Piscesatthesea - *°☆•°

“Cloud Study”, John Constable, 1822

via weheartit

A bomb threat (And how it got you a boyfriend) special forces!Konig x fem!college!Reader

Konig saves you from a bomb threat when you get stuck at your Uni. Based on his bio - presumably, Konig was a part of the Austrian Special Forces before joining KorTac. He is also a bit of a dork and we have a bit of an obsessive episode.

Tags: Fluff, Reader is a cringefailure, Konig is overstepping his authority, hurt(not really)/comfort Warnings: Bomb threats, mentions of terrorism Word count: 2450

Someone called a bomb threat in your college. 

Well, at least, this is what the automatic email is telling you. The email that was sent to you, about especially avoiding the library on the second floor because the anonymous(not for long, since they have a knack for exposing who the hell is calling those threats each time) caller said that there is a huge chance of the bomb being placed here. 

You know, the same library that you were sitting in, right now, reading this exact email on your laptop. You thought no one was around because it wasn’t a busy day, just after the major finals, with most people staying on campus only if they failed first tests or just wanted to get extra credits for some extra curriculum. Even if you were staying here just because you wanted to work on campus’s newspaper – the library is a good place to scoop for some rumors about the dean of the uni being three raccoons in a trench coat, or the lunch staff posing as Polish mafia. 

The thing is – it seemed like you were the last fucking person to receive the email. The thing is, there are only a few weeks left before summer break, and the campus already started to turn off major announcement equipment since no sports or other events are planned. Are you going to die? Probably, there is a huge chance of you dying, as you can feel directly in your bones – god, there are probably some terrorists or uni shooters or that weird Christian suprematist who are going hysterical at the mere sight of religion other than theirs. You are going to die, you are going to die, you are going to…

— Scheisse! There is a civilian! 

You were never particularly religious, maybe only at the time of finals and work submissions – and in situations like this, where you are already mentally preparing yourself to get blown up with unfinished articles and forgotten hopes and dreams and everything and…

You were never particularly religious – so you have no idea why your pre-death auditory hallucinations suddenly included an angel’s voice with devil's timbre and some huge, tree-trunk-like hands wrapping around your waist, checking you for possible injuries or explosive device. 

These hands are really huge – and muscular, you can see how tense they are even through your black uniform, and they are roaming over your body in a way that would make you scream bloody murder and file sexual harassment if it didn’t belong to an obvious angel. Angelm in special forces uniform, an angel with a really nice boyish voice and warm hands that are sliding to your thighs, groping and checking for every possible outcome – for weapons, probably, because you are literally the only person in the room that was deemed as a bomb threat, and if you were this guy, you’d also think that you were the culprit. 

His fingers linger on your hips perhaps a bit too long – you can him patting you down like you were heading to a club – and then he lets you go reluctantly, not finding anything except for your phone which he also checked for possible timers. The interaction lasted…a minute or so, but you are already hot and bothered, getting off the strong hands holding you, even though he already let you go. 

— Are you alright? 

He must have noticed your worried face and international student badge – his English is a bit accented but nonetheless confident. You never thought that small traces of German in a speech can sound so fucking hot but, perhaps, you are just traumatized and high on adrenaline and weren't getting laid for too fucking long. 

He wears a badge – something something long German words, huge design construction that made you think he must be pretty high-rank – knowledge that you only had because of the movies and games you were playing, trying not to get off the military kink too much. Something in the situation told you that you’d spend the whole evening searching for porn with guys dressed in all black today. Maybe, a touch of cargo. 

— Y…yeah. Fuck, sorry. I’m fine, fine. Yeah. 

You are rambling and he tilts his head to the side. This large, looming hand goes to your face – you wait for either a harsh slap to return you back to reality, or a passionate and deep kiss from your fantasies and dirty novels. He slowly traces his fingers on your face, getting up, in the hairline, searching for something – perhaps, a nasty head parasite that got you acting so weird around this random guy. Random guy who is just doing his job, securing that you’re safe, sound, and not going to explode in the next few minutes. 

— No head injuries. Gut. 

You want him to touch your face some more. You want him to check for mouth injuries, to evaluate the status of your lips. Maybe do some chemical tests with that gloss you were using today. Check the reaction with his tongue. 

He twirls you in place and you almost want him to press you against the wall. Search you some more, maybe get his hands a bit deeper, pass the oh-so-modest pants that made you look like a little bitch boy – his hand goes to cup your waist again, checking for anything that might catch his interest. Nothing – and you were never this sad about Hot wearing a concealed weapon that might force him to pin you down or get you into a chokehold with those massive biceps of his. 

— What were you doing here, ma’am? 

Studying in Vienna, you never found an Austrian accent this sexy. Never knew that you might like being handled like this before – it’s not romantic, not even in the slightest, but you smile a bit shyly, a bit awkwardly, and look at him from under your lashes, trying to look as innocent as possible. You are innocent – you weren’t doing anything, you were just trying to study and write in the last few weeks. Concentrated enough, so you never even noticed a fucking bomb threat. Didn’t hear soldiers running through the building, securing each room. 

— I…study here? 

You gulp loudly, taking a few steps away from the soldier. Allowing him to examine the room, deem it safe – the bomb threat called on your university was probably fake. Maybe a call from a paranoid individual, maybe someone with nothing better to do than pranking colleges. You seriously doubt anyone would try to blow up this place while almost none of the students are actually inside – especially the library during the low season. Even you almost decided to ditch the traditional writing atmosphere and just do something in the cafeteria. 

— Oh. 

His voice actually sounds…nice. Funny even, that small remark also makes him cough and look at you more seriously. He has a mask concealing his face, some weird hood or net on top of it – you try to see his eyes, but you can only occasionally catch glimpses of ice staring at you. Mysterious, you like it. Too mysterious, that little journalist club member inside of you is itching to get a look at his face better – you tilt your head to the side, contemplating just yanking it upwards and praying that he won’t kill you. 

Although you wouldn’t mind being crushed in his hold. 

— Let’s get you out of here, ja? 

You don’t question him when he suddenly picks you up – when the world starts to spin and you are pressed against his chest, his hands are supporting you under your knees and back. Securing you in place, making sure you are nice and comfy in his hold. You don’t ask questions when he slightly adjusts your hold so he can touch more of your thighs – you think he is just getting you comfortable, and you appreciate just how thoughtful he is. 

You don’t ask questions when he holds you almost like a bridal carry, even though you are certain you aren’t injured, and someone like him probably has more interesting things to do than saving poor college students who decided to ignore bomb threats. 

His hands are warm, his chest is even warmer, and his muscles aren’t even slightly trembling. You don’t know what sort of training those guys are coming through, but it must work – his steps are light and decided even when he can’t press you firmly against him, vest standing in the way. You don’t know what to do with your hands and you don’t want to mess with the government property – you think there is a law against fidgeting with special forces soldiers on duty – so you just get them on your knees. Like a good girl. Polite girl. Girl who isn't drooling over the guy who is just doing his job. 

— Thank you. For saving me. 

You whisper it in his headset – you are worried about someone else also hearing you, but there is something intimate about tilting your head upwards and getting right into his face, your lips millimeters away from the edge of his mask. You don’t want to sound suggestive, so you sound weak instead. You don’t to sound ungrateful, so you sound pleading instead. 

His hold on your thighs gets stronger. You lick your lips nervously, chuckling to ease the atmosphere a little bit. 

Your leg brushes above his waist – and you swear that you can hear his breath hitching. It’s impossible, you think, he must be a tough and content little soldier, perfect to save damsels in distress just like you – but something in his posture, in the way his fingers twitch slightly at the edges of your body, makes you think otherwise. Maybe, you’re just dreaming. Maybe, you know nothing. 

Someone slams into the room. Another man – shorter than the one who holds you, by a large margin, but none less intimidating. Burly, muscular, dressed up in full uniform which is expected – and with his face covered up by a similar veil or mask or whatever this is – which is unexpected. You thought that special forces would have something less eye-obscuring, but what do you know? You would be dead if the bomb threat was real. 

— Other sectors secured. No bomb in sight. Commander. 

He almost hisses, the similar accent in his voice makes your cheeks heat up even more. You feel weird, dirty even, thinking of those two large, intimidating men in such an intimate setting while they are just trying to save your life – but you try to silence that little annoying voice, to convince yourself that this is probably just adrenaline, ovulation and sudden urge to procreate before you would die. 

You feel your entire body stir when the man takes a step closer, looking at you. You can’t see his face, not even the outline of it – but you feel the burning gaze on your scared expression and obediently folded hands. 

— Gut. Other civillians? — 20 civilians in the building in total. University workers, some students. Already evacuated. — Any casualties? You hear a cruel chuckle from a shorter man. — If they were, you’d hear about it, sir. No, the sector is clear. — Gut. Dismissed – we’re finishing here. — What are you doing with the civi…

— Kruger, dismissed. 

The man who holds you is surprisingly stern when he isn’t talking to you. He used a much softer, quieter tone when he was talking to you, observing if you were hurt or in danger – and he is much, much different now. A cold voice, serious tone, the image of the ruthless commander flying in your head – well, at least you were right about his patches meaning something important. 

A shorter man leaves, and the door behind him swings open. To your surprise, the man who holds you – a mysterious stranger, you can’t even seem to find a name on his uniform – doesn’t let you go. His touches feel like you’re burning alive, he is igniting and brilliant and fucking perfect and…

He lets you down to the care of the local police department and some of the uni workers. His hand brushes over your face again – you think he was checking for the injuries but, then again, why would he touch your hair ever so gently only to move it out of your face to take a good look at your lips before letting you go? You’re imagining things, you probably must be – the man is just doing his job, he isn’t trying to fuck you in the nearest hallway even if you wanted him to. 

— Sir. I…thank you, really. For the help. 

— I didn’t do anything, Schatz. Someone must been playing a joke on everyone. 

You are going to find the guy – or a girl, or someone else, you don’t discriminate, everyone is equally capable of calling on the false bomb threats – who informed the special forces about the bomb in the building, and then you are going to kiss them. 

— What kind of joke is this? 

— A dumb one. 

He looks over to his unit – a group of tall, burly men, with weapons and uniforms and everything a girl could ask for – already packing in the vehicles to move out. You brace yourself to ask for his number – for his contact, anything, everything, maybe the favorite tree in the park under which you could meet again. You know that those guys aren’t supposed to reveal their identities, that he is probably out of town anyway, special forces aren’t usually called off to false threats, you know that your attempts are futile and yet, you lick your lips for added confidence and…

— Goodbye, Scahtzen. Stay safe, ja? Don’t want to save you from a real bomb one day. 

— I…I…um, you mean you wouldn’t save me from a real bomb? 

He was already halfway to the armored car before you could say anything. You aren’t nearly confident enough to yell across the whole fucking campus territory to get a number of this hot special forces guy, and something in his hunched shoulders, twitching fingers, and slightly less social and more abrasive manners tells you that he would hate the gesture as much as you would. 

Just like this, your first even real-life military crush is driving away, leaving you bombless, hoeless, and, most certainly, more depressed than ever. Summer is going to be great, right?

*** — What do you mean calling a fucking bomb threat?! 

Your friend wasn’t happy about the pick-up strategy you wanted to use.

*** — Of course, sir, let’s raid a fucking college dorm room. 

Sergeant Sebastian Josed Krueger wasn’t happy about his commander’s newfound love for college girls. 

Mostly because König refused to fucking share. 

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I'M DOING AN EXPERIMENT

To prove something to a friend, please

REBLOG IF YOU THINK ASEXUALS BELONG IN LGBTQ+ SPACES

LIKE IF YOU THINK ASEXUALS DON’T BELONG IN LGBTQ+ SPACES

☆ 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗽𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗼 - ,, 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼

summary: satoru gojo has been your best friend for the past 14 years. when he suddenly finds himself taking care of a kid, your relationship twists and turns into something far more romantic.

warnings: fem!reader , slow burn , mutual pining , angst , suggestive (nothing explicit but things are implied) , mentions of death , violent imagery , reader deals with a lot in this fic , gojo is sweet tho !! not proof-read word count: 15.8k (kill me now.) a/n: this fic has been in my drafts for a year now and it's honestly such a mess but i've written it and i'm happy with it (kind of) so the fact that it's such a jumble barely bothers me anymore !! special thanks to the glue song by beabadoobee for helping me through this

“i love you,” he says, lips curled into a pout that makes you scrunch your nose in disgust. 

you press the heels of your palms to your eyes, sighing deeply, “no you don’t.”

“but i do!” and his voice gets louder, which only coaxes the already forming headache behind your eyes to grow. “so you should get your notes out for me.”

“what do you know about love anyway?”

it’s muttered just under your breath and you hope gojo didn’t catch it, isn’t able to read into the bitterness laced along each word. you slam your laptop shut, standing up abruptly. gojo follows suit.

“i’m not digging up my anthropology notes from two years ago just so you can cheat.”

his hopeful expression drops in an instant, hands flying forward to grab onto you, “no! don’t you want me to pass? don’t you love me?”

and what about you? what do you know about love?

you know that it’s difficult. there isn’t a need for any profound thinking, any nuance, for you to believe that. you know it’s true because you’ve lived it—because you are living it. you don’t have to have said “i love you,” once in your life, to know your way around the trials and tribulations that come with pesky emotions. (emphasis on pesky emotions that call for intimacy).

you know that love hurts. perhaps, it’s the lack of control that makes love so painful. while beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, those who behold can’t choose who they wish to admire. it happens unexpectedly, like the changing tides: waves of emotion crashing down at once and pushing you off kilter. 

you know that love is uncertain, a gamble. it’s the lack of promise love can give. while you may love someone with everything you have, devote yourself to them, prioritize them—they might never see you as anyone other than a friend. sometimes, you might be a best friend. oftentimes, it’s never anything more than that.

and yet, love is such a beautiful thing. it bleeds warm, saccharine sweet like spoonfuls of honey, and fills you with the greatest happiness. tingles at your fingertips where they touch, shivers down your spine when they stare, butterflies erupting in your stomach when they speak. your skin growing warm and your smile stretched wide—that was the beauty of love.

but how can something so precious be so utterly disheartening? 

