𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲 | 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨

⁸ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

bittersweet ab this chapter not sure if it turned out well but yeah, ill js post it and edit it later.

THE JJK S2 YALLLLLLLLLL

—

    "Satoruuuu," You groan wearily, sighing and slouching yourself on the couch as the shopping bags you hold onto rustle and fall on the floor, "Fuck, I'm so tired."

    You close your eyes as the dim lights of your living room shadow onto your features.

I furtively peer at you with the eyes of scrutiny, walking towards the cabinet where they keys to your cars reside and hang the key to my car there.

    The house is quiet, and I wonder where Gojo and Megumi might be.

    You call out to Gojo again, this time louder than before, "Satoru, where are you? I swear to god if that man is out leaving the house unlocked like that I'll-"

    "I'm here, I'm here," The said man's voice rings amidst you and I as he laughs from the staircase, stretching out as he descends down to the ground. His hands are in his pockets, smirk denting his cheek.

    My eyes don't scour anywhere, landing against your features as you turn around at the call of the white haired.

    I watch your eyes grow wide, brows threatening to mend with your hairline.

Astonished.

And I wonder what it is that has you so appalled. Gaze gawking at the white haired, your chuckle resonates and births a laugh, a laugh drawn straight from your ribs that render your eyes slim and cheeks plush, throat scarce of air, "SATORU, GIRL, WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!?"

    "HEYYY," He coos, "I look hot don't I?"

    "NAAHHH, WHAT? HOW'D THIS- HOW'D-" You guffaw between tattered breaths and my eyes never leave your fluent features, one that so genuinely laugh.

    "Nobara and Megumi urged to amplify my outstandingly-gorgeously-put-together face with your makeup, and I couldn't say no," He retorts in a pouty British tone.

    I finally tear my gaze away from you, finding the white haired in an absolute mess.

    He stands across from me at the end of the staircase, looking at himself through the window glass, a feminine pose adorning his stance.

No way. What the fuck?

I have to hold back from snorting as I look at his messed up face.

    He wears a staining red lipstick that coats more of his under nose and chin than his lips, that pink blush thing on his cheeks that gives him the impression of an actual clown, rings of black (which I assume is the eye liner) unevenly thick circling around his eyes and his hair tied into two short messy pigtails.

    I snicker lowly as the man walks over to you, grin stretching his lips.

You inspect every colored crevice of his skin amidst your laugh, the sound of it rumbling against the air and keeps your chest quaking with every beat.

    "I look so kissable, don't I? The kids made my handsome face even more sexier. '' He coos, winking at you and taking the groceries from you and placing them on the kitchen island, "Oo, that's a lotta stuff."

    "Sexier? Boy, you–" A pause, "—you look like you're auditioning for a fucking circus–Another pause, "—Monkey right now." Your laugh has you speaking between forced pauses as you hold your stomach, wording between torn breaths.