where you go, i go (2)
TEEN!gojo x FEM!reader (soulmate AU)
TW⚠️: angst, toji being toji, reader thinks about killing someone, gojo is in his tweaked out enlightenment era soooooo gojo a little creepy and eerie
Part 2 of what you see, i see
She had been going through the motions for the rest of the day, she hadn't even bothered to stop by her school clubs, until she arrived home. A sickly sweet scent of pastries attacked her senses the second she entered. Her house doubled as a bakery for the first floor. It was a popular hang out place for people her age especially for couples. There was a parade of them this time - cheerful couples were already sharing their coffees and sugary pastries.
The universe was laughing at her. It had to be. Why else would there be so many happy couples in the store right now? It was pointing and laughing hysterically on the ground saying: "That's what you get for ignoring me! That's what you get for resenting my gift to you!" Because that's what a soulmate was, a gift. A rare and wonderful gift that no one believed in, except for those who have experienced it themselves, and she had lost it; lost him.
She almost cried on the spot.
Her mother waved gleefully from behind the register, her daughter seldom returned it as she went up the stairs. She dropped her school bag in her room besides her desk and, face first, flopped on her bed.
She closed her eyes. Nothing, there was nothing.
Her lip quivered as tears began to sting her eyes, but she couldn't cry. Not when her mother was expecting her to change and put on an apron and help as she always did after school. She could silently mourn him tonight.
She let out a shaky breath. Did she even have the right to mourn him? She had never met him or talked to him. Everytime she thought of him recently was only to insult him or dismiss him entirely. No, she did not have the right to mourn him and she deserved to feel empty on the inside.
She put on a clean apron and slugged her way down stairs with a smile as she took over her mother's place at the register. Her mom kissed the top of her head and beamed at her with a thumbs up.
She never understood why so many people hated working retail, but now, she did. She had to force a smile and treat every customer kindly, all the while, she was dying on the inside.
A man had come in. Tall and insanely buff, a scar on his mouth. He ordered the cheapest pastry on the menu and handed her a wadded up yen. Her blood turned cold when their fingers brushed.
Her mother quickly took the money away from her as she gave her a quick command to check on the oven in the back.
She swallowed and listened to her mom. Her steps were quick as she pushed the double doors that led to the kitchen, she hugged herself.
It was him. It had to be him. That was the man who killed Gojo Satoru. She reached for a knife and gripped it tight. She should kill him. Her soulmate was dead and he was the reason why. She should try and avenge him.
Sheshouldsheshouldsheshouldsheshould-
The oven blared next to her. Her head snapped to it as the knife clattered on the ground, and with shaky mitted hands she opened the oven, and took out the fresh pastries.
Those were dangerous thoughts; thoughts she never thought she would ever have against anyone. She took off the oven mitts and looked outside the circle window of the kitchen - he was leaving and her mother was watching him like a hawk, even when the bell rang sharply with a muffin in his mouth as he walked outside with the rest of the crowd. She didn't know what possessed her to run after him, but she did. Maybe, all she wanted to know was why he had killed Gojo Satoru. Maybe, she wanted this man to kill her too, so she wouldn't feel empty inside anymore.
A blur of a conversation as the words tumbled out of her mouth: "Why? Why did you kill Satoru?"
She didn't register anything other than his gruff voice, "Ah, he had a soulmate. If I were you I'd keep that information to yourself from now on." Uninterestedly, he continued, "You wouldn't want the Gojo clan to know about you. No doubt, they'll try to marry you off to another member of the clan." and then, kept walking.
She didn't hear the interest in his voice when he said to himself, "But she would be worth a lot of money if I did take her to them." He would negotiate a price first to see if he was right about her being worth any money. He would worry about that later, right now, he had a star plasma vessel to turn in.
A sharp tug on her arm is all that stopped her from running after him again.
"______! What were you thinking?" her mother gritted out as she led her back into the bakery. Her mother's voice is strict and unwavering, "Go to your room."
And she did.
She tossed the apron on her desk and kicked her school bag. How was she supposed to live like this with the rest of her entire life half-full?
A sob violently escaped her.
This was how everyone else in the world lived, she realized.
