in which ellie shows you exactly who you belong to.
18+ minors dni!
You and Ellie aren’t together.
You’re not a couple. You’d both agreed to keep things casual. You’re just roommates who mess around sometimes; simple as that.
So why do you feel so guilty for going on a date with someone else?
You’re dressed and ready, adding the final touches to your makeup in the mirror, and you should be feeling excited - your date is a total dreamboat. Perfect on paper and so, so hot. But instead of that giddy, fluttery feeling in your stomach, all you feel is guilt.
You and Ellie aren’t together, you keep reminding yourself. You repeat it like a mantra in your head. There’s nothing wrong with going on a date, right? Because you’re single… Right?
On your way out, you run into Ellie, because of course you do. She’s sprawled out on the couch, head propped on a pillow, playing her Switch with a determined look on her face. Your stomach clenches when you see her. She looks up when she hears you walk to the front door, her eyes following you as you slip into your shoes.
“You look nice,” Ellie says from the couch. You look over and see that she’s paused her game; she’s sitting up and drinking in the sight of you, eyes lingering over your frame. You pretend not to notice.
“Thank you, Ellie.” You grin and look down at your outfit, palms smoothing over the fabric of your skirt. You do look nice.
“Where are you going?”
Your cheeks go hot at the question, and your first instinct is to lie - to tell Ellie that you’re going to see a friend. Just catching up with someone from college over dinner. But it’d be stupid to lie - you’re single. You’re allowed to go out.
“I’m, um, going on a date.”
You don’t look at her when you say it - you know you’d feel guilty, even if the two of you are just friends with benefits. Or… Roommates with benefits?
“Oh,” Ellie says, as you busy yourself picking off nonexistent lint from your shirt. Anything to avoid her gaze. “Okay. Have fun, then.”
There’s no bitterness in her voice, which you had expected. You glance at her face, and she’s back to that determined expression, focused on her Switch again.
You clear your throat. “Thanks. I’ll, um… See you later.”
Naturally, you spend the entire date thinking about Ellie. Her eyes, green and dotted with flecks of brown. Her hair, which falls in her face just right. Her mouth, and the way it feels against the supple flesh of your throat, Ellie’s lips soft and wet as she trails kisses down your neck.
And her hands - her strong hands. You can almost feel them on your hips, on your chest, between your legs.
God, this date was a mistake.
Still, you have the common decency to see it through. You pretend to be interested in your date’s job, their hobbies, their five year plan. They drone on for hours, only asking you a few pointed questions about yourself, and when the dinner’s finally over and they’ve signed the check, you’re itching to leave.
Not long after you’ve made it back home, you’re face-down on Ellie’s bed, moaning into the mattress as her tongue circles your clit.
She’d asked you about your date between heated kisses, her lips flushed and swollen. You hadn’t given her much details aside from it was boring and I just wanted to come home and do this. That seemed to give Ellie some sort of complex, because now, as she pumps her fingers into your cunt with one hand and lands a stinging smack on your ass with the other, she pulls back from mouthing at your clit to rasp, “That’s it, moan for me.”
And she’s always been talkative in bed, all slurred curses and dirty comments, but there’s something different this time. You arch your back deeper, giving her more access to pound her fingers into you, and she groans in approval.
“Good fucking girl,” she breathes, using her free hand to dig her blunt nails into the flesh of your ass. She gives it another spank for good measure. “Wanna tell me whose pussy this is?”
There it is - something she’s never said before. You can feel yourself getting wetter, tightening around her fingers as your hips involuntarily push backwards against her palm. You forget to respond entirely, every thought in your head smooth and shapeless, disappearing as quickly as it came. But Ellie won’t let you off so easily.
“Flip over,” she orders, the rasp in her voice sending a thrill up your spine. You obey wordlessly, and when you’re on your back, you see it: a possessive glint in her gaze, a sharp edge to her expression. You gush impossibly wetter, cunt clenching around nothing - the absence of Ellie’s fingers makes you want to sob.
“Ellie,” you whisper, brows knitting together. Her gaze softens. “Please make me come.”
A smile tugs at her lips and she nods, her palm rubbing over your stomach in soothing circles.
“I will, princess,” she assures you, “but I need you to tell me who you belong to. Think you might’ve forgotten.”
Guilt twists in your gut. “You, Ellie.”
“What about me?”
There’s a challenge in the teasing lilt of her voice. You swallow. “I… Belong to you.”
“Mm, that’s right.” Ellie’s hands travel upward from your abdomen to your chest, closing around each of your tits. You suck in a shaky breath when her thumbs stroke over your pert nipples, making them draw even more taut. “These are mine?”
“Yours,” you gasp, chest rising and falling quickly. Ellie’s bangs fall in her eyes as she leans over to suck a nipple into her mouth, tongue swirling over the bud until you go cross-eyed, hips canting upward. She repeats the same torture with your other breast, leaving both of your nipples swollen and sensitive.
“What about this?” Ellie asks when she pulls back, her hand moving to the heat between your legs. You whine, a desperate, pathetic little sound that makes Ellie want to eat you whole.
“Yours, Ellie, it’s yours,” you say, voice betraying how needy you are. She dips a finger into your wetness, your folds silky with arousal, and you almost miss the way her eyes flicker back into her skull for a moment. She’s enjoying this just as much as you are.
“This is mine?” She drags her fingers up to your clit, drawing torturously wide circles around it - close, but not close enough. You could start crying right there. You nod, frantic.
Ellie clicks her tongue, tuts in disapproval. “No, baby, I need to hear you say it. Whose pussy is this?”
And it’s not so hard to admit - Ellie’s had you under her spell long before you went on that stupid date tonight. You realize it now, cheeks warming at the obscene sounds of Ellie’s fingers playing in your cunt, unable to look her in the eye without squirming.
“My pussy’s yours,” you pant, “s’all yours. Nobody fucks me like you, Els.”
