Idkhbeetfm - Bee

This family doesn't need a DNA test💅💅

normal girlboyfriend daydream material: what if we were trapped in a survival horror world... together <3

ive made it to max boops given. ez money

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I want this story to be written

I don’t want this story to be written by anyone but me

I don’t want to write this story

Feral Gojo english dub highlights... Just close your eyes and listen..

good morning my lovelies. may i interest you in some fresh out the shower crosshair?

A Harmless Drink

Summary: After an exhausting day, Commander Fox decides to pay you a visit with a bottle of wine he isn't supposed to have

Pairing: Commander Fox x Senate!Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Tags: Mutual Pining, Alcohol, Friends to (eventual) Lovers

! link to ao3 !

’Panic’ isn’t a word in Commander Fox’s vocabulary.

And even now, as he rushes through the wide corridors of the Senate Building, swiftly dodging oncoming senators and wandering droids, he isn’t in a state of panic. If anything, Commander Fox is just annoyed. As per usual.

Fox knows he’s getting weird looks from people, a few senators even gasping as they stumble out of his way. The Senate has had its fair share of security breaches, all of which the Commander and the rest of the Coruscant Guard have handled with the utmost efficiency.

It’s not a strange occurrence to see one of the Guards running through the halls, presumably going to deal with some emergency… but Fox guesses this is the first time they’ve seen a member of the Coruscant Guard running through the halls not with a blaster in hand, but with a rather large bottle of the Chancellor’s most expensive wine.

Fox is sure he hears another clone laugh at him as he skids around a corner and rushes down another hallway. Muttering a few curses underneath his helmet, Fox ignores all the different reactions his hurried appearance has caused. Right now, he has more pressing matters to worry about, well, one matter actually.

Despite many scheduled meetings and appearances, Chancellor Palpatine opted to spend his afternoon catching up with some old friends from the Chommell Sector, who decided to spontaneously drop by. Fox can’t recall every time he either clenched his jaw in annoyance or rolled his eyes during the guest’s time with the Chancellor.

‘Who are these people?’ He thought to himself, knowing that both he and the Chancellor had much better things to do than entertain guests ‘You can’t just stroll in and decide to chat to the Chancellor for a few hours’.

Well, as it turns out, you can. Or at least these people can.

After hours of reminiscing on old times, they finally left. But just when Fox thought the disruption was over, Palpatine sighed, taking out the bottle of wine and loudly proclaiming he meant to give it to his departing friends but completely forgot.

With the Commander’s luck, he was then picked by the Chancellor to quickly catch up with the group and give them the present before they boarded their ship.

This would have been an easy task to complete if the guests had just left but a lengthy ten minutes had already passed by the time Palpatine realised he still had the wine and sent Fox on his mission. The second the Commander was given the bottle of wine and left the Chancellor’s Suite, he began his sprint, knowing it takes approx. 12 minutes to get from the Suite to the closest landing pad.

Hearing some loud farewells from around the corner, Fox presumes he’s made it just in time, breathing a sigh of relief. Dashing out to the landing pad, he abruptly comes to a stop.

A confused group of Vurk politicians suddenly halt their goodbyes and turn to face the Commander, confused looks spreading across their faces. One of the older Vurk’s peers down at the bottle in Fox’s hand. “Oooo is that for us, Commander?” He asks, fingers twitching with anticipation.

“Kriff” Fox mumbles to himself, shoulders deflating as he realises he’s completely missed the Chancellor’s guests and that they’re probably exiting the atmosphere by now.

“Hmm?” Another one of the Vurks asks, not quite catching Fox’s response.

With his grip tightening on the bottle, Fox huffs, turns on his feet and leaves. He’s in no mood to deal with politicians right now, the thoughts of returning the bottle to a disappointed Chancellor deepening his annoyance.

If he didn’t look like a fool running through the corridors of the Senate Building beforehand, he sure feels like one now. Trying to look as if he’s walking with purpose, Fox holds the bottle tightly beneath his arm with no real plan of what to do now.

Judging by the orange hues of the sunset glaring through the windows, Fox only has another ten minutes on shift. After that, he’s supposed to have seven hours to eat, sleep, shower and do any additional paperwork before the beginning of his next shift. Though being the Commander of the Coruscant Guard means Fox rarely gets those full seven hours without some kind of call to duty.

Slowing his pace, Fox starts to think of a plan. If he takes a slight detour then he may not make it back to the Chancellor’s Suite in time.

