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hrts4tsumu · 7 months

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₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love. contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then! part iii of conversations on love: i | ii | iii | iii.v

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity.

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s.

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory.

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; even then, he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t.

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

It starts with the little things.

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23.

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying.

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set-up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly.

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy.

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze.

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry.

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji.

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away.

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them.

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in.

A chuckle escapes you.

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone.

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue.

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly).

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing.

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, gojo’s signature order).

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly.

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly.

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you.

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times.

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to nip and lick.

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you.

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning.

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage.

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice.

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming.

Is this what it means to be in love with you?

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you.

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palette. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing.

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there.

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wet wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will.

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen.

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin.

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own.

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare upwards, something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old.

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek.

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this.

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit.

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him?

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score.

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems.

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely.

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing.

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes.

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room.

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette.

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into.

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it.

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach.

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’.

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age.

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined.

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines.

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students.

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew.

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly.

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy.

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time.

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced.

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen?

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially.

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully.

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared.

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too.

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing.

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile.

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy).

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since.

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly.

You’ve been sleeping at each other’s places more often than not, and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too.

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you.

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked.

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue.

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows.

But it isn’t, and your smile widens.

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does.

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.”

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel.

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you.

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow.

“What made him ask?”

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity.

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.”

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get. It’s not like that though; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever.

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his.

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t.

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders.

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together.

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks.

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed.

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours.

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17.

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology.

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you.

He says it as if it is the simplest truth.

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll.

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think.

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.

“Something like it.”

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?”

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you?

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’.

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering.

Can he see? You’re meant for him only.

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away.

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other.

You cup his cheeks.

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.�� he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now.

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief.

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile.

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips.

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you.

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together.

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips.

You laugh—sprinkled in love.

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!”

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully.

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.”

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks.

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now.

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage.

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should.

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you?

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give.

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing.

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too.

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface.

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry.

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up?

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging.

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through.

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking.

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving.

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you.

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you.

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with.

He knows it.

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with?

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same.

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak.

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him.

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?)

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today.

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet.

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold.

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you.

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go.

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him.

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it.

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright.

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask.

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more.

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with Gojo when your heart can never take it.

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society.

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He’ll tell you eventually, you believe that much.

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him.

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you.

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips.

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly.

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks.

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching.

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry.

Your grip on him tightens.

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck.

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.”

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder.

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just you but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum.

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it.

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even.

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately.

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.”

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune.

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled.

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.”

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding.

You always do.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today.

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane.

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video on the internet. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making.

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything.

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over.

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy.

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky.

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life.

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.”

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you.

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way).

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now.

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

He’s shocked too.

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely.

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.”

The little laugh you make has him, completely.

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too.

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’.

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you.

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him.

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently.

The best part about being in love?

He gets to be in it with you.

Gojo can’t sleep.

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will.

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching.

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck.

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m.

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that.

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it.

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island.

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating.

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever.

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling.

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting.

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him.

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain.

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it.

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray.

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too.

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like.

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you.

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek.

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret.

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after.

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already.

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep.

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing.

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin.

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging.

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one.

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone.

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good.

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing).

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs.

(And he loves that about you).

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder.

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill.

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice.

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them.

He knows.

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you.

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only.

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you.

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy.

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides.

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.”

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love.

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night.

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong.

Are you happy with me?

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!!, to @vagabond-umlaut for being so lovely!! lifting me up when i was really nervous about this!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!! of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

#MY GAWDDDFF #/rb.<3

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hrts4tsumu · 7 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐎 (𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐃) 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐒

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader summary: faced with the risk of your clan being dissolved, you're forced to choose a husband. you take a risk and settle on what you think is the lesser of two evils. (he's really not that bad once you get to know him). genre: arranged marriage, acquaintances to kinda lovers, angst to fluff, cute ending (in my opinion) notes: mentions of naoya + misogyny + brief mention of consent wc: ~3.4k

The day you learn that you're meant to be married off is the day all hell breaks loose.

Your clan elders wince as you stomp around their meeting room, throwing chairs out of your way as you spew curses and insults at them. They watch silently before bowing their heads, avoiding their gaze as you release all your pent up anger, frustration, and sadness that only comes to a stop when a sob breaks free from your mouth.

"Why?" you ask, your voice choked as you sink to your knees in front of your grandmother.

"The clan is at risk of being dissolved," she explains patiently, and it almost feels as though you're five years old again, crying on the ground as she explains why running down the halls is unacceptable. "This marriage will lead to a merging of our clans, which would ensure our survival. This is your duty, you know this."

"Who are they?" you ask, trying to control your heavy breaths as she observes you. She reaches out to stroke your hair, causing you to flinch as another sob breaks free. "Don't touch me. Please."

There's a brief moment of silence as your grandmother's face falls, and she simply nods before lacing her hands together and placing them in her lap.

"There are two suitors who asked for your hand," your grandmother says, her face now void of emotion as she looks down at you. "The first is from the Zen'in clan. He's very accomplished, considered to be a genius in his clan, and he's ranked as a special grade 1 sorcerer. His name is Zen'in Naoya, and he's your age."

The name rings a faint bell in your mind, and although you can't remember much about the man in question, you can't help but feel a sense of dread creep up your spine. You keep your head down, trying to keep your voice form cracking as you speak once more.

"And the other?"

"Gojo Satoru," your grandmother states. "From the Gojo clan, of course. Special grade sorcerer, a year older than you if I'm not mistaken, and also considered to be quite strong."

You scoff at her words, earning a sharp look from some of the other elders. "Quite strong? He's labeled special grade for a reason."

"Those are your two suitors," your grandmother continues, ignoring your outburst. "You have the freedom to choose who you'd like to marry."

"Freedom to choose?" you sneer, finally looking up. Some of the elders exchange glances as your hands begin to shake, and they all turn away when you finally stand up. "What kind of bullshit is that?" You're selling me off and you still have the audacity to tell me I have the freedom to choose who I want to spend the rest of my life with? I don't know either of them!"

"You will go through with this."

Your grandmother's words are soft yet firm, void of all kindness that they had previously held. She looks almost tired as you send her a bitter smile, and she simply waves her hand in an attempt to get you to sit back down. You remain standing.

"The jujutsu world is not a kind one," she says, her voice light and airy as though telling you a secret. "The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can start trying to find some semblance of happiness in your life. You have a week to make your decision."

The clench of your jaw lets everyone know just how angry you are, yet relieved sighs are heard when you begrudgingly nod your head.

"Fine," you finally spit out, hands still clenched as you turn around and start heading towards the door. "But I want to meet with them before I choose. Make it happen."

"Ungrateful brat," you hear an elder mutter; a distant aunt of some kind if you remember correctly. "Having a choice is not an option everyone gets and you should be well aware of that."

Her words make you pause by the doorway, and you faintly hear your grandmother shushing her before telling her that her thoughts are best kept to herself. You don't give any of the elders the satisfaction of seeing your face, instead choosing to storm out of the meeting room and down the hall.

A slam of a door is all that's heard after your departure.

The truth is that you have no one to blame but yourself for the situation you currently find yourself in.

You sit comfortably on a large, plush couch, nervously waiting for Gojo Satoru to walk in. Your stomach twists as you wait for him to appear, smoothing down your clothes in an attempt to ward off your nerves as you look around the room. The Gojo estate is huge, and you find your eyes widening in awe as you take note of all the historic relics that they have in the home.

Another truth is that you lied to your own grandmother when you said you didn't know either of your suitors.

Gojo Satoru is someone you're familiar with, albeit not closely. He had been a second year when you entered Tokyo Jujutsu High, and you had been introduced to him in passing when he had just arrived from a mission while you set out on one with Nanami and Haibara.

You remember catching a glimpse of blue eyes and a cocky grin on his handsome face as he greeted his underclassmen, talking about the cursed spirit he had just gotten rid of before his gaze slid over to you and curiosity took over.

He had introduced himself to you, faintly recognizing your last name when you said it and asking about your clan and cursed technique. The interaction had left you flustered and Nanami had cut in to sent him off, telling him that having him around would only make your day worse. He had then proceeded to give you a judgmental look, disappointed that you had let yourself be affected by Gojo's good looks.

Your small crush was fleeting considering you didn't see much of Gojo after that, especially not after what had happened with Amanai Riko and Geto Suguru. You also didn't socialize much after Haibara's death, instead dedicating yourself to your studies and trying to get promoted to a grade 1 sorcerer before you even entered your third year.

Any and all exchanges between you and Gojo were brief, with the rare exception of being assigned to go on a mission together. A conversation about your performance at the exchange event here, casual banter there, that was all there ever was between you and Gojo. Nothing but superficial interactions.

If you're being completely honest, you wonder if Gojo even remembers who you are.

The bouncing in your leg is impossible to stop, and you find that your nerves only grow with every passing minute that you sit alone. You stand up abruptly, deciding to walk around to clear your head from all the negative thoughts that were swirling around. You think back to your meeting with Zen'in Naoya, cringing when you remembered just how badly it had gone. You find yourself absentmindedly wondering if your conversation with Gojo would be any better.

A small sculpture draws your attention, and you lean down to get a better look at it when you realize it belongs to the Heian Period. You reach out to touch it, fingers barely skimming the relic when you hear a voice.

"You break it, you buy it."

A yelp leaves your lips as you jump away, your back colliding with someone as large hands gently grab your waist to steady you. There's a panicked pattering as you spin around quickly, your shoes tapping softly against the wooden floor and your hands landing on a firm chest as you come face to face with Gojo Satoru himself. Stuttered apologies leave your lips as you back away, giving him a deep bow and keeping your head down even after you straighten up.

There's an amused look on Gojo's face as he reaches out to tilt your head up, letting his hand fall back down to his side when you finally meet his gaze.

"There's no need to be so formal, is there? After all, we arranged this meeting as equals."

The hesitance is clear on your face as you nod your head softly, and you simply watch as he wanders over to the couch and lets himself fall onto the cushions.

