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mymoonisgrey · 1 day ago

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you, my love, are All I Need.

synopsis: After the tragedy of the Star Plasma Vessel incident, Satoru Gojo loses more than just his closest friend, Suguru Geto—he loses the one person who made the chaos of his world feel bearable. She was his light, his tether to something more human, and just when he dared to imagine a future with her, fate cruelly severed their bond. With her sudden disappearance in his third year at Jujutsu High, Satoru is left reeling, torn between his duties as the strongest sorcerer and the ache of searching for someone he may never find.

pairings: gojo satoru x reader. (og jujutsu au.)

chapter warnings: profanities, mild violence, brief jealousy.

wc : 9k+

all i need's playlist!

series masterlist.

a/n: how’s everyone’s monday been? 😊

previously.

December 2007

“You’re doing exceptionally well.”

Sato’s voice is a low rumble that sends shivers crawling up your spine—ones you’d like to scrape off with a wire brush. He watches you with a strange intensity, his smile oily and unreadable. “Makes me wonder if we should start recruiting grade one sorcerers or higher for this program.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Yeah, good luck with that. Everyone I’ve worked with so far fits your usual category: foreign, low cursed energy, expendable in your eyes.”

His smile widens, smug and patronizing. “You’ve been paying attention. I like that. It means you’re learning.” He leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. “And I assume you’ve been keeping your profile low? No slip-ups about your affiliation, why you’re really here, or your... connections?”

Your jaw tightens, but you nod. “Captain Shepherd’s the only one who knows the truth. He figured out I’m a special grade. He also knows I was pulled out of Jujutsu High too early.”

Sato’s expression falters for just a moment, his eye twitching with irritation. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your goddamn mouth shut?”

“He’s not an idiot!” you snap, unable to hold back your frustration. “He’s a thirty-five-year veteran! He’s seen enough soldiers to tell the difference between someone like me and your usual recruits.”

Sato slams a hand on the table, making you flinch. “And what’s next? Are you going to tell me he knows the whole damn story? That the reason the higher-ups handed you over to me was because of him?”

Your anger fizzles as his presence looms over you. His scarred face, hardened from years of battle, and his piercing gaze bore into your resolve.

You manage to steady your voice, quiet but firm. “He’ll find me.” Your hands clench into fists under the table. “And when he does, I’ll tell him everything—what you did, what the higher-ups did. He’ll kill all of you.”

Sato stares at you for a long moment before chuckling darkly. “Oh, is that what you think? Go ahead, tell him. Let him come. He’s as good as dead.”

You recoil slightly, your confidence wavering under his mocking tone.

“Don’t hit me with the ‘he’s the strongest’ crap,” Sato sneers. “We can kill him, and you damn well know it.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and oppressive.

Then you shake your head, defiance sparking in your eyes. “The higher-ups would never let that happen. Gojo’s their golden child. Their prodigy.”

“Not the higher-ups, sweet thing.” Sato’s voice drops, his tone condescending and venomous. He leans forward, his face mere inches from yours. “Us.”

Your breath catches.

“And the higher-ups would let you do that?” you ask, your voice edged with disbelief.

“They need us more than they need him,” Sato spits, slamming his palm against the table again. “We clean up their messes. We do the dirty work. Without us, the whole system falls apart. So, if you love him, you’ll shut your goddamn mouth. Or things will get ugly.”

It isn’t the threat to your life that makes your blood run cold.

It’s the threat to his.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You don’t exactly acknowledge him trailing behind you, his presence hot and unyielding, because your focus is on the bodies of your fallen comrades—laid out in neat rows on stretchers, or worse, on tarps. Some were intact, but others... dismembered, unidentifiable. You swallow thickly, the bile rising in your throat.

Satoru is silent. His usual easy charm is buried beneath the weight of what he’s seeing. This wasn’t the jujutsu world he knew—pristine, organized, full of promise. No, this was raw and ugly, guns and missiles replacing talismans and hand signs. The air was thick with the sharp smell of gunpowder and blood. He glances around, his blue eyes scanning the navy camo uniforms, the weary faces of foreign sorcerers—low-grade curse users drafted from all corners of the globe. They didn’t sign up for glory; they were cannon fodder, drafted to protect a system that didn’t want them.

You stumble forward, weaving through the chaotic hangar. Aircraft sit proud and powerful—some parked, others taxiing, and a few roaring to life as they prepare for takeoff. Around you, the injured are escorted to the med bay, their groans and cries blending with the hum of engines.

“Watcher!” Shepherd’s gruff voice cuts through the noise. You turn your head, dazed, your severed hand clutched protectively to your chest. Leslie walks toward you, her sharp eyes softened by relief, a tablet cradled in her hands. Shepherd claps a heavy hand on your shoulder, halting your shaky steps.

The sudden stop makes Satoru bump into you from behind. His chest brushes your back, and he mutters a quick, “Sorry,” before stepping to the side, his eyes flickering to your hand.

“Good to see you all alive,” Leslie says, tapping on her tablet. Her professional demeanor doesn’t hide the relief in her tone. “Team 2-11 was just sent off to China. A group of curse users unleashed a significant number of spirits—grades unknown.”

Shepherd frowns, his jaw tightening. “They need backup?”

Your head snaps toward him, disbelief etched on your face. Your exhaustion screams louder than your words ever could. Not now. Not again.

“I recommend you stay on standby,” Leslie replies, her voice even. “You never know when things get ugly, Shep.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Appreciate it, Les. Yer free to go.”

Leslie nods, casting you a brief, knowing glance before retreating.

“Shep—my hand—” you start, but he interrupts with a pointed nod toward your chest. “Ye’ gotta get that checked out,” he says firmly.

“No shit,” you mutter, glaring at your mangled hand as if it had betrayed you.

Satoru’s gaze lingers on your injury. His sharp intake of breath doesn’t escape Shepherd’s notice. The older man steps between you two, his weathered hand reaching out to stop Satoru from following you further.

His fingers meet resistance.

Shepherd flinches slightly, his hand repelled by an invisible force—the faint shimmer of Satoru’s infinity.

“What the hell was that?” Shepherd grunts, pulling his hand back.

Satoru turns slowly, his expression calm but his eyes hard. “Need something, General?” His voice is polite, but the disdain is unmistakable.

“It’s Captain,” Shepherd corrects, his tone measured and steady. “And you’re not supposed to be here.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a quiet warning. This wasn’t a place for outsiders. No students, no high-grade sorcerers—no one who might challenge the facade of order and control.

Satoru feels it too. The weight of trespass. But he’s not leaving. Not yet.

“I understand,” he replies smoothly. “I won’t overstay.”

“Y’know, kid,” Shepherd begins, his sharp gaze assessing. “We can arrange a helo to take ye back to Tokyo or Kyoto—whichever school yer from.”

Satoru tilts his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Appreciate the offer, but I can teleport.”

He doesn’t wait for Shepherd’s response, slipping past the man and continuing after you. His eyes take in everything—the chaos, the desperation, the quiet resignation of those around him. This wasn’t a battlefield; it was a meat grinder.

But his gaze always comes back to you.

You haven’t stopped moving, your steps unsteady but purposeful. He quickens his pace to catch up, falling in step beside you, his voice soft. “Let me see your hand.”

“Stay out of it,” you snap, your tone sharper than intended.

Satoru doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver. His voice drops to a whisper, carrying an edge of quiet intensity. “Not happening.”

You don’t understand why you’re being mean, why your tone is sharp and your words laced with coldness. Your love—your Satoru—was standing right in front of you.

Maybe it was Sato’s threats echoing in your mind. His warnings of what would happen if you let Satoru get too close. Wasn’t it better to push him away, to pretend you didn’t care, than to sign his name on a death sentence?

Your combat boots strike against the metal flooring as you continue walking, and Satoru, undeterred, stays on your trail.

“Why are you still here?” you ask, glancing back at him with a hint of malice in your voice.

“I came with you on the plane?” he replies, like it’s obvious.

“Teleport away.”

“No.”

“Stop following me, then.”

“You’re the only one I know here.”

“Do you?” you snap, your voice low and biting as you push open the door to a sterile room. The sharp chemical scent reminds him of the infirmary back at Jujutsu High, a place he’d visited far too often.

“The fuck does that mean?” Satoru frowns, stepping into the room after you as the automatic door slides shut with a quiet hiss.

You ignore him and start unbuttoning your uniform, struggling with the motion since your injured hand makes the task painstakingly slow. You need to check your body for bruises, the aftermath of your fall from the crashing plane still fresh in your mind and aching in your muscles.

Satoru watches in silence, his throat tightening as his six eyes take in the sight of you. The struggle in your movements, the injury you cradled protectively, the exhaustion etched into your expression—it all unsettles him.

Without thinking, he steps forward, his hands lifting instinctively to help.

“Let me—”

“Don’t,” you snap, flinching back at his sudden closeness. The recoil stings him more than he expects, but he doesn’t retreat.

“You’re hurt. Let me help,” he insists, his voice softer but still firm.

“I don’t need your help,” you bite back, gripping the fabric of your uniform and turning away from him, willing your fingers to cooperate despite the tremor of pain.

“You do,” Satoru counters, his tone growing more intense, a desperation laced beneath the words. “You can’t even unbutton a damn shirt right now, and you’re acting like I’m the enemy.”

Your breath hitches as his words strike a nerve.

“You don’t get it!” you snap, finally turning to face him, your eyes blazing with frustration. “You don’t understand what this place is, what it does to people! You shouldn’t even be here!”

“I don’t care about this place,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “I care about you.”

You flinch again, your resolve wavering under the weight of his words. Satoru notices, but he doesn’t stop.

“I’ve been looking for you for two years,” he continues, his voice quieter now, raw with emotion. “Years, and I never stopped. Don’t tell me to walk away now that I’ve found you.”

You want to argue, to push him away again, but the sincerity in his eyes holds you captive.

Still, you turn your back to him, resuming your struggle with the uniform. “You should have left me lost,” you mutter under your breath.

Satoru doesn’t let the comment slide. “Lost? Is that what you think? That I could just give up on you?”

He steps closer again, his breath catching as his six eyes absorb the details he hadn’t fully seen before—the changes in you. The soft curve of your waist, the toned strength in your arms, the way your figure had grown more feminine, more breathtaking. Despite the exhaustion that clung to you, despite the pain you clearly felt, you were beautiful in a way that made his chest ache.

“Stop staring,” you mutter, your tone defensive, but there’s a tremble beneath it.

“I can’t,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You freeze at the confession, your hands stilling.

“I can’t because I’m trying to figure out how to keep you from slipping away again,” he says. “How to make sure you don’t shut me out.”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, silence fills the room, heavy and suffocating.

“Let me help,” he pleads again, softer this time, almost a whisper. “Please.”

This time, you don’t flinch when his hand hovers near yours, offering without demanding. His gaze is steady, unyielding, but so full of care that it makes your walls crack.

Satoru doesn’t let go, even when your hand jerks in his hold, the motion sharp and defensive. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough to stop you from walking away again.

“Let go,” you mutter through clenched teeth, your voice low and dangerous.

He shakes his head, the stubborn tilt of his jaw igniting something volatile in you. “No. Not until you let me help.”

“You don’t need to help,” you snap, yanking your hand free. “I’ve got this. I don’t need—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice cuts through yours, sharp and unrelenting. “Because it’s not true, and we both know it.”

You glare at him, the heat of his gaze locking with yours, but it only fuels the fire building in your chest. “You think you know me? You don’t know a damn thing.”

“I know enough,” he replies, his tone steady but charged. “I know you’re hurting. I know you’re trying to carry this on your own. And I know that’s not you.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you turn away from him. “You don’t know me anymore, Satoru. Things are different. I’m different.”

He steps closer, and you hear the faint rustle of his uniform as he moves, his presence looming behind you like a shadow you can’t outrun. “You think I can’t see that? You think I can’t see how much you’ve been through?”

“Then stop trying to fix it!” you snap, spinning to face him, your chest tight with frustration. “Stop acting like you can waltz in here and make it all better. You don’t belong in this world, Satoru. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“And whose fault is that?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You left. You disappeared, and I—I spent two years trying to find you. I’m here now, and you’re telling me to just walk away? That’s not happening.”

His words hit harder than you want to admit, but you shove the feeling down, burying it beneath the ice you’ve built around yourself.

“You don’t get it,” you say, quieter this time, but no less sharp. “You don’t belong here. You’re a sorcerer. You’re the strongest. You’re—”

“Human,” he interrupts, his tone softer but no less determined. “I’m human, too, and I’m standing right here, trying to be here for you. You can hate me for that all you want, but I’m not going anywhere.”

The silence that follows is heavy, your breath caught in your chest as you struggle to form words.

“Fine,” you bite out finally, your voice low and controlled. “Stay. But don’t get in my way.”

Satoru watches you, his jaw tightening, his gaze searching yours for something—anything—that might give him a clue to what you’re really thinking. But you don’t give him the satisfaction. You turn away, focusing on the task at hand, pretending he’s not standing there, his presence a constant weight on your already strained nerves.

He doesn’t leave, though. Instead, he lingers, his eyes following your every move as you peel back the layers of your uniform with stiff, precise movements. When you struggle with a button, his hands twitch at his sides, itching to help, but he knows better than to reach out again.

The fabric slides from your shoulders, revealing smooth, unmarred skin. Your cursed technique’s regenerative properties have left your body untouched by scars or bruises, a stark contrast to the destruction you’ve endured. But to him, it’s proof of your strength, a reminder of how untouchable you once seemed—and maybe still are.

His breath catches, the sight of you momentarily stealing the air from his lungs. You’ve changed, matured. The lines of your body are more defined, your movements fluid yet restrained. You’re... breathtaking, and it’s not just the way you look. It’s the presence you command, even when you’re at your most vulnerable.

You catch his gaze in the reflection of a nearby steel cabinet, and your eyes narrow. “What?”

He swallows hard, his usual charm faltering as he scrambles for something to say. “Nothing,” he mutters, turning his head to give you some semblance of privacy. But the image of you, raw and unguarded, is seared into his mind.