Of course Fox is aware this doesn't fix his slight problem, only prolonging the inevitable sigh of disappointment the Chancellor will give him. If Palpatine isn’t informed that the bottle of wine didn’t reach his guests today then he will be tomorrow… but on this occasion, Fox prefers it to be tomorrow.

Turning down one of the smaller side corridors, Commander Fox heads in the opposite direction of the Chancellor’s Suite. His steps become quick and confident. Fox knows exactly where his detour will take him.

***

Why are you still here? That’s the one question your mind keeps going back to. The last Senate meeting was over two hours ago and even that, you didn’t need to attend in person. You did simply because you had nothing better to do.

Your days have recently become boring and you hoped that attending the Senate meeting in person might liven things up. Unfortunately, it didn’t. In fact, the most exciting thing you’ve witnessed all day was Senator Binks walking into a door… which admittedly happens more often than not.

Leaning back on your chair, your eyes leave the paperwork scattered on your desk and glance around your office. You’ve been appointed senator of your homeplanet for just over a year now and yet your office still looks foreign to you, as if this is your first time entering.

The dull grey walls blend in with the ashened floor, making the office look more like a prison cell. In fact, the only object that actually distinguishes your office from the empty office spaces a few corridors away is the couch the previous senator had brought in.

He was old and apparently had back problems and so he spent most of his day lounging around on the oddly shaped couch. You, on the other hand, rarely sit on it and instead prefer to stay hunkered down by your desk.

And yet despite how dreary the room is, here you still are, spending your evening skimming through policies and motions other senators hope to put forward.

What a life.

You’re about to go through another pending motion when there’s a sharp knock at the door. You immediately sit up straight, eyebrows raised at the sudden noise.

“Yes? Come in” you call out, your fingers drumming on your desk.

The durasteel door slides open and familiar maroon armour enters the room. It’s an automatic response when you rise to your feet, an act of respect to a man with such high authority. “Commander,” you greet “is everything alright?”.

Fox stops just short of your desk. His hand twitches for a moment and he has to stop himself from saying “At ease, soldier”. Usually they’re the only people to ever show him this level of respect, with many senators seeing him as an armoured assistant most of the time.

But not you, you’ve always given Fox the respect he deserves.

Maybe that’s why he constantly feels a pull towards you, always wondering where you are in the building and what you’re doing. Respect, and of course, he has to think about you for security purposes too. But that’s it, or at least Fox has convinced himself those are the only two reasons why you constantly invade his brain.

He clears his throat “Yes, everything is fine, I just… I uh”.

Goddammit, why is he here? Fox has had all this time to think of a reason to visit you on his walk here and yet the very thought is only crossing his mind now. Thankfully, you speak again, brushing past his awkwardness.

“Is that wine?” you squint your eyes, convinced your gaze must be deceiving you.

Letting out a laugh, you continue with your barrage of questions “Commander, are you drinking on the job?”.

He watches as you raise an eyebrow, your eyes glued to the bottle in his hand. Fox would feel flustered if it isn’t for your disarming laugh. Hell, if droids had your laugh instead of repeating ‘roger roger’ all the damn time, Fox is sure he would have forgotten how to shoot and died in his first encounter with them.

The ghost of a smile graces his lips as he finally manages to reply. Lifting his arm to look at the bottle, he simply asks “You think I’m a wine drinker?”. You laugh again and it makes his chest tighten.

Although you’ve overheard many troopers complain about the infamously ‘by the books’ Commander, you enjoy his company. Unfortunately, a lot of people don’t give clones a chance, practically viewing them as droids with heartbeats. You, on the other hand, much prefer their company over the likes of senators or even some jedi.

You’ll always remember the first time you officially met the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. Beforehand, one of the other senators pointed him out to you, warning you to steer clear as it was well known Fox was very cut and dry, never kissing the asses of pretentious senators who believed they were the chosen one. But when you actually met Fox, it was after you had already befriended Thorn and Hound.

Since you were genuinely interested in getting to know the clones, Hound thought it would be a good idea to show you their private quarters, assuring you it was all above board and not a breach of protocol… yep, that was a lie.

You spent all of 5 minutes in their private quarters, listening intently as Thorn gave you a very in depth review of their nutrition bars, a food they must rely on as a snack to get them through their shifts. He even gave you a few to take with you but that’s when Commander Fox appeared behind you. Sheer annoyance emulated from him and within a few seconds, he was escorting you out of their private quarters.

Neither of you knew it then but that was the start of a beautiful friendship, one where you often annoyed the Commander yet he always put up with you.

