“ugh, that girl is sooo dramatic! imagine collapsing on the ground like that just because she's not wearing lipstick?”
her name is ... AURIE?! twenties, she/her; she's never been hollowed by THE STARS. ( ✦ ) whispers echoes around that she's the moon to SATORU GOJO sun's ⁝ multi-fandom ◞ jjk centric blog!
shades of her ... guidelines◞ m.list ◞ ao3.
all eyes on them. ( ✦ ) daily click ◞ donations ◞ boycott list.
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( ✦ ) knight!sukuna ryomen, queen of hearts!reader, alice's adventures in wonderland au, fluff, mention of blood & animal death.
sukuna ryomen was captivated by you, from the way you let arrogance slip in-between your lips, in a manner as if life has little to no meaning.
the man who used to stand tall before other people has found himself feeling the world shrinking, as you roar out the one phrase which hangs on the tip of your tongue: "off with their head!" with a gaze that's sharp enough to pierce right through his stone heart.
his pair of gaze, unblinking, is locked on you like he found anything other than you a nuisance to stare at. the steady heartbeat, which never missed a beat, stopped its pounding for a second in the time where his whole world pivoted to you— and as far as sukuna concerns, even if it's only a mere second, you had altered the rhythm of his heart.
and oddly, he doesn't feel disturbed by it.
what he does find unsettling is the way his mind is reeling the words you fumed over and over again like the tea at the mad tea party; it fills all the space to exist, overflowing it with the same matter on repeat as if time is a non-existent thing. it has the man wonder if he owns all of the hours that may exist in the universe.
it was, truly, how sukuna ryomen has found himself walking a few steps behind you as your knight not long after he sees you for the first time. one who kissed the back of your hand with blood all over his hand, after he carves out another living being's heart as his way to prove his dedication to you.
a pure, white dove, that resembles his pure devotion towards you.
for that still moment—which lasted for eternity, to him—sukuna himself felt a surge of obsession run through his body and engulfed his entire self, who now only knows your name and everything there is to you. he was, in fact, purposely denies other information that may come his mind, for his existence should only learn about you.
"has the cards painted my roses red?" you inquired, letting your step halted in the middle of the hallway as you took a glance at him over your shoulder.
sukuna bowed his head before answering to you; his way of making sure that you're always above him, and that you understand how he'll always be one step below you. "i had visited the garden myself, your majesty, and i can affirm that they have in fact turned your roses red."
your eyes lit up for a beat there in satisfaction at the information. a satisfied hum left your lips, before your feet moved towards the path in front of you, letting the sound of your heels echo against the endless hallway sukuna loves. for it is one of those moments where he can see the way superiority wrapped you like a vice, reminding him of why he's entranced by you— power.
well … he'll always be three steps behind you and he shall eradicate those who might try to steal the position he grows to call home, a place where he belongs.
"hm, that's pleasant news. they've been working rather slowly lately, i almost considered painting them myself," you snickered, with a rather daunting tilt of your corner lips; a smile full of nothing but hidden irritation. one that usually decorates your charming face, whenever something doesn't go your way.
the man can't place a blame on you, if he must be honest.
for all sukuna knows, those cards should've move faster like you intended. they're as light as paper, considering how they're made from the same material—although a bit heavier—and that factual details can only lead to one question in his mind: why the fuck were they riling you up by moving slow like a snail, when they could've function at a faster speed?
maybe he should surprise them with a visit later. he can teach those cards on how to serve you, like the sole purpose of their existence is to breathe only for you, solely by you. and perhaps after that, they'll learn to appreciate your kindness by not ordering him to cut off their stupids heads, with their useless brains.
something he would be delighted to do, for anyone who has your day taste distasteful.
"you shall not worry, your majesty. i'll have them know of your good intentions," promised sukuna. the man eyes burn hotter with passionate worship only you could ever pull from him, the second an amused laughter slipped itself free from your lips.
"ah, of course," you mused to him and to the stillness of the hallway. "this is quite frankly the reason as to why you're my favorite, sukuna," you added shortly after, as you batted your eyelashes towards his way. all the while sparks of something he has never seen from you, glistens brightly inside your pair of eyes.
approve.
the man tried to open his lips in an attempt to give you a proper response, and not leave you hanging like the gentleman he claims to be— purely for you, without a doubt. however, he can't seem to find it in him to arrange a few words for you, as if the cogs in his brains just stop their movement all at the same time.
oh, well, let him be damned.
sukuna is right where he wishes to be, truly.
and he shall chase down any soul who ever thought of taking his place, as well as claim it for themselves; it's a sacred standing that is his, and his alone. no one will ever dare to even dream of being close to you, he'll make sure of it.
it's an oath and he always, always kept his words.
notes in red ... i already have an outline for a one-shot for them, but i hate it, so here's a drabble instead! not sure if i'll ever visit the draft again :/ also, first time writing for sukuna! immediately went to satoru's drafts because it felt sooo weird #youretheonlyonesatoru.
i took down all of my work except a sukuna drabble—the one he'll always follow—due to religious reasons, BUT! i'll bring them back after i finish editing them, teehee. sorry for the inconvenience </3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
( ✦ ) knight!sukuna ryomen, queen of hearts!reader, alice's adventures in wonderland au, fluff, mention of blood & animal death.
sukuna ryomen was captivated by you, from the way you let arrogance slip in-between your lips, in a manner as if life has little to no meaning.
the man who used to stand tall before other people has found himself feeling the world shrinking, as you roar out the one phrase which hangs on the tip of your tongue: "off with their head!" with a gaze that's sharp enough to pierce right through his stone heart.
his pair of gaze, unblinking, is locked on you like he found anything other than you a nuisance to stare at. the steady heartbeat, which never missed a beat, stopped its pounding for a second in the time where his whole world pivoted to you— and as far as sukuna concerns, even if it's only a mere second, you had altered the rhythm of his heart.
and oddly, he doesn't feel disturbed by it.
what he does find unsettling is the way his mind is reeling the words you fumed over and over again like the tea at the mad tea party; it fills all the space to exist, overflowing it with the same matter on repeat as if time is a non-existent thing. it has the man wonder if he owns all of the hours that may exist in the universe.
it was, truly, how sukuna ryomen has found himself walking a few steps behind you as your knight not long after he sees you for the first time. one who kissed the back of your hand with blood all over his hand, after he carves out another living being's heart as his way to prove his dedication to you.
a pure, white dove, that resembles his pure devotion towards you.
for that still moment—which lasted for eternity, to him—sukuna himself felt a surge of obsession run through his body and engulfed his entire self, who now only knows your name and everything there is to you. he was, in fact, purposely denies other information that may come his mind, for his existence should only learn about you.
"has the cards painted my roses red?" you inquired, letting your step halted in the middle of the hallway as you took a glance at him over your shoulder.
sukuna bowed his head before answering to you; his way of making sure that you're always above him, and that you understand how he'll always be one step below you. "i had visited the garden myself, your majesty, and i can affirm that they have in fact turned your roses red."
your eyes lit up for a beat there in satisfaction at the information. a satisfied hum left your lips, before your feet moved towards the path in front of you, letting the sound of your heels echo against the endless hallway sukuna loves. for it is one of those moments where he can see the way superiority wrapped you like a vice, reminding him of why he's entranced by you— power.
well … he'll always be three steps behind you and he shall eradicate those who might try to steal the position he grows to call home, a place where he belongs.
"hm, that's pleasant news. they've been working rather slowly lately, i almost considered painting them myself," you snickered, with a rather daunting tilt of your corner lips; a smile full of nothing but hidden irritation. one that usually decorates your charming face, whenever something doesn't go your way.
the man can't place a blame on you, if he must be honest.
for all sukuna knows, those cards should've move faster like you intended. they're as light as paper, considering how they're made from the same material—although a bit heavier—and that factual details can only lead to one question in his mind: why the fuck were they riling you up by moving slow like a snail, when they could've function at a faster speed?
maybe he should surprise them with a visit later. he can teach those cards on how to serve you, like the sole purpose of their existence is to breathe only for you, solely by you. and perhaps after that, they'll learn to appreciate your kindness by not ordering him to cut off their stupids heads, with their useless brains.
something he would be delighted to do, for anyone who has your day taste distasteful.
"you shall not worry, your majesty. i'll have them know of your good intentions," promised sukuna. the man eyes burn hotter with passionate worship only you could ever pull from him, the second an amused laughter slipped itself free from your lips.
"ah, of course," you mused to him and to the stillness of the hallway. "this is quite frankly the reason as to why you're my favorite, sukuna," you added shortly after, as you batted your eyelashes towards his way. all the while sparks of something he has never seen from you, glistens brightly inside your pair of eyes.
approve.
the man tried to open his lips in an attempt to give you a proper response, and not leave you hanging like the gentleman he claims to be— purely for you, without a doubt. however, he can't seem to find it in him to arrange a few words for you, as if the cogs in his brains just stop their movement all at the same time.
oh, well, let him be damned.
sukuna is right where he wishes to be, truly.
and he shall chase down any soul who ever thought of taking his place, as well as claim it for themselves; it's a sacred standing that is his, and his alone. no one will ever dare to even dream of being close to you, he'll make sure of it.
it's an oath and he always, always kept his words.
notes in red ... i already have an outline for a one-shot for them, but i hate it, so here's a drabble instead! not sure if i'll ever visit the draft again :/ also, first time writing for sukuna! immediately went to satoru's drafts because it felt sooo weird #youretheonlyonesatoru.
( ✦ ) knight!sukuna ryomen, queen of hearts!reader, alice's adventures in wonderland au, fluff, mention of blood & animal death.
sukuna ryomen was captivated by you, from the way you let arrogance slip in-between your lips, in a manner as if life has little to no meaning.
the man who used to stand tall before other people has found himself feeling the world shrinking, as you roar out the one phrase which hangs on the tip of your tongue: "off with their head!" with a gaze that's sharp enough to pierce right through his stone heart.
his pair of gaze, unblinking, is locked on you like he found anything other than you a nuisance to stare at. the steady heartbeat, which never missed a beat, stopped its pounding for a second in the time where his whole world pivoted to you— and as far as sukuna concerns, even if it's only a mere second, you had altered the rhythm of his heart.
and oddly, he doesn't feel disturbed by it.
what he does find unsettling is the way his mind is reeling the words you fumed over and over again like the tea at the mad tea party; it fills all the space to exist, overflowing it with the same matter on repeat as if time is a non-existent thing. it has the man wonder if he owns all of the hours that may exist in the universe.
it was, truly, how sukuna ryomen has found himself walking a few steps behind you as your knight not long after he sees you for the first time. one who kissed the back of your hand with blood all over his hand, after he carves out another living being's heart as his way to prove his dedication to you.
a pure, white dove, that resembles his pure devotion towards you.
for that still moment—which lasted for eternity, to him—sukuna himself felt a surge of obsession run through his body and engulfed his entire self, who now only knows your name and everything there is to you. he was, in fact, purposely denies other information that may come his mind, for his existence should only learn about you.
"has the cards painted my roses red?" you inquired, letting your step halted in the middle of the hallway as you took a glance at him over your shoulder.
sukuna bowed his head before answering to you; his way of making sure that you're always above him, and that you understand how he'll always be one step below you. "i had visited the garden myself, your majesty, and i can affirm that they have in fact turned your roses red."
your eyes lit up for a beat there in satisfaction at the information. a satisfied hum left your lips, before your feet moved towards the path in front of you, letting the sound of your heels echo against the endless hallway sukuna loves. for it is one of those moments where he can see the way superiority wrapped you like a vice, reminding him of why he's entranced by you— power.
well … he'll always be three steps behind you and he shall eradicate those who might try to steal the position he grows to call home, a place where he belongs.
"hm, that's pleasant news. they've been working rather slowly lately, i almost considered painting them myself," you snickered, with a rather daunting tilt of your corner lips; a smile full of nothing but hidden irritation. one that usually decorates your charming face, whenever something doesn't go your way.
the man can't place a blame on you, if he must be honest.
for all sukuna knows, those cards should've move faster like you intended. they're as light as paper, considering how they're made from the same material—although a bit heavier—and that factual details can only lead to one question in his mind: why the fuck were they riling you up by moving slow like a snail, when they could've function at a faster speed?
maybe he should surprise them with a visit later. he can teach those cards on how to serve you, like the sole purpose of their existence is to breathe only for you, solely by you. and perhaps after that, they'll learn to appreciate your kindness by not ordering him to cut off their stupids heads, with their useless brains.
something he would be delighted to do, for anyone who has your day taste distasteful.
"you shall not worry, your majesty. i'll have them know of your good intentions," promised sukuna. the man eyes burn hotter with passionate worship only you could ever pull from him, the second an amused laughter slipped itself free from your lips.
"ah, of course," you mused to him and to the stillness of the hallway. "this is quite frankly the reason as to why you're my favorite, sukuna," you added shortly after, as you batted your eyelashes towards his way. all the while sparks of something he has never seen from you, glistens brightly inside your pair of eyes.
approve.
the man tried to open his lips in an attempt to give you a proper response, and not leave you hanging like the gentleman he claims to be— purely for you, without a doubt. however, he can't seem to find it in him to arrange a few words for you, as if the cogs in his brains just stop their movement all at the same time.
oh, well, let him be damned.
sukuna is right where he wishes to be, truly.
and he shall chase down any soul who ever thought of taking his place, as well as claim it for themselves; it's a sacred standing that is his, and his alone. no one will ever dare to even dream of being close to you, he'll make sure of it.
it's an oath and he always, always kept his words.
notes in red ... i already have an outline for a one-shot for them, but i hate it, so here's a drabble instead! not sure if i'll ever visit the draft again :/ also, first time writing for sukuna! immediately went to satoru's drafts because it felt sooo weird #youretheonlyonesatoru.
( ✦ ) knight!sukuna ryomen, queen of hearts!reader, alice's adventures in wonderland au, fluff, mention of blood & animal death.
sukuna ryomen was captivated by you, from the way you let arrogance slip in-between your lips, in a manner as if life has little to no meaning.
the man who used to stand tall before other people has found himself feeling the world shrinking, as you roar out the one phrase which hangs on the tip of your tongue: "off with their head!" with a gaze that's sharp enough to pierce right through his stone heart.
his pair of gaze, unblinking, is locked on you like he found anything other than you a nuisance to stare at. the steady heartbeat, which never missed a beat, stopped its pounding for a second in the time where his whole world pivoted to you— and as far as sukuna concerns, even if it's only a mere second, you had altered the rhythm of his heart.
and oddly, he doesn't feel disturbed by it.
what he does find unsettling is the way his mind is reeling the words you fumed over and over again like the tea at the mad tea party; it fills all the space to exist, overflowing it with the same matter on repeat as if time is a non-existent thing. it has the man wonder if he owns all of the hours that may exist in the universe.
it was, truly, how sukuna ryomen has found himself walking a few steps behind you as your knight not long after he sees you for the first time. one who kissed the back of your hand with blood all over his hand, after he carves out another living being's heart as his way to prove his dedication to you.
a pure, white dove, that resembles his pure devotion towards you.
for that still moment—which lasted for eternity, to him—sukuna himself felt a surge of obsession run through his body and engulfed his entire self, who now only knows your name and everything there is to you. he was, in fact, purposely denies other information that may come his mind, for his existence should only learn about you.
"has the cards painted my roses red?" you inquired, letting your step halted in the middle of the hallway as you took a glance at him over your shoulder.
sukuna bowed his head before answering to you; his way of making sure that you're always above him, and that you understand how he'll always be one step below you. "i had visited the garden myself, your majesty, and i can affirm that they have in fact turned your roses red."
your eyes lit up for a beat there in satisfaction at the information. a satisfied hum left your lips, before your feet moved towards the path in front of you, letting the sound of your heels echo against the endless hallway sukuna loves. for it is one of those moments where he can see the way superiority wrapped you like a vice, reminding him of why he's entranced by you— power.
well … he'll always be three steps behind you and he shall eradicate those who might try to steal the position he grows to call home, a place where he belongs.
"hm, that's pleasant news. they've been working rather slowly lately, i almost considered painting them myself," you snickered, with a rather daunting tilt of your corner lips; a smile full of nothing but hidden irritation. one that usually decorates your charming face, whenever something doesn't go your way.
the man can't place a blame on you, if he must be honest.
for all sukuna knows, those cards should've move faster like you intended. they're as light as paper, considering how they're made from the same material—although a bit heavier—and that factual details can only lead to one question in his mind: why the fuck were they riling you up by moving slow like a snail, when they could've function at a faster speed?
maybe he should surprise them with a visit later. he can teach those cards on how to serve you, like the sole purpose of their existence is to breathe only for you, solely by you. and perhaps after that, they'll learn to appreciate your kindness by not ordering him to cut off their stupids heads, with their useless brains.
something he would be delighted to do, for anyone who has your day taste distasteful.