“Get used to it,” you say flatly, misinterpreting his silence. “This is the world you walked into. It’s ugly, it’s brutal, and it doesn’t have room for people like you.”

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable. “Then I’ll make room,” he says simply.

You scoff, grabbing a roll of bandages from a nearby tray. “Good luck with that.”

As you wrap your hand with practiced efficiency, the faint glow of your cursed technique flickers around the wound, sealing it slowly but effectively. You feel his gaze on you again, unwavering and intense. His persistence grates on your nerves, but there’s a small, traitorous part of you that wants to believe him.

But you don’t. You can’t.

“You’ll leave,” you say quietly, not looking at him. “Eventually, you’ll realize you don’t belong here. And when you do, don’t come back.”

His reply is immediate, his voice low and firm. “Not a chance.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Because if you do, you’ll crumble.

And you can’t afford that. Not now. Not ever.

You're quiet as you strip down, staying in your underwear—and he’s usually quiet, watching you like he’s been starved of sight, but this is different. He’s not seeing you with lust, not right now. His gaze isn’t hungry, it's desperate—yearning. There’s a raw intensity in the way he takes in your body, as though trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the one from two years ago. He’s struggling, quietly, because you seem to deflect his attempts to reconnect, to bridge the gap between you two.

But why?

You know he can feel it. Both his heart and soul scream that something is wrong. He just doesn’t understand why.

You feel shy under his gaze, the weight of it pressing into your skin like a brand, even though he has every inch of your body memorized. Every curve, every scar, every freckle. You know he does. Even two years apart, even with the pain of that time, you glance at him. Blink. The question hangs in your eyes—why are you looking at me? It’s the unspoken plea in your stare, but he doesn't look away.

His voice breaks the silence, awkward and too loud. “You’ve grown.”

“Excuse me?” you mutter, turning to face him, not fully aware of the way your breasts strain against that flimsy bra provided by the task force. It barely covers anything—half of it, at best.

He gulps, his hands flexing at his sides before he rubs the back of his neck, his expression flustered and unsure. He doesn’t want to sound like a creep, but damn it, he’s just noticing what’s right in front of him. “Y-you’ve... grown?” he repeats, his voice cracking slightly, trying to sound casual.

You almost want to laugh, but it comes out like a breath, empty. “Um... Thanks? You're... buffer?” You don't quite meet his eyes as you mumble the words, keeping your gaze fixed anywhere but on him.

He blinks at you, taking in your awkward attempt at deflecting the situation. He looks down at himself—his uniform tight around his chest and arms, muscles straining at the seams from the training they’ve been putting him through. “Thank you—training.”

“Must be vigorous,” you respond, distracted, but the words are clipped, your voice trailing off as your mind races with the real reason for your discomfort.

“Yeah... well, they make it vigorous for me,” he chuckles darkly. It’s humorless, a low sound that hangs in the air between you two. You get the hint. They’re exploiting him, just like they did to you—taking away everything that made you both feel human.

You want to tell him. You want to scream it all out, spill every secret. But the thought of him getting hurt, of the higher-ups turning their eyes on him, keeps your lips sealed. Sato’s words—those damn words—still echo in your mind, cutting deep.

“And you accept?” you murmur, your voice quiet, strained, as you crack your fingers back in place and pour disinfectant over the raw wound in your hand. The sting is sharp, but not as sharp as the words you wish you could say.

Satoru is quiet, taking a few slow steps toward you. He stands right behind you, his presence overwhelming. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the familiar warmth you once sought. His body language is tense, his eyes unwilling to leave the sight of you, but he tries to stay focused, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But you know it’s no use. His eyes linger, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed.

“I needed a distraction,” he says finally, his voice low as he takes the disinfectant from your hands, his touch soft but firm as he begins tending to your injury.

“From what?” you whisper, your voice faltering slightly as you fight the tightness in your chest.

He’s quiet for a moment, the words seemingly stuck in his throat. But then they come, gruff, low, raw. “You,” he mutters, his hand stilling over your wound for a second. He’s not even looking at it. He’s looking at you. “Your sudden disappearance... Thought you fucking died on that godforsaken mission you were sent to. Turns out they lied.”

Your breath hitches, a quiet sting of guilt piercing you. You didn’t mean to hurt him like this. “I came here,” you say, your voice betraying you with its sharp edge.

“Willingly?” he presses, his eyes piercing you with that intensity, like they always did when he was seeking the truth, seeking to understand you.

“Yes,” you lie, barely believing the words as they leave your mouth.

“Why?” he presses again, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a quiet desperation behind the question, a longing for something—anything—that would make sense of this fractured puzzle you’ve become.

“...I needed more money,” you say, and the words feel like ash on your tongue.

He scoffs, disbelief flooding his face. “Girl, c’mon, I had money.”

“The fuck does that have to do with anything?” you hiss, the frustration bubbling up, the walls closing in.

“I’m sayin’ you didn’t need money. I took care of you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, I needed money, and—” You trail off, not wanting to finish the thought. Not wanting to voice the lies that have kept you alive all this time.

Satoru stitches your hand up carefully, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so strong. He could use reverse cursed technique on you, but he’s not Shoko, and she never trained him for this. Besides, he knows your cursed technique will regenerate in no time. The wound will heal, and there won’t be a trace of it.

“You know your eyes twitch when you lie, sweetheart?” he mutters under his breath, his tone teasing, but his focus never wavers from the task at hand.

Your heart skips a beat. “I’m not lying—”

“I already know the specific way people get drafted here,” he continues, his voice low and knowing. “Foreign, low cursed energy, and it’s not voluntary. The higher-ups throw them here with no backtalk.” His eyes stay focused, but you feel the weight of his words like a crushing wave. “You’ve been through this before. You’re not stupid. You know how it works.”

You wince when he pinches your skin to get the needle through. “How did you know I was in the fucking task force?” you snap, your voice trembling with the sudden wave of frustration.

“Shoko and I saw some woman I thought was you—she had the necklace I fucking gave you—and she asked for her name, and we did some research on the old cranky computer.” He’s still working, his words flowing with ease, like he’s not talking about the most dangerous thing that’s ever happened to you.

You stay quiet, your mind racing. “Hana,” you breathe out, her name tasting like hope on your lips.

She made it out.

“Atta girl. Told you you were smart.” Satoru bites his lip, continuing to stitch up the wound. His movements are practiced, steady, but you can see the storm in his eyes. “So, if my calculations are correct—you’re just foreign. That’s one box ticked in their list of preferences for sorcerers who get thrown here,” he murmurs, his voice soft, but there’s a sharpness to it now. “But what about the rest? You’re special grade. You have high cursed energy. So why?”

Your heart stops. The question hovers in the air between you, thick and suffocating. You can’t say the truth. Not when it could cost him everything. Not when it could mean his life.

“Money. They pay a lot here,” you breathe, the words stilted as you try to force yourself to believe them.

Satoru scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, okay—whatever. I believe you.” His voice softens slightly, a tired edge to it. “But I don’t care anymore. I fucking found you. That’s what matters. You’re not dead.” His breath hitches slightly, but he doesn’t let it show. Not fully.

And it hits you harder than you want to admit. You feel something twist deep in your chest, but you don’t let it show. Not to him.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The shooting range seemed like the perfect place to blow off some steam—at least it did when you first walked in. You hoped, maybe, Satoru wouldn’t follow you here, but of course, he did. You pity him in a way; you’re the only familiar face for him in this cold, strange place.

“You can always just... teleport back home and then come back if you want. You know where I'm based now,” you mutter, wiping the sweat from your forehead with your black tank top.

Satoru’s eyes briefly flick to your midsection, but he quickly drags them back to your face, a subtle shift in his gaze that doesn’t go unnoticed. His jacket is tossed on a nearby table while he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, his white button-up shirt loosely unbuttoned, likely for air—or for dramatic effect. You can't really tell.

"I could," he replies, his voice smooth, but there's an edge of something more lurking underneath. "But I haven’t seen you in two years."

You don’t respond right away, trying to ignore the unsettling way his presence feels like it’s suffocating you. Were you still soft inside there? Would you still sing him to sleep, play with his hair while he pawed at your body like it was the most natural thing in the world? That’s how it used to be, wasn’t it?

You bite your lip, a little too hard. He notices. He always notices.

“Why?” you ask quietly, trying to keep your voice steady despite the storm inside you. The pressure from his gaze is too much, but you won't break. Not here, not now.

"You know why, don’t play coy. You’re my girlfriend," he replies, and it sounds too natural, too casual. Like it’s obvious, like it hasn’t been two years of separation, pain, and complications.

“I think... we haven’t seen each other for two years. I don’t think we’re still dating,” you say softly, your tone almost as indifferent as you can manage. You cock your gun and focus on aiming at the targets in front of you. Anything to distract yourself.

Satoru doesn’t flinch. He just tilts his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “We didn’t have a verbal breakup, and I still don’t believe you’d leave me willingly.”

You scoff, trying to maintain a facade of indifference, but deep down, his words sting in a way you hate to admit. “You think that highly of yourself?” you retort, avoiding his eyes as you keep your focus on the target.

But in your chest, there’s a hole. You want to hug him, go home with him, return to the life you once had. But you can’t. You know the cost. Sato’s warning echoes in your mind.

"I think highly of our love for each other," Satoru says, sitting up straighter, his gaze sharpening, a bit of vulnerability creeping through the cracks in his confidence. "You still love me, right?"

The question hits you harder than it should. You freeze for a moment, unsure of what to say. If you tell him yes, things could get messy. If you say no... you’d be lying to both of you.

You’re saved by a cheerful voice breaking through the tension.

“Hola! Hola!” Alec greets as he enters, a wave of lightness following him. You smile at him politely, grateful for the interruption.

But Satoru, he doesn’t hide his displeasure. The shift in his cursed energy is immediate, a sharp spike of possessiveness and frustration. His brows furrow, a crease appearing between them as he watches Alec move towards you.

"You look fresh," you smile at Alec, who grabs a heavy-looking rifle, clearly eager to blow off some steam himself. "Dios mio, tough day today—but we made it out. Of course, I'd cheer up!" He laughs, his energy infectious, but his eyes catch Satoru’s for a second, and the tension thickens.

“Don’t like the gun?” Alec asks, glancing at Satoru as he loads it with ease, an almost theatrical nonchalance to his movements.

Satoru raises a brow, a slight smirk playing at his lips. “I think guns are cool, just barbaric for sorcerers to use.”

Alec laughs sheepishly, his energy still bubbling with excitement. “Well, we’re barely considered sorcerers, that’s why we’re here—"

He cuts himself off when he notices what he was spewing. “I shouldn’t be saying this to a jujutsu student, right?”

You smile, trying to keep things light. “Yeah, you shouldn’t. But he already knows everything,” you say, glancing at Satoru, whose calm demeanor doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The smile on his lips is polite but cold.

Alec stares at you in disbelief for a second, then back at Satoru. "The hell! Did you tell him? You'll get into trouble!”

You shake your head, barely containing the laughter that wants to escape. “No, Alec. I didn’t.” But the look in your eyes says more than words could.

"Whatever, chica," Alec shrugs. "If you get hurt, please leave me out of it. I still love you, though." He gestures to Satoru with his gun, an easy smile on his face. “Introduce him to me.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, sensing Alec’s teasing nature. He decides to play along, though something about the situation makes him feel oddly... free. Here, no one knows him. He’s not the feared Satoru Gojo. He's just a guy, and in this moment, that feels kind of nice.

“I can speak for myself," Satoru says, his tone light and unbothered.

Alec shoots him a look, clearly eager to get the conversation rolling. “Come on, man. Don’t be shy. Tell me who you are.”

“My name’s Satoru,” he says with a grin, relaxed. "I’m a student at Jujutsu High, twenty, graduating this year in my fifth year. Came here because she’s my girlfri—"

“We used to be in the same class, we’re friends,” you interject quickly, shooting Satoru a warning look—one that says to keep some things quiet.

Alec’s eyes widen. “What the—you were at Jujutsu High? So, you’re twenty too? Why the hell are you here?”

“Low cursed energy, like the rest of you guys,” you fake a smile, trying to keep things light despite the pang in your chest.

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing.

Liar.

Alec lets out a low whistle. "So you came here for her? Damn, that’s some real friendship, man! My friends would sell me for a bag of taquitos," he laughs, shaking his head.

Satoru laughs too, and there’s a genuine warmth to it this time. He’s enjoying this, this weird, ordinary little moment in the chaos of everything. “Tell me more about yourself,” he says, surprising Alec with his interest.

Alec’s eyes light up, the excitement clear in his voice. “Well, Alec. twenty-six, I’m from Mexico, but I was born in Tunisia. One of my parents was a jujutsu sorcerer— my mother. Lived my life there—so many Japanese people live there, and tons of jujutsu sorcerers. There’s even a district, like in every country. So when I came to Japan to study jujutsu and get stronger, hoping to join that district, my cursed energy was... low. So they threw me here,” Alec says with a shrug, then adds with a grin, “But I’m happy! I’ve got friends, and a cool captain.”

You raise an eyebrow at his last statement, a sarcastic edge in your voice. “Shepherd is cool?”

Alec nods vigorously, smiling wide. “Hell yeah!”

You roll your eyes and grin. “Alec, if he hears you say that—ten reps of push-ups,” you mutter under your breath.

Alec laughs nervously, knowing you’re probably right. "Yeah, yeah, chica. But still, I love the old guy, even with the push-ups."

Satoru examines the rifle in his hands, his fingers tracing the cold metal. He’s silent, focused, but there’s a hint of curiosity in his gaze as he inspects the weapon. His cursed energy vibrates around him, filling the room with an almost tangible hum.

“Can I try it?” Satoru’s voice is smooth, measured—his tone more a statement than a question. There's a quiet challenge to it, but it's undercut by the calmness that only he can manage.

Alec, still recovering from the earlier explosion, nods and grins, his eyes glinting. "Sure, Saturn," he says, completely unfazed, as though it's the most natural thing in the world. He fumbles with his words a little, clearly struggling to pronounce "Satoru," and just goes with it.