“no,” you roll your eyes, walking away from your best friend, unsurprised when he scrambles after you. “i don’t love you.”

you don’t mean it at all.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

you sigh a great deal in your life, but none of them compare to the way your chest heaves when you find yourself doing something you know you’ll regret. it’s never a shock that these regretful choices often accompany a certain white-haired man.

the pitch black darkness of your room is pierced by a beam of bright light from your phone screen, your tired eyes reading over the message once. twice. three times.

gojo 🤑: hey can i ask for a favor? pleaseeeeee?????? 🙇‍♂️🙏🙇‍♂️🙏🙇‍♂️🙏 im begging you 😫😫

you groan, tossing your phone to the side to run your hand down your face, letting your fingers catch on the soft skin around your eyes. despite the many years you’ve known him, your hand still trembles as you type out your response, another sigh escaping your lips.

you: what the fuck is it now

the urge to slam your head into the nearest wall makes your neck twitch, the ghost of the movement lingering over your body. why did you even bother asking?

gojo 🤑: i knew you’d say yes 😁 you just love me SO much come to my place tomorrow early too better be there before sunrise

you:  i’m going to kill you for this one satoru 

setting down your phone, you will yourself to close your eyes and forget about the man who’s been the cause for all your inner turmoil lately.

to be honest, he’s been the cause of your inner turmoil for the past year and a half, as pathetic as that may be. it’s not your fault he’s handsome, charming, funny, reliable—the list goes on. sure, he can be slightly immature at times, and he often shies away from commitment, but who doesn’t have flaws, right?

you squeezed your eyes shut even harder, trying to clear your mind of all things gojo.

the thing with love is that, at its worst, it can stay a secret for years and years to come. you can pine and yearn for someone so terribly, every fiber in your body craves them, and they would never know. you never have to tell them anything. that choice alone is what has put you in your recent predicament.

if life was black and white, perhaps you could have stopped being friends with him the moment you noticed the way your heart raced at the mere thought of him. but things don’t work like that and, frankly, you think gojo would hunt you down if you even tried to cut him off.

you’ve tried to rid yourself of this 190cm lanky demon several times over the course of your life, however you’ve been unsuccessful every single time. when you met him 14 years ago, you didn’t think satoru gojo would become your best friend. in fact, you found him annoying, like a pesky mosquito that refused to leave you alone no matter how hard you swatted at him.

the two of you had your fair share of fights growing up, some lasting mere hours, others stretching on over the course of a couple days. despite that, you both managed to make up and forgive each other no matter what. 

you had believed then, as a hurting teenager, that one of your more serious arguments would eventually drive you both apart. after all, the similarities between you both were few and far between. for some reason entirely unknown to you, your scathing words never pushed him away.

and now that it's been 14 years, you’ve grown too fond of him to be able to imagine a life without him. 

so, you’re forced to swallow back the way your feelings crawl to the back of your throat when you’re with him, resting at the tip of your tongue, because you know he’d never see you as anything more than a friend. 

hell, it was obvious. the two of you have done everything you could possibly do as a couple: go on amusement park “dates”, spend hours in the arcade together. he’s even insisted on cuddling, changing in front of one another, sharing a bed. yet, gojo has never seemed to look at you any differently. 

and none of it ever bothered you either—until last year, when you saw him in a different light nearly overnight. in comparison to all else you had done with him, this was absolutely minuscule, but it's the reason gojo takes up so much of your thoughts even now. 

you had come over to his apartment. it was a saturday and every saturday, he insisted the both of you hang out. when you met him as a dumb little kid, it was easy to hang out whenever you both pleased. things are obviously different now that you both have responsibilities. 

being busy with university and your part-time job, you and gojo began to see less and less of each other. still, saturday evenings stayed dedicated to your long-standing friendship. that day, your shift at the grocery store was particularly grueling: loud babies wailing, irritable customers screaming in your face. to top it all off, you had a headache and had to skip lunch. safe to say, you were exhausted. 

you got to gojo’s house, knocking on the door, almost falling asleep against the wood. he didn't greet you. in fact, he wasn't even home. this wasn't uncommon, you simply pulled out your spare key and walked inside, making a beeline for his couch and letting your body sink into the soft cushions. the guy was unbelievably rich for a university student—not that you were complaining. 

you wanted to stay awake, wait for him so you could follow through with your usual saturday shenanigans, but you just couldn’t. 

the couch was awfully comfortable, cradling your fatigued body, lulling you to sleep. your eyes fought against the instinct to close, but ultimately, you lost and gave in. darkness enveloped you as your head fell back. it was a rather uncomfortable position, but at that moment, you didn’t have enough energy to care. 

you fell asleep in mere minutes, and because he has the worst timing, gojo showed up seconds after you had bid goodbye to consciousness. 

to this day, you’re still unsure if you had dreamt it, or maybe you had jolted back into a state of semi-awareness when your noisy friend barged in with a loud, “honey! i’m home!". what you’re sure of, is the fact that he had moved you. while drifting in and out of sleep, you felt his cold hands press into the muscle of your arms as he laid you down, moving you into a much more comfortable position. 

perhaps you were still in the throes of deep sleep, sinking into pillowy clouds in your dreams and that’s why you conjured up this moment. it might not have happened at all. or…perhaps gojo did lean over you, his warmth spilling over your cheek as he pressed his lips to your forehead. they were slightly chapped as they brushed against your skin, and you felt the gust of air as he sighed his goodnight.

you wonder if he had smiled. 

it wasn’t like gojo had never been affectionate with you before. in fact, you’re pretty sure physical touch is one of his love languages with how prone he is to clinging onto you like some parasite. some things, like forehead kisses, are strictly outside the bounds of your friendship.

there’s something so intimate about that gesture, something far more genuine and laced with a kind of devotion that never exists between people who are simply just friends.

the following morning, you wrenched yourself out of his apartment with the excuse that you had to feed your fish. you don’t even own fish. 

the feeling had been so utterly foreign. you couldn’t remember a time when you had ever felt this nervous around gojo—your palms sweaty, a tingling feeling racing up and down your spine. the realization dawned on you the moment you had woken up.

this feeling, which had laid dormant at the bottom of your heart, flickered to life, merging with the very blood that pumps through your veins.

maybe, gojo had always been more than just a friend. more than a best friend, even. 

you don’t know how to face it—the truth about your feelings. you try and fail to move on, try and fail to confess, try and fail.

which is why it wasn’t surprising in any sense that you were awake, before the sun had even graced your city, slipping on your shoes so you could go and see what your best friend wanted from you. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-

“you have a what?”

gojo snorts, rolling his eyes, “why’d you say that like i asked you to get naked or something? listen: i have some errands to run and i need you to look after this kid of mine.”

you’re struggling to wrap your head around everything he just laid onto you. even if the only new information was that he, seemingly overnight, got himself a kid. how did satoru gojo end up with a child in his care?

you sputter, trying to come up with something to say. “since when did you have a kid?”

“i adopted him a few days ago, saved him from some family stuff. anyways, can you look after him or not?”

you really hate yourself for saying yes, but you say yes, and suddenly you’re sitting on the couch with the world’s grumpiest child next to you. it’s been a few minutes since gojo’s left to do god knows what, and neither of you have said a word. you expected megumi to get off the couch and go do his thing, while you figure out how to look after him, but he stayed glued to the spot gojo called him to.

“so…how old are you?”

silence. 

“i’m twenty-two, just like satoru.”

more silence.

you probably wouldn’t have known his name had it not been for gojo telling you. 

you sigh—he clearly doesn’t like you. it stings a little bit, you liked to tell yourself that you’re the type of person kids naturally gravitate towards, but clearly there are exceptions. 

“what’s your…favorite color?” you try once more, and again, it’s met with silence. the boy hasn’t even looked at you, staring straight ahead, preoccupied with something else. 

“well, mine is probably blue. i think it’s such a nice color—like the ocean and the sky. and there’s so many shades, but lighter blues are especially gorgeous,” you ramble, feeling a bit embarrassed. 

he lets out a breath through his nose, and you perk up, waiting for his response. “i like pink. do you like blue because it reminds you of gojo’s eyes?”

you laugh, perhaps a bit too loud. out of all the things he could have said, you certainly weren’t expecting that. 

waving your hands in front of you, you try to shrug off his question, “no, it’s nothing like that! he’s just my best friend.”

megumi nods, but something tells you he doesn’t believe you. you can’t believe you got bested by a six-year-old. shaking your head, you interrogate him some more about his hobbies, and megumi responds with one word answers. eventually, the two of you settle on reading him some non-fiction book that you’re surprised even interests him.

as the hours stretch on, megumi warms up to you a little more. or something like that. he’s started asking you more about yourself, and even let you inside his room, showing you his growing collection of books about animals. 

he’s strangely interested in your relationship with gojo: asking how you two met, why you wanted to be friends with him. whenever you give him your answer (some bullshit you make up on the spot because—really. why are you still friends with an idiot like him?), he hums like he’s learned some fundamental truth about you. 

honestly, the kid scares you a little bit and it makes perfect sense that he ended up with satoru gojo as his parent. 

speaking of: the fact that gojo was even allowed to adopt him in the first place makes you question everything you ever knew about him. then again, there’s always the possibility that this was by no means a legal adoption. he did say megumi was saved from some family troubles, and knowing your best friend of several years, this very well entails kidnapping. 

you furrow your brows, looking over at the six-year-old doodling some large fluffy dogs, “did gojo just scoop you up off the street?”

“something like that.”

well. that’s alarming. 

when gojo gets back, he doesn’t really offer you much of an explanation as to how or why he suddenly has a kid. you were naive for thinking you would get one at all. instead, he tucks megumi into bed, sits you down at his dinner table, and shares some of the takeout he brought home with you. 

you expected that to be the last time you’d be babysitting megumi.

but then you’re back in two days, and then the day after that as well. and then the day after that too. 

now, you’re a good friend who loves helping out your friends, and you’re a good samaritan who will provide your aid where it’s needed. in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t even that terrible of an arrangement. you could definitely live like this.

but then it’s been a week of being called to babysit, and you definitely can’t live like this.

you don’t have the heart to look gojo in the eyes and tell him you can’t do this anymore, so you keep going. love makes people do crazy things, even if it’s ignoring pending assignments so you could color dogs with a grumpy little boy.

you rub the sleep out of your eyes, yawning as you get dressed, “why don’t you get an actual babysitter? i doubt i’m being a good influence.”

of course, your academics are your top priority. but you can’t help but think about how megumi might turn out if the only people he seems to be surrounded by are you, and your impulsive, borderline insane best friend. 

gojo’s voice crackles over the phones as he laughs, “you see, i would. but megumi keeps asking for you- actually, he insists that it has to be you.”

maybe, you’re just being dramatic. this isn’t that bad anyways. 

this time when you step into the gojo household, your beloved best friend already has one foot out the door. normally, he lingers, giving you both sickly sweet goodbyes, scooping up a struggling megumi into his arm to plant a big wet kiss on his cheek. 

he offers you one too, which you quickly decline. 

“i won’t be back until really late today,” satoru grimaces, pulling the door shut only for you to pull it back open.

you pout, slightly alarmed, “but satoru, i have an essay to work on!”

“just use my laptop!” he shouts as he runs off. you wonder how he has the time to do any of his own assignments. 

you figure he’s probably out meeting with his model UN group. it’s one of the few academic pursuits in his life that gojo is very serious about. either that, or he actually took up the tutoring offer from nanami (but you highly doubt that).

megumi has yet to wake up, so you go on a hunt for gojo’s laptop to start on your essay. might as well be productive while you have the chance to. 

you find it resting on his desk in his bedroom, and bring it over to the living room. it’s only when you open it up that you find out it’s password locked. you try texting gojo, but something tells you he won’t be responding. 

if you can’t guess the password, then you have to begrudgingly start your essay on your phone, which sounds like a nightmare.

your first guess is his own birthday. satoru has a habit of acting like his birth reset the course of planet earth, so it wouldn’t surprise you if that was also his password. surprisingly, you’re wrong. and you’re wrong about it being geto’s birthday, or megumi’s birthday (which you only learned recently), and even your own birthday. 

you’ve definitely ruled out the possibility of it ever being nanami’s birthday, which leads you to believe it isn’t a birthday at all. bringing your hands together, you steeple your fingers and bring them under your chin; trying to think like gojo is hurting your brain.

clearly this isn't working out. gojo's an enigma and trying to put yourself in his shoes is making you lose what few brain cells you've managed to save. 

so, you make your way into his poorly guarded room.

you tend to keep a safe distance away from his bedroom for obvious reasons—lord knows what gojo has lying around—so it feels strange to open the door and step inside. 

your first impression is one of surprise at how clean it was. knowing his tendency to leave many of his chores untouched or half-completed, you expected his room to be a reflection of his laziness, but you can actually see the floor. his bed is made and his dirty clothes lay in a hamper in the corner, clean clothes folded and placed off to the side on his bed. 

his desk is a tad cluttered with random trinkets, many of which you recognize from your countless adventures with him, but it’s organized enough.

“okay, if i was satoru, what would i make my password?” you whisper just under your breath as your eyes continue to scan and scrutinize his room. 

you walk up to a few post-it notes stuck on the wall, hoping that one of them might be his password. you remember the amount of times gojo’s gotten locked out of his email, social media, and other things—it would only make sense for him to write passwords down.

unfortunately for you, all of them are reminders to take out the trash. 

pulling out the chair tucked into his desk, you take a seat, sprawling out as you continue to take in his room. growing up, you spent hours upon hours cooped up in satoru’s room. the two of you spent your time playing video games, watching tv shows you were definitely too young for, and talking about everything and nothing. 

when you got bored of his room, the both of you would do the same thing in your room. 

somewhere along the years, you stopped hanging out in each others’ rooms. you suppose it’s only natural—your bedroom goes from being a place to sleep to a clear insight into the way you live your life. 

gojo’s room lacks the mess you would’ve expected, but it’s still obviously his room from the several polaroids stuck to the wall, the kikufuku wrappers on his desk, and the growing collection of mugs accumulating on the nightstand. 

it makes you smile, despite the fact that the several mugs are nothing short of disgusting. next to them is a framed picture. you never took satoru for someone who’s sentimental, and out of sheer curiosity, you walk over to see what it is. 

your smile only widens as you realize it's a picture of you and him from when you were young. you recognize the park the two of you are at instantly: it was where you both met. you were both only just kids back then. he basically ran into you and felt guilty, so he offered to hang out with you since you apparently looked lonely. you took offense, obviously, and told him to leave you alone. 

he did not and suddenly you found yourself with a new friend. gojo forced himself into your life and after a few short days, you decided he wasn’t all that bad. the picture was taken by his mom, before the both of you parted ways, only to immediately find out you lived across from each other.

you flip the frame over, surprised to find a date scribbled in the corner. from the year alone, you figure it was the day the picture was taken. realizing you may have stumbled across his password, you rush back to his laptop to try it. 

lo and behold, it worked.

you sit there for a moment, desperately trying not to read into what you just found out. surely, there’s nothing more to this than satoru choosing a date for a password. he probably didn’t want to go with a birthday since it would be too obvious, so he picked another date instead. 

shaking the annoyingly hopeful thoughts crowding your mind, you quickly begin working on your essay.

you only get halfway through your essay before megumi joins you, silent as always, but from the way he’s side-eyeing you it’s obvious he wants your attention. you spend the rest of the day with him as you usually would, reading and drawing, sharing bits and pieces about your life.

somehow the conversation spirals to when you and gojo met, and you’re not sure if you’re still hung up over his password, but you find your voice shaking a little as you recount the many things you’ve done with him.

eventually, as the sun begins to set, you get dinner ready and eat on the couch with megumi by your side. some random cartoon show is playing on tv, but megumi seems much more interested in mimicking the way you’re forking pasta into your mouth. 

he helps you clean up, and shuffles in next to you on the couch once more. you don’t remember megumi falling asleep, or when you fell asleep as well.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

when you wake up, you're surrounded by warmth. it feels like you're sinking into something akin to moist, spongy cake. the sunlight melts over your closed eyes, and you flutter them open, blinded by white very briefly as you get used to the daytime once more. 

and then you notice gojo laying next to you, elbow pressed into the mattress as he holds his head up with his palm, obviously shirtless and staring down at you. all the air in your lungs escapes you quickly, getting tangled in your throat as you choke. 

you frantically point at his torso, and the bed the two of you were sharing, "what- you- what?"

he laughs and it does little to calm you, "don't worry, we didn't do anything.

“i didn't want to leave you on the couch after i pried megumi away to send him off to school."

he shrugs off the comforter, making your thrashing heart slow down at the sight of his sweatpants. you can feel your own clothes from last night on you: your uncomfortable jeans and an old cotton and polyester t-shirt. 

you frown, following him, "megumi goes to school?"