You’re pushing your hips towards her touch, your tits in your own hands now, pulling at your nipples like it’ll relieve the growing need in your belly. Ellie eyes you with half-lidded eyes, lust heavy in her gaze, and it’s like you can see the remnants of her resolve break. She sinks between your legs and finally, finally laps at your desperate cunt, drinking in the taste of you as you whine and writhe above her.
When you come, it’s with Ellie’s name on your lips. And you know it’s true - you’re entirely hers.
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WE ARE THE LOVESICK (GIRLS) - SAE ITOSHI
synopsis: Sae learns what the term 'whipped' means and comes to terms with it.
content: a sick!fic, fluff, sfw, early established relationship, itoshi siblings have a good(?) relationship, feels more like a brother bonding fic, soft!sae, sae centric pov, fem!reader
word count: 1.6K
a/n: yuh the title is based off of my fave blackpink song hehe and my bf is sick rn and instead of taking care of him im writing instead whoops - also posting this on rins birthday is NOT a crime
There are two things that Sae takes from this impromptu trip back home. One is that he should've done his passport renewal online because now he has to wait up to a whole month. He's not mentally prepared to explain that to his manager who's currently over six thousand miles away. And two, he's recently learned that you get sick really easily when you travel. Like ridiculously sick.
"Sae, I'm dying."
There's a sniffle. A cough. And then silence.
You definitely sound like you’re dying, Sae thinks. From the kitchen, he carefully watches your movements on the couch. Which is almost minimum to none. When you don’t respond to your name, Sae rushes over and takes a look. Your cheeks are flushed, hair sticking to your forehead in a way that didn’t look comfortable, a bit of drool hangs from the sides of your mouth from your lack of ability to breathe, and worst of all —
"My head hurts, Sae…" Another cough. "Do you have any aspirin?"
In the most loving way, he wishes you would’ve just stayed back in Spain.
He takes hold of your palms and places his forehead against yours. It's hot and wet to the touch. It makes him physically recoil back and Sae looks almost annoyed with himself. Maybe he should've tried harder to convince you to not come.
Sae hasn't been back home in maybe a year or two, he thinks, but surely there must be some aspirin or any form of medicine in the house, right? A quick rush through the drawers and every nook and cranny in the house proves him otherwise.
Sae jogs back to your curled-up figure on the couch and throws on his windbreaker. "I'll go out to the store and get some."
"No," You sit up too fast and wince, hands settling on the sides of your temples to support the weight of your head. "I'll get over it soon. Maybe it's just the humid weather?" You lamely suggest.
You always double down whenever it comes to your health. Trying to convince yourself that it'll get better soon because you hate being an inconvenience to others — others being Sae. You're doing this even when you look like an absolute (beautiful) wreck in Sae's eyes right now. But maybe he shouldn't exactly leave you alone when you're in a feverish state, especially in a space you're unfamiliar with.
He takes off his windbreaker and gently places it over your shoulders as he thinks on his feet. "Then I'll get someone else to do it."
You wrap yourself in his jacket and repress back a coughing fit. "Huh, like who?"
Only one person pops up in his mind and Sae isn't sure if he can count on him. But, even after everything that they've gone through, he can probably trust him. Well, maybe not trust but more like he's his only option.
"When did you even get back?"
"Last night," Sae answers and rushes to the point. "I need you to make an errand run."
"What?" Rin’s voice fills with annoyance over the line. "Why would I do that?"
"Because," Sae looks over his shoulder at the sight of your body in a fetal position on the couch. You’re visibly shaking a bit too much for his liking. Sae takes a deep breath and exhales loud enough for his brother to hear. "My girlfriend is sick. I've checked the cabinets and we don't have any medicine. I don't want to leave her alone at our house."
There's a pause and Sae is wondering if his brother has hung up. Then, Rin clears his throat on the line.
"You want me to drop what I’m doing to get medicine for your sick girlfriend? Am I hearing that right?"
Sae snaps his head at the sound of you coughing once more. You look disheveled and your eyes are unfocused on what's in front of you. He sharply inhales once more. "That's exactly what I want. Do you need me to repeat it?"
Another pause and then it's Rin's turn to sigh.
"Whatever. Be there in fifteen."
And Rin keeps his word, showing up precisely in fifteen minutes, in his tracksuit to be exact, begrudgingly holding a plastic bag in his hands. The big yellow smiley face contrasts sharply with Rin's visibly irritated expression. In the bag, there’s a bottle of aspirin, cough syrup, vitamin gummies, and three ice cream bars.
Rin takes one of the ice cream bars before shoving the bag into Sae's hands. "You owe me." He hisses out.
Sae ignores his brother's glare and only nods, mumbling a lazy "thanks" before making his way back into the living room. Rin quietly follows behind. Sae figures it's because he's semi-curious about how he's been, though Rin will never admit it.
You stir from the couch at the sound of plastic and wake up when Sae pours out the contents onto the coffee table, immediately ripping the cough syrup packaging open and pouring the recommended amount into the little plastic cup.
"Here, take this." And Sae watches as Rin grimaces at how softly he speaks to you.
You weakly nod and tilt your head enough for Sae to bring it to your lips. A quick swallow followed by an equally quick shudder from the bitterness and you manage to crack a small grin. "Thank you, babe."
Rin suppresses a gagging noise when Sae plants a chaste kiss on your forehead. You take this moment to finally register two and two together. Sae hasn't outright introduced you to his family members, but he has shown you pictures of them from time to time.
"Sorry for the intrusion—you must be Rin, right?" You sit up straight, still wrapped around Sae's windbreaker, and extend out a hand. "He's told me a lot about you."
Yeah, maybe Sae should've locked you back home.
His younger brother throws him a look, not annoyed but slightly amused. "He has?"
You seem to miss the panicked scowl that Sae flashes at you and continue on. "Plenty! He talks about you almost every day and watches your games at the dinner table."