Satoru doesn’t correct him, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays the annoyance flickering beneath his cool exterior. "Saturn," he repeats quietly under his breath, eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing how far Alec's teasing might go.

You suppress a smirk. Alec’s obliviousness to Satoru’s irritation is a running joke, and you can’t help but find it mildly amusing.

Alec’s grin only widens as he watches Satoru adjust the rifle. “I like it. Saturn suits you. You know, big, powerful—kind of like the planet, right?”

Satoru’s hand tightens around the rifle. “Saturn’s a planet, Alec,” he mutters, his voice dry. “Not my name.”

But Alec’s too distracted to notice. “Whatever, man. It’s catchy. And you’ve got that, you know, planetary vibe. Makes sense to me.”

You can see the subtle annoyance creeping into Satoru’s face, but he bites his tongue. “Can we just... do this?” he asks, his patience thinning.

Alec shrugs, seemingly unphased by Satoru’s subtle irritation. “You’re the one asking to try my gun, Saturn.” He laughs, as if this is some kind of inside joke that only he finds hilarious.

You give Satoru an apologetic look, but there’s a part of you that finds this exchange amusing—if only because you know Satoru’s patience only stretches so far, and Alec doesn’t seem to be letting up.

Satoru takes the rifle from Alec’s hands and steadies himself. “Let’s get this over with.”

You step in, guiding his hands lightly. His cursed energy surges subtly beneath his skin, wrapping around the weapon as he tries to infuse it. The rifle hums with power, vibrating under his control—but then, a flicker of his immense energy causes it to backfire, an explosion of cursed energy erupting from the weapon, sending shards of metal in all directions.

You instinctively duck behind Satoru, who is already lifting his Infinity. The world slows as his barrier expands, and you’re shielded from the flying debris by the familiar, invisible force surrounding you both.

Alec stumbles back, eyes wide. “Dios mío! Saturn!” he exclaims, more out of shock than fear. His hands are raised, as if he expects the next explosion to be any second. “I didn’t know you were that strong!”

Satoru lowers his hand, his Infinity flickering back to its neutral state. His expression is cool, but there’s a small twitch in his brow. “It was an accident,” he says, almost in a deadpan tone. He glances at Alec, who’s still frozen in place. “I... got carried away.”

Alec laughs nervously, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Holy shit, man. I thought I was gonna die.”

Satoru turns his gaze back to the rifle in his hands, the metal now slightly dented from the explosion. He shakes his head, clearly frustrated but trying to mask it. “I need more control.”

“Guess Saturn’s a bit too much for this little thing,” Alec says, raising his eyebrows. “Maybe try something smaller. This gun can’t handle that much energy.” He holds out a pistol instead, his tone light but with a touch of genuine concern. “Try this.”

Satoru takes the pistol, his fingers curling around it with a practiced ease. He holds it up to his face, inspecting it for a moment before glancing at you. The air between you both feels thick—an unspoken understanding lingering in the space.

You step in close to him, your breath catching as you guide his hands once more, feeling his energy surge under your fingertips. The proximity is almost unbearable, the tension between you two sharp enough to cut through the air.

“Remember, just a little at a time,” you remind him quietly, your voice steady but laced with something else you can’t quite place.

Satoru’s gaze shifts to you, his eyes locking onto yours for a brief, lingering moment. “I know,” he says, voice soft, but there's something charged in the way he looks at you.

You focus, but there's no denying the tension building between you both. The familiarity of his presence stirs up old feelings, things you try to keep buried under layers of steel and resolve.

Slowly, Satoru pours his cursed energy into the pistol. This time, it's controlled. The weapon hums with power, but the energy is focused, directed. The shot rings out, precise—an almost unnatural accuracy as the bullet hits the target dead center.

Satoru lowers the gun, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That’s better,” he murmurs, his tone satisfied but still, there’s that underlying irritation in the way Alec continues to tease him.

Alec, not noticing the subtle shift in the air, claps his hands. “Nice! Now that’s what I’m talking about, Saturn! You’re a natural!”

Satoru raises a brow, his patience finally wearing thin. “Please stop calling me Saturn.”

But Alec, ever the oblivious one, just laughs. “What? It’s a good name! You’re strong as hell, Saturn, deal with it!”

Satoru glances at you, and for a moment, the two of you share a quiet, charged look. The air between you both crackles, the weight of the past two years hanging heavy in the space. You can feel the old connection, the tension—it’s still there, undeniable.

You let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. “You’re lucky he’s not serious,” you mutter, giving Satoru a half-smile.

Satoru smirks, but it’s tinged with something more—something deeper, something he isn’t ready to voice. “I’ll let him have his fun for now,” he says, voice laced with dry humor.

Alec cheers in the background, unaware of the silent exchange between you and Satoru. “Damn, Saturn, you’re gonna make a great addition to the team!” “Addition?—no, he’s not a part of us,” you say, and Alec frowns.

“Well, I get that, but he’s pretty far from the hocus pocus school right now. Unless he can teleport to Tokyo, he’s sticking around here for a while, right?”

“He can tele—”

“I can’t teleport,” Satoru shrugs, lying. Alec gives you a ‘see?’ look, clearly amused.

You gape, turning to Satoru. “What? You don’t think I’m capable?”

“You’re more than capable.”

“Then I’ll help y’all out until Shepherd sends me home,” Satoru shrugs casually.

“Where would you sleep, huh?” you retort.

“You guys don’t have extra rooms or something?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“Yes, we do,” Alec interjects, “but those are for prisoners—criminals we take hostage.” He smirks. “But she’s got a pretty big room since she’s Shepherd’s favorite, apparently. You can stay there!”

“Why’re you making the decision, Alec?” you sigh, exasperated, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“C’mon, doll, I like him!” Alec whines playfully.

Satoru’s brow twitches at the nickname, irritation flashing briefly in his eyes. He doesn’t like Alec calling you doll. He’s aware it’s probably just a nickname here, but hearing it still grates on him. It makes him feel... something. A slight twinge of jealousy. He doesn’t show it, though. He knows Alec doesn’t mean it the way he interprets it.

“See? He likes me, doll,” Satoru says, dragging out the word as he looks at you with a look you identify as his jealousy. You’ve seen that look way too much for you to forget it.

You want to blush, but the irony is too thick. Instead, you just groan in annoyance. “Whatever, we’ll see with Shepherd,” you mumble, reaching for your gun again.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You somehow managed to sneak an extra plate from the kitchens. Shepherd’s strict orders allowed one serving per soldier—ensuring everyone got their share. But you had a guest. A guest who, you knew, ate a lot. You even sacrificed some of your portion, piling more onto his plate.

More rice, more miso soup, more seaweed, more seared tofu. It wasn’t fancy—just sustenance. Basic proteins and fiber meant to keep everyone functional, not satisfied. The higher-ups didn’t care about soldiers here any more than they cared about anyone outside their elite circles. The realization stung: sorcerers at Jujutsu High were glorified, while the rest of you were discarded when no longer useful.

Balancing the plates, you pushed open the door to your room to find Satoru sitting on the edge of the bed. The sight caught you off guard for a second. The bed was big enough for two, but the thought of sharing it with him—after all this time—felt too... intimate.

“Um... I’ve got food here,” you said softly, shyness creeping into your voice as you approached him, holding out the bigger plate.

Satoru looked up at you, his lips quirking into a faint smile. The scene felt almost domestic, like you were... his wife.

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the plate from your hands.

“I’m sorry it’s not much,” you added quickly, almost apologetic. “This is all they serve here—what they’re allowed to serve.”

He glanced down at the plate before his gaze returned to you, something tender lurking in his eyes. “Good thing I can teleport then,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar playful lilt.

Before you could respond, he reached under the bed and pulled out a crinkling plastic bag—a 7/11 logo emblazoned across it.

Your jaw dropped. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” he said, grinning smugly.

“You didn’t just teleport to get yourself food,” you accused, crossing your arms.

He tilted his head, correcting you with a casual, “Got us food, sweetheart.”

“You’ll burn your eyes out,” you muttered, trying not to smile.

“For you and my belly? Worth it.”

You gave up, rolling your eyes as he pushed the bag toward you. Inside, you spotted greasy onigiri, a couple of bento boxes, and a can of your favorite drink. You hadn’t had anything like this in what felt like years.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, unable to hide your gratitude.

As you both ate, Satoru glanced at your plates, noting the uneven portions. His own was piled so high it looked like the plate might crack under the weight. “You didn’t have to give me half your tofu,” he said, pushing a few big pieces back toward you.

“They’re for you,” you mumbled.

“Thanks, baby, but I came prepared,” he teased, gesturing toward the 7/11 haul.

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too much. It was small, but it felt like old times—before everything fell apart.

“So, you always sleep here?” he asked through a mouthful of rice, his cheeks puffed like a squirrel.

The sight nearly made you giggle. “No. Just after missions like these. This is a moving base. There’s a little house by the coast I stay in with Shepherd.”

“Shepherd? The old gruff buff guy?” he asked, raising a brow.

You nodded. “He kind of... took me under his wing. Said something like me was too precious to waste here.”

“I agree with him,” Satoru said, his voice softening.

For a moment, silence settled between you, filled only by the sound of eating. Then, he broke it. “Come home with me,” he said, the vulnerability in his voice catching you off guard. “God knows Shoko misses you—Yaga-sensei too. I miss you.”

You hesitated, your grip tightening on your plate. “I can’t,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve gotten too used to this life.”

“Liar,” he said, his tone sharper now. “I’m not leaving until you come home with me.”

“This is my home,” you replied, setting your plate aside as your chest tightened.

“I’m your home,” Satoru said, his voice quiet but firm, his jaw tightening as his eyes bore into yours.

The words hung in the air like a challenge, daring you to deny them.

You looked away, focusing on the empty plate in your hands. “That’s not fair,” you murmured, your voice trembling ever so slightly.

“It’s the truth,” Satoru countered, setting his plate down beside him. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his crystalline eyes piercing through you. “You don’t belong here. You know that.”

Your throat tightened, and you clenched your fists. “You think I chose this?”

“I think someone made you believe you didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice softening. “But you always have a choice. You had one when we first met, and you have one now.”

You swallowed hard, the familiar ache in your chest rising. “It’s not that simple, Satoru.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, standing up. His height, his presence—it was overwhelming, and it reminded you of how small you felt in his orbit. “What’s stopping you, really? Is it fear? Guilt? Or is it because someone here convinced you you’re only useful if you stay?”

You flinched, and he caught it. He always did.

“It’s complicated,” you said, stepping back as he stepped closer.

“Then uncomplicate it,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading.

Your back hit the wall, and suddenly, there was nowhere else to go. He stood in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, but not close enough to touch. His hands clenched at his sides like he was holding himself back.

“Satoru,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t do this.”

“I have to,” he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly. “Because if I don’t, I’ll lose you. And I can’t... I won’t let that happen.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. The raw vulnerability in his words, in his eyes—it was too much.

“You think I haven’t missed you?” you asked, your voice cracking as tears welled up. “Every day, I think about what I left behind. About what we had. But I can’t go back. Not yet.”

“Why?” he asked, his voice trembling with frustration and hurt.

“Because I’m not the same person anymore,” you said, your tears finally spilling over. “And I don’t know if I can be her again.”

He reached out then, his fingers brushing against your cheek, wiping away a tear. “You don’t have to be her,” he said softly. “Just be with me. That’s all I need.”

For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, let yourself imagine a world where things were simple again. Where you weren’t bound by duty, by fear, by the chains you’d willingly wrapped around yourself.

But then reality crashed back in.

You tried to move away, but the sound of his fist slamming into the wall froze you. The reverberation rang in your ears, the dent just inches from your head. You stared at the deformed metal, then back at him, your chest tight with fear—or something far more complicated.

His breaths came sharp, his hand still pressed against the wall as if steadying himself. But his eyes—his eyes locked onto yours with a desperation that made you want to cry and scream all at once.

“Goddamn it, talk to me—tell me the truth.” His voice cracked, raw and unrelenting.

“This is the truth!” you snapped back, your voice trembling despite the sharpness of your words. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but this is my life now! So just—just leave. Or we can sit down, eat whatever junk you teleported for, and pretend this didn’t happen.”

You didn’t mean it. Not really. But the words flew out, your defenses building faster than you could think.

“I’m not fuckin’ leaving,” he bit out, his voice low, gravelly, and trembling with anger. “I’ll figure you out—I’ll break through this. I’m so damn tired of everyone lying to me. Leaving me.”

The last words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him something—anything—but all you managed was a quiet, choked, “Please.”

Something in your voice stopped him. His arm dropped, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of the world had finally caught up to him. He stepped back, giving you space, though the tension between you remained, thick and suffocating.

You didn’t move at first. Your legs felt like jelly, and your heart thundered so loud you swore he could hear it. But when he finally sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, you willed yourself to follow, each step feeling heavier than the last.

He exhaled sharply, breaking the silence. “It’s fine,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “I found you. That’s all that matters.”

You hesitated before sitting beside him, close enough to feel his warmth but far enough to keep the invisible line between you intact. The food sat between you, untouched for a moment, until you quietly picked up your portion.

You ate in silence, the tension slowly ebbing, though the ache in your chest remained. Every now and then, you’d glance at him, at his furrowed brows and clenched jaw. And as much as you wanted to stay angry, to cling to the walls you’d built, a part of you wanted to reach out—to touch him, to soothe the storm raging inside him.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you focused on the meal he’d risked so much to get, the quiet words he hadn’t spoken but had been etched into every action, every look.

For now, this was enough.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Sleeping next to Satoru felt strangely natural, even after everything. The rhythm of his breathing, the warmth radiating from him—it all felt like coming home. You hadn’t felt this kind of peace in two years, and before you knew it, you were slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But Satoru didn’t share the luxury of rest, not fully. His body craved it, sure, but his heart and mind couldn’t stop racing. He was right here, next to you, after two agonizing years of chasing ghosts and dead ends. He didn’t want to waste a second.

He studied your face like it was a map back to better days, tracing the curves and lines with his eyes, then with his fingertips. Carefully, reverently, as if you’d vanish if he pressed too hard. Your lashes fluttered slightly, but you stayed asleep, your lips parted in soft, even breaths.

