Gojo Satoru met her on a day so ordinary, he almost didn’t notice her.

Almost.

She was standing by a cracked vending machine outside a jujutsu conference hall, jamming the return button like it had personally insulted her.

Her uniform was rumpled, sleeves half-rolled, phone balanced on her shoulder as she muttered into it.

When she hung up, she let the phone fall into her pocket without ceremony, kicked the vending machine once (precisely, as if she’d calculated it), and grabbed the stubborn can of coffee that tumbled out.

When their eyes met, she gave him the same look she might’ve given a mildly interesting cloud.

He wasn’t used to that.

Gojo Satoru was used to stares that held awe, fear, lust, envy.

He wasn’t used to being dismissed.

He told himself he didn’t care.

(Later, he would realize that was the first lie.)

-----

Inside, introductions were made. "Gojo Satoru," the principal said, almost with a bow. "The strongest."

He flashed his trademark smile. The room tensed the way rooms always did around him — shifting in awe, or jealousy, or terror.

Except for her.

She glanced up from her can of coffee, blinked slowly, and said, "Congratulations," in a tone so dry it might’ve been sarcasm or exhaustion or both.

Gojo actually missed a step.

It was like tripping on a stair you hadn’t noticed.

Ridiculous. Forgettable.

Except the body remembers how it fell.

And the pride remembers harder.

-----

He found out her name later — a relic name from a once-great family.

Fallen into disgrace. Neutral.

Neutral in a world where neutrality was treason.

She hadn't come here for prestige. Or power.

She hadn't come to heal the broken system or tear it down.

She had come because, somehow, life had shoved her into it, and she hadn't found a way to shove back.

There was something about her that infuriated him.

The way she didn't try.

The way she didn’t look at him like a miracle or a weapon or a god.

He tried, subtly at first, to impress her.

(The strongman tricks. The lazy jokes. The almost-accidental flashes of power.)

She sipped her bitter coffee and said things like:

"You're flashy. That’s not the same as important."

Or worse:

"Sometimes I think the world doesn't want saving. It just wants witnesses."

He laughed it off, of course.

Loudly. Carelessly.

(And hated how much he thought about it later.)

-----

One night, after a mission gone sideways, they ended up on the same train platform.

She sat two benches down, damp with rain, bleeding slightly from a cut on her forehead.

She looked small, but not fragile. Just very, very tired.

He sat beside her without asking.

After a long silence, she said, "You don't have to sit here."

"I know," he said. "But maybe I want to."

She gave a dry, almost-smile. "Your charity is overwhelming."

Gojo tilted his head back and stared up at the grey sky, feeling the ache of bruises under his jacket, the throb of exhaustion deep in his bones.

"You ever think," he said, "that saving people is worth it even if it’s selfish?"

She didn’t answer for a long time.

When she did, her voice was very soft:

"Wanting to be needed isn’t the same as being good."

The train rattled by. Neither of them moved.

He didn’t know how to answer her.

He didn’t know how to stop wanting her to believe in him.

He didn’t know when wanting her belief started to feel more important than winning.

-----

Weeks passed.

Gojo Satoru, who had outrun every emotion in his life by being faster, louder, brighter,

found himself slowing down around her.

Not because she asked him to.

But because she didn't even notice when he sped up.

Because around her, there was nothing to prove.

No war to win. No audience to perform for.

Just the terrifying idea that maybe being "The Strongest" meant nothing if nobody was watching.

And maybe that was okay.

Or maybe it wasn't.

He wasn’t sure which scared him more.

-----

The fight, when it happened, was stupid.

A cursed spirit too small for his attention, too slippery to ignore.

She fought it first, knives flashing, blood wetting her sleeves.

She fought like someone who didn’t expect to survive, but would be damned if she made it easy for death.

When he stepped in — easy, graceful, efficient — she didn’t even thank him.

Just leaned against a wall, breathing hard, looking annoyed more than anything else.

"You didn't have to," she said.

"I wanted to," he said, before he could stop himself.

She wiped blood from her mouth and smiled, thin and crooked.

"Of course you did."

As if kindness was another form of violence.

As if saving her only proved her point.

-----

They sat on the curb afterward, side by side, rain seeping into their clothes.

He pulled down his blindfold, let his eyes roam the ruined street, the broken lamplight.

Everything was grey and wet and stupidly, achingly beautiful.

"You know," she said, conversational,

"all stars burn out."

He looked at her. Really looked at her.

Not as a mission.

Not as a critic.

Not as a fantasy.

Just — a tired girl, soaked in rainwater and blood, laughing at how the universe devours everything eventually.

"Maybe," he said, "some are just slow enough to light the way for a while."

She didn't respond.

Maybe she didn’t believe him.

Maybe she didn't need to.

Maybe it was enough that he believed it for both of them, for once.

-----

He would never tell her that she ruined him a little.

That she made him gentler, angrier, sadder, more human.

That she made the invincible feel a little more mortal.

That she made the strongest sorcerer alive wonder what strength was even for.

He would never tell her.

Because she already knew.

Because she didn’t care.

And that, somehow, was the most beautiful thing about her.

-----

Intoxication ‧ 𝄞₊˚⊹

⤷ Geto is your boyfriend, everyone wants him but he picked you. However, you can’t help but want his bestfriend.

pairing : satoru gojo x fem reader 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ

warning(s) : ooc? not edited, alcohol use, frat boy gojo! spoiled reader! cheating (reader is geto's gf)

The night had begun in a haze of glitter and laughter, the air thick with the heavy perfume of wealth and rebellion. It was supposed to be a celebration, a simple party of the most envied students on campus, where every drink poured and every whispered confession was another secret sewn into the school’s rich tapestry of scandal.

You were there, of course, radiant, spoiled, and perfectly composed, the very picture of a girl who had the world at her feet. Draped in designer silk, adorned in diamonds that caught the low light, you floated through the every room hall with the ease of someone who had never once needed to try. Beside you was Suguru Geto, the man everyone else wanted but who had chosen you. His hand rested lightly on your hip, his dark gaze heavy with quiet possessiveness.

And somewhere in the crowd, unmistakable even across a sea of bodies, stood Satoru Gojo.

