Beautiful - Tumblr Posts
would they choose you over the world?
aether (traveler), dainsleif, scaramouche, raiden ei, lumine (abyss), venti, xiao x gn!reader
AETHER thinks he can save both, no, he knows he can. The powers of this world rests at the tip of his fingertips. He’s faced monsters and gods and come out alive and better than he was before. There’s no reason to hesitate, none whatsoever to consider his decision but—but. He has never been made to choose before. There was always another way, another choice, another something he could rely on. It’s a moral dilemma, like the situation with the train where you either save five people and kill one person, or kill five people to save one person. It’s easy enough to answer when it was simply that—a moral dilemma created to confuse him, not a world ending decision that lies on his shoulders. To choose one is to doom the other. Most people would choose the world, but while Aether is called a hero and the savior of nations, he is also a person. He looks at your resigned smile, like you already know which one he’ll choose, and he decides to prove you wrong.
DAINSLEIF clings to loss like a dying man does to the edge of a cliff. The inevitability of death and your mortality rests on his shoulders much like weight of his entire nation’s death. He wonders what it says about him that he’d rather have you safe and sound than have the world be saved. Five hundred years of aimless wandering, fighting against the remnants of his fallen nation and watching the world move on while he remains untouched by time, the ghost of a past that can never be returned to. Dainsleif isn’t a hero, he’s tired. All that’s left of him are fading memories of a time gone by and moments with you that he clings to like a lifeline. What has this world ever done for him except cause him pain needless grief? What has it done to deserve his sacrifice? Nothing. And so he rests, hand in hand with you on withering grass and waits for the world to end. At least, this time, he won’t be alone in watching the heavens descend.
SCARAMOUCHE laughs, and laughs, and laughs until he’s sure even the gods that reside in Celestia has heard the scorn and mockery in his voice. It is so laughably easy to choose you and denounce the world. Let it be turned to ash and dust, let his body dance on top of a desolate world, let him pull you in an embrace and delight in the fact that no sun and no light (for none of these exist anymore) would ever outmatch the brightness in your eyes, the smile on your face, the tinkling sound of your laughter amidst the remains of a world that once threatened to snuff your life like a candle left in the dark. He is like a flame and you, the spark. There’s a tsunami gathering on the horizon, threatening to drown everything in its wake, but instead of preventing it, he revels in the ruin it will bring. It is either your death alone or yours and everyone else, and if you have to die either way, then he will die with you and drag the rest of the world along in his self-appointed destruction. You taught him what it felt to no longer be alone, so he will make sure you’re never lonely, even in death.
EI feels weightless, like a leaf adrift in the wind. It feels like she is back to that moment five hundred (a thousand) years ago, a dilemma, a decision, a choice—follow Makoto to Khaenri’ah, or defend her people from the monsters ravaging the lands? There was uncertainty there, a small seedling of hope that she would arrive not far from Makoto and see her sister alive and waiting, and so she had made the decision to stay—but this? Faced with an ultimatum, the world or your death, Ei finds that the decision is much more difficult, much more devastating but no less heartbreaking. Had it been before, in her lonesome at the Plane of Euthymia, the choice would have been easy, barely a thought in her mind, but everything has changed and Ei wants, in a way she has never wanted before, to be with you. You with your smiles and your laughs and the warmth you induce in her frigid heart—and she finds that she cannot make a choice… so you do it for her. For the greater good.
LUMINE doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even flinch before she turns her back to the world and takes your hand. What good is the world if you’re not there in it? She won’t just stand by and watch as everything she holds dear is destroyed in front of her—not anymore. There is you, there is her, and there is the world burning, and Lumine finds that she can hardly care. Her heart has no place for faceless people, no love left for a world that has done nothing but spurn and trample on everything she had offered. Let it burn if it means having one more second, one more minute, one more lifetime with you. A choice isn’t truly a choice if the other option was never considered, and she will never consider a world without you. There are millions, billions, countless other worlds out there she could take you to. Damn this place, damn the heavens, and damn the consequences. Her brother would understand, he always has, and when Lumine meets him again in a new world, she’ll make sure to introduce you to him.
