#geto wouldn’t really get it and call him stupid or something and they end up in a comfortable silence

[qekouu]

Happy Perseid meteor shower 🥳

#stsg #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #jjk fanart #guys here me out: what if #what if they were planning to go watch a meteor shower but the sky was super cloudy that night so geto couldn’t see anything #but gojo would be able to #with his six eyes #and he gesticulates wildly in the signature gojo satoru fashion as he describes the lights whizzing across the sky to geto #geto wouldn’t really get it and call him stupid or something and they end up in a comfortable silence #c’mon it’s cute #oughhhhhh

[sixosix]

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔: 𝐍𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

( ! ) an accidental date with satoru himself doesn’t turn out to be so bad, you suppose.

( ? ) just movie date shenanigans. shoko and suguru were definitely in on this btw. fluff! to make up for the angst oneshot:( gojo is WHIPPED

you skip down the flight of stairs with a happy tune hummed under your breath. the happy flutter in your chest has been quivering since you woke up this lovely morning, most likely the product of wonderful sleep, or the excitement of today.

not even the shrill of your alarm could keep the smile off your face, and that alone says more than words could.

today is a good day, is the only thought that comes across your mind as you prepare breakfast for yourself. you leave some in case shoko decides to come by early.

the humming doesn’t stop, even as you finish your food before shoko arrives—you don’t let it bother you, simply content with the blissful feeling of joy that you rarely experience.

the knock sounds a few seconds later as you muse over what to wear for today. a day out with your best friend calls for something simple and sweet to match her sleek clothes. unless shoko decides to just pull on a large sweater and call it a day—which you wouldn’t mind either.

“coming!” you call out, grinning helplessly as you bound over to the front door.

how long has it been since you had a break away from school? you wouldn’t be surprised if the calendar reveals 365 days and more—it certainly feels like it is.

the door opens. your smile falls.

you blink, and still, the man with the stupid white hair and devastating eyes stands before you.

no, wait, he probably has the wrong house, right?

“hey, y/n,” satoru grins, and apparently not.

you grit your teeth, the beginnings of a headache making itself known with only half a second of seeing his face. “what,” you hiss, “are you doing here, gojo?”

“can’t i visit a good friend of mine on such a lovely day?” satoru muses, and ducks underneath your arm to enter your home. he pointedly ignores the heated glare you’re drilling onto his head.

“hearing it come out of your mouth makes it even less believable,” you deadpan, slamming the door shut—kicking out a gojo with a goal in mind might as well be like talking to a brick wall.

it’s not often gojo goes out of his way to visit you. shoko holds that role, and geto sometimes does it because you two are well acquainted enough.

gojo satoru starts with lingering glances on school grounds and usually ends there. sometimes—and honestly, it’s a stroke of luck—you barely talk to him at all.

which brings the question: “what happened to shoko?”

gojo sighs, exaggerating everything with his slumped shoulders and defeated pout. “nothing escapes you, does it?” at your impatient glare, he lifts his hands placidly in surrender. “shoko had to attend a meeting with another student. yaga denied her permission to ditch this one, so she asked me, of course, to come here!”

“did she really ask you first?”

gojo laughs, making himself comfortable on your couch. he slings both his arms over the top, looking too much at home for a place he only visited once—and that barely counted because gojo just stood outside waiting for you to retrieve something.

“okay, maybe suguru was informed first, but details don’t matter right now!” he pats the spot beside him as if to coax you. you don’t even bat an eye and choose to keep yourself at a safe distance.

it wasn’t like you could even get close to him even if you tried. quite literally.

you make a face. “don’t tell me…”

“shoko asked me if i can accompany you to the movie you two were supposed to see!” gojo beams.

“what? no, shoko paid for the tickets—”

“and you want to waste shoko’s money like that? it’s showing today, isn't it?” the grin he flashes is knowing, because he’s already got you where he wants you and you both know it.

“...at least you aren’t wearing something flashy,” you mutter in defeat.

gojo beams brighter if it was even possible. “i wouldn’t complain if you still wear something cute!”

you flip him off and stomp your way to your bedroom.

the theaters are quite crowded, but there don’t seem to be traces of threatening curses you and gojo would need to take care of. which is a bit unfortunate, since you were hoping for a bit of a distraction before either of you proceed with this… date.

you spare a glance to the man beside you, walking in long strides with his frustratingly lanky legs. at least one of you is having fun.

surprisingly, despite gojo taking advantage of a free ticket, he insisted on paying for everything else. you aren’t one to complain when being spoiled, so you let him. he seems happy to do so anyway, so you don’t feel as bad milking him for all his wallet’s worth.

“hm… this one’s about a boy losing his childhood friend?” gojo ponders aloud as he surveys the poster plastered on the wall before the theater. “i think i see where this is going. i bet—”

you smack his mouth with your palm, narrowed eyes affixed on surprised blue. “don’t you dare spoil anything before we even sit down.”

unfortunately, you feel something wet and warm on your hand, and it takes you three seconds to realize that he quite literally licked your palm. appalled beyond belief, you withdraw your hand and gape at your assaulted skin.

“you taste like popcorn,” gojo comments, amused with your aghast expression. “hey, don’t tell me you already snuck in a few bites before we even sat down.”

you splutter, face warm with embarrassment. “i—i didn’t— no, why the hell did you lick me!? you’re disgusting, gojo!”

he laughs, all too delighted. “how did you even know i was going to say something about the plot? am i too predictable for you now?”

“you always do that whenever we watch something with the others,” you grumble, and belatedly recognize that you probably pay a bit too much attention to him for you to notice that. “just because i don’t have six of them, doesn’t mean i don’t have eyes.”

“i cede. i cede,” gojo chuckles. “i solemnly swear to zip my mouth for you to enjoy the movie, your highness.”

“good. if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right, got that?”

you really don’t understand how gojo’s face isn’t aching with how wide he’s been smiling for so long—then again, you doubt he even realizes that. “of course.”

you have a feeling he’s enjoying this too much and you should question him, but a day off is a day off. you’d hate to waste it.

he kicks open the door with his legs, both of his hands too busy carrying everything else that you didn’t want to. “after you!” he chirps, and you play along, thanking him.

you miss the way his smile softens as you walk forward, blissful with the atmosphere of the theater.

you hate to admit it, but this was possibly the most fun you had on a movie date. (not date. platonic hangout between two friends, platonically.)

it was quiet for the first few minutes, save for the munching of popcorn courtesy of the both of you, and the hushed chattering of the people beside you. the movie starts off slow and you were drifting off to wonder why your heart is pounding so loudly.

is there a curse here? did you eat something that expired earlier?

gojo—because nothing escapes him—notices this and prompts conversation, starting off silly by pointing out details that you think you wouldn’t even notice had he not said it first. his passion for films seems to come out the more he speaks, and he rambles and talks—but even more surprising than this is that you’re too in awe to stop him.

some people glare and throw disgruntled glances, but you’re too busy laughing as he mocks characters on the screen before the both of you.

you don’t even notice the way your hand brushes against his every time you both reach for food. you don’t notice that you two have slowly gravitated towards each other the more you two continue the conversation.

he still ended up spoiling the ending because you two were talking about obvious plot details that gojo seems to have a keen eye for. but you find that you don’t mind as much, because gojo is actually pretty cute when he brightens.

“you were right,” you were reluctant to admit, as the main character does in fact reunite with his long-lost childhood friend.

gojo grins, pinching your cheek softly while you grumble. “i hate to say it, but: told you so!”

“i didn’t think you’d get it because you said it at the start of the movie!”

he laughs, “don’t doubt me next time.”

next time, you echo, looking up at him as everyone else in the room starts to stand up and leave their seats. you almost forgot that this is the first time you’ve even done this with him.

it just felt too… natural. like it happened every day.

“that was…alright, i guess,” you tell him, and you notice your heart is doing that weird thing again.

gojo smiles. “i agree.”

gojo’s phone vibrates, and both of you read the text that geto sent. it read: sorry satoru. can’t go out today. invite someone else in my stead.

“hmm,” gojo hums, side-eyeing you with a smile too cheeky.

you huff, but unable to keep the smile off your face. “i guess i have to repay the favor, don’t i?”

today is a good day, you suppose.

#606:JJK #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #x reader #jjk imagines #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff

[kashimos-hajime]

the colour yellow | jjk

summary: “You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right.”

WARNINGS: ANGST!! hanahaki disease but not an au, HOSPITALS, DEATH, DESCRIPTIONS OF DISEASE, UNHEALTHY WEIGHT LOSS, pining, unrequited love, complicated feelings, its just sad. there are some light-hearted moments, and happier/softer aspects in the ending but it is generally sad in the ‘what could have been’ department pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, past geto suguru x fem!reader, mentions of satosugu word count: 29.9k lmao

a/n: i just needed to get the hanahaki out of my system. it did not work. i took liberties w the timeline because idc about actual jjk canon in this fic thanks. 

playlist for this fic

crossposted on ao3 x

Your Innate Technique always gave you a green thumb. Meaning, similarly enough to Yaga, you could plant cursed energy into objects.

Where it deviated, Satoru knows, is the type of object. Plants—trees, leaves, flowers. 

Ironic, he thinks numbly as he walks through the hospital. Shoko had told him that at this point it was palliative care until you died—nothing else would work. Cursed energy only fed your sickness, and even her technique could not heal the damage fast enough. Stupid. Idiotic. Cruel.

Cruel. That was the word.

He hadn’t seen it himself but from how his old friend had described it, it could only be cruel. 

His footsteps tap along the linoleum floors, urgent, but not too fast. A part of him dreads what he will see—his mind swirls with the possibilities, and of guilt.

Why didn’t he just come sooner? Why did he think it was okay to wait, to dismiss Itadori when he said you’d been checked in for your coughing fits?

“She’s strong. She’ll be fine,” he had said. Itadori’s small frown. “A little feather in her throat isn’t going to knock her down.”

Why? Why? Why? Why did he say that?

Because it had to be serious to put you in the hospital. For fuck’s sake, you were still that teenage girl who stood outside his dorm window in the middle of a thunderstorm to bring Fushiguro a birthday present before you left for a curse expedition a thousand years ago, and the woman who welcomed him into your home unprompted on December 24th, your cheeks dry, lips pressed in a brave smile.

You had held him tight enough he could not see the blood, scrubbed him in a bathtub, ran your fingers through his hair until the sweat and grime was gone. You took care of him because he knows the belief that no one should be left behind to suffer alone has been engrained in you since the day he’s met you.

He should’ve known. A girl abandoned for being cursed had turned into woman with a saviour complex who’d barely even think about telling him you were dying. 

Dying, of all things, from a disease no one knows how to cure. And you’re a sorcerer.

He could’ve laughed. The irony is enough to make him smile.

Your room’s in a tiny corner of the hospital, down the hall from a nurse’s station, and as he walks through, he can see the grey sunlight streaming through the window, glaring against his glasses. He lifts them to rub the heel of his hand into his eye.

He doesn’t want you to worry when you see him, and mostly, he needs to stall. His heart is in knots in his chest, and he spots a chair beside the door with your name in the plastic slate, so he sits down. His knees feel gummy and he leans forward, the visitor’s pass clipped to the front of his shirt hanging. 

Satoru tugs the glasses off his face, fits his palm over his brow and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s chilling in this dead end, and he swallows tightly. Everything tastes so dry as he looks up and shoves his hand underneath the sanitizer dispenser, rubbing it all over his hands just so he has something to do.

After a few minutes, he gets up and sets a hand on the knob. 

It can’t be as bad as he’s imagining. At most, you’re a bit sick, but you’ll still be spritely, warm in the lips and with arms outstretched and, “Satoru, finally!”

He opens the door. 

You’re sitting hunched over in bed. Silhouette outlined by the white-grey sunlight from outside your hospital room, you’re trembling as you hold onto a receptacle. An IV is hooked to your arm, a hospital gown is barely hiding anything, and it feels immoral to even look so Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he pauses by the doorframe and closes his eyes for a moment as your gaze flashes to him. 

He feels it, to be honest. The heat of your stare until it is wrenched away by a violent cough you instinctually muffle by your palm, blood splattering over your hand, soft, velveteen purple petals falling from your lips and into the receptacle in your lap. 

You’re supposed to have a green thumb.

Vines bend to your will if you command it, you can summon forth thorns to impale your opponents, send thick creeping ivy to barricade a doorway. It doesn’t matter if there is no greenery in your immediate area. At the sweep of your hand, the ground could rumble with the sound of trees twisting their gnarled roots into feet to march at your command.

Just as long as they’re within range and you’ve touched them in the past few hours, they’re yours.

So, why can’t you stop this?

Plants are supposed to listen to you, right? As he stares at your shaking body on the bed, curved over the plastic tub, thick globs of bloodied spit drip from your lips and soaked purple blossom petals entwine with your life essence. His heart plummets to his chest. You retch, spit, choke, and every sound stabs him in the chest as he takes a weak step forward, hand stretched out limply.

Your name flutters, barely leaves his lips before you’re looking at him again, a bit of a mortifying image but nonetheless.

Even so, you smile, despite the blood painting your face, the exhaustion morphing your body. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, and your hands shake around the receptacle. You look battered, bruised along the arms where the needles keeping you filled with antibiotics, medicine you need, had punctured you.

And still, you’re beaming at him. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Hi, Satoru.”

His hand falls. Eyes wide, he cannot take another step. You wipe at your lips, tossing the tissue into the trash before pushing the plastic receptacle onto the table and swinging your legs off the bed.

“Don’t—“ he croaks but you don’t listen, sliding your feet into slippers and grabbing your IV stand to take a step towards him. Your knees nearly give in but you stick out a hand before he can rush to catch you. Then, you’re pushing yourself up and walking over to him. It’s more of a shuffle, but Gojo finds he can’t care as you land on his chest, hands pressing into his back.

You’re a bit cold in his arms, and he wraps himself around you, trying to rub the heat back into your skin as you shudder, but your heart is still racing as it always does around him, and you…

You’re the type of person who can shift how the air feels and looks to his Six Eyes with your smile or your tears or your frown, and in that moment, the air bleeds yellow with your joy. It’s so bright in his soul that it makes his heart skip as you shift on your feet against him, hands sliding down so your arms can circle his waist and haul him closer. 

“Gojo Satoru turning off his infinity for little ole me,” you murmur, voice raspy, as he closes his eyes, cradling your head. Without another word, he sinks into you. “Talk about the world ending.”

Why didn’t you just call him? Why did you let him stay away for so long? He doesn’t want to ask why it’s happening, or how. He already knows you’ll just lie. But he wants to know if you think so lowly of him that you thought you didn’t matter to him.

After Suguru…

How could you think that? He’s screaming inside his mind as he touches your back, feels the faint protruding ridges along your skin when he pushes down. It makes your spine a bit more pronounced along the knobs, your shoulder blades a bit bumpy, but otherwise, it’s almost normal. One wouldn’t even be able to tell without touching you and actively searching for it. How could you think I don’t care?

This isn’t the work of a cursed spirit, that much he knows. It seems much more seductive, sneaking yet unhurried in its nature. This is agony in effigy. There’s something rotten inside you, but he can’t tell what it is. The energy is everywhere.

You pull back to look up at him with a soft smile, then tap his nose and tell him to join you before turning around and climbing back into bed with energy that betrays your earlier fits. You grab your robe that you’ve left on your bed before getting up again and walking around, shrugging the fabric back onto your shoulders.

He sits down in a visitor’s chair that is still cold.

“It comes and goes,” you explain first with your new, croaky voice, stretching your arms above your head and rubbing your neck. It doesn’t look painful, but you clear your throat a lot to see if it helps. So far, nothing. “So, it’s just like a really bad coughing fit, to be honest.”

“How long has it been going on?” Your hip cracks and you let out a relieved sigh. Satoru arches an eyebrow as you animatedly stretch your face. “What are you doing, silly?”

“It got worse a few weeks ago, enough that Nanami insisted I check myself in around two weeks ago?” you say, after counting on your fingers. Satoru’s heart plummets. “But it’s levelled out since I’ve been moved here and off-campus. And I’m stretching. When I get back out there, I have to remember how to emote.” You flash him a bedazzling grin and a bit of the weight lifts off his shoulders as you swallow down another cough. This time, it’s successful and you only let out a short, raspy breath before shaking it out.

You aren’t even doing that bad. 

The blood, the flowers, that must’ve been just a bad bout, but otherwise, you seem quite normal.

That’s what he tells himself, and he believes it.

With relief, he stretches out his legs, leaning his head back on his hands. Your room’s pretty nice—much nicer than an average hospital room. Plants on the windowsills, some get-well-soon cards and a desk in the corner filled books that you look like you haven’t even begun to read, some paintings hanging off the walls. 

You wave a hand to grab his attention again.

“Don’t look,” you chastise, tying the robe around your waist. “Some of these are works in progress.”

“So Itadori and Shoko were just exaggerating,” he assumes. You look up at him, quirking an eyebrow. “If you’re attempting to paint, I know all that’s happened is that you’ve lost your mind.”

“Shut up.”

“Well, they made it out as if you were dying. If it’s just a lung issue, they could probably just fix it and we can get back to exorcising curses and making fun of Fushiguro’s teen angst,” he says, crossing his legs at the ankles. You step over them to go to the window and examine your plants, and he eyes you in his peripheral, watching you inspect one of the leaves before looking next at some blooming flowers. You don’t answer, and the grey light makes you look melancholy until you shrug.

“The doctors say I need to rest, save my strength and all that,” you finally say vaguely. “And don’t make fun of Fushiguro.”

“I’d never do that.”

You tilt your head and arch an eyebrow skeptically before flicking his forehead with a sharp donk. “I’m not above slapping the shit out of you.” He opens his mouth to argue and you hold up a finger, shutting him up. “And you can’t hit back as revenge. Ill hospital patient rights.”

“You can’t take the moral stand. Vengeance has no gender bias,” he exclaims, sitting up but you merely smirk, leaning over and shoving your face into his space before turning your head to present your cheek. His eyes widen as you poke your own face tauntingly.

“Do it, then.”

Gawking for a moment, Satoru stares but you only wink and he pushes you away lightly. You stumble a bit and he jumps to his feet to catch you but you manage to right yourself up, shooting him a foul glare. He glares back in response.

“Well, obviously, I wasn’t going to actually slap you,” he says, indignant.

“So you pushed me instead? Gojo, in your words, you are the strongest. You never know how to control the strength you push out.”

“Yes, I do!”

“One time, you patted Megumi on the back and you sent him into the pavement.”

“He was nine.”

“It still happened!” you cry, although an impish smile is already curling at your lips and it isn’t long before it spreads to Satoru, warm bright yellow and enough that it absolves any of the remaining pain in his body as you straighten up, holding onto your IV stand for support. The metal rattles a bit as the wheels roll. Your feet brush the ground. You lift your head up wretchedly.

It’s almost like that weakness sobers you.

The expression that overtakes you frightens Satoru to fucking death. 

His face feels like it numbs, staring at the darkness that seeps the light away. You stare at the metal pole your fingers are wrapped so tightly around, and then you look at the bag hanging there, clear and round and soft to your touch as you straighten up.

“Satoru,” you say softly.

“Yeah?” His voice is so quiet he’s not sure he even speaks. He can’t remember the last time you had looked so dispassionate at anything in his life. Even death had left its mark—black frowns, long streaks underneath your eyes.

Your apathy is dark purple, an endless void colour. 

“When I die, make sure Shoko’s the one who cuts me open to find out what’s wrong with me.”

Something prickles at his fingertips. He touches your shoulder and half-thinks his fingers will go right through you.

“You’re not going to die,” he insists firmly. “It’s just a bad cough.” You look up at him and blink. Then you touch your lips and shudder down another cough.

“We all die.”

“It’s not your time, yet.” His fingers dig into your shoulder. You don’t even wince even though you’re clenching his jaw but he can’t find it in himself to loosen his hold. It feels like the Jaws of Death. A crocodile’s bite.

So much for not being able to control his own power.

“It’s just a bad cough.” He ignores everything Shoko had said. Sometimes she’s wrong—sometimes, it’s not even that bad. He’d just seen it, hadn’t he? You were stretching, jumping onto your bed, acting like nothing was wrong.

Palliative care? As if you needed it—

You blink, then, and look at him. Stare at him as if you’d never said those words, and he had never reached out. 

You jerk your shoulder out of his grip. It stings more than it should.

“Right. But I’m just saying. You know how you always say I’ve got a few screws loose. It just makes sense someone will wanna crack me open to see what was going on up there and I want it to be her.” 

You smile, and the yellow cancels out the purple. 

Colour theory. 

But Satoru doesn’t smile back.

“What about the flowers?” he asks after a while. You’ve climbed back onto bed and he’s sat back down. You’re blowing into a spirometer, and every time, without fail, the ball shoots up to the top, clattering against the plastic. He watches, hoping that the next time, it’ll do the same thing again.

You stop and look at him. “What about them?”

“Is it some optical illusion? Why are they in your throat?”

“That’s a harder nut to crack,” you muse. “I don’t really know. It’s like when you’ve got food in your esophagus and you’re trying to cough it up so it doesn’t feel stuck anymore except it keeps building up. That only started a few days ago, though, so maybe, someone drugged me or something.” He doesn’t laugh and you frown. “Not funny?”

He shakes his head. “It’s freaky.”

.

He sits on the bench on campus. 

He’s cancelled classes because he didn’t come up with a standard lesson plan and his students are glad to have a Monday afternoon off, even if they’d never say it to his face. In truth, he’d spent the whole weekend at the hospital until he reeked of antiseptic and pollen. 

You coughed up five petals, and without fail, a nurse would come in hourly intervals to collect them. Shoko came once, to check up on you and to collect the samples. If she was surprised Satoru was sitting in the corner on his phone, she didn’t voice it.

“She’s not even doing that bad,” he says to the air, more accusatory than anything. The woman standing by him doesn’t answer and sits down beside him uninvited. Turning to look at her, his eyes narrow behind his blindfold. “You said she needed palliative care until she died. The doctor said she could leave tonight.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive concepts,” she informs, not looking at him. Shoko looks a bit out of place in the warm colours of the garden. Half a corpse herself. Waif-like. “The doctor’s letting her relax in the comfort of her own home before she dies. That’s all.”

“She’s not going to die.”

She snorts. “Denial isn’t a good colour on you.” The words could’ve been delivered colder. Satoru is grateful that they weren’t. 

Shoko rests her hands on her knees, tilts her head up, and sighs. Her long hair is like warm chocolate in the sunlight, spilling down her arched back from the knot she tied. “If you have any idea on how to fix this, I’m listening with both ears.”

“I don’t even know what it is,” he says. “Coughing and flowers? I’ve never heard of a sickness like that before.”

“Nanami pointed out that it could be a curse someone placed on her. I don’t know why, but it’d be an explanation.” Satoru spreads his legs, plants an elbow on his knee and leans forward to look at the ants travelling along the cobblestone before his shoe. “It manifested on some negative emotion lingering inside her and it’s growing every day, but she won’t budge.” Shoko sighs. Her purple eye bags look worse in the sunlight, but he would never tell her that. “Maybe you’d have a better chance digging into her. With Geto gone, there’s no one else to ask, is there?”

“What about you? What happened to girls and their little secrets?” he jokes, trying to ignore the ache that begins to bloom in his chest. Shoko eyes him wryly.

“I have suspicions, but there are some things girls don’t ask other girls,” she retorts. “It’s never been my business anyway. My job is to treat her, and I’ve given her options. It’s up to her to take them. Grief is a birthing ground for curses, and if she’s letting them feed on her freely, you know what fate is waiting for her.”

With that, she gets up and leaves as quickly as she arrived. Satoru swallows the smell of flowers and feels sick.

.

Monday night, Satoru pulls up his laptop and looks through, searching up words he can string together in a coherent sense to get the answers he wants. As rare as it probably is, some research wouldn’t hurt, would it? Some curses had a trademark affliction—maybe this one does, too.

So he searches up flower coughing to see if there has ever been a record of strange deaths that have made the news. If not, he’ll go to the jujutsu databases, but for now, maybe some publicity could put some answers to this question.

He is surprised when one of the first results is flower coughing disease. 

When he hits enter, the white screen blasts into blue irises with numerous results all repeating the same two words.

HANAHAKI DISEASE

And Satoru reads, and reads, and reads. He reads two weeks to three months, he reads unrequited love, and removal, and disappearance of romantic feelings and capacity for romantic love.

He reads fictional disease and wonders how much of it really is fictional. 

His phone pings with a text, and he grabs at it, tilts it just enough to get a glimpse of the screen. It’s from you, and he hasn’t read a text from you in so long he almost doesn’t recognize who it’s from except he does because… who else could it be?

[Greenbean] 11:02 PM

hey!!! guess whos finally fucking free oh my god

ugh out of the hospital and forgot how actual air smelled like lol bitch im so hungry i could eat a zoo

Letting his phone clatter, he sighs and rubs his face roughy, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before snapping his laptop shut and getting up. His phone buzzes again and he reaches for it blindly, the screen lighting up as he goes to bed.

[Greenbean] 11:03 PM

we should get smth to eat!! i wanna go to that new ramen place in ikebukoro

[Satoru] 11:03 PM

fine but you good???? who picked you up from the hospital? still insulted you didnt let me tbh

also what did the doctor say???

[Greenbean] 11:04 PM

bc ur a menace who doesnt know how to drive 

he said itd get worse before itd get better so still gotta go for checkups but yeah dont worry and nanami came bc he didnt trust me not to try and walk home lol but he did buy me dinner

wasnt enough though!!!

…

[Greenbean] 11:06 PM

ok but fr does he think im insane

clearly id flash some skin and hitch a ride duh

…

[Greenbean] 11:10 PM

youre just gonna leave me on read? yikes

[Satoru] 11:12 PM

i was getting ready to sleep silly

and yeah ill come pick you up on saturday for lunch?

[Greenbean] 11:15 PM

sorry making instant noodles rn but yeah that sounds fine

wait youre sleeping so early lmfao

[Satoru] 11:16 PM

im old :/

  [Greenbean] 11:18 PM

u sure are

(image sent)

look!!! my babies are still alive!!! idk how but miracles do exist im tellin ya

[Satoru] 11:24 PM

inumaki, maki, and fushiguro broke into ur home to water them but dont tell them i told u

[Greenbean] 11:24 PM

wtf

[Satoru] 11:25 PM

yeah idk when but i think u teaching inumaki how to pick locks has opened up too many possibilities but also its really funny thanks

now go to sleep u need to rest

[Greenbean] 11:28 PM

whos gonna make me lol youre not my dad

[Satoru] 11:29 PM

lol 

remember how i can teleport 

lol so cool

[Greenbean] 11:30 PM

dude

wtf

fine 

goodnight hoe </3

[Satoru] 11:31 PM

goodnight knock off poison ivy <3

.

“You’ve looked better,” Shoko says. Satoru raises his head wearily as he pushes off the wall. Shoko’s holding a cup of coffee, her lab coat fresh on her shoulders and eye bags looking more printed on rather than natural swelling. Satoru can’t help but feel the same exhaustion. “Definitely looked worse. What do you want? It’s early.”

“Have you ever heard of Hanahaki disease?” he asks. She shakes her head, and he pulls up the page on his phone and hands it to her. She takes it from him and her eyes scan the screen as he continues, “It’s this fictional disease, something that stems from unrequited love, and I think it could be related to whatever she’s experiencing.”

“I thought you were set on willing her to survive,” she replies dryly, shooting him a quick look and adjusting the coffee in her hand. “But this is definitely one of your stranger theories.”

Satoru ignores that last part. “It’d make sense. With her Cursed Technique, maybe it manifested in a way that links to it.”

She pushes into the office, setting the coffee on her desk and sitting down. Satoru sits down on the exam table closest and leans forward eagerly as she continues to read the page, scrolling down occasionally before scrolling back up and sighing. “This is a stretch. The timeline doesn’t match up to what this is saying.”

“This is a curse. It doesn’t have to follow fiction.” His body feels sore, janky even, everywhere. He barely got a wink of sleep last night and he knows he’s paying for it, now. “Hell knows life rarely does, anyway. But the symptoms matches too well, doesn’t it? The flowers—you’ve done scans, haven’t you?”

She deliberates his words carefully as she looks to the file cabinet and pulls out a binder. Satoru catches a flash of your name on the spine before she moves her coffee and his phone out of the way to flip it open.

“The scans we’ve taken have only just begun to show small growths in her trachea,” she allows, “and we don’t fully understand how cursed energy affects our bodies, so I suppose it could be something like Hanahaki, if the negative energy stemming from December 24th was what brought this on or if these symptoms started when we were still students, but she’s been experiencing shortness of breath a few months before Christmas.” Satoru’s lungs squeeze the last of the air out of them at that, and a cold sweat drops down his spine as she hands his phone back to him. “It only started getting worse Suguru’s death, which meant there had to have been a trigger before that.”

In the back of his head, he hears your voice, light and yellow, saying a few weeks. It got worse a few weeks ago. 

“Worse?”

“The first petal fell some time after Christmas. It’s been a slow, but steady progression since then. Sometimes, it’s two or three. When it’s not a good day, there can be as many as seven to ten.” Shoko switches on the lamp on the corner of her desk and adjusting the direction of the white light before flipping the page. “But if we can find the original trigger and alleviate that pressure it’s putting on her, we could buy her more time.”

“So it’s been nearly six months since the first petal,” he says. Shoko nods. Satoru is grateful for the blindfold—she can’t see how blank everything looks on his face. “It said sometimes, the disease can last for eighteen months.”

“As you said, this isn’t a fairytale.” She half-spins on her chair to face him and leans back into it, crossing one leg over the other and jiggling her knee. “I saw that one of the solutions is excise the growths at the cost of the attachment. That was one of the options I gave her when the growths first appeared. She said she wanted more time before she could decide.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because she’s smart, and likes to push her damned limits. And if this is truly the basis of the curse”—she gestures to Satoru’s phone. Her expression flickers—“those flowers are feeding off cursed energy. Cutting them out would remove those negative emotions, but at a cost of something else. Maybe whatever feelings she has regarding the trigger.”

Satoru looks down at his phone. It feels heavier than a thousand cinderblocks in his clammy hands. His fingers are numb as his screen dims and finally locks itself. Pressing the button, it illuminates again to reveal a picture of a cactus you gave him for his birthday years ago, blooming with delicate purple petals. 

His heart rends. That cactus is long dead now.

“But, Suguru’s dead.” 

“That’s why I asked you to ask her,” Shoko mutters. 

Turning to her binder again, she picks up a pen and clicks it, lowering it to the paper before pausing, and Satoru looks up as she stares at whatever words are printed into the page distantly. A strange affliction is on her face, almost tormented, and Satoru is not-so-kindly reminded that before Suguru and Satoru, Shoko was your best friend first. 

“Tell her how idiotic she’s being,” she enforces quietly. “The longer it lives, the more permanent damage is inflicted. With the unpredictable nature of curses, that won’t take long and by then, it’ll be too late to consider removing it.”

.

Saturday comes too fast, yet not fast enough. By the end of the week, Satoru is all but finished with teaching, and is waiting outside your apartment, leaning against the car as he scrolls through his phone. He’s done a bit more research on this Hanahaki disease, but even the word makes him shiver with the implications. 

“Satoru!” Turning, he catches you loping easily towards him. You’re dressed in billowy, wide-legged dark mint green pants and a pretty white top that makes you look more nymph than human, with a canvas tote bag hanging off your shoulder. You flash him a smile as you fiddle with the fabric tie at the waistband of your pants nervously. “Hi.”

“Hey. Hope you don’t mind I brought Ijichi along for the ride since someone claims I can’t drive.”

“You don’t have your license, sir,” Ijichi says wearily as you bend over to wave through the window. "It would be illegal for you to be on the road in any capacity—oh, hello, ma’am. It’s nice to see you doing so well.”

“Thanks, Ijichi. I think I’m doing better after getting out of there,” you say as Satoru opens the car door for you and he smirks, eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses. You straighten up, looking at him before poking his chest and it’s almost just like the good ole days as you break out into a grin that crinkles your entire face. “What’s with you being a gentleman? It better not be because I was in the hospital.”

“Of course not,” he admonishes. “I wouldn’t dare dream of being polite to you of all people.” Still, he sidesteps and sweeps his arm, gesturing for you to climb in first which you do, exhaling a bit shakily as you settle in and slide over. By the time he’s settled in beside you, you have a fist over your lips and you’re clearing your throat testily.

A worm of unease wriggles into his stomach as he clips in his seatbelt, pulling the lapels of his unbuttoned green shirt free from the strap. Legs spreading, he lets his hands fold in his lap as Ijichi begins to drive them to their destination. You’ve lowered your hand by now, looking out the window, and it’s not bright enough that Satoru can read your expression on the glass.

It’s clear you don’t want to talk about it, but still, that nagging feeling bites at him as he rolls the divider up between the backseat and the front—a mock of privacy.

“The place we’re going to gives me the same vibe as that family-owned restaurant we went to when we were students. The one in Kagurazaka,” you say after a while, turning back to look at him. You’re wearing a bracelet that jangles when you move your hand to adjust the seatbelt across your chest. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Have you been?”

“One time, before I checked in,” you tell him, smiling still. “It was really good. The perfect last meal.” Satoru does well enough to hide his frown at your choice of words as you meet his eyes. “You know, you can ask. I’m not fragile.”

“I don’t have anything to ask,” he lies. “I’m just glad you’re out of the hospital.”

