because if Gojo never chose Rie, that could have been him. By your side, protectively holding you with an arm around your waist. It could have been him who looked down at you with adoration as you laughed at something Suguru said.

But it wasn’t, and they were forced to watch from the sidelines, as you grew a family, and they live in the past.

Because that one mistake ruined the rest of their lives.

[selarina]

tw angst, breakup

gojo satoru who’s just so used to kindness and patience from you because from the moment you met him, you knew you were soft for him. practically invisible mush. but things have changed now, he broke up with you. and he’s seeing you without the blue and white hues of kindness for the very first time.

it’s almost noble that he broke up with you. one could see it that way, but you see it as selfish.

you always knew his family and jujutsu society wanted him to marry someone with influence and power. marriage was a matter of politics after all.

but you didn’t really care. you knew what you were getting into after all. you’re not an impulsive person, you think deeply and rationally about these things. you didn’t jump face first into love, you slowly sunk yourself down further and further until you reached the riverbed.

so when he mentioned that his family was talking about marriage with Aya Tsukino, the infamous crystalline sorcerer — you were barely phased.

it admittedly hurt a little. you did always imagine a more traditional route with love — with altars, rings, vows, cakes and champagne. i mean, who doesn’t? but you saw reality for what it was and told him it would be fine.

that you would deal with it when it comes, that you would be okay being his dirty little secret if it was okay with ms. aya

but he’s a week away from the wedding — the biggest of the millennia so to speak, and he should be out there attending a celebratory party in his name, but he’s out here standing in your dimly lit bedroom breaking up with you.

you don’t react when he breaks up with you, that wasn’t when you started withholding your kindness from him. no, that night you gave him a measured response — i understand. no, you’re right. yeah, we can try to be friends. i understand. take care. and he surprised that you remained as calm as you always do, but he supposes he shouldn’t have doubted you.

but when he shows up on the day before his wedding — his excuse being he really wanted his jacket back — he sees you laced with anger for the very first time.

he can tell he’s interrupting but he doesn’t really care, he’s not the kind to but he’s especially not the kind to care when he’s practically signing away his love life tomorrow day. so he barges in regardless, and you let him.

he sees the opened bottle of wine — half-empty, a glass of red wine — half-empty again. a romcom of some sort up on TV, throes and throes of pillows and blankets on your couch. there’s a sadness that fills his already bleating heart up, but he doesn’t break.

he maintains the facade — he wants his jacket back, and he definitely isn’t here to see you.

you come out of your room — your expression neutral still as you say, “i can’t find it.”

and he believes it, but if you can’t find it, he needs to leave now and he doesn’t want to. so he insists that he needs it, because he “can’t sleep without it.”

and you frown, “you’ve been sleeping fine for a week.”

“i haven’t,” he says, plainly. you notice the dull blue from behind his black glasses and you think maybe he isn’t lying, so you merely nod as you go back into your room to scramble through your wardrobe.

it takes you about 20 minutes but you show up, and he notices the lack of a hoodie in your hand.

“couldn’t find it?” he asks.

“nope,” you respond. “are you sure it’s not with you?”

“i’m sure,” he says. “can you look agai—”

“nope,” you say. your voice comes out stern and he notices the reclusiveness in your posture. hands folded, and eyes almost a glare. “i think you need to leave. i'll send it with takashi if i find it.” takashi, your driver.

“but i need—”

“for gods sake — gojo. you’re a grown man. take a fucking pill or something.”

there’s no mistaking the anger in your voice now. no, it’s not just slight agitation, it’s anger. it's anger, and it's making you see things in shades of orange.

"what—" he says lowly, as he looks no worse than a kicked puppy. he reaches for his glasses, taking them off as you see his eyes for the first time in 2 weeks. they looks sad, but then again, they always had a certain sadness to them.

his eyes change now, ever so slightly, there's a certain anger brimming through the blue as he stares back at you now, "all i asked for is my jacket."

"well, if gojo satoru wants his jacket. i guess i should put my life on hold, and scramble across the earth to look for it, right?" you roll your eyes with a scoff. and he's taken aback. you've never been petty. you've never been this detached. not when it comes to him.

"not like i'm interrupting much," he speaks up and he knows that he's going to regret what he's about to say before the words even leave his mouth. "you're having a sob fest, if anything — me showing up here is helping."

"are you fu—" and then you laugh, but there's no mirth in your laughter. "how dare you even talk to me like that? you'r— you fucking break up with me. with your bullshit excuses. and then you have the fucking audacity to talk to me like this?"

"bullshit excuses? i broke up with you. for you," he yells back. "you would've been miserable, baby."

"i would've managed," your response is immediate.

"you were upset when aya kept kissing my cheek."

"i never said that."

"you didn't have to," he groans. "it's my- it was job to see that. and that's why i know you would've been miserable."

"i've told you this time and time again. i don't mind being miserable as long as i got to be with you. what's so hard to understand about that?"

"what kin- why? why even—"

"because i love you."

"what kind of love makes you debase yourself in such a way. it's fucking pathetic," he replies, and there's some contempt in his voice.

you see how he views you now more clearer — like you're some sad thing. like you're the world's greatest loser and you should dig yourself into a hole until you've moved on from him.

you're only used to love from him, and that made your decision to stay with him feel revolutionary — like you could've lived the worst life socially if it meant you could stay in love but now — now you're not sure about any of this.

"you would've been miserable. so i made the decision for us. you'll thank me one day," he says.

"maybe," you say with a sigh. you're tired and frankly all you want is for him to leave so you can chug the rest of that wine and pass out. "maybe, but it was our relationship. and you made this decision all by yourself. so don't ever blame me for our end."

part 2

[shidouryusm]

Ghost town of youth - Suguru x reader

w/c -> 1.2k

contents -> bittersweet, angst, lots of metaphor and sea references, ig that's all

a/n -> idk man I just had a random wave of sadness about suguru and my tears wrote it. If y'all like it please support me via reblogs and comments :) also first time wrote geto idk whether I did a good job or not but I do love the lil sea metaphors here teehee. not proofread

The air brushes past you, little beads of salt sticking to your face and the skin of your lips. The sand below dips your heels deep into their abyss while the pull of the saltwater sweeps the particles back and forth in that white bed of grains. You feel the briney air kiss the strands of your hair as each of the thread dances to the unheard song of the dusk. 

The sound of waves are muted, almost too quiet to hear as they break against your ankles, resembling foams of soaps clinging to your feet submerged right where the shore begins. The ambience was scenic; the scent of the sea alluring to bask in, but there laid something that amplified the beauty of this nature more. 

Before you, was a sight that could only be called righteous – unadulterated and wholesome. Pure and tranquil. Far from any darkness that looms out there. 

The girls were silhouetted by the dying sun, their little figures prancing around the darkening sea, their pigtails dances along the motion. And behind them, you see him – arms outstretched, chasing the girls as they squeal and run and run further away from him. Their laughter doubles in pitch and happiness as he makes some kind of gurgling sound, imitating a monster. 

The chuckles of the two girls mixes with the breeze, creating a song even more melodious to tune into. Your lips curl into a comforting smile as their giggles mends your heart a little more than the day before. 

Suguru has left his monk attire at home, rather donning himself in a blue hawaiian shirt. He sends a glance across your way, eyes crinkled shut and a smile that translates to save me from this. You smile back, daring yourself to not show the inner turmoil creeping up on your face while you admire them from afar. 

It has been four years ever since Mimiko-Nanako stepped into your life and even though the aftermath of their entrance has been ugly, their simple presence and smiles were like bandaids on the scarred wounds. Like anchors holding both of your boats in an unrestrained sea.

But as much as they are a blessing, a hidden, fragmented part of your heart dares to speak out – wishing Suguru had never accepted that mission. That way he wouldn’t have to see their helpless faces smushed against each other, looking up at him in horror, with their little bodies trembling. Maybe that would have saved Suguru from the apocalypse he set into motion himself. 