VENTI wants, like Icarus yearning for the Sun, but Venti is Venti, and Barbatos is Barbatos. Right now, he cannot afford to be that carefree bard who spun tales of your lovely hair and lovelier still lips (cannot be Icarus who flew too close to the sun and fell). Venti wants—but Barbatos knows the best option, the best choice, the least devastating one but the most heart-wrenching one. The situation is funny, laughable, hilarious, really, the kind that makes his stomach ache and brings tears to his eyes that drip down his cheeks and onto the ground and—oh, he’s crying. He’s crying and holding you close and apologizing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and he doesn’t deserve your forgiveness, doesn’t deserve the hand carding through his hair and the soft press of your lips on his forehead as you murmur, don’t cry, it’s alright, you’re doing the best you can. But the best means not doing this at all, the best means not having to make a choice at all, the means means not having to say goodbye. It’s okay, you tell him, I forgive you. But he never forgives himself.
XIAO thinks there must be another way, there has to be another way. He won’t accept this, won’t allow himself to choose between losing you or losing everything, because he knows, deep down, that the choice has already been made and it is not the the one he wants. But he knows better than most that doing what he wants isn’t always what is needed, that certain sacrifices must be made despite his unwillingness, despite his entire body protesting against it. Rex Lapis once told him that being a god means making difficult decisions. If this is what it means to be a god, then he will accept a life of service, a life of war and fighting and breathing like every second is his last—because pain and suffering are infinitely better than having to wake everyday without your voice by his ear, giggling about how you finally caught him asleep. A world without your light, without your presence, without you is a desolate one. There must be another way, another sacrifice to be made that doesn’t involve you. Just—anything, anyone but you. Even if it has to be him.
you're a pain in the neck. (literally.)
premise. in which you make a nuisance of yourself in every train ride you share with scaramouche. (inexplicably, he doesn't stop sitting next to you anyway.)
note. we pretend i didn't disappear for months :D enjoy
Neck pain has been increasingly common in Scaramouche's life these days.
The cause of which is sleeping peacefully on his shoulder, snoring softly as the train rattles past. The way you remain deep in slumber despite the constant lurching is impressive, but your knack for unwittingly making yourself a menace to society is even more spectacular.
Scaramouche takes a deep breath—Kazuha always did advise him to be more patient—yet the moment he does, tufts of your hair curl against his skin. A flush rises to his cheeks, body caught between freezing in place and jolting out of his seat, but he digs his fingers to his thighs and wills himself to dispel the urge to shoot upright, in fear of...
In fear of what? Shocking you awake?
Nonsense. He's never been that considerate.
(Still, once the tension bleeds from his body, he lets his shoulders drop, fitting your head snugly against the crook of his neck. He grabs your phone from your loose grip, tucks it securely in your pocket, and allows himself to stare at the dark circles beneath your eyes.
He can let himself worry for a bit.)
--
“What's wrong with you?” Kazuha's concerned gaze settles over Scaramouche's hunched figure, slumped miserably on the desk. His head is craned in a particular angle, and Childe, obnoxious as he is, had erupted in boisterous laughter when Scaramouche entered the lecture hall tilted the very same way. Unfortunately, Scaramouche had been too sore to swat away Childe's phone as he took a picture of him in a zombie filter.
“Got a crick in my neck.”
Kazuha frowns. “Did you sleep badly again?”
Scaramouche scoffs in defeat. “You could say that.”
The next time he sees you enter the train, you're drenched.
You make an effort to dry yourself, wiping rainwater out of your hair with a handkerchief and packing your wet jacket in your bag, but you're still undeniably soaked. Some passengers don't bother to hide their distaste, scooting away to other vacant seats as they shoot you a scornful look. Others aren't so cruel, offering packets of tissues and initiating small talk over the worsening weather. Scaramouche watches as your apologetic expression turns into one of gratitude, sheepishly admitting to the nice aunties you forgot to check the forecast.
Scaramouche doesn't quite give you a spare towel or send you a reassuring smile, but he broods silently from where he sits beside you, scowling at the impudent lot now sitting far, far away. Insolent fools, tactless jerks, ill-mannered garbage—a barrage of insults fly in his head, ones he has learned not to verbalize lest he gets in trouble for his crass mouth again.
