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#satoru gojo angst
ohimsummer · 2 days
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you’re really going to LEAVE SATORU BEHIND. . .?
— angst no comfort sawry </3, poly! stsg breakup scene (mentioned briefly in this), geto x reader
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cutting through the bustling crowd, satoru’s fervent cries reach your ears—desperate words imbedding themselves in your skin.
“suguru! y/n! come on, what do you two think you’re even doing? this is so drastic, you know this is stupid!”
you fathom how suguru makes it look so easy, ignoring gojo so effortlessly and not even breaking his stride. how does geto just not acknowledge him? he has to also be hurting on the inside?
“guys, don’t do this.” the hurt in satoru’s voice is like knives in your chest. “just—just come here, we can talk about this. there has to be another way!”
there isn’t any other solution in you and suguru’s minds. killing off all non-sorcerers was the only way to make the world a better place for people like you. people like satoru and shoko and nanami. as long as you let these lower classes—monkeys, as suguru spits out—continue to live on in their ugly and useless little lives, then earth was a doomed planet. this needed to be done, you knew it needed to be done, and yet…
“y/n! y/n, sweetheart, baby, please, please, please, come back. i can’t lose both of you, please!”
it was hard enough already, but satoru targeting you specifically just makes this all the more difficult.
“suguru…” your fist tightens in geto’s black shirt, directing wide and teary eyes to his indifferent features, about to turn and meet satoru’s eye when a hand gently holds the back of your head.
“i know it’s hard.” suguru finally speaks, still moving forward. “but gojo doesn’t understand this, my love. just keep going. you have to be strong. he’ll be grateful when we finally change the world for the better.”
and his words make sense, they always make sense. so, through nails in your palms, clenched eyelids, and tears, you continue ahead with suguru. and eventually you can no longer hear satoru’s cries at all.
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kissxcore · 2 months
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THE 1 — GOJO SATORU
“and if my wishes came true, it would've been you.”
exbf!gojo x gn!reader, hurt + very little comfort, one suggestive misunderstanding, alcohol, reader has long hair, here again with my ex!gojo bullshit bc drunk dial was not enough for me apparently
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gojo breaks up with you right in the middle of your senior year in high school.
it's nothing like those scenes from those rom-com movies you used to watch through hushed giggles and loud squeals, back when you'd cover your eyes with your hands and peek through your fingers during the passionate kisses and apologies—there's no rain, no swelling music with dramatic violin, no indication of the mixed emotions he's feeling.
honestly, the worst part about it is that you see it coming. you don’t feel surprise or shock when he tells you that it’s over, only an emptiness that digs at your chest; it’s a feeling you’ve felt before (like when you got a grade you weren’t happy with or when your parents yelled at you for screwing up a simple chore) but it’s nothing you’ve felt before because it feels like your heart is squeezing so tight it might burst and you can’t breathe, and then all of a sudden, you’re begging him not to do this, not to you, not right now.
it’s embarrassing in hindsight, knowing just how much you cry and just how raw your voice comes out through blubbering sobs, but even though his eyes are red and he’s trembling under his hoodie, he remains unmoving, like a child unprepared to fight a dragon.
all of the random belongings that you’d stashed in his room over the years end up in a tote bag he sets on your front porch, and he removes your story highlight on his instagram just an hour later—he waits three days before he takes your initials off his bio though, because of course he does, because of course he wants his followers and internet stalkers to speculate and stew on his relationship status.
well fine, you think, fuck you too. you leave your pictures up for a little longer, just to spite him.
shoko tells you that it's better this way. it used to be really awkward, she admits, watching you two fight over the smallest things during your free period, sitting in uncomfortable silence as you dished out your personal affairs in front of the whole friend group.
geto confesses that gojo looks happier now. he perks up more at the things that used to interest him, his cheesy grin makes its way onto his face more often, his hair is fluffier, his clothes are less wrinkled, his eyes are brighter, and he’s just…better.
without you.
you have to clarify if that's what he means, and even though geto's eyes widen in panic and he immediately backtracks, just a glance at your ex-boyfriend gives you the answer his friend is too much of a coward to say; it's obvious to everyone that your relationship had been beyond repair for months, but you still care for him, and you like seeing him happy (even if it means not seeing him at all), so you pretend it doesn't affect you.
it's that uneasy feeling of knowing someone and not knowing them, the precarious ache you finally recognize when you see him playfully flirting with other people, knowing that the two of you used to talk about marriage and what the house would like with your future salaries after college, but you move on, as everyone does.
(not that any of it would've mattered; you would've been content with anywhere he wanted to go, anything he wanted to do, anybody he wanted to be, as long as he brought you with him.)
the next time you talk to him is during your sophomore year of college. it's like he waited for you to forget all about him before he reappears in the crowded lecture hall where your humanities class takes place, and when you feel the presence of a tall man slide into a chair two spots away from you, you realize that the guy with white hair and blue eyes is the same one that dumped you two years ago.
it's painstakingly awkward when he realizes what he's done (he makes a noise in unwitting surprise), but he quickly covers it up with an ill-fitted glance and hesitant dismay, moving to speak anyways.
you find out two things that day.
1.) gojo is a different person than he was in high school.
he always used to be that guy, even in elementary, the one who got picked first amongst the raised hands and wilted heads during kickball, the one who teachers used as an example for other kids to look up to, the one who lived for other people instead of himself, but he carries himself differently now. he's quieter, you think —softer, even— donning muted blues that match his eyes, a large sweater covering the lank of the muscles of his arm.
2.) even though his voice is deeper than it used to be, it makes your heart flutter all the same.
you exchange pleasant formalities with him and say your goodbyes as quickly as possible after the class ends, and whether it's to escape the awkward situation or to hide the fact that your heart is palpitating far faster than usual doesn't matter, and you really shouldn't be thinking about gojo satoru.
…still though, once you catch your breath in a new seat for your new class, you find yourself opening your phone under the dim lights of the auditorium. you type in his instagram handle like it’s second nature (it might as well be), biting your bottom lip as you press his profile. he’s privated now, with far fewer followers than he had in high school—you begin to wonder if he’s blocked everybody he didn’t care about after graduation like he always said he would, but the red notification in the corner of your screen catches your eye first.
go.satoru has requested to follow you. confirm | delete | 40s
the confirmation button is blue.
(blue like the sweater he wore today, like the detergent you smelled when he shifted ever so slightly, his arm leaning against the fold-up table as he stared nervously at you.)
after a moment of hesitation, you press it.
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gojo slips into your life rather easily after that. you’re hesitant at first, but you’ve always been weak to him, so it really was only a matter of time before you let him back in.
you never used to mind it that much—being weak, you mean—gojo was always strong enough for the both of you until you had to hold yourself up on your own. maybe that’s where your relationship failed, with your endless urge to depend on his incessant need to be depended on.
he was always there, though, there to pick your broken pieces back up, scraping his own bloodied fingers against the broken glass of your psyche, painstakingly gluing the mirror of your soul back together. it came easy to him, like most things did, like a gingerbread house filled with icing and peppermint candy, decorating the driveway with gumdrops and sprinkles, sugary sweet, like his heart— warm and soft, like a home.
it hurts because you could've cultivated your love into a house if you'd just tried harder, but the brick needed patience, the heating needed communication, he needed a steady hand to support yours as he piped the icing, and you lacked everything when you were children.
(it was idiotic to think you could've anyways, children were never meant to build their own homes.)
but really, who's to say that exes can't be friends?
he's shy at first, he starts with small smiles directed vaguely in your direction when he comes in late to the lectures once again, and then it's a chirpy "hi!" or "good morning!", and then, one day, he brings in an awkward smile and two coffee cups, one in each hand.
it's the same coffee order you used to get when you were younger, but even if you've grown out of the high-energy cappuccinos, you still accept it.
you can love and value somebody you used to date, you rationalize—you're more than aware of your self-destructive habits, and his aura is next to you but never beside you, so it doesn't matter that you laugh a little harder than you need to when he makes fun of your professor's bald spot, and you don't care when he stares at you with that incredulous smile of his, his lips curved into a smirk before his eyes soften ever so slightly when they meet yours.
and then the end-of-semester party comes.
it's a blur of a lot of big mistakes and bad alcohol, but somehow, your hand finds his, grasping onto his pinky and dragging him away from the crowd of bodies that distract him. you pull him to a private bathroom, pawing at the rolled-up sleeves of the unbuttoned hawaiian shirt he wears.
he's confused the second your skin touches his (it feels familiar, the kind of feeling that feels just out of his grasp, ghosting and teasing at his memories), and honestly, he thinks you might just make out with him if you're feeling messy enough, but then you kneel down on the floor.
his face turns red as he finds your half-lidded eyes staring up at him with desperation, your pearly whites barely peeking through the pink fat in your lips as you grasp at his pants.
"need you—" you mumble, "need you to stay—"
"oh, nonono," he panics, "not when you’re drunk—"
your head whips to the right, and he stares in horror as you throw up right into the toilet bowl.
and then it finally clicks for him.
oh, shit.
he hesitantly crouches down, his fingers wrapping around your hair and sweeping back your bangs as you hurl your alcohol, clutching the porcelain for dear life.
he swallows to calm himself down, grimacing as you finish emptying out your stomach.
“…here,” he gently maneuvers your shoulders to lean against the tiled wall, “do you need water? i can go get some.”
you shake your head rapidly, your eyes closed as your nose scrunches up in defiance.
like a bunny, he thinks.
he likes bunnies.
he stands up from his kneeled position, dusting off his jeans before he moves to unlock the door on a mission to find a drink that isn't alcohol, but your voice calls out to him again.
“s'toru,” you slur his name—his first name, he realizes, “’m sorry.”
for what? what could you be sorry for?
“don't move, okay?” he replies, a small smile on his face, “i'll come back as soon as i can.”
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gojo ends up staying next to you for the rest of the night.
“parties just aren't for me,” he shrugs, cocking his head to the side, “the guys there were starting to piss me off anyways.”
“yeah?” your eyes peer up, leaning forward as you teeter next to him, “what were they doing?”
“they kept talking about greek life—hazing and alcohol or whatever,” he scoffs, “like seriously, if i have to hear about kids prancing around in made-up wolf packs ever again, i’m cutting my eardrums out myself!"
you giggle at the joke. it’s refreshing, like the wisp of the breeze that blows through your hair, like the cratered moon that shines light on the sidewalk as he helps you stumble to your dorm.
“what were you, um, sorry about?” his voice cuts through the night air, “in the bathroom, when you were shitfaced.”
“you’re a real charmer, aren’t you?” you smile drunkenly, poking his shoulder in glee. he rolls his eyes in faux annoyance, the humor ever-so-present in his blue eyes, but he opts out of your question and remains silent.
your smile falters at his lack of response, and you look ahead down the path. “i was sorry i had to make you leave,” you say innocently, “didn’t really know anyone else, but i shouldn’t have dragged you away. i should’ve handled it myself.”
…right,” he nods, “it’s fine if you rely on people, you know, i really—”
“satoru.” you give him a pointed glare, to which he goes back to focusing on getting you home safely.
“for what it’s worth,” his footsteps clatter far louder on the sidewalk than he’d like, “i’m sorry too.”
“really?” you snort as you reach your dorm building, the small patch of grass lining the front porch, “about what?”
“for not being there when you needed me.”
this is the danger of thinking about satoru, because just like that, he's suddenly all you can think about.
you’re already halfway up the steps before you turn back to him—he’s wrapped in the moonlight itself, shining and reflecting like the radiant star that you know he is, and you step back behind the shadow the brick casts.
“you were here today.” you acknowledge quietly, “that has to count for something.”
“you had to find me.”
“i dunno,” you play dumb, “not many people would leave a party to help their ex throw up in a toilet for an hour.”
for the first time in a while, gojo wears his heart on his sleeve.
“i didn't hate it, y’know.” he crosses his arm, his eyes flitting to the ground, “it wasn't fun or enjoyable by any means, but i didn't hate it.”
a beat passes, and he looks back up to see you staring directly at him. you clutch the railing on the stairs, and you ask your final question for the night.
“why?”
he thinks (something he rarely does), before he continues softly, "because you asked. you asked me to stay, and i’d do anything you wanted.”
gojo called himself many things in the time he spent in your life.
“stranger” turned into “classmate” when he spotted you in the back of ms. hideka's math classroom, left in awe as you taught him how to use the graphing function on the calculator, and “classmate” upgraded to “friend” when he asked you to ditch school with him. “friend” became “lover” after years of push-and-pull, and finally, "lovers" became "stranger" during your last year in high school.
who knows what “strangers” might become? could become? do strangers answer each other’s beck and call? do strangers cradle the heart of the other in their palms, waiting in a standstill to see what the other one does?
you bite the inside of your cheek. bravery (or liquid courage?) flows to your fingertips, and like a child unprepared to face a dragon, you grit your teeth.
“you were it for me, y'know.” you blurt out, your voice cracking against your will.
there’s a visible hitch in his breath, a clench in his jaw, badly-disguised anguish hidden and cemented into his skin.
his voice is airy, barely louder than a whisper. “you were it for me too.”
it takes you a second to process his words, your crumpled expression completely unable to hide the agony you feel. it takes you a second, but you nod anyways, swallowing the lump in your throat with the tears that sting at your eyes.
(you nod in acceptance, you think. for closure.)
“...hey, (y/n)?” he waits out to call to you when your back is faced to him, your hand placed on the doorway and your right shoe half off—his tone soft enough to melt the marshmallow strings that pull at your heart, hidden behind layers of the brick crackers (tough, but brittle to the right thing), “don't be a stranger.”
what does it mean to be a stranger? a part of you grieves the fact that you don’t know if his favorite color is still blue (baby blue, not the darker tones, even if he looks better in it), the idea that all your memories with him are just that, the notion that you won’t know what interior designs he prefers for his future house.
your head turns around, just enough to peer back to the man that waits for your answer at the bottom of your front porch.
like your own prince charming, you think.
you’ve always liked prince charming.
“good night, satoru.”
your smile is barely there (you wonder if his hugs feel the same—if his thumb would brush over your cheek as he coos pretty nothings into your ear like he used to), but he smiles back anyways.
he'd always smile for you, he thinks.
“good night.”
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i’ve realized that i've been relying a lot on my dialogue lately, and i feel like my writing has been super jumpy bc of that, so i did my best to incorporate as little dialogue as possible so i could focus on everything else. hopefully it worked out ahsjshshs
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osaemu · 8 months
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GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ MEET ME IN THE AFTERGLOW ❜❜
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.ೃ࿐ post-sukuna fight: no victory comes without a loss, and his win came at the cost of his eyesight
contents: fem!reader. some combination of hurt/comfort, angst, and fluff.
author's note: inspired by levi at the end of aot ꨄ︎
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7:58 PM
satoru gojo had always had the best eyes. sorcerer, curse, human – you could search the whole world, and nobody else would even come close.
but the aftermath of satoru's fight with sukuna changed everything. after a long, painful battle, satoru came out on top, but at a great cost. his eyes.
dying wishes are powerful, especially from a curse as strong as sukuna. right before the king of curses was done for, he pooled everything he had left into a final attack to ensure that satoru gojo would never be the same. he succeeded.
now, almost a week after the fight, long after the dust settled and peace had reclaimed the jujutsu society, satoru still insists on wearing his blindfold around the clock.
no matter what you try or how you ask, he stubbornly refuses let you see underneath. actually, it'd be more accurate to say that he doesn't respond at all. after all, to your dismay, he's a master at avoiding questions and delaying answers.
you weren't even sure if there was any change to how he looked. maybe he looked the exact same underneath. maybe he had a couple scars. fuck, for all you knew he didn't even have eyes at all anymore.
you just wish he would let you see the new him. he doesn't even have it that bad – thanks to six-eyes, he can still see the silhouettes of cursed energy. and he wore a blindfold most days anyway, so it wasn't too much of a change.
which is why you weren't sure why he wouldn't just take the damn blindfold off.
"satoru, please let me see," you beg, tugging at his shirt sleeve. "i miss your pretty face. and honestly, who wears a blindfold to bed?"
he laughs at your incredulous question, but it sounds forced and unnatural. satoru tugs his arm away and waves you off. "let me take a shower, 'kay? i just got out of work, and i'm probably covered in germs."
you hate this new satoru – the one who won't let you get too close or even see his face anymore. he just won't open up to you, and it's frustrating. "satoru, please? let me in."
at the sound of your pleading voice, satoru rests one hand on the bathroom door and sighs before turning around to face you. he's smiling, but it seems so off – like all his smiles do nowadays.
"you try'n to watch me shower, sweetheart?" he cracks, running a hand through his hair. "i know you love seeing me naked, but-"
"satoru." 
"get off my dick," he grumbles lightly, before strolling into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. maybe you imagine it, but you could swear that you hear the soft click of a lock turning.
10:34 PM
"good night, sweetheart," satoru mumbles, pressing his lips to your shoulder and rolling over onto his side. he still has his blindfold on, and the almost undetectable glow eminating from his skin shows that he has a very subtle form of limitless active.
it's been like this every night.
"satoru, can we talk?" you whisper, trailing a hand through his damp white hair. "please?"
"is it about the blindfold?"
"obviously."
he sighs and rolls over again to face you, the soft glow fading from his skin. "give it a rest, yeah?" he says, exasperated. "i'm not ready for anyone to see."
"satoru, even you don't know what your eyes look like under the blindfold," you murmur. "and do you really trust me that little?"
he lifts one of his hands and rests it on your shoulder, thumb tracing circles as he leans in and says "of course i trust you."
you shake your head and sit up, pressing your back against the headboard. "no, you don't."
"then why'd you as-"
"why do you sleep with limitless on now?" you interject, crossing your arms. "what happened to 'i never have limitless on around you'?" you whisper, quoting something he told you when you two first starting dating. back when he could look you in the eye.
satoru sighs again and sits up alongside you. "you know why."
"you seriously think i'd do that?"
"i..." he trails off, slipping a finger underneath his blindfold to rub one of his eyes. "i don't know. all i know is that i'm not ready for anyone to see me like... this." 
"satoru, you can't keep running away from everyone forever," you say, shaking your head again. "you-"
"i know, i know," he mutters. "it's not that simple."
he's stubborn – he always has been. and you're mostly used to it, which is why you know that the best way to get satoru to change his mind on something is to ease him into it instead of pushing and shoving.
so you switch gears, and instead of arguing more you reach out and take his hand. "what are you afraid of?"
"nothing. i'm the strongest," satoru replies automatically. the response sounds so automated, so pre-written that you can't help but smile. 
"okay," you say neutrally, trying to reword your question. "why don't you want to show me what your eyes look like? you've haven't even seen them yourself."
satoru smiles sourly and his hands curl into white-knuckled fists around the bedsheets. "and i never will. i'm blind now, remember, sweetheart?" his words are laced with bitterness, even (and especially) in the final word. 
but it wasn't you who satoru was resentful towards. it was himself. 
how could he have so foolishly let down his guard before sukuna was confirmed to be dead? how could he let his characteristic arrogance get the better of him? he made the same mistake when he was a teen, and now he's done it again as the strongest – although this event may have stripped him of his title.
a mixture of emotions crosses what little you can see of his face, and it's now more than ever that you wish you could be there for him. 
but he's the only one alive who knows what it's like to be the strongest.
so as much as you wish you could tell him that everything's going to be okay and that he'll always be the strongest, you know damn well that you don't know and that he might not be.
somehow, this conversation has evolved from your desire to see his face to something more.
a silent, mutual understanding passes between you and satoru, and the thickness in the air slowly dissolves. 
"sorry," you breathe. "i was being selfish, wasn't i?"
satoru shakes his head, a smile growing on his face. "nah, you're right. i don't even know what i look like."
he lifts a hand and slips his thumb underneath his blindfold, and after a brief moment of hesitation, slides it off.
to your surprise, satoru looks more or less the same. his eyes aren't cloudy and they still glow with that familiar bright blue. the only difference, which was expected, was how his eyes didn't quite settle on you. they were pointed in your direction, but his eyes didn't entirely focus on you.
"so?" satoru asks, running a finger over his eyes. "how bad is it?"
"satoru, you look the same."
he blinks and doesn't answer for a second, as if he's processing the information. "really?" he asks, an unreadable expression on his face.
"yep."
"oh. well, that was anticlimactic," satoru says with a lopsided grin. he leans forward and scoots down from his spot against the headboard, laying his head on a pillow and pulling you on top of his chest. "my bad."
"you idiot," you mumble, pressing your face into his neck. "i didn't get to see your pretty face for a whole week."
"ah, i believe it was only six days."
"and satoru, you even turned on limitless at night! the hell would i even do? cut your blindfold off in the middle of the night?" you grumble, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "and i can't believe that the only reason you didn't want to show me your face is because you thought you weren't pretty anymore!"
satoru grins lazily and rests one of his hands on your waist, slipping a finger under the waistband of your shorts and idly rubbing your skin.  "keep venting, sweetheart. it's cute."
he laughs when you swat him with another pillow and pulls you in for a long kiss. and that's when you know that things might never go back to how they were in satoru's glory days. 
but as the night falls and slips away in satoru's arms, you think that maybe, just maybe, this works too.
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rukunas · 7 months
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The classroom feels awfully small.
Gojo Satoru stands far away from you, leaning against the opposing wall stiffly with hands in his pockets. His blindfold is down, a rare frown twisting his lips downwards. His hair is a mess, a clear indication of the utter frustration he’s in. Despite the distance, the tension between the two of you is palpable, suffocating.
He’s absolutely livid.
Deservedly so. You should have listened to him and stayed out of his fight but you didn’t. Now you have to simply stand there like a goddamn Special Grade Sorcerer and take whatever he’s about to throw at you.
Who knew a fight with a low level, shape-shifting curse would cause all of this.
You swallow the knot in your throat, preparing for a half-hearted apology. “I’m so—”
“You—” He straightens himself, finger pointed out in accusation, “—had one job. I asked you to stay out of my way— no, I ordered you to stay out of my way. And what the hell do you do? The absolute fucking opposite. Do you ever think before you act?”
Gojo’s eyes narrow deeper, the sharpness of the glare hitting you right in the chest and making you flinch. Ouch. “What makes you think you can make the rules? Have you forgotten that I outrank you? I—”
“Do not pull rank with me.” You snap. So much for just standing there and taking it. “You know damn well I am just as strong as you are.”
“Special Grace Sorcerer doesn’t mean that you’re the strongest.”
“Oh, you mean like Suguru?” Low blow, but the ripple of emotion against Gojo’s face is satisfying. It’s the same slack look he had twenty minutes earlier, when the curse morphed into the figure of his best friend.
“Don’t say his name. You don’t get to say his name.”
You can’t help the bitter laugh that bursts out of your lips. “You weren’t the only one friends with him, Satoru. And you froze. So, yeah, I’m fucking sorry for fighting your battle for you.”
“You were reckless and out of line.” His voice stays level, refusal of letting his anger get the best of him. The throbbing vein in his forehead says otherwise. “I have to pull rank if you choose to act like one of my students.”
Rage makes the vessels of your face pop. You try opening your mouth but nothing comes out, your face is too hot, too hurt.
Satoru keeps going. “I fight alone. This was my battle, and you are too stubborn to understand that. So why don’t you focus on your own missions so I can do mine?”
“Fine.” You shake your head before turning to leave. “Fight alone, stand alone, be fucking alone. My fault for thinking that you might not like to be by yourself all the time.”
You walk out the room, the thump of your own heart loud in your ears, leaving Satoru alone with his own shadow.
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colonelarr0w · 10 days
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Everything was perfect. 
"You may kiss the bride." 
Your rosy lips turn upward in a lovesick smile, arms lifting to wrap around Gojo's neck and bring his face closer to yours, the tips of your noses brushing against one another as his arms loop around your waist. With one hand, he holds your waist, and with the other, he slowly begins to lift your leg, hooking it over his hip and dipping you down.  
You let out a tearful giggle, the sound mixing with Gojo's chuckle as he slots his lips against yours, pouring years of love and adoration into a singular kiss. You squeeze your arms around him to steady yourself, smiling against his lips as they move against your own.  
You pull back from him just as his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, no doubt wanting to shamelessly make out with you in front of an audience. But with your family sitting somewhere in the crowd, one of you had to demonstrate self-control.  
"It's nice to meet you Mrs. Gojo," Gojo whispers, his breath fanning over your lips as he continues to hold you close. You dive forward, pecking his lips again. He smiles at you, tearful aquamarine eyes crinkling at the corners as he stares down at you; his little wife. 
Everything was perfect. 
"I'm home!" Gojo announces as he kicks his shoes off, turning his body halfway to close the front door and peering around the dim-lighted living room. His eyebrows furrow, arms slapping against his sides as he realizes that you're not running to him to embrace him.  
Slowly, he walks further into the house, curiously peering into the kitchen only to be met with the sight of nothing. Worry sinks into his chest, but he doesn't allow himself to get worked up just yet.  
"Honey?" Gojo's voice is a quiet whisper as he enters the living room, eyes met with a heartwarming sight; you're sat in the center of the couch, arms wound around a sleeping Megumi. The boy leans impossibly further into your side, his head tucked comfortably into the crook of your neck with his body splayed over your own like a weighted blanket.  
His lips turn upward in a soft smile, hand reaching for his phone to photograph the moment and commit it to memory. But just as his fingers brush his phone, something tells him to instead live in the moment as opposed to capturing it.  
Gojo moves to kneel silently beside the couch, reaching out his index finger and lovingly stroking it against your cheek, smiling to himself as your nose scrunches up and you stir slightly. Those eyes that he could spend hours gazing into flutter open, a sleepy smile curling the corners of your lips upward.  
"Hi 'Toru," you whisper, yawning.  
"Hi pretty girl." 
Everything was perfect. 
"Satoru Gojo!" 