Aching and alone.
Desperate and searching.
Wanted and unwanted.
Now, she was just like everyone else like she had always wanted. She supposed, she couldn't complain.
She laid in bed, wrapped herself in a blanket - trying to keep warm, but she doubted, she'd ever feel warm again as she cried herself to sleep.
She dreamt about Satoru. Flashes of a long chain, of red, of purple, of blood, of a crowd clapping, of someone wrapped in a white sheet, of a long dark hallway.
The universe was laughing at her again. Why else would it give her dreams about him?
An uneasiness settled into her bones. Someone was watching her. The grim reaper, no doubt wearing the face of her soulmate's assassin. If death wanted her, so be it.
She kept her eyes closed.
She saw herself sleeping soundly in death's gaze. She saw the time pass through her window changing from sundown to night as death continued to watch her intently.
Hours had passed.
00:57:39
She wondered at what specific time the grim reaper would take her.
1:13:01
Did it want her to open her eyes?
1:13:10
Probably.
1:13:15
The grim reaper has been patiently waiting for her.
1:13:17
Why keep death waiting then?
1:13:20
Her eyes fluttered open.
Beautiful, vibrant cerulean blue.
It was not death. It was -
"Satoru," she whispered.
"______," he whispered back.
Satoru was sitting down on the floor extremely close to her bed with his legs crossed while his hands rested neatly on his ankles. There was dry blood on his face and on his white dress shirt.
Her mouth moved but no sound came.
"You were crying," he said as he caressed her cheek soothing his thumb along the trail of stained lines that her dried tears had left, "alot."
So, he had seen everything.
She put her hand over his and gently rubbed circles.
Satoru scooted closer to her bed, "I didn't like seeing you cry," his hand trailed up to her scalp, "or frown," and gently ran his fingers through her hair.
He laid his head down on her bed and stared at her with those vibrant, sparkling eyes; eyes that could see everything she could never see.
She touched his cheek gently, "I didn't like not feeling you."
Her whole body shivered. Satoru was here, in front of her, and she was still cold.
"Are you still cold?"
She nodded.
Never letting go of her, he kicked off his shoes and climbed under the blanket with her. He wrapped his legs around hers as her arms wrapped under his uniform jacket.
With his hand still tangled in her hair, he said, "Better?"
His heartbeat had returned to her. They were beating in unison again.
"Better," she hummed. "You?" She asked.
His lips pressed softly on her forehead, "Much better." He tugged her in closer into his chest.
She smiled.
She was warm again.
@whatamidoing89 @mr-underhills-things
Part 1: what you see, i see
Part 3: you know i adore you
Part 4: i'm crazier for you
Part 5: baby, you're the life of the party
Part 6: something's made your eyes go cold
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mehehehe.....piarles + 25 or 45 🫶
25 = Green Card Marriage
45 = Vampire and Hunter
hehehehehehehe... let's see about 25 and 45 🤭👀
"It's brilliant, Charlito!" Pierre insists, spreading his arms like he's saying, come on. "I'm a hunter, so I'm allowed to settle in any country I want. If you're married to me, you'll be allowed to settle there too, and you can get that position at Rutgers like you have always wanted."
Charles folds his arms. "I'm a vampire, Pierre," he reminds him, pointedly. "Or have you forgotten?"
Pierre folds his arms, too, mirroring Charles' own pose. "Of course I haven't forgotten, calamar."
Calamar. As always, the nickname takes Charles right back - to that day in the back of his parents' garden, when Pierre had decided to come over for a surprise visit and he'd found Charles. Drinking. It had only been from a blood bag, of course (Charles would never kill a person, and he'd been too young then to know about charming someone to let him drink just a few sips) but it had still been more than enough for Pierre to understand what was going on. Pierre had frozen where he stood, eyes blown wide.
And Charles had thought, no no no, and he'd thrown himself at Pierre before he could think better of it. "Please don't leave, Pierrot, please, I promise I'm not evil and we're not evil, I don't care what they say on the news because it's not true, we don't hurt people, we don't hurt anyone, just... please don't go. You're my best friend, please -"
Pierre had stopped him there, putting a gentle hand over Charles' mouth. "I don't care that you're a vampire, Charles," he'd said with surprising firmness for a ten-year-old. "You're my best friend too. And, anyway, you're less of scary vampire and more like... a clingy little squid."