— i would love to go back to the old house;

★ synopsis: you and satoru make a promise to marry each other if you’re both still alone by thirty.

you’re both seventeen, laying on the grass behind the school gym, where the sun’s dipped low enough to cast everything in a warm, golden haze.

it’s late spring—almost summer—and the scent of cut grass clings to your clothes, sweet and sharp. someone’s left a soccer ball abandoned a few feet away. the world feels lazy and endless, like nothing important could ever happen here.

you’re side by side, arms brushing but never quite touching, your pinkies just barely grazing sometimes when one of you shifts. satoru’s sunglasses are crooked on his face, and he doesn’t fix them. his white hair is fanned out messily over the grass, and there’s a blade of it stuck behind his ear. he hasn’t noticed.

he was dumped yesterday. you heard about it from someone else before he told you—his ex apparently said he was too much. too loud, too intense, too everything. it made you kind of furious, but you didn’t say that. you just sat with him today, like always.

your first real relationship ended last week. it wasn’t even dramatic. just two people slowly realizing they didn’t quite know how to hold each other anymore. still, it left a hollow feeling in your chest, one you’re pretending isn’t there.

he exhales, slow and dramatic. “you ever think we’re just… cursed or something?”

you snort. “that’s a little dramatic.”

“it’s me,” he says, turning his head toward you, and you can see the curve of a grin forming. “drama is my whole thing.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t say no. he quiets down again, goes back to staring at the sky with a look that’s a little more thoughtful than usual. birds are flying overhead in little staggered v’s, and there’s a faint breeze brushing your skin.

then, like it’s the most casual thing in the world, he says, “if we’re both single at thirty, let’s just marry each other.”

you blink. the silence after feels loud.

“what?” you laugh, eyebrows lifting. “what kind of pact is that?”

he shrugs, still looking up. “a realistic one. we already know each other’s worst habits. you can tolerate me. that’s rare.”

“you’re an idiot,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “but sure. yeah. a backup plan. solid.”

you mean it like a joke. like a throwaway thing. but then he turns his head toward you, and his glasses slide down his nose just enough that you can see his eyes—really see them.

“no,” he says. “i’m serious.”

you stare at him. he’s not laughing. there’s something oddly earnest in the way he says it, like he’s offering something fragile and important without realizing it. like a promise he doesn’t expect you to keep, but wants you to want to.

your heart does a weird thing. tightens. pulls.

you swallow. “okay. me too.”

neither of you says anything after that. the sun dips lower. the breeze picks up. the world moves around you, but for a moment, it’s just the two of you in that quiet stretch of time, young and bruised and hopeful.

your pinkies brush again.

this time, neither of you pulls away.

cafeworker!gojo x universitystudent!reader

You open the door to the cafe you've been going to ever since you discovered it's existence. The bell rings like wind chimes in Spring air as the door opens. You inhale, allowing the smell of coffee grinds and warm aroma enter your nose. As you exhale, you spot an all too familiar white haired man. He, of course, spots you from the entrance. He waves at you with a hot cup of coffee in hand.

"Well if it isn’t my favorite customer!” He hands the coffee to another guest.

You sit down at your usual seat in front of him, placing your bag down. You take out a journal and pen, something you’ve gotten used to doing ever since you came here.

“Hi Satoru, it’s nice to see you again. How has work been?” You ask.

“Slow. Probably because of that new coffee place that opened across the street. Had some dumb name. Something Whip…”

“Mocha Whip?”

Satoru dryly laughs, “That’s the one… You gonna order your usual?”

You nod, “Mmhmm! Large hot chocolate with extra whip cream.”

“I’ll get that started for you.”

chapters of us | prologue  

pairing - architect/carpenter gojo satoru x bookstore owner reader

summary. your love life is as quiet as the shelves of your bookstore. seeking a change, you sign up for a dating app and become captivated by a picture-less/nameless profile—belonging to none other than gojo satoru, a charming architect with a complicated past. your online connection sparks with undeniable chemistry, but you remain unaware that the man you’re drawn to is also your neighbor next door. when he unexpectedly walks into your cozy bookstore, your world shifts. as you navigate feelings for both the mystery man online and the neighbor who feels like a heartbeat away, hidden truths loom over you. can love blossom amid secrets, or will the shadows of your pasts eclipse your stories before it even begins?

word count – 2.26k (i know, it’s really short!)

fic warnings. contains explicit sexual content, guy-next-door, romantic tension, rough sex, age difference (gojo is 32, reader 23), themes of self-doubt, angst, insecurities, heartbreak, and emotional trauma. complicated relationship/pining, alcohol use.

a/n: hi lovebirds! thank you for stumbling across this small liddol corner of the internet. if you couldn’t already tell, i’m sickly obsessed with the man that is gojo satoru and i am unapologetically shameless in that devotion. moving on [...] this just so happens to be my very first fic in years. the last book i wrote was a fictional story in middle school inside a beat-up dollar-store notebook. i recall the feeling of joy running up to my english teacher with a huge smile on my face, sharing with the world how i wrote my very first book. i also remember rummaging through boxes in the storage closet of my garage; I found that very same notebook years later – laughing and cringing at my own writing. although that book is long gone, i hope to find the same joy i found in writing as i did then. and while i cannot guarantee my skills have improved much since, i cannot help but hope you can all find some joy in my work too. here is to new beginnings!! ♡ (author's note continued at the end)

series masterlist | next chapter ->

FLIGHT FROM GERMANY TO JAPAN June 28, 2014 [2 Months Ago]

The cabin is a sea of muted conversations, the quiet clink of glasses, and the steady hum of the engine. Beneath the thin layer of noise, the world outside is nothing but a gray blur, the clouds shifting beneath you like cotton in a needle.

You trace the outline of your boarding pass with the tip of your finger, a subconscious motion that holds more weight than it should. The ink is smudged from where you gripped it too tightly lost in the chaos of your thoughts. Tokyo, Japan. The name seems foreign, yet it carries the weight of all the unanswered questions you’ve been holding within.

But there’s no hope in your chest, no excitement like you’re supposed to feel. Only the hollow thud of your heart against your ribcage, a constant reminder that you’re running.

You should be scared, but fear is something you’ve grown numb to. Fear of the unknown, fear of starting over, fear of facing what you left behind in Germany. It’s easier to let that weight slip down into your stomach and ignore it—at least for now.

