If This Ain't The Truth

if this ain't the truth

what people think is hard about writing: describing the joy, love, beauty, grief, loss and hope that form the richness of human experience

what is actually hard about writing: describing basic actions such as turning, leaning over, reclining, gesturing, saying something in a quiet voice, breathing, getting up from chairs, and walking across rooms

give me bellamy blake or give me death

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chilxxn

1 year ago

☆ 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝘀𝘁 - ,, 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼

summary: after reuniting with gojo in front of a convenience store, you both spend several months talking in circles around what you really want to say.

warnings: gn!reader , kind of a slow burn , mutual pining , very slight angst , gojo and reader being idiots in love word count: 6.9k a/n: gojo is ruining my life 😁

“gojo, what are you doing?”

“inspecting your desk for dust,” he mutters, running a slender finger along the surface of your wooden desk and then peering down at what he’s gathered. “this desk hasn’t been used yet and no one cleans after it.”

brushing his palms against his pants, his stands up and takes a few steps away from your desk, suddenly feeling out of place. he can feel your scrutinizing gaze on his back and, for some reason entirely unknown to him, his heart kicks into overdrive.

the sounds of your shoes tapping against the floor echo in the near silent room as you come up beside him, sighing and emptying out the piles of papers and books in your arms onto your desk.

you’d recently taken up teaching at jujutsu tech, after many months of pestering from gojo. frankly, he was a little offended that the idea of getting to spend nearly everyday with him wasn’t enough to get you on board.

instead, it was meeting the first years that made you change your mind.

now, here you were, standing beside him and complaining about something that he’s sure he should listen to. but he keeps zoning out on your face—the bridge of your nose, the curve of your lips, taper of your chin. he studies the way your brows furrow and your mouth twists to the side when you speak with distaste, then watch the subtle nudge of a smile come through and figures you must have mentioned something humorous.

you’ve known each other since you both ended up in the same class several years ago, when you were students.

back then, you called him ‘satoru’ and carried an extra lunch because you knew he woke up too late to make one for himself (and he swore—swears—against cafeteria slop).

he misses it, how things used to be. gojo attempts to telepathically compel you to call him by his first name once more, but unfortunately, that’s not a skillset he currently possesses.

“gojo? were you even listening to me?”

your voice breaks through and interrupts his thoughts, and though on the outside he appears unbothered, internally he’s scrambling for some sort of excuse. if you knew how much of a hot mess he is, you might start avoiding him altogether.

you step closer, bringing the back of your palm to his forehead and your touch forces his speeding heart to a screeching halt. he can feel the way it stutters—the way he misses a beat.

it’s terrifying really, he’s almost thirty. maybe, this is the end. he should get checked for an arrythmia.

“you’re not sick,” you begin, falling back and gojo misses the closeness instantly, “so why are you spacing out so much?”

“no reason.”

really—what is his reason?

so it’s been a few years and now that he’s looking at you, he can’t bring himself to look away. it’s nothing more than the initial shock of seeing someone you used to know become someone entirely new. it’ll wear off.

but, to be fair, you’re not all that different from the person he used to see everyday. you still have the same hair, just styled differently, and the same eyes, slightly duller now. your skin is still the same, however marred with occasional scars. you haven’t grown much, and you’re out of the jujutsu tech uniform.

gojo hadn’t spoken to you in several years. running into you at all was pure coincidence.

he happened to find you loitering outside of a convenience store in the dead of night, wearing a hoodie he was pretty sure you stole from suguru when you were all first years. your hood was up, the edge falling over your eyes and yet, the slight obtrusion wasn’t enough to save you from his prying six eyes. thank god he had ditched the blindfold.

“is that the y/n?”

he prayed that it really was you and not someone who resembled you to a freakishly accurate degree. perhaps against your better judgment, your shoulders tense and you turn slowly to greet the voice that decided to approach you.

you should have known from the audacity alone (and the fact that he used your first name, as opposed to your last) exactly who it was.

gojo watched with a smug smirk as your eyes widened, recognition flashing across your features. the ends of your mouth twitched up in something akin to a smile and you brushed the hair off your forehead.

“so it is. care to explain what you’re doing out here so late?”

