BROKEN RECORDS. [ Masterlist ]

evergreen

𖤓 touya todoroki smau series

it's been five years since touya stepped foot onto these campgrounds. he's older now, and maybe a little bit more mature, but the woods are just as loud and the summer nights are just as hot. you're here too, and it feels like he's seventeen again, but this time, there's nowhere to run from his feelings.

𖤓 childhood friends x lovers

𖤓 cw + notables: alcohol, weed, cussing, crude language, potential suggestiveness, tomfoolery, no y/n face claims, g/n reader, time stamps are irrelevant, will include written parts

𖤓 on going

i. meet the counselors ii. meet the campers part iii. part iv. part v.

you've always wanted to know what it was like to fly but ideally not in the arms of the man you've been avoiding for two weeks.

in which you've been avoiding hawks and he figures it out - prohero!y/n x hawks

it was a beautiful day to have a day off.

the weather was perfect: sunny with a hint of breeze. not too warm for it to be uncomfortable but warm enough for a short-sleeved shirt, you didn't run into any unexpected incidents that suddenly required you to perform any hero work, just wasted the day away doing absolutely nothing but unwinding by yourself. the lunch you had was amazing too, you really ought to go back and try out their other dishes, maybe bring a few friends from the agency too.

it’s just a shame that you have to end the day in the arms of the man you've been avoiding for the past two weeks, feeling your feet dangle helplessly in the air as he carries you securely, albeit, uncomfortably. 

"never knew hawks kidnapped people off the streets during patrol," you muttered, squinting as to combat the wind that was slightly drying your eyes. 

"depends what your meaning of 'random' is because judging by your definition, you mean strangers-" he stops talking when you approach the top of fukuoka tower and the prohero sets you down carefully, although you still stumble.

your heart thumped heavily in your chest, the exhilaration of soaring through the air was slowly seeping out of your bloodstream. although you really couldn't tell if it was flying at the ridiculous height that was freaking you out or if it was just the natural effect hawks seemed to have on you. damn that pretty bastard.

he continues his previous statement "-you and i both know we're not strangers. so what gives? why are you acting like we are all of a sudden?"

you cling on to the hand rails of the tower. heights wasn't much of a challenge but with the man you've been pining over ever since you first met him? you might need a second.

you met hawks when your agency and his had formed an alliance and it just so happened that your assistants assigned your patrol times to align. hawks was the number 2 hero and you were eager to learn how he went about his day-to-day, hoping for some help on how to boost your own rating up whilst learning how he manages an agency at his young age. he entered the prohero industry not too long before you but given your similar ages, he definitely had a headstart so when the opportunity to collaborate together came, you jumped at the chance.

what you hadn't taken into consideration however, was the extent of his charming personality and how easy it was to get along with the wing hero.

patrols were fun, full of laughter and jokes whilst competing in friendly competitions in who could save more civilians and apprehend more villains. sure, you shouldn't be goofing around on the job but nobody had to know.

adding in hawk's good looks, it did not take long for you to fall ass first for him.

your first instinct was to keep about your interactions but eventually the pining got too much that you figured out ways to avoid him where possible. meetings were meetings, but patrol times? your sacred little pockets of moments together? those could be minimised.

you took on late nights, all the way into the early morning unlike the usual afternoon schedule you'd established for the longest time.

and the act worked! for two weeks that is because now you're standing in front of hawks who has swept you off the street and brought him to his favourite place in the city.

this sucked.

he looked perfect in the golden hour too, honey illuminating his skin with a gentle glow that only enhanced how irresistible of a man hawks is.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about, nothing gives," you try to reply as nonchalantly as possible, excusing your nervous movements by pretending it was the wind blowing in your eyes uncomfortably.

hawks scoffs, "yeah sure, just like how you're giving me nothing."

you can't resist the pout from creeping on your lips. "is that why you kidnapped me off the street? to ask what's wrong? you could've just stopped me instead of flying off like i'm some worm for you to feed your baby chicks."

"haha, real funny. bird jokes," he rolls his eyes, a hint of a smile ghosting his lips.

"you know you like them."

"not as much as i'd like it if you told me what was actually up with you. taking patrols at midnight? seriously? i know you like your sleep."

"personal matters," you lie. although, it wasn't really a lie - it was personal, the way he made you feel was absolutely personal.

"what about today? why didn't you tell me you were off today because we could've hung out and visited that farmer's market i know you like."

you shrug, "thought never occurred to me."

he narrows his eyes in suspicion. "okay, then why wouldn't you tell me your hours were changing? i wouldn't mind picking up some nights," he asks, bottom lip poking out a little as a he furrows his brows.

you put your head in your hand, "no- that would've been, nevermind."

"tell me," he pleads. "it would've been what?"

you hate the way he's looking at you with so much passion and intensity that it wants to make your heart lurch out of your chest and right into his hands. this would be so much easier if he just-

fuck it. "it would have defeated the purpose."

"so you’re avoiding me on purpose then. did i do something wrong? cause if i did-"

"no!" you exclaim suddenly, tone full of exasperation and desperation, conveying the frustration you've been feeling the past two weeks into one sudden syllable. it actually takes hawks by surprise because he stumbles back a little and there's a moment of silence where you're just gauging for each other's reactions. "i mean- no, you didn't do anything wrong, and that's the frustrating part."

you continue with little space for him to intercept, "it's just, oh what the fuck, i know i shouldn't be saying this because it's totally unprofessional and-"

"out with it, y/n."

"-i like you.”

the air choked at your sudden confession and hawks’ expression says it all, morphing into one of shock - wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth before transforming into a wide smirk. you look away and cross your arms, which was a defense mechanism that hawks definitely picked up on. after spending so much time with you, how could he not have? 

he leans against the pole of the tower, suaveness oozing off him as if he wasn’t just frantically asking you what was wrong with you, “how much do you like me?” he asks, smugness evident in his tone.

you cover your eyes, “if i do not see, i do not perceive, go away.”

his laughter rings through your ears and you peek at him by separating your fingers slightly, “oh come on, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about-”

“yes there is! i have a crush on you and you’re literally the most embarrassing person in the world! being associated with you is embarrassing enough!”

he clenches his chest in faux-pain, “that one hurt, you should consider your words more carefully y/n, it’s a wonder how you won a bachelors like me.”

you give him a look of defeat as the words he just uttered registers in your head. “stop playing, this is serious.”

“you just called me embarrassing to be around!”

“because you are!”

hawks raises a brow at you, “number two hero not good enough for you? i’ll shoot for number one next time, then will you finally not be embarrassed enough to go on a date with me?”

oh god, this was a mess. “no, no, i suppose a date with you now is good enough.” 

“good enough?” hawks parrots before sighing with a shrug, “i’ll take it.”

“that came out wrong because i’m still seriously trying to believe that you’re not pulling my leg,” you point your finger in his chest, “you seriously like me back?”

“and i want to take you out on a date. tonight.”

“yes, let’s do it. tonight it is then.” 

“even if i’m the number two hero?”

“because you’re the number two hero. it’s the only impressive thing about you.”

“you’re the one who has a crush on the number two hero.”

you laugh heartily, wrapping an arm around him whilst doing so. he hugs you back instinctively with a big, warm smile plastered on his face. if you weren't so nervous you would've seen how smitten the look in his eyes were, “i guess i am. can you bring me back to the ground now, number two? i think the civilians should see that their local hero didn’t just kidnap a stranger from the ground.”

“they’ll know when they recognise you as their favourite, local hero. besides, it lets them know you’re off the market now, so good."

war paint | masterlist

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

status: complete

length: 27,765 words

summary: Desperate times force you to disguise yourself and join the kingsguard. When a suspicious string of crimes strike the palace, however, Captain Katsuki Bakugou starts paying extra close attention. (spin off of in cinders)

tags: mulan AU, secret identity, romance, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, some violence, eventual smut

chapter links:

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

eight

nine

ten

deleted scenes: (requests for short drabbles related to the fic)

What was chapter 5 like from Bakugou’s point of view?

What is domestic life like for them after the fic?

Did they get married? What did Bakugou’s family think?

cross posted on ao3: here

house rules (roommate au)

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

"satoru keeps an infinite amount of space between him and everyone else."

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, slight angst, mentions of tampons (terrifying), suggestive comments, absurdly long, alternate universe characters

a/n: to all of my frequent readers--i have never claimed to be sane :)

*

in the broad spectrum of things, opening the door in nothing but your bathrobe and a ridiculously bright orange clay mask is not the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you. 

oh no, puking on your first ever date at seventeen definitely takes the cake. finding your seventh-grade friends bent over a table reading your diary--in which you wrote many explicit things about them, not to mention, yourself--might be even worse. riding your bike into the pond by your house in front of all of your--much older, much cooler--neighbors, even. picking up your coffee in your favorite cafe and spilling it, which was not only devastating but humiliating because you managed to spill your mocha on every other drink waiting there (effectively banning you from returning) still haunts your dreams. even walking down the street and trying to pretend like you didn't just trip over air in front of every single one of your peers still lingers in your mind, waiting for a moment of peace before it attacks.

you're used to the feeling of dread in your stomach and the nights spent thinking about all of these moments, like a scrapbook in your mind--just there to make your skin itch. 

but, it does get a little bit worse when you realize the man you've opened the door to is none other than a potential roommate; and when you remember that you forgot he was coming. 

or when you have to pull your robe tighter around your abdomen just to make sure that you don't give this man a show before you even shake his hand. 

"is this apartment 214?" he asks, looking right at you--and your legs, naturally--with a confused grin on his face, but grin nonetheless. 

so immediately you slam the door. 

you turn around, with wide eyes, face crackling from the movement, and check your phone frantically. yes, it is the 18th, and yes it is 11:32, which means he was supposed to be here over a half-an-hour ago. 

and also you've just slammed the door in his--satoru gojo, the only person who's even bothered to respond to your ad about an available room--face. 

oh, fuck. 

so you groan, refraining from knocking your head against the door just in case he can still hear, and open it again. a little bit less this time. 

"gojo?" you ask, voice rough and slightly irritated. 

"the one and only. i'm pretty sure this is the right apartment," he says, and you don't fail to notice his tone of voice as he continues, "but if it's not, then fate must've brought us together."

you narrow your eyes, hoping that he doesn't notice the specks of dust that ebb from your skin. "you're late." 

"and you're less than dressed." 

"i thought you stood me up." 

he snorts. "so you started an impromptu spa day? or was this supposed to be another perk of the apartment?" 

you glower, opening the door a bit more just so he can see the fury in your eyes. "i don't think someone who doesn't even text to cancel has any right to judge my self-care practices." 

"i didn't cancel. i'm here." 

"you're late." 

"so i've heard..." he drawls. 

you blink at him, and he blinks back--or at least, you're assuming. because he's wearing sunglasses even though it's cloudy outside. 

and he's aggressively taller than you. he might not even fit through the door. 

you don't look away, waiting for him to break. which he does because you're well-practiced in men of his standard. "so, are you going to let me in?" he asks. 

"are you going to apologize for being late?" 

"i'm sorry that i'm late," he says, immediately, with an air of fake sincerity. "i got stuck in traffic. i would've called, but my phone died." 

"really?" 

the smile reappears, as if from magic. "no, but did it make you want to let me in?" 

you glare even harder--which is tough, honestly--and begin to shut the door. until your plan is interrupted by a foot. "excuse you," you say, to this man, who you already hate. and his stupid chelsea boots.

"look, i'm sorry. i'm trying to ease the tension--because honestly i wasn't expecting to get an eyeful this early in the morning, and you seem uncomfortable--" 

you slam the door against his foot again. 

gojo doesn't even wince. "and also, you're, like, the only person with a room in the middle of october. and i... could really use a place to put my bed. so, can i look around, at least? i'll keep my eyes closed every time i'm facing your direction. i can even give you my rent money today if it works out."  

something in his voice already implies that it will. 

and, well. despite your very short robe and your very dry face mask, he is the only person who's even inquired about the room. and you desperately need a roommate; someone to clean up with, someone to make coffee for, someone to argue about toilet paper direction with, and, most importantly, someone who has money and can keep you from getting evicted from the only place you've lived since high school. 

so you sigh. think about moving back home and suffering at the will of your parents. 

it takes about three seconds to say, "will you wait out here while i get dressed?" 

an eyebrow peeks out from behind the sunglasses, as white as his hair. "how long?" 

"ten minutes. maybe twenty." 

"do you have a chair?" he asks and moves his foot from the door. 

and so you close it without answering and rush to your room to find something that's still clean. 

there's nothing that you'll actually wear, but satoru gojo doesn't deserve your fresh appearance anyway. he can have day-old wrinkled jeans and a t-shirt you got when you were twelve. 

as slow as humanly possible, you remove the face mask, trying to keep your hair out of the way, and think about putting on makeup--which you probably would have done, had you remembered he was even coming--but decide not to. 

in reality, it only takes about seven minutes for you to look mostly presentable and get rid of the mugs you left cluttered around the dining room table. 

but you wait an extra four, just to mess with him. 

and then, eleven minutes later, you open the door again to the man leaning against the wall, playing what looks like candy crush on his phone. 

you attempt a fake smile. 

"hey," he says, with that same grin, "you have clothes." 

you drop your face. "i will close this." 

he isn't phased, just pockets his phone and leans in to look behind you at the entryway. 

you roll your eyes, but open the door anyway, and usher him in. he rubs his feet against your welcome mat and toys with a keychain you have hanging from a coat rack, then looks to you, like he's waiting for a tour. which, you guess, he is.

"there's only two rooms, one bath. it's not very big, so if you need a lot of space..." 

"i can manage," he says, and follows you as you walk into the kitchen. "did you decorate?" 

"um... sort of." 

"sort of?" 

"i, uh, had a roommate before and he bought most of the decorations before i moved in. but i've added a few things. i'm not picky about aesthetics." 

gojo hums. "why'd he move out?" 

"we were together and he cheated on me," you say, flatly, as you have been for the past month and a half. "and then told me i couldn't use his netflix account anymore after i broke up with him." 

gojo merely blinks and gestures toward the wall behind you. "so you didn't buy that dancing frog thing?" 

you turn around, rolling your eyes. "no. i forgot that was there." 

"okay, good, 'cause that's hideous." 

you snort, but nod your head and walk down the hallway. gojo's footsteps follow you as you open the door to his potential bedroom. "it's the bigger of the two," you tell him, "but the bathroom is next to mine." 

"did you change rooms?" 

"what?" 

"when your ex moved out. why take the smaller one?" 

"oh," you rub a finger against the wall, rubbing dust off of it. "it was his room before we got together. and then we shared my current room. this was his man... den?" you try, shaking your head. "gaming room? slaughterhouse?" 

gojo snorts. 

"what?" 

"oh, nothing," he says, airy like he's teasing you. "just curious."

you step back so he can walk around, check the carpets for stains, or look for drywall you could've hidden a body behind. but he doesn't, only watches you as you furrow your brows. 

"you're not going to look around?" 

"it looks like the pictures." 

"yeah, but what if there are, like, bugs in the carpet? blood on the walls?" 

"are there bugs in the carpet?" he asks. "blood on the walls?" 

"not that i know of..." 

"great, then it's perfect," he says, and steps out of the room again, whistling as he goes. 

this time, you follow him, like he's the one giving the tour. 

he pauses at the door a couple of feet down. "this your room?" 

"yes." 

"can i see?" 

you scowl. "no. what do you mean 'it's perfect?'"

"i mean, i'd like to live here. it's nice. besides the frog." 

you lean against the wall, trying to inspect him for any mechanical parts. is this a ploy? some joke? "you've barely been here five minutes." 

"twenty with all the time i waited outside..." 

"you can't just take one look and say 'yup, this is good.'" 

"can't you?" he asks, challenging. 

"no." 

gojo's grin seems to widen, impossibly. "well, i'm not picky." 

and somehow you doubt that. 

but you don't get the chance to tell him that, or anything else, because he leans against the wall, still smiling at you, and asks, "so, are we roommates now?" 

"you haven't even seen the lease. or heard about the house rules." 

"house rules?" he repeats, dubiously. like you're making this up (which you are). 

"yes." 

"such as?" 

"no..." you pause, 'cause this is a fickle argument. something about his stupid smile makes you want to argue with him. or maybe it's the hair. or the sunglasses. "murdering anyone in the apartment." 

he laughs, unexpectedly, and sighs. "well, i guess i'll take my murdering someplace else." 

"and... you can't leave any utensils in the sink." 

"okay." 

"and i'm not cleaning up any beard shavings, or sharing my tampons with you, or any people you have over." 

"these are very extensive," he says, unserious. "anything else?" 

"i..." your brows furrow. "no hogging the bathroom. hot water is fickle. and you have to recycle." 

"it might be challenging, but we'll figure it out." 

"these are not negotiable." 

he only continues to smile at you. 

eventually, after staring back with a frown that feels slightly permanent for more than a minute, you sigh again. at least you won't have to worry about moving out. 

"fine. you still want to live here?" 

"mmhmm." 

"okay," and you stick your hand out for him to shake like this is a business transaction. 

and it seems that you'll be seeing a lot more of that grin in the future. 