“No, I never imagined you as a wine drinker,” you admit, crossing your arms as your posture becomes more relaxed. Although his eyes briefly flick down your body, Fox tries to ignore how your hips sway with your change of stance. Thinking for a moment, you conclude “You’re definitely more of a cocktail kinda guy”.

For the first time today, Fox rolls his eyes not out of annoyance but in an affectionate way. “Very funny” he comments sarcastically.

“So why are you carrying around a bottle of wine, Commander?” You query, lips tugging upwards when you hear an audible sigh leave his helmet. That’s a normal indication from Fox that you’re in for one hell of a story.

Fox steps forward, placing the wine on your desk and subconsciously leaning against the solid structure, his body weary from the long day. Taking this to mean the formal part of his visit is over, you sit back down, your head propped up by both of your hands as you eagerly wait for him to begin.

Maker, if you could see yourself; a relaxed smile on your lips, body instinctively leaning in his direction and your eyes, kriff, your eyes, sparkling with curiosity as you give the Commander your undivided attention. It makes his heart stutter, heat rushing to his cheeks.

Usually he only gets this kind of attention from senators when they’re yelling at him to do a better job or expecting him to save their ass from whatever threat happens to grace the Senate.

Fox starts from the beginning, describing how obnoxiously the Chancellor’s guests wandered in and telling you everything that’s happened until now. You laugh at various parts, especially when he goes off on a tangent about how arrogant the guests were.

This is one of your favourite things about Fox, his rants are always so hilarious. Not many people laugh at what the Commander says and most of the time Fox doesn’t see the humour in his rants either. But that only makes it funnier to you.

He’s so blunt in his description of the Chancellor’s guests, not hesitating to mention how one was obviously trying to hide their bald spot and how another spent half the time trying to fish some snot out of their nose.

Usually Fox doesn’t elaborate this much when speaking to others, keeping his renditions brief but when it comes to telling you about his day, he likes to add in little comments or mention details he normally never would.

Besides, if mentioning some extra details means you’ll keep your attention on him for just a little bit longer, then it’s worth it.

Once Fox tells you why he took this detour, you gasp dramatically “Commander, it’s not like you to ditch your duties”.

He scoffs, his plastoid shoulder pads rolling as he shrugs “I’m not ditching my duties… technically, I’ve been off duty for the last minute and a half”.

“And before that? When you were still on duty and complaining about your dear old Chancellor’s guests?” you goad, though you know you have a better chance at beating Count Dooku in a lightsaber fight than getting the Commander to admit that he was, in fact, ditching duties.

“I was informing a senator of the current proceedings within the Senate,” he replies, authority laced deep in his voice as he gestures to you “it’s imperative that senators such as yourself are aware of any unidentified guests entering the facility”.

Goddammit he’s good. “Touché, Commander,” you reply “and the wine? What are you going to do with it now?”.

“I’ll have to return it to the Chancellor tomorrow when I relay what happened to him,” he states “I’m sure he’s already retired to his private quarters for the night”.

“Really?” you try to hide the slight disappointment in your voice but Fox is quick to pick up on it.

“Why?” he scans your face, trying to identify what he’s said wrong “What do you propose I do with it?”.

You have the perfect idea in mind but first you shrug, wanting to downplay your plan “Well I’m sure your brothers would appreciate a bottle of that size, it’s sure to lift a few spirits”. That earns another scoff from him, just as expected.

“Or…” you continue, looking at the time on your holopad “you are off duty and Maker knows you deserve a drink and I don’t know, maybe you could share some with your favourite senator?”. You flash him a cheesy smile to seal the deal. This is a hard bargain to sell, you’re well aware of that but if you don’t try then you’ll never know.

Fox thinks for a moment, his helmet tilting down at the bottle. How do you have such a hold on him? When the group of Vurk politicians even suggested taking the bottle, Fox was well and truly over the idea but with you? He can’t believe he’s actually considering it. I mean, would the Chancellor really know any different if Fox simply didn’t mention it again? Surely he would just assume the bottle was given to the guests and that would be the end of it.

Damn it, is he malfunctioning right now? Fox can feel your gaze on him and before you can backtrack your idea, he says “I guess there’s no harm in it…”.

A tingle of excitement surges through you. Now this is exactly what you need after such a boring day but you want to make sure. “Is that a ‘yes’, Commander?” You pry, holding your breath in anticipation.

“It's a ‘you’re an extremely bad influence’,” he corrects you before adding “but it’s also a yes”.