“i could ask the same to you,” you countered, shoving your hands into your pockets. he shrugged in response, something which earned him an eye roll from you.

and against your wishes, gojo stuck around for the rest of the night, wandering around the streets with you while you both chewed on onigiri he insisted on paying for.

over the coming months, gojo made it a habit of texting you when he woke up, when he went to bed, and anytime he was bored (which was basically all the time). you, on the other hand, responded when you felt like it.

not that he minded, he knew it was rare for you to respond at all.

somehow the minimal conversation spiraled into this: you working alongside him. gojo says he’s ‘shaping the minds of jujutsu youth’. you’re pretty sure he’s getting paid to be a glorified paintbrush in a suit.

regardless, you took a liking to his first-years when you met them, so you hauled ass and got yourself hired. it wasn’t too hard, seeing as you were alumni after all. plus, yaga remembered you being a voice of reason whenever geto and gojo got too cocky and figured you could still be that for present-day gojo.

you reach forward and rest your windbreaker over the back of your chair, placing your hands on your hips and admiring your new home away from home. jujutsu sorcerers worked long hours, especially when they were teachers.

“we get to be desk buddies!” gojo runs over to his own desk, placed to your right. he slaps his palm against the wood, a resounding echo filling the empty room and making you cover your ears.

“fantastic,” you deadpan, not at all excited for how the future was going to play out.

lately you’ve been feeling an anxious flutter in the pit of your stomach whenever you’re around gojo. it must be some sort of premonition of all the bad things to come.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

“don’t forget it! or else i’m never letting you get coffee for me again.”

your words ring loudly against the front of his brain as he shuffles to the cafe across the street. the squad, as he likes to refer to you all, are at an abandoned building that’s probably not safe to stand near.

but, such risks are necessary when you’re testing your students’ abilities. it’s mid-afternoon and you should be getting lunch, but this mission was taking them longer than normal. gojo suggested coffee so you sent him on his merry way to get some.

he’d already decided against coffee for himself, he’d much rather have a cake pop instead. but he’s reciting your order as he walks inside, the soft chime of the bell above the entrance alerting the cashier.

the girl is young, probably still in high school with the way she rolls her eyes and stands so nonchalantly.

“one chocolate frappuccino with 25% less ice, 2 pumps of chocolate, almond milk but still with whipped cream on top, 2 pumps of vanilla.”

he realizes then, as he stands at the counter with the words rolling off his tongue like he’s practiced them a million times over beforehand, that he knows your coffee order by heart.

you’ve only gotten coffee with him once, at four in the morning on your way to the subway after a mission that left your limbs sore and your skull pounding with a headache. he remembers this well because he remembers everything about you: from the way your slow footsteps carried you past the glass doors, to the way you squinted against the bright lights to glare at the menu.

to gojo, any and every moment spent with you is worth immortalizing within his memory. and even half-awake with the meanest scowl on your face, he felt you were the most gorgeous thing on earth.

her eyes nearly pop out of her head as she registers his words, an immediate scowl gracing her face.

gojo smiles wide, hands tucked behind his back, “and in your largest size please.”

“would that be all?”

“nope! could i also get a cake pop?”

she punches in some letters, hands him a receipt with a number printed at the top, and heads inside. gojo falls back to wait for his order.

just like any other moment where he’s faced with the waiting game, gojo’s instinctively pulling out his phone and thumbing over to the messages app to text you. but he pauses right before he sends his first hello.

how pathetic is it that he’s texting you when he’s only left you five minutes ago?

you’d think he’s pathetic, if you didn’t already think so.

it angers him how much physical restraint he has to employ to push himself away from texting you. yet, he still manages to find something you-related to fill up his time as he starts scrolling through past conversations.

most of them are of you asking for his whereabouts so you could hand him something. occasionally, you’d send him a picture of your cat. some of them he’s saved to camera roll—only the ones featuring you too.

he doesn’t know what he’ll do should you ever discover that he’s done this, but that’s a problem for future gojo.

he smiles to himself as he reads over the same messages he’s read over fifty times already. it’s nothing special—you’re calling him an idiot as you often do—but he cherishes it anyways.

obviously, it’s because he appreciates your friendship, nothing more. gojo doesn’t have many friends, despite the fact that he exudes such addicting charisma, so he cherishes the ones he does have. he ignores the fact that the last time he texted shoko was four months ago.

the barista places his order onto the counter in those cardboard to-go trays. he pays and leaves quickly, long legs rushing him back to the building. he would have warped back, but the last time he did that, you yelled at him for scaring you. as amusing as it was, he’d rather not go through that again. plus, he runs the risk of spilling the coffee which also lands him in hot water.