Sae tenses when he feels Rin's gaze hardening on him. "You do...?"
Sae awkwardly clears his throat, suddenly feeling heat rushing to his neck, and starts heading towards the kitchen. "I'm going to make a drink."
Fortunately, you didn't catch the thick tension and begin rambling to Rin. And seeing Rin attempting to start a conversation with you is physically painful. Sae sips on a cup of coffee as you talk about what you do for a living and how you and Sae met. Rin awkwardly nods, adding a small few comments here and there. He'll occasionally try his best to smile and sound remotely interested without coming off as a deadpan ass. Talking to Rin is like talking to a rock, Sae concludes. A giant, lanky, grumpy rock.
"It was nice meeting you, Rin." Your voice still sounds fried but better than what it was earlier.
"Yeah, you too." The taller male rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and stands. "Hey," Rin's voice directs over to Sae and he nudges his head towards the hallway. "Mind if we talk real quick?"
Sae exhales for what it feels like the tenth time today. "Sure."
Both brothers lean on opposite sides of the wall, seemingly also avoiding each other's gazes because wow the floor looks mildly entertaining right now. When was the last time that they even had a proper conversation without ripping each other's throats apart? Sae honestly can't remember but it didn't seem like that was on Rin's to-do list.
Rin breaks the heavy silence first with a loud unwrapping sound from his ice cream bar. He stares at it for a long moment and splits the bar down the middle, offering one stick to Sae. "How long are you staying for?"
Sae accepts it and takes a small bite. "A month."
"Showing your girlfriend around the country?"
"Maybe, but I'm just waiting on my passport."
"Should've done it online, dumbass."
Sae pretends the comment doesn't tick him off. "Why are you asking anyway?"
"Nothing." Rin drops the subject and finishes off his half of the dessert. "You've gotten softer. It's like you're whipped or something."
Sae rolls his eyes and bites off the remaining ice cream on his stick. "What does that mean?"
"It means that if she asked you to do a handstand and sing a song, you'd do it."
Sae finds himself pausing, thinks for a bit, and shrugs. "And that's a bad thing?"
Rin's eyes narrow before racking a hand through his hair. "Actually, forget I said anything."
For a brief second, Sae isn't sure if Rin is annoyed at the fact that he would do all those things for you or if he's annoyed that he didn't know what whipped means. Maybe both.
Rin pushes himself off the wall and starts heading towards the entrance, waving off to you as you lay on the couch, probably scrolling aimlessly on the phone. Before Rin steps out, he whips around and gives Sae a final hard stare.
"If you're ever free, let me know." And before Sae can even respond, he's out the door.
You giggle from the couch at the interaction. "He's cute."
The couch dips slightly as Sae plops down next to you, arms immediately wrapping around your waist and tugging you close to his embrace. "Sometimes weird." He adds.
"By the way," You start in a coy tone. "You're fine with doing all of that?"
Sae presses his lips against your shoulder and hums. "Doing all of what?"
"A handstand and singing me a song." Your grin is so infectious that it's making his heart swell.
"I can do it no problem," Sae replies easily.
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you are somebody that i want to keep ; satoru gojo
synopsis; you aren't sure what you have with satoru gojo, but you know that it’s good.
word count; 6.7k
contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, colleagues to friends to something unlabelled, you love each other though!!, fluff, hurt/comfort, very very soft, reader falls first but gojo falls harder, both of u are afraid of intimacy lol, a lil angsty if u squint, satoru gojo cherishing u for ~7k words straight <33
a/n; basically just a collection of moments between you and gojo throughout the years <33 (a significant amount of time has passed between each part!!) hes an emotionally repressed loser but i love him and he is smitten w u.
in the soft luminescence of daybreak, your kitchen looks something like a dream.
tainted with a hazy sunshine, simmering with warm colours and pleasant scents, it almost seems to sparkle in the peripheral of your vision. brimming with that feeling of home, a home you’ve broken your bones building, desperate to shape it into something safe — and you think you’ve done a pretty good job.
it’s soothing, comforting, all of these sensations. bleeding into each other like smudges of paint on a canvas; hyacinths blooming by the windowsill, espresso-flavored steam wafting up to the roof, soft meows stemming from the cats by your feet. absolute bliss.
indulging in a peace yet to be shattered by the strain of the working world, you rub the sleep from beneath your weary eyes. blinking and yawning like a drowsy child.
beyond the translucent glass of your windows, glimmering with the light of a sun soon to rise, the world is painted pink and indigo — save for that one hint of gold, a streak of honey slathered across the surface of the sky. fluffy clouds drift through the chilly air, melting in the wake of a new day, and you think they look a little like tufts of cotton candy. soft enough to sink your teeth into, if only the glass wasn’t in the way. keeping the cold out.
it’s a new day. a pleasant morning, sitting comfortably on the brink of dawn, before the city has a chance to rouse from its slumber.
a kind of solitude you so rarely get to bask in.
a false solitude, really. because, for once, there’s another human being in your home — one you don’t know nearly as well as you’d like, for him to be fast asleep on your couch, cheek smushed against the leather. snoring softly.
satoru gojo.
like this, he looks very… human. vulnerable. hair just slightly tousled, from tossing and turning on your not-so-comfortable couch, blindfold only covering one of his eyes and close to slipping off entirely. his expression has melted into one of something vaguely resembling relaxation, as close to unguarded as you assume he can physically get.
even in his sleep, he looks a little stiff. not entirely at peace; like a stray cat sleeping under the hood of a car.