"Take a seat," he says, patting the empty space beside him. "I don't bite... most of the time."

He throws his head back and cackles at his own joke, and you find yourself holding back your own giggle at the obnoxious sound.

"Ah, that one never gets old," Gojo comments, wiping away a tear from under his eye. He sobers up somewhat when he sees you still standing, and he motions to couch once more in an attempt to get you to sit down. "No, seriously, come join me."

He watches you from behind his sunglasses, eyes hidden as you move across the room. There's a ghost of a smile on his face as he watches you perch yourself on the very edge of the sofa, back ramrod straight and hands folded in your lap as you purse your lips. A call of your name has you turning to face Gojo, and you find yourself speaking before you can stop yourself.

"You know my name?"

"Of course," Gojo scoffs. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Elders usually take care of arranged marriages in my clan so you don't even know who you're engaged to until it's almost time to wed," you murmur. "I didn't even know who my suitors were until they decided to tell me. And it's not like we spent that much time together at school."

"Someone like you isn't easy to forget. Besides, I personally asked for your hand in marriage," Gojo admits, and it takes everything in him to keep his smile at bay when you give him a shocked look. "I heard that Zen'in Naoya had also proposed and I intervened. I don't like him much, you see, and I don't think you'd like him either. And besides, we went to school together. I'm sure you'd rather accept a proposal from someone you already know, right?"

You give him a stiff nod as you school your features back into a neutral expression, causing him to sigh loudly and toss his head back once more as he sinks into his seat.

"Why are you so stiff?" he complains, turning his head towards you. "You weren't like this back in high school."

"You don't know anything about what I was like in high school," you quip, earning a smug smirk from him.

"I know that you were intelligent and hard-working. You were able to make grade 1 by the beginning of your third year and even managed to take on a special grade curse once," Gojo rattles off, earning a scoff from you.

"Everyone knows that," you counter, crossing your arms as you sent a half-hearted glare at him. "And you were on that mission with me! You helped!"

"I also know that you liked those dark chocolate croissants from the bakery downtown," Gojo continues. "You always went there with Nanami and he'd never tell me when the two of you were going because I'd bug him nonstop until he'd agree to bring something back for me. I also know that you always tried to make others feel good. You would let Haibara mess with your hair and you always laughed at my jokes, regardless of how bad they were or how well you knew me. You didn't laugh today."

You go silent, uncrossing your arms and letting them fall to your sides before leaning back into the couch cushions. There's an almost shy look on your face as you study him, a small smile tugging at your lips as you do so. Gojo hums lightly, seemingly pleased with your actions.

"Okay, so maybe you do know what I was like when I was in high school," you begrudgingly admit, shifting your body towards Gojo as you rest your arm on the back of the couch. "But if you think that's enough to butter me up so that I accept your proposal, then you're mistaken."

"That's where you're wrong," he says teasingly, wagging a finger in your direction. "You need this marriage more than I do. From what I hear, your clan's almost done for."

Your features harden at his words, and Gojo mentally kicks himself when he realizes that he's managed to put you on the defensive once again. He sighs softly, twisting his body to mirror yours and gently reaching out to grab your hand, giving you ample time to move away if you wished to do so.

You do your best to repress a shiver as his hand brushes yours, and he hesitates slightly before he makes the decision to actually hold your hand.

"Just let me help you."

There's a flash of blue as he glances at you over his sunglasses, sincerity shining bright in his eyes. You release a breath you didn't even know you had been holding in, blinking a few times before gently pulling your hand out of his grasp.

"I have three conditions," you say quietly, bringing your hand back to your lap.

"Do you really think you're in a position to make demands?" Gojo asks softly, causing your gaze to fall to the couch. There's no malice in his words, only genuine curiosity present as he studies you intently. His tone only makes your heart ache more, and you almost wish he had been harsh with his words.

You spare a glance at him, and when he sees your eyes shining with conviction, he laugh in surprise.

"I like you," he comments, leaning forwards and giving you a full view of his eyes. He looks amused as he tucks one leg underneath the other, a futile attempt to get comfortable. "I agree to whatever conditions you have."

"What?" you ask, eyes narrowing as he nods. "You haven't even heard what I want."

"I'm sure they're reasonable but I'll bite," he says, his face turning serious as he waves his hand. "Let's hear them."

"First, if you want me to marry you, you can't keep me at home," you state. swallowing harshly as you nod your head firmly. He looks slightly taken aback at your words, a quiet hum leaving his lips as he nods. "I will continue to be a sorcerer and take missions as they're assigned to me."

He opens his mouth to speak, only to get cut off when words keep tumbling out of your mouth.

"A-And when we eventually move in together, I won't be doing everything alone. Chores will be split evenly between the two of us."

Gojo nods, eyebrows knitting together as he mulls over your words. "That's to be expected. Anything else?"

You take a deep sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to make yourself look more confident before you meet his eyes with a steely glare. "No means no. I don't care if we're married, you respect me and my decisions when it comes to anything intimate. You will wait for my consent before our relationship progresses any further in any way."

The silence that comes after your words is nerve-wracking, and you start to feel frustrated tears build up when Gojo finally speaks.

"Ah, I see you've already met with Naoya," he remarks, leaning back slightly. There's a pensive look on his face and the hand that had previously held yours retreats to his side. You think that he seems almost apologetic as he studies you.

"Yeah," you mutter bitterly, shoulders dropping as you think about the Zen'in. "He wasn't very pleasant."

"I'm sorry," Gojo says quietly.

"Why? It's not your fault he's such a misogynistic prick."

There's a tense silence before you're opening your mouth again, words spilling out before you can stop yourself.

"I had barely stepped through the door before he was checking me out," you mutter, pressing yourself closer into the couch as you curl into yourself. "He told me that he could make me the happiest person in the world as long as I listened to him. That my place was to stand behind him and bear his children and when I asked about my duties as a jujutsu sorcerer, he laughed and said that a woman had no place in that line of work. You're right, I don't like him either."

"I agree to your conditions," Gojo repeats firmly, nodding his head when you look up at him in surprise. "It's a win-win situation if you really think about it. Your clan keeps keeping on, you don't have to end up with that slimy waste of space, and my own clan elders will stop pestering me about settling down. It doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be. We'll get along just great as friends, I'm sure of it."

"What about when they start pestering you about having children?" you ask, eyebrows knit together in concern as your mind races.

"We'll burn that bridge when we get to it, or however that saying goes," Gojo says, shrugging his shoulders as he rolls his eyes. His statement draws a giggle out of you, and Gojo watches you with soft eyes as you press a hand to your mouth in order to muffle the sound.

"So what do you say?" He asks, eyes shining with an emotion you can't quite place as he holds his hand out. "Will you marry me?"

Your shoulders still shake with remnants of your giggles as you lean forwards, placing your hand in his before giving him a firm shake. The two of you stay like that for a while, wide smiles on your faces as you study each other. You're certain that you've made the right decision.

"It would be my honor, Gojo Satoru."

You're summoned to the meeting room a few days later, being met with the sight of your grandmother sitting regally in her favorite wooden chair.

You kneel in front of her, bowing your head in respect before she reaches for your hand and guides you into the seat next to her. There's silence as she pours you a cup of tea, the gold accents on the porcelain teapot shining brightly in the sunlight streaming in through the window.

"Well, have you decided?" your grandmother asks, finally breaking the silence and waiting for your response. You hesitate for a few seconds, wringing your hands before you nod.

"Come winter, I will be marrying Gojo Satoru," you say, willing your voice to stay steady as you look up at your grandmother. You're taken aback by the sparkle in her eye, and she merely nods at your words as she fights off a smile.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you ask, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as she gazes at you.

"I just think you made the right decision. That's all," she says casually, waving you off as she struggles to get onto her feet. You're by her side in a second, gently grabbing her elbow and steadying her as she straightens.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that while the Zen'in clan sent a proposal, Gojo Satoru himself came to our estate in person to ask for a marriage with our clan," she explains, grabbing your hand and tugging you a few steps closer. "For your hand in marriage, specifically."

"Yes, I know. He did that because he knew I would be betrothed to Zen'in Naoya otherwise," you say in response, shaking your head as you remember the other man. "He's not a kind man, grandmother. Gojo and I used to be schoolmates. He was simply doing me a favor."

"How strange, considering that his proposal came in before the Zen'in clan's did. And he had the intention to court you beforehand as well," she responds airily, walking towards the door as your eyes widen. "But then again, what do I know? I'm getting old and my memory isn't as sharp as it used to be."

A sly smile makes it's way onto her face as you watch her reach the doorway, and she simply sends you a teasing wink as she watches the understanding cross your face.

"Do your old grandmother a favor, yes?" she asks, her eyes still shining fondly as she leans against the doorframe. "Give him a chance. He cares about you and I think he can genuinely make you happy. And he's quite easy on the eyes, you know."

"Grandma!" you yelp, feeling your cheeks heat up as she laughs and waves you off and disappears down the hall. You're left alone to mull over her words, and you can't help the way your heart seems to flutter at her admission.

You think that being married to Gojo Satoru won't be all that bad after all.

rbs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

#/rb.<3

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hrts4tsumu · 7 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader summary: a collection of moment where gojo finds himself falling harder and harder for you. genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, idiots in love i think notes: technically a prequel to "the lesser of two (presumed) evils" but can be read as a standalone, spoilers for jjk manga + anime, the exchange event scene is complete bs idk wtf happens but bear with me pls wc: ~4.8k

Gojo Satoru is sixteen years old when he first meets you.

You're half hidden behind Haibara, walking next to Nanami and nodding sagely as you listen to him speak. There's a smug grin on Gojo's face as he approaches the three of you, thinking about how impressed his underclassmen will be when they learn about the special grade curse he just took care of.

He's lost in thought— thinking about the best vocabulary to use in order to finally, finally, gain Nanami's respect— when Haibara finally moves out of his line of sight. He watches as Haibara turns to face you and Nanami, walking backwards as he finally participates in your conversation.