“Me, too. I’ve missed so much and it drove me insane. Yaga-sensei insists that I don’t work until I’m sure I’m feeling better,” you add. “But to be honest, there’s nothing much that can be done to make me feel better.”

“I see. So you’re still coughing up flowers?”

“Petals,” you correct, “and a bit. Don’t worry. It’ll get better soon.” You wave a hand and turn to look out the window and Satoru’s appetite all but vanishes. He doesn’t know why you’re so intent on lying to him about the severity of your condition, but as your knee jiggles relentlessly the whole car ride with unbridled excitement, he wonders if you’re even aware of how sick you could be. 

His Six Eyes scan your body for signs of a curse. Normally, those plagued have their little burdens hanging off their shoulders, prying their head open, biting into an arm or leg, but he finds yours lives inside your chest, just barely hidden by the yellow light brimming from your body as you reach forward to lower the divider and talk to Ijichi.

They reach Ikebukuro before they’re dropped off after Satoru insists on walking the rest of the way.

“Give us some privacy, Ijichi! We both know you’ll just eavesdrop for the juicy details,” he exclaims loudly, leading to the man to blush furiously, stuttering that he’d do no such thing, and earning Satoru a smack on the back of his head, knocking his sunglasses askew.

“Thanks for the ride, Ijichi,” you say warmly as if you hadn’t slapped a concussion into Satoru. The Assistant Director dips his head. “See you later!” With that, he drives off and the two sorcerers are left in the busy street. Satoru looks around curiously, but you tug him along up the main road of the district and immediately turn right into one of the smaller streets. A few cyclists race past, as well as cars, but the traffic seems relatively slow despite it being the weekend. There are people walking along the white lines separating the lanes, chatting merrily as you lead him to the restaurant.

“I forgot how actual sunlight felt,” you sigh, stretching your arms high above your head as if to touch the wind breezing through. Inhaling deeply, you close your eyes. Satoru waits for you to begin to cough, and you hold it in, throat tensing a bit. 

He looks away, and pretends he doesn’t hear your sharp exhale, the soft cough you try to muffle with your hand. Instead, he looks at their surroundings, traces the green roads, watches a man park his bicycle and take the plastic bags out of the basket before rushing into a store. The air smells faintly of smoke, and Satoru waves in front of his face to see if it’ll help dispel the scent, but it’s so engrained with the hint of meat, honey, sweets, and flowers, that he can’t.

“I saw Suguru here once,” you tell him suddenly. He blinks, head snapping to you, and you’re already regarding him with a faint smile, eyes a bit dimmer. The warm yellow energy has faded to a burnt orange as you look ahead. “A year or two after he left. It’s why I moved closer a few years ago. I guess I had this weird hope that I’d see him again, but I never really did.” A faint grin graces your lips again, as if you’re not even aware you’re smiling. Fondness overtakes you. “I think about him a lot these days.”

“Me, too.”

“Of course,” you chuckle a bit, rubbing at the back of your neck. “I’m being insensitive.” 

“No, you’re not. He meant a lot to you, too. I don’t own him, or his memory.”

“I know, but he was still your best friend.” Unbidden, a voice in Satoru’s voice finishes it for you. My one and only. 

“Did you guys talk about anything?”

“Not really anything important,” you say, shrugging, but by the way your eyes shift in the light, glimmer differently, he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s none of his business, but a part of him hungers for new parts of Suguru and it’s powerful enough to take control of his tongue.

“Nothing’s not important. He was a wanted criminal.”

“I think we both know somehow that part never mattered to us.” You look at him, and run a thumb under the strap of your bag. “To any of us. But…” You tilt your head to him and your smile grows tender. “…since you asked, we talked about us. He told me about what he wanted, the kind of world he was determined to create. He paid for my dinner, kissed me goodnight like it was normal, and then he was gone. Never saw him again until last December.”

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. 

He remembers that day ten years ago in Shinjuku. The coldness in which Suguru had looked at him. He can’t imagine that same poison directed at you. He couldn’t even imagine Suguru looking at him like that in the first place until he did.

“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”

“I used to have nightmares about it,” you continue distantly. “Because I could’ve left with him, but I didn’t. And I could’ve killed him, but I didn’t do that either.”

“If you want to kill me, kill me. There’s meaning in that, too.”

Satoru’s chest tightens. His heart feels rotten to the core. “I didn’t, either, until I did.” You smile a bit more, at the irony. “Would you? Have gone with him, that is.”

“I didn’t, so what’s the point in debating it?” you ask before shrugging thoughtlessly and answering anyway. “I think tackling curses at the source is important. I just didn’t like the way he was doing it. If I thought I could somehow change his mind, just a bit, on his methods, maybe, but by then, he was too far gone.” 

Your eyes, chips of glinting sunstone, mellow as a cyclist trills at them with a bell to get out of the way. You step out of the way, away from Satoru for a moment, before returning to him, and when the back of his hand brushes yours, he’s startled at how cold your skin is. 

Satoru is quiet as he absorbs all of this. He doesn’t really know what to say, and you don’t prod him for a reaction as they turn the corner again. 

“It’s just over there,” you say, pointing to a small restaurant, people milling by the door. There’s a sign hanging over the door, off-white with black kanji painted on and your arm falls. “There’s a line. Huh.”

“We can wait,” Satoru says when they stop at the edge of the crowd. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay. I’ll go put our names in then come back.” You disappear into the crowd for a moment before resurfacing and joining his side again, something in your hand. “It should be, like, fifteen minutes. I said the bar was okay.”

“That’s fine.” Shoving his sunglasses up into his hair, he cracks his knuckles and migrates to the wall. You follow, and he slouches against the concrete pillar. You adjust the tote bag against your body and lean against the other side just around the corner. Their elbows brush, and you tilt your head to look at him, smiling. Your face has caught the sun perfectly, and Satoru can’t help but smile back.

He wonders how to bring up this Hanahaki disease theory. You look so perfect, so happy in this moment where their eyes meet, that he can’t bring it up. Maybe it’s selfish, but it feels like it’s been so long since the two of them even managed to see each other for more than an hour. With how overworked jujutsu sorcerers are, it’s hard to recall the last time they both had downtime at the same time that wasn’t spent catching up on sleep.

You look away, shoulders shaking, as if that’s enough to hide your coughing, and he thinks, Later. There’ll be time for that later.

“Here’s the menu,” you tell him once you’ve calmed down, extending your hand. He takes the paper, unfolding it as you cross your arms and tilt your head back on the concrete. Reading down the list, he keeps an eye on you out of the corner of his vision, and your fingers play at your lips as you swallow. Reaching into your bag, you twist the cap of a water bottle and chug half of it down.

“Do you have any medicine? For your coughing?” he asks casually. You hit your chest with a firm fist, clearing your throat and looking at him in surprise. The water bottle returns to your bag.

“Oh, uh, no. It doesn’t work. Just gotta keep hydrated and avoid any possible triggers,” you inform. You turn up the street as you speak, crossing your legs at the ankles and sinking against the concrete. 

“And what are those triggers?”

“And you say Ijichi is the one digging for gossip,” you snort with short, choked huff. Satoru rolls his eyes, but keeps looking at the menu. “Don’t worry about it. I’m avoiding them.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“If I wanted your dry wit, I would’ve gone to the original.”

“I don’t copy off Shoko. I take bits of everyone’s personality and twist it to make it my own.”

You shake your head. “Whatever you say.”

Your name is called a few minutes later and the pair push off the concrete pillar, heading through the crowd and into the small restaurant. It’s not too dimly lit, a bunch of natural light from the street streaming in through the open windows, and the air is rich with the smells of the kitchen as they sit down at the bar.

It’s not long before they’ve ordered, and Satoru has gone through his first bowl and is well into pouring his second into what remains of his broth before he remembers to even check up on how you’re doing. You’d been right—he loves this place. The atmosphere isn’t overly loud, but the mumbling of nearby patrons is enough to make him feel like he isn’t quite alone. It’s sheltered away from the world, and although he’s used to girls staring, no one has gone up to him which is giving him time to his own thoughts and food. Everyone here seems to mind their business—everyone likes to stay in their own bubble. 

Here, he isn’t the strongest, or quite so special. It honestly feels kind of nice.

You’re sipping on your broth, tilting the spoon towards your mouth and your lips are pulled into the warmest smile he’s seen since they were kids. The light’s hitting you just perfect again, more cool than warm, but it’s got you on the cheekbone, illuminated your lips. Satoru wonders if you know how to manipulate light, or if that’s just your natural blessing as you tilt your head towards him, eyes squinting from your own joy.

For a moment, another image flashes in his head. Him along the end of their group of four—you and Shoko, Suguru and Satoru. It’s almost poetry how much of a glimpse he can see in your smile. You would always be laughing, and Suguru’s cheeks would always be red, and Shoko would charm the guy over the counter to hand over a bottle of shochu. Satoru would tease his stupid best friend, and pay for their meal because “I’m friends with a bunch of goddamn freeloaders.”

But that moment ends as quickly as it came, and it’s so fucking heartbreaking that Satoru never thought their last meal together would be their last meal together. He would’ve cherished it more—done anything to make them stay in that ramen shop in Kagurazaka.

“Do you like it here?” you ask. 

He blinks. You’re studying him behind that smile of yours. Watching. Always watching. “It reminds me of when we were kids,” he replies. When he realizes that didn’t answer the question, he adds, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

You grin, delighted. “If I knew how stupid you’d look sucking up these noodles, I would’ve brought my camera like when we were students. I still have it, you know.”

“Next time, then.”

“Yeah, next time.”

Satoru pays. He insists despite your protests, and snatches the bill from you anyway, swiping his card as quickly as he can. 

After, they walk slowly around the district, looking at the other restaurants and stores for desserts or souvenirs to bring back, and it makes him so nostalgic, his heart wilts a bit in his chest. 

He is saying something about buying some soymilk for Megumi when you stop suddenly, deviating to the side of the road to cough. It grows so intense so quickly that your eyes widen as if you’re surprised, too, and you place a palm flat against your chest as he comes to your side. You wave him back, and he frowns, running a hand down your back as you finally manage to dislodge the petals in your throat and spit them into your palm.

Satoru sighs, staring at the cursed things. The energy emitted from the petals are raw, potent, and his nose wrinkles at the stench that comes from powerful curses as he softly asks, “Do you know what Hanahaki is?”

“Flower vomiting?” you whisper through your raw vocal cords. You shake your head, slamming your sternum with a tight fist and flinging the drenched petals to the ground with a wet slap. “Itadori… said something about it, once. Never really paid attention, I—”

Satoru squeezes the back of your neck gently. “Whatever this curse is, it could be something like that.“

“You don’t want to open that can of worms, Gojo, of what is causing this.” Straightening up, your eyes widen and your cheeks puff up as you choke down another bout. Wobbly, you spit out, “It’s under control. I swear.”

“Are you sure?” His fingers brush your chin to turn your face towards him so he can look at it more clearly, and the instant their eyes meet, you lurch over, slapping his hand away and succumbing to the wracking. Hands shooting out to grab your elbows, Satoru barely eases you to the ground as your legs give in.

You collapse to your knees, hard. A hand is slapped over your mouth but your whole body shakes with the seizing of your lungs. Eyes widening, your cheeks puff up as Satoru grabs your shoulders, falling to his knees beside you.

“Hey! Hey, breathe!” His fingers dig into your shoulders and your nostrils flare, trying to follow his instructions. Bloodshot eyes and blueing lips, your inhales are shaking and incomplete, gasps for air that do not take in any oxygen before you’re kneeling over, hand falling from your lips. Blood splattered over your palm, you let out a low noise of pain. Satoru’s hand glides down your spine, rubbing in soothing circles as red spit falls to the pavement in thick globs. 

People all around stop to stare, eyes masked with concern, but he can’t care less at that moment despite the burning scrutiny. He shoves a hand into his pocket, speed-dialling one of the top numbers of his list.

“Ijichi, I need you to take us to the hospital, now!” Letting his phone drop with a clatter, he scoops you close but you slam your bloody hand against his chest, pushing him away. You throw yourself away, hands twisted tight in the fabric of your white shirt and Satoru looks down at the red handprint on his tee before blinking. “What are you doing? We need to get—“

“I’m—I’m fine!” Your voice, broken, is drenched with ice as you continue to wheeze, grasping at your chest as if you could reach and tear out the growths with your own hand. “Gojo, I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not!” Grabbing his phone, he hears a loud car horn, and looks up to see Ijichi leaning out of the driver’s seat, waving his arm frantically. Without another thought, he scoops you up and runs out into the street, ignoring the tires screeching, the cars horns blaring at him and the angry shouts as he jumps into the car and slam the door shut. 

Ijichi sets off at a drive, no directions needed. Satoru is sure he’s breaking as many laws as he can as he pushes you back against the seat to buckle you in. Blood dribbles down your lips in bubbles as a thick, gurgling sound begins to grow in your throat and he wipes at your chin with his sleeve, clicking the buckle into place just as you pitch forward. He jerks back just in time as you retch, and, slowly, torturously, you gag out three petals, one after another. Your fingers claw at your own throat, panicking and desperate as you struggle to breathe.

The petals fall in wet pools between your feet, landing on the carpet, and he spares them not even a glance before forcing your head between your knees. You’re still hyperventilating and as Satoru sweeps a hand down your back and up to your neck, his fingers come into contact with something sticky. 

Sweat. It drenches through your shirt so suddenly that Satoru reels at the wet marks spreading through your shirt, making the fabric translucent. Your heart is racing, tripping over itself. When you finally stop coughing, you breathe in harsh pants as he keeps your head between your knees.

Your fingers lace at the back of your head and he grabs them firmly, reassuring that he’s still beside you. 

.

“She’s stable,” Shoko announces to the waiting Satoru and six students. The latter came when their teacher had told them of what happened, and Itadori still clings to Fushiguro’s arm by an iron hand, fingers clawlike into his friend’s bicep. Kugisaki chews on her thumbnail, a bit paler than usual and there are crescent indents along her forearm where she had dug her nails in. Maki’s hand rests on her shoulder. Inumaki’s on the phone with Panda, and he turns the screen around so he can see the Strongest Sorcerer who does not feel quite so strong.

Satoru’s assurances that you would be fine had done nothing but send them into a quiet that scared even him. 

“Is she okay? When can she get out?” the kids demand suddenly.

“We’re waiting for the updates on her scans from the doctors, but she’ll need to stay here under observation.”

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, smiling in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Guess that means she gets a few more days off while the rest of us are working our asses off,” he teases. Maki shoots him a glare and his eyes close in a way he hopes arranges his expression in one of joy as he shrugs helplessly. “Well, that means I have another girl I have to spoil.”

“Aren’t you too busy with the four already blowing up your phone?” Kugisaki mutters sourly. Satoru pretends not to hear. His phone has been silent without your texts, and it’s cold and heavy in his pocket.

“Can we see her?” Fushiguro asks. Shoko nods, but holds up a hand and the kids skid to a stop.

“She’s resting. I’m unsure if you know, but certain topics of conversation or trains of thought can lead to more attacks, so stick to talking about your curriculum. Topics you think are safe.” The woman shifts on her feet, a wisp of brown hair swaying in front of her eye. “It’s unavoidable, but use your judgement.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The students walk off down to the dead-end hallway, and Satoru turns to Shoko who has her arms crossed over her chest. She steps up, scanning him like he’s got contraband, and he raises his eyebrows innocently.

“What?”

“It’s getting worse. I hope you managed to get answers,” she says. At once, Satoru’s facade drops, and a sober sensation overtakes his face.

“No, I didn’t. She’s heard of the disease, at least. We talked about Suguru, but it wasn’t like it was under lock and key.” The brunette shakes her head at his words, gesturing for him to sit down beside her. Doing so, he leans back into the uncomfortable chair as she crosses a leg over the other. “She said she thinks about him a lot.”

“She still loves him,” Shoko says bluntly. “She gets that far-off look when she talks about him. You two should trade secrets some time.” A shake of her head, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I healed what damage I could, but I can tell those growths inside are expanding. The attack only seems to have agitated and prompted them to take root.”

“How…” It’s hard to formulate the question. Luckily, Shoko knows him well enough.

“Without seeing the scans, I won’t know. Based on her last ones, I thought at least four months. Now?” Her lips press into a thin line. “She’ll be lucky if she gets two.” Shoko’s eyes flicker down Satoru’s front, and her lips press into a wry line. “And change you shirt. You look like a murder suspect.”

Glancing down, he looks at your dried bloody hand print, stark against white, and he gets up abruptly. Shoko doesn’t stop him.

He walks down to the dead-end hall. He can hear Itadori through your open door cracking jokes, Kugisaki relaying every detail of her shopping trips, and you’re wheezing your laughter despite Maki scolding you to save your strength. Satoru stops just outside your door, out of sight, and rests his head against the frame, content to just listen.

“Tuna mayo.”

“Is that right?” you ask Inumaki. “Lay it on me.” 

You sound exhausted, beaten to the bone, but still, when Fushiguro says something too quiet for him to make out, you still have the strength to tease him for worrying.

.

The night is warm, and he sets the last plant back into its place on your window sill before cracking the window a bit at your request. He’s busied himself making this place as homely as possible as quickly as possible, and in the process, had walked in on you staring at your own scans on the lightscreen mounted on your wall.

“Thanks, Satoru,” you say over your shoulder. He joins you by your side to stare at the scans. Granted, Satoru didn’t cheat his way through medschool like others have, so he doesn’t understand much, but he can tell what is and what isn’t supposed to be there. The floral-like growths situated right where the main bronchi meet the trachea, for one.

The roots spreading across your chest like cracks in concrete, for another.

“The doctors want to monitor this,” you explain, pointing at the roots, “to see whether or not it’ll grow around my lungs or continue outward, around the ribs and spine. If it’s the former, I’ll slowly suffocate and die. If it’s the latter, I’ll slowly suffocate, become paralyzed, and die.” You smile grimly. “Not quite a win-win.”

“Exactly the opposite.” He inspects the growths and through the blue-white-black imaging, he spots the tiny stems emerging from the main growth, sprouting into your lungs. He guesses, with time, those will grow into flowers of equal size before sprouting more shoots.

He wonders…

As if sensing his hesitance, you scratch your collarbone and look at the scans with a new glint.

“The doctors say if I avoid another attack like today, I’ll probably have two months, three if I’m blessed, but because of how big the growths have gotten already and its volatile nature, it’ll be impossible, so we’re looking at a month. Maybe a month-and-a-half?” You smile at him, throat bobbing. “Guess it’s good to have a number,” you add shakily, a short puff coming at the end of each breath as you struggle to fight the cough. “Being a sorcerer, too much uncertainty, I think.”

“You should tell Nanami that. Maybe this time, it’ll convince him to stay away,” he retorts, turning away from the scans. They’re burning his eyes and he doesn’t want to look at the real thing for much longer. You turn with him, walking back towards bed and climbing in. “Are you sure you don’t want the operation? Shoko could do it so fast you wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“No, not yet. There are some complications that’ll definitely occur and I don’t want that to happen.”

“But it would save your life,” he argues. “What risks are frightening enough that you’d even consider not having it?” Your gaze flickers as you take another wheezing breath. The strength seems sapped from your limbs—you’re a scarecrow hanging off its pole as you swallow tightly. Satoru leans against your window sill and crosses his arms over his chest so you can’t see the frustrated fists he wants to make. “If this is about Suguru…”

Resolutely: “It isn’t.”

“You’re going to die if you keep going down this road. I don’t understand why you’re hesitating.” In the back of his mind, klaxons begin to scream.

“Satoru, some things are just beyond logical reason.” He jerks his gaze away, pushing his glasses up his nose pointedly. You sigh. “I know it’s hard, but this is my choice. I just want you to be here so you know it’s okay.” 

Your hand stretches out. Blue eyes flash to your outstretched fingers and he takes it before he can stop himself. Your fingers curl over his palm, tugging him closer and he lets you, sneakers dragging over the tile until he’s sliding into the chair by your bed. It squeaks against the tile.

“Please don’t be angry with me.” That’s all. That’s all I ask.

A hard, heavy sigh, this time from his end. He tightens his hold on you as you sit there, smiling hopefully. His heart thunders in his chest. “I’m not angry.”

You perk up a bit, and his index finger unfurls to rub your wrist. It feels colder than normal. “Promise?”

He wishes he could lie half as well as you. Either way, he tries his hardest: “Promise.”

By the time it’s quarter past nine, you’re already getting ready to sleep. You have enough pillows to surround your entire body, and he fluffs them up, helps you arrange them until you’re sighing against the white sheets, burrowing in with a sedated smile on your face.

Satoru sits down again on his visitor’s chair and you watch him lazily through the dim orange light stemming from behind your bed.

“You don’t have to stay here and watch me, creep,” you mumble, turning your face away to stare at the ceiling. You cough dryly, but it subsides moments later. Your voice is nothing but a croak as you let out a tired groan, and Satoru smiles to himself, cheek to his fist. 

“I feel robbed of our afternoon together. Making up for it now.”

You look at him again incredulously. “We’re not even doing anything.”

“I don’t know when you were told that every second of us being together had to be us doing something,” he huffs. “I like being in here. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s too much. You’re annoying me.” Even so, your voice turns fond as you roll onto your side, away from him to settle in to sleep and Satoru’s warm gaze lands on your shoulder gently rising and falling as you slowly drift off. 

He already knows you’re gone by the time he’s standing up and gathering his jacket. Walking around the bed, he glances at the bathroom to check the light’s off and catches a glimpse of his shirt. A coil wraps around his gut at the muddy red handprint pressed into the fabric and he turns away to look at you instead.

Your face is in perfect peace, half-buried into a pillow you’re hugging into your chest, and he only soaks in those features. His hand twitches, and his infinity wavers as he raises his hand as if to touch you. Your eyelids flutter and he freezes, fearing he might’ve woken you up, but you only mumble incoherently and turn into your pillow.

Satoru watches on silently just as a breeze sweeps into the room and he looks up where the window he had cracked open. The breeze takes hold of the plants, uplifts them until they sway like a tender dance. 

His chest begins to hurt. The smell of the antiseptic is starting to sting, so he moves his hand to the light switch instead. Flicking it off, he turns to leave.

.

Every time Satoru walks down to the end of the hallway, a different memory will play in his head until he’s playing a movie over and over every single day. Of the first time he met you, although that one is blurry. Your sixteenth birthday when the four of them had piled into your dorm room to drink themselves stupid.

One-and-a-half weeks go by before he realizes that he only replays the moments where you feature. Like his brain is preparing him, reminding him. For what, he doesn’t know. 

He can’t come every day—considering the low number of sorcerers has been taken down by one more, it means besides teaching, he still has to work for the Higher Ups as well as his own personal agenda—but when he does make it, he always makes sure that he soaks in every second. Even the horrible parts. Maybe, especially the horrible parts.

You have scans taken every other day to monitor your progress, so when he arrives at an empty room, he isn’t surprised. It’s when there’s movement in the bathroom that sends his nerves prickling until he catches a slab of golden hair and reading glasses flashing in the sunlight.

“Nanami,” he greets.

“Good afternoon.” His jacket’s off and his sleeves are rolled up. With a quick sweep of the room, Satoru notes that the windows are cracked open and the aforementioned jacket is folded over a chair sat in a square of sunlight.

“Do we need to be so formal?” he complains, bypassing the bathroom and searching for another chair. The one Nanami’s taken by the plants is still warm and Satoru isn’t keen on the idea of sweating so soon. During his search, he stops by the windowsill and his eyebrows rise curiously at the new plants and trash bin pressed up right underneath. “What’s happening here?”

“We were planting new seeds when she had to be taken for her scans. She insisted I finish potting the plants.” Noting the empty terracotta, Satoru bends over and prods at the moist dirt. “I have to go soon, though. I had hoped it wouldn’t take as long as it did and she would be back by now.”

“They started taking MRI scans when the branches continued to grow outward rather than inward,” Satoru informs. “It takes around forty-five minutes, on top of the CT scans they’re taking, too. That’s if she doesn’t start coughing in the middle of it.” 

“I’m guessing she does.” Nanami adjusts the glasses on his nose, wiping at his hands free of the last of whatever dirt might’ve been clinging to his hands.

“Yup.”

“I see.” Satoru looks at the plants again. The blond man across the room throws the towel into the dirty clothes basket.“Has she… spoken to you of what to do with her effects?”

Gaze hardening, he doesn’t move at the question. Of course, he’s thought about it, but those bouts of weakness have never been longer than a few minutes. There’s no use in wasting time on a reality that won’t come until it does.

Hopefully, it never does.

“I’m so sick of everyone talking like she’s signed a death sentence,” Satoru murmurs, turning around to look at the blond man at the door to the washroom. “She still has time. Not a lot. It’s not convenient, but it should be enough.”

“She’s already considered the benefits of taking the surgery, and yet she actively decides to postpone it. You know she’s stalling,” comes the steady reply.

“And what about you?” Satoru asks. His words are biting, icy, but Nanami seems unfazed as he begins to loop the tie around his neck. “Would you do it?” Blue eyes meet a stoic face, and the coldness seeps into Satoru’s body. Nanami sighs.

A part of Satoru wonders why he even bothered asking. He already knows the answer—

“No.” Eyebrows shoot up. His mouth drops open and a strangled noise escapes his throat. Nanami merely continues on, quiet as death. “Perhaps it’s because I’m willing to accept my death, but, to be honest, I don’t know how to let any part of Haibara go. I’ve accepted it, but he’s still in my heart and my head.” Lips parting, Satoru takes a step forward as Nanami slants his body away, continuing to fold the fabric into a tie. He looks statuesque, unmovable, and something tightens in Satoru’s throat at the stone-like mask taking over his face. “I’m unwilling to do anything to taint that memory.”

Wordlessly, the blond walks over to Satoru to take his jacket from the chair, rolling down his sleeves and slapping his watch back onto his wrist. Standing less than two feet apart, the two men finally meet eyes.

“Gojo,” Nanami murmurs. “I can’t say I understand your burden, but I am by your side. I do not always agree with your choices, but I still respect them. As your kouhai and as your colleague.” His lips pull in a facsimile of a wry smile and there’s an understanding Satoru doesn’t understand haunting his handsome face. “However, she is your friend before mine. I think your opinion matters much more than mine. Don’t abuse that power.”

Satoru’s eyes nearly reflect in the lenses of Nanami’s glasses. He wishes his friend would take the damn pair off. 

In truth, the reason he’s so irritated is because he knows. If he insists enough, begs enough, there will always be a chance that he can convince you. That you will give in, not because you are selfless, but maybe because you’re too selfish to let him stay mad at you.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, and sometimes, the force wins.

But he’d promised, hadn’t he? To not be angry with the choices you’ve made?

“Jeez, it’s somber in here. Who died?” you tease as Shoko pushes the wheelchair in after you. Both men look away from each other. You’re still walking steadily, but an IV is hooked into your chest now, and it’s so obvious you’ve lost unhealthy weight that looking at you is hard sometimes. Satoru does, anyway. 

Noting Nanami, you straighten up. Surprised, but pleased: “You’re still here.”

“I was just leaving,” he says. You frown, but don’t protest. A jujutsu sorcerer’s work is never finished until one stops breathing. “I finished planting the seeds you asked me to, and watered them.”

“Thank you.” He dips his head to you, then to Shoko, before departing, and you watch him go for a moment before your eyes land on Satoru and you smile. The air around you shifts immediately to a vibrant yellow. 

“You’re early, Satoru.” You head towards the bed as Shoko parks the wheelchair by the door. “It took way longer than I thought.”

“That’s because you threw up pistils today,” Shoko replies dryly. Satoru straightens up and looks at Shoko more carefully. Placid lookimg—usual for his mortician friend in the jujutsu world—but there’s a blanching in her knuckles that isn’t usual. “The CT wasn’t good. You know that.”

“Well, it’s still more time than I could’ve asked for, you know.” Shoko shakes her head, and meets his eyes before leaving the room, presumably to talk to your doctors. “Party pooper.”

“First day knowing Shoko?”

You laugh sarcastically, adjusting the hospital gown on your body before climbing into bed slowly, as if your joints ache. Satoru’s feet shift on the tile when he realizes his body moves to help and he freezes. You’re breathing audibly by the time you settle in and you meet his eyes, wondering if he’s noticed.

Of course he has, he wants to tell you. He notices everything about you.

Then, you sigh, and the yellow energy around you flickers into something darker, something grey, something that reminds him of summer thunderstorms.

“The roots have reached the edge of my rib cage and are encroaching on my stomach now,” you inform bluntly. “I probably won’t be able to keep food down in the next couple of days so they’re going to up the ante on this thing.” You gesture to the catheter by your clavicle. “So that’s not really fun. And, they want to start taking scans every single day because the growth is increasing exponentially. The doctors think something triggered the flowers to begin blooming in earnest. Like spring has come to my body, and I’m having the worst fucking time of my life.”

Despite your admission, your smile only falters in that it no longer reaches your eyes. Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets because he doesn’t know what else to do.

The word Hanahaki still burns, whispers coyly in his ear. It teases the tip of his tongue as he watches you look to your windowsill where your new plants are and get up, walking over to inspect your friend’s work.

He wonders if he can bring it up again. If he can insist that there’s a way to save you—

But Nanami’s words linger, too, and he bites his tongue until he tastes iron. 

“Oh, look.” He blinks at your voice, turning to look. Your fingers sink into one of the pots and before he can ask, blue energy flares up around your hand and into the soil and a shoot breaks through the dirt, unfurling as it grows higher and higher into the air.

“What is it?” Petals are beginning to form, the shade of a warm, gentle red that fades in shade as it reaches the stem. Satoru comes up next to you as the first flower blooms and his eyebrows rise. “Tulips. Huh.”

“I used to love them,” you tell him, picking it off and extending it to him. Eyebrows furrowing in surprise, he takes it as you sink your fingers deeper into the soil, sending more cursed energy into the seeds. More stems to replace the one you had picked continue to grow and you pull your hand out, wiping at your fingers with a towel.

Satoru tilts the flower towards his nose, taking a whiff.

“Used to?” he repeats, and you nod.

“Trees and flowers have their own language.” Your eyes do not meet his as you watch the plant continue to grow. Your muscles go slack, and your fingers touch the petals, mind not quite aware of how you’re moving. “Red tulips mean eternal love, and fame.”

Blinking, he looks down at his own bloom. 

Suguru. He hears you say his name, even in the silence, and remembers years ago, walking through Tokyo. A neighbourhood he doesn’t remember, his best friend looking at the florist’s shop and immediately perking up to head inside and buy a bouquet after something had caught his eye.

“For a girl,” he had admitted sheepishly. 

“Only one?” Satoru asked, horrified. “You can’t settle down! We’re meant for so many more women than just one!”

A sharp nudge to the ribs. Raucous laughter. “Shut up!”

Quietly, Satoru’s fingers tighten around the stalk as you tilt your head to the sun, inspecting something he won’t understand. He doesn’t have a green thumb, and although you say you aren’t the smartest, he’s seen you grow the college’s gardens in a way that has amplified the beauty already lingering on the grounds. You had dismissed it as a little side project, but seeing you water your plants dutifully, spread feed and root out weeds, makes him wonder if you know how to put half-efforts into anything.

When you garden, you never take the easy route. You labour for the satisfaction, and pour sweat and tears into the soil.

When you love, you love with all of yourself and more. 

It’s what makes whatever he wants impossible.

Because he is the same, and they will never change.

When Satoru goes home, he places the tulip in a vase and the cursed energy prickles at his fingertips.

.

You get worse and worse with every visit. 

Each day brings him another raw wound, salt on blood. You slowly grow more and more ragged, even though you stay in the hospital, confined to your room. 

There are days Satoru walks into your room to you hunched over the toilet, spitting blood and flowers into the bowl and vomiting all you ate the night or day or hour before and he already knows what he has to do. A cold, damp rag to your forehead, a crouching stance beside you as your grip on the toilet seat becomes rigid like steel.

Other days, you’re still asleep because the night before, you’d been hacking up half a lung and half a bouquet. Sometimes, you’re curled around a plastic receptacle already full of your half-attempts to dislodge the pressure building in your chest. 

Or, you’re crying into your hands, breath coming in rapid bursts as you try to force your head between your knees to stop the world from spinning and Satoru holds you when you beg him to, and stands in the corner of the room when you push him away.

Afterwards, you always grab onto his sleeves, his arms, and sink against him, shivering. For hours after, he’ll curl around you on your hospital bed, no matter how much his body cramps, until you insist you’re fine.

“It’s a little like touching death,” you told him once, voice raw and fatigued. “When it’s a pretty bad day, and I think I’m going to die alone, it happens, so all I have to do is not think about it.”

There’s a flawed logic there, but Satoru was too busy pressing his nose into your hair and feeling the warmth of your body to reply any more than, “I’ll be there. I promise.”

Two weeks pass (fourteen sets of scans, a different pair hanging from the lightscreen every day tell him that) and Satoru watches as the branches spread through your body, past the reaches of your ribs, and the flowers have spread to your lungs so quickly he’s sure the time for you to decide is running out. 

You’re near-passed out against him on the bathroom floor one evening, and although it’s not closet-sized, it doens’t make the arrangement any less awkward. He’s up against the bathtub, legs sprawled all around you as he holds you in his arms. On the edge of the tub, there is a bar of bodysoap and a bottle of lotion he recognizes as the same one Shoko used to buy when they still had time. Your sink counter is filled with your toothbrush and cup, handsoap and a microfibre towel hanging off the edge smeared with lipstick, foundation, and black streaks of who knows what.

Shoko must have spent the night while he was out hunting a curse in Sendai. Good. He doesn’t like the nights when you’re alone and he can’t be there.