(you’re curious. fascinated, maybe, by the loneliness that clings to the strongest person in the universe. by the paradoxical innocence of his grin.)
honestly, everything from last night is kind of a blur. you remember accompanying the strongest sorcerer on a mission, one long enough to leave you completely and utterly spent, fatigue nestled deep into your bones. remember gojo getting a sudden migraine, so earth-shattering that you thought he was going to keel over and throw up in the middle of the street.
then you remember bringing him back home with you. very hesitantly, only after he begrudgingly accepted the fact that he didn’t have much of a choice. because you were fucking exhausted, and so was he, and your apartment happened to be conveniently close. you remember him practically passing out on your couch, still somehow managing to crack a bad joke you can’t recall, while you went to collapse into the comfort of your bed.
and now you’re here. dyed in half-transparent sunbeams, caffeine bubbling in your veins, gazing at your sleeping coworker from your spot by the kitchen table. waiting for the world to open its weary eyes.
it’s still early. some part of you expects him to sleep a while longer, but you can’t say you’re particularly surprised when gojo begins to stir.
a splotch of sunshine splatters across your living room window, staining the floorboards, falling over the contours of his pretty face. in the light, he looks positively holy; white lashes, pale skin, plump lips. like a goddess.
when he opens his eyes, it’s even worse. a single iris cracked open, pooling with unbridled brilliance. eyes so blue they seem to cut through the stillness of the air.
(— and the world wakes up.)
a little groan slips from his lips, barely audible. with groggy movements, he brings a hand up to his face, obscuring the grating light of the sun flitting in. you think you can almost see the gears of his mind turn, as he takes notice of his surroundings, remembering what transpired just hours before.
faster than you thought, he regains some semblance of composure. huffing under his breath, as he forces himself into a sitting position.
it feels a little wrong, to see the closest thing this world has to a god act so human. be so human. morning-fatigued, just like you, wearing droopy eyelids and a soft, sleepy pout. a little disheveled. groggy with lost dreams.
when his gaze meets yours, you can’t control the breath that hitches pitifully in the back of your throat. a meek skip of your heartbeat, like you just saw something you shouldn’t have. oops.
gojo cracks a grin.
“.. watchin’ me sleep?” he calls out, cheeky. paired with a drowsy yawn. composed, unbothered, but there’s something almost performative about it, something you’re sure you’d miss if he wasn’t still in the process of collecting himself.
“good morning,” is all you offer him. ignoring his teasing remark. he doesn’t push it, to your surprise. “sleep well?”
a hum. absentminded, jovial. one of his large hands goes to adjust his blindfold, the other to fluff up his hair. kicking off the blanket you just barely had the energy to throw over him last night. your fluffiest one, warm enough to protect him from the chill gnawing at the windows. hopefully.
“like a log,” he quips, stretching idly, muscles straining under his baggy uniform. they must be sore, after that mission. or maybe he’s above such things.
choosing not to comment on his obvious lie, you put your lips against the ceramic of your cup. sipping from the bitter brew, a tinge of hazelnut on your tongue. letting him gather his bearings without you scrutinizing him. a little favor, one liar to another.
“thanks for letting me crash,” he grins, lazy. toothy. stumbling to his feet with a low groan, gaze flitting around the room — looking for the exit. “i’ll get outta your hair,” he mutters, and you raise a brow.
“not staying for breakfast?”
gojo stills. your question rings out, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, into the living room.
his smile twitches, ever so slightly, in what you think must be surprise. then it’s back to normal; like putting on a mask, not allowing a sliver of weakness to slip through the cracks. he exhales a raspy chuckle, a sound that flows through the air and crawls down your spine.
”generous, aren’t you?” he hums, voice rich with amusement. dappling sunlight licks at the white locks of his hair.
you shrug. “i wouldn’t mind the company.”
the words climb up the walls of your throat, a little reckless, eager to catch a glimpse of the miracle before you. satoru gojo, framed by the simplicity of your home — somewhat hard to let go of. sunkissed skin, restless hands. a little out of tune. shifting from foot to foot, eager to get away.
(a little like a frightened fawn, you amuse yourself by thinking. he’s really more like the fox who scared it.)
you think he must be bit uncomfortable. forced to spend the night in a coworker’s apartment, one he doesn't even know that well, one he probably doesn’t have any intention of getting to know. still trying to politely excuse himself. persistent, stubborn.
maybe he didn’t expect this. maybe he was convinced he could sneak away, before you had a chance to wake up. maybe he thought you’d be all too eager to let him leave, and never speak of this again. maybe he’s not used to being wanted.
“ha… i’m flattered, believe me, but —“
“what do you usually eat?” you ask. cutting him off, gently, tapping your fingertips against the edge of the table. “for breakfast, i mean. i’ll whip something up.”
a chuckle slips from his lips. you can’t put your finger on it, but something about it bothers you. “really, there’s —“
“if you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t be.” you pause, unsure of what to say. but the words end up spilling out of your throat, oddly honest. ”it’s been a while since i had the chance to make breakfast for someone else.”
it’s strange, really, how intent you are on seeing this through. how much effort you’re putting into making him stay. you barely even know him. actually, you don’t know him at all — all you know is that his smile makes you happy and his strength makes you envious. that you aren’t afraid of him, even though you probably should be.
something about him just feels safe.
“i’m pretty good at making pancakes,” you hum, a small smile playing at your lips. polite, jovial. pale light flits in through the window and slips into its curve. ”do you want some? before we go to work.”
(something in his fingers twitch, when you say that tiny word; pancakes. a little tell. you just barely catch it, before it sputters out. before he reels it back in.)
a moment passes. slow, drawn out, a rubber band bound to snap.
gojo stands there, a very subtle contemplation etched into his features. behind him, your cats begin to scratch at the couch, but you don’t scold them. just waiting for something to happen. beyond the glass of your windows, the sun unfurls in the sky, stretching its arms to envelop the world.
he grins, suddenly. soft light reflecting off the white of his teeth. cocky, composed. not quite performative, a little more natural.
“well, if you insist.”
he strolls over to your side, just a tiny bit sluggish, lazy steps and comically long limbs. he must still be tired. but he takes a seat, right across from you, plopping down on the chair with an effortless air of confidence. lighthearted, leaning his elbows on the table, crossing his legs under it. comfortable. settling into his role.
you’re pleasantly surprised.