"yeah?" he says, while your eyes flit all over his chest. "he's six, what else would he be doing?"

you decide not to comment on the fact that megumi hasn’t been attending school for the past couple days, trusting that gojo knew what he was doing. that’s probably a mistake but it’s not your problem to worry about. 

the two of you file out of his bedroom, and you scroll through your phone while waiting for him to leave the bathroom. 

"i can't believe megumi slept with you last night. and on top of that, he was clinging onto you like a dumb koala."

you could barely understand gojo with his toothbrush shoved in his mouth, but you could make out enough to respond with a smug smirk, "sorry that i'm better at this than you are."

"i'm telling you—it's the maternal instincts!" he huffs, walking back into the bathroom with the slam of the door. "do you have any idea how hard it was to pull him away from you in the morning?"

he's yelling from inside the bathroom, and you roll your eyes as he keeps complaining. 

"i basically got in my morning work out! and then-!" he starts again, this time opening the door, wiping his face with a small towel, "that little shit had the audacity to start wailing when i carried you off to the bedroom

"whining about how you were his or whatever," gojo trails off, his voice getting quieter as he begins to mumble. "as if i didn't know you first."

you feel your chest tighten as your heart swells; it's surprising how quickly you've grown attached to the little kid. for all his efforts, he was actually pretty clingy.

a laugh bubbles up your throat, the corners of your mouth twitching up with amusement as you come to a realization.

"gojo...are you jealous of a little kid?"

he gives you an incredulous look, scoffing in offense, "gojo? you mean satoru—first of all."

the laugh you've been holding back bursts past your lips, escaping you as you shut the door in his face. 

"second of all," he shouts, "no. i am not jealous of some kid!"

"i beg to differ!" you call out, and he doesn't respond. you enjoy the silence: this feels good. this feels domestic, and natural, and good. 

it makes your stomach twist when you realize that gojo is nothing more than a good friend. and he'd never see you as anything more than that. 

"what do you want for breakfast?" he asks suddenly, and you clear your thoughts. 

"nothing, coffee is fine."

"okay, no. i’m making waffles," he hums and you can hear him walk away, his footsteps making the ground shake. 

you go about your business in the bathroom, exiting a few seconds later to meet gojo in the kitchen. he's busy gathering ingredients, setting everything down onto the marble counters as he hums a song you recognize as one you introduced him to. 

leaning against the cool counter, you begin to speak, "you know the heart attack you gave me today morning?"

he responds by turning around, giving you a wolfish grin, which you pointedly ignore. 

"why didn't you leave me on the couch anyway?"

this was the first time gojo has ever made an effort to pick you up and move you somewhere else, let alone his own bed. you've slept over multiple times before, and always woke up on the couch. 

he stills, hesitating for a moment and you can feel the air almost pause. 

"and what? leave you to complain at me about how you slept weird?"

he brushed off the question, both you and him know that. but you let it go, opting for admiring your best friend, and crush, work the kitchen. 

gojo isn't the best cook, certainly not better than you, but he can hold his own. that being said, gojo's a messy cook and always leaves the kitchen like a hurricane swept through it. 

he looks good, but then again, the moments where he looks even mediocre are few and far between. his sweatpants hang low on his hips, and the watery sun from the cloudy sky outside spreads over his back and his porcelain hair like it's meant to be shining on him at all times. 

you come around the side of the kitchen, hoisting yourself up onto the counter gojo was working on, allowing your gaze to settle on the curve of his nose and the way his lips were parted with focus. his eyes seem to take on an almost mystical glow—vivid cerulean irises flitting from the different bowls laid out in front of him. 

"take a picture, princess, it'll last longer," he mutters with a ghost of a smirk. 

"you're so annoying."

his boisterous laugh takes up the whole room, and you bite your lip, looking down at your swinging feet. 

he calms down and pours the batter into the warmed up waffle maker, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth with focus, "you know, it took megumi weeks to warm up to me. he's not shy but...he's kind of picky with people."

this surprises you. 

sure, when you first met him, megumi wasn't the kindest. but it didn't take you long to break him out of his shell. he wasn't the most talkative, but it was the little things: when he leaned into your side while you sat beside him, when he mimicked the way you had eaten. 

megumi is observant and mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery. 

"i hadn't noticed..." you finally say, trailing off. 

gojo exhales something of a laugh, "that's because he loves you."

"i think 'love' is pushing it-"

"no, no! you should've seen him today, bitching and moaning about how i'm making him leave you."

he rolls his eyes with a groan, muttering to himself in annoyance. 

you smirk, pointing at his face to make a quip about him rolling his eyes, when someone begins to bang on the front door. 

there's a quick, rapid succession of knocks, and then: "satoru! where are you?! you have class!"

you don't give gojo the chance to speak before you're jumping off the counter, rushing over to open the door. 

geto stands with his hands shoved in his pockets, brows furrowed until he realizes it's you who's opened the door, and not his perpetually tardy friend. 

"y/n, nice to see you," he smiles, bending down to meet your gaze. you flush, involuntarily. 

though your affection may lie with gojo, geto was still every bit as charming, and then some. 

you move out of the way, giving him the space to step into gojo's lavish flat. his sneakers squeak against the tile of the entrance as he stops next to you. 

"good to see you too, suguru," you grin back, wrapping your arms around your waist. 

he shuffles a bit closer to you, and you don't hesitate to lean against him, suddenly tired. geto moves with ease as he slips an arm around you, bringing you into his side. 

"i don't have class today, you know that."

gojo comes into view from around the kitchen, his eyes immediately fixating on the way suguru has you within his grasp. he visibly stiffens, eyes darkening in a way you haven’t seen before. he wears a kind of neutral look that you can’t understand.

suguru, on the other hand, simply raises an eyebrow, "are you sure about that? today is tuesday, not wednesday."

and this time when gojo stills, it's not with some unreadable expression that confuses you—it's with shock. he scrambles to pull out his phone from the pocket of his sweats, glancing at the date before letting out a string of curses. 

"c'mere," he gestures at you, then ultimately decides to pull you away, his hand closing around your wrist. 

you let gojo drag you into the kitchen, ignoring the way your skin burns at his touch, and he turns to you with an apologetic smile. he's stumbling out his words, hands gripping your upper arms as he speaks. "i can't be marked late by the professor again, or else i'm gonna be in so much trouble."

it’s beyond you why the two of you had to walk into the kitchen for him to divulge this information. and it’s certainly beyond you why gojo had let his fingers linger around your wrist, and on your upper arms. you ignore it, however, as you move towards the sleek, black keurig and turn it on.

geto walks into the kitchen then, shooing a very reluctant gojo to go get dressed. he moves over to grab you a mug for your coffee, which you graciously thank him for since gojo had a habit of leaving everything you needed tucked away in unusually high cabinets.

you set it under the coffee maker, waiting for the dark liquid to fill the cup. tendrils of steam spill out the sides of the mug, the kitchen filling up with the scent of the bitter drink. to your side, geto’s leaning against the counter, watching you with a soft smile. you meet his eyes with a curious stare, raising your eyebrows.

“something on my face, suguru?”

he laughs, warm and deep, shaking his head, “nothing at all.” he slides closer, reaching around you to grab a spoon before grabbing the creamer for you. “why’d you spend the night anyway? did that idiot bug you to study with him?”

you scoff at the thought of your ‘study’ sessions with gojo; they always devolve into the both of you watching a movie, your work forgotten on the floor. 

“nope,” you answer, pouring some of the creamer into your coffee, “i was babysitting his…kid.”

geto’s eyes widen ever so slightly, the only indicator of him acknowledging what you said. you open your mouth to say something more, but gojo comes running out of his room, jacket half-on. he eyes your closeness to geto suspiciously, before motioning for his friend to follow him with a wave of his hand. 

before they leave, gojo walks over to where you’re standing in the kitchen, grinning at you so sweetly. you know he wants something from you.

“would you– like to stay for dinner? with megumi and i?” he asks, voice just a hair above a whisper. had you not been standing so close to him, you might not have heard him at all. his expression remains sincere for a moment more before it morphs into an exaggerated pout.

“please?” he begs, dragging out the word just to irritate you.

“put that fucking pout away and i might agree.”

he takes that as a yes, pulling you into a hug that nearly spills the coffee out of your mug. “i’ll see you then,” he mumbles into your hair, arms wrapped tightly around your waist like you’d float away should he let go.

geto slams a hand against the wall, reminding gojo of his presence, “hurry it up, unless you wanna be late.”

you wave them both out, gojo blowing a kiss your way which you pretend to catch and stomp on. the action elicits a laugh from geto which earns him a shoulder punch from the taller of the two. they begin bickering as they walk away and you watch fondly, heart aching for something you know you’re never getting.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

when gojo gets back from class, he arrives with megumi in tow. the young boy stumbles inside, shrugging off his backpack as soon as he makes it in. you had let yourself in a few moments earlier, knowing gojo would be home soon. you wanted to help with dinner.

megumi notices you seated on the couch and approaches you slowly, giving you a short wave. you return the gesture just as gojo walks over to meet you both, large hands resting atop megumi’s head.

“ready for dinner?”

you nod your head, getting up, “i’m helping.”

“i figured,” he laughs, leading the way into the kitchen. you watch as he puts on the stupid apron shoko had gotten him as a gag gift a few years ago. ‘kiss the cook!’ is printed in red cursive on the front with kiss marks and red hearts around it.

gojo catches you looking at the words, leaning closer while pointing at his lips. “well? you read the apron, angel.”

you try not to put much meaning into the pet name and scoff, shoving him away. “are aprons suddenly law or something?”

“not all of them, but this one is.”

“oh yeah? and what’s so special about this one, satoru?” you ask, getting ingredients out from the fridge, the necessary produce needed for dinner tonight. 

“i said so.”

“in your dreams, dumbass.”

he grins, wide and yielding as he steps closer to where you’ve cozied up in a corner. you take a deep breath, trying to slow your heart thrashing against your ribcage. though his attention should be elsewhere, his eyes remain glued to your own. you turn around, back facing him.

it’s a precautionary measure because you’re sure that you’d make a mistake, staring at him the way you were. 

his chest presses against your back, the warmth of his body seeping through the cotton of his shirt and you can’t quite stop yourself from relaxing against him. 

“where did i put it?” he mumbles to himself, searching the cupboards above you. he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about the fact that he’s crowding you against the counter, one arm resting on the marble countertop, caging you against him.

gojo pulls away rather abruptly, the feeling of him disappearing as soon as you had gotten used to it. “guess it’s not there after all,” he says, swiftly moving over to another cupboard to check. 

you, however, have a hand pressed to your heart, feeling it nearly beat out of your chest. 

megumi joins you both in the kitchen shortly after, and gojo brings him up to sit on some free counter space while the both of you maneuver around each other in the kitchen. you can feel megumi watching you as you hand things over to gojo, freezing when his fingers brush yours. you know he’s watching when gojo reaches around you for something, pressing himself against you.

you wait for the water in the pot to come to a simmer, softly humming the chorus of a song over and over again. eventually, megumi picks up on the repetition, humming along with you. it brings a smile to your face and you can’t resist pinching his little cheek. 

you’re too busy cooing at megumi (whose face has gone red from embarrassment) to notice gojo watching you both, leaning down, his cheek propped up by his arm resting on the counter. there’s a warmth in his gaze that you always seem to miss, this barely restrained desire to know you better than he knows himself.

he sighs wistfully, which gets your attention and as you turn, he’s walking closer. you let him wrap his arms around you, looking into your eyes for just a brief moment. his gaze is cloudy, like he’s wrapped up in his own head—your own pining reflected back to you. it startles you; you long to look inside his mind.

“this is really nice,” gojo hums, resting his chin on your shoulder. “we should do this more often.”

you can only nod in agreement, everything you want to say sticking to the roof of your mouth, sugar exploding along your tongue like a caramel candy. 

you swallow them down, deciding to keep them to yourself for a little longer. gojo squeezes you to his chest, then untangles himself from you. you watch him get back to cooking and you wonder if his heart is also racing, the blood rushing to his head, roaring in his ears. 

there's a whisper of something painful in the back of your mind. you ignore it.

seconds ago, you were close enough to share a breath. yet, when you watch him now, you feel as though you’ll always be miles apart.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

it’s been a few days since you’ve started babysitting megumi. you fell so easily into their routine, like you were always meant to be a part of it. and when you listen to gojo complain about how megumi likes you more, you begin to believe that you were. 

you fiddle with the keys to gojo’s car as you stand just outside of megumi’s school, waiting for the hordes of children to come running out. tired mothers sit on the few benches next to the entrance, rehashing the same gossip most likely. fathers stand possessively in front of their cars, arms crossed over their chest as they wait. 

it’s cold. the wind brings a chill that sweeps over you and makes a few strands of your hair flutter, landing in a mess covering your eyes. you blow them out of the way, tapping your foot impatiently. 

megumi’s school is rather small: just one main building, single-storied. in the back, you think there’s a garden, judging by the chain link fencing colored green thanks to the growing ivy wrapped around it. 

wreathes and small christmas trees are placed strategically along the sidewalk and on the walls outside, fairy lights strung from the roof of the school. the announcement board outside features a santa claus cutout smiling joyfully. the school is covered in christmas decorations as they prepare for the upcoming holidays, only a week and a half away.

you briefly wonder what gojo’s plans are, whether he’ll be taking megumi home to his family. you highly doubt it—satoru would hate to be on the receiving end of a stream of endless questions. how was he meant to explain megumi anyway?

along with that thought, comes another: would megumi miss his family over the holidays? 

you don’t know much about the boy at all, neither megumi himself nor gojo bothered to explain his past. however, it must be a pretty stark change to suddenly be under the care of a college student, especially one as eccentric as gojo. 

the clock ticks down to a minute before the end of the school day. a large crowd of children stand waiting behind the closed gates, squealing and screaming, waving frantically at their parents waiting for them.

you hear the bell ring and the gate opens, kids flooding out like a rush of water breaking past a dam. their little legs slam against the pavement as they race for their families. you keep an eye out for megumi, knowing that he wouldn’t be the type to behave so rambunctiously. 

it doesn’t take long for you to spot the top of his head, his spiky raven hair moving slowly behind a gaggle of loud children. megumi looks around aimlessly, probably for nanami who normally picks him up. his friend next to him, a pink-haired boy, grins at him and says something you can’t make out.

he must be loud, you notice, as megumi winces from the noise. his gaze eventually makes its way to you, and you watch as recognition flashes across his features. eyebrows raised and eyes wide, megumi makes a mad dash towards you, plowing down his friend in the process.

the sight of the pink-haired boy rolling around on the sidewalk makes you gasp, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your laughter at bay. megumi slows down dramatically when you wave to him, struggling to appear indifferent to your presence. it’s insanely endearing.

“hi megumi,” you smile, reaching out a hand to brush over the unruly strands of his hair. megumi wrinkles his nose at the feeling of your fingers smoothing over his scalp, but he returns your greeting.

“hello. where’s nanami?”

the abruptness of the question barely phases you. you’re used to megumi’s bluntness.