His chest tightened as he leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours. Just one kiss, he thought. You wouldn’t wake up. You wouldn’t mind. Right?

The kiss was featherlight, a gentle press of lips that tasted like a bittersweet promise. Satoru stayed close for a moment longer, letting his forehead rest against yours, breathing you in.

Finally, he pulled back and exhaled slowly, threading his fingers with yours. It wasn’t just to hold you close. It was to anchor himself, to remind him that this wasn’t a dream. You were here, and for the first time in a long while, the crushing weight on his chest began to lift.

If you woke up and tried to leave, he’d know.

But more than that, he just needed to feel connected to you, even if it was only through the quiet strength of your intertwined hands.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” his voice echoed quietly, the calmness in his tone like it always had been, barely betraying the weight of his past decisions. “I’m... a criminal under your records.”

The room was thick with tension, the air almost vibrating with the intensity of what was at stake. The elderly voice of the higher-up rumbled through the shadows, commanding authority with its gravelly resonance.

“Yes, you are—" the voice boomed, thick with years of experience and frustration, "but in the end, you hate the Zen’in, don’t you? They want to overthrow our system, impose their own ideals—Naoya had us fooled. We thought we were making progress with him, but... no.” There was a pause, an exhale heavy with regret. “We need your help. We can’t do this without you.”

A small silence followed, like a crack in the conversation, as the man stood still, his face a mask of indifference. He didn’t move, didn’t twitch a muscle as his mind ran through all the motives, all the options laid before him.

“And why the hell would I care?” he finally spoke, his voice still flat, yet there was a deeper edge to his words now, cutting through the tension. “I have my own reasons, my own motives. Your visions, your politics—don’t concern me. And neither does the Zen'in family.”

The elderly figure in the shadows could feel the defiance in his words, the weight of years of pain and betrayal weighing heavily in his heart. But this wasn’t about politics anymore—it was personal.

“You’re different,” the voice rumbled again, with a certain conviction. “Naoya wants to eliminate sorcerers. You know he’s after Gojo, specifically. You care about him, don’t you? After all, everyone does. Isn’t that right?”

A slight shift in his expression betrayed the fact that the mention of Gojo had struck a chord.

“Sure,” he muttered, his voice softening ever so slightly as memories of his old friend flickered through his mind. “You can say that. But why do you need my help?”

“Because," the elder’s voice dropped to a more sinister level, "you were once labeled the strongest. The one who could end it all. If you help us, we won’t detain you. You won’t be a prisoner after this is over. We’ll let you vanish, disappear. Go into hiding again. No one will come after you.”

His lips twitched, a humorless chuckle escaping his throat. He turned slightly, his gaze steady as he let out a low sigh.

“You all lie,” he said, eyes narrowing, a ghost of disbelief and bitterness lurking in his voice. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because Naoya Zenin is a threat,” the elder responded with chilling finality. “He cannot—he will not—be allowed to control the jujutsu society. And neither will anyone like him. We need you to ensure that doesn’t happen. Help us, and we’ll keep our word.”

The man stood there for what seemed like an eternity, contemplating the offer. His mind was a battleground of pros and cons, the weight of the past and the present crashing together in a maelstrom. There were risks, of course. But he couldn’t stand by and watch as the world he once knew spiraled into chaos. Not without doing something.

And, if he was being honest, a small part of him still cared about the ones who had cared for him—Gojo... and you. You had been kind to him when no one else had. And perhaps... just perhaps, there was a chance to make things right.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, his voice broke the stillness. “I accept.”

The elder chuckled, a satisfied grin creeping across his face. “Good. You’re a smart man. Welcome back—Suguru Geto.”

Taglist is open!

@lavnder311

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #all i need mymoonisgrey #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu gojo #satoru gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo angst #gojo fluff

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mymoonisgrey · 2 days ago

Text

welcome to symone’s daydreams 🫧

hi im symone 𐙚 or dollie :) 20. aerospace engineering major— and when im not, i write fanfics for jujutsu kaisen.

blog established 10.01.25. 𐙚

𐙚 my tiktok account, i edit :3 too.

rules and frequently asked questions:

• minors please do not interact, if you do, brace for impact.

• no spam likes, pls.

• do not repost my work, re-write in a different language, or post on any other platform.

• be nice and respectful.

• i accept requests depending on my availability to write, feel free to talk to me.

the stash >ᴗ<

gojo satoru series :

𐙚 All I Need [updated 12.01.25.]

• gojo satoru x f!reader

— original AU | angst, smut, fluff, dark and sensitive themes.

𐙚 masterlist

#mymoonisgrey #dividers by cafekitsune #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #satoru gojo

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mymoonisgrey · 2 days ago

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HIII, OH MY GOD I ABSOLUTELY LOVE ALL I NEED ITS AMAZING. I have so many questions rn i hope its not like too fucking much.

1.) how’d you think of the plot? what inspired it?

2.) i can already tell this is a slowburn but what exactly are we going at here? how many chapters?

3.) is your name actually dollie because that is so cute.

4.) love the playlist. sets the mood for the story synopsis— do you take song recommendations to add in there?

Hi!!!!! my first ever anon and ask, hello, hi, how do you do :)

thank you so much for the support, I love you stranger. honestly, didn't think anyone would be interested to read my shit. lol.

Alrighty, so:

1), my dad used to be in the army, he had countless stories and him and his friends always talk in army slang-- and he's a MAJOR Call of Duty fan, we have all the games shelved on our gaming room's wall. Naturally, I fucking love the franchise, and I love jujutsu kaisen and Gojo-- so mesh this shit together, I made up some shit, and this was my daydream. lol.

2) it is a slowburn. YAAAAAAAAAAAR im sorry, i love slowburns--- and i know i popped off with quite some smut in the start, but I swear Satoru and reader's relationship gets worse before it gets better.

and idk how many chaps yet, im going with the flow of my brain.

3) my name is Symone!!!!! my daddy calls me doll, hehe, so I used that :3

4) yes. absolutely. send it over.

#symone talks #all i need mymoonisgrey #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #anon submit

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mymoonisgrey · 2 days ago

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you, my love, are All I Need.

pairings: gojo satoru x reader. (og jujutsu au.)

chapter warnings: 18+, blood, mentions of war atmospheres, profanities, smut (flashback— sorry), body horror description.

wc : 7k+

all i need's playlist!

series masterlist.

a/n : and chapter 3 is out, im on a roll here. Do you guys like the plot so far? 😢

previously.

2006.

His dorm was always a mess, a clash of luxury and chaos that only Satoru could pull off. Designer jackets draped carelessly over his desk chair, empty sweet wrappers scattered across the floor, and the faint scent of his cologne—clean, crisp, and achingly familiar—lingering in the air. You were used to it, though. It was his space, and somehow, it always felt like yours, too.

He stood by the edge of the bed, looking at you like he was starving. His half-unbuttoned shirt hung loosely off his broad shoulders, teasing glimpses of the defined muscle underneath, and his silver hair was tousled in a way that made him look both untouchable and utterly yours.

Those impossibly blue eyes locked onto you with a heat that made your stomach flip. “C’mere.” he said, his voice low and commanding, yet so soft, and it was all you could do to obey. You were so drawn to him. Was this a red string theory? be believed in them— should you?

You took a hesitant step closer, but that wasn’t enough for him. He reached out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you flush against him. His hands slid to your waist, his thumbs brushing bare skin beneath your shirt, and the way he looked at you made your knees weak.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Every time I see you, I wanna rip this shit off and make you mine all over again.”

“Satoru—”

But your protest was cut off when he captured your lips in a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It was all tongue and teeth, messy and desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His hands roamed your body, squeezing and kneading as he pressed you closer.

He broke the kiss just long enough to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. His gaze roved over you, dark and hungry, and he let out a low whistle.

“Look at these,” he said, his hands coming up to cup your breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, and he groaned. “Perfect fucking tits. I should bury my face in them and never come up for air, hm? Suck ‘em raw.” he emphasized with a firm and sharp pinch to your hardened— oh so perfect nipples under the flimsy fabric.

You blushed furiously, but he didn’t give you time to respond. His hands slid behind you, unhooking your bra with ease before tossing it aside. The cool air against your skin made you shiver, but the way he stared at you made heat pool low in your belly.

“Fuck,” he breathed, leaning down to capture a nipple in his mouth. His tongue swirled over the sensitive bud before he grazed it lightly with his teeth, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips.

“That’s it,” he said, pulling back to admire the way your chest heaved. “Let me hear you, baby. I wanna hear every little sound you make.”

His hands moved to your shorts, tugging them down along with your underwear in one smooth motion. He groaned as he took you in, his eyes dark with lust.

“Pretty pussy,” he muttered, his fingers brushing over your folds. “So wet already. All for me, huh?”

You could barely think, let alone respond, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He pushed you back onto the bed, spreading your legs wide and kneeling between them. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as he stared at you like you were his favorite meal.

“God, you’re perfect,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your inner thigh. “And you taste so fucking good, too. Can’t get enough of you.”

The first swipe of his tongue against you made your back arch off the bed. He groaned at the taste, his hands tightening on your thighs as he dove back in.

“Satoru—” you whimpered, your hands fisting the sheets.

“Mm,” he hummed against you, pulling back just enough to smirk. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Too much?”

You nodded, your chest heaving, but he just chuckled. “You can take it,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence. “This is just the warm-up, baby. Gotta get you nice and ready for me, don’t I? How else am I supposed to fuck this pretty little pussy without making sure she’s good and prepped?”

The filthy words sent a shiver down your spine, and the way he looked at you—like he was ready to devour you whole—left you breathless.

He went back to work, his tongue and lips driving you closer and closer to the edge. The pleasure was overwhelming, and you felt tears prick your eyes as you gasped and whimpered beneath him.

“Too much,” you cried, your hands reaching for him, trying to push him away.

“Not yet,” he growled, his grip on your thighs tightening. “You’re gonna give me one more. Just one more, baby. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

You couldn’t find the words to respond, but the way your body trembled beneath him was answer enough. He didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to push you over the edge again.

When you finally shattered, your cries echoing through the room, he pulled back, his lips glistening as he grinned down at you. “Good girl,” he said, his voice full of pride.

You were still catching your breath when he stood, shrugging off his shirt and undoing his belt with deliberate slowness. “That was just the appetizer,” he said, his grin turning wicked. “Now, let’s see how much you can really take.”

And as he climbed back over you, his body pressing against yours, you realized that he wasn’t going to stop until he’d completely unraveled you.

He spread your legs impossibly wide, his strong hands roaming over the soft, milky expanse of your thighs, his touch deliberate and possessive. His fingers slid up, caressing your calf before reaching your ankle, where he leaned in and placed a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on the arch of your foot. His thumb pressed into the sole, sending a faint tingle up your leg, while his other fingers traced over your polished toenails, lingering on the glossy finish of your French pedicure—the one he insisted you get. His treat, his card, his instructions: “Have a field day, baby.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction as his other hand ventured lower, slipping between your thighs. His fingers danced over your pussy, teasing and spreading your slick folds apart. The wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filled the air, making his grin widen. His thumb found your clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles, drawing a needy gasp from you. “Pretty pussy,” he muttered, almost to himself, like he was admiring art he’d sculpted with his own two hands.

A flush spread across your chest and cheeks, and you instinctively hid your face with your arm. He clicked his tongue in disapproval, his tone playful yet firm. “C’mon now, don’t be shy. Lemme see your face, baby.” His fingers didn’t stop their sinful work, and when you peeked at him, he rewarded you by plunging two long digits inside, curling them just right as he began scissoring you open. “Fuck,” he groaned, feeling the way your walls gripped him. “So tight. Gonna need to stretch you real good for me, aren’t I?”

Your head tipped back, and a mewl escaped your lips as his pace quickened. He smirked at the sound, his blue eyes gleaming with pride and lust. “Atta girl,” he purred. “Sing for me.” And you did. You cried out, your voice breaking as he coaxed you into release after release, your body trembling under his skilled hands. Every shudder, every whimper made his cock throb with anticipation.

When you finally caught your breath, you felt the wet, heavy slap of his cock against your sensitive folds, the thick, mushroom-shaped tip dragging across your entrance and bumping against your swollen clit. You whimpered, your thighs instinctively clenching, but he was quick to pry them apart again. “Where you goin’, huh?” he teased, a boyish laugh spilling from his lips as he dragged you closer, his grip on your thigh firm and unyielding.

“Satoru, it’s too much,” you whined, squirming beneath him, your body still pulsing with the aftershocks of your previous highs.

He chuckled, his voice a mix of amusement and hunger. “You’ll take it,” he murmured, leaning down to capture your lips in a wet, heated kiss. His hands slid to the backs of your thighs, his grip tightening as he folded your legs, pressing your knees to your chest. He manhandled you effortlessly into a mean, filthy mating press, and the sheer strength of him—his dominance—drew a shameless, needy grunt from you.

“I love you,” he whispered between kisses, his words punctuated with breathless moans and sloppy affection. “Love you so much—mwah—fuck, you’re perfect. If it’s too much, just say the word.”

“Red,” you nodded, your voice trembling, reassuring him of your boundaries.

“Good,” he growled, positioning himself at your entrance. The first thrust was slow, deliberate, his cock stretching you in a way that made you cry out. “Fucking perfect,” he groaned, pulling out just enough before slamming back in, even deeper this time. The friction was overwhelming, your slick heat gripping him like a vice. “Girl, you feel so fucking good,” he panted, his hips finding a relentless rhythm, every snap of his pelvis driving you closer to the edge.

You were lost in him, in the filthy, desperate way he claimed you, his words and actions consuming every thought until all that remained was him.

It seemed like forever, but he brought you back to life with a splash of water on your face, and you jerked awake, groggy, confused. “Eh?”

He sighed, a laugh escaping his lips before kissing your forehead. “You tapped out on me,” he murmured, biting his lip, eyes twinkling with both amusement and concern. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

His gaze softened, almost guilty, like a puppy caught in the act.