His fingers brush over your shoulder blade, and he travels over something rigid cloaked by your skin. Your eyes are closed, and you’re nearly asleep as you curl deeper against him. Looking down at you, he presses curious fingers into your shoulder blade only for you to let out a soft groan.

“Did that hurt?”

“No. It just feels like you pressed down on a big sore muscle,” you mumble slowly. He trails his fingers over, feels the bumps of the roots curling around your bones before following it towards your spine. It disappears the closer it reaches the trail of knobs that go down your back, and he moves back to your shoulder again. “Doesn’t hurt, though.”

“Does anything?”

“Mostly my stomach,” you tell him. “I’m so hungry all the time, but I can’t eat.” He glances at the IV stand, the only other witness to the events in this bathroom. It leads down through your gown and past your clavicle. Monitored every day in case the growths dislodge it, it’s one of the only things keeping you alive. “And my throat. It feels like I’ve scratched it out until it’s bleeding.”

He tilts his head. His lips barely brush your sweaty scalp despite how cold you feel in his arms “No surgery?”

You shake your head, what remains of your strength slowly coming back. “They say the flowers and roots have taken up sixty-five percent of my chest cavity. It’s not only inhibiting my lungs, but my heart and stomach, too, so it’d be kind of hard to get rid of it all. Not impossible, but it’s really risky. That, on top of the already-present consequences—”

“So let’s say we start with the lungs,” he cuts off, trying to not sound too desperate but these past few weeks have worn him down to the bone. Although he thinks he’s managed to hide it from his students, Shoko has offered multiple times to prescribe him sleeping pills just so he can shut his mind down.

He said no every time.

Your legs draw up and he squeezes your shoulder carefully, looking down. “Are you ready to get up?”

You nod. “I think so.” He wipes at your lips with the rag he left on the counter and you roll your eyes as he makes sure no blood is left on your face before throwing it back up and carefully adjusting you against him.

“Do you want my help?”

“My answer does not matter to you,” you shoot back teasingly and he lets you pull away from him before reaching up with one hand to push yourself up. Your arm wobbles, your feet kicking back underneath you and slowly finding theirselves on the floor. Satoru withdraws, ducking underneath and back up so he can stand, hands floating around your body as you draw the IV stand towards yourself and grab on. When he’s sure your knees might give in, he grabs your elbow, but you shake your head. “I think I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” you breathe, raising your head to look at him. Your lips curl in a soft smile, and you clasp his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t even do anything this time,” he says.

“Not everyone stays for the pathetic girl on the floor of the bathroom floor,” you quip. Turning around, you begin to head back to bed and he trails behind you carefully.

“If the girl’s you, then I think exceptions can be made.”

“Hospital bonus.”

“It adds that you’re in the hospital, too,” he agrees. “My morals are just.”

“Isn’t that a relief?” 

It is. It is a relief that you still have the strength to joke with him. 

You climb back into bed. Satoru returns to the bathroom to make sure the bathroom is flushed and it’s clean before returning and perching on the edge of your bed. Pulling out his phone, he shuffles his shoes off and tucks his legs to his chest, leaning against the foot of your bed and scrolling through his messages.

Not much to miss, to be honest. 

“There’s supposed to be a lunar eclipse on the morning of the 28th,” you say suddenly. Satoru looks up. You’re leaning back on the mountain of pillows, exhaling and inhaling measuredly in a way he now knows is your way of fighting off another bout. Squinting against the orange glow of the sunset, there’s a longing in your gaze. “I want to see it. Outside and everything.”

“You’re not supposed to leave the hospital.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Oh, we’re abiding by rules, now?”

“If it keeps you around, yes, we are.”

“When did my best friend turn into such a party pooper?” Looking at him, an impish glint lives in your eyes. He balks.

“Don’t you dare insinuate that I’m not fun.”

“Then… take me to see the eclipse.”

“No. There’s nothing to even see.”

“I want to see the moon disappear, Gojo,” you declare. “And if you won’t take me, I will definitely sneak out.” 

It paints a pretty pathetic picture, and he can’t help but arch his eyebrows at your determination. The air purifier drones on. The nurse turned it on after dinner, he guesses, and he has the strange urge to kick it as you fix him with a fierce stare. 

“You probably won’t be able to walk by then,” he says.

“That won’t stop me.” He knows it won’t. The corner of his lips pulls into a slight smile as you continue, “I just want to go outside one last time. Is that really too much to ask?” Your words are tinged with a fine dusting of humour, and he shakes his head.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for you, Satoru.”

“I still mean it.”

“And I learned that from you.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine,” he caves. Your face lights up, and he sets down his phone, legs unfolding to brush the floor as he leans over to flick your forehead. Your eyes squeeze shut at the contact and you slap his arm away sluggishly before he soothes the smarting spot over with a smear of his thumb. “I’ll come by, and we’ll sneak out.”

You beam and he slips his feet back into his shoes and pockets his phone so he can focus his attention on you. 

When visiting hours end, the nurses offer to set up the cot for him like they always do. You pretend not to look at him out of the corner of his eye, awaiting his answer behind your laptop screen, and he spares you a quick glance before saying yes.

“She likes you,” you tell him after one particular nurse with dyed purple hair who always wears a fishtail bids them goodnight. Satoru fluffs up his pillow ceremoniously, having shed his jacket and taken off his jeans to hide underneath the blankets. The fabric is cold against his bare chest, and he pulls his glasses off, sets them on the stand right behind him.

The black frame holding up his mattress rattles a bit as he punches his pillow one last time and lies down. He turns on his side and looks at you. You’re turned on your side, too, and your brow is furrowed as you fight the sleepiness.

“Is that so?” he asks carefully. “What do you think about it?”

“I think if you wanted someone with a hectic schedule, you could pick someone else,” you say vaguely.

He raises an eyebrow. “Does she have a bad attitude or something?”

“I dunno.” There’s a subtle fire igniting in your words. You look a bit more awake, and your eyes are shifting the air into a smouldering red. He squints up. Your face is shadowed, but you’re still silhouetted by the orange light behind your bed as your shoulders rise and fall greatly in staggering, weighty breaths. “She wouldn’t understand. I guess.”

He hums. “So I should find someone who understands me but can’t be there for me? Sounds like the set up to every tragic love story ever.”

You laugh, and it’s the saddest sound in the world.

.

Friday, July 27th arrives in clouds.

Satoru scouted a spot before where they can watch the eclipse. He settles on one of the highest buildings on campus with a balcony where they can sit against the railing and watch the moon disappear. You can’t eat, but he still buys your favourite food from all over Japan, travelling to different prefectures in hopes that they still have your favourite dessert or drink that you mentioned once—he even gets you a new polaroid camera. He doesn’t know exactly how well the eclipse will show up on it, but, memories, right?

Maki makes a dry remark about how much he’s running around lately, probably to make amends to a girl he’s scorned. Satoru deflects and says he’s actually trying to impress one this time.

It’s been a five days since his promise to bring you. You lost your ability to walk steadily two days ago and to speak effortlessly only yesterday. The roots have extended through your body, pushing the muscle of your back and shoulders, and it’s made even moving painful, so he intends to carry you everywhere he can, holding your IV bags if he needs to. 

The doctors say eighty-five percent of your chest is now occupied with foreign growth. Satoru wishes they’d just tell it how it is—you’ll probably be dead by next week.

He arrives at the hospital and walks the path he’s walked so often over the past few weeks that he is sure he could do it with his eyes closed. The nurse’s station, and there’ll be the purple-haired one and the one with a double helix piercing on call at this time. Then, twenty-five steps to the end of the hall where the window often lets a lot of natural light in. Today, it’s grey and not much, but it’s enough to cast his shadow long and blurry.

He stops in front of your door to sanitize his hands when he hears voices within and hesitates.

Your door is closed, which means you don’t want people to interrupt, and he moves away from the rectangular window, back pressing against the tiny slab of wall between the frame and the corner of the hallway. Glasses slipping down his nose, he tries not to listen but he can’t help of himself.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” you say weakly. You sound awful. Satoru wonders if he’s missed one of your panic attacks and curses himself. “If I don’t sound sure, it’s because I’m dying… and sounding like a fragile piece of shit… comes with the territory.” Your words are coarse, and a harsh anger grates his ears as you cough violently, a terrible retching sound ending with a splat following right after. 

“I wasn’t doubting you,” Nanami replies calmly. “But this could be done in so many other ways.”

“Look, Nanami. I’m not… brave enough to say any of it. Now, sit down. Your standing… it’s making me nervous… Thank you.” Satoru’s legs feel numb as he sinks down to the floor, tilting his head just enough to listen clearer through the sliver underneath the door. Resting his elbows on his knees, he runs a hand through shaggy white hair. It feels dry and lifeless. 

He can’t remember the last time he took a shower that was longer than ten minutes and more than ice-cold bordering on just beginning to warm.

“Take care of him for me,” you croak and his fingers tighten against his scalp. Nanami doesn’t answer, and you let out a sound that can only be described as pure agony as another bout grasps you tightly. You’re wheezing by the end of it, gasping painfully for air, and the monitors start beeping rapidly, a dinging that echoes in his head as Nanami’s low voice soothes you, tells you gently to calm down. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Breathe with me,” Nanami orders, and everything falls silent. Satoru stares at his lap. His head is beginning to pulse with the monitors when the beeping finally starts to fade. “Good. No sense to waste your strength.” 

Wobbly, spitting: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” A pause. “It’s not your fault.”

You laugh, as if Nanami’s cracked a funny joke, and it’s gut-wrenching. “Remember how… we can curse each other? Ourselves? True curses.”

Faintly amused, immeasurably strained: “I thought it was still a hypothesis regarding those who don’t have the correct bloodline and the ability to curse through their own will.”

“No…Not a hypothesis. Real, Nanami. Real. No one knows how cursed energy affects us. Not really. Since, in my opinion, it’s entirely based on how we process things… it’s so difficult to say but when you know someone…” You break off to clear your throat. “The curse of adulthood… some of us got that too early… but we can survive that and even if it’s not a curse by… definition, we still feel it, right?” 

Satoru clasps his hands together just so he doesn’t rip the door open at the hinges.

“Right.”

“And… knowledge… can be a curse. Even if we can’t see it.” A ragged breath. Then, another laugh too loud for the grey light outside, too bright, a spark before it fizzles into, again, pained choking. “Nanami, remember last year… the job out in Yama… Yamaguchi?”

“Yes.”

“And we came back… Okkotsu was beginning his first year at the college… what I—what I told you?”

“…Yes.” A beat passes. A chair shifts on the linoleum floor and Nanami clears his throat. “I see.”

“I don’t want him to be so alone. I know I was never the strongest or the smartest or the most talented but I liked to think he let me in because I was there. Not because I understood. Maybe… Maybe because I didn’t. Nanami, please… he always try to stay so far away from the people he thinks he can’t love. Tell him… tell him—“

You break off and Nanami assures you with a steadfastness Satoru has counted on so many times before: “I will.” 

“…thank you.”

Eyes shutting tight, Satoru rests his brow against the heel of his hand. His head is aching, and a hard fist grabs his chest, squeezes his heart until it feels like it’ll burst. So this is how you’re really feeling. When you’re not smiling, this is what you are. Angry at the world, and heartbroken.

So terribly heartbroken.

And you couldn’t trust him with it? Because you thought he couldn’t handle it? 

He can take it. It’ll be okay because he’s the strongest. He has to be. 

I’m the strongest. I should be okay. I’m the strongest.

I’m the Strongest.

The headache gets worse so he gets up from that corner in the dead-end hallway, all the while three words replay in his head like a goddamn gramophone.

Nanami doesn’t come out of the room for a while. When he does, Satoru walks down the hall with takeout and a smile plastered on his face as if he had heard nothing at all.

.

At just past one-thirty AM, Satoru sits up from his cot and rubs at his eyes. After dinner, the both of them had forced themselves to go to sleep in order to have enough energy for their little late night excursion. He glances at you, a slumbering shape on the bed, and gets up, slowly sliding on the lights. They burn a dim orange, glowing on your face, and your eyebrows furrow as he touches your cheek.

“What?” you mumble, vexed, and he smiles.

“Are you ready?” he asks. A backpack is situated at the end of his bedframe and he reaches for it, unzipping it carefully as you crack your eyes open. “We’re going to go see the eclipse, remember?” Pulling out clothes he robbed from your room in the staff facility from when you used to work full time, he grabs your shoulder and shakes you gently. The gnarled roots under your skin feel strange against his fingers as you groan weakly. “Do you want five more minutes, Sleeping Beauty?”

You don’t answer, burying your face into your pillow and he shakes his head to himself. It’s going to be all right, he thinks. I planned for this setback.

Slipping into a dark long-sleeve, he parts the black-out curtains to let light come in. He checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror before running a hand through his hair and washing his hands with a cold stream of water. By the time he leaves the bathroom, you’re sitting up already, heel of your hand rubbing against your brow as you groan. In your other hand in your lap, there’s a splash of blood and a lone petal, and he rushes to your side instantly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear—“

“It came out easy,” you assure as he grabs a tissue to pick it off your hand and throw it into the receptacle at the table just beyond the foot of your bed. Wiping at your mouth roughly, he hears your complaints and your hand shoves against his shoulder to tell him to quit it. “Ah, I can do it myself!”

“Shh! Do you want every nurse storming in here while we conduct our super secret getaway?” he whispers, and your eyes fix on his. Dark circles mark your face like bruises, but that light is still the same—glimmering, bright, like twin suns and just as warm. Making sure your hands are clean, he wipes the invisible streaks of blood just to be sure before grabbing your clothes and setting them at the end of the bed.

You glance around the place sluggishly, at the paintings you never got to finish, and the books you haven’t finished reading, before settling on him. “What are we going to do about the… about the machines? And my IV…” 

“Oh, trust me. I may have bribed a nurse or two,” he confesses and you send him a scandalized look. He shrugs. “What? You told me a woman liked me and I couldn’t help but turn on my natural charm.”

“You’re awful,” you say without meaning it and he smiles as he moves your bed into a sitting position. You cough lightly, but sit up straighter as he carefully unhooks the huge bag and pump from your stand and gently slides it into the pocket in the backpack, resisting the urge to squish the pouch a bit. Strapping the pump in, he makes sure it’s secure as you peer around him to catch what he’s doing. “Is this… safe for me, you—you know, medically-speaking?”

“Nope.” He adjusts the tubing to avoid any kinks. “But, Purple gave me this backpack and she will come as soon as we come back to make sure you aren’t dying. And, if anything goes wrong, I promised her I’d come back as soon as possible.”

“Promised her?” you echo “I see. So that’s what Purple… was doing before my afternoon nap. I thought you guys traded suspicious looks.”

“Yeah. I’m pulling big strings. Now, c’mon, silly. Let’s get you dressed.”

You roll your eyes with a whistling breath. “Watch the tube… and c’mere, then, Gojo.”

He grabs the jacket first and does exactly as you order. Wrapping it around you, he helps you thread your arms through before zipping you up carefully as your shoulders begin to shake. Bending over, you reach blindly for the receptacle at the end of the bed and he hands it over to you.

A wad of saliva mixed with blood slips between your lips and you let out a low noise before forcing yourself to cough harshly again and again. Satoru watches. No matter how many times he sees you rip your throat up just to breathe with a bit less pressure in your chest, it doesn’t get any easier.

You manage to get up a whole magenta blossom. It blooms from your mouth like something out of a horror movie and lands in the receptacle before he’s wiping your mouth.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

They continue on.

Coat, next, zipped up, and a scarf, then he’s scooping up your legs to help you twist on the mattress until your feet are dangling off the edge. He weaves your legs through the sweat pants, careful not to let his gaze avert from his task even as the hospital gown trails up your legs. You shiver at the exposed skin and gooseflesh pimples your thighs as you lift up your hips to help with the effort. He pulls the hospital gown free from the waistband and lets it fall over the hem so you’re completely covered before falling back.

In a crouch, he pats your knees and makes the mistake of looking up only to find your eyes already on him, searching, nearly mystified. Satoru’s throat tightens. The faint light streaming from the window catches half of your face, as if half-divine. There’s a curiosity there, lingering, and the way you look at him makes him freeze in his spot.

Is this how Suguru saw you a thousand times before, a thousand lifetimes ago? Is this what he felt? 

Did he see the way your pupils dilate, the flare of your nostrils as you exhaled so quietly that it felt like a feather against his lips despite the distance between them? Did he see galaxies in your irises, home in the softness of your stare? Is that why he kissed you the last time he saw you? To memorialize their love for himself, to remember what it looked like when you loved him?  

Did he feel like he could fight dragons, crush demons, rip their world apart at the seams and rebuild it again with bloodied nails if it meant you would never cry again? Is that part of why he did it? So you would never be lonely again? 

Because if so, Satoru understands. 

Because if so, Satoru would do the same.

Because he always saw you as just pretty, because you had always been just his friend, and then his best friend’s girlfriend, and then his best friend, so there were always lines drawn in salt, scuffed and distorted over the years, but…

But in the light, tired and lost in his gaze, you’re nearly ethereal. The only reason he knows you’re not a goddess is because he’s still touching your knees, and your breath quivers, as if you’re just as disconnected from the world as he is in this moment.

Lips pressing together, he looks away, and the moment’s gone. 

He glances at the clock. 

How long has it been since he moved? It feels like hours.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Twenty-seven seconds of temptation, and then Satoru turned away. 

He slants to grab a pair of thick woolly socks to give himself something to do. You’re still watching him, head tilted down just so, and he carefully takes hold of your ankle.

He focuses on the little things: the iciness of your skin, the way you pick at the fabric of your sweatpants absently as you watch him work, the way you shiver a bit when he touches you.

He rubs heat back into the arch of your foot as you reach into your jacket slowly to carefully remove the nodes monitoring your vitals. You seem stiff to the bone, and your fingers are rigid with anticipated pain as you peel off the stickers. In the back of his mind, he remembers the days that feel like yesterday when you weren’t hooked up to so many machines to assure both you and him that you’re still alive.

Removing the cap for the oximeter from your finger, you shake yourself out a bit, clearing your throat. He slides one sock on, and then the other.

“How’re you feeling?” he finally utters.

It takes you a moment to answer. “Bottom half feels tingly. Usual these days. My body feels like a big giant bruise,” you inform quietly. Your voice is nothing more than a rasp. “Very warm and toasty, though… Thank you.”

“Just gotta get the shoes on and then we’ll teleport there.”

“Okay.” He helps you slip your feet in, something straight out of Cinderella, and then he stands up to take your hands. Your fingers slip into his palms, and he holds you so tightly as you slide off the bed. The instant your feet hit the floor, your grip intensifies and your head snaps down to the floor. You find your footing after a moment, and he lets go to crack open your window. Moving your plants aside, he climbs out to glance around. 

The air is crisp and cold, but not too bad for him. Even so, he’ll probably slip on a hoodie before they leave and he ducks back in to your room to do so, tugging it down his waist before grabbing the backpack.

“Arms through,” he instructs, slipping the backpack onto your shoulders. Guiding you closer, he helps you shuffle as close as possible towards him before turning around and bending over. “Alright, climb on. We’re going.” 

Your arms touch his shoulders, his hands shoot out behind him, and you fall.

Fingers hooking on your thighs, he boosts you up and your arms wrap around him, your own fingers wrapped so tightly around his collar that it nearly chokes him. Haphazardly stepping through the windows, his fingers sink into the fabric of your sweats. Your breath is warm against the shell of his ear, and he can feel your heart pulsing against his back as he turns to look at you. 

He smiles. “How’s it feel?”

“I’m still not sure if you’re going to let me die.” You press your face closer to his head and your arms tighten. “But the wind feels so good. So, so good.”

“That’d be too undignified,” he teases, and then he jumps. Time seems to slow as it always does when he’s about to teleport. He imagines the staff facility on the campus, quiet as a cemetery at this time of night, and his heart lurches forward. For a moment, his senses leave him all at once. He can’t taste or feel or see anything for a fraction of a second, then it comes to him in blinding speed. His hearing, as always, is first, then his eyes, smell and then touch and smell.

His foot lands on stone, as if he’s just finished a small skip, and he grins as he sweeps the courtyard. No one, as planned. The building’s to his immediate right, and he climbs the steps, using your knee to nudge the door open.

“That was fun,” you comment. “Convenient, too. Blink of an eye, and you’re somewhere else.”

“You can’t even begin to imagine how many lines I’ve skipped because of it,” he comments. The lights are all off, and he heads for the kitchen immediately to grab all the food he’s bought. Setting you down on the kitchen counter, he takes out another canvas bag and stuffs all of the food in.

Daifuku with of all kinds of fillings in the fridge, fresh dorayaki, canned coffee and aloe drinks, sweet soymilk and other wagashi they used to feast on when they were younger. Mostly because Satoru would buy enough to feed a kingdom so he always had something on hand for his overactive brain. You watch him with wide eyes as he moves around with such purpose one could think he was preparing to fight an army, but as soon as he finishes, he flashes you a smile.

“I think you’re going to like where we’re going a lot, silly.”

“Didn’t have to buy stuff,” you mutter, fingers playing with the tube leading into your backpack for a moment.

“You haven’t eaten in weeks. I thought maybe we could at least try. Maybe not now, but at the end of the night, before we go back. Just in case.”

“I can’t eat, though.”

“Don’t know until I stuff it down your throat,” he replies cheerily, and you smile at him so brightly it’s almost like you aren’t sick. Then, that smile turns into a cough, a fist in front of your lips, and your expression is frozen into one of exasperation before it flickers into strained. He sets down his bag, already knowing what comes next.

You make a hacking sound, deep in your throat, and he shifts you closer to the sink so you can lean over and throw up. Gagging, it comes in red and clear torrents, the cursed energy spilling out of your body nearly making it incinerating to even touch you as you clutch the edge of the sink basin. 

You fall to your elbows, and Satoru eases you off the counter so he can hold you up instead of the cramping body contortion you sink into. Cupping the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his thumb sweeps soothingly over your root-invested spine, tossing the ends of the scarf over your shoulder and out of the way.

Settling a hand on your hip, he presses you against the countertop so you don’t fall, and hopes your legs can hold you up long enough for him to reach for the hand towel. You spit just as he manages to grab it, snapping back into position and peering over your shoulder to inspect how much you’ve coughed up. You shudder and a tortured moan wrenches out of your throat as you sink, forehead against the cool metal.

You’re scorching to touch, but he tightens his hold on you anyway, setting the towel aside for just a moment. Carefully, he pulls you back up and you let out an drained whine, but he shushes you quietly, turning you around and guiding your head over his shoulder so you don’t stare at the rot any longer.

Satoru knows you would, even if you pretend like you aren’t plagued with morbid, self-destructive curiosity.

Looking into the sink, he counts a few petals and three whole flowers, and you’re quivering against him as he wraps his arm around you. 

“Alright, lean back for me,” he whispers into your ear, and you obey. His arm around you crooks so he supports your head, the other grabbing the towel again. Exhaustion seems to have sluiced through you, and your eyes are nearly unfocused as he dabs at your mouth carefully. His blue eyes focus on the gentle curve of your lips, and your cheeks puff up before you swallow tightly and let out a shaking breath.

“You’re really close,” you mumble in that exhale. He tilts your chin to the light to make sure he hasn’t missed a spot, and your eyelids flutter as the corners of his lips quirk up. His Six Eyes pick up a muted yellow emanating from you, and it’s so warm against his skin that he can’t help but relish in the feeling. “You smell nice.”

“Good. I took a shower before I came today. Well, yesterday,” he amends softly. “Alright, let’s go before you hack up your other lung.”

“Funny.” Nonetheless, he scoops you back up onto his back and he rinses down the sink as you rest your head against his. He feels you breathing steadily, much easier now than before. Red swirls down the drains, and he watches the magenta petals slowly reveal their true colours. There’s a flash of white in the center of each one, and he wonders silently what flower it is and what it means.

Maybe he’ll find out some day.

When the kitchen’s back to the state they entered, he grabs the bag of food and holds onto your legs tightly as your arms around his neck shift and pull him closer. 

This time, when he teleports, it’s not as jarring. Walking around the balcony, he makes sure no one’s in the area before checking that the door to the roof is locked and heading back out into the night air, towards where they can see the moon clearest.

“Hey, open your eyes,” he whispers over his ear, and your head shifts.

“Hm? Oh!” He feels you wriggle, but he doesn’t let you go as he walks closer to the spot he’s set up. Near the railing, a blanket surrounded by pillows is laid out surrounded by a few space heaters. The moon is hanging perfectly in front of them, and the light illuminates the forests in silver as a gentle wind whistles through. Tranquil, the only sound is his footsteps on wood as you manage to pull your legs free with a harsh twist of your torso. Your hand slaps against the railing and he whirls around to hold you up but you grit your teeth. “I can do it.”

Breathing in deeply, you pull yourself past him using mostly your arms. Your feet drag as if they’re not really attached to a living body but you still move steady onward, and he walks ahead to turn on the heaters and set the food down as far away as he can so it doesn’t spoil too quickly.

“Satoru,” you breathe as if for the first time,” it’s so fucking beautiful up here.” Looking up, his heartstrings twinge. Your face is bathed almost entirely in silver, and it drapes down your body like silk, illuminating the cord of your throat he can see above the scarf, the strength of your hands. A smile brighter than even the most blinding sun rays comes across your face and he finds that the moon pales in comparison as your knees begin to give.

Reaching forward, he helps you sink down slowly, and then sit down, legs hanging off the edge and then you’re leaning to rest your elbows on the middle bar of the wooden railing. You can’t stop staring at the moon, and Satoru can’t stop staring at you as he opens the box of daifuku and pops one into his mouth. 

“The eclipse should be starting in a few minutes,” he says, checking his watch. 2:10. Four minutes to go. You finally tear your eyes away from the moon to look at him.

“I forgot…” you muse. “I forgot how bright… the moon was.”  

He settles in beside you and offers a canned coffee, but you shake your head. He cracks it open for himself. 

“We’re about to watch the moon change,” he notes. “But I read that it’ll last six hours.”

“Really?” Excited, you look up at the moon again. The lunar rays outline your already-pronounced eye bags but it also makes you look more beatific. “That’s just proof… our time here on Earth is so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It really makes you—makes you think how much we really matter. Which doesn’t seem like a lot, compared to things like a… fucking lunar eclipse.”

The moon’s opinion doesn’t matter more than mine, he thinks. “Well, while we’re waiting for your next epiphany to hit you,” he says instead, “you never answered my question.”

You smile, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What if we removed the flowers bit by bit, rather than all at once?” he asks. Your gaze snaps to him, but he only regards you honestly. “That gives you a fighting chance.” Your eyes widen imperceptibly, and he grabs another mochi ball and takes a bite.

“The roots and flowers are too entangled in my chest to be removed safely. It’s either they remove my lungs completely, or not at all, and finding a… match for one lung is hard enough, much less two perfect lungs…” You trail off and shrug. “Well, that’d take forever… and I wouldn’t get much… longer, anyway. I’m a sorcerer. I always knew… I was going to die, so why not die on my own t-terms?”

He frowns. “Why not try?”

“Give me your phone.”

He does so, and watches you type in a query you must’ve typed before with how quick your lethargic fingers fly over the screen before you’re shoving it back towards him and leaning forward on the railing, chin to your forearms. You don’t even look at him, as if you don’t want to watch him crumble.

He reads: The first year after the transplant is the most critical period wrought with surgical complications, chances of rejection, and infection… Although there are some reports of some people living for 20 years post-transplant, many people do not make it past 10 years and only half make it past 5…

His stomach curdles. “Five years is better than nothing.”

“Five years worrying when my lungs are going to… kick it,” you correct. “Besides, my ribs are mangled by the roots. And my heart. My stomach. My spine. I’m undernourished, exhausted, and everything in here”—you gesture slowly around your abdomen—“is doing overtime. My body’s too weak to handle any kind of surgery that wouldn’t heal me… immediately.” 

Your eyes find his, and it’s as if lightning strikes through him like a spear—piercing cold and electrifying. You’re beginning to blue in the lips like you’re freezing to death, but he’s sweating under the blast of the heaters. 

Pulling off his hoodie, he drapes it around your shoulders. You don’t react anymore than: “Sucks, but that’s how it is.”

A few more minutes pass by in silence. Their knees knock into one another, and Satoru can’t stop looking at you as you breathe in the home you left months ago, head lifted to the inky universe.

“You know I can tell when you’re—when you’re angry with me,” you utter, not looking at him. “No matter how much you smile at me, you’re still too passive aggressive to cover it up.”

The words spill out of his mouth as you lower your gaze to him. “I’m sorry.” No sense in lying. 

“That’s okay.” You smile for a moment, like he hasn’t said something worth ruining a night over, but when you look up at the stars, it fades. Wistful, you cock your head at the moon that hasn’t gone away just yet and lower your chin to your arms again. “It’s not really something that was… fair of me to ask anyway.” 

.

Just as the moon turns yellow, he remembers something. Bending back to root through your backpack, he excuses himself. You frown. “What are you—“

“I got a camera for this occasion,” he announces, withdrawing the camera and a plastic bag, leaning back to snap a quick picture of you. You squint at the flash, mouth opened in an incredulous smile and face half-turned away, before the photo rolls out. “Like the one you used to carry around.”

“Some memories to hold on to, huh.” You reach for the camera and your fingers wrap around it, aiming it right at him. A flash and two peace signs later, another image joins the one of you Satoru slides into the plastic zip bag. “Hold on. I want to take another one.”

“We should do one of both of us.”

“Ugh, fine… I don’t look good at all, though.“

“Too late.” He snatches the camera from you and sticks out his hand, dragging an arm around your shoulders and you lean into him, temple against his cheek as he snaps another photo, and then another of him making a stupid face. Another of you mid-laugh. You’re wheezing for air as he keeps grabbing the polaroids as fast as he can with the arm that’s around your shoulder, leading to a bunch of jostling that has you in stitches at his frantic panic whenever the new photo chugs out of the slit.

When he’s had his fill of making you laugh, Satoru leaves you alone to look at the moon. He can’t stop grinning stupidly with every photo and while you watch the moon slowly descent into the earth’s shadow, he shuffles through the photos he just took of them together, trying to brand them to memory.

The way he looks at you in these photos makes him believe in something. In something that could’ve been there if they had more time, and he could convince you to open your heart up to a new possibility.

.

Another hour passes. The moon hangs a strange transition between black and blood red and a paler peach orange. A glimmering yellow dot sparkles below it, and he wonders if that’s Mars.

The forests seem almost hauntingly quiet, and no one has spoken in the darkness. You regard the moon, so enraptured, and more photos have joined the zip bag, but they’re mostly of you. He’s managed to sneak them in by turning off the flash and upping the brightness settings so it’d still be visible, and he hopes you never realize that he’s got them. 

Satoru has never been interested in astronomy, but the stars in your eyes are changing his mind.

He’s dug his hand into the bag of dorayaki already. He remembers it’s supposed to be for you, too, but his hands are too empty without the camera, his brain going a mile a minute and the air absolutely quiet with nothing. 

Twenty minutes ago, you asked him to help you take off your coat so you can pull on his hoodie, and haven’t moved since zipping yourself back up. The air smells only of canned coffee and the stinging wind carrying the scent of cedar. Feet swinging, he drapes his arms over the railing and looks up at the red moon.

It is pretty. Magnificent, and ominous, almost. The night is so much darker without the moon. Sheesh, colder, too. I wonder if you’re feeling okay. Maybe I should check, but you don’t seem to be shaking. Worst comes to worst, I could up the level on the space heaters…

“I don’t think I ever got to hear his last words,” you muse quietly, voice cracking, rousing him from his monologue. His head swings to you. Your eyes are barely open as you rest your cheek against your forearm, and you don’t look at Satoru despite your head turned towards him. Instead, he can watch the pieces of you fall apart without your scrutiny. “I used to think… that I didn’t care.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” he asks slowly as you continue to stare blankly over his ear. Your chest stutters in its inhale and the exhale is just as shaky as you smile a bit to yourself. He takes that as answer, and as he speaks, he sees Suguru’s smile—bright against the darkness of the alleyway, and a reminder of a simpler time. Satoru’s heart quickens from the memory “‘At least curse me a little at the very end.’”

You’re quiet for a moment, as if soaking that in. Then, you draw yourself up and sigh. “That sounds like him.”

You say it fighting off a laugh, even though it wracks your body with such intense pain you can barely breathe. You begin to wheeze not even a second in, and still, your face is cracked into an agonizing smile as you blink, tears slipping down your cheeks. Your eyes squeeze shut and your body goes stiff as you cough, hands flying over your lips. Your shoulders shake so uncontrollably it’s like an earthquake in your body, but Satoru cannot find it in him to calm you down as you hunch over yourself.

It comes in its own course, until you’re nothing but a gasping body, crying into bloodied palms cupping purple flowers, and the low sobs that spill and stutter out of your throat makes Satoru wish he never told you.

“‘At least curse me a little at the very end,’” you repeat to yourself, voice raw and iron-like, and your eyes finally rise to meet his. Nothing but hollow purple pierces through him once more. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds like him.” 

An apology bubbles at his lips, but you continue before he can even begin. Your hands fall to to your laps, and you look at the decaying flowers, thumbs stroking the petals. “I could never make him truly happy… could I? Just like he said… nothing would’ve been good enough for him while we lived in this kind of world. No matter how many times I sat by him while he swallowed… swallowed those curses, held his hand, held him, I would have never been… enough to make him laugh from his heart.” Your tears cast dark shadows. “I held him, Satoru, with all my might… and I still felt him slip away between my fingers.”