There's a brief second during which Gojo thinks the world pauses, his mouth going dry and brain going blank when he gets a good look at you. Haibara's sudden movement has left you entirely exposed, and Gojo tries his hardest to ignore the way his heart stutters when he sees you're smile.

"Ah, Nanami! I'm back!"

He bites back a laugh when he sees Nanami stiffen, robotically looking over at him and giving him a pained look before sending a nod his way. He doesn't hesitate before throwing an arm around his shoulders, swaying back and forth as he hold his underclassman close.

"You'll never believe how ginormous the curse I was assigned to exorcise was!" Gojo exclaims, wincing as Nanami elbows him in an attempt to push him away. He tightens his hold.

"Get away from me," Nanami grumbles, an embarrassed expression on his face as he gives up and crosses his arms.

"I will, I promise. But first," Gojo pauses, tilting his head down to look your way with his bright, blue eyes. "Who's this? It's rude to not introduce people, y'know?"

Nanami rolls his eyes before muttering your name, sighing in relief when Gojo lets him go in order to approach you. He makes sure to give Haibara a nod before coming to a stop in front of you and repeating your last name.

"I've heard of your clan," Gojo says, one hand in his pocket as he extends the other towards you. "Your cursed technique is powerful when you truly have a handle on it, or so I've heard. I'm Gojo Satoru."

He can see the slight hesitance in your eye, the uncertainness of meeting someone new visible even as you look away from him to glance at Nanami and Haibara. He decides he likes your attitude when you square your shoulders and shake his hand firmly, all traces of nervousness gone as you hold your head up high and meet his gaze.

"It's a pleasure," you say in response. "I've heard great things about your clan."

You speak your words so casually that Gojo is half tempted to ask if you truly know who he is; if you know just how powerful he and his clan are. But he hesitates when he sees the small smile on your face, and he realizes that you do know. You know exactly how important his name is and here you are, doing your best to have a normal conversation with him.

He thinks you're kind, and he's unsure if there is room for kindness in the world of jujutsu sorcery.

"So, how does your cursed technique work?"

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and he takes note of the way your fingers brush against his as you let go of his hand. A flash of surprise crosses your face before you realize that Gojo is genuinely asking, and your eyes light up as you start to explain, hand waving around for emphasis as you talk about the finer details of your technique.

Gojo only catches half the words you say, too distracted by the way your lips move to form words and the way your nose scrunches when you try to think about a good metaphor for what you can do to fully pay attention.

In fact, he's so distracted that he doesn't seem to notice that you don't stop talking, not even to catch your breath. You're so rattled by Gojo's sheer presence— his pretty eyes, his bright smile, and his ruffled hair— that you keep on rambling, using your hands as you speak in an attempt to prevent the others from noticing how they shake with nerves.

It isn't until you shoot a panicked look at Nanami that he intervenes, grabbing you by the collar of your uniform and dragging you away from Gojo as he scowls.

"I hate to cut this enlightening conversation short," he begins, disdain clear on his face as he gives you a look. "But we have a mission to get to. You two can keep talking later."

There's barely a goodbye said before you're on your way again, leaving Gojo standing in the middle of the path as you resume your conversation with Nanami and Haibara.

It isn't until the three of you have left the school grounds that Nanami side-eyes you, huffing out the faintest of laughs when you refuse to meet his gaze.

"Gojo? Really?" he asks, rolling his eyes as you shake your head at his words.

"I don't know what you mean," you proclaim, still avoiding his eyes as you keep walking.

"Sure you don't," Nanami says, feeling slightly nauseous due to how much he's thinking about Gojo. "And you two definitely weren't giving each other heart eyes back there."

"We were not!" you yell, slapping his shoulder a few times to cover up your embarrassment.

"Ow! Okay, you weren't!" Nanami concedes, grabbing your hand and pushing you away softly in order to get you to stop. "The two of you were having a really normal, really casual conversation. That's all."

He almost smiles when he sees the scathing look on your face, instead choosing to keep looking straight ahead as you reach the train station.

The silence only lasts a few seconds before Haibara speaks up.

"I don't know, I think the two of you would look good together!"

A defeated sigh escapes Nanami's lips as Gojo slides into the seat across from him, a huge grin on his face as he swipes Nanami's croissant off of his plate.

"Gojo," Nanami greets dryly, lips pursed as he watches his upperclassman. There's a moment of silence as Gojo bites into the pastry, eyes lighting up in delight as he sets it back down before lacing his fingers together.

"A dark chocolate croissant?" he asks, studying the younger boy from behind his sunglasses. "I didn't take you for the type to like sweets."

"I don't," Nanami sighs, a smug look on his face as Gojo takes another bite. "That's not for me."

Gojo freezes when he sees you walk in, watching as your eyes crinkling when you smile at Nanami. He observes you quietly, mouth slightly agape, as you ruffle Nanami's hair. The blond shoots you an annoyed look, scooting deeper into the booth when you slide in next to him.

"Gojo, hi!" you greet, your smile falling when you see the half-eaten pastry in his hand. "Was that my croissant?"

"No!"

"Yes."

Gojo sends Nanami a glare, lips twisting into a frown when he sees the smug look on Nanami's face intensify. His frown drops however, as he takes the opportunity to send you a charming grin, leaning in close in an attempt to grab you attention.

"Let me buy you a new one," he states, grin widening when you give him a shocked look. He waits a few seconds for your response, shoulders stiffening when you shake you head.

"No, that's okay!" you reply with a grin of your own. Gojo chooses to ignore the way Nanami's lips twitch in amusement. "Nanami bought me that one because he lost a bet but I don't really mind. I'm more in the mood for a slice of chocolate cake today anyways. I'll be right back!"

Gojo watches you stride up to the counter, smiling at the cashier before purchasing your cake. There's familiarity in the way you banter with the employee, and you don't look around or hesitate before locating the napkins and utensils.

"How often do the two of you come here?" Gojo asks, his eyes never leaving your form as you wait for your order.

"Every week," Nanami says, pausing for a second before continuing. "Or after every mission."

Gojo hums in response, silence falling over the two of them once more.

"You know," Nanami begins, a rare hint of teasing in his tone. "You can look away. She won't disappear if you take your eyes off of her."

Gojo sticks his tongue out at his underclassman, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat as he finally looks at him. Nanami meets his gaze evenly, looking almost bored as Gojo gets lost in thought.

"Let me know," Gojo eventually says, gaze now trained back on you.

"Let you know what?" Nanami asks uncertainly, nervousness settling in his stomach as he waits for a response.

"Whenever you plan on coming here. I'll join the two of you," Gojo says confidently, missing the way Nanami's face falls in disdain.

"Absolutely not," he replies, shaking his head firmly as Gojo shoots him an offended look.

"C'mon Nanami! Please?" Gojo asks, his lips in a pout in an attempt to wear him down. His pout only gets bigger when Nanami refuses, and he even lets out a slight whimper that only serves to make Nanami's eye twitch.

"I already said no," he states, almost unkindly. "I see enough of you at school, I will not have you are not crashing our class's hangouts just because you can't grow some balls and ask her out on a date."

"I don't want to ask her out on a date!" Gojo denies. The pink tint on his cheeks lets Nanami know he's lying. "I just like the croissants from here, that's all."

"Then you can come with Geto or Shoko. It's still a no."

"Fine," Gojo huffs, looking away as you rejoin the table. You pause briefly, glancing at the two boys in front of you before sliding into your seat once more.

"Where's Haibara?" you ask, digging into your cake as you look at Nanami.

"I don't know," Nanami admits, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he glances towards the door. "Maybe I should go look for him in case he got lost again."

Gojo stands up before either of you can move, giving you a lazy grin as he shoves his hands into his pockets. "Let me. I have to get going anyways so I'll be sure to send him your way."

"Thanks, Gojo!" you say, giving him a smile. His cheeks grow slightly darker before he hurries out of sight, and Nanami can't help but watch as Gojo sends you one last look before exiting.

Nanami is surprised to see that Gojo keeps his word, and although he sees him eating sweets from the bakery occasionally, he never shows up while the three of you are there.

What does show up every time they go to the bakery is a few bills in Nanami's pocket, a little note always secured to it.

"for the dark chocolate croissants but shhh don't tell her."

The exchange event is one that almost everyone looks forward to, except the students from Kyoto who know what Gojo is capable of.

So when they hear that he'll be absent from the event this year, off on some mission of high importance, they can't help but breath out sighs of relief.

You're in your second year now, a bit more mature and grown up than you had been the previous year. The past year has changed you, hardened your view of the jujutsu world, and pushed you to become a better sorcerer. You now hold the rank of semi-grade 1 and if you're being completely honest, you don't feel all that intimidated by the competition.

You manage to catch a glimpse of Utahime, who seems to be in high spirits after learning that Gojo would be absent this year. There's a couple of other students you vaguely recognize, but you end up sticking to Nanami's side as you wait for the event to start.

It's an abnormally small competition this year, and the only ones present from Tokyo Jujutsu High are you, Nanami, and Shoko. The Kyoto school had only sent four students, and you and Nanami exchange glances as you study them from afar. You think they seem kind of weak.

Your assumptions turn out to be right, and the three of you have no trouble beating them in the team battle the first day. The second day is full of excitement and concern, with the one-on-one battles being put on hold as they try to figure out how they're going to pair the students up.

The issue is resolved when Gojo Satoru walks in, a huge smile on his face as he greets the Kyoto principal with a witty one liner. He ignores the way the older man complains, turning to Yaga and giving him a brief report on his mission.

You watch his from afar as he speaks, studying him quietly from your seat next to Nanami. You don't see Gojo that often anymore, the previous year having taken a toll on all of you after the incidents with Haibara, Geto, and Amanai Riko. Between your intensive training and Gojo's constant missions, you hadn't really had the chance to sit and speak with your upperclassman like you had a couple of times before.

"You're not subtle with your staring at all," Nanami mumbles, grabbing your attention with an elbow to your side.

"I wasn't staring," you argue petulantly. "I just haven't seen him in a while, that's all."

"Sure," is all Nanami says, watching the way your eyes drift back to Gojo. "Just admit you like him."

"Who likes who?" Shoko asks, leaning forward from her place on Nanami's other side.