*

living with satoru gojo is not... well, it's not hard. he's a normal enough roommate. 

he pays his rent on time and doesn't touch the coffee you make in the morning most days--coughing when he does. he man spreads on the couch and watches movies way too loud and doesn't hang his bag up at the door, preferring to, instead, set it on the counter like a maniac. he whistles when he walks, and wears his stupid sunglasses 80% of the time, and grins at you when you're irritated, and, honestly, he's not really half bad. 

he doesn't leave any huge messes for you to clean up (mostly because he doesn't use the kitchen or the dining table ever). he doesn't invite people over that keep you up all night (because he's gone most nights). and, actually, he keeps the bathroom quite clean (even if he takes up well more than half of the shower space with his weird face creams and deep conditioning treatments). 

but satoru gojo is hard. 

it's not what he does, but rather who he is. with his infuriating good looks--taking up most of the fair share for the rest of the population--and his subtle charm, which, if you didn't know who he was, might actually work on you, and his morning voice and his messy hair and just the way he lives. 

like breathing is just what he's supposed to be doing. like he doesn't need to worry about a thing because nothing should matter if he decides he doesn't want it to. 

so easygoing and naturally intuitive and far too exhausting for you. 

because, as a fatal flaw of your own, you love to mess with him. somedays you'll hope he shows up just so you have someone to fight with. just so you'll be irritated instead of stressed, frustrated instead of exhausted. 

it's kind of addicting, in a way. and masochistic, but you've never claimed to be completely sane. 

and honestly, gojo's just asking for it. 

after a mere month of living with his aura around, you come to expect his cockiness. you live to take him down a notch.

so when he's up this early in the morning, whistling like it's his god-given right, you scowl at him just as he enters the room. 

"woah," he says, sliding on a bar stool in front of you. "starting early this morning?" 

"you're banned from talking to me until noon." 

"is this about the ice cream i ate? cause there was only a little left..." 

"no it's--" you pause, frowning at him. "you ate my ice cream?" 

he lays his entire torso on the counter, pathetically. "i was dying, okay? low blood sugar was going to kill me, and i couldn't see anything else but that ice cream and it wasn't even very good anyway, so, really, i was saving you from having to endure the rest of it." 

"you ate my ice cream?" you repeat. 

"i'll buy you more. a better kind. and then you'll understand that i was doing you a favor." 

"i might kill you." 

"i thought we banned homicide from the apartment." 

"i was going to eat that," you whine, shoving his hands away from trying to grab your mug. 

he smiles, too bright for so early in the morning. "yesterday you told me sweets weren't an appropriate breakfast." 

you scoff. "yeah, cause that's all you eat. you need a green smoothie or something in the morning just to keep your heart beating for the rest of the day."

"my heart beats very well, thank you. wanna feel?" 

you roll your eyes and sigh into your mug. "i'll be expecting three pints of ice cream as an apology later tonight." 

gojo has already moved on, typing away on his phone, probably to some groupies he manipulated into loving him. "i can't. it's flip night at laurent's tonight, and suguru has already threatened me into coming." 

"why did you say laurent's like i'm supposed to know what you mean?" 

"laurent's," he repeats, looking at you.

you blink. 

"the bar?" he questions, like you're crazy. 

"okay, sorry, i don't exclusively hang out at bars filled with frat boys." 

"it's very sophisticated,” he corrects, his frat boy nature very obvious. “i mean, i frequent there." 

you laugh. 

"clearly you've never been." 

"i'm still expecting ice cream." 

he sits back in his chair. "i have class all day." 

"like you've never skipped a class." 

"encouraging ditching?" he asks, mock appalled. "what kind of roommate are you?" 

"the kind that doesn't steal her roommate's food. just get one of your servants to pick it up.”

gojo waves a hand at you, and that statement, apparently. and then he types another thing into his phone—to said servants you assume—and grins again. his face must’ve missed the feeling. "how about i buy you a drink instead? you can come with me tonight. meet my friends. maybe make some of your own." 

"haha," you cross your arms. "if they're as bad as you, then i'm good." 

"you'd probably love them. they also like to torment me, even though i'm pretty and perfectly nice to them." 

"i seriously doubt that." 

his eyes--oh, yes, this early in the morning he skips the sunglasses--sparkle like gems. "i have to play wingman for suguru, but it probably won't take long. you can mingle. meet someone. i think you could use a way to relieve some of that stress." 

"oh, you mean the stress that you cause?" 

gojo grins and you realize that you've fallen into his trap. "i'm willing to help out whenever you like," he says, deviously, "you just haven't asked yet, sweetheart." 

"nor ever will," you grind out.

gojo hums and taps his fingers against the countertop. the two of you stare at each other, grin matching scowl, and eventually, he loses the contest. "so, can i plan to steal you away from eternal solitude at six?" he asks.

and just because he's right--in his weird, satoru gojo way--you nod. it might be nice to get out of the house; and meet people other than the lost freshman at work. and because you know that gojo will continue to bother you about it otherwise. he’s a very difficult person.

as if proving it, he grins all pleased with himself, so you add, "but you're buying all of my drinks." before he can get too ahead of himself. 

*

it's not nearly loud enough in this bar. as soon as you walk in, you're sure of it. 

because even with a band up on the stage, singing about loving someone or money or drugs, you can still hear gojo as he flirts with every single living thing in his twenty-foot vicinity. 

he's got his grin on, styled his hair all fancy, and his clothes are signature in the way that you've probably seen him wear the same thing fifty times. maybe in a row. 

but the people in this bar don't care. no, they flirt back like they already know who satoru gojo is. and maybe they do. 

you don't really care, but you do have to drag him along so he can show you where you're supposed to sit and tell you the names of his friends before you get drunk enough to forget. 

it takes three minutes of trailing after gojo like a lost puppy to remember that you hate going out. that you hate everything about your so-called roommate and you should've shoved his invitation down the drain along with him. 

as if gojo can hear this thought, he peeks over his shoulder, smirking at you. "enjoying the view?" he asks, and you try to trip him by stepping on his heel. 

unfortunately, he only swings around, walking backward through the crowd like it's going to part for him. 

oh, wait. it does. 

you frown at him. 

"what? you don't like the music?" he pouts because that would personally offend him, of course. 

"where are we going? i think we've passed that table four times already." 

"i have to say hi," he says like this is obvious. "it's rude to just walk into some place without greeting everyone." 

"do you own this bar?" 

"what? no." 

"then find your friends so we can sit down," you grumble, trying not to lose him in the sea of people. it's unlikely that you've ever seen a bar this packed. more like a club, honestly, but you wouldn't put it past gojo to lie. 

eventually, he does lead you to a table, announcing, with a flourish. "don't worry, everyone, i'm here," while he bows--because of course he does. "and," he adds, "i brought a stowaway." 

you peek around his shoulder to meet three people, all staring at him with the same unamused expression. one, suguru--from the many photo albums and 'trips down memory lane' gojo has bombarded you with--gives you a little wave. the other two just continue to stare at gojo. 

"everyone, this is y/n, my favorite roommate. y/n, that one is suguru," he says, pointing towards him, "which you already know. the short one is shoko, and the blonde one is--" 

"nanami," you cut in, "hey." 

gojo frowns, looking between the two of you. "you know each other?" 

"we have analytics together," you answer, sliding in to sit across them, next to gojo, naturally. "i usually cheat off of his notes." 

"she gets me coffee," nanami adds, like this information is imperative. 

gojo grins again. "why didn't you say anything nanamin?" 

"because i didn't realize." 

"who else could i have been talking about? do you know several pretty girls named y/n? you a player?" 

nanami has a very familiar frown on his face, and is about to say something when suguru seems to kick gojo under the table. "satoru, i told you to stop referring to other people as 'players.'"

gojo merely rolls his eyes. "can't fight the truth," he says.

you almost smile. almost. but your eyes drift over to shoko, who sighs. "how'd you get stuck with this one?" she asks, not harsh, but not quite soft. 

"he promised me alcohol." 

she nods knowingly. 

speaking of, you turn towards him. "you and i both know there's only one reason i'm here." 

gojo flicks your forehead, but stands up. "i'll be right back," he says, "don't miss me too much." 

and you all watch as he walks away, conveniently stopping at least four times to talk to several different people. 

you groan. "he's not coming back is he?" 

"he will," suguru says, not quite reassuringly. "probably. in an hour or so." 

you cover your eyes with your hands and listen as the three of them laugh at you. 

*

it probably is an hour or two later that you see gojo again. 

you'd fallen into smooth conversation with his friends, talking about classes, and dancing, and the fact that you all shared a common enemy. it was easy enough, talking to them, like ripples in a pond. but surely if gojo had stuck around, it would've been more of a tsunami. you could see the appeal--at least for someone like your roommate. they all seemed responsible enough. 

but shoko, after a twenty-second lull in conversation, decided she was better off drinking at home, and nanami quickly agreed. watching them, compared to gojo, disappear into the crowd was a different experience. 

you bite your cheek unnervingly, wondering if it made you a bad roommate to want to let gojo suffer here alone and walk home by himself. 

suguru pats you on the shoulder when he stands up a moment later, brushing his pants. "i'll go find satoru," he says, softly. you feel that same irritation when you realize that gojo had probably lied to you about coming here for suguru. it was almost infinitely more times likely that suguru had come here for him. "do you want me to tell him you went home?" 

"how likely is it that he'll go home with someone else and it won't matter if i wait for him anyway?" 

the dark-haired man considers this with a sly grin on his face. "if i tell him you left, he'll find someone to cling to. but if you're here he'll go home with you. probably drunk, though." 

you run a hand through your hair, waving him off. "it's fine. i'll wait, then. but tell him that the homicide clause doesn't apply to outside the apartment." 

suguru laughs, not questioning this, and walks away. 

you sit there, toying with a glass someone had left behind, watching the people around you dance like it really was a club. with absolutely no one watching. not even god, evidently.

as usual, gojo lied--even though you hadn't really believed him when he said this place was sophisticated. the clear air of stale beer and vomit is enough to prove that.

you almost laugh bitterly, but then a mop of white hair appears in the chair next to you, and his grin is wider, larger than you'd remembered. 

how long had that taken? 

"hello hello, roomie," he sings, leaning close to you. he moves his chair, shuffling across the floor so that he's near enough to touch. "i heard you were threatening me again." 

"you could hear that over the sighs of your fan club?" 

gojo giggles, like he's in on the joke. his breath falls on your face. "i like it when you tell me you're going to murder me, you know." 

"of course you do. how much did you drink?" 

"it's not the quantity," he whispers, "it's the quality." 

"your friends told me you could get drunk off of hand sanitizer." 

gojo leans back, his long legs knocking against yours. "are they spreading those rumors again?"

you kick his foot away from yours but don't say anything. his eyes seem somehow wider right now, even behind his dark shades. almost like you could see them. 

you blink, and gojo does it back. his lashes fluttering just enough to tell.

it almost makes you smile. laugh a little bit at his innocence--especially right now, when he's clearly not himself--some more unperturbed version of who he normally is (if that's even possible). he probably wouldn't even remember if you did laugh at him. but you refrain anyway. 

gojo gasps suddenly. "oh! let's go to the store. you want ice cream, right?" his elbow slides onto the table as he rests his chin on a hand. 

you kick his foot again. "i wanted a drink," you correct, "but apparently you got distracted." 

"'s not my fault," he almost slurs, sadly. 

"are you ready to go home?" 

"i'm ready to leave. so we can get your ice cream. want to share a spoon?" his grin is unabashed. you could tell him that he is a vile, disgusting creature right now and he would probably agree. 

you don't, for whatever reason. 

"i don't think anywhere's open, and i don't want to drag you around while you're this drunk." 

he taps your thigh with a finger. "hey. i'll have you know that i am a very proficient walker." 

"oh, really?" 

"learned when i was a kid and everything." 

"wow, gojo, i'm very impressed," you deadpan, and look around. "do you need to say goodbye to suguru?" 

he frowns. then points to himself. "gojo," he repeats, and into the crowd, "suguru." 

like he's an actual toddler.

you shake your head and stand up, still looking. "can you text him?" 

"i guess," he mumbles, getting out his phone and almost dropping it. he frowns like this is deeply upsetting. 

so you grab it from him. "what's your passcode?" 

"one one one one." you look at him with a brow raised. "cause i'm number one," he answers, pridefully. 

you scoff, but look through his texts anyway, and tell suguru that you're taking him home--and never ever coming out with him again--and then hand it back to gojo. 

he smiles at you. you roll your eyes. 

then he grabs your hand, and begins to pull. "c'mon before they find us," he says, and it doesn't make any sense. 

but were you really expecting it to? 

*

perhaps the aftermath of drunk gojo is even more entertaining than the actual thing. 

shoko hadn't been kidding when she said he was the worst drunk--and even worse when hungover. 

how do you know this? oh, because you woke up at one in the afternoon--perfectly respectable for a saturday--and as soon as you dared to even open your door gojo was already groaning about the noise. so you slam it a little as you leave. 

there's a grunt, like a dying cat, and two minutes later he is walking into the kitchen with slits for eyes and cotton for hair. you're not sure what he's wearing--some video game shirt--but it's wrinkled enough to match your roommate's appearance. disheveled and slightly peeved, he's almost glaring at you--like he's capable of such a thing.

you try not to laugh. 

"where's the bacon?" he asks, almost slipping off of the counter as he leans on it. his hands rubbing at his eyes. 

"sorry?" 

"wheres the bacon?" he repeats, his voice a different register this morning. "i need emergency bacon." 

"so make some. there's a pan and probably a package in the fridge." 

he whines, falling against the counter again. his natural habitat. "i can't make it, i'm dying. you really want your terminally ill roommate to cook for himself?" 

"i want my overdramatic roommate to act like an adult for a change." 

he blows a raspberry, and his face is hidden beneath the tile of your table. you can only see his hair, which looks surprisingly soft for his state. 

"did you lose some pigment in your hair?" 

gojo snaps up, immediately, gasping. he pulls a strand so he can look at it, blinking rapidly. his panic quickly fades, and he blows the strand out of his eyes. "it's just dirty." 

"from what?" 

"i forgot to buy new bedsheets," he grumbles, once again hiding his face. 

"your bedsheets are dying your hair?" you ask, with a raised brow. 

"they're dirty," he repeats, rolling his eyes as he sits up. "i need to go to the store." 

"um..." you look at him as he slumps against his own body, feeling greatly concerned for his survival abilities. "you buy new bedsheets?" you confirm, "instead of washing them?" 

he waves a hand, blowing you, and your clearly audaious sentence away. "bacon," he says, flatly. 

you roll your eyes. "pan," you point, "stove." 

gojo looks like he might start crying.

and it might be his state or the fact that you don't think you've ever seen him like this--in the month you've known him--all lost and confused and a little bit ruffled at the edges. gojo's snark is usually in its top form when you see him in the morning. 

so, just this once, you grab a pan, and turn on the burner. 

"i'll be expecting payment for my time," you say, as you grab the bacon from the fridge. 

and maybe you get your first real smile from your roommate. 

*

you're lying on the couch reading a book when he appears, swarming like a fly. 

"hello, roommate," he says, uncharacteristically pleasant, and then he sits on your legs. you try to kick him, but it proves futile because apparently he's a giant, so you wiggle your way out from under him and sit up, frowning. 

"don't you have a room?" you ask. 

"i could ask you the same thing," gojo tries to tickle your feet, but you move them away before he can. your frown turns into more of a glare. "what?" he asks, "we can't hang out?" 

"no." 

gojo pouts. "but we're roommates," he says as if it's an explanation. like being roommates binds your souls and forever intertwines the two of you. 

"we are roommates because i had an extra room and you had money. that doesn't seem like thrilling grounds for friendship." 

"well, how about the fact that i let you use my hair dryer the other day?" he lays down on the other side of the couch, smirking at you. "that's a friendly thing to do." 

"that's the polite thing to do. i'm trying to train you. speaking of which..." you point towards the floor, "down boy." 

he takes off his sunglasses, throwing them on the coffee table--which probably explains the broken mug pieces you found in the trash the other day--and lays back with his arms behind his head. his eyes are closed. "i can't be trained." 

"clearly." 

you sigh and relax in your corner of the couch, picking up your book again. his presence lurks like a nightmare, but, you figure, eventually, he'll get bored. 

you just can't entertain him. it's like the advice you'd give to a kid being bullied: they only care about your reaction... 

as if proving your point, after twenty-seven seconds of silence, he opens one eye, peeking at you. "whatcha reading?" 

"a book." 

he plucks it right out of your hands, inspecting the cover. how he got across the couch in 0.2 seconds, you don't know. 

"what is this?" he asks, snickering a little. "word porn?" 

you take it back. "it's called romance, gojo. not that i'd expect you to be familiar with anything of the sort." 

he smirks, laying back down. "i have references if you need proof." 

you shake your head, flipping him off, and continue to scan the words on your page without retaining any information. 

seriously, his presence is impending doom itself. 

"it's okay," he whispers, "you don't need to be embarrassed. everyone craves intimacy." 

"i crave my fist on your face." 

he snorts. "that's not very friendly." 

you sigh, dropping the book again so you can look at him and his obnoxious eyes. "look, i'm tired, it's been a long week, and if you don't leave me alone i'll probably lock you outside." 

"probably?" 

"it's that or throwing you out the window." 

gojo laughs once again, but mimes zipping his mouth shut. you roll your eyes and open your book again. your feet are entwined, but you don't mock this--if only because you're sure that gojo will start an argument about it.

the quiet lasts for two minutes and then he turns on the tv. 

you groan and he laughs at you.

*

you're getting used to having him around, at least. and in turn, his friends. because they seem to be a package deal. 

after that night at the bar, gojo--apparently--feels much more comfortable having them over. trying to bake cookies with shoko or interrupting what's supposed to be a study session between the four of them. 

at least, you think, watching this happen, that you're not the only person forced to endure him. 

but it's kind of... nice to see him act like a normal person, for once. to get teased by someone other than you and pout like a begrudged younger brother. the person who invites his friends over for game night (getting aggressively angry every time he loses) isn't satoru gojo, the man whom everyone is drawn to. he isn't some drunk guy charming everyone around him or a roommate that you just happened upon. 

he's just another college student, laughing along with people who aren't nearly as bad as him. 

and, naturally, you find yourself intertwined with these 'hang-outs' because the apartment is small, and you don't want to be left out--no, you choose not to think about how pathetic it is that satoru gojo has more friends than you do, so please don't bring it up. 

and it's on this night when you're not playing uno with the four of them, but rather, watching behind all of their backs and trying to mess with gojo as much as possible. 

you pretend to be idly cleaning in the kitchen, when really you're standing behind him, mouthing to suguru what color he has whenever he's about to win. 