"you shall not worry, your majesty. i'll have them know of your good intentions," promised sukuna. the man eyes burn hotter with passionate worship only you could ever pull from him, the second an amused laughter slipped itself free from your lips.
"ah, of course," you mused to him and to the stillness of the hallway. "this is quite frankly the reason as to why you're my favorite, sukuna," you added shortly after, as you batted your eyelashes towards his way. all the while sparks of something he has never seen from you, glistens brightly inside your pair of eyes.
approve.
the man tried to open his lips in an attempt to give you a proper response, and not leave you hanging like the gentleman he claims to be— purely for you, without a doubt. however, he can't seem to find it in him to arrange a few words for you, as if the cogs in his brains just stop their movement all at the same time.
oh, well, let him be damned.
sukuna is right where he wishes to be, truly.
and he shall chase down any soul who ever thought of taking his place, as well as claim it for themselves; it's a sacred standing that is his, and his alone. no one will ever dare to even dream of being close to you, he'll make sure of it.
it's an oath and he always, always kept his words.
notes in red ... i already have an outline for a one-shot for them, but i hate it, so here's a drabble instead! not sure if i'll ever visit the draft again :/ also, first time writing for sukuna! immediately went to satoru's drafts because it felt sooo weird #youretheonlyonesatoru.
( ✦ ) knight!sukuna ryomen, queen of hearts!reader, fluff, mention of blood & animal death.
sukuna ryomen was captivated by you, from the way you let arrogance slip in-between your lips, in a manner as if life has little to no meaning.
the man who used to stand tall before other people has found himself feeling the world shrinking, as you roar out the one phrase which hangs on the tip of your tongue: "off with their head!" with a gaze that's sharp enough to pierce right through his stone heart.
his pair of gaze, unblinking, is locked on you like he found anything other than you a nuisance to stare at. the steady heartbeat, which never missed a beat, stopped its pounding for a second in the time where his whole world pivoted to you— and as far as sukuna concerns, even if it's only a mere second, you had altered the rhythm of his heart.
and oddly, he doesn't feel disturbed by it.
what he does find unsettling is the way his mind is reeling the words you fumed over and over again like the tea at the mad tea party; it fills all the space to exist, overflowing it with the same matter on repeat as if time is a non-existent thing. it has the man wonder if he owns all of the hours that may exist in the universe.
it was, truly, how sukuna ryomen has found himself walking a few steps behind you as your knight not long after he sees you for the first time. one who kissed the back of your hand with blood all over his hand, after he carves out another living being's heart as his way to prove his dedication to you.
a pure, white dove, that resembles his pure devotion towards you.
for that still moment—which lasted for eternity, to him—sukuna himself felt a surge of obsession run through his body and engulfed his entire self, who now only knows your name and everything there is to you. he was, in fact, purposely denies other information that may come his mind, for his existence should only learn about you.
"has the cards painted my roses red?" you inquired, letting your step halted in the middle of the hallway as you took a glance at him over your shoulder.
sukuna bowed his head before answering to you; his way of making sure that you're always above him, and that you understand how he'll always be one step below you. "i had visited the garden myself, your majesty, and i can affirm that they have in fact turned your roses red."
your eyes lit up for a beat there in satisfaction at the information. a satisfied hum left your lips, before your feet moved towards the path in front of you, letting the sound of your heels echo against the endless hallway sukuna loves. for it is one of those moments where he can see the way superiority wrapped you like a vice, reminding him of why he's entranced by you— power.
well … he'll always be three steps behind you and he shall eradicate those who might try to steal the position he grows to call home, a place where he belongs.
"hm, that's pleasant news. they've been working rather slowly lately, i almost considered painting them myself," you snickered, with a rather daunting tilt of your corner lips; a smile full of nothing but hidden irritation. one that usually decorates your charming face, whenever something doesn't go your way.
the man can't place a blame on you, if he must be honest.
for all sukuna knows, those cards should've move faster like you intended. they're as light as paper, considering how they're made from the same material—although a bit heavier—and that factual details can only lead to one question in his mind: why the fuck were they riling you up by moving slow like a snail, when they could've function at a faster speed?
maybe he should surprise them with a visit later. he can teach those cards on how to serve you, like the sole purpose of their existence is to breathe only for you, solely by you. and perhaps after that, they'll learn to appreciate your kindness by not ordering him to cut off their stupids heads, with their useless brains.
something he would be delighted to do, for anyone who has your day taste distasteful.
"you shall not worry, your majesty. i'll have them know of your good intentions," promised sukuna. the man eyes burn hotter with passionate worship only you could ever pull from him, the second an amused laughter slipped itself free from your lips.
"ah, of course," you mused to him and to the stillness of the hallway. "this is quite frankly the reason as to why you're my favorite, sukuna," you added shortly after, as you batted your eyelashes towards his way. all the while sparks of something he has never seen from you, glistens brightly inside your pair of eyes.
approve.
the man tried to open his lips in an attempt to give you a proper response, and not leave you hanging like the gentleman he claims to be— purely for you, without a doubt. however, he can't seem to find it in him to arrange a few words for you, as if the cogs in his brains just stop their movement all at the same time.
oh, well, let him be damned.
sukuna is right where he wishes to be, truly.
and he shall chase down any soul who ever thought of taking his place, as well as claim it for themselves; it's a sacred standing that is his, and his alone. no one will ever dare to even dream of being close to you, he'll make sure of it.
it's an oath and he always, always kept his words.
notes in red ... i already have an outline for a one-shot for them, but i hate it, so here's a drabble instead! not sure if i'll ever visit the draft again :/ also, first time writing for sukuna! immediately went to satoru's drafts because it felt sooo weird #youretheonlyonesatoru.
( ✦ ) knight!sukuna ryomen, queen of hearts!reader, fluff, mention of blood & animal death.
sukuna ryomen was captivated by you, from the way you let arrogance slip in-between your lips, in a manner as if life has little to no meaning.
the man who used to stand tall before other people has found himself feeling the world shrinking, as you roar out the one phrase which hangs on the tip of your tongue: "off with their head!" with a gaze that's sharp enough to pierce right through his stone heart.
his pair of gaze, unblinking, is locked on you like he found anything other than you a nuisance to stare at. the steady heartbeat, which never missed a beat, stopped its pounding for a second in the time where his whole world pivoted to you— and as far as sukuna concerns, even if it's only a mere second, you had altered the rhythm of his heart.
and oddly, he doesn't feel disturbed by it.
what he does find unsettling is the way his mind is reeling the words you fumed over and over again like the tea at the mad tea party; it fills all the space to exist, overflowing it with the same matter on repeat as if time is a non-existent thing. it has the man wonder if he owns all of the hours that may exist in the universe.
it was, truly, how sukuna ryomen has found himself walking a few steps behind you as your knight not long after he sees you for the first time. one who kissed the back of your hand with blood all over his hand, after he carves out another living being's heart as his way to prove his dedication to you.
a pure, white dove, that resembles his pure devotion towards you.
for that still moment—which lasted for eternity, to him—sukuna himself felt a surge of obsession run through his body and engulfed his entire self, who now only knows your name and everything there is to you. he was, in fact, purposely denies other information that may come his mind, for his existence should only learn about you.
"has the cards painted my roses red?" you inquired, letting your step halted in the middle of the hallway as you took a glance at him over your shoulder.
sukuna bowed his head before answering to you; his way of making sure that you're always above him, and that you understand how he'll always be one step below you. "i had visited the garden myself, your majesty, and i can affirm that they have in fact turned your roses red."
your eyes lit up for a beat there in satisfaction at the information. a satisfied hum left your lips, before your feet moved towards the path in front of you, letting the sound of your heels echo against the endless hallway sukuna loves. for it is one of those moments where he can see the way superiority wrapped you like a vice, reminding him of why he's entranced by you— power.
well … he'll always be three steps behind you and he shall eradicate those who might try to steal the position he grows to call home, a place where he belongs.
"hm, that's pleasant news. they've been working rather slowly lately, i almost considered painting them myself," you snickered, with a rather daunting tilt of your corner lips; a smile full of nothing but hidden irritation. one that usually decorates your charming face, whenever something doesn't go your way.
the man can't place a blame on you, if he must be honest.
for all sukuna knows, those cards should've move faster like you intended. they're as light as paper, considering how they're made from the same material—although a bit heavier—and that factual details can only lead to one question in his mind: why the fuck were they riling you up by moving slow like a snail, when they could've function at a faster speed?
maybe he should surprise them with a visit later. he can teach those cards on how to serve you, like the sole purpose of their existence is to breathe only for you, solely by you. and perhaps after that, they'll learn to appreciate your kindness by not ordering him to cut off their stupids heads, with their useless brains.
something he would be delighted to do, for anyone who has your day taste distasteful.
"you shall not worry, your majesty. i'll have them know of your good intentions," promised sukuna. the man eyes burn hotter with passionate worship only you could ever pull from him, the second an amused laughter slipped itself free from your lips.
"ah, of course," you mused to him and to the stillness of the hallway. "this is quite frankly the reason as to why you're my favorite, sukuna," you added shortly after, as you batted your eyelashes towards his way. all the while sparks of something he has never seen from you, glistens brightly inside your pair of eyes.
approve.
the man tried to open his lips in an attempt to give you a proper response, and not leave you hanging like the gentleman he claims to be— purely for you, without a doubt. however, he can't seem to find it in him to arrange a few words for you, as if the cogs in his brains just stop their movement all at the same time.
oh, well, let him be damned.
sukuna is right where he wishes to be, truly.
and he shall chase down any soul who ever thought of taking his place, as well as claim it for themselves; it's a sacred standing that is his, and his alone. no one will ever dare to even dream of being close to you, he'll make sure of it.
it's an oath and he always, always kept his words.
notes in red ... i already have an outline for a one-shot for them, but i hate it, so here's a drabble instead! not sure if i'll ever visit the draft again :/ also, first time writing for sukuna! immediately went to satoru's drafts because it felt sooo weird #youretheonlyonesatoru.
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( ✦ ) knight!sukuna ryomen, queen of hearts!reader, fluff, mention of blood & animal death.
sukuna ryomen was captivated by you, from the way you let arrogance slip in-between your lips, in a manner as if life has little to no meaning.
the man who used to stand tall before other people has found himself feeling the world shrinking, as you roar out the one phrase which hangs on the tip of your tongue: "off with their head!" with a gaze that's sharp enough to pierce right through his stone heart.
his pair of gaze, unblinking, is locked on you like he found anything other than you a nuisance to stare at. the steady heartbeat, which never missed a beat, stopped its pounding for a second in the time where his whole world pivoted to you— and as far as sukuna concerns, even if it's only a mere second, you had altered the rhythm of his heart.
and oddly, he doesn't feel disturbed by it.
what he does find unsettling is the way his mind is reeling the words you fumed over and over again like the tea at the mad tea party; it fills all the space to exist, overflowing it with the same matter on repeat as if time is a non-existent thing. it has the man wonder if he owns all of the hours that may exist in the universe.
it was, truly, how sukuna ryomen has found himself walking a few steps behind you as your knight not long after he sees you for the first time. one who kissed the back of your hand with blood all over his hand, after he carves out another living being's heart as his way to prove his dedication to you.
a pure, white dove, that resembles his pure devotion towards you.
for that still moment—which lasted for eternity, to him—sukuna himself felt a surge of obsession run through his body and engulfed his entire self, who now only knows your name and everything there is to you. he was, in fact, purposely denies other information that may come his mind, for his existence should only learn about you.
"has the cards painted my roses red?" you inquired, letting your step halted in the middle of the hallway as you took a glance at him over your shoulder.
sukuna bowed his head before answering to you; his way of making sure that you're always above him, and that you understand how he'll always be one step below you. "i had visited the garden myself, your majesty, and i can affirm that they have in fact turned your roses red."
your eyes lit up for a beat there in satisfaction at the information. a satisfied hum left your lips, before your feet moved towards the path in front of you, letting the sound of your heels echo against the endless hallway sukuna loves. for it is one of those moments where he can see the way superiority wrapped you like a vice, reminding him of why he's entranced by you— power.
well … he'll always be three steps behind you and he shall eradicate those who might try to steal the position he grows to call home, a place where he belongs.
"hm, that's pleasant news. they've been working rather slowly lately, i almost considered painting them myself," you snickered, with a rather daunting tilt of your corner lips; a smile full of nothing but hidden irritation. one that usually decorates your charming face, whenever something doesn't go your way.
the man can't place a blame on you, if he must be honest.
for all sukuna knows, those cards should've move faster like you intended. they're as light as paper, considering how they're made from the same material—although a bit heavier—and that factual details can only lead to one question in his mind: why the fuck were they riling you up by moving slow like a snail, when they could've function at a faster speed?
maybe he should surprise them with a visit later. he can teach those cards on how to serve you, like the sole purpose of their existence is to breathe only for you, solely by you. and perhaps after that, they'll learn to appreciate your kindness by not ordering him to cut off their stupids heads, with their useless brains.
something he would be delighted to do, for anyone who has your day taste distasteful.
"you shall not worry, your majesty. i'll have them know of your good intentions," promised sukuna. the man eyes burn hotter with passionate worship only you could ever pull from him, the second an amused laughter slipped itself free from your lips.
"ah, of course," you mused to him and to the stillness of the hallway. "this is quite frankly the reason as to why you're my favorite, sukuna," you added shortly after, as you batted your eyelashes towards his way. all the while sparks of something he has never seen from you, glistens brightly inside your pair of eyes.
approve.
the man tried to open his lips in an attempt to give you a proper response, and not leave you hanging like the gentleman he claims to be— purely for you, without a doubt. however, he can't seem to find it in him to arrange a few words for you, as if the cogs in his brains just stop their movement all at the same time.
oh, well, let him be damned.
sukuna is right where he wishes to be, truly.
and he shall chase down any soul who ever thought of taking his place, as well as claim it for themselves; it's a sacred standing that is his, and his alone. no one will ever dare to even dream of being close to you, he'll make sure of it.
it's an oath and he always, always kept his words.
notes in red ... i already have an outline for a one-shot for them, but i hate it, so here's a drabble instead! not sure if i'll ever visit the draft again :/ also, first time writing for sukuna! immediately went to satoru's drafts because it felt sooo weird #youretheonlyonesatoru.
spent time poring over "lucky star" and. your use of imagery is stunning i'll start with that BUT DO YOU HAVE TO USE YOUR DIVINE SKILLS FOR SUCH TREACHEROUS THINGS.
i mean i know it was the happy ending we all wish for (eternity with scarjo... i bust a nut) but i haven't read something that interesting in a while because the way you tackle just the idea of leaving and being drawn back (you compared it to fate and the thread of it in greek mythology amazing analogy btw) it really just feels like the ebb and flow of the tide in water
like idk. i felt so happy and sad during this even through the ending (which imma happily pretend is the canon ending thank you) it was so seamless ughlksadlkjas i just needed to gush about this because i've wanted to curl up with a rierie bedtime story for a WHILE now
when i get time i'm gonna check out all ur new stuff because GIRL have you been cooking i am so excited there's so much and i am so ready to consume and analyze and muse over all of it
hope you're doing awesome (and aren't getting tired of this needlessly long message... trust there will be more to come.)
much love, jj, the mizi to your till <3
YOUUU AND YOUR ABILITY TO MAKE ME ACT LIKE A HIGH SCHOOLER, UGH. i genuinely love you so much, and i'm screenshotting this and framing this and and and—
can i just say how it's so interesting and how warm it makes me feel, that you're somehow pulled by lucky star, again? you did the exact same thing—reblog and comments—about lucky star during my carienations days.
like, if this isn't fate ... i don't know what to say ...
jj, AAH, I ADORE YOU. thaaank you so much for your lovely words [ sfx sounds of sobbing ]. reading YOU saying all of this about MY work is very special, because like i said a looong time ago, you're one of the blogs that i enjoyed visiting when i was just a reader ☹️
eternity with scarjo ... i bust a nut
→ THIS IS SO FREAKING REAL, EHAJJA, scar!jo is like ... top 3 satoru. people who're saying otherwise are LIARRR.
but, yes! i feel like when you have a deep connection with someone, in situations where death is always knocking on each other's door, actually leaving can be pretty darn hard. especially when something as complicated as love meddling in, uGh.
i can't really see any other scenario where satoru isn't reader's gravity, truly. i'm genuinely sure that their "thread" of life will always find its end to each other, because of this understanding they shared. like, even if it's not romantic, they'll always just ... hover around each other.