That’s how Satoru learns you were there that day, December 24th, not a snowflake in sight. Just a few metres away, you stood for only a moment before you walked away from the man you loved so he could die without any regret, at the cost of your own guilt eating you alive.

No one speaks after that. Satoru cleans your hands slowly, carefully, giving attention to each finger, before swiping your lips, and then he wipes your tears away but you’re not crying anymore.

You just look up at the moon emptily and he scoots closer in hopes to keep your returning trembling at bay.

“Ten years is a very… long time to love someone.” You break the silence. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Fifteen, thirty minutes? He looks at you, and your lips press into a thin smile. He lifts his arm so you can scoot up close next to him. Your eyes never leave his face, regarding him with new clarity. “I just… realized.”

“Ten years is a very long time for anything,” he replies quietly, their faces very close. Their noses brush, and a warmth spreads through his cheeks as he presses the tip of your nose against his. You don’t pull away. Instead, you almost lean closer. Your nose is cold against his hot face, and he rubs it slowly with his own, trying to send heat back into your skin.

“A very long time to… wait.” Your eyes flutter shut, and your breath is warm over his lips as you slowly tilt your head so their foreheads meet. His hand squeezes your waist. You smell like the hospital, but there’s still the fragrance of the fresh-cut grass and herbs clinging to your skin as he moves his head just to the side so his nose presses into your frozen cheek. Your arm moves as if dragging through honey until it’s wrapped around his neck, palm flat against his shoulder, just as their brows press against one another. 

Something ignites inside his chest, incinerating the rot that seems to grow inside his own chest—it’s his dread, he realizes a moment later. An ugly knot of dread for what’s to come, the guilt, the cold grief that’s just out of reach. 

It’ll unfurl soon, he knows, but for now, he welcomes the relief you bring him.

In this moment, you are his, and he is yours, and that is all that matters.

His eyes close. His cheeks are burning hotter than the heaters surrounding them, and he feels a smile pulling at his lips as your fingers curl against the back of his neck.

“When will people… stop waiting?” you ask him, hushed like a secret.

Eyes opening, he answers you in the same soft voice, “Probably when they die.”

Your eyes crack open once more and he catches a sliver between your heavy lids. You’re so close he sees every detail of your irises, the pores of your eye bags, the way memories flicker through your pupils like fish in a river.

Your exhausted smile grows more genuine—something inside you seems to rear its bright little head, but it’s sad, and he realizes, then, what you must’ve been thinking. Words fumble at his mouth, but he doesn’t let anything slip as you lift your face away to rest your head against his shoulder.

.

You’re dozing against him. Satoru is staring up at the moon in your stead. It’s nearly fully that famous shade of dark blood red, but not quite. He can’t hear anything except the buzz of the space heaters and your breathing. His arm is still wrapped tight around you, holding you flush against him. He’s wished he’d done it so many times before that now, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

You’re dying. Even as you rest against him, he feels it. The weakness in your body, the way you’ve turned ghost-like. The strength of your Cursed Energy has become more prominent now that you don’t have the energy to channel it properly, and it’s centred so strongly in your chest that he can feel it poking curiously at him, leaving little marks, a souvenir for when you’re gone.

His fingers dig into your side. You let out a noise, head shifting, and he rips his gaze away away from the sky as your hand falls away from where it had rested around his neck into his lap.

“Satoru?” you whisper brokenly, and he nods, smiling. He pulls you closer, but their bodies are so pressed against each other that it only serves to make you huff a bit.

“Hey. You’re still with us, don’t worry,”

“Not worried,” you mumble, lifting your head with difficulty. “Just glad you’re here.” You tilt your face to the moon. “It’s still… red, huh…” You shake, your hand at the hem of his shirt twisting tightly. He reaches to squeeze your arm and hopes it’ll be enough now. “Pretty.” Throat dry, he does not answer. His white hair falls into his eyes as you look up at him, and he decays at the vulnerability in your gaze. “Aren’t you glad… that we saw the eclipse?”

Jaw clenching, he nods and tries his best to smile. Your hand lets go of his shirt and you shuffle up close enough that your other arm sneaks around his waist. Touching his chin with trembling fingers, your eyes glitter in the darkness of his shadow.

“I’m going to miss this. The moon, stars, how… fucking short… ’n’ beautiful life is,” you finally whisper, throat tight. “Makes shit worth living for. Maybe… won’t miss it… the most… but, top three.”

“Top three?” he echoes. “Top three sounds pretty good to me.”

“And, y’know what, Satoru?” you continue in the same low, husky tone, as if you’re about to change his world one more time.

He drops to the lowest, quietest voice he can manage and moves his head closer. Their noses nearly bump into each other again, and you smile as he quirks an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“You’re… going to miss me… more.” 

Your hand on his waist travels up his shoulder and he feels the last of your strength in your muscles as you pull him towards you. Letting you, his arms wrap around your waist as your other arm shoots around his neck, clinging on so hard that he’s sure his spine might break. 

Flattening his palms against your uneven back, he closes his eyes and slides a hand to cradle your head close.

“And promise… me something,” you breathe into his ear. Your lips brush the shell of his ear, and a shiver shoots down his spine.

“Anything.”

“When I kick it,” you whisper, “take my body, and bury me… yourself.”

Throat swelling shut, Satoru’s glad you can’t see the way the blood drains from his face as he nods and holds you tighter. “I will.”

.

“One more photo for the road?” he asks. You lift your head from his chest, and he looks as you reach to sweep his lips with cold, trembling fingers. He smiles, his hand on your thigh squeezing meaningfully even though you can barely feel it now. Your arms are bundled between your chest and his, and he hauls your legs on his thighs more securely up his lap, arm tightening around your torso.

“Satoru,” you murmur, tilting your head to him. His eyes never move from yours as he picks up the camera, and your hand falls from his lips. “I’m glad… that it was you.”

He snaps the shot and the only sound that fills the silence is the camera chugging out the polaroid. Your eyes are dark, murky and unfocused, and he feels your stammering inhale in his very lungs as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m happy it was you, too,” he whispers. You search his gaze for only a moment, and then turn your head to the moon once more. 

Lowering the camera to the floor, he sneaks his other arm around you and rests his chin atop of your head, eyes sliding shut.

.

Nanami, Yaga, and Ijichi approach, dress shoes tapping against linoleum floors. Satoru and Shoko say nothing to them as they join in watching through the glass doors.

Satoru doesn’t like the room they’ve moved you to. It’s too full of machines, too open to passersby who could just look in if the curtains aren’t drawn, and even then…

It smells too clinical here. Too full of artificial light. The ICU is a mechanical sort of silence than the quiet peace of the dead-end hallway. There is no warmth, no books, no paintings. Your plants have been removed, and Nanami has taken all of them into his apartment except the red tulips which rest on the dinner table in Satoru’s kitchen.

You stopped being able to breathe on your own only a day after the eclipse. That was two days ago, and the ventilator is doing nothing more than prolonging your agony. Soon, the growths will block your lungs entirely, suffocating you from the inside out. 

The doctors have stopped taking scans.

“It’s only a matter of time, now,” Shoko had said. “Her directive says we let her go as soon as she can’t come back.” Quieter: “Her pulse ox has been dropping. It won’t be long.”

Ijichi’s face is stony. Satoru doesn’t know why he focuses on him out of everyone. Leaning against the nurse’s station, he stares blankly at the Assistant Director’s. Maybe because he thought he’d be a wreck. Out of all of them, Ijichi’s the most emotional, but his lips are set firm from where he stands between Nanami and their principal.

Maybe Satoru’s just looking for permission to fall apart, but that’d be stupid. 

I’m the strongest. I’ll be fine.

“I’m going to go in,” he announces. No one protests. Nanami sits down and crosses one leg over the other, fingers steepled and eyes indecipherable. Shoko sits beside him. There’s the faint scent of smoke clinging to her lab coat. 

Ijichi dips his head, but doesn’t sit and Yaga excuses himself to talk to the nurse about your condition.

Satoru sanitizes his hands, approaches the door, and pulls it open before stepping in and sliding it shut behind him. 

Click. Hiss. 

The sound of the ventilator is the only thing that occupies the room. That and the monitors. It’s very dark, despite it being the middle of the day. Mostly because you can’t open your eyes wide enough to withstand the sun anymore, so Satoru had asked the nurses to bring the same blackout curtains from your room here. The lights are dimmed until it’s only an orange glow right behind your bed. 

Click. Hiss.

Sitting down, he doesn’t take hold of your hand just in case you’re sleeping. The intubation tube rests on a pile of towels on your chest, and it takes a long time before your eyes open and your head tilts just enough to look. Your hand twists on top of the covers until your palm is tilted open.

He slips fingers in, takes hold. The feel of your skin making everything worse. You’re colder than you should be—it’s sweltering in this room, enough that Satoru is already beginning to sweat even through his short-sleeve—and your fingers just barely twitch against the back of his hand, tracing strange shapes.

You blink, tapping his knuckle, and he frowns.

“What’s up?” Withdrawing, he feels your nail scrape against his flesh and he looks down. Curiously, he takes your hand and places it on top of his so your fingers can touch the lines of his palm. “Are you spelling something out?” he asks, amused, glancing up again.

Another blink, slower this time.

He leans forward on his elbow to touch your cheek before resting his cheek against his fist.

“Alright, give it your best shot.” 

Your eyelids flutter, lips trembling in a weak smile. Your index finger begins to trace shapes, kanji, into his palm. Your chest rises and fall slowly, pumped full of air by a machine hooked to your lungs, forcing breath into you as your writing grows sloppy by the passing second but you still persist.

ANGRY?

“Angry?” he repeats, and you blink slowly again, fingers insistent on grabbing his palm. Folding his fingers over yours, he arches his eyebrows. “If I was angry at a terminally ill patient, that’d make me the asshole here.” Your eyes squeeze shut, eyebrows rearranging in what he recognizes as your laugh in silence. More seriously, his hold on you tightens and he lifts his head to brush his fingers over your brow. You tilt your head more to him, gaze murky warm. “How’re you feeling?”

It takes a while, but he feels your hand shuffle back to trace your answer on his hand.

BETTER

“Better. Yeah?”

Another lethargic blink. Yes.

“It’s because of me, right? I knew it. I knew it. We should tell Shoko—I’m the newest medical innovation in town,” he proclaims, and his smile begs to slip off his face but he only forces it back on, shoves it into place. Your eyebrows move again, like you’re struggling to hold back your laugh. Your eyes slip shut and do not open again. 

Your face goes lax a moment later, and your fingers loosen a bit, but he doesn’t let go. He just wants to touch your face and trace the lines into his memory. 

Satoru stretches his thumb along the swell of your bottom lip while carefully avoiding the tube. He runs his knuckles down your cheek. His fingers brush your pulse point along your neck, and he feels the slow, weak beat.

Click. Hiss.

He thinks you’re asleep for a while, until your finger drags over the flesh of his palm and he looks down, hand lifting from your face. 

“Hey, I’m still here,” he whispers, and your face turns towards him slightly, the tube in your mouth shuffling. He reaches forward, cupping your face and holding you still. “Hey. Don’t move. Your lungs are weaker than the rest of you and I’m not about to watch you die.” Something grabs onto the front of his shirt near his stomach and he looks down to see your fingers hooking on the cotton of his tee, twisting it weakly. “Oh, sorry.”

He draws back and slips his palm back into yours. Your index finger taps against the heel of his hand before your nail drags deliberately. One stroke. Then another, and another. Gojo wishes your eyes were open, because then he would be able to determine what the rest of the sentence could spell out before you’re done, but he’s patient. 

HERE

“Here?” You tap on his hand. Yes. “What’s here?”

YOU AND ME

“You and me,” he repeats thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get that. At least… now you can see Suguru again, right?” Your hand goes still and he looks at your face, reaching to touch your cheek again. You’re placid—doll-like, eyes shut, living dead. “I’m a bit jealous of that, but you should rest easy. It’s been a hard few months, hasn’t it?”

Another weak twitch of your finger on his hand.

“No matter what happens, don’t think I’m angry at you, or the choices you’ve made,” he continues. “As long as you let me stay here, I won’t waste a single second of it, okay?” Tap. He squeezes your hand so tightly your eyebrows twitch, even as you slip away from him. “For all your saying that you’re weaker than me, I never thought that. Not really.” Satoru raises your hand to his lips and he closes his eyes. “Being the strongest is pretty lonely. Used to be so fucking cocky about it, huh. Thought no one could touch me or the people I cared about because everyone would be too scared.”

Your fingers curl against his palm and he lowers his head to press your knuckles against his brow.

“I was wrong. I’d give anything to have you both back, but I can’t, and I hate it. You’re supposed to be with me at the top. I don’t want to be alone again.” His eyes are burning from the strain of keeping them open, but he refuses to miss a second of you being alive when the time is trickling like sand in an hourglass. He feels it like a heavy stare on his back, wondering if this next breath will be the last one before your brain finally decides to shut down. Your organs have been shutting down for nearly weeks now. He knows it’s out of pure selfishness that they’re dragging precious moments into agonizing hours. 

He knows you’re exhausted. 

Resting his chin on your fingers, he swallows. “I don’t know how to let you go. I wished I’d come sooner. I was careless. I know that. We could’ve had more time…”

Your fingers squeeze his as tight as you can before letting go. Somehow, he hears your voice in his ear. Something about being grateful for the time they did have.

“You were right, silly.” He chuckles to himself, bitter, anguished, and lowers your hand back to the bed, not letting go yet. “Ten years is a long time to wait. I let you down, but I’ll make sure you go easy. I promise.”

Satoru lays his head down on his forearm and he swears he catches your lips pull into the faintest smile. He stays there for hours, watching your face, stretching up to touch your unmoving face. The only sound is his steady breaths, the beep of your monitors and the click-hiss of your ventilator. 

It’s 1:04 PM when he falls asleep to the sleepy circles you trace into his wrist

It’s 6:22 PM when only one of them wakes up.

.

At 11:00 AM the next morning, during one of the hourly tests, they declare you brain-dead. With the announcement of your directive being honoured by your chosen proxy, Satoru himself, classes are cancelled and they are scheduled to take you off life support at six.

Ijichi brings them lunch and dinner. Satoru doesn’t eat. Only sits by your side, leaned back into the chair and looking at you while he still can until the clock ticks and ticks and ticks towards doomsday. The kids come to say final goodbyes while he watches on. Inumaki, as always, brings Panda through his phone, and Satoru wishes there could’ve been some way to sneak Panda into a high-class hospital just so their last moments together aren’t cheapened by a screen.

Shoko enters five minutes before it’s time, hand finding his shoulder and he looks up just long enough to catch her blank stare resting on your face.

She doesn’t say anything, only moves to the other side of the bed and sits down in the other chair.

The doctor pumps you full of sedation drugs, so you won’t feel any of the pain, unhooks the machines, and extubates you, explaining all the while what he’s doing just to fill the silence. As he pulls the tube from your throat, something in Satoru turns icy when a purple petal is plastered to the side of the plastic, but the doctor does not acknowledge it any more than murmuring that he will give them privacy.

Your rattling breaths echo in his ears as he watches the numbers slowly drop, but even your inhales fade to nothing more than soft, slight wheezes. The tape has left a strange mark around your mouth, and you’re unmoving otherwise. Shoko gently reaches and touches the eye bags that are, for once, worse than hers before shaking her head and pulling back. Everyone else waits outside.

Hours pass by in torturous years. 

Satoru wears the same stony expression the whole while, finally surrendering into his desire to hold your hand. 

His heart hardens. He goes completely still. Shoko talks but he can’t really hear anything except the slow beeps of your monitor once you pass certain thresholds. 

There are nurses waiting outside. They’ve grown used to the company, he thinks. He thinks one or two are crying. Soon enough, they’ll come in to turn off the machines tracking your vitals so the sounds don’t drive them crazy, banging in home that you’re dead, dead, dead.

After a while, Satoru realizes you aren’t quite breathing, although your chest moves. Sometimes, there’s a gasping sound, like someone surprised the breath out of you and you’re inhaling sharply to replace it, and he imagines your fingers twitching against his hand one last time.

It’s very slow. Much slower than he imagined it to be. Maybe you’re still fighting. Maybe you don’t want to go.

Satoru can’t imagine why. Where you’re going, there’s no pain, or exhaustion, or blood. Where you’re going, Suguru waits.

He leans against his hand, elbow on the slight incline of your bed. Letting go of your hand, he touches your face, feels the soft puff of your breath, the curve of your jaw. You’ve lost so much weight from the sickness you barely look like yourself, but you’re still you. The cursed energy is still yours. His Six Eyes sees it. His soul feels it.

It tangles with his own where he touches you, and a wave of exhaustion washes over him. 

He wants to sleep, let time pass, and wake up to you dead.

It seems a much better alternative to watching you slip away, but he’s always been selfish when it came to personal affairs.

.

You die two hours later.

Shoko closes her eyes and leans back into her chair as the nurse comes in to turn off the droning monitor. Her face is dry and she takes long, measured breaths as if trying to temper something swirling inside her. Satoru’s hard heart cracks as he squeezes your hand to see if you’ll wake up. It doesn’t quite sink in, even though he can hear someone crying outside, and when your limp hand doesn’t react at all, he shakes his head and gets up, pulling his sunglasses off the collar of his shirt and sliding them back onto his face.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and rakes his face over your body, your face.

He’s seen a dozen dead bodies before, maybe more. You look just like he did on December 24th. At peace, younger. Like you’re glad the suffering is over, and Satoru turns his face away sharply and leaves the room. He doesn’t know what to say and he’s not sure if his voice is still here. 

Everything feels dry and dull and grey.

“Sensei,” Itadori whispers wetly, reaching out a hand, making him stop. The students are all sitting in a small area, but they stand upon seeing him leave the room, and he gives them a plastic smile that makes all of them flinch. Maki is scowling furiously at the ground as Inumaki takes hold of her bicep but she flings the hand off and stalks away, hiding her red face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells them as Kugisaki runs after Maki. He watches the two go before turning his attention back on the students. “The important thing is that she didn’t suffer. Arrangements will be made, but there won’t be any rush, alright?” The words feel lacking, but he still manages to smile. “It’s been a long day. Go home. Rest, shower, eat. Let’s remember that she doesn’t want us to be here, slumping around looking like idiots. She wants you to all to take care of yourselves.” He arches his eyebrows insistently at his students, but they don’t seem to hear him.

They’re only looking through the glass doors at your coolling corpse, at Shoko who stands, and speaks to the doctor when he comes back in.

Fushiguro is the only one really looking at him, and the teenager has a silent question in his stare. 

Satoru shakes his head, and Megumi nods.

“Classes are cancelled for the rest of the week,” Yaga adds. “Ijichi will drive you all back to the college in thirty minutes. Make sure you tell the girls.” He directs this to Inumaki, who nods.

“Salmon.”

Later, Megumi finds him smoking a cigarette leaning against Shoko’s car. Satoru’s never liked the taste of the stuff so he doesn’t really know why he’s smoking other than the fact he doesn’t know what to do. 

Up is down, left is right, and you’re dead. 

Nothing seems right, but Megumi gives him a good excuse to stop. Flinging the cig to the ground, he stomps out the ember and re-arranges his expression into that shielded smile of his, but it feels a bit weaker. Sharp, janky, wrong.

“Why haven’t you gone home yet? Ijichi should’ve taken you all back by now,” Satoru says wearily as Fushiguro stops before him, hands shoved in his pockets.

“I stayed behind to look for you,” informs Megumi. He looks a bit fractured, but the boy’s never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Satoru makes a mental note to dig into his psyche at a later date, and stretches an arm out to wrangle the boy into a hug against his side.

For all of his complaints and mumbles and scowls, Megumi’s body still relaxes a bit against his, and even though he doesn’t hug him back, when he tells him, “You should go home and get some sleep, too. These past few months haven’t been easy on you, either,” Satoru feels a part of his old self raise its bloody head. 

Glancing down at a head of spiky hair, he knocks his knuckles into his student’s skull. “Have you been keeping an eye on me?”

Megumi crosses his arms, glares over Satoru’s elbow, but even his voice is quieter. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Satoru smiles again. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re not worried about me, are you, Fushiguro?”

Megumi ducks his head and doesn’t answer any more than, “Someone has to pick up the slack, now.”

.

“Thanks, Ijichi,” Satoru says with a huff, digging the shovel into the ground and stepping on the metal edge. “Not every day you help me carry a dead body and dig a grave, huh.”

“No, sir,” Ijichi replies. He sounds a bit hoarse and tired as he wipes at his brow.

It’s been two days since you’ve died. The college grounds feels a lot less lively. He took a walk in the gardens yesterday, and saw Yaga planting new flowers. He had strode past and ignored the tears on his sensei’s face, and absently wonders now why he hasn’t cried yet as he grabs the shovel and yanks it out of the dirt, tossing it to Ijichi.

It feels kind of stupid, but despite how eviscerated everything inside him feels, he just can’t.

Either way, he’ll deal with it when it becomes a problem.

Satoru wipes at his brow, too, with a heavy sigh, and heads to where a cloth-covered shape is resting on the ground. Your corpse is light in his arms as he bridal carries you to the hole he’s just dug into the grass. It looks suspicious as hell, but it’d probably be even worse if he’d been walking around with a dead body over his shoulder, stitched back together after an autopsy by your best friend. 

Good thing they’re only in the forests outside the college campus. There won’t be any civilians for miles.

“You can go,” he says over his shoulder, setting you down by the hole they’ve dug. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself and Ijichi’s footsteps hesitate before beginning and fading away moments later. Falling to his knees, Satoru begins to carefully unfold the cloth just enough that he can see your face and chest. 

He squints behind his blindfold at the ripples of energy still seeping from the stitches along your chest. Sinking his hands into the lush, cold grass, he twists the blades with rigid fingers at the stench of rot coming from the curse before he draws back.

Hands on his lap, he stares at your face. You look frozen in time, eyes closed, skin clean, and there’s that unnatural stillness about you that only comes with the dead. It’s strange. He probably couldn’t have imagined someone so vivacious could be so motionless if he hadn’t seen it first with Suguru.

He had asked not to hear the results of your autopsy. Not now, maybe not ever. It’d be fresh lemon juice in a weeping wound. All he knows is that the curse clings to your corpse, and Shoko could only remove the growths that were no longer being fed for examination.

“Weird that this is where we’ve found ourselves,” he begins humourlessly. “With how we were living, Suguru always said I’d die first. Doing something stupid, being too cocky.” He slides a hand into his pocket and withdraws something he’d snipped this morning from the last plant you had grown with your Technique. A red tulip with a short stem that’s a bit crushed, and beginning to decay, but… everything can’t be perfect.

“I never thought I’d outlive you.”

Reaching forward, he places the tulip gently on your chest, takes your cold arms that are just beginning to loosen up again from rigor mortis, and folds your hands over the stem.

“Eternal love, and fame,” he repeats to himself. The energy nearly swallows up the tulip, but as it radiates from your chest, flickers in the slight breeze, Satoru sees flashes of red and green, much brighter than everything else around him, and knows that it won’t be consumed. Sitting down, he hugs his legs to his chest and stares at your dead body blankly, chin on his knees.

He had had a plan. He was going to just… put the flower there, exorcise the curse inside you, and bury you so you could finally rest. He wouldn’t hesitate because this is something you entrusted him to do.

But this is the first time in months he hasn’t had a cloud hanging over his head, and his body feels so much ligher without the burden of your disease hanging off his shoulders, that he can’t help but relish in it. Speak to you without worrying about saying the wrong thing, of people overhearing. He’s finally… free. 

It feels fucking awful.

“You were right, by the way.” His voice is dull, resonating deep in his chest. There is no August sun breaking through the trees above, only from behind him, and the golden beams touch your chin, down your throat and chest. It sets the red of the tulip on fire. “I miss you. And I wish I could’ve said so many things, but we ran out of time.” A faint smile. “No matter what you think, Suguru loved you. It’s why he came to see you one last time. I knew him better than I knew myself, and I know he was happiest knowing you were at his side.” Closing his eyes, the ache in his heart swells as he utters out, “So was I.”

Burying his his face in his forearms, a cup inside him seems to tip over and everything feels too hot for him to breathe in. Ripping his blindfold off and tossing it away from him blindly, his eyes snap open wide as he tries to breathe. His ribs constrict his lungs, and he presses his eyes into his arms, hands shaking as he sinks his nails into his biceps. 

Harsh pants puff against his face as he tries to reign in his shuddering, but he can’t. The knot in his heart twists until he thinks he might die, and distantly, he hears soft footsteps so faint he’s not sure if he imagines it. Gritting his teeth, he stifles the bruising feeling welling up in his throat.

Gentle hands brush down his shoulders soothingly, sending a wave of nausea through his body, and he jerks away.

“Damn it, Ijichi, leave me alone!” Wrenching his head up, his eyes widen at the figure crouched in front of him.

Arms falling lax to the grass and his knees widening, his jaw drops as a thumb teases his parted lips. You step between his legs and crouch down, limber and strong. You look healthy again, bright eyes and full cheeks, young like spring, and when you smile, it fills him utterly with light. In your hands is his blindfold, and you ruffle his hair, tilting your head curiously.

“I’m not Ijichi, but… do you really want me to go so soon?” you ask as he rakes his gaze up and down your body. There is still a purple shell encasing your legs, but as you shift your weight on your feet, it falls like fragile eggshells to the ground and sinks into the dirt, disappearing for good. Peering around you, his eyes widen when he sees shards of a purple shell in shatters all over your corpse.

He’d only seen this once before, eight months ago, with a certain student of his and the cursed spirit of the girl he loved and who loved him.

Face burning, his gaze snaps back to you as you poke his cheek and continue to grin. Leaning back on his hands, he tries to stop the intense shattering of his walls by clenching his jaw, but the shudders overtake his body, his chest, his throat until he’s letting out an ugly sound and blinking hard as if that’ll hide it away from you. Something devastatingly warm immediately shoots down his cheeks. Covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, he turns his face away but your warm hands cradle him carefully, thumbs brushing underneath his eyes.

“Yuuta, you’re right. Rika isn’t cursing you.”

“No,” he whispers, arm falling. His fingers sink into his shoulder as if that would be enough to wake him from this nightmare. “No. I can’t—Did I—Did I kill you?” You squint studiously, not letting go of his face as he lifts the hand from his shoulder and reaches to touch you. It shakes, and he snaps it into a fist to stop it, looking at his fingers that have done so much harm—shed so much blood. “Did I do this to you?”

“You cursed Rika.”

You chuckle fondly, like he’s said something silly, and set a hand on his fist, pushing it down firmly. “You can’t control how other people react to your words, Satoru.” Your voice changes, and your eyebrows draw together in something bittersweet. “And you can’t change something you didn’t know. The chances of you cursing me and me cursing myself are irrelevant. It doesn’t change anything about where we are, now.”

Satoru watches you, lips parted, as you tie the blindfold around his neck. You feel so real, so close, and as you slide your hands down his shoulders, to his chest, he jerks his head down to stare at your shoes in the grass. 

So he did. 

“I see,” he murmurs.

That’s it, then.

“Satoru, please look at me,” you whisper, fingers stretching to his chin. With the gentlest of pressures, you prompt him up and he finds your face, your smile, where all colours begin and end. For a moment, the world seems to inhale all of its life back into its core—the leaves whistle, the sun is warm and golden, and he lifts his hand to touch you again, but you pull back before he can. 

“I can only thank you for being my friend. For staying with me until the very end.” You laugh quietly to yourself and lift your hand from his face. “I would make a joke about a curse, but I know it still hurts, so I’ll save it for when I see you on the other side, okay? When it heals a bit more.”

“It’s never going to hurt less,” he croaks. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know how much you mean to me.”

Your smile softens. Satoru tries to eternalize that expression forever. “I’m honoured, but, I hope it does heal. I don’t want you to learn how to carry so much pain around. I don’t want you to be numb.” You touch his cheek again, as if you’re trying to soak in as much of him as you can, too. 

“Do you have any last words?” he manages to ask raspily, and you chuckle, tilting your head and running your hand through his hair again. His eyes flutter shut at the scratch, the sensation of your nails against his scalp, and then there’s your hand at his jaw, holding him all together. He wants to hold you so badly he thinks his muscles might cramp into stone at the desire.

“What does it matter?” you ask curiously. “You already know how I feel. That will never change. And if you ever want to know what I think, or what I’d do, you can just ask Shoko and think about it yourself. You know me well enough to not need me nagging about it.”

“But, it won’t be enough.”

“It never will be,” you agree. “But isn’t it wonderful that we even got to know each other at all?” You lean forward, and his eyes flutter shut as you hold him to your chest. He can’t hear your heartbeat anymore, but your warmth is almost the same. The echo of your voice rumbles in his head as you speak, and maybe that is enough. “If you want my last words, you already have them.”

You draw him back, and give him one last smile. The air shifts golden yellow to his Six Eyes, for the last time. 

“Until we meet again, my Satoru.” 

You fade without giving him a chance to answer, taking all the colour with you. 

Staring at the empty air where you had been just a moment before with wide, burning blues, he whispers your name brokenly before burying his hands in the dirt, squeezing his eyes shut, and letting boiling tears scald his face red.

.

“If you want my last words, you already have them.”

Spinning the key ring on his finger, Satoru looks dully at the door knob he had just unlocked. There’s no one in the hall, and he debates whether or not he should turn around, but Shoko had insisted. There’d been something left for him in your old apartment, and according to her, it would be spoiled soon if he didn’t go.

“Oh, what the hell,” he mutters, catching the key in his palm and shoving it into his long coat. Tugging it tighter around himself, he twists the knob and pushes it open. He can’t remember the last time he was in here. Maybe five or six months ago, when they both had a day off that didn’t need to be spent at the college.

There aren’t any plants anymore. He supposes Nanami, Ijichi, maybe even Yaga have taken them. He swears he’s seen a few in the gardens lately, but who is he to say? Toeing off his shoes, he makes his way down the hall. 

 Everything is just as you left it, with clean counters and empty tables. The curtains are spread, letting in so much September sunlight. It hits random display pedestals of different sizes, all the surfaces big enough to fit a pot on. Your watering can sits by the sink. There are photos hanging on the walls, propped up on the desk, on your shelves, polaroids taped to the walls. 

Reminders that someone did live here. That there is a whole life unknown to strangers but evidence enough that whoever used to be here, they had people who would miss them.

Walking up to the counter, he drags his fingers along the surface, feeling the dust collect up to a square of pale light. A clean circle is all that’s left as a clue that there used to be something there, and his heart twists.

Who knew he could miss fucking plants of all things?

Sweeping his gaze around, he brushes off the dust on his jacket and hooks a thumb on his blindfold, sweeping the area with an eccentric eye. The TV is off, your bookshelves are in their usual untidy state, but even the reaching vines of the bean plant is gone from the highest shelf.

 “They really scooped this place dry,” he muses dryly to no one. He can still hear the music you’d play for late nights, the smell of dumpling soup. He walks down the hall and still remembers how many steps it takes to reach the bathroom that guests would use. 

He had hunched over that bath on December 25th, and let water soak through his hair as strong fingers worked the sweat from his scalp and skin.

Four more steps to the guest best room on the right, and another three to the end of the hall where a door leads to your room. It’s already open, and he steps in easily, tugging his blindfold all the way down off his face. Hair falling over his eyes, he sweeps it aside and surveys the room. The walls are still that pretty shade of cream, and your bed is made carefully, dark olive blankets resting atop your white sheets. He smiles to himself, despite the twang in his chest.

Walking deeper, he approaches the cabinet by your bathroom, and picks up the photo you have by your jewelry stand.

A smile curls his mouth. He remembers this one. First year, their first September. All four of them had gone together to Sapporo for the autumn festival. 

He sets the photo back down and looks into the bathroom. Your toiletries are all lined up, waiting for their next use, and he swallows as he raises his gaze up to the mirror. His blue eyes look a big too big on his face from the past month alone, and there are red-purple half moons printed onto his face that have only just started to fade. He swears it only looks worse because of how much pale light is streaming in from the windows, and he tugs at his collar uncomfortably, clearing his throat.

Turning around, he looks at the offenders for making him look so awful, and finds a medium-sized pot sitting on the window seat. It’s the only thing sitting on the flat, wooden surface, in partial shade and almost unfurling before his very eyes.

Satoru frowns, walking around your bed to inspect the plant. 

The flowers are a warm magenta colour, and his eyes widen at the flash of white he can see leading to the center of each bloom. Brushing a thumb over the petals, his jaw sets as he tilts his head to get a better look at the plant. So this is what was growing inside of you. Huh.

There’s another slip of white near the dirt, and his eyebrows furrow, fingers seeking the thing. It crinkles when he touches it, and his frown deepens as he manages to grasp it, pulling it free underneath the leaves and stems of the plants. Sitting down beside the pot, he dusts off the dirt clinging to the paper, and reads his name along the front in your print before flipping the envelope around. There’s something sticking out of it, a sloping shape that’s hard but not too big.

Curiosity peaked, he tears the envelope open carefully and peers inside. A binder clip is inside, holding something together, and he flips it upside down, letting everything fall. The letter slides out first, followed by whatever the binder clip is holding together and he squeezes his thighs together so it doesn’t fall to the floor.

Setting the letter aside, he picks the bundle up. 

Polaroids.

They’re polaroids of different sizes that have him smiling despite the heavy sorrow twisting his entire chest.