"hmm," the sly-mouthed man says this time, "green." 

shoko puts down a seven, and gojo groans again. "seriously?" he asks, but begins drawing cards. 

you try--and fail--not to giggle behind him. to which, of course, he turns around with an obvious glare in his eyes. "what are you doing?" 

the sink isn't on, and there are no dishes to be seen in the kitchen. nonetheless, you point uselessly to the roll of paper towels on the counter. "cleaning." 

"you're cleaning air?" 

"sorry, i didn't realize i was banned from loitering in my own home." 

he turns back around, looking at suguru for a moment, then back at you. it's very hard to keep the smile off of your face, especially when nanami looks like he's about to break and shoko is pretending to rifle through her cards again. 

how many times have you done this to him? oh, just a mere eight. 

to be fair, it would've ended a long time ago if gojo wasn't such a sore loser. 

he looks back and forth once more. then he frowns. "what are you doing?" 

"do you want me to go hide in my room, gojo?" you ask, trying to scowl. "because i will. i was just trying to be hospitable--" 

"nanamin," he interrupts. "go." 

so another round of cards is placed, and this time suguru plays normally, keeping his face straight to not draw any suspicion. you lean against the wall, enjoying yourself. 

(don't tell anyone, but this is the most fun you've had in a while). 

and then, after a couple of rounds go by, you finally clear your throat. gojo turns to glare at you through his sunglasses and says "go stand behind suguru if you're going to watch. i don't trust you." 

you raise your brows but do as he says. 

and when shoko has to draw the next time, you smile and tap a couple of times on your thigh. 

suguru does his best impression of gojo's grin, and says, "draw four," to shoko. 

she smiles back. turns to gojo. "draw four," she repeats. 

and he stares at the two of them, then the cards stacked on top of each other, and then to you, right across him. "what are you doing? i know you're doing something." 

"satoru, she's just watching--" 

"no, she's smiling." he looks back to you, "you're smiling. you don't do that unless i'm in pain." 

"so you just assume that you're losing cause i'm... what? drawing your cards for you? shuffling the stack so only you get the bad hands?" you cock a brow at him, willing yourself not to look at anyone else at the table. it would only end in disaster. 

"i--" gojo runs a hand through his hair. then he sighs and begins drawing his eight cards. 

and several rounds later--with gojo losing once again--you've begun moving around the table like you're inspecting each player. gojo doesn't let you look at his cards though. 

and it takes a while before he notices anything. particularly after suguru wins for the third time in a row. 

he looks at everyone--brows pulled together, irritated eyes hiding behind his sunglasses, and his cheeks are flushed from how frustrated he is--and as soon as you start laughing at his face, everyone else does too. suguru throws his cards down and shakes his head. nanami shuffles the deck while trying to keep his laugh muffled--but it's there. and shoko is outwardly laughing at him, pointing at gojo and then at you. 

"are you guys stealing the cards?" he asks, almost disbelieving, his voice so childlike that you start laughing even harder. "look at the deck! it's half the size that it was." 

and then he's standing up and inspecting you, sticking his hands up your sleeves and finding dozens of cards hiding there, falling onto the floor. 

gojo gasps in outrage, but it doesn't even matter to you. 

everyone else is clutching their stomachs and gojo begins to pout. "you're all traitors," he's saying, and "how long have you been doing that?" and you almost can't breathe-- 

so yeah. you don't really mind these kinds of nights. and you don't complain about the messes gojo and his friends leave behind. 

*

you shouldn't have given suguru your number. this much is obvious. 

but, to be fair, you weren't exactly thinking when you were talking to him about a self-help book you'd picked up, and he was mentioning a podcast, and then he was taking your phone and putting himself in it--which, in itself, should not be dangerous--telling you that he'd send you a link and that you should let him know if you liked it, and that was that. 

and really, there shouldn't be any repercussions to this. suguru is your sort of friend, and sort of friends can text on occasion. 

except for the fact that he's also satoru gojo's friend. so when you wake up at ten--silently thanking yourself for taking a day off before a week of back-to-back classes and work--he's already texted you, and it's obvious that you failed somewhere in life. 

maybe when you accidentally invited a demon into your house and allowed him to stay. 

from suguru :p : 

hey satoru is supposed to be in class right now and he won't answer me 

can you please kick him awake? 

but maybe it wasn't a mistake. because at least you have a good excuse to give gojo a bruise. 

so you creep down the hall, reluctantly knocking on his door even though it ruins the element of surprise (you're not a monster) and listening as there's no response. 

gojo must be asleep. or dead. honestly, you might've killed him in your sleep--wouldn't be the first time. 

so you peek the door open, realizing now that you haven't been in his room since he moved in, and watch as a figure slithers under the covers almost before you notice. gojo is completely covered except for the foot he's left hanging off of the side of the bed. 

"get up," you tell him, looking around at the sparse decorations he's put up. there are books, candy wrappers, and socks all over the floor, but it's not the messiest room you've ever seen. which is slightly surprising, considering all that you know about gojo. 

he whines from under the cover, turning so you get a view of exposed skin on his back. "sleeping," he says as if you might believe him. 

so you creep over trash and textbooks and pull the blanket right off of him. 

gojo is already looking at you, pouting. his hair is in his eyes and his mouth is puffy--probably from kissing his pillow in his sleep. "what if i was naked under here?" he asks you, very seriously. "i don't let just anyone see that, you know?" 

"you're wearing the same silk pajamas you wear every night." 

he tries to pull the blanket away from you, his fingers peeling yours away. he huffs. "it's the principle. you don't just wake a man up from slumber." 

you snort. "did you travel a century in your sleep?" 

"yes, now go away." and then he falls back into the blankets, his words muffled. 

"you have class, your highness. i've been sent to fetch you." 

one eye appears from under the blanket. "how do you know my schedule?" 

"telepathy. now get up." 

"i can't," gojo fake coughs. "i'm sick." 

"suguru said you'd say that." 

he groans, turning over and muffling a few explicit words that sound like a curse upon his best friend. 

you poke his back. "did you sleep through your alarm?" 

he doesn't answer. his body has gone limp like you might not notice that he's there if he stays still for long enough. so you pull his hair, turning his head towards you. "you're not usually this whiny in the morning," you tell him. 

"why are you so mean to me?" 

you hum, pretending to consider it. "i think it's the hair. i find it pretentious." 

"i could sue you. discrimination is very serious. i've got a good lawyer, too."

"i'll sue back for mental damages." 

he laughs, and wiggles from your grasp. 

you sigh and finally sit down at the edge of his bed, observing the lollipops he's left lying on his bedside table. gojo's bones seem to crack as he sits up with you, moaning the whole way. 

you're silently observing him--with his slightly red eyes and heinous mouth. you're not used to seeing him like this in the morning; usually, he's chipper and annoying. when he walks into the kitchen in the morning you half expect him to start singing. 

but this gojo is tired. he rubs at his eyes. "did suguru text you?" 

"yup." 

"he's a terrible friend." 

you nudge him, almost like an agreement. "why aren't you in class?" 

"what's even the point of going? it's not like i get a reward."

"i think the reward is graduating, but you might have to fact-check that one." 

he nudges you back and then takes your hand. his fingertips are soft as they trace the tendons and veins he can see on your skin. his hands are softer than you'd have expected. his eyes are wary as they look towards the floor, his mouth twisting in displeasure. but he doesn't stop touching you, he does so idly that you almost don't notice. "i have an a in the class," he tells you, "and i already know most of the material so why would i go to every lecture?" 

maybe it's the way he says it; so sure and nonchalant, in his typical over-dramatic fashion. maybe it's just that he's never mentioned any of his classes to you, or the fact that he's taking any. maybe he's just crazy--that's the most likely option--but you're suddenly curious. 

"what class is it?" 

"theoretical physics." 

you whistle, shaking your head. "and you already know most of it?" 

gojo drops your hand and looks at you. his eyes are wide. maybe he's just realized that he's been talking to you this whole time. "when i was a kid my, uh, my dad had a bunch of textbooks in his office that i used to read through every time i got in trouble," he grins, "which was a lot." 

"i can imagine." 

"well, it turns out you can only read something so many times before it becomes ingrained in your brain." 

you pull at his bedsheet. "do you have a test today, or something?" 

"no, suguru just thinks i'm lazy." 

you laugh, because he is. gojo rolls his eyes at you so you don't say it. you're a little bit surprised, actually. you knew that gojo wasn't stupid (or at least, you might've known) but there's something about the proof of it. like you can't just read right through him. like maybe there's still more to learn about your roommate and maybe there always has been. 

or maybe you're just tired, and he's always had the strange ability to draw irrationality out of you. and also he's an idiot.

"i just..." he starts and his smile fades, but only a little bit. he keeps a layer on while he peels a layer off. "i mean, i like the class. math is cool. but i just don't feel like it today, you know?" 

and there's something about his voice as he says it. steady and true, as always, but softer. but compeltely honest. 

and you've heard him complain about a million things, like every time you and suguru talk about something he doesn't understand or when the door isn't unlocked when he gets home, or when you won't add his one shirt to your laundry. you've heard every whine and every groan come from his lips. 

but he's not complaining about this. just confiding. 

and there's such a drastic difference that it takes you a moment to respond. 

but you do eventually. "yeah, i know," you tell him and rest a hand on his thigh to squeeze. 

and the way that gojo looks at you after--like you might just be saying it to make him feel better--is perplexing. his eyes are blue and maybe you've just noticed this--just started to realize that you're actually sitting with him like a normal person. and that he actually looks grateful. 

you shake your head, willing yourself to look away, because maybe there is something sort of magnetic about your roommate. and it feels impossible to only have noticed this now. to realize how warm he is next to you, and how your muscles tense up when he shifts. gojo is looking at you, and it might be the first time.

so you stand up, flicking his chin. "i'll tell suguru that you're puking your guts up." 

"really?" 

"yup. but next time you sleep through a class i'm going to wake you up by pouring ice water on your face." 

he grins. "cruel." 

"and i'll record it." 

you step over candy wrappers and dirty socks as you leave his room, and as soon as the door is closed you sigh in relief. you're probably better off never opening that door again.

*

it's a ridiculously cold night when he shows up. 

you're sitting at the front desk in the library, pretending to study for a mid-term, and trying to smile at the fifth lost library card you've heard about tonight. you got this job at the beginning of the year, and it pays horribly. but at least you can sit around and study, most weekends it's quiet enough to take a nap, and no one tends to bother you when you're drooling all over the reception desk. 

most weekends, that is, because as soon as he walks in through the door--letting in air so brisk that it has the potential to kill you--it gets significantly louder. 

because satoru gojo is not affected by trivial things such as snow, or blizzards, or the fact that the library is supposed to close in less than ten minutes... 

still, you don't really notice him--a rare circumstance that you will question later that night--until he's right next to you, breathing in your ear. 

"slacking on the clock?" he asks, and just for a moment, you almost disembowel him with the pen you're holding in your hand. 

but then you grunt, used to this sort of intrusion from your roommate, and push his head away. "how did you find me?" you ask him, because, honestly, this job is just an escape from his neverending antics at your house (no, it doesn't matter that you got the job before you knew that such an annoying person could possibly exist). 

"i microchipped you in your sleep," gojo says, smoothly, sitting in the chair right next to yours, swiveling around. "i thought i told you about that?" 

you blatantly look at the clock and ignore him. "you know that the library closes in seven minutes?" 

"...and?" 

"so go torment someone else," you answer, standing up with a stack of fileable papers, "i'm busy until eight." 

"i'll help," gojo says, eager as always, and takes half of your stack. "where to?" 

it is from two months of experience that you know he will not leave you alone. even if you chew off his fingernails and keep them to make into necklaces, gojo will follow you around as long as you make it clear you don't want him to. 

so you walk towards the copying room, smiling at all of the sleep-deprived students you pass by and rolling your eyes when gojo does the same. 

"how did you even find the library?" 

gojo walks like he has absolutely no equilibrium; knocking into you every couple of steps, and then falling in the other direction. it must be a consequence of all of his strenuous leaning. 

so he bumps into you as he replies, "tracker," like it's obvious. 

you snort. "no, seriously. i didn't think you knew that libraries existed. aren't you allergic to reading?" 

"hey!" he tries to trip you. "i'll have you know that i am very studious. top of my class." 

"that's why you pay suguru to write your papers for you, right?" 

gojo makes a small noise in the back of his throat. "he doesn't write them," he grumbles. "well, not all of them." 

you snort and open a door for him to follow through.

"my study group meets here on wednesdays," gojo answers, finally. 

"you're a part of a study group?" 

"where do you think i go all of the time?" 

you briefly consider this, setting the papers down. "cemeteries to mourn all of the people you've annoyed to death, probably. or your girlfriend's house." you shrug.

gojo sets his stack on top of yours, diligently lining them up. "i don't do that every night," he drawls, rolling his eyes. and then he winks at you. "and i don't have a girlfriend. thanks for asking." 

you mess up his stack and turn away from him. "sorry, i meant girlfriends as in plural. girlfriends." 

"nope, again." 

gojo follows closely behind you as you begin to lock up all of the spare rooms, turning off lights and looking for any lost items. "commitment issues?" you ask, fake sympathy clouding your voice. 

"sweetheart, if you want me, then just say that. you don't need to pretend to worry about anyone else." his cockiness is infuriating, but you don't even bother to scold him for it. you turn towards him with sharp eyes.

"do i seem worried to you?" 

"no, but you're a bad actor," gojo hums, fingertips grazing along your skin as he inspects your face. "denial is serious. you might want to see a doctor." 

"you would know," you answer, glaring and pulling away from him. the two of you walk as people begin to trek out of the library, no longer held captive by the idea of studying. 

gojo is much too close, as usual, his sweater brushing against yours. 

"how'd you even know i was here?" you ask him, after a minute of silence. 

"please," he answers, grinning down at you. "i got a PI as soon as you gave me my key." 

you squint. "did you actually?" 

he laughs. "no. you told shoko, and shoko told me..." 

you nod, clearing the desk of your things, tossing your bag at gojo for him to carry. "so why are you here?" 

he clears his throat, unplugging the cord to your computer and wrapping it around his hand. "i was walking by, and i thought i'd see if you wanted to come with me for drinks after your shift."

"drinks?" you repeat, taking the cord from his hands. 

"flip night." 

you groan. "i am never participating in that again after what happened last time." 

"it wasn't that bad." 

"i had to drag you home and you almost threw up in my hair." 

gojo smiles. "consider yourself lucky." 

you push him out of the way and put your coat on. then you turn off the lights and push in all of the chairs, gojo not helping at all. "i didn't even get my drink," you remind him. 

"okay, so let me make it up to you."

and his voice is a bit different. still arrogant, naturally, still smiling and easy--but maybe he means it? maybe beneath his, frankly, soft exterior, he feels bad for getting drunk before you could? maybe he's not actually a complete monster? 

you laugh that thought away as soon as it comes.

you sigh. "are your friends going to be there?" 

"yes, our friends are. they suggested i invite you." 

you sigh--again, because the air is quite thin when gojo is around--and consider it. for just four seconds. but eventually, you shake your head. "i can't," you tell him, looping your arm around his so you can drag him out of the building. 

"why not?" 

"i'm tired, and i still need to study for a test on monday..." 

"do it in the morning." 

you give him a blank look. "i won't want to study if i'm hungover." 

"then don't study." 

you let go of his arm, shivering from the cold. gojo, of course, is not wearing a jacket, or even a little bit bothered by the air. "you're a terrible influence." 

he grins. "i get it from you." 

you shake your head, keeping the smile off of your face. "maybe some other time? when it's not freezing, and i don't have a big test?" 

gojo looks like he wants to argue with you some more--which he usually does--but eventually, his grin ebbs into something simple and he nods. "okay, but you have to come next time i ask." 

"no. what if i'm sick, or something?" you definitely would not put it past him to ask you as a method of torture. 

"that's what alcohol is for." he sticks out his hand, too big and too sly. 

but you relent, shaking with him, and rolling your eyes.

"okay, gojo. have fun. do not wake me up when you get home." 

and you turn to walk away, but his hand catches your wrist. "what are you doing?" he asks, brow furrowed. 

"...going home?" 

he lets go of you and flicks your forehead. "you're not walking back by yourself," he says, like it's a crime. "c'mon." 

and he falls into pace with you, even with his longer legs and fervent energy. 

"this is stupid--" you start to complain, but gojo reaches for the strap of your bag, sliding it off of your shoulder. he then slings it on his own, and pulls you in a bit closer by the hem of your jacket. 

he doesn't say anything, just shoves your hand in his pocket, and whistles as he walks you home. 

*

its a couple of weeks later when you're standing at the door again, trying not to open it more than necessary. 

but, really, how wide is too wide? will a half-opened door signal any longing? will he think that you want him back if you open it more than three inches to pass him his box of stuff that he'd left behind and take your key back? 

how do you navigate the trade-off of a frog statue that will probably haunt your dreams till the end of time? 

"key," you say, without any pleasantries, not bothering to even really look at him. 

even though he looks just the same, your ex. still the lying cheater you'd almost fallen in love with. 

is it wrong to miss his netflix password more than him? 