When the train pauses to his stop, he pulls out a foldable umbrella from his bag, still seething. He hands it out to you, not making eye contact as he's still glaring at the woman giving you a side-eye. “Take this.”
“Uh...?” Perplexed, you hesitantly accept it. “But...”
“It's fine.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder, walking toward the sliding doors. “So don't come here drenched in the rain next time.”
He doesn't get to hear your response as he speeds off.
--
“I'm an asshole.”
“Is this your moment of self-discovery?”
“Congratulations.”
Scaramouche's eyebrow twitches, but he's much too panicked to make a snarky quip to fire back. It's his fault for picking the wrong people to talk to, anyway—Heizou is a smartass and Xiao has a perpetual stick up his ass. He should've confided to the empathetic Aether instead, or to Venti who gives surprisingly good advice when you least expect it.
“So what made you realize it?” Heizou bites down on a pork cutlet, apparently finished with his daily quota for pissing him off and now fulfilling his obligations as a friend. “Did something happen?”
“Does it have anything to do with how you arrived soaking wet to class?” Xiao adds, poking the tofu on his plate.
“Perhaps you tried stealing an umbrella on your way here?”
“You got it backwards, dumbass. I gave away mine,” Scaramouche scowls.
“That sounds like you did a good thing, then. What's wrong?”
The way he gave it away so roughly. The way he said you could use it so condescendingly. How he'd forgotten to offer words of comfort, no matter how painful or awkward for him, because he'd been so absorbed in pointless matters. How he'd completely ruined his chances of being friends with you by acting like an indifferent jerk.
All because he was too embarrassed to say he's worried you'll catch a cold from the rain.
--
When Scaramouche takes the train the way home, it's him who's dripping rainwater everywhere.
Karma had gotten his new umbrella stolen from the rack, it seems. He just bought it from the convenience store, damn it.
So now he stands by the doors, too reluctant to go any further inside the train. His wet sneakers squeak beneath his feet, hair sticking uncomfortably on his forehead. His shirt clings to him like second skin, and the only thing retaining his modesty (because of course he falls prey to downpour the one time he wears a white button-up) is a heavy sweater vest soaked in water.
“So much for telling me not to come here when I'm drenched.”
A small towel drapes itself over his head, and Scaramouche quickly turns on his feet. Your mouth is curled into a grin when you step to the spot by his side, but not unkindly—you aren't here to mock him or return his cruel words.
Scaramouche grabs the towel sitting atop his head, drying his hair with it. As he does so, you make no move to leave even with plenty of vacant seats remaining unoccupied.
“... Aren't you going to sit?”
“Hm? No.” You're already holding onto a handrail, staring ahead.
“...Why not?”
“I'm keeping you company.”
???
“Oh, and your umbrella.” You fish it from your bag, holding it out for him to take. “Cute pattern, by the way.”
“Wha-” he's about to say ‘what are you talking about,’ but then he sees the cute star print, the gold sparkles bright against navy blue, and his hair rises on end, face flushing a deep red. Nahida was the one who packed it for me...!
“...Cute.”
“I heard you the first time,” he grumbles under his breath, accepting it from your hand.
An endeared smile crosses your face, one that he doesn't see as he stuffs the umbrella into his backpack.
I wasn't talking about the umbrella.
Scaramouche has always made it a habit to take the train before rush hour, but his report is due today, and so he slept for a grand total of two hours last night just to finish it. It wouldn't even be two hours if he hadn't slept through his alarm, but he wishes he'd woken up earlier; if it meant he could've avoided a crowded train, he could stand to lose some minutes of sleep.
“Can you move a bit?”
“Ow, ow...”
“Sorry, I stepped on your foot!”
“I hope nobody comes in at the next stop...”
Scaramouche empathizes with the last remark in particular, because he really couldn't handle it any more.
Presently, he's staring at the ceiling, praying for divine intervention. His neck is starting to hurt but he forces himself to face upwards, otherwise he would...
