“c’mon, megumi. tell me what’s botherin’ ya.” satoru pouts at megumi, his arm thrown around the boy’s shoulders. you watch the scene unfold with a tense smile.
megumi was exhausted from school, training and so much more. the teenager’s patience was wearing thin. especially with satoru almost pressuring him into telling you both what’s weighing on his mind. when all he wants is to be left alone at the moment.
the tone satoru’s using to talk to megumi only pisses the high schooler off more and more. it’s fatherly. like he’s still the little child satoru took in and cared for. it pissed megumi off, along with everything else;
“you’re not my dad, so stop fucking acting like you are!”
you freeze. satoru freezes. megumi freezes. time freezes. the silence was deafening. no one was moving. your eyes flicker over to satoru’s and your heart shatters in a million pieces.
satoru’s hurt. so hurt. it’s visible and he’s not hiding it — not hiding it like he usually would behind a wide grin. his blindfold and glasses aren’t there to hide the way his face falls either.
“i know.” satoru whispers. his voice lost its cheery tone, his eyes have lost their spark. the sorcerer slowly distances himself from megumi. a bitter chuckle leaves his lips. a futile attempt to hide his shaky voice, “i know.”
all you could do is stand there in shock. megumi doesn’t know what to do after his little outburst either. and satoru. . . well, satoru is the first one out of the room. you hear his breath hitch as he walks past you. you see his eyes twitch. the strongest, in tears.
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“hm hello? do you need help?” yuuji approached the lady walking the hallways so slowly she seemed lost.
“huh?” you turned and he smiled, thinking how gorgeous you looked. your uniform was a lot like nobara’s, although it was lighter, like it was slightly bleached or just worn a lot, “no, i… i go here.”
“oh are you gojo-sensei’s student too?” he was excited to meet another student, it was such a big school for just a few people.
“gojo… sensei” you repeated confused.
“oh you must be utahime-sensei’s student then? from kyoto?” he tilted his head, like a puppy.
“utahime…” you whispered, “is geto here?” you asked with a certain urgency in your voice, “geto suguru.”
“who? geto?” he scratched his head, trying to remember if he heard about a sensei called geto suguru, “i don’t think i—“
“itadori!” megumi called from outside, yuuji saw him die below through the open windows of the second floor he was at, his classmate probably saw him as well.
“ah fushiguro!” he greeted his friend and turned back to you, “i’ll ask megumi, he’s been here for longer than me.”
“who you talking to?!” megumi shouted.
“her!” he pointed, you were in front of him, right by the opened window too, he couldn’t see you?
megumi even moved a bit, “itadori, there’s no one there. stop playing, we got to leave!” megumi scolded him before entering the building.
“eh?” yuuji was frowning.
“sorry, i think i’m in the wrong place” you bowed and turned away running.
“wait!” he ran after you, turning corners he thought you could’ve gone but after a few ones he reached a dead end.
“hm? yuuji?” gojo emerged from a classroom.
“gojo-sensei! there was… someone…” he looked around.
“oi, we’re waiting for you, let’s go” megumi came from where he was, grabbing yuuji by the hood of his uniform and dragging him away.
gojo watched through a window as they walked down the staircase until both boys walked out of the building.
“that was weird” you murmured from inside the classroom he was in, “that boy called you sensei” you put more rice into your hungry mouth, “does yaga know you’re pretending to be a teacher here?”
satoru closed the door, lighting another incense on the table that you used to sit. where every year on the anniversary of your death he built a shrine with food you liked.
“i thought haibara was in a mission but i saw him by the tree” you pointed behind you with your chopsticks, where, outside the classroom and behind the building remained the tree you always had lunch underneath during hot summer days.
he undid the blindfold, letting his hair fall as he sat in front of you, admiring how you never aged a day. after all, you couldn’t.
in fact, it seemed like you didn’t realize how much time has passed. every year you appeared and every year you thought it was still 2006, when you had two kouhais that did everything you asked, a girl best friend that insisted you smoked with her and two boys that were helplessly in love with you. the last year you were alive.
“is suguru not coming?” you asked with your mouth full.
gojo swallowed hard, “no, angel. it’s just us.”
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𝐂 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 ˚◞♡ ⃗ satoru gojo
𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ your husband is unbearably clingy.
𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.9k words. no pronouns used or specified gender for the reader. intended lowercase. established relationship (#married).
a/n. — i’m warning u guys right now that this is not proofread 😭 .. i literally just typed this up rq and posted it bc it’s been too long since i’ve last posted something on here
p.s. the prompt was in my notes from a longgg time ago, but i believe it’s from @/creativepromptsforwriting .. if not please lmk !!
"c'mere, hold my hand," satoru pleads for what has to be the third time. he pouts at you, who’s sitting on the countertop.
your brows furrow as you look up from your phone, "but, you're washing the dishes?”
he twists the faucet handle, and a steady stream of water flows down. after a brief glance at you, he places the plate beneath the water and says, "i know how to multitask, baby."
clinginess is defined as “the tendency to stay near someone for emotional support, protection, ect.” but there has to be another term for what satoru is, because you can't give any of those things while holding his hand right now.
you let out a deep breath and turn off your phone, watching as the screen fades to black. "satoru, there's no way i'm sticking my hand in that dirty dishwater," you say, sliding your phone into your pocket.
he practically shoves the plate into the drying rack. "i can't believe this," he huffs. "we literally had vows."
“what are y—“
“we had vows that said you’d love me in sickness and in health.”