"thanks," he says, and you've probably been standing there with him for thirty seconds when a head appears on your shoulder. 

white hair gets in your eyes, and you try to push gojo away, but he's already intruded on this exchange and you know he's not going to leave. 

"go away," you tell him, not very softly. 

"hello," gojo holds his hand out over your shoulder, because, again, he is ridiculously tall. "i'm--" 

"key," you say again, swatting his hand away. 

your ex looks at your new roommate--with all of his charm and irritating sunglasses and perfectly shaped teeth--with obvious disdain. you want to push both of them out the door and live here by yourself forever, but unfortunately, living prices disagree. 

so you grab the key from his hand, give him a bland smile, and slam the door with gojo's fingers still in between. 

he pulls them back just in time, still almost on top of you, and smiles when you turn around with a scowl. "a friend of yours?" he asks, slyly. he's about as subtle as a third-grader.

"no." 

he messes with your hair idly, pretending to fix it. "i noticed an obvious absence where our dancing frog used to be." 

"i told you, that's not mine." 

"so you gave it away?" 

you cross your arms. he is far too close to you. "you told me it was hideous." 

"it was," he nods, vehemently, and you know his eyes are grinning at you behind those dark shades. "but now there's an empty spot on that shelf." 

"we can put your tongue there when i cut it out," you give him an innocent smile and walk past him to sit on the couch. your pocket burns with the key you put there, metal like an obvious stain on your skin. 

it's not that you care about him anymore, really. you don't, not even when you lay alone at night and think about him. it's more that... he doesn't think about you. he didn't, and he wouldn't have, even if you were still together. 

is it wrong to be wanted by someone whose opinion is worth about as much to you as a penny you could or could not pick up on the street? should you crave being cared about by someone as awful as him?

you want to throw his key in bleach. maybe take a dip yourself.

gojo follows you, throwing himself down on the couch, and brushing you as he does so. he is very used to this kind of proximity, and the annoyed look you give him. "so that was your ex?" 

"yes." 

there's a brief pause, and a nice person might leave it like that. might try to console you, tell you better off. but satoru gojo is not nice, and he probably never has been. "really?" he asks. then clicks his tongue. 

you interrupt whatever obnoxious statement is supposed to follow: "if you're about to say that there are a lot of more eligible bachelors, including yourself, then i'm going to say that you should probably make a zillow account." 

gojo pinches your thigh. "i would never say something like that." 

you look at him, just barely able to make out the shape of his eyes when he's this close. "you told me that last week when i was complaining about dating apps." 

"well, it was true then." 

you roll your eyes. 

"i wasn't going to say that anyway." 

you hum, relaxing into the hold his legs begin to have on yours. despite his abrupt and terrible personality, gojo is very warm. and he's already intruded into so much of your space--your home, your head--that it almost feels normal. 

with his thighs pushing against yours and his fingertips trailing up the back of your neck. 

you should slap him away, but you don't. 

the last person you cuddled with was the same man who gave you the greasy key in your pocket. 

you look at gojo with inquisitive eyes. "really? no bad pickup line? you were going to say something meaningful?" 

"would've blown your mind, but you interrupted..." he teases, and pulls on a strand of baby hair. 

"whatever will i do now?" 

his hand falls from your neck, and if you weren't as comfortable as you are currently, you might think about what he's doing. 

like the fact that you haven't even questioned this, or his following you around, or the fact that he knew you needed someone to pull you away from that door. 

you don't think about that, but maybe you should. 

still, his hand wraps around your shoulder, and you slump against him without question. 

"i was..." his voice is softer, calmer than you've maybe ever heard it. it should jolt you away from him. it should do anything but keep you planted on the couch right next to him. "i was just going to say that i'm glad he's an idiot." 

"getting turned on by my pain?" 

he laughs. "no, but, i mean, your pain my gain." 

you don't even notice it when he slips off his glasses, his fingers curling around your forearm. 

"where else would i find a roommate that threatens me with bodily harm?" he asks, right in your ear. 

it's true enough, you guess. and at least for a moment, you don't want to rip off his arms. 

and gojo mutters something that sounds like "stupid," but you aren't listening.

*

gojo has called in your agreement; that is the only reason you're sitting at the bar, watching him dance around with shoko--purposefully stepping on her toes--and sipping on some drink he ordered for you.

it's terribly sweet and reminds you of lotion but you drink it anyway. it's not like you bought it, and you're sure that gojo wont buy you anything else until finish it. plus it's giving you a light buzz, just enough to feel comfortable sitting there, and not like you want to run away.

it's not as busy as it was last time, the music slightly quieter, the air in the room less stiff. gojo seems less energized tonight--considering that he hasn't abandoned any of you to talk to the houseplant in the corner--even with the dancing. 

which he is terrible at. it's like watching an eight-month-old learn how to stand. or a man trying to impress absolutely no one. his limbs move like they aren't even attached to his body.

"is he drunk?" you're asking suguru and nanami--who have been sitting there longer than you have. "i didn't see him order anything." 

nanami laughs and suguru ruffles your hair. "that's satoru completely sober." 

"...are you sure?" 

"yeah, he doesn't usually drink. even that," he nods to your drink which you're sipping with a wince, "is too bitter for him." 

you raise a brow, watching shoko frown at him, and then nudge him away. "he drank last time i came, though?" 

suguru nods, looking away like he knows something you don't and nanami snorts.

"what?" 

"he was nervous last time," nanami answers. he's got less than a smile on, but it's better than the frowns you've observed sitting next to him in class. 

your brow furrows. "about what?" 

suguru is about to answer, nudging nanami not very subtly, when the very topic of conversation pops up, bumping into you as he squeezes himself in between you and suguru. his presence is an interruption in itself, but he's smiling like he always does, acting like he's been there the whole time. 

you might've pushed him away a week or two ago. now you just sigh and move a little so he can fit.

"did you miss me, sweetheart?" he asks you, leaning against suguru. "don't worry, i'll dance with you next."

"no, and i don't dance." 

gojo rolls his eyes. "everyone dances." 

you look pointedly between him and the group of people dancing in the middle of the room. an image of him almost tripping over shoko makes you smile. "well some people shouldn't." 

suguru laughs and gojo grins even wider at you--his hair is slightly sweaty and his eyes are peering at you over the glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. "let's test that theory," he says, taking a step back. his tone is nothing less than suggestive. and his fingers wiggle towards you, beckoning for you to follow.

there's a twinge in your stomach and you adjust in your seat, frowning at him. "i told you that i don't dance." 

"well, i do. and you owe me for last time." 

you balk. "owe you for what? making sure you didn't get murdered on the street?" 

gojo pouts, his face so unserious and completely genuine at the same time. "you made me dance all alone. you didn't even come watch." 

"you left me--" 

"just one dance?" he asks, leaning in towards you. his eyes are sparkling. "i'll get you another drink." 

"you'll get me that anyway." 

"i'll let you pick it this time." 

"that's usually expected, you know?" 

he ignores that, "c'mon," he pleads, "you know that you want to." 

"i don't know that, actually." 

and then someone coughs behind gojo and you realize that your friends have been listening to this entire interaction and that you'd completely forgotten they were there. how long has he been standing like that? just two inches away from your face? 

"just go, y/n," shoko says, "put the rest of us out of our misery. i've been listening to him whine all night." 

"hey--" gojo turns, his voice defensive. 

but you take another sip of your drink, sighing as you stand up. "fine," you tell him, rolling your eyes when he turns to you with a smile. "one dance, and you can't ask me for anything else tonight." 

his teeth are like rows of knives. sharp and inviting. "okay." 

he holds his hand out for you again, and you take it, feeling that strange pull in the pit of your stomach. 

it's probably just the alcohol, though. 

*

you don't know how long you've been dancing with gojo. 

it started with one dance where he didn't do anything except twirl you around and sway with you, like he'd accepted the fact that you weren't exactly light on your feet, singing along to the music in your ear, making snide remarks about where you'd placed your hands. moving them like pieces on a chess board.

his breath was hot on your ear. condensation on a glass. 

and then you'd gradually moved to letting him lead you, after who knows how many songs, following his steps and not apologizing when your foot slammed against his, or when you bumped shoulders with him, probably creating marks on your skin. 

and then his hands were on your hips, his chin resting against your shoulder, and it felt almost nice to be dancing with him. almost relaxing to forget momentarily about where you were and who you were with. it shouldn't surprise you that you're comfortable with him, but it does. there's no worry about the way you're looking at him or if anyone is watching the two of you--but then again, you might be slightly drunk. 

gojo hasn't commented on how long the two of you have been dancing, and evidently, you've let the alcohol sway you into staying for more than just another song. 

so now, with his lips on your ear, you're almost smiling into him. your heart is fast, and the adrenaline rush you're experiencing is a pleasant thing; if someone ripped out your heart right you wouldn't even notice.

"see?" gojo says, his voice just a murmur with all of the music swimming in your ears. "you're not so bad." 

it sounds like something else to you.

"you won't be saying that in the morning," you tell him, stepping on his toes, but he doesn't pull back or move too quickly. if you thought rationally about his movements you might notice that everything he's doing is slow; like you're an animal he's trying not to scare. 

"i'm used to it," he pulls back a little bit. "shoko does that too." 

"'cause you deserve it." 

he laughs and leans in, so you follow him. 

are you just swaying now? or is he leading you in something more complex? a dance you've never heard of, or a simple in and out? 

you don't know, and you really don't care. 

after a moment, you sigh. "i've never danced with anyone before," you whisper to him, almost like not saying the words at all. it might be a lie, you're not quite sure. 

your words are just thoughts now with no sort of intervention between your brain and your mouth. intoxication fills your lungs. 

"really?" 

"mhm," you hum, "no one's ever asked me." 

"i don't believe you," his voice might be teasing, or serious, or he might be barking at you.

you laugh anyway. gojo's hands are firm against your skin. he feels kind of hazy, like a dream. so you laugh again. 

"you okay?" 

"i think i might be a little drunk." 

he snorts, his breath short. "really? i didn't think you'd be a lightweight." 

"you're a lightweight." 

"yeah, but you already knew that. i only drink when we come here, anyway. nanami doesn't like having to drag me home." 

"you're heavy," you agree, looking up at him. you can see his eyelashes from under his glasses. you can see his tongue as he moves it, and the tip of his nose. you can almost feel it when he swallows.

"sorry," he teases. his face looks different under these lights. it looks different when you're looking at him this close. 

"you're kinda pretty," the words fall from your mouth as you think them, and you grin. "huh." 

it shouldn't be an odd realization, but it is. his skin is almost translucent, and his mouth is sinful. his eyes are wide and bright and satoru gojo could be a sculpture if he wasn't a man.

gojo looks down at you, his brows raised. "you just noticed?" 

"i don't look at you a lot." 

"oh, please," he shakes his head. "i've caught you staring." 

"i only stare when i'm worried that you're a robot planted by aliens or something. you say weird things." 

he laughs, and his hands squeeze your waist. he could stab you in the back right now and it wouldn't even matter. you're not even worried about it. he could flirt with you all night and you don't think you'd quite mind.

you giggle at the thought, heart beating fast with every breath that comes from him. 

"what?" 

"you're not a bad roommate, you know?" you ask him, but maybe you're asking yourself.

"i'm not?" 

"no. you're actually... kinda considerate. my old roommate--my ex--he never wanted to go anywhere with me. he wouldn't have asked me to dance." 

"why not?" 

"i think he thought i was stuck up. or embarassing. or not worth it," you breathe, almost airly, the words are true but they don't matter to you. not like this, pressed up against him. "i don't know." 

gojo's brow furrows. "how?" 

your brows furrow. "how what?" 

"how could he think you're not worth it?" he repeats, and you laugh back. because it's a joke.

"you'd have to ask him." 

"i don't think i'll ever be talking to him," he answers, voice rough. "it wouldn't be good for either of us. and i don't trust people with such terrible taste." 

you giggle at the thought of the frog sculpture, the disgusted look on gojo's face. you can almost see through him.

"you shouldn't," you answer, not even thinking.  

there's a moment where the room is quiet, everyone inhaling at the same time, and then exhaling. you feel like you fit here, somehow. like everything is moving at just the right place. this silence is a comforting feeling, the bubbles bursting in your stomach reiterating it. 

"hey," gojo says, interrupting that feeling. 

"what?" 

"you're a good roommate, too. you're not stuck up. or embarassing." 

"i'm not?" 

he smiles at you. "well, you're a little mean." 

you smile back. "only to you, satoru." 

his face drops, but you don't notice. you lean against his chest again, your eyes fluttering shut. if you were focused enough, you could feel his heartbeat. but you don't. and you don't watch as he swallows. as his voice falters, for only a single second.

but you do look at him when he says, "my friends like you." 

"they do?" 

he laughs, pushing his sunglasses back up on his face. "wasn't it obvious?" 

you shake your head. you're not sure how long you've been standing with him, or if it even matters. you're not even sure if you're still in the bar, or your bed, being covered with your blanket, tucked in by gentle hands. 

how long has it been now? 

"i like you too," gojo whispers, "just so you know." 

and you could be at home, with your roommate. you could be right next to him. it doesn't matter, because you only whisper, "good," and then it's all gone. 

*

when you wake up the next morning, gojo is already laughing at you. 

your headache is a curse. your mind is in shambles. and your body aches with the manipulation of only one person. 

you hate your roommate and his terrible taste in drinks and that he doesn't even say anything when you slump against the counter, not even bothering to make fun of you or complain about how terrible you are when you're drunk. 

he just smiles easily, ruffling your hair.  

and when he starts to cook some bacon in the pan, you don't say anything, but you go and stand next to him, letting him hold you up. 

there are no words. only the popping of oil in a pan. 

and that feeling, of course. because it wasn't the alcohol. 

*

so maybe satoru gojo is your friend. you will not admit this to anyone aloud, but you concede a little bit in your head, because it's a fragile place there, and you're a terrible liar. 

and so maybe you hang out with him sometimes. 

it's not just the game nights or study sessions anymore. you sit on the couch and play with your phone and he sits down next to you. he'll rub your feet, or massage your legs and you let him. 

only because he's kinda good at it, of course. 

and sometimes you'll turn on a movie and he'll appear out of nowhere, complaining about whatever you picked, but laying down nonetheless. and after several minutes he'll move closer to you, resting his head on your thigh. and you might play with his hair, but only because it's unreasonably soft. 

and some mornings when you wake up and make yourself breakfast, not even trying to be quiet, you'll make a little extra. but it's not for him, it's just a coincidence. 

and he stops by the library on his way home from suguru's, or some girl's house, and the two of you will walk home together, talking about class, or the weather, or whatever gojo wants. you let him do this, because it's usually dark outside, and you don't like walking home alone. 

and if he barges into your room sometimes--obviously not knocking--you only complain a little bit. and then you let him lay in your bed and mess with your things. 

but only because it's the easier option, of course. 

and you've missed the feeling of having someone near. and satoru gojo is easy to be around. 

*

"gojo," you gasp, as soon as the door opens in your face. and then you scowl. "don't you knock?" 

he pushes you so he can move past, raising a brow at you. "i live here." his hands are empty, and he's not wearing a coat again. just a weird button-up probably more expensive than your share of the rent. how he's survived over two decades, you're not sure. 

your brows furrow at him. "well, you could give some warning if you're going to kick open the door. what if you broke my nose?" 

"well, why were you standing right in front of the door when i kicked it?" gojo mimics, flicking you away, then looking down to your hands where your wallet and keys are piled up. "you going somewhere?" 

"to the store." 

"it's eleven." 

"why thank you for that update, gojo. i really appreciate it," and then you move beside him to open the door. 

but gojo grabs your hand, making sure to roll his eyes at you where you can see it, and pulls you away so he can step in front of the door. "what could you need from the store right now?" 

"i need stuff." 

he crosses his arms, uncharacteristically stern. "like what?" 

"stuff. girl stuff. you wouldn't get it." 

he gasps, mouth dropping. "oh no, did i steal too many of your tampons again?" 

"first of all, that's against the apartment rules, so you better hope not. second of all, please move," you glare at him. "i need to hurry." 

"you can't leave right now." 

"i believe there's such a thing as free will..." you try and push him away, but he doesn't budge. "and you're not the boss of me." 

"it's too late for you to walk to the store. go tomorrow." 

you cross your arms. "when have i ever listened to you?" you ask him, feeling that familiar irritation crawl up your skin. 

but then gojo is pulling your arms apart and resting them at your sides and saying "stop that," as a gentle chide. and that irritation molds. you push his hands away. 

you want to push his hands off of the edge of the earth just so that he'll never touch you again.

"seriously, gojo, i need to go. they close at midnight." 

"you can't walk to the store by yourself in the dark." 

"i can do whatever i want." 

"then i'm locking you in your room until tomorrow. you're grounded." 

you poke his shoulder. you can't decide if he's serious or not. his voice is always teasing, and you can't see enough of his eyes. and you can't trust a single thing he says. "when did you become so overbearing?" you ask him, trying not to grind your teeth. 

"when i realized how weak you are." 

"weak?" you balk at him. "i'm not weak. please retract that sentence before i accidentally punch you." 

"you can't even push me away from the door. i'll take my chances with your fists." 

"that's because you're irritating me," you tell him, as you try to do it again. "anger distracts me." 

he laughs at you, leaning even further against the door. 

"gojo," you whine, trying to pinch him away instead. "stop being an ass. just get out of the way." 

he holds a hand to his chest, offended. "i am showing concern about your safety," he claims, shaking his head at you. 

"you are ruining my mood." 

"oh, good." 

you scowl. "move. right now." 

"that was very intimidating," he grins at you, "but maybe try again." 

you groan and try to stab him with your key, which he pushes away, still smiling, still completely the worst. 