HHHHH, i adore you sooo much. i was literally thinking about your best friend!satoru, omg, need to re-read them ASAP. and please, i'll NEVER get tired of you (watch me yap in your inbox, too).
i hope you're doing freaking amazing, my mizi, and don't forget to take care of yourself! muah muah <3
( ✦ ) knight!sukuna ryomen, queen of hearts!reader, alice's adventures in wonderland au, fluff, mention of blood & animal death.
sukuna ryomen was captivated by you, from the way you let arrogance slip in-between your lips, in a manner as if life has little to no meaning.
the man who used to stand tall before other people has found himself feeling the world shrinking, as you roar out the one phrase which hangs on the tip of your tongue: "off with their head!" with a gaze that's sharp enough to pierce right through his stone heart.
his pair of gaze, unblinking, is locked on you like he found anything other than you a nuisance to stare at. the steady heartbeat, which never missed a beat, stopped its pounding for a second in the time where his whole world pivoted to you— and as far as sukuna concerns, even if it's only a mere second, you had altered the rhythm of his heart.
and oddly, he doesn't feel disturbed by it.
what he does find unsettling is the way his mind is reeling the words you fumed over and over again like the tea at the mad tea party; it fills all the space to exist, overflowing it with the same matter on repeat as if time is a non-existent thing. it has the man wonder if he owns all of the hours that may exist in the universe.
it was, truly, how sukuna ryomen has found himself walking a few steps behind you as your knight not long after he sees you for the first time. one who kissed the back of your hand with blood all over his hand, after he carves out another living being's heart as his way to prove his dedication to you.
a pure, white dove, that resembles his pure devotion towards you.
for that still moment—which lasted for eternity, to him—sukuna himself felt a surge of obsession run through his body and engulfed his entire self, who now only knows your name and everything there is to you. he was, in fact, purposely denies other information that may come his mind, for his existence should only learn about you.
"has the cards painted my roses red?" you inquired, letting your step halted in the middle of the hallway as you took a glance at him over your shoulder.
sukuna bowed his head before answering to you; his way of making sure that you're always above him, and that you understand how he'll always be one step below you. "i had visited the garden myself, your majesty, and i can affirm that they have in fact turned your roses red."
your eyes lit up for a beat there in satisfaction at the information. a satisfied hum left your lips, before your feet moved towards the path in front of you, letting the sound of your heels echo against the endless hallway sukuna loves. for it is one of those moments where he can see the way superiority wrapped you like a vice, reminding him of why he's entranced by you— power.
well … he'll always be three steps behind you and he shall eradicate those who might try to steal the position he grows to call home, a place where he belongs.
"hm, that's pleasant news. they've been working rather slowly lately, i almost considered painting them myself," you snickered, with a rather daunting tilt of your corner lips; a smile full of nothing but hidden irritation. one that usually decorates your charming face, whenever something doesn't go your way.
the man can't place a blame on you, if he must be honest.
for all sukuna knows, those cards should've move faster like you intended. they're as light as paper, considering how they're made from the same material—although a bit heavier—and that factual details can only lead to one question in his mind: why the fuck were they riling you up by moving slow like a snail, when they could've function at a faster speed?
maybe he should surprise them with a visit later. he can teach those cards on how to serve you, like the sole purpose of their existence is to breathe only for you, solely by you. and perhaps after that, they'll learn to appreciate your kindness by not ordering him to cut off their stupids heads, with their useless brains.
something he would be delighted to do, for anyone who has your day taste distasteful.
"you shall not worry, your majesty. i'll have them know of your good intentions," promised sukuna. the man eyes burn hotter with passionate worship only you could ever pull from him, the second an amused laughter slipped itself free from your lips.
"ah, of course," you mused to him and to the stillness of the hallway. "this is quite frankly the reason as to why you're my favorite, sukuna," you added shortly after, as you batted your eyelashes towards his way. all the while sparks of something he has never seen from you, glistens brightly inside your pair of eyes.
approve.
the man tried to open his lips in an attempt to give you a proper response, and not leave you hanging like the gentleman he claims to be— purely for you, without a doubt. however, he can't seem to find it in him to arrange a few words for you, as if the cogs in his brains just stop their movement all at the same time.
oh, well, let him be damned.
sukuna is right where he wishes to be, truly.
and he shall chase down any soul who ever thought of taking his place, as well as claim it for themselves; it's a sacred standing that is his, and his alone. no one will ever dare to even dream of being close to you, he'll make sure of it.
it's an oath and he always, always kept his words.
notes in red ... i already have an outline for a one-shot for them, but i hate it, so here's a drabble instead! not sure if i'll ever visit the draft again :/ also, first time writing for sukuna! immediately went to satoru's drafts because it felt sooo weird #youretheonlyonesatoru.
if i suddenly delete alll of my post except for into the night, it's because i'm trying to ... set a new "vibe" on my blog for myself, LMAO. this blog feel like peace and pressure all at the same time, lol.
many noblewomen desire to stand beside the prince of the nation; for status, lavish life— tons of reasons, to put it simply. and falling for the prince shouldn't be deemed as a crime. still, when there are two princes and your family are part of prince suguru faction, while behind the prying eyes your heart and soul are already devoted to prince satoru, surely it'll be considered treason to your family. ( current wc: 1,5k )
notes in red ... i already wrote down everyone who asked to be tagged in the previous masterlist. so, there's no need to ask to be tagged again! this is a part of indie's community event; please do visit other writers' stories listed there. have a good ride! 🤍
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fiance! naoya x paediatrician! fem reader x single uncle! satoru
summary: Your days had long turned into an endless grey stream of monotony, brightened only by children's smiles at the hospital. Soon, your life would be subjected to loneliness in the golden cage of the Zenin Estate as you agreed to be Naoya's wife; the weight of his love had already burdened you to the point you no longer believed there was any left.
And then you met Satoru Gojo.
Your biggest curse. And your greatest remedy.
tags: AU, medical setting, heavy angst, toxic relationships, messy feelings, emotional abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, misogyny (Naoya is a prick), reader struggles with her self-image, slow healing, falling in love, yearning. eventual smut and happy ending, i promise! we just have to get here. some specific tags will be included in the parts, if any. this chapter has talks about cancer that might be triggering. yearning gojo! suggestive!
word count: 14.7k
gojo's art by @/mossmaybe1. all dividers are mine.
playlist
masterlist
part 2
Naoya became simply relentless after a single smirk from Gojo had wounded his pride.
The nurses' smiles, which had gradually lost the honeyed sweetness Naoya usually bathed in, now turned more strained and fueled his resentment even more. The abruptly quietened voices, when he happened to drop by, only added another match to the growing bitterness. Each hushed whisper and stolen glance served as disguised insults. Even if that just happened to be a coincidence.
Of course, Naoya didn't deal particularly gracefully with that. Of course, you couldn't persuade your fiancé that he was reading too much into this. Of course, the main target of his scarred ego was you.
You tried to empathise with Naoya, really did. Each attempt, though, resulted in yet another scar on your jarred heart.
"Have you learnt any before talking to your future wife, huh?"
Gojo's words flared brighter and brighter in your mind. Stirred the dangerous thoughts you tucked away somewhere deep. Called to a version of you, who had slowly withered in the golden cage of Naoya's love. And bit by bit, ember by ember, came to reignite your flame.
Naoya's persistence in parading you as his beloved fiancée — nothing close to fondness guided him — had you feel more like a showcased pony. Usually, your scene would narrow to the halls of opulent mansions; now you had to perform at the hospital as well. It wasn't anything unusual, but earlier, you foolishly believed that place to be your oasis.
A little, at least.
Now Naoya tainted it as well.
But when Naoya was relentless, Gojo was surprisingly…gentle. And no, during all the time you happened to know Gojo, his gentleness didn't startle you: you saw it in his gaze, directed at Megumi, noticed in the amused curve of his lips as he listened to Tsumiki's rambles, and observed in the reassuring talks to other people at the hospital.
Gojo's gentleness towards you shocked you the most. You spent so much time in a firm belief that affection and ruthlessness walked hand in hand that his gestures simply left you flabbergasted.
It wasn't much, but for you, every brought order from the very same cafe you visited, every carefully wrapped pastry at your table after exhausting night shifts, every simple, yet lovely bouquet and every quiet conversation in the walls of the hospital, struck you like a force of nature you weren't able to withstand.
The insecurities in your head, bearing Naoya's taunting smirks and mocking voices, whispered with casual cruelty that it was a trap. That you willingly set yourself up for humiliation in front of another man.
Grip tightening on yet another small gift from Gojo, you didn't deny the voice. Even if it turned out to be true, Gojo granted you a small opportunity to see yourself not as broken and damaged as Naoya painted you.
You always made sure to hide Gojo's presents before Naoya would even lay his eyes on them. A single glimpse was enough for the violent storm of his bitter words to rage. Usually, he would let silence torment you — but lately, you just happened to quietly withdraw into your shell. A carefully constructed look of detachment on your face, instead of the usual distress, caused Naoya to grit his teeth with irritation and carve cruelty deeper in your heart.
All of that took place only behind the closed doors of either your office or your bedroom, with no one to witness his true colours. At the hospital, Naoya masterfully played the role of an attentive and completely smitten fiancé, trying to erase humiliation from Gojo.
He never admitted it, of course. Especially to you, a stupid little dove, not aware that his attempts only stain him in more disgrace.
Though you were quite surprised that Naoya's games didn't affect Gojo in the slightest: his gentleness ended right where Naoya's pretension started. The rumours of yet another heated meeting of the board reached you more often. Not to mention their talks in the department halls, rather resembling deadly duels than polite conversations.
You were hurrying from the pediatric intensive care unit, and just on your way to the radiology department, the sound of heavy steps approaching stalled you. Swallowing hard, you stilled completely, pace halted: you had long memorised Naoya's steps. Telling his mood by them was one of the habits you picked up very early in your relationship.
Light and a spring to his walk? You could release a breath you had been holding and attempt to have some sweet talk.
Forceful and almost aggressive, carrying the air of menace in each move? Oh, it was time for you to zip your mouth and blend with the walls until he would become tolerable of your presence.
Judging by the shift in the air, it was just the second instance.
Ducking your head, you hovered around the corner. The steps stilled as well. Naoya's voice boomed in annoyance across the hall as he barked some orders into his phone. You already pitied a poor soul.
Then, a sudden fresh, icy scent hit your nostrils, jolting you. A low, smooth voice purred just above you.
"Who are we spying on, Doc?"
Light pink immediately painted your cheeks. Your grip on the folder tightened as your heartbeat hammered lowly in your chest. Stealing an unsure glance at Gojo, who watched you with an amused smile, you reluctantly shrugged.
"I have to grab some scans from the radiology dept."
Gojo lazily arched one brow and chuckled, "Is that so tiresome?"
He leaned on the wall with effortless confidence. Despite all odds, he somehow soothed the ever-brewing anxiety within you. The corners of your mouth twitched with a light grin first, followed by quiet laughter.
"It's either walking on a rainbow or to the Temple of Doom. Depends on the nurses' mood. Honestly, can't blame them."
At first, he snorted at your little joke — your blush only deepened — and then his chuckle dissolved into a quiet sigh.
"Yeah, I heard about it. Kinda baffles me that it's so overlooked. Even more than your department. Which is already insane."
You didn't know what to answer, so you just settled on an unsure shrug.
"Anyway," Gojo easily pushed himself up and jerked his chin towards the damned hall. "I'll walk you there. Just to make sure you wouldn't encounter Yamamba or Jorogumo on your way. That hospital tends to be scary sometimes."
Your smile faltered for a moment. Of course, he noticed it and furrowed his brows slightly.
"Is something wrong?"
Your shoulders tightened before dropping at the confusion in his voice. God, you didn't want to pit Gojo and Naoya against each other again — considering all their clashes inevitably resulted in a show for everyone around — but the steps sounded clearer and clearer, so you simply breathed out.
"My fiancé."
Confusion in Gojo's gaze slowly yet surely hardened into an icy anger as a flicker of irritation crossed his handsome face.
"Seems like we can't escape Hanako-kun even here."
You chewed on your inner cheek not to burst out laughing, especially as Naoya's figure came into sight. He slowly stepped towards you with an assessing, sharp gaze that immediately turned sour, seeing Gojo next to you.
"Ah, Satoru-kun. Learning new routes here? There is so much more in that hospital besides the paediatrics department," Naoya's words dripped with disdain; judging by his scornful smirk, he was completely satisfied with that supposedly witty remark. "Don't worry, you will get used to it eventually. If anything, you can always ask me."
Your eyes briefly flickered to Gojo, who didn't even bother to look anything other than bored. The sarcasm in his voice would even reach the deaf ears.
"As much as I am tempted, gotta refuse. Less than a month here, yet I have never got lost." Gojo lazily dragged his gaze to Naoya, eyeing him up and down. His smirk sharpened. "Unlike a certain someone."
The humiliation lurking behind Naoya's stare immediately caught your attention, covered by cold indifference.
But you knew better. That short moment gave you an unexpected sense of joy.
Until Naoya's glare pierced you deep.
"And what is my little dove doing here?" he whispered unctuously. Though disguised as courtesy, the resentment in his voice had never been clearer.
Instinctively, you dropped your gaze and curled your shoulders. Studying Naoya's polished oxfords, you heard an abrupt, shaky exhale — as if someone was fighting his desires. However, that tiny shift in the air was somehow enough to stir dimmed embers of disobedience. Gojo's jokes, amused grins and the effortless confidence gave you tiny drops of courage.
"I was showing Gojo a shortcut to the radiology department." Your voice was quiet yet steady. The surprise on his face was indescribable. "Kamo-sama inquired about its stock-tacking. Right, Gojo?"
You sincerely hoped he wouldn't interfere with your flimsy excuse, at least. But no. He even played along. Of course, he did.
"Yep. The old man said grid encasements and cassette holders should've been renewed like yesterday. I decided to have a quick look."
Naoya's eyes narrowed as he begrudgingly listened to Gojo's explanation, settling on you with a sharp doubt.
"That so?"
Gojo's huff cut through the suffocating silence. "Of course it is. Don't you believe your future wife?"
The muscle in Naoya's jaw jumped in irritation. He threw a glance at you — harsh, piercing through your lie — but you forced yourself not to look away and stared at him, unblinking.
Something in your gaze might've persuaded him, because after that endless silent interrogation, Naoya eventually stepped away. The air instantly seemed lighter. You swallowed.
"Oh, I do not have any doubts in my darling dove," Naoya's voice dropped to a low, menacing whisper. You braced yourself for another sharp glance or harsh remark — but it never came. He was glaring daggers at Gojo, whose grin became even wider. Taunting. Provoking.
"But you, dear Satoru-kun…I would advise you to stop mingling with the taken women or —"
"Or else what?" Gojo unceremoniously interrupted Naoya. His tone, albeit smooth, sent shivers down your spine — a threat wrapped in silk. The dancing mirth in his eyes slowly hardened, forcing your eyes wide open with terrifying clarity.
That man was dangerous.
Not in a grotesque, showcased way Naoya usually tried to trick anyone. No.
That towering height, that air of confidence, slowly slipping into something darker, into something almost vicious, that danger veiled in amused glances and wide smirks whispered precautiously to run.
Maybe your fiancé came to the same conclusion.
His composure wavered for a moment. If there was anything even Naoya surrendered to, it was power.
"Ah, Satoru-kun. Let's not dwell on it anymore, shall we? I trust another heir would never do anything to drive a wedge between our respectable clans. Am I right?"
Did Gojo decipher Naoya's message?
Stunned, you slowly dragged your gaze up to Gojo, only to see him already staring right at you with intensity that trapped your breath.
"Never even thought about it, Zenin."
His gaze softened ever so subtly, allowing you to see that blue iridescence shimmering, as another realisation dawned on you.
Gojo carried that menacing aura every time he stumbled into Naoya. Yet with you?
He was anything but.
Your heart fluttered like a bird inside the cage as a fleeting thought — treacherous even in a mere suggestion that his politeness, maybe even sympathy, had grown into something bigger — crossed your mind.
No, no, no, no, no. It couldn't be. Impossible. Totally impossible.
You quietly excused yourself, earning two surprised glances, and hurried into your office. You desperately needed space and silence, without being suffocated by the tension your presence had brought.
However, deep inside, you were more than aware.
That you couldn't get away from Gojo.
And didn't want to.
⋆˚࿔
Just like that day.
The edges of the scan wrinkled from the tightness of your grip, but you couldn't force yourself to loosen it, even just for a tad. You stared. Stared and stared. Memorising the blurry contours of the irregular mass inside the brain. Squinting, you could imagine the mass contorting, deforming, and devouring someone who used to be a human. A person. Someone beloved. Someone adored. Someone cherished and treasured.
A kid.