"She likes Gojo," Nanami says quickly, earning a slap to the head from you. Shoko's nose scrunches in distaste before she composes herself, giving you a friendly smile.

"You could do better but you could also do much worse," she whispers to you, earning a snort from Nanami. "This is good. He'll be happy to know."

"No! He's not going to know," you hiss in response, shaking your head furiously. Shoko opens her mouth to speak, only to stop herself when Gojo himself plops down into the seat next to you.

"Ooo are we sharing secrets over here?" he asks, leaning forwards conspiratorially. Your wide eyed stare goes ignored as Yaga calls for everyone's attention, announcing that thanks to Gojo's last minute arrival, the exchange event could proceed smoothly.

The conversation comes to a stop as the pairing are announced, and the poor student who gets paired with Gojo goes pale at the news. Shoko's match is first, and she ends up losing to a third year from Kyoto who took advantage of her hand-to-hand combat skills to pin her down. Gojo's match is over before it even starts, with his opponent surrendering out of fear before the battle even starts. Nanami's match against Utahime is also over relatively quickly, with him emerging as the winner and giving you an encouraging pat on the back as you walk up to take your place.

Your opponent is one of the third years, tall with an intimidating stare. You can feel your friends' eyes on you, and you make sure to remain relaxed as you study your opponent. He lunges as soon as the battle starts, and you weave back and forth, dodging his hits as you try to think of the best way to find an opening.

Gojo watches as you dance around your opponent, drawing out the fight by exchanging blows with him as you taunt him. He thinks that saying that you're exchanging blows is too generous considering the fact that your opponent hasn't been able to land a single hit on you at all. The fight ends quickly when you decide to use your cursed technique, and he watches you smile smugly as Yaga announces the winner.

He looks to his side to see Shoko already staring at him, eyebrows raised as she tilts her head towards you.

"You're hopeless," she scoffs, brushing her hair out of her face before leaning back in her seat.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he responds smoothly, turning back to look at you. He stiffens when he sees you looking in his direction, and he sends a grin and a thumbs up your way.

"Sure you don't," Shoko says in an amused tone, watching the way Gojo's ears turn red when you send him a thumbs up back. "Just tell her you think she's cute."

Gojo gives her a scandalized look, opening his mouth to tell her exactly why that would be a bad idea before his gaze drifts back to you. He stands as he sees you walking over towards the refreshments, brushing Shoko off with a half-wave before following after you.

"Hey!" he breathes out, coming to a stop next to you and reaching out blindly for a drink.

"Gojo, hey! It's been a while," you greet in response. "Sorry I didn't say hi earlier, we were in the middle of a weird conversation."

"The secret, right?" he asks, opening the random bottle in his hand and taking a sip as he tries to ignore the way you giggle at his words.

"Anyways, you did good out there," you tease, your eyes dancing with mirth as you glance at his former opponent. "You're so strong you didn't even have to do anything."

Gojo can't help but chuckle at your words, shaking his head lightly before leaning against the table next to him. "You did great too. You've improved a lot. I heard you're semi-grade 1 now?"

"I am," you confirm, a proud smile present on your face as you nod. Gojo watches the way your hair bounces with the movement, and he resists the urge to reach out and tuck it behind your ear. "I'm hoping to make grade 1 by the beginning of my third year."

"If anyone can do it, it's you," Gojo responds, unable to stop his next words from slipping out. "You're just incredible."

He watches the way your eyes snap to him in shock, a quiet laugh leaving your lips before you look away shyly. He still thinks you're kind but now he thinks that there is room in the jujutsu world for kindness if it comes from you.

"Thanks," you mumble, looking down at your feet.

"I mean it," Gojo says, uncharacteristically gentle with his tone.

A call of your name snaps you out of your shy state, and you turn to see Utahime waving you over frantically. You turn to give Gojo an apologetic look, biting your lip briefly before speaking.

"It was nice catching up with you," you say softly. "We should do it again sometime."

Gojo mutters a goodbye as you walk away, watching as you launch yourself at Utahime when you're close enough for her to catch you. He watches as you toss your head back at something Utahime says, your laughter ringing out across the field before you link arms with her and walk away.

"As I said," Shoko says, sidling up to Gojo as she places a cigarette between her lips. She glances at you before taking in Gojo's almost-lovesick expression, digging her elbow into his side in an attempt to break his stare. "Hopeless."

He makes sure to congratulate you on your promotion at the beginning of your third year.

He doesn't see you after you graduate from Tokyo Jujutsu High.

There's a rumor going around, that you've gone abroad to help in other countries and he finds himself wondering if it's true. He can't bring himself to reach out to Nanami and ask.

He finds himself frequenting the cafe you used to visit with Nanami and Haibara, ordering a dark chocolate croissant and a hot chocolate for himself as he takes a seat in a booth by a window.

It's in this same cafe where you find him, having been told by Yaga that it was where he spent a lot of his time.

His eyes widen in shock as you slide into the seat across from him, immediately recognizing you even if it's been a couple of years since he last saw you. He thinks that the years have been all too kind to you, and the soft grin pulling on your lips makes his heart race the same way it used to back in high school.

He's realizing that he never quite got over you.

"Gojo," you greet, the smile on your face growing when he says your name in return. "I'm glad I found you. I was told that you already knew all the details of the mission and that you'd be filling me in?"

"What?" Gojo asks dumbly, only catching half of the words you said. He straightens up when he processes the word "mission" and he finally understands why you're here in the first place. "You're my partner for the hospital mission?"

You nod eagerly, reaching forward and swiping the croissant off of Gojo's plate.

"Hey! That was mine," he protests weakly, still trying to figure out how you ended up being his partner.

"Consider this revenge for that one time you ate mine," you tease, giving him a sly wink before biting into the pastry. Gojo swears his heart stutters at the action, and he breathes in deeply before focusing on the task at hand.

"So why'd you come back now?" he asks casually, earning a soft hum from you.

"I missed Tokyo," you admit, putting the rest of the croissant down and wiping your hands on a napkin. "Kyoto is nice and I love Utahime, but I missed home. And Shoko, and Nanami, and you, I guess."

Gojo huffs out a laugh at your words, leaning forward and giving you a curious glance. "Kyoto?"

"I was hired after graduation," you explained. "They needed some extra help and I happened to be available. I would've stayed in Tokyo but they really needed someone. Now, what's this I hear about a special grade curse?"

Gojo manages to explain the mission to you without any more distractions, only pausing to see if you have any questions and continuing when you don't. The two of you take off as soon as he finishes, making your way to the old, dilapidated building on the outskirts of the city.

"Creepy," you remark, hands in your coat pocket as you look up at the building. Gojo hums in agreement taking a step forward before looking back at you.

"Remember, you're here to run interference in case something happens," Gojo say seriously. "So here's the plan: you stay behind me and stay alert."

He receives a serious nod from you in return before leading you inside, only for his plan to fall apart almost instantly. He thinks the curse is mildly intelligent; there's no other way to explain the way it separates the two of you so easily as though it had been waiting for your arrival.

Gojo can feel the curse following him, stalking him through the halls until it deems him distracted enough to attack. He's thankful that its chosen him as its target. He doesn't give it the chance to surprise him, immediately appearing behind it and kicking it into through the wall and into the waiting room next door.

He wastes no time in following after it, avoiding its attacks with ease and fighting back when he sees an opening. The two of them move back and forth in a distorted dance, and Gojo can't help the way he giggles at the thought before jumping away from an attack.

His laughter turns into an embarrassing yelp when he steps on a weak piece of wood over a gaping hole, the little, makeshift bridge snapping under his weight and sending his foot through the ceiling. He falls to the ground, arms supporting his weight as he senses the curse approaching eagerly, thinking it's caught him at some sort of disadvantage as it sprints toward him.

Gojo rolls his eyes as he raises his hand, getting ready to exorcise the curse and pausing when something— you, he realized belatedly— bursts through the door. There's a determined look on your face as you kick at the curse, and it's only when the curse disintegrates instantly that Gojo realizes what just happened.

"You just used a black flash," he says casually, his foot still stuck in the floor and hands pushing at the ground in an attempt to get up. You give him a confused look before glancing at the spot where the curse was standing a few seconds ago, kicking at the dust that had settled in the aftermath.

"Oh. Is that what that was?" you ask curiously, a thoughtful hum leaving your lips as you approach him. "Interesting."

"You didn't have to do that, y'know?" Gojo says, his tone filled with amusement as he watches your eyes drift towards his predicament. Your hands loop under his arms, gently pulling him up in an attempt to help.

"You sure?"

"Infinity," Gojo says, the singular word causing your mouth to drop open in realization. "The curse couldn't have touched me anyways. But I'm honored to see that you were so concerned about me."

"I wasn't concerned," you protest weakly, eyes shifting around the room in an attempt to avoid his gaze.

"You were," Gojo teases, laughing when you shoot him a glare. "So concerned in fact, that you manifested a black flash attack."

"Are we done here?" you snap letting go of him and taking a step back. He falls back with a grunt, and you don't wait for your response before turning around and heading to the door. "Okay, good. I'll see you around."

"Hey! Aren't you gonna help me?" Gojo yells, calling after you as your footsteps fade. He tries yelling out your name a few more times before giving up, gently guiding his leg out from the hole before flopping onto his back.

There's a grin on his face as he stares up at the ceiling, thinking about the way you looked as you fought the curse. As you saved him.

When the two of you give Yaga your report the next day, Gojo's eyes stay trained on you.

A couple of months later, Gojo finds himself wandering around an estate unfamiliar to him.

The garden is huge, boasting flowers that Gojo didn't even know existed. He crouches down to examine a small bunch of blooms that he thinks might be forget-me-nots, springing back up to his feet when an attendant softly calls his name.

He gives the young girl a smile before following her down multiple winding hallways, receiving a bow from her when they finally approach a set of large, mahogany doors.

"She will see you now," the attendant says softly, motioning towards the door. "Whenever you're ready, sir."

She leaves him alone in the hallway, and Gojo merely smiles to himself before opening the doors and entering the large room. He approaches the figure in the room confidently before kneeling down and bowing his head, earning a laugh from the person in front of him.

