Satoru Gojo ● Worship

He shows up to your room late.

Hair damp from a shower, blindfold gone, white shirt loose at the collar like he forgot to button it right—or didn’t bother.

He closes the door behind him with his foot.

“Can I. . .be close to you?” he asks quietly.

No joking, no teasing.

Just Satoru.

You’re sitting on your bed, legs stretched out, and his eyes lock onto them like he’s been starving and suddenly forgot how to breathe.

He walks over slowly, sinking down on the floor in front of you.

Not the bed.

Not next to you.

Directly in front of your legs, knees spreading as he settles between them.

His fingertips trace your ankle first.

Barely a touch.

Just enough for a shiver.

“Every time I look at you,” he murmurs, “I remember I’m supposed to be the strongest. . .and then suddenly I’m not.”

He bows his head.

And presses the softest kiss to your shin.

Another just above it.

A third, slower, nearer your knee.

His warm breath ghosts over your skin every time he exhales, like he can’t help it.

He looks up at you through those unreal lashes, eyes glowing like something divine.

“You don’t know,” he whispers, voice breaking a little, “how good you are to look at.”

He slides his hands up your calves, thumbs brushing slow circles into your skin. His touch is reverent—almost shaky.

Another kiss.

Higher.

Lingering.

Then he rests his cheek against your leg as if it’s the only place he belongs.

“Let me stay here a little,” he asks, voice thick with feeling. “Just like this. With you.”

You nod—or maybe you don’t even get the chance to—because he’s already kissing you again, slower, firmer, like each kiss is a confession he’s been holding back for too long.

“You make me feel human,” he breathes against your knee.

“I hate it.”

He presses a kiss right above it.

“I love it.”

Another, softer.

“I love you.”

He pulls your leg into his arms, holding it like he’s holding a piece of you he cherishes too much to let go.

No jokes.

No teasing.

Just worship.

“I’d kneel for you every night if you asked.”

His voice is almost a whisper.

“Even if you never asked, I think I still would.”