“well…satoru forgot to tell nanami to get you today, so i showed up instead,” you answer, leading megumi towards gojo’s car. 

you barely had the opportunity to really take in this car on your way to the school, borderline speeding so you wouldn’t show up late. curse you for falling asleep for too long. everything about it screamed gojo, from the color to the model (appropriately flashy for a very flashy guy). it’s not your kind of car by any means.

you grab megumi’s backpack while he clambers into the backseat, hopping up onto the booster seat placed on the right. the bright orange flames decorating the fabric is a pretty strong indicator that gojo bought this thing without consulting megumi. handing him back his backpack, you climb into the driver’s seat.

the drive is a lot more peaceful when you’re not racing against traffic lights and skating just under the speed limit. you think of the last time you were in this car—it was too long ago for you to be able to recall.

stopped at a red light, you allow your eyes to wander a bit and explore the front dash. gojo’s placed a small cat figurine in the corner, but aside from that, his car lacks much personality. the only other decorative piece he’s got is a small keychain hanging from the rearview mirror. 

you eye it carefully, wondering why the fraying twine and colorful beads seem so familiar to you. it takes you some time to remember the bracelet you had gifted gojo years ago, in fourth grade. you had spent recess with some other friends of yours, making friendship bracelets. when you went to give gojo the bracelet you made for him, you were met with petty hostility.

he had been upset because you had ditched him, but his grievances were quickly forgotten as soon as you handed over his gift. he wore it every single day until he couldn’t anymore. when you asked about it, satoru explained that the bracelet had come apart. you weren’t surprised: he wore it way too much and that thing was holding on thanks to a flimsy knot you put together as a chubby fingered nine-year-old.

you hadn’t expected him to keep it after that, let alone turn it into a keychain to hang in his car. 

the fact that he had held onto it even after all these years makes your heart flip in a way that you know is dangerous. tightening your grip on the steering wheel, you focus back on driving. 

once you’re back in the apartment, you decide to get started on making megumi some kind of snack to tide him over until dinner rolls around. you watch him rummage around in his backpack, walking over to you with a piece of paper in his hand. 

he tugs on your apron, handing you the paper without a single word of explanation. from a quick glance, you gather that it’s a drawing and you grin, “this is so cute, megumi!”

sure, you didn’t really see it yet, but he doesn’t need to know that. you have to foster creativity in children when they’re young in any way you can, even if it means lying sometimes.

you set aside some strawberries to dice, making a mental note to put the picture up on the fridge. gojo has an abundance of random magnets from all the places he’s visited; might as well put them to good use. 

when you grab the drawing off the counter, really take a look at what’s on it, you almost can’t believe it. for a moment, you wonder if you’re simply projecting your twisted hopes onto this kid’s art piece. 

megumi’s decided to draw himself, standing with his brows furrowed, next to a very long man who you can only assume to be gojo, judging by the white hair and sunglasses. on megumi’s left, is someone in a blue sweater, shorter than gojo. it’s you.

there was clearly an attempt at drawing hands that fell apart into a jumble of squiggles but you get the idea: they’re all holding hands. at the top of the drawing, in large messy handwriting is the title.

“my family.”

megumi runs up to the counter, eyeing you carefully as you take in the drawing. you’re struck with the sudden urge to confess to gojo, convince him to make this boy’s vision a reality. you think he deserves that much.

but your heart aches in a way it never has before—filled with this dreadful yearning for a man you know will never look at you the way you look at him. 

the whispers in the back of your mind come together and someone flickers to life, like the flame appearing from a lighter.

“this is beautiful, megumi,” you whisper, sticking it onto the fridge with a magnet advertising vegas. something malicious squeezes around your lungs, digging it’s claws into your heart but you gulp back the pain. 

megumi is none the wiser, nodding in agreement and waiting patiently for you to hand him his snack. he runs off, taking a seat on the couch and you watch him eat, realizing how sickeningly domestic this whole scene is. 

you hate it. 

hours pass unceremoniously. gojo barges in with a slam of the front door, practically shouting at the top of his lungs.

“there they are, my two favorite people!” he grins, kicking off his shoes. you close your laptop, leaving it on the couch as you get up just in time to dodge gojo’s hug. he stumbles forward onto the couch where you were sitting previously.

while he grumbles about evil you are, you decide to grab the picture megumi brought home. once again, you’re struck by how domestic your actions are, and you hesitate. 

gojo, however, is already making his way over to you, holding megumi captive in his arms. “what’s that?” he asks with a nod of his head.

you turn it around, holding it up to show him and you watch carefully as his eyes flicker from person to person. his grin falls into a gentle smile, somewhat guarded, and he uses his free hand to take the picture from you.

megumi takes this opportunity to launch himself out of gojo’s grasp, scurrying off to his room. you eyes follow him as he disappears behind a wall. when you bring your attention back to gojo, he’s stepped closer to you.

his stare is intense, unwavering, and it directly contrasts with the amused smile he wears. you don’t know what to think—in fact, you can barely think at all. the air is thick with tension, it presses down on your chest until you can barely breathe. 

“it’s a perfect family, don’t you think?” he asks, his gaze softening as he looks down at the drawing. the atmosphere shifts but you still feel breathless, filled with this ache to wrap yourself around him. 

“yeah, it is,” you say, ever so quietly because you’re scared that anything louder would break this feeling. he’s so close, you could close the gap and kiss him right now. 

there’s a crash, a large stack of books laying on the floor, papers scattered everywhere. megumi stands next to it, eyes wide and terrified. his small hands curl into little fists and he takes a deep breath. “didn’t mean to. sorry.”

“it’s okay, megumi,” you reply, swiftly moving to his side. the moment is forgotten, the kiss never shared. “it was an accident.”

he nods, but he stares at you with watery eyes and your heart breaks. scooping him up and into your arms, you walk him out onto the balcony. he tries not to cry, you let him know that it’s okay if he wants to. 

gojo remains standing in the kitchen, the drawing still in his hands. he stares at it for a long while, letting his mind wander to a world where it’s more than just a little kid’s silly art piece.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

you shove the last of your shirts into your suitcase, frowning at the way it bulges out when you zip it shut. it’s the week of christmas, four days before the actual holiday, but you’re only just leaving to go back home. 

megumi’s on break, so is gojo, so you’re not really needed. you wish you were—you miss both of them.

setting the suitcase upright, you go down your checklist of things, making sure you packed everything. you still haven’t mentally prepared to see your extended family, knowing they’ll be chasing after you with questions about your dating life.

‘have you gotten a boyfriend yet?’ 

‘can we expect an engagement soon?’ 

‘any plans for kids?’

it’s all horrible and invasive and you don’t get why any of that matters to them at all. it’s your life, your choices. if you’re not bringing it up yourself, there’s no need to hound you about it every single time you see them.

your phone buzzes in your pocket from a message, and you’re unsurprised to see that it’s from gojo.

gojo 🤑: hey bbg 😳

you: kys  what do u want

gojo 🤑: what are ur christmas plans 🤔

you furrow your brows at the question, wondering why he asked at all. every single year, you always do the same thing.

you: going home…. what else would i be doing genius

gojo 🤑: LAMEEEEE i was gonna ask if u wanted to come over ig but whatever u hate me 😢😢😢

you finish off the conversation, letting him know that you do hate him, and that you need to get back to packing.

knowing his circumstances, you know that gojo is probably staying at home with megumi. he can’t exactly weasel his way out of explaining the fact that he’s managed to adopt a kid. it’s most likely why he asked if you had plans, despite knowing that you do. you know he’s probably feeling lonely—it makes your heart twist and tear. 

you fight the urge to ask him to join you as you drive home.

on megumi’s birthday, gojo proposes that you facetime him. you agree, obviously wanting to see the little boy who’s become so precious to you so quickly. the first thing megumi does upon seeing your face is frown. 

“leave your family. i don’t like gojo.”

you burst into laughter at the sight of your best friend’s face, jaw dropped in a mixture of shock and offense. gojo launches into a rant about how megumi is ungrateful, which only makes the situation funnier. 

megumi, however, finds none of this amusing.

“i love you, megumi,” you say between breaths, “happy birthday!”

“whatever,” he grumbles, but you catch a glimpse of his cheeks reddening as he runs off, leaving you with a still offended gojo.

you watch him shuffle around, propping up his phone against something. “what’s your secret, huh? what do you have that i don’t?”

“i’m just better.”

your smile must be infectious, gojo ditching his deep frown for a grin of his own. his eyes crinkle as you’re met with the whites of his teeth, cheeks bunching up. you can’t stand the effect he has on you, the way you melt into nothing the moment he looks your way.

“i guess you and megumi are just perfect for each other,” he sighs, avoiding your gaze through the call. “it’s cute.”

you’re stunned into silence at his genuine words, and your heart wrenches painfully as you picture the drawing megumi came home with. gojo ends the call quickly, telling you he’s busy. you don’t believe it but you let him leave, allowing yourself some space from him as well.

at one point, he frantically texts you letting you know that he forgot to get megumi a gift, begging for ideas. 

gojo 🤑: I CANRT FINF HIS CHRISARMAS LIADT ANWWER ME THIAS IS AN EMERGYE SOS 🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘

you:  OMFG DO U HAVE AN OFF SWITCH have u tried his room.

gojo 🤑: omg look at u my little genius 🥰

you stare at his messages, finding yourself wishing for his emoji keyboard to glitch out and break. the next text he sends you is a picture of megumi’s wish list. you’re fairly certain that megumi doesn’t believe in santa, but it’s cute that he’s written a list anyway.

they’re all fairly normal: art supplies, animal books, toys you’ve never heard of. but what sticks out is the last bullet point, written neatly. 

gojo 🤑: he wants u to be his family  quick wrap urself up with a bow and mail urself to us 🎁 u would make a cute present 😘😘😘

you disregard gojo’s texts for the time being, focused entirely on megumi’s last wish. the fact that you appeared at all is shocking, considering the fact that you’ve only known him for a little over a week. 

you: yeah i’m wrapping myself up rn

gojo 🤑: pics or it didnt happen 😋

you scoff out a laugh, typing up your response. your mind is still dwindling on the wish list, on megumi in general. he’s quickly taken up residence inside your heart and it feels good to know that you’ve been able to do the same. 

christmas passes slowly, filled with the overwhelming scent of cinnamon spice and heart-warming laughter. of course, you didn’t escape the questions from your extended family. as usual, you brushed them off, eager to get out of the only conversation they seem to want with you.

but you like christmas, and this year, it’s made better by the several pictures gojo’s been sending you of him and megumi. in one, they’re ice-skating. in another, they’re making a gingerbread house. it’s all typical christmas activities but it warms your heart and you want nothing more than to be there with them.

you expect the rest of your holiday break to slip by, nothing special or new. you debated heading home earlier, but decided against it assuming most of your friends already have their respective plans. 

you weren’t expecting gojo to invite you to his new year’s party. in fact, you weren’t expecting him to hold a party at all. as much as he likes parties, gojo’s never one to throw one, especially at his place. 

in retrospect, going was probably a bad idea. if only you knew that before you agreed. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-

this kind of party is one you’re entirely unfamiliar with.

most of the parties you’ve attended never exceeded over ten people, small gatherings of close friends clearing out their busy schedules to hang out together once again like they used to. these kinds of parties are relaxed, you don’t have to dress up, you don’t have to put up a front.

this new year’s party is the kind that coaxes you into a simple black dress, perhaps too short, perhaps too low cut. this kind of party paints your lips a dark berry color that transfers onto your cup, filled with alcohol that burns as it slides down your throat.

this kind of party plays music so loud, it crawls under your skin, seeping into your head. you feel the bass reverberate throughout your chest, forcing your heart to beat faster like adrenaline coursing through your veins.

to say you feel out of your element would be a gross understatement. everyone around you is almost a stranger, wearing features you only vaguely recognize, enough for you to shoot them a smile and a nod as a greeting. 

you examine your hands as you stand leaning against a wall, watching people dance, laugh, shout. you’ve hidden yourself away in the dark (rather pathetic, you think), not knowing how to engage and not really wanting to either. 

“i figured you’d be in some corner,” a gentle hand touches your elbow as shoko squeezes herself past a small group of people to stand next to you.

you smile at her, grateful to find at least one familiar face. “you must not know me at all, shoko, i love dancing with sweaty strangers.” your sarcasm isn’t lost on her and she lets out a laugh, taking a drag from her cigarette. 

you’re surprised that gojo even let her smoke inside, but part of you feels like he’s unaware she’s doing it at all. 

she blows out, tendrils of smoke twisting around you both, invading your senses. shoko looks at you out of the corner of her eye, somewhat relaxed, very curious. “you’re still in love with gojo?”

you blanch at her words, turning to face her though she remains, still regarding you through her peripheral. 

“you’re too easy to read,” she smiles, her posture curved, allowing her to relax against the wall. “i’m surprised you’ve gone this long without telling him.”

it’s probably the alcohol impairing your judgment, but you frown, sighing into your cup. “my alternative is losing him forever, so i can’t exactly be picky.” you don’t intend on letting her into your thoughts this way, even if it’s only a sliver of the way you feel. 

it would’ve been better to brush her off with a joke. shoko doesn’t seem to care, humming, “ i don’t know, i think you’d be in for a surprise.”

“well, i hate surprises.”

time flies by but the night remains young. you’ve loosened up a bit thanks to the alcohol, laughing freely, no longer worried about your attire. your two person party in the corner steadily grew, nanami and geto joining you after some time. 

gojo is still missing, but you suspect he’s out being a good host.

you’ve laid your head on shoko’s shoulders, laughing at nanami recounting stories from the tutoring he’s been busy with. geto stands to your left, reaching out a hand towards you whenever you stumble slightly. 

your cup is empty and you make no moves to fill it again, not wanting to exit the good conversation you’re having. you like hearing nanami talk about his work, hearing shoko complain about her lab partner, and hearing geto’s jokes. 

the four of you decide to get some food in an attempt to sober up. it’s then that gojo finally shows up. the crowd parts for him like he’s someone important. thanks to the effects of the alcohol wearing off, you can tell it’s because he’s shouting his way through the crowd. 

“why are you losers hiding from the party?” he asks, shooting shoko a glare when she takes a drag of her cigarette. she simply blinks at him, making no move to throw it out. 

“not hiding,” you respond, opening your mouth to bite down on the slice of pizza geto’s trying to feed you. “just eating.” your words come out muffled thanks to the food. geto shuffles his chair closer to your side.

gojo lets his gaze settle on you, lips slightly parted as his eyes wander, taking in your dress and your half-opaque lipstick. you think you see his eyes widen, you can’t be sure. you think you see him almost gulp. you can’t be sure. 

gojo reluctantly tears his stare away from you, watching his friend closely, jaw clenched. his anger is only invisible to you, the sight causing shoko to laugh (she marvels at your idiocy often). he grabs a chair and pushes it up right next to yours on the opposite side, arms crossed. 

he sits silently, glaring at you and geto, though you hardly notice. you’re too engrossed in whatever story geto’s telling you. he reaches over to brush some hair out of your eyes; gojo stands up abruptly, his hand wrapping around your wrist.

“actually, i have some important news to tell you,” he says, words short and succinct as he drags you away from the table. 

you’re too confused to stop him from pulling you all the way to the hallway that opens up into his bedroom. it’s only then that you wriggle free from his grip, staring at him, wondering what his problem is.

“what’re you–”

your back is pressed against the wall, he stands a few steps in front of you. he’s breathing hard and his eyes are blown wide and you wonder who this man is—the worry creasing his forehead makes him seem lightyears away from the satoru you know. 

“can i ask you a question?” he asks, the sentence stumbling out of his mouth like he wasn’t quite ready to say it. gojo doesn’t give you the chance to answer him, already talking once again. 