"Please, nothing of that, Gojo Satoru," the woman says, waving towards the seat across from her. "Take a seat. To what do I owe the honor?"

Gojo slides into the wooden seat before looking up, making eye contact with the woman he knows to be your grandmother. The matriarch of your clan.

"I have come with a proposal," Gojo says, ignoring the suspicious look he receives. "I know about the predicament your clan is facing. You're at the risk of being dissolved and I'm sure this will solve your problems."

"You're lying," your grandmother states casually, causing Gojo's eyes to widen slightly. "Tell me why you are truly here."

"How did you know?" Gojo asks quietly, looking down at his hands to avoid her intense gaze.

"Call it women's intuition," your grandmother replies, her eyes crinkling as she smiles. "Now, why are you here?"

Gojo takes a deep breath before straightening up in his seat. He removes his sunglasses, folding the arms and placing them on the table before meeting your grandmother's gaze head-on. "I am here to ask for your permission"

"Permission for what?" your grandmother asks immediately, her tone defensive as she questions him.

"I seem to have fallen in love with your granddaughter," Gojo admits, his heart pounding as he sees the corner of your grandmother's lips twitch. He steels himself before continuing, hoping to anything and everything in the world that your grandmother would hear him out.

"I am here to ask you for your permission to court her and eventually, should she be in agreement, marry her."

rbs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

#/rb.<3

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hrts4tsumu · 7 months

Text

gojo learning what a home smells like, mentions of food, not much dialogue except for the ending, kind of selfship coded bc this was supposed to be a talk post but then i kind of rambled and this came out so it’s not proofread and that’s that

each home has a specific scent to it.

you know, the one that builds over time, the so-called occupant odor that fills the air after a while of people living in it. it’s the aroma of the ingredients you use and the spices you often put into your dishes, the freshly washed clothes and especially that one detergent that is always a must, the cleaning products you use, and the scent of those who inhabit the house all combined that sticks behind and makes it so distinct. makes it smell like home.

but satoru’s house smelled empty. too empty in fact. it smelled clean, too clean for someone who’s lived there for years now. almost like a newly renovated apartment that’s been deprived of human presence for too long and it’s just the sharp scent of paint and construction materials that hits your nostrils when you walk in. a housekeeper would come by once in a week to take care of the place, not that there was much to do around — it was pretty clean. nobody cooked there — his fridge was almost empty, only water bottles in it. nobody did the laundry — everything was sent to the dry cleaning. nobody was there enough for their scent to sink in, even he himself. his house never felt like home to him. it was simply a place for him to shortly crash at. like a hotel of some sort, a place he’d only use to shower and sleep while for the rest of the time he’d be out going on missions, putting his life in danger.

that was, until you came into his life.

at first it was only short stayovers. you would spend a night or two at his place each week. but it was enough for it to start layering and spreading around — the scent of you, of him, of you together. when you came into his life out of literally nowhere, he would start going out of his way and take on less missions so he could be with you, more — so you would stay over and make dinner, ask about his favorite dish and then cook it for him the next time.

you would make pancakes in the morning. you would get your favorite ingredients and put them in his fridge. you’d get some blueberries and bananas, little bit of feta cheese even. you would place jars of powdered sugar and honey into the empty shelves in his kitchen. and little bit by bit the room would start to fill — some oats and cinnamon for autumn days, peanut butter because it goes so well with apples, a little bit of oregano for when you make baked potatoes, a little bit of garlic because it makes any dish taste better, some olive oil and lemons because that’s your go-to dressing for when you make salads, and some tahini for when you’re feeling posh but then realize it doesn’t taste quite right in some meals but eat it anyway.

little bit by bit his house would start feeling less empty and more like home.

you’d bring extra clothes for the day after the stayover and then forget the old ones there. he would buy you pajamas for when you come by so you don’t have to bring yours every time or wear a shirt of his when you don’t or sleep naked (not that he minds it). you would wash them all in the laundry, together with his clothes and yours, the ones you had left behind from before. but you would always need that one softener, you know, the one you absolutely refuse to wash your clothes without because it smells so good, and then you would put your pajamas and his next to each other on the bed and the clothes — in his wardrobe, and the room would smell so good and it would start feeling like home to him.

but.

no matter how much of yourself you left behind, it still felt kind of empty, especially on days when you weren’t around tiptoeing quickly from the bedroom to the bathroom in the mornings for a quick pee before coming back to bed and nuzzling into his chest, when you weren’t around dancing in his kitchen experimenting with a new salad dressing once again, when you weren’t around asking him to open jars, when you weren’t around for his eyes to see and his arms to embrace in the morning.

it was then when these four walls felt so foreign and nothing like home to him. the house still smelled familiar but not completely. just like a bland dish — you eat it and it gives your body the needed nutrients but doesn’t quite fill you up because there’s just something missing.

and tonight he decided to chase after the missing ingredient.

“so, listen”, he said while casually grabbing some greens through the salad with his chopsticks, “i am going to make you an offer you can’t refuse”

“if it has anything to do with me doing the dishes tonight and you folding the laundry tomorrow, i am out”

“love”, he paused, “who washes dishes by hand when there’s a dishwasher?”

“rich people like you might not know of this, but we, ordinary people, do not use the dishwasher for just three plates. we use our hands, a sponge and a dishwashing liquid”, you flashed a polite but sarcastic smile at him.

“okay, ordinary person that i love so much, then how about this”, he swallowed his bite and continued, “you move in and start being extraordinary with me?”

“we’re not using the dishwasher for three plates”, you raised your chopsticks and brought them threateningly close to his face, “but okay. i can move in here and start using your credit card more reasonably”

#AWEEW OMGG #/rb.<3

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hrts4tsumu · 7 months

Text

— THIS LOVE IN A PHOTOGRAPH ・❥・ S. GOJO

repost from a song matchup on my old account. for @fangirlings-world <3 hope you don't mind! contains. wedding night, husband!gojo, fluff

lıllılı.ıllı.ılılıı — photograph / ed sheeran

through the viewfinder of the polaroid camera, you focused on the sight of your husband, still in his suit from the reception, laying on the plush king sized hotel bed. two bottles are beside him, cider and champagne. your lips curl up in a soft, honeyed smile as your index finger presses down.

click!

"eh? how's that? handsome, right?" satoru grins when the photo reveals itself. it's boyish, reminding you of the first day you met him. back when you swore you'd never want to see him again. he's chewing on the complimentary chocolate covered strawberries. "told ya i could be a model, babe."

satoru shifts then, leaning back on an elbow while he playfully attempts to seductivley pop another strawberry into his mouth. you laugh and snap another photo, not missing the opportunity to capture the moment. satoru doesn't expect this though, making a 'whuh' noise low in his throat, narrowly avoiding choking on the fruit.

as he's having a dramatic coughing fit beside you, the polaroid fades from stark white to a kaleidoscope of colors, revealing satoru at his most raw—endearingly lame. the sight melts your heart, and you can't help but fall in love a little more.

satoru snatches the camera as you're busy cooing over the photo, aiming the lens towards a profile of you to catch you off guard—hair a little out of place and in your hotel bathrobe, fresh from your post-wedding shower. the day came and went, flying by in a rush of people and commands and timings and music and perfection. there was still a ringing in your ears, your blood still buzzing and limbs heavy with exhaustion. you've done enough mingling and socializing for the rest of the year.

now, it's just you and satoru; the man you've promised your entire life to. the one who holds your heart in his hands. and—a photo of you!

"look at that. my wife," satoru murmurs, testing the word on his tongue. wife. his wife. he’s a married man. "i should keep this in my wallet, huh? a picture of my pretty wife."

you frown, fighting the heat that rises on your cheeks. pretty? you're all bare and visibly exhausted from today. sleep-deprived. "w-wait, toru—no! take another one! let me go fix myself up and—"

"nuh uh," satoru clicks his tongue, holding up the polaroid between two fingers. "i like this one. when i look at this five, ten, twenty years from now—!, i'll remember this exact moment." when you settle back on your knees, he continues. "the lighting right now, that airplane that just went by, the smell of your shampoo, how tired your eyes look, the sock we found under the pillow—all of it."

and satoru looks exhausted as well—broad shoulders sagging just slightly, hair out of the slicked back style he wore today, morning star eyes fighting sleep. you stay quiet for a few moments, just taking in your husband and knowing that you really will remember this moment decades from now. lifetimes.

in every universe you’ll remember your husband on your wedding night.

#crying #/rb.<3

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hrts4tsumu · 8 months

Text

synopsis. there’s just something about watching gojo put that blindfold on.

wc. 570

"it's bumpy at the back. "

"still? but i thought i fixed it?"

"well you clearly didn't. i think it messed up on the first wrap around, you might have to start again."

"can you take a picture or something to show me where it is? i can't feel it."

"no."

satoru turns to you and you don't need to be able to see his eyes to know he's got them raised suspiciously at you, if the smirk on his lips is anything to go by. "no?" he taunts, crossing his legs as you both sit on your bed facing each other. "why not? i've made the same mistake three times now. "

you shrug dismissively, "you're a big boy, don't give up now. i'm helping you." you cover your mouth and look to the side as if though that would stop satoru from hearing the small laughs.

maybe it's because it's so early, or maybe it is just that attractive, but there was just something about watching your boyfriend cover his eyes with bandages that just makes all the stars align.

he always holds one end of the bandages between his teeth, using both of his hands to gather up his undercut before he begins smoothly wrapping it around his head. he never makes a mistake. like everything else he's ever done, the outcome is flawless.

it doesn't matter how many times you've watched him do it, the butterflies that spiral in your stomach never cease.

however, admitting such attraction to such a mundane thing (that he has to do to y'know not deal with the skull-splitting migraines) is embarrassing. especially when you know satoru and the fact he will never ever let it slide.

the hope that maybe he'll be more disgusted by the fact you called him 'big boy' to press you further on the matter is quickly extinguished. "i think i already have," he counters in a sing song voice, "someone likes watching me!"

you almost choke on your spit, coughing as you check the watch on your wrist that's not there, "would you look at the time? you have class!" trying to slip off the bed is futile because satoru's reflexes are three times as quick as yours and he doesn't hesitate to grab your arm.