“Hurt? No,” you said, your voice still a little shaky, “but you definitely blew me away.” You gave him a small, teasing smile.

He chuckled sweetly, sliding your legs open, only for you to snap them shut, gasping, “Again?”

“No, baby,” he grinned, shaking his head, “I’m cleaning you up.” He lifted the small white towel in his hand, waving it like a white flag.

Relieved, you let out a sigh. “God knows my stamina isn’t as high as yours. You’re a walking... sex addict.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

He laughed, undeterred, as he began his work. “If it’s any consolation, I love my work.” He gave you a wink.

You nodded, genuinely grateful. “Thank you.”

“For what? This is my job, sweetheart,” he replied, looking at you as though you were the most precious thing in the world.

You raised an eyebrow, your hand fisting the sheets, playing with the soft fabric as you tilted your head. “Is everything concerning me your job?”

He gave you a confused look, mimicking your raised brow as he wiped you gently. Your eyes flickered to the flex of his biceps, the veins—his dedication to being the strongest jujutsu sorcerer ever. And you were still in second year.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be? You’re my lady.”

“Usually, married men think that way,” you teased.

“In my head, I’m already married to you.” He spoke softly, eyes not meeting yours as he carefully slid the fresh panties on you. “I daydream of us, somewhere far away, with a rock on your finger.”

Your heart stuttered, your breath catching. What did you do to deserve him? A man so devoted, who loved you more than anyone else ever had.

“Was that too much?” He blushed, the hint of pink on his cheeks as his six eyes flickered with uncertainty.

“No way,” you said, your voice tender. You reached up to cradle his face, feeling the weight of his breath, the softness of his lips as they quivered beneath your touch. “You’re not the only one who yearns, Satoru. I daydream too.”

His smile bloomed, and he let out a relieved breath. “That’s... yes, I like that.”

“I like you,” you muttered, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Like only?” He teased with a smirk, but his eyes held a deeper meaning.

“My god, you're impossible...” You gave a dramatic sigh before playfully nudging him.

He laughed boyishly and, before you knew it, flipped you both over. His long legs tangled with yours as he settled you atop his chest, pulling the sheets over the two of you. You let him hold you close, feeling his warmth seep into your skin.

“I’m joking, shh,” he whispered. “I love you too.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his sternum. “I’m relieved you’re okay now... you seem like your old self again.”

He sighed deeply, his fingers gently twirling a lock of your hair. “It still bothers me... I feel like I could’ve done something.”

You placed a hand over his chest, right above his heart, where you could feel the steady rhythm. “You can’t change everything, Satoru.”

“I’m the—”

“Tsk tsk tsk. No, you’re not the only one who tried,” you interrupted, looking up at him. “There was me, Shoko, Yaga... we all tried talking to him, but Suguru made up his mind long before he let himself go like that.”

Satoru’s brows furrowed. “You talked to Suguru?”

“Yeah.” You nodded; voice soft. “I didn’t think you’d wanna know... It might’ve hurt you.”

“No, no,” Satoru interrupted, his grip tightening around your waist, his face etched with concern. “That’s not what this is about. I just don’t trust him with you. He could’ve hurt you to get back at me.”

“Why would he do that?” you frowned, confused. “It’s Suguru. He wouldn’t. We were friends too.”

Satoru bit his lip, his gaze distant. “I said some... provoking things to him. I was pissed and hurt. But that’s no excuse. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, the weight of unspoken words settling between you both.

“Oh,” you whispered, your heart aching.

“Yeah, oh,” he muttered, breathing out a long sigh, his face softening with regret.

The silence between you both lingered, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. You could feel Satoru’s heart beating steadily under your cheek, but there was a subtle tension in the air that still hadn’t quite dissipated.

He sighed, shifting slightly as if to pull you even closer, his breath warm against your hair. “I don’t want to feel like I’ve failed him... but at the same time, I can’t change what happened. I can’t change what I said.”

You shifted, pulling yourself up enough to meet his eyes. His gaze was raw, vulnerable, and you could see the inner conflict playing out in the flicker of his six eyes. You reached up, gently brushing a lock of hair from his face, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Satoru,” you whispered, your voice steady, “you didn’t fail him. You’re not the reason he made those choices. You’re... you’re only human, Satoru.”

He scoffed lightly, the humor in his voice strained. “I know I’m human, but it doesn’t make me feel any less responsible.”

“Then don’t,” you said, the conviction in your voice unwavering. “You’re allowed to feel what you feel, but don’t carry that burden alone. You have me. You always will.”

Satoru’s eyes softened, and for a brief moment, the boyish grin that usually danced on his lips returned. But this time, it was different—more tender, more real. “Yeah? I’ll always have you?”

“Always,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you reached for him again, threading your fingers through his.

His hand found yours, squeezing it tightly. The weight of everything between you seemed to shift, and as you lay there, tangled in the sheets and in each other, you felt a fleeting sense of peace settle over both of you.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere, as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Same here,” you whispered back. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a deep breath, the tension easing as he pulled you closer once more. “I don’t deserve you.”

You smiled softly, pressing your lips to his chest again. “Stop saying that. You’re exactly what I need.”

His hand trailed from your back down to your side, his touch light and tender as it ghosted over your skin. He paused at the curve of your pelvis, his fingers tracing a small, delicate beauty mark shaped like a heart. The sensation was soft, deliberate, and when you looked up to meet his eyes, you saw them soften even further, filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter.

“You know, I’ve always loved this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like a little piece of you that’s just... perfect.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the sincerity in his words, his fingertips continuing to trace the small mark, as if committing it to memory.

“You always find a way to make me feel special,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

“Because you are special,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, his lips lingering in your hair. “I love you, you know that?”

You smiled, the tenderness in his touch making your chest tighten with affection. “I love you too, Satoru. Always.”

His hand stayed there, resting gently over the heart-shaped mark, as he held you close, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. You simply lay there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, knowing that in this shared quiet, everything was okay.

“I’m never letting you go,” he whispered into your hair.

And you smiled, knowing without a doubt that, for better or worse, you were both exactly where you needed to be.

Until you weren’t.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You were scared, hiding behind a rock while a lifeless body of one of your comrades lay next to you—his arm severed brutally, torn from his body and laid a few inches away from him. He was just a kid, sixteen. The higher-ups had drafted him to join the J.S.T.F. because of his minimal cursed energy—and because he was foreign. Thailand, wasn’t it? You could hardly remember. You were too terrified to think, too overwhelmed by the sight of the mangled body and the violent chaos unfolding around you.

The way his youthful face was so ripped apart— looking at you, taunting you— reminding you that instead of him, it could’ve been you.

In your head, a small voice says maybe it should’ve. You’re sick of these nightmarish nights when you could be studying in the labs with Shoko— how is she doing these days anyway?

You couldn’t stop the sickening wave of guilt that crashed over you. Why the hell were you even here? A special grade, trained for greater responsibilities. This wasn’t your job. You weren’t supposed to be risking your life like this. They hated you. They had always hated you. Was it because of your cursed technique? Or was it because you loved someone who could never belong to them—the prodigy of the Gojo clan?

A cold, bitter laugh slipped from your lips. Of course they hated you for loving Satoru. They never understood.

Speaking of —where the hell was Shepherd?

You hadn’t heard a word over comms, no bark of orders, no dumb dad jokes to break the tension. Was he hurt?

The air around you was thick with smoke and gunpowder, blood staining the ground beneath your hands. You could smell the metallic tang of it, could hear the wail of distant curses. The last transmission you heard over comms was a frantic voice from one of your friendlies, talking about exfiltrating—until your jet was shot down by a missile from a curse user group. You grabbed a radio, jumped out of the plane, and prayed that your cursed energy would keep you alive when you hit the ground.

Your hand instinctively moved to your side, tracing the heart-shaped beauty mark on your pelvis, trying to ground yourself. You focused on the slow, rhythmic circles of your fingers, breathing deeply, trying not to look at the blood, the bodies, the cursed things moving in the distance.

Suddenly, a shout cut through the chaos.

“Doll!”

Your body tensed as you spun around, the smoke swirling like a cruel veil, and then—his face. Shepherd. Thank god.

“Shepherd!” you gasped, reaching for him as he approached, his eyes scanning the area.

“We gotta go! Jet’s ready—missiles locked and loaded. Ground team’s north-east—let’s move!” His voice was sharp, commanding, and with no time to spare, you grasped his hand. For a moment, you glanced back at the body of the kid. Rest in peace, soldier.

Shepherd shielded you with his body as you both ran, darting between rocks and trees, trying to avoid the curses and the inferno of fighting. You could feel the bile rise in your throat, your stomach twisting with every step, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t waste a second. The crunch of rubble under your feet— was it rubble or dismembered body parts? you’d like to assume the former.

“GO, GO, GO!” Shepherd’s voice rang out when the jet came into view, and you scrambled to get inside. As soon as you hit the cockpit, you heard the familiar crackle of comms coming to life.

You were back in motion, you can’t let the old man down— you can’t let yourself down. Now, what’re you gonna do, reader?

“Doll, you copy?” Shepherd’s voice came through, his usual calm replaced by urgency.

“Yes, captain,” you replied shakily, trying to steady your hands as you guided the plane into taxi.

“Watcher! What’s your sitrep?” Shepherd barked, and the voice of Leslie, your fellow comrade, the one in charge of the drone your whole team likes to call the “predator”, crackled through.

“I’ve got eyes on the curse users! South sector’s been infiltrated! They’re coming for the goods!” she shouted.

You nodded, focusing as you banked the plane toward the south side of the hangar. "I’ve got eyes on target, estimate of seven people and two curses—large, grades unknown,” you reported, setting the plane to auto-pilot. It was time for you to work your magic.

In the back of the plane, the gunner’s station was ready. You slid into position, your sniper at the ready.

"Blow 'em!" came the call from the comms, a sense of excitement clear in their tone.

“Gotcha!” You locked the crosshairs on the group below, eyes steady. Just as you prepared to fire, a flash of cursed energy caught your attention. Your gaze shifted.

A tall, white-haired figure stood among them, exuding an overwhelming amount of cursed energy, far too much to ignore. You raised an eyebrow, confusion prickling at the back of your mind.

Was it an old man? how the fuck—-

Suddenly, alarms blared in the cockpit.

“INCOMING MISSILES, THREE O’CLOCK!”

“Fuck!” You scrambled, pressing the button to release flares, narrowly evading the incoming missiles. But as soon as you regained control, your eyes locked on the target once more. It was time to pull the trigger.

You hit the button, and the blast was deafening, the sound of fire and destruction echoing in the cockpit. But the satisfaction was short-lived.

“HEEEELLLL YEAAAAHHH!! KILLER!” One of your comrades screamed, one close to you since you’ve been here in this shit hole— Malachai, an american-japanese, your age. he cheered, but the adrenaline felt hollow.

You let the plane bank, the smoke of the explosion clearing. Shepherd’s voice came back through the comms, ordering you to inspect the damage. “Gunner, get a closer look—make sure they’re all dead.”

“Rog.” You steadied the sniper, letting your cursed energy flow through it like second nature, making sure everything was amplified. Through the scope, you saw the wreckage—smoke billowing and flames licking at the sky. It was a mess. But as the smoke began to clear, you froze.

There he was again—the man you saw earlier. Tall. White-haired. Standing. Unharmed. You squinted, trying to process what you were seeing.

A chill ran down your spine. No.

He turned slowly, and you could see the serene confidence in his movements. He glanced over his shoulder, as if inspecting the damage, as if nothing had happened.

It couldn’t be.

It was.

Satoru Gojo.

But you didn’t have the time to actually absorb anything— because you weren’t a sponge, actually what the hell? your plane was crashing. You missed a missile flying your way when you caught sight of your boyfriend, er— ex boyfriend? what was he now?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Satoru wouldn’t call himself a traditional listen-and-abide sorcerer. Sometimes, he liked to do things his way—whether it got Yaga-sensei into trouble with the school directors or landed a punch on his handsome face for discipline.

“Seriously? Come back, you don’t need more issues on your plate.” Shoko’s voice echoed on the other end of the line. He could almost hear the frustration in her tone, picturing her rubbing her temples in exasperation.

“Just cover me, Ieiri—there's more going on here. I found so many dead people and cursed spirit residuals.” Satoru spoke casually, yet his eyes never stopped scanning the area. He stepped over the grotesque bodies scattered around him, their faces unrecognizable from the brutal disfiguration. The stench of death hung heavy in the air. “What if they need my help?”

“Didn’t they tell you, exorcise the special grade and come back home?!” Shoko shot back, her voice rising in frustration. It was clear she didn’t want to get pulled into his mess.

He grinned, leaning against a nearby ruined building. “Yeah—since when do I ever listen?” His tone was light, but the gravity of the situation wasn’t lost on him. He heard her sigh, the frustration giving way to the familiar undercurrent of worry she couldn’t hide. “Please?”

Satoru’s eyes darted around, feeling a shift in the air. Without missing a beat, he activated his Infinity, his senses heightened. A missile was coming straight for him. “Shoko, I’m gonna mute you for a sec—your ears might explode otherwise,” he said with a nonchalant grin, fully aware of the imminent danger.

“What—”

“Yikes,” he muttered under his breath as the missile exploded mere meters from where he stood. The shockwave rocked his body, sending dust and debris flying, the blast so powerful that the surrounding area seemed to disintegrate. His six eyes caught a grotesque, grisly sight as he looked around—people, cursed spirits, innocent or guilty, torn to pieces in the chaos.

The sound of screaming metal and crumbling concrete drowned out his thoughts for a moment.

When the smoke started to clear, Satoru casually unmuted, his voice as unfazed as ever. “My bad, missile hit.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes still wide with awareness, but his grin was still there, almost apologetic. The force of the explosion hadn’t phased him, but the aftermath… it lingered.

“MISSILE?! Are you at a task force mission?!” Shoko screeched, her concern now unmistakable.

Satoru smirked, adjusting his sunglasses with a playful flick of his finger. “Heh. May have eavesdropped on the higher-ups after I talked to them last night. Got the password to their classified archives now~” He teased, a grin dancing on his lips.

“God, you’re such an idiot—”

CRASH!