“how would you like them?” you ask, and you think some of your excitement may have spilled out with the question. if it did, gojo doesn’t comment on it. ”your pancakes.”
“with chocolate chips, please!” he shoots you a sweet smile. “and whipped cream on top.”
so demanding. for some reason, it makes the corners of your lips quirk up. kinda like a bratty younger brother.
“got it.”
the smell of dark chocolate hangs heavy in the air as you get to work, shuffling around the open space. all while gojo waits, patiently, tapping his foot under the table and staring out the window. leaning his jaw on the heel of his palm. listening to the humming of nightingales on the branches of the apple tree down on the ground, and the buzz of your old radio.
the kitchen fills with motion, sounds, smells. life. splotches of sunlight, crinkled cartons of orange juice. the clinking of plates. two tired adults, seated at the same table, indulging in a fleeting peace and the promise of something new. something almost concrete.
a small, precious moment. enough to make your fascination shift into something you know must be fondness. or close to it.
gojo grins at you, mouth full of pancakes, eagerly telling you about something the kids did last week. wolfing them down, chocolate smeared over his bottom lip. you laugh, and suddenly the world feels a little safer than it should. a little more intact.
you wonder what it means. where it’s going to lead. this feeling of something wonderful beginning, something you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.
a budding connection.
the city lays blanketed beneath a layer of thick snow. blurry pale dots dancing in the wind, obscuring the sky, frost engulfing every building in a bone chilling hug.
with a slight shiver, you dig your hands into the comfort of your pockets, seeking the fleeting warmth you find. admiring the frozen landscape before you, the hustle and bustle of people going about their day. the saffron light of the lamp posts, the glittering snow by your feet, the skeletal apricot trees and their bare branches. this monochrome city you find yourself in.
gojo exhales. strolling cheerily down the street, in tandem with you, a frosty breath to your left that scatters and melts into the open air. it smells minty.
today, he’s wearing black shades — like he usually is when you meet outside of work. it’s kind of nice. when you angle your face a certain way, you can almost see the blue pooling in his eyes, the white of his eyelashes.
he’s beautiful. he always has been. but like this, you think his beauty is simply unfair, highlighted by the winter wonderland you find yourselves in. mesmerizing, the red flush of his cheeks, how he hums along to some jolly tune playing from a little corner store further down the street. all bundled up, in a stylish overcoat and a nice scarf, untouched by the snowflakes fluttering about.
protected by his infinity, always. the silly god you call a friend.
he looks content, despite the cold that keeps nipping at your bare skin, smiling widely. blabbing on about the movie you’re about to watch, how he saw it back in high school but never thought it’d get a remake. how his friend thought it sucked but that friend always had bad taste so his opinion is irrelevant. how he has faith that you’ll like it.
(cute.)
distracted by the pretty man so close by, close enough to touch, you don’t look ahead. maybe just a little bit entranced. which would be fine, if you didn’t happen to be walking on the right side of the street —
crashing straight into a lamp post.
”owch!”
it’s sudden. and it’s a harsh collision, enough to leave your nose stinging, an ache that makes you whine. cursing under your breath as you take a couple steps back, hands reaching for the part of your face that took the brunt of the hit.
and gosh, is this embarrassing. you dance on the edge of death for a living, and here you are — whining over walking into a fucking lamp post. because you were too enamored by the beauty of your own coworker to pay attention to your surroundings.
a coworker who is currently looking at you, silently. having failed to warn you in time, stuck in his own memories, caught up in his in-depth, spoiler-filled review of a movie he’s been waiting to watch all week.
for a moment, all he does is blink. long eyelashes fluttering, like a dove flapping its wings.
then he starts laughing.
scratch that — gojo is downright cackling, thoroughly amused by your clumsy mishap, like he just saw the funniest thing in the world. laughter ringing out into the cold air, white breaths to compliment the red of your burning ears.
asshole.
with a harsh furrow of your brows, you attempt to look angry; but before long, your lips are curling up. infected by his joy. a soft punch to his shoulder is all you manage, biting back a little puff of laughter. you’re embarrassed.
(so embarrassed you don’t even notice how he puts his infinity down.)
”don’t laugh, you piece of shit!” you hiss, grinning even still, flushing and trying to ignore the curious glances you get from passersby. ”it really hurt!”
but gojo doesn’t stop. doesn’t even attempt to. you think he just grew even more amused, if anything, practically bending over from how hard he’s laughing — clutching his stomach.
”sorry, sorry — ’m just…” he tries to speak, taking deep breaths in between bursts of giggles. ”how the hell — how’d you —”
he stops trying. laughing, again.
and it’s a genuine laugh. a little wolfish, spilling out from his pretty parted lips, showing off his sharp teeth. from the very bottom of his gut, clear and bright, deep and infectious. melodic. shades close to slipping off the bridge of his nose, eyes tearing up behind them. trying to collect himself, muffled giggles turning to soft vapour in the cold air. dimples visible on his rosy cheeks.
and suddenly you can't think, can't speak, can only look at him and wonder how a human can be so very beautiful. how it’s metaphysically possible. like a crushed cluster of stars was given human form, a body of celestial light.
he looks so young, like this. a millenia younger, no weight on those broad shoulders, no immovable wall to separate you both. he looks like one of the guys you used to hang out with in middle school, running through corridors and play fighting and holding back shared laughter in the library. before the bite of the world left a mark in your skin.
he looks like himself. like someone pulled the mask off, and all that’s left is the human. none of the godhood he was saddled with at birth.
while you’re busy staring, gojo finally finds his composure again. wiping at his glassy eyes, a chuckle slipping out here and there. distracted by the breathtaking sight, you begin to forget the sting of your collision — until you feel something warm trickle down your chilled skin.
searching for it with the pads of your fingers, you feel a trail of wetness beneath your nose. and when you bring them down, to get a look, all you see is red.
