#also gojo as a tattoo artsit? hes too sweet imo

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

angel wings- g.satoru

synopsis: you ask gojo to tattoo you.

warnings: mentions of sa. mentions of sa tattoos. childhood trauma. mature themes. mentions of groping and unwanted advances (18+)

a/n: a part of me didn't want to post this and wants to delete this while another part of me sees this as something that has to be mentioned. I have no idea where this surfaced, but I want everyone to know that I admire you for being here. sa is not a joke and should never be treated lightly. if you know anyone or you yourself struggle with sa, please reach out to anyone- whether it be me, a friend, a counselor, or a trusted individual, I encourage you not to internalize your emotions for they are valid.

"I want to get a tattoo, gojo." you speak, slowly aware that the path you chose meant a change in your relationship. "and I want you to do it for me."

"really?"

"yes," you breathe, in hopes of composing any shaky speech, "I uh... I did some research and I saw how much people use medusa as an exam-"

"we don't have to talk here," he says, motioning to the back, "we can talk in my room if you want."

"okay."

this was it, you think, following his larger frame from behind. gojo was everything but energetic right now, you noted. his footsteps were gentle, breathing serene, and his movements were graceful. the dress shirt he always liked to wear was rolled up, covered by a black apron. one he always wore by custom as it was -according to him- his lucky 'cloak'.

you met gojo during your sophomore year of college, an art class you thought he was too advanced for. the professor, though disliking his character, couldn't say anything about his art. it was beautiful, detailed, profound, and striking.

they're looking at you, you whisper to him smugly during a group project full of girls. they want you to draw them.

I won't draw someone because they ask, he whispers, I only draw from inspiration. right now, your hands are more inspiring than their faces.

you look down, seeing your hand hold a pencil as a sketchpad rests against your thighs.

you're only saying that because you want me to do your part of the project.

oh right, he smiles teasingly, that was my plan all along. befriending you to get my work done.

a cleared throat pulls you from your memories, gojo leans against a wall, "okay, now you can tell me."

"r-right. I was wondering if you could do a tattoo. I did some research on what I'd like... but a medusa tattoo is too obvious..." his silence remains as he encourages you to continue, "I was thinking some flowers, maybe a ladybug... just something that symbolizes moving on." you pause, "are you still doing those temporary tattoos?"

"still am," he replies factually, "they last about a few weeks to a few months."

"that's good," you sigh in relief, "I didn't want something permanent. sounds perfect."

gojo seems to show no exterior expressions, his facial structure remains the same; serious. and you can't tell what his eyes are thinking under the covers over them.

"I could give you some wings..." he mutters under his breath, loud enough for you to hear. "let me get my sketchbook..." he pulled you to his artist desk, offering you his chair before he sketched the details. and you were surprised to find that this was just what you wanted.

"how does your inner ankle sound?" he asks, biting the tip of his pen between his teeth, "we could try your forearm too, but if you want something private then your ankle would be-"

"that's perfect," you nod, "do you have any appointments for next week?"

"I was actually hoping you could stay and I could finish it by tonight..."

"but aren't you full like two weeks in advance?"

"only when I want them to," he smiles, "I have some hours open for drawing or for walk-ins. I like it that way."

"okay... so do you want me to sit?"

"yeah," gojo points with his pen, "you can sit on the chair. I'll elevate the chair so that your ankles are at a good level, is that okay?"

"yeah."

I can't believe we finished that assignment in one go, you breathed as you lay on your friend's couch that same day. the clock across from you read 3:03am.

yeah, but it was us who did most of the work. gojo frowned. all those girls did was stand there and look pretty.

you forced a chuckle, yeah but don't you need pretty? artists need muses too, you know.

he shrugs, not always. sometimes... what we need is practicality, order, and stability.

then... you didn't find that today?

of course, I did, he said, I found that and much more.

oh yeah? like what?

like... you, for example. if it weren't for you, I probably would have quit already.

that doesn't sound too convincing...

he laughs at something you can't understand.

you never know, do you? he grins, but that's okay. it's getting late. do you want to stay the night? I think it's too late for you to be driving at this hour...

I wouldn't want to impose, you say, I'm sure you have to wake early for tomorrow.

nah, he grins, I can sleep in. if you want, you can take my bed.

there's no way I'm doing that to you.

come on, he nudges, it's just a bed.

your, bed. you enunciate, I'm not doing that to you.

it's just a bed, he casually rolls his shoulders, or are we gonna discuss till dawn? I'd rather be sleeping already.

alright, you fail to hold back a yawn, but I'm sleeping on the sofa.

don't be ridiculous, he says, sleep on my bed. it's clean if that's what you're worried about.

I never... you lose your words, I didn't mean to-

-it's fine, he smiles, now, can you go to bed? man needs his beauty sleep.

fine.

I've got some pj's if you want, he says, suddenly getting up. I've got some basketball shorts and a tee that'll fit, if you want.

satoru, you say his name for what seems like the first time, I'm not doing that to you-

-I'm just being a good host. come on, will you let me be one? I hardly have people over. come on, please?

you finally accept. for the remainder of the night you sleep in gojo's borrowed clothes, and his bed. meanwhile unbeknownst to you, satoru happily snores from the comfort of his own couch. a warm satisfaction swirls in his stomach; knowing that you were sleeping in the best place of the house.