“do you like suguru?” he asks, taking a few steps closer, until he’s a hair’s width away from you. 

the question is so out of left field, you’re forced to take a moment and process it. gojo’s gaze hardens at your silence, and you stave off the urge to make a joke out of this situation. uncertainty makes your stomach churn—you’ve yet to see your best friend like this.

there’s a crease between his brows, lips downturned but not quite a frown. his words still hang heavy in the air, broken jealousy rearing its ugly head. his hand loosens around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull away.

you take a deep breath, feeling like you’ve taken in all the air left between you and him. “no. no, i don’t,” you whisper, heart beating so fast you almost expect the muscle to burst within your chest. 

your admission makes his shoulders drop, the tense atmosphere almost melting away altogether. gojo tightens his fingers around your wrist once more, bridging the gap between you both. he hovers above you, his free hand placed against the wall as he cages you against it. 

despite the years you’ve known him, sometimes you find it so hard to read him, understand his motivations. gojo leans close, his breath fanning over your lips. 

“so you just really like being mean to me,” he mutters and you furrow your brows, gnawing at your bottom lip. 

“i haven’t said one mean thing to you all night, satoru,” you say quietly, eyes downcast, avoiding his attentive stare. his eyes, as blue as the sky, still shimmer in the dark and you watch from beneath your lashes as they shift to a dulled luster. 

gojo drops his head into the crook of your neck, you can feel his lips move against your skin as he speaks, “there’s more than one way to be mean.” 

your breath is caught in your throat. he’s running his nose up your neck, smearing a kiss below your jaw. your lack of resistance only emboldens him further and he kisses the same spot once again.

and you let him, gulping back the unpleasant feelings that float to the tip of your tongue because who are you to ruin this? on another night, you might have untangled yourself from him, walking away and creating necessary distance between you both.

but he’s exactly where you want him, where you’ve been longing for him. 

so tonight, you simply mutter his name in warning, your voice cracking softly as he slides his hand around your waist. his touch burns, it's as though the material of your dress simply doesn’t exist under the weight of his palm. 

gojo presses his mouth to your ear. when he speaks, he sounds so resigned, almost like the woman that sits in your mind, taunting you with the possibility of everything unraveling. she licks at your wounds and her breath burns.

“i feel so…stupid when it comes to you,” he rasps out, pulling you closer. “you drive me crazy and i don’t know what to do–” he cuts himself off before he gets too deep into his rambling. anticipation steadily rises up your chest, higher and higher and higher.

“it’s always been you,” gojo says, letting you see his face once more. he leans over you, simply staring, the loud music fading away until it’s nothing but a beat behind the incessant thrum of your heart. 

the woman makes herself apparent, hiding just behind your eyes, her words piercing your skin.

you gather the courage to really look at him, ignoring the way the woman in your head sighs, telling you it’s not worth it—telling you it’ll hurt. she tells you it’s only going to ache, and tear, and rip apart. you shake her away. his eyes have you trapped in them, drowning in his blue, your hands wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. he doesn’t waver, shifting his gaze down to your lips.

“i love you,” he breathes out, his words so full of promise you nearly believe it. but then you remember where you are, you remember what you’ve been doing.

your hands rest on his shoulders, feeling the cotton material of his shirt under your fingertips. “you can’t mean that,” you reply in a whisper. 

the woman in your head shrieks at you until her voice turns hoarse and raw. you grab the collar of his shirt, closing the gap, your lips meeting his. gojo fists the silk of your dress, creasing the material against his palm. your trembling hand brushes along his cheek and he chases after your touch, tilting his head to the side, nose bumping against yours. he’s presses you into the wall, your spine meeting the cold plaster as goosebumps erupt down your arms. 

the woman shouts, the woman regrets. the woman tells you you’re making a mistake but she’s inevitably drowned out by the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. gojo brings his hand up to your jaw, fingers squeezing desperately. his kiss is all tongue and teeth, he steals your breath away.

a fire festers in the pit of your stomach, it’s flames fueled by his touch, his warmth, everything him. it curls into a burning in your chest. insatiable greed drives gojo to take you into his arms, your feet stumbling against each other’s as you make your way into his room. 

your back hits his comforter, you pull him closer.

the woman sits silently and weeps.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

you wake up with a dull pounding behind your eyes and a painful silence inside your mind. warmth envelops you as you twist and turn under gojo’s heavy blankets—it’s reminiscent of an earlier time. 

beams of sunlight force your eyes open and you prop yourself up, elbows sinking into gojo’s expensive mattress. cradling your head in your hand, you take in your surroundings: the stark white sheets, gojo’s sleeping figure next to you.

you watch him sleep for several moments, marveling at the fact that gojo is asleep at all. he’s always had trouble with insomnia, seeing him rest so peacefully makes you smile. 

you let your gaze sweep over his face, pressed into the pillow, messy hair obscuring his eyes. his shoulders are bare, and if last time taught you anything, it’s that gojo has no problem with appearing borderline naked in front of you.

scoffing, you turn to check the nightstand for your phone, pausing when a cold draft seems to linger over your arms and chest a bit stronger than usual. a pile of fabric resting against the mahogany floors catches your eye, and you stare at it blankly before everything begins to fall into place.

your fragmented memories connect, the night floods back to you, knocking the air from your lungs.

your dress on the floor, the very obvious smear of berry colored lipstick against his jaw. your incredibly apparent lack of clothing.

panic digs into your chest. the woman comes into view once more, her unwavering gaze staring at you with contempt. she crawls out of your chest, standing before you, several heads taller.

‘you messed everything up,’ she seethes. your heart beats faster. ‘he’ll never want to see you again,’ she says, her words stinging like a slap. it becomes harder to breathe. 

you don’t stick around to see what else she has to say, grabbing your dress off the floor with shaky hands. you pull it back on messily, grabbing your phone, rushing out of his bedroom as tears cling to your lashes.

thankfully, everyone seems to have cleared out of the apartment.

you don’t allow yourself to think, opening up the front door, rushing down the stairwell until you’re standing in the lobby of his apartment building. it’s too cold—they always crank up the air conditioning even if it’s the middle of winter. 

the lady behind the desk looks at you with pity. you suppress the urge to vomit. tears stream down your cheeks, trailing along your chin before they fall. you know you must look a mess. you wonder where else you left your berry colored lips. 

you call shoko; she’s hungover when she picks up but she hears the pain in your voice and she hears you bite back your tears. she’ll be there soon, she promises and you stand, waiting. 

you sit in her car, staring out the window. she tries to make you feel better by playing your favorite songs—it doesn’t do much to help. the song reminds you of megumi. 

the thought of megumi sends you spiraling further. how can you face megumi after this? how can you face gojo? he might not remember, but you always will. you’ll always remember the warmth of his hands, the way he held you near like you were everything. 

the woman tells you you’re sick.

shoko eyes you, taking in your tear-stained face. you don’t want her pity either, digging your nails into your palm as hard as you can. she’s stopped at a red light and she reaches over to take your hand in hers.

“you have to figure out where you both stand,” she says, calm and rational as always. sometimes, you wish she could see things the way you do. you wish she could hear the woman who haunts you. 

“i know,” you whisper, closing your eyes as you lean your head back against the seat. the car starts moving again. “i don’t want to.” your stomach churns, an awful mixture of anxiety and hurt rolling up your throat. 

you slept with gojo.

you feel sick. the woman slices at you with her knives. ‘you don’t deserve him at all.’

shoko white knuckles the steering wheel. she never takes kindly to your tears, it took you a while to figure out that it’s because she cares too much to see you cry. 

“you should confess. it’ll be good for your heart and mind,” she suggests as you see your apartment come into view. you’re not ready to be left alone with the woman. the cuts from her knives are still fresh, they still bleed.

you shake your head ever so slightly. “no,” you reply, selfishness motivating your choices more than anything. “i’m going to pretend i don’t remember—i’ll act like i was too drunk to remember.”

shoko disagrees with you, and she lets you know as much as she can before you’re getting out of her car, walking towards your apartment. your dress feels too short, you tug it down. the sunlight burns your scalp and you rush indoors.

as soon as you kick off your heels, gojo texts you. your phone is nearly dead and you debate putting off responding, excusing yourself with the fact that your phone ran out of power. you grow too curious, though, and you read his message.

gojo 🤑: hey when did u get home?

the striking lack of emojis makes the text feel impersonal, far from the man you know. the woman laughs at you.

‘he hates you.’

you:  shoko picked me up 

you pause, debating whether you should add more. let him know that you don’t remember, let him know that you believe nothing happened.

you: i rly went overboard on the alcohol ig  i barely remember anything 

you watch the bubble indicating he’s typing appear and disappear. your nerves fizzle and buzz, teeth sinking into your lips until you draw blood. ‘he hates you,’ the woman whispers.

gojo 🤑: yeah me too lol

you hate it. 

you’re reading into it too much, you think, but the woman says no. her lithe fingers encircle your arms, her sadness turning you sick. you agonize over your words, agonize over his texts. you can’t face gojo. you wonder if you’ll ever be able to see megumi again.

‘you’re selfish,’ the woman sneers, watching you tremble. ‘do you think you deserve to see him?’

‘what would he think of you?’

‘you’ve lost both of them.’

‘you should’ve listened to me.’

you don’t know what to say to her. she draws her arm back and strikes you.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

the following day, gojo informs you that megumi asked for you to babysit him. 

you had decided you would say no, for your own sake. the woman agreed so it must be the right choice. but then he tells you that megumi’s insisting—that he misses you—and how can you say no?

so you sit on the couch, right next to megumi as he reads from his new book (a christmas present from gojo). he’s laying against you, his head resting against your arm. neither you, nor gojo, have said a single word to each other.

it feels wrong, this silence that fills the room. it feels heavy. it keeps its palms pressed tightly against your lips, keeping your words trapped inside. you wonder if megumi can feel it too.

reaching over, you gently brush some of his hair out of his eyes and he stills, turning around to look up at you. his eyes are wide, they waver as they flicker between you and gojo.

“did you guys fight?”

you notice the way he wraps his arms around himself, as if to soothe. he takes a long breath. megumi’s eyes widen and you realize that he’s scared.

you rush to explain, “no! no, we didn’t fight.” he doesn’t seem to believe you; gojo walks over to you both, taking a seat next to him. 

“we’re just tired, megumi,” he tells him, a hand rubbing circles into his back. you feel terrible. 

‘this is all your fault,’ the woman whispers. 

it’s silent again as gojo shuffles around, getting ready to leave for his model UN meeting. he stands at the doorway, looking at you for a moment. you can’t read him, he doesn’t explain. gojo waves goodbye and leaves.

you watch megumi read for a few minutes more, the aftertaste of the previous conversation still lingering on your tongue. he must feel your stare, looking up from his book.

“you’re my favorite person ever,” he admits, he sounds completely serious. you’re taken aback by his honesty, your heart melting as a smile tugs on the corners of your mouth. you reach forward, opening your arms out for a hug. megumi quickly wraps his arms around you.

his hands cling to the fabric of your shirt, “if you did fight with gojo, please forgive him. don’t leave.”

‘look what you’ve done,’ the woman says, the weight of her words make you feel like you’re drowning. 

“i won’t leave you,” you reply, ignoring the woman and her hurt. megumi looks back at you, holding out his pinky for you. you wrap your own around his much smaller one, “pinky promise.”

you let him rest his head against your chest, your steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep. the woman reminds you how undeserving you are of what you have. you know the woman is right. 

when gojo gets home, he asks if you’d like to stay for dinner. every single part of you wants to say yes, and it’s at the tip of your tongue, the answer is habitual. but this time, you turn him down. you can’t stay longer—you can’t be around him. you slip out the front door before you can see the twinkle in his eyes diminish until it’s gone. 

you get home, lay on the carpeted floor of your bedroom, and call shoko. she tells you to confess or die. you tell her you’d rather die.

‘it would be for the best,’ the woman snickers. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-

there’s a growing tension between you and gojo as of late, clearly the result of what happened at the new year’s party. you keep on acting as though you don’t remember the way he loved you, but it gets harder to do so the more you see him.

you can’t avoid him, you’d be breaking your promise to megumi.

everything left unsaid lingers in the distance you keep with him, and it unsheathes it’s claws, digging into you and tearing you apart. your relationship with gojo is strained. it hurts because he’s your best friend.

the woman reminds you that there’s no one to blame but yourself.

she hasn’t left you alone since the night of the party, tied to you like some kind of curse. she appears in the mirror when you criticize yourself, egging you on to say worse things. she stands by your side when you make a mistake, degrading you until you feel like nothing.

she’s having the time of her life. you just can’t get rid of her. she’s right about you.

this time, as you stand waiting for megumi, his school is decorated in a plethora of pinks, reds, and whites. valentine’s day is swiftly approaching and it fills you with a kind of bitterness you keep hidden. 

cupid’s arrows might have missed you this year, but there’s always the next.

part of you realizes that it’s your own fault, waiting for gojo to step up and say something. when that failed you, you waited for your feelings to disappear. perhaps, you should have taken some initiative, forced those feelings out of you until every last remaining bit is ripped from your heart.

your loneliness is your own doing. the woman laughs in agreement, your pain is nothing but a joke to her. her laughter, however, is hollow and doesn't meet her eyes.

megumi runs up to you as he often does, pulling you from your thoughts. the woman hides away to watch. he hands you a little heart shaped box and a card. 

“happy valentine’s day,” megumi grumbles, walking off ahead of you to get to the car. you smile down at the chocolates and the handmade card. something tender and sweet fills up your chest—you feel lighthearted. 

‘do you deserve this?’ the woman snarls, reaching out to knock your gifts out of your hands. you hold them away from her poisonous touch.

megumi holds onto your index finger as you lead him up the stairwell, up to gojo’s apartment. you’re surprised to find him inside instead of at class, like he should be. he grins at you and megumi as you both walk inside, his eyes dropping to the card and chocolates in your hand.

you watch as he stands up, stretching his arms up. his shirt rides up around his waist, you turn away faster than light.

“you got her something for valentine’s but nothing for your old man?” he asks, grabbing megumi so that he can plant a kiss on the boy’s chubby cheek.

“you suck and she doesn’t.”

“you are so cruel.”

your relationship with gojo remains rocky, but times like these still make you yearn for that domestic life. sometime in the future, you hope you get to have this. 

gojo lets megumi disappear into his room, watching you sink into the couch. he follows suit, sitting down next to you. he leaves too much space between you, like there’s an invisible wall keeping him out. 

“valentine’s day is coming up,” he says, though you don’t know what for. you want to say that you know, that it doesn’t matter to you unless you’re spending the day with him. 

“yeah, but why would i care?” you reply, laughing though the sound comes out bitter and hurt. he grins at you, tilting his head. 

“who knows? maybe you have a secret admirer.”

you stay quiet for a moment, thinking about what he had said. secret admirer or not, you’re confident it wouldn’t be the person you want. gojo has better things to do, probably has someone to see. what would he want with you?

why would he even look your way? you’re his best friend—that’s where you have remained for 14 years and it’s where you’ll remain for as long as you know him.

the woman sits to your left, reaching out her hand to smooth down your hair. her gesture appears comforting but anxiety swirls deep within you at her touch.

‘don’t let him know how you feel,’ she whispers in warning.

“so? i don’t care. i don’t like anyone right now, a secret admirer would mean nothing to me.”