"class can wait," satoru lifts the bandages above his right eye, giving you a glimpse of his raw power as he eyes you playfully. leaning in dangerously close to you, his breath tickles you as he speaks, "c'mon baby, just admit it."

there it is. baby. the pet name is enough to shatter any self-control you still somehow manage to have left and you lift your head to try and kiss him. keyword: try.

"uh uh, say it," he teases, his tongue poking out to swipe across his pretty lips as he holds you back by less than an inch. if you wanted to swipe your tongue across his lips too, you could.

your cheeks heat up and you cross your arms with a huff, "i like watching you put your blindfold on. happy?" satoru thinks he's going to implode because he doesn't think there's enough space left in his body to cope with the sheer adoration he has for you. he settles for a

"ecstatic." satoru kisses you again, this time with more eagerly as he drags your body towards his lap just to have you closer to him.

#CUTEEEEE #/rb.<3

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hrts4tsumu · 8 months

Text

gojo satoru believes that all good things come in twos.

he was the second half of his best friend, after all— part of a wandering soul somewhere else in japan spouting some bullshit about retribution. he hasn't quite been the same since 2009.

it wasn't always this way. never before had he been so endeared, so enchanted by the prospect of keeping things together just for the sake of it.

he remembers clearly the day this hyperfixation started, actually: a warm summer sunday in sagae with you dragging him along through the local fruit market. you picked out a bag of cherries, holding up a twin pair of them and dangling them in his face.

"they're sweeter here," you told him with such a fascinated expression, completely enamoured by the ruby jewels held between your fingers. and he savoured that moment, as mundane as it was, because your eyes were shining in adoration at such a perfect pair of cherries.

(also, when you ate them your lips stained a pretty shade of red that made him salivate.)

he realized that things felt more whole in pairs: two hands cupping his face, two charms dangling from your neck, two cherries infinitely sweeter than one. two hearts, two souls, two people who both belong and don't belong in such a wicked world cradling each other with a shared breath.

gojo felt lonely without another— in the time between geto's defection and your reunion, he missed the feeling of being the other half of a duo. nanami buried himself into work. shoko fared no better. he was utterly, shamefully alone.

he was a new person when you returned to him. a lot of things had changed. but despite the distance and the slow untwining of your lives over the years, you knew gojo to be stubborn more than anything.

"two dogs are better than one," he argued when megumi was first learning how to control his cursed technique.

"he's just a kid. making him responsible for one, let alone two, is crazy!"

"i'm telling you, megumi is no pushover! you'll see."

he was right. sometimes (and only sometimes) he does know better. two was better than one.

you could see it in megumi's face when both dogs pounced on him, licking him and wagging their tails. in fact, it was probably the first time you'd ever seen the kid smile at all.

so you went along with gojo, indulged him whenever he reached for two things instead of one: two boxes of juice from the convenience store fridge, two fingers locked together while you walk, two earbuds split between you so you can sing together. two hearts, two souls, two blue eyes fluttering shut when he leans in to kiss you.

when he asked you to move in with him, you weren't surprised in the least. you were also not surprised to see how he set things up around the house, nothing lonely and everything in a pair. gojo feels like you think he's insane. he might be.

being with you made him feel as normal as gojo satoru could ever feel in this life— breathing no longer hurt like water filling his lungs. it was as natural as you basking in the rising sun every morning. living didn't need to be justified anymore. he wasn't obligated to be the strongest. he just needed to exist in your warmth.

things make sense in twos. the world is less gloomy with you by his side.

it's unspoken between you, but you oblige to his strange fixation anyways: two slices of peanut butter on toast in the morning, two stars atop a christmas tree, two picture frames on every side table. two hearts, two souls, two people being each other's reason to keep pushing.

he thinks he loves you a foolish amount. knows he shouldn't be putting all his eggs into one basket. he might be untouchable, but you aren't.

it's inevitable. one day, gojo satoru will be alone again.

and it's a fair exchange for power; a curse he wishes he was never born with. if he had the choice, he would have picked you over limitless power without a moment's pause.

he doesn't have the choice. unlucky.

all he can really do is let you cup his face. feed him cherries. argue over how to raise megumi and tsumiki and live in your little fantasy of pretending to be a family. all he can do is cherish the time you have left together, regardless of how long. all he can do is hope you'll say yes.

two hearts, two souls, two matching rings (one white, one black; he was poetic that way). one meant for him, and the other meant for you— a promise to keep and to break.

he doesn’t care. you and him make the best pair he can think of, no matter how fleeting.

#LOVE LOVE LOVE #/rb.<3

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hrts4tsumu · 8 months

Text

breaking up with gojo satoru where the moment you yell at him to leave and take all his stuff with him, he grabs your hand and marches through the front door unabashedly without a second thought

#/rb.<3

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hrts4tsumu · 8 months

Text

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: gojo lies to shoko in order to win a bet and you're dragged along for the ride. genre: fake-dating, friends to lovers, more slice-of-life than action, attempted humor notes: encounters w/ megumi, nobara, yuuji, and nanami. ummm there's a lunch date, gojo is just a mess, really. wc: ~5.4k song inspo ♫: stream by last dinosaurs

"Is it true?"

You look up from your laptop, glancing at Shoko as she bursts through your door. She composes herself quickly, straightening her lab coat before looking at you expectantly. Your eye twitches as you see Gojo peek his head out behind her, looking at you and desperately nodding his head. You let your gaze drift back to Shoko, who is now standing with her arms crossed as she taps her foot against the ground impatiently.

In a moment of weakness, you glance back at Gojo, huffing lightly before listening to him and nodding.

"Oh my god," Shoko whispers, mild horror on her face as she takes a step back. "Gojo? Really?"

You nod once more, confusion visible on your face as Gojo gives you a thumbs up. Shoko shakes her head, placing both of her palms on your desk before leaning down. You lean back slightly, caught off guard by her sudden proximity.

"Have you hit your head recently?"

"No, I haven't," you reply slowly, pushing your laptop to the side. "I haven't even been on any missions lately. What's this all about?"

Gojo stifles a laugh.

"Interesting," Shoko hums, staring at you for a few more seconds before straightening. She spares a glance at Gojo, eyes narrowing as she studies him. A sigh leaves her lips after a couple of seconds, and she gives you a sympathetic look before heading towards the door. She stops in front of Gojo briefly, tense as she looks up at him and speaks through gritted teeth. "Fine, I believe you. You're the strongest and handsomest jujutsu sorcerer of all time and I will never meet a man that's better than you."

"Thanks, I know," Gojo replies, a huge grin on his face as she scowls. She slips something into his hand, proceeding to flip him off as she finally disappears down the hall. Gojo turns his attention towards you, slipping into your office and shutting the door behind him before taking a seat in the chair in front of your desk.

He's relaxed as he kicks his feet up onto the table, leaning back into the chair and placing his arms behind his head as you frown. You throw a piece of paper at him, glaring at him when he shoots you a betrayed look.

"Get your feet off of my desk," you chastise, letting your gaze drift back to the report in front of you. The click of your keyboard is almost hypnotic as silence falls over the two of you, and Gojo begrudgingly puts his legs down, opting to place one leg over the other. It's not long before you click your tongue, repeating the question you had asked earlier. "So, will you tell me what that was about?"

"What ever do you mean?"

"Gojo," you say sternly, giving him a dry look over the top of your laptop. Your eyes flicker to his hand, still holding on to whatever it was that Shoko had given him. "C'mon, let me see what's in your hand."

You think that there might be a soft blush tinting Gojo's cheeks as he brings his hand forward, slowly unfurling his fingers to reveal a smushed packet of cigarettes. The confusion is clear on your face as you look up to meet what you assume to be his eyes (the blindfold makes it hard to tell, really), and he shyly turns his head away as you wait for an explanation.

"Shoko and I made a bet," Gojo finally says, flipping his hand over to let the cigarette packet fall onto the table. At your unamused look, he continues. "She said that the day I got someone respectable to date me would be the day she stopped smoking, and well..."

Silence ensues as he trails off, vaguely motioning to you as he clamps his mouth shut. Your eyes soften at his words, and you lean forwards to grab the cigarette packet before tossing it into the trash.

"So you told her we were together?" you ask, humming softly as everything begins to make sense. Gojo nods softly, still refusing to look your way. You ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat. "I'm flattered you think so highly of me, Gojo."

There's a pause after your words, and neither one of you quite know how to break the ice that has clearly formed. It isn't until Gojo clears his throat that you spit out the first words that come to mind, eager to keep talking to him even if it's just for a few minutes.

"So what was the reward?"

Your question brings Gojo's attention back to you, and he says nothing as you feel his gaze settle on you.

"For the bet?" you prompt, breaking Gojo out of whatever daze he was in. "What would each of you get if you won?"

"She wanted those stupid, fancy cigarettes from France," Gojo muttered, tilting his head up towards the ceiling in a way that made you wonder if he was rolling his eyes. "And a stupid, fancy dinner at that restaurant she loves so much."

"And I'm assuming you got to hear those very nice words from her in return if you won," you tease, a smile breaking out onto your face as Gojo breathes out a laugh.

"Yeah," he admits, running a hand through his hair before slouching and sinking into his seat. "I never would've gotten her to say that otherwise. Oh! And the cigarettes. I told her that if I won the bet then she needed to hand them over. I don't like that she's been smoking more often these days."

You feel your heart warm at his words, only to sober up when you realize there's a huge flaw in his plans.

"Gojo, wait," you say, eyebrows furrowing as you bite your lower lip in concern. "There's an issue here. We aren't dating."

"Do you want to?"

Gojo's response is instantaneous, and it takes everything you have to keep yourself from reacting to his words. You hum thoughtfully, doing your best to pretend his words don't have a profound impact on you as you throw a pen at him.

"Be serious," you hiss, rolling your eyes when he chuckles at your action. The pen bounces off of him harmlessly, and you scoff as it happens. "Sooner or later, Shoko is gonna realize we aren't really dating and she's gonna demand a lot more than that dinner."

