Foolish One - Inumaki Toge . . Silence Speaks Volumes, And He Thinks That You Can't Listen For Much

❊ foolish one - inumaki toge . . silence speaks volumes, and he thinks that you can't listen for much longer.

it's not fair of him to love you like he does.

inumaki feels horrible, he really does. his affection is selfish and abominable, and it hurts to feel it. but he can't not. it's a kind of love that makes him sick. his chest burns and heaves with unspeakable words, and his nails carve half-moons into his palms with uncontained admiration.

there isn't a thing about you he doesn't love. from every sunspot to every hair on your head. he loves the cadence of your voice, and he loves the face you make when he pokes you or does something otherwise annoying. he relishes in this expression, really, because it means you noticed him, you saw him. he really is awful, for how he scrounges and scrabbles for every piece of your attention he can get. like a beggar on the street, like a moth, like a starved animal. it's pathetic, he thinks.

he feels especially selfish on sunday movie nights with all the first-years, when he steals the spot on the couch right next to you because he knows you'll fall asleep on his shoulder. he feels even worse on mornings when he hopes something like a strange sickness will befall maki so she can't go on a mission with you, and he'll get to replace her. because maki is his friend, but she's also your friend, and he'd much rather if he was your only one. and he's the most selfish on break days, where he gets into predicaments on purpose so you'll help him out.

inumaki remembers the first snow of the year, because he remembers the little stuffed animal punching him through his pocket. one of principal yaga's stuffed animals had not-so-accidentally ended up in the pocket of his winter coat, and he needed your help— not panda's, or maki's, or yuuta's— your help, to get it back to his office without being caught. oh, he loved that day. he loved the look of exasperation on your face, he loved the amusement in your eyes every time the living stuffed animal would hit him, he loved that stolen hour in your company.

the guilt is abrasive. the anguish of loving you scalds like hot tea slipt on his palms and he's sick, he has to be, because he can't get enough and at the same time it's too much. he loves you but he shouldn't, because you deserve better.

he can't love you the way you deserve. he knows it— if you know, then you probably know it. everyone probably knows it. everyone. he's so, so unfair. he's cruel to subject you through his love. you should have someone who can tell you how much they love you, instead of relying on a hand on the shoulder or a friendly shoulder during a movie. you deserve the compliments that are spoken, and not written. you deserve someone who can match your inflection, and tone, and cadence, the very parts of your voice he admires so much. someone who can your favorite songs with you. someone better, much better than him.

he thinks he's merciful for letting you go. he decides he should one night, when he hears you laughing through a door at something someone else said. because he doesn't have the words to make you laugh, and actions are never enough for him. it's an act of kindness, for how he blocks you out. for how he stops trying to steal you away, to sit next to you, to slip you notes, and make you smile. he believes it's the right thing to do, to take away your choice.

avoiding you is hard at first. cutting out an addiction to your warmth is easier said than done, but he finds that looking through you has become easier than looking at you. if he looks through you, he doesn't see the creases of your smile and the lines of your eyes that make him fall harder every time. and he thinks you don't even notice— if you do, you say not a word. inumaki thinks it makes it easier. if you said nothing, it meant you didn't notice his withdrawal. if you didn't notice, it meant you didn't like him back. and if you didn't like him back, then he never had a chance to begin with.

that is, until, the second night of summer.

for the first time in a while, it's too hot to sleep. a summer storm brews somewhere in the distance, and the humidity of the air cuts like a blade. inumaki finds himself outside, seated on the steps of the boy's dormitory, unsurprisingly thinking of you. so it's almost like he's the one who summoned you, when you appear in front of you. he didn't even hear your footsteps.

you look upset. arms crossed over your chest, dressed in a loose, too-big t-shirt and shorts. you look like you just woke up and inumaki wouldn't be surprised if that ended up being the truth, considering the late hour and the unbearable heat. you're frowning in a way that makes his chest hurt because whatever has made you upset must be the worst thing in the world, and he hates it so much, too. but then he realizes what he's feeling, purses his lips beneath his scarf, and looks away.

"can you even look at me?"

he wasn't expecting you to talk to him, let alone so bluntly. but you do, and it's your voice, the one he loves so, too much. and you're talking to him. his eyes drift towards you.

it's silent for a beat before you speak again. "did i do something?"

and oh, you sound so shattered. it's something unusual, the grief carried in your tone. it's an inflection he wishes he wasn't familiar with, but knew all too well considering the nature of your career. but nothing bad had happened, he thinks. only good. so what happened? inumaki shakes his head and tips it to the side in an inquiry, even though he wants to run to hold you. he wants to take your head in his arms and hold it to his chest and speak, and tell you it's okay, and ask what's wrong. but the best he can do is sit and stare like a dog.

you purse your lips and breathe in deeply before continuing: "then why are you ignoring me?"