Various pictures of Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you together, and he finds most of them are of him and you. Pictures of him hiding behind plants of various sizes, a picture of him drinking soju, because Suguru liked it the most and insisted he try, while leaning against Shoko who was knocking back a shot of tequila. There is a shot of Suguru, wet with mud and smiling like sunshine, while a drenched Satoru was in the background, flipping the camera off in the middle of a storm. 

More and more pictures, enough to spill out of his lap, and he picks up each one, desperate to remember when or where you took them.

And, sometimes, he can’t. Sometimes, they are just moments that he’s lost because he never thought they’d be important, and now moments he’d give anything to remember.

There are pictures of a fern he had named their first year, little annotations on the bottom of some others. Dates, but with no context otherwise. Names scribbled in black ink. 

You’re in a lot of them, your smile timeless, your joy infectious even through film.

Arms slung around Suguru, face smushed against his, artfully blurry perhaps on accident, and annotated with scrawl that read: I call this masterpiece “Dumb Sweethearts” by Gojo Satoru :)

A picture of him and Shoko and Suguru, of them in one of Tokyo’s night markets, you behind the camera, the lights flashing and warm and pink, making them all look like they’ve transported to some other kind of cyberpunk world. 

You and Shoko lounging in the gardens, having a tiny picnic at your insistence, and in Suguru’s handwriting in black: JUST GIRLS BEING PALS

Satoru stares at Suguru’s writing the longest, not even at his words, just the strokes of his pen. This is a new part of him Satoru thought had been destroyed, and he starves for it. It’s like his one and only lives and breathes in the ink, in those snapshots of him caught in eternal youth. When they’d been happy and unaware and not innocent, but cocky enough to think they could rule the world. 

It’s hungry, the way he goes through each photo, searching for another glimpse of you, of him, of them together, until Satoru is all out of moments to feed on, and still, he feels empty, flicking through the last few photos.

You in a pool, arms wrapped around Shoko and beaming like the sun.

A shot of Satoru and Suguru climbing trees shot from below, your eyes and skeptically raised eyebrows in frame, captioned big dumb monkeys

And the last one…

He holds it to the sunlight and his gaze softens.

A selfie of you kissing Suguru on the cheek. It’s mostly dark, but they were definitely in the bathroom, and the flash made Suguru’s outstretched arm look pale as a ghost, but even so, there’s no mistaking the happiness captured there. He was sticking out his tongue, winking, and red as a beet so he was either drunk or you had said something or both. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, nose squished against his cheek, eyes squeezed tight as he took the shot.

Turning it over, Satoru’s heart plummets into his chest. In Suguru’s clean, blocky writing:

THE GIRL IM GOING TO MARRY ONE DAY <3

And crossed out is your reply followed by a little note:

dummy doesnt have the nerve to propose SHHH!!!! ONE DAY C:

One day.

It sounds so much emptier now.

He lowers the photo back to his lap, and glances around him, at all these scattered moments captured forever. Gathering them up again, he relives them all over again, looking at each photo for longer to see if he’s missed anything, but mostly his stare lingers on your face, and on Suguru’s, and his own, too, because he can’t remember what it felt like back then, but he is sure it feels so much better than now.

The polaroids come together a neat stack and he is careful not to scratch any of them when he clips them together. The top photo is of you with your arms wrangled around Suguru and Satoru, your face split in a maniacal laugh, their mouths open in shock, eyes bulging in how you must’ve scared them witless. 

Shoko’s messy writing at the bottom, for it must’ve been her who had taken the photo: BREAKING NEWS: Japan’s Strongest Conquered by a Woman.

A smile cracks his weary face and he runs a thumb over their faces before sliding the photos back into the envelope for safe-keeping. 

Then, he grabs the letter. His name is written again on the first flap, and he reads it three times over before unfolding the paper, not quite ready but also not sure if he ever will be.

Immediately, a faint, herbal-like scent slashed with antiseptic flows from the page and his stomach curdles as your script pours down the page. 

Swallowing, Satoru shifts and leans against the wall, hiking a foot up onto the seat and holding your inked characters to the light. There’s a date inscribed at the top.

Thursday. 

The first Thursday after you had been released from the hospital. Your last Thursday before you were back in for good.

“Shit.”

He folds the letter again and tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

Does he want to read this? Does he really want to fucking read this? 

Taking a deep breath, he clears his throat and lowers his gaze to stare determinedly ahead of him. The purple flowers greet him warmly and he shakes the shiver out of his body before tightening his grip on your letter and unfolding it again, forcing his eyes on the page.

My Satoru,

I sent all the pictures I had of Shoko to her, and she has some of Suguru, too. Now that I’m gone, there’s no use if I keep them. Maybe you two could share some time, laugh it up over these old memories. I know she says she can’t stand you, but to be honest, who else is there that will remember us now? Who else is there to remember Suguru for more than his bloody hands and me as more than that girl too sick to do anything but die? 

Some legacy we said we’d leave, huh.

I don’t think I told you this, but with this disease catching up to me, it’s hard not to form hypotheses on why it’s happening or how. I have quite a few theories, and, unfortunately, none of them are pleasant or unriddled with angst. By now, you’ve probably figured out it’s a curse, and if you’re smart enough to ignore how much I’ll probably deny it, that it’s some love bullshit. If you didn’t know, now you do.

I know it’s weird. Suguru is dead. It shouldn’t be happening, right?

That’s what I thought, too

You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right. I don’t want to curse you by dying, but I can’t help but wonder if we can control who we curse. If I hadn’t heard you say that, would I still be here? Healthy? Okay? 

I don’t know. I can’t predict alternate timelines, because I got to live one life, and that’s more than most people get. But, because I know you, you want me to entertain you. I’m sighing as I write this.

Look, I know the pain would still be there. I know I still wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for what I did, even if it was what had to be done. I know I would still miss him. I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.

If you didn’t curse me, I cursed myself. It drives me crazy that this is how the die was cast, even now, even after months where I could’ve accepted this, but at least this physical manifestation almost makes me… calm. Like seeing what this life has done to me makes me brave enough to fight it. If anything at all, the curse brought me a greater understanding of how powerful our world is in comparison to people who… are normal. The people we have to protect.

I’m sorry. Reading this back, it sounds like I’m the one cursing you now; telling you all this knowledge that can only bring you more anguish. I promise, this isn’t what it is. I just want you to understand. You couldn’t have saved me, Satoru. I couldn’t have given you the absolution you wanted, and if that’s how it is, then I just hope that one day you can look back on this and it won’t hurt anymore.

It’s always been so complicated between us, after what happened to Suguru, and after what he did, even ten years ago. What we couldn’t stop and what we had to do that day. There was always a line that I thought I couldn’t cross, or a line you didn’t want to cross, and it was shaped a lot like him. I don’t know if it was just in my head, but there was something holding us back, and I was fine dancing around it because I saw how you felt about him and I understood. Your eyes always changed when you looked at him. When you spoke of him. Even after.

Always after.

Don’t think I’m angry. I’m not blind. I know how much you two meant to each other, and I could never be angry that Suguru is so cherished. Missed. It makes everything so much harder, so much more painful.

Look, in the end, I loved him, and you did, too. And if we both still do, that’s okay. He deserved love. 

I guess it just feels like a stab in the back that it wasn’t enough. 

But life isn’t a fairytale. None of it really matters. To be honest, I wouldn’t trade any of it for a second, and I hope you wouldn’t either. 

Maybe life isn’t supposed to be lived happily, but lived contently. And I did. I am satisfied with what I’ve done, even if I wanted to do so much more. 

I’m so grateful to have known you, to have had you by my side. I hope you can say the same. 

Don’t regret my death. Remember how much fun we had when we were stupid kids, and smile. Because I don’t want you to think your best years are behind you. I want you to be happy, even if I can’t be there to see it. I want you to be excited for your future, even if I can’t be in it.

I’ll always be watching over you, so smile for me every once in a while. Even if it seems like you’ll never feel anything again. One day, I promise you will, and it won’t feel so bad.

Yours forever and ever and ever,

(Name)

.

Throat crushed, he reads one line over and over the most. He’s memorized your letter heart, but he still carries it around with him, anyway.

“I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.”

Sometimes, he just wants to imagine your hand whispering over the page, the pen tapping against your chin, your face as you wrote, the sigh that you said you heaved. Because he’ll never hear you laugh again, see your smile. Your voice will never tease his ear, your fingers will never touch his face. There is no more laugh-wrinkles set in a face always perfectly hit by sunlight, and this is all he has left. His memory, and what you’ve left behind.

It makes him laugh how almost lovestruck stupid he’s being, but… he doubts anyone blames him. As long as he’s still doing his job, as long as he’s still the Strongest, what does it matter if he carries a dead woman’s letter in his pocket everywhere?

“Warm weather, even in the evenings. That’s a bit unusual,” Nanami observes, startling Satoru and he looks up at the blond who stops by him in the gardens. The man is wearing his grey suit, as always, and his watch glimmers in the fading gold light. “How are you?”

Satoru’s fingers tighten around the letter in his hands. As usual, the urge to crumple it up, throw it into the garbage to never see it again, has reared its head after his latest re-read, but he’ll stave it off. He always manages to.

“Fine,” he replies, glancing at the startling blood red and burnt orange leaves casually. Colours seem a bit brighter, and Satoru still squints a bit against them, despite the soft light of the sunset. He doesn’t know when his Six Eyes got so sensitive to that kind of stuff, but it almost feels good to be distracted by something so trivial as sensitive eyesight. “It is a bit warm for October.” 

Nanami hums. “How are your plants doing?”

“Mine are doing good,” he says, smiling. “The tulips have gone dormant, so nothing to worry about there. The one with purple flowers, though. It’s a tough one. It took me a while to figure out what it liked, but it didn’t go dormant or anything as long as I gave it enough water and paid attention to it.”

“That’s good.” Nanami adjusts his green lenses and sighs like he’s bracing himself for something difficult. “Gojo,” he begins, but Satoru merely folds your letter up and slides it into his breast pocket, holding up a hand.

“Whatever you’re going to say, Nanami, I don’t need to hear it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks skeptically, gaze following as Satoru stands, patting his jacket. Adjusting the lapel, he turns to his friend and when he grins, it feels like it reaches his eyes behind his sunglasses for the first time in two months.

“I’ve done this before, Nanami. I’ll be fine.” He waves it away. Nanami frowns. “I’m gonna get some dinner, though. Care to join? There’s a real good ramen place in Ikebukuro that you have to try.” The blond man observes him for a moment, before shaking his head, saying he had dinner already. “Suit yourself. Next time, I’m treating you, though.” 

Lips puckered in a whistle, Satoru turns around and begins to walk away. 

A breeze sweeps through the gardens, rustling the leaves in a discordant harmony, and sneaking into his jacket, sending a slight shiver up his spine as Nanami’s voice follows after him.

“The flower she left you is the sakurasou.” Satoru stops, hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t turn around as Nanami continues, “I wasn’t certain if if you knew.”

“Nope, I didn’t. Thanks for the info.” Lifting a hand, he barely looks over his shoulder before saluting with two fingers and smiling cheekily. It’s not as forced as it used to be. In fact, it comes quite easy as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He knows what he has to find out now. “See ya later, Nanami.”

“Good evening,” he replies, and in a blink of an eye, Satoru is gone.

On the windowsill of his empty apartment, the sakurasou soaks in the last remnants of the day before wilting against two photos.

One of four students, arms entangled, and faces framed in eternal youth.

And another immortalizing what could’ve been longer than a few shaky months if someone had been just a bit braver.

a/n: satoru’s google search result: the meaning of sakurasou - desire and long-lasting love. 

and yes, there was an actual lunar eclipse on july 27th, 2018 (28th in japan time). it was very pretty. i researched a bit about both the lunar eclipse and the medical stuff, but excuse any inaccuracies! tis but a work of fiction <3 also, fun fact: the polaroid camera is supposed to be the instax mini 90 but ive never used it so excuse those inaccuracies as well SKNDALSDKN

ngl i did wanna write an alternative ending, but i can’t see this ending any other way. this is it. this is the canon, and we got a bit of happy feelies at the end as a treat. thank you for reading!

#fic: the colour yellow #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojou x reader #gojou x you #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk writing #jujutsu kaisen writing #jujutsu kaisen gojo #my writing

[ekaterinatepes]

Nothing but the Best

Author’s Notes: wow guys! Thank you so much for your support and for following this story! I never thought I would get so much acceptance so quickly! You are all incredible! ❤️

VIII.

“…he’s not in Japan, he’s gone to the Americas” Suguru arched his brow to Ijichi’s words about Satoru’s whereabouts “how come?” He asked “mission in New York, special grade curse in a school” Geto stopped on his tracks “New York?” He took off running to go get his phone without another word.

-

From: Suguru

To: Kitten

He’s in NYC! Get out of there!

-

You both agreed not to communicate through phone since Satoru for sure had his device monitored but this was an emergency.

It was 1pm in Japan which meant it would be around midnight back in New York.

“Fuck…” he didn’t have any time to lose, knowing Satoru, he had already found you. He had been there for about two days, plenty of time to locate Y/N.

Shit! He didn’t want Y/N to have to face Satoru alone. Well… so much for postponing his trip to New York.

“Shit!” Whispered getting in his car. He wasn’t about to let you handle Satoru on your own. Not that you couldn’t, oh no! Suguru was confident that if needed be you could hold your own just fine. But, you are his friend, someone who he loves. On the other hand, Suguru couldn’t just ignore what his own heart demanded. He didn’t want you to be alone anymore.

The past 6 months he had to stay behind just to keep Satoru from finding you but it was too late for that.

-

https://youtu.be/44mTGIotkWQ

|||

Each minute that passes feels like a lifetime… the clock falls off the wall…

|||

Defeated… that’s how Satoru felt now that he was finally able to face you. In his mind he pictured this encounter way different from this painful waltz of heartbreak.

He had been stupid to think you would jump in his arms, kiss him like there was no tomorrow and forgive him. He had been more like… delusional, thinking you would receive him with open arms (and legs) just because he showed up here.

Satoru thought you would see how hard he worked to find you, how much he suffered in your absence. He thought that would be enough to at least get a smidge of compassion from you.

Nothing was further from the truth…

You had always been a tough girl, stubborn, opinionated and bold. And fuck! He loved how you always made his blood boil with your passion! He could never get enough of you which is why he was so smitten.

But there was something different in you this time around… you had never been so… cold.

There was always a warmth that surrounded you at all times even when you were angry (specially then) a metaphorical and also a physical halo (not visible for non sorcerers) of luminescence that clung to your body enticing him and any cursed energy user to come closer. But now… standing here, before you. Watching you through his six eyes he saw that same halo much more opaque and cold. It was as if you had surrounded your heart with ice walls. A shiver ran down his spine.

What had he done to you!?

|||

Hold your breath… And pray for the world to end

Nothing's left… Some broken hearts will never mend.

|||

“Please… listen to me for 5 minutes and then I’ll leave you alone” (more like I’ll stalk you in silence and make you believe I left but I’m not gonna). Holding his hands in front of him as if trying to appease you, showing you he wasn’t hiding anything.

“You and I have nothing to talk about Gojo” your melodic voice was steady. Ouch… It hurt how you didn’t call him by his first name or any of the other cute and overly sweet nicknames you used for him; he haven’t heard you call him by his family name in about six years! No longer after you met you both were on a first name basis. He understood, it was a way of driving a wedge between the two of you, to distance yourself from him.

“There is nothing left for you and me to discuss… it’s over! Leave me alone” you stopped to take a breath trying to calm your heart.

“You know you technically are still a Gojo too… right? So it doesn’t make much sense that you call me by OUR name”. Yes, it was petty but he would be damned if he didn’t try and convince you to call him in a more familiar way.

She looked at him as if he was soft in the head for a moment “Sign the papers and forget I ever existed…” he had to cut you right there “NO! I refuse to forget about you Y/N! You are my wife! By law and by right you cannot just keep me away from you! I am not signing shit!” All those words tumbled from his lips faster than he expected. The rejection he felt for the idea of you never being with him again was making him lose his mind. You could not be serious! Could you? You couldn’t really be considering to move on… without him. (As if you hadn’t already done that).

“Just let me explain! Fuck!” running his hands through his hair in an exasperated gesture. “Please…” came a broken whisper, not a demand, but a request.

You straightened your back and folded your arms over your chest “you have 5 minutes and that’s it. At the end of that time I want you to leave and never come back!” Satoru nodded although he didn’t really agree to those terms but he thought if he continued to defy you it wouldn’t do him any favors to gain your forgiveness.

“I am sorry…” looking straight in your eyes started the handsome sorcerer, crestfallen and bleak “I know… I fucked up so bad… I know I hurt you. “ only words wouldn’t cut through the thick barrier you carefully crafted around yourself. You might as well be shielded by his infinity.

You looked at him with a mix of anger, pain and longing. You hated yourself so much for feeling your traitorous heart hammering away, getting lost in his crystalline eyes and deep voice. It wasn’t fair he held so much power over you.

“But I am fixing it Y/N… Sookie is not in my life anymore… I left her and haven’t been with her in a very long time, I don’t want anyone else but you…” assured the man desperately.

“How can you say that?!” You asked horrified “what kind of man are you that you would abandon your child!?”.

“He was not my son!…. Y/N. She cheated on me with someone else, the baby she carried was not mine. I confirmed that when the child was born…” admitted once more embarrassed about his stupidity.

Your expression was blank for the longest time, trying to process what Gojo had just said.

You blink a couple times, it’s almost as if he expected you to feel bad about his luck.

Fucking asshole! You knew he was trying to play the pity card with you but it wasn’t working.

“Well… I don’t care about your personal life, it’s none of my business” you reminded him. Satoru visibly flinched at the brutal retaliation. “let me finish! God damn! Y/N!” He felt like pulling out his hair.

“I know I fucked up so bad but please… please give me another chance… I will do whatever you say! Give you whatever you want just…. Don’t do this” he waited for an answer from you. He wanted to touch you and hold you in his arms, promise you he would take care of you and prove he was now worthy of your love.

“Goodbye Satoru…” you said turning around and getting ready to leave him standing there in the cold.

On instinct he warped in front of you and stopped you by wrapping his arms around your body, one went to your narrow waist and the other behind your neck pulling you to him.

Fuck it…. You already hated him, might as well give you a good reason.

He crushed his lips against yours in a passionate embrace. Your body froze in his arms and he took that opportunity to deepen the kiss, ever the opportunist he slipped his tongue between your lips and caressed yours, enticing you to taste him as much as he was tasting you.

It only took your brain a couple seconds to work but by then you were trapped. You tried to fight him, placing both your palms against his chest and pushing him away. Might as well have been pushing a fucking wall. Gojo fucking Satoru was the strongest living person for a good reason.

It felt like an anaconda embrace, the more you struggled the tighter he held you until you finally gave in yourself. A tear ran down your cheek by the time you started kissing him back. You both went from practically devouring each other, angrily fighting for dominance to sensually and tenderly exploring each other’s mouth with your tongues, little licks and nips until you separated. His forehead against yours, both of your breathing heavily.

Not a single word was exchanged. Both of you afraid to break the chasm of this frail truce.

—————

———> Chapter 9

@sleepyamaya

@cloudsinthecosmos

@jxvajxy

@satoruhooraaa

@my-reality-is-in-my-head

@dok-ja

@jscarlet06

@fiona782

@thatsharklovingwoman

@heichoustheoryofcleanliness

@syynnaaah

@shaylove418

@coldvillainess

@vampgguk

@sukuna1stwife

#jjk #jjkgojo #jjk satoru #jjk suguru #jjk anime #jjk fanfic #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujustu kaisen #gojo x you #gojo saturo x reader #jujutsu geto #geto smut #jjk geto #geto x y/n #Youtube

[quirklessidiot]

title : cigarettes and parfaits [4]  pairing : older!nanami kento x younger!reader [13 year age gap, ft toji fushiguro] Genre: romance, fluff, slice of life, josei, angst, comedy, strangers to lovers au

Summary: you’re pretty sure you’d remember marrying a man 13 years older than you, right? Warnings: alcohol, smoking, mild smut, y/n making stupid decisions, cliche fluff, everyones a human-au so yeh non-canon stuff and everyone’s happy (periODT)

Notes: lil development right there HAHSHSHHS , yes tojis appearing soon guYS hddhdhdh thank u for ur patience ily all and yall stay safe and drink lots and ltos of water!! sorry for the late update!

Masterlist || taglist || [prev ; next] [updates; every saturday!]

You stare at the ring on your hand as you stand next to Nanami Kento in the grocery shop, you and him have agreed to see each other and go out once a week while fixing up the divorce papers. 

Last week you both had gone to a cafe after work but had to end early since Yuuji had fell down the stairs (despite being athletic, the boy was awfully clumsy). This week, you both decided to do something mundane.

Grocery shopping.

“Hm, what does Yuuji think about this?” You asked, showing the man some bars of rice krispies, “He seems to be a sweet-tooth.”

“Sukuna is the sweet-tooth, Yuuji isn’t really picky with food.”

“Huh,” You hummed,  “Sukuna seems so soft despite all the tattoo’s.”

Nanami rolls his eyes at your statement, “He’s just, as kids like to call these days, a nerd.” he retorts, taking the peanut butter off the shelf and carefully placing it in the grocery cart, “He enjoys mathematics and art,”

“Ah, hence the tattoo’s.” you thought out loud.

“I almost lost it when he went home a few months ago looking like that.” He sighs, running his hands through his hair, “It was a sign of rebellion, saying that he didn’t want to move to Tokyo.”

You chuckled, eyes on him, “Must’ve shot up your blood pressure, Kento.”

He clicks his tongue in dismay, the memory still fresh. Nanami Kento    unlike what Gojo Satoru said    was a very easy person to like and accompany. Ever since that ‘mild’ mishap two weeks ago, you’d have calls and little quick meet-ups aside from the once a week dates. 

At times it felt like the little wedding at the Izakaya hadn’t happened, it was as if you were just going out with him.

Nanami Kento didn’t even have to try so hard to make you comfortable, he was just...there and everything just seemed right. He had easily fit right in with your routine.

You continue to watch him and he stops in the middle of his tracks, blinking heavily, “Ah,” he mumbles, placing a hand over his eye.

“Oh,” you paused in your tracks too, “Are you alright, Kento?”

“Just dust,” He mumbles, “It probably got in.”

You hold back a laugh, how mundane, “Here, let me…”

You slowly take his hand away from his face, his eyes shut tight, trying to hold in the pain from the dust getting in his eyes, “Do you mind bending down a bit lower, Kento?” you ask, “I’ll have to blow it out of your eye.”

Nanami follows your orders and bends down. You slowly cup his cheeks and lean in closer to his eyes and softly blow. You notice the slight twinge of his body, the reaction making you inwardly giddy, “Feel better?” you whispered.

The older man opens his eyes and only then do you notice just how close you two were with each other. For a moment, movement around you is slow and you don’t even notice Maki Zen’in standing right in front of you along with Yuta Okkatsu.

“Sensei?”

You finally snap back to reality when you hear that very familiar voice calling you out. It seemed like Nanami had been caught up in the moment too, “Oh,” You cleared your throat, letting go immediately of Nanami’s face and jumping back, “Maki-chan.Yuta-kun. What a surprise.”

The young girl narrowed her eyes while Yuta’s ears were evidently red, signaling that he felt very embarrassed to walk in on that moment, “Hi sensei.” Yuta greets, clearing his throat, “I-uh sorry about that, I told Maki to walk away and-”

“It’s fine, Yuta-kun.” You laugh, a bit nervous. What would happen if she told Yuji and Sukuna about this? You knew how Maki was sort of close with the twins, although she did not know who Nanami was, she may describe him and if the boys were smart enough to catch on with it, you’d be entangled in it pretty quickly and you weren’t ready to meet them as their ‘oji-san’s’ partner. 

You were a bit nervous and it was showing.

Nanami takes quick notice of this and slowly wraps his fingers around yours, a small smile appearing on his lips, “Good afternoon, you must be my partner’s students.” he greets, the man had a way with younger ones, you could only imagine how he was as a father figure to the boys growing up,  “It’s nice to finally put some faces on the kids that Y/N loves to gush about.”

Unlike your nervousness a while ago, this man is calm, cool, and collected. You almost envy him at how good he’s doing this.

“At least you picked someone better than Toji-ojisan.” Maki nods, “This guy looks actually more serious with life than him.”

You feel Nanami’s brow quirk up at what she just said.

“A-Anyways, Sensei…” Yuta clears his throat, “We’ll leave you and your boyfriend together. See you at Math class tomorrow!” He hurriedly grabs Maki’s wrist and zooms away at a speed of light. Leaving you two awkwardly standing there.

“Toji?” Nanami asks, curiously peering at you, “An admirer, I assume?”

“Megumi’s otosan.” You mumbled, embarrassed, “He likes to play jokes and all that. It’s nothing serious.”

“Hm.” he mumbled, a small dismayed look crossed his features and you wonder why, “If he does anything uncomfortable, you can pull my name out. I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll be sure to take note of that.” 

You both continue your way down the grocery aisle, not even noticing that he still has his long hand wrapped around yours.

“Y/N-sensei…” Nobara drawled, placing her head on top of the wooden end of the mop, “How come we never knew you had a boyfriend?”

“Oi,” Megumi growled, “You’re supposed to be cleaning.”

“You’re just jealous that Y/N-sensei didn’t get to be your new okaasan.” Nobara bit back, putting her tongue out. You watched as the raven-haired boy chunk the blackboard eraser at her direction, a vein popping in his forehead.

“Stupid,” He replied, “I’d never let Y/N-sensei near the jiji.”

“What’s he like, Y/N-sensei?” Junpei asked, tapping his chin, cutting the argument short,  “I heard Maki-senpai talking about him.”

You watch as Yuuji placed his head on his best friend’s shoulder, “Yeah, she was telling me how older he looked than you.” he exclaimed, you nervously gulped down. Yuuji sure wasn’t helping the situation at all.

“Well,” You chuckled, trying to remain calm and oblivious, “He’s nice and he has kids.”

“Ha.” Sukuna droned, stopping whatever he was doing,  his punishment     despite not being given any by Nitta    was helping the cleaners clean for the whole week, much to his dismay, he had to follow or you’d be giving him a slip, “You’re dating an old man? I thought the reason why you didn’t date the Zen’in-jiji was because he was old and he had kids.”

“Oh.” you looked down on your books on the desk, embarrassed, “I don’t have a problem with kids. In fact, I’d love to meet them.”

“Wah,” Yuuji’s eyes were sparkling now as he hurried in front of you and placed his elbows on top of your table and head on top of his hands, “I hope I really get to meet someone like you, sensei.”

“Stupid, I doubt any sane person would want to go with you.” Nobara said across the room, making Yuuji glare at her and started teasing her.

You chuckled once again at their antics. Meanwhile Sukuna continues to stare at you, eyes narrowing especially at the ring on your ring finger. For some odd reason, it held quite the familiarity.

Yuuji likes to think that Nanamin is the best godfather out there, technically, he was like a father to them already. So he had always wondered why he never got married, he was sure that when they were out a few times, many women would crowd for their ojisan. 

His father’s very close friend, Haibara-ojisan had mentioned one fleeting moment back when he was babysitting them that Nanamin was very secretive on who he liked that even he didn’t know if he’d ever been in a relationship.

But things were different these days, for the past two weeks, he’d have one day wherein he’d go home later than usual. It was odd to say the least    and not like he minded really, they were high school kids after all     since Nanamin hated overtimes.

He mentioned it to Sukuna but his twin just rolled his eyes and said, “Man probably needs to chase the bag or something, he technically is paying for this nice house and two freeloaders here.” 

Yuuji doubted it though! Nanamin earned pretty well and he didn’t really need overtime since he was technically the boss or so he heard from Geto-ojisan a few nights ago.

So while he was making them some katsudon for dinner that night and Yuuji was doing some homework for your class, he decided to ask the question.

“Saaay, nanamin-ojisan…” he drawled, placing his pen down, “You’re coming home a lot later than normal these days…”

The older blonde turns to the younger twin, face still straight-lace and stoic, something that Yuuji was accustomed to, “Work has me by the neck.” he replies shortly.

“Every wednesday’s?” he quips, tilting his head to the side.

“Yes.”

“You aren’t dating anyone?”

Silence erupted between them, the only sound could be heard was the sizzling of the chicken on the pan, “What made you say that?” he asked stiffly and maybe, if Yuuji was ignorant, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight twitch of his brow but he wasn’t.

Yuuji prided himself to be an observant person, someone had said he could pass off to be a detective in the near future, he had the agility and the observation skills (sukuna said otherwise though and said he’d get himself killed if he were to ever enter that field)

“You sometimes have that weird look on your face when you look at your phone.” the boy pointed out, “But Sukuna says you’re just chasing the bag so maybe he’s right, he’s kind of the smarter twin after all.” he mumbles the last part with great disdain.

Nanami lowers the fire on the stove and places his hands on the counter in front of Yuuji, “What if I told you I was sort of seeing someone?” he mused, humoring the young boy. 

“Are you really?” Yuuji’s eyes widened, surprised written all over his features, “What are they like, Nanamin-ojisan? Are they pretty? Do they know about us?”

“Oi what’s the noise about?” Sukuna’s raspy voice cuts through Yuuji’s excited one as he enters the kitchen, hair still wet from the shower and in house clothes with a towel hung on his neck.

“I told you Nanamin-ojisan was seeing someone!” Yuuji yelled, eyes sparkling since he was right this time, he quickly returned his gaze back to the older man, “When do we get to see them? Are they nice? How’d you guys even meet?”

“You’re seeing someone?” Sukuna spat, eyes wide in complete surprise, “How’d you even get someone to stay around with your uptight attitude?”

“Yah!” Yuuji yells, “Nananmin-ojisan is nice with women unlike you, no wonder girls are very scared to approach you!”

“Shut up,” Sukuna grumbles towards his twin then turns towards his godfather, “How the hell did you even meet?”

Nanami just shrugs, telling them they’ll know soon enough as he returns to his cooking. The boys seemed to dislike his answer though and continued to bug him. After cooking dinner and having their fill, he returns to his room and whips out his phone, a text message from you saying, ‘hey, the boys asked me about you earlier. They heard from maki-chan.’

The blonde wonders if he weren’t drunk, would he even consider doing this sort of thing? Dating was really out of the question, he admits he isn’t in the right place to go out with anyone especially with a young person like you. 

He thinks he’s taking advantage of the power-dynamics since he’s older.

He doesn’t even deny how weird it was that you're still hanging around him especially when you had a far richer man as one of your admirers. Satoru may or may not have overhead Yuuji gossiping about you one time and your ‘relation’ with Megumi’s father, it was definitely a small world and judging from the Toji you had mentioned a few days ago, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots that it was actually Toji Zen’in, a member of one of japan’s high business clans.

He shakes his head before pressing the call button, it only takes a few rings until you answered, “Hey kento.” You greeted, “What’s up?”

He hears the sound of a whizzing electric mixer on the other line.

“Boys gave you trouble?”

“No,” he could almost feel the smile on your words, “They were just surprised I liked a man with kids.”

“I reckoned, Yuuji seemed to have caught up too in my side. Been asking why I’m going overtime.” 

Silence settled between you two for a moment and Nanami wonders if you’re scared out of your wits. You might be backing out this deal after testing those waters, “Maybe you should tell me when I could meet them then? We wouldn’t want them to run into us during one of our outings or when we’re fixing up the divorce.” you replied softly.

“Hm,” he mumbled, “I’ll be sure to ask them about that. For a temporary setting, you sure take this matter quite seriously, Y/N.”

“Well, I did say I’d help you out.” 