Germany had been suffocating. The sterile white of the hospital halls, the incessant beeping of monitors that had once been a comfort but now only reminded you of how long you’d been there. The months that bled into years of quiet waiting, hoping for something that never came. And then there was the betrayal. The friend you had leaned on, the person you trusted who broke you in a way you never saw coming.

You exhale slowly, pushing the thoughts aside, willing the ache to retreat into the hollow space that has become your chest.

Tokyo. New city. New start. You tell yourself that over and over, even though you’re not sure you believe it.

The plane is filled with strangers, none of them more than temporary. You’d resigned yourself to the endless parade of unfamiliar faces, the kind of transient connections that fill the spaces between real ones. You hadn’t expected the woman in 14A to change that.

Took you Like a Shot

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

Summary- One VERY drunk encounter between your greatest rival ever - on your last day of college- leads to you being knocked up. Satoru Gojo, a fuckboy, fratboy, rich little jerk, has been a rival of yours since you all met in College, every damn grade you fought for he got with ease. He crashed every Sorority party you threw. The two of you are so infamous in your rivalry, your friend groups were rivals, and for some reason, life is playing some damn joke on you both. Now... you have to tell him the news - but how Satoru takes it surprises you. Can you both raise a baby together!? And do you even really know each other?

Contents/Warnings- MDNI -Emotional in places, hilarious in others, LOTS of feelings, the baby is heeeree- pregnant sex, teasing, kissing, fingering, Satoru being soft for reader- former rivals to lovers, weed smoking, mentions of labor, prepare to laugh your ass off but also cry bc it's so sweet- WC- 8.2k -

Comments and reblogs so appreciated if you enjoyy <3 (extras here and here)

<<<Chapter Three - Masterlist - Playlist- Chapter Five ( final) (soon)>>>

Chapter Four

“Get out of here with it, she’s gonna be here soon!” Satoru’s shoving Sukuna and Suguru, who are high as fuck after building the baby’s crib, changing table, and setting everything up for the baby.

In exchange, he promised the finest purple haze - but that doesn’t mean they needed to smoke it now, he panics as he sees the time on his watch, cursing. Suguru is chuckling and Sukuna’s snorting in laughter, their eyes blitzed out and bright red while they stare at a panicking Satoru.

“Bro, chill, it’s like fine, or whatever…” Suguru says, and he then hears the doorbell, cursing.

“She’ll kick my ass because of you shitheads!” He’s running to grab air freshener as you wait patiently, spraying his friends who start sputtering now, Gojo’s blue eyes all lit up.

“What the fuck, man!” Sukuna’s coughing, inhaling the pumpkin spice whatever Satoru snatched up, since he remembered you liked that shit. He ordered candles and all sorts of things so you’d enjoy it here, and now it smelled like skunk weed.

“Let me open the door, I wanna see our girl!” Suguru says, and Satoru’s jaw locks as he shoves his friend again.

“Our girl!?”

“It’s our baby too, man.” Sukuna agrees, as the two of them go to the door, but Satoru runs and beats them, opening it to see your pretty face, an overnight bag slung on your shoulder, wearing the prettiest pink dress.

“Hey, sweets, um…” You’re glaring at the two men still coughing, as plumes of smoke pour out of the door. 

“You two, out.” They pout as you walk in, Suguru touches your tummy and you smack at his hand. “Ah, ah.”

PARTY 4 U! — GOJO SATORU

You shouldn’t even be here right now, standing in the corner of the crowded kitchen with a red solo cup in your hand filled with a cheap and bitter tasting alcohol. The pop music blares over the speakers, lightly tapping your foot to the beat while you glance at everyone around you. Couples, friends, random strangers who don’t have a care in the world and are having the best time of their life right now. You only came here for your friend, it was her graduation party, her way of celebrating for finally getting her degree. But you weren’t even sure where she was and truthfully you were starting to regret even coming as harsh as it sounds.

A deep sigh left your lips, placing the half empty cup of alcohol on the kitchen island, leaving it stranded. You pulled your phone from your back pocket, noticing the message from your boss asking if you could come in earlier tomorrow to help with deadlines. You bit the inside of your cheek, thumbs hovering over the screen, deciding if you should even respond. It seems like your life now is nothing but work, home, sleep, and repeat. You’ve gotten so used to it unfortunately that this party has thrown you out of your comfort zone, but you only dragged yourself here in hopes to have fun and get away from the depressing reality. No relationship, barely any friends, and not even a pet to come home to and hang out with. You were quite literally alone, cooped up in your studio apartment from beginning to end.

Eventually, you put your phone back in your pocket, leaving your boss on delivered. It wouldn’t be hard to at least try and have fun, talk with people, hell maybe even a one night stand will get you out of the funk you’ve been in. You needed some type of push, but who else to do it besides yourself? You glared at the abandoned cup on the counter, eyes narrowing, contemplating if you should down the disgusting liquid in one shot. Before you could even think, the rim of the cup was at your lips and the alcohol hit the back of your throat, leaving a burning sensation. You winced, letting out a small cough as you put the cup back down on the counter. “Gross,” you muttered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“She said there should be more drinks in the fridge,” a familiar voice spoke.

You looked up to see a man with long silky black hair, and snakebite piercings to complete his look. It was no one other Geto Suguru, your ex boyfriends best friend. Though you never really spoke much to him, you still knew him well enough that seeing him here brought some sense of comfort compared to the strangers you were around. But just as you were about to say hi, behind him is a taller man with snow white hair and gleaming blue eyes, walking in with that charming smile you remembered so clearly. Gojo Satoru.

Two years. It’s been two years since you’ve last seen his face. Since that night when he walked out on you, left you in street with tears on your face. Your heart sunk, all the memories from good to bad came crawling right to the front of your brain, disregarding anything else you were thinking of. You quickly looked away, trying to avoid any contact with him. Retreating back to your corner in the kitchen, you brought up your phone, sticking your face in it and mindlessly clicking and scrolling through any apps in hopes he wouldn’t look your way. Why was it so much hotter all of a sudden? And why did the walls feel like they were closing in? Leave. Leave. Leave. Please, leave. A shadow cast over you, the mixed scent of cologne and alcohol filling your nose.

“Y/n?” And it was like everything around suddenly stopped. The music. The people. Time. And as much as you wanted to walk away, you didn’t. You looked up at him and smiled. Such a fake smile.

“Hey! Gojo!” You cheerfully spoke, tucking your phone back in your pocket. You gulped, your hands clammy, wiping them against your jean skirt. “How’s it been?”