"i--" you sigh, "i don't like you very much." 

he snorts. 

then you pout at him, fluttering your eyelashes. "please, gojo. i'll be back in fifteen minutes." 

"what is that?" 

you frown. "what?" 

"what's wrong with your face?" 

you throw your arms up, shaking your head. then you mutter another thing about hating him under your breath and finally turn away. you set your keys and your wallet on the counter, pouting as you sit down on the couch. 

gojo is there a moment later, laughing at you. "was that supposed to be convincing?" 

"don't talk to me. ever again." 

you shake your head, fed up with him and everything about this living situation. how are you locked in your apartment right now?

gojo tilts his head back, and then pauses for a moment.  

"then how am i supposed to ask if you want to come with me to the store?" he asks, nonchalantly. "i need some stuff." 

and you should be angry at him--you should probably break one of his fingers or cut his hair off in his sleep. you should tell him that you hate his company and that if he ever tells you what to do again-- 

but instead, you jump up from the couch, smiling at him. "let's go," you say, quickly, before you change your mind. 

and you don't get to see it when gojo smiles back at you, softly. 

*

"hey," he whispers, "you shouldn't sleep here." 

gojo is shaking your shoulder gently, his breath on your face, his voice soft--even in the haze of disrupted sleep. there's a warm feeling in your belly as he speaks to you, an unknowing smile on your face.

"hmm?" you answer, trying to remember who you are and why you're here. who he is.

"it's almost midnight. what are you doing on the couch?" gojo is helping you sit up. his hands are ridiculously warm, and you don't think about how nice they feel on the bare skin of your back. 

"gojo?" 

he laughs. "the one and only. c'mon, i'll tuck you in." 

"did you just get home?" you must still be sleeping, because his hands are so soft right now. and his voice is so quiet--like the creaking of an old house. 

"yeah. are you going to get up?" he's kneeling in front of you, and his face is bare. you almost want to laugh at how bright his hair is even in the dark. 

"where were you?" 

he shakes his head, smiling up at you, and moves from the floor. "c'mon, sit up," he beckons, trying to get you to move your head from its place. you wince. eventually, he gives up and your heart almost disappears when he picks you up, tapping your legs so that you'll wrap them around his waist. 

you do it, but only because you don't want to fall. 

"why are you so tall?" you complain as he carries you to your room, feeling much more awake when you're this high in the air. 

gojo snorts. "i'll take that as a thank you," he whispers in your ear and sets you on your bed. then he sits on the edge and takes your socks off, pulling the covers out from under you. his movements are slow as he covers every inch of skin he can see, his breath the only sound between the two of you. 

it's colder when his hands move, and he looks at you for a moment as if trying to make sure he's satisfied with his job. 

"are you going to make fun of me for this in the morning?" 

gojo grins, squeezing your leg as he stands up. "probably. but only a little." 

"okay," you yawn, blinking as he backs up towards the door. 

"night, sweetheart," he whispers to you, and then a flash of hair is all you see before your door is closed and you drift back to sleep. 

and in the morning you wake up and can't remember how you got in bed. gojo doesn't say a thing. 

*

satoru gojo can say so much without saying a single thing. 

when he burst into your room--surprising you because you hadn't realized he was home--throwing himself on your bed and mumbling something about hating his life, you didn't say a word. 

and he'd sat there for ten minutes while you typed out a paper on your laptop, glancing over to him every couple of minutes, slightly worried because he hadn't moved an inch. 

you've seen a lot of his moods recently. you've seen him excited about some movie you didn't understand, exhausted after a long day of classes, angry when suguru and you leave him out of a joke. but most of that, you assume, is just him being himself. every feeling he has is probably seven times larger than the average person's.

but now that he's groaning into your bed, you can tell, just from the way his body deflates, that there's something wrong. you could see it when he walked in the room, and felt it because he'd told you he was getting dinner with his parents tonight. 

but if you know one thing about him, it's that he won't talk about it if you ask. 

because after a couple of weeks of spending more and more time with him, you'd quickly realized that you didn't actually know much about his life. he doesn't tell any stories about his childhood, or high school years--minus the ones that he tried to suffocate suguru for letting slip. he doesn't mention his parents much, and when he does, it's nothing but the bare minimum. he mentions classes so offhandedly that you hadn't even known how extensive his studies were until suguru was teasing him about an award he'd gotten a couple of years ago. 

he could talk to you for hours on end, but he wouldn't say anything. 

so after realizing this, you'd resorted to asking suguru about it.

that night, gojo was asleep on the floor between your feet. his hand was under his head, and he was snoring loud enough for you to notice. you'd sat down to watch a movie with him after he'd claimed that you and suguru were losers for being tired at this hour and that he was the youngest of you all. 

suguru only smiled a little bit at your question.

"satoru keeps an infinite amount of space between him and everyone else," he'd said softly, into the warm air of your apartment. "even with me, and i've known him since we were kids. his family..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

you'd frowned. "what?" 

"he's always been too much for them, in a way. i mean, you know, he is too much most of the time. but he does all of it purposefully; the arrogance, the bravado. i don't know... i think he just wants to control whatever image everyone has of him. to the extent that his personality is based on pushing people away, just so he can figure out who's actually going to stick around." 

you'd watched him then, with his fluttering eyelashes--his sunglasses lying on the ground next to him--and his bright hair. the gentle movement of his lips as he dreamt. he was softer like this, less forceful, less of a burden, and more of a boy.

and beautiful, of course, but that's an offhanded thought you wouldn't acknowledge.

"so, he doesn't talk to you about--" the words felt wrong, and you almost felt guilty for talking about him like this, with his best friend. but still. "--important stuff?" 

"he talks to me about a lot of things. but, no, not really. i get a long-winded rant sometimes, but not often." 

"then how are you supposed to know anything about him?"

suguru smiled at you, looking between you and gojo like there was a secret he didn't want to tell. he sighed. "satoru doesn't really tell me any of the important stuff because we've known each other for so long. i understand how his family is because i've watched him deal with them. i can guess how he's feeling based on his expression. but for people he hasn't known as long, like you, getting to know him is like i-spy." 

suguru didn’t need to elaborate. you got it.

like trying to find little hints of him hidden between all of the mess. you'd snorted and agreed. 

and it feels even more true now, with him cowering in your blankets. but still, you say nothing. 

you get it, to a certain degree. vulnerability was one of the feelings you liked to push away; secrets were only supposed to be coveted by you. getting close to people was a dangerous thing, risky in its own way. 

but, thinking that gojo doesn't trust you--couldn't trust you... it's more irritating than it should be. and maybe that's just because you're arrogant, and think yourself to be trustworthy. or maybe it's because you trust him, in your own unique way, even with all of his too much and extremeness. 

you don't say that to him though, just like he doesn't say anything to you. 

"hey," you push him with a foot. "are you drooling on my comforter?" 

there's a moment of silence, then gojo rolls over. "not a lot." 

you roll your eyes at him and type another sentence--a collection of words that have nothing to do with the actual essay you're writing, naturally--waiting for him to say something else. 

and, predictably, he does. "why aren't you paying attention to me?" 

"i'm busy, gojo." 

"no, you're not." 

"i am doing homework." 

he looks up at you. his sunglasses are somewhere on your floor. "well, then you're definitely not busy," he grins. 

you swat away a hand that tries to steal your computer. 

"aren't you supposed to be at dinner?" you ask him, trying to seem like you don't care about the answer. 

he sighs again. "canceled." 

"why?" 

"my dad had a meeting or something." 

"oh." 

you let the silence wade for a minute or two, trying to be discreet when you watch his face for any signs of discontent. but gojo just has his eyes closed. his hands above his head. 

eventually, you nudge him again. "did you eat anything?" 

he shakes his head. 

"do you want me to make you something?" 

an eye opens. he turns over and rests his head on his hands, squinting at you. "are you being nice to me?" 

"not intentionally." 

he snorts, poking you, almost in awe. "you are." 

"i'm just trying to make sure you don't die, okay? who knows what you've eaten today." 

he crawls up your bed, sitting right next to you so he can rest his head on your shoulder. and you should push him off, but you don't. "it's okay. i'm not very hungry." 

"that's not what i asked." 

gojo laughs against you, his hair brushing against your neck. 

you shouldn't say anything more. you shouldn't even entertain him and his antics, and you shouldn't even care (but you do. for some, stupid, infuriating reason). 

so you look at him, and your voice is soft when you ask, "you okay?" to him, hoping that it doesn't seem too intrusive. wishing that you didn't actually care if he was or not.

gojo's eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, you get that feeling again. 

that feeling in your stomach that makes you want to jump away from him. that makes your hands want to shake, and your voice fade. that feeling that you know--too well, too much--but can't get rid of. 

like an itch you're not really supposed to scratch. 

gojo swallows. "yeah," he answers, with no grin, no conceit. "i'm okay." 

and it shouldn't feel like a relief to hear, but it does. you nod, look away, and go back to your computer. back to your actual life, which shouldn't have any satoru gojo in it. 

but a minute later he adds: "i'd be better if you made me dinner, though." 

and you pull on his hair a little. you try to pretend like his smile doesn't fill you with butterflies. 

*

this shouldn't be happening. 

it's the only reasonable thought running through your brain at the moment. the only echo you can discern, the only words you can make out in the jumble of anxiety and horror running through your mind. 

he should not be this close. 

gojo had only picked you up from work once again, his easy smile meeting yours as soon as he walked through the door--you'd been waiting, wondering when he was going to show up. 

at seven-thirty he was there, letting in the cold air and sitting in the seat next to yours, complaining about the fact that you had a job that diverted your attention away from him while you rolled your eyes. 

he sat there for the half an hour remaining in your shift, distracting you. 

two months ago you would've kicked him out. would've called some make-believe security. 

but you just listened while he talked to you about space theories that didn't make any sense. 

and then he'd grabbed your bag for you, turning off the lights before you could, pushing in chairs while you organized the reception desk. 

and his hand grabbed yours before you thought to notice--swinging along while the two of you began the walk home. 

and halfway there, gojo stopped, looking up at something. "hey," he'd poked you. "look at the stars." 

you'd done it, begrudgingly, squinting. "i can count, like, three." 

"there's at least five." 

"why did you stop me to do this? it's cold." 

"because they look nice," he argues, looking down at you. "you have no eye for beauty." 

and, really, you might've agreed with him. you might've pushed him away from you and told him to hurry up and you might've not cared at all. 

but you could see his eyes, just a little bit, behind his sunglasses. and his smile was alabaster, and that feeling--that gasping for breath, trying to hold on to anything feeling--was there again. 

and it was poking you. like a push in some direction. like a laugh telling you that you were too afraid to do anything. 

you were looking at him. right at his face and the only thing you wanted to say was that he was wrong. 

he was wrong because at least you knew that he looked beautiful. 

but those words wouldn't leave your lips--that thought couldn't leave your head--so you were only staring at him. wishing that you'd never let him into your apartment and that he hadn't started becoming a person to you. 

it wasn't fair like this. 

"what?" he whispered, his smile dropping, like he could tell there was something wrong with you. like he knew you that well. 

if he'd kept on smiling, you wouldn't have done it. you wouldn't have pushed up on your toes and leaned into him, and you wouldn't have kissed him like you did. 

like you're doing. 

and it would've been fine because you never would've started this knowing that it would eventually have to stop. 

and even though it takes him less than a second to kiss you back--his lips molding to yours like an automatic reaction--you know that you shouldn't be doing this. 

that you can't be doing this. not with him. not like this. 

so when gojo's hands move to your waist, his breath even in your mouth, you push at his chest. and you want to run away. 

"i'm--" you swallow, trying not to taste him, the bubblegum flavor of him, and almost flinch away. "i'm sorry." 

gojo's mouth is frozen from where he stands two feet away. his hands are in the air like he doesn't know what to do with them. "you..." 

and you've never heard him speechless before. just the idea of it makes you blurt out whatever comes to mind. "i shouldn't have done that," you tell him, and, "i didn't mean to--i don't--" you shake your head. "sorry. i'm sorry. can we forget about this? can we get home because i'm really cold?" 

"you kissed me," gojo says, so simply. 

the words are another blow to your heart. you were hoping that he wouldn't have noticed. 

and wince and watch him, his face as it shifts, moving with each thought in his head. 

"gojo, i'm really--" 

"no," he interrupts, taking a step towards you. 

"what?" 

"that's not my name." 

you frown. "yes it is?" 

he shakes his head. "no, it's satoru. you've said it before, you know. you should keep saying it." 

"when have i said it?" you ask, momentarily blinded by how he demands this. who is he to demand anything? 

"when you were drunk." 

you scoff. "i'm not just going to call you by your first name cause you want me to," you tell him, "who do you think i am?" 

and then satoru laughs, shaking his head at you, his grin full-force on his face. "are you serious? you kissed me and now you don't want to call me by my first name?" 

you freeze. "i said i was sorry about that," you say, weakly. 

you feel like who you've always felt around him. not as easy, not as cool, never as smooth. you feel like a child caught doing something they're not supposed to. you want to run away from him, but he knows where you live. 

"you're sorry?" 

"i didn't mean to." 

he quirks a brow. "you didn't mean to?" 

"it was an accident?" 

he takes another step closer. "it was an accident?" 

"are you just going to keep repeating everything i say?" you ask, voice hard. this must be a dream. 

satoru shakes his head at you. "no, but i have a question." 

"...okay." 

"if i try to kiss you right now, are you going to try and murder me? i know that we're away from the apartment right now, but it would really ruin the mood." 

you stare at him. 

it must be answer enough because he steps forward and he kisses you again. but this time, it feels less mechanical. his lips are soft and smooth as they push against yours--and he pushes like he's demanding something from you. like he knows more about what you can give than you do. 

and he grins against you like he's doing everything exactly right. 

but when satoru pulls back, your eyes stay shut. you try and banish the feeling in your stomach from your body, but it doesn't respond to idle threats. 

"we shouldn't do this," you whisper to him. you don't open your eyes. you don't want to see his face and fall victim to another one of his schemes. 

"why not?" 

"the last time i kissed one of my roommates..." you imply, hoping that you don't have to tell him that you're scared. 

"oh, right," he brushes some hair from your face. he has not moved an inch away from you. "i forgot that you're experienced." 

"wasn't it obvious?" 

he laughs, and then nudges your cheek with a finger. "look at me." 

you shake your head. 

"c'mon, just a little." 

his voice is so soft. satoru is whispering like it's just for you. and you've never heard him like this and you don't think you want to see him. 

"please, sweetheart?" he asks, one last time, and you have to. if only to put yourself out of your own misery. "good. now listen--" 

"don't tell me what to do." 

he rolls his eyes. "listen," he repeats. "i know you don't like me very much. and i know that you only keep me around for my rent money and my pretty face--" 

you kinda want to hit him. 

"--but i've wanted to kiss you for weeks. and i'm not good at the..." he swallows, blinking just briefly. "all of the telling stuff, but i want to be. with you. for you." 

you're not sure if that's the end, or if it's the beginning. your eyes are stuck on his smile, and you're not listening to anything he said. 

he's very close right now. so accessible. and it's just another reason to want to push him away. 

satoru clears his throat, nudging your head with his nose. "and i'm tired of shoko and suguru calling me a coward, so it'd be great if you'd mention that you kissed me first." 

your brows furrow. "you told shoko and suguru?" 

"i didn't say anything," he almost swears. "they tricked me into admitting it." 

"when?" 

"...the day after i introduced you to them." 

you pull away to observe his face. "really?" 

he groans. "stop looking at me like that," he says, "it's mean." 

you almost smile at him again. then close your eyes. "okay."

"havent you listened to anything i've said to you?" he asks, rhetorically. "i flirt with you every day." 

"you flirt with everything." 

"mmm, true," he leans his chin against your head, breathing you in. "now that i've poured my heart out for you, can we go home? it's cold out here, and i'd rather make out on our couch than that bench over there." 

"who said anything about making out?" 

"please," he wraps an arm around your shoulder, and smiles down at you--with all of the typical swagger--and maybe this time you let him. 

*

jealousy, jealousy || b. katsuki

bakugo katsuki has a girlfriend, one that he didn’t tell you about. you’re resigned to giving him up, to live with your feelings alone. insert an enthusiastic senior who’s willing to help you find out if katsuki truly likes his girlfriend, or if he harbors any hidden feelings for you.

(aka, you’re an idiot for pining after another idiot, causing misunderstandings after misunderstandings, all because you decided to bring a fake-dating trope to life.)

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

completed by lytters / calyxso © do not plagiarise my works, repost them or use them in anyway without my permission

Hi, I hope you're doing well. I'm writing to you with a heavy heart and an urgent request for help. My family is in a very danger situation due to the ongoing war, and I've launched a GoFundMe campaign to save them. Could you please reblog my campaign post from my profile? Each share could be a lifeline for my family. 🙏 Feel free to share it in any other social media platform if you would like. Our campaign has been verified ⭐️ by operation olive branch, and is entry number 26 on their spreadsheet. Also with ⭐️ Project watermelon,line 249/(212) on their spreadsheet. From the bottom of my heart I want to thank you in advance for all of your support and kindness.

Hello

Link can be found here https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/16XhzsCbsRV-cMAzRA8gTNxaYt_FAbf6nq3ZNGP4Q9U8/htmlview#gid=1452518893

Y.D.L.R | MILES MORALES

♡ pairings & aus: earth 42!miles morales x barista!black!fem!reader (they are 19 in this for the plot's sake), exes 2 lovers au. ♡ summary: it's been three months since you broke up with miles. it took you those three months to get over him-- and now you finally have, until he unexpectedly ‘bumps’ into you as you wait for your new man at a restaurant. and boy, does he have so much to tell you. ♡ warnings: cursing, arguing, mentions of sex i think? ♡ a/n: whew chile...my first e42 actual FIC FIC im screaming!! this lovely fic was inspired by my bae bae @luvjunie and her WONDERFUL PLAYLIST XOXO!! i love u endlessly <3 ♡ got a request? | masterlist ♡ ♪ - Y.D.L.R by Tory Lanez

There's something enigmatic about going on a date after a break-up.