Pain settled in your chest with a weight so heavy you couldn't find any strength in you to simply breathe in. The world closed in on you as you stepped out of the pathology lab. All the sounds around — distant laughs, loud orders, wheelchairs rolling — came muffled. As if your head were underwater. Eyes stung from all the unshed pain, and soon the ache carved into your cheeks in pools of sorrow.
Legs weakening, you managed to find the nearest bench and slumped on it without any care.
People passed you: little patients, their concerned parents, dutiful nurses and busy doctors, occasionally pausing to check on you or murmur greetings. You remained still.
Just as cold and unmoving as that little 6-year-old girl with glioblastoma might be soon.
And now you had to muster some courage to come to her parents. People who thought the world of her. People who spent days and nights by her bed in the PICU, holding the small, pale hand and whispering sweet nothings to just see their little angel's smile. Turning fainter and fainter with each day.
Their faces, full of fragile hope and weak belief for the better, flashed behind your eyelids, instantly turning into masks of devastation.
Life and death were just two sides of the same coin. And playing with them always meant walking on a thin line.
Another tear managed to escape, drawing down a sorrowful path. You didn't even know how much time you spent in your own thoughts, but no matter how far you tried to run, you couldn't flee from your destiny.
You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand. Forcing your legs to move, they weakened instantly as you heard a familiar voice.
"Oh, hi, Doc, I was just thinking about —," your quiet sniffle stole all Gojo's words away. He walked closer and slowly kneeled before you. "Are you crying? Did something happen?"
Instantly regretted it, grimacing inwardly. Of course, something happened!
His gaze hesitantly drifted over your face — red nose and puffy eyes — but a strange heaviness etched into your features almost punched him right in the gut.
"What happened?" Gojo breathed out and gingerly reached to graze your trembling fingers. Your eyelashes fluttered as you took a sharp exhale, nodding towards the scan in your hand.
He wasn't a doctor by any means, but recognising a suspiciously shaped circle in the brain was certainly within his skills.
Your hollowed whisper only confirmed the worst.
"Brain tumour. 6-year-old girl."
All the colours left his face. His heart sank to the depths inside.
Tsumiki was just 6 years old. Megumi a year younger.
His throat suspiciously tightened.
He couldn't even imagine the pain the girl's parents must endure. The girl, too. He himself couldn't have gone through that for a second time. Watching the person you hold so dear gradually wither, taking all the joy in the world with them. Seeing life slowly fade away in an already dulled gaze, not able to do anything.
Words seemed clumsy, heavy and useless. However, Gojo forced himself to heave them out.
"I am so sorry."
You cut him off with an abrupt shake of your head. Guilt rolled in a gigantic wave, coming in a shattered, fragile breath. "Don't be. That's what I should say to her parents. Maybe if I were more attentive or — "
"Hey. None of that."
Gojo's tone suddenly turned sharp. Lifting your gaze, you blinked in surprise as he sat beside you on the bench — warm and comforting.
"It's not your fault. Not hers, not anyone's. That shit just happens."
Deep down, you were completely aware of that, of course. But remorse stole any rational thought away — a black plague trapping you in sackcloth and ashes. Being a kids' doctor wasn't always about loud laughs, toothy grins and quiet coos. Sometimes it came with a tragedy of a faint smile, a weak whisper and a trembling hold, leaving an everlasting scar; each of them engraved into your bones.
That was quite a burden to carry. Your shoulders might've bent under its weight, but never had you voiced your frustrations. Never had you let anyone look past your friendly expression. Never had your warmth coldened.
Sometimes the world slowly faded away, forcing you to face the treacherous thoughts, all alone. Like today.
Only you weren't alone now.
Gojo didn't say anything after that. Just sat beside you — his presence gradually calmed you, and anchored in reality. Allowed you that small but essential moment of weakness.
The silence stretched endlessly, as if it were just the two of you in that hospital, until Gojo spoke up so quietly, you might as well have imagined the next words.
"My sister. Megumi's and Tsumiki's mom. She died of cancer a year ago."
The bitterness of the confession twisted a sharp knife in your chest. Gojo's words sounded distant, hollowed; his usual mask of amusement and joy slipped off, offering you a peek at the soul inside.
Fragile and broken.
You didn't dare to interrupt, hanging on to Gojo's every word with breath bated.
"Breast cancer. The terminal stage, we found out too late. Metastasis in her lungs, went to the bones, and —," his voice suddenly crumpled at the last word.
"And the brain," he concluded with a quiet sigh. "She's withered in a month. Refused all the chemo, because —"
"Didn't want everyone to remember her like that?"
Throat clogging up, you felt a sharp sting of pain hooking in your flesh. Gojo went completely rigid. You didn't think of anything better than hesitantly sliding your hand down and squeezing Gojo's wrist in sympathy. His pulse drummed heavily beneath your fingers, surprisingly delicate, and you pressed soothing circles on the skin with your thumb.
"I am so sorry, Satoru."
Again, without even trying, you acknowledged his grief. Lent your shoulder.
Gojo used to keep this part of him locked, walled up to the point he sometimes wondered if his sister truly lived. Or if her existence shrank to the endless agony, devouring her from inside.
Truth be speaking, it was necessary at that point: he couldn't let himself dwell on that too much. Not with all the funeral, adoption papers, and two lost kids on his hands to raise.
Yet you managed to worm your way between his walls and take some pain away. Even just a little.
Even if he hadn't ever asked.
A shudder ran through his body at your soft touch. Slowly, he unclenched his fist and intertwined his fingers with yours. Your palm was warm and pleasant — no wonder, these hands held the people's treasures.
Gojo let out a bitter chuckle, finally turning to look into your eyes. Soft and unguarded, they held you captive in their calm waves.
"I figured it out after some time," you admitted hesitantly as the storm between you quieted.
His brows flew in surprise, but almost instantly, an amused grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Of course you did. Well, why didn't you say anything?"
Now it was your turn to stare at Gojo in surprise. "Why would I? It's none of my business."
And as you muttered these words, a wave of self-consciousness swallowed you. Dropping your gaze to the scan, you mentally berated yourself, not even aware of Gojo's smile softening.
"I don't want to go there. Am I a coward, Gojo?"
Brows furrowed, he slowly shook his head.
"No, you are not. And you know why? Because I know you are gonna do that anyway. Courage is about doing things while you are scared."
Your hand stilled completely in Gojo's hold.
"Courage is about doing things while you are scared."
A tight ring that seemed to grip your lungs loosened a bit, allowing you to breathe. A small smile bloomed on your lips.
"I…have never thought about it."
"You should talk to me more, then. I'll gladly assist."
You huffed under your breath at his little joke and wiped your nose, sighing, "Gods, I hate to cry at work."
"You're not a robot, Doc. Everyone is allowed to have a break. Especially with the news like that," Gojo pointed at the scan, and the suffocating heaviness returned.
Begrudgingly, you loosened your grip on Gojo's palm, already missing its warmth, and murmured, arranging the files again, "You don't think I am weak?"
"Is that a day of stupid questions? Sorry, I wasn't ready."
Despite the heaviness, you managed a light chuckle.
"I am serious."
"Me too. You have a big heart, that's all. Isn't that a good thing for paediatricians?"
Your grin turned bitter when you recalled Naoya's dismissiveness towards your tears.
"I suppose."
Neither of you moved to leave: on the contrary, something in Gojo's gaze shifted — a blue sea darkening into a wild ocean — and he forced himself to mutter as calmly as possible.
"Don't listen to him."
You dragged a bewildered gaze to him. How?…
"It's all written over your face, Doc."
Right.
The mention of your fiancé ruined the tranquillity between you. You worried your bottom lip and shifted closer to rest your head on Gojo's broad shoulder.
He stilled, not even daring to startle you with some clumsy word. Or move. Or breath.
"I am sorry I didn't tell you about Naoya."
Gojo slowly turned, and his soft murmur graced your skin in the lightest of touches.
"You don't have to apologise to me. I understand."
"Not for this. Not for anything."
Heart skipping a beat, you mirrored his move and stared up at Gojo wordlessly. He gingerly reached to tuck the hair strand behind your ear. His thumb brushed along your shell, erupting a wave of goosebumps.
The lump in your throat had grown bigger. You swallowed and parted your lips to ask Gojo a thing he wouldn't ever be able to hold to.
"Can we be friends, at least?"
Something flashed across his features and hid behind the azure of his gaze — so quick, you couldn't even decipher it — before his lips stretched into a grin. Too wide for your liking.
"Of course."
⋆˚࿔
"Would you like to have anything else?"
The waitress's voice pulled you out of your thoughts, mind a little bit too hazy with a veil of alcohol. Blinking, you slowly shifted your gaze from the sunset simmering in your glass to the lady. Her face was an epitome of calm; looking closer, you could've seen the hints of sympathy in her eyes when you wordlessly shook your head.
No wonder.
The restaurant, undoubtedly elegant and chic, opened its doors to even more patrons at that hour. Faint sounds of the piano carried light chuckles and distant murmurs from the tables, where creams of the creams of Tokyo casually decided the fates of hundreds as the rivers of champagne glimmered lustrously under the soft light.
Well, despite his own lack of class, Naoya had always chosen the best places.
Chin resting in your palm, you bitterly observed one couple, led by a charming hostess, being escorted to a private booth. Diamonds adorning the lady's neck caught the flashing glints of a chandelier with every move, but your eyes remained glued to the hand on the small of her back and the loving, almost worshipful gaze of her man.
She was really rich, you thought.
Because all the time you had been sulking on your own in that fine establishment, or whatever fancy way that place preferred to be called, the only gazes you caught were full of sympathy with hints of pity.
Nevertheless, all of them blended into a scorching mess of embarrassment that your darling fiancé granted you with. Seeing the fleeting glances of other patrons morph into bewilderment and even surprise at the sight of you, elegantly dressed at the neatly arranged table — yet completely alone — burned the stamp of humiliation even more fiercely on your skin.
With a deep sigh, you checked the phone once again. Nothing but a barrage of your messages indifferently left on "delivered". Dozens of calls with no answer.
Frankly, you didn't even know why you kept waiting. Maybe it was a faint sparkle of hope that Naoya wouldn't miss your anniversary. Or a whip of fear that glued you to the chair.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but your reservation order is almost over."
Yet again, you were so deep in your thoughts that you didn't even notice anything. The traces of sympathy in your waitress's tone only brought more misery.
"I see. Well," you offered her a strained smile. "Please bring a bill then."
"Of course. Cash or card?"
"Card."
The waitress nodded eagerly, happy to please you at least somehow, when her eyes suddenly widened, and a faint blush crept to her cheeks.
Brows knitted in confusion, you slowly turned — maybe some celebrity walked in — only to freeze in your place.
"Doc?"
Oh.
Oh.
Well, the Universe certainly had a shitty sense of humour.
And you could've almost heard its ugly snicker, looking up right into the face of the man who sent your pulse violently hammering after your fiancé stood you up.
In every other instance, you would've laughed at the irony. But now you wished the floor would open, swallow you whole, hellish flames to surge and devour you.
Anything but hear murmurs around rising in volume. Seeing the stunned look on Gojo's face.
God, he looked good.
Even in that place, full of elegantly dressed patrons, Gojo looked insanely handsome. The always-present sunglasses rested on the top of his head, and his lips were curled in an amused grin. He was talking to another tall man, with long black hair and sharp eyes — but the mirth in his gaze melted into warmth as he took you in.
Just as you screamed inwardly what the hell he was doing here, out of all restaurants in Tokyo, and feverishly scrambled for the right words to greet Gojo, he tapped the other man on the shoulder and murmured something. The guy only hummed and stepped away with a knowing wink.
The waitress bowed to him and babbled, the notepad pressed tightly to her chest, "Good evening, Gojo-san! How could I help you?"
"Evening, Yumi. Nah, it's nothing, I just dropped by to check on something," Gojo sent the waitress a polite grin and nodded towards your table. "Write this lady's order off. It's on me."
Great. What was going on now?
Flustered, you finally found your voice, "No-no, you don't have to!"
Your small joke only earned a pointed glance from Gojo.
"That's all, Yumi. Thank you."
As the waitress retreated, Gojo took a chair in front of you. You feigned a deep interest in the table's cloth, twiddling with a napkin, before mustering the courage to speak up.
"Nice to see you, Gojo."
"Likewise. You look…" Gojo paused, pondering over the right word. His eyes wandered over your form: your hair cascaded in mesmerising rolls, an elegant dress hugged you like a glove, offering a peek at your decolletage, and the faint whiff of your usual perfume was enough for his heart to skip a beat. "Gorgeous."
You stilled immediately. Compliments, as sincere as they might sound, always left a bitter taste. Especially from someone like Gojo. That man managed to look stunning in a simple dress shirt — especially in a simple dress shirt — while you felt out of place in any exquisite gown.
Murmuring "thank you", you forced yourself to look up and meet Gojo's gaze. The unexpected curiosity caught you off guard. Still, you managed to utter.
"Didn't expect to see you here, honestly. You are meeting someone, too?"
That man with dark hair? Or some fancy date? Probably a date. Who were you kidding? A man like him certainly dated someone.
Wait, what if that man was his date?
Your shy question and nervous demeanour only melted his warmth into something softer — a dangerous kind of fondness. The one that knocked all the air from the lungs and stripped off any facade.
"Oh, no, I was just meeting my friend, and then one of the suppliers called and —"
"Suppliers?"
"Yeah? Wait, you don't know?"
That was the second time you were completely clueless with Gojo — a feeling you were long used to — but now you felt totally uncomfortable. You slowly pierced Gojo's questioning, the waitress's eagerness towards him, and him handling your bill with ease.
"That's my restaurant."
The flame of shame seared through you and slammed into your chest with such a force that it left you dizzy. All the blood rushed to your face as you stared at Gojo, devastatingly mortified. You opened your mouth to say something.
Nothing came up. Nothing but a humiliating admission that you had been stood up.
On your anniversary. By your future husband. And just so the man you sheepishly allowed yourself to daydream about, and whose face looked at you from the pages of your sketchbook, saw you breaking apart.
At his restaurant.
All you wanted to do was disappear. Not to see Gojo's eyes filling with pity, too. Just cease to exist in this quiet world of luxury and elegance, where every clank of the cutlery and pop of some expensive Rosé Dom Pérignon silently mocked you.
Tears blurred your vision to the point you barely saw Gojo anymore. You croaked some apology and stormed out of that place. A cloakroom attendant helped you with the coat, since your hands were shaking to such an extent that you could barely put it on.
A cold rush of the wind already grabbed you without any mercy, tousled your hair, and kissed your cheeks. You gladly welcomed it: no sharpness of the gust equalled Naoya's harshness.
What was he doing? Smirking at your inevitable humiliation? Taking pride in teaching you a good lesson?
Oh, the lesson was loud and clear. You had long mastered the skill of reading Naoya's mind and decoding all his veiled messages.
Do not even dare to think about him.
That time, however, he miscalculated something: his actions might've sown hesitancy, but instead of the expected obedience, frantic rage blinded you.
To the point you barely saw Gojo approaching. Your name left his lips in a breathy manner as he just ran or something. Startled by his hand on your wrist, you allowed yourself to stop. Damn, you walked somewhere completely unknown.
"Finally. For someone on heels, you walk pretty fast, gotta admit."
His words soothed a bit of the irritation bubbling beneath. Still, the bitter ache clogged your throat.
"Not in the mood for jokes, Gojo. Or are you here to laugh at me? Well, I suppose it was really fun to see."
Gojo listened to you with brows knitted, and the pain threading through your words twisted the blade deeper into his heart. His face briefly contorted into a grimace of pain before he simply murmured, stepping closer.
"It's cold and getting dark. I don't want you wandering all alone."
Your hand in his gentle hold limply fell. Gojo begrudgingly let it go as you stared at him in shock.
A hundred questions whirled in your mind, but you were too overwhelmed with that evening and just wanted it to end. And Gojo's company was by far the best thing that happened to you.
"Mind telling what happened?"
The neon lights from the nearest konbini store cast hints of green and blue on Gojo's face, painting his white hair in a fluorescent mess of colours. Nevertheless, he managed to fit in there way more than you on your heels. Gojo didn't say anything while you tiredly dragged your feet somewhere into the blue, but his surprisingly silent presence brought you much-needed comfort.
"Or…I guess it's rather who."
You didn't answer, but the immediate self-deprecating drop of your shoulders told Gojo everything.
Gojo huffed a harsh chuckle under his breath, carding his fingers through the hair to ease that overwhelming rage. It threatened to consume him every time he saw a shell of a person Naoya desperately tried to turn you into. It slowly killed him, brick by brick. Your frightened gaze was burned into his retinas — the image Gojo would never forget.
The verbal duels with Naoya, mind and business games, sharp smirks and disdainful glances didn't matter at all if the sorrow in your eyes never truly left.
"Let me take you out."