The smile falls off Gojo's face when he realizes your words are true, and he groans as he leans forward, elbows on his knees as he cradles his head in his hands. "You're right. We're screwed!"

"You're screwed," you quip, smiling smugly when he looks up at you, mouth agape in disbelief.

"C'mon! You gotta help me! You're really gonna leave me all alone to face Shoko's wrath?" Gojo's lips are pursed in an exaggerated pout, and you're certain that if he were to remove his blindfold, his eyes would be shining with unshed tears in an attempt to guilt you into helping him.

"Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with you. I don't have to do anything."

"Please. I'll do anything you want!"

You hesitate at his words, a smile appearing on his face once again as he realizes you're seriously contemplating listening to him.

"Anything?" you ask quietly.

"Anything." he states confidently.

"Okay then," you say smugly, crossing your arms as you grin. "I want that fancy dinner Shoko wanted."

You realize you've made a mistake when Gojo gasps, proceeding to then hold his hands to his heart as he pretends to swoon. "My, my, are you asking me out on a date?"

"No!" you shriek, taking a deep breath before standing up from your chair and making your way to the door. "You know what, nevermind. I'm gonna go talk to Shoko."

"Wait, wait! No! I was kidding," Gojo pleads, shooting out of his seat as he follows you. His hand slams on the door before you can even open it, and he squeezes in front of you to block your path, his back up against the door as he slides down to rest his head on your shoulder. "I'll take you out to dinner, just don't speak with Shoko! Besides, it'll make this relationship look more authentic if we go on dates!"

"Relationship?" you ask, shock lacing your words as you gently shove Gojo off of your shoulder.

"Yes," Gojo confirms, shaking his head firmly before taking both of your hands in his. "To keep Shoko from finding out I lied, we have to date. We can't let her get suspicious."

When he notices the mildly horrified look on your face, Gojo hastily rephrases his words.

"Or at least fake date! From now on, you're my pseudo-partner!"

Out of all the friends you made during your time at Jujutsu Tech, you had always known Mei Mei and Gojo to be the biggest gossips in existence. Heck, even Geto had been prone to getting carried away by gossip, his dark eyes gleaming with interest as he'd pull you aside to chat.

And yet, Ieiri Shoko was the reason that the entirety of Jujutsu Tech knew about your "relationship" with Gojo.

"So it's true?"

Megumi is the first to corner you after class, an unreadable look on his face as he stares you down. You wonder if playing dumb would work on him.

"Is what true?" you ask, tilting your head to one side questioningly as you gather your materials. The blank look he gives you is answer enough, and you sigh to yourself as you wonder why you thought you could ever deceive Fushiguro Megumi. You shoulders slump as you lean against the wall, giving up on your innocent act and sending him a weak smile before replying. "If we're thinking about the same thing then yes, it is."

There's an almost relieved expression on Megumi's face, his green eyes softening as he nods. The gesture is more to himself than to you. You wonder what he's thinking about.

"Well it's about time!" Nobara yells, bouncing up to Megumi and resting her elbow on his shoulder. The scene before you is almost comical, especially because of their height difference. The trio is completed as Yuuji comes up behind the two of them, his head peeking through the space between Nobara and Megumi as he sends you a bright grin.

"Congrats," Megumi mutters, his eyes narrowing into an instinctive glare when Gojo comes sauntering into the room. There's a wide grin on his face as he comes to a stop next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulder and bringing you into his side. Nobara snickers at your flustered expression, and you think that there might be a faint smile on Megumi's face. "I was surprised to hear that he finally asked you out."

There's a loud laugh immediately after Megumi's words, and the four of you turn to face Gojo as he waves his three students off. "Shouldn't you all be getting to class?"

"Class is over," Megumi replies dully, an eyebrow raising as he studies Gojo.

"What do you mean by that, Megumi?" you ask, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"I mean that he's had a cr—"

Megumi's words are cut off as Gojo lunges forward, slapping a hand over the younger boy's mouth and ushering him out the door. "Well, it was nice to see the three of you but you really should get going now. Bye!"

"Wait!" Nobara yells, a wicked grin on her face as she looks back at you. "Did you know that he never shuts up—"

Her words are also cut off as Gojo slams the door, making sure to lock it before turning around to face you. There's an awkward grin on his face, his breaths loud and fast as he tries to recover from the incident that just occurred.

"What was that all about?" you ask, crossing your arms as Gojo comes to stand in front of you.

"What are you talking about?"

You're reminded of the conversation that the two of you had in your office a few days ago, and you simply rub the bridge of your nose before grabbing your bag and heading to the door. "You know what? Forget it, I don't think I want to know. Why are you here?"

"There's no need to be so cold," Gojo says, a pout on his face as he approaches you. There's a mocking smile on your face as you move past him to grab the door knob, and Gojo feels his cheeks heating up as he looks away. You pause after unlocking the door, looking back to observe him before placing your hands on your hips.

"Well? What is it?"

"Nothing, forget it. I can't stand to look at you right now. You're so mean to me," Gojo huffs, crossing his arms as a snort escapes you. He refuses to look even as he hears you approach, and he briefly closes his eyes even though he knows you can't see him do so.

Neither one of you notices when the door slides open.

"Don't be difficult," you chide, leaning to try and catch his attention. He turns his head even more, a smile threatening to pull at his lips as he recognizes just how ridiculous he's being. You shake your head softly, reaching up to cup his cheek and turn his head to face you. Gojo's cheeks turn a soft pink, and he turns his head the other way, hoping that you hadn't noticed. He's stopped by your other hand, and he finds his throat going dry when he realizes that you are cradling his face in your hands.

You've pulled him down slightly, doing your best to get to eye level with him. He can't stop himself from leaning into your palms, feeling your fingers twitch at the sudden pressure before they skim the top of his cheekbones.

"So now that I have your attention again," you start, a softer smile now adorning your lips. Gojo absentmindedly thinks that you always seem to have his attention. "Why did you come to my class? Did you need my help with something?"

"Yeah," Gojo breathes, his arms unfolding and falling limp to his sides. He's closer than he was before, and he wonders who began to lean in first. He hopes it was you. "I was going to ask you if— Yuuji?!"

He straightens up immediately, putting distance between the two of you as he walks toward the door. You flounder for a moment, shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath before turning around. Standing in the doorway are your three students, with Megumi being squished in between a smiling Nobara and a bashful Yuuji.

The silence is broken as Gojo takes a step towards the door, towering over the three teenagers as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

"I thought I told you three to leave," Gojo hisses, leaning down to be face level with Megumi. Yuuji shrinks behind him, but Nobara and Megumi remain in their places.

"We were curious." is all Megumi says in response.

"Curious about what?" you ask, coming up next to Gojo and leaning against the doorway. One of your eyebrows is raised, and Yuuji grins before stepping back up to Megumi's side.

"About the two of you!" Yujji says, wiggling his eyebrows as he glances between you and Gojo. His playful expression drops when Megumi elbows him, and a tiny smile remains on his face as leans against him.

"But our curiosity is sated. Or at least, mine is," Nobara adds, a bored look on her face as she turns around. "I seriously doubted that Gojo had asked you out but I guess I was wrong. I'm gonna go find Maki."

The four of you watch as Nobara walks away, and your attention is only torn away when Megumi steps closer to you. He's wearing a conflicted look on his face, and if you didn't know any better, you might've thought he was constipated.

"I'm... happy for you," Megumi finally says, his words sounding strangled as he glances at Gojo. Not even a second passes before Gojo is on Megumi, hugging him and pinching his cheeks as he coos over his words.

"I knew you cared about me, Gumi!" Gojo cries, immediately flinching in pain when Megumi kicks him. Regardless, he refuses to relinquish his hold, and you can't help the way your eyes widen when Megumi attempts to go in and bite Gojo's arm.

"Okay!" you yell, rushing forward and grabbing Gojo's arm. You gently pry his hands off of Megumi's face, and you smile when the green-eyed boy sends you a grateful look. "That's enough terrorizing teenagers for a day, don't you think?"

"Terrorizing?" Gojo gasps, swooning dramatically as he shifts his focus to you. "I have nothing but love and affection for my Gumi. I would never terrorize him."

It's almost comical to see you, Megumi, and Yuuji all turn to face Gojo, disbelieving looks on your faces as you look at the white-haired sorcerer.

"Yeah, okay."

"Whatever," Gojo grumbles, shaking his head before he slides his arm out of your grasp. The physical contact remains, however, when he reaches for your hand and intertwines your fingers with his. You vaguely register the way Megumi gapes at the sight, too busy with how warm his hand was to truly be present. "Since you insist I leave Megumi alone, I say we leave. Perhaps get some lunch? That's what I came in to ask you about in the first place anyways."

He doesn't give you the chance to answer before he's pulling you down the hall, remembering to shoot a quick wave over his shoulder at his two remaining students.

"He really likes them, doesn't he?" Yuuji asks, his head tilted to the side as he watches the two of you leave.

"Yeah," Megumi replies, also observing the two of you. He'd never admit it, but Yuuji notices the fond look in his eyes as he looks at you and Gojo. "He really does."

Lunch is an awkward affair. Or at least, it is for you.

Gojo has not stopped staring at you since you sat down, not even when the waitress came by to take your order, and you feel like you're losing your mind as you try to avoid looking his way. A part of you wonders if he's really looking at you, especially considering the fact that his blindfold is still on. But training to be a jujutsu sorcerer has helped you hone your instincts, and deep down you're sure that he's been watching you for the past twenty minutes.

You thank the waitress when she places your order down on the table, and you dig into your meal almost immediately. You pause when you notice that Gojo hasn't moved, hands laced together under his chin to support his head as he studies you.

"I thought you said you can't stand to see me," you say dryly, leaning back from the table and finally looking up at him.

"That's why the blindfold is on," he replies cheekily. You scoff at his response before finally taking a bite of food, your eyes lighting up when you do so.

"This is delicious!" you rave, giving Gojo a surprised look before taking another small bite. "How'd you find this place."

"Someone recommended it to me."

"Who?"

"Someone who really, really likes food," Gojo says mysteriously. You give him a blank look, shaking your head at his antics.