The sudden sound shattered the lighthearted atmosphere. The ground beneath him shook, and his eyes snapped to the sky just in time to see a plane plummeting toward the earth. His heart skipped a beat. Someone was in that plane. Someone was falling out of the sky with no way to stop it.

His expression hardened instantly, the playful air gone in an instant. His gaze locked on the descending wreckage as his heart rate quickened. “Fuck, I’ll call you back!” he snapped, his voice sharp, urgent. Without waiting for a reply, he hung up, already sprinting toward the area where the plane was heading. Every instinct screamed at him—this wasn’t just another mission, not when lives were on the line.

He pushed himself harder, his cursed energy bursting forth in full force. His mind raced as he calculated his next move—I can’t let anyone die today.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“INCOMING! GUNNER, WATCH OUT!!!!!” A sharp, panicked shout rips through the comms as missiles hurtle toward you.

“what the fu—“

There’s no time to react, no time to deploy flares. The world explodes in a blinding flash as your plane is torn apart. The force of the blast knocks you out of your seat and throws you into the chaos of flames and twisted metal.

Everything is a blur. You struggle to regain consciousness, the pain throbbing through your limbs, your body in agony as you try to stand. The wreckage surrounds you, and you hear the distant shouts of your comrades—screams, gunfire, curses—it all blends into a cacophony.

“GUNNER! ARE YOU THERE? DO YOU COPY?” The frantic voice of a comrade crackles through the comms, but your vision is still blurry. You try to focus, but your left hand doesn’t respond. You try to move it, but the pain in your wrist is unbearable. “Shit,” you hiss, your breath shallow.

“DOLL, ARE YOU THERE?!” Shepherd’s voice breaks through the static, more frantic now. You can hear the desperate edge to it. But all you can think about is how to survive—how to get to safety.

You stagger, stumbling toward where your radio dropped earlier, the ground beneath you uneven, sharp debris digging into your knees. But just as you reach out to grab it, you hear footsteps. Heavy, purposeful. Someone's close.

Your heart skips a beat. You hold your breath and freeze. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

The figure approaches, but you can't make them out through the smoke, the sounds of the fight surrounding you. Your instincts flare—fight or flight.

“Stay back!” Your voice is low and fierce, a command wrapped in uncertainty, but the adrenaline has you gripping your gun again. The barrel is trained on the figure now, ready to fire. Fear tugs at your insides, but you won’t let it show. Not now.

The footsteps slow, and you see a figure in a familiar navy-blue uniform, a face you can’t place—yet something feels wrong. Everything about them looks like a blur, like a threat.

“I said stay back!” You growl, your voice shaking but sharp, the gun firm in your grip as you hold them in your sights.

The figure stops a few feet away, and you hear them breathe deeply.

“You sure you’re alright?” the voice says, and your heart stutters.

The words are gentle, cautious, but the voice... it feels too familiar.

You can’t breathe. This can’t be happening. No. Not here. Not now. You convince yourself it can’t be. It doesn’t make sense.

Satoru...?

You shake your head, blink rapidly as if to clear your vision. This wasn’t possible. The man standing before you—the man who sounded exactly like him—wasn't real. It couldn’t be. It was a curse, a shapeshifting curse that was manipulating your mind.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block it out. He wasn’t real. You’d seen him through the scope just before your plane was hit. It couldn’t be him. He was supposed to be somewhere else, not here. You’d heard his voice—faint, like a whisper—before the explosion. Your senses were compromised. It was a hallucination, nothing more.

You breathe in sharply, your body shaking as the hallucination plays out in front of you. It’s not him. It can’t be him. You try to force the thought through your mind, trying to will it into your reality. It’s a shapeshifting curse—has to be. You can’t even trust your eyes right now. You’ve been through hell, and your senses have been shattered.

His presence overwhelms you as he steps closer, and for a moment, the world seems to stop. The sounds of the battle fade, and all you can hear is your own rapid breathing.

“I said stay back!” You shout again, but it comes out weak, unsure. The gun shakes in your hand, the grip slippery from the sweat of your palms. It’s just a curse, you repeat in your mind. This is just another trick. Another curse messing with your head.

Satoru stops, his blue eyes locking onto yours, full of concern. The intensity in his gaze makes your heart skip, but you refuse to acknowledge it. You can’t. This isn’t real.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice soft, like he's trying to soothe you, but there’s an edge of desperation in his tone.

Your mind races. This isn’t real. This isn’t him. It’s a curse, it’s got to be. He’s not here. He’s not. You feel your chest tightening as panic surges. You know what’s happening: stress, injury, hallucination. It’s all just a trick, right?

You can hear Shepherd’s voice in your ear, distant, calling your name, urging you to snap out of it. But it’s all drowned by the pounding in your chest, the frantic voice in your head screaming for you to not let your guard down.

Stay alert. Stay focused. Don’t let him in. Don’t let your heart betray you.

Satoru’s eyes soften even further as he steps forward, and you instinctively take another step back, the barrel of the gun still aimed at him. He doesn’t seem to register the threat in your movements, his expression unreadable.

You’re sure now that if you don’t act fast, you’ll lose yourself to this madness. But what if you’re wrong? What if it is him? What if this is your chance to escape this nightmare? But... how could it be?

No.

It’s not him. It can’t be.

You blink, trying to clear your thoughts, but the adrenaline is so thick you can hardly breathe. The faces of the dead from the wreckage flash in your mind’s eye—your team, the strangers, the endless sea of blood. Your hand grips the gun harder, nails digging into the handle as you take aim once more.

He raises his hands slowly, like he’s trying to show you that he’s no threat. But that’s just what a curse would do, isn’t it? Pretend to be harmless, get close, and then—attack.

“You’re not real,” you say, the words barely a whisper, but they feel like they hold everything in them. It’s not him. It’s not him.

A soft chuckle escapes him, and it feels like a knife in your gut. No, no, no.

He takes another step closer. “I’m as real as you are.” His voice is soft, almost playful, but there's an undercurrent of pain—like he’s trying to reach you, but the distance between you feels too vast.

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, the hallucination threatens to dissolve. You can feel the heat of his presence, the familiarity of his voice, the way his words seem to tug at something deep inside of you. The sense of security that you so desperately want to believe in crashes into you like a tidal wave.

Shit. No. This can’t be happening.

You raise the gun again, your hand trembling as your vision blurs. It’s a curse. It’s got to be. You’re not going to fall for this. Not again. You can’t afford to.

“I—” His voice falters. “It’s really you... isn’t it?”

The way he says it makes your chest tighten, and for a split second, a crack forms in your resolve. No, don’t let him in. Don’t do this. You try to shake the thought away. It’s not real. It’s a curse playing with you.

You stagger back, unable to tear your eyes from him. "I said stay back!" Your voice is cracking now, desperation bleeding through as the weight of the situation presses in. You need to get out of here. You need to survive. “I’ll shoot!”

But the urge to drop your guard is almost unbearable. Your heart races against your will, but you can’t let it take over. It’s not real. It’s not real.

“Stay back!” You shout again, but there’s a tremor in your voice now, more fear than you want to admit. You pull the trigger. You have to. You don’t want to, but you do.

The shot rings out, but before you can process it, something strange happens. The bullet seems to freeze mid-air, suspended in a force you can’t see, like a barrier of invisible power. It’s not possible. But when the bullet falls to the ground, it’s almost as if the universe itself is mocking you.

You stare at the empty space where the bullet once was, your mind reeling. That... that wasn’t a shapeshifting curse. That wasn’t a hallucination. That was—him.

“you’d really shoot me? that hurts, baby.” he murmurs— and you can’t tell if he’s fucking smiling or just actually offended. You can’t tell shit, except from some noises— his voice, and the frankly annoying blue glow of his eyes amidst the smoke. Too bright for your poorly vision, too stimulating for you— sitting like a tall child on the broken concrete and rubble.

The moment of clarity is enough to knock the wind out of you. Your body trembles, a war of disbelief and recognition clashing in your head. But it’s too late. He steps forward again, and this time, you can’t stop him.

You hear a voice cut through the chaos—your comrade, Alec— Originally Mexican, deployed and recruited into jujutsu task force from North Africa. “RUN! RUN, NOW!”

Missiles scream overhead, and curses rush toward you, but Satoru’s hand reaches for you, and before you can comprehend it, he’s lifting you in his arms, dashing toward your comrade. You hold onto him reflexively, your arms clinging to his neck as if your very survival depends on it.

As the sounds of destruction close in around you, you can feel Satoru’s heartbeat against your own. His breath is warm against your ear as he pulls you tighter into his embrace.

“Don’t let go,” he whispers, his voice full of urgency, but there’s something more behind it—something raw and desperate.

You can feel the weight of his body against yours, the familiar presence that you once thought was lost to you forever. Your mind races. The confusion doesn’t stop, but right now, with him holding you, you can’t bring yourself to care about anything but surviving.

But the world isn’t done with you yet.

The ground shakes as missiles hit, and the screech of enemy fire fills the air, but Satoru doesn’t falter. He holds onto you, and in that moment, you’re not sure if it’s a miracle, a curse, or fate. All you know is that you’re still alive—still breathing.

The tension in the air thickens as the plane's engines roar, the world outside a blur of destruction and chaos. Satoru’s grip on you never wavers, his hold strong yet gentle, as if he’s terrified that you might slip through his fingers. The steady thump of his heartbeat against your ear is a constant reminder that, for the first time in what feels like forever, you're not alone. Even though the circumstances are far from ideal, in this moment, there’s an odd sense of comfort in the way he holds you—secure and unyielding.

"RUN, RUN, RUN!" Shepherd’s voice echoes through the comms, and the words seem to pulse through you like a lifeline. Your comrade sprints ahead, leading the charge, and you can barely catch your breath, your body still reeling from the near-miss of death. Satoru’s feet pound against the dirt as he follows, effortlessly keeping up, one arm holding you steady while the other supports your weight beneath your thigh.

The roar of engines grows louder as you near the hatch of Shepherd's plane. Your eyes are wide, and your pulse is racing. Satoru, as calm as ever, doesn’t let go, and you’re reminded again that he’s here, still here. His presence is overwhelming and undeniable, but it doesn’t stop the chaos within you. Is this real? Is this really happening?

In a blink, you’re inside the plane. The hatch slams shut with a loud clank, and the roar of the engines drowns out everything else. The three of you are on the floor of the plane, sprawled out like rag dolls, panting for air, desperate to regain some semblance of normality.

Satoru’s arm stays wrapped around you, even as Shepherd quickly pulls you from his hold. You feel a pang of loss at the sudden distance between you two, but you can’t focus on that now. Shepherd is hovering over you, inspecting your hand with a frown. The broken knuckles—shattered from the impact of the crash—are starting to swell.

“You did well,” Shepherd breathes, his voice rough with exhaustion. His calloused fingers brush over your hand, making you wince. “My god, look at your hand.”

“OW,” you whine, pulling your hand away instinctively, but he doesn’t stop, his touch gentle but firm as he checks for further damage. "Ow," you repeat, a little softer this time, as he inspects the fracture.

He smiles grimly. “I’ll fix ye’ right up, but ye’ did good—we all did. Most of ‘em are dead, but most importantly, those holy transcripts ‘n cursed objects are safe in the ground team's helo.”

A breath of relief escapes you, the weight of your failure and the mission’s horrors lifting just a little. Your shoulders sag in exhaustion, and you slump against the side of the plane, trying to steady your breath. You hadn’t even realized how hard you were holding it in, but now the adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving you drained and battered.

But before you can let your mind rest, you remember—Satoru. You blink, as if seeing him for the first time, and your heart skips a beat.

The reality hits you all over again.

Alec who had warned you earlier—the one who had been your voice of reason in the chaos—glares at Satoru with suspicion. “Who’re you?”

Satoru’s expression falters slightly as he blinks, clearly caught off guard. “You… you don’t know who I am?” His voice is laced with surprise, and he looks to you for confirmation, but you can’t provide it. You can’t make sense of any of this. You can’t even think straight. You’re still reeling from the fact that he’s even here.

Alec’s glare hardens, and Shepherd glances at both of you, his hand hovering over his gun, just in case. The tension in the small, cramped plane is thick, every second stretching as if time itself is holding its breath.

“No?” Alec repeats, narrowing his eyes. “You an enemy? Part of them?”

Satoru’s face falls into a serious expression, his posture stiffening. “No! No, I’m a student... at Jujutsu High,” he explains quickly, tugging at the navy-blue uniform jacket he wears as if it should be enough proof. “Fifth year, I had a mission around here—and heard all this chaos... so I came to help.”

You watch him closely, your heart pounding in your chest as his words sink in. He was close by. What was even close by? was this even Japanese territory? you don’t even know at all— you just seem to black out during these ‘clean-up’ missions, you fail to remember your name sometimes. Shepherd knocks you with a smack to the head to help you.

You don’t know what to feel. You want to scream at him, ask him what the hell he’s doing here, but you’re too exhausted, too bewildered by everything that’s happened. All you know is that this situation is becoming even more surreal by the second.

You look at him, your eyes softening, yet still full of shock and disbelief. “You found me,” you whisper to yourself, a barely audible sound lost in the cacophony of the plane’s hum.

His gaze softens, and for the briefest moment, the world outside the plane fades away. He’s here. He found you. Is it really him?

Shepherd, sensing the moment of tension between you two, pats the comrade on the shoulder, his voice firm. “Relax. Kid’s no harm.”

Alec gapes, “B-but— gener— I mean, captai— Shepherd, how would you know?!— he just popped out of nowhere!” his hand tightening on his rifle— staring at Satoru. Having no idea he could get hollow purpled at any mom—

Shepherd exhales through his nose gruffly, rubbing his beard and narrowing his eyes at Satoru. “I can feel it.”

Deadpanned— thats what Alec was, “Feel it— yeah, wow, so explanatory.”

Shepherd grunts and points at the button— brooch, whatever it was on the Jujutsu student uniform. “we work for them— he’s a sorcerer. Now, how ‘bout ye get yer ass in the damn cockpit and contact watcher— gimme reports on ground team— if everyone exfiltrated, ye know the drill.”