his stomach plummets. he didn't think you noticed. he can't look you in the eyes anymore, and he's almost as surprised when you scoff, "oh. so i was right; you are."

he really, really can't look at you. he settles for the bush just behind you that blows with a pleasant cold breeze carried through the hot summer night as you keep on talking. "i was hoping i was imagining it. but you aren't even pretending?"

he sits still, like a statue. and you must be so hurt because you have a million more words to say, it seems, as you steamroll over his silence. "and i thought we were friends. a whole year of this school— you'd think it'd make us friends. but now— out of nowhere— you act like i'm not even here. what did i do? and to think—"

you pause. your voice is cracked, shaky. you don't know what else there is left to say, except for the truth: "and to think that i liked you back."

his back stiffened. his eyes meet yours. a shiver passes through him, and it's suddenly freezing cold. inumaki blinks at you. you glare at him. "yuuta told me everything," you state bluntly.

yuuta, the one person to whom inumaki had admitted his feelings. of course he told you. he was too good to lie about something like this. inumaki feels the fabric of the world around him rip and shred like it's been dropped in a cat's cradle, a vice grip squeezes the air out of his lungs, and for the first time, he has nothing he wants to say, even if he could.

"you decided for me," you continue after a short lapse, "decided that you weren't good enough. but you didn't even think about what i would've wanted."

he is silent. you keep speaking, unshed tears scratching your words into sharp, snappy sentences.. "i would've liked you no matter what. no matter your technique, or fucking whatever. i did. i do. but you chose for me."

he hopes he's seeing things when a tear, illuminated by the moonlight, slides down the apple of your cheek before you wipe at your face with your palm. you conclude, "it wasn't fair. for me, or for you."

unceremoniously, briskly, you turn and leave. it happened almost as quickly as you'd appeared. if he blinked, he'd have missed it. the pit in his stomach is growing deeper and consuming him whole.

inumaki cannot say a word. he can't move, to chase after you. he can't do anything but sit, and stare, and watch you go. he can't breathe, he can't think, he can't picture a future where it all works out because he doesn't know if it will.

loving you was unfair. he didn't deserve you, he knows. but leaving you was worse.

flowers chosen: belladonna & columbine . . silence and foolishness

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thinking about reader who never accepts any of gojo’s expensive gifts so gojo has to find roundabout ways of making sure that they accept them. he goes all out for different occasions and he’ll even go out of his way to make up random anniversaries as an excuse to buy expensive things for you. just gojo coming up to you with a gift you know is expensive just looking at the wrapping and when you go to reject him, he gives you a sad puppy dog face telling you how you can’t reject a gift he got for your anniversary and you just look at him like???? what anniversary??? he’ll pout and be like babe you don’t remember??? he’ll give you the saddest face ever while you’re internally panicking about an anniversary you forgot before he slyly tells you that you have to accept the gift for breaking his heart. then he proceeds to distract you from thinking anything more about the so called anniversary you’ve supposedly forgotten. gojo who just wants to buy you things and make you as happy as possible. gojo who wants to make your heart feel as full as his. gojo who thought that happiness like this wouldn’t ever be meant for him. gojo satoru who’s just in love.

“ And we put this one here” says the man in a softer and smoother tone, with a unique timbre that contradicts his image.

His tall, muscular figure stands next to the petite one of his son, intent on watching in amazement as the eldest man platters some fruit.

“ Mom eats a lot” Megumi comments and looks up at Toji, giggling at his own words.

The right side of Toji's lips turn up, also highlighting the small scar while holding back a smile. “ Don't tell her or she'll be offended. Come.” Toji takes the little one from under his armpits and helps him wash his sticky hands.

“ What are you doing?” they both turn to you, freshly awoken from your afternoon nap. Megumi gets out of your husband's arms and runs towards you, hugging your legs.

Ever since being told he's going to have a baby sister, he's more clingy than before. Carefully, you get down on your knees and hug him, returning the same affection.

“ Why are you so cute, huh?” you ask him as you run a hand through his dark locks, then place a kiss on his chubby cheeks.

Toji moves closer to the two of you, an almost imperceptible smile on his thin lips. “Did you sleep well?” he asks as he helps you up.

You nod and sigh wearily. “ She is much more energetic these days. She won't stop moving, let alone kicking.” you complain, running a hand over your swollen stomach, and it's not long before your husband's hand does the same.

“ It must be the sugar.” he chuckles but an expression of astonishment appears on his face as he looks towards you.

“ Did you feel that?” you ask excitedly and he nods as little Megumi watches you both curiously.

Another kick is felt soon after a little harder than the first one.

“ Me too!” exclaims Megumi raising his arms to be caught. Toji takes him and places his small hand on your stomach, making him participate in that small moment.

