Chapter Text
Gojo Satoru has never known love like this—one where it’s sweet and almost kind even in the way that he teases her for everything he knows how, even when she pushes against his jokes and swats the back of his head as she passes when he makes a comment she doesn’t like. He has never known love that feels solid in the way it moves, easy in the way it falls against his chest and settles there as though it was never meant to leave.
But as he watches her, as she sits on his countertop and looks at the macarons she’d brought home for him because babe, you’ll never believe the flavors they had, he knows the smile that pulls on his cheeks and the crinkles by his eyes that she can absolutely see behind his glasses are things that she puts there and things that are entirely meant for her.
As she grabs a caramel macaron and excitedly holds it out for him, he laughs, plucking it from her fingers and gladly biting into her sweet suggestion.
“Well?” She prompts, brows raised and her bottom lip pulled between her teeth in anticipation.
“Glad I’ve kept you around for the bakery runs,” He replies, and she leans off the counter to swat at his arm, tempting laughter past his lips. He steps forward, finishing the sweet and moving so he can stand between her legs. “Kidding—mostly.”
“Oh you’re awful,” She says, putting her weight onto her hands behind her so he isn’t quite standing nose-to-nose with her. “You know, I didn’t even go on a bakery run. It was a ‘oh I saw this and thought of my boyfriend, let me be thoughtful for once’ kinda thing.”
He hums, “And I’m entirely indebted to you, sweetheart.” He smirks and inches closer to her, but she continues to lean away from him. “Come on, won’t even let me repay you for your good deeds?”
“You whore,” She replies, though laughter bites at the corners of her lips. She sits back up and he goes to close the gap between them, but she leans then, grabbing another macaron from the box. By the time she’s returned to her spot, she’s holding it up to her lips and taking a bite—blocking him from her. He groans, bowing his head forward until he’s leaning onto her shoulder, the tips of his hair brushing against the exposed skin of her neck.
Even as he stands here like this, face burrowed into the junction of her shoulder and her neck—even as she calls him names and he returns the favor, something in him knows that this is the sweet affection he’d never thought to give nor to receive.
He feels as her fingers raise to comb through his hair, and so he sits back up, allowing himself the simple pleasure of looking upon her.
“Well?” She says for the second time they’ve been here, “Where’s my reward?”
He smiles and cups her jaw with his hand, brushing a few strands of hair that have fallen in her face out of the way. He leans in, almost closing the space between them, and then whispers.
“Finally.”
When his lips meet hers, she tastes of rose-flavored macarons—not his taste, but saccharine and lovely and hers all the same.