A small smile reaches his lips as he hears your small and shy voice. It seemed like having people to check up on you by the end of the day wasn’t so bad, after all.

taglist [if crossed out, i can’t tag u ; - ;]

; @coldbookworm  ; @frankenstein852  ;  @neavil  ; @shephard17895  @kristineyoshaii ; @airybnb ; @okachansenpai ; @amortentiaxo ; @rinvtaro ; @franko-pop ; @kozutenshi ; @kaldoesthings ; @moonlitdabi ; @chococroissant ; @bleepop ; @kaldoesthings ; @moonlitdabi ; @chococroissant ; @pettybroccoli ; @nixxona ; @kiyoo-omi ; @omibaby ; @bokkunto ; @peccobagnaia ; @sangwoahbigbussy ; @inu-makki ;  ; @megumiisee ; @softieelorelylove ; @azellianna ; @haruhuiii ; @restless-human67 ; @tsukkisfatsimp ; @taihjj ; @shayiswifey​ ;  @roione​

@Kurok1717 ;  @hcn421 ;  @shinhiromi ;  @airybnb ; @katshuya ; ​@atsuhaya ;  @donotcallagain ; @answerthesirens

#jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #nanami x you #cigarettes and parfaits

[gojology]

Strawberry Flavored Pocky.

pairing : teen! gojo x gender neutral reader warnings : the big three: unedited, most likely badly written, and some cursing. also there’s like.. graphic imagery that gojo and reader exchange to eachother. it’s just banter though! wordcount : 2273 a/n : for that one anon that wanted teen gojo. my stroke of genius always occurs when im eating strawberry flavored pocky i swear.. anyways yeah this is unfiltered writing n it’s probably like not the best tbh and maybe i didn’t nail teen gojo’s personality but u know what this was so fun to write

     The sound of the tear of the wrapper containing the Pocky you had just bought was music to your ears, crinkling with every touch. Your fingers are itching to grab for the deliciously coated sticks, but you’re stopped by someone none other than Gojo Satoru himself.       “What’d you get?” he inquired, seemingly unbothered by the face you were making, he hadn’t even greeted you with a simple, “Hello.” he sat down on the bench seat right next to you, uninvited.       In his hand were many bags of various sweet treats, you could only make out some familiar ones- ramune flavored gummies, a bag of chips, vibrantly colored candy. Your lips quirk downwards, exhaling, turning to face the setting sun.       “Just some Pocky.” you flatly respond, beginning to pick the biscuit up. Contrary to Gojo’s wide choice of snacks, you only really had one favorite- Pocky. Specifically, Strawberry flavored Pocky. The sweet, yet somewhat tart aftertaste treat dominated your mind almost day and night. It wasn’t everyday that Yaga would be lenient enough to take the four of you to the local convenience store. You were waiting for Shoko and Geto to finish shopping to finally head home for a night of yummy snacking.       Gojo sighs, lazily dropping the treats right next to his side, they sat idly, limply resting on his thigh as he crossed his right leg over his left knee. His hands warmly nestled into his snowy white hair, his elbows jutting into your personal bubble.        “Not one to chat, are you? What’s the problem? You scared?” his tone is teasing, and you jerk your head to face his. Your head is tilted, like your confused, but in reality you’re just astounded how obnoxious he was.       “Why in the world would I be scared of you? You wouldn’t lay a finger on me. Yaga-Senpai would rip your limbs off one by one and fling you into the horizon! And he’s not even that far away, I could report you to him if you even get on my nerves in the slightest.” you shot back, huffing and taking your first bite on the biscuit. You instantly melt.       He flashes you a toothy smile, and you stiffen, did he ever take anything seriously? “Oh my, so riled up. Only scaredy-cats would talk about how not scared they were. Look, you’re even shaking-” he gestures to your just slightly shaking, tightened grip on your Pocky. “-I win, Y/N! Boo hoo, case closed, gimme your Pocky~”        “No, fuck you and your fat ass trying to take my Pocky, I’m not shaking from fear anyways.” you sternly retort, warmth rushing to your cheeks for whatever reason. “I’m shaking because I’m resisting the urge to duct tape your mouth shut and gouge your eyeballs out.”       He chuckles warmly as if your gruesome detailing was humorous, he probably didn’t know you meant it. He too, ripped open one of his snacks. “Calm down, Y/N. I was joking, I could buy Pocky’s whole stock and probably also buy my position up as CEO if I wanted to. I wouldn’t leech off of you, sugar.” readjusting his crooked, circular shades, he looked down at your now slack grip on the wrapper.      Unanswering, you’re grumbling instead. Under your breath, you’re curious as to how Gojo hasn’t realized how obnoxious he was, and how much longer could he survive without his head exploding from how big it was from his inflated ego?      Gojo grinned. He was all too aware of those things, but who really cared?      “Not unless you let your guard down!-” unable to finish the rest of his sentence, he yanked up the wrapper from your hands, using the extent of his long arm to dangle it high above your head. Your reflexes are far too slow to react, causing you to glare at him in a mixture of shock, hatred, and disbelief.      “Give-” you jump, arm reaching towards your snack, but he backs off, snickering and still dangling it above your head. “It-” now you’ve leapt up on the bench, grabbing at the wrapper to no avail. “Back!-” whimpering and flailing your arms out, every time you came close to retrieving your rightfully owned pack of Pocky, he’d simply throw it to his other hand so carelessly it pissed you off. All the while giggling, juggling it like a clown.      A breath of laughter escapes his lips as he looks at you, prancing around like a circus act on the bench, yelling curses and many death-wishes to his clan. Your eyebrows are knitted together, and he can’t just help but realize how adorable you were when concentrated in getting something- so stubborn.    “Okay, okay!” and as if Gojo had flipped a switch, you simmer down, looking at him with an impatient side-eye. “You want it, doggie?”     “Refer to me as doggie, and I’ll send a pack of strays to ravage you.”       Gojo exhaled out of his nose. “You’re a funny one, doggie.” did he just dismiss the conversation you two were having literally 2 seconds prior? “I’ll ask this again, do you want to get your treats back?” his eyes are glinting with amusement and child-like glee. You were almost sure that he had started calling your beloved Pocky as treats because of just how well it suited the nickname Doggie. It looked like you would be getting no where unless you paid no mind to him calling you such a.. Derogatory name.       Grumbling and studying the concrete you were currently trampling on, you exasperatedly sigh.       “Yes. I do want my Pocky back.” you grunt, averting your gaze to anywhere but Gojo’s shoes.       He perks up in approval, drawing out a long, “Hmmm?” as if he hadn’t expected you to give up so easily. “What are the magic words, Y/N?”       This was so humiliating.       “Please?” you politely say through gritted teeth. If it weren’t for the general public bustling about, you would’ve lunged for his unruly hair and tear it out of his scalp.       “Hah! You think I’m gonna do that sorta bullshit?” he crosses his arms, Pocky tucked safely under his arm. You wince, thinking about how the biscuits may potentially be snapped in half. Did you really want your snack still? It probably smelled like Gojo’s armpit sweat, death, and all the bad things in the world combined. “You’re gonna have to earn it, Y/N, in a game.”       Now convinced that Gojo was the manifestation of all the bad karma that you had avoided, you stare at him with wide eyes and fear, the irritation long gone. Games, no, scratch that, literally anything with Gojo only resulted in a small, or maybe large piece of your sanity torn away from you, lost to the infinite dark abyss. Maybe that’s why Geto seemed to slowly go insane everyday.       “On second thought, I’ll just go-”      He cuts you off, alarm now displayed on full view, his face contorting back to neutral. “Wait, no! It won’t be hard. Pinkie promise.” extending a pinkie towards you, you gently slap it away. The mood change was so instant, you were still shocked, that, and he was almost a legal adult and still believed in pinkie promises.      Still hesitant, you quirk an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’d rather spend another two dollars than play whatever game your planning, unless you tell me about it.”      “That’s a given, besides, it won’t take too long, Y/N. I think you’ll like it.” he replies cheerfully, leaning and whisper-yelling into your ear, fruitfully jolting you up. Seriously, did he have any idea what personal space was?      After just a few seconds of thinking, you roll your eyes in defeat. “Okay, what’s this game?”      His incredibly long fingers inserted themselves inside the crinkling wrapper, pulling out a slender stick. You’re almost sure your salivating, and subconsciously swallow the lump at the back of your throat. “Okay, rules of this game are... Hm, we both place our mouths at both ends of the stick. You get the pretzel part because that part sucks.” mischief flickers in his eyes briefly. “Whoever can get down the Pocky longest without being afraid of kissing and pulling back, loses and doesn’t get the Pocky. Whoever stays in their place wins. I’ll throw in some money, deal or no deal?”       “This doesn’t sound.. Fun.” you were still skeptical, but curiosity was blossoming rapidly inside of you. Could you really resist such an intriguing request? The guy was rich, and he did say he’d throw in some money. Gojo probably hated the thought of you, too. You could probably get up and close, get him to cower away from the thought of locking lips with you, and you’d be on your merry way.       “Um, actually, never mind. Let’s do this.” you chirp, the weariness had depleted completely. Besides, Gojo would pester you into doing it anyways, this would effectively save time. The expression on his face was indecipherable, silently wishing to yourself to see his eyes. You wonder if they’re wide open, in shock of your acceptance.       He gently placed the biscuit between your lips, his thumb brushing against it. Your breath hitches, now he’s up close. The shades adorning his handsome features, concealing those vivid blue eyes of his made your heart pace quicken in just seconds, maybe it was because he could see you- and you couldn’t. Your gaze shifts to the tufts of white hair hanging above his forehead. His bangs look lusciously soft, so soft you wonder what it’d be like to ruffle his unruly hair, what did it smell like? What conditioner did he use?     Your cheeks darken, but you hope he doesn’t notice it. This was what people thought of when they saw pretty people up close, it wasn’t like you had a thing for him, he was just attractive, that’s all.      “You look real stupid holding that stick between your teeth and looking at me.” he comments, charmingly smirking as you give him another death glare, unable to speak in fear of dropping the Pocky stick. You could count each individual hair strand he had on top of his head with the amount of time he was taking.      Chomp.     You take the first bite, and you can’t help but realize how much your heart is fluttering about in your chest. Eyelashes fluttering, nerves getting jittery, the exchange was strangely intimate. No kidding, of course it was- if the two of you were adamant and continued to chomp on the stick, it would only end in a kiss. There was no way around it.      He takes a bite too, his lips look curved in a dopey smile, but there’s not a single word traded between the two of you, just tiny, slight nibbles. It would be eons until someone finished, and you were growing impatient by the minute. Quicken the pace. Quicken the fucking pace.     So you did the unthinkable, you quickened the pace.     Taking a large bite, he pauses for a minute- as if to think, before taking an even larger bite. Now, 2/3′s of the original stick is gone. One more large bite, and a kiss would follow suit. Now, you’re sweating bullets, eyes bouncing from him, back down to the microscopic sized Pocky. His lips are so, so close. Soft, plush pink, so glossy you’re inclined to ask what brand of lip gloss he uses. You can hear his breathing grow heavier, why wasn’t he giving up?      The two of you don’t take a single bite, plainly avoiding the objective, the world around you had evaporated into thin air. It’s you, and Gojo Satoru.      You nibbled a little bit more, and then you make up your mind. You’re going to kiss-       Growing chatter grew closer to closer, and you realize Shoko’s monotone and Geto’s lively voice, alongside a very disgruntled Yaga.       “Yeah, she’s pretty hot. I actually liked the movie- Uh...?” the steady rhythm stopped against the concrete. Immediately, you straighten and clear your throat, spitting out the Pocky stick into the nearby grass. Gojo follows suit, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and twirling around. “Oh hey, Geto!-”       “Are we interrupting something? Something.. Important?” Shoko quizzes, struggling to stifle her giggling. A sheepish smile was displayed widely on your face for the world to see, hands behind your back like you were hiding something. Gojo, on the other hand, is facing the other direction, whistling and staring at the now setting sky.       You stutter, cheeks growing even darker. Yaga looks as disgruntled as ever, facepalming and murmuring to himself. Geto looks ecstatic.        “MY MAN!” he beams. “WERE YOU GOING TO-”       “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Shoko shushes him in response, turning her head back to the two of you. You looked like you had just seen a ghost. “We thought you hated Gojo, we’re just...” her head is cocked slightly, an understanding expression on her features. “Just surprised, is all.”       Spluttering, you try to explain yourself- but no sound comes out. Your mouth is opening and closing, struggling to find the words.       “I do hate him... I just... He.. Pocky.. He uh...”       “Sheeeeeeeesh! Poor Y/N over here is going through some shock right now!” Gojo muses aloud, he places an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in under his arm. There’s a small, coy grin on his lips. As if he didn’t try kissing you 1 minute ago. “Just ignore them, anyways, what are we having for dinner tonight? I heard there’s a really good KBBQ place down the street that just opened..”      As much as you hate Gojo, his ability to escape anything did come in handy.    Well, maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you were leading on.     You’d go as far as to say.. Maybe you enjoyed some parts of him.      

#gojo satoru #jjk #jjk fic #teen gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #sss trio #gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #jjk gojo satoru #gojo satoru fic #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x gender neutral reader #jujutsu kaisen fic #gojou satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #anime fic #fanfiction #fic #fanfic #gojo satoru scenario #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

[sirthisisa-wendys]

To Heaven and Back: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: Surfing isn't always done on the water.

wc: 1.5k

tw: NSFW (minors DNI)

“You did pretty well out there,” you hear over your shoulder, and you turn to face the handsome surfing instructor that happened to be your friend’s brother-in-law. “You’re a friend of Nissa’s?”

“Yeah,” you begin, pushing your wet locks behind your face. “But you know she’s not coming. She backed out because her company has a major presentation due this week, and I’m heading back tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Geto Suguru shrugs, placing his surfboard against the wall before pulling a lever that releases clean, fresh water over his entire body. You watch the rivers of water run from his hair and down his back, where bunches of muscles you can’t even name gathered together and made a path for the water to travel down past his waist and to his shorts. “Are you staying in the beach house?”

“Y-yeah,” you answer, eagerly trying to find something - anything - to get your mind off of the hunk in front of you, like the fact that your legs are getting tanner.

“Do you mind if I stay over for the night before I drive back to the mainland? I mean, it’s our parent’s beach house, but I don’t know if you want privacy or…”

“No, that’s cool!” you blurt, maybe a little too excitedly.

He turns to face you, smiling widely and making the shaka sign with his right hand. “Right on.”

_____________________________________________________________

The hot water from the shower soothes your aching muscles and you sigh, thankful the water hadn’t gone cold yet. You let Geto go before you as a sign of goodwill, hoping he wouldn’t take too long in the only bathroom you had available.

But when he came out in a towel and nothing else, you averted your eyes, praying to the higher powers that be in your head like a madwoman. It would be your fate that you were going to be stuck with him on your last night, but you quickly push those thoughts aside. Nothing would happen between the two of you. He was your friend’s brother-in-law.

You emerge from the shower and wrap a towel around your figure, padding into the master bedroom and digging through your suitcase for something suitable to wear.

And that’s when you hear it.

A pained groan.

Instantly, worry sets into your mind and you forget you’re in a towel. You follow the sound of the groan to the guest bedroom, and you peek into the room, hoping Geto wasn’t hurt.

He’s standing at the dresser, facing away from you with the towel at his feet. You realize he’s fully naked, his face screwed up in concentration with his eyes closed and his hand… his hand is… his hand is moving…

“Fuck, y/n…” he moans, and for a moment, you think you’re caught, but his eyes are still closed and you--

“Achoo!”

Your head bangs against the door, knocking it wide open, and Geto whips around, eyes wide; shocked, and slightly embarrassed at the sight of you in a towel. In his doorway. You stare at each other in silence, unsure of what to say to ease the tension in the room. You look down to his still erect cock and then back up at him, then you raise your chin slightly, arching a brow.

“Was I on my knees or were you fucking me?” you wonder, and Geto curses, charging up to you like a dog in heat. When he yanks you into the room and slams the door shut, you know you’re in for it, and you climb on the bed expectantly.

One hand goes to your face, holding it as he kisses you roughly, and the other yanks off the towel without hesitation. You don’t speak as he lays you across the bed and fondles your breasts, hoping that his mouth would find your sensitive nipples and stimulate you even further.

“Geto, holy shit,” you whine as his fingers reach between your legs and stroke your clit leisurely. His mouth finally drifts to your breasts and you arch your back slightly, pressing into his face with a sense of urgency. He slides one finger into you, his thumb still rubbing your most sensitive spot, and you groan low in your throat, urging him to do more.

He’s in no rush though, feasting on you like you were the main course and popping your nipples in and out of his mouth at will. The sensory overload is driving you insane, and you writhe beneath him, feeling the heady sensation of an orgasm building relentlessly.

“G-Geto, please…” When he hears your cries, he strokes your clit faster and inserts another finger, stretching you out easily. The orgasm crashes over you like a wave, and you convulse around his fingers violently, exhaling so loud that you can practically hear it echo throughout the beach house.

Before you can even come down fully, though, Suguru already has his cock ready to press into you. “Tell me you want this and I’ll give it to you,” he mutters, and you nod eagerly. “Use your words, ku`u lei,” he urges you, and you pant,

“Please, yes.”

The stretching that ensues is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Your mouth opens into an “o” at the feeling, not out of pain, but out of an overabundance of stimulation. Every vein, every pulse, every twitch… you can feel it tenfold. He thrusts into you slowly, lips coming down to yours and kissing you deeply as he moves within you carefully. But before long, your legs relax against the bed, and Suguru takes that as a sign that you want more. He presses your legs back with his hands and grips the backs of your knees before leaning onto them, pressing his entire length into you.

“You like that?” he breathes in your ear, and all you can do is mewl at the sounds of his breathing as he fucks you stupid. He hums and kisses your cheek, the sounds of slapping skin picking up again. “Fuck, this is some good shit.” You exhale and inhale rapidly, unsure if your lack of breath is because you’re overstimulated or if you’re just really into the way he’s got you pinned underneath him, but whatever it is… he’s got you down bad.

The bed is creaking angrily and your legs are shaking, but it seems neither of you cares. Neither of you wants it to end. But a shudder rips through you, and Geto feels it in the spasms of your cunt around his cock.

“Tighten up like that again and I might just--” He’s cut off by you doing it again, and he grunts, his strokes becoming sloppy and rushed, almost as if he’s about to cum. “Shit,” he groans, and you feel the twitching of his cock inside of you as your orgasm peaks, pushing you to the edge again. You both lose your minds in the beach house, moaning loud enough to startle the birds outside as you cum.

_____________________________________________________________

“I take it the three-day vacation was great,” Nissa mentions before shoving a bite of pie in her mouth, standing over your kitchen island. It had been a few weeks since you’d been on the island, but every single night you were reminded of the afternoon you spent on your back.

“Oh, it was fun,” you reply, trying not to let her see your face as you put the pie in the fridge. “I had a great time.”

“Did you go surfing with my brother-in-law?”

“Yeah, that was cool.” You conveniently leave out that he fucked your brains out twice and then cooked you breakfast before the shuttle took you off to the airport, hoping she wouldn’t prod any further.

“Oh, did I tell you he’s in town for the next two weeks?” You spin around, facing her with a confused look.

“Oh?” Nissa breaks into a grin, wiggling her eyebrows.

“And he asked if he could see you at some point…” The doorbell rings at that moment, and you inhale deeply, your face twisting into shock.

“No, Nissa. You didn’t.”

“Anyways, I have to go! Company business calls, you know.” Nissa sashays to the front door of your townhome, then puts her hand on the knob. “Oh, I wonder who it could be?” You try to stop her from opening it, but she gets it open regardless, and you see Geto Suguru standing in the doorway, eyes flicking between the two of you.

“Hey, Nissa. Didn’t know you’d be over here…” he rubs the back of his neck, his black hair tied up behind his head. “Hey, y/n.”

You tug at the edges of your shirt dress, trying to smooth your untamed curls back behind your face. “Hey, Geto.”

“I was just leaving. You’re cool with being left alone with Geto for a bit, right, y/n?” Nissa doesn’t wait for your answer before leaving the townhome, getting into her car, waving, and then driving off.

You turn back to Geto, who is grinning slyly.

“Put your shoes on and come on. I want to take you out for lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“I mean unless you want me to skip straight to the part where I’m eating you for dessert, which is fine.” Your stomach leaps at the sound of that, and you grab your shoes by the door and your keys.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, and he watches you lock the door before whispering in your ear,

“To heaven and back, if you’ll let me.”

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @jotazinha @brownskinnedgirll @leanne-tamashi @amaris9 @vabybizzle @missbonekitty

(IF I MISSED YOU, PLEASE TELL ME/ FORGIVE ME)

#jujutsu kaisen getou #getou x reader #getou suguru #geto x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto smut

[violettelueur]

GOJO SATORU + GETO SUGURU || NEVER MEANT TO BE

| featuring : gojo satoru and geto suguru from jujutsu kaisen

| warnings : mentions of murder, manga spoilers and grammar errors

| form : imagine

| word count : 1704

| published : 15 November 

| request : hellloooo i hope this doesnt sound confusing but tbh im just requesting this since no one requested sum from the manga. how about something like reader arriving at the train station as gojo gets trapped in the prison realm in around chapter 90-91? like shes a shaman and she see geto and has a flashback cuz gojo her and geto were like past buddies? and to think someone could bind gojo?

| barista’s notes : for the people that haven’t read the manga, I would recommend you reading it first before reading this imagine because it has some MAJOR spoilers and I dont think you’ll understand it either way ʅʕ•ᴥ•ʔʃ but defo read it if you haven't, it’s amazing! but moving on from that i hope that you love your order of a cup of black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request)!

Rushing down the stairs of Tokyo Metro, you were trying to get to floor B5F where Gojo was last noted before you heard about the information that he was somehow sealed. With the help of the three other groups that were around the area, you were able to get through the shields that surrounded Shibuya to get to where you needed to be.

You were exhausted. Not physically but mentally as you didn’t know what to expect at all. The second you heard of Gojo’s report on curses forming alliances with each other, you thought he was just bluffing at first and to be honest, his ridiculous drawing wasn't helping with his case either. However, he was someone that you knew you could trust extremely, it had always been like that since both of you became students at Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College.

With your katana hanging from the side of your hip, you quickly jumped to the bottom on the stairs to save precious time before quickly turning the right corner to see what was the whole situation. However, once your hand was on the handle of your sword, your eyes widened in shock from what was right in front of you. 

‘Isn’t he supposed to be dead? That's not him is it?’

What was in your sights now was something that was technically impossible. He was supposed to be dead, there was no way he was alive sitting on the station floor. There were no such possibilities for him to be sitting with his back turned to you right now.

Geto Suguru.

                                                 ꕥ

You, Gojo, Geto and Ieiri were standing in front of the now-destroyed house due to Gojo using his technique to free both Utahime and Mei Mei from the house that they have been investigating for the two past days. 

“Don’t you think that was a little too much Gojo,” you commented with an awkward giggle as you saw tiny to large pieces falling to the ground, leading to your second-year friend saying, “I don’t think it was too much Y/N-chan, besides how could I have impressed you if I didn't take the opportunity to?”

“I shouldn’t have asked part one...” you quickly muttered, before Gojo started to tease Utahime, who was in the middle of the rubble that was created by your flirtatious friend himself.

“Satoru, it’s not nice to pick on the weak,” Geto suddenly commented, before using one of his spirits to devour the curse that suddenly appeared behind Utahime, only for Gojo to state, “who the heck’s gonna pick on someone strong? You’re the one teasing her without even knowing it Geto,” causing your other friend to now to realise what he had said. 

No longer being able to handle both of them, you quickly turned your attention to Utahime and asked, “Utahime, are you okay?”. This small but kind gesture of yours caused the grade-two jujutsu sorcerer, to say your name with such glee before you continued with, “we were worried about you since you didn't call for two days” to which only led the woman to pull you into a tight hug.

‘I shouldn’t have asked part two….I’m legit getting no air’

“Y/N don’t you dare become trash like those two, okay?”

“I’ll try my best”

However, this happy and hilarious moment had to sudden halt when Mei Mei suddenly asked, “where’s the curtain?” causing you, Gojo, Geto and Ieiri to look at her with dumbfounded expressions on your faces.

‘Ahhhhhh shi-’

                                              ꕥ

“There’s someone here who said they put up a curtain and then up and left the auxiliary manager behind and forgot about the curtain too”

At this moment and time, all four of you were on your knees in front of your sensei Masamichi Yaga, as he found out from the news that was shown on the TV above that someone *cough*Gojo*cough* forgot to put up a curtain up like him and Mei Mei stated.

“Fess up”

“Sensei! We’re better than pointing fingers at each other,” Gojo randomly commented, as he raised his hand up to emphasise his point. On the other hand, you, Geto and Ieiri had other plans and all pointed at Gojo for this mishap that had occurred without him realising.

“So it’s you!” your teacher shouted, before landing a strong punch on top of your friend’s head, causing you to know to never mess with your teacher anytime soon. 

Even though it wasn’t the best time, you and Geto let out a sly giggle before looking at each other, which only led to both of you laughing, even more, the second you stepped out of the room. As chaotic all four of you were, you wouldn’t change it for the world. 

However, it was never meant to be.

                                               ꕥ

“Hey!”

Turning to your right, you saw your friend Geto wave at you with a bright smile on his face. To the outsider, it just seemed like two friends meeting with each other or friends that just casually bumped into each other in the crowded streets. On the other hand, it wasn’t that.

Geto was a criminal on the run. You were just informed by your teacher that your friend massacred a whole village as well as the possibilities of his parents. You didn’t want to believe it. Of course, you couldn’t believe it. Geto wasn’t that type of person, he wasn’t like that at all during your time at Jujutsu high together, were the three years a facade?

“Yo, it’s the criminal” you teasingly greeted him, trying to hide your dejection from his view, “you need something from me?”

“I guess I’m just testing my luck” Geto replied back before taking a stand next to you. From your side perspective, you could see what Gojo was talking about a while back. Your longtime friend looks thinner than he did a year ago, you could clearly see the bags in his eyes indicating that he hadn’t had any sleep the past few days. It was like that ever since the killing of the Star Plasma Vessel, a mission that you, Gojo and Geto failed at.

“I’m gonna ask just to be sure, but are those false charges?” you quietly asked, hoping that all this was a lie, a stupid cruel prank that was set up by someone. However, you knew somewhere in your heart that this was the reality that you were in, there was no escaping from this one.

“Nah, unfortunately not”

“Again to be sure, why?” you quietly questioned him, trying to conceal the tears that were threatening to flow down your face.

“I’ll create a world where only shamans exist,” Geto calmly answered, causing you to snap your head in his direction. A world where only shamans exist? What more stupid of a reason he could give you?

“That’s hilarious,” you stated, before you slowly carried on with, “if humans were eliminated, we shamans wouldn’t even have a purpose at all, your reasoning is the most stupid thing I ever heard in my life Geto,”

Geto turned to look at you, only to find you casually open your phone to call Gojo on your sightings on your friend.

“However, I hope that you’re happy now that you're choosing this path. I really hope you get what I’m saying and you don’t live to regret,” you stated, as you place your device next to your ear. “I hope you're happy in the end my friend, that’s all I’m asking for,” you ended your statement before Gojo was on the other side of the line.

“Thank you Y/N”

“Gojo, I met Geto in Shinjuku”

“Did you question him? Did you kill him?”

“I didn’t…...have the heart to Gojo, I’m sorry”

There was nothing but silence between the both of you which gave you the chance to look to your right, only to see that your friend had disappeared from your side. As if he wasn’t there in the first place.

“Hey Gojo...it was never meant to be ha?” you rhetorically asked, as a single tear slowly slid down your face.

                                              ꕥ

Geto Suguru was right there in front of you. Sitting on the ground on the train station with his back turned to you.

However, as much as you wanted to believe that it was true, you knew that it wasn’t really him.

It was just impossible.

Taking your katana out of its black wooden sheath, you were preparing for any attacks that could happen around you right now before you could begin to question who the person in front of you was.

“Who are you?”

The man turned around, slowly showing the face of a man that was someone that was close to both you and Gojo all those years back causing you to look at the person that was in front of you with sorrowful eyes. You wished it was him. But as you said, it was never meant to be.

“Y/N! I'm not surprised that you were able to get through all those shields, you are powerful like Satoru after all,” the man happily commented with the same smile that you missed so dearly.

“I said who are you?!” you repeated in a firmer tone, telling the person that you weren’t playing around anymore as you raised your katana, making the sharp pointed tip to be in level with his face - even if he was far in distance.

“Come on, is that how you greet an old friend?”

“How the hell did you get the Prison Realm within your possession?” you asked, as you looked down at the small cube that Gojo was supposedly in. How such a small thing was able to seal such a powerful shaman like Gojo? You would never know.

“Y/N, we were in the same team for three years, I would assume you know I’m able to get what I need, I am Geto after all,”

“Shut up!” you shouted, surprising the person from your sudden outburst. “I’m not stupid, so don’t you dare play with me for even a second”

“I know you’re not Geto”

“Me and Gojo knew that from the start”

“It wasn’t meant to be”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru imagines #geto suguru imagine #geto suguru imagines

[aliteama]

hey can i ask for geto x reader in a n au where geto didnt well- turned evil?? maybe geto also become a teacher at jujutsu high??

✧Fic✧

Geto Suguru

✧ A/N: This is a little all over the place, sorry about that o(><；)oo

✧ Sinking into the warmth that laid in your bed you pulled Geto closer to you, your cheek resting against the crown of his head. Dark hair sprawled across the soft pillows and eyes shut with a steady exhale, his chest rising and falling in time to match your breathing. Warmth leaking past the white curtains that tangled in the wind, you must’ve forgotten to close the windows last night. Hauling the puffy blanket further up to cover your shaking arms you watched his open mouth disappear under the sea of fabric.

Tucking his chin under the sheet you let your eyes rest shut. Sleeping in a little more wouldn’t hurt. A loud pang at your door made your eyes roll and an annoyed groan leave your lips as you cursed your early-riser students “Sensei!” apparently sleeping in would hurt. 

Tossing the blanket aside you already anticipated crawling back into bed at the end of the day. Fishing through drawers you found an old worn bear resting near the bottom of the dresser, “What did I tell Mimiko about leaving her things here..” tugging at your hair you picked up the beloved doll and tossed it onto the bed.

Those girls were like your children, they never cease to bring a smile to your face and make your head throb at the same time. The memory remains fresh in your mind, going on a village mission with Geto back in high school only to return with two small figures in your arms. You’ll never forget the look of shock on those stupid village folks’ faces when Geto threatened to burn it all down for doing such horrible things to children.

Watching them grow into such strong sorceress made you feel domestic in a sense, especially on the rare occasions when they’d slip up and address you and Geto as their parents. Fiddling with the buttons of your uniform you dressed appropriately in that plain dark color everyone wore. Glancing at the clock you made the executive decision of allowing your lover a little more time to rest while you deal with the children banging at your door.

Tossing the door open you saw Maki’s fist about to bang once more before she lowered it with sweat pooling at her temple, “A-ah Sensei! We didn’t know you were still asleep..” a sheepish smile graced her normally stoic features as she rubbed at the back of her neck.

Taking a quick head count in your mind you watched them line up in order. Panda, Inumaki, Maki, Nanako, Mimiko. Giving a soft pat to Makis shoulder you closed the door behind you and pushed a finger to your lips, “Geto-Sensei is going to sleep in today so let’s be quiet.”

Nodding their heads and following behind you to the track you waved at the three first years who sat on the stairs with exasperated expressions.

“Where’s Sato?”

Fushiguro was the first to speak up as he jumped into the group of kids behind you “He’s late. As per usual” 

“Well, no harm in having you three join us today! It evens out the teams anyways”

Ushering the swarm of students to run laps you sent repetitive text after text to Gojo, “I heard he’s on a mission” craning your neck you saw Geto make his way towards you with tired eyes.

Pressing his face into the crook of your neck he kissed at the soft skin while his arms rested around your middle to keep you close, “Mimiko left her doll in the room. Did you grab it?” tightening his grip around your waist you assumed that meant he forgot to get it. 

“I have it” heels clicked as Shoko descended down the stairs with the rope-hung bear under her arm, “I went to look for you guys this morning but this bear was all that was left. I thought it looked familiar”

“Well well well! This brings back memories” 

“Ah I see you finally decided to show up”

You and Shoko smiled at each other as Gojo and Geto spoke casually, it really did bring back memories. Playing hooky to go on dates and having her cover for you while Gojo ratted you out. Apologizing to Yaga while Geto took the blame. It felt like just yesterday when the four of you were sitting in the empty classroom, playing games and eating tooth-rotting snacks.

“Mimi c’mere!” calling over the more timid girl, she ran into your arms while Geto ruffled her hair from behind you “You left something in our room”

“Your room..? Ah! My doll!” 

“Here ya’ go kid” tossing the matted bear in her direction Shoko smiled at the relief washing over Mimiko’s face.

“Thank you Shoko!”

Waving her off Shoko bid everyone farewell before making her way back to the infirmary to finish sorting through files, taking the occasional sip from whichever bottle of alcohol remained on her desk.

“She’s like your kid, Nanako too”

“A kid huh?” 

Giving Gojo a peculiar look he shooed him off “Go train your students for once Satoru”

“So mean!”

Pulling your body flush against his Geto pressed his cheek to yours with a sly smile on his handsome features “Thank you for letting me sleep in my love”

“I planned on staying in too but you know how eager they are to train” staring ahead you watched Panda flip Nobara over his shoulder before rushing over to do the same to Itadori.

“We should take an off-day tomorrow, go somewhere nice”

“And leave the second years with Gojo? I’m not so sure”

“They can handle themselves” spinning you around in his hold and tilting your chin up he connected your warm lips to his “I assure you they’ll be fine”

“Maybe another kiss will convince me”

#requests #fics #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Blackened Bond (Ch 15.5)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: Shadows Fall

Next Chapter: Non-Standard

Word count: 2.4k

Tags: Kamo Noritoshi x Reader, Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife @lordguameow @track5enthusiast @nayydoesthings

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, and specify if you're okay with nsfw posts or not, please mention it in the comments below ty❤

Author's Notes: This is a deleted chapter but I decided to just put it as an extra/half chapter. I took a step back to assess my drafts and deemed that it didn't need to be in the story for it to be cohesive. But this is full of extra info that will be quite significant in the chapters to come^^

土御門天皇

Chapter 15.5: Tsuchimikado

“Geto Suguru has pronounced war against the Jujutsu Society. We are expecting there to be an ambush here in Kyoto and one in Tokyo Shibuya. We must prepare thoroughly. Amongst the students we will only be asking Jujutsushi of Grade 3 or higher to assist us in this battle. And you may opt out if you do not wish to fight. But your help will be highly appreciated, especially on such short notice.” Principal Gakuganji ended his speech by looking at you dead in the eye.

And deep in your gut, you knew you didn’t have so much as a choice. You were going to fight this battle as a Special Grade sorcerer (and being the only one in this room at the moment), whether you liked it or not. So you gave a short nod in return.

“I’ll be joining. As the future clan head of the Kamo clan and the eldest son, this is not a matter to be ignored or taken lightly.” Your head whipped around to face Noritoshi and to your biggest surprise he was looking straight at you. Then he turned to nod to Principal Gakuganji who nodded back approvingly.

“I’m always up for a good fight, so of course I’ll be joining. Can’t miss out on a chance to beat down curses.” Todo grinned and cracked his fists.