Maybe it's the way your stomach flutters when plans are set in stone, or the way your lips inevitably curl upwards when you swipe your makeup onto your face to the beat of your getting-ready tunes.

Or maybe, it's just because it's not with Miles.

Your heart twists within itself at the very mention of his name, or at the mere thought of it— that's for sure. Anything that had to do with him in the slightest had your stomachs in knots, the bitter taste of acid playing on your tongue when you dwelled on the past of your former relationship.

It was his fault, that’s what you had settled on. Mostly to deny the fact that your chest locked whenever you saw him in public, or whenever he would come into your job during the morning time, ordering the same chocolate muffin and coffee that he always bought.

And you had to act like it didn’t bother you, although it did, for a while. You always called him “Mr.” when you saw him in person because the hurt restricted your mouth to even fix itself to say his name.

But months passed, and you were sick of coming home from work and falling asleep to the sound of your own tears hitting the pillow, accompanied by constant rewatching of old videos and pictures that you and Miles had accumulated over the past two years.

As long as your relationship was, you knew that it would be hard to get over him if you just sat around and sulked all day for the rest of your life. You caught yourself opening up the App Store and downloading multitudes of dating apps, at first— just for fun and games, until one guy that you matched with came into your work.

Sebastian was extremely different in relation to Miles. He was taller, buffer, and owned the deepest of emerald eyes, which seemed to always sparkle when he was under the opiate of light. He was kind-hearted and tender and often told you how beautiful you were when he had the chance.

He had the thickest of caramel curls and was two years older, as well, which definitely appealed to you because you assumed he would be more mature then your former lover. He introduced himself one day when you were working, sliding a twenty across the old oak counters as a “tip for your excellent service.”

Ever since he had became a regular at the shop, you would often go out with him after your shifts would end, which halted the amount of times you would see Miles at work, which you used to your advantage.

As completely horrible as it sounds, you didn’t really have a strong intention to fall for Sebastian. He was cute and you were pretty and he liked taking you out, especially to lunch, which you viewed as free meals with a close friend. Until he started to hug you and place his hands on the curve of your waist when you walked down the street, thick and veiny hands kneading at the doughy flesh of your sides from time to time.

You didn’t intend to fall for him until he kissed you on the cheek that night that he took you on a picnic and asked you to be his girlfriend. And when he looked at you with his deep, viridescent eyes, you couldn’t say no. You had fell for him, so you nodded your head and whispered a ‘Yes’ as he pressed his lips onto yours softly, so gentle and tender, like he was afraid to hurt you.

Eventually, time stretched to today, where you were celebrating your one-month with Sebastian. You were surprised you held out this long, but day by day, the mere memories of Miles had faded from your knowledge and you liked to keep it that way.

In current time, you tapped your phone with a freshly manicured acrylic, your other hand occupied with brushing away your setting powder that brightened up your under eyes. It was nearly six-thirty, and your date was at seven ‘o clock.

Sebastian claimed that he couldn’t pick you up because it would ruin an alleged surprise, but you just shrugged it off as you finished off your look with a pair of lashes and red lipstick.

You carefully smacked your lips and smiled in the mirror as you grabbed your purse and phone, swiping it open and texting Sebastian that you were on your way.

As you walked out of your house and got into your car, some unknown emotion was crawling through your veins that made you anxious. Something was going to happen— you were sure of it, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it. So you just set the feeling aside and sped over to the steakhouse that your date was being held at, paying for a valet parking spot and taking a seat at your table.

And that’s when you got the text.

[from] seb <3: Hey sweetheart. I’m running a little late, is that okay with you?

You felt a sigh tumble past your lips. There wasn’t really much you could do other than just deal with it, so you informed him that it was all alright and that you would just order an appetizer to hold you over.

You were doing fine until you saw a figure outside the large glass windows that faced the front of the restaurant. It was someone in an all black suit, with two braids running down their back. And you would’ve suspected it was someone else until you look at the shoes that they were wearing— that being a pair of limited edition Jordan’s.

It was Miles.

Chambering up from your slumped position in your chair, y you watched as he spoke to some waitress about something, expressing his feelings through his hands. You felt a scoff hitch in your throat— he’s never that expressive, so clearly something was up.

Wait.

Why should you care?

You have a boyfriend.

But something was still wrong, you could feel it.

Your eyes fixated on him as he walked towards your table, and your blood immediately ran cold when you saw him smirk at you, pulling out the reserved chair in front of yours, taking a seat on it. He folded his hands on top of the table, cocking his head to the side, “Nice to see you again, mi vida.”

“Don’t.” You warned shakily, shifting in your seat in full discomfort, “Leave. I won’t ask you again.”

“This chair was a lil’ empty before I got here, don’t you think, ma?” He questioned you, picking up a menu as his eye scanned the contents of it. “What you gon’ order? I’ll have whatever you have.”

“Morales.” You spat, venom laced within the mention of his name as your bracelet-clad wrist slammed against the table. It doesn’t phase Miles, though— his stoic expression still remaining, playing on his strong facial features.

Miles scoffs, a sarcastic and playful grin residing on his lips, “¿Que pasa, mami? You ain’ miss me?”

“Why are you doing this?” You questioned, but your inquiry is provided with no answer. Instead, Miles sets the menu down and looks at you with intense eyes, fire reigning in their irises as he speaks.

“I’m not gon’ sit here and front, Y/N, but that new, shitty excuse for a man you call yo’ boyfriend?” He tuts, “He not the one for you.”

You give him a disgusted look, “I can’t believe you would say that.”

“It’s just the truth. I’ve seen all the pictures on Instagram and whatnot, and sure, y’all cute. I’m not even tight about it- but y’all just don’t look right together. And he prolly not who you think he is-“

You immediately stand to your feet, hands grasping either sides of the table as you lean in close to the man in front of you— so close that your noses are practically touching. “You shut the hell up.” You hiss, “You have no right to come here and give me a piece of your mind on somethin’ that don’t even effect you. So you get up, and go home, or I’ll make it happen my own damn self.”

There’s a pause of silence for a moment before Miles chuckles at you, leaning back in your seat. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip so hard that it ought to draw blood, but you’re doing it to prevent the provoking of you screaming across the restaurant at him. He looks up at you with hard eyes, licking his lips, “Aight. I’mma let that slide, because you prolly hurt, and I understand. But I’m tellin’ you that he ain’t no good. I’ve seen it. I know. I ain’t come here to win you back or nun- I came here because I actually care, but you can’t seem to get that through your thick skull.”

Something about the way that his sentences roll of his tongue push you to believe that he isn’t lying. You back off, crossing your arms, “If you claim to know all this, then what is he hiding?”

“Come outside with me.” He says, standing up and heading for the door, just like that. And you follow him, because you know that his statement was much more of an order then a question.

It’s late now, the moon shining over the sidewalk that you and Miles both walk on. He grabs your shoulders and moves you to the inside, switching so that he’s now walking closest to the cars. Your heart pumps with anxiety and your mind is swirling with questions that your mouth can’t seem to form. All you can muster up is, “Why are you here?”

“I’m not tryna hurt you, hermosa,” he starts, exhaling before he continues on, “But I just can’t see you with him. I knew I made you upset and shit and that’s on me, I know, but after you left, everything you do seems to make me so sad. And I can promise you that that lil’ Sebastian dude is not gon’ treat you right.”

“You don’t know that.” You speak, continuing to walk until you realize that Miles has stopped. He’s standing in front of a window to another restaurant, and when you peek inside, your heart shatters at the view that awaits you.

It’s Sebastian, sitting with another woman who looks quite older than you are. There’s some sort of ring on the table and you assume it’s a promise ring, because it’s just in a simple box that’s from Pandora. You immediately tear up, and Miles opens his arms and engulfs you in his embrace, although it’s unwanted from you at first, he still does it anyway. You’re crying in his coat as he soothingly rubs circles on your exposed back, “I told you. I wanted to beat his ass but I knew if I did it without seeing you, you would be pissed off.” He then tucks his index finger underneath your chin, “I’m sorry, mami.”

You know he means it because it’s something that he rarely says. It’s always ‘his bad’ and ‘his fault’, but when he tells you that he’s sorry, there’s not a hint of untruthfulness in his statement.

“Why do you do this to me?” You sniffled, looking up at Miles with soft, reddened eyes, “Why are you the only one that seems to treat me right? I can’t get away from you no matter how hard I try.”

Miles’ hand trails up from your waist to your cheek, where he leans in closer to you, “Because you’re mine forever. Do you not realize that? Do you not realize that I would kill for you? I would burn down this entire planet if it meant that no one else could touch you. But you’re so hellbent on thinking that your somebody is some random on the Internet. And it’s not. It’s me, Y/N. I’m here.” His voice gets quieter as his eyes soften, “Don’t go. Please.”

“Fuck,” you cursed, sniffling with a small chuckle as you looked at him, “I left because you never told me the truth. You were always sneaking around and I thought you were with some other girl.”

“I wasn’t, mi princesa, I promise that to you.” He starts, “We’ll talk about it later, but I was only looking out for you. Drop this piece of shit and come back to me, mama? Please?”

You’re shocked at Miles’ demeanor. Usually he’s so nonchalant and laidback, but now here he is, begging for you to take him back in the middle of the moonlight. There’s not a bone in your body that even pondered about saying no, though, and the smooth kiss that follows his statement is more than enough confirmation that you belong to him, that you were his.

And if you were speaking truthfully, you always were.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 ☻ thank you for reading!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @enj4i // @chrissytalia // @chaoticevilbakugo // @motheroffae

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𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✎: @Dee-m-cee // @euphorichappiness10 // @adoree-kaelynn // @mhadnirb // @mmst4rz // @iris-theflower // @fleurrieerecs // @kenlani // @kala2022 // @ilyless // @milesmolasses // @laylasbunbunny // @all444miles // @thecoloredpages // @bl00dsuccker

Husband for Hire (Complete)

🌸 You need to be married by the end of the year to inherit your grandfather’s land, and Bakugou needs a roof over his head. The two of you can make a fake marriage work, right?

Bakugou x Fem!Reader 🌸 Stardew Valley Crossover

Updated Tuesdays and Fridays, any times indicated are in PST

Warnings: As usual, my multi-chapter pieces usually contain angst with a happy ending. Warnings at the start of applicable chapters include but are not limited to: Angst, blood

Stardew background: In game, each season is 28 days and I modeled the passage of time off of that rather than typical months. Characters and lore from the game are included, but it should be somewhat easy to pick up on relationships/connections and whatnot.

🚜 Chapter 1 – Spring 14

🚜 Chapter 2 – Spring 15

🚜 Chapter 3 – Spring 24

🚜 Chapter 4 – Spring 28

🚜 Chapter 5 – Summer 5

🚜 Chapter 6 – Summer 11

🚜 Chapter 7 – Summer 22

🚜 Chapter 8 – Summer 28

🚜 Chapter 9 – Fall 4

🚜 Chapter 10 – Fall 6

🚜 Chapter 11 – Fall 15

🚜 Chapter 12 – Fall 23

🚜 Chapter 13 – Winter 5

🚜 Chapter 14 – Epilogue

Tag list: @boosyboo9206, @parker-natasha, @niicevibe, @bakugous-trauma, @pattys-got-cakes, @b-u-m-b-l-e , @sluttybunny-lounge, @cinnamon-n-roses, @cefni, @thewintersoldiersmetaldick, @bunseren-burner, @cloudsgathering, @kryptidkid, @l-ovey, @cherryriotcrash, @peachoasis, @beaniebanby , @fanlovedlt , @quilliamfears , @askerror87, @emerald-souldesert, @denkisclown, @chims-kookies, @hjonky, @senaraphoenix, @animeobsessed03, @theartofhotchinthesnow, @juviathewaterwomen, @lanaxians-2, @nappingwithyuuji ,

swore i could feel you through the walls | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

Dabi knows that he can’t leave you now. You belong to him, and he belongs to you, and the stars knew before either of you did. And Dabi can’t argue with fate, or destiny, or pure dumb luck, not that he wants to. He pulls your comforter up over his body. He’ll be here when you come home to him. In a place made for staying, Dabi thinks he will.

Notes: hiiiiii so this is an idea that has been bouncing around my head for like. Literal years ajsjsjsjs It’s always kind of been more of a horror idea and then I fanficified it and now it’s this! This was kind of a process and I rewrote and replanned and went over this over and over again but I think it is at a place that I am mildly happy with. It’s a completely ridiculous idea and I’m honestly a little insecure about it but fuck it!! Thanks for reading hope u enjoy<3 (title from Chinese satellite by Phoebe bridgers) listen to the playlist here!

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, f!reader, explicit content, yandere!dabi, stalking, Dabi hides in readers house without her knowledge, some paranoia, psychological abuse, slight yandere!reader, mentions of somnophillia but no actual instances of it, violence, non-consensual voyeurism (Dabi watches reader masturbate), unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, marking, biting (shoulder, neck), painplay, one mention of carving names into skin with no instance of it, mentions of blood (reader bites dabi’s neck and draws blood), use of good girl, mutual obsession

Words: 9.3k

He can’t breathe. 

Dabi runs from the low-ranked hero, surprisingly fast on his tail as the distance between the two becomes smaller and smaller. With his lungs burning, his skin irritated from quirk use, and the lack of help from his peers, Dabi realizes that he needs to find a way to lose the ice quirk user that is quickly gaining on him. 

Turning down a narrow alleyway, he’s disappointed to find that it’s a dead end. He pauses to catch his breath, keeping himself tucked tightly against the shadowy wall. Dabi surveys his surroundings, finding nothing but garbage before he looks up. He’s against an apartment building, he realizes, looking at the lights in the windows above him. 

All windows are lit except one.

Dabi doesn’t have the time to wonder about the owner, shaking his head and forcing himself up the fire escape, preparing himself to use his quirk if it comes down to it. He breaks the lock on the darkened window and shuffles inside. He falls over a stack of books that sits underneath the window, freezing on the floor as he listens for any movement throughout the walls. When he hears nothing, he stands from the floor and closes the window, creeping down the hall in search of the other rooms. There’s one bathroom and a bedroom with no one inside, and relief rushes over Dabi as he feels his shoulders relax.

Keep reading

Family Man

Yandere!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word Count: 7.7k

Synopsis: Gojo Satoru wakes up in the body of Sawai Satoshi, a 35-year-old man with a wife and a newborn

(Warnings: Yandere, dark, brief contemplation of torture, ooc gojo, he gets better tho, explicit smut, dubcon(?), piv sex, f!oral recieving, not many warnings in this one...)

One morning, Gojo Satoru wakes up in a bed that isn't his. 

His bedsheets are expensive, silk, nothing less. He feels cotton pillowcases, and the bed feels smaller. 

He must have gone home with someone last night. 

He can feel them cuddled up to his side. Usually, he's gone by the morning, but he must have fallen asleep. Makes sense: missions these days have been getting more and more exhausting. 

Within his thoughts, he can admit that it's a nice way to wake up, but he needs to go. The sun's already high in the sky, and Ijichi will turn into a nervous wreck if he's late, again. At this point, Gojo just pities the man for even trying. 

When he shifts, the figure next to him moves too. A voice, soft and raspy. 

"Satoshi. Stop moving." 

He must have given an alias. Or maybe you just didn't remember his name. 

You're still half-asleep. Your brow is pinched in annoyance, and he finds that a little funny. You're a foreigner. He can tell from your skin tone, your hair, your accent. Despite your face buried in the blankets, he finds you pretty, and it felt like a good night.

But you two did fuck, right? 

It doesn't feel like it. He doesn't feel like he just had sex. He can't even remember what he did with you. When he looks down, Gojo realizes that he's dressed in clothes he knows he doesn't own. 

Also, he isn't wearing a blindfold, but his eyes aren't hurting. 

Too many things are wrong. When Gojo calls for his technique, he feels nothing. Too many things are going wrong. Was it you? Were you some curse user that lured him into bed or something? Did you shut off his CT? He needs to figure it out. Is there rope nearby? A knife? He needs something sharp that will make you scream and cry but he can't take too much blood because if you pass out he won't get answers- 

And then, he does hear crying. Muffled. 

It's coming from a baby monitor. 

"Ugh, no." You groan. "I thought we'd have a few more minutes." 

You're shuffling off the bed, stretching before you shoot him a sleepy smile. 

"I'll get her. Breakfast will be ready in twenty." 

You blow him a kiss, and then you're gone. 

Gojo sits up, and he studies himself again. 

His hands are shorter, unkept. The thing that unnerves him the most are the scars. Papercuts, blemishes. He's never gotten a scar in his life. Infinity protected him from that. 

But he doesn't have infinity anymore. And he doesn't think he's Gojo anymore, either. 

When he stands, he feels shorter, too. The world is bigger when he creeps into the bathroom. He flicks the lights on and looks in the mirror. 

Satoshi stares right back at him. 

↻

Gojo doesn't like being surprised. 

He actually hates surprises, so this shit is starting to put a damper on his mood. 

He considered that it may be a dream, but everything is too realistic. It has to be someone's shitty cursed technique. All that he knows is that he's currently possessing Sawai Satoshi's body. 

Age 35, from his license. The picture of him depicts a man who's starting to bald, and timid eyes. Gojo's pretty sure he's an office worker. A family man. Judging from the pictures, he and his wife just had a baby girl a couple of months ago. 