"is there any reason for the tattoo?" he asks you, holding the pen in his hand, "you don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"I..." you struggle to find air, "I wanted something to commemorate my freedom..." you watch as satoru takes a glance at you before he arranges his ink cart. "I didn't have the most ideal childhood..."

"so it's a childhood tattoo?" he asks.

"kinda, well, if you consider my childhood a childhood- which I don't think was." you sigh, hoping to not get too gloomy, "you remember in grade school when all the kids used to have their parents bring snacks for school parties?"

"yeah,"

"my parents were never like that," you shrugged, "maybe it wasn't a priority... I don't know for sure, but as a kid... all you care about are those small things, you know? game nights, camping, and field trips..."

"then..." he asks softly, "where do the wings come in?"

"my home life was never harmonious, surprisingly. I always felt like I was walking on eggshells with everyone that... I didn't know who I was. you don't really focus on your identity when you've got a lot of yelling going on in the house..."

"was there anything physical?" he asks, worry laced in his tone.

"not really," you swallow the lump in your throat. unsure if it's because of the needle approaching your skin or the explanation you were about to give.

"did he ever hit you?" he asks, "your dad?"

"stepdad," you correct.

"same thing if it's a dad," he says, "they're meant to protect, are they not?"

you don't meet his eyes after a moment of silence. he calls your name gently, and you feel shivers run down your spine.

"he wasn't... really a dad." you speak, evidently unsure on how to word your next sentences, "he would...um, as a child... he'd do things in my room. I never really told anyone, because- how could I? we were financially dependent on him. if I told my mom, then we'd probably be on the streets, and I worried about not going to school anymore."

"so you let him."

"yes and no," you want to smack yourself for your answer, "I um... he'd do it most of the time... when I was asleep. so it's not like I hardly noticed anything." a dry laugh erupts from your chest, "but when you're 16 and obviously grown... things escalate further. stares last longer, hands in the kitchen sink lower, and pats on your back end up fixing your bra strap..." you shake your head, smiling to fight off tears.

"I uh... I'm glad I'm gone though. I promised myself, once I get out- I'd celebrate. I'd do something great. I'd get a tattoo against their wishes to commemorate my freedom." you laugh, "and here I am."

when you look down to gojo's frame, you notice how the ink has barely touched your skin. his pen, floats above your ankle, and his eyes are piercing the skin of your ankle. processing things.

"I probably shouldn't have said all that," you frown, hoping your apologetic smile would be enough, "I'm sorry."

"what..." he chokes, "what are you apologizing for?"

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable..."

"I'm not uncomfortable..."

"oh?"

"I'm..." he bites his tongue, "I'm distraught... how could you live like that?"

"you get kinda used to it, really-"

"-that's not something someone has to get used to," he replies, "especially not a child."

"but I'm okay now," you smile in hope, reaching his jaw to look at you, "still conflicted at times, but I'm mostly okay."

his eyes won't meet you. "satoru," you call, grabbing his forearm gently.

your friend puts his pen down before turning to look at you. and slowly, you find yourself loosing composure.

satoru's eyes are watery, eyes pink, and the color of his face is not the same luminous color you have known. his hands slide right below your knees, but you don't pay attention to his hands, you frown when you meet his eyes.

"why are you crying?"

"you don't deserve this," he croaks, hot tears run down his face. "I... your childhood was taken from you."

"I know," you whisper, allowing hot tears to stream across your cheeks, "but I'm done, I survived. I don't have to live through that again. and now... I'm lucky to live the life I want for myself." your thumbs reach to wipe down his tears from his beautiful eyes, "I've met the people I want in my life. people I care about, people who make me smile everyday." you grin.

"that's why I love spending time with you. you always find a way to make me smile."

gojo feels his head spin. his skin feels warm, and all he wants to do is close his eyes, but when you're in front of him wearing a smile, he wants to be the stronger one. wants to be the one you tell him things. so he grabs your hands.

"thank you for telling me this." his eyes meet yours, "I had no idea what you were going through... I... I understand why you wanted to do this so badly now.'' gojo fails to see the frown on your face when he lets your hands go, but rather focuses on the new drive pumping through his blood encouraging him to finish this piece. he wants to do this.

the both of you rarely speak a word except for gojo's, tell me if it hurts, when his needle inks your skin. he stops once when you hiss, and proceeds when you nod in approval.

the wings themselves are relatively small. they almost look like a doodle, small enough for only you to see. your secret that no one besides you, and now gojo, will know.

you don't ask him to keep your story a secret because you know he will. gojo is a reliable friend, unbeknownst to all. he respects your privacy and understands the seriousness of the subject never to bring again casually.

as he makes final touches to your tattoo you realize that you hold no regrets, your chest feels lighter, and the air in the room feels cleaner. as if an invisible barrier had been broken.

placing his pen down, gojo sighs, in relief. turning to you with a look you can equally identify as the feeling in your chest. he smiles.

"you're free, angel."