Maybe today under the setting embers of the sun, you would be laughing with Satoru, Shoko and Nanami. 

Maybe then, Suguru wouldn’t have to creep up to you, farway in Sendai during your mission, offering you a portal to a completely different life– a life facing against the very people you once called home. 

You were ordered for immediate report on the sight of this man but seeing him in flesh had left your body to stand where it was. Eyes drinking him from head to toe. 

Was it your body that responded or the thrumming heart of yours that was branded by his name forever? You never questioned it. You never felt the need to because from that day onwards, Mimiko-Nanako had found another parent and jujutsu world lost another one. 

You missed Satoru. His obnoxious laughter, his lame but unnecessary sunglass collections that he possessed. Was he still this haughty or the loss of his dearests had left him in a loophole. Forced him to take responsibilty and raise a generation of strongest sorceres? You missed Shoko and the stench of the cigarettes she pulled out at the most random places, attracting glares of surprise and offence. Does she still smoke just like Iori drinks in secrecy? Heck you even missed Mei’s random bets with alarming amounts of yen and Nanami’s exasperated sighs. You missed everything. You missed everyone. 

And most of it all, you missed your Suguru. You missed the way his eyes used to twinkle at your random dates across Shinjuku. You missed his smile before he executed on planning devious pranks on you, with Satoru, only to later coax you with sweet words, kisses and hugs. 

You missed the genuinity of his smile. A smile that was robbed by the world. A smile robbed from you. You failed to protect him in your heart and now he has crumbled to pieces, along with the walls of your heart that promised his security. 

Slammed himself into a realm of extreme ideology that you still can’t bring yourself to accept. You don’t speak about it. Your blind acceptance was a testament of your loyalty to him. Your love that continued to grow only, swallowing you like a boa constrictor. You know his path is wrong. It is bloody and it’s killing every last bit of light in him, along with you. You clutch your chest as if holding your heart physically could help it from shattering apart.

You haven’t used jujutsu technique ever since that day. Suguru has accepted it. Upon enduring the death of his closed ones, your death would make him lose every resolve that is holding him by the thread to not go on a rampage. 

But how much of this can you tolerate? How many sleepless nights would it take on your end to finally stand on the line Suguru started his journey?

Your closed eyes didn’t sense his presence near you until large frame of his hands cages you in his hold, his mild scent wafting in your nose along with the oceany smell. 

“Anything on your mind?” his soft voice reaches your ear and the knife in your heart twists a little bit more. His head rests against your shoulder, little tufts your hair tickling your skin and suddenly you are teleported to the blue youthful days. Summer beach dates and hidden makeout sessions.

Only if you could have been saved.

You shake your head, leaning more into his touch while both of you watch your girls play, like a family promised of happiness. His embrace was the embodiment of chalk and cheese– with the warmth that served like a blanket in the chilly air yet the bloody coldness feeling like hugging a teddy bear fashioned with shards of glass. He holds you a little bit tighter, and you wonder whether he knows the dirty game of predicament your heart plays on you everyday. 

He probably does. your silent sobs never goes unheard in his ears. his heart aches for you but he knows where your love lies. Where your heart lies.  Anchored right against him. the only thing he can wait for is to let it rust. To let you strengthen yourself on your own in this doomed world. Even without your gallantry, your abandonment from jujutsu, he is assured about your support. Your love for Mimiko-Nanako and for him is what he may fight and die for. 

You watch Suguru drag his feet against the wet sand, absentmindedly trailing a path that you followed suit, your feet behind him on the white trail. He chuckles at your doing while you chime in, both of you indulging in a silly act of your own while your bodies flush against each other. Minds racing with thoughts but reaching one common destination - each other.

The sunset is beautiful and you wish time stalled here, you wished for the water to be this calm and you wished this little bubble of family remained as it is – playing in the ebbing waves under the twilight sky painted in the lightest pink. You know you haven’t caught up to him. Still following him just like the trails of the sand you both created. Maybe you never will. But moments like these where your heart aches for him and you are sent into the ghostown of his past, you can snuck in the happiness you had felt in the long lost youth. 

Who knows? Maybe Suguru will too.

comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated

dividers from @/cafekitsune

[1800-page-not-found]

Another Lifetime | Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

I caught up with the manga and I think I'm going insane.

I was gonna make him a yandere but i switched up in the middle lol

ig i write for jujutsu kaisen now to yippie

Yall ever have those fucked up dreams of having a child or taking care of them only to wake up and realize your child doesn't exist, and will never exist?

If you do, then you can understand how Gojo acts in this story.

If you don't...just imagine how it feels to lose the closest person or animal to you, and for the entire world ignore the fact that you lost them and expects you to pretend they never existed in the first place. Something like that.

Something is wrong. Very wrong. You can feel it in your bones. Everything's the same, but different.

This... Gojo Satoru is not your Satoru.

What had happened that day? If only you were there to witness it. It was the first time you heard that the Gojo Satoru had fainted.

When he wakes up, he smiles, like his usual cheery self. But something's different. There's a hint of grief.

Everyone else seems to think he's fine. But perhaps its because they don't know him how you know him.

But now, do you even know him?

Day by day, he starts to stick less and less to his morals. He feels empty, a terrifying attribute for a man deemed the strongest. You just hope this Gojo Satoru will stay on the 'good' side.

Or maybe you never knew him at all.

Maybe, he held a facade, even in front of you. Maybe he was that broken this whole time. You wonder what happened that day.

But that's the past. Now...You wondered if you would survive today. It was no longer comforting, being alone with...Gojo was now a frightening experience.

"[name]." He smiled at you, yet it felt cold. Cruel. Evil.

"Yes, Gojo?" You answer back. He pauses.

"...You no longer call me Satoru." He is very close to you. It's suffocating.

"I thought you'd like to be called more formally." His smile drops. It's eerily silent, his eye pierce into you, seemingly tearing you apart until nothing is left.

"I see. Well! That's not what I really wanted to tell you!" And just like that, Gojo is happy. You can no longer tell if he means it or not.

"I escaped! That day-I was set free." He's spouting nonsense again. What does that mean?

"[name]." He grabs your wrist tightly. "are you afraid? Do you not like...the real me?"

The real him?

"Gojo, what nonsense are you spouting. Of course I like you." He smiles again.

"Just wanted to make sure. ⁱ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ⁱ'ᵐ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᶜʳᵃᶻʸ."

You exchange a few more sentences, and part ways. As you walk away, you can feel his eyes boring into your back, looking into your soul.

It's chilling. Gojo isn't smiling. Blood...Blood everywhere. Is this the day humanity ends?

"Gojo! What are you doing!?" You shout at him.

He turns around to face you. "Ah! [name]!" A smile that could only be perceived in nightmares appears on his face. "I got rid of them. They were going to hurt our family!"

You freeze.

He sees your reaction, and only grins in response.

"That day, I died. I really died. I couldn't use reversed curse technique. It was scary. 'How am I here then?' you might wonder."

He looks deranged, hysterical.

"It wasn't Jujutsu. A whole entire third world opened up." His face contorts to agony. "I lived a whole entire new life [name]! Free from curses, free from Jujutsu! We got married! We had a child, [name], a child! I was so happy-and, and-" He sounds crazy. He grips his hair, almost to the verge of pulling it out. "in a single moment-it all disappeared when I somehow came back to life."

--------

I...had a child? No, no, this is just him trying to get into your head!

--------

"It's not real."

"BUT IT IS, [NAME]. OUR DAUGHTER-SHE WAS REAL. ⁱ⁻ⁱ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵐʸ ᵇᵃᵇʸ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ…" He mumbles the last part. He crumbles to the ground, a sobbing mess.

This man...he is your Satoru. Just...broken.

But...if it's your Satoru, then you can accept it.

"Satoru..." You bend down. You're... crying.