"Let me guess," you say, giving him a smug smile. "Nanami?"

Gojo deflates in his seat, and you hold back a chuckles at his reaction.

"Yeah," he responds dully, looking down at the table. "Nanami."

"Yes?"

The two of you look up to see Nanami himself standing next to your table, a tired look on his face as he looks at Gojo.

"Nanami! Hello!" you say excitedly, earning a tiny smile from him. "I haven't seen you in so long, how are you?"

"I'm fine," he says tiredly, absentmindedly straightening his tie before continuing. "How about you?"

"I'm good!" you respond, smiling brightly as you turn to face him. "I'm actually—"

"On a date," Gojo cuts in, smiling innocently up at Nanami. "With me."

"I see," Nanami says quietly, glancing between the two of you before his eyes settle on Gojo. "So it's true."

"Yup, we're dating!" Gojo proclaims proudly, a smug look on his face as he finally, finally, picks up a bite of his food and tries it.

There's a mildly concerned look on Nanami's as he meets your eyes, and you notice the way his eyebrows furrow before he speaks. "I'm sorry."

There's a loud cough as Gojo chokes on his food, and the two of you turn to watch him reach for his napkin before taking a sip of water.

"Hey!" he exclaims, pausing when he lets out another cough. There's an unamused look on Nanami's face as he watches him, and he turns back to look at you as he places a hand on your shoulder.

"I'm really sorry."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gojo cries, an irritated pout on his lips as he stares at Nanami's hands. "You say that like being with me is a bad thing."

"Well you know what they say: if the shoe fits."

You think you see a faint smile on Nanami's lips, and you hold back a giggle as you realize that he's teasing Gojo. And based on the scandalized look that Gojo sends his way, you can tell it's working.

"I'm a good boyfriend!" Gojo argues, looking at you as he motions towards Nanami. "Tell him!"

"He's right," you say with a laugh. "He's been very sweet and he even paid for lunch!"

"Well, I suppose the heart wants what it wants," Nanami finally says, removing his hand from your shoulder before looking over at the counter. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go eat before it's too late for lunch. Congratulations."

You wave as Nanami walks away before picking up your silverware once more. You pause when you feel Gojo's fingers brush against your other hand, before fully engulfing it in his. There's a confused smile on your face as you stare at him, flipping over your hand so you were palm to palm with his.

"Am I a good boyfriend?" he asks suddenly, catching you off guard with his words. You look at him for a little longer, blinking rapidly before you realized he was genuinely asking.

"The best," you say, squeezing his hand softly before leaning down to take a bite of food.

He looks down at the table and smiles.

Lunch dates with Gojo become common, the two of you exploring new restaurants and cafes every chance you got.

Holding hands with Gojo also becomes common, along with him paying for anything you wanted. (Whenever you'd argue and insist you'd pay, he would simply wave you off, making a comment about how he wouldn't be a good boyfriend if he didn't spoil you any chance he got.)

It’s only when Maki remarks that you never keep your hands off of each other that you finally come to a conclusion.

You are in love with Gojo Satoru.

And that’s the realization that currently has you running down the halls.

"Shoko!" you cry, bursting into her office and collapsing onto the chair across from her desk. She gives you an alarmed look, quickly scanning your body and relaxing slightly when she doesn't see any visible injuries.

"What's wrong?" she asks, concern lacing her voice as she studies your expression.

"I've come to a horrible realization," you say, eyes wide as you looked at her, trying to make her understand just how important this conversation was. She waves her hand, signaling for you to continue.

"I'm in love with Gojo," you whisper, looking slightly horrified when you realize you've finally said the words out loud. You glare at Shoko when she snorts, and she leans back in her seat as she looks at you expectantly.

"Yeah, I kinda assumed," she says dully, her tone making it seem as though you had stated a fact. you throw your head back and groan, throwing an arm over your eyes as you try to get comfortable.

"Is it that obvious?" you whine. There's a sigh from Shoko as she observes you, and you're glad that you're not looking at her in that moment. You don't think you can handle the look you know she's wearing.

"Yeah, you're dating." Shoko scoffs, stretching her leg out under her desk to kick at you.

"No, we're not," you admit, turning away from the ceiling to give her a guilty look. "He lied to you."

A strangled noise leaves Shoko's throat, and she wastes no time before reaching into her desk drawer and pulling out a packet of cigarettes. You give her a scowl, standing up and leaning over the desk to try and snatch them away from her. She swats you away, and you give a resigned sigh before sinking into your seat once more.

"That motherfucker," Shoko grumbles, pulling a lighter out of her coat pocket and flicking it. You watch as she lights the cigarette in her mouth, giving her a disappointed look that she chooses to ignore. She leans in slightly, taking a drag of the cigarette before nodding her head at you. "Why'd he lie to me?"

"Well he said that your cigarettes were on the line," you admit, also leaning in closer to the desk. You slide the ashtray on the corner of her desk closer to her, earning a thankful look. "All he had to do was get someone respectful to date him and you'd stop. So I helped him, because I've also been concerned about your smoking habits lately."

A loud laugh leaves Shoko's lips at your words, and you give her a confused look when she puts her cigarette out. There's a wide grin on her face as she gives you a knowing look, and you find yourself shifting in your seat as she just stares.

"He lied to you," she finally says, her voice even and tone casual, as though she hadn't just dropped a truth bomb on you.

"He what? Why?" you ask, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you process her words. "Why would he lie to me about that?"

"Because," Shoko says, the smile still on her face. "The original bet wasn't that he had to date someone respectable. The original bet was that Gojo should grow a pair and finally ask out the person he's been in love with since we graduated high school."

You sit silently for a moment, so still that Shoko thinks you might not be breathing. She reaches over to poke your shoulder earning a wide-eyed look from you as her words echo in your head.

"He's in love with me?" you shriek.

Shoko laughs.

You've become more fidgety lately, enough to the point that Gojo notices.

When he reaches for your hand, you flinch, giving him a nervous smile and an apology before lacing your fingers with his. Every time he slings an arm around your shoulders, you tense, and Gojo can't help but ask you every time if his actions are okay. You always say yes.

Gojo notices you're often lost in thought, looking off into the distance and giving him an embarrassed smile when he waves his hand in front of your face to get your attention. He wonders what's happened, especially considering you've never been one to get lost inside of your own head.

It's not until the two of you are eating lunch (in his office this time) that he finally breaks, lowering the sunglasses he had chosen to wear that day and giving you a curious glance before speaking.

"So what's wrong?"

His question breaks you out of your dazed state, and you slide your lunch to the side before giving him a mildly convincing smile.

"What are you talking about?" you ask, tilting your head as you try to give him an innocent look. Gojo snorts at your response, remembering all the times he's answered your questions with those exact same words.

"That won't work on me," he chides, reaching out to grab your hand. His thumb skims the top of your knuckles, and you giggle nervously before trying to pull your hand back. His grip tightens slightly, and you sigh before grabbing onto his hand as well. "Now c'mon. Tell Gojo what's on your mind."

You raise an eyebrow, giving him an unimpressed look before sighing.

"I told Shoko," you admit quietly, watching as his eyes widen in surprise. "About... us."

"Oh," Gojo breathes, blinking rapidly. His hand goes limp around your own and you wait for him to keep speaking, but he only stares at you in return. You take the opportunity to slide your hand out of his grip, meeting no resistance this time as you do so.

"So I guess she wants that dinner right?" he asks, laughing hollowly as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Gojo," you say, your tone serious as you stare at him. "She told me the truth. About the bet."

"Oh," he repeats, his hand falling limply to his desk. He swallows harshly, giving you an unreadable look before leaning back in his seat. "Is that why you've been so distant lately?"

"Distant?" you echo, eyebrows furrowing. "I haven't been— oh."

You cut yourself off as you realize what Gojo means. All your avoidance, all the freezing up under his touch— he thought you were trying to distance yourself from him.

"I was trying to figure out..." you trail off, closing your eyes briefly in an attempt to hype yourself up. "I was trying to figure out how to tell you I feel the same."

There's a sharp intake of breath at your words, your whispered confession hanging in the air for a few seconds. You refuse to look up when you hear Gojo leave his seat, your heart pounding as he rounds his desk to approach you.

"Are you telling the truth?" Gojo whispers, his head hanging low as he crouches next to your chair. His voice is hoarse when he speaks again, and you find yourself glancing his way when his fingers graze yours. "Please, tell me you are. I know it was my idea, but I can't keep pretending we’re together when I’m in love with you."

"I am."

The words are barely out of your mouth when Gojo reaches out, his fingers splayed out across your cheek as he cups your jaw. You can feel him leaning in closer, his eyes closing when he leans his forehead against yours.

"You promise?" he mumbles. Your breath catches in your throat as you nod. "Good."

He leans in even closer, pausing when his nose bumps against yours. There's a brief moment of stillness before you take charge, leaning forward to close the gap between the two of you. Your lips meet in a soft kiss, and you pull away slightly, meeting Gojo's eyes briefly before the two of you dive right back in for another.

Your lips move in tandem with his, and you feel your stomach twist as he deepens the kiss. He gently pulls you off your seat, shifting so that his back is against his desk as he pulls you on to his lap. You straddle him without objection, his hands coming down to grab your waist as he pulls you closer to him.

Gojo pouts as you pull away to catch your breath, and he only reaches up to grab your chin and pull you down, pressing a multitude of soft kisses to your lips as his hold on your tightens.

"You know," you mumble in between kisses, your eyes fluttering as you lean further back. Gojo's lips chase yours. "When Shoko found out the truth, she had a packet of cigarettes ready to go."

"Well," Gojo starts, grabbing your hand with his as he presses another kiss to your lips. "I guess that means we just gotta go take them from her. After all, a bet is a bet."

extra:

Gojo eventually tells the first years, the second years, Shoko, Nanami, and even Yaga that the two of you are dating "for realsies". They're all confused until Shoko tells them about the bet and Maki immediately asks if you're sure you want to be with him. Gojo yells at her and she then proceeds to call Yuuta, who hesitantly congratulates the two of you over the phone.

rbs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

#/rb.<3

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