“oh.”

you face him then, taking in the soft frown he wears. his jaw is clenched, brows furrowed. the blue of his eyes, your favorite blue, lacks it’s usual sparkle. his shoulders hunched over; gojo looks like a wounded animal. he looks tired. 

as soon as he notices your stare, he straightens up and gives you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. he stays quiet for the rest of the night and you can’t help but feel it’s your fault. you remind yourself he’s tired, but the woman tells you that he must have remembered the events from the party. 

you leave his house sooner than you would have liked. gojo says goodbye with a hug, his arms squeezing your tight, pressing you to his chest until you can hear his heart beating. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-

you feel like valentine’s day crept up on you too quickly, like you had blinked and suddenly the world is celebrating their lovers. 

it’s sunny and warm, the usual chill of february replaced with a gentle breeze that feels soft against your cheek and in your hair. like it’s mother nature’s gentle caress letting you know that you’ll be fine today.

the woman stays quiet. 

you walk along the sidewalk in front of your apartment building. you had woken up today expecting something at you front door, perhaps from a secret admirer like gojo had suggested. nothing came.

it left a bitter taste in your mouth, your chest tightening, but you got over it as fast as it came. you refuse to fester in hurt, even if the woman fans the flames of your pain.

blinking up at the sun, you watch the old couple across the street walk arm in arm. the old man had gotten his wife a bouquet of her favorite flowers (you know they’re her favorite because she told you so). she’s wearing a new heart pendant around her neck. their hands remain intertwined as they head down. 

you silently plead for your chance at love. 

today, megumi’s spending the day at nanami’s house, along with a few of the kids he tutors. you’ve been absolved of your babysitting responsibilities. you miss the little boy, though.

you’re only a few minutes into your walk when you phone buzzes with a text from gojo.

gojo 🤑: ur not busy today right?????? lets go for a drive bbg 😉

you:  i wish i never met you.

you hardly mean it. rather, you’re incredibly relieved that he’s back to his usual self, using horrible emojis to spice up his texts. you hate to admit it but you missed him. 

maybe you were pathetic for spending valentine’s day with your crush, a man who remains just out of your reach. you don’t dwell on it as you climb into gojo’s car, even when the woman bares her teeth at you.

gojo plays sickeningly romantic music as he drives, making fun of you for spending valentine’s day with him instead of a boyfriend. you’re quick to remind him that he’s in the same position. he falls silent but you notice that the shine in his sky blue eyes are back. you hope, this time, that it’s here to stay. 

he parks a few feet away from a playground, the structures old and somewhat rusty. you realize that it’s the playground where you both first met each other. 

gojo runs over to your side, opening the door for you. he walks next to you, his shoulder brushing yours, your fingers aching to be held by him. you let him pull you to the spot where his mother took a picture of both of you 14 years ago. 

it’s certainly strange being back here.

you hear him take a deep breath. gojo’s facing forward, seemingly entranced by the swing-set in front of him. you don’t take notice of his shaky hands. 

“you were the prettiest girl i had ever seen,” he says finally, breathing deeply once again. “actually– i thought you were the prettiest girl in the whole world.”

“what are you talking about?” you ask with a soft laugh, utterly confused as to what he’s up to. gojo doesn’t respond, he just keeps going.

“i ran into you on purpose, if i’m being honest. i thought we could become friends and then i’d get to be around you all the time.” 

gojo reaches out his hand, hesitating as he thinks. the woman stays quiet when he takes your hand in his own. “but then you basically told me to fuck off–”

“i did not! i said go away or something.”

“thats basically what kids say when they want to say ‘fuck off’!”

he laughs, the sound warming your heart. soft tendrils of sun peek through the canopy of the tree you stand under, making him glow and shine. he appears almost ethereal. 

“i was glad we got to be friends,” he mutters, his grip around your fingers getting tighter. “but nowadays, i kind of wish we weren’t.” your heart stills and the woman opens her mouth for the first time today, conjuring up her ugly words.

“you’re still the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen,” gojo admits, his hand growing clammy but you barely notice it. “you’ll stay that way for the rest of my life—even when we’re old and wrinkly.”

“how sweet,” you grin, but it’s a front to hide the way he tugs at your heart, gentle hands keeping you in his grasp; it’s where you’ll stay for as long as he’ll have you. however, you still find yourself to be guarded, hesitant about gojo and his words.

the woman tells you it’s not what you think it is. her past misfortunes flood your mind, her sadness is contagious.

gojo finally faces you, taking both your hands in his. his eyes watch you carefully and you wonder if he can see through them, see the woman waiting inside, hurt and scared. 

“i know you said you don’t have feelings for anyone,” he starts, looking to the side. you can feel his heart beating at his fingertips. “and i’m probably the last person you want to hear this from, but i owe it to you.

“i love you,” he sighs and it feels like taking a breath of relief. gojo searches your eyes, vivid cerulean brighter than the sun itself. you reach forward, hands on either side of his face. you tremble and you shake—you can’t believe this is real.

he seems to understand, instinctively letting his hands rest against your hips. 

“love you too,” you say, unadulterated joy lighting up your chest and your eyes. your smile is blinding, cheeks hiding your eyes. gojo steps closer while he pulls you against his chest. his heart is racing, but it could be your own that you’re feeling. you’re not quite sure where he ends and you begin. 

he cups your cheek, his touch soft and light. “can i kiss you now? i haven’t stopped thinking about it since the party.”

you tense at the mention of the party, but you nod your head and shove that night out of your mind. you can shelve that conversation for later. 

gojo leans forward with your nod, pulling you towards him. your lips meet, gently at first, like you’re both unsure of how to go about it. he’s hesitant without alcohol to grant him courage, but as you wrap your arms around his neck, he grows bolder.

gojo pours every last bit of his desire for you, his yearning for you, past his lips. you can feel him grin, and it pulls a smile from you too. 

you have him exactly where you want him.

when you return home, hand in hand, megumi perks up at the sight of you both. geto sits next to him, assigned to pick him up from nanami’s place after gojo decided to meet up with you.

geto raises an eyebrow at your hand held tightly in gojo’s, your head resting against his shoulder. “what did i miss?”

“nothing at all,” you reply, holding out an arm for megumi as he runs into your embrace.

the woman simply smiles.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

gojo watches you sleep, chest rising and falling steadily, your soft breaths being the only sound in the room. he sits and he admires and he’s struck with the overwhelming urge to pull you into his arms. gojo wishes he could tell you everything he feels for you, but his emotions are often illegible jumbles of yearning, want, desire, and love—he just can’t put it into words.

he knows you’re it for him. he hopes you feel the same.

gojo leans over and grabs the plastic water bottle left on his nightstand, the plastic crinkling. he winces, hoping it’s not loud enough to wake you. you remain sleeping and he smiles, fishing the small ring of plastic from the top of the bottle. 

it’s big, the real one will be tailored to your size, he thinks as he takes your hand. his touch is gentle as he slides the plastic ring onto your ring finger, watching it hang loosely.

“this’ll do for now,” he decides. the real one will be much prettier, but not grand. a shiny band with a few rhinestones– no, your birthstone. maybe his too but he feels that might be too tacky.

gojo lays back down, curling around you until his head is hidden in the crook of your neck. he hopes you’ll like it. he hopes you’ll say yes. 

he’s always loved you. for him, it’s always been you. 

thanks to mitzi and earth and six for hyping this monstrosity up so glad its not rotting away in my drafts anymore

Do you ever think about how Tolkien’s vision of the greatest evil in the universe was something he referred to as “The Machine” which was his way of talking about accelerated industrialism and mass surveillance and he wrote multiple books where the main villains were a dragon who sits on a huge pile of treasure that he never intends to use but incinerates anyone who comes near it, a man in a giant tower who’s wrecking the environment with his factories, and an evil being who uses what’s essentially a listening device to control the citizens of middle earth. And now Amazon is making a Tolkien show. Do you ever think about that.

Sundered 6: DREAMS

Pairing: Gojo x reader

• Part 1  |  Part 2   | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |…+

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments, implied noncon, sexual assault

word count: 6.7k

He wished to tell you that he loves you too but that wouldn’t be right.

“Megumi.” Toji warned, raising a finger at the breathless, laughing toddler. “No jumping on the bed. You’ll fall.” He put an apple in his mouth as he watched them. You combed the ends of your hair, leaning on the doorframe. Toji was sitting on the bed, while the two kids were playing beside him, jumping up and down.

“Yui, baby, can I ask you something?” He gently picked the little girl up, glancing at you as he put the bowl of fruit down. He sat her on his lap, “Who's Gumi's Dada?” Yui looked up at him, pointing a finger at his chest. “Alright, very good. How about you? Who’s your Dada?” You know what he’s trying to make her understand.

Yui just developed that habit because oftentimes, Megumi would run and call Toji. And what her playmates do, Yui does too. She would follow him screaming ‘Dada’ as well, but Toji never failed to gently correct her. “Toru!” She raised her short hands, clapping as she looked at you. “That’s nice. So, you call Satoru Dada, okay?” He tapped her cheek.

“Toji no? No Dada?” She shook her head at him, asking. “Yes, just look at your hair.” You butted in, pointing playfully at her as you walked towards them. You can feel Toji’s eyes on you as you sit down in front of them. You’re still not over the conversation you had earlier. But you’re not letting the kids hear about that.

Yui was pulling at her hair, trying to see the color and looking back at Toji’s to check. “See? You and Satoru look the same.” You pinched her cheek “Yui hair white.” Megumi pointed at his playmate, “Yeah, you’re getting good at colors!” You raised your hand, asking for a high five, which he gladly returned with a shy smile.

Toji looked at you as you scooted beside him, before placing a hand on your thigh. He’s ready to apologize, but he doesn’t know if he can let it go. Toji’s mind is still stuck on that day you told him Satoru was still in love with you. And if he’s being honest, it puts him in a really rough spot.

“It’s getting late.” You tapped on your phone, allowing it to light up. “Why are they not tired yet?” You yawned, feeling his thumb rub on your skin. “'cause they ate the cake.” He sighed, stretching his back before staring at you again, “What?” You asked, watching him shake his head. “We got things to talk about.” He nodded.

“I know. Later, we will.” You moved to him, pecking his lip quickly, “We can’t talk about it with the children in here.” Scrolling through your contacts, you pressed Satoru’s number. “Yui, come here, we’ll talk to Dada.” Tapping a quick message that you’ll call, you sat your child in between your thighs.

“Do you want to say sorry to Dada? You were mean to him earlier.” You poked her side, watching her nod before throwing something at her playmate.”’Gumi, sit down first.” Toji told the boy and he followed, but only to continue playing with Yui. Megumi’s a quiet kid but with playmates around, he can get hyper too.

“Wait, what if he’s asleep now?” You asked Yui, “Maybe we can apologize tomorrow when he picks you up, okay?” You kissed her cheek, hearing her whine, “Now Mama. Yui says sorry.” She tried to grab the phone. “Okay, okay. Alright. Wait a second, we’ll try.” You pressed the telephone icon. There were multiple rings but no answer.

“Dada’s asleep.” You pouted at her, “He said he wants to sleep early so he can see you early tomorrow too!” You tickled her side, making her flinch with a smile, followed by fits of giggle that made Toji chuckle. ‘Gumi quickly replaced you, laughing with the little girl as he pokes her tummy.

“Let them play like that, they’ll get tired quicker,” Toji uttered, putting a hand behind his head. “What happened earlier? I thought it was his schedule today.” He asked, referring to the events earlier. “You said that his mom was there.” He added recalling what you were explaining to him before you fought.

“Yeah, and he had to take Yui back here with me. We were supposed to eat Yui’s cake there before he takes me home because that’s what she wants. But of course, the devil ruins things.” You rolled your eyes just thinking about his Mom. You still haven’t told your mother about it, knowing how she gets when it’s about you.

“Does Satoru’s father know that she’s like that?” It’s now your turn to nod, “He’s just tired of her, actually. I know.” His father’s always busy but you’d never forget how he’d always take your infant for a walk to give her some sun.

“Oh, I thought your son wasn’t married yet. Look at this cute baby girl.” An elderly man who once visited said to him, It worried you that your child was born out of wedlock. You used to avoid going out with them to avoid this type of situation but his father didn’t mind.

“They’re not married yet. This one’s a…”mini advanced gift” for us.” He chuckled, lightly bouncing the infant in his arms. “Oh, she's like a little girl version of Satoru.” The elderly cooed when Yui opened her eyes. Whenever Satoru’s mother tries to argue with you and he’s around, he’d also say a sentence or two just to stop her.

“You’re not thinking! Getting a baby’s ear pierced. What kind of a mo—” She rambled on, claiming that I was harming her granddaughter when they visited Satoru’s house. “You’re crying about this more than the child who got her ears pierced.” Satoru’s father cut her off, rubbing his temples as he sat beside her.

Satoru was taking a call outside and his mother just had to take this opportunity to antagonize you. “I’m her grandmother. I got the right to protect her. She’s a newborn!” His mother was hysterical and if it weren’t for Satoru’s father, you would be talking back to her by now. “She’s 5 months old, Cynthia! She’s an infant. Stop arguing with the mother.”

You sat far from them, not wanting to scare the baby in your arms. “She’s not capable of—” His mother tried to retort but Satoru’s father was getting fed up “You’re not capable of understanding.” With that, the fight came to an end and after a few minutes, Satoru was walking back to the living room. “What’s going on?” He asked but his mother could only scowl.

After a little while, the kids started to get sleepy. Yui was whining as she rubbed her eyes, and Megumi kept asking for the phone. “You could let him watch something that could help him sleep. Like the—” You were about to suggest but Toji was already picking the child up, answering: “Ah, no. My wife used to cut off his screen time 30 minutes before sleep.”

You remained silent for a minute as you took off Yui’s hair ties. “Let’s go to bed.” You whispered after combing the toddler’s hair. “Come on, so we can talk.” You lifted Yui up before walking to her room with Toji trailing behind you. When Megumi and Toji stay over, he and Yui share a bed. Thankfully, it was big enough for the two of them as Yui rolls around a lot in her sleep.

You were supposed to sleep over at Toji’s house tonight. But because of the fight that you had, you figured that sleeping here would be more comfortable. It was good that he always kept some extra clothes for Megumi in his car.

Now, the two toddlers are peacefully sleeping and you two are starting to feel the tension again.

“You can go first, what is bothering you?” He asked as the two of you walked back to your room. You don’t know why but for some reason, you feel embarrassed that you’re getting jealous of his wife. Not only that but it also makes you feel overreacting. You took a deep breath as you closed your eyes, telling yourself that it was better to say it now than to let it get worse.

“It’s because…you keep talking about your wife.” You let your shoulders slouch as you plopped on the bed, watching his face contort into disbelief. “My wife?” He repeated, he looked at you as if you just told him a dark secret. “Toji, look. When you want to tell or suggest something to me, Can you not… always say that your wife did this and that? I mean… I just get uncomfortable.”

There was a pregnant pause as he straightened up, pacing back and forth as he thought of an answer. You wished he didn’t take that long because now it’s making you feel like it’s hard to decide between the living and the dead. It’s making you feel like you're not even in his top five; like you only come after someone who can't even be here.

It’s making you feel like you’re just the second best. And that’s all you’ll ever know of him too.

“Look, I am simply putting her words out. You know how much they mean to me, you know how much and what she means to me—” He sat down on a chair across the room, explaining as calmly as he can but that hurts and before you know it, you’re already asking him: “Then, what do I mean to you?” Toji looked at you, mouth slightly ajar.