“i have your coffee!” he exclaims as he enters with the coffee held out. you turn to him, rushing to grab the large cup off the tray.

he watches as you taste-test, smacking your lips together in scrutiny, before you nod with approval, “i’m surprised you remembered all that.”

“eh…it wasn’t too difficult.”

you both launch into conversation about the students, but gojo doesn’t really care. it’s selfish of him to say, but he wants to hear you talk about yourself. he wants to know what you do on the weekends, the name of your favorite restaurant, whether or not you think circular sunglasses are cool.

what are your opinions on white hair? are you the kind of person who prefers tall people over shorter ones? do you think he’s funny?

in reality, he could ask you all of these questions right now. after all, friends are open with one another, so why does he hesitate so much when it comes to you?

he swallows thickly, biting off the entire cake pop and chewing loudly. you glare at him, gagging as you turn your back to him.

“have some decorum, gojo,” you chastise, taking another sip of your coffee as you lean over to look into the darkened hallway for any signs of your students. “you’re nearly thirty, you know.”

“don’t you ever think about being in a relationship?”

he regrets the words as soon as he lets them slip past. gojo’s an expert at having things under control, and for the times he doesn’t, he’s an expert at pretending he does. yet, this is one of the rare moments where the thick cake of the cake pop gets stuck in his throat and he begins to choke.

his face grows red from all the effort he’s putting in to holding back his cough. in hindsight, that was definitely a mistake considering he’s got food blocking his airway, but he didn’t want to cough in front of you.

there’s nothing attractive about hacking up half-chewed vanilla cake.

you don’t even bother turning around, still fixated on looking for the first-years. your coffee is almost finished, just a little bit left at the bottom of the cup, sloshing around with your slight movements.

“not really—i’m happy like this. do you think they’re okay?”

he’s almost disappointed at how little thought you gave the question. but he can’t be, not when he thinks he might actually be dying.

gojo’s silence confuses you. he’s never this silent, it’s worrying—you turn around to make sure everything is okay.

you don’t really have words for what you see. his face is tomato-red, lips pressed into a thin line like he’s holding something back. you rush to his side.

“gojo, what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

there have been several moments where you wanted to slam your closed fist against gojo, namely to teach him a lesson for being the absolute worst man you’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. you never thought you’d get your chance while attempting to save him from choking on a cake pop.

not wasting anymore time, and perhaps a bit too eagerly, you slam your fist down against his spine. it’s not proper protocol for when someone is choking, but it gets the job done as the food dislodges itself and flies out his mouth. gojo begins coughing violently, leaning over to clutch at his stomach.

you grab at his collar, pulling him down to meet your furious gaze, “are you okay? what made you think- how did you even manage to live this long?”

gojo doesn’t really have an answer because the answer is unknown to him as well. he hopes the furious blush he’s sporting is overlooked as the aftermath of choking on cake. you’re still holding onto him, brows furrowed with anger and concern.

he glances to the side to see your almost finished coffee cup laying on the ground, abandoned. gojo carefully brings his arms up, resting his hands on your shoulders, “i’m fine, that was just a momentary lapse in judgment.”

“i think that was a lot longer than a moment.” “please never bring it up again.”

it’s been long enough that you should have moved away from him, let go of his high collar and stepped away so the two of you could pretend you weren’t sharing the same breath just moments ago. but you don’t.

and gojo doesn’t pull away either.

the silence is suffocating, so much so that he’s forced to face the part of himself he’s been avoiding religiously since he saw you again at the convenience store. actually, since he first met you as an egotistical second-year.

the part of him that screams every time you’re around, that tries his hardest to be impressive so that you’d have a reason to look at him as someone beyond satoru gojo. the part of him that yearns to know anything and everything about you—that commits all your likes and dislikes to memory.

his mind is reeling, thoughts swimming around his head: everything you.

you, you, you.

and what was he even supposed to do but stop and admire? but watch and yearn for you because deep down, he knows you could never see him as anyone other than a former classmate now coworker.

