INKBLOTS, gojou satoru

prologue. gojou satoru

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show up," he says cheerfully, pulling the door open wide and stepping aside to let you in.

"Please," you scoff, pushing past him, "I'm not so rude as to do something like that."

He laughs, and it is an obnoxious sound. Gojou Satoru takes a hand out of his pocket to offer help with your bag, a gesture to which your face contorts with disgust. Gojou Satoru is not a gentleman, this you know.

"Don't be like that, (y/n)-chan," he says, pouting as he sticks that awful sounding honorific to your first name (which you never let him call you by).

The room spreads before you now that you set your things down on the leather stool at the front. It's a familiar sight, reluctant as you are to admit that. A patterned wallpaper, spacious bathroom, small counter, two lounge chairs. Most importantly, a king-sized bed neatly made, and a box of condoms on the nightstand, supplied by the hotel.

"Come on, (y/n)-chan. You're in a strangely bad mood today," he teases, walking to you after he gives the door a light push to close on its own. "What happened? Miss me too much?"

A groan escapes your lips, but it fades as Gojou Satoru offers his innocent smile. Gojou Satoru may not be of this world, but he is still a man of worldly desires. You like to think these meetings with him confirms that. He leads you to the bed, a stranger's bed made by a stranger's hands (because you insist that meeting at his or your place would be the establishment of a relationship that doesn't exist, and that you like watching him waste his elaborate wealth), pinning you beneath him with your back sinking into the mattress.

Every night starts like this, and every night you cannot look in his eyes. You're afraid he will try to kiss you.

"Still no good?" he asks, that everlasting smirk still on his face. Your silence earns a small chuckle. "Ah well. We all have our limits."

There's no good, rational explanation for why you let him have his way with you. Worse, you are still at a loss for why Gojou Satoru finds interest in you. You have asked him twice before over the years, but he has given you nothing but vague avoidance. Regardless, all interaction you have with Gojou Satoru is a result of twisted human nature, you think, of your unbridled desire for some kind of proof of your worth in this world, for there is nothing for you here other than being the object of desire of the person who stands at the top. For you, who lives at the bottom, what else could you hope to obtain? There is something selfishly fulfilling about witnessing god incarnate appear so fervently enraptured.

"Yes," is all you can breathe out as he hovers his face above yours. You look in his eyes for one moment, thinking them so endless, so empty, and shake your head slightly. "I don't love you, Gojou-san," you say, your tone almost apologetic, "so I won't kiss you."

"That's too bad," he hums, the bed shifting under his weight as he pulls back to unbutton his jacket. "I'm a good kisser, you know."

"Sure you are."

Hatred is a twisted thing. You despise this man. You have despised him for ten years. You want to see him unravel and grovel at your feet, to see him at his weakest. You want to see him in your place and see if his pride would crumble. See him beg for affection, see him suffer the humiliation that festers in the pit of your stomach. Would he smirk so smugly if he were you? Could he? You want to know that he can't. But part of you thinks he would be glad to be rid of his worldly burdens. You can't expect things from someone who has nothing, after all.

So you wish to be rid of him. Yet your greed clings onto the fact that you of all people has Gojou Satoru holding them, that the one people admire more as The Strongest than as Gojou Satoru seeks you out again and again. To be special to someone is to be worth something, and doesn't it make you worth more if that someone is the god of your very world? You like to think you are something you are not, of course, and you know it has always been this way. Nevertheless, when the man who transcends the bounds of humanity stoops down to your level, there are times when you think that maybe, just maybe, you can reach him.

You can't, of course. But you're addicted to this feeling of substance you were never given the chance to feel in your youth. In this room, in his arms, you are something, so no matter how much it infuriates you, you're afraid you'll never be rid of him.

Instead, you'll make the most of it. You paid your toll, while the gods paid his. Life is unfair, yes. So Gojou Satoru will pay it back to you in their stead.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you let your eyes close, knowing how foolish this all is. A one-sided clash of pride, yours being damaged more by recoil than by retaliation. You are fighting yourself more than you are fighting Gojou Satoru, and perhaps to exist in this world is to exist in a never ending cycle of pain, which you suppose means you must be more masochistic than you thought. This heart of yours is a twisted thing, filled with loathing. The only reason you have yet to curse anyone, you think, is because there is no one more pitiful and deserving of the hatred you hold than yourself. 

. . .

3/17/24