“You’re jealous? Of my dead wife?” He tried to clarify like it’s the most unbelievable thing you said. “It’s not jealousy, I just—” He cut you off by exhaling harshly, rubbing his face. “She’s not here, Y/N. I could only think of her, but you’re here with me. How could you feel jealous about that?” It’s only making you feel bad; like what you’re feeling is trivial.

“It’s because you make me feel that way.” You clenched your fist. This type of pain is making you angry; not because it hurts too much but because it’s pissing you off that after everything during these months, he could still make you feel like this. “I know that if you're given a chance to choose you wouldn't want me in her place, but I wish you didn't make me feel like that too much.”

“Do you really just expect me to never reminisce about her? She’s my first wife. I lost her so suddenly I didn’t even have time to process it.” Everything that he’s saying is wrong to you and you’re not afraid to express. You cannot live with a man who probably wishes that you were someone else. “Then, why did you even date me?” Your words were sharp, like how you’re looking at him.

“And why did you even date me when you still can’t get over your ex?” He retorted, “You won't let me call you a petname because he used to call you that. How is that any different?” Now, he’s just as aggravated as you and you hated it. You hated arguing with him even if it was just about simple things and now that it’s not something simple, it frustrates you even more.

“Satoru isn’t dead, Toji. I wished that you called me something else because it’s triggering, and I don’t get to control that.” You tried to keep your voice down as your hands clenched. “I do it because I’m protecting my peace, not because I compare the things you do.” You panted, looking at him with nothing but exasperation in your eyes.

“Toji, I’m starting to feel like a placeholder.” You put your hands on your knees, hanging your head low. “I’m starting to feel like a stand-in for your dead wife. And you would keep telling me what she used to do so I could perfect it.” Biting your lip as you shook your head, “I wish you’d just understand me. I really want to try with you…”

He leaned back on the chair, keeping his eyes on you. “Look, Y/N. I’m sorry.” He spoke after a couple of seconds, “I can’t promise to not think about her because that person; that woman is the mother of my son.”

“And I want to try with you too, you know that. Maybe this will all get better with time. But I can’t find my peace knowing that he’s just there, loving you.” The room felt so big now that there was a space between you and Toji. A space that is bigger than the actual size of your room.

“Then, what should I do?” You asked him, genuinely clueless as to what he wanted to happen. “I don’t know, Y/N.” He shook his head, sighing. “What should you do when someone keeps trying to get to you?” There was an obvious answer to that.

“You know I can’t just do that. He’s the father of my daughter, Toji. You know where I’m coming from—” You looked at him, your eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t. He literally told you he regrets you and your daughter, isn’t that enough for you to take Yui away?” You shook your head, eyes tearing up as you realized what he just said.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that. Babe—” He walked towards you, grasping the weight of his words. “Don’t touch me.” You shut your eyes, not wanting to shed a tear anymore. “Just…just don’t talk to me right now, Toji.” Your hands gestured for him to stay back as you shook your head.

“I can’t believe you’d use my pain against me.” You whispered to him as you stood up, walking out of the room.

—------------------------------------------------

“What about…Yui?” Your eyes glimmered as you looked at him, “Ah…I like that.” Satoru smiled up at you, before leaning down. “Yui? Do you like that—” Before he could even finish his sentence, you stared at each other with wide eyes. “She just kicked…” He laughed, placing his hand on your bump.

“Yui. How’s my little girl?” He asked again, earning another kick after a couple of seconds. “That’s so cute, Satoru.” You gushed, happy tears pooling in your eyes. “She likes that name.” He sighed, kissing your stomach before standing up. The sinking sun made your eyes gleam.

“She’ll be here soon.” He kissed your forehead, putting his hand around your waist as he closed his eyes feeling the wind blow on his face. At that moment, he felt like he’s got everything already. At first, you talked about how everything you’ll do is just for the child.

But as months went by, seeing your face first thing in the morning and last thing in the night has already become Satoru’s favorite thing.

“What are you thinking about?” You looked up at him as you stood there on his balcony, holding his hands on your stomach. “You. So, kiss me.” He leaned down as you giggled, pecking his lips. “More.” He intertwined your fingers with his, brushing his nose on your outer ear until you gave him another one.

You wouldn’t have met if Satoru didn’t enter the bar you were working at, and that thought made Satoru grateful that he did because this is something he wouldn't want to miss.

“Y/N, stay with me.” He whispered, feeling you lean your body on him. “I love you...Y/N”

“Kiss me…” And so Naomi did, putting her lips on his as she tried to prepare him. She closed her eyes as he heard him hum, speaking other words unknown but she knew that it was to urge her to continue. “More…” The word made her exhale, relaxing more and more as he coaxed her, probably half asleep.

Maybe he’s just too sleepy and drunk. She thought, putting her hands on his chest to support herself. She raised her lower half, aligning herself with him. She traced her fingers on his arms before lacing them with his. She felt his warmth as she took a deep breath, thinking one last time before throwing it all away, frustrated.

She was ready to put it in, take all of him in her, and just let it all happen. You were a stranger to Satoru when he chose to keep a life with you. But I’m his girlfriend; his salvation and love. Satoru wouldn’t deny me and his child to me. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to find the final push to proceed.

But it only took one word from him for her to come back down. Her temperature dropped low as she felt her blood run cold.

“...Y/N.” Naomi halted her movements, eyes wide in shock. Did he just call your name in his sleep? “...Stay with me.” His brows furrowed in his sleep, and Naomi could only look as his image got blurry because of her tears. What? “I love you…Y/N.” She clasped her hand over her chest, trying to move away.

He’s dreaming about you? All this time? Tears fell from her face as she tried not to make another movement or sound. And he said he loves you? Her initial suspicions were right. Naomi’s throat constricted as she held in her sob. “No…” She whispered, finding it hard to breathe. Her ears were starting to ring as she struggled to get up.

*Ring. Ring. Ring.*

Naomi’s breath was knocked out of her lungs as she noticed Satoru’s phone ringing and vibrating beside his pillow. He can’t wake up. Not now… She thought as she forced her weak knees to work and grab the phone without startling him but it was impossible as it was right beside his head, partially covered by the pillow.

Before she could even get it, Satoru stirred awake, blinking his eyes up at her. “Naomi?” His eyes scanned her before realizing the situation she put the both of them in. “What the fuck?” His eyes went wide, trying to get up. Naomi was panicking, stepping off of him as he looked at her with confusion and disgust.

“S-Satoru, it isn’t like—” She tried to hold his hand, face wet with tears as he tried to get away from her, “What the fuck are you trying to do?” Pulling his pants before standing up. She picked up her silk robe, trying to give herself some decency as what she did started to sink into her. “Were you—fuck!” Satoru’s frustration was obvious, making Naomi flinch as she wept.

“Were trying to sleep with me while I was out?” His eyes were filled with emotions; dismay, disgust, fear, and disbelief. The last thing Satoru remembered was staring at his phone before he dozed off. Then, he remembered dreaming about you. Satoru rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm. He knows that he shouldn’t have taken shot after shot even if he’s at home.

Satoru’s a lightweight and Naomi knows that. Could it be… “You made me drink on purpose.” His voice lowered as he pointed a finger at her. “No…I didn’t. I—” She tried to utter, voice coming out as a squeak, “I am not asking a question. I know that you did.” Satoru gritted through his teeth.

“Do you know what can happen to you?” Satoru walked towards her, glowering. “I could put you behind bars for this, Naomi.” Satoru was fuming, he didn't even know where the alcohol in his body went. He just knows that he’s dizzy. Raising his hand only to put it back down again, he doesn’t want to risk anything.

“What were you trying to do?” He spoke in a low voice, reaching for his phone on the bed. Your name was written in bold letters when he looked at his notifications. So, it was you who was calling. Once again saving him from whatever type of hell he got himself into. “N-nothing happened.” She shook her head, trying to convince him with her eyes.

“I’m not asking you if something happened or not, I’m asking about what you were trying to do.” His jaw and teeth hurt by how hard he is biting down. She sat there with tears cascading down her cheek while Satoru waited for her. “Please, don’t make me do this—”

He can't believe that a face as angelic and tame as this could do something so evil; so vile.

“Don’t make you do what? You feel embarrassed now but you weren’t embarrassed earlier when you were assaulting me!” He snapped, watching her eyes widen and her fear flashes on her face. “It’s not that, Satoru. I wasn’t trying to…” She walked to him, grabbing his hand with her cold ones. Satoru snatched his hand away, taking a step back.

His glares sent daggers to her heart. Never once has he been like this to her. “I…We were having problems. I thought that a…a child—” Naomi stopped talking, crying even more as Satoru closed his eyes and shook his head. He could tell that he was holding back on her.

“We were having problems so you thought having a child would fix it.” He finished for her, biting his lip. Her tendencies scared Satoru. He remembered how he decided not to tell her about his feelings for you earlier when he had every chance to because he felt bad. And now that one decision almost ruined him. “I’m gonna tell you now. Nothing will fix this.”

Naomi could feel her heart crack and break at his words. “Is it because of her?” She scowled, thinking about his mother’s words. “Is it because she got a boyfriend? Satoru, she's only trying to make you jealous—” She tried to explain, desperate to make him listen to her. “I don’t fucking care. I don’t care if she doesn’t take me back, I don’t care if she's only doing that to spite me.” Stopping, he took a step towards her.

“Naomi, I don’t give a fuck if she hurts me back because I fucking deserve it.” He panted, “For all the shit I put her through when I decided to be with you instead of fixing things as I promised her.” His mouth quivers as memories flash across his vision.

The day he let go, the day he started over for himself, the day he chose only for himself while you were out there waiting for a change.

“You know… I don’t regret meeting you. Because you helped me. You were a great friend to me. But I regret choosing you over Y/N. We should’ve never been something like this.” He sighed deeply, listening to her sniffles and apologies. “I should’ve just told you earlier that I’m still in love with her.” With that sentence, all her questions got answered. Naomi's world came apart.

“You’re getting checked tomorrow.” He stood up straight, grabbing his phone as he headed for the door. “Satoru, nothing happened, there’s no need to—” She tried to go after him, stopping when he paused by the door. “I don’t trust you.” He spoke before stepping out, leaving Naomi in the room with nothing but her broken heart, shame, and humiliation.

Satoru sat on the couch, running his hands through his hair. He stared blankly at the dark corner of his room, thinking about all the wrong paths he took. So much has happened and it’s not even a whole day yet. First, his mother ruined his child’s family day, and now— Cutting off his own thoughts, Satoru started to suspect something.

Naomi said she spoke to his mother. Is she, by any chance, involved with the decisions she came up with?

As much as Satoru hated to think about it, with the way his mother was acting, he couldn't help himself from thinking that she told Naomi something that made her do this. Even if she didn’t directly command her to do that, she could still be involved. Tears pooled in his eyes as he thought of it all. He did his everything to try and understand his mom, to be a good son to her.

“Naomi,” Storming back to the room, she found Naomi speaking on her phone. Terror appeared as she looked at him, hurriedly ending the call. Trudging towards her, she tried to put her phone away but with their size, it was impossible. “Who are you talking to?” He was far too angry to listen to her pleas and calls of his name.

She desperately tried to get it back but she was too late. “So, I was right? You talked to my mom about this.” He laughed bitterly, clenching the phone in his hand. “Satoru, let me explain, please. I won’t lie. We had a chat, we—” Naomi rambled on but Satoru was already pressing the call button, walking out as she chased after him.

“What?! You came up with that plan, deal with it!” Satoru can tell how annoyed she was by how she immediately answered, not even thinking about who it was. Satoru tried to keep Naomi away as she tried to grab the phone, calling her mom. “Did you coach her to violate your own son?” Satoru felt nauseous. He wants to throw up everything in his stomach.

“Satoru? No, honey, I didn’t tell her to—” Her voice cracked, shaking and tears finally escaped Satoru’s eyes. Naomi could only stand there, watching the man she loves break down because of what she did. Because of what they did. She should’ve listened to her conscience when it was telling her to stop.

Her desires brought her nothing but a quick, frail pleasure and a lifetime of agony. They gave her something to regret for the rest of her life.

“I’ll be in contact with Dad. And you won’t ever hear from me again once I settle all of this.” His voice was hoarse, low, and rough. Not giving himself a chance to hear his mother’s cries, Satoru ended the call. Before Naomi could even talk he was already harshly shrugging her touch off of him, “Don’t even try to explain. It’s clear to me now.”

“Satoru, can you just listen for a bit, I didn’t want to do that—'' She choked on her own sobs, “But you did! And I could get you arrested for it.” Satoru threatened, making her shake her head in fear. “You’ll get tested tomorrow.” He pointed a finger at her face, before turning to leave.

Entering his child’s room, Satoru sat on the bed, letting himself crumble and fall apart.

—-------------------------------------------

“Mama, mama!” You woke up to the feeling of someone jumping on the bed beside you. “Eat, Y/N. Let’s eat.” Looking down, you found two children looking at you in their pajamas. “Alright, alright. I’ll be up in a minute, calm down. “ You rubbed your eyes, smiling even as you remembered how the other night went.

After an hour of sitting in the kitchen, Toji came out. You refused to look at his face, but you can feel his cautious movements around you. You subtly wiped your cheeks, trying to hide the fact that you cried. You always know that it’s alright to cry to him, but for some reason, you feel like you’re so far away from him right now.

You felt like he was holding a weapon against you. One shot could be enough to tear you down again.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, after a couple of seconds of standing in front of you. You looked down, leaning on the kitchen counter. “I didn’t mean to say that.” Toji took a seat on one of the chairs, patiently waiting for you to respond. Sighing, you looked up at him, seeing him looking at you with contrite in his eyes.

“You’re a father too, Toji.” You tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, before letting your hand rest on your nape. “I know, Y/N. I shouldn’t have said that.” Toji admits that he felt like you were being unfair to him. He didn’t realize that he was the one being unfair to Satoru when he’s obviously trying to stay at a distance.

“Please, understand that I’m not asking you to forget your wife. I just don’t like feeling like I’m…like I’m not enough.” You swallowed right after saying it, as if it’s a strong medicine that tasted bad enough to numb your tongue. “I’ve had enough of feeling like that.” It was barely above whisper, Toji didn’t really catch it but he wrapped you in his arms.

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Kissing your forehead, he felt you relax in his arms. Toji hated himself for making you feel like this again. He hated that he let himself project his feelings on you. The jealousy was coming from him and not you. He failed to understand your point because he was blinded by his bitterness over the fact that you and Satoru are finally getting along.

He didn’t even think of the child involved.

“I’m tired. I just want to sleep.” You murmured to his chest, “Alright, alright. Let’s go.” With that, you and Toji went to bed; with his arms around you and your back against his chest. You didn’t want your head against his chest, you can’t bring yourself to look in his eyes.

You were afraid that you’d hear a different name if you listened to the beat of his heart. It would be painful to see a different woman in the reflection in his eyes.

Picking up your phone, you felt the two kids lay beside you. There were texts from Satoru. You initially assumed that it’s probably because of your missed call from the night before but your brows furrowed in confusion when you saw how early he sent them. 4:37 in the morning.

Opening the messages, you heard Toji enter the room. “What are you two doing? I said "no jumping on the bed.”” Your eyes were glued to the screen of your phone, taking in every single word in Satoru’s messages. “Good morning,” You felt a kiss on your forehead, “You okay?” Toji asked, curious as to why you looked worried first thing in the morning.