Gojo pauses, every bone in his body stilling as he slowly turns to look over his shoulder, swallowing his pride (and dignity) as you stomp over, Megumi not far behind. Gojo glances quickly at Yuuji and Nobara, silently asking them for help – but immediately the two first-years look around, not wanting to stand in the way of your wrath.  
"Hey honey," Gojo says with a smile, already feeling sweat build up against his forehead as you grow closer, eyes flaring with an anger that he had only ever seen once before – and honestly, he had no idea how he had even survived. "What's – uh – what's going on?" 
"What's going on?! You mean to tell me that you're going to stand there and act like nothing is wrong?" Your voice raises an octave or two in volume, making Gojo cringe and shrink in on himself. It was almost entertaining, really. Watching the 6'3 Special Grade Sorcerer be reduced to a shaking mess at the sight of his angered wife.  
Gojo remains silent, not wanting to respond in the fear that you would bite his head off.  
The staring contest between yourself and Gojo is tense, only made worse by the other pairs of eyes that watch quietly from the sidelines.  
Yuuji shifts closer to Megumi, craning his neck just low enough to whisper into his ear, "What's going on?" 
Megumi only smirks, lifting his arms to cross them over his chest. "He ate her leftovers last night." 
Everything was perfect... 
"I understand that your work is important, but you're barely home anymore," you say desperately, closing Megumi's bedroom door and turning on your heel to glance at Gojo. He rubs his hands against his face, skin catching the groan that falls from his lips. 
"I can't just say no to what the higher-ups want me to do, honey. You know that," Gojo responds, not failing to notice how your teeth catch your bottom lip, roughly biting down into the supple skin.  
"You have a family here 'Toru. Your missions are getting more and more dangerous and I – I don't want to be sitting on the couch one day and you just," you pause to swallow the growing lump in your throat, "don't come home." 
Gojo softens, his heart hammering in his chest as he stares silently down at you. Your eyes shine with tears, tears that he desperately wants to reach out and brush away – but something inside of him tells him not to.  
"Megumi needs you here. Hell, I need you here," you say desperately, laying a palm flat against your chest as you step forward to close the distance between yourself and Gojo.  
Something inside you damn near breaks as your husband takes a step back from you.  
"I know. Trust me I know. But there's only so much I can do. They need me (Y/N)," Gojo says. Immediately – the moment that those words fall from his lips – he wishes that he could fucking swallow them.  
You freeze, body standing rigid as your eyes blankly stare at him. Any ounce of emotion, anything that might have made you human is suddenly gone, replaced instead by a robotic stare that chills Gojo down to his very core. 
Silently, you brush past him, shoulder knocking against his chest as you walk down the hallway and vanish into the living room. Gojo stares after you, turning his head towards Megumi's door and screwing his eyes shut – fuck.  
Everything was perfect...? 
"Megumi! Have you seen your mother?" Gojo asks, waving his hand wildly in the air as the raven-haired teenager turns to glance at him, raising an eyebrow in both annoyance and curiosity.  
"She just went out on a field mission, why?" 
Gojo's heart sinks, body deflating as he pockets the necklace that he had planned to give you; a heart locket with a picture from your wedding day inside of it. Megumi watches his adoptive father's shaking hands, and a pang of curiosity flows through his body, but he makes no mention of it.  
"Oh, no reason. I just wanted to give her something," Gojo answers dismissively, waving his hand at Megumi before he lets out a disappointed sigh.  
Everything was perfect? 
"I understand, I'll tell Shoko to prepare a bed now," Ichiji says with a swift nod, though it doesn't go unnoticed how he swallows the lump in his throat. He removes the phone from his ear, pressing down on its red "hang-up" button and stowing the device away in his pocket.  
Curiously, Gojo peers at the assistant manager through his blindfold, tilting his head curiously as the younger man stands from his seat, beelining for the door and disappearing into the hallway.  
The snowy-haired male stands, following closely behind Ichiji and watching as the man's back tenses, his hands curling into white-knuckled fists. What the fuck was going on? 
His breath catches in his throat as he enters the infirmary. One of the tables is occupied, the body covered by a thin white tarp that's stained with the blood of whoever lies underneath.  
Ichiji glances at Shoko, who only stares down at the stained tarp with a numb glint to her eyes. Her hand extends, fingers wrapping over the top of the tarp and lowering it to reveal who lies beneath.  
Gojo's stomach turns.  
Was everything perfect? 
997 notes · View notes
chuluoyi · 2 months
Note
Hey you!! I am still a bit quite new to the jjk fandom and everything going around but i am reading tons of things and your page became my fave in like a blink of an eye, no joke!!! Like i swear everything you write with Gojo goes through my soul and beyond🔥💕 i was thinking if you would maybe sometime take on the idea of how would Gojo react if his wife/gf is pregnant and him the protective dude he is, looses his shit when she gets hurt (either random or an a mission)?and taking care of her after.
Also i hope you are well and send you all the hugs and love i can give from where I am💜💜💜
。.*。☆゚ before the dawn
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tw: pregnancy, mentions of blood, satosugu angst, hurt/comfort. goes through your soul and beyond? omg that’s the highest praise🤧 oh and hurt/comfort is actually my roman empire! to fit in love entries, i have to put it in the jjk0 timeline... and also sending love for you too nonnie!! this is so sweet aww thank you🫶🏻✨
a part of gojo's love entries
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“…geto suguru is going to unleash curses in tokyo and kyoto.”
you stood still, suddenly feeling like your world had crashed. you blinked at what ichiji had just said after stuttering many times. “huh? geto… suguru?”
you just had your prenatal checkup with shoko, and you had suspected something serious had been going on by the grim way she looked and how she tried to evade your questions. satoru too had been kind of busy these past few days, and he was sorry to leave you more often because of “a business he had to take care of.”
so this was the business.
“how? why?” you asked ichiji with widened eyes, the horror dawning on you surely and fast. “how is he—doesn’t that mean… he’s— he’s going to be hunted down?”
that was a stupid question. suguru had been a criminal for ten years, of course they were going to catch him. it shouldn’t be new, you knew it. but this was an act of terrorism. this was the gravest and he could—suguru could…
three years of your and satoru’s youth flashed in your mind. the laughs. the memories. how? why must everything escalate this way?
“they’re g-going to… eliminate him.” ichiji looked down with regret, swallowing hard as he told you this. “gojo-san… he’s going to participate in the battle too.”
hearing that, suddenly you felt sick to your stomach. another reality crashed: satoru could end up murdering his best friend.
almost immediately, your womb clenched and throbbed with such intensity that your breath hitched, and you lurched forward, gripping onto ichiji’s arm tightly—
“ahh!” a scream tore its way out of your throat as you crumbled to the ground. the vice-like gripping pressure that assailed you sent waves of pain coursing through your belly and there was something wet and scarlet trickling down your legs.
blood. you wheezed, whimpered and your voice came out in panicked gasps. “b-baby… my baby—!”
“i will get you to ieiri-san!” ichiji immediately carried you back to shoko’s infirmary, trying not to turn into a blubbering mess. your anguished cries resonated through the quiet hall as you held onto your spasming abdomen, and ichiji could only pray with all his heart that you would be okay… or else gojo would definitely have his head.
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he was informed through a phone call, that you passed out due to shock.
satoru felt his ears ring. everything blanked out afterwards. you were bleeding. you and your baby were bleeding. you weren’t supposed to and he wasn’t even there.
you were already so far along in your pregnancy and there was only a little over two months left before your due date. despite the impulse to scream at ichiji for subjecting you to such shocking news, he realized it would be futile, because in the end, you deserved to know.
he dashed towards the infirmary, the bandages on his eyes unraveling to reveal the bright glint of his six eyes as he met shoko’s stern gaze.
“where is she?” his voice came out ragged, almost in a growl, and his fists were clenched so tightly.
his remaining friend solemnly guided him towards your room and he wasted no time to rush inside, heart in his throat to make sure that no harm had come to either you or his baby.
“...satoru?” you were sitting on the bed, still pale, the swell of your belly was prominent even under the blankets. he looked at you with a mix of fright and concern and pulled you into his arms, breathing in your scent.
“you alright?” he inquired, voice softened exponentially as he pressed kisses on your head. “does it still hurt anywhere?”
“no, shoko has—”
“your belly no longer hurts? baby okay?” his palm brushed against your abdomen, lips tugged into a very concerned frown, and when the baby kicked him was when satoru could finally heave a sigh of relief.
“you scared me so much,” he whispered into your ear in a rasp and a sigh, before squeezing his eyes shut and reveling in your familiar warmth. one of his hands rested on where your baby was, to feel his twists and turns inside you, while the other continued to hold you in his embrace.
“satoru…” you mumbled, leaning against his sturdy chest and sensing the rapid beats of his heart. you felt exhausted and guilty for having mortified him, but you must clarify one thing. “they said… geto will curse everyone… is that true?”
his heart sank at your innocent question. “for now… can we just stay like this? i will answer you later, but for now…”
and you indulged him. over the years, you learned that satoru needed assurance in physical form more than you did. your heart fluttered as he patted your back and rubbed your belly many times, his worry crystal clear.
“i’m sorry i wasn’t here… and i’m sorry that i tried to hide it from you,” he began. “in my defense, i don’t want you to put you through more stress. you have our baby to worry about already.”
as he explained things to you afterwards—about how your once kind, respected senior was now radically persistent in his pursuit of eradicating non-sorcerers and targeted yuta, your eyes watered with tears once again.
“can you stop him?” your lower lip trembled, beginnings of sobs welling up within you. “satoru… he’s… was—your best friend…”
geto suguru was an undeniable part of your vibrant youth. a part of you never got over how he decided to abandon everything during your last year of high school.
and you knew that your husband too must feel the same, with how crestfallen he looked now. it was the greatest betrayal for him to see the only person who understood him branched away to the worst path possible.
“shh... sweets, look,” satoru made you face him, the blue of his eyes darkening as he joined both of your hands together in his, dropping down on one knee before you. “for now, please— please, just focus on yourself. i don’t want you to get hurt.”
“but—”
“i won’t be able to forgive myself if you or our baby are not the slightest bit fine.”
you went silent at that. gojo satoru never showed his weakness to anyone, and with you, rarely. yet, in this moment, he appeared vulnerable, confessing that losing the only thing that kept him sane—this little family you made—would be unbearable.
“i’m fine, i promise,” you reassured, pulling your hand away before wrapping your arms around his neck, seeking his comfort and letting your tears to finally fall freely. “i’m sorry for earlier…”
“don’t. i should’ve told you sooner, that way you wouldn’t bleed,” satoru firmly rebuked in a grave tone, his voice tinged with self-deprecation as he hugged you again in return, stroking your hair. “did it hurt much? you must’ve been so terrified…”
“i was spooked, but we’re fine…”
“i’m going to take leave for the next few days, yeah? we’re going to be together. i can't—in this state of mind—leave you alone.”
the thought of potentially losing your baby filled him with terror. everything else be damned—including suguru’s atrocities, he had to take care of you first.
because you were the one who stood by his side when his world was at its darkest—you had came to him with the light of the dawn. he was forever grateful to you for becoming the apple of his eye, mending his broken heart, and ultimately becoming his everything.
he wouldn't let anything happen to you. that was his vow to himself. and he was a man of his word.
. . .
it didn't occur to you until much, much later, after all was said and done—after you were notified of suguru's death on december 24, that his mind had been set since then, because satoru had never promised you that he would be able to stop him.
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gojonanami · 3 months
Text
"JUST A LITTLE LONGER" - SATORU GOJO
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✴︎ summary: after geto defects, you find yourself on a roof of a building wondering where things went wrong - and you're not the only one. based off another scene from apothecary diaries. ✴︎ contents: gojo x f!reader, fluff, angst about geto, gojo cries, reader does too a little, but cuddling from behind, i love this scene so much it's so cute, and jinshi is so gojo coded ✴︎ wc: 821
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This was probably a stupid idea. 
And it was, you knew that, but it didn’t stop you from doing it anyway. A cursed spirit could kill you any day, so what was falling off a roof? Besides, you took another shot of sake, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care about the possible chance of falling to your death after today. 
Suguru was gone. 
Defected, after slaughtering so many people — or monkeys as he called them now. There was no changing his mind — no going back. Suguru was a person of conviction — you supposed he still was. Shoko simply went with the flow, Satoru knew what his duties were, and you — you didn’t know what you were doing, but you thought maybe it was enough if you could help just one person every day. Especially if that person was one of your friends. 
And yet you didn’t see one of your friends needing your help, did you? 
So why were you sitting up on the roof of one of Jujutsu Tech’s buildings? You didn’t know either — you had a whole suite of aloneness you could have drank in, but you choose to take a shot in the same place that you, Suguru, Shoko, and Satoru drank in on late nights between assignments. 
Shoko would tease you — too sentimental for your own good — that’s what she always told you, but you couldn’t help it. Not after a night like this. But sitting up here wouldn’t resolve anything would it? 
And you began to carefully climb down, thinking about how much easier it was when Suguru used a cursed spirit to help you up (even when he really wasn’t supposed to summon them on campus). Fuck, your eyes burn with tears. You missed him— 
Your foot slips, as you fall backwards, into the awaiting arms — more like the awaiting body of someone below. You hear a grunt as you tumble backwards into them, your body and mind in shock, wondering what person you possibly murdered with your stupidity. 
“Satoru? What are you doing here?” 
“I should be asking you that,” Satoru grumbled at you as you turned to face him, “y'know when I joked that you would be falling for me, this isn’t what I meant,” 
“Oh really? Because this is exactly what I had in mind,” you snort, and you move to get up, but he’s pulling you back with a hand around your wrist, “Toru, let me get off of you—” 
“No, it’s cold,” he pouts, and now you really take a look at him — he wasn’t wearing his glasses for once, his hair unkempt at best, and his uniform all too disheveled — and his face, porcelain skin flushed red — and the faint smell of—was that— “are you drunk?” Satoru wasn't one to drink, but you supposed it wasn't for the act of it as it was the effect.
And it may have been the moonlight, but you swore he flushed further, before he’s forcing you to turn back around, pulling you further into his lap, his arms around your middle, “Maybe,” he mumbles, “I could say the same to you,” and you spot the bottle of sake on the ground in the grass, somehow not broken, “reminiscing about old times?” he pressed his forehead against your shoulder. 
“Yeah,” you sigh, teeth baring down on your bottom lip, as his breath warmed your neck, his hair tickling your skin as he leaned closer, “when did it go wrong?” 
“More like when did i go wrong?” he mutters, words all too bitter, “I should have seen it — I should have done more—” 
“No one saw it, we didn’t realize how bad it had gotten for him since Riko,” you whispered, “none of us—” 
“You weren’t his best friend—” 
“Me and Shoko were there too,” you cut him off, “we were there too,” you say quietly, “either way, Suguru made his choices, just as we did. And there’s nothing more we can do, except for what we can do here,” and then you add, “and it isn’t your fault.” 
“Why not?” 
“Because i said so,” and he laughs then, a genuine laugh. 
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, before burying his face in the nape of your neck, his nose tickling you, and despite the cool air of the approaching fall, your body was now burning. 
“Toru—you’re tickling me—” and he’s only pulling you closer, as you finally glance back at him, “Toru—” and your words fall away, as you see a tear slip down his cheek, his eyes shut. 
“Just a little longer,” he says, barely above a whisper, his face pressed against your shoulder again, as his arms tighten around your middle, “warm me up for a little bit more,” 
You stare up at the night sky, stars dotting the night sky — such a beautiful night despite it all — as you finally let your tears slip down your cheeks silently, “I’ll stay as long as you want.” 
And you did, forever. 
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✴︎ a/n: i hope this doesn't flop like my other fics lately, but oh well lol. i wrote this quick little thing now, so forgive any typos.
✴︎ taglist: @forest-hashira, @anondrive, @neon-crow, @forest-fruits-jam, @yukuriku, @lxvegojo
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s3thwrit3sstuff · 6 months
Text
❝ I WANT THE YOU WHO WANTS ME AGAIN ❞
Gojo Satoru x male!reader | angst, unrequited love, arranged marriage, some comfort, in the end, | wc: 4.5 K | not proofread
warnings: death of a parent through sickness (unspecified), cheating (gojo with geto), r! goes through it (lmao), megumi is rooting for r!
masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's
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Perhaps at one point in your arranged marriage, you had loved Satoru but that’s all but vanished away when you see how he looked at Geto. Still, you provide comfort to your husband when he seeks you even if his six eyes (and soul) all bear to you that he does not see you. Satoru realizes too late that he cares for you - that he loves you. He despises your empty stare, he wants you back. He desperately wants you back.
authors note: i know i said i was taking a break but writing this made me feel a little bit better — cathartic almost. it's been in the drafts since last year anyways so might as well. (autumn leaves by bts inspired fic)
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It seemed as though even the clouds were pitying the sight before it. Grey and darkened, they gathered to block the sun as whispers of doubt combed through the trees surrounding the temple — they reach your ears despite the attempts of your mother. "Now, don't you look handsome". She tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, pursing her lips at the look in your eyes. "(Y/N)". Her hands grasp at your face. The warmth of someone's hands on your cheek jitters your brain awake, and your pupils contract back into focus. "Have you been eating well, darling?" For a moment, your heart squeezes at her kind words. It's been so long since another had asked you that question so sincerely. The tears well but your hair sways as you shake your head, urging your cheeks to form a smile. "I'm alright, mom. Just getting over a cold". She brushes her thumb over your cheek then presses a kiss to your forehead. "My son". You're pulled into an embrace and suddenly you're little again — clinging to her after she had bandaged you up from your training session. Your eyelashes darkened as tears slip past them, hands trembling as you grip her tightly. "My beautiful son". Eventually, the sun sets but the rain continues to pour. The sounds of the raindrops are violent, accompanied by flashes of lightning and thunder it seemed as though the Gods were angry. Angry Gods do little to scare your father. He gazes at you coldly from where your head is laid upon your mother's lap. Defiantly, you avoid meeting his eyes as you relish in the fingers smoothing out your hair. "Your husband will not be pleased with this," your mother's glare is reproachful. "Our son has come to pay us a visit, his husband needn't worry about him," his nostrils flare and he looks as though he's about to go on another rant about image, expectations, manners, servitude. But before he could, the shoji door slides open. It's one of the servant girls, her bow immaculate you could see the swirl pattern of her hair growth. "Gojo Satoru has arrived, Master (L/N)" She's addressing your father, you know because you are now Master Gojo. The air is filled with expectations. The rain does little to muffle it. Pitying her back, you rise from your mother's lap. "Inform my husband I'll be out in a moment" She bows deeper and straightens her composure to slide the door close but freezes as you address her. "Is my husband alone?" When her mouth opens to form the syllables of Geto Suguru your eyes turn to the floor. You're unsure if she's finished her sentence but find very little fucks to give as you silence her with raise of your hand. Wordlessly, she bows and closes the door.
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"Ah, husband!" he slings his arm around your shoulder. His weight, his warmth, his presence — too casual it's an insult. You cared little for tradition, scoffing at it sometimes, but the way Satoru displays himself in front of your parents causes you to grit your teeth. Suguru shoes are in the peripheral of your vision, you will your gaze to the side.
Once upon a time, the four of you were friends. Satoru, Suguru, Shoko and you.
Those blue summers and warm winters as first-year sorcerers. Memories so bright and heartfelt others probably only see on movie screens. Then you were betrothed to Gojo Satoru, family stuff, expectations and duty, and everything the both of you roll your eyes at. A part of you had been elated. Blinded by the idea of marrying the boy your heart beats for. Sure, falling in love would have been preferred but despite the arranged marriage, you were thick as thieves. So, in your foolish daydreams, you'd sigh at the idea of you two falling in love. Shoko could only watch as your dreams crumble before you. She tried her best to be some sort of support — shocked when she spotted you smoking her cigarettes after a year into the marriage. "I never noticed the way they look at each other". Your words follow the stream of smoke and Shoko settles next to you with her elbows placed on the railings. "I mean, I knew but I just thought...I just thought he'd look at me the same one day". She is silent as you curl over the railing, shoulders jerking with silent sobs. "How foolish, huh?" She places a hand on your back, saying nothing as you wept.
Suguru greets your parents with more tact than your husband who is smiling ear-to-ear. "How was your mission, Gojo, Geto?" the way their surnames sounded made your jaw ache as you continued locking your jaw. Your husband is squeezing you to his side, like a friend. Satoru feels your shoulders stiffening and he loosens his grip to look down at you but you slip out from under him and hastily walk towards the car. "Young Master —" a servant gasps as he attempts to match your pace, the umbrella he holds barely shielding you as you feel your tears mix with the rain. "(Y/N)!" Suguru calls, catching up to you with his own umbrella and you feel searing guilt stab at your chest. Suguru had never been mean to you — he's been there for you through the years and despite your sudden avoidance of him here he was trying to ensure you remained dry. A clap of thunder muffles your sob, the only mercy the Gods are giving you, and you will yourself to pass Suguru. The car door is slammed shut in Suguru's face and before he can wonder the driver is driving off. He stands in shock, the servant that had been chasing you sharing his expression. Satoru tilts his head, hands in his pockets as he Suguru gives him a look of apprehension once he reaches him. Your parents — his in-laws — are apologizing. More so your mother. Your father's anger is palpable despite his puckering lips. "We'll get you another car, Gojo, Geto" your father calls for his personal driver
Satoru’s eyes — with that bright, heavenly, blue that put the sky to shame — linger on the fading signature of your aura. Suguru’s bangs stick to his forehead due to the rain and the sight of him alone has Satoru tear his gaze away. They land on Suguru who offers a furrow of his brows and so Satoru reaches to wipe the wetness away.
“Hey!” the action is rough, anything but romantic. Suguru feels like a cat being pet too roughly — with their skin stretching back and eyes growing wide — and so he smacks Satoru's hands away.
Friendly. Playful. Banter. Boys being boys.
Your mother squints her eyes nonetheless. She had heard that Satoru had been less than willing to marry. Her husband had thought it was his hubris but bowed until his forehead met the floor of the Gojo clan’s home. Their name was no laughing matter — a strong line of curse users much like the Zenin’s.
But Gojo Satoru was sought after by many the second he turned 16 — the marriage proposals flooded in like a tsunami.
He refused them all. Except the (L/N)'s.
She had thought it was the dowery. Perhaps, even the fact that an alliance would soothe whatever ill tides their clans had once had. Or maybe it really was just a stroke of luck her son got along so well with Satoru while attending Jujutsu High (her husband had enrolled (Y/N) only when he heard whispers of Satoru attending).
But fear gripped her heart as Suguru tugged on Satoru’s ear.
Had he accepted...just so he could remain close to his true love?
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“I’m sorry”. You pause the wiping motion, delicately lifting your head as your mother’s cloudy gaze floats aimlessly in the room. You were used to her nonsensical speeches, her random bursts of conversations and weepy apologies. It's been a year since the sickness unexpectedly came over her and you suppose that is what most people do when they’re close to death's door. Confessions of this and that just shooting out in a weak attempt to right old wrongs.
“Nothing to be sorry for, mother”. She places a hand over yours and squeezes. How frail. When has your mother looked so frail?
“Come home, be a (L/N) again”, confusion contorts your face. “Mother, whatever you’ve heard is all unfounded. Rumours. Father has dealt with them”, despite her fragility her fingers squeeze your wrists so tightly it forces your own to release the damp cloth.
“Then say that to me. Look into my eyes and tell me that bastard husband of yours is better than mine, that he’s not off loving another while you rot here”.
Colour bleeds into those lifeless eyes. She feels that same squeeze she felt when she saw Satoru wipe away the rain from Suguru’s skin rather than your tears just a year ago.
Just as quickly as they appear, that dullness returns in your eyes and she reaches to hold your face but you stand.
“Father is cheating on you?”
She’s lost you.
You walk to dip the cloth into the bowl, and your shoulders are too heavy for a 17-year-old boy. Her precious son, so forlorn and withdrawn; humiliated by the society he was in for being inadequate and unworthy.
Perhaps she deserved those titles, sick and bedridden and dying, it was no surprise that her husband is seen courting younger ladies. But not you, not her son.
“He’s no shame, you know your father. His pride comes before all”. It elicits a dry chuckle from you.
Then you suppose Satoru had more in common with your father than you knew.
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The Star Plasma vessel incident, you can't believe it's been a year.
A year after that man that killed that Amanai and Kuroi and Satoru.
You remembered dropping to your knees as he admitted it out loud with such an ugly smile, shaking your head in disbelief as anger swelled within you.
Before you could even think, even grieve and rage, Geto had beaten you to it. As you looked at him with his anger so visceral it came off of him in waves you felt your torn heart crumble into pieces. It felt good to dish out that anguish on Fushiguro Toji even if you ended up eating dirt.
“Wasn’t he your husband?” Toji placed his foot on your neck. “Damn, he treats you that badly or something? This freak put up a better fight”, that day you had surprised Toji by smiling with your teeth all bloody.
“He did, didn’t he?” Your laughter bubbles and you choke on your own blood.
Toji knocked you out after a scoff.
That still wouldn’t have killed you as much. The torn pieces of your heart were still salvageable.
But then.
Then.
As Satoru came back. Warm and alive. Bloody but grinning. He did not race to you, he did not even look at you. To his credit, he simply stood there with his arms wide open.
But then.
Then.
Geto’s the one to race into them.
Ah.
Right.
Shoko was shocked to see you in her smoking spot. She hadn’t even seen you as Satoru was whisked away by the Gojo clan, only spotting Suguru following along. None had wondered where Satoru's husband was; Suguru was always next to him, so there was no void that one could spot.
“Are you alright?”
The darkness in your eyes makes her flinch.
You were dead.
She’s been around enough of death and you were dead.
Your once warm, cheerful, eyes now devoid of anything.
She held you as you cried, not knowing what more she could say to help you.
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“Leave me alone”, Satoru is under the covers. He has been for days now.
Grieving.
Grieving Geto.