You were studying the nearest vending machine when Gojo's words stunned you.
Had you just hit your head on the pavement?
The distant honks from the car reached both of you, but you were too shocked to register any sound.
"Like…on a date?"
Gojo didn't answer. The cold cut through your light coat, but his burning gaze kept you warm.
Slowly, you shook your head. "Gojo, I am engaged."
"I know. A friendly date." He nodded to himself and stepped closer, until you could feel his breath fanning over your cheek. You tugged your coat tighter and looked up to meet his eyes, flashing with a weird gleam.
Gojo's hand came up to wipe the remnants of hurt on your cheek. His thumb gently caressed the apple of your cheek. "We're friends, right?"
It was strange. Strange to feel the heat of longing exploding beneath your skin at his mere touch. For your knees to weaken at the gale of his warmth. For your heartbeat to throb at his glance. For the tightness in your chest to loosen at his reassuring words.
"We are."
Your fragile voice tautened the knot behind his ribs. The twitch of his fingers on your face gave away the desperation to hold you.
"Just think about it, okay?"
Gojo's hand slowly drifted downwards to hook his finger under your chin to tilt it up. The neon signs now illuminated your features, but his gaze remained glued to your lips before finding your eyes — oh, that sweet, pleading look, undoing him to the bone.
And as strange as you might've felt towards Gojo, the constant fear blending into an urge to please your future husband chained you to the ground. Though the manacles of hurt slowly devoured every ounce of affection.
And maybe that was one of the reasons you agreed.
"I will."
Gojo's words echoed more and more in your mind the following night and morning. Especially the night.
His whisper turned more intense, slipping persistently between the maze of your thoughts. The rasp in his tone, coating every word in a sin, only burned the bright crimson into your heart.
Inevitably, you found yourself giving in to it. The night hid the blush of your curiosity as you decided to google Gojo's name.
Your thumb hovered over some article about the grand opening of the latest Gojo's restaurant — the very one you visited — before opening it. Carefully measured words blended with light jokes, so fitting for his image. Pictures in the article didn't do any justice — in fact, Gojo looked more handsome in life, with a smile so bright it could rival the sun, and a gaze so blue the vivid June sky faded away in comparison. Eagerly scrolling down, your excitement dissolved into disappointment: no details about private life.
Gojo was right about it, of course. You highly doubted you were the only person who attempted to stalk him on social media.
The LinkedIn search didn't give any useful info: varnished, flawless posts, clearly made by his PR team, only sent a shudder throught your body. His Facebook page, however, had you almost sit up at your discovery.
An old picture, dated a couple of years ago, showed you the man himself and a gorgeous woman, her hair long and black and a smile too elegant. The faint scar on her face didn't diminish her beauty in any way — only added a kind of allure. That kind that made you stop mid-way and twist your neck looking at her mid-street.
Magnetic.
Judging by Gojo's hand on the woman's waist — Utahime Iori, as you found out — he certainly was the one to twist his neck too. Protective yet gentle — oh, how well aware you were of that look, having witnessed it an awful amount of times. Nayoa's touches only carried that gale of gentleness in very rare instances; yet each of them left you craving more.
Utahime Iori leaned into Gojo's side with ease.
It left you wondering what it would've been like to feel his hand on the small of your back, around your waist, on the delicate skin, erupting goosebumps —
Stop it.
The treacherous spark of sin had never burnt brighter within you, even with Naoya's whisper blowing it out.
"We're friends, right?"
You abruptly locked your phone and tossed it somewhere. Turned in your bed. Groaned into the pillow. Asked the pillow what you were supposed to do.
The pillow didn't answer.
Your phone, however, did. A sound of a notification pulled you back to reality, and a sigh of relief escaped you as you saw it wasn't from Naoya.
Only to further morph into a surprised gasp.
Gojo
02:13
Can't sleep?
God, how desperately you wished to have someone to vent to about Gojo's text and… well, Gojo.
For now, it was only your sketchbook.
Having friends was a luxury Naoya never indulged you in.
After inner debating and dots appearing and reappearing, you finally typed back.
You
02:16
Something like that. Didn't peg you as a night owl, tho
Damn, you could've physically felt the boom of his laugh even across the city.
Gojo
02:17
I'm more like a tired pigeon. 😉My hands are full with all the opening stuff.
Your mind worked overtime in an attempt to come up with a plausible answer — not too nosy, not too casual, not too indifferent.
You
02:18
:(
Sounds exhausting
Gojo kept silent after your last text for quite some time. You scolded yourself for your own awkwardness, even in the texts, especially in the texts, and sank into the sheets like a sad blob.
And almost jolted as your phone suddenly pinged again. The eagerness in your moves startled even you.
Gojo
02:35
Oh, I am so sorry, left you hanging haha.
Tsumiki thought she had a monster under her bed. Turned out it was just Ball chewing his toy
You haven't seen that lil guy, right?
Never in your life had you imagined yourself giggling over the pics of two bunnies with the kids in almost three of the morning. You quickly answered that they were so cute.
Sleep looked more and more distant to both of you with each message.
You just couldn't force yourself to leave Gojo. At first, you were really hesitant to answer, overthinking each word and even emojis, but his rambling served as a soothing balm on your worried soul.
But as all good things in your life tend to end, after some time, Gojo inevitably texted.
Gojo
03:43
Damn, it's almost four in the morning. I didn't even notice.
Sorry for holding you up, coffee is on me this morning :)
And no, you can't refuse. Doctors should feel the best 💪💪💪
A bright grin broke on your face. You wished him a good night. Or whatever of it was left.
Gojo
03:45
Sleep tight, Doc
Think of my words, okay?
Slumber evaded you the rest of the night; blue eyes haunted you as well as a sharp brown gaze. The answer, though, started morphing in the dead of the night, grew steady with each text and settled with a certainty the following morning.
The hospital greeted you with the same chaos as usual; you flashed polite grins to your colleagues, assured the nervous parents that you were going to look at their babies as soon as possible and hurried to the doctor's lounge.
Throwing a glance at your reflection to check whether your mascara didn't smudge in the rain — for some reason, you wanted to look pretty today — you stilled. A wave of humiliation swept your smile off your face, disguised by a sombre mask.
You didn't tear your gaze away from the mirror, watching Naoya slowly step towards you. A large bouquet of red roses caught a lot of attention in the hall, from the bewildered glances to dreamy sighs.
When he finally stopped just in front of you, so close that a whiff of his cologne was enough to send a fresh wave of nausea, you didn't immediately duck your head. Surprise flashed in Naoya's eyes before he hid it behind the usual grin.
Charming for everyone but you.
"You look beautiful today, dove."
"As I did yesterday."
The corners of his mouth twitched. The light pink dusted the tips of his ears: you would've assumed it was an ounce of regret if he were capable of such a feeling. Judging by the sharp look around, you were more than certain it addressed the unwanted audience.
He licked his lips, and his voice dropped to a whisper, somehow rushed. "I would prefer to talk in your office."
Stifling a sigh, you slowly examined the surroundings.
Your gaze landed on a certain white-haired man, and your heart did a treacherous flip. Gojo listened to Yaga's ramble, occasionally nodding; yet his gaze was glued to you. He acknowledged you with a light tilt of his head.
You carefully muttered to Naoya, "We can talk here."
Naoya's eyes widened at your unexpected disobedience. The irritated flex of his jaw gave away his true feelings. But given the curious glances around, Gojo's gaze that burnt a hole in his skull and your sudden rebellious nature, he decided to play by your rules.
"I didn't mean to miss our anniversary, darling. I know how deeply you value all these milestones. My business partners decided to suddenly throw a huge dinner for the upcoming merger and acquisition news. I couldn't reject or call you either. Best believe, I wouldn't miss it for the world!"
Each word, honeyed with lies and veiled in blarney, only bruised you more.
The hollowness in your soul bled through the cracks, settling over your face like an empty mask. Despite your best effort, the void inside couldn't devour all the hurt.
"You can't do that to me every time, Naoya."
Something flashed behind his gaze, and for a second, you actually allowed yourself to believe it was a sincere regret. A guilt for subjecting you to yet another round of mockery.
Was he proud of himself, you wondered? Did he really feel remorseful enough to actually apologise, you pondered?
Slowly, Naoya handed you the bouquet. Your hands brushed — and you realised with a painful certainty that it was the closest thing to an apology from him.
"It will make you feel better."
Would it?
Your fingers carefully touched the flowers, too crimson in their mesmerising beauty, and your grip tightened.
"I don't like roses. Don't you know that?"
Naoya squinted at you: an unwelcome feeling of seeing his most beloved doll, his most prized item in a collection, defying the very master who shaped her, was too sudden to recognise.
Though you just handed him the reins. Naoya immediately pulled on them, of course.
"Are you really going to make a scene in front of everyone? When am I trying to apologise? Because of the flowers?"
A sense of guilt immediately flooded the stone expression on your face. You dropped your gaze to look at the damn bouquet again, but almost instantly lifted it, guided by some force.
Your eyes met Gojo's — resembling a deer in headlights, just after they were directed at Naoya — and the look of pure rage sent shivers down your spine. You gave Gojo a slight shake as if to say, "Don't interfere. Please."
Though he listened to you, the storm in his eyes didn't quite even for a moment.
"Darling, thank you for the flowers, but I have an early meeting. Take them home. I am sure it will be a better place for them than my office."
Even with your voice trembling like a leaf, your hands remained surprisingly steady. The shock on his face was the second reward that morning.
You, slowly discovering the faint spark inside, were the first.
Gojo's wide smile when you agreed to his proposal over the promised coffee served as the third.
⋆˚࿔
You
15:34
What should I wear?
Gojo
15:41
Whatever you want ;)
Or that pink sundress. You look nice in it
You stared at Gojo's last text, slightly bouncing on your heels from the sudden excitement, waiting for him to pick you up. The gentle breeze embraced you in its soft gale, and you turned your face to enjoy the fleeting sunlight.
It was strange. Being actually excited for a date. Even for a friendly one. Especially for a friendly one: since Naoya became an integral part of your life, he swiftly occupied every role reserved for a lover. A partner. A friend.
"Oh, my little dove. Do you really need someone besides me? You don't want me to feel betrayed, do you?"
He used to murmur once, when you greedily grasped for every ounce of freedom he presented to you not-so-generously. Desperate to earn his affection, you wordlessly swallowed every attempt of his to cancel your brunch. Your book club. A dinner. Or watching a movie that your friends had been waiting for months.
After that, the calls and texts came more rarely, before disappearing from your life completely.
There was nothing in your life anymore but Naoya.
At first, you felt a surge of euphoria every time he graced you with his smile, a simple nod and his hand on your thigh. Everything was tied to him. Every gap. Every part of your life was now so tethered to Naoya's presence that you genuinely couldn't understand what had been before him.
Had you even existed in the first place?
Maybe you were foolish for even entertaining a thought of going with another man. Stupid for waiting for the right moment for Naoya to leave the city for a sudden business trip. Naive for having your heartbeat stuttering and pulse fluttering under your skin at the sight of Gojo.
Let it be, you thought. For once, in a very long period of time, that feeling rushed stronger than the constant fear devouring you day by day.
Naoya still might've felt an ounce of shame: on business trips, he would usually blow your phone with calls and messages.
These days he remained surprisingly laconic.
The sudden beeps had you jolting near the quiet bookshop where you told Gojo to pick you up. Right on time. Your gaze swept over the car — a majestic beast in deep metallic blue — and a quiet huff left your lips. He wasn't playing about that date.
Swallowing, you nervously tugged on the hem of the pink sundress and stepped closer, your shoulders squared in an attempt to appear confident. On the outside, at least.
Hardly had you moved when the door opened, revealing Gojo himself. A black short-sleeved polo shirt was so deliciously stretched over his arms and torso that your brain short-circuited. His hair fell over his forehead in a messy fringe, and as he swept it away with a charming grin, the sudden heat painted your cheeks pink. Suddenly, you felt very self-conscious about the simple dress you chose; a man like Gojo deserved no less than the perfection standing next to him.
When you had already learned to view yourself as an embodiment of failure.
Nevertheless, you pushed your insecurities back, slightly leaning on the door Gojo held open for you.
"My, my, didn't perk you as a Ferrari type of guy."
Gojo laughed — a smooth, soft sound that shouldn't have you swooning over — and patted the hood, almost lovingly.
"This baby is reserved for special occasions."
Now all the blood rushed to your face as you breathed out, "Am I a special occasion?"
Something brief crossed Gojo's handsome face, melting his cockiness into an evanescent tenderness.
"Of course."
His murmur hit you harder than expected.
How on Earth were you supposed to react?
You just kept staring at him, akin to a deer in the headlights. Your grip on the door tightened, the wind threw your hair into your face, but you didn't move even for an inch. Lost in the deep sea of his eyes, you simply couldn't. Standing close, you caught a whiff of his cologne — fresh and icy.
Damn, he smelled good.
He leaned over, looking for something, and then fished a bouquet: irises, white lilies, peonies, and lupines — delicate spring, tied with a pretty ribbon. Bewildered, you took it and dragged your widened gaze to Gojo.
"Ah, Gojo, you shouldn't —," you cut yourself off with a grimace. Now you sounded like an ungrateful brat. You quickly corrected yourself. "I mean, they are very pretty, I like them, thank you so much, but —"
"But you liked them," Gojo interrupted your babbling swiftly, his tone smooth, but the steel gleamed in his gaze. "They suit you. A beautiful bouquet for a beautiful woman."
"I —"
"Doc, please," sighing in mock exasperation, he nudged you towards the car with a soft yet persistent gesture. His hand felt strangely pleasant on your elbow, thumb brushing against the velvet skin. "Just accept them, okay? Do me a favour."
After all, you had nothing to do but agree.
Driving with Gojo was…different from driving with Naoya. The tan cabin smelled pleasantly of leather and luxury, offering you a panoramic view out. You tried not to disturb Gojo much and kept your gaze on the flowers. Naoya didn't like being interrupted while driving.
Gojo, as you found out, didn't care much. You sat so quietly and looked so timidly — as if you were scared to disturb him by breathing.
As usual, the urge to teach your damn fiancé, that Zenin asshole, some lesson, rose tenfold.
He shot you a quick, assessing glance and muttered quietly, "Are you alright?"
Your head snapped up at his question.
"Of course!"
"You can adjust your seat, if you want to. Or adjust the climate control, too," he pointed to some controls. "Play some music. Or even talk. You know I don't bite, Doc."
Sincere surprise on your face, followed by a genuine smile, made his heart skip a bit.
"It's really a nice car," you slightly turned in your seat with a soft murmur. "I see why it is reserved for special occasions."
"Wanna drive it later? Give it a try?"
Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, and later you breathed out a disbelieving chuckle.
"Oh, no, no, no. I am better suited to be a passenger. Yeah. But thanks!"
Gojo's expression shifted from pure amusement at your laugh to quiet affection. Some easy-breezy pop tunes filled the car and soothed some tension curled in your shoulders. The city behind the glassy view passed you in urban buildings, green parks, bustling streets and hurrying people.
"So, what's that interesting place you wanted to show me?"
Quirking a single brow at you, he sent you a wink. "Wouldn't be so interesting if I told you. Besides, we're almost there."
"We are?" Confused, you craned your neck a little to have a peek out.
"Yep," he answered easily and looked over his shoulder to put the car in reverse. Never in your life had you thought you would find that simple act hot. "Ever been to Todoroki Valley?"
Never, to your shame.
A hidden oasis amidst the city jungles was as serene as you could need. Tucked away in the green valley, that safe haven looked like it came straight from some fresco, with a river splashing through the vibrant ravine under a lavish canopy of trees. The brimming sunrays painted the valley in bright light, though the rich leafage kept you safe from the scorching heat. In fact, the valley gave you a much-needed escape from the lingering heatwave, as well as the anxiety haunting you all that time. The gentle hum of waterfalls and the faintest whisper of sakura petals carried you from the megapolis's hustle.
"It's like we're not in Tokyo at all," watching a couple of ducks leisurely floating down their path, you murmured under your breath. Completely unaware that Gojo was examining you all the time. "They are so cute!"
A soft smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
"Indeed."
You wandered along the small river, heading to the hidden shrines and ancient temples. Fascinated by the tranquillity around, you didn't notice the red wooden bridge creaking precariously. Your feet slightly slipped on the path, but it was enough to lose your balance.
Just as your hand flew to grab the bridge's rail, a strong hand immediately held your waist, stabilising you. The warmth from Gojo's body seeped into you even through the thin fabrics of your sundress. The twitch of his fingers was threaded with longing.
"Careful. Watch your step here."
A low murmur tickled the shell of your ear, alongside a breeze of his cologne, the scent of the foliage, and something so uniquely him. Blood pounded at your temples, roaring like an alarm.