The second a bright grin spreads across your face, Fox knows this decision, while very risky, is completely worth it. “Yes!” you exclaim, jumping up from your seat and making your way around the desk and closer to Fox.

Fox holds the bottle steady and twists the cap off, breaking the seal before handing it to you. “I don’t have any glasses,” you caution, unsure whether that’ll be an issue “so I hope you don’t mind sharing”. You wait for Fox’s reply, not wanting to start downing the bottle without his blessing.

He gives a short laugh “That’s not an issue to me”.

With that as his sign of approval, you take a moment to brace yourself before bringing the mouth of the bottle to your lips. While you take your first gulp of wine, Fox moves his hands up to his helmet, unclicking it and finally taking it off. It’s something he doesn't do often while in the Senate Building but he can’t exactly drink the wine any other way.

As you bring the bottle away from your mouth, you're too busy dealing with the strange bitterness of the wine to notice his sudden change in appearance.

“Wow,” your face involuntarily scrunches up, your arm holding out the bottle to Fox “that’s a lot stronger than I expected”.

Fox settles his helmet on your desk, making sure to avoid placing it on top of your paperwork. “Too strong for you?” he teases, a smirk playing on his lips “Well, that’s really saying something”. Satisfied with where his helmet is placed, he turns to look at you.

Your mouth falls open as his gaze meets yours and for a second, you forget how to breathe. It’s strange to think this is the first time you’ve seen Fox without his helmet on, yet with the current situation the galaxy finds itself in, it’s not something you’ve ever found weird.

He doesn't look like the rest of the clones, well of course he does to some degree but unlike most of them, Fox understandably has many dark circles under his eyes.

Although he looks clean shaven, the inklings of a 5 o’clock shadow enhance his jawline. He has a few scars scattered across his face, the largest one looking like it came from some sort of animal. Perhaps that’s how he got his name.

But the Commander's most distinguishable feature is his hair, a salt and pepper mixture of the usual dark hair of clones with silver hairs scattered throughout, presumably from the amount of stress he’s constantly under. Maker, why does he hide under that helmet all day? Probably because of the amount of people who would be throwing themselves at him if he didn’t wear — oh kriff, you’re staring.

Fox looks at you with a furrowed brow, wondering just how strong this wine is. “Fox - uh, Commander - sorry,” you stutter, the words spilling from your mouth “um, here, it’s your turn to drink”. You practically shove the bottle into his hands.

Fox doesn't comment on your rattled demeanour, taking the bottle and deciding he should judge for himself how strong this wine is. Taking a swig from the bottle, he holds the liquid in his mouth for a few moments before swallowing. It’s definitely strong, a sharp pang hitting his taste buds. Thankfully, it doesn’t last long and the rich aftertaste helps ease the intensity.

“It certainly has a kick to it” he determines, taking a moment to examine the bottle’s shiny label before passing it back to you.

“Do you want to sit?” You ask, gesturing to that damn couch as you take the wine from him. Fox nods and you both get settled on the couch, the Commander sitting very formally with both feet planted on the ground in contrast to you, curled up with your feet tucked in by your body.

“Sorry for staring,” you blurt out, swiftly taking another drink before you elaborate “it’s just that I’ve never seen your face before”.

Fox smiles to himself for a moment before shifting his gaze to you, endearment in his eyes. “Yes you have” he corrects you.

“Huh? No, every time we talk, you always have your helmet on,” you protest, absolutely certain you’re right.

“You’ve still seen my face before this” he says drily and it takes you a couple of seconds to catch on.

“Oh,” your eyelids drop “just because I’ve seen other clone’s faces doesn’t mean I knew what you looked like”.

“That’s exactly what it means actually” he shrugs, taking the bottle from you. Fox knows he’s slowly starting to wind you up but it’s one of the few joys he has.

“You could’ve been a droid under there for all I knew,” you reply exasperatedly “besides, just because you’re all clones that doesn’t mean you all look like carbon copies of each other”.

Yes, it does, but after another gulp of wine, Fox is more interested in how you see it if not the obvious. “How so?” he inquires.

You have an obvious answer. Not every clone you’ve seen is as attractive as Fox. Although you’d love to give this answer, you haven’t had enough wine to start shamelessly flirting with the Commander just yet. Instead you opt for the teasing answer.

“Not every clone is greying as fast as you, Fox”.

Fox takes another large gulp of wine after that, his eyes rolling yet again. “That’s Commander to you” he mutters.

“Oh I’m so sorry, not every clone is greying as fast as you, Commander”.