“This is tough, isn't it?” You laugh awkwardly, your chuckle turning into a wince when an elbow digs to your side. The train car is packed at full capacity, and you wouldn't be exaggerating if you were to say you felt like you were drowning in a sea of people.
“That's a massive understatement,” Scaramouche replies, wishing for death.
“Sorry. I can't go any farther than this.”
“It's fine.”
Actually, nothing is fine.
Scaramouche is trapped against the wall in the farthest location from the exit, surrounded by people from all sides, his stop is two stations away, and he has no idea how he's going to swim all the way through the doors.
Oh, and he's caged between your arms, pressed against your body, and feeling very much like a pervert for sniffing your scent, but it's simply impossible not to smell you at this close proximity (however, it's entirely his fault for thinking you smell good and trying to pinpoint what cologne you use).
Your head is resting on his shoulder, and Scaramouche learns quickly this position is a lot more embarrassing when you're conscious. And fuck, this time he can feel you breathe directly against his neck, puffs of hot air blowing on his reddened skin, and he can only hope for the best you can't sense his racing heartbeat.
You're too goddamn close, even though he can tell you're exerting your utmost effort to create some distance between your bodies. Your arms are straining pushing on the wall just so you wouldn't crush him under your weight, and as much as he should appreciate it, he can hardly think straight over the sound of his pulse in his ears. He's hanging precariously over the edge, and if he crosses his limit, he might just pass away on the spot.
Hell, if he so as much looks down, he's close enough to kiss your forehead, and-
He really shouldn't be thinking about that right now.
So yeah. Scaramouche may look like an idiot facing the ceiling, but at least he isn't at risk of cardiac arrest.
It's fine. This is fine. I'm one stop away. I can survive this. Just a little more.
But the gods above must hate his guts or something because the train screeches to a rough halt at the station, the car rattles violently, and you're squirming underneath him, his hands instinctively wrapping around your waist to steady you, but your head moves to look up at him and-
Scaramouche very nearly astral projects to another plane when he feels your lips graze against his chin.
“Hey, you okay?! Did you hit your head on the wall or something?”
He feels like he did. He's so dizzy and the world is spinning around him, but at the same time you're the only one he can see. This must be unhealthy, Scaramouche thinks, and he wonders how much blood has rushed to his head, coloring his cheeks bright pink, and if he can die from losing too much blood this way.
“Kuni?”
How do you know my name, Scaramouche isn't sure if he really says it, mind still whirring with thoughts, and oh god his hands are still on your waist-
“Your umbrella had a name tag...” You squint at the neon letters displaying the current station, “Hey, your stop is here, isn't it? Excuse me! Coming thro....”
He vaguely remembers your hands pushing him forward and the crowd parting obediently to make way for him when they see his face becoming visibly ill. The rest passes in a blur, and when Scaramouche finally comes to, he's already outside the train station.
For a brief moment, he stays frozen. Then by the corner of his eye, he notices the shopping center.
He stares at the pastel decor from the cosmetic store, approaches the vanity mirror, and if possible, his mind turns even more blank.
A faint kiss mark is stark against his chin, the same color as the lip tint you wear everyday.
“I'm not going.”
Venti sighs, disappointed but not surprised. “You never go to drinking parties with me. Why do you always head straight home after class?”
“Reasons.” Scaramouche closes his laptop and slides it inside his bag, making quick work of packing his things. “In your case, I'd advise you to go less. Being an alcoholic isn't a good look.”
“My liver is strong,” Venti insists, a cheeky grin dancing on his lips. “But seriously, what's up? Don't tell me you have a secret girlfriend you meet up with after class?”
“I was starting to think the same thing,” Aether pipes up, matching curious looks with Venti. “Or maybe you have a boyfriend? Either way, what are they like?”
“I have neither,” Scaramouche grumbles, coming off more pitiful than spiteful. “And I'm coming home early today because Nahida wanted me to get something for dinner.”
“Ehh, that's boring.”
“You're the ones making assumptions by yourselves!” Scaramouche snaps, treading towards the door. “I'm leaving. Don't call me to pick you up when you're wasted, it's Xiao's turn this week.”