“Husband”, you coax. It was once a funny joke. The laughter you shared as the both of you exchanged formal titles of your marriage. It hurt to know that it truly was a joke for Satoru - not for you.
Satoru grits his teeth. His eyes were rimmed red, he himself was surprised they weren’t swelled up. His throat was scratchy, his skin uncomfortable and untended from his refusal to get up. His hair was tousled, unkept and disarrayed. It's been a week since Geto's betrayal and Satoru had been laid in your bed, burying himself under the blankets and deeper into the mattress; as if determined to be buried with his sadness and anger.
“Husband," he feels your hands on his shoulder. You know him by his shape alone. If you closed your eyes you could trace the curves that made up Satoru; even if it killed you slowly, your love was a loyal curse.
“Don’t call me that!” he raises in a grand move. The covers flew and his voice was in a yell. His glare was spine-chilling but they faltered as he saw the outfit you were.
“What should I call you then, Satoru?”
He takes you in, frowns deepening at the awful way his name sounds as you call for him. Not like his Suguru; his one and only.
“What the hell are you wearing, (Y/N)?”
He feels awful as you answer: “Funeral garbs. My mother has passed”.
There’s some satisfaction that paints your features as he is rendered speechless.
“What? How?”
“She was sick”. As he sits there with nothing to say you move to kneel in front of him. Your touch shocks him to reality. He pulls his shirt down, hoping you haven’t seen the hickeys Suguru had left on him before he decided to massacre that village.
You had. You’ve seen all of it. The lingering scent of Geto on his clothes, the hair ties on his wrist, the love bites that mottle his pale skin. Satoru may have those six heavenly eyes but he seemed so blind when it came to you.
The way he grimaces each time you’ve said his name now.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ll help you wash up, Gojo”. He’d be an idiot to have not noticed that switch. Guilt is seeded into him. He stops your hands but you move them with a robotic stubbornness.
“Stop — Wait —”
“I know, Gojo.”
Silence drapes the room.
Your hands carefully thumb into his heart and cover the seed of guilt with such care Satoru’s pulse doubles its speed.
“I know you love him. So very much. I know, because when I go to clan meetings, my cousins whisper behind my back of the two of you holding hands and going on dates. When you come back late after a mission to go to Geto’s room. Or when you suddenly have Geto’s marks on you and yours on him”.
“(Y/N) — ”
“But this is my mother, Gojo”.
Your voice wavers just as he clutches your wrists in his hands. Your head hangs as your shoulders jerk up and down, twisting and squirming so you can help Satoru clean and dressed.
You know he was in pain and your heart feels for him. He needs your help. You were willing to strip down so you could wash him, and get back into this disgustingly heavy robe all over again despite how nauseating it was to do it the first time.
Funny. You can’t recall ever being one with Satoru. Your marriage was never consummated — he told you that there was no rush, you were still kids. What did he tell Geto then? Did he tell him that he had never taken you in bed? Was he fervent in his worship of him? Was their love akin to a religion? Did they worship each others temples like devout monks? How funny. The first time you’d get to see him naked and him you would be the day of your mothers funeral.
“She was my mother, Satoru!”
He has never heard you yell before. Satoru is struck by the that revelation.
It’s been a year since he was officially titled your husband and he knew you longer than that. But this was the first time he’s seen you in despair. Heard your yell.
Seen you cry.
“Please, I know he was your one and only but she was my mother. Please, please, don’t let me face this alone, Gojo”
“(Y/N)...”
“Please, Gojo...”
Your wrists slip away from his loosened grip. Crumpling onto the floor, your forehead meets the floor and his feet as your beg.
"(Y/N)". How long had your mother been sick? Why didn't you tell him — or did you? Why couldn't he remember? As his mind races to collect any memory of this past year, your tears that wet his feet water that guilt.
Satoru says nothing as the both of you appear at the funeral. The haughty eyebrows and curled lips sting more when he's there — was it shame? This burning feeling in your chest? Had you said too much to Satoru? Now he was acutely aware of how others looked at you, at your marriage. How awful.
Satoru is not used to this feeling. As a child, the eyes that lingered on him were hungry for the prize of beheading him. That had been more comfortable than this.
This was scrutinizing. They gazed on you with pity, even with his body attempting to shield you, the whispers reach your ears anyways. Have you been doing this all alone? All those clan meetings that you went to alone, the ones he'd excuse himself from saying he had a mission while he spent the day with Suguru to make him eat more and attempt to nurse him back to his side from the Star Plasma vessel incident.
Suguru had wept to him, telling him how terrified he'd been at the thought of Satoru leaving him. Why didn't you come to him? No. Why hadn't he noticed you?
The ride back home was silent. Satoru couldn't believe your father had brought his bride-to-be to the ceremony, you quelled his anger by muttering that your mother had given her blessing for their marriage.
You're staring out the window. Had those bags always been under your eyes? When did your cheeks get so sunken in? Had you...had you lost weight? He ignores the way your fingers twitch as he places his hand over yours. Your skin feels foreign — so does his. He offers a purse of his lips, sliding his hand up your arm and leaning in to embrace you.
But freezes as you pull your hand away.
"Don't force it upon yourself, Gojo". "Husband —" his smile falls as your shoulders tighten, lower lip quivering. "Please don't make me beg again, Gojo."
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"What do you think, beloved?" Gojo grins brightly, bouncing his brow up and down. You were seated across from him in some cafe — he had been telling you all about how good the crepes here was a week before. "About...?" He pouts and places his elbows on the table. "My theory?" He watches as you blink, once, twice, then a faux smile climbs on your face. You turn your attention back to the melting ice cream. "Your theory about Okkotsu cursing Rika because of his love for her?" He nods vigorously. "It makes sense, right? His curse technique activating after seeing that brutal sight, it binding Rika to him". "Afterall, love is the most powerful curse", you said. Gojo's animated hand motions pause. He places his hand back onto the table. He reaches for your hand and you squeeze your eyes shut but allow it. He hates this.
Not you — He doesn't hate you. But he hates this.
After your mothers funeral, he looked through pictures. As first year students, all sunny smiles and bright eyed. The smiles got more tame as the four of you aged. His hands slung around Suguru's more tightly — even after they bared matching rings.
Satoru's never seen you smile like that anymore.
He brushes his thumb over your knuckles. Your jaw clenches.
"I love you, my beloved".
"...Thank you, Gojo".
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"It's been awhile, Satoru".
No. No, no, no.
Nononononononnonononononononononononono —
Gojo can't take his eyes away from Suguru.
He tries and tries and tries but he can't. Pinned by his onyx gaze alone.
Satoru's ring burns viciously and he curls his fingers into fists.
Meanwhile, your dead-eyed gaze seemed to intensify. Everything is muffled, it felt like you were underwater. It felt like you were 17 years old again.
Abandoned. Unworthy. Unloveable. In love. Always have been. Always will be. In love with a man that was never yours.
"(Y/N), you look pale", Suguru condenscends. At least, that's what it sounds like.
Hah. Was he envious? Did he think that in the years he's been gone, you've filled the void he left? Or did he know that you never did but he was jealous anyways?
Fuck, Satoru thinks. His temples feel taut as his teeth grit together.
Kento steps infront of you and your eyes widen by an inch.
How pathetic, Gojo (Y/N). An underclassmen protecting you from your husbands ex-lover's gaze.
Why couldn't Geto Suguru just die already.
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"What are you doing?" Gojo is grieving again. You should be elated but you're not. It feels too cruel. It wasn't your doing, you hadn't had any hand in killing Geto Suguru but a part of you wondered if your inner thoughts had been a wish you put out to the world. Now, Gojo was without Geto and Geto's daughters were without their father.
So you felt guilt anyways.
It was more feasible competing for Satoru's affections when his lover was simply exiled. How could you compete with a ghost?
"I'm praying for him", you replied. Gojo watches as you prepare to do so, kneeled on the floor. His eyes are rimmed with red again and he knows you've heard his cries; so here you are, sacrificing your happiness again for him.
"You don't have to do that, beloved". You say nothing as your eyes are closed in prayer. Satoru kneels behind you, his guilt had 10 years to grow and now it was a willow tree, with its leaves sweeping the lake of tears it grew from. Your eyes flutter open as you feel his head in the junction of your neck and shoulder; he fit so perfectly there, just like you knew he would. He's crying into your shoulder and your hand reaches back to card through the shaved sides of his hair. Your fingers lightly brushing the shell of his ear makes him shudder and he circles your waist to pull you against him. "Don't pity me, Gojo". He says nothing and neither do you.
"Say my name". His voice so close to your ear has you shivering.
"Gojo".
He shakes his head.
"My name, please, please, just say it".
Your heart clenches and as you close your eyes a tear slips past.
"I can't replace him, Gojo". He squeezes you tighter.
"I'm not asking you to replace him. No one can replace Suguru. I don't want them too, I don't want you too; I want you".
"I don't believe you".
He laughs, the slightest brush of his teeth on your skin has your stomach twisting into knots. Your breath trembles and you squirm in his hold, twisting away and getting onto your feet to get away from him. He doesn't allow you to. He blocks your way, shaking his head as he holds your shoulders next.
"I want you, (Y/N). I love you —"
How long have you wanted to hear those words. Your heart wants nothing more than to soar. But your brain knows better. "No, no, no, let me go". He doesn't let you. Satoru wraps his arms around you and your mouth opens to let out yells, fists pounding onto his chest as you try to get away from him.
"I hate you! You fucking bastard! I hate you, I loathe you!"
Satoru holds you firmly agaisnt him. Holding the back of your head preciously as he finally hears your voice raised above that whispering tone. "I hate you! I hate you so much! Why do you keep doing this to me!? I — I just wanted you, Satoru!" Your voice breaks and your sobbing turns into wailing. His heart squeezes, chest physically hurting as you sob and yell.
"I wanted you, Satoru! I just wanted you!" "Why didn't you love me, Satoru!?" Thunder rumbles and as your yells quiet down into hiccups, rain muffles it.
"I'm sorry, (Y/N)". He feels your knees give out and he holds you, making you lean against him for support. "I'm so sorry, my beloved. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, (Y/N)".
When he tucks you in to rest, he isn't surprised Megumi is standing in the doorway with his eyes set into a glare. Satoru wipes your tears away, sweeping some of your hair away before placing a kiss on your forehead. He raises to answer Megumi's burning questions.
"You heard?"
"I'm not deaf".
Megumi has his arms crossed. He was an observant boy. Being raised by both Satoru and you — he notices the overexuberant Satoru's confidence wavering every time you give him smiles that never reach your eyes. Tsumiki even told him once that she finds it sad, how you both seem to be so familiar but foreign to each other.
"But one time I did see (Y/N) get flustered because of Satoru", she told Megumi whilst on their way back from school. He looked ahead, sipping on his drink as a prompt for Tsumiki to continue. "It was during breakfast. (Y/N) woke up a little late because he was traveling around for clan meetings and missions. So he was panicking so much, he burnt our rice and stuff! But then, Satoru walks in and tells him he prepared our bento. He kept it in the fridge. All that was needed to do was heat it up, he helped (Y/N) the entire time and then he just — "
Tsumiki kisses the air with a loud 'mwah!'
"He plants a kiss right on (Y/N)'s forehead. (Y/N) was so flustered he just stared down at the sink. It was cute, he's definitely still in love, they both are!"
Megumi peeks into the room. The sliver of light on your peaceful expression highlights the content curl of your lips despite the swollen eyes you bore.
"...Don't mess up this second chance", Megumi warns. He turns and marches away while Satoru huffs, scratching the back of his head as he sighs. "I wasn't planning to". He really does love you. He does. He loves you, from the ends of your hair to the tip of your fucking toes; he loves —loved, Suguru too. But this is different, you're different. But his love isn't any less or more.
He loves you.
Whatever it takes, he'll make sure you know it until his last breath.
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bakupom · 6 months
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𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐦 - 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮
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𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ↣ gojo throws a tantrum because you’re not giving him enough attention.
𝗮/𝗻 ↣ here’s another repost from my old account :P reader and gojo are in college
𝘄/𝗰 ↣ 0.6k
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*poke*
“gojo, stop poking me” you say after he pokes you for the billionth time.
“not until you give me attention” he huffs, poking you again with a pout on his face.
“i already told you you can have all of my attention when i finish my essay”
“but i want attention nowww” he whines.
“can you stop acting like a baby? if you stop distracting me i can finish sooner which means i can give you more attention sooner” you say, not once taking your eyes off of your laptop.
“you know what, i didn’t want to have it come to this.” he says before getting up off your bed to and laying on your floor.
“gojo, what in the world are you doing?” you question while finally looking in his direction.
“this.” he says before kicking his feet and throwing his arms over the floor while whining and crying like a child who just got their toy taken away from them.
“gojo stop!” you say, getting off of your bed to shut him up.
stopping for a second to reply to you, he quickly gives you a “no” and continues throwing a tantrum on your floor.
“alright gojo, fine!” you give in, causing him to finally stop putting on a show.
“yayy!” he says before picking you both up off the floor and onto your bed. “since you were so cold to your poor ol’ gojo, i get to lay on top of you and you have to play with my hair” he says smugly, snuggling his face into your chest while wrapping his arms around your body.
“you are so ridiculous” you finally laugh, giving him what he wants by putting your hands in his hair and playing with little strands.
“you put me through emotional torture, how did you expect me to react?” he mumbles into your chest, barely audible.
“i don’t know, to maybe just sit there and do your own thing while i finish my homework?” you say matter-of-factly.
“but you’re my whole world, i can’t do my own thing.”
“don’t get all cute on me now” you try to keep your cool, miserably failing as you feel the warmth on your cheeks.
“why did your heart just start racing?” he questions before lifting his head to look at you, instantly smiling when he sees the blush on your cheeks. “aww, baby, you’re blushing. you’re so adorable”
“gojo, stoppp” you whine while hiding your face in your hands.
“shh, take your hands away from your face” he says softly while gently prying your hands away from your face.
“there’s my pretty girl” he praises, making your face redder if that’s even possible.
“i’m getting back to my essay” you try to deflect and pick up your laptop, causing him to take it out of your hands and throw it across your bed.
“you like my attention just as much as i like yours. i make you nervous” he teases while smirking at you.
“that’s not true” you lie.
“oh really?”
“really”
“so you don’t like it when i call you my pretty girl?” he says while putting his head back on your chest.
“nope”
“you’re so full of shit, i can literally hear your heart racing right now”
“whatever gojo! you’re so annoying” you whine again while trying to push him off of you to which he prevails.
“look who’s throwing a tantrum now”
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pupkashi · 6 months
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arguments are never nice, but at least they help you grow
a/n: hi hi ! here is some angst with gojo of course with a happy ending !! thank u for the requests and i hope you guys like it :3 I’m not the best w writing angst so feedback is very appreciated !!
wordcount: 1,580
masterlist
“could you please just listen to what I’m saying?” you frown, frustrated sighs leaving your lips, hands balled into fists at your side.
satoru seems unbothered, his eyes still on his phone, only half paying attention to whatever you were talking about.
“I am listening to you, y/n” he groans, finally setting his phone down and facing you.
“no you’re not” you groan, “you know what? whatever,” you mumble, already walking away when you hear satoru stand up from the couch, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you back towards him.
“no, say what you wanted to say” he pushes, piercing blue eyes staring down at you, slightly narrowed.
the height difference makes him more intimidating than you��d ever thought, but the anger in your veins was enough to roughly pull your wrist free from his grasp, venom in your words as you repeat yourself.
“it’s like you don’t even love me anymore!” the words were meant to stay in the back of your mind, and your blood runs cold when satoru doesn’t even flinch at the accusation.
“whatever y/n,” he sighs, turning around and grabbing his phone from the couch.
you’re not sure what to do as you stand there, frozen. satoru only sits back down and resumes his scrolling, it’s makes your stomach hurt even more.
“you’re not even gonna deny it?” your voice is smaller now, and you try to ignore the tears blurring your vision.
“it’s what you think isn’t it? what the fuck do you want me to say?” his eyes never meet yours, and somehow it makes it even more painful.
there’s a beat of silence, and you almost think he’s gonna let out a sigh and apologize, but it never comes. instead you’re left standing infront of your boyfriend, hot tears down your face as he scrolls through his phone.
it’s only until he hears your muffled sniffling that reality seems to hit him, what the fuck was he doing?
when he finally makes it to your shared bedroom you’re already walking out, not saying a word to him as your carry the small suitcase behind you.
“where are you going? what’re you doing?” his voice finally seems to have some emotion in it, and it makes you want to laugh.
“leaving, what else does it fucking look like? a vacation to Belize?” satoru flinches a bit at your cold tone, hand already reaching out to stop you when you turn around, angry eyes meeting his now softer ones. “you had your chance, we’re done.”
the words hit satoru hard, air leaving his lungs as he watches you walk out of the bedroom door, heading straight for the front.
“no- sweetheart- y/n please don’t, I’m so sorry please i just-” his head is scrambled and he’s not sure exactly what to say or do, but he knows you cant leave through that door.
he’s rushing ahead of you to block the doorway, positioned in front of the doorknob so you can’t even think of reaching and opening the door.
“what is it you want gojo?” the name feels foreign on your tongue, and it makes the man standing over you flinch as you stare up at him.
“you,” he replies, not missing a beat as you roll your tear filled eyes at him, scoffing.
“me?” you laugh, not bothering to hide the slight tremble in your hands as you point an accusatory finger at him, poking him in the chest slightly. “maybe you should’ve thought of that when you didn’t give me the time of day, or when i just wanted five minutes with you,” you growl, “or when i told you right now how you didn’t even love me and you didn’t even fight back.”
there’s hot tears down your face now and your sure he can see your whole body shaking. he can only stand there, heart breaking and walls spinning as you continue to berate him. what else can he do? he deserved this.
“you know im not used to this!” he pleas, blue eyes trying their best to coax out any sort of compassion, “anytime someone wants to leave me i just push them away first so it hurts less,” he groans, hands running messily through his hair.
“please y/n, you know i love you, more than anything,” his eyes are a bit red as he leans down a bit, trying to get you to look at him, but you only push him away.
you only shake your head at him, “no, you don’t get to play the ‘this is my first real relationship’ card, not right now” taking a couple steps away from the door, watching as satoru closes the gap between the two of you.
“sweets please, I’m sorry I’ve been so caught up with work and the elders and higher ups and the kids, I just- it’s no excuse and-” you only look at him when you hear a choked sob leaving his lips, watching as the once cocky and cold man breaking down in front of you.
“you don’t deserve how I’ve treated you, but i promise I’ll learn and I’ll grow,” he pleads, and for a second the anger in your body subsides. “i cant lose you, i don’t know what I’d do without you,” the tears flowing down his face have your heart faltering, and you almost reach out to wipe them away.
almost.
the sigh you let out is enough to make satoru tear his eyes from the floor, watching as you let go of your suitcase and head to the couch, taking a seat and setting your head in your hands. he’s frozen in his spot for a second, sniffling softly before wiping his face and tentatively walking over to you, sitting an arms length away from you.
“why didn’t you deny it?” you ask, your head still in your hands, not bothering to look at him. satoru sits up a bit straighter, his eyes fixated on you, hoping you’d look at him.
“anytime I get close to someone, or i start caring about them something bad always happens to them,” his voice shaky as he continues, “for a second i thought maybe this was the easy way out, maybe this way you wouldn’t get hurt.”
“how would that not hurt me? how could this possibly have been easier than just talking to me?” you frown, finally looking at him with tear filled eyes, “how could letting me believe that you’ve fallen out of love be easy?”
“it’s not!” he scowls, “it hurt and i didn’t know what to do and it wasn’t until you were actually leaving that i realized and- fuck,” he sighs, bottom lip quivering as he sucks in a sharp breath.
“it’s only when you were leaving i pictured my life without you, and it’s not a life I’d want to live,” his blue eyes are focused on the wall for a second before he’s staring at you again. “i fucked up, badly, and I’m so sorry y/n but please,” he’s scooting a bit closer to you, his hand hovering just over yours, as if he’s asking permission to touch you.
you can feel the warmth of his hand radiating onto yours, just barely moving so your hands would intwine with his. there’s a warmth that blossoms in your chest as you watch him relax at your touch, practically melting when he feels your skin against his.
“give me one chance, i can’t promise i won’t fuck up again, but I’ll promise to try my best and communicate with you,” red rimmed eyes searching yours as he waits, “i love you with all i am, i can promise that.”
the seconds that it takes you to reply feels eternal, and satoru can feel the ground beneath his feet crumbling away.
“okay,” you whisper, “one chance, gojo, if you mess it up that’s it we-” you’re cut off by strong arms wrapping around your waist, his face burying itself into the crook of your neck, his hair tickling you a bit.
“thank you, i love you, im so sorry sweetheart,” he breathes out, squeezing you a bit tighter.
after a moment of debate you’re throwing you arms around him, rubbing his back and breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne and your laundry detergent.
“i love you too ‘toru,” you mumble, rolling your eyes as he peeks up at you, a stupid grin on his face as he hears the nickname he’s grown fond of.
you stay like that for a while, only pulling away when he hears your stomach growling.
“how about we order your favorite takeout, put on the show we’re watching and stay in tonight? just you and me?” there’s no point in hiding the smile on your lips as you nod, letting him plant a gentle kiss on the apple of your cheek.
satoru wasn’t perfect, and he wasn’t gonna get everything right on the first try. but he does try his best.
maybe he burns a pan somehow making you chocolate covered strawberries, maybe he puts way too much vanilla extract in the cookies he baked you, but he’s trying.
and when he’s giggling and staring at you like you hung the moon, buying you flowers everytime he’s coming home to you and doing his best to set aside time for you, you feel yourself falling harder for him.
satoru was trying, and that’s all you could ever ask for.
taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @beautiful-is-boring @luna0713hunter @torusmochi
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lostfracturess · 11 days
Text
【 ꜱʏᴍᴘᴛᴏᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇꜱ 】 ch. 10
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x pairing professor!gojo x med student f!reader (medical au)
x summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.
x wc 13.8 k (again, i'm insane)
x warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.
x author's note not gonna lie, this chapter's gonna be quite angsty. hope the wait was worth it. i'm DYING to hear your reactions! let's dive in!! & pls repost or comment if you enjoyed, highly appreciated ♡
series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad
<- prev chapter | next chapter ->
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"Are you going insane?" 
Satoru's question cut through your spiraling thoughts.
You tore your gaze from the rain-streaked window, meeting his impossibly blue eyes. Only now you realized that the nervous gnawing of your fingernails had gone too far. You shoved your hands under your thighs.
"You look like you're about to face a firing squad," he continued.
"Aren't we?"
The words were dry, masking the acidic churn in your stomach.
He finally looked up from his desk, a mountain of half-graded essays teetering precariously. That infuriating smirk curled his lips. "We'll be fine. Trust me, we've got this."
"How can you stay so calm?"
"Drugs, sweetheart. It's the drugs," he said, his focus already back on the student essay covered in red-ink.
At least he was honest.
"Are you seriously grading papers at a time like this?"
"Had a sudden surge of responsibility. Might not last." He didn't even glance up. "Don't worry, it won't take long. Most of these will fail anyway." A thick red line slashed across the page, a brutal verdict. The next paper met a similar fate with a flick of his wrist. Poor students.
Your gaze dropped to his hands. They trembled, just slightly, but it was there. 
You should ask him how he was. About the withdrawal, his last week on opioids, if the fear gnawed at him as it did you, if the thought of regret crossed his mind.
But you couldn't. 
Yeah, you couldn't. 
How selfish.
He was struggling and you could see it. Painfully clear. And yet, all you could focus on was your own pathetic fear. Weak. That was the word, echoing in your head.
The room felt suffocating. 
It was the day of the ethics committee hearing. 
The day your whole future could unravel. 
You gnawed your nails to the quick, the taste of blood barely registering over the adrenaline pounding in your ears. The rain lashed the window, each drop a hammer blow against your composure. 
What would they ask? What would they accuse?
You were prepared. The research was meticulous, the data irrefutable. But this wasn't about cold facts. If the committee sensed even a whiff of impropriety, they'd tear it apart and use the shreds to bury you both. 
They'd target like a shark sensing blood.
And they wouldn't just attack the science—they'd attack him. You. Everyone.
The thought made you want to vomit. 
Out the window, you spotted Geto and Higurama, making their way across the rain-drenched parking lot. Oh, right, there was something else you wanted to drown in the back of your mind. But now, the memory was back, embarrassingly clear as you saw Geto's face.
"Why did you say that?" you asked, turning to Satoru.
He blinked, momentarily distracted from his grading massacre. "What?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
His lips curved into sly smile. "It was a joke. Relax."
"God, I hate you." You turned your gaze away from him, focusing on the way the rain lashed against the window.
Silence stretched.
Finally, you glanced at him once again. "Did you?"
"What?"
"Share...women?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Why, intrigued?"
"You're stupid." You spun away, but a wave of frustration washed over you.
But to your bad, his curiosity was piqued now. 
He rose from his chair, hands braced on the worn oak of the desk. "And you're intrigued. I can't believe you." He moved towards you, his presence filling the room. "My sweet little girl wants a threesome." He paused, tilting his head. "Never thought you'd be into that."
You crossed your arms. "Stop it already."
"No wait, now I think about it," Slowly, his gaze raked over you, a wicked glint in his eyes making your skin crawl. "I totally should have seen that coming."
"What's that supposed to mean?" You managed the words, but your defiance was crumbling as he leaned in closer. 
The heat radiating from him was almost tangible. His scent, with a hint of warm coffee and something distinctly, maddeningly him, clouded your senses, making rational thought impossible.
He reached out, his touch feather-light as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your shoulder. His fingertips grazed the soft skin of your neck. Before you could protest, his hand slid lower, tracing the line of your arm.
"Tell me," he whispered, his breath a warm caress against your ear. "Where would you want him to touch you?"
"Stop it." You pushed his hand away, but your resistance only seemed to fuel his teasing.