He looks up at you, eyes red. "ʸᵒᵘ⁻ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃˡˡᵉᵈ ᵐᵉ ᵇʸ ᵐʸ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ⁿᵃᵐᵉ…" His voice is weak.

"I'm sorry." You pull him into a tight hug. "I'm sorry I couldn't accept you and comfort being at your lowest point."

The two of you hug for a long time, until Satoru pulls out a glass orb of sorts which glows a faint gold color. "Satoru?...What...What is this?"

"My baby...Our baby. I can bring her back, [name]."

But nothing's ever free in this cursed world.

"What price...must be paid?..."

He starts to sniffle, and breaks out into tears again. "I have to kill people [name]. I hate this. I hate this so much."

You pause. "How many?..."

"A thousand lives."

It honestly wasn't a hard decision. You hold your daughter's soul securely, then standing up.

"[n-name]?" Satoru looks up at you, wiping his tears away, just as yours start to pour.

"Satoru. From this day on, I will become a curse user. I'll take the blame. You have never hurt an innocent person, and I will have claimed a thousand lives. One day we'll meet again. Let me do this for you, please."

--------

It was terrible. Satoru knew that one day, your fate's would intertwine again. And on that day, you'd take your last breath.

"Under Jujutsu Regulations, t-the curse user known as [n-name]-he choked out a sob-[l. name] must be executed."

It was the first time after the day you left him, that he had cried again.

You didn't put up a fight. You smiled as blood poured out of your mouth. You held a piece of paper in your hand when you died.

It read:

I ᴅɪᴅ ɪᴛ, Sᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ. Fʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴀs ʀᴇʙᴏʀɴ, I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɢɪᴠᴇɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴜɴᴄᴏɴᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʟᴏᴠᴇ. [ᴅ. ɴᴀᴍᴇ] ɪs ᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ɢɪʀʟ. I ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀs ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅ ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʟɪꜰᴇᴛɪᴍᴇ.

I ᴏɴʟʏ ᴡɪsʜ I ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ɪᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ.

Sᴛᴀʏ sᴛʀᴏɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ɢɪʀʟ. I ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴛs.

⁻Yᴏᴜʀ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ [ɴᴀᴍᴇ].

He cried for hours, holding your dead body. You named her the same name you had given her in his other lifetime. He...never told you what you named her.

--------

"Daddy!" A girl shouts gleefully as she gets pushed forward on a swing.

"Wheeee! Isn't this fun, darling?" Satoru pushes his daughter carefully.

"Very! Hehe!" The little girl giggles.

--------

Satoru opened his eyes as he awakened on a grassy field. 'I fell asleep...where am I?' He looks around to see a faint figure on a hill, painting.

Walking closer, he sees, it's you. It's...you?... "[n-name]?"

He runs and hugs you so tight, you think you'd have died again from his hug.

"I can't stay long Satoru but... I wanted to check up on you. How is [d. name]?"

He smiled. "She's turning seven next month! She's also inherited your cursed technique."

"That's lovely. I'm so proud of you Satoru."

"Of course! I'm not the strongest sorcerer for nothing! It makes me the best father!"

You two talked for what seemed to be like an eternity.

"I have to go now, Satoru." You smiled softly.

"I know name. I love you. [l. name] [d. name.] loves you a lot too. She's never forgotten about you or what you look like, and I intend to keep it that way."

Your eyes widen in surprise. He gave her your last name.

"Goodbye. I love you, Satoru." You whispered as you faded away.

[meiieiri]

water’s edge | 01

₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au

₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?

₊˚.༄ author’s note: thank you so much to @angstbot2000, my awesome beta-reader for sitting through this 9.07k word count monstrosity of a first chapter! and with that, here we go~!

₊˚.༄ masterlist

He was every bit the worldly man portrayed to be by the media and that alone is enough to terrify you, even as you sit about a full foot apart from him, feeling the pinprick of his ice-cold demeanor pierce your skin like a thousand needles.

“Your Highness, how have we never heard of your relationship with Ms. (Y/N) before unlike your previous ones?”, a correspondent from the NHK Broadcasting Corporation asks from the crowd of reporters, surprisingly at their most civil and dignified behavior before their future emperor and empress, literal gods in mortal form, embodiment of unadulterated divinity on earth in Japan’s distinct imperial past, one much different from today’s democratic and liberal political climate.

Gojo’s eye twitches at that.

It was a simple question, but it struck a nerve in him, angering him more than you ever could by merely existing. Though it was a valid inquiry, all of Satoru’s relationships have always been well-documented by the media, save for one. His supposed relationship with you.

You move to clutch his hand in an attempt to calm him down, having sensed his discomfort, but he only shrugs his hand away before you could even come within a quarter of an inch of touching him.

“My apologies, your Highness,” the reporter apologizes quickly when Satoru doesn’t answer right away, turning to the woman in charge of the press conference, situated by the podium displaying the seal of the imperial family. “Sorry, may I rephrase that?”

She turns to look at the prince, subtly asking for his permission. With a slight nod of his head, Satoru doles out his merciful forgiveness towards the reporter, keenly aware that it would only take him a second to have his staff contact the NHK Broadcasting Company and have them fire him before he could even return to the office.

“Thank you,” he bows gratefully. “Rephrasing my earlier question, would your Highness mind if you share a few words about how you and Ms. (Y/N) met?”

Satoru Gojo is a man who goes by many identities, as attested by tabloids and reputable newspapers alike; they agree on the fact that Satoru Gojo is a womanizer, a card shark, and the harbinger of disaster to the imperial family. He never sleeps with the same woman more than once, oftentimes leaving a poor naive girl entangled in a mess of sheets even before the morning sun filters through the motel’s bedroom windows. The crown prince isn’t entirely heartless though, he is quite known to leave a generous sum of money tucked neatly in a small envelope as a “thank you” gift to all the women he’s been with.

Not that it dulls the sting of humiliation, of course, it still hurts like hell to be treated as an expendable commodity that’s only good for a one night stand.

Funny how that grotesque description is starting to sound like you.

Another rumor about Satoru Gojo is that he’s a reckless card shark; one who goes to fine hotels during after-hours when the bar and lounge is reworked into a gambling den for the ultra rich and wealthy, closed to the unsuspecting plebeians, only frequented by those whose morals fall within the scope of gray and obsidian black. The young prince has been rumored to religiously go to these kinds of establishments to play high stakes poker games more often than he ever visits the family shrine where his ancestors are entombed in an uneasy eternal rest. The poor Emperor Meiji must be rolling in his grave seeing the imperial family’s impending doom at the hands of his great great grandson whose only real ambition in life is to waste it on the vulgar things that high society hedonistically craves.

One last thing to keep in mind about your fiancé is that he is a consummate actor, having honed the talent of keeping up appearances since his first public appearance as a child of only seven years old, alongside his mother and father during the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics which Tokyo had been selected to host earlier that year.

He squeezes your hand, despite rejecting the compassionate gesture earlier, and looks deep into your eyes with false fondness, fully aware that he was imagining the face of another in place of yours.

His nails bitterly dig into your skin as the cameras go off, capturing the tender moment between the two of you. To anyone outside the circle which you and Satoru unwillingly find each other entrapped in, the two of you were the quintessential picture-perfect couple, gazing at one another as if the world the two of you had found yourselves in would spiral out of its orbit had one of you dared to look away, The tabloids have even begun to call your unexpected engagement a modern-day fairytale unfolding before everyone’s eyes.

But that was just it, this entire arrangement — you and Satoru Gojo were nothing more than unwilling participants in a fabricated Cinderella story.

“Well, we met informally a few times before, during the national shamisen competition held in Kyoto two years ago and the awarding ceremony of our very own national artists where she received the title of ‘national treasure’ earlier last year–”

The many reporters scribble this information down on their bullet journals or tablets, hoping to piece together the exact timeline of this relationship. It is rather peculiar for the crown prince to suddenly reveal he is getting married, and to some mystery woman at that — not that the press was unfamiliar with you,with most of them being very much aware of your identity as a renowned traditional Japanese instrumentalist, but what eludes them is the manner in which you found yourself suddenly romantically involved with Prince Satoru Gojo of all people, whose affairs are heavily publicized by the media. The grotesque manner in which it is publicized is a different story.