“Okay, enjoy your date~”
Scaramouche doesn't even bother replying.
--
You get on the train scheduled for 4:15 everyday.
It's not that Scaramouche deliberately researched this information; he really did just catch the same train rides by chance. Over time, he began to recognize you as a familiar face, and eventually, he even became your headrest.
Not by choice, but he supposes he just has to live with it.
It's not that Scaramouche intentionally takes the same train so he could see your face. At least, that's what he tells himself as he silently pressures the retail cashier to scan his items faster and practically flies out the convenience store to rush for the train.
He glances at his wristwatch. 4:11. I'll make it. He breathes a sigh of relief, and checks the shopping list Nahida texted for good measure. Curry mix, milk, a carton of eggs...
A notification sound rings from his phone.
‘Sorry for the late notice, could you get pudding for dessert too?’
Shit.
Panic flares in his eyes and he spins on his heel, returning to the convenience store. Do I sprint? No, it's still not humanly possible to buy pudding and go back in four minutes... But I could try. Wait, wasn't there a line of customers behind me earlier? I'd still have to wait in line.
Finally, he stops running. This is stupid. Why am I working so hard just to catch this train, anyway?
Before he could even properly sulk about it, Scaramouche bumps into someone hurrying for the train. “Oh, sorry! I wasn't looking-”
Much to his surprise, your face comes into view when he looks, chest heaving for breath. You look like you've been running for a good while, hair in disarray from the wind, the reading glasses perched on your nose askew. And that's how Scaramouche knows you're in a real hurry, if you didn't even have the time to put on your contacts.
“It's okay,” Scaramouche quickly replies, stepping aside out of your path. “The train is still there, don't sweat it.”
He turns to the convenience store, mood lifted. I got to see them, so I guess this way is fine, too.
--
When Scaramouche returns from shopping, he comes back to a strange sight.
“Huh?”
“What are you looking at?”
Good question.
Why was he looking at your figure, still waiting for the next train to come by?
“No, well...” The plastic bags in his hand crinkle when he tightens his grip on them. Scaramouche blinks repeatedly, trying to see if you'll somehow fizzle out of existence if he closes his eyes enough. “You definitely could've made it in time for the train, so why are you still...”
Your lips stretch to a small smile. “I didn't.”
No. You definitely did.
You were at a distance where it'll only take three minutes max to reach the train even if you walked the same pace as a turtle. So why...
“Your face can be surprisingly expressive sometimes, Kuni. You're practically a walking question mark right now.”
“Ku-” He stops himself from speaking before his voice could crack.
“Sorry, you don't like me calling you that?” You're tilting your head at him, putting on puppy eyes. Oh no.
“...No. It's fine.” Damn it. Aether was right—he really is a softie.
However, he's still busy pondering. Sure, it's a stroke of luck and Scaramouche won't look a gift horse in the mouth, but why didn't you take your usual train? You were even running towards the station, arriving with wind-tousled hair and disheveled clothes.
“I was waiting.”
Scaramouche blinks. “For what?”
You stare at him in disbelief, like you seriously can't believe he doesn't know. That's when Scaramouche notices some things about you are a little different from earlier.
Your hair is fixed now, no strands randomly sticking up in the air. Your clothes are neat and tidy too, creases patted down. Your glasses are gone, and Scaramouche isn't sure if it's just his mind playing tricks on him or the color of your lips appears more vibrant from earlier.
He flinches when a sigh escapes you. But then the frown on your face is replaced with a dazzling smile, exasperated but fond.
“Who do you think I'm waiting for, dummy?”
BONUS: A look into the future.
“Has anyone ever told you your chin is really sharp?” Scaramouche grumbles under his breath, movements heavily restricted when your arms are wrapped tightly around his torso and the edge of your chin is stabbing his neck. Cooking breakfast proves to be a lot more of a challenge when a koala is clinging on his back.
“No,” you chirp, grinning ear to ear as you watch him stir the pancake batter over his shoulder. “Has anyone ever told you how cute you look in an apron?”
Scaramouche glowers. “No.” If a living person actually did, they wouldn't be for long.