"Oh, don't be shy now. Suguru doesn't like that," he said, voice low and laced with a hint of mockery. "Tell me, where would you let him touch you? Would you shiver like this for him?" He leaned closer, his tongue tracing a hot path along your jaw that made you indeed shiver.
Then, the door crashed open, revealing a rain-lashed Geto and Higurama. 
You quickly wrenched yourself away from Satoru, pushing against his chest.
Higurama stumbled straight to the nearest chair. With a groan, he collapsed into its worn embrace, fumbling with the clasps of his waterlogged leather case. Papers and files spilled onto the table.
Geto stripped the rain from his hair, then twisted the dark strands into a fresh bun. His eyes flickered between you and Satoru, a single raised eyebrow his only question. You wouldn't meet his gaze, the floor suddenly fascinating. 
Not now. Not after this conversation.
"Just so we're clear," Satoru's voice suddenly cut through the quiet, "I don't share. Not you."
An angry glare was all you could manage in reply.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Geto asked.
"Where she'd want you to—" Satoru began.
"Anyway," you interrupted, your voice rising an octave in a desperate attempt to drown him out. The sharp sound cut through the room, snapping the heads of all three men towards you. "How about we talk about our strategy for the hearing?"
You approached Higurama, the case files spread before him like grim prophecies. He straightened, a determined look replacing his previous fatigue. "So, should we start?"
Satoru and Geto closed in, their footsteps heavy in the silence. Satoru picked up a paper and perched on the edge of the desk.
"Male patient, 37 years old," he began. "Paraplegic due to a motorcycle accident five years ago. We implanted the prototype neuroprosthetic interface to facilitate control of a biomimetic limb."
He turned to the next page. "All pre-operative assessments indicated the patient was a perfect candidate. No underlying conditions, strong mental fortitude—ideal for testing the new neural link."
"Exactly," Geto said, his gaze locked onto a x-ray scan on the table. "The initial calibration was a success. The patient gained full control of the biomimetic limb, experiencing no rejection or discomfort."
"However," he continued. "Two weeks after surgery, the patient suffered a sudden and massive cerebral hemorrhage. He died shortly after."
The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with tension. 
Your breath caught in your throat, guilt a cold stone in your stomach. The image of the patient flashed through your mind—his smile as he took his first, tentative steps with his new limb, the hopeful gleam in his eyes. 
Now, he was nothing but a name on a file, a haunting statistic.
You stole a glance at Satoru—all traces of amusement had vanished from his face, replaced by an unsettling seriousness.
"There was no physical damage to the implant itself, correct?" Satoru asked.
You took a deep breath. "No. All post-operative scans showed no abnormalities with the device. It's likely a malfunction within the neural interface itself that somehow triggered the bleeding." 
Satoru met your gaze. "I double-checked that," you added.
He mustered a faint smile.
Higurama squinted at a scan, feigning understanding. "So, the issue wasn't with the patient. He was healthy and the surgery went well. It's something within the implant."
Satoru pushed off the desk and started pacing the room. "If that's the case, the engineers are in deep trouble. We're in the clear."
Geto scoffed. "Don't be naive, Satoru. The ethics committee will chew us up and spit us out. They'll scrutinize every detail, every decision."
He didn't have to spell it out—the subtext was clear.
Silence settled.
"He's right," Higurama said after a while said, his gaze flicking between you and Satoru. "They'll dig into your relationship. Got a story ready for them?"
Your response was immediate. "We tell them the truth," you said. "We have a committed relationship. Everyone on the team knows, and it hasn't impacted our work in any way."
"But we only bring it up if they ask," Satoru added.
Suddenly, anger burned through you. You whipped around to face him. "Since when did we decide that?"
Satoru met your gaze head-on. "I decided."
"But you don't get to decide for both of us."
"I'm trying to protect you," he said, his jaw clenching. "The committee will twist this. They'll make it look worse than it is. I won't let them tarnish your reputation. So, if they don't ask, we won't tell."
"And you think, them finding out later will be better? You know they will find out, Satoru. Sooner or later, it'll come out. Then what?"
"Can you stop being so damn stubborn?" he fired back, a flicker of frustration finally breaking through his infuriating calm. "This isn't about us. It's about them and what they might do to you, what they would think of you if they found out."
Your chin lifted a fraction higher, a silent challenge. You wouldn't let him play the protector card, not this time.
Geto cleared his throat. "You want some privacy?"
In perfect, maddening unison, you and Satoru spoke.
"No," you declared.
"Yes," he insisted.
Silence stretched between you like a fraying rope, broken only by the relentless drumming of the rain against the windows. You both held each other's gaze, caught in a silent battle of wills that neither wanted to lose.
Geto and Higurama exchanged a troubled look. 
With a resigned sigh, Higurama gathered up the scattered papers. Then the door shut, leaving you and Satoru alone under the harsh fluorescent glare of the office.
Satoru closed the distance between you. Before you could protest, he reached out and cupped your face with a touch that was both gentle and insistent. His thumb gently brushed the line of your jaw as he forced you to meet his gaze.
"Please," he whispered. "Just trust me on this one."
His eyes, those piercing blue depths, held a desperation you'd never seen before. You longed to surrender, to simply accept the comfort he offered, but you couldn't.
"We discussed this, Satoru. Hiding this—it'll make things worse. They'll question our judgment, our ethics. We have to be clear from the start."
"They don't care about our research, they don't care about our intentions." His grip tightened, not cruelly, but with the urgency of a drowning man. "They care about protecting the institution. Our honesty will be a weapon they use against us."
"But secrets always find a way out, and when they do—" You trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging in the air.
Silence followed. 
His features tightened, the internal war etched across his face with brutal clarity. His jaw worked, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. You held your breath, waiting, hoping.
"Fine." He released your face, the touch lingering for a split second before he stepped back. "Your way." He resumed his restless pacing, a shaky breath escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair.
"Satoru, how are you—"
"Fine," he cut you off. "Manageable."
He was a terrible liar.
Dark circles etched a brutal truth beneath his eyes. His shoulders, rigid as stone, screamed a silent protest against the weight he carried alone. Frustration gnawed at you. "If you keep shutting me out—"
He held up a hand, abruptly cutting you off. "Look, I—it's under control." Forced lightness dripped from his words like acid. "Right now, we have bigger things to worry about than my personal issues."
His fingers twitched, then clenched into fists so tight the knuckles turned white. Fine sweat glistened on his forehead, betraying the effort it took to keep still and not claw at his scars.
A familiar ache rose in your chest. You longed to reach out, to bridge the chasm he insisted on maintaining. But his posture, rigid as stone, and his clenched jaw, sent a silent warning. This was his battle, one he'd fight in isolation—as always. 
To argue now would be a futile cruelty.
Still, it took every ounce of control not to slap sense into him.
"Look," he began, his voice soft now, "I know I'm not—easy to deal with right now. And, damn it, I'm asking too much." His hand found yours, the touch fleeting, hesitant. "I'm sorry for dragging you into my mess."
Why was he saying that?
Anger boiled over at his ridiculous apology. Had he no idea what it meant to love someone? To choose them, flaws and all. The urge to yell at him, to shake some sense into him, grew stronger.
How could he be so brilliant, yet so completely foolish when it came to the heart?
"Don't say that," you choked out, hating how close your voice was to breaking.
"We should probably get going," Satoru said abruptly, sidestepping the moment, and moved towards the door. He paused briefly beside you. Before you could react, he leaned in and brushed his lips against your temple.
"I love you," he said, the words barely audible. "And I'll make it up to you. I promise."
He pulled back, and for a heartbeat a flicker of vulnerability appeared in his eyes before the familiar mask slammed back into place. He turned and left the room.
You stood alone, the echo of his footsteps haunting the silence.
Dread twisted in your gut, a cold knot tightening with each breath. Something was wrong. It clawed at your insides, demanding to be heard.
He was falling apart.
But all you could do was watch.
─── ·✧· ───
Cold air whipped down the corridor as Satoru pushed the door open. 
The room within was just as cold. 
A vast, circular chamber bathed in harsh light, the air thick with the scent of dust and old wood. The committee members sat at a raised, semi-circular table—three figures cloaked in stiff suits and stern expressions. Their backs to you.
The chamber wasn't empty. 
Rows of chairs lined the room, filled with observers. Students, researchers, the curious, and perhaps those hungry for the spectacle of your downfall. Their murmurs were a low hum against the echoing silence as you went into the room.
It was less like a conference room, and more like a courtroom.
Eyes burned into you from every direction. 
As you approached, the committee members finally turned to face you. Your breath hitched, catching painfully in your chest. Time warped, the world narrowing to a pinprick as their faces resolved into sickening clarity.
For there, in the center of the committee, sat Sukuna.
His presence was a jagged shard of ice in your heart, piercing through the thin veneer of composure you clung to. His lips curled into a cruel smile, and a flicker of malevolent glee danced in his eyes.
This was a disaster. 
No, it was worse than a disaster. It was a meticulously orchestrated trap. This wasn't about research, about ethics. It was personal. Sukuna would use this hearing to destroy you, to rip away everything you'd worked for.
Bile rose in your throat, burning and acrid.
Before you could process the horror of the situation, Satoru leaned in. His voice, barely a whisper, held an urgency that cut through the panic. "Change of plan. You say nothing, got me?"
Then, he walked away.
Higurama placed a hand on your shoulder. "Come on," he said, squeezing gently. 
He led you away, along the perimeter of the room towards the other observers. Satoru and Geto continued their march towards the raised platform, isolated beneath a spotlight of scrutiny.
The man to Sukuna's left, a stern-faced figure with wire-rimmed glasses, cleared his throat. "Dr. Gojo, Dr. Geto," he began, his voice dry. "Let us begin."
The hearing started. 
Words were hurled like daggers, each a piercing blow masked in the veneer of clinical inquiry. Yet, you barely registered. You were drowning in a sea of fear and confusion, your senses numbed. 
Technical details, research methodology, surgical procedures—every detail of your work was being scrutinized, dissected under the harsh glare of judgment.
With each probing question, another wave of panic threatened to pull you under. You watched Satoru and Geto, their voices distant and distorted. Each answer seemed to disarm the committee's attacks, yet their success did little to ease the relentless churning within you.
Then, Sukuna spoke.
The mere sound of his voice made you flinch. 
"Dr. Gojo," Sukuna addressed Satoru directly, "your research proposal mentions the involvement of a particularly skilled...assistant. It seems her contribution was essential to this project's success?"
There it was. The first arrow, dipped in poison. 
Satoru shifted slightly in his seat, his jaw tensing.
"That's correct. Our research assistant played a crucial role in both research and surgery. Her work throughout was exceptional."
"Indeed," Sukuna purred, drawing out the word. "This assistant...how did you choose this particular student? Was it solely academic potential that sparked your...enthusiasm?"
Satoru's gaze hardened, meeting Sukuna's with cold fury.
"My research assistants are chosen based on merit. If you find that questionable, perhaps that says more about you than it does about me."
"Of course, merit," Sukuna mocked. "Yet, such enthusiasm for guiding this particular student. Surely there were others equally qualified? Or was there something special about her that made her... stand out?"
Satoru's grip on the table tightened. You saw the vein in his temple throb. "I don't indulge in your insinuations," he said, his voice low. "My student was chosen for her brilliance, her dedication. Nothing more."
"Brilliance and dedication... admirable indeed," Sukuna mused. "But perhaps such qualities inspire a greater degree of devotion in their mentors, wouldn't you agree?"
"If your intent is to waste the committee's time with these baseless accusations—" he began, but Sukuna cut him off.
"Accusations?" Sukuna raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I am merely exploring the unusual level of support you provided this particular student. Such exceptional one-on-one mentorship. And haven't there been rumors?"
He paused, letting the poison of those words spread through the silence. 
The woman on Sukuna's right scribbled furiously on her notepad, while the man to his left wore an expression of barely concealed disdain.
Your stomach twisted.
This wasn't just Sukuna playing games anymore—this was a calculated act of revenge meant to leave you broken and bleeding.
"Rumors have no place in a discussion of scientific integrity," Satoru said.
Sukuna chuckled. "So protective, Dr. Gojo. Perhaps there's truth to those whispers after all... A hint of guilt, perhaps?"
The insinuation hung heavy in the air, a noose tightening around Satoru's composure. You saw the fury ignite in his eyes, his jaw flexing as he fought to contain it. 
"Those rumors are beneath contempt. Our work stands on its own merit."
"Yet, this particular student," Sukuna countered, "she seems to have benefited so exceptionally from your attention. Late nights in the lab, one-on-one consultations. Such dedication to a student's development is truly admirable."
Satoru's knuckles turned white against the polished wood of the table. His voice, when it came, was a barely controlled snarl. "My methods are beyond reproach. The success of the research speaks for itself."
"Perhaps. But even the most brilliant minds can be blinded by, shall we say, distractions?" He leaned in closer, his voice a near whisper. "Tell me, Dr. Gojo, how far would you go to protect this student? To preserve her precious reputation?"
That was it.
Satoru surged to his feet, the sharp sound of his chair scraping back echoing in the deathly silence. He slammed his hands on the table, leaning towards Sukuna, his eyes blazing.
"Enough!" His voice boomed through the room, silencing the whispers. "This farce has gone on far too long. Your accusations are unfounded, and your motivations are sickeningly clear. You will not tarnish my reputation or that of my student!"
Sukuna held his gaze, unyielding.
"Dr. Gojo, please!" The woman on Sukuna's right spoke. "Control yourself. This outburst does little to support your claims of objectivity."
Satoru's jaw tightened, anger flickering in his eyes. But with a visible effort, he reined in his fury. The slam of his hand against the wood was replaced with a heavy silence as he slowly lowered himself back into his seat.
The damage, though, was irreversible. 
The image was planted—the brilliant but reckless professor blinded by his illicit affection, the ambitious student caught in his web. 
Sukuna had won, and he hadn't even needed proof.
The man with the wire-rimmed glasses cleared his throat. "Dr. Gojo, if such allegations held any merit, the consequences would be dire. University policy forbids faculty-student relationships." He paused, the gravity clear in his tone. 
"An investigation would be inevitable. The student would face immediate suspension, possible expulsion. The faculty member—" he shook his head, "termination would be the least of their concerns. And, I hardly need add, the project itself would be called into question."
Each word hammered another nail into your coffin.
"We understand this is sensitive, Dr. Gojo—," the woman beside Sukuna spoke again.
Suddenly, Satoru surged to his feet and began walking towards the door, his footsteps echoing in the suffocating silence. Sukuna watched, his smirk a cruel twist on his lips.
"Dr. Gojo is—indisposed," Geto's voice cracked, a desperate attempt to cover for Satoru's abruptness. "My deepest apologies. Perhaps we could reschedule?"
You watched Satoru go, every fiber of your being urging you to follow. He passed by your chair, so close, yet agonizingly out of reach. The impulse to defy them all, to stand by him, was a wildfire raging within you.
But as you moved, Higurama's hand closed firmly around your wrist.
"Not now," he whispered. "You already look guilty."
His words pierced through the haze of adrenaline. 
He was right.
Damn it, he was right. 
Any protest, any step towards the door, would only be twisted as further proof of the poisonous narrative Sukuna had spun. Despair crashed over you, a suffocating weight that stole your breath.
This wasn't about the research project anymore. 
It was a witch hunt, fueled by Sukuna's poison.
The door slammed shut behind Satoru, the sound a death knell. All eyes in the room were on you now, filled with a mix of pity, condemnation, and a perverse curiosity. 
Your world was crumbling. 
And all you could do was watch helplessly as the debris buried you alive.
─── ·✧· ───
You waited.
You waited for what seemed like an eternity until most people had left the room. Just when you thought you couldn't stand it any longer, you stood up, fast enough that Higurama couldn't stop you. You heard him shout something after you, but you didn't care.
Rounding the corner, his scent of his cologne hit you first. It led you to the men's bathroom. You didn't bother to knock.
The air inside was thick with humidity, the scent of bleach stinging your nostrils. A figure hunched over the sink, the harsh fluorescent light glinting off his damp hair. 
Satoru.
Even with his back turned, his tension was a palpable force.
A man standing next to him, washing his hands, shot you a wide-eyed look. "The hell?"
You cut him off, the words sharp as shattered glass. "Get out."
"This ain't the ladies' room—"
"Didn't you hear me? I said get out."
The man hesitated, then muttered something like 'crazy chicks' under his breath. He cast a final glance your way before shoving past you, the door slamming behind him.
Silence descended, punctuated only by the running water. 
Satoru remained hunched over the sink. He splashed water on his face again, then scrubbed at his hands, the water running faintly pink.
His reflection in the mirror was a stranger. A shuddering breath escaped him as he rested his hands on the edge of the sink, the knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. Finally, he met your gaze in the mirror.
"We're screwed," he stated bluntly.
"We're not."
"You're naive," He turned the water off, the abrupt silence jarring. "Do you even realize what happened in there?"
"I'm not stupid, Satoru."
"We can't do this." He finally turned fully towards you, leaning against the sink. "Sukuna wants to see me burn, and I won't allow you get caught in the crossfire."
"You won't allow me?" You took a few steps closer. "Since when do you get to make that decision for me?"
"Since I'm the one who screwed this up."
"But we're in this together. Remember?"
"Being 'together' is exactly the problem."
You took the remaining steps until you stood before him. "We've been through worse. We can manage this."
"This is different," he insisted, the words strained. "This isn't some paper getting rejected, this is—this will destroy us. You."
"Maybe, but what's the alternative? Give in? Letting Sukuna win?" You tilted your head. "Over my dead body."
"You're so damn stubborn," he said, escaping your gaze and shifting slightly. "You heard what they said in there, if this gets out, you could be suspended from this university. You would lose everything you've worked so hard for."
"And so. I don't care! I won't stand by and see Sukuna ruin you for something we're both responsible for!"
Suddenly, the door creaked open and a man peered in, startled by the scene. You turned your head. "Get the fuck out and find another bathroom."
The man left in an instant.
Satoru met your gaze once more. "I can take the fall. I can handle it. But you—you have a future ahead of you."
The audacity almost made you scream. "Handle it? How? By giving Sukuna exactly what he wants?"
"You don't get it, do you?" he snapped. "You have no say in this matter, not anymore. End of discussion."
His words felt like a physical blow. 
Silence choked the air within the tiny bathroom. You fought for breath, for words, for any thread of understanding to cling to. Your hands trembled, nails digging into your palms until the pain was heavier than the crushing weight in your chest.
"Why do you even stay?" His sudden question a knife to an already gaping wound.
What? 
Why would he say that? 
Wasn't that obvious?
Your heart sank and for a horrifying moment, your mind was a blank canvas, all anger swept away.
"Because you would do the same," you finally managed, the words scraped raw from your throat. "You would stay. You wouldn't leave me."
For one agonizing moment, he simply stared, as if searching for the lie in your words. "You don't know that."
"I do."
Of this you were more certain than anything. Even if he did not see it himself.
"No, you don't." He stepped closer, his presence a looming shadow. "You know what your problem is?" His voice dropped to a harsh whisper, forcing you to meet his eyes. The vibrant blue was gone, replaced by a bleak and turbulent storm.
"You're blind. Naive." His words were like shards of ice, each syllable piercing your already bleeding heart. "You've fallen in love with someone who will break you, and you stubbornly refuse to see it. Refuse to save yourself."
The sheer nerve of it sent a surge of fury coursing through you.
"Yeah, you're right, you're a real pain in the ass." Your voice held a bitter edge. "Most days, I wonder myself why I even stay. But Satoru, hear me when I say—we're not perfect, we never will be. Still, I chose you."
He paused.
His granite facade finally cracked, a flicker of vulnerability in that frozen gaze.
"I don't know if I can do this," he whispered, a broken confession. "I don't know if I can be what you need—what you deserve."
You stepped closer, patience stretched thin, a simmering rage threatening to boil over. 
"And how does that make you feel?" Your voice held a relentless edge. "Knowing, too bad you don't get to decide? That I'm sticking around regardless—even when you try your hardest to push me away?"
His shoulders slumped, and with a shuddering breath, he buried his face in the crook of your neck. "You're killing me," he choked out, the words barely audible against your skin.
"I could say the same about you." 
Your fingers threaded through his hair, felt the tension coiled in his neck muscles. For a few precious minutes, the world outside this bathroom faded away. There was only the warmth of his body against yours, the grounding rhythm of his unsteady breath.
"I can't explain why you don't leave."
"Because you're unworthy of my love?"
"Maybe," he said, burying his face even deeper into your neck. "I don't know."
"Look at me," you insisted. "Satoru, look at me."
"I can't," he choked out. "I'm scared," the confession tore from him, "scared of hurting you, terrified of losing you. You—you make me feel things I've spent a lifetime avoiding, things I don't know how to handle. It scares the hell out of me."
Your heart ached for him, for the vulnerability he so rarely dared to show. "I'm scared too," you admitted. "I'm scared of losing you. So don't push me away, when all I want is to be near you."
Then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. His body trembled against yours. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."
"You don't need to deserve me, Satoru. Love isn't about deserving. It's about choosing each other, again and again, no matter what. And I choose you."
He lifted his head, his gaze searching yours.
"And I choose you," he echoed. 
He leaned down. His lips met yours, hesitant at first, then pressing with growing urgency. Your hands tightened on the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the tension seep away under your touch.
His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. 
You leaned into him. 
You sought him like a gasping breath. 
The kiss deepened, still not fiery, but infused with a desperate kind of hunger. It wasn't about pleasure, it was about presence—proof of each other, a lifeline in a sea of doubt.
When he finally drew back, it was the barest of distances, his ragged breath warm against your skin. His gaze searched yours as if for the answer to an unanswerable question.
Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open.
Geto's form filled the doorway.
"There you are," he sighed. "Well, at least this time, everyone manages to keep their hands where I can see them. 
─── ·✧· ───
Half-unpacked boxes littered your apartment.
Even after six months, you still hadn't found the time to really settle into your new place. You wondered what was taking up all your time?
Yeah, right.
But unpacking today became a pleasant distraction. Tomorrow was the second hearing, and to say you were nervous was an understatement. 
You busied yourself with mindless tasks—sorting through old journals, debating whether to throw away sentimental stuff you knew you'd never look at again. 
Anything to avoid the relentless churn of worry, the scenarios your mind conjured despite your best efforts to banish them.
Suddenly, your phone buzzed. 
Satoru's name flashed on the screen.
"Look out your window," he said.
You crossed to the window, pushing aside the faded curtains. 
There he was, leaning against his sleek black car, the streetlights casting him in an almost cinematic glow. He tipped his head back, his gaze finding yours across the distance.
"So," his voice crackled through the phone, "wanna do something fun?"
"Fun, huh? Don't tell me you plan on robbing a bank and need an accomplice?"
"I don't need to rob a bank, I'm already fairly wealthy, don't worry. Thought of something more destructive."
"Sounds tempting," you said, "but I'm a very busy woman, you know? I've got people to avoid, laundry to fold—"
"If you don't come down in the next few minutes, you're the one getting folded, first-year."
"You're insufferable, you know that?"
"Irresistible, you mean," he corrected. 
"Give me a minute."
You quickly grabbed a sweater and headed downstairs. You stepped outside and saw him still leaning against his car, arms crossed. He straightened up as you approached, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. "Hey there, beautiful."
"Are you single?" he quipped as you approached. His warmth radiated against you, his breath a whisper against your skin. "Cause I think I wanna make you mine." He opened the passenger door for you.
"Sadly, I'm taken," you replied, leaning in seductively. His breath caught for a fraction of a second, before you slid into the plush seat. The familiar scent of leather and his cologne washed over you.
"That man must be damn lucky." He closed the door with a soft click, walked around the car and got in the driver's seat.
"So where are we going?" you asked.
"Ah, that would be telling." 
With a roar of the engine, he pulled away from the curb.
The drive stretched on, the cityscape melting into the soft twilight. The setting sun painted the sky in a fiery canvas of orange and crimson, casting long shadows across the rolling fields. 
You looked over at Satoru. Bathed in the warm glow, he looked so soft—the tousled white hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the mischievous glint in those impossibly blue eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses.
You watched the effortless grace with which he steered, one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. The warmth seeping through the fabric, the subtle pressure of his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin.
The buzz of the city gave way to sprawling countryside, and then unexpectedly, he veered onto a narrow dirt road. The car raised clouds of dust. Finally, he brought it to a stop, the engine cutting off abruptly.
A sprawling junkyard loomed before you, a graveyard of rusted cars and forgotten machinery. 
"You want to murder me?"
He grinned, already unbuckling. "What do you think of me?" 
Without another word, he slid out, rounding the car to open the passenger door for you. "Come on, this will be fun."
He walked towards the trunk. Popping it open, he reached inside and pulled out two worn construction hammers.
"You really want to murder me, don't you?" 
Satoru slung the hammers over his shoulder. "Trust me, you'll love it," he said, tossing you a pair of safety glasses. "Don't you want to enjoy our last day before we get suspended?"
"This isn't funny, Satoru."
"Just a bit," he countered.
You approached the towering chainlink gate of the junkyard. Reaching it, Satoru planted a hammer against the bars with a loud clang.
"Choso!" His voice boomed through the desolate expanse. "Open up. I've brought company."
Moments later, a figure emerged from the shadows of a half-collapsed shed. He moved with a surprising fluidity for a man who seemed built of rock and iron. A greasy work overall hung low on his hips, exposing a chest etched with dust and tattoos. Dark hair framed his face.
"Satoru," he drawled, leaning against the gate, "need to let off some steam? And who's the pretty company?" His gaze swept over you.
"Quit drooling," Satoru said. "She's with me."
"Too bad." He gave you another slow, deliberate once-over. "Name's Choso," he said towards you and then unlocked the gate, swinging it open with a rusty creak. "Come in."
The interior of the junkyard was a labyrinth of faded paint, twisted metal, and the lingering scent of oil and gasoline. Sataru strode through with the ease of someone who knew this place intimately, navigating the treacherous terrain with an almost playful familiarity.