“It’s been great,” he chuckled. “How have you been? I didn’t expect to see you here.” He took a sip of his drink, taking place beside you.

“Oh, yeah. I know the party girl. Her graduation day, so she invited me! Thought it would be good to get out.” You shrugged, a fake smile still turned at the corner of your mouth.

“That’s good, that’s good,” he murmured, nodding his head.

The tension was thick and awkward and you wanted to walk away, maybe even scream at him for leaving you in the street that night, completely ghosting you and blocking you instead of being an actual man and breaking up with you.

“You look great, by the way. I like, uh, your outfit. It’s something different than what I’m used to.” He cheekily smiled.

Your brows furrowed. “And what exactly are you used to?” You asked, turning to face him.

“I don’t know!” He laughed. “I just remember your style being different. Always wearing jeans or something like that.” He pointed at your skirt.

“Well, it’s been two years since you’ve last seen me, I’d like to think I changed at least a little bit.” You looked down at your outfit, fixing your shirt. “You still look the same, though.” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, wow! Do I?” He held his arms out. “I didn’t change at least a little bit?” He turned around, giving you a show of his outfit.

Hopefully as a person.

“Nope! Still the same old Gojo!” You shook your head, smiling. Why are you still standing here? Why are smiling? Why is the conversation going so well as if nothing happened?

“Awe, come on don’t be like that.” He playfully nudged you. “You know you don’t have to call me Gojo either, right? I mean we dated for two years, I’m not a stranger.” He smirked.

Yes, you are.

“Oh, I remember. I remember very clearly.” You nod, fidgeting with your hands.

“Remember our late night 7/11 runs? And when the slushee machine broke and it wouldn’t stop coming out? We literally ran out the door while the guy was yelling at us!” He laughed.

“Oh my gosh, yes! It went all over my shirt and my shoes were so sticky! That shit was the worst!” The memory played in your head like a movie, so clearly you could still hear you and Gojo’s childlike laughter as you ran out the store. But you also remember the days when he would act like you didn’t even exist. Not a single call or text from him for days.

“All I’m asking is for you to communicate with me! I get that you’re busy with school but a text would be fine! I never said you had to talk to me twenty four seven!” You shouted at him.

“Sometimes I don’t feel like texting anyone! Is that so damn hard to understand? Not everything is about you, y/n!” He furrowed his brows at you as if what you were saying was bewildering, like you had the most unhinged thought.

“What? What the fuck are you talking about? And don’t even like to me either because I see you with Geto out at parties, drinking and having fun all night! So I know it ain’t just about school. You’re just fucking ignoring me at this point. I’m so sick of fighting for attention from my own boyfriend!” You bite the inside of your cheek, stepping closer towards him.

“Then don’t.”

“We had the best times.” He let out a sigh, obvious he was reminiscing.

No we didn’t.

“Yeah, we did,” you quietly replied. There was a few seconds of silence between you two before gojo spoke up again.

He cleared his throat, his smile now faded, a serious look on his face like he was scared to say something. “I wanted to say sorry as well. That night, where I left you in the street, I should’ve never done that. I’m…I’m really fucking sorry. I was immature for blocking you and ending things that way. It was…I guess I was just so confused and overwhelmed by everything.”

“Yeah, I was too. I think it was probably best that we ended things off that way now that I think about it. It was harsh, but it’s what I needed,” you admitted.

“What do you mean?” Gojo asked.

“Gojo,” you sighed, “no matter how bad the relationship was, I willing to stay regardless and ruin myself. It sounds pathetic to say, but I truly loved you so much I wanted to do anything. I wanted you to try with me, at least show me you still wanted me. So, that might where you left and blocked me was the best thing. No contact, right?” You chuckled, like it was some natural thing to say, like it didn’t make your guts turn to think about how much you cried for months on end wondering where everything went wrong.

Gojo stared at you and it’s like he could see the tears on your face from all those times he made you cry, but now you were just brushing it off. Deep down, he still sees it hurts you, he knows you too well. “I loved you, but you deserved better.”

You looked him in eyes. “I wanted you to be better. It’s too late for that, right?” You weren’t really asking, more of a rhetorical question, but Gojo didn’t take it that way.

“It is…I’m engaged…I have a fiancé,” his words were quiet and his bright blue eyes somehow dimmed.

“Oh.” Suddenly those words seemed to turned your whole world upside down. Those simple words had such an impact on your life. The world felt dizzying, like it was spinning faster than you could keep up. “Congrats.” And those genuine smiles you were giving quickly turned fake again. “Did you propose?”

“Yeah…” He answered, blinking.

“Wow, that’s…how long?” You raised your brows in shock. Your mouth felt dry and that shot of alcohol you took just minutes ago felt like it was ready to come back up.

“It’s been a year and a half,” he plainly spoke.

You truly had no other words to say. While you were sat at home, dealing with the worst heart break of your life, mending yourself together piece by piece, he was having the time of his life with someone else. It took you a year to finally start feeling like yourself, to realize that it was going to be okay. In just a few months, he was willing to give another girl everything he couldn’t give you.

He never truly loved you.

Why couldn’t it have been you? Why were you always the girl before the one? Why were you never someone true love? Fairytale? It always ended in a nightmare. And now the man that you loved so deeply is getting married to someone else soon. “I’m happy for you, Gojo.”

“I’m sorry, y/n.” And gojo could tell you weren’t happy for him, yet you lied to him and to yourself to keep your true feelings from coming out. And he didn’t do a thing to stop you from walking out that kitchen, instead he watched you leave.

“Excuse me, ‘scuse me.” You pushed through the crowd of people, your chest starting to tighten and the music ringing in your ears. Fresh air, you needed fresh air. It felt like you were going to pass out. Why was everything moving in slow motion? You stumbled to your car, unlocking the door and quickly sitting down, slamming the door. The cool air hit your skin, your chest rapidly moving up and down with each shaky breath.