His fingers squeezed your waist for the last time before letting you go.
Judging by the faint tingle left on your skin, very reluctantly.
Gojo pulled away and fell back with your step when he helped you to climb through the bamboo sticks. The lingering warmth between you, morphing into something way heavier, never disappeared since.
After visiting a small pavilion with a statue honouring a founder of the valley, you both reached the temple, set just above the ravine on the wooded slopes.
"Have you ever heard about the temple's story?" Gojo muttered beside you as you both lined up to test your luck with omikuji strips.
Furrowing your brows, you recalled, "Something about Fudo Myo-o appearing to one monk in dreams?"
"Yep. He later came up to that valley and struck the rock with his staff. That was where the waterfall began to flow. But that's not the most important thing. They sell the small figurines of Fudo Myo-o right there. With omikuji!" He pointed at the stall; a bright grin broke on his face as he watched your eyes light up with excitement.
"You don't say!"
"Zero lies, Doc."
"Honestly, I suck at drawing these strips. Always ending up with "future blessing". At best," you huffed a bitter laugh after you both managed to find an empty bench beneath a large sakura tree.
Gojo's expression softened at your revelation, and without much thinking, he exclaimed.
"Oh, a heron!"
Immediately, you turned around — the sound of your floral perfume hit his senses all at once — and without further ado, Gojo swapped your tiny figurines.
"I don't see anything," you squinted to have a better look at the mysterious bird Gojo mentioned and sighed. "My luck. Told you."
"Just try again. Maybe you'll get lucky this time."
Chuckling, you lightly elbowed him and drawled, "I am afraid not everyone is as lucky as you are, Good-Fortune-san!"
He sent you a quick grin, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. Your fingers tumbled with the little Fudo Myo-o, and carefully tucked the fortune slip inside; amazed by the endearing look of concentration on your face, Gojo gently watched it morph into bewilderment, later replaced by pure excitement when you squealed in delight.
"Good fortune! Can you believe it? The last time I got it was a couple of years ago! Ahem," you cleared your throat to read aloud, "Good fortune is on your side. Stay grateful and continue your efforts."
A carefully folded stripe later ended up in your purse as a lucky charm. Overly enthusiastic, you urged Gojo to open his omikuji. The familiar look of "future blessing" made you grimace.
"You know, it's not that bad, actually," you tried to reassure him, but Gojo didn't seem melancholic at all. In fact, his lips curled into a subtle smirk. "It may sound pretty average, but it promises a happy ending."
Twirling the slip between the long fingers, Gojo just hummed. To your surprise, he put it in his wallet as well.
"You're not going to tie it?"
"Why would I? You've just said it promises a happy ending. I follow the doctor's orders," he just shrugged and extended his hand to help you get up.
"I am not your doctor, though."
"Ah. What a shame."
The visitors' voices fell to distant, indecipherable murmurs as you stood before the emagake, offering your wishes to the almighty gods. Even the wind quietened around you. The sharp tugs turned into gentle breezes, allowing the mere mortals to reach the kami.
For a moment, Gojo wondered what you wished for: traces of melancholy crept between the creaks of your composure and serenity. He kept stealing glances at you all the time you were heading to a cosy tea house, hidden in the lush greenery. A couple of carp in the nearby pond caught your attention when you walked to place your order.
Carefully balancing two bowls with anmitsu and kakigori, Gojo sat beside you at the picturesque spot and handed you the dessert. The Yazawa River softly murmured beneath you, but the sight of an uncontrollable force of nature around sent the shivers down your spine.
"I feel so small here." After a couple of minutes, you finally broke the silence. That kind of silence felt…strange. Strange for it not to lie heavily on your shoulders. Strange to not clasp its hands on your neck, squeezing a pathetic attempt at appeasing…someone.
Having caught Gojo's questioning look, you clarified quickly, "In a good way. This place is just a reminder not to dwell constantly on your problems. They pale in comparison to the force of nature, don't they? After all, we're here for a very short period of time."
He took a bite of his kakigori ( a single look at that mountain of shaved ice with dozens of syrups was enough to send a grown man into a sugary coma — Gojo didn't play about his sweets, that was for sure), and nodded contemplatively.
"I agree. That doesn't mean they are not important, though. That we, humans, are not important."
You followed the direction of his gaze to watch sakura petals twirling around in a lazy dance. A bitter smile graced your face.
"Humans are fragile. Even… distant. Selfish, I might say. It feels like each of us is orbiting on our own and is lucky enough to collide with someone. Let alone get you."
"Yet beautiful," Gojo countered gently and mirrored your smile. "You can make a flower bloom, admire it, but you can't tell it to understand you. That's the beauty of humanity. Different from nature, though not less significant."
"I wish I could've done more, though," quickly casting your gaze down, you sadly poked the peach slices of your anmitsu. "About our… fragility."
"Aren't you already doing it? Every day?"
Your grip on the bowl hardened.
Gojo released a quiet exhale.
"You wished for that girl's health, right?"
A shadow immediately fell over your face, etching sorrow into it and hollowing the serenity of that place. The answer lay at the tip of your tongue, but the growing lump in your throat stole your voice.
He knew the answer.
Worldlessly, his hand reached to cover your palm with a light squeeze.
Your breath stuttered in the tightness of your throat. Each exhale felt sharper than the previous, but Gojo's steady, assuring presence gave you something dangerous.
A sparkle of hope.
Quietly putting the dessert away, you hesitated for one second before unsurely lacing your fingers with his in a trembling grip.
"Thank you, Satoru."
You hoped he understood you. Prayed he heard the hundreds of words that you yet dared to mutter. Wished he could recognise a feeling you yet had to name in your gaze. Ached for him to see through your facade.
The blue of his gaze resembled a warm sea that caressed the shore of your face when his thumb gently brushed the tender skin under your eyes.
"You're always welcome, Doc."
You allowed yourself to lean into Gojo's palm just for a moment before pulling away.
During your visit to the valley, you forced yourself to bury every thought of Naoya. It was safe to say you more or less managed to do it, until the lone touch from Gojo was enough to set you aflame.
The way back from the Todoroki Valley to Gojo's car felt rather awkward as you desperately scrambled for a proper way to thank him.
"Doc?"
His voice snapped you out of your focus. Forcing a smile, you realised he had been holding the door for you for quite a long time already.
"I…Thank you for this day. It was really magical."
Gojo's brows almost reached his hairline. His shoulders shook with a laugh as he nodded for you to get in the car.
"You really thought I would only take you to stroll around? Please, Doc. You wound me. Deeply."
Now you just watched him again with a widened gaze.
That later turned completely astounded as the sleek car stopped amidst the bright neon lights and the glossy buildings hovering above you, just in the heart of Ginza — a total contrast from nature's embrace.
Your gaze fell on the famous Ginza Place and…the urge to sink into your seat consumed you.
You were used to expensive places. Luxury establishments. The rich aroma of an elite wine. The mesmerising scents of Michelin dishes. The whispers of the spotless cloths.
Then what was the reason for the sudden awkwardness to paint your cheeks red?
Or rather, who?
Because the thought of sharing a meal in what you suspected to be a candlelit dinner, let alone at his restaurant, didn't evoke friendly feelings in you at all.
"Gojo, I —"
"Didn't you call me Satoru just an hour ago?"
You abruptly closed your mouth and sent him a weak glare.
"I am not really hungry, I guess. It's not necessary. I still enjoyed our evening very much, but I think we should end it here."
You expected Gojo to argue with you, insisting, charming his way to persuade you.
But what you didn't expect was the barely imperceptible curl of his shoulders and a curt nod.
Maybe he felt that dangerous line blurring even further between you.
"Of course. I…can call Ijichi to take you home."
Your heart sank at the hurt lurking in his words. But before you could answer, your phone loudly beeped with an incoming notification.
The usual feeling of unease engulfed you; you hastily fished your phone and typed something. Slowly, confusion on Gojo's face numbed into frustration. Helplessly, he gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned white. Until your next words made him stare at you in disbelief, and a slow grin broke on his face.
"I've changed my mind. Let's go."
Whatever the bullshit Naoya pulled on you — judging by your direct tone and the narrowed gaze — that was enough for you to step closer into Gojo's embrace.
Unlike a certain someone, he wasn't a fool to miss it.
Gojo's restaurant met you with courteous nods from waiters, ambient music, a chic atmosphere, and…
A complete lack of visitors.
"I expected more guests at this hour, honestly. Didn't think we would be all alone."
The rooftop bar looked exactly as you imagined it, overlooking an iconic Ginza 4-Chome; the Seiko House Ginza and the Wako department store bathed in a golden light — the epitome of extravagance and splendour. You shifted in your seat and gently brushed the drop of condensation from your glass. The reviews and excited chirping of Naoya's aunties didn't lie: that place, in fact, served excellent food, not to mention the sommelier-selected alcohol. Gojo accepted your compliment with a bright grin, immediately ordering the red squid you mentioned once at the cafe.
He took a sip of an Alternative Bellini cocktail — to your pleasant surprise, Gojo wasn't a fan of alcohol at all — and murmured, glancing somewhere past the opulent skyline.
"Yeah, it's pretty booked this time usually. I've closed it."
You stilled at his off-handed mention. As if the sole fact of taking you to that majestic place, his place, was not enough for your heart to drop into the void.
The void called to you in Naoya's scornful whisper.
"Just a friendly date. Just a friendly date."
Gojo's unguarded gaze kept insisting that it was anything but friendly.
Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, you dug into your charcoal-grilled wagyu beef. "Can I ask why?"
"I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable."
You slowly lifted your eyes at Gojo.
He was already watching you, his chin resting on the palm. A nervous chuckle left you as you shrugged, your shoulders squared up tightly.
"I am a big girl. You shouldn't have to do that."
Leaning back, Gojo only sent you a bitter grin. "Doc, you should know better than me that rumours in our circles spread like wildfire."
A smile on your face faded completely. Gloominess clouded your expression. You immediately cast your gaze downwards at the poor plate. Gojo sighed inwardly at his own clumsiness with words. Which was strange, in a way.
He hadn't been used to feeling awkward at all.
While he tried to come up with a change of topic, your words snapped him back to reality.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course, Doc."
"Have you ever been in love?"
The silence fell on your table as you both waited for a waiter to refill your champagne and offer Gojo another cocktail. To be frank, you fully expected Gojo to deflect with some light joke, but the sight of his hand on that beautiful lady's waist flared in your mind more times than necessary. Especially for an engaged woman on a friendly date.
Instead, his lips curled into a slow, albeit bitter, around-the-edges smile.
"Abso-fucking-lutely."
As if on cue, the low, soothing voice of Frank Sinatra murmured the first words of "Moon River." You bit your lip not to blurt the woman's name but luckily managed to zip it. The last thing you wanted was to reveal your stalker-ish tendencies to Gojo.
"Her name was Utahime. We were basically high school sweethearts. Then the university stars. You know how it is: the most popular girl and guy, nothing new." Gojo lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug — gods, even that absentminded move kept your eyes glued to his figure.
You nodded along to his words, though you had never got to experience that dizzying feeling of a blue spring.
"Why did you break up, if that's okay to ask?"
For the second time that evening, his grin faltered. A gust of wind threw his messy fringe over his eyes as Gojo stared into the distance. Something sparked in his gaze, so brief you couldn't catch it, and hid behind the melancholic blue.
"There was nothing dramatic— Nah, well, some moments were indeed dramatic, but on a large scale… We just drifted apart. The things that tied us together fell loose. There was nothing to hold us anymore. She's grown way past the image of the lead cheerleader. And I…had quite difficult times myself," he concluded evasively.
What Gojo didn't tell was the memories of the next months, dragging into the soulless years. When the loneliness took up his home, day by day, rested on the dusted shelves, dwelled within empty walls and walked polished floors. Until one day he choked on his own solitude and decided to give his hopeless love life another try.
Didn't work out very well, obviously.
Ladies lined up before him: pretty figures, plump lips, all sharp where he wanted it soft, eyes gleaming with that prospect of the rich, luxurious life. As if they were dating a walking bank account, not a person.
He didn't blame them, of course. Everyone would've fallen for that pretty package. Actually, Gojo even enjoyed that flippancy and lack of certain gravity. Living that way was easier — the life felt like an endless soar; the last thing he wanted was an abrupt landing. A touch with reality, as Suguru frequently told him.
The moment the things started shaping into something more serious — or rather, when his girlfriends decided it was time to peek at the unfolding chaos inside him, besides a ritzy wrapper — Gojo chose to run. That shit was complicated and messy. He didn't want anything messy in his life anymore.
Then the cancer knocked unceremoniously on their family's door, took his sister away and muddied his existence with an endless grief.
But now?
Now Gojo suddenly wanted that mess in his life. Because that mess, including the asshole your fiancé was, surrounded you.
Now a single glance from a certain doctor was enough to undo him. A radiant spark in your gaze as you rambled on about some interesting case — one time it was about unruptured appendicitis that you diagnosed early. Or a shy smile as you spotted a small box on your desk and murmured that he shouldn't have to.
Gojo reminded himself numerous times how wrong it was. Wanting to feel your fingers gently grazing his hand. Wishing your gaze caressed his face again and again. Yearning to hold you in his arms. Longing for a gentle smile to curl your lips.
Dying to taste them.
Were they soft? Were they pliable? Or would you dig your teeth into his lips, taste his blood and lick that crimson sin?
Would you sing for him if his hands drifted your velvet skin, leaving prints of his desire all over, and traced your quivering heat?
Would you burn for him the same way he was burning for you?
If only you would've given him a chance.
For now, Gojo just had to suppress the urge not to rearrange your fiancé's pretty face every time he dared to open his mouth. The first time he heard that prick speaking to you — no, humiliating you — sent him into a rage so pure that Gojo didn't even know he was capable of feeling that depth.
Your helpless gaze only fueled the flame of his determination to show how much more you were in his eyes. Aside from the meek, weak and compliant person Zenin shaped you into. That evening of your anniversary, your empty stare and your anything-but-friendly date only cemented his resolve to set you free.
Whether to be with him or not didn't matter. Much.
"I am sorry that happened."
Gojo waved you off with a small grin. "Don't be, Doc. We work out better as bickering exes, that's for sure."
At your widened eyes, Gojo quickly clarified.
"We sometimes talk, yeah. You remember Shoko, right? They are dating now. I know, I know. That's already become a running joke. But everyone's okay with it."
You laughed softly in response, and for some time the sounds of cutlery clacking and quiet Jazz music filled the silence.
Until Gojo decided to strip your soul bare once again.
"Have you?"
Your fingers on the knife twitched, curling even more firmly. You desperately tried to weasel your way out of answering.
"Have I what?"
Gojo was relentless, though. His sharp gaze pierced through your pretended cluelessness.
"Have you ever been in love?"
You wish you knew the answer yourself. It almost spilt from your lips in a delighted chirp, paired with a honeyed smile. You recalled the questioning glances and sickening giggles from Naoya's family, the hospital's nurses, and your cousins every time he decided to play a devoted fiancé. The harshness of that love, framed as care and fondness, carved another scar into your flesh.
You managed to compose yourself by sheer will and offered Gojo a subtle shake, followed by a sunken whisper. The desolation already swelled in your gaze.
Eyes drifting to the golden lights of Ginza, you muttered quietly, more like musing aloud, "I…I don't know. I should've been. I should be now, but…I just don't know. It's not a good sign, isn't it?"
Now you glanced back at Gojo, and he wished — Gods, he wished — to tell you that of-fucking-course it wasn't. That dumbass didn't deserve even to stand in your shadow, let alone marry you.
But he couldn't. Not yet, at least. Instead, Gojo decided to act calm. It was pretty hard, though. Almost as hard as telling a couple of kids to go to bed after an exciting day.
"How did you meet him?"
"At some conference, arranged by his family. I was a med student, running on caffeine and nicotine, and couldn't resist a chance to slack off a little," you chuckled humourlessly; probably thought of that young and naive version of you, who didn't even know what would wait for her. "Asked a couple of questions to his father, a very…interesting man, indeed —"
Gojo huffed loudly, not even hiding his disgust, "A complete asshole, you mean. I saw the old Zenin a couple of times."
"That's…a fair assessment. Anyway, Naoya found me after the whole shebang at the reception. All handsome, smart, courteous. I didn't even stand a chance. I loved him then. I think. " Shrugging in response, you sent Gojo a nervous grin, but immediately groaned and hid your face in your palms. Because pouring that mess out felt terribly awkward.
Yet…strangely liberating.
"I am sorry. I didn't want to dump all of that on you."
Gojo cut you off. "Don't be, please. You have nothing to apologise for. Especially to me."
"I remember you saying that."
"I will remind you as much as needed," he leaned over the table with a wink, and you just laughed in response. The last time you felt so free was probably…well. Never.