"So," you ventured, "how exactly do you two know each other?"
"Old acquaintance," Satoru said. "Went to school together."
Choso laughed. "Worst years of my life. Surgeon here was like a walking force of chaos, dragging trouble in his wake and showing up at the worst possible times."
"Speaking of worst times," Choso continued, throwing Satoru a pointed look, "where the hell have you been, man? Haven't seen you around in a while."
"Been busy," Satoru said.
Choso narrowed his eyes, his gaze lingering on you. "Ah, well, well—now things make a bit more sense."
Choso led you further into the heart of the junkyard, where several battered cars stood. With a theatrical gesture, he swept his arm towards them. "These babies are destined for the scrap heap tomorrow, so have at it."
He then dug into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a set of keys. He tossed them to Satoru. "Lock up after yourself as usual," he said, already moving away, "and try not to set the whole place on fire, okay?"
Satoru turned towards you, eyes dancing with mischief.
"Safety first," he said, grabbing the safety glasses from your grip and gently placing them over your head. "Gotta protect those pretty eyes."
"Are we seriously doing this now?"
He grinned. "Trust me," he said, before putting on his own glasses and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Muscles rippled as he hefted the hammer. "It's fun."
BOOM! 
The first blow from Satoru's hammer echoed through the junkyard. Glass shattered, raining down in glittering shards. Metal shrieked in protest, folding under his relentless assault. Dents bloomed beneath his blows, grotesque and strangely satisfying.
You watched him release all the frustration that must have built up over the past months, it seemed.
Or perhaps he was completely insane now.
After what seemed like an eternity he finally slowed down. His chest heaved, breath coming in ragged gasps. A sheen of sweat slicked his forehead, making his white hair stick to his skin. 
Slowly, he lowered the hammer, knuckles white against the worn wood.
He turned towards you. "Wanna try?"
Wordlessly, you approached. He watched, a hint of amusement playing on his lips, as you took the hammer from his grasp.
With a surge of adrenaline, you raised the hammer and brought it down, the impact resonating through the junkyard. Metal shrieked in protest, a deep crater forming under the blow. The vibration thrummed through your arms, jolting Satoru into a surprised laugh.
"Didn't think you had it in you, first-year," he said. "You still surprise me."
You met his gaze. "Here to talk, or blow off steam?" 
He grinned.
And then, destruction followed.
The hammer felt surprisingly good in your hand. 
With each blow, a wave of satisfaction surged through you. It wasn't just about hitting metal. It was about smashing the frustration out, that had been building up inside you for weeks. It was addictive, the way the world narrowed to just you, the car, and the hammer—
—and it felt damn good.
Minutes later, you paused, taking a breath.
"So," you started, your voice breathless, "why does Sukuna hate you so much anyway?"
Satoru set down his hammer with a thud. "I did some stuff I'm not really proud of in my teenage years. Thought he'd be over it by now, but—guess not."
What's that supposed to mean?
What could he have possibly done to make Sukuna hate him so much?
But then again, did you really want to know every dark detail of his past?
Not really.
You glanced over at him, and somehow something in his eyes told you that you indeed did not want to know. You lifted your hammer, the metal cool against your skin, and smashed the car's side mirror. The glass shattered with a satisfying crack.
Satoru paused, watching you. "You don't want to ask?"
"What?"
"What it was that I did?"
As if anything about this man could scare you at this point. 
But then again, you didn't want to push it.
"Is it worse than your addiction?" Another swing, another satisfying crack as the car yielded further to your blows.
He didn't reply.
You set down the hammer, the metal suddenly too heavy to hold. "It doesn't matter. Your past is your past, Satoru. We all do stupid things when we're young."
His impossibly blue eyes bore into you, sending a strange shiver down your spine. "Besides, if he hates you for being a jerk back then, Sukuna needs a serious hobby."
A smirk pulled at your lips as you slammed the hammer against the car once more, the clang echoing through the tense space. 
Before you could strike again, Satoru's hand closed over yours. With disarming ease, he plucked the hammer from your numb grasp, tossing it aside with a clatter.
The scent of sweat, oil, and his familiar cologne washed over you—heady, intoxicating. He cupped your face, his touch tender even as his hands trembled slightly.
He leaned in, the world narrowing to his electric blue eyes and the quickening of his breath against your skin. "I love you, first-year. Damn it, I love you. I don't care how complicated this gets, I want you."
His lips claimed yours before you could process his words in a kiss that was both desperate and achingly tender. You melted into him, hands tangling in his sweat-dampened hair, the taste of salt and a hint of iron sharp and real on his lips.
Time seemed to bend and stretch. The world outside the junkyard, with all the shit going on, faded into insignificance. All that mattered was his touch, his kiss conveying emotions words couldn't express.
Your hands fisted in his shirt. You pulled him closer, needing the reassurance of his warmth, the proof of this connection amidst the chaos. 
He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue seeking entry with hesitant urgency. His hands roamed, mapping your familiar curves beneath the fabric of your clothes. 
He broke the kiss, a low moan escaping his throat. Hot, open-mouthed kisses trailed along your jaw before he swept you off your feet, breaking the kiss only long enough to lay you back against the cool metal of the car's hood.
His body followed, pressing against yours. His lips found yours once more, sending a new wave of shivers through you. His hands were rough, long fingers tracing the curve of your hip, thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of your waist, where your sweater hitched upwards.
He kissed you like a man at the edge of a precipice, savoring every sensation, clinging to the fragile lifeline this moment offered. Your fingers tangled in his tousled white hair, holding him close, urging him even closer. 
A moan vibrated against your lips, a testament to the fire you so effortlessly ignited within him.
Then, reality cut through the haze with the sharp buzz of his phone. He pulled back with a gasp, a flicker of frustration crossing his face.
"What's wrong?" you breathed.
"Stupid reminder." A muscle worked in his jaw as he fumbled for his phone. He glanced at the screen. "My pills—"
The words hung heavy in the air. 
Of course. How could you have forgotten? 
Today—today would be the last day he needed those reminders.
As he sat back, you straightened slightly. "You okay?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his gaze swept across the junkyard. With a sigh, he reached behind him, pulling out a plastic blister pack. One final pill starkly visible in its faded foil casing.
"Last one." He held it up for you to see. "Forever."
"Are you—" You couldn't quite bring yourself to ask if he was afraid, but the question lingered in your eyes, unspoken.
He finally met your eyes, and the vulnerability there took your breath away. "Terrified," he admitted. "But also—"
He hesitated. "Alive," he finished. "For the first time in a damn long time, I actually feel like I'm living."
Satoru's eyes flickered to your lips. Without a word, he leaned in, his movements laced with a new slowness that somehow made him seem even more dangerous. 
His lips hovered mere inches from yours as he guided you back until you lay upon the cool metal of the car hood once more.
Above you, the fading twilight painted the sky in hues of violet and indigo, the first stars shimmering to life. Time seemed to dissolve, leaving only the warmth of his body against yours, the grounding rhythm of his breath. 
"Satoru, what—?"
His eyes locked with yours, the intensity in his gaze both thrilling and unsettling. He pulled the last pill from its faded packaging, holding it between his fingers. "Open your mouth."
And without hesitation, you did.
His breath ghosted over your skin as he leaned close, placing the pill on your tongue. Your heart hammered against your ribs, the bitterness of the pill barely registering.
Satoru simply watched you for a moment, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Shame I have to get clean, you look so pretty like that."
Before the pill could dissolve, his lips found yours. With a gasp, you felt him sweep the pill with his tongue into his own mouth.
The kiss that followed was deep, searing, all-consuming.
It was both a goodbye and a beginning, whispered against your lips with the lingering tang of bitter medicine.
You clawed at his back, nails leaving their mark as he tightened his grip, pulling you impossibly closer. Heat pooled low in your stomach, your whimper swallowed by another hungry kiss of him.
Suddenly, teeth grazed your bottom lip, a sharp sting that blurred the line between pleasure and pain. Each flicker of his tongue sent shudders through your limbs, each nip of his teeth left you craving more.
His hand slid beneath your shirt with a roughness that stole your breath. You moan against his lips, your body arching instinctively towards his touch.
He pushed one of your legs up, his fingers trailing along the back of your thigh with a firm, insistent touch. Blazing kisses seared along your jawline, the warmth a stark contrast to the cool night air.
Your hands fisted in his shirt, feeling the desperate echo of his need mirrored in your own ragged pulse. The relentless rhythm of his breath, the feverish touch of his skin—it was an intoxicating chaos that threatened to consume you.
And then, abruptly, he pulled back.
"You give in too easily." A teasing smile played on his lips. "You don't really want me to fuck you on this hood, right?"
"God, I hate you," you muttered, sitting up and brushing your hair back. It was a half-hearted insult, lacking its usual bite.
"Yeah, as if," he countered, the smirk widening. He offered you a hand. "Come on, first-year. We're not done here. Gotta let out some more of that pent-up frustration, right?"
─── ·✧· ───
Back in Satoru's apartment, reality intruded with a gritty persistence.
The remnants of the junkyard clung to you like an unwelcome second skin. Your hair was a tangled mess, your face streaked with grime—a stark contrast to the pristine white tiles of Satoru's tidy bathroom.
"Got you something to change into later." Satoru's voice sliced through the steam, drawing your attention. You turned, water running down your body, and met his gaze. 
"Thank you."
He stripped off his shirt, exposing his defined chest. Then, he reached for his belt, his movements slow. "Takeout later?"
"Sounds good." Your gaze fixated on him as he continued to undress, shedding layers of clothing until he stood bare before you.
He stepped into the shower, joining you beneath the steaming spray. The water, hot as it had been before, suddenly felt scalding against your sensitized skin. His gaze roamed over you with such boldness that it sent a shiver down your spine.
"What are you planning, Professor?"
His hands found your waist, drawing you impossibly closer, eliminating the last sliver of space between your bodies. The water cascaded over you, washing away the grime of the day. He leaned closer. "Maybe we should finish what we started earlier, don't you think?"
His hands, rough yet tender, traced a path along your damp arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
"Oh, what? You're leaving me hanging earlier and now you want it?" 
"Oh love, I would've fucked you dumb on that hood if I didn't know Choso has cameras all over the place." He trailed kisses down your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer still, crushing your water-slicked bodies together. His boner already pressing against your back. 
"Don't want him to see you all messed up, crying and screaming out my name."
"You're too confident for you own good," you protested weakly, though the words melted into a sigh as his lips continued their assault, trailing along your shoulders and up your neck. 
He brushed your hair aside to give himself free access, before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of your throat. Hard enough to leave a mark but not break the skin. You gasp. 
"Still think I can't make you scream?" He teased, as he continued to tease your neck with his teeth and tongue. His grip tightens around your waist, grinding himself against you in slow, deliberate strokes.
"Not quite convinced yet," you said, yet your knees betrayed you, threatening to buckle under the intensity of the heat. But his strong arms held you steady, keeping you grounded as he devoured you with his kisses.
"Oh, looks like you are already on your knees."
"Keep dreaming." Another bite, this one sharper than the last, elicits another moan from deep within your throat. Then, he turned you around to face him. 
Without missing a beat, his lips crushed against yours. Tongues intertwined, grappling fiercely for dominance amidst the clash of teeth. He wrapped his hand tightly around the back of your neck, drawing you ever closer to his greedy lips.
You struggled to catch your breath. Still, you needed more, needed all of him. All you wanted was to surrender completely, to let yourself be consumed by him entirely.
Your hands roam over his slick, muscular form, tracing every curve and contour of his abs. His skin hot against yours. You could feel his length swelling even further against your skin, throbbing with need and begging to be buried deep within your core.
Chills ran along your spine, coiling tighter and tighter with every kiss, until you could barely contain yourself any longer. You wanted to feel him inside you, filling you completely. 
But he seemed determined to take things slow, to draw out every moment as long as possible. 
So you had to push him a little harder. 
"Still not impressed, Satoru."
"Oh, really?" His teeth bit into your lower lip, coaxing a moan from your lips. "Then let me show you just how good I can make you feel."
He grabbed and spun you around, pressing you firmly against the cool tile wall. His hot breath ghosted across the sensitive skin of your neck, making you shiver in anticipation. Your body arched, offering itself up to him completely.
His teeth grazed your skin, leaving a trail of marks and bruises along your shoulders. He grinded himself against your backside, the friction setting your entire being on fire. You moaned softly, the sound muffled by the steady stream of water.
Without warning, his hand slipped between your legs. Two fingers slid effortlessly into your depths, curving upwards to hit that sweet spot that made your head spin and your legs tremble.
He paused for a second, savoring the way your muscles clenched around his fingers as he delved deeper. "God, love—you're shaking already?" 
Then, he began to pump his fingers in and out, each thrust drawing forth a soft moan from your parted lips. 
"It's because of your insufferability. I don't enjoy this at all," you protested weakly, barely able to keep your footing as he fucked you with his fingers. But there was no mistaking the way your hips bucked eagerly beneath his hands.
A cry escaped your throat as he pushed his fingers deeper into you in response. "You're quite loud for someone not enjoying it."
"Shut it and make me cum, Satoru." 
"Always so bold, first-year, make sure you don't regret it later."
With each thrust, you felt more and more lost in the sensation of his touch. Your body trembled and convulsed beneath his skilled hands. Each gasp and whimper from your lips was met with a low moan from him, encouraging you further towards release.
His fingers curl and twist inside you, hitting all the right spots until you think you can't take it anymore. But just as you feel yourself starting to tumble over the brink, he withdraws his fingers, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. "Wha—what?"
"Not so fast, love." Before you can protest, he spins you around once more and lifts you up, pinning you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist, your hands digging into his broad shoulders for support.
"I want to feel you cum around my cock." 
Then, he pushed inside slowly, savoring every inch as he filled you completely. He still stretched you every damn time, even though you had fucked before. Still, it was every fucking time overwhelming again—in the best possible way. 
He slowly withdrew and pushed forward again. "Still not good?"
"Could be better," you gasp, clawing at his back, pleading silently for more.
"You know, I love a good challenge."
You cried out, your voice echoing off the tiles as he began to thrust into you. The angle is perfect, deep, maybe too deep, hitting all the right spots as he pounds mercilessly into you. Each thrust sent shock waves through your body, threatening to overwhelm you.
"Fuck, you feel so good. So damn good." He let out a low moan, tilting his head back to let the water run down his face and neck.
You responded with a whimper, your whole body tensing as he delved deeper into your core. Each time he hit bottom, you bit down on your lower lip, fighting to keep quiet to not give him the satisfaction.
But it was in vain as his thrusts became more urgent, more desperate, driving you both closer and closer to the edge. With each thrust, your moans grew louder, echoing throughout the bathroom, mirroring his own desperate moans that escaped his parted lips.
"God, yes—right there—" You feel yourself losing control, your legs shaking as you struggle to maintain your balance against the force of his movements, the sound of running water blending with the slick slapping of skin against skin filling the room.
Suddenly, the grip of his hands on your ass tightens, pulling you even closer against him as he continues to drive into you hard and fast. Your breath quickens as you realize that you're close—so incredibly close. He feels it too, as always. He knows you inside and out.
"Cum for me, love. Don't hold back."
That was it. 
You throw your head back, crying out his name as you feel your entire being consumed by the intensity of your orgasm. He feels it too, every muscle tensing as he drives deeper into you.
"Fuck, you drive me insane." His voice was hoarse, his breathing uneven, and you knew without a doubt that he wouldn't last much longer either.
His movements grew harder and faster, desperate for release as he thrust into your still convulsing core. You arched your back, meeting his every thrust as you felt him near the edge, his cock throbbing inside you.
"Shit," he cursed. He buried himself once more with a hard thrust before he emptied himself inside you, filling you completely. His cum dripped down your legs, blending with the hot water running down the drain.
His head fell forward, a curtain of snow-white hair veiling his heavy-lidded eyes. "God, you feel so fucking good," he moaned, his words a breathless confession amidst ragged gasps.
You wanted, to get out of his grasp, to regain your footing but he held firm. 
"Not so fast," he breathed. Then, he starts to thrust into you again, slow this time, making sure his cum stays where it belongs—deep inside you.
You found yourself growing increasingly sensitive, every new thrust overwhelming your senses as you writhed in his grasp. "Satoru, stop," you gasped, clutching his shoulders tightly. "It's too much."
"I know you can take it, take it for me like a good girl for me." 
His words echoed in your ears as he thrust deep and slow into you, sending shivers through your entire being. You dug your fingernails into his arms, desperate for purchase as he plunged deeper.
"You're such a bitch," you whined. Despite your protests, you were dangerously close to another orgasm.
"Always so fierce." Satoru felt you being close and continued to push you until you screamed his name again. "Good girl. That's it. Come all over me."
Eventually, exhausted and completely spent, he pulled out slowly, wincing slightly at the raw sensitivity of his member. He set you back on the floor, holding you tightly as your legs threatened to give way beneath you. 
"You did so well for me, love." His lips found yours in a tender kiss, lingering there for several long moments before finally breaking apart.
"I hate you," you whispered weakly against his lips.
"Hate me already?" His lips curled into a smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Then you'll hate me even more now because we're not finished yet."
Before a word of protest could escape your lips, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close. With surprising strength, he hoisted you off the ground, flinging you over his shoulder.  
Water droplets scattered everywhere as he strode out of the bathroom, carrying you away like some prized possession.
"Wh—What are you doing?"
Before you knew it, he threw you onto the bed. The sheets beneath you were soaked in an instant.
"Now, where were we?" He crawled onto the bed, his body settling between your parted legs.
You swallowed hard, the rapid beating of your heart echoing in your ears, drowning out the distant sound of the still running water from the bathroom. "Satoru, I can't—I'm spent," you managed, your voice a breathless plea.
"Oh, I'm sure you can." His eyes locked on yours with an unwavering intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. With a smirk that twisted his lips into a wicked grin, he lowered himself between your trembling thighs.
Without hesitation, he delved into you with his tongue. You took a sharp inhale, as you felt his tongue move within you. "Dammit Satoru, why are you like this?"
You grasped tightly onto his hair, trying to push him back, but his grip on your thighs only tightened.
"Oh, love, you're so cute when you fight it," he mused against your core. His movements were slow and deliberate, teasing you mercilessly with every flick and thrust of his tongue. Then, he licked and sucked at your clit, swirling his tongue around it in lazy circles. 
Despite your resistance, you found yourself writhing beneath him, surrendering completely to his will as you felt your core to tense and convulse under his touch. 
Maybe, just maybe, Satoru was right—maybe you weren't quite done yet.
But just as you were about to reach the peak, he stopped. 
His mouth left your trembling core, and you couldn't help but let out a whimper of frustration. He licked slowly over your sensitive flesh, his gaze fixed on your eyes, his intent clear. "Beg for it."
God, this fucker always knew how to rile you up.
"I'll fucking spit in your face later, Satoru," you retorted, your frustration bubbling to the surface.
"Oh, don't bother yourself, I might enjoy it," Satoru replied, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he continued to torment you with his tongue. "So should I stop?"
"I won't give in to you."
"Is that so?" he challenged, sliding one finger inside you with deliberate slowness. "I think we both know how much you need this."
"You're insufferably arrogant," you muttered, gripping the wet sheets beneath you. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moan threatening to escape. 
"Maybe" He slid another finger inside you, curling his fingers inside you to find that spot that made your breath catch. "But let's see if you can resist me for much longer."
He thrust his fingers deep into you, hitting bottom with his long fingers, sending your head spinning. "Please," you gasped. "Don't stop."
"That's it." Satoru's smirk widened as he watched you unravel before him. "Let go for me, love."
His mouth descended on your clit again, his fingers thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm that drove you over the edge. With a loud moan, you felt yourself shattering under his touch, your entire body tensing with another orgasm.
"How much I love that feeling of you coming undone around me," he said, his voice husky, as he continued to slowly thrust his fingers into you, savoring the sensation of your walls clenching around him. "So perfect."
With deliberate slowness, he withdrew his fingers. A satisfied smirk graced his lips as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and licked his fingers clean.
Moving up your body, his dark eyes bore into yours, their intensity cutting through the haze that clouded your vision. His hand snaked around your throat, his touch gentle as he stroked his thumb over your rapidly beating pulse. 
"You know, you can bring a few things here, if you want."
"Huh?" was all you could manage before you felt him slowly, agonizingly slowly, beginning to enter you once more. 
Inch by inch, he filled you up, stretching you wide until you were certain you couldn't take any more. But still, he kept pushing, burying himself deeper and deeper inside you until he was fully seated.
"Did you just fucking ask me to move in?" you breathed, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. It was a maddeningly slow pace as he began to thrust into you, each thrust driving you wild with longing.
He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation, resting his forehead against yours, his warm breath mingling with yours. "I mean, if you want to."
You wrapped your legs around his waist. "You can't just ask me to move in while we fuck, Satoru." 
"Why not?"
"Because—" The words caught in your throat as he suddenly picked up the pace, thrusting hard and deep into your already overly sensitive core. Leaving you gasping for air with each forceful thrust.
A moan escaped your lips as he found that perfect spot inside. "Oh god, right there!"
"Oh, love, I know that you like that," he growled, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I always know exactly what you need." His head dropped to your neck, teeth grazing the tender skin there.
God, you hated him—hated him for being so damn right and knowing you inside out.
"I hate you and your fucking god complex." Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving marks as you held on tight.
"What did you just say?" He suddenly tightened the pressure on your throat, cutting off your air enough to make your head spin.
You struggled to catch your breath. "That you have a fucking god complex."
He smirked, continuing to move inside you with a fierce intensity that left you reeling. "And yet, here you are, begging for more." Each word was punctuated by a deep, powerful thrust that made your whole being tremble. 
You cried out, unable to form any meaningful response save for a series of desperate moans and whimpers. He picked up speed, driving deeper and harder into your core with each passing second. 
"Like that, huh?" 
You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, holding onto him like a lifeline as he carried you higher and higher toward release. "Yes, don't stop."
He leaned close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Oh, I won't, sweetheart," he whispered. "Not until you come all over me."
You tightened your grip on his shoulders, digging your nails in deeper. You could feel the muscles in his back flexing under your fingertips. Your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the growing sensation within you. But they snapped open as he gripped your jaw. 
"Open your eyes," he commanded. "I want you to look at me while you cum."
His hand found your throat again. His fingers fit so perfectly around your neck, so terrifyingly perfect. "I want you to see exactly who's making you feel this way."
Without warning, he lifted one of your legs over his broad shoulder, changing the angle—making it even better. Your skin grew hotter as he increased his pace, thrusting into you with such force that you would have slid up the bed if not for his firm grip on your throat.
You watched him through glassy eyes, taking in every detail of his flushed face, the damp hair that clung to his forehead.  His lips parted as low moans escaped his lips before he bit down on his lower lip.His moans were high-pitched and needful, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath as he struggled to maintain control.  The sight alone enough to make you cum, right here and now. "Fuck, I'm gonna come."
"Cum for me, love" he encouraged, his thrusts becoming erratic as he neared his own release. 
Your mind was so hazy from all the sensations that you didn't even register what you were screaming as you rode out your fourth orgasm of the night. Your body convulsed as he continued to thrust into you, barely noticing what he hissed as you felt him fill you up again.
You felt him shudder against you. Then, he collapsed, his weight pressing against your body as he supported himself with his hands on either side of your head.
His breath mingled with yours, warm and heavy against your skin. He gazed down at you with a look of sheer adoration in his eyes.
With a gentle touch, he brushed a stray strand of hair from your heated face, his fingers lingering against your skin. Slowly, he lowered his lips to yours, kissing you with a tenderness that was so different to the way he just fucked you.
"So, what about moving in now?" he murmured against your lips.
"I'm not answering that now."
─── ·✧· ───
Later that night, you were jolted awake.
Not from a sound, but the suffocating weight on your chest. 
Satoru's grip around you was a vise, the pressure sharp against your ribs. His breaths rasped in your ear, harsh and uneven, like each inhalation was tearing something loose inside him. His body twitched against yours.
"Satoru?" You tried to shift, to ease the weight pressing you into the mattress, but his hold was unyielding.
"Satoru," urgency clawed at your tone. "Hey, wake up."
His response was a strangled groan, followed by a string of words that were almost impossible to decipher. You clawed at his arms, panic rising as the air squeezed from your lungs. Still, he held on. Your blood turned to ice.
"Satoru, please wake up."
Somehow you managed to wrench yourself free. The cool air on your skin was a shock after the heat of his body. 
You cupped his face, the stubble rough against your palm, forcing him to meet your eyes. "Satoru, wake up," you pleaded. "It's just a dream."
His eyes snapped open. Even in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, you saw the fear in them. His pupils were dilated, swallowing up the vibrant blue with an alarming blackness. A sheen of sweat made his skin gleam like he'd been doused in icy water.
His hand shot out, fumbling for yours with a frantic desperation that made you gasp. His fingers clamped around you like cold iron, his grip bruising. 
"No—they can't—" His voice was a strangled rasp, the words barely coherent. "Can't let them—" Each word seemed etched with pain, a fresh wound torn open with every syllable. His grip tightened, his fingernails digging into your skin.
"Can't what?" You flinched slightly under his grip. "Satoru, please, look at me. You're safe. You're here with me."
A flicker of awareness broke through the terror in his eyes, his gaze finally landing on you. But the intensity was staggering. It was as if he were seeing you for the first time, fear still clinging to him like a shroud.
"It's okay," you soothed, gently running your hand through his sweat-soaked locks. "Just a nightmare, Satoru. Nothing but a bad dream."
He sat up, the sheets sliding away from his bare chest. You caught a glimpse of his ribs, the rise and fall of his breaths ragged. He ran a trembling hand across his face. 
"Sorry—" His gaze flickered over you, the panic fading just enough for him to register the mirroring fear twisting your features. "God, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay. It was just a bad dream."