”ah.”
gojo moves closer. maybe just a little alarmed, by the blood dripping from your nose, staining the white of the snow beneath your feet. a chilling contrast, one you’re frighteningly used to. it’s almost comforting. blood on your skin, that sting of pain clogging up your nose, enough for you to get lost in. colours melting together, memories rising to the surface —
when suddenly, something touches your cheek.
one large hand goes to keep your jaw in place, gentle. smooth leather, sneaking under your chin, lifting your face up ever so slightly. warmth trickles from his fingertips through the fabric, and you can smell a hint of his perfume. strawberries and vanilla.
gojo looks at you fondly. wiping the blood from your nose, smudging his expensive gloves. from this angle, you can see his eyes, a blue shimmer in an evening painted white and gray — the sole flicker of colour in this monochrome city. they’re crinkled at the edges.
he looks awfully amused.
(you stay still, not breathing, like any slight motion could have him pulling away.)
”careful,” he croons. so low you barely hear it, almost a purr. the word has a soft underbelly, something you don’t need to dissect to feel.
a sentiment that seems to simmer in the air around you, drifting past the little corner store, a dog tied to a lamp post, your reddened cheeks. past the blue of his eyes, a peripheral that stretches to cover the city before you. words too heavy to speak aloud.
stay safe for me, silly.
then he’s letting go. sudden, the bite of the air replacing his hand. it lingers on your skin, like a memory, like the ghost of a memory. but it’s there. strawberries and vanilla, leather and warmth. something kind. warm.
and it stays there, even as gojo takes a step forward, no longer facing you. walking confidently, the wind bending around his tall stature. long legs and large steps, leaving an imprint in the snow for you to follow. a northern star.
he turns his head, and grins. hair tousled by the breeze, white locks glittering with snowflakes. ”you coming? it’s starting soon.”
a moment passes.
”or do you need me to call shoko?”
you puff out a breathy laugh, at that, stumbling forward. reaching up to wipe more of the blood sticking to your skin. sniffling, but smiling, teeth peeking out between your lips.
”yeah, yeah,” a roll of your eyes. ”’m right behind you.”
gojo’s eyes crinkle, disappearing behind his shades when he straightens his back and raises his head. moving forward, while you follow; his back turned to you, snowy hair melting into the white all around you. like something out of a painting.
with a pep in step, you catch up to him. eager to hear more of his voice, his memories. still basking in the warmth of his hand on your jaw.
a touch from the untouchable.
gojo’s lying on your couch.
he usually is, to be fair, so it shouldn’t be surprising. kicking his legs up, watching tv — or sleeping, snoring loudly, like the couch belongs to him. like your home belongs to him. like he pays rent, and doesn’t just laze around and devour all the sweets in your kitchen cabinets.
(he’s there so often that you’re starting to wonder if you should give him a copy of your keys, or something. but you have a feeling that’d be just a smidge too intimate for him to ever accept.)
this time, however, gojo is doing neither of those things.
he’s on your couch, but he isn’t manspreading, or draping himself over the leather with a lazy grin. he doesn’t have that air of effortless confidence. and it’s palpable, in the air, the open space, enough that you can feel it. an itch on your skin, a lump in your throat. you could practically feel it as soon as you walked through the door.
he isn’t wearing his blindfold, or his shades. he isn’t even smiling. and gojo is always, always smiling.
you think he might be having a rough day.
even the cats are noticing that something’s off. jumping up in his lap, trying to comfort him, brushing against his legs. purring, when he cradles them close — always so gentle with them. hands petting down their backs, softly, the same hands he uses to rip out the throats of curses and curse users alike.
then they mewl and run away. and for once you wish they wouldn’t, wish they could keep clinging to him like they always do. just to make him feel better. right now, in the state he’s in, you wouldn’t even mind gojo’s usual smug declarations of how does it feel to know they like their papa best?
you can’t help but feel unsure of yourself. gojo isn’t doing anything, and he isn’t saying anything. he’s just lying there, on his back, eyes closed. letting the darkness of the room engulf him. drowning in his own thoughts.
he must know that you’re there. he must have heard you come in. but he isn’t saying anything, and you wonder if that means he wants you to leave him alone.
you’re reminded of that one morning. when he woke up on your couch, and looked more human than you’d ever seen him. how you wanted to avert your eyes, how wrong it felt to see a god rouse from its slumber.
(but you know better now.)
hesitantly, you begin to inch closer, step by step. quiet, floorboards barely creaking beneath your weight. tentative, as you settle down on the couch. brushing against the infinity between you.
gojo’s eyes flicker open. like an old tape beginning to play. they still shine with that same brilliance, they always do, but now you think they look just a little dull. a little red.
a moment passes. agonizingly slow.
before you can properly think it through, you’ve done it. almost on instinct, jumping the gun before he has the chance to cover everything up with jokes and laughter. opening your arms; a silent invitation.
gojo only stares.
his gaze moves down to your outstretched arms, and then up to your face. your pursed lips, nervous eyes, worried crease between your brows. one second passes. two, five. you stop counting.
for a moment, you’re almost certain that he’s about to get up and leave. that he’ll flash you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, walk out the door and then never return. like you flew too close to the sun, just another icarus too mesmerized by the glow of his grin to notice your melting wings. like you stepped over the fragile line that separates his bones from yours, his heartbeat from your greedy hands.