You turned to look towards the party, hoping by some miracle you’d see Gojo coming after you instead of just leaving you like he did before. And with each passing second, tears welled up in your eyes because you knew he wasn’t coming. A sob escaped your throat, hot tears pouring down your cheeks. You sucked in a breath, quickly wiping those tears away, afraid to show any sort of emotion towards him again. He didn’t deserve any more of your tears. But no matter how many tears you wiped and how much you tried to hold it in, it was inevitable. So you sat there, alone in your car, wiping your own tears and mending yourself back together before you had to go back home and restart your routine again tomorrow.

taglist:

@sleepykittyenergy @ravenbc @yharnam-prophet @screechingbasementprincess @avaredava @mxrxlxy @lordchula-thagrandrula @akiyhara @palestrawberrycollection @bijuu-naginata @jeansblit @jabulile @aemyuo @springismss @fmlalexis @gradmacoco @phob1cc @kousweet @saoirses-things

almost yours — a satoru gojo fic (teaser)

pairing — college satoru! x reader

synopsis — when you and your best friend seiko agree to split a too-big, too-expensive apartment, her hot older brother—who you definitely don’t have feelings for anymore—offers to move in to ease rent. what could possibly go wrong?

teaser wc — 1.4k

expected wc — 15 - 20k

taglist status — open

warnings — explicit sexual content, tiny bit of angst, yearning (ur downbad for him), satoru is kind of a gym himbo in this one, nerdjo turned fratjo (physics major satoru), will add more as i go along

authors note — well. so.... uh... hi i'm too giddy reading what i've written so far so here i am, releasing a snippet because why not <2

— until the quiet finds you;

༉‧₊˚. synopsis: you’re 24, a single mom just trying to survive off of temporary jobs—until a chance elevator ride with gojo satoru, the too-charming ceo of gojo industries, shifts everything. what starts as coffee and kindness slowly turns into something real. but when you’ve spent the last 2 years in survival mode, learning to trust might be the hardest thing of all.

mornings start early.

too early, if you’re being honest.

tomo wakes up around five-thirty these days—grumpy, half-hungry, and somehow full of energy despite not sleeping through the night. it’s a cruel magic, the way babies defy exhaustion with wide eyes and flailing limbs, like they’re immune to the laws of physics.

you’ve mastered the art of one-handed bottle prepping and diaper changes in the dark. your body moves on autopilot now: shuffle to the kitchenette, warm the bottle while bouncing tomo on your hip, whisper soothing nonsense into his ear even though your eyes are barely open. the floorboards creak like they’re complaining. the fridge hums. the radiator clicks. it’s a tired symphony you’ve come to know by heart.

by six, you’re both on the floor, surrounded by plastic stacking rings, a half-eaten teething cracker, and the giraffe tomo loves chewing on more than any pacifier you’ve ever bought. the news plays low in the background, not that you’re listening. it’s just noise—something to fill the quiet and keep your mind from spiraling.

your apartment is small. one room that serves as bedroom, nursery, and living space all at once. the kitchenette is barely a step away from the foot of your mattress. the bathroom door doesn’t close all the way unless you jiggle it just right. there’s a crack in the ceiling you’ve learned to stop noticing, and the window sticks if you try to open it too fast. the wallpaper near the radiator is peeling like sunburn.

but it’s yours. it’s warm. it’s safe.

barely paid for, held together with goodwill and duct tape, but clean enough that you can pretend. pretend this isn’t the furthest you’ve ever felt from the version of yourself you used to be.

tomo babbles through most of his morning bottle, half-asleep in your lap, his tiny fingers tangled in the fabric of your stretched-out cardigan. sometimes you just sit there like that, still and quiet, the two of you curled up on the thin rug, watching the light crawl through the blinds while the rest of the world wakes up without you.

this morning is no different.

except it is.

because today marks a week since your temporary shift at gojo industries.

a week since the elevator. the accidental coffee date. the skyline office. him.

you’ve stared at that business card more times than you’d like to admit. it lives on the windowsill now, right beside the sad little basil plant that’s somehow hanging on by a thread—much like you. you water it out of habit, even though the leaves are already curling. something about it makes you feel less like you’re failing. like maybe hope is still salvageable.

his number is written on the card in looping, swooping handwriting. only if you say yes, he’d said.

you’re not.

you don’t think you are.

but every day, that little white card weighs heavier in your chest. the possibility of something better. something different. terrifying and fragile and real.

gojo satoru offering you a job felt like something out of someone else’s story. not yours. someone with options. someone with time. someone without a baby strapped to their chest and formula stains on their shirt and a bank account that makes your stomach hurt to look at.

and yet his voice keeps echoing in your mind.

you shouldn’t have to choose between your kid and your career.

you wish that didn’t make you want to cry.

premise; Shoko is done with being the only one who has to constantly handle everyone else's trauma and curse induced breakdowns. So when you casually mention you're pretty good at giving advice, she immediately recommends you to the higher ups as the new, unofficial therapist.

this is just a short intro to a series! if people enjoy this, i might continue it :p will include lots of characters!

You think that you made a mistake labelling yourself as a good listener.

Now you have a desk made of milk crates, a bean bag that you're 90% sure is haunted- a bean bag that occasionally tries to swallow some of your clients (just Gojo). Your office is a repurposed janitors closet, and payment comes in the form of boba tea, strawberry mochi and the occasional cursed trinket.

━━ MDNI! some works contain smut, dark, or suggestive themes. the following content is labeled by ✬ → smut or ✫ → dark content

ONESHOTS

DRABBLES

gojo satoru

Maybe it’s okay to let your guard down sometimes

fratboy!satoru having a crush on you is kinda like burning your hand on a hot stove.

it sucks.

satoru is cocky in all meanings of the word. he’s constantly on top of tables, playing beer pong, or dangling and swinging from the chandelier in the frat house that is still up by the grace of God.

yet somehow, despite walking into class 25 minutes late and complaining about his hangover for the rest of your hour long class, he still maintains nearly perfect grades.

every girl has a crush on him, or thinks he’s the scum of the earth. every guy wants to be him and he knows this. he carries himself with such confidence that it’s not hard to see why he’s so popular.

and then there’s you.

you applied to this prestigious college in hopes of getting your degree and getting the hell out of there the first chance you got. somehow, you got in and are now dedicated to spending your next 5 years stuck in this school

and stuck with satoru.

he comes from a family of immense wealth. you were pretty sure he didn’t even need to go to college or have a job, and yet here he was in all his douchebaggy glory. everytime he walked past girls would giggle and guys would grumble

but he was focused on you.

you never made a noise when he walked past, never even looked up from the dumb tiktok’s you were watching on your phone. even when he made a spectacle in class, you wouldn’t even spare him a giggle or an eye roll. to you, it was like he didn’t even exist.

your lack of presence had somehow caught his eye, and through the flood of people that he saw everyday, he was stuck on you.