His eyes swept over your arm, tracing the red marks left by his bruising grip. "Did I hurt you?" His hand reached out, hesitating just short of touching you, then traced the path of the bruises on your skin. "Fuck, love—did I do that?"
"It's okay," you said again. "I'm fine."
It was a lie, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit how the lingering ache made your skin crawl. Not now.
He fisted his hand in his hair, fingers digging into his scalp, threatening to rip the sweat-dampened strands out. "Sorry," he said again, then he leaned in, his lips brushing your temple with a surprising gentleness.
But it didn't soothe. 
It felt like a desperate plea for forgiveness he feared he didn't deserve.
He swung his legs out of bed. His bare feet hit the threadbare carpet with a muffled thud. He didn't turn towards you, his back a rigid line against the faint light filtering through the window.
Unease prickled your skin. "Satoru, what's—?" You sat up, the warm blankets pooling around your waist. 
You watched as he moved to the dresser, grabbing a pair of shorts and a shirt.
"Satoru, what are you doing?" 
He hesitated as he pulled the shirt over his head. For a heartbeat, he was still, as if caught between the urge to flee and a desperate wish to explain. But when he turned, the mask was firmly in place.
"Just need some air." He didn't turn towards you, didn't offer a glance. You couldn't even tell if he was truly seeing you. "I'll be back." 
His hands were a blur of motion as he laced his running shoes. You watched, a knot of fear twisting in your gut. "Satoru, please—talk to me."
"I can't." His response was sharp, tinged with a defensiveness bordering on panic.
Your heart ached. Your mind clouded.
You didn't know what was right anymore, letting him go or holding him back. Somehow it seemed you were always wrong.
His fingers twitched. You saw the moment his control frayed. Nails raked against skin, then his hand closed into a fist, fingers digging into his palm until the knuckles turned white.
He moved toward the door, halting in the frame. "I'm sorry." He slipped out, leaving the door ajar. You didn't follow him.
The silence he left was cruel.
The darkness of the room suddenly so heavy.
Your heart was a shattered mess in your chest, each shard scraping against your ribs with every ragged breath. 
The urge to sink back into bed, to burrow into the sheets, was overwhelming. But you couldn't. Bare feet met the cold floor. Reaching the window, you peered out into the moonlit night.
Below, his figure stood bathed in the pool of light cast by a flickering streetlamp, his form stark against the cracked pavement. As you watched, he fiddled with his smartwatch, likely starting some sort of running program.
His head lifted and his gaze found yours. His surprise was a knife in your already battered heart. Even from this distance, you saw the tightness of his jaw, the hollows beneath his eyes carved even deeper by the pitiless streetlight.
For a breath, an agonizing heartbeat, you saw a plea flicker across his face. But then, he turned and began to run. Each stride was a brutal reminder of how far away he was slipping, how powerless you were to stop it.
"You're so stupid, Satoru."
How could you ever sleep now?
How could you ever sleep again without him by your side?
Strange, how you can love someone so deeply, so all-consuming, that sometimes it scares you how involuntarily raw and vulnerable you are at his mercy.
But the truth was, loving him also meant accepting the ragged edges, the parts of him that were sharp enough to draw blood.
Of that, you were painfully certain.
─── ·✧· ───
Sleep had been a fitful, fleeting thing. 
Each shallow breath was a struggle against the dull pain in your skull. When morning finally bled through the curtains, it felt less like waking and more like surrender. 
Then, the jolt—his weight pressing down, his familiar scent sharp against the stale air.
Satoru. 
He'd slipped back into bed beside you. He smelled like sweat and something acrid—cigarettes. 
He tightened his grip around you, pulling you close underneath the sheets. Yet, even with his warm body flush against yours, there was a coldness in the space between you.
"You smell like smoke."
He stirred, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You felt his hair, slightly damp with sweat, against your skin. "Was with Suguru," he mumbled, his words muffled.
Should you be angry with him that he went to Geto instead of staying with you?
Probably.
But right now, you had really other concerns.
Or perhaps you were too tired to even try at this point.
You turned in his arms, squinting against the dim light filtering through the curtains. The exhaustion carved into his face was stark, the shadows beneath his eyes pools of bruise-purple. 
He looked younger, fragile. 
It was a sight that ached in your chest like a newly-bruised rib.
"Satoru, what's going on? Why did you run?"
He sighed, a long, weary exhale that seemed to drag something out of him. He shifted, burrowing deeper into the curve of your neck, as if seeking both comfort and a shield against your questions.
"Don't know," he finally admitted. "Was just—too much."
You knew better than to push. 
Instead, you shifted in his embrace. 
You let your hand rest against his chest, his heartbeat a frantic, uneven rhythm against your palm. It was too fast, too erratic, and despite the warmth of his body, a shiver traced its way up your spine.
"You know, today is the second hearing," you muffled against his chest.
"Yeah, I know." His grip on you tightened. For a long, agonizing moment, you simply lay together. The scent of smoke hung heavy in the stillness.
"We'll get through it," you whispered. "As long as we stay together."
His only response was a soft exhale. 
His body shifted, molding against yours. His breaths deepened, the frantic edge fading. You felt his body loosen, the rigid tension seeping out of him. His heartbeat began to slow beneath your palm.
You shifted slightly, settling comfortably into his embrace. You stared out the window, the first tendrils of dawn painting the sky a muted grey, and listened to the uneven rhythm of his sleep.
Perhaps you should hate him just a little. 
Perhaps that might make all of this a bit easier.
─── ·✧· ───
Morning arrived with a harsh finality that mirrored your own restless night. Sunlight pierced through the gap in the curtains, a cruel, accusatory beam that cut through the lingering shadows.
Yet, there was no time for dwelling.
No room for the exhaustion that throbbed behind your eyes.
"Satoru," you whispered, shaking his shoulder. "We have to go. Now."
He stirred with a groan, momentarily disoriented. Then, a flicker of urgency replaced the sleepy confusion in his eyes. 
Right. 
The damn hearing. 
It all came rushing back, cold dread coiling in his gut.
"Fuck," he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I overslept."
You sat already fully dressed on the edge of the bed. Your gaze met his, your brows furrowed in a silent echo of the questions burning on your tongue.
But for now, you shoved them aside. There would be time for that later, time to tear down the walls he'd built between you.
"Come on, you need to get ready."
The drive to the hospital was a blur of rushed movements and strained silence. The looming hearing hung in the air like a storm cloud, every mile bringing you closer to the inevitable clash. 
Your stomach churned, waves of nausea threatening to overwhelm you. It was a battle to keep the rising fear from twisting your face, a battle you weren't sure you were winning.
Why all of a sudden? 
Why did it suddenly feel like your whole world was falling apart?
You'd been so sure you would make it, that you'd get through it together. With Satoru by your side, nothing could happen.
But that certainty was crumbling into dust. 
One glance at his pale face, the blood drained from his skin, and fear clung to your throat. You didn't dare ask what was going on inside his head, but his silence was an answer in itself.
Upon arrival, the sterile meeting room felt more like a prison cell. 
Geto and Higurama waited, their expressions grave. You met Geto's gaze, a silent exchange passing between you. He knew. He knew, that you knew that Satoru spent the night at his place. But you shoved this thought aside as well. There would be time later.
"Glad you could finally join us," Higurama's voice held a sarcastic edge.
"Sorry, overslept," Satoru said.
"We don't have much time," Higurama cut in. "I spoke with the committee."
"And?" You prompted.
"They're not happy." He met your gaze. "They're questioning everything—your story, your... relationship."
"They suspect you acted recklessly with the surgeries," Geto added addressing Satoru. "That your judgment was clouded, that you let her operate because of an inappropriate interest."
"Of course, that's what Sukuna wants them to believe," Satoru said.
"Listen," Higurama interjected. "I've talked to the woman in the committee. Even if Sukuna wants chaos, the others are more focused on damage control. They want to bury this, protect the research, and avoid scandal. So, it's best if you just come clear now."
"So, what are we waiting for?" you asked.
Higurama met your gaze, a flicker of something like pity in his eyes. "Even if they're willing to sweep this under the rug, there'll be consequences. Suspension, likely. For both of you. You understand, right?"
"And so," you said, the words like shards of ice. "If it means this is finally over."
The words hung heavy in the air. 
You glanced at Satoru, expecting his usual pushback, his sense of protecting you, some flicker of anger—but there was nothing. A deep frown creased his brow, his gaze locked on the floor. He scrubbed his arm with unnecessary force, leaving a raw, red mark on his skin.
Then, Satoru and Geto exchanged a fleeting glance, a silent communication that sent a chill down your spine. There was something off, you knew it. The silence stretched, and the pity in their eyes as they turned to you began to curdle into a sickening dread.
Finally, Satoru spoke. "Let's do it then."
His surrender was a cold slap, sharper than any open defiance could have been.
"We don't have much choice, do we?" he added.
Higurama rose, a thin folder tucked under his arm. "Then, let's go." 
Higurama and Geto moved to leave the room. Geto briefly rested a hand on your shoulder. "We'll wait outside."
The door clicked shut leaving Satoru and you alone.
Satoru stared at the polished mahogany desk, his jaw working, as if he were trying to swallow a pill made of sandpaper and broken glass.
Something within you wanted to scream. To rip that flimsy facade of calm from Satoru, to shake him until the truth rattled out of him. Yet, the words died in your throat, strangled by the knowledge that it wouldn't change a thing.
Satoru's gaze flicked toward you before he pushed himself away from the desk. He walked over to you.
"You know I love you, right?"
The words should have been a balm. Instead, they were a razor blade against raw skin. "Don't you dare do anything stupid in there," you warned.
A bitter smile twisted his lips. "Come on. They'll be waiting."
Your legs felt like lead as you followed him out of the room.
─── ·✧· ───
The hearing room held an oppressive chill.  
The chill wasn't just the temperature, it seeped from the sterile walls, the unyielding chairs, the weight of judgment hanging in the stale air. It was not a place designed for truth, but rather a tribunal designed for condemnation.
One by one, the committee members entered. 
The familiar ache of dread curled in your stomach when Sukuna's gaze found you.
"Only Dr. Gojo is required today," one of the judges intoned.
You met Satoru's gaze. He smiled faintly, somehow it looked so cruel, so sad. You wanted to scream, to tear your way to his side. But Geto's hand held you back.
He guided you to the seats reserved for observers. To be forced into silence, into watching him getting torn to shreds under Sukuna's assault—it felt like a betrayal worse than any accusation they could hurl.
Your hands clenched into fists, nails biting into your palms. The pain a bitter focus.
Sukuna watched the proceedings, that smug half-smile plastered across his face. 
He didn't care about the rules—about your lives. 
This was all a cruel joke to him, a twisted play where he was the puppeteer, and you were the tangled marionette forced to dance to his tune. 
This wasn't about the research—it was about breaking you, breaking Satoru, proving that all your defiance was nothing against his terrible will.
Then, Satoru sat before the judges.
"Mr. Gojo," the woman on Sukuna's left began, "we have reason to believe that your relationship with your students might be inappropriate. That it goes beyond the bounds of a teacher-student dynamic."
Wow, they didn't even bother to ask anything else today.
For a long moment, Satoru didn't move. He seemed frozen. His gaze found yours, and it was as if the whole world narrowed down to that single connection. The intensity in his gaze so sharp it was like a shard of ice against your skin.
Here it was, the crossroads. He could tell them.
Tell them the truth—that you were in a committed relationship. That his decision to include you in the project was made from a place of trust and respect for your capabilities, not an affair.
It was better than the alternative – Sukuna twisting everything into a salacious tale of a reckless professor and his eager student, jeopardizing the entire research project.
A flimsy shield, yes, but a start. A chance for the truth to fight back.
He inhaled sharply, and for that split second, the world hung suspended. Then, with a jaw so tight it might shatter, he turned back to the judges.
"If my actions have been perceived in such a way," he began, "then it is entirely my fault. I have perhaps overstepped certain boundaries. I will take full responsibility for my actions."
No.
No.
Satoru, why?
For fuck's sake why?
A wave of nausea washed over you, bile burning the back of your throat. Your hands clenched into fists, the short nails digging into your palms with enough force to draw blood. The pain didn't register.
"All actions were initiated on my end. There is no wrongdoing on her behalf, and any suspension would be unfounded," he added.
The lips of the woman beside Sukuna pursed, the words beginning to flow in a blur of accusations and coldly calculated legalese.
You didn't hear her. 
Didn't hear anything anymore.
Didn't hear anything over the roaring in your ears, the frantic, uneven thud of your heart trying to claw its way out of your ribcage. The room spun, the judges' faces blurring, the sterile walls tilting inward. Your vision tunneled. Your breath ragged.
The full weight of it crashed down—not just Sukuna, but this new catastrophe Satoru had brought crashing down around himself. His life, meticulously balanced on the razor's edge was about to collapse.
Reputation, career, everything—and all because of a sacrifice as pointless as it was heartbreaking.
Satoru's response cut through your panic like a gunshot. "I am aware of the consequences. And I take full responsibility."
The words were a death knell. 
The enormity of it all crashed down on you. 
Your breath caught, a strangled gasp clawing at the back of your throat. Fingers clawed at the back of the chair in front of you, wood creaking in protest. You lurched forward, a futile escape from the crushing weight. 
Your heart hammered against your ribs like a caged bird battering itself against a prison of flesh and bone. Voices blurred. Your breathing shortened. Your fingers, still gripping the chair, were turning numb.
"Suguru—" Your voice was a ragged plea. "Out—get me the fuck—out of—" The rest of the sentence choked in your throat.
He didn't wait a second.
With a surprising gentleness, he pried your fingers from the chair, the wood creaking beneath your white-knuckled grip. Your legs were leaden weights. He helped you stand, every step was a battle against the dizzying blackness encroaching on your vision.
The room seemed to tilt as Geto steadied you.
The judges, Sukuna, they all blurred into grotesque shapes in the periphery of your failing sight. Everything was too loud, too bright, too much.
Satoru watched you leave in silence.
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<- prev chapter | next chapter ->
author's note: oh boy, oh boy! so much happening, so little fluff. i'm so sorry—but remember the story will have a happy ending, just have to come up how that will happen ehehe. next chapter will dive back into satoru's unhinged brain, because i love writing from his pov.
thank you SO MUCH for your unwavering support! this story's going to be a bit of a ride, and i'm so thankful you're here for it. your comments absolutely make my day! next chapter might take a little longer due to a university assignment, but i'll be back to writing like a maniac as soon as i can. thanks for understanding! ♡
wishing you a great day or night and an awesome week ahead! ♡
🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 @kendall0111 @bloopsstuff @therealestpussyeater @louoi7 @whereflowerswenttodie @billiondollarworth @deluluforcarlos55 @starrynight-777 @vina21 @michelleeveline @boba-is-a-soup @cre8inghavoc @love-jelly @daimiyu @d0nk3y-k0ng @mo0nforme @smolbeanzzz @oneiricals @ynishalee (pls comment if i have missed anyone!)
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ohimsummer · 3 months
Text
DARK RED ft. BULLY!SATOSUGU
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— minors dni, angst w/comfort, mostly bully!satoru x reader, ft. bully! suguru, one implication of male masturbation, some fluff, also one (1) kiss
summary; bully! satoru manages to seriously upset you, and now he’s scrambling to give you a genuine apology
wc 2.8k
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"I thought love was supposed to be easy."
Geto pauses mid-sip. "Oh, is that what you're calling this?"
Satoru leans further into his hand. His cheek smushes against his palm, muffling his grumbles. "Duh. What else would it be?"
"You being a dumbass."
Gleaming, white hair sways over Satoru's forehead, brushes his skin. "She wasn't supposed to react like that." You don't usually react like that, he thinks.
He toys with you all the time. The constant teasing and insults towards you is a regular occurrence, as much as you seem to hate it, but you always end up angrily leaving Gojo in the dust, and then the cycle repeats the next day. Only it was different last time; they’re your usual cries and shouts, but it’s a different type of outburst. Real tears in your eyes, your choked words of 'you suck!' and 'why can't you ever take anything seriously for once?' piercing through Gojo's heart and leaving a still-bleeding wound. They don't have your usual, pissed-off bite to them, but instead sound miserable. Heartbroken and disappointed, like the victim of a betrayal. Your expression shriveled any incoming words up in Satoru's throat, leaving him wide-eyed and dumbfounded as he watched you messily wipe away flowing tears and shove past him. That was last Wednesday, and he hasn't seen you since, not a glimpse or even a whiff of you on campus. It's like you never attended this college to begin with.
Satoru looks at his text messages with you, the last one being a dismal 'princess?' that you hadn't even read. He'd thought about threatening to leak one of the many sex tapes he had of you in his phone, but usually those coercions were bluffs, as Gojo nor Geto would dare leak their precious videos of you like that to anyone else. Besides, somehow forcing you into showing yourself made Satoru's stomach queasy. Like he'd vomit up his own heart.
"There."
He looks up at the sound of Geto's voice, following his pointed finger to the drink machine in the cafeteria. After loitering around for 2 hours, you'd finally shown up, alone and looking a little worse for wear. Even from a distance, Satoru can spot the dark circles under your eyes.
You stand idly in line, awaiting your turn to fill your cup. Eyes flitting from person to person, looking out for a fray of white strands or dark hair. It's hard to discern when the cafeteria is so busy at this hour, though you're not too concerned. Gojo and Geto don't usually frequent the cafe, not unless they're here to cause trouble. And you've been avoiding Satoru for about a week now with no complaints from either of them, so you're hoping you can get in and out without being spotted.
It’s an easy walk out of the cafeteria building, and you’re on your way back to your dorm when a familiar nickname stops you in your tracks. "Hey, princess!"
Fight or flight kicks in, and unfortunately your feet cement to the ground. His presence grows stronger as he draws near, until you can sense Gojo right behind you.
"Been avoiding me, Y/N?"
It feels off. He never really calls you by your actual name. "Why do you care?"
A few seconds of silence pass. Then, "Guess I missed my pretty girl is all."
Your heart aches for a second, before you scoff. "Sure you did. What, it's not the same making some other girl cry?"
Gojo doesn't answer, and you finally force your legs to pick up, heaving yourself towards your destination.
"Sorry."
Aaand, they're stuck again. Blinking, your head eases to the side, catching sight of Gojo in the corner of your vision. He looks awkward, staring at you with hands in his pockets and scuffing the ground as he kicks at the concrete. A knot forms in your stomach, hearing him utter an apology without his usual sarcasm or malice. It almost makes you want to talk things over, until the pain of your previous encounter comes flooding back, and you leave him standing there by himself. Rejected.
Day turns to darkness, and Satoru is stuck with another night of humping his fist like a desperate virgin. Suguru’s out, no telling where, leaving him alone with regretful thoughts to torment him. The next day passes. Then two. Then three. Satoru feels like he's going insane, and it's not just because he misses fucking you on the daily. He never realized just how much of a constant you were in his life until suddenly you weren't. Fuck. He groans into his pillow.
"Maybe give her a non-half-baked apology, like a normal person.," Geto complains. "And stop making so much noise, you're distracting."
"Fuck off."
"Fine, she can stay mad at you forever for all I care. You're the one who can't get in her pussy, not me."
Satoru jolts up, jaw falling slack as he glares at who was supposed to be his best friend. "Wha–, you're still fucking her? I just saw her for the first time again like three days ago!"
A smile stretches across Geto’s face. "Do you think our darling is stupid? Why would I get punished for your wrong-doings, she knows I’d fuck her up for that. "
Gojo flops face-down back onto the bed. "Not fair. We should be suffering together."
"Hell no, this is a personal problem between you and Y/N."
He groans again, legs kicking in the air. "Suguruuu, what do I do?"
"...Give her a genuine apology? I coulda sworn I just said that.”
"I already said sorry!"
"Genuine, I said. Not lazy. Give her something she likes."
Satoru turns slightly, brows furrowed. "What, like flowers? I don't know her favorites."
"Sunflowers."
Gojo pauses, directing a curious stink-eye towards Suguru. "And how do you know that?"
"Because I asked?"
Satoru rests a cheek against his arm, thoughts wandering off as he thinks of all the things he knows about you. Small things he's noticed. Like how you wear necklaces more often than any other jewelry, what certain colors catch your eye, things you've mentioned in passing when arguing with him. And now he does remember offering you a random weed he plucked from the ground as a joke, and you muttering 'what the fuck? for future reference, i like sunflowers’ before walking away from him.
"Suguru!," the mentioned man jolts at the sudden bellow of his name. "I'm making Y/N a bouquet!"
"Right." Geto rolls his eyes. "Do you even know how to do that?"
"Do you?"
"Not really–“
"Excellent, cancel your plans tomorrow, we're going out to get flowers!"
Suguru sighs. "Fine."
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Both men, well Satoru, and a very grumpy Suguru after being shaken to consciousness, get up bright and early the next Saturday morning in search of a florist.
"Are these vibrant enough, ya think?" Satoru questions Geto, rubbing a hand over his own chin in contemplation. These flowers needed to be perfect, he wanted only the best for his ba–, you.
"These for someone special?," the lady behind the booth inquires. She smiles politely as she admires the golden petals. "A girlfriend, or wife, perhaps?"
"Uh–“
"Wife.," Satoru cuts Geto off. "So yes, very special, indeed."
He narrows his eyes at Suguru, who poorly muffles a chuckle behind his hand. "What?"
"Nothing. Didn't know you were married, is all."
Satoru shrugs, turning to examine the sunflowers again. "Hmph. That just shows you know nothing about me."
“I know you’re a jackass.”
“Anyway,” Gojo brushes him off. “I think these look terrific, perfect for my girl. I’ll take them all!”
Silence passes. The florist’s lids flutter in astonishment. “All of them?”
“Yep! This bouquet needs to be huge!”
Suguru places a hand on his shoulder. “I think that’s enough for several bouquets.”
Gojo’s grin widens. “Even better! Give ‘em to me.”
The looks both men get as they walk the streets with giant armfuls of sunflowers are…peculiar, but Satoru is too busy firing off his own praises on how he’s going to give you the best apology of your life to notice.
“I’m gonna make her cry!,” he beams, pauses, before adding, “Happy tears this time, though.”
Shoulders bounce as Suguru laughs, unable to stifle it with his hands full of shining yellow flowers. “She might just tell you to piss off.”
“Would it kill you to have some faith in me?”
“A little, yes.”
Geto curses under his breath. ‘Shit!’ as he goes stumbling forward right over Satoru’s foot, almost loosing his grip on the assortment in his arms.
“Hey, don’t you dare drop those.,” Gojo pouts. “These are for my wife, and they’re her favorite.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
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It takes Satoru hours before he’s happy with the final product. Along with countless tutorials on how to organize a bouquet properly.
“Hold it this way.,” he commands Suguru, who rolls his tired eyes, ready to catch up on the sleep he missed this morning. “There, perfect! Wait, hold on, let me just redo this.”
“Can you hurry up?,” Geto frowns at him. “You’ve redone it like a million times already, damn.”
“Hey, my marriage is at stake here, excuse me for trying to make this look like the best bouquet she’ll ever see!”
“I’m letting go.”
“Nonowait! Okay, I’m done, promise.”
The bouquet comes out stunning, given the fact it was whipped up by two college boys who’d never created a bouquet in their lives, and especially when one of those college boys was Satoru Gojo. He boasts to Suguru, who’s yanking a blanket over his head, how it’s “his best work yet”.
“Maybe be a little more humble when you give it to her.,” Suguru grumbles as Satoru heads out, eager to present you with the display of his apologetic affections.
There’s a certain pep in his step, an excitement Gojo doesn’t often feel unless it’s to see your pretty face. Elated can’t even begin to describe it. The image of your soft lips curling into a smile, eyes sparkling as you see the large array of your favorite flowers, pushes Satoru closer and closer to your dorm building, which stands tall before him. He can’t help but mentally pat himself on the back. Heart swelling, Gojo can see it now, this surprise is going to make you ecstatic–
“Gojo?”
He halts mid-stride, foot hovering in the air, arms loosening around the bouquet. Satoru turns towards the sound and there you are, standing ten feet from him. Your mouth is open in a small ‘o’ as you notice the gift in his hand. Both of you stand there for a moment, eyeing each other, before you eventually break the silence.
“What’s that?”
Satoru snaps back to life, fumbling terribly to stuff the large bouquet behind his back, and he damns himself for making something so awkwardly huge. You watch, biting back a giggle, as he tries to hide what you’ve so obviously seen already. He stutters “u-uh, nothing!’ as a few petals flutter down from his hard work, and he curses ‘fuck!’.
It's easy to sneak up on Gojo when he's so busy floundering with the bunch of flowers. Your mouth threatens to grow into a smile, teeth sinking into your lips at the outlandish sight of him struggling to completely conceal the massive bouquet from your sight. The sharp pinch of your fingertips on his shoulder snatches Gojo from his frantic thoughts.
“Is this your way of apologizing again?”
“No!,” is his instant reply, startling you until Gojo averts his gaze to the concrete. “I mean...yeah. You ruined the surprise.”
This interaction feels more routine, less delicate. The way his lips jut out in a pout, his teasing banter. Crossing arms over your chest, you give Gojo an unamused look. “Ummm, it’s huge. How did you plan on hiding that from me?”
“…”
Satoru thinks his heart stutters as you hold out your arms, hands gesturing for the bouquet, and he slowly reveals the assortment of flowers behind his back. Through his panicked, rushed efforts to hide them, the paper has torn, some of the flowers are missing petals, and some aren’t in the exact position he and Suguru had so meticulously arranged them.
“Dumbass.,” you huff, wrapping fingers around the stems, which are adorned with a crinkly, cream colored paper and a dark green bow. “I’m still mad with you.”
Satoru’s breath hitches as your fingers brush his, as if it's the first time he's ever touched you. He relinquishes hold of the bouquet. “You like ‘em, though? Don’t lie, I can tell.”
“Just shut up.”