“But we first met formally during His Majesty the Emperor’s silver jubilee. His Majesty is a benefactor to the Japan Arts Council and is a patron to many music conservatories in the country, and as such, is very interested in the fine arts. It just so happened that Ms. (Y/N) had been invited to play for us on the night of the Royal Gala.”

That was typical; the prince first meets the princess in a ball, looking upon her absolutely enthralled as she enters the ballroom, captivated like he was under some form of trance. His eyes would stay glued to her as she danced along to the crescendo of the string quartet, the hem of her gown fluttering about her form like a gentle stream of star-fall as she twirled gracefully under the bright chandelier lights. His lips would be parted, dazedly wondering who the girl could be and if they were ever fated to meet again.

But alas, one has to remind themselves that the age of dreaming of such hopelessly romantic nonsense, especially at twenty-three, is long over.

FLASHBACK: His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee Gala

The Chrysanthemum Throne should have died the day the envoys of the late Emperor Shōwa, Foreign Minister Mamora Shigemitsu and General Yoshijiro Umezu, ascended the gangway of the USS Missouri to sign the unconditional surrender of the Japanese Empire to the allied forces that laid waste to the Japanese islands. With the allied powers marching onwards to the capital city of Tokyo, having left nothing in their wake but the ashes of an empire that had been brought to its knees by the fires of merciless destruction that rained from countless air raids, the narrative should have moved towards the abolishment of the entire imperial system and the immediate execution of the emperor. But in a bid to refashion the emperor as a symbol of continuity for Japan, General Douglas Macarthur’s decision to not hold Emperor Shōwa accountable for the war crimes committed in his name during the height of World War II allowed the last remnant of Japan’s imperial past to survive. Save for the removal of the emperor’s political power, the oldest monarchy in the world was left relatively unharmed.

Still, despite the fact that the imperial system had been effectively humbled after the war, this was not so evident as you walked through the imposing halls of the imperial palace.The Kita-Damari north lobby you passed through earlier gave an impression of uncontested refinement; the entire floor had been constructed from the most exquisite granite from Yamaguchi prefecture, and the walls embellished with cedar wood that can only be found in Kumamoto prefecture. If the lobby was meant to portray elegance, then, the Houmei-den State Banquet Hall exuded an air of absolute power that could make anyone tremble in the face of such magnificence; you could recognize the tapestry work of the legendary artist Gakuryo Nakamura as the main decoration piece for the walls, and even more rare stones and wood from Japan’s many prefectures serving as the foundation of the gargantuan hall.

It was half past nine when you accidentally locked eyes with the crown prince that night. This entire time, you’ve envisioned the imperial family as images on your phone screen. You didn’t think for one second that they could be real and that Satoru Gojo, the crown prince of your nation, despite all the disturbing rumors surrounding him these past few years, would be so ethereally beautiful, like he had been fashioned from pure celestial moonlight.

You avert your gaze immediately upon catching yourself staring at him, knowing you weren’t supposed to as part of royal protocol which you’d been thoroughly briefed on the moment you received the invitation to perform for the imperial family. You uneasily remove yourself from the hall in search of the lavatory to touch up your makeup when you come face-to-face with the empress who also excused herself from the festivities to get some air.

She doesn’t notice you at first as she continues to take a drag from her cigarette, staring blankly at the koi fish that swam about the courtyard garden’s pond. From afar, she looked to be an ordinary woman, not the untouchable monarch you thought she was alongside the rest of her family, her ivory hair was neatly pulled back into a tight bun, several crystal hair pieces dotting her silky locks. You quietly made your way towards the powder room, your pace slowing down as you inch closer to the empress not really knowing what to do.

Should you let her be while she’s having a moment to herself or do you intrude on the hallowed ground of her presence as protocol dictates with a low curtsy?

“Your Royal Highness,” you greet her, in a soft voice, stopping to curtsy as you pass by and she kindly hums in acknowledgement.

“Ms. (Y/N),” she turns to face you, discarding her half-finished cigarette in the jade ashtray. “Forgive me for smoking in front of you, do you mind?”

Secondhand smoke.

From that statement alone, though brief as it is, sheds light into the empress’s character as being empathetic, and compassionate. You shake your head, subconsciously playing with your clutch bag. “Thank you.” She reaches into her clutch bag again to pull out her pack, slotting a cigarette between her lips. “How are you enjoying the banquet so far? I hope it is to your liking.”

“I don’t think what I say should really matter. After all, I’m only a guest.” Your meek character causes the empress to let out the tiniest of laughs. A smile plays at your lips seeing her face morph into a soft chortle, her earlier troubles seemingly leaving her mind for a bit as she speaks with you. “But, in all seriousness, your Highness, I think the banquet is going well. Most of the other guests seem to feel the same way.”

The empress nods, relieved. “That’s good to hear, by the way, I hope your performance goes well,” she says. “His Majesty and I have been looking forward to it all evening.”

A blush paints your cheeks. As the only guest artist who will be playing a traditional Japanese instrument, the tsugaru shamisen, you were the odd one out among the other distinguished national artists who will be playing Western instruments such as the piano, the harp or the violin and many others. “That means a lot to me, your Highness, thank you,” you bow forty-five degrees.

“Well,” the empress says warmly, wrapping up the surprisingly refreshing conversation. “I wouldn’t want to keep you now, I’ll see you back inside,” she picks up her pearl-embellished clutch bag, and re-arranges her diamond tiara before excusing herself. As she makes her way back inside the reception hall to rejoin her family, she thinks back to the girl she just serendipitously met with a small smile on her face. Ms. (Y/N), she thinks to herself, recalling your name with a certain lightness in her heart.

Just then, her son, Satoru walks up to her, righting his lapel and the medal of the Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum pinned to the left breast-pocket of his full royal uniform. “Mother,” he greets her formally, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. Gojo’s face falls when he sees his mother’s watchful eyes anxiously scouring the room for a particular person. “Mother, what is it?” he asks, concerned at her expression. Suddenly, his mother stiffens when she finds the exact person she is looking for, obvious displeasure painting her features.

Satoru tries to calm his mother down, his voice as soft as a feather’s touch, “Mother…” he trails off.

“You brought her here?” the empress whispers harshly, almost in disbelief that her son would be so insolent enough to do such a thing — by ‘such a thing’, she meant unscrupulously bringing along his Machiavellian Chief-of-Staff, Himiko Zenin, who seemed to relish in the attention being gallantly given to her by the many foreign heads of state in the banquet hall.

“And what is she wearing?”

Her face contorts into one of annoyance when she sees Himiko parading around the unmistakable Akoya pearl necklace only to be worn by members of the imperial family on her neck. The empress is not one to use unsavory words even for someone she dislikes with every fiber of her being, but she could not help but liken Himiko to a bitch brandishing a new expensive collar. She swears the sight alone is enough to make her vomit. “Is she a member of the imperial family now, Satoru, what on earth—!”

“She’s not hurting anybody,” Satoru’s eyes narrowed into slits at his mother’s reaction.

“She’s hurting you!” the empress hisses, begging her son to see reason. Satoru has been made well-aware of the fact that keeping Himiko around was not good for his public image, yet, he still insists on fanning the flames that could sooner devour his pipe dream of inheriting his father’s crown.

Satoru glares at his mother, before proceeding to spare his radiant Chief-of-Staff an amused glance, a sense of pride forming in his chest seeing her alluring charm at work as she mingles effortlessly with his father’s guests. He often argues that Himiko is the blueprint of the perfect future consort — she comes from the Zenin political clan that has made Tokyo its political stronghold since the 1970s, she is intelligent in all ways from being fluent in many languages to knowing the law from inside out, charming and charismatic, and most of all, easy on the eyes. A smirk forms on Gojo’s lips when he sees Himiko sharing a laugh with the wife of the Russian ambassador as if to prove his point.