Sawai's wife. You. 

First things first, he needs to find this Satoshi guy. There's a big chance that Sawai is out there in Japan with his body and cursed technique. That is not good. And if anyone else found out what happened...

Fuck, he needs to find this guy.

Being normal is strange. He doesn't get headaches from just seeing anymore, so that's nice. Without infinity, he feels the carpet, the walls, the wooden rails, the air. It's like an out of body experience.

Eh, at least he still has his humor. 

Something's talking in the kitchen, and there's babbling. He ignores it, in favor of the door. 

"Where are you off to?" 

You're right there, head tilted and an amused smile. Gojo hasn't been this stumped in a while. He blinks. 

"Work." He finally blurts out. Satoshi has an office job. He can use that excuse. 

You laugh, and it sounds like a wind chime. 

"It's the weekend." You tell him. "Did you forget?" 

Shit. You frown at your 'husband' in sympathy. 

"They're working you too hard; I keep telling you to talk to your boss." You hum. "Anyway, food's ready! Coming?" 

You don't give him a chance to respond, ushering him along until he's sitting on a stiff wooden chair. It looks like it's seen better days. The table has scuffed wood. 

Two plates are sitting on either side of the table. Still steaming. Gojo doesn't remember the last time he ate a meal that wasn't made by a microwave or apathetic servants. He's been so busy with the jujutsu world and his students and...just everything. 

Sawai's daughter is kicking her feet on the highchair next to him. She's an infant, under a year old. She babbles something in a high-pitched squeal, giggling at him. 

You coo something at her that isn't Japanese, feeding her something that resembles apple sauce. When you look over at him again, you frown. 

"You okay?" You ask. 

He stares. 

"You haven't touched your food yet?" You continue. "Don't like it?" 

"No." He says sharply. And then he takes a bite. "It's delicious." 

It's the truth. You grin, and you turn back to your daughter. 

Despite the baby's squeals, the buzzing of the fan, it's quiet. Gojo isn't used to that. Quiet, slow, peaceful. He's used to fast, blinding flashes, urgent messages from sorcerers calling him all across the globe. Roaring special grades with sharp teeth and human-like smiles. 

Is this what being human felt like? 

He takes another bite, and he thinks he forgot to do something. 

↻

It's easy to piece yours and Sawai's lives together. 

He worked overseas. That's where he met you. You were a traditional dancer in your country, and considering the various medals and pictures, you were good at it. Gojo wonders if that's how you and Sawai met. If he was just among the crowd and saw you on stage. Did he make the first move? Or did you see him fidget in the corner before you gathered enough sympathy to talk first? You and Sawai got married in your country before you moved to Japan. Reina is your first child. You're a homemaker. Sawai is a salaryman. You two would celebrate your fifth anniversary this year.

It's a simple, normal life. Gojo finds it a little boring. 

Breakfast was nice, but he needed to get out of there. Gojo couldn't afford normal. 

You caught him again in his second escape attempt. 

"Why are you so ansty today?" You ask, folding laundry. "You're usually ecstatic to sleep on the couch all weekend." 

Because he isn't Sawai, he doesn't lounge around all day on the couch. But he can't tell you that. From all accounts, you look like a non-sorcerer, so clearly, this body-switching fiasco isn't your fault. Though, the name Sawai sounds familiar, but Gojo can't place it. 

"You've even gotten Oka riled up, Toshi." You fold up one of Sawai's shirts. 

Right, the cat. Sawai's cat, before the marriage. Animals have always had a better sense of cursed energy. The thing has been hissing at him all morning. Gojo wants to tell him the feeling's mutual. 

"Maybe he's hungry." Gojo shrugs. "And I've been..." 

He doesn't know what to say, so he stops. 

You sigh, tucking away the last of the laundry. He's seated on a couch he didn't buy. You sit next to him, arm stretched out so you can fiddle with his sleeve. 

"Listen, I know what's going on." 

He stares. You give a trepid smile, pulling a loose thread off his sleeve. It's barely even a touch, yet it burns. 

"It's work. It's always work. God, this morning you were so out of it, you nearly hopped on the train if I hadn't stopped you." You start. "This isn't healthy. Have you talked to your boss about some time off?" 

He and Sawai have more in common than he thought. Gojo can see it in the mirror : the sleepless nights and the stress. Is this how he'll end up in seven years? How depressing. 

A vacation. Gojo had seen the emails on Sawai's computer. His team treated him like a rat, just dumping more and more work on him. Sawai so far hasn't even told them no. This guy needs a backbone, but Gojo doubts he'll get one soon. 

But why does he care? Who gives a single shit? He needs to get out of here; why is he sitting here listening to Sawai's wife?

"Hey?" You nudge him, and Gojo is again forced to stare into your beautiful eyes. 

“You okay?”

You needed to stop doing that. Looking at him in a way no one has looked at him before. Lovingly, adoringly, like he's more precious than gold. 

That look isn't for him—he knows that—it's for the man who married you. The man you had a child with. And he needs to go. His students are waiting for him. Yaga’s blood pressure must be raising a mile per minute.

But it's so quiet here. Peaceful. 

And he doesn't feel like Gojo anymore. 

"Toshi?" You ask. It's enough to break the glass. Shards jab themselves into his brain, painful enough that he snaps out of it. 

Gojo clumsily stumbles off the couch, frazzled, vulnerable. That's dangerous for the strongest. You pull back, concerned. 

"Where-" 

"Out." He spits like poison. "I'm going out." 

What was he doing, Gojo thinks when he finally stumbles out the door. Everything looks so much different without the six eyes. Less clearer, he can't see the make up of things, he's no longer looking through that biological microscope. 

Still, it's too much. He flinches against the blinding sun. Around him people don't give him a second glance. He's not used to that, not being the center of attention. Right, he isn't six feet and towering over everyone. Now, he's one in the crowd. One of a million. 

He doesn't know where he is. Gojo knew he should've grabbed Sawai's phone but you were right there and everything gets so distracting when you're right there. 

Even when he's away from you, the house, the quiet, he still can't stop thinking about it. It's irritating. He wants to claw out his brain, shred it to ribbon just so he can stop. He's Gojo. The strongest. He wasn't made to be this: pathetic, whimsical, human. 

Gojo stops right in the middle of the street. Someone sends him a glare, but people pass him by. Nothing's any different. Cars and buses go down the road. People chatter. Kids run to school. Even when the strongest disappeared, the world still turned. Life goes on. 

He keeps looking at his hands. Scarred. And yet you held them like they were gold itself. Precious beyond anything else. A touch that wasn't coated in deep lust and greed. He must be crazy. He must be touch-starved. Was he so pathetic that a warm breakfast and a touch of kindness from the wife of the body he had taken over enough for him?

Gojo thinks he starts walking again. He isn't too sure, but the next time he stops, he comes face to face with a train station. 

Chiba, the words taunt him. It would take him less than an hour to get to Tokyo. Sawai has a little cursed energy, he could find the school. He could get this all sorted out. 

And then, he could go back to his life. Killing curse after curse. One sleepless night after another. 

Gojo needs to enter the station. He doesn't. 

He thinks about his parents, of all things. Barely involved in his youth, far far away than he ever was. The bed was always cold. The night's were dark. And then, he thinks about little Reina, with chubby hands and fingers. When she cried, you came. This morning the bed was warm from you snuggled up next to him. He hadn't slept that well in years. 

It's funny what a couple hours of humanity could do. He thought it'd be easy to leave behind. He hasn't been treated like a human for a long while. He thought the habit would be easy to shake. 

There's a hand on his shoulder. He turns. You're there. Of course you are. With wide eyes, a concerned frown. You shake him a bit. He just stares. 

"Toshi?" You call, looking around and Gojo realizes you don't even have the right shoes to be walking around. 

"Where did you go? What are you doing?" You question, your tone sinking and spilling like caramel. 

He gives no answer. Your shoulders drop. 

"Come on." You murmur. "Let's go home." 

You tug on his hand. 

Satoru follows. 

↻

"I'm taking you to the hospital." You tell him.

Satoru comes out of his daze when you speak to him. So far, you'd been talking quietly to a woman in her late forties, thanking her profusely. He zoned out after that, sitting on the couch, where you had left him. 

"No." He instantly replies. "I'm fine." 

"Fine." You repeat, a bite in your voice that he hasn't heard before. "You ran out, barely dressed, didn't even take your phone. You were gone for an hour. I had to call Miss Matsuda to watch Reina while I scrambled all over the streets looking for you. And when I did find you, you were staring at a train station sign."  

You cross your arms over your chest. "And-and now, it's like you're not even concerned at what just happened! Do you know how worried I was? How scared I was?"

You're on him in an instant, barely an inch away. Satoru thinks he can stare into your eyes forever. 

"Please, just...talk to me." 

But he also knows he needs to fix this, because Sawai's heart is killing him. 

He does what he wished he could have done with Suguru, all those years ago. For the first time in a decade, he gives into his inhibitions. 

You're warm, and you sink into his hold, collapsing on top of him like it's all you've ever wanted. He tightens his grip on you, smelling your shampoo. 

"I'm sorry." His voice is muffled but he knows you can hear him. "I didn't mean to leave you alone. I didn't mean to scare you." 

"I was just being a jerk." 

You're silent for a while. Satoru feels something wet seep into his shirt. 

"Yeah." You say, quiet, damp. "You were a jerk. I wanna call you something else but Reina's right there." 

He laughs. You do too, and then you lean off of him, taking his face in your hands so he can look into your eyes all over again. He finds himself leaning into touch. Maybe it's instinct.

"I wasn't scared of you." You say honestly. "I was scared for you. You've been acting strange all morning." 

"I know." He answers. "But I'm fine now." You give him a look. "No really, I'm fine! I just...figured myself out. It took a while." 

He's being selfish, plain and simple. Satoru was tired, exhausted. He just wants a break. The house is quiet. And he doesn't feel like Gojo anymore. Satoru decided that he's taking a break from being the strongest. He wants to see what normal people live like. 

Maybe it's pettiness, but he's a little sick of constantly solving other people's problems. For once, he would let other people do the work. 

And you're warm underneath his fingertips. 

"What did you figure out?" You ask, settled right next to him.

In the background, Reina babbles something.

He shakes his head and closes his eyes.

↻

Being human has its perks. 

Satoru doesn't get headaches anymore. Usually, just a couple of minutes without his blindfold is enough to give Satoru migraines. Its odd not having it on all the time, but he can get used to seeing things the way normal people see. Without the swirls of cursed energy. 

The downside is that he can get hurt now. Even by a scrawny cat. 

"Oka!" You scold as the bastard cat races down the hallway, out of site. Satoru hisses, flexing his scratched hand. 

"What is up with him today? Let me see." Instantly, you're by his side, checking his palm. Satoru feels you're too close. Infinity doesn't keep you away. 

He wonders if he'd even want to activate his technique with you around. 

"It's not that bad." You mutter to yourself, dragging him to the kitchen. "Let's just clean it before it gets infected." 

You sit him down on the kitchen stool. It creaks under his weight. Satoru watches as you dab a cotton ball with alcohol, before gently pressing it into his wound. You're so soft when you're touching him. Like you think you could accidentally break him somehow. He finds it cute. Satoru doesn't know why he lingers on your gentleness. It's probably because no one's ever treated him like he was fragile before. Something worth protecting. 

But your protection isn't for him. It's for Sawai. 

"I definitely expected some whining." You smile, placing a band-aide on his hand. "You were always so queasy when the aid-kit came out. Guess you finally got a pain-tolerance, hm?" You tease and Sawai gets more and more pathetic in Satoru's eyes. 

You put the kit away, sliding off the stool. There are downsides of being human, but he thinks the upsides make up for it. 

The cat definitely hates him, but he doesn't care about that. Satoru just wants the quiet. It's still peaceful. 

That's interrupted when the baby starts crying. 

Satoru can hear you in the other room, hushing her, trying to get Reina to settle down. She's been howling for the past ten minutes. Satoru doesn't move from the TV. It's not his place to do anything. He isn't Sawai. 

"Okay favorite parent." He hears you grumble as you come out with a squirming Reina, still sobbing. "Your turn." 

Before he can tell you no, you're already placing the child into his lap. Satoru freezes. 

He's rarely around kids. All his students were independent teenagers. He doesn't think he's ever interacted with a baby, an infant, before. It's instinct to hold her, keeping her in his lap. He stares. Reina sniffles, her sobs quiet. 

"Every single time." You scoff, but you don't sound very annoyed. "I don't get why she likes you more than me. I'm around more, aren't I?" 

Reina is looking back at him, and he wonders who she's seeing. Her father, or the man who's wearing his skin? 

The infant sniffles a little more. Her whimpers turn into coos, then shaky breaths as she slowly starts to settle in his arms. Satoru's never had anyone feel comfortable in his arms. His hands were meant to manipulate space and time. Destroy. He's killed curses with his hands. Humans too. 

Little Reina falls asleep right in between them. 

Satoru swallows. It feels so delicate. He can barely bring himself to move. 

You sit right next to him, watching her. 

"She's so cute when she's not being a demon, hm?" You ask. Satoru doesn't respond. You lean a little closer. 

"Hey," you say, voice warm and when Satoru looks at you, you have soft eyes, "I can take her. I know you want to rest today." 

"It's fine." Satoru speaks without thinking. "I got her." 

You blink, but after a while, you move back. Satoru cradles Reina to his chest. She's soft, and he keeps an extra light hold on her because he's afraid one wrong move would crush her completely. Satoru can hear her soft snores, her light babbles. It doesn't break the quiet. 

There's a weight on his shoulder as you settle in. You let out a content sigh, and Satoru feels something fill up inside of him, something that was once void. 

"I feel like it's been a while since we've done something like this," you say, voice quiet, "just...sat together, watching her." 

Satoru thinks back to the dark circles underneath Sawai's eyes, the weight gain from stress. 

"Toshi?" You ask, and it's Satrou's habit to look back at you. "Have you ever considered Japan...might not be the best place for us?" 

He stares at you. 

"Japan is my home," he says, and he has a feeling Sawai would have said that too. 

"I know." You smile. "It's mine too. But...is that enough reason to stay?" 

You shift, leaning away from him and he misses your warmth. You rest your head against the sofa, propping your head up with a fist. 

"I was thinking." You shrug, reaching over to pick lint off of his sleeves. "Maybe we should go back to my country. If it's work...my cousin works in the same industry as you. I'm sure he can find you something worth your time. I'm sure my parents would love to be closer to Reina, too." You reach up, brushing a finger against the infant's cheek. "We'd have a community, right?" 

There it was. You were lonely. Home alone with an infant. Doing nothing but attending the house. You used to be a dancer. You were good at it. Satoru wonders how much you sacrificed for the man you called your husband. In some ways, you're a little like him. 

There's no point in lying. He isn't Sawai, even as he holds Sawai's kid and Sawai's wife. In the end, he'd have to return to his body. This was a vacation. This was just a break. 

"I'll think about it." 

He agrees anyway, just to see you beam, like sunlight streaming through the window. You give him a quick kiss. 

Satoru barely holds himself back from returning the favor. 

Everything ends eventually. For Satoru, the end came later that evening. 

There's a knock on the door. He's rising up to get it. Currently, you and Reina were out on a shopping trip. He wanted to go too, but you insisted he rested. Satoru expects mail, some kind of package. 

Gojo Satoru stands in front of him. 

Tall, wearing that black outfit, Satoru always used to wear. White hair up, blindfold covering blue eyes. It was a nearly perfect imitation of the real thing. 

"Hi," Gojo says, voice frail and weak, "I-I think we need to talk." 

Sawai is exactly what Satoru pictured. Timid, quiet, stutters through his sentences. He's still not used to his new body, angling it around, trying to sit on the couch with clear difficulty. Satoru manages to piece his story together after fifteen minutes or so. Everything was Sawai's fault, right from the start. 

"Soul switching." Satoru says when Sawai's done babbling. "What an interesting technique. And you can't control it?" 

Sawai's shaking his head. "Not really. It comes and goes by its own. I'm guessing you were in the area when it activated." 

Makes sense. When Gojo gets his eyes back, he'll pick Sawai apart more thoroughly. At this point in time, the cause doesn't matter to him. 

"Does anyone else know what happened?" Satoru asks. 

Sawai shakes his head. Good. At least he was smart. 

"No," Sawai says, "I didn't know who to trust." 

"Good instincts." Satoru responds.

"Did you tell anyone?" Sawai asks and Satoru's offended that he had the audacity to even ask. 

"No," he says anyway. 

Sawai gives a sigh of relief. "That's good." He breathes. "My wife never knew about me, or anything about jujutsu sorcery. We met after I left the clan. Not sure how I'd even begin to explain something like this." 

That's why the name Sawai felt so familiar. A minor family, with dwindling power, up in the country. They barely touch on politics these days. No wonder he left. Especially with a technique like that. It's pretty nifty, but if Sawai couldn't control it, then there was no point in harnessing it. 

"So, how does the switching back work?" Satoru changes the subject. 

At this, Sawai wilts. 

"It's pretty simple," he starts, "we just touch. But it won't work right now. It has a downtime of 24 hours." 

A time constraint technique. Annoying. Satoru strangely isn't as upset as he knows he should be. 

"Hm, no point in doing anything, then." Satoru sighs, lounging on the couch. "So if you knew all that; then, what's the point of coming here?" 

That causes Sawai to fidget. It's aggravating to look at. Satoru's eyes twitch. He hopes Reina doesn't get that. No, she should be more like you, warm and kind with eyes that look like the night sky. 

"I missed them," Sawai finally says, "I missed my wife, my daughter." 