He flashes you a toothy, boyish grin, one that makes your heart beat a little faster. “It’s all for you, my pretty Y/N.”
Eyes rolling, you intently study the bouquet, raising it to hide your flustered expression. A warmth creeps over your body at the way Satoru utters your name, like if he says it too loudly, it will break apart into glass pieces. The paper creases under your restless fingers.
“Thank you, Satoru.”
The flowers are striking, but Gojo doesn’t think they compare at all to your beauty. Blue eyes admire you, at the way you marvel over the bunch of sunflowers, beaming at how fresh and vibrant and downright captivating they are. You glance up to meet Satoru’s eye, and he rubs at the back of his neck.
“So, uh,” he starts, avoiding your gaze. “I’m sorry about what I said. Really didn’t mean to upset you that much.”
Your eyes narrow. “That much?”
“Well, you know you’re really hot when you’re mad, but I didn’t mean to do that–“
“And did I look hot then?”
“No! Well, you weren’t ugly, but I didn’t like seeing you so upset–, usually it’s a turn on when you’re all angry but it felt different that time and Suguru didn’t tell me until later you were having a super rough day so I figured I might have hit a nerve–“
You cradle the bouquet to your chest, thoroughly enjoying the clumsy flow of his words, determined not to dig himself a deeper hole or upset you all over again. His lips pause, and then Gojo interrupts another sentence with a new one, before the downturn of his brows as he catches your gleaming eyes.
“My point is that I’m sorry.” He spots the twitch of your frown. “I know you wanna smile, let me see it.”
You can’t help but grin as your mouth opens. “No I don’t. And I guess you’re forgiven, now get away from me so I can enjoy my bouquet in peace.”
“Wait, that’s not it!” Before you turn away, Satoru reaches into his back pocket to pull out a small, white, silk bag with a white ribbon securing the opening. “I got this too. Here.”
You recognize the design of the tiny sack from a rather expensive jewelry store, one you could only dream of buying from. And now here you were, in possession of something from that same store, mouth gaping open as Satoru snickers.
“You just gonna stare, baby, or…?”
The fabric of the bag is soft in your hands, smooth and easy on your fingers. Hugging the bouquet to your side, the ribbon loosens to reveal a dainty, silver necklace inside, adorned with a small, heart charm engraved with your initials.
“Oh, wow . .” You’re awestruck at how delicate and pretty it looks. Turning it over, you find a “G.S” on the other side of the heart. “And Suguru’s initials on the back? How sweet.”
“Don’t play.”
“Whatever.,” you giggle at his downturned lips. “It’s very nice, I like it.”
Satoru can’t help pat himself on the back. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? Cost a hefty chunk of change, especially since I wanted it so quick and on such short notice–“
“Uh huh.” This big dummy. Your smile grows at the thought.
“–and you know I just had to get the best for my pretty girl, plus I got kinda hard at the thought of my initials on your chest–“
Gojo’s words catch in his throat at the soft press of your lips to his cheek. Blood shoots to his face, instantly, and you can’t help bursting into a round of giggles, barely gasping out ‘you look like a strawberry!’. He’s so embarrassed that the realization that you willingly kissed him of your own accord doesn’t even register. All Satoru feels is a burning heat on his cheeks and a tightness in his chest, desire squeezing a fist around his heart as you smirk up at him through a fit of laughter.
“You are really somethin’ else. Bye, Satoru, also learn to stop talking sometimes.”
All Gojo can do is wave as you depart, leaving you with a ‘see ya, princess’ as you disappear into the building, sparing him one last glance. His phone vibrates as you leave his line of sight, announcing a text from Suguru.
asshole🤮: you give it to her yet?
s: i thought the sleeping beauty was getting a nap in?
asshole🤮: she told you to fuck off, didn’t she?
s: stfu
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kissxcore · 6 months
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—5:53 AM | GOJO SATORU
it's blue hour, but gojo satoru feels anything but blue.
content. slight angst but soo fluffy dw, softest gojo ive ever written + a bizarre amount of greek myth references
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“how lonely are you, ‘toru?”
your boyfriend turns his head to you, his blue eyes looking at you with wonder and confusion.
“what do you mean?” you've always found blue eyes weird-looking on others, but maybe it's because you love gojo satoru, they look beautiful on him.
“it's gotta be lonely at the top, right?” you worry about him. he spaces out for random periods of time, in the less worrying situations, it's during dates. sometimes though, it's during missions. even if date nights are mildly annoying, when his life hangs in the balance of a second and a curse eating him whole, it's so much more stressful.
you lean your head on his shoulder, and he smiles, snuggling into you. he watches as you pick at the flowers surrounding you absentmindedly, drinking in the cool air, and he laughs.
“nah.” he flicks your cheek affectionately, “i got you. i got shoko, i got kento, even little ol’ megumi is warming up to me.”
you remember the way satoru cried when he watched the spider-man movie. it was revolutionary, you remember him saying as you walked out of the theater room, picking out an overpriced spider-man keychain for him at the merch store, and a gwen stacy keychain for you. he fiddles with that spider-man keychain now, as the two of you stare at the night sky.
uncle ben said that with great power comes great responsibility, but if you could help shoulder that responsibility with satoru, you would in a heartbeat. with his broad shoulders, he carries the brunt of the world’s evil like atlas, condemned to bear the heavens with his head high and arms without ache.
and yet, in the small park near the academy, he holds you without protest.
you think it’d be too much for you to bear, but satoru never complains (unless it’s about the fact that he has to beg you to wear his sweatshirts when you cuddle up to him in his bed—for that, he will run his mouth forever).
“i mean,” your mouth is dry, “you know you can talk to me, right?”
he laughs—it's light and airy, for no other reason than to keep the mood higher than it could be. he's struggling, fighting for survival under the pressurized waves of the techniques that made him strong in the first place, you don't need to have six-eyes or be a genius to see it.
“i know.” he affirms innocently, “everything's fine, don't worry!”
you feel a lump in your throat before you nod in acceptance, going back to pick at the small daisies that litter the field you're in. you like to tie them by the stems, making crude attempts of a crown because you've never actually watched tutorials, you don't have the time.
“is it hard being with me?” he asks out of the blue. you have to pause.
“yes,” you answer quietly, “but it's worth it. you're worth it.”
he hums, staring absentmindedly at the sky that's slowly beginning to change color. gojo knows he's lucky. he'd never thought that he could ever have someone like you in his life; he's blessed with every finger that you run through his hair, blessed with each meaningful kiss you place on his face, blessed with you.
with all of his strength, you make him feel weak.
“sometimes i can imagine us married and as an old couple,” you remark offhandedly, the occasional breeze blowing through your body, “we're too young to be married, but i like to think about it.”
he laughs again, but it's throatier this time, bitter even.
“bold of you to assume I'm making it past my thirties.” he tries to keep it light for you, he really does. being the strongest is a burden only he can carry; you signed up to date gojo satoru, not the honored one. you signed up to date a man who buys four boxes of häagen-dazs ice cream just because you eyed them a certain way, not a man who got harassed by the higher-ups and assassins every day.
he sometimes thinks that you deserve better than to be with him, but that's before you shut him up with a kiss and a playful pinch on the cheek (no matter how hard he tries, though, the insecurity still gnaws at his stomach).
you realize that comparing satoru to atlas was just a fleeting thought; sisyphus is a much better fit, you think. for eternity, the love of your life is cursed to push that damn boulder up a hill, only for it to roll again. it's an infinite cycle of torture that he must endure, and he alone. was it such a crime to be strong? if he's so honored by the gods, why must he be tortured the way he is?
in your heart, you know the reason: it's because gojo satoru is a good person. he could easily lie back and watch as the world gets corrupted with curses and selfish higher-ups fighting for power instead of providing support, but he doesn't. he’s everything he's too humble to admit; his strength doesn't make him satoru, his heart does.
uncle ben said that with great power comes great responsibility, but why did it have to be satoru? why couldn't it have been anyone else?
“let's get married soon, then. we can go through all that shit old couples do.” you smile, folding your fingers into his. you know there's more than a good chance satoru won't make it to a normal lifespan, but maybe, if he truly was blessed, he could try.
you like to think he'd try.
he accepts your warmth greedily, cupping his palm on yours and interlacing your fingers. he's always thought that you were made for him as he was for you, there's no way you couldn't be, not with how right it feels to be next to you all the time. not with how right it feels to be holding your hand.
he smiles sadly. “you don't need to do that for me.”
he doesn't want you to get him wrong, being married to you would singlehandedly be the greatest achievement of his life, even the ego of jason and his argonauts could compete once you had his ring on your finger and your ring on his. you were his golden fleece, you could cure his aches with a kiss, heal his wounds with your showers of love, you could mend him with a touch of your pointer finger. he can imagine it now, the domesticity he's always desired in his bones: coming home to you to ground him, even maybe starting a family.
“i want to, ‘toru.” you grasp his other hand tighter, shifting your body to lean on his chest, “let's get married and have a small wedding. let's go on vacation! i know you've always wanted to visit india!”
he does. he really does, but marriage scares him. vulnerabilities scare him. he can't imagine being married to anybody except for you, he can't imagine spending the rest of his short life with anybody else but you, nor can he can't imagine loving anybody else but you, and still, it scares him.
the last thing he'd ever want to do is tie you down. the thought of you being a widow before thirty sends spikes of fear up his spine and his eyes shift to the grass in insecurity, not to mention his duty to—
“stop thinking about other people, just do what you want to do for once.”
his mind feels twisted. just whose karma is he paying for? did strength come with the lack of feeling he feels in his soul?
he kisses you, his lips chapped and bruised, much like him but he doesn't want to think right now. he doesn't know if he can devote himself to you like the muse you are, if he can promise that he'll make it home every day, if he can love you the way you deserve, if he can't be anything less than perfect for you. he wants to be perfect for you.
so much so that it hurts him.
you shift your body again, straddling him on his lap as your hands move to cup his cheeks. he's crying, you realize, the tears hitting your thumb as you kiss his trembling lips. he hugs you tighter than he's ever hugged anyone, it's been so long since his heart has felt so full, and he's missed it. it's a bit overwhelming how much you love him and how much he loves you, but you make it hard for anything to rationally make sense with the way he's putty against your body, the way he molds his lips onto yours.
“you've done enough, ‘toru.” you whisper as you part from him, his blue eyes filled with the same soft tears that you wipe from his cheek, “i promise that no one will mind if you take a break.”
had he given enough?
hadn't he given enough?
“okay, let's get married.” he kisses you again through his watery eyes and breathless whispers, and you smile against your lips.
“and—?”
“have a big wedding.”
you wanted a small wedding, but if satoru wants a big one, you suppose it doesn't matter.
“and?”
“fucking finally go to india.” he murmurs the words in between kisses, he places each one carelessly on your mouth, your nose, your cheeks, your jaw. he doubts he can ever get enough of you.
“that's right.” you praise him, and that familiar thump of his heart beating starts again.
he kisses you like you're the psyche to his eros, because despite how hideous he feels, how he could never love the scars he bears nor the weight he carries, you do.
“it's blue hour, satoru, make a wish.”
that's the reason you were out here anyway: to finally be able to experience that special thirty minutes right before sunrise. the sun just barely peeks over the horizon, sending its light washing over the sky in a cool blue tone. there are bits of orange, red, and yellow scattered as dots and rays that toe the line, but even in blue light, satoru looks beautiful.
narcissus couldn't fucking compete even if he tried. there’s no moon to shine on his skin, no stars to sparkle as his eyes do, and barely any sun to reflect the light he radiates already, but he still looks beautiful. the air envelops him like you do.
“let's be together forever. for fucking infinity.” his fingers lace with yours again, and you feel warm again.
you smile.
“okay.”
it's blue hour, but as long as you're next to his side (and maybe if you'd put on one of his damn sweatshirts for once), gojo satoru feels anything but blue.
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back on my gojo shit ‼️ (im coping so hard)
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aajxs · 8 months
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meant to be , s.g
synopsis - the one where you're in love and satoru doesn't realize until it's too late.
pairings - satoru gojo x fem!reader
contents - ANGST!!! , gojo is an asshole and y/n is too sweet for her own good , mentions of injuries and blood , major character death , prob ooc gojo
w/c - 1.8k
a/n - I got lazy asf at the end and didn't know how to finish this and I just needed it out of my drafts lol. this is kinda buns but I hope you enjoy it anyways!!
masterlist , part two .
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There wasn't supposed to be any grade one curses on your mission. You were supposed to get in, exorcise the few grade three curses, and get out. 'You're strong, stronger than most, so why couldn't you beat them?' You thought to yourself as your back pressed into the concrete wall behind you. You had been sitting here for awhile, and the curses were long gone. You had beaten them up pretty badly, but you just weren't strong enough.
'Satoru could beat them, though. He's stronger than you ever will be.' Said that tiny voice in the back of your head, reminding you over and over again of your weakness.
You kept telling yourself that someone would come for you. Someone would realize you hadn't been at the school in awhile. Someone would come and find you. Maybe it was the false hope that was keeping you alive, maybe it was something else, you weren't sure. You were surprised you hadn't bled to death yet. It felt as if you had been staring aimlessly at the ground for days, yet it had probably only been an hour since the curses left you to die.
You felt a presence somewhere in the building and went to get up. Due to your weakened state you were unsure if it was a curse or another jujutsu sorcerer. You had one hand holding your bloody side, and another hand on the wall in a lousy attempt to get yourself off the cold ground. You cursed under your breath as you pushed yourself off the wall, forcing yourself to walk towards the suspicious presence. Your vision was blurry, you were bleeding from multiple places, and needless to say, you were going to need a new uniform if you even got out of here.
Your day was completely and utterly ruined. 'Not that it was going well in the first place.' You thought as you recalled the encounter you had with Satoru just a few hours prior to your mission.
"'Toru–" You happily began, but you were instantly cut off. "Don't call me that." Satoru irritatedly uttered as the two of you walked side by side through the halls. "Gosh, who pissed in your cereal?" You joked, letting out a small laugh as you purposely bumped shoulders with Gojo, making him give you an annoyed glance.
"Anyways, Satoru, I was wondering if you wanted to-" You began again, "No." He cut you off, quickening his pace. "I didn't even get to finish..?" You awkwardly said, your smile starting to disappear from your face. "Y/N, just leave me alone, I can't deal with you today." Satoru said, making you slow your steps. "What?" You frowned, "But we haven't talked all day?" You sadly uttered, bumping shoulders with him again, this time a bit softer.
He brushed you off his shoulder, "We don't have to talk every day." He said, obviously becoming irritated. "But we're best friends, why wouldn't we..?" You trailed off, confusion and sadness washing over you. When he didn't reply, you went to bump his shoulder again, but you were stopped by his infinity. "Why's your infinity on? You never have it up around me." Your frown deepened at the action. Did he really not want you around him that badly?
"I don't like you touching me Y/N, just go somewhere, I'm not in the mood for you right now." Satoru quietly said, "So you have to be in a certain mood to be a good friend?" You asked, growing more upset by the second, "You could just tell me that you're not feeling well and you don't want to talk right now, you don't have to be an asshole about it." You said, stopping in your tracks.
"I'm not feeling well and I don't want to talk to you right now." He said, his words laced with a mix of irritation and sarcasm. "Satoru if you don't want me around you just say that!" You said, making him abruptly turn to look at you. "I don't want you around me! Is it that hard to give me a little bit of space?! You're always right next to me, always bothering me to hang out with you!" Satoru snapped, "Well, did it ever occur to you that I don't want to hang out with you?! That I don't want to talk to you!?" He said, the hands that were once shoved into his pockets now balled up into fists.
Your lips parted in shock, and you stared at him for a few moments. "I didn't realize that was how you felt." You murmured, "I just-" Your voice cracked slightly, "Nevermind, 'm sorry I said anything." You apologized, attempting to blink back the tears that were forming in your eyes. Your shoulders lightly shook as you walked away, and you prayed he didn't notice your sobs. You didn't know why it hurt so much, it wasn't like it was the first time Satoru had said something along those lines to you.
You don't remember much after that, aside from the fact that you eyes still hurt from crying and Satoru didn't even try to make sure you were alright. On your way out you saw him playing around with Suguru and Shoko.
You let out a few more curse words before making your way towards the nearest wall. There was no use in checking out whatever or whoever had entered the building, you were going to die anyways. You knew your time would come eventually, but now? You're barely seventeen.
You leaned against the wall for a moment before giving in and sliding down the wall to the ground, your blood leaving a few marks along the way. You had barely felt any of your wounds due to shock, but now that the exhaustion was finally hitting you, your body started to hurt even worse than it had ten minutes ago. It wouldn't be long until you passed out from blood loss and finally met your end, you at least wish you could've gone out in a cool way.
You couldn't help the small cries you let out as you sat there, aching against a cold cement wall in an abandoned building. You're gonna die alone in some random, dirty building. You thought as your warm tears made their way down your battered cheeks. You heard the sound of rushed footsteps, and your immediate reaction was placing a hand over your mouth in a lousy attempt to quiet your sobs.
Your ears were ringing and everything around you was muffled, so you couldn't tell if what was approaching was far away or close to you. Your vision was blurred, and the tears only made it worse. In other words, you could barely see or hear a thing.
A hand abruptly grabbing your shoulder snapped you out of your own thoughts and triggered your fight or flight sense, aptly choosing fight. The hand that was once covering your mouth now clenched and pulled back into a weak fist. "It's me! Y/N, it's me!" A familiar voice said, making you slowly put your fist down.
You went back to your original position against the wall. Your eyes were droopy and you felt like you were going to fall asleep. "No– Y/N, stay awake!" The person said as they took your practically limp body into their arms. A hand reached to your face and began shakily wiping your tears, whispering curses under their breath as they cradled you.
"Satoru.." You mumbled, a weak smile appearing on your face. He perked up at your words, the hand that was wiping your tears now cupping your face. "Yes, it's me- Satoru, your Satoru!" Your Satoru. How you longed for those words to come out of his mouth for years. You know that's not what he means, though. You know he'll never be yours.
"Thought you didn't like me anymore, 'Toru..?" You weakly asked, tears still streaming down your face. "Fuck— I didn't mean that, you know I could never dislike you Y/N." He said, anxiety lacing his words. Your half-lidded eyes gazed at him with nothing but adoration, they always have. "I don't think 'm gonna make it, 'Toru." You tiredly said, offering him another weak grin.
"Don't say that! You can't leave," Satoru said, "You're important to me." A small frown appeared on his face as you let out a dry laugh. How could you be laughing at a time like this? "I don't get it," You began, "You've always said I'm important to you-" You cut yourself off with a cough, pain shooting throughout your entire body. "-But you always make me feel like 'm not worth your time." You said, blinking a few times to try and keep yourself awake.
"C'mon Y/N, none of that matters now," He said, his tone getting a bit louder, "Stop fucking talking and stay awake for me." Satoru pleaded, lightly tapping your face. If he could take back everything he ever did wrong to you, he would. "Satoru?" You asked, your voice cracked, the lump in your throat only growing with the pain in your body.
"I wanna go home, 'Toru." You cried, weakly gripping Satorus uniform. "You will go home. We jus' gotta wait for Kiyotaka to get here, 'nd we'll go home." He said before throwing his head back and biting his lip harshly, blinking back his tears.
Your side was throbbing, every other wound on your body was stinging. You looked sickly and if anybody saw you they'd assume you were a zombie. You and Satoru both knew that you couldn't live through this. "'Toru—" You began, a small hiccup erupting from your throat. "I love you, y'know that, right?" You uttered, licking your lips out of habit.
"I love you too," He admitted back, his cerulean eyes glossed over. "You're not allowed to die on me, Y/N." He frowned, his voice shaking and cracking every few words.
"I have one last request before I go–" You started, biting your lip when Satoru cut you off, "You're not leaving, don't say that!" He harshly said, his grip on your body tightening. "I'm weak, Satoru." You admit as you reach up to cup his face. He's not wearing those stupid glasses. You thought as you caressed his face gently, a smile appearing on your tear stained, battered face.
"Have I ever told you how pretty your eyes are, 'Toru?" You say, not failing to catch him off guard even in your last moments. He gives you a nod as he takes one of his hands and places it over your own. "Can you kiss me on the forehead? Like you always do?" You question as you blink away a few tears.
He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, his lips staying for a few moments, before hugging your body closer to him and tucking your head under his own. "Maybe in another life, I can be what you always wanted.." You mutter before closing your eyes. He could feel your body still, and finally let a couple tears run down his face.
It was never meant to be.
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© AAJXS
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mikareo · 2 months
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“ ࣭⸰ ★ HE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU . . . ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 呪術廻戦 ; gojo satoru x fem reader (1k)
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⊹ ⠀⠀ valentine's day is approaching; and with a valentine comes love...or for worse...heartbreak.
contains; gojo satoru x fem reader, angst, mentions of fluff idk, there’s some swearing i think author's note; happy (almost) valentine's,, i’m projecting
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1 day, 9 hours, and 47 minutes.
your last conversation wasn't anything out of the ordinary. there was no dry spell. no plateau. no failure to communicate. just you and satoru, plus the typical banter, talking about something as simple as what you were planning on making for dinner; to be more precise, what you were trying to make for dinner. you're a pretty awful cook according to him.
everything seemed to be going so well...really well...almost perfectly well— and with valentine's day right around the corner, you'd instinctively assumed that he'd ask you to be his. instinct is a difficult emotion, though. is it even an emotion? you're not quite sure, but your heart believes it is. your heart— which is practically pounding out of your chest at the current moment, stretching your skin, eager to feel the limitless fresh air and freedom that comes with floating on cloud 9— instinctively wants to believe satoru is your soulmate. you love him don't you? is the answer yes? it should be no.
you've known him for...what? four months? four months of your twenty years of life is seemingly small. that's only one point six-seven percent of your entire lifetime...one point six-seven percent of your life that you wish you could relive forevermore.
...he isn't going to text you back is he?
2 days, 2 hours, and 15 minutes.
each second passing is another flicker of hope that misses the candle wick. instead of lighting the path that leads to your eventual relationship, it lights a fire beneath your feet. your socks feel warm. there's coal beneath them. hot, burning coal withering away the sense of feel in your toes; breathing in the aroma of heartbreak until it becomes a roaring fire that consumes all of you.
why is he doing this? what did you do wrong? you haven't done anything wrong. he's just a man. a man who can't seem to stop playing with your heart.
you can hear his voice in the back of your mind. the part of your mind that connects to your heart. "can you facetime, right now? i'm having a bad day and i just want to see your face." he had to have meant that. "you don't need to apologize for talking over me, i love hearing what you have to say." a guy wouldn't just say that to say that. "don't be too hard on yourself, i know you'll figure everything out becuase you're you. you always know what to do." it couldn't have all been bullshit.
it can't have been bullshit.
because if that's all it was, then you're just a fool in love.
and fools in love are no better than clowns.
3 days, 14 hours, and 22 minutes.
you did what you hate doing. the thing that makes you want to scream into your pillow at the mere thought. the very thing that screams desperation and neediness and clinginess and insecurity all in one. you sent another message.
in the past, you've never had feelings strong enough to elicit such a response. your heart hasn't tied itself to another person's with a red satin bow. the fated string of fate hadn't found you yet. it allowed you to maintain a stable head and remain grounded with no hopes of love on your radar. you hadn't yet learned how to fly; until that day you met satoru and suddenly you had a hundred pilot lessons lined up day-after-day.
it was so easy being with him. everything was so easy.
for the first time ever you had no doubts. you weren't afraid of waking up one morning to find him gone. disappeared. nonexistent. you full-heartedly believed he'd never leave; and you believed he reciprocated those thoughts. now, though...now you may never know what bits and pieces he reciprocated— because your plane crashed. turbulence flew beneath the wings and drove the flight off course. the oxygen masks bellowed down upon the passengers, every seat being filled with your pounding heartbeats, and each and every one of them blew out of the window with no parachute. he didn't even try to cushion the fall.
4 days, 1 hour, and 39 minutes.
if there's one message you never expected to receive, it's surely 'seen 14 hours ago'.
you'd given him space and assumed he'd been busy with a million other things and hadn't had any time to send you a quick message. your last text wasn't even anything out of the ordinary, just a quick "are you okay?", you think that's pretty reasonable. it's reasonable, isn't it?
something could be seriously wrong with him. why else would he leave you on read? he's never done this before. usually, you're the one who's more distant between the two of you. that's how your relationship began, after all. he'd send five texts in comparison to your two; which later evolved into five rivaling five, and now to zero rivaling two. the scales have tipped. how do you rebalance them?
you trust satoru. there must be a perfectly good explanation for this odd irregularity that's occurring in your otherwise perfect relationship. after all, all of your friends love him— they think he's the greatest catch of the 21st century. he's never done anything in the past to warrant such strange behavior. this is simply a difficult week for him...and you'll be there whenever he's ready to vent.
5 days, 22 hours, and 7 minutes.
a broken heart isn't for the weak...but unfortunately, you're not one of the stronger warriors.
he's at another girl's birthday party. he hasn't messaged you back in almost six days...and he's with another girl? celebrating her? he could be holding her close and you wouldn't even know, because god knows he wouldn't tell you. he won't even say good morning anymore. he won't even answer your fucking three word message that you sent out of desperation and concern for his well being. instead, he's at the club with his friends, getting drunk and taking shots, having the time of his life; and you're sitting in your room watching his social media stories...believing that everything that went wrong is all your fault.
but it's not your fault.
it's not your fault you fell for someone like that.
someone like satoru gojo.