“Will you join, Tsuchimikado?” Utahime asked.

Everyone was silent as you looked at her then the Principal. “Of course I will.”

Everyone else called out to say if they were participating or not. After the meeting was finished after several more announcements, and you left back for your dorm rooms.

◇◇◇

The next day, Utahime sensei called in some students plus Hiroki into her office. You all filed in, wondering what it was about. Hiroki nudged you, “Why am I here with yall kids?” You pinched him in return.

Outside the door, you went face to face with Noritoshi. He gently called your name, “Good morning Y/N.” You just purse your lips and nod.

In this time of war, you need to set aside all personal matters. It’s all business; everyone had to cooperate together to have a chance of surviving.

You counted and named the people present. Noritoshi, Todo senpai, You and Hiroki. That was it.

Utahime let you all sit down on chairs facing her desk before calling your attention, “So, I called you all here today, because we have some information on the possible curses that might appear here at Kyoto. As you know, Geto Suguru has the ability to manipulate and take in curses.

We know of some grade 1 and special grade curses. I decided that amongst the students, the three of you are the most capable in handling those. Hiroki san, you’ve stated that you’ll be fighting alongside your cousin, so I brought you in here today so that both of you can prepare together.”

He grinned, “Of course Utahime san. We got this in the bag sis.” He punched you softly in the arm, and you softly hit him in the head. A childhood habit of yours.

So Utahime sensei then explained and listed off the curses that are known to be in his possession. All of you paid close attention and took notes. Most were Grade 1 and 2.

“And finally. We know of another Special Grade curse, the Giant Black Tsuchigumo of Kyoto. This curse is-” she continued to speak, but it felt like radio static on your end. You couldn’t hear anything anymore.

The blood drained out of both your and Hiroki’s faces. ‘Huh? I thought that nightmare was already done and gone. Whatthefuck’

Your right hand shot out to grab at Hiroki. Utahime paused at the sudden movement. It was getting harder to breathe, and you could feel the onset of the panic attack kicking in.

You’ve done so well recovering from anxiety attacks over the years, but this just made you feel so helpless. “Sorry, can’t breathe.” You gasped out.

“Give her space!” Utahime and the others pushed back the chairs and desk. Hiroki caught you as you leaned your forehead against the top of his chest and settled on the ground.

“Breathe in 2 3 4, hold 2 3 4 5 6 7 8, out 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9, and again,” Hiroki repeated your go to breathing exercises, ignoring how your nails dug into his arms. It took you a good 7 minutes to calm down. “I’m so sorry,” you apologized, wiping your sweaty palms off your thighs.

You looked down at your hands to see them still shaking. Utahime, Noritoshi and Todo were all kneeling with you on the floor. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Utahime patted your head lightly.

“Tsuchigumo. That big black one is dead. I have no idea which one you’re talking about right now, but the one that reigned in Kyoto is dead.” you said. “Gojo Satoru and I killed that curse back in late 2007.”

Noritoshi inched closer to you. Hiroki stiffened, watching him closely, but he didn’t do anything to close the gap. He just stayed by your other side, a silent and steady presence.

Utahime reached out to wipe your sweat with a towel. You only noticed now that the room has been rearranged, chairs pushed away to make a bit of space. There were cushions on the ground for everyone to sit on.

“Drink.” Hiroki pushed a cup of hot tea into your hands. You nearly spilled it, but he cupped your hands firmly, helping you drink. You leaned against your cousin, sighing at his warmth.

Hiroki spoke up, “As you can see, it is a bit of a touchy subject for the both of us. Our clan had a bad run in with that Tsuchigumo years back when sis was only 6 years old. But we are pretty sure that, like she said, Gojo and Geto san have gotten rid of it.”

Utahime nodded, “Geto did huh. Then he must have taken it in during that time.”

Noritoshi looked at you and realized that something far worse than just an attack happened. “Your sister,” he spoke quietly, “was she…?”

Hiroki raised his eyebrows. “Yes, our Sora was killed by that Tsuchigumo.”

The atmosphere in the room turned heavy and almost unbearable. Utahime looked concerned, “We need as much information on that Tsuchigumo as we can. Y/n, can you tell us anything?”

Oh yeah, just the one memory you’ve desperately tried to forget your entire life. Still you nodded.

Hiroki squeezed you.

“So basically.” You paused. “One night when I was 6, Sora neechan was like 10 years old. We got attacked near the Kiyomizu shrine. It was getting late, the sun was setting. But we were up at Daimonji-yama to play, and there were barely any people around. It wasn’t too dark yet, but it was really quiet.” Your teeth were practically chattering.

Noritoshi met your eyes and for a moment you wanted him to hold you. Until you remembered you were supposed to be angry with him, so you brushed it off and looked elsewhere.

“Satoru nii and Geto san were actually in Kyoto at that time to visit us. So I remember calling Toru nii and screaming for help, he was on my speed dial. He told us that we could call for help anytime. We are pretty much like siblings to each other. So he would always come to our aid. Right niichan?”

You leaned into Hiroki as he let out a small “Yep. He never lets us down. Dumb as he is.” Your lips actually quirked into a small smile at that.

“Sora and I basically had to hold off the curse until they got there. But it was strong. As you know, Tsuchigumo are earth spiders. But this particular one reigned in Kyoto for so long. Like centuries. It was so strong it ate every other tsuchigumo, making it grow bigger. Still, it rarely comes out to feed and is adept at hiding. We like to think of it as a smart curse. Every bite is laced with poison.”

“Back then I only mastered basic freezing and wind manipulation techniques. I couldn’t make barriers yet. And it really…” you closed your eyes remembering that sense of helplessness you’ve felt like never before.

“It was the worst 10 minutes of my life. I couldn’t do anything to hurt it. I had another technique I was working on, but it involved using reverse cursed techniques which I didn’t perfect yet. And I didn’t like playing with fire as much as I did with water and ice.”

“I froze it several times, but my technique was way too weak. It kept breaking free. Sora nee didn’t even have a cursed technique; she couldn’t fight. But still she felt responsible for me since she was older, so she …” you stopped. You closed your eyes and tightened your fist.

At this point your nails were drawing blood from your palms, but you didn’t feel the pain. “It’s so stupid really.” You laughed out loudly trying to distract everyone from the tears that were forming in your eyes.

Noritoshi reached out to you. But Hiroki’s eyes flashed at him in warning and he dropped his hands. Your heart squeezed painfully.

“I was just a stupid kid, who let her weaker sister take the shot of poison from that Tsuchigumo, instead of facing it head on. She wouldn’t let go of me no matter how hard I tried to put her behind me. A huge part of me was scared and terrified that night of course. I didn’t know what to do and I was such a coward. It was about to hit me until Satoru nii came.” You took a deep breath and forced out the remainder of the story.

“So I actually did manage to activate my reverse cursed technique towards the end, but it was too much. I burned nearly half of the mountain…. My mom had to help in restoring a large part of it afterwards. Satoru finished it off and carried us away immediately.”

“But Su- Geto san. Like he has the cursed spirit manipulation right? I never realized if he took it in or not really. I never particularly cared about it that night, because Sora nee was dying in my arms.” You rushed your words and pushed further into Hiroki’s arms.

“It was a bad omen for our clan,” Hiroki’s teeth were gritted tight as he relived your stories. “For such a powerful and evil curse to share a part of our namesake, only to hurt one of our own. After that day, we hunted down all the Tsuchigumo we could find across the entire country as a priestess told us to do so to cleanse our clan of a lingering curse. But… for some reason it was never enough. Now we know… it still lives with Geto san.”

“What painful memories,” Todo cried. “We will help you take it down, y/n. And I don’t doubt that you can defeat it the way you are right now.” You were touched by his words.

“But can you face it once more?” He asked.

“I’ve been training all my life for a day like this. Of course I’m going to throw that thing into the depths of hell.”

“Careful there.” Hiroki nii was eyeing you carefully. “You tend to rush headfirst when you’re being controlled by your emotions. You’re too reckless lil sis.”

“That’s true.” Noritoshi hummed. You glared at him. “If it’s to save a life, why not.” You shot back and had a stare off with Noritoshi.

More like a one sided glare on your part and him lovingly looking back at you with a sad smile. Noritoshi’s bond mark burned.

"Ahem." Hiroki cleared his throat loudly and everyone turned to him. "I'll be watching over lil sis here so it should be fine. I'll be joining this war anyways."

You smiled at your cousin gratefully.

“Well then. That was the last curse that needed explaining. I think the four of you are suited to taking them down. You’re all dismissed.”

You all nodded at Utahime, rising to your feet along with everyone else.

◇◇◇

“Y/n! I need to talk to you.” Mai said urgently. She followed you back to the first year dorms after class. You had told the first years about the special grade curses you were expecting to see in the war.

Mai looked particularly shaken upon hearing about the death of Sora. She was always the cool and calm one amongst the first years, besides Mechamaru that is. So this was very new.

“Of course, come into my room.”

You served her tea and cakes, before kneeling down on your floor cushion.

Mai threw her arms around you. Your eyes widened as her arms tightened around your shoulder. You cautiously put your arms around her.

“I know how it feels….. To lose an older sister.”

You flinched, “Is yours-”

“She’s alive.” There was a different pain in her eyes. And that was then you realized that she must have been left behind.

“Grief is the loss of a person. Someone could be going through a divorce or a break-up and experience grief. You could lose an important person, while they’re still alive and it’s still considered grief.” Mai said.

You wanted to cry, but your eyes ran dry. All you’ve been doing is crying yourself to sleep night after night lately. Your soul was still longing for Sora when she couldn't be reached anymore.

Noritoshi was different. He made it clear that he’s still running after you, never stopping to call out your name even if you ignore him in the hallways. But you were not willing to touch on his matter as of now.

Mai told you all about Maki and her life in the Zenin clan. How she was left behind and forced to be a Jujutsu sorcerer. Everyone has their issues deep inside, but you’re all still pushing and coping as you fight curses.

You buried your hair into Mai’s chest. “I’m sorry you experienced that Mai. You’re such a brave woman for doing this everyday even though you’re afraid of curses.”

“You get used to it.” She sniffed.

You sat there for a while, just hugging her.

“Wanna watch sappy romcoms with me?” You peeked up at her from her arms. “Of course.” You both smiled at each other.

Author’s notes: Tsuchimikado translates to “Emperor of the Earth”, while Tsuchigumo translates to “Earth Spider”. Thus, with how Tsuchi (meaning earth), both names share common Kanji. They are a strong clan that can heal and guard living beings and plants. And Tsuchigumo are expected to be easily defeated by them, being an earth creature. But, as Hiroki said, it was a very bad omen when Sora was killed by one.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

#angst #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fanfiction #jjk imagines #jjk x you #jjk x reader #blood bound #blackened bond #bonus extra

[gogiberries]

Hi so I’ve had this in my head for a few days now

It’s basically how i see the Nanami x Gojo relationship (but it’s more sad than anything else tbh)

⚠️ spoilers ahead for those who haven’t read the manga!

Please enjoy this disgustingly long thread <3

- okay so the way they started was out of convenience/ desperation

- Geto left the school and abandoned Gojo

- Nanami lost Haibara

- So the two ended up just trying to find some sense of comfort and understanding in each other

- Gojo was the one to start it though

- I see Nanami as the type to just suffer silently with his pain and loss, so Gojo had to have made the first move

- They were still students and now they had to pair up for training more often

- Gojo did consider Shoko before Nanami, but he knew that she wouldn’t give him any chance because she saw the start and finish of him and Geto

- Gojo also didn’t want to go to some stranger because he couldn’t lay it all out to someone who didn’t understand sorcery and explain the heavy chip Geto left on his shoulder

- So Nanami, the guy who also just lost someone & who is up to date with the Geto stuff is a perfect candidate for Gojo

- Gojo starts teasu Nanami about how he needs to get stronger during sparring

(this just pushes the “have get stronger for Haibara/ not end up like him” notion in Nanami’s head)

- And one day Gojo just switches to heavy flirting

- Nanami is like ‘???’ but he chalks it up to Gojo just being his weird self

- But the flirting continues

- And Gojo being Gojo, he just keeps getting more direct until one day he just flat out asks if Kento has thought about fucking him

- Despite the constant flirting and suggestive stuff Gojo has been doing, Nanami is completely thrown off

- “What the fuck are you saying” is probably what he’d say, a slight blush forming on his face

- “Cmon dont lie, you’re saying it hasn’t crossed your mind once or twice when we spar?” Gojo would tease

- And Nanami would immediately deny it

- And Gojo would push it even further and say

“oh? That’s too bad, cause I sure have thought about fucking you“

- Now Nanami is blushing hard, face feeling too hot

- “Quit saying nonsense and stop lying” Nanami is too strong willed to give into/ believe in Gojo’s offer

- “I’m not~ do you want me to prove I’m not?” Gojo is also too strong headed and now refuses to back down from this thing he started

- Nanami says no, but they can both hear the hesitation in his voice

- Gojo takes this sliver of a chance to kiss the blonde

- Nanami goes to pull him off, but he doesn’t.

- Why? He’s not sure either, maybe it’s because he’s still a bit inexperienced with all of this, or maybe because he’s willing to accept this- whatever this is that Gojo is offering to help distract him from the pain he’s still trying to cope with from losing Haibara

- So he only backs up slightly to tell Gojo they should go somewhere more private

After that, their relationship, if you want to call it that for lack of a better term, begins

- Gojo definitely is the one who takes the most in this relationship

- At first, when he was trying to keep Nanami from regretting his actions and running away, Gojo was gentle and kind. Making sure Nanami felt understood and comfortable with their actions

- But once Gojo saw Nanami was staying, his caring attitude slowly faded

- He would stay to cuddle afterwards, but only until Nanami was asleep, leaving him to wake up by himself in the morning

[ maybe once in a while Gojo would leave a “Sorry I got called in for some mission” half assed excuse ]

- Not by force, but Gojo would make sure he’d get his needs met before Nanami did (definitely half assed in trying to meet Kento’s needs)

- Nanami isn’t stupid, he noticed the change in Gojo’s behavior early on, but being the masochist that he is, he put up with it because it still felt better than remembering Haibara and dealing with that

- Kento definitely noticed when Gojo was at his worst though. When Gojo was okay, he’d put up his usual goofy & cool dude front, and be selfish in bed, leaving the second they were done as if he was too “cool” and “strong” to show sad emotions.

- But when Gojo was really down and haunted with memories of Geto, he would stay the whole night.

- Gojo would be more gentle and slow with his actions, he wasn’t going out of his way to fully please Kento, but it was more like a sympathetic “c’mere let me do it for you” offer

- on those nights, after they were done, Gojo would lay there and hold-genuinely hold- Nanami.

- Nanami could see the accumulated exhaustion and pain in Gojo’s eyes on those days, and like Gojo, he wouldn’t go out of his way to help him. He might offer to be the bigger spoon or not question it when he stayed till morning, but Kento never would ask Gojo if he wanted to talk about it.

- Nanami would also allow himself to be selfish and enjoy the softer and more affectionate actions Gojo would do during these days

The sense of comfort and understanding they felt with one another was odd and definitely unhealthy, but it was better than being left alone with their own thoughts.

And it continued until Gojo was finally graduating and Nanami decided to share the news that he was going to start interning at some office

Gojo was taken back a bit by the announcement. Kento seemed like he would’ve just done the expected thing of graduating and going straight into sorcery work.

- “You really don’t like this sorcery stuff huh?” He’d probably ask him

- “It's all a bunch of shit” definitely a Nanami response

- Gojo was pretty indifferent in Kento’s post graduation plans, so he only gave him and understanding nod

During Nanami’s final year at the tech school, the two drifted apart without much trouble

- Maybe once in a while, when they were both overworked and stressed by their new schedules, they’d come back for one night to each another.

- It wasn’t much different than what they already had though

- Gojo would still only care about getting his first, and Nanami would use the time to space off and just distract himself from his reality

After Nanami graduated and started his salaryman career, their meetups stopped for a good while.

- Besides the fact that the two were now working even crazier schedules, Nanami was the one who wanted to full on quit.

- He was done with jujutsu tech & sorcery, and as he’s done with everything else in his life, he ran away from it

- He’d ignore Gojo’s out of the blue texts, or just give short and dry responses

- Gojo wasn’t really hurt about it, there weren’t any deep emotions formed below the surface of what he and Kento had.

- Though Gojo was very close to calling Nanami the day he dealt with Geto

But just how they were a few years ago as students, the two adults ended up back where they started, in an emotional void induced by stress and the years long accumulation of unattended issues that neither one of them knew how to handle.

- Nanami tried to quit, he really did. But going to company speed dating parties and or blind dates set up by coworkers was too much trouble for him. He was working way over 40hrs a week and had no time to develop a healthy relationship with someone.

- After some big deal falling through with his job, Nanami did what most adults who have little to no healthy coping skills would do. Get drunk and call his fuck buddy

- Gojo thought it was a mistake when Nanami sent him a text with only an address

- Gojo, also having almost no healthy coping skills, immediately called Nanami back to see what the text was about

- And oh.

- Nanami did send it on purpose

- Well. Who was Gojo to say no to a free night of being distracted with no strings attached?

Aaaaaand they were back, dancing the same dance they have been for years.

- Somewhere within those meetups, Gojo finally shared what happened to Geto.

- Nanami didn’t say much, he only said enough to convince Gojo that tonight wasn’t going to go as they usually do.

- Instead Nanami allowed Gojo to drink and let out any and all emotions he had about the incident.

- Gojo was embarrassed the next day thinking about what all he probably said. But he was grateful Nanami chose to be the responsible one and be next to him as he aired out his feelings

- Nanami never brought up that night’s conversation details to Gojo. He just let that night be what it was and moved on (the best thing for the both of them, more so for Gojo tbh)

Now present time, they still do their usual meetups, but maybe it’s the years of life slowly sanding them down because now, it feels more like a weird check up with one another than just a quick hookup

- It started with them just getting drinks for the night, nothing happened, they both just got drunk and passed out in Gojo’s Living room

- Then it slowly progressed from getting a quick bite to eat, to having planned dinners together

- Sometimes it leads to something, sometimes it doesn’t.

- Is it healthier than what they were doing at the beginning? Not really.

- They still don’t share their feelings that openly nor do they go out of their ways to comfort each other.

- But I guess just the mutual understanding from someone who has also lived through some fucked up stuff quietly sharing a drink or meal with you is somewhat comforting and helps you stay grounded.

End.

#sorry #there’s no good ending to this #also #if you read all of this you deserve some reward #is there errors and flaws? yes #but im just gonna close my eyes and ignore it lmao #nanago #nanami kento #satoru gojo #gojo x nanami #jjk headcanons

[quirklessidiot]

title : cigarettes and parfaits [3] pairing : older!nanami kento x younger!reader [13 year age gap, ft toji fushiguro] Genre: romance, fluff, slice of life, josei, angst, comedy, strangers to lovers au

Summary: you’re pretty sure you’d remember marrying a man 13 years older than you, right?

Warnings: alcohol, smoking, mild smut, y/n making stupid decisions, everyones a human-au so yeh non-canon stuff and everyone’s happy (periODT) i keep forgeting to add that this isnt beta-rread..all of my stories arent so yeah shshs Notes: ah, i feel like this story will be lengthen more than 8-10 chapters shshshs i wanted to add a little spice anyways thanks for all the comments uwu ily all!

Masterlist || taglist || [prev ; next] [updates; every saturday!]

“Y/N-chan!!!”

You cringe in embarrassment as soon as you hear that awfully familiar and cheerful voice, you could barely remember this man and the events that transpired the night before but here he was, acting like your new best friend. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to go here but you needed clarity. Surely you didn’t just legally marry a man at an Izakaya out of all places last night?

“Oh, you actually did marry him.” Gojo Satoru proclaims as soon as you take a seat across him, he gestures around his face, “I could tell by your whole, ‘I hope this guy is messing with me’ face. You have it, signed and sealed. Even got the cute matchy rings that I had one of my assistants delivered.”

You pale at the thought of his assistant coming in with a silver ring. Wasn’t he sober? How could he not have stopped you two from doing something as reckless and stupid as this? Weren’t older men supposed to be more responsible than this?

“Why the hell didn’t you stop us?” You groaned, burying your face in your hands, embarrassment painted all over your features.

“I was just as drunk as you two.” He confessed, scratching his head, “probably even more drunk but anyways back to the topic in hand, I only remembered it when the same assistant came in and congratulated me about it. It’s good I had your number on my phone before you two bailed.”

“So you don’t really remember?”

“Bits and pieces.” Gojo grinned, this guy was a maniac, how did the serious man you met just this morning have friends like this? You probably wouldn’t even last long, “I did call Nanami-”

He’s cut off by the rough sound of someone pulling a chair out, you immediately jump on your seat when you realize it’s Nanami Kento, the guy from this morning. The man you had recklessly married!

“This better be some prank you’re pulling, Satoru.” His voice was anything but kind that you almost wanted to hide behind Gojo’s back.

“Hey, hey.” Gojo raises his hands, “Don’t look at me. I didn’t force you into anything and stop scaring your poor little partner.”

Nanami snaps his gaze towards you and you notice how his eyes soften just a bit when he sees your red ears and your eyes looking away from him, “You better call Geto and fucking fix this, I refuse to bother this young-”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, still shy and red, “It’s...fine...I just…Please don’t think I’m burdened by it. It was technically my fault for even agreeing immediately.”

Nanami clenches his jaw and turns away, “Nevertheless. L/N-san’s young. I hope to not be such an uncouth man like you.” he retorts, voice sharp as he eyes the white-haired businessman up and down. Gojo, seemingly used to it, rolls his eyes behind his dark shades.

“Maybe you guys should try it out.”

The blonde man looks like he’s about to smite the white-haired man out of existence yet Satoru remains oblivious to his friend’s gaze, “Don’t ya think so? It will take a while for those divorce papers to settle in so why don’t you two go out and get to know each other? Who knows…” he sing-songs the last part and Nanami is so close to chunking his briefcase towards the tall businessman, not even caring 

“Ah, he’s not exactly wrong, Nanami-san.” you try to calm him down, placing a small hand on his broad shoulder.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually listening to this idiot’s idea.” Nanami replied, gaze narrowing.

“Not really but you have some problems I can help you out on and I have problems that you can help me out on...Of course, the last say is on you...”

“Told you I actually had a brain.” Satoru piped in.

“Shut up, Satoru.” he quips, then turns to you, “I’m thirteen years older than you, L/N-san. I have two high school kids that could pass off as your siblings, and-”

“Well, I technically did marry you.”

“You were drunk.”

“Doesn’t exactly really excuse it.” You laugh nervously, “The whole divorce process usually lasts up to a few months, some even takes a whole year. I could help you out with the boys and I can use you to ward my family off from moving back home.”

Nanami is quiet for a moment, actually thinking about it. Weighing the pros and the cons, not only would you be able to help him out but you’d also be able to get Gojo and blind-dating out of his back.

There really wasn’t anything he could loose, really.

“Or you two might fall in love.” Satoru teases, making Nanami throw him another side-eye, as if saying ‘I dare you to say another word.’

It’s a Thursday today and Sukuna absolutely loathed Thursdays     apparently because it reminded him of Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. They all were far from the weekend     Everyone seems to be happier than usual though. Maybe it was because you were there teaching some basic shit at the board or something.

“...and if we transfer this here and change the positive to a negative, you’ll end up having five as your answer.” You smile, placing your chalk down, “Does anyone have any questions?”

Echoes of no’s resonated throughout the room.

“Alright then, let’s end the lesson here so you guys can have an early lunch. I don’t think an assignment is in order since many of you were able to get a perfect score in the activity awhile ago.” You winked. A couple of whoops resonated throughout the whole class right after. 

As the kids shuffle out of the room of the class, Sukuna remains behind. The ojisan had cooked them something delicious this morning and he wanted to eat it in peace without that pesky Nobara grabbing a share from his bento and Yuuji’s annoying babbles about horror movies with his best friend Junpei (the only one who was really bearable was Megumi, really)

“Sukuna-kun?” you called out, snapping him out of his small trance,  “Are you alright?”

He notices a glint of worry in your eyes, he had to admit since his transfer here last Monday, you were the least annoying teacher in the academy     the blue-haired professor in Japanese literature was absolute shit since he loved to tease him a lot and that bald-headed teacher in science who looked a lot like Mike Wazowski was an annoying twerp who loved dawdling in him and Yuuji’s business     and you were kind of good at your job. Not only did his idiot of a brother stop coming to him and their ojisan for help in math but he could actually do the worksheets right and get an actual decent grade at it.

“Yeah.” he roughly replies.

“That’s good.” You smiled, he watched as you bind their worksheets together and clip them in utmost delicacy, “You should head to the cafeteria now, I heard they’re serving milk bread today.”

Without saying anything more, you left the room, leaving him there in the silence.

Well, the Christmas tree idiot was right.

You kind of had a motherly aura on you and it didn’t even look forced.

No wonder, everyone in this room was whipped for you despite your subject being a pain in the ass.

“You look like an idiot.” You mumbled as you slapped Mahito’s hand away in annoyance, your workmate wiggling his eyebrows like the little shit he is.

You completely forgot you did have someone like Gojo Satoru in your life and it was one of your co-workers, Mahito, a Japanese literature teacher who was too nosy for his own good.

“You’ve got a ring on your ring finger and a mailman comes in and gives you an invite for Zen’in Toji’s fortieth birthday.” he whistles, “Even Jogo-sensei gossiped by the water cooler awhile ago, saying that you had eloped with the man. Not that I’m judging you or anything...”

You choke on your saliva, clearly thrown off by the backhanded comment. That darn bald-headed fool that looked like the green eyed monster from the DreamWorks cartoon, he sure needed to lay off the gossip and actually focus on his job as the head of the science department, “You’re not denying it.” Mahito stated, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, “Why aren’t you denying it?”

“I’m not dating Megumi-kun’s father.” You grumbled, finishing up your paperwork, “That man is off limits.”

“Right,” he drawls on sarcastically, “...because you have a strict rule against dating hot older men with money.”

“I also teach his kids and his cousin…” You deadpan.

“We don’t even have a rule against that.” He retorts, rolling his eyes, “If we did, Hanami-sensei would’ve been fired a long time ago.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re so secretive. If it isn’t Toji Zen’in, who’d ask you out?”

“Hey, I do have a man.” You huffed, “and he’s very kind and considerate...”

The image of the tall and lean man sleeping next to you slowly wormed its way back from your memory and you feel your cheeks start to flush. Good god, what were you? twelve? How embarrassing.

You needed to get that image off of your head, it wasn’t right.

It was all temporary, anyways and he doesn’t even see you in that sort of way-

“Yes, I’m Sukuna and Yuuji Itadori’s guardian…” a very familiar stoic voice could be heard from the nearby table, cutting your thoughts short. Wait, were you so head over heels for the man that you started imagining him here? Yuuji and Sukuna’s guardian? Wait a minute.

All color drained from your face as you snap your head behind you to find the same man you were imagining.

Oh no.

Oh no, indeed.

There stood Nanami Kento in all his glory;  crisp suit, stoic face, and eyes laced with mild worry.

“...L/N-sensei is Sukuna-kun’s adviser, by the way. It would be best to discuss this with them.” Akari somberly informed the man, turning to your direction. You don’t miss the shift of expressions when he sees you standing there.

Your mouth parts and you know you look like gawking fish trapped in a small aquarium.

“Akari-sensei’s looking at you with the new hot daddy.” Mahito mumbles next to you, eyeing him up and down, “Definitely wonder where all these old men come from these days.”

You were only half-listening to your co-worker because your head was all over the place, just what were the odds that he was the guardian of the new transferee’s? Just how awkward would everything be? Why did it even have to be at this school out of all places?

Never ending questions pop out of your head as you approached them, “Good afternoon, Nanami-san.” Your smile comes out very stiff and awkward while you hold your hand out for him to shake, clearly there was no memo on how you were suppose to act around your sort-of-fake-husband-whos-kids-you-actually-taught.

Nanami reverts back to his stoic expression as he clears his throat, “Yes, good afternoon to you too, L/N-sensei.” he greets, maintaining a straight-laced tone.

“Akari-sensei says that Sukuna has been quite...rude...in class…” you try to rack your brains up to describe his kid.

“Your son literally pointed out that the history lesson I was teaching was fake and that I should study again so he could get his tuition’s worth.” Akari looks clearly perplexed and ready to throttle the boy if it was legal. You had to admit, Sukuna went overboard with that insult.

You knew how passionate Nitta was about her job and what Sukuna just said to her was like a big ‘fuck you, you suck.’ to her.

“I’ll be sure to talk to him about this,” he sighs, bowing down, “I’d like to ask for forgiveness for that, the boy is a good and smart student-”

“Nanami-san, the school not only cares about grades but character as well.” Akari Nitta sighed, cutting him off, “I’ll let this slide once, if he does that again, it goes on the record.”

You internally bit your cheek, still trying to process everything that was going on.

“I understand. Thank you for that.”

“I’ll walk him out, sensei.” You immediately say soon after, wanting to have some alone time with him, “Let’s go, Nanami-san.”

You walk right next to him silently, some students peerlessly glancing at the tall blonde next to you but you were too immersed in thought to notice the stares, “Nanami-san?” you ask softly as soon as you reach the exit.

Nanami Kento looks at you, his eyes still laced with a bit of worry, “It’s okay.” you silently comforted him, “Just talk to him calmly.”

“That’s not the problem.” he sighed, “I just didn’t expect that the person I married would be the boy’s teacher.”

You sweat drop, “Aren’t you worried about talking to Sukuna? I mean, he literally just disrespected a teacher and you said that he and you weren’t in good-”

“It’s easier to talk to him about that rather than…” he paused, showing his ring, “this.”

You blinked.

Seemed like Nanami knew what to say about the little attitude problem his son had, “So you must be used to this?” you asked, “Him disrespecting the teacher?”

You notice the shift of expressions on his face, you had only known this man for a few days so far but he was starting to get easier to read. His eyes shed more emotion than his face, no wonder he likes wearing those funny sunglasses a lot.

“It’s something I’ve scolded him over a couple of times,” he gruffed, trying to dance around the subject, it seemed like he had such a soft spot to the point where he had a problem with disciplining them, “At times I believe it’s just because he’s way too smart for his age. The boy has read history books for fun when he was a kid and solved quadratic equations to prove that he’s better than me when he was ten.”

“It still doesn’t give him the free pass to say things like that to a teacher”

“I know,” he acknowledged, “I’ll be sure to give him a better scolding-”

“No, you see. This is why he thinks he can get away with it. He isn’t afraid of you. You’ll only probably tell him that you can’t do that.” you frown, crossing your arms, “You do know that not all sensei’s are as nice as Akari-sensei and he could get in trouble for that even more in the future, right?”

Silence lingered between you two for a moment and suddenly you realize that you must’ve said something way off the rails.

“I..” you turn red, embarrassed by the sudden outburst, “That was too much, wasn’t it?”

You look at him directly in the eye, the worry-filled ones are now replaced with a softer gaze. God, he really needed to stop looking at you like a kid. It would only make this set-up more awkward!

“No,” he mumbles, “It...It wasn't too much…”

“Oh.” you cleared your throat, flustered and looking away from his face, “Well, okay then goodbye then Nanami-sa-”

You needed to get out of this conversation quick.

“Kento.”

Your gaze snaps directly towards him, clearly taken aback by the correction.

“What?”

“We’re technically married now, right?” he softly corrected, “Call me Kento.”

“Oh,” You uttered again, this time softly. You looked down on your shoes, it seemed like the floor looked really interesting now, “Then bye-bye, Kento.”

“Bye Y/N.”

He leaves you standing there, cursing yourself because of your erratic heartbeat at the way he says your name in that voice. First name basis? okay, totally normal for sort-of lovers, right?

taglist [if crossed out, i can’t tag u ; - ;]

; @coldbookworm  ; @frankenstein852  ;  @neavil  ; @shephard17895  @kristineyoshaii ; @airybnb ; @okachansenpai ; @amortentiaxo ; @rinvtaro ; @franko-pop ; @kozutenshi ; @kaldoesthings ; @moonlitdabi ; @chococroissant ; @bleepop ; @kaldoesthings ; @moonlitdabi ; @chococroissant ; @pettybroccoli ; @nixxona ; @kiyoo-omi ; @omibaby ; @bokkunto ; @peccobagnaia​ ; @sangwoahbigbussy​ ; 

@Kurok1717 ;  @hcn421 ;  @shinhiromi ;  @airybnb ; @katshuya ; ​@atsuhaya

#jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #cigarettes and parfaits

[gojology]

Intoxicated. (18+)

The Request: 

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 | I’m so sorry anon, usually I finish the whole fic before adding the author’s note, and I’m now realizing that I read your request wrong. I think you meant to have Gojo and Reader as friends but uh... I kinda wrote this as the opposite? It’s more of a Popular Gojo x Loner Reader. I hope this still fits your tastes because otherwise I followed everything you asked for, you’re welcome to request more and I’ll write them PERFECTLY I swear. Also can ya’ll tell I’m bad at choosing titles LMFAO 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | College Student! Dom! Gojo x Drunk! Sub! (as per usual..) Reader 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 3808 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | Suggestions of Rape (Nothing Happens Though, Also I’m Not Sure If That’s The Correct Choice of Wording...), Fluff, Oral (Male Receiving), Somewhat Public, Hair Pulling,  𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | After attending a party due to some persistent begging from a friend, hopeful for Gojo Satoru, your long-time crush to come, you turn back empty-handed. That’s what you thought, though. Eventually he comes around and helps you in more ways then one.