You enjoyed strolling amidst the lavish greenery of the Todoroki Valley as much as observing the Tokyo skyline from the rooftop bar in its heart; the dessert from the hidden teahouse of Setsugetsua blossomed on your tongue in the same sweetness as the one at Gojo's Michelin-starred restaurant.
It didn't matter where you spent your time as long as you were with…Gojo.
Oh, you knew pretty well how things would've turned out if that was Naoya by your side.
But what would he do now if he found out about your evening? Walking out of the golden cage, spending time with someone else — a man, let alone the man who kept defending you, and, by this, disgracing him?
How strange, you thought bitterly. That these things had long become opposites.
"Dance with me?"
You stared up at Gojo, blinking in surprise. He towered over you with his head tilted, a light grin curling on his lips. His eyes shone like two sapphires in the dead of the night, and you let your gaze soak in that expression on his face.
"I am not much into dancing," offering an awkward smile, you hoped that was enough for Gojo to give up.
It wasn't, obviously.
Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Gojo only extended his hand to you. "Come on, Doc. I've heard you humming to some songs before. Humour me a little."
Your shoulders fell with a breathy chuckle.
"Just don't grumble later when I step on your foot."
"Oh, that would be an honour for me, sensei."
Turned out you weren't so clumsy as you had been told. Turned out that if your partner actually paid attention to your moves and led you without any fussing, dancing could be…pretty fine.
"You like jazz?"
Twirling with a radiant smile under Gojo's hand, you nodded at him.
It was so easy to forget what you once liked and so hard to remember it. However, guided by a steady hand on the small of your back, the long-buried memories came brighter and brighter. If you were a little bit less excited by "Dream a Little Dream of Me" flowing from the speakers, you would've noticed his fingers digging deeper into your skin with each verse, his gaze turning dangerously dreamy and his moves becoming more languid.
The whole city belonged to him.
Yet he could only see you amidst its blinding golden lights.
Your eyes resembled the stars in the night sky above — gleaming, glowing, glinting up at him. Your cheeks carried that bright tinge of pink that sent his heart hammering, and your laugh sounded like the prettiest melody.
Did you think about your fiancé, Gojo wondered?
What would you say if he told you about the way his day would immediately become better if he spotted you at the hospital? The way your smile would warm him like the brightest Sun?
He couldn't even put his desperation and longing into coherent words. Besides…Besides this.
"You deserve better. You should know that."
Gojo's thick whisper immediately pulled you out of the wonderful haze. Startled, you glanced up and saw him already staring at you — the breeze in his eyes turned into a tempest. Then his hand slowly drifted up your neck, cradling your cheek.
"You are smart. You are beautiful. You are kind and loving. Not clumsy, not stupid, not anything Naoya makes you think you are, Doc."
A frail flower of hope.
You didn't even dare to breathe — and simply took him in.
Why was he doing that to you? Was it another exquisite mind game? Did he want to get to Naoya through you?
What was Gojo's thing with you? Pity?
Because no way someone like him could feel that towards you. All your insecurities reared their heads, stabbing your mind.
"Don't listen to them." Gojo softly wiped a tear from your cheek. Your ache hid in the tremble of your fingers and shallow breaths. "Don't listen to these voices. Listen to mine, okay?"
As usual, your first instinct was to hide and retreat, but something — maybe the magic of the night or a faint whisper carrying all the what-ifs and buts — rooted you to the spot. Or maybe it was the realisation that Gojo was dangerous to you as well. Dangerous in a way that made you believe him. Dangerous enough for the flames inside you to rise from the ashes.
You heard what Gojo said to you and what he did not, but you couldn't give him what he wanted. Not yet, at least.
Pressing a hand over his heart, a steady thump-thump, you offered him a tiny smile.
"I will."
And that was enough for him.
The ride to your home wasn't nearly as tense as you imagined it to be. Instead, you hoped you would get into a traffic jam or heavy rain. You didn't want to leave Gojo, be all alone with your thoughts and count the minutes before Naoya would return in the golden cage of your house.
No wonder you tried to capture every moment of that wonderful evening and tuck it into your heart. You quietly laughed at Gojo's jokes. Hummed to the car radio. Asked him about the flowers.
"Ah, this? I saw flowers in your sketches. Back at your office, remember? I sorta went with it and hoped you liked them."
You sincerely didn't know what to answer, simply staring at his refined profile. Your heart, drumming in the confines, was telling another story.
Somehow, you managed an unsure grin. "I…Yeah. Irises are my favourite flowers, actually."
Gojo's fingers stilled on the ignition key — unfortunately, his car pulled to the now-closed bookshop — and the corners of his lips twitched upwards.
"Makes perfect sense. You look like an irises person."
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"
Raising his hands in surrender, he drawled, "Only the good, Doc."
You laughed back, already fumbling with your seatbelt. The more you tugged on the stubborn buckle, the redder your cheeks became. The damn thing didn't budge.
"Let me."
Before you could even react, Gojo leaned over. The smell of his cologne sent your head dizzy. When his long fingers brushed over your skin, you realised that your cheeks weren't red with embarrassment anymore. If only the tension in the car didn't fog your mind.
Judging by the way Gojo's fingers still lingered on you, as if any moment spent apart actually tormented him, he felt that as well.
"Courage is about doing things while you are scared."
"Am I a special occasion?" "Of course."
"You deserve better. You should know that."
"Satoru?"
Slowly, agonisingly so, he lifted his head. The rippling want in his eyes set every nerve in your body on flame.
Each shallow breath seemed borrowed. Every second in Gojo's proximity pushed you into the depth of his eyes.
"I didn't thank you. For all that evening."
Your voice dropped into a cadence Gojo hadn't heard yet, but damn if he didn't go crazy at those syrupy tones.
"Don't worry about anything, Doc. I am glad you liked it."
"Still," you shifted a little — just enough for your breasts to brush against his chest — and leaned in. "Let me."
The touch of your lips, soft and a bit hesitant, to the corner of his mouth first, later drifting to his lips as well, capturing them in sweetness, felt like resurfacing after the years of drowning. Seeing a sparkle of light after wandering in darkness. Or finally being able to breathe.
Your teeth gently grazed his bottom lip before pulling apart with a sigh. His chest rose rapidly with sharp exhales, eyes firmly shut, memorising every flutter of your lashes on his skin and every tentative press of your lips.
You might've mistaken his silence for something completely else. The quiet, reluctant acceptance threading your voice pierced his heart.
"I didn't…didn't mean to overstep. I should go —"
Only for all your words to dissolve into a surprised gasp when Gojo finally kissed you back.
God, you had never felt like that. Like every part of your body came alive under Gojo's trembling touch — his hand travelled to cup the back of your head — and sang the candied serenades in raspy murmurs, breathless moans and thick whispers.
"Fuck, you're so sweet," he muttered in a low voice, dragging kisses down from your mouth, your jawline and to the tender skin of your neck. A jolt of desire shot through you when Gojo suddenly bit on a pulsating vein and immediately soothed it. The rumble of his laugh tightened the knot in your belly more as you sobbed his name. "Even sweeter than I thought. How is that possible, huh?"
You were far too preoccupied with his lips marking you and his hands tugging on your sundress with urgency to muster any plausible response. Not with your whole being burning, burning with want and screaming to have Gojo in any way. Mouth, fingers, tongue, scent — you would greedily take everything.
"Oh fuck, you're gonna actually kill me." His head hit the headrest when you moved a little, dragging your clothed heat over his throbbing length, eliciting a shameless groan. Another loud moan left you as Gojo wasted no time in planting kisses down your cleavage. You whined and mindlessly shifted your hips once again.
"You're so soft, angel. Soft and pretty and so fucking gorgeous for me, I can't believe it, I just can't —"
In a couple of moments, your back hit the seats again: too dazed, you completely missed the way he manhandled you.
Then his lips erased every coherent thought once again.
Dazed, you dragged your gaze from his rapidly rising chest, past the sharp collarbones to his face as Gojo hovered over you — all strength and sin wrapped in heat and muscles. Sliding your hands up his arms to paw at his biceps, you noticed his snowy eyelashes flutter at your touch.
"You have no idea," Gojo's raspy murmur fanned over you when he rested his forehead on yours. A messy white fringe fell freely with a few strands sticking to his skin. His lips then travelled to pepper your face in faint kisses, light in reverence; his fingers drew trails of fire on your skin, ravenous in intensity. The dangerous contrast left you breathless, pliable for Gojo to mould you. "How long have I been thinking about it. About you."
"So beautiful. So perfect for me, yes, arch a little, here you go." You felt the cocky curve of Gojo's smirk carving into your collarbone and almost giggled, if not for his finger brushing over your core. "Go-o-od girl. Already this wet, huh?"
"Ah, Sa-Satoru!"
Your thighs desperately twitched in Gojo's hold when he hungrily pried them apart, and his breath fanned over your cunt. At your muffled voice, his head snapped — the black holes flaming with desire swallowed the irises.
"Let me eat you out. Please let me, I can't — I need to taste you, pretty girl." All Gojo's drunk whispers morphed into groans with each press of his lips over your inner thighs. His laugh reverberated through your whole body when he chuckled breathlessly, licking a fat stripe up your cunt. "Damn, didn't he fuck you at all? Prick. I am gonna have my hands on him, I swear I am, just after I deal with these gorgeous girls here."
"I —," a choked sob tore from your throat. Gojo pressed a kiss onto your twitching clit through your soaked, completely drenched panties. Was it because of his mouth on you, his hands devouring you, his lips whispering filth to you, or the pure sin that left you a trembling mess? "I've never — "
He pulled away, disbelief written all over his handsome face, lips already glistening with your essence. "Never what?"
"N-never had a-anyone —"
"Eating you out?"
You whined at the loss of contact and helplessly bucked your hips once again, nodding. Didn't notice Gojo's grip on your thighs tightening and the vein popping on his temple. Somehow, he managed to compose himself and left a surprisingly tender kiss on your skin, his thumb drawing soothing circles there.
"Don't think about him. Just look at me. I want to make you feel good, Doc. Keep your eyes on me."
You tried. Really did. But with each gentle peck Gojo left up to your core, it became increasingly difficult. Almost impossible.
Especially as his nose bumped into your clit and his tongue nipped it. Just a light touch, but you arched as if on a command — a doll tugged on her joints.
Gojo laughed — an amused rumble — when your fingers pulled on his hair strands.
"Aw, impatient much, pretty girl? Sorry for keeping you waiting."
And just as he was about to plunge his tongue into your sloppy folds, you heard it.
The annoying sound of your phone cutting through the delirious haze.
Your breath seemed trapped in your chest. Gojo stilled completely, halted by your reaction. His widened blue eyes were glued to your face, waiting for any command.
A slow glance in the rear mirror, and the view immediately felt like a bucket of cold water. Your hair messy, eyes smeared with lust, cheeks painted in red, the sundress mercilessly bunched around the waist.
And Gojo, holding onto your thighs longingly.
Not him. Not your future husband.
The phone rang again, effectively twisting your insides into a knot. Slowly straightening up, you felt a suffocating wave of panic and self-loathing wash over you.
What were you doing? Who were you but a cheating slut after this?
What would your family say?
What would he do once he finds out?
"I am so sorry," you mumbled quietly, trembling fingers awkwardly pulling the dress down, too ashamed to even look into Gojo's eyes. Too scared to see hurt and anger in his eyes.
He opened his mouth to answer, but you cut him off abruptly, shaking your head. Too numb with ache and disgust. Too scared. Too dirty.
And as you quietly slipped out of Gojo's car like you both hadn't been devouring each other, he slammed his fist over the control panel.
a/n: uhm uhm uhm hope you liked this chapter!!! i've had some hard times writing it, so every comment and reblog is much appreciated. let me know what you think!!!
the next chapter will be the longest and probably the last. i'll see how it goes. if i missed anyone in tags, let me know! ❤️
ALSO a special star to someone who will notice a couple of references!
on the eve of a new day soon to be rife with bloodshed and negotiations, your husband, satoru, lovingly decorates you in the twinkling jewelry he’s bought you over many years of marriage.
⟢ content: SFW but MDNI, fem!reader, fluff, humor, married couple, gojo is whipped wife guy #1, and gojo spoils the hell out of you with like its his 9-5 job, domestic intimacy, mentions of murder and violence, part of my yakuza jjk au
a/n: this is a requested drabble for the non-sexual acts of intimacy prompt “one character adjusting the other's jewelry/neck tie” for an anon :3 ty for specifically requesting oyabun gojo & sec reader cos i leaped on the chance to write about them some more lmaooohtjwhr and clearly i got a bit carried away due to excitement. as usual, hope y’all enjoy 🫶🏽!!
You're in the middle of browsing through your glimmering array of high-end jewelry when a calloused hand sneaks its way around your front. The hand depresses the flouncy folds of your blouse to your stomach and hauls you back into the compact warmth of a built torso— a torso belonging to a most familiar person, your one and only that you adoringly and lawfully refer to as husband.
"What's the vibe for today?" Purrs Satoru into your ear.
Fresh from his shower, he carries with him the crisp scent of mint toothpaste that whiffs after his words and expensive woodsy and verdant body wash, something gourmand rising to the top of the concotion without overpowering it. He couldn't wear more enticing smells if he tried.
Responding immediately is an act of courtesy, but then again, when has the incurably pompous and devil-may-care yakuza Gojo Satoru given a flying fuck about social etiquette? Never, as far as you're aware. So why should you be expected to uphold standards your own husband gleefully ignores?
Besides, desire has a funny way of making hypocrites of everyone, including you. Rather than answer, you luxuriate in the simple privilege of being held with no pressing need to interrupt the innate comfort of his touch, settling deeper into the sanctuary of his embrace with a lousy yawn.
You get about six or seven seconds of drifting consciousness before Satoru tuts, unable to go on living and breathing without your constant attention as he pouts, "So that's how it is, huh, sweetheart? What, no answer for your poor, neglected husband?"
(You're entirely unsurprised that he can't take what he dishes out.)
A smile threatens the corners of your mouth into complaceny despite your best efforts at maintaining a resting poker face. "You've survived over thirty years with constant, and I mean constant, ass-kissing and validation," you murmur around another yawn. You wish you could crawl back in bed for some more snuggles, but alas, duty calls; this is what you get for binging alien sci-fi films with Satoru until the odd hours of the morning. "I'm certain you'll survive a second without me indulging you."
"I can't even last half of one and you know that." The answer arrives so decisively sulky that it nearly makes you snicker. "I could care less about what my family and all the other syndicates out there have to say about me. I'll wither away if it's not you singing pretty in my ear." His grip cinches ever so slightly around your waist as Satoru presses a supplicatory kiss to the weak spot behind your ear, trying to strong-arm your attention instead of patiently waiting for it to come around.
Greedy bastard.
Exhaling through your nose, you crack your eyes open to the mirror projecting the striking couple you as husband and wife make. While you're both quite the sight (and you're especially stunning, you toot your own horn), it will always, always be Satoru that magnetizes your stare into being drawn towards his gravitational pull.
He looms over your shoulder, beam broadening with an exuberance to rival the sun itself when your gazes lock through the glass. Damp ivory strands frame a face too handsome for his own good, falling in featherlight wisps across his forehead and with several rebellious tufts curling in whichever direction they so please, impossibly soft against the ethereal geometry of his face. Crystalline blue eyes— those eyes that have toppled hardened men twice his age into obedience, but never you— admire you from the tips of your platform Mary Janes to your blinking lashes.
Satoru is the breaking ocean at dawn, a dropless blue sky curling around the world like a lawless cat lousing around in a sunbeam. He is beautiful, he is untouchable, and he is wholly yours, in sickness and in health.
"I love when you stare at me like that," Satoru murmurs, oozing besotment on every syllable. He steals an unblushing second to snuffle dreamily at your perfumed neck, licking a stripe over the tendon and breathing a smile into you when you wrinkle your nose. "But I can't say I love that you still haven't answered me."
You pick your way backwards through the conversation. "Yeah, fine. The vibe for today?"
"The vibe for today," he confirms, pointing at your various bejeweled decorations in front of you.
"Hmmm. What's the vibe for today, indeed. I think…" you thoughtfully cock your head, fingers skimming the velvet-lined drawers chock full of jewelry. "Simple, yet classy and pretty. The usual."
Satoru's brows jump in mild surprise. "Simple?" He, with great emphasis, looks your reflected self in the mirror up and down. He's practically shouting "you're outshining everyone with a look you call simple?" without actually straining his vocal cords to do so.
"You sound like a parrot today, always repeating back what I'm saying," you mutter with an amused little scoff, proudly reposing in Satoru's sunlit laughter that's pitched low and rich enough that you feel the tenor of it quake through his chest before you even hear it chuffing at your ear. "We're meeting with Suguru, not attending a royal wedding or showing some ass at the club."