-

“i literally don’t get it.” satoru grumbled into his pillow as his roommate, suguru, rolled his eyes for the trillionth time.

“why do you care so much? it’s not like the flood of girls nipping at your heels is gonna go dry anytime soon.” suguru massaged the temples on his head, desperately trying to relieve himself from the satoru induced migraine

“it’s different! i want an eyeroll, a scoff, something!” satoru flops over on his back and looks to his roommate

“you’re annoyed because she doesn’t acknowledge your existence?”

“exactly!”

“narcissist.” satoru groaned at his roommate and pouted into his pillow once again.

“your just salty your bumble date ghosted you.” satoru claimed, and quickly retracted as a pillow was throw at his head.

-

the next class you had early in the morning made you groan as you sat down and opened your bag to grab your computer.

“is this seat taken?” your head snaps up while you meet bright blue eyes, although they were covered by dark sunglasses.

you whip your head around to the plethora of empty seats, even the ones in the back held no one, which was a miracle in itself.

“uhm, no?” you scooped up some of your items to make room for the lengthy boy as he sat down next to you. he leaned his head on his hand as he eyed you up and down.

“i don’t believe we’ve met. i’m satoru gojo, although you can just call me satoru, gorgeous.” he had a cocky grin on his face, sure that he was being charming by extending the pleasure of calling him by his name to you and by the slightest compliment.

“yeah, okay.” you nodded slightly, praying to whatever God would listen that he’d just leave you alone. his smile faltered at your dismissive tone, although he was far from done playing with you.

“what are you majoring in?” his eyes were still fixed on you, as if some omnipotent creature was whispering all the ways to make you tick, and he was listening as if it were scripture.

you rolled your eyes and spared him a glance although lacked a response as you continued to furiously type the paper that was due for this class.

after that blatant dismissal, he tried everything.

a large, very expensive looking bouquet by your dorm? he found them in the dumpster the next morning. causing a ruckus in the quad? you walked past him as if he were trash on the sidewalk. a pyramid of redbulls inside your dorm (how’d he get in?) was found in a donation box for other students who were struggling. nothing he did could ever catch your eye.

although he didn’t know the flowers you got him made you violently sneeze, so they were a hazard to keep in your living space. he didn’t know that the day he tackled suguru in the quad with the prayer of a fleeting glance, you were to focused on the mid term that was worth half your grade. the redbulls he left in your dorm just happened to be your least favorite flavor, and it probably was t healthy to drink all of those yourself. it wasn’t that you were purposely ignoring him, you just genuinely didn’t notice his foolish antics were to get your attention.

-

it wasn’t until the end of the year that satoru finally snapped.

he found you in the library, surrounded by books and half drunken iced coffee. you looked different from the girls that usually followed him. not bad different, but raw. real.

you didn’t notice him until his shadow blocked the flow of light that illuminated your books.

you looked up, sighing slightly before pulling out and earbud

“if this is about the flowers, i’m allergic-“

“get up.” his tone was different from the cocky frat boy you knew. he was nervous. nervous in your presence, nervous in the line of your sight. he looked like and insecure school boy finally talking to his crush

“excuse me?” you watched as he scooped up the books and carefully shoved them into your bag, pulling your chair out while you were still sat in it.

“i wanna talk.” he pulled you by your wrist, still holding your backpack as he made a dash for the exit

“we can’t just talk here?” your feet were clumsy following the man in front of you, considering he was a good foot taller that you.

“it’s important, just…” he paused, the words fluttered on his tounge but he bit back before it all came rushing out. “please.”

that shut you up.

he rounded the corner and shoved open the door to a long forgotten stair well.

gojo crossed his arms, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, exposing the frustration flickering in those icey eyes. “what is your deal with me?”

you blinked.

“huh?”

“i’ve tried everything. everything,” he said, voice sharper than his usual smooth tone. “you ignore me like i’m background noise. like i don’t even exist.”

you stared, silent, waiting.

“i mean, do you hate me? did i do something? am I just some frat idiot to you?” he ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “you’re driving me insane and you don’t even care.”

“i do notice you, satoru.” his real name being slipped on your tounge caused his pacing to falter.

for the first time all year, you saw him. rough around the edges, and slightly insecure. he wasn’t satoru gojo, heir to a fortune many couldn’t comprehend and a total douchebag

he was just… satoru. a boy who didn’t know how to get the attention of someone like you without using elementary tactics.

“you don’t have to do anything dramatic to catch my eye. you don’t have to make small talk about stupid shit to get me to talk to you.”

“i see you, satoru. every over the top stunt, every weird little performance. i’ve seen it all. but the guy who leaves flowers im allergic too in front of my dorm to get attention?” you stood slowly, eyes locking with his. “that’s not who i’m interested in.”

he swallowed. “then who are you interested in?”

you leaned in just enough for your voice to hit him low and clear.

“the real you, whoever that is. it’s up to you to figure that out.”

and then you left him there, quiet for the first time in a long time.

-

the next time you saw satoru, he was just as nervous as last time. his eyes weren’t covered by his glasses and you swore you could see a glimmer of sweat drip down his forehead as he met you for the first class of the day.

“for you.” he held out a small iced coffee, the same one you had ordered for your impromptu study trip in the library.

he had memorized it.

in the small moment he saw to remember it, he had got it perfect.

“no flowers, no stupid tricks. just me.” you smiled as he handed it to you, the condensation on the cup making your hands cold and wet, but you didn’t mind.

“you remembered,” you said.

“ive been paying attention. even if you weren’t.”

you studied him. for once, he didn’t try to fill the silence. he just looked at you. nervous, hopeful, real.

and maybe he was still a little ridiculous. still loud, still dramatic in ways he couldn’t fully shake. but under all of that… there was something honest. something kind.

and maybe that was who satoru was all along.

“your still a frat idiot, satoru.”

“i’m your frat idiot.”

Loveisland!Gojo

LoveIsland!Gojo who enters the villa like he owns the damn place, strutting in with that trademark cocky smile. He stretches out on the lounge chair like he’s meant to be here, arms draped behind his head, sunglasses perched lazily on his messy white hair.

