Victoria Rose

featuring a tweet of mine from a while back that I am too lazy to remake into a meme. Also y'all better appreciate that 5th one bc it was freaking hard to make

shout-out to @lilcreaturethingfromthewoods for sending me the post for the 9th one

Gojo’s the type to make you believe you’re the one with the striking, crystalline blue eyes the way he yearns for your gaze.

When you’re the last to wake up, the first thing you’ll see is him staring at you with his head propped up by his arm against the pillow, almost as if seeing your eyes gives him permission to move. He can’t even hide the full smile somewhat covered by his hand.

“It’s not good to stare,” you tease groggily.

“I can’t help it,” he responds swiftly, resting his head back down on the pillow, eyes still on yours. “The morning doesn’t feel right until I see you.”

If you’re simply reading a book on your sofa, or watching another episode from another selection of your binging conquests, he leaves a trail of kisses up your arm, just waiting for you unlock your gaze and channel it in his direction.

“Need something, Toru?” You ask, a chuckle seeping through your curiosity. Your eyes remain on the flashing screen.

“I just—need to—leave—my baby—a few—kisses,” he spoke in between each peck against your skin.

“And I love that. But what do you really need?” You ask once more, eyes still fixed on the television.

He pauses. You almost turn to him at the sudden lack of pecks across your skin, but you refuse to give in just yet.

“I need you to look at me,” he finally admits softly, almost pitifully.

And just like that, you turn your attention to your crybaby boyfriend, who has his chin resting up against your arm with his bottom lip pulled out.

“For someone who says I’m the spoiled one, you sure do get whatever you want all the time,” you jeer.

But he doesn’t respond to you. He just stares into your eyes.

“Satoru?”

You could feel the hairs on your arm raise when you see the sparkle in his eyes. His orbs wide, just looking up into yours, as if he’s studying every detail there is to offer in your pupils. He looks as if time has just stopped itself for this very moment, granting him his long-awaited wish.

“Satoru?” You called again.

He blinks repeatedly and shakes his head, knocking himself out of his trance.

“You okay?” You ask, reaching to cup his face.

“Perfect, baby,” he responds, resting his cheek in your hand.

And when you’re both getting ready for bed that night, brushing your teeth at the shared mirror in your bathroom, you ask him:

“You do realize you have like—the most one of a kind eyes of all time right? Like by far the most beautiful eyes on the planet?”

He simply spits out the remaining bit of water and toothpaste into the sink bowl and shrugs. He looks at you in the mirror, smiles, and says:

“Maybe, but they’re not yours.”

satoru’s head is heavy in your lap. you’ve been carding your fingers through his hair for what feels like hours, fingertips brushing against his scalp softly. he’s melting into a syrupy puddle, like putty in your palms as he laments about the trials and tribulations the higher ups put him through today.

“and then they tried to tell me that my mission reports need more detail,” he mumbles against your thigh, voice muffled by your skin. “as if i have the time to write an essay about every curse i exorcise.”

you hum softly in response, your nails gently scratching against his scalp. he sighs contentedly, nuzzling deeper into your lap like a cat seeking warmth. his hand, which had been resting limply at his side, now moves to grip your knee, fingers pressing in just enough to ground himself.

“they have no idea what it’s like out there. they just sit on their old wrinkly asses making decisions about things they’ve never seen or experienced,” he continues, his voice growing quieter with each word. “sometimes i wish—”

you shift slightly, reaching for the throw pillow beside you to prop behind your back. the movement is minimal, a slight readjustment to get more comfortable. but satoru freezes.

immediately, his head starts shaking back and forth against your lap. it’s not quite a tantrum, but it’s close—like he’s physically trying to shake off the discomfort of your hands leaving his hair.

“one sec,” you murmur, still focused on getting the pillow positioned right.

the shaking stops abruptly, replaced by a high-pitched whine that’s utterly uncharacteristic of the strongest sorcerer. the honored one. he’s lucky megumi isn’t here to tease him. he sounds pathetic and needy, and it makes your heart ache a little.

“sweets,” he whimpers, voice cracking slightly. “i’m six seconds away from dying, why’d you stop ?”

“so much for being the strongest . . ” you roll your eyes but you abandon the pillow instantly, hands returning to his hair. as soon as your fingers resume their threading through his soft strands, he goes boneless against you again, a shudder of relief running through him.

“okay,” you lean down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “you were saying ‘toru. . ?” he presses his face deeper into your lap, breathing evening out the second you continue playing with his hair.

“sometimes,” he murmurs against your thigh, his voice barely audible, “i wish i could just kill them all. every last one of those old men in their stuffy rooms. it would make my life so easy.”

you don’t respond, knowing he doesn’t need you to. he just needs to say it, to let the darkness out where it can’t actually hurt anyone.

“no more long ass meetings,” he continues, his words slurring with exhaustion. “no more stupid reports, i’d finally have peace and quiet. i just want peace and quiet. . .”

you lean down again, this time pressing your cheek against the top of his head, your hand never ceasing its gentle movements through his hair. “i know,” you frown, “i know, toru.”

he sighs, the tension finally leaving his body and surrendering to the comfort of your touch, your presence is the only thing in the universe keeping him from spiraling. what would he do without you ?

“It’s your long dead friend, Yuji!”

(Ref below the cut)

he comes home smelling like cold air and two weeks of missions and crawls into bed behind you without a word, arms pulling you flush against him like he’s trying to make up for every night he wasn’t there. face buried in your neck, legs tangled with yours, just breathing you in. you card your hand through his hair and he goes completely soft against you, heavy and warm, and for a moment you think he’s already falling asleep until his lips start moving against your neck. deliberate. his hand spreading flat across your stomach and sliding lower, and you feel him hardening against your lower back, a low apologetic hum vibrating against your skin. “sorry,” he breathes, “two weeks is a long time and you’re right here and i just.” he doesn’t finish it. he doesn’t have to.