“That's good.” If possible, you squeeze him even tighter, nuzzling against his face. “I want to keep the adorable Kuni to myself.”
“Disgusting.”
So he says as he leans his head closer when you peck him on the cheek.
Some things just never change, he guesses.
𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍
pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: you contemplate gojo's existence on a roof, at night, alone (or so you think). wc: ~1.7k genre: mostly fluff, a tiny bit of angst at the beginning warnings: some jjk manga spoilers, talks about geto, talks about death i listened to "moon song" by phoebe bridgers while writing this so you could say it's loosely inspired
gojo satoru is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer alive.
that isn't an opinion, it's a fact so widely accepted that the higher-ups have begun sending him on increasingly dangerous missions. you're unsure as to whether it's an attempt to end his life or if they're just taking advantage of the fact that there is no curse strong enough to beat him.
a sigh escapes your lips as you lie down, your back pressed up against the ridged shingles of the school's roof. it's neither uncomfortable nor comfortable, but you don't know if it's because of the architecture or if you're just numb.
you've been feeling numb pretty often lately.
things have changed in the past few years. there's an emptiness that seems to live within you, created by geto's defection and somewhat filled in by the presence of fushiguro megumi. you hope that the more time you spend with him, the easier it gets.
(it's hard when he looks so much like his father).
you think about megumi in an attempt to stop thinking about gojo, and you wonder if he knows how it pains you to take the boy in. you also wonder if it's some sort of self-inflicted punishment for him; saving the son of the man he murdered. it sounds like something gojo would knowingly put himself through.
the moonlight is bright as you force yourself to focus on the sky, your eyes studying the stars scattered about in a weak attempt to locate the few constellations you know. you shut your eyes almost immediately, sucking in a deep breath as you remember it was geto who taught you everything you know about constellations.
you wonder if gojo thinks about him often. (you know he does).
there's a brief moment where you wiggle around uncomfortably before sitting up, your hair blowing in the soft breeze as you bring your knees up to your chest. sleep has been evading you for quite some time now, but it's always worse whenever gojo is gone. you claim your insomnia stems from a place of concern, but shoko argues that it's because you have some sort of codependent relationship with your blue-eyed friend. you wonder if she's right.
it isn't long until you notice his presence, and you know that he knows that you know he's there. he doesn't move for a few minutes, and neither do you, content to keep staring out at nothing. it isn't until a stronger breeze blows, making you shiver, that he finally comes to stand next to you.
"cold night," gojo comments, one hand in his pocket. there's a bundle under his other arm, and you barely spare him a glance as you answer.
"you're back early," you mutter, identifying the bundle as the woven blanket you tend to keep at the foot of your bed. "i thought it was a five day thing."
"you know how it is," he says in response. you hum in return because yes, you do know how it is for gojo. for him, a five day mission can be completed in a matter of hours if he really tries, and you're all of a sudden reminded of just how powerful gojo satoru is.
his birth changed the balance of the world and yet, the holder of the six eyes, user of the limitless technique, and master of infinity leans down to wrap a blanket around your shivering form. you feel his fingers brush against your arms.
you stare at him for a few seconds as he adjusts the blanket, the sunglasses perched on his nose making you frown. they look frighteningly similar to the ones he wore back then. you think they might actually be the same pair. there's little hesitation on your behalf as you reach out, gently grabbing them and plucking them off of his face. his eyes are trained on you the entire time, and without the protection from the sunglasses, you are forced to bear the entire weight of the stare from his six eyes.
as you stare into bright, endless blue flames, you think it's not so bad.
the satoru from back then was bright and bold, as unforgiving as the summer sun as he developed into a formidable sorcerer alongside his best friend. you think the one you're seeing now is more like the moon; still bright and impressive but just a little less intense. he's more bearable, slightly matured by the highs and lows of being a caretaker to a grumpy child, but just as out of reach as he has always been.
you presume geto's sun died the day he left.
nothing is said as gojo takes a seat next to you, his knee bumping against yours as he tries to mimic your position. next comes the brushing of his pinky finger against yours, and you wonder if something happened on his mission. the tenderness of his touches is unusual but not unwelcome. it's something you don't think you'll ever get used to.