You’re lucky Fox likes this about you. You can dish it just as well as you can take it, never shying from a confrontation or an opportunity to tease him. Placing his free hand on his knee, Fox mutters “That’s it, I’m going to see if Senator Amidala would like some of this wine instead”.

He doesn’t even get a chance to move before your hand is on his shoulder. “What? Wait! But I haven’t even told you about my run in with Senator Aak” you hastily reveal. It was only last week Fox had been complaining to you about the senator so you know he’ll appreciate a good story of how you got the better of him earlier in the day.

He doesn't answer immediately, trying not to draw attention to your hand still being on his shoulder in fear you’ll quickly remove it if he does.

Settling back down, he nods “Go on”. Fox tries to keep his face neutral when you remove your hand, instead putting your open palm in front of him.

He huffs, feigning annoyance as he gives you the bottle. Happy with your small victory, you take a hurriedly swig of the wine before telling Fox all about your earlier encounter with the senator.

It isn’t very exciting, especially in comparison to what Fox has to deal with but you know he’ll be happy to hear you won a debate against Senator Aak. After all, your mutual dislike of the senator is one of the many things you both happen to have in common.

As you tell him all about your interaction, Fox relaxes more and more, the both of you casually passing the bottle to one another.

Admittedly, Fox can’t recall the last time he’s had a drink. He knows it was probably at 79's but he rarely gets enough time off to genuinely unwind and whenever he does, he’s usually interrupted and called back to work. The more you talk, the less Fox pays attention, the warm feeling in his chest urging him to take this time to fully admire your features.

You blabber on with your story, subconsciously scooting closer to the Commander as you continue to relay what happened. Although you don’t feel too tipsy, the fuzzy feeling in your head is a clear indication the wine is finally starting to set in.

It feels weird to have the Commander’s attention on you. It’s something you’ve had numerous times in the past but to have it and actually see his face is a whole new experience. You can see exactly what he’s looking at and each small change of his expression, which is actually pretty daunting.

“You should’ve seen the look on his face,” you continue with your story, trying to ignore how his brown eyes shine like dews of honey “he was so flustered that I actually called him out and he was trying to think of a rebuttal but… wow, your eyes are really pretty”.

Ok, maybe you’ve had enough wine.

You watch as Fox realises what you said, the sudden shift of conversation catching him off guard. “Oh… that was the senator's rebuttal?” He questions, wishing he paid more attention to what you were saying.

“No, I uh, sorry, that just came out,” you laugh nervously, trying to do some damage control “sorry, that was unprofessional of me to say”.

Fox holds back a laugh, a smirk creeping up on his face as he swirls the remainder of the wine around the bottle “Yeah cause this is completely professional”.

You roll your eyes, playfully shoving him as you scoff “You know what I mean”. Fox’s smirk only gets wider, noting how you’re much more physical when you’re tipsy, seeking out any reason to touch him.

Could you possibly feel the same? Fox never truly saw that as a possibility until now, knowing duty must always come first and that he should never indulge in such fantasies… but if you feel it too then maybe testing out the waters wouldn’t hurt.

“No, I don’t think I ‘know what you mean’” Fox tests you.

You let out an audible sigh, knowing he’s being difficult on purpose. Fidgeting with your hands, you break his fierce gaze. How are you supposed to explain your sudden desire to compliment him? How can you let him know how much you yearn for him without blatantly saying it out of fear of rejection? Is that even possible?

“I just- you know how… I don’t know… c’mon, you have to know what I mean” kriff, it’s a struggle to get the words out.

Rolling his shoulders, Fox takes the opportunity to subtly lean closer to you. If it isn’t for the sensation of his hot breath hitting against your cheek when he speaks, you’re certain you would have missed what he says, his voice a mere whisper “You’re cute when you’re flustered”.

The comment makes you impulsively look back up to him, your eyes widening when you see his full attention is on your lips. You want to melt under his gaze, to pull him close and finally show him how you feel. “Commander…” is all you can get out, your throat tightening as you inch closer to him, eyes shutting.

Fox does the same, edging closer until his nose softly brushes against yours, the touch so intimate it almost makes him gasp with anticipation. He can hear the thudding of his heart thunder through his ears and he prays the thickness of his armour deafens the noise to you.

Your mind is whizzing almost as fast as the speeders outside but you try to ignore it, wanting to live in the moment and not think of the repercussions this might cause. Both of you continue on slowly, a warmth capturing your lips as his mouth hovers over yours.