He gasped softly when the unborn baby sister interacted with him. “ Wow, that's really cool!” he exclaims with sparks in his eyes.

always for the first time

c/w: 1.2k wc, reader is deep in her head, gojo is stupidly in love & wants nothing more than to be the best boyfriend on planet earth, sickeningly sweet, disgustingly self indulgent, inspired by andré breton's poem, wrote this in like 10 minutes, reader discretion advised: you'll drown in fluff

Satoru is a keen observer.

He has to be, not only to watch his back every now and again but also to pick up on more subtle things that could escape a less trained eye. You are one of those things.

Satoru is also a good learner, although he wasn’t ready for what you had in store for him. He can be too much, always has been too much, people have told him. Too strong, too loud, too obnoxious, too dumb. He didn’t know how to juggle his worst traits and keep them under control around you, has never wanted not to scare someone away so bad.

However, life has been brutal in teaching him the consequences of not picking up on things in time and with that now comes the anxiety of missing out on hints, small details, imperceptible signals.

He has studied you, mapped out every twitch of your lips or crease between eyebrows, he has memorized the heaviness of your sighs and which limits it’s best not to push. He knows you need your space and that some people don’t appreciate how overwhelming his interest in them can be. Because what if his insistence ends up crushing them? What if he cares so much you eventually drift away?

So Satoru knows when to keep quiet, when to leave you be or wrap his arms around your waist to bury a gentle kiss in your hair. You have taught him that he doesn’t have to prove his presence all the time, a broken record of I’m here, don’t you know that I’m here for you?

You know. His presence is embedded in every aspect of your life, in every soft thought crossing your mind. He’s there when he lies on top of you in bed, infinity turned off for good measure, cheek pressed to your stomach and arms wrapped around your frame in a petulant attempt to convince you to stay five more minutes. He’s there when he gets back early from a mission and you come home to the tall, familiar figure making a mess of your kitchen. I had half an hour to spare and I thought you’d like soup.

Satoru sees the flow of individual atoms that make you, you. Which means that he knows when you’re in pain, feels your sadness creeping up into his very bones, only experiences true fear the first time you bury your face into his chest and your body shakes in his arms, consumed by the terror of not seeing him again. Satoru is not scared because he thinks the thought of something happening to him is even remotely rational, it’s the thought of leaving you without him for a second too long that petrifies him.

He’s there when he looks at you and sees everything there’s to see, the good and so much of the bad. Satoru has eyes that grant him extraordinary perception and cause a constant, exhausting influx of information. But he can now see you as well as he sees cursed energy: the flux of excitement, sadness, rage or embarrassment. He sees how big your heart is and yet deems it not nearly large enough to contain the love you have for him and for others, threatening to bubble over at all times.

He sees your shame and insecurities and how desperately you attempt to keep those from him. Sometimes he forces himself to respect it, other times it’s hard not to at least attempt to work his charm.

You could get mad but he can’t risk skipping the chance of reminding you once more that he’s there. Just in case. He’s there.

“What’s up?” he asks nonchalantly, nose still buried in that book you couldn’t stop talking about for an entire week.

“Nothing’s up. If something was up, you’d know first” your grin is charming although a little forced and when you go back to the cooking show you’re watching on television, Satoru lets a few seconds pass.

“I think something’s up”

You sigh. He’s not even looking at you but you feel the wary concern vibrating in his voice.

“I’m okay” your own pitch gets softer, a gentle reminder that there’s nothing to really worry about. It’s just that your mind can get very loud at times, but that’s not to become another one of his battles. He has enough of those already.

But that’s when he puts the novel down, a bunch of dried lavender twigs used as a makeshift bookmark.

“I can see that” he knows the punchline will always make you roll your eyes with fondness, especially if he has his blindfold on “your limbs are still attached, your hair looks pretty, skin is fairly hydrated” you huff out a laugh as he crawls over you only to slump his long, inconveniently heavy body on top of yours.

“But something’s wrong” he whispers it into your skin, hopes that it’s easier to get you to open up if you can’t see him and think he can see less of you. His lips are pressed to your neck and snowy hair tickles your chin, so you attempt to comb some of it back with a light scoff.

“You currently obstructing my airways?”

He lightly pinches your side and you squirm underneath his weight with an airy giggle.

“Stop doing that”

“Doing what?” you flick his forehead but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Deflecting. Something’s wrong, I can feel it”

Satoru wishes he didn’t sound every bit as pathetic as he did. But he’s made peace with the fact that this is what love does to him a long time ago. He’s in love, and pathetic, and simply prays it’s one of the times he’s lucky enough you’ll give him the green light to make a breach in the walls.

“You can feel it?” you muse “what are you, obsessed with me or somethin’?”