"I'm not!" Charles had shrieked, but of course Pierre had taken to calling him that every day from that moment on. (Charles never protested too much, because the nickname always felt like Pierre's way of saying I know what you are and you're my best friend anyway; I'm not going anywhere.)
"... Charles? Earth to Charles?" Pierre is asking, waving his hand in front of Charles' face. "Ah. Hello again. Did you go to vampire-planet?"
"You know we're from the same planet as you," Charles says immediately, rolling his eyes. "Or didn't they teach you that at hunter school?"
"Mmm, no, I think I skipped that module," Pierre says, and then he grins cheekily, tongue between his teeth.
Charles swats at him, and Pierre catches his wrist easily, his Hunter-trained reflexes quick as ever. Charles' breath catches.
It shouldn't be hot. It should be the opposite of hot, for fuck's sake - those kinds of reflexes are trained to kill people like Charles.
Except, Pierre didn't become a hunter to kill vampires. No - he did it for Charles. Not to hunt him, but to learn how to protect him from other hunters.
So, yeah. It's seriously hot when Pierre shows off some of those skills of his.
"Are you going to let go of me?" Charles asks, swallowing thickly. He can't help the way his gaze flickers to Pierre's fingers wrapped around his wrist, still holding him tightly in place.
You could hold me like that any time you want, Charles thinks, and fights against his blush. It shouldn't even be possible for vampires to blush, for fuck's sake, but Pierre manages to get Charles to do it anyway.
Pierre, thankfully, seems oblivious to Charles' spiralling thoughts. He winks at Charles, playful and cheeky as he always is. "Nope," he says, popping the p. "Not until you agree that my idea is brilliant."
And, right. Right. Charles had almost forgotten the reason why they're even here - Pierre's stupid, hair-brained scheme to get Charles his dream job at Rutgers.
Rutgers, which still does not allow any supernaturals onto its teaching staff, let alone Monégasque vampires.
"It's a terrible idea," Charles says flatly. "They'll never let me teach there if they suspect I'm a vampire."
"But if you're married to a hunter, nobody will ever suspect you're a vampire," Pierre points out, triumphantly. "See? It's genius."
Charles has to admit that it's... clever. Absolutely insane, yes, but clever.
Pierre must be able to read it on his face, because his eyes light up like his favourite F1 team has just won a race. "See! You do think it'll work!" he crows.
"I don't think -" Charles tries, but Pierre cuts him off with a dramatic sigh.
"I've done all the research, Cha. Trust me, there's no way that this can go wrong."
There is, Charles thinks, only a little despairingly. It's not so much that he's worried about getting caught - no, Charles is pretty good at charming officers by now. Half of the time, he doesn't even have to use his hypnotism.
What he's far more worried about is the fact that he'll be married. To Pierre.
Pierre, who he's only been in love with since the first time he called Charles "calamar" and stayed when anyone else would have left.
Pierre, who Charles knows would taste sweeter than anyone else in the world. Because that's the thing about being a vampire and being in love with someone: even one tiny sip of their blood will sustain you sixteen times longer than a random person's would.
It's bad enough just like this, when they're just friends, and Pierre throws his head back to laugh or slides his arm around Charles' waist, and Charles has to fight with himself to keep his fangs tucked away - because even though Pierre is so close and smells so good, he is not Charles' to taste or Charles' to have.
It's hard enough to hold himself back when they're just friends. Charles has no idea how the hell he'll be able to do it if they're fucking married.
But as always when Pierre suggests a hare-brained scheme, Charles is helpless in the face of his sparkling blue eyes and half-cheeky, half-pleading smile.
"Okay, calamar," he agrees, and even though he might just have signed the warrant for his own death-by-slow-torture-of-wanting-his-best-friend-too-much, it's worth it a thousand times over for the way Pierre beams at him and uses the wrist he's still holding to tug Charles into a tight hug.
"Rutgers, here we come!"
(50 Romance Prompts Ask Meme)
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