Before the commander can fully press his lips to yours, a quick ping sound goes off, closely followed by a ringing noise you recognise. Fox sighs, knowing what it is too. Keeping his eyes shut, he lifts his arm up to his mouth, pulling away from you.

There’s a brief second you think there’s some hesitation in Fox but you know duty will always come first.

“What?” His voice is gruff, obviously not appreciating the interruption.

A familiar voice answers “Commander, there’s an altercation taking place outside the Chancellor’s Suite, sir. Senator Clovis is demanding to speak to the Chancellor over some, uh…”. There’s some scuffling and you hear Senator Clovis in the background, impatiently demanding they get out of his way. “Uh… some policy, I think, sir. We’ve already informed him that the Chancellor has retired to his private quarters for the night but he’s not interested in listening to us”.

Fox lets a few seconds pass before answering, mulling over what his head is telling him to do versus his heart. With restraint in his voice, he firmly replies “Keep him there, I’m on my way”.

Although this sort of reply is to be expected from the Commander of the Coruscant Guard, you can’t help the way your heart sinks. Yet, you force a smile as you quietly say “Duty calls”. Fox looks at you with sorrowful eyes, unsure how to respond and so he simply nods.

With the wine in his hand, Fox stands, suddenly feeling quite dizzy. He tries not to let it show, knowing he has a job to do.

You stand too, following the Commander as he goes to the desk to retrieve his helmet. Placing the bottle where his helmet was, Fox gives you one more sympathetic look before obscuring his face with the helmet, clicking it back into place.

Kriff, you miss his face already. Would it be unprofessional to rush over and take it back off? Ask him to comm his brother back and say he has more pressing matters at hand? You swallow, knowing this isn’t a viable option.

Turning to face you, Fox loosely gestures to the bottle “You can keep the wine”.

“You sure you don’t want to chug the rest before you go?” you joke, yet the disappointment is still clear in your tone “If you have to go deal with Senator Clovis then you might need the extra encouragement”.

“Chugging wine seems more your style” Fox teases, tearing his eyes away from your face and walking to the door. Like a lost puppy, you follow him again, not wanting to be without his presence.

With his hand hovering over the door’s command panel, he shifts his head to look at you one more time. “I…” Fox has so much he wants to say to you yet the words refuse to come out “thank you… for the drink”. He scrunches his eyes shut, glad you can’t see his face anymore. Out of everything he could have said, that’s the best he’s got?

He hears you shift and his eyes spring open, just in time to see you lean up and place a kiss on the side of his helmet. “No, Fox, thank you” you reply.

In a rare occurrence, the Commander is too stunned to speak. His brain short circuits and he has no idea how to respond. Never did Commander Fox think he would be envious of his helmet, but right now, he would do anything to have felt that kiss. Your lips so close yet so far away.

With an abrupt nod, Fox exits your office, waiting for the durasteel doors to shut behind him before taking a moment to process what has just occurred.

With Fox gone, a smile creeps up on your face, an electric feeling buzzing in your stomach. Proud of yourself, you walk back to your desk, sitting down with the bottle of wine in hand. Taking a quick swig, you revel in your small victory as for once, Fox didn’t correct you when you didn’t use his official GAR title of Commander.

If he’ll let you get away with that then maybe you should kiss him more often.

☆ 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗽𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗼 - ,, 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you know about love anyway?”

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

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

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

And what about you? What do you know about love?

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

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

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

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

But how can something so precious be so utterly disheartening? 

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

You don’t mean it at all.

-: ✧ :-

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

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

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

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

you: what the fuck is it now

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

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

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

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

You squeezed your eyes shut even harder, trying to clear your mind of all things Gojo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder if he had smiled. 

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe, Gojo had always been more than just a friend. More than a best friend, even. 

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

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

-: ✧ :-

“You have a what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“So…how old are you?”

Silence. 

“I’m twenty-two, just like Satoru.”

More silence.

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

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

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

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

He lets out a breath through his nose, and you perk up, waiting for his response. “I like pink. Do you like blue because it reminds you of Gojo’s eyes?”

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

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

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

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

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

Honestly, the kid scares you a little bit and it makes perfect sense that he ended up with Satoru Gojo as his parent. 

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

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

“Something like that.”

Well. That’s alarming. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo’s voice crackles over the phones as he laughs, “You see, I would. But Megumi keeps asking for you- actually, he insists that it has to be you.”

Maybe, you’re just being dramatic. This isn’t that bad anyways. 

This time when you step into the Gojo household, your beloved best friend already has one foot out the door. Normally, he lingers, giving you both sickly sweet goodbyes, scooping up a struggling Megumi into his arms to plant a big wet kiss on his cheek. 