“gojo-sensei, i think you’re trying to get rid of us!”

nobara’s voice breaks the spell that had its grasp on the two of you, parting from each other swiftly in hopes to avoid the students seeing anything. the last thing either of you needs is for them to think there’s something going on between you both.

but the three first-years are back before you can fully readjust from being mere inches away from gojo’s face, and the awkward tension in the air is most definitely palpable.

they shift their eyes from you, to gojo, and back to you, sharing confused glances amongst each other as if you can’t see them. yuji shrugs and you turn away to grab your cup from off the ground.

gojo watches as you leave first, reassuring a curious itadori that nothing’s wrong and nothing happened while they were gone.

you, on the other hand, feel the butterflies inside once more. they travel down your arms and to your fingertips which still smell like gojo’s overpowering axe 3-in-1 cologne.

how unlucky you are to be stuck working with the same guy you’ve had a crush on since high school.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

the slight chill of fall transitions into the bitter cold of winter—you’ve appropriately bundled up in a brown tweed coat, complete with a woven scarf.

in comparison, gojo wanders the streets with you in his usual get up, teeth chattering yet still insisting that he isn’t cold.

it’s your day off, and initially, you intended on spending it cooped up inside your house with a warm mug of hot chocolate nestled between your hands. somehow, you find yourself spending it outside instead, walking side by side with gojo.

he’s humming some 80s city pop song, staring at the humble beginnings of what’s going to be elaborate christmas displays situated in front of the shops you pass by.

embarrassingly, as he admires the flashing green and red lights, you admire him. there really is no reason for him to be as pretty as he is—especially since it can be argued that his personality is objectively bad.

still, there’s no denying that the sharp line of his jaw, the softness of his slightly upturned mouth, the sparkle in his eyes and his hair let down (since he’s ditched the blindfold) is pretty compelling. you can understand why people fall at his feet, not that it would ever be you.

as long as you’ve liked him, you’ve been trying to move on. maybe you would have been successful if he didn’t have a knack for sniffing you out, no matter where you are. anyways: dates have been pretty boring when you’re subconsciously comparing everyone to gojo.

unfortunately for you, something about his impish sense of humor and his childish antics drew you in. why on earth did you fall for gojo? it’s truly baffling; top 10 questions scientists still can’t answer to this day.

the air shifts as gojo seems less entranced by the pretty lights (he really is a man-child). you try to pry your eyes away from him, not wanting to get caught staring, but you don’t see the harm in a few seconds longer. after all, it’s not everyday you get to shamelessly admire like this.

this, of course, like many decisions you’ve made in your life, is a mistake. gojo turns to you quickly, amused cerulean blue catching your blatant stare.

he doesn’t say a word, just raises his eyebrows and smirks like he’s won something. you fluster nonetheless, clearing your throat and turning away to stare at the people across the street.

apparently, gojo was feeling particularly bold today. he reasons it must have been the cookies you shared with him thirty minutes prior, but he’s wrapping his cold fingers around your wrist before he can realize it. you practically twirl into him, like a dance of sorts, perfectly caught off guard.

neither of you are fazed by the fact that you’ve stopped moving, creating a two person wall in the middle of the busy walkway. you’re waiting for him to explain—for him to let go of your wrist which is still held tightly against his palm. he’s trying to come up with something to say.

you feel uncomfortably warm, heartbeat loud and clear in your ears as it gets hard to breathe. you try to loosen the scarf with your free hand, figuring it must be wound too tight. you’re disappointed when it doesn’t help.

he’s staring again, just like he had that day when he choked on cake. you go back to that day often, hoping one of your revists will miraculously result in you deciphering exactly what it was you saw swimming in his gaze.

you never do and here he is again, doing the same thing.