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risuola · 7 months
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Please hear me out!
i’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I wanted to write it myself but I can’t write for shit 😭 Here’s my idea, reader (she/her) is close friends with Satoru and Suguru. She takes Suguru’s place instead, and Suguru ends up not going insane, and decides to stick around in Jujutsu High. But because the reader takes his place in this story, she spirals and abandons the idea of being morally good. (She’s a sensitive softie at heart 🥹 the cruel reality of being a sorcerer really took a toll on her). She commits so many crimes that the higher ups urge the strongest duo to finally execute her after dismissing her for nearly a decade. She dies in their hands, and doesn’t get a proper burial. Kenjaku takes her body and uses it as vessel. When Shibuya arc finally unfolds, she shows up right in front of Satoru and Suguru, alive and well. Soon reveals that it’s Kenjaku who has full control of her body. Of course their guilts eats them alive, and the reader (more like kenjaku) rubs salt on their wounds by taunting them about how she’s a great vessel and also a waste that she had to die so soon.
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LOST CAUSE — F. READER x GOJO SATORU + GETO SUGURU, but there’s no romance whatsoever, guest appearance of Kenjaku
cw: an au where SatoSugu have another close friend; spoilers for Hidden Inventory/Premature Death arc and the very beginning of Shibuya arc, so much angst and the usual that comes with JJK – blood, hurt, tears and depression : D also, possibly inaccurate references to the original plot, reader's death — 5,5k words
a/n: I’m hearing you out dear! Thank you for the conception, it certainly fulfilled my need to write long and angsty &lt;3
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It was stupid. All of it was stupid. Why? Which decisions led you to where you now stood, all of your mind and body filled with devastation as you stilled in time – above the piles of little corpses, disfigured and permanently contorted in a grimace of dread and suffering. A stench of blood and burned bodies irritated your nostrils, your eyes were teary from all the smoke that still was filling the air and as you looked down at your hands, they were covered in blood and purple goo. Sticky. Repulsive. And the screams. In the dead silence of your surroundings, your head was still filled with an echo of those, who were now dead at your feet. Those, who you were unable to save. The imagery of them running, begging, dying carved itself into your mind. Why were you here, again?
* * *
“Hey, y/n, you’ve lost some weight. Are you alright?”, Satoru asked, playing with pencil that just a moment ago he asked you to throw at him. A showcase of his new skills, the techniques he’s been perfecting for the last year after encountering Toji Fushiguro. You forced a smile, squinting from the blinding sun of the summer at its peak.
“Yeah, sure,” you replied, patting Suguru’s shoulder, because his attentive eyes were scanning you already for any sign of disorder; you could hear his analytic brain cranking up, his golden pupils drilling holes in your head. “I’m good, it’s just too hot you know?”
“Wanna go grab some ice cream later?”
“Always.” No, you didn’t wanna go grab ice cream with them. You didn’t wanna grab anything with anyone for that matter and already you had come up with some half-baked excuse to sell later to your two best friends.
You, Shoko, Gojo and Geto were all in the same year in Jujutsu high. You joined them a little late, but quickly found yourself inside the love triangle with the two boys. You called it love, but it truly was nothing more than just a bonding friendship that you wished will last forever; a really close one and you couldn’t imagine your world without their chaos. They were like brothers to you, the ones you’ve never had and Ieiri was like a sister, but she was smart enough to keep her distance from the mess of SatoSugu. You were not as bright in that matter, but for two years, you couldn’t appreciate enough the yin and yang that they created, the casual bickers and deep talks late at night, the cuddles and pinches, the pats and smacks, the tears and laughs, sleepovers, sleepless nights and everything between. You loved them, you couldn’t think of your future without them.
That’s until not that long ago. Few months, maybe. You felt like you’ve been spiraling slowly into something that could only be named depression, because if not that, then what else? Why would you randomly tear up nowadays, zoning out completely in the midst of sentences. Why would you spend nights, blankly staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, isolating yourself from your friends more and more? And why would you still hear that? The screams, the pleads of hysteric, the soul-tearing sounds of pain and frighten that you’ve been carrying inside your brain since that one mission.
Everything went wrong then, and you were alone. Shoko stayed at the campus, working her way towards becoming a doctor and you, Satoru and Suguru were assigned only to solo missions since the plasma vessel failure. You were strong, it was stated that your year was exceptional, that all of you have a chance to become special grades soon, but you hated that. Being strong came with a burden that you were not ready to take, and when you realized that, most of it was already heaving on your shoulders.
When you got to that school, it was already too late and it wasn’t your fault. You rushed there as soon as you were assigned with the job, but when you dropped the curtain and looked at the building, there was already smoke coming from the window holes, that some time earlier had glass in them. And when you kicked your way inside the little indoor sports arena, the view struck you in ways you couldn’t possibly prepare yourself for and certainly, you couldn’t process it as well. The school was primary, those people were just kids, but the curses pay no mind to age of their victims. This one was particularly playful – or rather, eagerly violent – spreading hellfire around, burning these children alive one by one, causing chaos, suffering and bloodshed. When you finished exorcising it, it was over. For the curse, for your job and for the lives of all of those children. None survived. Not even one.
Not always we can save everyone, Suguru always told you, rationalizing the sacrifices sorcerers have to make and you tried to repeat that in your head when you got out. You tried to play it over the screams, but eventually, the soft tone of your friend’s voice got lost in the catastrophic cacophony of sorrow, sizzling skin and burning death. And that, maybe wouldn’t be enough for you to lose your mind. Maybe you could recover from that, but soon after the incident you witnessed the group of people that stood behind the assault. A band of grown humans, men and women, who were convinced some of those children were possessed by devils or some other shit, so in all hypocrisy known to race, they hired a curse user to fight fire with fire. Quite literally. Those people were so blinded by their fear of unknown that they sacrificed lives of dozens of little children, they shattered so many innocent lives only because they believed in something absurd. And then, they tried to push the blame on you, on sorcerers despite the fact they hired one to do the dirty job. And then, they killed the user, fearing him too. When you’ve got to see the body of a sorcerer that you’ve never got to meet, or at least you thought so, you realized that probably, you wouldn’t recognize him anyway. You’ve seen corpses barely reminiscing of humans, twisted and broken as curses often chose the most petrifying, violent ways of killing, but this? This was something you’ve never seen before – a cruel, ruthless exhibition of pure hate, evidence of deliberate torture, the picture painted in stabs, burns and bruises. All of which, caused by people, who frankly, showed no remorse nor regret as their faces were painted in pride, origin of which you failed to notice.
Those humans. Used jujutsu to commit mass murder only to blame it on your people and kill them. Animals. No. Worse. Much worse.
“Y/n, please, let’s talk it through,” Suguru tried to reason, as you stood up against the two of your friends, in the middle of Shibuya’s scramble crossing. People were passing next to the three of you, unbothered by the way your worlds were colliding right here, in the busiest part of Tokyo. People didn’t care of others, they wouldn’t react if someone next to them would get stabbed to death, only caring about their own shoes to not get them stained in the dirt of blood.
“Don’t be stupid, it’s not who you are,” Satoru raised his tone, but all you felt was nothing. The emotions you’ve seen on his face were real, you knew it. Satoru wears his heart on his shoulder, he pours everything he feels into the words he aims at people that are close to his soul, and you were no exception, but at this moment, you felt nothing. “I know you couldn’t do that.”
“Couldn’t I?”, you asked, thinking back on the last Friday, during which you executed those same people that used jujutsu sorcerers to wipe the floors of that primary school. To wipe the blood and burned bodies. You remember how they knelt before you, how the women cried begging for their lives, yelping that they have children, families and yet, those same children and families were nowhere in their mind when they ordered a mass murder in the primary school. “And why would that be exactly? Because you two think so?”
“Y/n, I get it,” Geto stepped forward, but stopped as you glanced at him. “I really do. You know me, we talked about it. It was hard for me too after Riko, I know what you’re going through.”
“I know Suguru.”
“I thought you keep his side, y/n,” Gojo threw his hands in the air, helplessly trying to find the words to dress his mind with. “I thought you believe in doing good with your powers. That people won’t understand so we shouldn’t look at them and just do what we do. Wasn’t that what you’ve told me?”
“I did, yes,” you gave it a nod and exhaled. “But it changed. Yes, they won’t understand. Anything that they can’t comprehend is pure evil for them and yet they believe in such absurd like gods. They will use us to do their dirty works and then blame us for it, because they cannot understand a single thing. And then, they will kill us, one by one and we, the strongest, cannot do nothing about it. We’ll have to go through life through the corpses of our friends. People don’t deserve what we do for them.”
“Y/n, please, let’s talk about it. Let’s get back to school-“ Geto tried, but you cut him off.
“You two, get back to school. I know I have a sentence already, there’s no point for me to get back there only to get executed. And frankly, I don’t want to get back there, to take part in what they teach us is right when we die for those people. We give our lives for them and they have no idea,” you said, taking a step back. You could tell the lights will soon switch. “Look around, Satoru, Suguru. They crawl around us unaware of our sacrifice and yet, even if they are so fragile a single blow can kill them, they think we deserve to be killed. I’m not gonna take part in this anymore. I’m sorry.”
“We can’t let you go, you know that, we-“
“Then attack me. I’m sure any of you can take me down. I’d rather die by your hands, than on a job of protecting them.”
You turned your back on them, and Satoru raised his hand, pointing at your silhouette, blue already on his mind as his cursed energy gathered in front of his fingers. Suguru’s curses sprawled out of their dimension, but none of them pursued with the attack, unable to do that. They couldn’t kill you. You were too dear to them. They loved you too much to take your life like this. So they let you go, and soon enough, they lost the sight of you in the crowd.
* * *
Nine years. It's been almost a decade and many things changed. You changed your ways completely, making a point of protecting sorcerers from people, even if that meant killing them, but care for humans was something you’ve lost many years ago, having it slowly replaced by disgust. Your once soft heart turned hard and dark and all the good in you vanished as you time after time solidified your beliefs that humans are simply not worth saving, therefore there was no need to keep them alive the moment they became useless. Over those years, you used those people to your benefit, raising money and gathering intel and then, the second their use to you has become nonexistent, so were them. Blood burned permanent stains on your hands but screams of hurt didn’t phase you at all. Have you become a monster? You might have. But for the lives of sorcerers, it was worth it.
It’s been almost a decade since you’ve been dismissed from jujutsu community for crimes, that over those years piled up rapidly and during this time, both Satoru and Suguru tried to stay out of this, whilst Yaga turned a blind eye to the corrupted path one of his students went down by. The now principal felt responsible for not doing enough, for not saying enough, for not noticing soon enough and though the rest of his students, now teachers in Jujutsu high told him that some things were inevitable, it wasn’t that easy to switch off the thinking. Same went for both the strongest, but for years, they waited in hopes for something to change.
That was until you killed someone seemingly important. A politician of sorts, high government pawn that you learned was funding a unit of so-called sorcerer killers, ones that modelled after Toji Fushiguro in cold blood were meant to take down a menace that jujutsu users were, as if it was them who were the ones to fear. Opposite to little no-one’s deaths, this one was loud, this one was medial and this one, Yaga couldn’t let slip. So, an order was given.
Kill on sight.
Almost ten years, and yet Satoru still couldn’t believe what happened. Whilst young, the three of you were almost inseparable and you, out of the whole group, were the most sensitive person he knew. You were soft and full of smiles, kind above all else and yet, you were strong enough to hold back the tears he knew were threatening to roll down your cheeks on many occasions. You were soothing, an oasis that was easily able to turn any darkness into light, and what Satoru couldn’t forgive himself was that once that same darkness started devouring you, he didn’t notice. Too focused on his own missions, on lighthearted shenanigans, on perfecting his usage of limitless and six eyes, he had no idea about your state of mind and when he realized, you have already been sentenced. Suguru didn’t notice either. Or maybe didn’t want to notice, because you talked through many nights about the doubts you both had. He knew about the utter devastation that was slowly consuming your soul but hoped you’ll overcome it, because you always were a sunshine, and a sunshine couldn’t die down to shadows. Turned out, this shadow was pitch black and no light made its way through it.
“Y/n,” they called you and the beautiful music that their voices created brought back memories of your youth. Ten years, almost, had passed since you’ve seen your best friends the last time, and with curiosity sparkling through your system, you turned to face them.
“Satoru, Suguru,” addressing them, your lips curved up slightly in a manner of soft joy. Your heart fluttered at the sight; your pulse raised just as it would for person who’s just seen the love of their life. “Long time no see.”
“It’s not as pleasurable as we would like it to be, y/n,” Suguru sighed and you took a moment to absorb the view.
Both of them changed. Suguru, still tall and broad, seemingly even buffier than he was before stood there with his hair now longer and partially knotted and partially left loose on his back. His facial features sharpened, jaw got more edge to it, eyes turned more narrow and focused, but still, some softness remained from what you remembered and probably he would seem even more familiar if not for the tough expression he had going on. Satoru, right next to him, became even taller. His white hair was now pointing up, kept by a white wrap that completely covered his eyes – something that he probably adapted during the time of usage of his six eyes. Not much of his face you could see, but with ease you noticed his features matured. Both were dressed in uniforms that you could only tie to their unbreakable bond with Jujutsu high.
“You’re now teachers, the two of you, huh?”, you asked, smiling softly, but keeping their moves in mind. “I’ve heard this year’s students are exceptional, now it makes sense. Good they have such amazing senseis.”
“You could have been one of the teachers too,” Gojo snapped.
“How could I teach anyone something I don’t believe in?” a chuckle rumbled deep in your chest as you thought of the image. Abstraction of it made you amused. “How’s Shoko? Is she a doctor now?
“She is,” Geto muttered, unsure why is he answering your questions. “Yaga is the principal.”
“Oh, is he? Look at him, climbing up that ladder,” you laughed, “so, it’s on his orders that you two are here?”
“You killed a fucking politician, y/n,” Satoru spoke, sounding calm but you could tell his blood was boiling. Both of his hands hidden in his pockets were visibly clenched in fists and even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew his brows were furrowed. “Almost a decade we allowed you to do whatever you tried to do, but this time, higher ups stepped in. The sentence is decided, we cannot let you pursue your goals further.”
“And why are you both here? I’m sure just one amazing special grade would be enough,” there was a certain amount of poison in your words, though it wasn’t directed at your friends and both of them knew it. “Are the higher ups so desperate to get me off the board because it’s them who give green lights to those assholes that kill us? Did you know that that pathetic politician I’ve killed was in midst of creating an army of little Toji Fushiguros? How do you think he even knew about the dude, huh?”
“An army of Toji?”
“Yeah, remember that guy, that cut both of you into slices? Yea, that one. And who’s giving away the cursed tools to said army? Well, it’s not me and I assume not any of you as well.”
 “Y/n,” Suguru made his way to the side in what seemed like an attempt on surrounding you, because in that same moment, Satoru began shifting to the other side. “I agree with you. People don’t deserve what we do. But no one else can do it. You’re killing those whom we swore to protect.”
“Tell me, Suguru… how many bodies of our friends did Shoko cut open?” you asked and the question made the dark-haired man tsk. It was the truth that hurt the most, he hated how precisely it hit the spot. “How many of our allies were spread across her metal table after Haibara was there? Well, half of Haibara?”
“That’s not the point,” Satoru scoffed and with an exhale, he raised his hand up to loosen up the bandages around his eyes. “We die just as people die. Sorcerers are not above death. You know that, right?”
“We’re not above that, but we are above people and we risk our lives, which we just like them have only one of, for them. And they fuckingstep on it. If I have to pick who’s gonna die from a curse, why would I pick a sorcerer, when a loss of a mere human will be much less tangible than the loss of one of us?”
“Because they cannot protect themselves from curses, and we can.” Geto replied and in a whiff, you felt the appearance of his curses around him. Both him and Gojo were getting ready for a fight, so you had to get ready as well.
“But can we really protect ourselves from them?”, you glared back at him; your tone calm but laced with icicles that pierced through Suguru’s mind as he struggled to see you inside of you.
All of the softness he had always equated you with dissolved into something he couldn’t quite place. Image of you killing someone just for the sake of killing somehow couldn’t materialize inside his mind and it pained him, breaking his heart to think that he will be the reason of your death. And it’s true that probably, just one of them would be enough for that fight, but there was no way they would be able to chose and no one else could do it. You were the strongest, you grew into a special grade quickly after leaving and your technique proved to have no flaws or holes. You were a threat above abilities of others, stepping down only to the two of your friends, if not being equal to them.
“Let’s do it quickly, Suguru,” Satoru sighed, tucking his wraps into one of his pockets.
“Oh, where’s your playful attitude, Satoru?”, you teased, but somehow it hurt you as well. It was your friend you were talking to. Both of them, that came here to kill you and only way for you to get out of it was to kill them.
And killing them, turned out, you couldn’t do. Even hurting them came with difficulty not physically, but mentally. But you fought them both at the same time, keeping a defensive stance, searching for an opening to vanish. From them, you wished to run away, to not make them take the burden of your death because you could see it in their eyes, you were just as dear to them still, as they were to you. But they left you no opening to run away, so you fought. Using everything you’ve got to immobilize them, because instead of taking their lives, that would give you more time.
The way you stood against them, with your cursed technique of energy manipulation, it gave them the hardest time since Toji, and considering they were both taking part in the fight now, ten years after and significantly stronger, just showed how much work you’ve put into your own development. And with pride you noticed, how strong both of your friends became as well. You countered all of their attacks, slashed away the curses and blocked the blues and reds, albeit it really was a matter of time and you knew that. And so, you pushed through, materializing in your hands weapons made from pure, solidified cursed energy, using swords and needles and creating armor around your body that effectively, shielded you from any attack. Your weapon was different from cursed tools. It was made only from energy, strong and unbendable, changing shapes and forms as you deemed it necessary, allowing you to use it in close combat and on long distances. Any curses Suguru summoned stood no chance against what you wielded, but the sheer amount of them was just short of overwhelming you. On top of that, Satoru’s constant offensive, his fists saturated in limitless abilities, the sheer strength of both bodies that were attacking you, slowly rendered you weaker. And it didn’t surprise you.
The end has come when one of the curses stopped you mid-way, engaging in a fight that distracted you enough for a hollow purple to reach your body. The blast threw you away as your body pierced through three buildings straight, through thick concrete bocks and hard steel reinforcements like it was tearing through wet paper and it’s only thanks to the full body coverage of your cursed technique, that it didn’t kill you on the spot. But it hurt. All of your body felt broken once you finally stopped, back pressed against the wall that still cracked underneath the impact of your frame hitting it. Blood covered your vision and a cough shook your body with painful wave overtaking your entire nervous system.
“So that’s the infamous hollow purple, huh?”, you muttered, leaning your head back against the cold solid behind you. There wasn’t much in your body that wouldn’t be fractured at least, you could tell without a mistake that your heart was still beating only because of the cursed energy that still circled throughout your frame.
Both men appeared in front of you, jumping from above – Suguru coming from one of his flying curses and Satoru, probably just teleported here.
“I’m sorry, y/n,” Gojo whispered, squatting in front of you and Geto followed his motion to level his vision with yours.
“’ts alright, ‘toru,” you muttered, feeling the dizziness taking the best of you. After the hit you took, you were certain not even a genius like Shoko could save you. “Sugu… both so strong.”
Exchanging a quick glance, both sorcerers sat down, on your sides, paying no mind to the puddle of blood underneath you. They took your hands, so small in comparison to theirs, now red and wounded severely, but the pain you couldn’t feel much of anymore.
“I’m sorry I didn’t take this mission for you. Back in our days. It was meant to be mine, but I was training,” Satoru confessed, squeezing lightly the fractured bones in your palm, reminiscing of the day that was the beginning of your end. The elementary. That day engraved itself in his memory as one of many days that seemingly mattered nothing. Yaga told him about the issue, the curse and fire in school for the youngest, but he brushed it off, focusing all of his mind on perfecting the last touches of his technique. He still remembers how sensei was mumbling profanities, but couldn’t care less because he was that close from teleporting.
“’ts okay, ‘toru.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there either,” Suguru added, his voice barely a whisper as you leaned your head against his shoulder, desperate to ease the heaviness. What Geto remembered from the day in question was that he had an issue with his own technique. Little difficulty, as he was absorbing one of the special grade curses he just caught. It wasn’t severe, it wasn’t even that important, he could have fix this on another time and take the god damn mission, but instead, he declined. “I thought if I don’t take the job, Satoru will, but turned out, it got to you.”
“Sugu, ‘ts ok.”
“Remember how we used to sneak out the dorms to get ice cream in the middle of the night?”, Satoru changed the topic completely – a defensive mechanism to lighten up the mood, to prevent him from crying. And you hummed in response, lowering your heavy lids.
“And how Satoru got drunk after three sips of a beer? That’s when we all knew he’s the lightest head in the history,” Suguru added and faded images of how Gojo discovered that he cannot drink to save his life rushed to the front of your mind.
You had no idea how long it took, was it few minutes or merely few seconds, but you listened to both men rambling above your head, reminiscing of your school days and everything that you did together. Of every prank you witnessed that they took on poor first years, of every little mischief and menace they performed, following Satoru’s lead, because it’s always him who stood tall in the name of chaos. You were humming softer and softer, quieter and quieter.
Until you were not.
“And then we put those cupcakes in Nanami’s bed and-“
“Satoru,” Geto cut him softly, looking down at your stilled frame. At your frozen chest and softened features, sensing no more heartbeat. And Gojo turned his eyes towards you as well, taking in the last picture of you, who he loved as his little sister, even though there was no age gap between you and him. And then they both cried in silence, spending another hour with your dead body before gathering you and taking home.
* * *
October 31, 2018
21:18
Only word that could describe what was happening in Shibuya at this moment would be chaos. Pure disorder, people frightened and running, some unconscious on the ground and some other hiding from what was happening in the Shibuya station. Most of them couldn’t see it but felt the terror, saw the blood, smelled the death in the middle of which, two men were standing.
Both Satoru and Suguru, when they came down here to fight whatever the hell was attacking people, couldn’t move; their heads void of any logical thoughts as memories rushed to the fronts of their minds. Stunned to the core and frozen, they looked into the eyes of the person in front of them, distrusting their own vision. The person that wore the familiar look of you, the energy of you and what seemed like – the same cursed technique, and voice, and face, and hair, and everything. Not one thing betrayed trickery or deception as there you stood, facing them both with a smile on your face – one of those soft ones that had melted their hearts on the spot a decade before. Your features relaxed, genuine, borderline joyous as you breathed the air around them once again.
“What…?”, Suguru snapped first, forcing his own body to move and smacking his friend’s shoulder. “How?”
“Who the hell are you…?”, Satoru whispered, voice stuck in his throat as all of the information that his senses were receiving contradicted with what his soul was telling him.
“Aah? It’s been few months, but do you not recognize me anymore?”, your voice flew through your mouth, the very same gentle and bright tone they used to fall asleep to. “It’s hurting my feelings.”
“Cut it,” Gojo snapped, now putting more pressure on his vocal cords, a groan escaping his throat in effect. “Cut the bullshit, you’re not her. You cannot be her. Y/n is-“
“Dead? Yeah, that purple really messed me up,” you chuckled, shrugging your shoulders slightly and stepping forward. “I have to admit, restoring the body wasn’t the easiest of all.”
“Reveal yourself,” Geto took the defensive stance, ready to pursue with attack if needed and his curses floating behind him on standby. “You’re not fooling us.”
“Ah, how stubborn,” another laugh brightened your face, only now more menacing, more teasing as your dainty fingers reached up to gather the lose hair out of your forehead, revealing a line of thin stitches across your skin there. “See, you really did me a favor by burying her body oh-so traditionally. Isn’t that the procedure to burn every deceased sorcerer?” your mouth was moving, spilling the words interlaced with taunt as the, what looked like, thread was pulled out of the horizontal line above your eyebrows and soon after, grabbed by the hair, the top of your head was lifted, revealing the terrifying image of a brain. With mouth of its own.
“What did you do to her?!”
“Oh, I just took what you two threw away,” you replied, slowly putting the upper skull part down on its place, matching the lines as the thread went through the holes by itself, securing the head together. “And I have to thank you for your little sentiment. If not for that, I wouldn’t have my perfect vessel. Ah, but it’s sad, isn’t it? Such a young, pretty girl had to die so early, and more so, killed by her own best friends. What a waste to jujutsu community, don’t you think?”
Both the boys stood there in shock, guilt eating them alive as the salt and acid was being rubbed into the wounds that just opened. The scabs of the past were ripped away, revealing the gushing pain and Satoru growled in anger, realizing that once again, he might have been responsible for what happened to you. This time, Suguru kept up with him in terms of fury, feeling his own blood boiling in his veins, unable to watch your body being possessed like this, used like a toy.
“Y/n, I know you’re there-“ Gojo called, but got stopped quickly by another pilfering laugh.
“Oh, but she’s not. Her soul is long gone and dead. You made sure to have her soul dead, and you have to know I nearly teared up reviewing her memories when I took the body. Such a poignant story, oh, so heartbreaking.” The teasing had no end as more and more poisonous venom spilled through your mouth, contradicting the carefree and joyful tone of your voice.
“What makes you believe that even if you take her body, you can win here? We’ve defeated her already,” Suguru narrowed his eyes.
“Oh, you’ve won but that’s because she let you two won. Wasn’t that surprising how easily you finished her? A special grade? How she didn’t even try to dodge the hollow purple, like the little curse that she was fighting with was really that much of a struggle? Oh, don’t be silly, you two. It wouldn’t be that easy if she tried.”
“We won’t let you-“
“You must understand your situation. What you’re standing in is a special grade cursed object. A prison realm, and to say it simply, you’ve already lost,” you pointed at the floor, from where the four corners of a cube stretched into a mass of flesh, with an eye – giant and bleeding, staring at its target, as the next stage of sealing began before either of sorcerers reacted. “And what’s more interesting, the prison realm can seal only one person at the time, but with the incredible technique of my current host, I was able to fuel its capacity to two occupants, by manipulating the cursed energy it used. Marvelous!”
The cursed object began enveloping both men, rendering them helpless and immobile, as their cursed energy became unavailable for their use.
“We’ll save you, y/n, you hear me?”, Satoru yelled in unison with his friend and the lone tear rolled down your face, before your hand reached up wiping it in amusement.
“Gate close.”
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