“I am” he lightly nips at your jaw and draws a gasp “what a stupid question”

As obsessed as an invincible man can be, one that spends each day hoping he’ll be allowed to gain yet another victory over the ache throbbing in your ribcage. What good is being the strongest if he’s barely allowed to shield you from yourself?  

“I’m just tired” you articulate the words slowly, attentively, and your heart swells in your chest when he instantly stills his movements “it’s a tiring day. I’ll be fine”

And Gojo hums against the warmth of your skin, tightens his arms around you. Of course you’ll be fine, he’ll be there to make sure you will be. Not that you need him to fight your battles, you never needed him in the first place.

“Thank you” for making this one of the moments I’m allowed to climb over those walls, even if just to take a small peek.

“You’re so silly” you smile and don’t even understand how the hell someone could get so lucky.

“S’why you love me”

“Wrong, I love you because of your pretty face and remarkable abs”

“I’m more than a nice piece of ass, y’know?”

Another silent laugh fills the air, now lighter, and you can already feel his smile as you gently pull his blindfold down. Satoru lets you, lifts his face to make your job a little easier and when his eyes slowly flutter open there’s nothing but sincere adoration swirling in them. There’s trust, and love, and you can’t help but force them shut again as you gently press your lips to both his eyeslids.

To tell him that you love him with just as much fierceness, with every fragment of your flawed, human body.

To thank him for seeing you with such earth shattering clarity, always for the first time.

The classroom feels awfully small.

Gojo Satoru stands far away from you, leaning against the opposing wall stiffly with hands in his pockets. His blindfold is down, a rare frown twisting his lips downwards. His hair is a mess, a clear indication of the utter frustration he’s in. Despite the distance, the tension between the two of you is palpable, suffocating.

He’s absolutely livid.

Deservedly so. You should have listened to him and stayed out of his fight but you didn’t. Now you have to simply stand there like a goddamn Special Grade Sorcerer and take whatever he’s about to throw at you.

Who knew a fight with a low level, shape-shifting curse would cause all of this.

You swallow the knot in your throat, preparing for a half-hearted apology. “I’m so—”

“You—” He straightens himself, finger pointed out in accusation, “—had one job. I asked you to stay out of my way— no, I ordered you to stay out of my way. And what the hell do you do? The absolute fucking opposite. Do you ever think before you act?”

Gojo’s eyes narrow deeper, the sharpness of the glare hitting you right in the chest and making you flinch. Ouch. “What makes you think you can make the rules? Have you forgotten that I outrank you? I—”

“Do not pull rank with me.” You snap. So much for just standing there and taking it. “You know damn well I am just as strong as you are.”

“Special Grace Sorcerer doesn’t mean that you’re the strongest.”

“Oh, you mean like Suguru?” Low blow, but the ripple of emotion against Gojo’s face is satisfying. It’s the same slack look he had twenty minutes earlier, when the curse morphed into the figure of his best friend.

“Don’t say his name. You don’t get to say his name.”

You can’t help the bitter laugh that bursts out of your lips. “You weren’t the only one friends with him, Satoru. And you froze. So, yeah, I’m fucking sorry for fighting your battle for you.”

“You were reckless and out of line.” His voice stays level, refusal of letting his anger get the best of him. The throbbing vein in his forehead says otherwise. “I have to pull rank if you choose to act like one of my students.”

Rage makes the vessels of your face pop. You try opening your mouth but nothing comes out, your face is too hot, too hurt.

Satoru keeps going. “I fight alone. This was my battle, and you are too stubborn to understand that. So why don’t you focus on your own missions so I can do mine?”

“Fine.” You shake your head before turning to leave. “Fight alone, stand alone, be fucking alone. My fault for thinking that you might not like to be by yourself all the time.”

You walk out the room, the thump of your own heart loud in your ears, leaving Satoru alone with his own shadow.

isn’t it crazy how yuuji became sukuna’s vessel, befriended nobara, megumi, junpei, nanami, and gojo each enough for him to be devastated when they die all in the same year?? He had to watch sukuna, whom he tried to bear on his own, possess one of his close friends?? And then absolutely demolish his mentor who was the only one who kept him company when he was ‘dead’??? While still in his friend’s body?? He’s (most likely) the only jujutsu tech first year left, and to make matters worse, there is no certainty that he, yuta, maki, hakari, etc. will make it out alive anyway.

that poor boy is going to have to see the torn-off shreds of his friend’s skin on the floor and see the severed halves of his mentor, and live in the uncertainty that his other friend is on the brink of death. He wasn’t even aware of the jujutsu world until megumi, so unlike him and nobara, yuuji hasn’t even been conditioned practically his whole life for him/his fellow sorcerers/innocents to die. much less die in front of him.

also imagine having to bring nobara up to speed if she does, by some miracle, survive.

jjk is in absolute shreds right now. convinced akutami has a dartboard with all his characters on it, and he throws darts on random to see who to kill off/traumatise next.