𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 (𝓖𝓸𝓳𝓸 𝔁 𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻)

.｡*♡ Gojo Satoru .｡*♡

word count: 1,327

akrasia (n.) lack of self control

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The strongest. The greatest. That's what everyone thought of Gojo Satoru. He could exorcise special grade curses with a flick of a wrist, never breaking a sweat.

His lineage had prepared for the moment he would step into his responsibility, and the sorcerer did not disappoint. He was born for this, quite literally. Satoru had always acted uninterested during his training as a little boy, to which the maids and caretakers would always whisper about how bratty this child was. He would let them, using the rhetorics as fuel to shut them up when he exorcised his first curse right before them. The boy had laughed and laughed at the look of shock on their faces, only then to leave and bother another group of gossiping adults.

He wouldn't show weakness. He simply couldn't. He would replace it with a sense of carelessness that oftentimes he truly felt. Though deep down, even then, Satoru knew he had expectations. He could not let everyone down.

His father was a silent man, one who would not speak to him until he was enough. He remembered pulling on his father's kimono with small hands, begging to be played with since the house servants were too busy cleaning. The man looked down at him with eyes not quite as blue as his son's.

There was a glint of something in his already harsh stare... dissatisfaction. He had wrenched the cloth from the child's hands, pushing him away. The little boy had stumbled to the floor, tears welling up in his eyes yet he didn't dare let them out. In a watery haze he watched as his father exited the room, closing the door behind him without biding any kind of goodbye.

Satoru's pride made him uncaring of this treatment as time went on, though naturally the inner child within him was a hurt. The hurt was released as a false confidence, a coldness disguised with a smirk and clever remarks. When he grew of age to start missions, the complaining throughout the Gojo clan grew still as his technique doubled in power. No one critiqued him anymore, in fact, one might have been scared to.

A lack of humility held consequences for those around Satoru. His childishness had practically tripled in size, as well as his handsomeness. He- a mere first year at Jujutsu Tech, had already heard the various rumors of his lineage, but now there was something else.

Missions became less tedious and more of an annoyance when there were pretty girls to talk to. Of course, there were so many of them to chose from, he couldn't just pick one. Gojo's selfishness made him eager to get a taste of them all and they gladly let him.

Men are quite dangerous when they know they are beautiful.

Part of him now wished the maids residing in his family home had kept calling him a spoiled brat instead of beginning to giggle whenever he winked at them. Maybe then he would have been spent more time focusing on his studies rather than trying to get with random school girls he could not recall the names of.

The first instances of his rapid 'dating' were a blur to Satoru. However, he did remember the first time a girl had walked in on him and another in the park after school, holding hands, kissing. She had recoiled, heartbroken, for she had truly thought that she was Gojo's true love.

The sorcerer watched her cry and for a moment he truly pitied her. This was only for a split second, the feeling of worry replaced itself with that entitlement he had manifested many years ago.

If one was not stronger than he, why value them over himself?

The sorcerer stood from beneath the tree, whipping out that soft tone girls seemed to go wild for. He had forced a gentle smile onto his lips, the same he'd just used to kiss another.

"I'm sorry," he had said, gathering her hands in his. "I just can't find it in me to like you."

The girl's eyes had widened at the boy.

He fumbled with his rounded glasses, allowing her to see those spheres of pure blue light. He knew she loved those.

"You understand, right?"

She didn't, but she nodded all the same. What both of them didn't comprehend in that moment was the sorcerer's inability to understand a true relationship, built on caring for another. He never quite had someone like this, considering the circumstances with his father. That man was a stranger to Satoru.

How could she love someone who had no clue what love was?

He watched her go, forcing away whatever remorse was left in his heart.

•••

All of this become a game for Satoru.

It was his past rushing up on him, having to face cold truths he didn't want to deal with ever again. Nights of restlessness or gruesome nightmares flooded his mind in his teenaged years as he tried to suppress the horrors of that mission. Of Getou.

He'd grown so detached from reality, from work, from life. There was nothing on this side of earth he had to care for anymore. Yes, this had all become a game.

Several years passed, holding hands became fiery kisses. Kisses became touches. Touches became sex.

He didn't care if he got caught. He didn't care if she screamed or cried or doused him with her drink. Another would always be around the corner, ready for a night of temporary pleasure.

Days began to jumble together into a messy concoction of bars and work. It had all grown so plain.

Until y/n.

Oh, y/n....

She had brought a light to his life he had not felt before.

It was a warmth that he craved to stand by whenever he had the chance. He was always in awe at how speechless he grew from just a mere glance from her. Y/n brought joy and wonder. She taught him to find beauty in the ugly, to appreciate everything around him. They both were broken in someway, but together they seemed to escape those binds of their pasts, even if it was for just one second. Was she his saving grace? It felt that way.

Three weeks had passed since y/n and Satoru's exchange in the studio. The artist hadn't even bothered as much as a text of assurance to Gojo, making him restless and ashamed.

He would periodically check his phone throughout the day with the hopes of seeing something, anything, but he knew that there would be no words from her.

This was all his fault, he knew this well. His own selfishness had gotten in the way of waiting, like he had promised he would. The audacity he possessed in those moments was indescribably sinful, and wished he could take back everything he had said.

Apologies were rather foreign to Satoru. The only true apology he had given in the recent months had been to y/n in the coffee shop. It was hard to explain, but he felt like any form of 'sorry' at this time would feel like utter bullshit in y/n's eyes.

But he was.

He had never felt so terrible. So wrong. It was that pride those maids had gossiped about oh so long ago. Pride was his downfall. At that moment, Gojo Satoru realized, pride was a thing he had to control. To learn.

He looked upwards to the school's grey ceiling, like a whelming thought overcame him. A small smile fell onto his features.

It had been quite some time since the strongest sorcerer had to learn something.

No matter how bad he wanted to speak to y/n (three weeks was quite a long time in Satoru's eyes), he could resist. He would wait for her voice. He would suppress his pride and make up for his wrongs. For you, y/n.

For you.

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<a/n: im making a promise playlist soon!!  it'll be composed of symphonic artists and poc musicians!
if u want to request a song, let me know!>