He blazes over your quip with a stupefied shuttering of his once easygoing, now slighted expression, childishly scowling your way through thinly lidded blue eyes. His irises are harder than diamonds, and all the more beautiful for it. "You're getting pretty for Suguru?" Satoru quibbles, lips pressing downwards.
"I am dressing professionally for our meeting to discuss business procedures with Suguru, because that's what the corporate dress code calls for," you draw out slowly, reaching back to squash the tip of his nose with your finger. You can only hope that the contact zaps some lucidity back into him. "And I am simultaneously toeing the line with elaborate jewelry and somewhat revealing dresswear so that firstly, I feel like the bad bitch that I am, and secondly but least importantly—" you break for a long pause to deal 500 points of psychic damage to his ego before continuing, "to make sure you don't get bored to death without me as your quote unquote eye candy to keep you stimulated."
As if he were never miffed by the most ludicrous assumption he's come up with recent memory, a flattered grin tugs his lips apart and shows his pearly canines. "D'awww, my wifey's always spoiling me. You make me feel like a million yen, dollars, and pesos all at once." Satoru stamps a loud mwah on your cheek.
You suspect— no, you're certain that Satoru was never jealous to begin with; his performance had all the sincerity of a child forcing out crocodile tears over a scraped knee just to coax a kiss from his mother. He's evidently incapable of resisting any opportunity to manufacture a situation where you'd sweeten his tooth, even if it meant pretending to be scandalized by the thought of another man appreciating your appearance.
Yeah, you wouldn't change his freak ass for the world. Not even the hundred plus counts of murder on his hands could drag you away from him. What a married life that you lead…
"Just help me pick a few pieces out, would you?" You sigh, patting the back of his hand where it remains suctioned to your waist. He cheerily hums his interest, perking to the task as if its of great importance.
Morning sunlight pours through the towering windows of the walk-in closet— occupying nearly the same square footage as your first apartment post-college ever had— in molten ribbons, spilling across polished walnut cabinetry and racks filled with hangers, and catching on glass shelves lined with velvet display stands.
Naturally, the room rings with the high-pitched glassy tune of sumptuousness in answer.
Diamonds fracture the light into tiny stars that wander over the walls; gold radiates the rich warmth of honey; platinum reflects the daylight with cool, silvery precision; emerald slyly winks your way; pearls band together like the light foam of the ocean.
One entire wall became your jewelry collection over the years— one you haven't quite grown accustomed to having at all. If anything, it will eternally boggle your mind that you own such a plethora of finery.
There had been a time when stepping inside a boutique just to look at pieces like these had felt like you were committing theft in broad daylight, your body language unconsciously becoming shifty out of nerves in front of the security doing laps around the room. You used to admire jewelry through immaculate glass display cases accompanied by tiny white price cards that looked more like telephone numbers than costs, privately wondering what kind of lives the women wearing six-figure necklaces must lead. Owning even just one beautiful piece seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime milestone.
And now… now, you peruse a collection of what feels like hundreds of rows upon rows of jewelry. Those same display cases you refused to put your hands on when you were younger, too terrified to even breathe too hard in their direction, currently take up storage space in your own home— just one perk of being Gojo Satoru's wife and the object of all his overly earnest affections, you suppose.
(Fuck a runway, you could host the entirety of Paris Fashion Week in here.)
You've been gifted countless pieces over years of birthdays, anniversaries, successful negotiations, spontaneous shopping sprees, and Satoru's incurable habit of spying something pretty, thinking fondly of you, and considering that reason enough to offer you yet another obscenely expensive present.
You've even splurged on yourself a few times as well using yours and Satoru's shared bank account, though in the past you'd wobbled on more than one purchase. It's not like he lets you angst over whether your wants (not needs) justify such flabbergasting prices anymore, anyways; Satoru has taught you to ignore it all and just go for whatever you desire, no matter if it's silly. In fact, he begs you to spend what is also your money.
After a few minutes of presenting various jewelry (sapphire studs from Harry Winston, a silver Pandora cuff bracelet, a Van Cleef & Arpels Alhambra ring fashioned from gold and luminous mother-of-pearl, three matching Mejuri bangles you don't recognize which prompts you to squint suspiciously at your husband) to Satoru for his personal input, he finally stops you at a delicate silver Bulgari Serpenti watch. "This one," he declares, leaning dangerously far over your shoulder to grab and hold onto it for you.
"Good choice," you praise, glancing over the rest of your selections. "Earrings?"
"You can't go wrong with Tiffany," Satoru points out. "You could wear your dancing diamonds set. I haven't seen them on you in a minute; you make them look reaaaaal pretty."
You're sufficiently swayed, flattered by the honeyed confidence in his voice when he insists that you're lending the diamonds their beauty instead of the other way around— the distinction does wonders for your gooey heart. "I'm down," you decide.
With a soft hum, you step to the left (Satoru, still clinging, shuffles with you), lifting the tip of one Tiffany & Co. diamond drop earring with your fingernail; it merrily scatters light as it quivers in place. The matching necklace hangs below it, its platinum-encrusted diamond similarly cascading.
Your husband finally detaches from you, gently grasping your shoulders for a brief second as he steps around you to wander along the displays. Shamelessly, you appreciate the broad shift of his back through his suit jacket as he bends at the waist to better observe the options, rubbing his jaw as he goes. His pert ass, too, receives the full brunt of your ogling.
"And... hmm…” Satoru confidently reaches for a slim Cartier Juste un Clou piece, a winding bracelet that twirls elegantly around the wrist like liquid gold, plucking it from its casing and twisting it between long slender fingers. He turns to you with a beam, dangling the watch and bracelet from both hands and looking every bit the untouchable heir born into old money and even older power. "Just the one bracelet, and then I think you're good to go," he asserts.
"No rings?" You ask, crossing your arms.
"What’s the point? You already wear two." His gaze drops meaningfully toward the engagement ring and wedding band permanently curling a home around your finger, which you tap lazily against your elbow. “You don't need competition, sweets,” he sniffs with equal parts petulance and pride.
The corners of your mouth soften before you even realize it. Fond as all hell, you briefly close your eyes and shake your head. "I suppose you're right." Fluttering your lashes open, you hold your hand up to the light, admiring the glittery play of your most treasured gifts crowning it.
The oval-cut center diamond of your engagement ring is nestled in a cathedral of prongs and embellished with even smaller pavé diamonds, each faceted surface flinging prisms over your skin. Beneath it, your platinum wedding band curves snugly around your finger in an unbroken promise of precious metal and devotion, an engraved message for your eyes only ringing the inner part.
They’re more than just breathtaking, anyone with eyes could see that, but their greatest luxury lies in the man who'd slid them there, nothing but pure emotion begetting the winking tears at his lashlines on both occasions. One ring asked a question about an obtainable forever, and the other had promised that forever.
With a hopelessly devoted smile, you lay your gaze on Satoru, who unblinkingly matches your expression from beneath a tousled fringe of candy floss hair. "Why wear other rings when these are the ones that matter most to me?" You muse.
For a rare moment, he has nothing clever to say. He only meanders over and reaches for your hand, turning it palm-up before bringing your knuckles to his lips in a sugary kiss, his thumb brushing over the familiar bands with unmistakable reverence. In the same breath, Satoru fastens the Cartier Juste un Clou to your left wrist, the Bulgari Serpenti watch to your right, twisting them so the embellishments face forward. The jewelry burns coolly into your skin for only a moment before warming with your body heat.
You turn to find the correct velvet-lined stands housing your Tiffany & Co. set when Satoru beats you to them with infuriating speed, plucking the earrings from their perch before holding them just out of reach like a toddler. "Aht."
"You've got clever hands," you note dryly, not bothering to put up a fight. You expectantly press into him instead, flattening a hand to his rapidly beating chest— it's cute, really, how affected he is by you even after all these years. You don't doubt that your heart is matching his pace, irreversibly twined together as you are.
"All the better to decorate you with," Satoru claims with a lazy wiggle of silvery brows.
"Alright, Big Bad Wolf." You roll your eyes with all the falsified long-suffering of someone who has been married to Gojo Satoru long enough to recognize there is no practical value in resisting the harmless whims that seize him after breakfast. You're bracing for him to hit you with a smartass comment in return, but instead—
"I'd like the honor of putting on the rest of your jewelry, too," he keeps pushing, soft-soaping with the most adorable pout to his plush lips. No wonder he always gets his way— you could just gobble him up.
"How sweet," you comment lightly, turning your head for him. "Go ahead."
Minty fresh breath wafts over you as Satoru leans in close. The infamous Gojo-gumi oyabun whose name alone unsettles rival organizations and whose hands have slaughtered countless men weaves the first earring through your lobe with almost absurd concentration, tongue caught against the inside of his cheek as though fastening jewelry requires the precision of a bomb technician. Gentle moments like these always strip away the intimidating reputation he'd cultivated so effortlessly. Satoru's just as precise in securing the second earring and its backing, fingers sparking heat at your ear.
His knuckles cascade along your jaw before he gently cups your cheeks, turning your face left and right to watch the diamonds do what they do best— dance. Not once does he cut eye contact as Satoru sways back on his heels to evaluate his work with a satisfied little nod. "All good," he says with a peck to your forehead.
You rotate in place to face the mirror and smooth your hair to the side to make way for the necklace's chain that slips along the sides of your neck. Satoru reaches around you to drape the dancing diamond over your heart, pulling back to thread both ends of the necklace at your nape all while you watch the frankly adorable dedication poured into his reflected self's movements. He snaps the clasp into place with a satisfying click.
"There you go," Satoru murmurs. "Prettiest girl in the world, I'm telling you."
Like the sea glass painting Fort Bragg’s coast, his eyes catch every wandering beam of sunlight filtering through the room, throwing flecks of oceanic cerulean across irises that rival the diamonds twinkling at your throat and ears. His eyes refuse to settle on your jewelry for long before climbing back to your face through the mirror. Satoru studies you down the line of his nose with the boyish endearment of having been allowed to tend to you in yet another tiny, ordinary way.
"Good?" He asks, voice vibrating pleasantly against your back, chased immediately by the rooting brush of his nose through your hair with an impossibly pleased sigh, once again sniffing you like the dog that he is as you check yourself out.
The effect of your jewelry is exact; it lends you enough flair to elevate your outfit without overwhelming the low-necked blouse and high-waisted charcoal pencil skirt flattering your figure. Lips pursed with pride, you shift from foot to foot to check yourself out from both sides.
"Perfect. Thank you, baby," you croon, reaching back to give him a very deserved pat on his cheek. He nuzzles into your palm for but a moment before spinning you by your waist like a princess, puckering his lips like he deserves a reward and whining under his breath when you smush a finger to his mouth instead of locking lips.
"Wait, and be patient for once in your life. It's your turn," you sing-song, drawing that same nail down his chin, his Adam's apple, the beginnings of his sternum that crops up from beneath his pressed open shirt.
Lost, he scrunches up his nose and flattens his eyes. "Hah? Mine?" Satoru looks down at his wedding band that matches your own. He used to wear a few rings per finger like a set of brass knuckles to really fuck people up when he beats them to massy pulps on the ground, but now he typically sticks to just the one. "I have all that I need right here."
While that's enough to worsen your terminal case of lovesickness, his blindness towards his own appearance takes you out. This is a man whose face has launched negotiations in his favor before he'd even opened his mouth, whose smile had charmed politicians, CEOs, other oyabuns, and elderly ladies in grocery stores alike, whose family had spent decades raising him— despite his protests and escapades— to carry the impossible weight of the Gojo name with immaculate presentation. Yet ask Satoru how he looked, and he'd shrug as though he were discussing the weather.
Perhaps it's because he's never needed to think about it. Beauty settled over him as naturally as breathing. Annoying.
You sigh, "Come here."
"I am here?"
"Closer."
One word from you and the feared oyabun of the Gojo-gumi closes the remaining distance without the slightest hesitation and dips his chin, squaring himself in front of you so that the polished toes of his Italian loafers kiss your Mary Janes. His smile's unbearably smug as he crows, "I knew you couldn't resist me."
"More like I couldn't resist fixing whatever tragic excuse you made for getting ready," you snort out before you can help it. "Honestly, baby…"
"What?" Satoru asks, unfazed, lips already quirking before you get to the punch.
You trail your gaze over him with deliberate slowness. His suit is, predictably, immaculate beneath your hands that you smooth along his lapels, flattening borderline microscopic wrinkles. The charcoal fabric— some sort of stupidly expensive imported wool that matches your skirt— molds beautifully over broad shoulders and his killer narrow waist before disappearing beneath pressed trousers that manage to make his legs, already unfairly long, appear even longer.
Only his silk tie hangs crooked beneath the collar of his immaculate white dress shirt, blatantly the hurried handiwork of a husband who had evidently been more interested in wandering off in search of his wife than finishing getting dressed after his shower. You can't find it anything but endearing.
You pinch the loose knot between two fingers and suck your teeth. "Did you tie this while looking at your reflection in a spoon?"
"No, but I was a little distracted," Satoru admits, remaining still as you loosen the knot with precise tugs.
"By?"
"You." He breathes it with the same exasperation as someone saying 'duh, obviously.'
"I would love to study your brain," you remark. The expensive silk slides smoothly beneath your fingertips as you rebuild the knot from scratch, looping the tie through in practiced motions. Satoru's eyes don't follow your hands for long before drifting back to your face, quietly admiring the tiny furrow between your brows whilst you focus. He's watching you the same way he had while fastening your jewelry, as if doting on each other is somehow the most fascinating thing either of you could be doing with your spare time. "Considering I wasn't even the same room when you tried to hang yourself with this tie."
He laughs, summer-bright and carefree. His Adam's Apple bobs around the musical tune as you finally pull the fresh tie snug at his crisp white collar. "I have an excellent imagination, princess, and you know it. I was daydreaming about that cute, sexy scowl you get when you're on top of me and started giggling to myself and playing with my tie."
"Were you, huh? The day's only just begun, but I already know how I want it end," you sing-song, tucking that particularly good idea away for later. If today doesn't produce a headache of an emergency gone down on one of the Gojo-gumi's many territories, you'll be giving it to Satoru good the second you return home.
Satoru's throat rumbles again (this time with a sound akin to a purr) when you stroke back and forth through his white hair, just because you can— and also to distract him from what you said, melting his brain down to a puddle incapable of thoughts other than meow, mrow, purr. "Look at that. There she goes, distracting me againnn… yes, right there." He nudges his hand into your palm, beatific.
"You should really charge rent for the amount of time I spend in your head, mister businessman. You'd make a killing off of me," you tease with a chuckle. Treating his scalp to one more generous rake of your nails, you then give the knotted tie one last approving pat. "There. You're now presentable."
"Yay!" He cheers with exaggerated joy, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Now gimme that sweet, sweet reward that I've earned. Please?"
"You mean for surviving the strenuous task of standing still? Oh, poor thing," You drawl, hating that you're fully intending on following through on it despite the way you jab at him.
"It was super exhausting and emotionally taxing," Satoru bemoans, but he doesn't put any effort into playing up his false wounds; he's too busy puckering his lips again and making obnoxious kissy noises through his teeth.
Smirking, you reach up to catch his chin between your fingers and run your coconut-balmed lips over the curve of his ear with a wispy little murmur, “I'll have to remember that next time you try telling everyone you're the terrifying head of the largest syndicate in Japan."
"I can be terrify… ing…” Satoru croaks, throat working out a wounded noise that you swallow up with a thorough, drawn-out kiss. You warm him up indulgently, your hand settling against the clean line of his jaw while his own instinctively finds your waist once more, fitting there with the ease of long habit. Mint lingers pleasantly against his tongue, chased by the faint warmth of coffee.
When you finally separate, Satoru looks at you as though you've personally hung the morning sun beyond the windows. "Can you make sure that I'm not floating through the ceiling?" He whispers dreamily, touching the corner of his lips.
You join in on his helpless laughter, smoothing one final wrinkle from the front of his jacket. "Both feet are still on the floor, you're clear. Now, is Ijichi outside? We need to go. Suguru's probably already wondering why we're late."
Satoru greedily reaches for your hand to intertwine your fingers while the other fishes his phone out of his slacks, halfheartedly glancing over his texts without even the slightest hint of guilt. "Apparently, he's been waiting out there for a long… minute."
"Poor guy, we left him hanging," you faux pout, just as much a menace as your husband is. Making Ijichi dawdle in his car was worth every minute spent with your husband. "Let's get to it, then."
"Sure thing. My lady," Satoru dips to gild the back of your hand in one last glossy-lipped kiss, your wedding bands clinking. His eyes gleam over the ridges of your knuckles as he purrs, "Your chariot awaits."