“we should- get out of the way,” you urge him to move, tugging your arm to the side as you register angry mutters from passersby. gojo is only vaguely aware of his own two feet as he drags you away from the center of the sidewalk.

when he still doesn’t speak, you scoff. you’re quickly growing tired of this silent game; as if you haven’t been left with mixed signals since high school.

you twist out of his grasp, folding your arms over your chest, “why did you drag me out here, gojo? is there a purpose to this or did you just want to waste my day off?”

he laughs and you feel like you’ve been left out of an inside joke. if only you knew how selfish he’s being right now. he should feel bad, dragging you out of the comfort of your home to walk around the chilly streets of tokyo on one of the few days where you aren’t legally obligated to teach.

he doesn’t, though. he’s enjoying this—he’s enjoying you. with every passing day gojo’s finding it nearly impossible to go without seeing you. he needs you like he needs his blindfold or sunglasses, like he needs kikufuku after tediously long missions.

gojo never thought he was the best at keeping secrets, but he’s pretty good at keeping this one. he prides himself on knowing you have yet to find out how he scrambles to get ready every morning just so he could walk in at the same time as you.

or the fact that you don’t know how he’s paid shoko $50 to tell him what your favorite flowers are, just so he could anonymously arrange a bouquet of them on your desk. then he had to sit and stand to the side in silence as he watched yuji take credit for them.

fighting a wide grin, he invades your personal space with ease, “you didn’t seem to mind when you were busy staring at me.”

he watches with glee as you sputter with embarrassment, eventually looking away from him with gritted teeth.

“shut up,” you mumble, though it’s quiet and lacks any malice. “you’re really the worst, you know that?”

“you love me.”

“i’m cringing so hard right now.”

you really are, especially when he laughs, the sound warm and so welcome that you find yourself craving more. had you been alone, you would have located the nearest wall and slammed your head against it. nothing about this could be healthy.

“come on, let’s go,” gojo says, a hesitant hand pressed to your lower back as he begins walking. you walk with him, shoulders slumping when he pulls away to let his hand rest by his side.

you don’t know why, but you’re brought back to when he asked if you ever think about being in a relationship. you can’t remember what you said at the time, being far too occupied with worrying for the safety of your students, but you fight yourself on bringing it up again.

would now be a good time? what if he thought you were weird for bringing it up again? knowing gojo, he’s probably moved on from whatever was plaguing him at the time—in fact, he probably doesn’t even remember asking.

“remember when you asked if i ever thought about being in a relationship?”

well. it’s out there now. no going back.

“yeah, you said you’re happy alone,” he recalls, then immediately turns to face you. “why? did that change recently?”

you shake your head, “no, because i wasn’t entirely being honest. i just said that because i wasn’t really paying attention.

sometimes, i do. but then i remember my profession and i don’t really know how it would work.”

your answer is truthful, as vulnerable as you’re willing to get with gojo on the side of the street. being a jujutsu sorcerer really cuts romance out of your everyday life. you’re not the type to want to endanger innocent people, and dating within the field is…impractical.

gojo hums in response, sucking his cheeks against his teeth as he thinks, “i can understand that. but you can always find someone who’s also a sorcerer…”

he trails off suddenly, not wanting to continue. you don’t really seem to notice it, nor do you notice when he sighs out a weary laugh.

he might die alone in this life, but if he could spend some of it knowing you covet him the way he does you, he would be content. there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to be yours.

you swallow the lump in your throat, look past the prickle of fear at your fingertips, ignore the sour taste in your mouth and look up at him, “i suppose i could.”

neither of you say anything more, falling into comfortable silence as you walk together, pinkies brushing until he finally curls his around yours.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

gojo gives himself the simple pleasure of spending more time with you, around you, as the weeks inch closer to christmas day.

the morale is definitely much better around this time of year, students excited to get a much needed break from the world of sorcery to bake sugary treats and exchange thoughtful gifts.

you feel the same: excited to finally spend a few days at home, comfortable in the company of your cat and your favorite tv show. though, you’re not sure if you’re over-break plans will get hijacked once again by a very insistent satoru.

he loves forcing his way into your life, and you’re all too willing to let him so technically, you’re a guilty party as well.