He offers you one too, which you quickly decline. 

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

You pout, slightly alarmed, “But Satoru, I have an essay to work on!”

"Just use my laptop!” he shouts as he runs off. You wonder how he has the time to do any of his own assignments. 

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

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

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

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

Your first guess is his own birthday. Satoru has a habit of acting like his birth reset the course of planet Earth, so it wouldn’t surprise you if that was also his password. Surprisingly, you’re wrong. And you’re wrong about it being Getou’s birthday, or Megumi’s birthday (which you only learned recently), and even your own birthday. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo and behold, it worked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-: ✧ :-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown, following him, "Megumi goes to school?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whining about how you were his or whatever," Gojo trails off, his voice getting quieter as he begins to mumble. "As if I didn't know you first."

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

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

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

He gives you an incredulous look, scoffing in offense, "Gojo? You mean Satoru—first of all."

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

"Second of all," he shouts, "no. I am not jealous of some kid!"

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

It makes your stomach twist when you realize that Gojo is nothing more than a good friend. And he'd never see you as anything more than that. 

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

"Nothing, coffee is fine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what? Leave you to complain at me about how you slept weird?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You're so annoying."

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

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

This surprises you. 

Sure, when you first met him, Megumi wasn't the kindest. but it didn't take you long to break him out of his shell. He wasn't the most talkative, but it was the little things: when he leaned into your side while you sat beside him, when he mimicked the way you had eaten. Megumi is observant and mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery. 

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

Gojo exhales something of a laugh, "That's because he loves you."

"I think 'love' is pushing it-"

"No, no! You should've seen him today, bitching and moaning about how I'm making him leave you." He rolls his eyes with a groan, muttering to himself in annoyance. 

You smirk, pointing at his face to make a quip about him rolling his eyes, when someone begins to bang on the front door. There's a quick, rapid succession of knocks, and then: "Satoru! Where are you? You have class!"

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

Getou stands with his hands shoved in his pockets, brows furrowed until he realizes it's you who's opened the door, and not his perpetually tardy friend. He breathes out your name like it's a song. "Nice to see you," he smiles, bending down to meet your gaze. Your cheeks grow warm, involuntarily. 

Though your affection may lie with Gojo, Getou was still every bit as charming, and then some. 

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

"Good to see you too, Suguru," you grin back, wrapping your arms around your waist. 

He shuffles a bit closer to you, and you don't hesitate to lean against him, still somewhat tired from your slightly rude awakening. Getou moves with ease as he slips an arm around you, bringing you into his side. 

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

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

Suguru, on the other hand, simply raises an eyebrow, "Are you sure about that? Today is Tuesday, not Wednesday."

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something on my face, Suguru?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put that fucking pout away and I might agree.”

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

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

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

-: ✧ :-

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

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

“Ready for dinner?”

You nod your head, getting up, “I’m helping.”

"I figured,” he laughs, leading the way into the kitchen. You watch as he puts on the stupid apron Shoko had gotten him as a gag gift a few years ago. ‘Kiss the Cook!’ is printed in red cursive on the front with kiss marks and red hearts around it.

Gojo catches you looking at the words, leaning closer while pointing at his lips. “Well? You read the apron, Angel.”

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

“Not all of them, but this one is.”

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

“It's special 'cause I said so.”

You scoff, “In your dreams, dumbass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is really nice,” Gojo hums, resting his chin on your shoulder. “We should do this more often.”

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

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

There's a whisper of something painful in the back of your mind. You ignore it.

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

-: ✧ :-

It’s been a few days since you’ve started babysitting Megumi. You fell so easily into their routine, like you were always meant to be a part of it. And when you listen to Gojo complain about how m\Megumi likes you more, you begin to believe that you were. 

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

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

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

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

You briefly wonder what Gojo’s plans are, whether he’ll be taking Megumi home to his family. You highly doubt it—Satoru would hate to be on the receiving end of a stream of endless questions. How was he meant to explain Megumi anyway?

Along with that thought, comes another: would Megumi miss his family over the holidays? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello. Where’s Nanami?”

The abruptness of the question barely phases you. You’re used to Megumi’s bluntness.

“Well…Satoru forgot to tell Nanami to get you today, so I showed up instead,” you answer, leading Megumi towards Gojo’s car. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My Family.”

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

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

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

“This is beautiful, Megumi,” you whisper, sticking it onto the fridge with a magnet advertising Las Vegas. Something malicious squeezes around your lungs, digging it’s claws into your heart but you gulp back the pain. 