“Let’s just go,” he ignores her pleas, gently pulling his distraught mother away to take their seats next to his father, nonchalantly condoning Himiko’s brazen-faced behavior.

As long as he was around, no one could harm her, not even the empress.

“Acknowledging the representative correspondent from Nippon News Network, Mr. Nozomi. You may ask your question now,” the floor adjutant says into the microphone.

“Thank you,” Nozomi stands up, momentarily adjusting his press ID. He flips through his leatherbound notebook in search of the query he hastily wrote earlier. “This question is directed to Ms. (Y/N).” A spiteful quiet scoff escapes Satoru’s lips, sending waves of hurt in your chest. What could you possibly contribute to this already awkward conversation? And what did you even know about the imperial system’s traditions?

“Ms. (Y/N), I’d like to know your thoughts on marrying into the imperial family at this delicate time. As you probably know, many of our citizens are questioning the relevance of the imperial system now that our country has embraced democratic values over pro-imperialist ones, thus, leading to the formation of staunch anti-royalists groups. Do you believe that your marriage to Prince Satoru would bring about a positive change to Japan’s current political landscape?”

Your thoughts stutter. “Political…landscape?” you think aloud, and Satoru only smiles/smirks in cold amusement, taking a sip of his sparkling water and eyeing you from his peripheral, seeing you pathetically struggle to conjure up a coherent answer. You haven’t exactly gotten to learn about your duties yet as Gojo’s future wife and a future princess, and he was eager to see how you’ll worm your way out of this one. Of course you neither understood the intricacies of the world you were marrying into nor the unknown minefield you dared tread; most women who throw themselves at Gojo’s feet, kissing the soles of his shoes deplorably begging them to marry him, are like that — naive, unintelligent — he looks at your plain features again and rolls his eyes severely disappointed — and criminally boring to look at in comparison to the standard he has set.

“My apologies, Mr. Nozomi,” a soft smile graces Satoru’s lips when he hears her melodious voice cutting through the awkward tension in the air as you wrack your head for an answer. “But, it seems you’ve caught Ms. (Y/N) off guard there. Perhaps, you have another question that’s a bit…easier to understand? We are, after all, here to bear witness to an engagement, not a political fora.”

Himiko steps forward from her spot next to the member of the Imperial Household Agency who was facilitating this press conference, her dainty hands clasped in front of her in an immaculately proper posture befitting the crown prince’s Chief-of-Staff and his rightful future wife, or so Gojo thought. How he wished it had been her who sat next to him today, with the diamond encrusted engagement ring he reluctantly gave you adorning her ring finger instead. Gojo’s intrusive thoughts swarm in his mind as they tempt him to kiss her in front of all these cameras and single handedly destroy his engagement to you in a single, gut-wrenching blow. But he is quick to stop himself when he remembers his mother’s words earlier this morning.

“This is your last chance, Satoru. This is the last thing I can do to save you, please don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

At any point in time, he would have succumbed to his desire to expose his relationship with his beloved Chief-of-Staff, but this was a pivotal moment that could spell the end for him and his ambitions if he does so much as make a single move that could anger his father. And what’s worse was he might not be able to guarantee Himiko’s safety if that happens. Satoru, therefore, resigns himself to continue holding your hand, albeit reluctantly, his fingers finding the gaps of yours.

The reporter nods at Himiko’s backhanded request.

“My apologies, then,” he ratifies his question to make it more suitable for someone of your caliber. You couldn’t help but shrink into yourself, feeling that you are being patronized by everyone in this room — from your frigid fiancé to his Chief-of-Staff who was severely outclasses you in eloquence, refinement and sophistication and to all the members of the press that had been invited today whose reception to your engagement to the crown prince has been lukewarm at best. “My question then is—“

“—I am sorry for taking too long to answer your question, Mr. Nozomi.” Satoru’s eyes flicker over to yours, taken aback when you speak up. “I, unfortunately, am not yet that familiar with the current situation concerning these said groups, and,” you bite your lip, thinking of what to say next. “I don’t think I’m qualified enough to give an objective opinion on whether my marriage to his Highness will bring about a positive change to our nation.”

Gojo grimly scowls as he watches you make amends with your forthcoming destiny as his future wife, and heaven willing, empress of the nation.

“And I cannot promise that I will lead this country to greatness. I cannot grant laws to uphold and promote justice, I most certainly cannot lead our defense forces to defend our nation, but…”

You think back to why you came here in the first place, your heart pounds violently in your chest as adrenaline rushes through your entire body.

“But I can do this: I can dedicate my entire life to making this country a better place for our people, though, I still do not quite know the way. But I will most certainly do my utmost to try.”

FLASHBACK: His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee Gala

You don’t know how they do it — standing in front of a multitude of people under the glare of the limelight, about a thousand pairs of eyes trained on you as if at that moment, you stood at the very center of the world without cracking. This was the life they were born into, a life that overflowed with the contrasting worlds of luxury and duty, power and powerlessness, indulgence and deprivation. The women of the imperial family were dressed in the most luxurious of gowns with hundreds of precious stones sewn onto the fabric, and the men wore their dignified navy uniforms. All of the people in the hall have gathered far and wide to bring good tidings to the emperor and his family, bringing gifts of jewels, national treasures, and promises of a stronger alliance with Japan. Yet, something felt off about them — their faces, although trained and poised to smile, were pictures of discomfort.

The white-haired prince you had locked eyes with earlier, the one who watched you intently throughout your performance as you skillfully struck the strings of your shamisen with the bachi producing a sound that resonates deep within the primal past of Japan, stared at you with an unreadable expression as he clapped his hands. You offer him the smallest of smiles to be polite just like you did with the empress earlier when you found her smoking outside the banquet hall, but he does not reciprocate the gesture, his eyes devoid of any warmth unlike his mother. Standing before the crowd of many world leaders and the imperial family, you bow reverently before your public, your shamisen strapped to your body, while your calloused fingers gripped the bachi of the instrument.

The crowd thundered with applause, most of the foreign dignitaries rising to their feet, giving you a standing ovation as you finished your piece. You bow again when the applause continues for another minute or so.

Satoru grimaces when he hears his father whisper to his mother. “Isn’t she amazing?” he marvels at your performance, showering you with more praise for that brief number than he ever gave his son for the majority of his life.

The empress senses Satoru’s growing ire, and nudges her son’s arm, consoling him despite their earlier disagreement about bringing Himiko to the gala. Satoru doesn’t know what to feel. Despite all his shortcomings and his active efforts to build an impenetrable steel wall between them, his mother still does everything in her power to meet him halfway. As his hand reaches to find his mother’s, however, he spots Himiko exiting the hall, stopping mid-way to stare at him with her irresistible fox-like eyes, tempting him to follow her like a siren beckoning an unfortunate sailor to surrender to the abyssal depths.

“Satoru,” his mother says under her breath, holding onto the belief that her son could muster up the willpower to resist Himiko’s whims. The emperor was about to give his courtesy address, and having the crown prince walk out at this moment would be severely inappropriate, not to mention, damaging to his already bad reputation. “Satoru, please.”

His father ascends the steps, each stride evoking a deep sadness and longing in Satoru. Somehow, the crown prince hones in on the clicking of his father’s shoes against the granite floor, the same ones he’d have to fill someday when his father grows weary of their ancestors’ throne. The speech is pretty uneventful with his father going on and on about preserving the peace and harmony of his reign, his so-called Reiwa era, and vowing to continue his public service, which he had begun as a young man in the august of his own father’s reign, until the twilight of his days.

Harmony, Gojo thinks bitterly, a sneer appearing on his face. What did his old man know of such a word when all he’s done, so far, is sow the seeds of discord in his family?