Sawai stares at the shelves. He's looking at pictures. Of you. Of him. Of your daughter. Smiling and happy. Sawai looks years younger in those photos, but Satoru is sure those pictures were taken not too long ago.

Just then, right on his collar, on his pale, slender neck, Satoru catches a glimpse of something. It looks like lipstick. 

Oh, Satoru realizes. That's why Sawai didn't come by sooner. 

"Uh, we met a while ago. Not sure if you remember." Sawai starts, laughing sheepishly. "I think you were about 10 when I first saw you. It was back when I was still in the clan. I was a teenager, wasn't really even sure what we were there for. But I saw you. And-and I think you saw me. I just remember seeing lines and lines of servants surrounding you. You were barely taller than my hip, but the power you had already...." He clears his throat. Satoru stays silent. 

"I was jealous. Really really jealous. Of a kid! I remember thinking 'if only if I were Gojo Satoru'. And now look." Sawai gestures to his new body. Perfect perfection. "And at first I was super excited...but then I slowly realized how lifeless the world was with these eyes." 

His cold apartment. Messages from him that he reads over and over. A family that only sees him as a status symbol. No friends. It's just him against the entire world, for the entire world. 

"Your life isn't all that great either." Sawai ends. 

It's strange. All his life, the one thing Satoru always wanted was for someone to understand him. He got close to that once, but even back then he was deluding himself. Sawai was the one man who was finally able to step into his shoes, see from his eyes. The only person in the world who could ever come close to understanding him. 

And Satoru hates him for it. 

"Yeah," he says, the truth, "it isn't." 

It's quiet for a couple more minutes. Satoru feels the time bleed into his skin. 

"Gojo." Sawai starts. Satoru hums. 

"I know you're not that kinda' guy, but..." Sawai trails off, biting his lip. "did you...with...?" 

Satoru gets what he's trying to say. He grins, feigning cheeriness, shaking his head. 

"Nah man, I wouldn't do that to you." He assures. "I didn't even touch your wife. Not my type." 

And Sawai believes him. Satoru can see it in his body language, even if his eyes are covered or not. Satoru doesn't know whether or not to laugh. 

“Thank you,” Sawai sighs, “and I—”

“We’re back!”

Both men turn. You’re shutting the door, the baby strapped to your hip, while groceries are in the other hand. Sawai freezes. Satoru rises up.

“I can take ‘em,” he offers, grabbing the bag.

You thank him, and then you glance at your real husband with a puzzled expression.

“Who’s this?” You ask. Reina giggles something.

Sawai opens his mouth.

“Hi...” The word is strangled on his throat. It sounded painful to speak.

You smile at him. Eyes warm, but there’s no recognition. You turn to Satoru.

“Who’s this, again?”

“A colleague.” Satoru is stepping in. “He was just leaving, I think, wasn’t he?”

He angles that question for Sawai. Who jumps in his seat. He babbles something, before finally settling on. “Yes—yes I was just leaving.” Even now, Sawai refuses to tell you, break you from that innocence. Satoru doesn’t know whether or not he’s stupid, naive, or both.

“Tomorrow morning.” Sawai tells him, just before he closes the door. Satoru gives a hum of acknowledgment, and the door clicks shut.

“What did he want?” You call from the kitchen, the infant tucked away on the high chair.

Satoru grins. “Just about work. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Satoru finally brings it up after dinner. You’re folding the last towels, tucking them away in a drawer. Satoru watches you, the way your fingers work with delicate precision. Reina’s asleep, tucked away in her crib. The only people awake right now are you and him.

“Have you seen Oka around?” You ask. “I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

Satoru shrugs. “He’s probably skulking around somewhere. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He gives. You take it as an answer, going back to your task.

“Hey,” Satoru starts. “So, what’d you think of that man earlier?”

“Who?”

“Tall. White hair. Blindfold.”

“Oh.” You say, before thinking. “Nothing. But, I didn’t really expect someone like him to be your co-worker. I can’t see him doing a desk job.” Yeah, Satoru can’t either.

“Nothing else?” He prods.

You cast him an odd look. “No, not really. Why? What about him?”

The conversation is going nowhere. He gives up.

“Nothing.” Satoru finally says. You don’t accept it.

Instead, you turn around and watch him. Your eyes seem to pick up on something. A pretty smile graces your face, but Satoru feels something heavy form in his stomach.

“Oh my god. You’re jealous.” You gasp.

Satoru feels something hot build up on his face.

“No—”

“Yes you are!” You say excitedly. “It’s written all over your face! I’ve never seen you jealous before. I should take a picture.”

“That’s not it at all.” Satoru’s quick to say.

"The kid?" You laugh, bewildered. "How old is he? 25?" 

"28." Satoru can't help but correct but you just laugh louder. 

“A baby! God, you’re jealous of a baby.”

Eventually, your giggles subside. You stare at him with crinkled eyes.

“I am way too old to be messing around with 20-something year olds.” You assure, but your voice is teasing. “Besides, I’m interested in someone, right now. And I think it’s pretty serious.”

It’s a joke. You’re not talking about him. He averts his gaze anyway. You skip over, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“But that was extremely sweet.” You tell him. “You should get jealous more often.”

You did that again. Touch him. Without effort. Thoughtlessly.

Satoru doesn’t think he can hold back anymore.

This was your fault, he thinks, this was all your fault.

He grabs your waist before you can pull away. Soft, barely gives under his touch. You melt into him like butter, sinking and falling. He traces his hands up your hips, your chest, settling on the softness of your cheek. You let him, falling under his spell, the moment he touches you. He’s used to this. Eagerness, worship, but there’s something different in your eyes.

"What?" He asks. 

"Nothing," you say, "you're just....really different, today." 

He feels his heart quicken. "Don't like it?" 

You take a second, and then you close the distance. "No, I like it." 

You like it. 

You love it

You love Satoru. 

He kisses you like a hurricane.Pushing and biting, your gasps turn into hums and sighs when you follow his lead. Your hands reach up to his chest. He wraps his around your hips, making you walk back until your feet trip over the bed.

Satoru follows you down, never once pulling away.

“Oh my god.” You gasp when he sucks on your neck. “Toshi—toshi—”

It’s not him. This isn’t for him.

But it could be.

“No. “ He stops, stares into your eyes. “Sato.” He whispers . “Call me Sato.”

You stare at him, and Satoru is scared that you can actually see him. Peeling off his skin, seeing him for the sick man that he is.

“Sato...” You murmur.

He can’t stop himself. He doesn’t want to stop himself.

“Baby.” He breathes. “Fuck, baby. Need you.”

It’s easy to work off your top, throwing it somewhere in the room. He’s only caught a hint of your frilled bra before, but seeing it broadly displayed makes his mouth water. Blue. His favorite color.

It’s like you were made all for him. No one else's.

He just didn’t get to you first.

Satoru apologizes by kissing up your chest, to your neck. He marks you so its clear as day. You trill in need and excitement, hands traveling across his shoulders, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Sato.” You repeat. “God, Sato.”

“Right here.” He assures. “Right here, baby.”

When he’s done with your bra, he feasts on your newly bared skin. It’s a pretty sight. Heaving tits, going up and down right before he pounces like a feral beast. You gasp when he sucks on your nipple. He bites, before moving onto the other. Your sweat is salty-sweet. He could drink the essence of you all day.

He wants to devour you.

And the sickest thing is that you’d let him.

Sato kisses down your chest, licking at the swell of your belly, before he’s meeting your shorts. He takes them off with little flare, close to ripping them off being he’s starving and you’ve been teasing him all day. That shake of your hips every time you’re meandering in the kitchen. You must have known what you’re doing to him. You wouldn’t be smiling so widely if you didn’t.

He licks you through your panties. You’re already wet.

“This all for me?” He knowingly asks, glancing up at you.

He expects you to shyly look away. Instead, you roll your hips into his mouth.

“All for you.” You coo. “Only for you, Sato.”

You have no idea what your words just did to him.

He finds it hotter keeping your panties on, so he leaves them, only pushing the crotch area to the side so he can get a better access to your pussy.

He isn’t shy. He’s more than happy to make himself known. You’re practically gushing all around him when he latches on your clit, swirling it around his tongue. You let out this sound he hasn't heard ever, sending it straight through his cock.

“Sato, fuck.” You grab his hair, pulling him even closer. “So so good, Sato.”

He licks up to the length of your pussy, letting your strength guide him along. A dark thought pushes its way into his brain. It quickly disappears in favor of your taste on his tongue. He’s drinking it like a man parched, trapped in the dessert, and you’re his salvation.

Your hips jerk, he stills your hips.

“Easy baby,” he says, voice muffled by your cunt, “I got you.”

“Sato,” you urge. “I cant’—I can’t. Please please please.”

“Wanna cum?” He asks, feeling a little malicious. “Wanna cum for me, pretty girl?”

You nod, and then you sob. His smile is evil.

“Beg for it.”

And you do. Your sweet sweet voice growing up in octaves when he obediently ramps it up until he’s tongue-fucking your hole. Your legs wrap around his neck, and Satoru thinks he’d happily die if it meant his last moments being this.

Eventually, you stiffen up, and then you sieze all over his tongue. Satoru gently takes you through your orgasm, watching when you fall back on the bed. You look at him, out of breath.

“Fuck,” you say, “where’d you learn to do that?”

He laughs, before climbing up your body to kiss your again. It’s slow, sensual, your tongues melting together as you taste what he’s been tasting for minutes. He hopes you think it tastes sweet too.

And because he can’t wait any longer, he’s pulling away to shuck off his pants. You giggle. He casts you a glance, but Satoru can’t find it in his heart to be upset.

Pushing down his boxers, he frowns.

It’s...disappointing, if he wants to say it lightly. Way smaller than his. What the fuck has Sawai been doing with you? No wonder you’re already so out of it.

It’ll have to do. Mainly because he’s so horny and he’d die if he isn’t inside of you at this very moment. And you’re sweet enough to help him, taking your legs apart, inviting him with knowing eyes.

“Ready baby?” He asks.

You nod, it’s all he can dream for.

He’s pushing himself in. You gasp, and he can feel everything. His sensitive cock jumps at your heat, the tight walls of your cunt practically bare down on him. He knows it’ll be next to impossible to fit his own dick.

He won’t stop though, not until he’s in all the way.

That’s the thought that gets him going. Rocking his hips back and forth. You’re edging him on with your ohs and Sato sato sato. Needy, needing him. A service he’s more than happy to provide.

“Breathe, pretty girl.” He tells you. “Almost there. We’re almost there.”

You whine in his ear, already impatient. God, he wants you. He wants this.

And he knows he can do better than him.

“Fuck baby, how bad is he that you turn so pretty in my hands, hm?” He asks. He isn’t looking for an answer. You’re barely paying attention to his words, eyes rolled back, close to tears. Just to torture you even more, he circles your clit with his thumb.

“Look at you. Bet he couldn’t do a goddamn thing with this limpdick, huh? Had—had to literally step aside, let a real man do the fucking.” He hisses, and you moan something he can’t decipher.

“Can’t blame ya’. This’s probably the first real fuck you’ve gotten in a while hm? Fuck—what would ya’ act like with some real dick?”

Satoru can imagine it. Him and you, nestled between his silk bedsheets. Him, bigger, stronger, pinning you down like he know you want to be. He won’t stop. He won’t ever stop. He’ll just keep fucking you and fucking you as you say Sato Sato Sato Sato—

When you cum for the second time, Satoru’s close behind. He collapses into you, feeling himself fill you up just like he should. You bite his earlob. He purrs in contentment.

But when he feels you still, he’s quick to rise back up, shaking you until you’re blinking at him.

“No baby.” He kindly says, feeling himself harden all over again. “We aren’t done yet.”

He wasn’t able to admire it the first time, but the second time around, he finally notices how pretty you are asleep.

Even when you’re sleeping, there’s a faint smile on your face. Your hair frames your face like a halo. Satoru isn’t religious, but he thinks its akin to watching an angel.

He’s watched you for hours now. He barely slept. Time was slowly running out.

And now, the sun’s starting to come out.

You’re so pretty. He doesn’t want to leave. Its almost torture to pull himself up, kiss you on the cheek, before tucking you properly in bed. You stir, but you don't wake. That’s relieving for Satoru. He doesn’t know if he has the strength to hold himself back.

This was nice. You were...nice.

But he had to be Gojo again.

The world can’t function without him. Jujutsu society would crumble. Curses would run rampant. He can’t risk it. His students, you, Reina, might get stuck in that.

For the sake of everyone, he closes the bedroom door behind him.

The prettiest girl in the world is sleeping too. Reina snored. Satoru almost laughed, but he held himself back. He didn’t want to wake her. After all, her mom had a long night.

As gently as he can, he tucks a tuft of hair behind Reina’s ear. She gurgles something, smacking her lips, and then stills again.

She looks nothing like Satoshi. Instead of being given his straggly straight hair, she was blessed with your curly locks. Her skin is deep and dark, matching yours perfectly. If her eyes were open, Satoru would see yours, warm and kind. You two even laughed the same.

Damn, even Sawai’s genes got cucked.

Satoru pats her cheek, and he promises himself to stop lingering. Even then, when he passes by one of Reina’s toys, he makes sure to pick it up, feeling the weight in his hands, before reluctantly placing it on a shelf. When he comes across your unwashed mug, he takes his time to put it in the sink.

He’s biding his time, even when he knows he can’t. He needs to be Gojo, not Satoru. He can’t be both.

....Why can’t he be both? The question stops him in his tracks.

What's stopping him from the best of both worlds? Why can't he have his cake and eat it too? What's stopping him from having this quiet in his life?

Himself. No one else is stopping him, but himself.

He isn’t Satoru. He isn’t Gojo either. He’s Gojo Satoru. The strongest. Who could fucking tell him no?

No one would dare make a fuss if he were to bring a foreigner non-sorcerer as his wife. No one would blink an eye if he adopted Reina. No one could. He’s pinnacles above humanity. He is the pinnacle of humanity.

He could have it all. Dominating jujutsu society, building up his students, you, your daughter. He could have everything he wants. It would be hard, but when has life ever made anything easy for him?

He’s sacrificed so much. He’s lost so much. He needs you. He deserves this. And he already knows he can make you happy.

If you’re lonely, he’ll make sure that his clan welcomes you with open arms. You’ll be treated like a princess. Reina would never want for nothing. He’d make sure she doesn’t even remember her biological father.

And Sawai...

Satoru can’t understand why a weapon like him is allowed to roam free. His technique is weak, but powerful, dangerous. He incapacitated one of the deadliest forces alive. With his technique, with how little control he has over it.

Others have been executed for less. Satoru will make sure of it.

Is it a bit over the top? Maybe. He knows Sawai’s enough of a mouse that he’ll just accept it if Satoru walks up to the bastard and tells him he’s taking his family. If he’s being honest, he isn’t all that mad about the body snatching thing, either. In any other case, he might even find it funny.

But he still remembers the marks on Sawai’s collar. He’d used Gojo Satoru’s looks to get cheap pussy, before deciding that he wanted to crawl back home to you.

Pathetic.

He shouldn’t even be allowed to exist on the same planet as you. Satoru won’t allow it.

And when he's dead, Satoru would be more than happy to play his part as a the acquaintance who just wanted to check up on you. Obliviously bring you closer and closer and closer until you're back in his arms.

Satoru can still taste you in his mouth. It'd be hard to wait for that again after having you, but you're someone worth being patient for.

He’s almost elated when Sawai shows up at the time they scheduled. He looks worse for wear, the stress of being Gojo is getting to him. Good. Someone like him should see what real problems are.

Sawai tries to exchange pleasentries. Satoru refuses to hear it. He stretches his hand out. Sawai does the same. Satoru closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, a short man with a balding head blinks timidly back up at him.

He’s back.

With his Six eyes, he can see you’re still sleeping. He makes sure to memorize the sight for his entire life.

“So, enjoyed being Gojo for a day?” He asks, if only to keep up the facade he doesn’t find the man absolutely pathetic.

A shy smile appears on Sawai’s face. He shakes his head.

“I guess my lesson is that I shouldn’t be too quick to judge.” He laughs. “We all have our own problems.”

“Right.” Satoru says, “Well, this was interesting. Take care of yourself, okay?” He waves, gallantly striding towards the door until he can’t hold himself anymore.

He sighs, tilting his head back dramatically.

“Y’know what man. I lied.” Satoru grins.

“I did fuck your wife.”

The last thing he sees before he slams the door shut, is Sawai’s baffled expression.

Gojo hadn’t expected to feel so satisfied, watching Sawai take his place at your husband, but he isn’t angry about it. Satoru stretches on the patio. It’s a pretty day outside. People are out and about. Birds are chirping.

Gojo catches a glimpse of a bushy tail before he’s reaching down to grab Oka by the scruff.

As expected, the bastard of a cat yowls, trying to claw at him. Oka recognizes him, a smart cat. Satoru smiles, unfazed. Infinity is back.

“Listen.” He tells the cat. "I'm gonna be your new daddy soon. So unless you wanna end up in the pound, you better warm up to me." 

Oka hisses, but he doesn’t struggle anymore. Satoru gracelessly drops him back on the ground. Oka scampers out of sight.

Sawai clearly used Gojo’s usual chaffuer to get here. It saves Satoru from making the call himself. He opens the car door, before plopping in the back seat.

At the wheel, Ijichi gives him a look.

“Did you find everything, okay? You were only in there for a short while.”

Sawai had kept true to his word. Not even Ijichi knew about the switch. That’s a bit unfortunate. Maybe if more people knew about his technique, what he could do, it might save his life.

Sawai needed to stop being so naive. Satoru was more than happy to teach that lesson permanently.

“Yup!” Gojo Satoru chirped. “Got everything I needed.”