you’re seated on the floor of one of the many classrooms at tokyo jujutsu tech, typing away at your laptop to hopefully finish off your last remaining mission report before you get off for christmas break. satoru is seated in a chair off to the side, legs kicked up on the desk, entirely unhelpful as always.

he’s pulled on a hoodie over his usual jacket this time, having learnt from being stuck in the cold on your last outing together. though you’re pretty certain the bright pink hoodie belongs to a certain itadori yuji, and it’s useless inside the classroom, where the heater is kept at a nice 83 degrees.

you finish off your last sentence, hitting submit and stretching your arms up. your bones snap, crackle, and pop (much like the cereal), and you’re reminded of how old you’re getting to be. still, at least you’re not tailing the big 3-0 like gojo.

“finally,” he groans, his hair bobbing in tandem with you exaggerated movements. “can we go home now?”

you pack your laptop into your bag, grabbing your coat from where you slung it over the desk, “no one asked you to stay with me, satoru.”

he’s not sure when you switched to his first name, but he’s glad you did. you say it like it belongs to you, and he can’t stop the soft smile that tugs at his lips whenever the name falls from your mouth.

gojo falls into step beside you as you both leave the classroom, and eventually, the campus itself. you plan to take the subway home, much like you always do, but gojo has other plans.

“let me just warp you home, you know it’s so much faster than waiting for the train.”

you open your mouth to disagree, but you’re much too late. his hands are already on you and the world seems to disintegrate from beneath your feet. it’s always so disorienting, one of the main reasons you’re so opposed to being a part of it.

but, you can’t deny that it is faster.

it’s nice getting to skip the crowds that inevitably gather on the evening of christmas eve.

that doesn’t stop you from landing a punch against his arm. “you’re such an ass! i hate it when you do that!”

you drop your things to the floor, basking in the glory of your home—your happy place. it’s not until you’re tugging off your shoes and socks that you realize gojo’s still awkwardly standing behind you.

“you can go, you know,” you mutter, nodding towards the door since you’re unsure if he’s waiting for an invitation to say goodbye. the thought of him actually wanting to stay does cross your mind, but you deem it too impossible and disregard it.

“you’re gonna be alone for christmas, aren’t you?”

you scowl at him. what was the reason for him to remind you? most of your family live too far away for you to go visit and come back in time, so you are spending it alone. sadly.

flopping into the soft cushions of your couch, you respond, “i have my cat.” on cue, the slinky feline makes his way from behind the couch and onto your lap.

he nods, fidgets, then sighs. you raise your eyebrows as if to say: “spit it out”.

“you know, it’s funny- i’m spending christmas alone too. maybe we should…spend it together.”

his eyes gleam from behind his rectangular sunglasses which are sitting too low on the bridge of his nose. he’s waiting, nervously, for your response. if he’s clocked you right, then you shouldn’t be opposed. then again, he has a bad habit of viewing every situation in a more favorable light than it really is.

“i wouldn’t mind.”

so you find yourself holed up in the kitchen, satoru glued to your side, as you attempt to make gingerbread cookies. neither of you are particularly a fan of the flavor, but it’s in spirit so you make it anyway.

gojo’s a horrendous cook, as expected. he has the magic touch aka the ability to make a mess of anything he’s been assigned to do.

miraculously, the cookies turn out and you spend the next hour decorating. he makes himself first (obviously), and then you. you bite back a laugh as he grumbles about how the sprinkle doesn’t match your eyes, but settles for that color despite it not being truthful.

he speeds through making his first-years, complains about being tired, then takes a bite out of your head.

“eat yourself! why would you destroy me?” you yell, wrestling the cookie out of his hands. his fingers are covered in frosting, the sticky sweetness now coating your own hands.

gojo shouts with his mouth half-full, crumbs spewing everywhere, “it’s my cookie! i decide what to do with it!”

your tug of war lands the cookie in pieces on the table, and he watches with despair as you clean it up and throw it out. by the time you get back, he’s made a gravestone for your “dead” cookie.

he helps you clean up, which basically means he watches as you clean up, then drags you to the couch to play his favorite cringy hallmark movie.

