Ex's & Oh's | Gojo Satoru ✓

➸ why did i waste so much money on therapy only for this to be the outcome?

[A/N - please press play on the song above and let it run throughout this chapter!]

Gojo's POV:

This woman is going to be the death of me.

No seriously—it should be illegal to look that good.

I'm almost glad that we are currently stuck in this hellevator because I don't want the outside world to see how fucking good she looks. I don't want them to have any inappropriate thoughts of her, or any thoughts of her at all for that matter, period.

That dress. Her hair. Her scent. That dress. Her date is one lucky ass man, but I'm secretly grateful that this present situation hinders him from being the one to take off that dress for her tonight. As soon as I walked into the elevator and saw her, I had to school my features into a mask of stolidity so she didn't see that internally I was slobbering like an esurient beast; wanting nothing more than to pounce on her and make her mine again.

Gojo, please keep it in your goddamn pants.

But how can I do that when she looks so fucking drool-worthy? Her body...oh my God; if Aphrodite could reincarnate herself as a human, it would be in the form of [Y/N] [L/N]. Her hair is one of my biggest weaknesses, [H/L], [H/C] and silkier than a dress made for royalty. I can imagine my fingers tangling between those luxurious strands. Her eyes are dangerous, too. She's done her makeup differently tonight—I can tell, gone is the usual white highlight in her inner corners to give her that doe-eyed look; in its place is a sharp black triangle in her inner corners that makes her look like a cat, but in the sexiest way possible. Her lips are as red as a danger signal; the red of slit wrists; the red of lust and seduction.

I lean against the wall with one leg up, the other outstretched in front of me, my elbow resting on my knee. I can't help but watch her—she's currently sprawled across the ground, her fingers wrapped around the half-full bottle of whiskey. She's tipsy, I can tell. She's a lot more giggly than usual, and she hasn't glared at me once since we started sharing this bottle of whiskey between us. By the time we get to the end of the bottle, I think she'll probably be drunk.

[Y/N] loves herself a drink; there has been many times during the course of our relationship where I've had to pick her up from a club or a bar because she got too drunk when she went out with her friends on a girls' night out. She's also a lightweight. I might have to stop her soon, but right now, I'm having a little too much fun hearing what she has to say. I like it when her inhibitions are lowered. That's not to say that I'm not tipsy myself; I might be, since I'm feeling a lot lighter than normal, and hot. Extremely hot. I should take off my jacket.

We are meant to be talking about everything that happened two days ago between us, the explosive argument especially, but instead, here we are; deflecting and talking about everything but what actually needs to be talked about.