           The thumping of bass was all you could hear.      Loud drunken cheering, chatter amidst the scene. Poorly discarded red solo cups littered the floor and the tables, and at the corner of your eye you could see a heap of college students piled up on top of each other, snoring.     You impatiently tap your foot against the sticky floor, most likely due to the uncleaned spilt drinks. You weren’t exactly fond of college parties. Most of the time nothing occurred, and besides, you had your eyes set on a certain man, so you weren’t quite looking for a quick night. But you had come regardless, since your friend had begged and eventually convinced you to.     Scanning the crowd once more, hopeful, you curse under your breath as you come out of your search unsuccessful once more. Not even a glimpse of Gojo Satoru, someone that always attended crazy parties, and this party was high on the scale of crazy. This had to be the most depressingly boring party you’ve ever attended.     But if you weren’t here to shamelessly stalk Satoru, or socialize, you had to do a bit of drinking, or else what would be the point?    Walking towards the alcohol was the last thing you wanted to do. Hordes of intoxicated students were blatantly making out with each other, drinks left untouched and probably forgotten, not to mention just the overall anxiety you would get to be so caught up in the life of the party.     “Yooo... ‘S that you, (Y/N)?” you heard a familiar drunken voice even through the loud music, and you whip around, glad to have some form of escape from the awkwardness.    You were hesitant to approach your friend, you knew they were the friendly type, and that was only exemplified during drinking.    “Yup, that’s me!” you smile awkwardly, setting your empty cup down on the table.     “Agh. Fuck.” your friend groaned, stumbling onto you, sloppily catching themselves using your shoulders. “Sorry... Long night. Holy shit (Y/N), didn’t think you’d actually fucking come out and party. Nice to see you... Fuck-” brushing off a pair girls dancing wildly from their shoulder, your friend cleared their throat.    You try not to make a face, and instead direct your attention to the crowd on the opposite end of the room, hoping this was enough to tell your friend that you weren’t exactly looking for a conversation.    “...Fuck... What was I saying..? Oh yeahhhh, glad to see ya out here hermit. I’ll pour your drink~! How’s class going?”     Clumsily fumbling with your cup, you had subconsciously picked it back up, your fingers itching to fidget with it and pretend your friend wasn’t there at all. Turning to face your friend again, a grin playing at your lips, hoping you looked friendly. “No that’s fine! I’ll do it myself, I’m way less drunk then you are. Why don’t you go sit down?” You mentally facepalm. Of course they wouldn’t get your body language, they were literally drunk.     Your friend grinned boldly, “Hey, you said it, not me~ You can leave anytime though... Guy named Gojo Satoru coming soon... Makes all the parties go wild. Ladies love him. Probably not your style though, eh?”     You don’t reply, instead watching your friend nod at you, perhaps as a way of saying goodbye when they couldn’t do it normally. Taking sluggish strides to mix back in with the crowd of people, unintelligibly rambling about something you presumed was about Gojo Satoru. You wave at them as they blended into the blur of faces.    It takes a moment to register everything that was just said. Your heart pounding, you turn to face the variety of alcohol instead, finally settling on some cheap beer, since you had no idea what the rest was, yet you weren’t quite thinking about the quality of the alcohol you were drinking.    You were looking down at the selection of drinks, but your mind wasn’t thinking about that at all.     You had thought your luck really was shit, but that didn’t appear to be the case any longer.     Your brain was thinking quicker then your hands could catch up, spilling the canned liquid onto the table instead of your cup, but that wasn’t what you were thinking about right now.      Setting the can down without another thought, you take a long sip, enjoying the ice cold beverage, your mouth going numb with every swig. Usually you’d throw up at the slightest thought of the after taste of beer, but that didn’t matter. Right now, all that was in your world was your red solo cup, the cheep booze inside of it, and whenever the hell Gojo Satoru would arrive.      The likelihood of him noticing you was probably in the negatives, you were a wall flower, an average college student, but him? He probably had a part-time job as a super model, or perhaps a fitness trainer. Strong toned arms, always a smug smirk on his face, strikingly white hair, and those damned circular shades.      Shaking your head, you pour another can of beer into your cup, feeling yourself go numb and ignoring the thoughts going rampant in your head. The only thing to distance yourself from these thoughts were to drink yourself to sleep, seeing as everyone else was doing the same thing, or call an Uber.      Unfortunately, that probably had a lower probability of Gojo taking an interest in you. You were, of course, a broke college student living off of pre-packaged noodles and relatively cheap dishes. It would be more likely to crash at your friends place.      You weren’t quite the drinker, much less experienced with the booze. You felt your knees wobble, and a strong urge to throw up at the back of your throat. You shouldn’t have overdrank.      Leaving your cup on the table, you shrugged your way towards the exit, murmuring (or rather slurring) polite excuse me’s and sorry’s, Stumbling your way towards the door, you were just now realizing that people were even now still coming into the party. You desperately needed fresh air, the atmosphere in the party was too hectic, too crazy, too stuffy.      As soon as you stepped an inch away from the interior, you drew in a long much needed sigh, every breath coming out as a cloud of fog.      The night was quiet and still, and you finally felt like you could vomit your guts away in peace.      Walking over to the nearest trashcan you can find, you vomited as much as you could, feeling lighter as soon as it all left your system.      Turning back towards the house, you still found yourself stumbling and struggling to walk normally. Wiping your mouth with your sleeve, you refused to look this stupid returning back to the house, figuring you could take a few more breathers.       Taking another deep breath in, without even beginning to mention your surroundings, confidently taking long strides. You knocked into someone, headfirst into their chest.    Cursing under your breath, you squint your eyes, this person was incredibly tall, you noted. Remnants of expensive smelling cologne clouded your sense of smell.    “...Sorry.” you mumbled, still struggling to see who this was due to the darkness.      “Hey. No problem girly, you seem drunk, you okay?” yet another familiar voice, yet you hadn’t heard it quite as often as your friend.      “Huh...? Uh, yeah... I think.” giving him a dopey smile, you couldn’t remember who this guy was for some reason.      “Yo Gojo! Who’s this chick?”      Immediately swiveling your head towards the direction of the voice, it came to your attention that you had seen the guy on campus hanging out with Gojo quite often. Turning back up to the guy towering over you, beads of sweat formulated on your forehead, you gulp, the confidence you got while drinking evaporated into thin air. A toothy sly grin on his handsome facial features,  you don’t even know if your heart rate is dropping to the negatives or skyrocketing.      This was the actual real Gojo Satoru. The egotistical bastard.     Stifiling an eep, you try to respond, attempting to say you were in-fact not his affirmative, “chick”.      “Chill, Geto, just some drunk girl. Hey, you go ahead with the party, I think I’ll help her.” he said, waving at whoever Geto was.      “Gojo, again? You’ve done this shit like 4 times, you want pussy that bad... Yo!” he raised his arms up as soon as Gojo shot daggers at him. “Dude, come enjoy yourself when you can, okay? Was just a joke.” Geto mumbled, you heard a few goodbye’s and words of agreement, and then the atmosphere was still once again.       “You seem really drunk. I don’t think being alone is good.” his eyebrows knitted together. Placing a firm hand on your forehead. “which fucking sucks honestly. Here, let’s go back inside sweets. You’re heating up.”      Seemingly forgetting every language you’ve ever learned, you instead look back at him in awe.      He laughed, putting his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. “Here, I’ll help you walk. If worse comes to worse, I’ll fucking carry you, yeah? Nothing to be worried about, who doesn’t wanna flex that they were carried by Gojo fucking Satoru? They don’t call me the greatest for nothing~!” he sang.      “You’re real?” you breathed, immediately covering your mouth following suit. Wishing you had the confidence like this sober.      He raised an eyebrow, looking down at you, taking long strides that you couldn’t quite catch up with. “Yeah, I’m real, don’t walk into that you’re gonna faceplant into a car.”

    “I think I’ve seen you before in one of my classes, humanities maybe?” he added, turning you back into the party, you heard the loud thumping music once again.      It was in fact humanities, but you couldn’t quite tell him you always marveled at him every lecture, so instead you flutter your eyelashes. “...Uh yeah... I think I remember you too.”     Before he could say anything back, you hear the steadily increase of a deafening combination of party music and loud screams and chatter.      “Yo Gojo! Got a new girl? Thought you were dating some chick named Utahime?”      “Yo! Nah, just helpin’ this girl, and no I am not dating Utahime-”      “Is that fucking Gojo Satoru? Yo! Over here, shots? Geto’s here too!”      This guy was popular, obviously. These were also top-notch names within the small college’s community, yet here you were under his arm, and not one person knew your name. Everyone just referred to you as just a girl. This probably wasn’t new to Gojo then, so you weren’t special.     You felt your heart drop.      Once again, you were in your own world, and you never felt like a burden more then now.      “Hey, where are the rooms?”      You look up from furiously studying the floor, and you realize he’s talking to your friend, tapping at their shoulder.       “Huh? Oh my god... Gojo, I thought you didn’t make it~! Want a drink?” they lifted up their red solo cup to Gojo’s lips, an easygoing smile plastered onto their face.      “Nah. Where are the rooms?” Gojo asked with a slightly impatient tone, now rhythmically drumming his fingers against your shoulder with one hand, the other shoving the cup away from his face.       “Damn, my guy.” your friend wiped their lips before speaking, their arm slack. “You’re intent... Yeah down the hallway, left, there’s some spare condoms somewhere...”       “(Y/N)? I didn’t even realize... You’re gonna fuck my boy Satoru over here?” they slapped a hand on his shoulder.      “Wha? No of course not.. Uh... He’s...” everything came out as unintelligible babble, you felt your cheeks go warm.       “She’s probably not an experienced drinker, just looking out for her to be honest. No fucking, just want to make sure she’s safe for the time being. I’ll join you later, yeah?” Gojo chirped, reassuringly patting your friend’s shoulder back.     “Shit, say less Satoru. See ya~”  your friend waved before turning their back on the two of you, striking up a random conversation with the people who just so happened to be nearby.      As you both walked down the hallway in quiet, you look up at him, grateful for the not as noisy room.      “U-Uh.. Thank you..” you murmured, “I can speak though, you know..”      He chuckled, “As fucking if, I just have experience with drunk people, I can usually tell what they’re saying when others can’t. You sounded like a crackhead back there.” fidgeting with the bedroom’s doorknob, he finally unlocked it.      “You’re mean! How do I know you’re not gonna... You know!” you retorted, collapsing on the bed without another thought, relishing the plush mattress.       “Thanks babe, if it makes you feel any better I can pull any chick within a 500 mile radius. I don’t need to resort to such cowardly and criminal shit.” he yawned, grunting before placing his shades on the nightstand, laying down next to you. “I’ll even leave the door wide open if it makes you feel safe.”       Reassured, you relaxed your body, staring at the blank ceiling. Your body felt numb and you couldn’t quite think straight.      “How’d you know I was in humanities?” you slurred, still staring at the ceiling.      “I see you all the time, you sit near me and have some cute stationary.” putting both of his hands at the back of his head, his eyes turned to look at yours, his neck twisting as he did so.      Immediately, the first thought you think of even in your intoxicated state was how beautiful his eyes were. Like rare diamonds mined from the deepest caves, placed delicately into someone’s eyes by some divine being. A strikingly vivid bright blue. It was a little on the lighter shade, but so, so beautiful.      “Pretty..” you struggle to restrain yourself, but you can’t help it, instead staring at him, eye-to-eye.       “Yeah? Just like you, sweets. I thought we were talking about cute stationary?” you couldn’t quite tell if what he just said was a joke or not, but you really didn’t want to find out. You felt your heart burst.       “...Really?” you breathed, ignoring his previous statement, lifting your legs upwards to wrap your arm around them.       “You’re pretty. Why else do you think I’d notice you in lectures?” he paused, and even you can tell he seemed slightly nervous, a slight quiver to his lips. “honestly, whenever I’m bored I just kinda look at you. You’re cute, what can I say?” Gojo added.      Unable to respond, you instead looked up at him, you felt like a blood vessel was going to pop, or your heart, whichever one was first.      Scooching closer to you, he placed a hand on your neck, breathing heavily. “Hey, I’m not lying. You’re genuinely pretty, sugar, you know? Yeah we haven’t talked to each other often, but I’ve always thought you were cute and I’ve heard things about you.”     “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” that was all you could pathetically muster. “Is that the joke?”       “When a cute chick is on the line, I don’t lie.” he assured you, pursing his lips.      Seeing him so up close was nerve-wrecking, so perfect, he looked like was sculpted with marble. A part of you wished you weren’t drunk, so you wouldn’t look as stupid. “I think you’re cute too.” you whispered.      For a moment, it went quiet. So quiet that you could hear the loud music and the wild party once again, but you don’t dare interrupt. It takes everything inside of you to not break eye contact, your stomach a butterfly exhibit.      “I like you.” he finally said, you couldn’t sense a damn sarcastic tone. “Bet you’re gonna doubt that too.” snickering, he ran his hand through his hair, but you swear you see him bite his lip. Sexual or something he did subconsciously, you weren’t quite sure.     Time stopped. This was way too far to be a troll, but what if it still was? You didn’t know, the stupid small thought never went away, you looked at him dumbfounded instead. Snapping out of your daze, you ask, “...But we haven’t talked a whole bunch.”      “I know that. I don’t know, I guess I liked the idea of the competition. You don’t throw yourself at me, and sure other girls don’t do that as well-” he trailed off, before finishing his sentence, “but I think there’s a lot of positive traits that I like in you, and you’re just.. Really pretty. I guess I don’t want to throw you away like what I do with other girls?”      Before you could speak, he cuts you off again, this time a tad frantic. “But you know- Listen, I know it seems like I fuck around with girls a lot, but I’m looking to change that. I know I don’t seem very genuine now, but I think I’d like to try something with you specifically. You don’t even have to say anything back, just leave if you don’t want to, and if you do I’m sorry for disturbing your night-”      Maybe it was how intoxicated you are, or how you suddenly felt a burst of confidence, but you kiss him, and you kiss him hard. His breath hitched while you rolled on top of his chest. You’re desperate to have contact between your skin and his. He kissed you back, shyly at first, soft and delicate, but that didn’t last for long.      Heat rose to your cheeks, you were rusty with your kissing, but he wasn’t. The smell of his cologne was tantalizing, he kissed you like he wasn’t ever shy to begin with. One hand under your neck, propping you up towards him, the other groping your breast. Parting your lips, feeling him explore you just briefly before slipping back out as soon as it started.      You felt him unhook your bra with relative ease, and you can’t control the flutter within. Still kissing you sloppily, Gojo shuddered and you could tell there was a sound at the back of the throat. Moan, grunt, growl, you couldn’t tell. Slipping his hand away from your breast momentarily, he hastily yanked your top off your body.      Pulling away from the kiss not too long afterwards, he licked his lips, panting, you find yourself catching your breath too.       “Sit up.” he ordered, and you did as you were told, looking up at him with eyes that practically said, “What’s next?”      “Look at you. So cute.” cupping your breasts with his hands, you gasp at how hot they are, sweating just a bit, his thumbs brushed briefly against your nipples, giving them slight twirls before finally kissing both of your mounds.      “Let’s be nice and light today, okay pumpkin? Nothing too serious.” you gaze up at him, now standing and unbuckling his designer belt, unbuttoning his jeans which dropped to the floor afterwards, an obvious bulge in his boxers.      “...The door’s still open. Close it.” you suggest, your eyes still intent on his bulge, you don’t try to hide licking your lips.      “The world needs to know who’s mine tonight. Fuck that.” he smirked devilishly before also tugging his boxers down, exposing his dick.      Now, you weren’t quite expecting that he was packing this much, but he was. You easily estimated 7 inches, maybe more, you didn’t know. A pale flush pink at the very tip, veins adorned his length. Fairly girthy, and you loved it.      “Off the bed, on your knees.”      Scrambling off of the bed, you immediately look upwards and kiss the tip. He hummed, looking down at you with watchful eyes. You didn’t care if someone saw the two of you like this, in fact you’d love it.       You instantly put your hands to work, pumping his length, making sure that you were making eye-contact. Giving playful licks along the sides whilst doing so, you note his panting is getting heavier, so you must be doing something right. Your tongue quickly darted out of your mouth to lick your lips, before suckling the tip, just as a tease.      He growled, yanking at your hair so that you were looking directly up at him once again. “Don’t tease me, sweetheart. Or you’ll see what happens.”       Letting go of your locks, with one last look at his face you engulfed his rock hard cock, slightly drooling. Once in a while, you took a risky peek at Gojo’s face, predatory and lustful eyes staring back directly at you. Grunting, he twitched in your mouth, and you brace yourself.       “Fuck, (Y/N). You’re so good with your mouth.” he breathed. You groaned in an attempt to communicate, since your mouth was so stuffed full. Precum leaked from his dick, and you bobbed up and down once more. Taking another breath in, tears began to form at the corner of your eyes. You choked a little, but you were doing well for someone who didn’t suck dick very often.      Bracing yourself for a flashflood of cum from him, your mouth worked up and down on his length before you heard a loud groan, signaling that he had came, his eyes squeezed shut, the orgasm completely wracked his body. You found yourself with a mouthful of cum, and you struggle to swallow, before doing it successfully.      You look up to him, panting, some cum had escaped your mouth, splattering onto the floor. He looked you up and down, before opening his arms out for you, beckoning for you to come forth.      “Come here, you looked so pretty doing all that. Such a good girl.” pulling you in closer to his chest, he laid down with a huff, hugging you now. Gojo’s hand rubbed up and down your bare, sweaty back, in a state of euphoria, you don’t do much other then giggle.      “I’m so glad I can call you mine now, pumpkin.” he smiles, before giving you a quick kiss on the forehead.      “Wait... We’re dating now?’ your head shot up, in shock.      “Yes. Dummy. Fuck it, let’s just crash here tonight, your friend won’t mind.” he tousled your hair, taking another deep breath in. “Let’s sleep together.”       “Again?”       “I mean it in a literal sense.” he rolled his eyes.       “.....You guys can fuck here.” a familiar voice rang out from the hallway, you hear a murmur of thanks as the voice became closer and closer, but you’re too tired to move.      “We never closed the door.” you say hazily, digging your face closer into his chest.      He grumbles in response, and you can’t tell what he’s saying.      “..Ah nope- Looks like that room is occupied by Gojo and...” your friend’s eyes looked down, before looking back up in terror. “(Y/N)?”     They looked back down at the ground, their eyes lighting up as soon as they realized what was on it: cum splatters and clothes.     You’re too intoxicated to care, though.     

#requested fic #request #gojo satoru smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojou satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #college au #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #dom gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #anime fanfic #smut fic

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hi!! I reaaaally like your writing 🥺 Everytime i read your fics i get hooked soooooo much!! ❤️

This is my first time requesting bc i usually just read and reblog fics and art on tumblr. I hope i get this right 🤣

Getou x reader ; cooking ; 8,9

I loooove getou so much and i love reading all of your getou content!

- 💌

Hello, 💌 anon!! I AM SO EXCITED that you chose me to be your first request! I am so honored, really. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

You did it perfectly. Here's your fic, lovebug.

Smoking Gun: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

wc: 1k

tw: NSFW

700 Follower Event Masterlist

(I AM GOING TO JAYL)

The gun clatters to the floor, and you stare at the limp body of the man who falls to the ground right afterward, his right hand dipping into the wound you made on his side.

"You've killed me..." he mutters, blood trickling out of his mouth. "You stupid bitch, you've killed me." Your hands begin to tremble as you pull out your cell phone, pressing "call" on the only name you know can help handle this.

"Yeah?" Suguru answers, mouth full of something.

"I... I did something really bad," you begin, and he grunts.

"Can't be worse than the time you threw up on the couch."

"I shot Naoya."

Silence. Then,

"Give me ten minutes."

Nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, the door to your apartment opens, and Suguru takes the key out slowly, examining the scene in front of him.

"Shit, you really did kill him." You're slumped against the wall, gripping your phone in your hands and staring at Geto blankly. "Listen, I’m really proud of you, but now I want you to focus on getting cleaned up, alright? For me. I'll fix this. Just... clean up and pack some things for the night." You obey, walking into your bathroom and turning on the shower before undressing, and praying whatever Geto is doing wouldn't leave any stains on the tile. But you're distracted as you shower, running the soap over your body multiple times before you hear someone enter.

"It's been twenty minutes," Suguru mutters.

"Sorry," you call out, hoping the steam is shielding the visage of your body from him, but it isn't like he hasn't seen you naked before.

"Booked the Regency for two nights," Suguru advises, and you mumble,

"Okay." When you emerge from the shower, Geto is still standing in the doorway, scrolling on his phone.

"Should probably call your dad and--"

"No," you snap. "I don't want him to be upset with me about..." You can't even say his name now.

"We'll have to tell him at some point," Suguru murmurs, crossing his arms and looking away. "I told you to tell him about how awful he was when all of this mess started, but you didn't want to. Now, we're too far in to solve it without violence."

"Where did you take the body?" you wonder, changing the subject.

"I haven't touched it yet. I was too busy stashing the gun and taking out the bullet. Forensics is going to have a fucking field day if they get their hands on his body."

"Dump it in the river," you offer, but Suguru laughs.

"All rivers lead to the water supply, baby. Can't do that unless we want to give them a smoking gun."

_____________________________________________________________

The hotel room is posh, and you expected it to be so with the amount of money Suguru made in your family's service. It wouldn't be too far-fetched to consider that a great portion of that money went to his drinking habit, but you don't care.

Not right now, at least.

He's sitting at the bar downstairs while you're curled up on the couch, watching the news broadcast for the evening. You half-expected Naoya's face to pop up with the words "missing" plastered across his wretched expression, but it doesn't happen, and then the rebroadcast of late-night television from the night before begins. When the door opens, you're half asleep, and Suguru walks in, his eyes bleary and appearance grim.

"You should get some rest," he murmurs, scooping you off the couch and into his broad arms. "I'll go and clean up while you're sleeping."

"No," you mutter drowsily. "Stay here. I'm scared." The sound of Suguru's laughter is a deep rumble in his chest, resounding against your eardrum.

"You're scared of the ghost of a man," he replies, laying you across the couch. "He's not going to hurt you."

"What if his family finds out? Won't they track me down to--"

“Shh, shh, you’re okay. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere." Suguru switches on the bedside lamp, leaning over you to press a tender kiss to your temple. "Just get some rest."

"But if I close my eyes," you begin, frowning. "You'll leave." Suguru shrugs, his long hair falling behind his shoulders, neither admitting nor denying your accusation. "So, I'm not closing my eyes." He smiles mischievously, hands on either side of your body.

"Oh, I have ways to make you close your eyes, princess," he teases, leaning down to press his lips against yours. The feeling of his plush mouth on your lips makes you relax into the bed, and wrap your arms around him for stability. "Told you," he mumbles into your mouth, but you don't care, undoing his bun with your deft fingers and working your hands up his shirt.

"This is why we're going to get in trouble," you remind him, but Geto chuckles.

"You already know that I'm not in the business of keeping our little trysts from your family for much longer."

"So, you want to end up like Naoya?" you ask, and Geto pulls away, frowning.

"He threatened to expose our secret?"

"More than that," you whisper, sitting up slowly. "He'd already caught us in the act and was going to send it to my father."

"How did he catch us?" You flush, warmth spreading over your features.

"He saw one of the videos we made."

"Son of a bitch..." Geto groans, wiping his face. "Did I at least look good in it?" You frown, pursing your lips together.

"Uh, yes?"

"Good, good. Glad he saw it, then." He kisses you again, this time with more excitement than before. "Let's make another one."

And soon, you find yourself on all fours, taking Geto from behind as you hold the phone with shaky hands. He smacks your ass so hard it jiggles, the flesh rippling under his grasp as he slams his hips into you relentlessly. "You like being seen by thousands of people, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," you breathe, turning your head to look at him.

"Look at them," he grunts, nodding to the phone. "They're paying you to tell them how good it feels."

"Feels so fucking good."

"Good enough to kill for?" he wonders, raising a brow, and you catch his gaze in the reflection of the video.

"Fuck yes."

#getou suguru #geto smut #getou x reader #jujutsu kaisen getou #jujutsu kaisen geto #geto suguru #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Sacrifice Part 4: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: close brushes with death are rarely escaped without a few scars.

wc: 1.9k

tw: none - fluff (jesus WHEN are we getting to the NSFW stuff?! Come ON, PLOT)

masterlist

“Now… pour the tea.”

Your hands drift from the saucer to the teapot, and you slowly pour the steaming liquid into the waiting cup. You wonder why Clymenestra has you doing this instead of writing today, but you don’t ask any questions as she makes you repeat the action over and over again. “Strong wrists make for better handwriting,” she announces on your fifth cup of tea. “And you, my dear, need stronger wrists.”

You curse at her mentally on your way back from the room they call the “library”: (l-i-b-r-a-r-y), and when you reach your room, you lay in your bed, wrists exhausted from the exercise. In the time you’d spent learning how to read and write, you’d read four stories with Geto: Mija, the Little Mermaid; The Empress' Nightingale; The Princess and The Pea; and your personal favorite, The Snow Queen.

What really drives your interest, though, are the intricate illustrations and sketches of the characters within the book. It’s almost as if they come to life when you look at them in this way and sometimes, you took the book from Geto just to examine the details and intricacies of each colored page. But he’d sweetly call you back to reality and help you read the next sentence and the next, until the story was over. You’d learned how to sound out words by their letters, like “under”, “jumping”, and “fire”. Some words were easier than others, but you feel like you’re getting the hang of it, albeit, slowly.

So when Geto comes to you a few hours after dinner, you feel brave enough to hold your hands out for the book.

“Can we read the story about the girl who lost her slipper tonight?”

“You mean Settareh? The Persian Cinderella?”

“Yes,” you whisper eagerly, flipping until you see the beautiful woman illustrated in a purple frock. You run your hands over the large letters and then smile to yourself, eyeing the page greedily. You’re so focused on this, in fact, that you barely register Geto sliding in behind you and placing his large arm on the pillows. When he points to the first words, you’re already murmuring them along with him: “Once upon a time…” Then you begin your practice, sounding out the words slowly and methodically, praying you wouldn’t miss any. But if you did, Geto would help you, sounding it out, then letting you try it.

Tonight, you’re stuck on the word “illuminate”.

“I… lum… eh-lum...in… Geto, a little help?” When you turn to face the Dragon God, you’re thoroughly surprised to see his eyes completely closed. His breath comes out in soft hissing sounds, and his hands rest on your thighs as his chest rises and falls evenly. You consider waking him for a moment, but instead, close the book and set it on your nightstand, pulling the covers up around the both of you. Unsure if you should lean into his chest or not (for comfort, you tell yourself), you instead choose to curl up on your side away from him and close your eyes.

And for the first night in many nights, you fall asleep quickly.

_____________________________________________________________

The sunlight that graces your face in the morning awakens you from a deep sleep, and for once, you feel well-rested. It’s only when you try to stretch that you notice the body still laying beside you, arms resting around your frame. When you look to see who it is, you’re shocked that it’s still the Dragon God, now with his face nuzzled into your neck. He groans, fingers twitching, but doesn’t wake, which you’re concerned about at first, but then a thought comes to you.

You start at the top of his head, where his inky, dark locks stem from, and then follow the bridge of his nose past his eyebrows and to his eyes, which are closed. Long lashes rest against his upper and lower lash line, and you can imagine the black irises beneath the lids where green veins run underneath the thin layer of skin. You trace the tip of his nose with your eyes, then down to his lips, where they meet in a thin, pinkish line. When they turn up into a small smile, you look back up into his eyes, which are open now.

You inhale sharply, then almost begin to stammer out a reply, but the Dragon God presses his fingers to your lips to stop you. His eyes blink slowly, then he removes his fingers one at a time before leaning his head down and ghosting his lips over yours. You’re in enough shock to stay still, but another part of you wants him - silently dares him - to finish what he started. You don’t know what you’re doing, but instinct takes over abruptly and you press your lips to him, hoping against all hope that he would take the lead in some respect.

“Y/n…” he whispers against your mouth before pressing his lips against yours again. When your hands come up to cradle his neck and his hands dip below the sheets to pull you closer, something inside of you lights up like a long-forgotten flame, burning you alive and quickly at that. Your mouth moves against his slowly, pressing but not forcing, seeking but not finding. But it doesn’t matter.

Who knew your first kiss would be with a god?

Your first kiss.

You break the seal between your lips immediately and sit up, and Geto hums curiously.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, sitting up slowly and letting his hands touch your shoulders.

“I--” you break off, confused. What is this feeling in my chest? When you turn to look at his face, it seems he’s utterly lost, but the doors are thrown open by Cly before you can clarify your feelings.

“Your Holiness: His Omnipresence, Toji Fushiguro, is here.” Not a beat passes before Geto tosses off the covers and shoots to his feet.

“Clymenestra, hide her.” Geto leaves without another word, and you hear the words,

“Well, I’ll be damned!” from an unfamiliar voice before you’re hustled into the bathroom by Ariadne and Serena, with Helen not too far behind.

“His Holiness was not expecting His Omnipresence to arrive, was he?” Ariadne hisses while running bathwater in a massive tub.

“No,” Serena answers, stripping you out of your nightgown.

“Wait, who is this?” you wonder, looking around at the women frantically.

“Toji is the God of Death, and the God of Wind’s father,” Helen answers.

Don’t go blabbing your mouth to your stupid father, either.

“Who told?” Helen asks no one in particular, but you recall seeing the pink-haired youth the other day and groan inwardly. You’re already making a mess of things, and you aren’t even immortal yet. Voices are getting louder from the hallway, and the women around you begin to scramble.

“In, in!” Ariadne encourages you, and you step into the lukewarm bath, watching them strip to their undergarments and dunk their robes into the water with you. It appears as if they are pretending to wash their clothes - thus making a protective half-circle concealing you from sight - when the doors to the bathroom fly open, and you hear:

“Oh, shit. Sorry, ladies. Have you seen a little human female around here?” The women squeal, making a scene by clutching at themselves and bending over the tub (and you), and Geto yells,

“Toji, give the ladies some privacy!” The doors slam shut, and the three women return to normal, pulling their clothes out of the water and wringing them out. No one speaks until Ariadne whispers,

“This is why Geto turns us into immortals,” and then places her hands on her forehead, rubbing some phantom headache away. “Toji is always looking for something so he can kill it.”

_____________________________________________________________

With the fiasco behind you, you rest in the bed and attempt to close your eyes. But every time you close them, you hear Toji’s voice and your eyes fly open again, your heart beats faster, and you can feel thick fingers running over your skin. You fly out of your bed and into the corridor, where lamps light your way past the dining room and into the library, where you sit among the various volumes that you don’t even pretend to want to read. But there’s something about these books that makes you feel safe as if their words could protect you from a heinous creature such as Toji Fushiguro.

“Looking for something to read?” you hear from above you, and you look up, following the sound to a ladder poised at the end of the bookshelves. Geto stands atop it, sliding a book back into the highest shelf before sliding back down it. Watching him swiftly descend makes your heart leap a little, and you wonder why you’re just now noticing all of the ways he looks like he was sculpted by a master craftsman. His hair is tied up in a half-bun, and he’s dressed in a simple black and white shuhe and duanda, almost identical to Megumi’s.

“I can’t stop thinking about Toji,” you admit, and he frowns, coming closer to you and swiping two fingers from the right side of your chin to the left, then cupping your cheek in his hand.

“You have nothing to fear, y/n. Toji won’t harm you as long as you remain here in my realm.” You want to be reassured by the words - you really do. But it seems as if even Geto might have to bend to Toji’s will at some point. And you didn’t know if you’d personally be caught in the crossfire. “Please, don’t think about his intrusion.”

“Ariadne told me that Toji is the reason why you make them immortal.”

“She’s telling you the truth,” he affirms, nodding. “He almost didn’t leave today. I had to convince him he was mistaken multiple times.” Geto shakes his head, his hand drifting from your cheek to your thigh. “But when you learn how to read, it will all be rectified.”

“What if he finds me before then?” you breathe, and he takes your shaking hands, pressing tender kisses to your fingers rapidly.

“I won’t let him harm you. I will give you my word as my bond.” You feel a weight lift from your shoulders and sigh deeply. “Now, you should get some rest.” When he pulls you up from your seat and drags you along with him, you wonder where he’s taking you until you see a large wooden door decorated with images of dragons.

Geto pushes it open and reveals a bedroom massive enough to cover the entire city square. He points to his bed in the dim lighting and you crawl into the oversized behemoth, snuggling under a blanket that looks like someone's hand wove the animals, clouds, and nature-scapes into the fabric.

“You can sleep here whenever you desire.”

“But where will you sleep?” you ask, sitting up a little.

“I have a massive side of the bed to myself. Don’t worry, I’m sharing it, not bequeathing it.” When you’re satisfied, he pulls the covers around you, tucking you in properly, then presses a kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well, y/n.”

He sits at a desk as you burrow deeper into the covers, and as you fall asleep, you know you’ll spend every single night in the presence of the Dragon God from now on.

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @nostaren @sunfloweroranges @jibe-gajima @jotazinha @brownskinnedgirll @leanne-tamashi @vabybizzle @amaris9 @fuegy-fuegy @ambiguous-something @kontentious @missbonekitty @fyotituti @honouredsatoru @sandyscastle @flare-on @sasahime @ggotgame @just4readingfics

#jujutsu kaisen getou #geto x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto #getou x reader #getou suguru #jjk getou #jjk gojo #jjk toji #toji fushiguro