you’re thirty minutes in and you don’t really remember what the movie is even about. they all share the same plot anyway, you’re sure you’re not missing any cinematic masterpieces. you’ve curled up your knees your chest, hugging them close as you rest your chin against them. satoru is seated beside you, one arm thrown over the back of the couch.

it’s the hours ticking by, and the sugar-rush wearing off, you’re sure of it, but you begin to lean into him. your head hits his shoulder, gojo doesn’t move. instead, when you drowsily slip down to rest your head against his chest, he moves his arm around you to support you.

you wake up the next morning, head tucked under his chin with your leg thrown lazily over his waist and his arms tightly wrapped around you.

unprofessional doesn’t even begin to cover it.

hands pressed to his chest, you work on exiting his embrace, but you’re also deathly afraid to wake him. you know pretty well how little gojo sleeps, he’s always texting you at 3 in the morning complaining about sleep evading him once again. he deserves this sleep.

but it’s creepy for you to stay in his arms when you’re awake and aware.

you peer up at him, his placid face as his chest rises and falls with deep breaths. his hair is messily covering his eyes, long lashes fluttering lightly against his cheeks. instinctively, you reach up and brush some hair out of his sight and gojo shifts awake.

he blinks a few times, taking in his surroundings, remembering where he is, then looks down at you with a wide smile, “good morning.”

you hate how domestic it feels—like he’s showing you how wonderful life would be if you were his, only to then take it away because you can’t have him.

“are you gonna let go?” you ask, your voice thick with sleep.

he pretends to consider it, but he’s relishing this moment for as long as he can. it’s not everyday the person you love ends up wrapped up in your arms.

“no, i don’t think i will. let’s go back to sleep.”

he ignores your weak protests and shuts his eyes once again. you huff, but secretly, you’re grateful he didn’t let go. something about being with him like this is relaxing; it’s where you’re meant to be.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

winter comes and goes, christmas was remarkably boring. sure, you spent the day with gojo, but there was nothing special about it (aside from your quickened heartbeat). you’re a bigger fan of spring.

it’s raining outside, pretty heavily for spring showers. normally, the students would be out training, giving you some time to yourself but the rain caused a change of plans.

everyone is seated in your classroom, talking amongst themselves while waiting for the rain to clear. satoru is texting you incessantly about anything and everything. you actually make an effort to reply.

you and gojo have definitely been different since he spent christmas with you. he’s much nicer, courteous of you and your feelings. suddenly, he’s bringing you coffee every morning and taking you out for lunch whenever he can.

when he goes out on his own missions, he brings back souvenirs for you and only you. you find yourself alone with him more often nowadays, whether it be at school or at your house. he’s always around somehow and you don’t mind in the slightest.

it’s obvious enough that even the first-years (including yuji) have picked up on it.

megumi went the subtle route, asking if you had gotten into a relationship since you seemed much happier lately. nobara was more direct: she confronted you head on and asked about gojo. yuji, after being caught up by nobara, wished you and satoru a prosperous relationship.

you wanted to tell them to stop holding out hope; nothing was ever going to come of this. but that meant confirming that there was something there to begin with, which is terrifying.

you want it so bad. you want so badly to hold his hand and feel him holding back just as tightly. to be able to say he’s yours and hear him say that you’re his. the dangerous thing about your ever-growing closeness with him was the rapidly blurring line between friend and lover.

gojo is a friend, a good one. but what about the gojo that knows your coffee order by heart? and what of the gojo that grins when you call him “satoru” instead? what about the gojo that spent his christmas with you, holding you in his arms? is he still just a friend even then?

you don’t realize how you’re ignoring gojo’s messages until he’s storming into the classroom, shiny shoes stomping on the ground as he marches to your desk.

“stop ignoring me! i’m trying to hold a conversation.”

you laugh in place of an apology, and he doesn’t leave. instead, he pulls up a chair and takes a seat next to you. you’re well aware of the first-years watching intently, desperate to catch any sign that their two senseis were breaking the code of conduct and fraternizing.

gojo was certainly willing to play into it, his arm around your shoulder, whispering in your ear. you smile but you feel ill. the line blurs even further.

the next half-hour passes quickly—you’re wrapped up in satoru’s arms like you often are now. before you know it, you’re waving goodbye to your students as they gather their things and leave.

with them gone, you wait for gojo to drop the act, retreat into his seat like being all up in your personal space was just a game for him. like everything he’s done so far was just a silly little game that you fell for.

he doesn’t.