"here," you say, unwrapping the blanket from around yourself and extending one arm towards gojo. he looks at you, bewilderment clear on his face. you don't do anything but send him a tired smile, motioning for him to scoot in even closer. "it's big enough for both of us."
gojo listens without complaint, pressing himself up against you until you're able to rest your head on his shoulder. there's something comforting about having you close, and he knows it's because you bring him a sense of relief that he doesn't think he's felt since geto suguru left him behind.
left both of you behind.
"do you think about him?" you ask, breaking gojo out of his thoughts. he stays quiet, but you know that he knows who you're talking about. you've started to avoid saying his name out loud but its all you can hear in your head as you wait for his response. geto, geto, geto.
it soon becomes abundantly clear that gojo refuses to answer, and you keep speaking in desperate hopes of trying to finally get rid of the emptiness you feel inside. you think that'll never happen.
"because i do," you admit quietly, your chest tightening as you trace random shapes on your knee. "i think about him all the time and i just wonder where i went wrong because we were so happy, satoru. i think about all those late nights where we stayed up with shoko, laughing and pretending for once that everything would be fine. we knew our lives were dangerous but when we were together it didn't matter because we were together."
gojo pretends not to hear the soft crack in your voice as you get increasingly louder, cutting yourself off with a gasp before taking a deep breath and continuing.
"why did he leave?" you ask quietly. your words ring loudly in gojo's ears and for once in his life, he doesn't have anything to say. "i keep thinking about that day and i don't get it. why didn't he come to us? there was no reason for him to have left us just like that, is there? i thought he loved us. i know he loved you. and i can't make sense of his actions wit--"
"is that what you've been losing sleep over? that's stupid, you shouldn't be concerning yourself over this. and he loved you too, y'know? a lot," gojo says softly, cutting you off before you can spiral even more. there's a pregnant pause as he reaches out, grabbing your hand and bringing it closer to him as he toys with your fingers. you look up at him when he intertwines his hand with yours, eyes widening when you see him already staring at you. his free hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb softly stroking the area right under your eye. you're sure your eyebags are looking worse than normal. "and so do i."
it takes you a moment to process his words, the silence growing as you think back to what he had said before initiating physical contact with you. when you realize what he has admitted, that he's in love with you, you feel your face begin to heat up under his hand.
"what?" you squeak, eyes wide as you watch his face. you see amusement dancing in his eyes, the corner of his mouth pulling up slightly at your response.
"i am in love with you," he admits quietly, eyes darting down to your lips when they part open in shock. "and i would really like to kiss you right now."
gojo is rewarded with an answer when you lean forwards, your lips connecting in a clumsy kiss as you do your best to remain still on the roof. his hand disconnects from yours in favor of joining his other in cupping your face, deepening the kiss as he does so. your hands come up to grab onto his forearms, and you find yourself shifting onto his lap in an attempt to get even closer to gojo.
"in case it isn't clear, i'm in love with you too," you murmur softly once you've separated. your arms drop to wrap around gojo, and he lets go of your face in favor of hugging you close to him.
"well that's a relief!" he says in his usual teasing tone. it makes you happy to see him happy and for the first time in a long time, neither one of you are thinking about geto suguru in that moment. you giggle when gojo leans back, lying down on the roof as he forces you to cuddle him. you rest your face in the crook of his neck, letting your eyes drift close as he hums.
"you know you don't need to worry about anything, right?" gojo asks, his words uncharacteristically soft as he runs his fingers through your hair. "you have me, and i can do anything to keep you safe. in fact, i will to whatever it takes to keep you safe and happy and i hope you know i'd give you the moon if you really asked me to."
you snort at his cheesy words, your heart feeling lighter than it ever has as he joins you in your laughter. you lean up to press a kiss to his jaw before settling back into your previous position, wrapping the blanket more tightly around the two of you.
"i don't need the moon, satoru. i just need you."
he smiles.
reblogs are appreciated <3
Is it Satinalia already?
Crops below the cut
first post ! it is embarassing to put my art out but i just watched godzilla minus one (minus color!) and i really like this piece :]