“Damn,” he smirks, glancing over at the girls who are practically melting under his gaze. “You all look like trouble. Lucky for you, I like that.”

The girls laugh—some flustered, some intrigued, but none of them can ignore how magnetic he is. Gojo doesn’t even look at them—he’s already searching for something more.

LoveIsland!Gojo who doesn’t even pretend to hide the way he’s scanning the villa, his eyes flitting over each girl like they’re all distractions. He’s searching for one thing, one person, and when his gaze lands on you, he stops.

It’s like everything else falls away. His smile shifts, just a touch, something darker creeping in. There’s no pretending, no flirty lines. His eyes burn into you with an intensity that cuts through everything.

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath, eyes tracking every inch of you like he’s hungry. “They didn’t tell me heaven was a stop on the way here.”

His voice drops lower, a quiet confession meant only for you. The others? They don’t exist in this moment. You’re his focus.

LoveIsland!Gojo who goes through the rounds of the challenge like it’s a casual game, but the entire time, his thoughts are locked on you.

When the “kiss the islander you’re most attracted to” challenge hits, Gojo doesn’t even glance at the other girls, who’ve been throwing themselves at him. No, his steps are slow, deliberate, and every single move is a message.

He stops right in front of you. His smirk isn’t playful anymore—it’s almost desperate, like he’s been dying for this moment. He doesn’t wait for permission. He just takes it, hand reaching out to tilt your chin up.

When his lips crash against yours, it’s nothing like the others—there’s no teasing, no games. It’s raw. It’s hungry. The kiss is desperate, full of need, like he’s been starved for it and can’t wait another second.

The entire villa goes silent. There’s no laughter, no murmurs. It’s as if the world holds its breath just to witness the storm that’s going down in that kiss. When he finally pulls back, there’s no cool cocky smirk, no quip.

He’s breathless, his pupils blown wide. The kind of look that says, I need you, I’m losing my mind, but he just wipes his thumb across your lip like it’s nothing.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice tight, raw. “Tastes better than I imagined.”

LoveIsland!Gojo who watches you with a new, almost feverish intensity the rest of the night. Every conversation you have with someone else, every laugh you share with another guy—Gojo is watching, studying, his eyes following you like he’s counting every second you’re not his.

When one of the other boys tries to pull you for a chat, Gojo is already there—swooping in, a lazy grin on his face but a fire in his eyes.

“Sorry, bro,” he says, voice deceptively calm. “Think she’s busy.”

His arm is already around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, like he’s making sure no one else even thinks about getting in his way.

LoveIsland!Gojo who stands at the firepit later, hands shoved in his pockets, but he’s not relaxed. Not even close. He’s fidgeting, his jaw tight, his eyes flickering toward you every few seconds like he’s ready to explode.

When the recoupling happens, he doesn’t make a big speech. He doesn’t need to. He just looks at you, a look that feels like a promise.

“This one’s easy,” he says, voice thick with desire. “I’d like to couple up with someone who hasn’t been trying to get my attention... probably ‘cause they already have it.”

There’s no asking—just a statement, the weight of it almost suffocating.

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything. He doesn’t need to. He offers his hand, fingers curling like he’s already decided you’re his.

When you take it, there’s a huge smile. you hear a “Good choice,” from him, his voice low and almost too intimate. His fingers lace with yours, holding tight, like if you slip away, he might just fall apart.

He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night, each brush of his fingers against yours a reminder that he’s never letting you out of his sight.

LoveIsland!Gojo who leans back on the bench, arm stretched across the back of it, so close but never quite touching. Every inch of his body is alive with energy—desire, need, but he plays it cool like it’s all part of the game.

When the recoupling ends and the cameras turn off, Gojo doesn’t waste a second. He leans in close to your ear, voice barely a whisper.

“Guess I’m yours now,” he breathes, his words laced with raw hunger. “You’ve got no idea how much I want you. Hope you’re ready.”

LoveIsland!Gojo who finds you on the terrace later, your body a little too warm from the villa’s heat or maybe from the tension swirling between you two. He slides the door open, barefoot and shirtless, like he knows the effect he has on you.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” His voice is smooth, teasing, but there’s an edge to it—like he’s about to lose it if he doesn’t have you right now.

LoveIsland!Gojo who walks over without a second thought, sitting down right next to you. His body presses against yours like he has to be close—like he’s suffocating without that connection. His fingers brush yours, but it’s more than that. It’s claiming.

“You hiding from me?” he murmurs, but you can hear the desperate edge in his voice, like it’s killing him that you’re not already his.

He’s so close now, his lips almost brushing your ear. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admits, voice tight with need. “I’ve wanted this since I saw you.”

When you don’t pull away, when you don’t shut him down, Gojo’s hand slides to your neck, pulling you in with an urgency that nearly breaks him.

“I need to kiss you again,” he breathes, no longer asking, but pleading. Yearning.

The kiss is frantic. Desperate. Like he’s been waiting for this moment for an eternity. His hands are on you now, pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours as if he needs to feel you against him to survive.

When he pulls away, his breath is ragged, his forehead resting against yours, eyes closed.

A/N: RAHHH loveisland gojoo im def making a mini series out of this cuz gosh hes so fine yummyyummyy

|| Oneshot 1: Grade A Distraction ||

Athlete!Satoru Gojo x Nerd!Y/n

Synopsis: Satoru Gojo nearly flunks English, so when he's paired with the quiet, reserved, top of her class Y/n for tutoring? What starts as a chore turns into something more as Gojo finds himself falling--hard--for the sharp tongued, book-smart girl who doesn't notice his charm. Suddenly, English isn't the only thing he wants to understand.

Blog type: Series of oneshots & Fem!Reader

Content Contains: Fluff and bit of cussing.

Satoru Gojo had a lot of things going for him. Good looks? He had them. Popular, athletic, has all the girls falling for him? Of course. Actually passing English class though..?

No.

"Gojo, you failed your English quiz again. Your grade will go down and I might have to have Coach cut you from your games the rest of the season.” Ms.Hoshino hands Gojo his test, pushing up her glasses as she lectures him.

“Look, I’ll pass the next one. Don’t even worry, I’ll be fine.” He crosses his arms, shoving the recently failed test into his bag. Ms.Hoshino skeptically looks at him, handing him another slip of paper.

TUTORING

Mon-Thurs: 2:00pm - 3:00pm

and underneath the rest of the information, was your name. Signed in the prettiest cursive anyone could have ever seen within this school.