— but then he sluggishly gets into a sitting position, and doesn't look at you.
when gojo collapses into your embrace, you’re so surprised that you almost forget how to breathe. almost forget your own name, forget whose home you’re in, why your arms are wrapped around a pale man. all you can think of is how warm he feels, how he’s like a weighted blanket against you. how he trusts you enough to come so very close.
cheek pressed against your chest, arms loose around your waist. no infinity, no barriers. just a single touch shared between two damaged human beings.
a brief inhale gives you the composure that you need. air flowing into your lungs, your brain, as you settle into a comfortable position. no words leave your lips; you just continue to hold him, one hand on his back, testing the waters. letting him hear the echo of your heartbeat. unsure, the both of you, but something about this feels right. close to right. almost there.
gojo is stiff. when you strain your ears, you hear a sharp intake of breath, and a full body shiver courses through him. a tremble of his spine. like he’s itching to run, like he doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. so painfully unused to a proper embrace.
(a little like a frightened fawn.)
a tender something unfurls within your chest, and you feel almost devoured by the fondness rooting itself into your beating heart. delicate, as you begin to brush away his tousled bangs, leaning close. pressing a kiss to his forehead, glistening with sweat. letting your lips linger on his skin.
he’s pale, shining in the bleak moonlight cast from the translucent curtains of your living room windows. pale like a ghost. and there are dark crescents beneath his dull eyes.
nightmares, you surmise. they haunt him too, don’t they? of course they do.
eyes brimming with emotion, you gaze at him; quiet as a mouse, closing his eyes. leaning into your touch, ever so slightly, breathing out a sigh tinged with pure exhaustion. and a certain realization washes over you, akin to a tidal wave, sudden and inevitable. so obvious it’s funny.
you’re not a god at all, are you?
a coo slips from your lips. barely a sound, more like a soothing breath. warm against his cold skin.
you’re just like everyone else. just as fragile.
one of your thumbs goes to smooth over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. so, so gentle. like one wrong touch could have him crumbling into little grains of stardust, spilling out over the worn leather of your couch.
there are so many things you wish you could say to him. so many things you’ll never be able to say, because you’re afraid that if you give him too much it’ll scare him off. like love could burn him if it were to leak out too fervently. like it’s burned him before.
so you don’t say anything. but you think it, you repeat it inside your mind like a prayer, and some part of you thinks that’s enough. i’ve got you — a whisper that you don't dare to voice.
one gojo still manages to hear, somehow, if the way he tugs you closer and snuggles into your neck is anything to go by. a shaky exhale brushing against your collarbone.
(if you feel something wet touch the skin of your shoulder, you don’t mention it.)
you simply hold him, and don’t even think the thought of letting go. even though it takes him hours just to fall asleep, hours you spend anxiously wondering if he’ll change his mind and pull away. but he doesn't leave, even though his body may want him to, and that's enough, and you don’t let go. not even once. he stays cradled to your chest the same way you’d hold a tiny puppy, something fragile. something you need to handle with care.
and when his heartbeat finally mellows out, when you hear little barely audible snores flow from his lips, you finally begin to relax. melting into the couch beneath you, watching him get the rest he deserves. praying that any nightmares of his will be given to you instead.
sleep comes, eventually, to the both of you. tangled up on the couch, him on top of you, comforted by the flutter of each other’s heartbeat. by the warmth of another human being. safe in each other’s arms.
(the next morning, through hazy sunshine and the clinking of coffee cups, he teasingly tells you that just satoru is fine.)
it’s barely daybreak when satoru wakes you up.
a rude awakening, to say the least. he pulls out all the stops, intent on not letting you sleep even a second longer; poking at your cheek, pinching them when that doesn’t work. tickling you, blowing cold air into your ear, flopping down on top of you like a big dog. anything to rouse you from your deep slumber.
and he just will not give it up. no matter how hard you try to ignore him, no matter how many times you swat him away with your duvet pillow or turn to bury your face into the sheets. that’s how satoru always is, how he’s always been, how he hopefully always will be — an absolute pain. one you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.
so, when he starts whining for you to just wake up already, voice tinged with a sadness that tugs at your heartstrings, you find yourself opening your tired eyes. all while he murmurs on and on about something unintelligible, still trying to bribe you.
”i’ll make you coffee, okay? just get up. c’moooon.”
”… what time is it, satoru?” is all you mutter, voice leaving your lips in a raspy, disgruntled fashion. stirring a little at the promise of coffee.
he cracks a grin. ”don’t worry about it! just come with me.”
despite your grumpy attitude, and the ungodly hour at which satoru shakes you awake, you find yourself letting him scoop you up and set you down on the kitchen counter. placing a hot cup of coffee in your hands, made just the way you like it, before grinning mischievously in a way that has you feeling ill at ease.
and ten minutes later, you find yourself on top of a hill. overlooking the woods, and a big lake below you, no city lights visible no matter where you turn — god knows where he’s taken you, but it’s pretty.
breathtaking, even. all frost and wildlife and peace, sweet solitude, tiny flowers blooming on the patches of grass around you. a murder of crows takes flight in the distance, scattering into the indigo of the sky.
gojo grins, boyish and bright, excited breaths turning into vapour as he speaks. awfully proud of himself.
”i can’t take you on vacation, but —”
he drags you with him, arm looped around your own, plopping down on the ground. not before taking off his jacket, to cover the ground beneath you. grass tickles the skin of your palms, as you comfortably spread your legs, making sure to sit as close to him as possible.
and your heart softens a little.
because he’s mentioned it, before; how it’d be nice to go on a road trip, someday, just the two of you. all around the world, wherever the wind takes you. basking in that feeling of freedom. it’s no more than a fever dream, though, with how busy satoru is, the responsibilities you both shoulder.
so this’ll have to do. that’s probably what he’s thinking.
”the sun’ll rise soon. it’ll be pretty, i promise,” he beams, so close that you feel his warm breath on your skin. that you can see the dimples on his cheeks, his barely visible freckles.
”oh, so that’s why you woke me up so early.”
his smile widens. ”nice, right? i wanted to surprise you. d’you like it?”
a smile blooms on your lips, in tandem with his, honeyed and content. indulgent. gojo looks at it, and immediately knows your answer.