“On that note, I’d like to express my deepest gratitude to all of you, our dear guests and to my fellow fathers and mothers of your own respective nations, who have so kindly come here today to renew our vows of selfless service to our peoples. May we all be imbued with endless wisdom in our pursuit of the greater good.”

The cameras go off like little flashes of lightning spontaneously piercing the dark, moody space of the reception hall.

What a fucking joke, Satoru scoffs into his champagne, the golden liquid staining his throat and holding back words of contempt towards his father. What did his father know of being a father when he had spent his entire life tearing apart his own family in the name of the throne? What did he know of harmony when he had done nothing but sow discord in the imperial house?

The emperor gives a slight nod of acknowledgement to the gracious applause he receives, and promptly makes his way over to his family who are in the process of arranging themselves for an official picture in front of the late Emperor Taisho’s magnum opus, his calligraphy painting that read: 永遠の恵み (Eternal grace) which is the imperial family’s personal motto and central dogma, to commemorate this momentous occasion. Satoru stands next to his father, his breath shallow as if being anywhere near his father could suffocate him.

“I see you’re still acting like the petulant child you are,” his father spat having already spotted Satoru’s little plaything in the crowd earlier tonight, despite the well-rehearsed smile on his face as the official photographer snaps photos in quick succession.

The tongue that Gojo has been holding finally breaks free from the dam that’s been holding the waters of resentment from bursting forth. “And I see you’re still an ass.” Hopefully, the photographers couldn’t hear their tense conversation lest it be the cause of another scandal;, the rumor mill didn’t need any more ammunition for yet another mudslinging campaign against the imperial family.

Oh, but wouldn’t it be interesting if Satoru made a scene to ruin his father’s special day by lewdly kissing his Chief-of-Staff for the entire world to see?

As if sensing her forbidden lover’s thoughts, Himiko saunters over to the official photographer, putting on the air of a devoted servant of the crown prince, ever present within ten feet from her master, when just minutes prior, she acted like she could replace the empress herself.

“You insolent—“ his father grits his teeth at the sight of Satoru’s tramp, absolutely furious.

“Please stop,” the empress spoke under her breath, close to tears. Why is it that whenever their family is together, which is a rare occasion in itself, it always ends in such painful conflict?

“If only we had another son-” the emperor continued his tirade against his only living son, the only legitimate child that he had been blessed with after years of trying to produce an heir with his wife. But there was not a scintilla of anger in his voice; that had long passed when the empress had effectively quelled the fury in his heart with her broken plea, instead there is only longing for things that cannot be.“-if only…Suguru had been our boy, our prince-”

And just like that, something breaks inside Satoru akin to a glass goblet imploding when it hits the floor. It was almost as if his father wished that he had never been born.

…”Fuck this,” the white-haired prince moves to leave, but his mother’s delicate touch catches his arm.

“Satoru, my little light.”

Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat when his mother calls him by his old childhood nickname. Little light. That’s what they wanted him to be since the moment his cerulean eyes first opened as a baby who has been unwillingly burdened with the weight of centuries of tradition on him the minute he was conceived. His name had already been predetermined to mean ‘enlightenment’; everyone wanted him to be a light for the nation, a hope for the people. The imperial family may have been reduced to mere powerless symbols of the constitution, but they are the embodiment of their people’s hopes and dreams for a better Japan. It took twenty years for the emperor and empress to be blessed with their little light, but now, it seems that everything is growing disorientingly dimmer at such an accelerated pace.

But the empress will not just stand by and watch the light get extinguished. “Please don’t do this, we need you.”

Of course he always craved to be beloved by the people, to become their bonafide and benevolent prince. It had always been his dream to inherit his father’s crown, to fill the impossibly large shoes of his ancestors. But, what is truly his dream or was this a dream unjustly forced onto him?

The wind howls more violently and the final flicker of the imperial family’s light loses the battle, as the candle that had first been set alight by their forebears is now reduced to a pool of wax. Satoru’s eyebrows furrow, utterly spent from all of this, and yanks back his arm from his mother’s grasp.

“You need your prince…but when will you ever need your son?”

And with that, he leaves, his free hand ripping off the Medal of the Order of the Chrysanthemum once he is a good distance away from the gala’s venue. Himiko stays behind for a few minutes to make sure that she isn’t giving off the impression of being so eager to follow the prince and condone his tantrum. Instead, she stares directly at the empress, emerald and sapphire clashing violently with one another, as she wordlessly celebrates her victory.

Mr. Nozomi, though known by his colleagues to be a no-nonsense kind of man, seems satisfied with your answer. It lacked some academic background, but it was a statement that was sure to bring comfort to the people. “Thank you, Ms. (Y/N). This is comforting to know,” the stout man with graying hair offers you a reassuring smile. It had been so long since many people, particularly and most especially in his age group, had ever had the honor of seeing such a warm-hearted future monarch whose words could almost easily calm others, and he dare say, even the violent Sea of Japan whose fury has long been felt in his freezing hometown of Hokkaido since time immemorial.

Satoru forces a smile at that, literally grinning and bearing it — by ‘it’, he meant your little display to outshine him, your future husband, the Crown.

“Any more questions?” the imperial house’s official speaker calls out as the room is filled with the sound of pen tips scratching on paper as the members of the press write down notes. This was going to be the wedding of the century, and they’d be damned if they couldn’t make a good story out of it. “None?”

“Actually, I have one.” Himiko gives the microphone to the correspondent from The Tokyo Times, the most reputable newspaper in the country. “I hope that this question doesn’t offend His Royal Highness, but if you may indulge me for a bit, don't you think the timing of this wedding is too sudden? I mean,” she clears her throat momentarily. “His Highness had only recently been allowed to appear before the public after he got arrested the other week, and now, he’s getting married.”

Just when you thought that the brutal questions would start to mellow out, one of the more hardened reporters all but crushes your remaining hope of this press conference ending on a good note.

All color drains from your face at that question. It was, indeed, warranted. If you had seen all this unfold before your very eyes, during your time as a commoner, the whole marriage would appear rushed, not to mention, fishy especially after the many Lesé-Majesté that had victimized the imperial family lately due to Gojo’s recent and very frequent scandals.

You look at your fiancé, heart pounding in your chest. What were you supposed to say to that? It’s not like you could be downright blunt about the whole reason why you’re getting married in the first place, that would only paint your soon-to-be husband’s family in a worse light; right now, people only challenge the relevance of the imperial family in a free democracy like Japan, you really don’t want to reach that point of no return when they start to despise the very notion of paying taxes to an institution that they feel is morally ambiguous.

Not to mention, such sentiment could put you and your fiancé in danger.

Satoru takes a deep breath through his nose, desperately calming himself before he says anything damning. How he wished he could have this petulant woman dragged out of there for such an offensive question but that would only prove her point.

Fortunately, Satoru is well-prepared for this, no matter how irritating his current predicament is. Having to be reminded of the greatest source of his humiliation is infuriating, but it could also provide him with the perfect opportunity to rewrite his public image and regain his footing in the act of succession currently being drafted by His Majesty, the Emperor.

All of a sudden, he rises to his full height, his hand not letting go of the sleeve of your white wool coat as he does. He casts you a disgusted look, seeing the expensive fabric hug your form; how is it even possible that you were wearing a high class outfit and still look like a cheap imitation of all the women he’s been with? He couldn’t begin to compare you to Himiko whose fashion sense and overall aura outshined yours; it would be like comparing rust to the Hope Diamond.

“Satoru, what are you doing?”

“Just follow my lead and drop that stupidly lost face you make all the time,” he hisses into your ear. “Now, stand up,” he commands, pretending to help you to your feet like the head-over-heels-in-love fiancé he’s meant to be and not the stone cold man whose last name will be the heaviest burden you’ll have to carry for the rest of your life. Well, by your life, you meant the snake pit that you now found yourself in with a fiancé who wishes you to fade from the fabric of existence and the prying eyes of the world keenly watching the drama that is yours and Satoru’s impending marriage.