"well…are you sick?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest.
he pauses his task of washing dishes, leaving them untouched. leaning over the sink, he rests his arms against its edge. he steals a furtive glance at you, only to find your gaze locked onto him. with a hint of hesitation, he softly mumbles, "no..." before you can respond, he interrupts, "but i’m in health, and the vows said that you have to love and cherish me in this state too."
you lean back, searching your mind for what the alternative of holding his hand would be. because in no world would you hold his hand in dishwasher. then, it hits you. "for now, would a hug make you feel better?"
he answers your question with a hum, and you can't believe he's debating whether or not to accept your offer after all that drama over holding hands in dishwater. even so, he adds, "i'll have to give it some thought."
two can play that game.
“it’s okay,” you say, gracefully hopping down from the counter. a smirk spreads across your face. “i could just go—sit on the couch?” slowly, you start to walk in his direction and make your way over to the living room.
he doesn’t say anything, letting you do as you please. it’s not until you start to pass by him, that you get the reaction you wanted.
or atleast, somewhat similar to what you wanted.
"on second thought—" he exclaims, and the dishwater swirls around him as he turns around, his hands still wet and dripping.
you cringe as small puddles gather on the tiles. "hey—" but he interrupts you as he reaches out to grab your wrist. “ew—I—what the hell?”
you instinctively try to pull back, but he slips his wet hand in yours; sealing your fate.
“satoru—”
“what happened to nicknames?”
“satoru.”
"’m not sure who that is. i go by a lot of names, but not that one. lets go down the list, yeah?” he clears his throat. “i go by "babe, baby, swe—"
"you should consider adding "gojo" to that list."
"now, when have you ever called me gojo?”
"right now, in exactly ten seconds.” your husband gasps, hanging his mouth open. “satoru go—"
“woah woah woah—what’d i do to deserve this treatment?”
“you put your dirty dishwater hand in mine.” you jerk your hand back, struggling to escape free of his grip.
his grip tightens on your hand, “if you’re feeling like not loving me today then just say that.”
“hey—don’t discredit me. i offered you a hug and you said you had to “think” about it.”
“cause holding your hand ‘s better.”
you sigh, “after you’re done with the dishes, you can hold my hand as long as you want.“
he lets out a soft, thoughtful hum—the same hum that got you both into this situation in the first place. at the same time you shake your head, a mischievous twinkle appears in his eyes, and a smile twists onto the edges of his lips. "deal" he says, shaking your hand. “but before-“
you tsk, making him drop his excuse.
“wh—“
"the quicker these dishes get done, the quicker you’ll be able to hold my hand. so get on with it—go," you playfully command, and his grip loosens in response. seizing the opportunity, you slide your hand out of his grasp. you look down at it, seeing bits of food that’ve stuck to your palm. gross.
you walk over to the sink, feeling the cool water flow over your hand, washing away the food and dirt that clung to your skin. as you stand there, you hear satoru's voice grumbling from behind, "i hate doing dishes,” and you can’t help but snort.
before you know it, you feel his presence close behind you, his body pressing against yours. his arms encircle you, creating a cozy pocket of space between the counter and his body. satoru leans over your shoulder, gets a sponge from the soapy water, and starts washing a bowl. you simply lean back and look at his features.
the sight almost makes you want to stay in his arms forever. that is, until you realize the predicament you're in.
“you did not,” you whine. you desperately try to break free from the cage he’s trapped you in, but your attempts prove more and more pointless.
"oh, yes, i did," he declares with a smile. “what did you say earlier?" he clears his throat before proceeding. "the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you'll be able to hold my hand," he says, mockingly imitating your tone. "so, the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you can leave and do anything you want."
you sulk and moan while you reluctantly grab a dish and a spare sponge from the sink. “i hate you.”
“i love you more.”
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— longing for someone prompts ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡
im bathing in angst rn, enjoy!
them haunting your mind constantly, but are you even in theirs?
unconciously searching for them wherever, whenever
itching to text them, yet the guilt of pestering them hits
your stomach being on edge whenever you see someone who has a similar figure to theirs
regularly scouring their social media for any updates
them acting so sweetly which turns out to just be a cruel dream
envy creeping up your throat whenever other people hangout with them
taking them off your mind by hanging out with your friends, just for you to only see bits of their personality in your friends
weeping frustruatedly on your knees because you can't stop recalling your memories with them
surrendering to your insecurities; perhaps they truly are better off without you
hopelessly persuading yourself that you were able to go on with life before knowing them, so you can definitely do it after they left
urging the universe to see them one last time before letting them go (it never happens anyways)
"if anyone is listening, please let our paths intertwine again before the day I take my last breath"
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simon riley who is the one who rescues you when you're taken hostage by an enemy pmc, fighting through hell just to get you back.
simon riley who doesn't hesitate to take his mask off so as to not frighten you further. it doesn't matter that you've never seen his face, or that he's breaking down his barriers, all that matters is that you don't shake when you look at him.
simon riley who carries you out of there, safe in the warmth of his arms that hold you like he'll let you go again.
simon riley whose heart breaks because he recognises the haunted look in your beautiful eyes, and he knows he'd do anything to see them sparkle like they used to.
simon riley who slowly acclimates you to being touched again (it totally is just for you, he swears). soft brushes of his pinky against yours, a guiding hand on your back, picking a piece of fluff out of your hair.
simon riley who doesn't ask questions when you find comfort cuddling into his broad chest, because he knows mentioning it would only make you feel bad. he doesn't want to lose the way you only find peace cuddled up next to him.
simon riley who kisses your forehead but only when you're asleep, because he still has secrets to keep. he doesn't think you feel the same way, he just thinks you see a protector.
simon riley who cares even if he doesn't have the right words to tell you.
simon riley who loves you, and spends every day thankful he didnt lose you.
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