”yeah. it’s really pretty out here,” you face forward, taking a deep breath, fresh morning air entering your lungs. cool and crisp, stirring your sleepy mind. ”kinda nostalgic.”
satoru hums, and follows your lead. looking ahead, admiring the beauty of an empty world.
the big lake looks like a mirror, from here, glittering in the peripheral of your vision. the sun licks at the frozen sky, not quite breaking through, not entirely ready to rise — but it paints everything a rusty gold and you can almost feel spring shining through, taste it on your tongue, that promise of something better, something more concrete. a warmth you don’t have to question.
a warmth that’ll stay with you for a long time to come.
it takes about ten seconds for the man by your side to start speaking, again, shattering the peaceful silence. but you don’t mind. his voice is nice, a mellow melody to your morning-fatigued brain.
side by side, you wait for the sun to rise. sharing hushed whispers and laughter, like two kids having a sleepover. like nothing exists but the space that cocoons you, wraps you up in a nostalgia so palpable the entire world feels like a fond memory.
(it makes you feel a millenia younger.)
satoru giggles like a child, telling you about something shoko said, or something megumi did, and you don’t miss a single word that spills from his glossy lips. hanging on to every word he’s willing to give to you.
he looks so unbothered, like this. eyes crinkling, humming some tune you don’t recognize, like a little nightingale ready to take flight into the skies.
you part your lips, admiring his features. every patch of skin you can see. words making themselves manifest, hungry to see inside his brain, to know more about him. a fascination that’s never quite left you — though now you think it may be better described as love. ”hey, satoru?”
at the sound of his name, he turns to you. the weight of his eyes feels so light, like this. those blessed eyes staring into yours. he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips. ”mm?”
”if you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be right now?”
satoru blinks.
he looks at you, a mild surprise flitting through the lines of his face, as he takes you in. measures the weight of your words.
then he smiles, again. lopsided, almost a smirk, rich with amusement. a hum buzzes in his throat, like a butterfly itching to break out.
”.. you teasing me?”
a huff fills the air. ”it’s a genuine question!” you insist, moving your leg to nudge his own. ”c’mon. anywhere in the world. i’m just curious.”
another hum. he narrows his eyes, playfully, biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle when that makes you grumble. pouting softly, tilting your head. he’s amused, you can tell.
but he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering, glimmering with morning dew. and you can tell he’s taking you seriously. tasting the question on his tongue.
something shines in his eyes, when he opens them again; crinkling at the corners, soft lines of crows’ feet. you can almost see that burst of aquamarine, breaking through the black glass of his shades. like the laws of physics can’t contain it. and he smiles, as always, a smile so beautiful you wish you could live on the curve of his lips. flimsy, no teeth peeking out, no dimples to admire. but sweet. slathered with honey, as sincere as can be.
his voice comes out a little raspy, tainted with a tinge of fatigue, a smokey residue that sticks to the walls of his throat. but it's genuine, like he just woke up, like he's too sleepy to be dishonest. like every word he says can be no more or less than the absolute truth.
and when he turns to face you, tilting his head enough for you to see that shade of blue you love so dearly, his eyes shine with an honestly so palpable you feel like you’re being devoured.
satoru parts his lips.
”right next to you.”
a moment passes. silent, endless, no sound to be heard but the beating of your own heart.
at last, the sun breaks through that layer of frost, peeking up from the boundary of the world — and the morning begins to thaw. streaks of sunlight cascade down the contours of his handsome face, painting him a mellow gold, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the warmth of his hand finding yours.
for a moment, satoru looks unsure. smile shifting in the light, into something slightly stiff, and you know that means he's nervous. silent, as he wets his glossy lips. pink tongue tasting strawberry chapstick.
then he’s leaning forward.
it’s chaste, the kiss he plants on your forehead, soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. but it lingers, even after he’s pulled back — a warmth on your skin. a silent declaration.
he doesn't have to say anything. when you look up at him you can see the red flush of his ears, and when you strain your ears you can hear all those unspoken whispers. the sentiment neither of you will ever have to say out loud, because you know. it’s there. and it means everything.
and you know that for as long as you live, you’ll both have this. one single thread of normalcy, in your unorthodox existences, one single glimmer of something almost entirely good. something that heals, something that isn’t a blessing and a curse all in one. something soft to the touch.
there’s no need to find the right words for it. there never was.
”kinda looks like melted ice cream.”
the words pull you out of your stupor. satoru’s looking at the sky, and you follow his gaze, watching the sunrise in tandem with him.
it’s beautiful. soft clouds melting into pinks and oranges, dappling sunbeams lapping at the trees, a saffron shade washing over the empty world in front of you. a world that may not be so empty, after all, because you hear crows in the distance, and someone’s fishing by the lake, and you think you spot a squirrel in the tree closest to you.
and you have someone, right next to you, right by your side. someone who won’t ever leave.
sometimes, loving satoru gojo feels a little like strolling on the edge of a cliff. like one wrong step could have you tumbling down, a mess of broken bones and unspoken words. but if you do stumble and fall — you know he’ll be waiting at the bottom of the precipice. arms outstretched, wearing that same innocent grin, ready to hoist you both back up.
so you know it’ll be fine.
swallowing down a bout of fresh laughter, like a flower unfurling in your chest, petals brushing against your ribcage, you give in. opting to bask in the moment, in his presence.
”yeah,” you puff out a chuckle, head slumping against satoru’s shoulder. he makes a little noise of approval, and your grin grows. ”it does.”
he doesn’t say anything. smiling, wordlessly, admiring the way the sun kisses up your collarbone. lighting up your face. and you bask in his warmth, how right it feels to be tucked into his side. how safe he feels, even now. how safe you make him feel.
you look at the man to your left, and he looks back at you, and that wonderful unnamed something unfurls inside your chest again. and, without having to speak it aloud, you know it will continue to do so.
many, many years later, he’ll still be satoru, and you’ll still be you. the distance between you will be what it always was; breachable.
and that will be enough.
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