Satoru smooths out any wrinkles on your dress before turning to the cameras. Gasps fill the room at what he does next. “Y-your Highness?” a journalist puts a hand over her mouth at the sight of the crown prince’s display of humble contrition: a bow, a plea for the forgiveness of his people. Following his lead, you also bow, your palms pressed against your thighs.

“I am sorry,” his tenor rings clear like the ringing of a shinto shrine’s suzu when a pilgrim first sets foot on the hallowed grounds of the temple. “As your prince, I understand that I have failed my family, His Imperial Majesty, the emperor, and Her Royal Highness, the empress. I have, in my recklessness, failed my ancestors, and the throne itself. But most of all, I, through my reckless actions, have failed each and every one of you who are probably watching this.”

Sincerity oozes out from each word, and you wonder, does Gojo actually mean any of this? Or was this another one of his well-rehearsed theatrics? And if this, his first public apology for all the atrocious things he’s done, is all conjured from the distorted playwright that is Prince Satoru Gojo, then, you could only pray that he takes pity on you and does not make an actress out of you.

FLASHBACK: The Imperial Palace of Tokyo (An hour after His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee Gala)

Satoru painfully eyes his mother who earlier tonight had cruelly given him the false hope that she would always advocate for him only to avert her gaze, screwing her eyes shut as if by doing so �� all of this — all the undue hurt that her son had caused the family would magically go away. “Mother.” Is she even qualified to still be called that when she has proved tonight that she would abandon her son in his time of need without a moment’s hesitation?

What his father says next is so hypocritical that it makes even hardened criminals look more honest and self-aware than him. “Don’t use that tone on her, don’t even dare.”

Satoru scoffs angrily, he can’t believe this. “I didn’t know you’ve recently decided to be a devoted husband now,” he snarls but his father doesn’t budge, he was not going to entertain his foolish son’s tantrums today. The emperor only pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily, desperately seeking out the reason he has been dealt the unfortunate hand of having such a heathenous son.

“I don’t even know what to say.” What can be said when face to face with such a vile predicament? Normally, his disagreements with Satoru would be tempered by his wife’s intervention, pleading with him to spare the heir to the throne of unforgiving punishments that brewed within a wrathful father’s mind; the last time was Satoru’s humiliating suspension from his public duties and the instance before that, a severe cut in his monthly salary as a public official funded personally by the people he blatantly betrays in his acts of wanton avarice. The difference between those times and this unfortunate situation is that in the past, one could still detect some semblance of remorse in Satoru’s demeanor.

All that is gone now. If one were to compare Satoru to a criminal, he is already a hardened one, desensitized to his wrongdoings.

The steel handcuffs which hugged the skin of Satoru’s wrists prove that, at this point in time, the heir to throne’s character was in serious jeopardy. “Your Majesty, you can reprimand your son however you’d like, but, please do not have him chained up like some animal.” She knows such a request is wrong. Like a dog released from a painful muzzle, Satoru would only grow more rabid with his actions. In the past, he was fueled by a desire for attention, now, after this night, he would be fueled by spite.

Other than the imperial family, three police officers who came from the Kabukichō district where Satoru had been reported to be physically assaulting a fellow gambler when a high stakes poker game had turned in favor of his opponent are in the room, witnessing all this happen with bated breath. It took at least five officers to pry Satoru off the bloodied middle aged man who had a foot in his grave by the time the crown prince was done obliterating his face, and another five to escort him into the police mobile.

All of this transpired on the night of the silver jubilee gala. Mere hours after Satoru took off.

A horrified silence had befallen the entire banquet hall when the news broke out, immediately going viral on every social media platform.

The emperor contemplates his wife’s words for but a passing moment when he decides otherwise, turning to the men in blue, his voice is authoritative and could make any devil tremble in their boots. “Thank you for reprimanding my son,” he sighs. “I can assure you that—“

The Tokyo metropolitan police officers alongside the imperial police await the decision of the emperor, but have already begun to pull out the keys to Satoru’s handcuffs thinking that His Majesty would have him released.

“—All charges pressed against Satoru Gojo will proceed accordingly and—“

And for once in his life, Satoru feels the unmistakable emotion — terror. “—What?” Satoru is livid at this point. “Father!”

He merely ignores Satoru, his eyes trained at the shocked faces of the many officers whose feet are still planted to the ground.

“—And that I will be allowing all concerned members of all law enforcement units who responded tonight to take him into custody until the date of his full criminal trial should any take place. As such, I now declare Satoru Gojo’s claim to the throne as null and void, and his title of crown prince forfeited in favor of his brother, Suguru Geto—“

It was at this time that Himiko once again barges in just as Satoru is being led away, surprisingly, she was now wearing her usual uniform of a black suit and pencil skirt. She immediately throws herself at the feet of the emperor. Where was the bravado she so proudly displayed at the jubilee gala by indirectly confronting the empress? Gone. Where were the pearls she had practically worn without authorization of the people who were permitted to wear them? Now replaced with her fake 12-karat gold necklace that she wore since childhood. “Your Majesty,” she kneels before him like her pleas would reach the emperor’s stony heart. “Please don’t do this—“

The emperor and empress angrily turn towards her, their eyes ablaze. What was she doing here? “I have half a mind to have you arrested too, Ms. Zenin!” the emperor growls. Himiko was there at the scene of the crime, after all, and having her arrested would greatly destabilize the hold she possessed on the imperial family through her illicit affair with the crown prince. “Now, drop it!” the emperor yells at the sputtering girl. “I have allowed you to lead my son astray for too long and now it is time for me, his father, to discipline him, unless, of course…you’re willing to take his punishment for him.”

“Yes,” Himiko nods frantically. “Please do whatever you want with me, I-I will gladly accept it all.”

“No!” Satoru resists against the officers, as the imperial guards begin to restrain Himiko who makes a pained sound when she, too, is given handcuffs of her own. “Don’t hurt her! Please don’t hurt her!” It was the plea of a being in love, seeing his lover take all his father’s bullets. “Father! I’m begging you—!”

“—And how long have you made the empress and I beg for you to straighten out your life?!”

“—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Satoru was exhibiting signs of mental distress at this point, his eyes brimming with tears like he were a child who had been told he was grounded. “Your Majesty,” he reverts to calling his father by his official title. “Please…please. Just let her go.”

How incredibly touching: two sworn lovers protecting one another to the bitter end, selflessly taking the fall for the other, shielding their beloved from any danger that might befall them. Only problem is…this toxic partnership between a prince whose life’s purpose is to stupidly follow his heart with gross disregard for those around him and a woman whose negative influence is demolishing her beloved’s reputation.

While the country is reeling from an economic recession, here Satoru and Himiko were indulging in yacht trips, while the impoverished scrounge for food in Tokyo’s many landfills, the crown prince and his girlfriend attended lavish state banquets left and right, while the homeless sleep under a resin-roofed bus stop at the height of winter, Satoru gifts countless of properties to Himiko as if one home couldn’t possibly be enough for the woman he so desperately loves.

“Satoru,” Himiko sniffles as she is slowly taken away, defiantly calling him by his name rather than his official title in front of Their Majesties. As if by doing so, that would help hers and Satoru’s case.

Gojo shakes his head furiously, his eyes welling up with tears. “Mother, please don’t do this.”

If this was going to be the end of them, then, Satoru hoped that his family would, at least, allow Himiko to return to being a private citizen, to walk away from all of this a free woman, free to live out the rest of her life away from the schadenfreude of the imperial court. Even if it meant never having to see her again, feel her warm touch against his skin the same way the sun bathes the earth in its resplendent glow, kiss her with the passion of someone who could have been a devoted husband to her had they been born in different circumstances, he will do anything. He would count the very stars in the sky if he could, die a thousand deaths if he must, if it meant allowing Himiko to be spared the pain of being branded as a criminal and placed behind bars.