“satoru, what’re we doing?” you ask, and you hate the way your voice cracks ever so slightly. you hope he doesn’t pick up on it, and if he did, he doesn’t say anything.

“uh- sitting here? do you need me to explain exactly-”

“you know i’m not talking about that.”

he’s silent. you’re disappointed.

your chair screeches across the wooden floor and you push back, getting ready to leave. anger bubbles inside you, crawling up your throat and burning behind your eyes as they fill with tears. you gather your things swiftly, ignoring gojo as he asks where you’re going.

does he not see how awful he’s being? how confusing he’s being?

maybe you’re only angry because of how long it’s been—how the years you spent without him in your life didn’t ease the way your heart ached when you saw him again. what if you’re reading into everything? what if you’re ruining a good thing?

he stands up with you, rushing after you as you leave. if you’re ruining a good thing then so be it, you’d rather have answers.

“are you gonna tell me where you’re going?”

you don’t respond.

gojo catches up to you quickly—curse his long legs—and stands in front of you menacingly. you’re irritated, embarrassed. he’s the last person you want to see.

your vision goes blurry, you blink back tears and gojo makes it worse when he points it out. “are you crying?”

“no, dumbass,” you snap. “my eyes are just leaking water.”

he doesn’t say a word, but he hugs you. it’s exactly what you wanted and exactly what you didn’t want at the same time. balling your hands into fists, you slam them against his chest and fight for him to let go.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make things confusing.”

you calm down and wait, he continues.

“i was being pretty selfish. i don’t know how you feel about me but i don’t think we’re on the same page.”

god, this is the worst.

“i think i really love you.”

you lurch away from him and he flinches. he doesn’t meet your eyes, it’s the first time he’s the one to look away.

gojo brings a hand up to tug his blindfold down over his eyes, “you can go, i’ll pretend this never happened.”

you’re quiet, gojo’s wondering why you haven’t left his sight. why you haven’t run off and blocked him. nothing prepares him for the way you lean forward and grab his collar. it’s reminiscent of an earlier time, when he still thought you were nothing more than a good friend of his.

he was an idiot then.

your gentle hands push up his blindfold, folding his hair back with it. his eyes shine as they stare into your own, bright blue and confused. he feels like he’s being forced to act in a play without knowing his own lines.

your hands rest on his shoulders and you pull him down. he brings his own to your waist, but hover, hesitant to place them in case he’s wrong.

gojo’s sure you’ve stolen his breath with the way you’re looking at him now, but then you kiss him and he short circuits. there’s no time to think, to be indecisive, because here you are and you’re giving him exactly what he’s wanted since the moment you walked into class during his second-year.

something in him snaps into place, his hands flying to your face to press you flush against him as he breathes life back into you. you falter at his ferocity but he’s holding you and there really is no time to think.

“i think i really love you.”

you don’t have to say it back to him, he knows you feel the same with your hands in his hair and your smile against his lips.

you pull away and take a moment to breathe.

“you’re the worst, satoru.”

i have a test today wish me luck.

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chilxxn

4 years ago

he looks so pretty and he’s not even trying

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chilxxn

4 years ago

18K notes View Post

chilxxn

4 years ago

a huge shoutout to octavia for name dropping clarke to bellamy as soon as she clapped eyes on him like a true shipper would

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chilxxn

4 years ago

LMAO

Fanfic Writers:

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chilxxn

3 years ago

reblogging so i dont have to look for prt 2

our sorry little hearts

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x fem!reader

❈ genre: angst. ❈ word count: 1.6k

❈ summary: Levi hasn’t seen your traitorous Eldian face in years.

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. war. mentions of blood, death, and violence.

a/n: you’ve heard of enemies to lovers, now get ready for… lovers to enemies. this takes place during the liberio invasion aka S4 E6. based on a love like war by all time low.

(also don’t tell anyone but this is me lowkey warming up after not writing for so long)

Keep reading

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