“Satoru’s got matters, he can’t pick Yui up until later today.” You spoke, opening the next message. I saw your call last night. I couldn’t call back because it was late. I fell asleep early. “It’s probably because of what happened yesterday.” You caught a sigh escape from Toji’s lips. “He’ll be ok. He won’t let you get caught up in this.”

He sat down next to you as he looked at the screen, you didn’t bother hiding it, not wanting to make him feel like you’re hiding something. “Do you want to talk to him?” You looked at him as soon as the words escaped his lips. “It’s okay. He would say that if he needed that.” You replied, looking away after giving him a small smile.

“Well then let’s have breakfast, I cooked something. The kids woke up really early.” He chuckled, pecking your cheek. “I’ll be there.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you as you kissed his ear. “Thank you so much.” You whispered to him, feeling his weight on you.

“Anything for you.” Only Toji knows how much he meant those words.

—-------------------------------------------

“It will be out in two days.” Satoru threw the car keys on the couch, before walking towards the stairs. “You can take all your belongings. If I–“ He trailed but Naomi cut him off, “Satoru, I’m sorry. I was just desperate to–“ He gave her a warning look, making her look down. He’s been nothing but cold to her.

“You’re desperate so you tried to do that to me?” He shook his head, “You know, I’m sorry too. I regret that I didn’t just tell you what was really going on. I should've just broken up with you that day. I thought I could save it if I tried, even just for the sake of the time we were together and what you did for me, but I can’t. This wouldn't have happened, you wouldn't have gotten a chance to do that.” Satoru was getting harsher and harsher with his words.

Filled with mixed emotions, he watched as the woman he trusted cried again. She’s been crying since the night before but he couldn’t find it in himself to comfort her. He doesn’t even want to be under the same roof as her at that moment. When he thinks about what could’ve happened if he didn’t wake up on time, or if you didn’t call, all he feels is dread.

“I will be the first to touch the test results.” Satoru declared as he clenched his jaw, “Satoru…can’t we just wait until—” Naomi tried to grab his arm, looking at him with teary, pleading eyes. She’s shaking, and her fingers are freezing. “Wait until what? ‘Till I can’t go back? ‘Til you achieve what you’re trying to do?! ‘Til you ruin every hope that I have?!” The woman cowers in fear and embarrassment.

“Naomi, are you not scared? Of this mess that you got me in?” He hissed at her face, watching her look down as she sobbed. She’s visibly trembling at this point, “You should be ashamed.” Satoru nodded his head, clenching his fists. “For what you’ve done... you should be ashamed.” He walked out of the room, slamming the door on her as she fell down to her knees, wailing.

Locking the door, Satoru changed quickly, before laying down on the bed. His head’s been killing him since last night; hangover, sleeplessness and stress are continuously tearing through every muscle. He looked at his phone, seeing the hundred missed calls from his mom who probably came earlier, as expected, when they went to the hospital.

Satoru was just about to put his phone down when it started to vibrate. Your contact with a picture of Yui and you flashed on the screen. He didn’t waste any time answering the video call. Seeing his little girl made all the tiredness leave his body. She looked down at the phone, smiling at him.

“Dada! Dada, Hi!” Waving at him, “Hey, baby. I’ll pick you up in a bit, alright? Dada just needs to nap.” He watched her scrunch her brows, seeing your frowning face for a second. “Yui don’t want.” She whined, hearing the word ‘nap.’ Laughing, Satoru saw you peek on the screen, “Not Yui. Dada will nap.”

“Take your time to rest. You look really tired.” You talked, holding a baby plate in your hand. “I just noticed she’s starting to look like you.” He chuckled, sighing as his eyes blinked slowly. You remained silent on the other end of the line, feeding a spoon full to the toddler.

“What were you going to say to Dada?” You talked to Yui, wiping her chin. “Sorry. Yui, uhm, Yui not nice.” The view kept shaking as she struggled to hold the phone in her small hands. “It’s ok, baby. Dada will buy you the cake, as promised.” The way her eyes lit up as she heard the word made Satoru forget about his problems.

After a little bit of talking and watching his daughter eat, you took the phone from her but still kept the camera on her face. “Say bye-bye now, let Dada sleep for a bit.” You spoke, and the kid obediently followed, waving her father goodbye, “Bye-bye. Dada.” She looked up at you, “See you later,” Repeating each word you say, Satoru could only tell her how much he loves her.

He wished to tell you that he loves you too but that wouldn’t be right.

“I’ll call later. “ He talked to you, hearing you hum, “Alright, rest well.” With that, you ended the call, leaving Satoru on the verge of sleep. He prayed to dream of you and maybe even do the things that he wished to do with you. He wished that he could just ask you to hold him before he breaks down again.

He realized that all this time, it’s you, it’s your arms that he needed to put him back together again permanently and not just as some sort of comfort that could so easily break. If he had a choice to turn back time, he’d turn it all the way back to when you, Yui, and he were together; not before he met you.

Because even if his relationship with you began with an obligation, it was still his choice to love you.

—------------------------------------------------------

TWO DAYS LATER

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. It’s alright.” He spoke to the phone, struggling to put his seatbelt on. Satoru’s been anxious, he couldn’t even sleep properly. Today, he’ll be receiving the test results. “I just got back from Toji’s, and he’s got something to do so he couldn’t take me to pick Yui up.” You sighed from the other line.

You were about to take a cab to Satoru’s house but he insisted that he’ll just drop Yui off back to you. “Let’s talk about the car next time, okay? So, you don’t have to commute.” He reminded, hearing you hum. “Yeah, ok. I’ll tell Toji about it too.” With that, you bid farewell, telling him to drive safely before dropping the call.

“Alright, let’s go to Mama.” Satoru looked over at his daughter who was sucking on her binky. She nodded eagerly, wiggling her little legs as she claps her small hands. Satoru didn’t tell you about what happened with Naomi. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to. That night was still clear to him. He closed his eyes, grabbing the steering wheel before starting to drive.

The car ride to your house was filled with little giggles and occasional singing of his little girl. She slowed Satoru down, preventing his mind from overheating from thinking about things as she playfully calls him every now and then. "Dada! Yui hair!" She pulled at the strands, scrunching her nose as she laughed. "Dada hair!" Her fingers pointed at him.

Satoru smiled at her through the mirror, instantly understanding what she was implying. "Ah, yes, we have the same hair." He cooed, making the little girl cover her eyes as she smiled, "You're a smart kid." In no time, the two of them reached your apartment. The kid kept hugging her Dad as they walked up your steps, as if sensing his distress.

"Baby!" You opened the door for them, kissing Yui's cheek. He can see your eyes scan his face, a hint of worry was etched on your features, "Would you like to come in? How did things go?" You were reluctant to ask the question, worried that it might be a bit too private for you to know. But it looked like he needed it when a small, sad smile appeared on his lips.

"Not good," He sighed, "I'll tell you about it some other time." Satoru went inside but only to put down his daughter's bag. "I, uh, have a delivery coming today, so…" Nodding, your mouth formed an 'O' shape, "Alright, you better get back then. Say bye to Dada." You adjusted your daughter on your hip, urging her to give her father a kiss.

"Bye love, I'll see you in a few days." He pecked the kids forehead, patting her hair and smiling at you as he went. His head, his heart and his feet felt heavy as he walked away. It's like the second Satoru left your apartment, his headache was back knowing that whatever's waiting for him at his house could be another obstacle to pass. And the worst; it could be something that he can never run away from.

He arrived only a couple of minutes earlier than the mailman. The envelope felt like a tonne in his hand as he took it, signing quickly before thanking the worker. Satoru stared at it as he walked to his living room, sitting down on the couch when he felt like his knees were about to give up. With cold fingers, he opened it, going directly to the section where he could find his peace.

Eyes widening as he breathed out the air he didn't know was holding in, he slammed the papers on the table as he pulled his phone out and dialed the number he's been hoping to call ever since the incident.

"Dad, I need to talk to you."

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Dearest Daddy

Dearest Daddy series, consisting of the haikyuu characters in the fatherhood universe! Thank you for 1K! 

Story Format: Depends on my process of writing. So far, what I have written is Homesick and the others are under wip. I have written a few chapters for some of the mentioned fics below, but I could still change my mind and change it to a smau or like a short or multi-chapter fic. 

I would like to personally thank the following people for helping me polish this out! It took some time figuring out who should go where, so thank you! The advice and suggestions from you guys are absolutely appreciated. I love you guys soooo much! 

@keiyoomi​ @luvelyxp​ @hqstuffsforme​ @newfriendjen​ @tsukeijii​ @doggonudez​

ALSO!! If I go insane because of this (&&most probably because of the amount of anime I am currently watching) it’s because of @paripedia​ convincing me to do this lmao JK. But see you guys at my funeral due to my sleep deprivation lmao. 

Homesick

Summary: Six years ago, L/N Y/N wouldn’t exactly say that she loves her life. It had always been problematic but her best friend, Miya Atsumu, since she was eight when she moved to Hyōgo, has always been there for her, and she wouldn’t change it for the world. However, things would always fall apart for her ever since, so she should have expected of such. Running away from her problems seemed like the easiest route to take at the time, so what happens when the past comes barging back into her life demanding answers? Will she be able to confront her demons? 

Tags: dad!Atsumu x mom!Reader, Atsumu doesn’t know, six years timeskip, twins, angst, fluff if you close your eyes (lmao)

“Those kids probably aren’t even mine.”

“You were the only man I’ve ever been with. The only man that I’ve ever wanted. The only man I’ve ever loved. It’s always been you.”

status: ongoing | series masterlist | taglist: open

Stubborn

Summary: Ushijima Wakatoshi and L/N Y/N have been secretly seeking out pleasure from each other for at least a year and a half. However, Y/N finds herself growing tired of the arrangement after being constantly hurt by the man she had grown feelings for. However, despite ending things with each other, she finds herself in a pickle when two pink lines screamed right back at her.

Tags: dad!Ushijima x mom!Reader, pregnancy trials, timeskip! fluffy, angsty. 

“Why do you even care?” 

“Are you crazy? I’ve always cared. Baby or no baby. Have my actions towards you not been enough for you to understand that it isn’t just you who have feelings for the other? Do I really need to spell things out for you?”

status: wip | series masterlist | taglist: open

Playing House

Summary: A tragic accident brings two enemies together under one roof as sole guardians of their late best frien’s baby daughter. Will they survive together and find happiness through the bundle of joy in their lives? Or will their hatred for each other win over for the worst?

Tags: godfather!sakusa x godmother!reader, enemies to lovers??, angsty, fluffy.

“Why does it matter if I’m going out with someone?”

“Can’t you stop for a second and think what’s best for our child!”

status: wip | series masterlist | taglist: open

Scheming Monsters

Summary: Two little friends have always desired one thing. To end up as siblings. So when the chance presented itself after a finalized divorce, who were they to decline such an opportunity to finally bring their parents together?

Tags: singledad!bokuto x singlemom!reader, divorced, friends to lovers?? all fluff, maybe a little angst if you use a magnifying glass.

“Shouldn’t we just tell them we’re dating?”

“No, it’s funny to watch them think they’re so slick.”

status: wip | series masterlist | taglist: open

Brilliant Opportunities

Summary: Divorced, single father Oikawa finds himself in a pickle when his ex wife comes barging back in his life demanding full custody over their son for her greedy needs, he seeks assistance from the woman he wished he had married in the first place.

Tags: divorced!oikawa, singledad!oikawa, best friends to lovers to ex lovers, reunion, fluffy, angsty. 

“What do you say? Would you marry me?”

“Sure, I think I can squeeze you in this weekend. How does Saturday sound?”

status: wip | series masterlist | taglist: open

Bonding Bliss

Summary: Single parents Kita and L/N find spending more time with each other through their daughters’ bonding play dates, not realizing their growing feelings for each other. But as sweet as it is, it’s not always cupcakes and rainbows when people from the past return.

Tags: singledad!kita x singlemom!reader, fluffy fluffy cotton, angst :c

“I can’t believe she had the audacity to come barging back into her life and think makeup would be perfect as a gift for a six years old!”

“Yeah, oh and I told her we were dating if that’s okay.”

“Oh that’s fin—what?”

status: wip | series masterlist | taglist: open

Meddling

Summary: A tale of how Matsukawa’s little boy, his pride and joy, helps him find the love he truly deserves. 

Tags: single!dadxMatsukawa, fluffy. Just fluff. That’s it. 

“Uh, what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? You texted me to come over.”

Oh.

status: wip | series masterlist | taglist: open

Escape Plan

Summary: Growing up in a traditional family always had its ups and downs. Arranged marriages was the very one of them that you dreaded ever since your contract had been presented to you at the age of eighteen. L/N F/N seeks help from an old flame as her 24th birthday fast approaches, wanting nothing more than to escape the wedding of the century the country had claimed.

Tags: traditional, rich family au! angst, crack fic, fluffy soft boy tendou here and there. 

“I mean, yeah sure. I’ve always wanted to be a dad.”

“That’s great! How about putting a bun in my oven?”

status: wip | series masterlist | taglist: open

Replica

Summary: To get back at her cheating boyfriend, L/N F/N finds herself a man during a party in her college years. Never had she expected that she would have fallen pregnant over it. Things only get complicated a few years later when the man she despises comes barging back in her life demanding why her son looked exactly like him.

Tags: college party, enemies to parents?? crack fic, lil bit of angst if you squint, fluffy. 

“Care to explain why that little toddler in your arms looks exactly like me when I was younger?”

“What crack are you on and where can I get some?”

status: wip | series masterlist | taglist: open

Wishing Upon A Star

Summary: Calling him daddy was something your daughter had wished upon a falling star one night ever since you had introduced him as your boyfriend. The three of you finally find the right pace on becoming a happy family that your daughter dreamed of, but what happens when the man that had wanted nothing to do with you and your daughter returns?

Tags: singlemom!reader, angst, angst, ANGST. Only a little bit of fluff. 

“Did you catch what she called me? She really said it!” 

“Yeah, I did. She’s been wanting to call you daddy for the longest time.”

status: wip | series masterlist | taglist: open

A/N: Which fic are you looking forward to? Let me know! I might consider writing that first once Homesick is over! I can’t wait to start this with you guys! Kisses! Thank you again with the lovely support from every single one of you! 

Open Arms

PART I: Fix You  |   PART II: The Sun Will Rise  |   PART III: Closest to Heaven | PART IV: Open Arms

Pairing: Toji x Reader

Genre: Angst

“Lightning never strikes the same place twice.”

“I have a little sister,” Megumi muttered in the passenger seat. Amazement and joy were evident in his voice. Toji put on his seatbelt and hummed in response, slightly amused by his son’s reaction. It’s like he still can’t believe it. 

It was sunny when they entered the cafe earlier. Now, it started to rain. The weather seemed to be mimicking the turn of events; finding out about his daughter with you and finding out that you have someone else now.

“Aimi’s very pretty; she looks like her.” A sincere smile made its way to Toji’s lips as he tapped on the steering wheel’s shiny yet rough surface. “Y/N’s got a boyfriend,” He added, laughing bitterly, nodding his head as if the information was just starting to settle in. Toji sniffed as he looked ahead, trying to think of something other than the image of you, your boyfriend, and his daughter walking away.

It hurts too much. And Toji doesn’t think he can move on from you.

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