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Haunted Hearts
-gojo satoru
//angsty. devoted reader. depressed! gojo because i can fix him </3
A/N: haunted hearts, we melt over the fabric of your floorrrr (couch, but ptv reference ehehe). i wrote this in like an hour?? i don't really write for fun like this often, so idk how this turned out 😫 it's been like 4 years since i've written anything like this. ALSO, i didn't proofread it 🤭. dunno why its so angsty but i was just churning it out... sorry? divider by cafekitsune
wc- 550ish
coming home after a long day. walking down the seemingly endless hallway to your apartment as your chest heaves and your heels drag. your day isn't over yet though, as you're greeted by a cluster of white hair and a long, lanky body shrivels against your door. who know's how long he had been there, how long he would have waited. with one final sigh, you exhume as much of your fatigue — physical as well as mental, before pushing your key in the door, unlocking it.
before twisting the knob, you shove the bag hanging off your shoulder behind you, and squat down in front of the grown man at your door. a soft smile graces you lips as you push a tuft of his messy, unkempt hair back and whisper, "what am i to do with you, huh?"
the same heavy silence that usually permeated your hallway became more dense as the man greets your question with silence. as your smile turns weary and your voice softens, you implore him, "come on, satoru. i can't pick you up all myself. help me get you on your feet."
as you wrap your arms around his torso, you bring one to the handle in preparation. under your breath and into his ear, you count, "one... two... three." he comes up surprisingly easy for as dead as he had first appeared. shuffling inside the dimly lit apartment, you first slide off your own shoes, before leaning gojo against the wall to help him take off his own.
once all shoes were properly discarded in the entryway, and coats were dismissed, you lead him to the couch (what could also be recognized as the the lounging area closest to the door). you let him situate himself, before joining him on the opposite side of the couch.
almost as soon as you settle, gojo is leaning towards you. twisting his body to allow his face to rest between your hips and waist, while his arms snaked themselves around you. he held you tight, the pressure catching you off guard. despite his unusual behavior, your hands naturally assumed their position, the left carding through his hair and the right rubbing his back. a shuddering breath racked his body as you did so, his face pushing deeper into your belly.
a new, but familiar silence hung itself in the air as everything fell into place. the damp, sticky one that clings to every fiber of your being. the one you can't manage to wash off no matter how hard you scrub, that stains your skin and maims the soul. the one that gojo would never be rid of.
over time, this same silence started clinging to you, much like a scent or habit does. you didn't mind it. you never would. if sharing even an ounce of it would take any of the weight off his shoulders, you would take it on gladly.
for as long as he was the strongest, as long as death continued to follow him, he would never be able to rid himself of this silence. soap and water could do wonders for the blood he's had on his hands, but only time (and perhaps some love) can work to chip away at the guilt harbored deep in his heart.
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If i were rich i would commission a 4 hour long nsdw audio story with Socrates and Alcibiades, with virtual surround sound and everything, I'd pick the best voice actors too, but alas the birthright to money was given to people with boring ideas who like having many ugly pools and playing golf instead of funding the arts the people have need for.
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idk man its just so hard being this smart and beautiful <- spilled chips on my desk and instead of cupping the crumbs onto a dustpan or something remotely intelligent, i decided to swipe it onto the floor to sweep into a dustpan like the spirit of a cat possessed me
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f1 magic au type thing where charles’s helmet keeps displaying his emotions but in like, really subtle ways.
like if he’s happy they’re s little sun that just sort of circles his helmet, if he’s sad the helmet looks like it’s been rained on, if he’s mad there’s little flames that dance at he edges.
and like. it’s not really a problem (although he is in an ongoing fight with the FIA about wether or not it’s allowed, no matter how many times he tells them he can’t control it) until one day these little hearts start appearing every time he talks to max???
then. then it starts becoming a problem.
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