“Yes, captain.” Alec sighs, prancing into the cockpit.

Satoru exhales sharply, the weight of the situation finally hitting him. A sigh of relief escapes his lips, his shoulders relaxing as the truth of his innocence sets in. He runs a hand through his white hair, glancing back at you once more, the words still hanging in the air between you two.

The silence feels too heavy, too unspoken, as if something else—something unsaid—lingers in the space between your gazes.

And then, in that silent exchange, the realization hits.

Found you, baby.

His eyes speak more than words ever could, heavy with unspoken emotions—fear, relief, longing, and most of all, the ache of not knowing. But now, it’s clear. The journey to find you is over, and for the first time in a long while, he lets himself believe that maybe—just maybe—there’s a chance for you both after all.

next.

Taglist is open!

@lavnder311

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #satoru gojo #all i need mymoonisgrey

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mymoonisgrey · 3 days ago

Text

you, my love, are All I Need.

pairings: gojo sator x reader. (og jujutsu au.)

chapter warnings: 18+, blood, mentions of war atmospheres, profanities, sensitive content, masturbation.

wc : 8k+

all i need's playlist!

series masterlist.

a/n: coming in hot with chapter 2, reader, whats your sit rep?

previously.

The higher-ups never made anything easy. Especially not for you. The moment you stepped foot into Jujutsu High, it was as if they’d already decided what you were—not who. A tool. A pawn. A goddamn liability, no matter how brightly your cursed energy burned or how effortlessly you lit up a room. To them, you were a problem—dangerous, volatile, a storm they couldn’t control. And all because of him.

Satoru Gojo. The Gojo clan’s untouchable prodigy. The strongest. The brightest. Theirs. You weren’t supposed to exist in his orbit, not with the way he looked at you like you were more than just someone—like you were everything. They hated that. Despised it. Because gods weren’t meant to kneel, not even to love.

“You’re wasting his potential,” they’d said, their voices sharp and cold like a blade pressed to your throat. They made it sound clinical, like they weren’t tearing your life apart for their own convenience. They didn’t ask. They didn’t care. They handed you a choice that wasn’t a choice at all: submission or sacrifice.

“Marry into a clan,” they offered with saccharine smiles, as if being sold off like livestock was a privilege you should thank them for. “Or,” they continued, their eyes glinting with something cruel, “serve the Jujutsu Society in a way that matters.”

You’d stared at them, the words sinking in slowly, like venom spreading through your veins. “Serve,” you’d echoed, your voice flat. “You mean die.”

“Die well,” one of them corrected, and the room erupted in polite laughter.

It wasn’t funny. None of it was. But what could you do? They’d already made their decision.

They sent you to the front lines, stripped of your name, your identity, your life. No more Jujutsu High. No more long afternoons spent laughing at Satoru’s bad jokes or stealing quiet moments in between missions. No more him. They took that from you. They took everything.

You were no longer a sorcerer—not in their eyes. Just a weapon, something to point and shoot. They outfitted you like a soldier, stuffing your hands with guns and knives, with grenades and curses bottled into ammunition. “Barbaric,” you’d muttered the first time they handed you a Glock, but no one laughed.

“You’ll fit right in,” they’d said, tossing you a uniform that smelled of sweat and iron. “Don’t fuck it up.”

And then there was Naoya Zenin. Smug, slimy, a roach that somehow always skittered just out of reach. He’d smirked at you the first time he saw you in your combat gear, leaning close like he had the right to invade your space. “Not bad,” he’d said, his voice dripping with condescension. “For a woman.”

But he wasn’t the worst. That honor belonged to Sato Fuhimito, the sergeant who made it his personal mission to remind you just how replaceable you were. He’d towered over you, all cold eyes and harsher words, laying out your options with the precision of a scalpel.

“Marry,” he’d said, his tone devoid of emotion, “or fight.”

You’d laughed in his face, sharp and bitter, a sound ripped straight from your breaking heart. “And here I thought I’d get a third option,” you’d said, dragging a hand down your face. “Like running. Or maybe murder.”

He hadn’t laughed. He hadn’t needed to. They had already won.

The missions came fast and brutal, one after another. They dropped you into cursed zones without warning, without backup. Your cursed energy tore through everything in its path, but it was never enough. There were always more enemies, always more blood. You stopped counting the bodies after the first week. Stopped feeling anything after the second.

“You’re good at this,” Fuhimito had said once, watching you wipe blood off your face with trembling hands. “Almost makes me forget you’re expendable.”

You’d smiled at him, your teeth bared like a wolf. “Don’t worry,” you’d said, your voice like steel. “I’ll remind you.”

But the worst part wasn’t the missions. It wasn’t the danger or the exhaustion or the bone-deep ache that never quite left you. It was the silence. The way Satoru’s name felt foreign in your mouth after weeks of not saying it. The way his face blurred in your memory, the sharp edges of his smile softening until you couldn’t quite remember what he looked like when he laughed.

You’d thought he would save you. He’d been so sure, so damn certain that no one could touch you. “They wouldn’t fucking dare,” he’d said, his voice ringing with unshakable confidence. And you’d believed him. You’d let yourself believe, just for a moment, that he was right.

But they did dare. And when they came for you, you couldn’t even look at him. Couldn’t bear to see the way his face twisted, the way his hands clenched at his sides as if he could hold the world together through sheer will alone. You’d wanted to speak, to scream, to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. But the words stuck in your throat, heavy and bitter and unspoken.

You’d watched him fall apart in silence, his eyes blazing with a fury that could’ve leveled cities. And then they took you, and he couldn’t stop them. For all his strength, for all his power, he couldn’t stop them.

And now? Now you’re just trying to survive. Day by day, curse by curse. The ache in your chest never fades, a constant reminder of what you’ve lost. Of what they’ve taken. And somewhere, in the quiet moments between battles, you wonder if he’s still out there, wondering the same about you.

The ocean stretched out before you, an endless expanse of blue and gold as the sun dipped lower into the horizon. The soft glow of the setting sun painted the sky in hues of amber and rose, its light shimmering over the water like a thousand tiny stars. The sand beneath your bare feet was warm, gritty, grounding—a small comfort in the chaos of your life.

The sundress you wore fluttered in the breeze, its hem brushing against your legs like a whisper. It was simple, white with tiny embroidered flowers, a gift from Satoru during one of your escapades in downtown Tokyo. He’d grinned like an idiot when he bought it, holding it up to you with a dramatic flourish. “My allowance just came in, and my wifey deserves the best,” he’d said, his voice full of that cocky charm that always made your heart skip. You could still hear him, see the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when you’d called him insufferable and then kissed him anyway.

That memory hurt now, a dull ache that settled in your chest as you stood on the beach, staring at the waves. You’d come here to escape, to breathe, to remind yourself that there was still beauty in the world despite everything. Despite the day they’d given you that impossible choice. Despite the way your voice had failed you, the words stuck in your throat as they laid out your fate with clinical precision.

“Marry or fight,” they’d said, their expressions cold, detached. And you? You’d said nothing. Couldn’t say anything. You’d just stood there, swallowing back the fear, the anger, the overwhelming urge to scream. And now, here you were, on a beach halfway to nowhere, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of your life———-

“Hey, you alright?”

The voice pulled you from your thoughts, gruff yet kind, with a trace of an accent that always made you think of old westerns and wide-open plains. You turned to see Vincent Shepherd, his tall frame silhouetted against the sunset. The captain’s ever-present gun hung at his side, his hand resting on it like he was ready for anything—or maybe just always expecting the worst.

You laughed, the sound more genuine than you’d expected. “Do you ever put that thing down?” you asked, nodding toward the gun.

Vincent raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. “What, this?” he said, patting the weapon. “Darlin’, this here’s my best friend. Never lets me down, never talks back. Can’t say the same for some people.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth lifted. “Pretty sure it doesn’t have much to say in general.”

“Exactly,” he said, his tone mock-serious. “Quiet and dependable. Unlike a certain someone who keeps sneakin’ off to the beach without backup.”

“Backup?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “I’m not exactly storming a cursed battlefield here, Shepherd.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re out here, and that’s enough for me to worry. You know the drill—eyes open, head on a swivel, gun ready.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “I think you’re just paranoid.”

“Paranoid’s kept me alive this long,” he shot back, though his tone was light. But then his gaze softened, his eyes catching yours in the fading light. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s really goin’ on?”

Your smile faltered, the weight of his question settling over you like a heavy blanket. Vincent was sharp, perceptive in a way that sometimes made you uncomfortable. He could see through the walls you built, past the jokes and the casual bravado, straight to the parts of you that hurt the most.

“It’s nothing,” you said quietly, turning your gaze back to the waves.

“Bullshit,” he said, but there was no heat in his voice. Just concern. “Come on, kid. Spill it. What’s eatin’ at you?”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. The sunset painted the world in gold and crimson, but it couldn’t mask the ache inside you. Finally, you sighed, crossing your arms as if that could shield you from the vulnerability creeping in.

“It’s just… everything,” you admitted. “The missions, the… choices. Being here, fighting for a place that doesn’t even belong to me.”

Vincent was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he stepped closer, his voice low and steady. “Listen to me, kid. You’re not just fightin’ for a place. You’re fightin’ for people. For the ones who can’t fight for themselves. And yeah, it’s dirty, it’s messy, it’s thankless as hell. But it matters.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in his tone. “Vincent…”

“And you matter,” he continued, cutting you off. “Don’t you dare forget that. I don’t care what those assholes up top say. You’re here, you’re fightin’, and that means somethin’ to me. To all of us.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. The lump in your throat was back, but this time it wasn’t fear or anger. It was something softer, something that felt a little like hope. You glanced at him, the rough lines of his face softened by the fading light, and managed a small smile.

“Thanks, Shepherd,” you said quietly.

He snorted, the moment of seriousness breaking as he ruffled your hair with a gloved hand. “Don’t thank me yet. You’re still on dish duty tonight.”

You groaned, but the laugh that followed was genuine. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, you felt the ache in your chest ease just a little, the weight of the day a fraction lighter.

For now, that was enough.

The night stretched endlessly as you and Shepherd walked side by side, the only sounds the crunch of sand beneath his boots and the distant, rhythmic crash of the waves. The moon hung low, casting a pale silver light that painted the world in soft shadows. The hem of your sundress still swayed in the cool breeze, brushing against your legs like a ghostly touch—one that reminded you too much of a hand you hadn’t felt since late 2007.

Gojo Satoru’s hand.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if the motion could physically expel the thought of him. It didn’t. His memory lingered, clawing at the edges of your mind, leaving behind a sting that burned hotter with every step.

“Y’know, kid,” Shepherd’s voice broke the silence, low and gravelly. “I’ve been thinkin’. What’s the point of all this? The dirty work? Feels like we’re breakin’ our backs for scraps while the special grades sit nice and comfy, watchin’ the rest of us bleed.”

His words hit harder than you expected. Your pace slowed as his question echoed in your mind, mingling with memories you had spent so long trying to suppress.

“I mean, hell,” Shepherd continued, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “We’re out here fightin’ curses, takin’ down rogue sorcerers, cleanin’ up their messes while they could snap their fingers and end it all. Don’t that ever piss you off?”

It did. God, it did. But the heat in your chest wasn’t anger—it was shame. You felt it claw its way up your throat, twisting into something bitter and heavy.

“They’re too important to risk their lives,” you said, your voice hollow.

Shepherd let out a dry laugh, one with no humor behind it. “Bullshit. They’re sittin’ back, keepin’ their hands clean while we drown in blood.” He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve got someone in mind, don’t ya? A name and a face.”

The air felt thinner all of a sudden, your lungs struggling to draw in a full breath. You swallowed hard, your feet slowing to a stop.

“I had a classmate,” you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the distant waves. “Someone… powerful. The strongest.��

The words felt like shards of glass on your tongue, sharp and cutting, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. You could see him in your mind—Satoru standing tall, his white hair catching the light, that cocky grin plastered across his face like he owned the world. And he did, didn’t he?

Satoru Gojo, the prodigy, the untouchable. The boy who made you laugh so hard your sides ached, who looked at you like you were the only person in a crowd of thousands. The man who promised you—promised—that no one would ever hurt you.

And yet, here you were. Hurt. Broken. Abandoned. Were you even abandoned? Was it your fault?

“If I had told him of everything,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “He could’ve stopped all of this before it even started.”

Shepherd stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His expression was unreadable, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to piece together a puzzle.

“Then why didn’t you?” he asked, his tone careful.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. How could you explain that? That the choice to leave had been taken from you before you could even tell him goodbye? That the memory of his voice calling your name was the only thing keeping you sane some days, and the thing that haunted you on others?

“I don’t know,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Shepherd frowned, but he didn’t press. “Doesn’t make sense,” he muttered, shaking his head. “A kid like you? You should be up there with the rest of ‘em. Hell, maybe even leadin’ ‘em. What the hell are you doin’ out here, fightin’ my battles?”

The question hung in the air, the weight of it pressing down on you like a lead blanket. You looked down at your feet, the sand shifting beneath your toes.

“I don’t know,” you said again, the words tasting bitter.

Shepherd sighed, running a hand over his face. “Maybe it’s not supposed to make sense,” he said after a moment. “Or maybe the systems just as fucked as we think it is.”

His words pulled a small, humorless laugh from you. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Maybe.”

He looked at you then, his eyes softer, less guarded. “Y’know, kid,” he started, his voice quieter now. “You remind me of my daughter. Same stubborn streak. Same look in your eyes like you’re carryin’ the whole damn world on your back.”

You glanced up at him, startled. “I didn’t know you had a daughter,” you said.

“Had,” he corrected, his tone rough. “She and her mom… they’re gone. Lost ‘em to a curse user while I was fightin’ overseas. Thought I was doin’ the right thing, protectin’ ‘em by stayin’ away. Turns out, I was dead wrong.”

The rawness in his voice made your chest tighten, but before you could speak, he shook his head. “I ain’t gonna make that mistake again,” he said firmly. “Not with you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I’m gonna protect you,” he said simply, his gaze steady. “Even if it kills me.”