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

You hate it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a crash, a large stack of books laying on the floor, papers scattered everywhere. Megumi stands next to it, eyes wide and terrified. His small hands curl into little fists and he takes a deep breath. “Didn’t mean to. Sorry.”

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

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

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

-: ✧ :-

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

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

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

‘Have you gotten a boyfriend yet?’ 

‘Can we expect an engagement soon?’ 

‘Any plans for kids?’

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

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

gojo 🤑: hey bbg 😳

you: kys  what do u want

gojo 🤑: what are ur christmas plans 🤔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave your family. I don’t like Gojo.”

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

Megumi, however, finds none of this amusing.

“I love you, Megumi,” you say between breaths, “Happy birthday!”

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

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

"I’m just better.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo 🤑: omg look at u my little genius 🥰

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

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

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

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

you: yeah i’m wrapping myself up rn

gojo 🤑: pics or it didnt happen 😋

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

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

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

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

You weren’t expecting Gojo to invite you to his New Year’s party. In fact, you weren’t expecting him to hold a party at all. As much as he likes parties, Gojo’s never one to throw one, especially at his place. 

In retrospect, going was probably a bad idea. If only you knew that before you agreed. 

-: ✧ :-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I hate surprises.”

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

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

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

Your cup is empty and you make no moves to fill it again, not wanting to exit the good conversation you’re having. You like hearing Nanami talk about his work, hearing Shoko complain about her lab partner, and hearing Getou’s jokes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’re you–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your back hits his comforter, you pull him closer.

The woman sits silently and weeps.

-: ✧ :-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought of Megumi sends you spiraling further. How can you face Megumi after this? How can you face Gojo? He might not remember, but you always will. You’ll always remember the warmth of his hands, the way he held you near like you were everything. 

The woman tells you you’re sick.

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

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

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

You slept with Gojo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo 🤑: hey when did u get home?

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

‘He hates you.’

you:  shoko picked me up 

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

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

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

gojo 🤑: yeah me too lol

You hate it. 

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

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

‘What would he think of you?’

‘You’ve lost both of them.’

‘You should’ve listened to me.’

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

-: ✧ :-

The following day, Gojo informs you that Megumi asked for you to babysit him. 

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

So you sit on the couch, right next to Megumi as he reads from his new book (a Christmas present from Gojo). He’s laying against you, his head resting against your arm. Neither you, nor Gojo, have said a single word to each other.

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

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

“Did you guys fight?”

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

You rush to explain, “No! No, we didn’t fight.” He doesn’t seem to believe you; Gojo walks over to you both, taking a seat next to him. 

“We’re just tired, Megumi,” he tells him, a hand rubbing circles into his back. You feel terrible. 

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

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

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

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

His hands cling to the fabric of your shirt, “If you did fight with Gojo, please forgive him. Don’t leave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

-: ✧ :-

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, as you stand waiting for Megumi, his school is decorated in a plethora of pinks, reds, and whites. Valentine’s Day is swiftly approaching and it fills you with a kind of bitterness you keep hidden. 

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

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

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

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

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Megumi grumbles, walking off ahead of you to get to the car. You smile down at the chocolates and the handmade card. Something tender and sweet fills up your chest—you feel lighthearted. 

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

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

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

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

“You suck and she doesn’t.”

“You are so cruel.”

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

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

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

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

“Who knows? Maybe you have a secret admirer.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

-: ✧ :-

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

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

The woman stays quiet. 

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

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

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

You silently plead for your chance at love. 

Today, Megumi’s spending the day at Nanami’s house, along with a few of the kids he tutors. You’ve been absolved of your babysitting responsibilities. You miss the little boy, though.

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

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

you:  i wish i never met you.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s certainly strange being back here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thats basically what kids say when they want to say ‘Fuck off’!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have him exactly where you want him.

When you return home, hand in hand, Megumi perks up at the sight of you both. Getou sits next to him, assigned to pick him up from Nanami’s place after Gojo decided to meet up with you.

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

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

The woman simply smiles.

-: ✧ :-

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s always loved you. For him, it’s always been you. 

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

I cannot believe there's absolutely no way to watch free shows and movies anymore, there are too many paid streaming platforms and pirating websites have viruses and ads preventing you from watching it uninterrupted((.)) id rather follow the rules and purchase media moving forward because it is too inconvenient. Seriously, free and no ads or viruses with 1080p streaming is DEAD.