“I’ll do anything, please just don’t hurt the woman I love.”

If only Satoru put more effort into earning the love of his people the same way he’s now willing to humbly bow his head to cossett the love of his life. Akiko Gojo gasps quietly when her prideful son falls to his knees in supplication. Suddenly, she is filled with memories of a younger Satoru who was once chastised by his courtiers for tripping on his own feet while he frolicked and played in the palace gardens, and how she didn’t think twice to comfortingly lift him into her arms while his retainer had been so content leaving him on the ground, his scraped knee ailing him as he struggled to stand up.

The empress’s feet seemed to have been possessed by a mind of their own, as she took one step forward, her sorrowful eyes trained on her crying son. “Satoru,” she gently crouches down next to him. “Oh, my little light,” she calls him by his childhood nickname. “Please don’t cry,” she weeps as she wipes his tears away with her thumbs. She shouldn’t be doing this, knowing that Satoru would only take advantage of the knowledge that she’s always going to be there for him regardless of what he does and what monster he becomes.

But seeing her child, her only boy, in the thralls of desolation is too much for her frail heart. So, she makes the choice for him, standing firm before her husband who has always taken the lead in their marriage. “Your Majesty, I beg you to not make a criminal out of Satoru, and reconsider restoring him to the succession. Please have mercy on your son.” His only legitimate heir. If Suguru were to inherit the throne, it would only throw their family into more chaos, and with the events of tonight, the imperial house could benefit from letting Satoru’s recent mishap die quietly. It would be disastrous for everyone if, on the anniversary of his father’s coronation, Satoru were to be unceremoniously thrown out of the palace.

“Akiko,” the emperor involuntarily utters his wife’s name, surprised at her sudden decision to stand up for their degenerate son.

From the moment the 2.3 pound Meiji tiara first touched her head, she relinquished all sense of self to the crown — her surname, her childish desires to lead a normal life, her civilian antics, everything — but now, here she stood before him, not as Empress Akiko but the liberal-minded woman that the emperor fell in love with as a young man. She may have given up everything to forge herself anew as empress of the country, but there is one thing that she has kept under lock and key so that the crown may never hope to steal it from her: her unconditional love for her son.

“Your Majesty,” she glances at Satoru’s kneeling form, her heart clenching in her chest. I’m sorry, my little light, she silently apologizes to her son, the last thing she wants is to seek the impossible from him, but if this was the only way that his future will be secured, then, she’ll just have to be the awful mother that Gojo thinks her to be. “I have a proposition for you.”

A journalist looks up from his laptop, dumbfounded at what he’s witnessing. “…No way,” he says under his breath. It wasn’t everyday you see a monarch bow before his people begging to be pardoned, but then again, no other monarch in the world is more problematic than Satoru Gojo.

Satoru clutches the fabric of his slacks, his knuckles turning white as he does so. This was so humiliating for him, having to apologize to mere nobodies whose existence wouldn’t even make it to the footnotes of history books to be written a hundred years from now. “I know my words mean nothing after everything I’ve done and the people I hurt, but still, I am sorry,” Satoru utters the apology again as if by saying it a second time, it would hasten his godforsaken sentence that is to be locked in a vile marriage with you.

He’s made it clear earlier by his gestures that he wants nothing to do with you, but perhaps that was only because you hardly know one another, you don’t exactly run in the same circle as him, you don’t have the slightest connection to any political dynasty — not by affiliation, and most certainly not by blood — nor were you some heiress to some long standing conglomerate that the imperial family is closely acquainted with. Perhaps it was just that. All of this animosity stems from the disturbing fact that you couldn’t even call yourself friends now here you were betrothed to one another announcing your engagement to the world.

But, something doesn’t feel right.

Shouldn’t awkwardness between you and Satoru be the worst thing that could come from this shotgun arrangement? You understand that this situation is uncomfortable for him as much as it is terrifying for you but is this truly enough to warrant his hatred? It’s not like you actively volunteered for the part, after all, yet he acts as if you had been the prime instigator of this marriage. You find yourself caught between wanting to keep him at arms’ length to advocate for tense but peaceful silence in your marriage and wanting to become his true and altruistic wife to get to know him better but at the expense of your emotional well-being knowing that he’ll probably hurl new insults at you.

At this point, the former seems to be the safest option, but there is something so deeply intriguing and captivating in Satoru that you ignore all the warning signs altogether.

Satoru ends the press conference by re-announcing the date of the wedding which will take place next week. You follow him out of the hall, meekly walking three steps behind him. Suddenly, he stops in his tracks, burying his hands in his pocket, adopting a more casual posture. You expect him to berate you for some unknown faux pas you’ve committed during the press conference but instead, you are met with something else. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

He turns around to face you, he doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look too invested in the conversation either. He just seemed indifferent. His eyes dart around the expanse of the corridor, someone could be listening in to this conversation — the palace has eyes and ears everywhere after all — he needs to temper his tongue lest he angers the emperor or the empress, despite every nerve in his body tempting him to spew more vitriol at you.

Waving a dismissive hand, you shake your head, instantly forgiving him earlier. “No, I must have overstepped my boundaries, I understand and I’m sorry.”

Gojo sighs heavily, offering you a small nod. “Let’s just forget about it,” he says. “It’s getting late,” he notes the time on his watch. “You should probably head home to rest.” That was…surprisingly kind of him.

“A-actually,” you unconsciously play with your engagement ring. “I wanted to ask if you were free tonight so we could…have dinner together.” The empress encouraged the both of you to get to know each other, after all. “I know it must be difficult being engaged to me when you don’t even know me.”

Satoru lets out a weak laugh. He wasn’t at all interested in getting to know you, frankly, he couldn’t give two shits, but it was amusing for him to see how delusional you are.

“I see,” he notes in a business-like manner. “Well, perhaps another time since I have an urgent appointment tonight and I’m already running late.” You can’t even pretend to not be disappointed when you’ve already taken the liberty of reserving seats for the two of you at a nearby restaurant you frequently visit. He plants a parting kiss on your cheek, but something about it feels so detached and hollow, but who were you to expect more when he didn’t harbor an ounce of affection for you? You nod against the kiss, curtsying as he walks away.

“What a day.” You discard the many hair pins that neatly gathered your hair into a half-updo, grimacing at the stickiness of your locks from the copious amount of hairspray that had been applied to it. Sighing, you get into your car, removing the standard four inch pumps you’ve been instructed to wear, as per the dress protocol set by the Imperial Household Agency for female members of the imperial family when they attend public events, in favor of your more laidback ballet flats.

As you drive out of the main compound of the palace, you are surprised to see Satoru, accompanied by what looks like eight bodyguards, hastily making his way to the official car used by the emperor. He waits as his chauffeur brings the car around, but for some reason, he does not look impatient for someone who is supposedly running late for an urgent appointment, he is leisurely tapping away on his phone. Suddenly, something catches you off guard. A boyish grin appears on Satoru’s face when he is approached by a figure that looks like a woman.

An awfully familiar one.

You don’t know if it must be the heat from your car’s air conditioning unit but — you feel your heart in your throat, no, to be accurate, you feel like you’ve been winded by a punch to the gut — you understand why she would be with him given her position and all, but why was Satoru draping his suit over his Chief-of-Staff’s narrow shoulders?

…

…

…

…

And…why is she kissing your fiancé’s cheek?

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[haitanifxn]

I NEED HELP FINDING A ONESHOT

so I’m looking for a gojo x reader where reader is stressed and so gojo makes reader breakfast but he makes a mess and woke her up on accident so then reader lashes out on gojo but then apologized after seeing gojo cry.

I have been trying to find it all day it’s making me crazy. If anyone can find it please send me the link, authors acc, anything!

UPDATE: @minmin-minnie was able to find it for me thank you sm!