Tutor’s signature: 𝓛/𝓷, 𝓕/𝓷.

Gojo’s eyes widened as he tries to read the fine print. Fuck. Was it this bad that he had to get tutored?

“Wait, you’re not seriously giving me a tutor right? I can understand English just fine!” He huffs out, leaning back in his chair while crossing his arms.

“You’re failing English Satoru. You are to report to Y/n after classes are over.” Ms.Hoshino walks away, not noticing the death stare that Gojo is giving her.

-

Gojo wasn’t used to being the one who needed help.

On the court, he dominated. On campus? He was unstoppable—top athlete, effortlessly charming, and practically the image of this school. But none of that mattered when he was staring down at his notes and the failed test next to it because he couldn’t remember the significance of the green light in The Great Gatsby.

Which is why he is currently slouched over his papers, man-spreading under the table, spinning his pen, while across from him was Y/n—campus bookworm and his tutor.

“You didn’t bother to bring your books?” You said, setting your notes down and adjusting your position.

Gojo grinned like a child, despite being lectured. “You’re my book now, Y/n. I’ll be learning from the best of course.”

You cover your mouth to supress a laugh, “That might’ve sounded cooler if you were passing..”

“Hey! I am.. sorta.” He protested, now sitting up straight in his chair. “At least I know who Shakespeare is!”

You deadpanned, “Everyone knows that you idiot.”

“Then I guess I’m an informed idiot.” He says, grinning like he had just won the olympics.

You sighed, but the slightest hint of a smile stretched across your lips, and Gojo noticed. He noticed everything about you, actually—like how you always highlighted your notes, carried them in a pencil case with a cute animal on it, or how you scrunched your nose a little when you were focused, or the fact that you smelled like vanilla and lavender.

He didn’t say anything though. Not yet at least.

“Alright,” you said, opening a well-worn copy of the novel, The Great Gatsby. “Let’s start at this chapter.”

“Isn’t this the chapter where he serenades her?” he quipped, leaning forward, slightly closer to you.

You blinked slowly, “Do you want to fail?”

He smirked, “Does failing mean I get to see you like this every week?”

You rolled your eyes, a slight hint of pink shadowing over your cheeks. “Ten minutes.” you said, eyes on the page. “Ten minutes of talking and then we get to studying.”

Gojo smiled, a genuine smile. Not like one of his stupid fake smiles that made every girl in this uni collapse to their knees.

“Then I better make it count.”

You didn’t look up. But the corners of your lips slightly twitched up.

season of the witch — you're on the rebound from your ex and you've just survived yearly finals, meaning you've earned a night out. clad in a slutty little witch costume, you attend a halloween party on campus in hopes of finding a casual hookup to take your mind off things, but a masked stranger and a game of spin the bottle weren't really part of your plan.

cws: female reader, smut, costumes, ghostface gojo, semi-public sex, exes to lovers, masked sex, hookups, seven minutes in heaven, spin the bottle, drinking, college au, halloween parties, begging, super needy gojo, making out, fwbs, sort of, brief spanking, doggy style, groping, whining, possessiveness, crying, implied cheating, dacryphilia, rough sex, emotional sex, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, kinktober, ex sex, exes, makeup sex, but not really, wc: ~2k

a/n: i decided to cross-post my kinktober fics from last year onto here since i was only posting on ao3 last year. idk why but i'm kind of already brainstorming kinktober fics for this year for all the lads men so i figured why not <3 available on ao3 as well:)

just gonna use my old jjk tag since it's not on my new one, let me know if you don't want to be tagged pls! (I kind of missed typing all these @'s though :')) tags: @ekaterinatepes @dellalyra @sunaishotsstuff @ravereina @tojishugetiddies @i-literally-cant-with-this @thecookiebratz @chocoyanchan @hinata7346 @r0ckst4rjk @d4ddies-wh0re @ploylulla @etlftl @doestalker @jottositto @missphanosaur18 @darkstarlight82 @xocherishxo @sousblogga @xukoii @viisgrave @iminlovewqr0w @sheluvzeren @prettymoonlightsworld @anubisisthebomb @hannas16

You don’t know how many times you’ve looked yourself over in the mirror. You picked your outfit out weeks ago, a short little witch’s costume with a black skirt and top. The outfit is innocent and simple for good reason. You’ve had just about the most stressful semester of your life, and you feel like you’re owed a bit of reckless fun, beyond drinking and kissing a fellow drunk classmate. Not tonight. You’re in the mood for a little something different tonight. You approach the thumping Halloween party without any panties under your little black skirt and a mission to get laid.   

Making your way into the frat house, the incoherent music makes your whole body tingle. You stop briefly while making your way through the wall-to-wall sea of bodies to fill a cup to the brim, strong liquor sliding down your throat. You cough but force yourself to take it all in because it’s the only way you’re sure to unwind. The waves of music, the strobe, the nonstop dancers oscillate through the walls and floor. You’re slow as you survey the crowd, people already making out and the world going on around them. You look for familiar faces but can’t put any names to them, having spent the last few weeks isolating yourself in your room to study. The air is permeated with the mixed scent of marijuana and sweat.   

As you squeeze through the crowd, you notice a small gathering of people spinning a bottle and sending the pair that the bottle points to into a nearby closet, coats that usually occupy the little room piled up on the floor next to the door. They exit and enter the little room with ruffled clothes and shameless smiles overtaking blushed features. A few members of the group wave you over. You check your surroundings to be sure they’re talking to you. Why would they? You don’t really know anyone here. Still, you join in with them and take your own spin. The glass is cool against your sweating fingers, and it spins swiftly against the carpet. You find yourself studying the faces of the others in the group, males and females alike. You’d be fine if it landed on any of them, ready for something hot and casual.

You’re not going to let yourself go to sleep tonight without making out with at least one hot stranger. The bottle starts spinning quick, but it slows and passes over a guy in a loin cloth, another in a tank top and dog tags, and a girl in a dominatrix’s outfit – any of which you would’ve been interested in. It lands on a guy in a robe and a Ghost Face mask instead. Real original, you think. No one else is wearing a mask or covering themselves. What’s he got to hide? People whoop and cheer when it stops spinning and Ghost Face stands up to outstretch a hand to you, beckoning you to follow him into the closet.