The lump in your throat returned, but this time it wasn’t just guilt. It was something heavier, something softer. Shepherd had no idea who you really were, what you had with Satoru, or the reasons you’d been torn from him. But his words, his promise—they eased the ache in your chest just a little.

“Thanks, Shepherd,” you said quietly.

He ruffled your hair with a rough laugh. “Don’t thank me yet, kid. You’re still on cleanup duty tonight.”

The smile that tugged at your lips felt foreign but not unwelcome. As the two of you continued walking, the camp lights flickering faintly in the distance, Shepherd spoke again.

“Did you—i mean back when you were at Jtech, hear of a village fire caused by those fuckers?” he said, his tone almost casual. “The one that took out my family. Does it ring a bell for you?”

You frowned, the question prickling at something deep in your memory. A flicker of flames, a scent of smoke, screams that you couldn’t place.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, your voice uncertain.

“Well,” Shepherd said, his tone hardening. “If it ever does, you let me know.”

You nodded, your mind spinning. And as the two of you disappeared into the camp, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your past was creeping closer, its shadow stretching long and dark behind you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The faint hum of a jukebox played a nostalgic melody in the corner diner, its fluorescent lights casting a warm, cozy glow. Satoru Gojo sat slouched in the booth, his sunglasses pushed up to rest on his head. Across from him, Shoko Ieiri twirled a straw lazily in her iced coffee, her usual nonchalance firmly in place. The diner wasn’t particularly crowded—just a couple of patrons scattered about—but its charm had always drawn them in whenever they found themselves downtown.

In front of Satoru sat a generous slice of matcha cheesecake, the kind he usually devoured in record time. Tonight, however, the plate remained untouched.

“Excuse me,” a soft, nervous voice interrupted their conversation—or lack thereof.

Both of them looked up, and there she stood: a girl, maybe a college student, with flushed cheeks and a shy smile. She clutched her phone like it was her lifeline.

“Um, hi,” she stammered, her gaze fixed on Satoru. “I was wondering… could I get your number?”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement, but Satoru barely blinked.

“Sorry, can’t do that,” he said, leaning back and adjusting his sunglasses. “I’ve got a girlfriend.”

The girl’s face fell slightly, but she didn’t back down. “Oh… where is she, then?”

Before Satoru could respond, Shoko leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “She’s right here,” she said smoothly, gesturing toward herself. “Thanks for asking.”

The girl blinked, her confusion evident, but she quickly mumbled an apology and scurried off, leaving Satoru and Shoko alone again.

“You’re welcome,” Shoko said with a smirk, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Very convincing performance, Shoko. I’ll nominate you for an award,” Satoru quipped, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

“Please, as if anyone would believe I’m your type,” she shot back, waving her hand dismissively. Her gaze flickered to his plate, her brow furrowing. “Speaking of unbelievable—are you seriously not going to touch that? Matcha cheesecake, Gojo. Your favorite. And look at the size of it. Practically made for you.”

Satoru didn’t respond immediately. He stared at the cheesecake, his fingers tapping against the table in a steady rhythm. Finally, he let out a sigh, pushing his sunglasses back down over his eyes.

“What’s on your mind?” Shoko asked, her voice softer now.

He hesitated, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “Just… stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” Shoko tilted her head, giving him a look that clearly said she wasn’t buying it. “Come on, you can’t just ‘stuff’ me. Spill.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, almost reluctantly, he muttered, “I still think of her as my girlfriend.”

Shoko froze, her straw stilling mid-stir. She knew who he meant—of course, she did. She sighed, resting her arms on the table as she studied him. “You’re not eating sugar because you’re moping over her? That’s serious, Gojo.”

“Who said I’m moping?” he retorted, his tone defensive.

“You did. With your face.” She motioned toward him, unimpressed. “And the cheesecake. That’s screaming ‘mope.’”

He gave a half-hearted chuckle, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I just… I don’t get it, y’know? One day she’s there, and then she’s gone. And no one tells me anything. It’s like she just vanished.”

Shoko fell silent, her brow furrowing in thought. Her mind turned over the puzzle, piecing together fragments of conversations and whispers she’d overheard during her time as Jujutsu High’s unofficial medic.

“I might be able to help,” she said suddenly, her tone careful.

Satoru’s head snapped up, his attention now fully on her. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, glancing around the diner before leaning in slightly. “I’ve got access to… certain files. As the school’s only undergrad medic, they trust me with medical records and reports. Including stuff on the Taskforce.”

His brows shot up. “Taskforce? What taskforce?”

Shoko sighed, fiddling with the corner of her napkin. “The Jujutsu Society has a special division—kind of like a… clean-up crew. They handle stuff no one else wants to touch. High-risk missions, curses in remote areas, cursed weaponry development. It’s brutal work, and it’s not exactly voluntary.”

Satoru stared at her like she’d slapped him. “You’re telling me they’ve got a whole group of people risking their necks every day, and they didn’t think to tell me? I’m the strongest—I could end those missions in seconds!”

“They don’t want you doing that,” Shoko said calmly. “The higher-ups protect the strongest for the big stuff. Wars. Catastrophic curses. Things that only someone like you could handle. They’re not going to waste you on things they think the Taskforce can handle.”

“Waste me?” he repeated, his voice rising. “I’m not a tool they get to save for a rainy day!”

Shoko raised a hand, trying to placate him. “I get it, okay? But it’s not just you. I’m in the same boat. They keep me out of the field because I’m the only one who can use reverse cursed technique on other people. They’re not about to risk losing their only medic.”

He let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “That’s different, Shoko. You’re saving lives. They’re just throwing people at problems and hoping for the best.”

Shoko shrugged, her expression unreadable. “I didn’t say it was fair. Just how it is.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the din of the diner filling the space between them. Finally, Satoru leaned back, his jaw tight. “You said you could look into it,” he said. “About her. Do you think she’s… there? In the Taskforce?”

Shoko met his gaze, her eyes steady. “I’ll see what I can find.”

For the first time that night, Satoru’s expression softened, though the pain in his eyes remained. “Thanks, Shoko.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, smirking. “This could get me into serious trouble, you know.”

“Trouble’s your middle name,” he shot back, his grin faint but genuine.

Shoko chuckled, leaning back in her seat. “Yeah, well, don’t forget it. Now eat your damn cheesecake before I do it for you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Satoru picked up his fork, the faintest glimmer of hope stirring in his chest.

The night air was crisp, the bustle of downtown Tokyo beginning to quiet as the hour grew late. Satoru and Shoko exited the diner, the neon lights reflecting in scattered puddles along the sidewalk. Satoru shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his mind still racing with the revelation Shoko had dropped about the Taskforce.

“You’re really not going to let this go, huh?” Shoko asked, her tone casual as she lit a cigarette.

“Would you?” he shot back, glancing at her. His sunglasses were perched atop his head again, exposing the piercing blue of his eyes—eyes that flickered with something between hope and desperation.

Shoko exhaled a plume of smoke, shrugging. “Fair point.”

They walked in silence for a moment, the sounds of distant traffic and murmured conversations filling the air. Satoru’s gaze wandered, his thoughts a whirlwind. He was about to say something when he froze, his breath catching in his throat.

Ahead of them, a woman stood at the edge of the sidewalk, her back to them as she waited for the pedestrian signal to change. She wore a long coat, her dark hair falling in soft waves down her back. The sight of her made Satoru’s chest tighten painfully.

It couldn’t be.

Without a word, he stepped forward, his strides quick and determined. Shoko blinked in surprise, hurriedly stubbing out her cigarette and following him.

“Satoru, what are you—?”

He didn’t answer. His focus was locked on the woman ahead, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Every rational part of his brain told him it wasn’t possible. But the way her hair caught the light, the way she tilted her head ever so slightly—it was too familiar.

“Wait!” he called out, his voice sharper than he intended.

The woman turned her head slightly, startled, but it wasn’t enough. Desperation clawing at him, Satoru reached out and gently grabbed her arm, spinning her around.

For a moment, the world stopped.

It wasn’t her.

The woman stared at him, wide-eyed and terrified, clutching her bag tightly against her chest. “W-What are you doing? Let me go!”

“I’m sorry,” Satoru said quickly, releasing her arm and stepping back. His voice was unsteady, his mind reeling. “I thought you were someone else.”

The woman’s fear didn’t fade, her hands trembling as she clutched her bag. Shoko arrived at Satoru’s side, her sharp gaze flitting between him and the woman.

“Relax,” Shoko said smoothly, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “He didn’t mean any harm. Just a misunderstanding.”

Satoru opened his mouth to apologize again, but then his eyes caught on something—a glint of sapphire at the woman’s throat. His breath hitched.

The necklace.

It was unmistakable: a delicate chain with a small sapphire pendant, custom-made because she’d once said his eyes were her favorite shade of blue.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The woman blinked, her fear momentarily replaced by confusion. “What?”

“The necklace,” he said, his voice stronger now. “Where did you get it?”

Her hand instinctively went to the pendant, her grip tightening. “A… a friend gave it to me.”

Satoru’s stomach dropped. “Who? Where? When?” he demanded, his words spilling out in a rush.

“I-I don’t know!” the woman stammered, taking a step back. “I don’t even know her name. We just… we worked together once, that’s all!”

Shoko placed a firm hand on Satoru’s shoulder, tugging him back. “That’s enough,” she said quietly, her voice edged with concern.

“But—”

“Satoru,” she said firmly, giving him a look that brokered no argument.

He exhaled shakily, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. The woman still looked terrified, her eyes darting between them.

Shoko turned to her, her expression softening. “We’re sorry about this. He really thought you were someone else. What’s your name?”

The woman hesitated, her gaze flicking to Satoru before returning to Shoko. “It’s Hana,” she said cautiously.

“Thank you, Hana,” Shoko said with a small nod. “You can go now. Sorry for scaring you.”

Hana didn’t need to be told twice. She practically ran across the street as soon as the light changed, disappearing into the crowd.

Shoko watched her go, her sharp eyes catching the faint glimmer of something on Hana’s wrist as she moved. A tattoo. Small and faint, but unmistakable.

J.S.T.F.

She frowned, her mind already working through the implications as she turned back to Satoru. He was staring after Hana, his hands trembling at his sides.

“Let’s go,” Shoko said, tugging his sleeve.

Satoru didn’t argue, following her in a daze as they made their way toward the train station.

Once they were seated on the train, the hum of the engine and the sway of the car providing a semblance of normalcy, Shoko finally spoke.

“She had a J.S.T.F. stamp on her wrist,” she said.

Satoru turned to her, his brows furrowing. “What does that mean?”

“It means she’s part of the Jujutsu Special Task Force,” Shoko explained. “Or at least, she was. It’s how they identify Taskforce members—normal sorcerers versus J.S.T.F. operatives. If that woman worked with her, then…”

Satoru’s eyes widened. “You’re saying she’s alive.”

“I’m saying it’s possible,” Shoko said carefully. “And now that I have her name, I can look into the files. There might be something there.”

For the first time that night, a spark of hope lit in Satoru’s eyes. He leaned back in his seat, exhaling deeply. “Thanks, Shoko.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, her tone light despite the weight of their conversation. “You’re lucky I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Satoru chuckled weakly, his gaze drifting out the window as the city lights blurred past. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t chasing ghosts after all.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The infirmary was silent, save for the hum of the ancient desktop computer and the occasional rustle of paper as Shoko flipped through files stacked in precarious piles. It wasn’t her usual station; this room was unofficial—more like a storage area converted into an impromptu workspace. Cardboard boxes labeled J.S.T.F. were scattered haphazardly around her, their edges worn from years of neglect.

The fluorescents overhead flickered, casting pale light over Satoru as he slumped in the chair opposite her. His elbows rested on his knees, his white hair falling messily over his forehead, and his trademark sunglasses sat firmly atop his head. There was no trace of the easy confidence he usually exuded. Instead, his eyes were shadowed, distant.

Shoko glanced up from the computer screen, her cigarette dangling between her fingers. “You’re awfully quiet for once. Not gonna tell me to speed up?”

Satoru didn’t respond immediately. His gaze was fixed on the floor, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his knee. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” he murmured finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

She sighed, setting the cigarette in the ashtray beside her. “Crazy? No. Desperate? Definitely. But I get it.”

He leaned back, his lips twitching into a bitter smile. “Do you? Shoko, I felt her. For a second, I thought... I thought I was going to lose my mind.” He dragged a hand down his face, his frustration palpable. “Two years. She’s been gone for two years. And now, out of nowhere, this?”

Shoko didn’t answer right away. She understood his pain better than he realized. Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, was human after all. “Look,” she said, her voice softer now. “If it’s her, we’ll find out. If it’s not... you need to know, either way. That’s why we’re doing this.”

He nodded, though his jaw was clenched tight.

The computer beeped as Shoko typed in the search parameters. “Okay, let’s start with the obvious,” she muttered. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, inputting the name Hana into the system. The screen flickered before pulling up three entries.

“Three hits,” she said, leaning forward to scan the information. “Alright, first one. Hana Matsuda. Thirty-eight. Definitely not her.”

Satoru’s gaze sharpened as she clicked on the second name.

“Hana Ishikawa. Twenty-five. Civilian. Nope.”

The final file loaded slowly, the outdated system grinding like it was struggling to breathe. Shoko’s eyes narrowed. “Here we go. Hana... Johnson. Age twenty-eight. Six-year veteran of the J.S.T.F., under the command of Captain Vincent Shepherd. American jujutsu sorcerer. Thirty-five years in service, promoted to captain in his fourth year. Thats the girl we saw.”

Satoru stiffened, the name ringing in his ears. His eyes darted to the screen as Shoko scrolled through the details. "Johnson? do the higher-ups have a thing for drafting foreign sorcerers?"

Shoko mumbles something he couldn't hear, but gives a half nod-- conveying she wasn't entirely sure.

“Shepherd,” he repeated, his tone flat. “That’s the guy that captains everything? the one that—” He cut himself off, unable to finish the sentence.

Shoko nodded. “Yeah. He’s the one running the team. She’s been under his command for six years...” Her voice trailed off as realization dawned. She glanced at Satoru.

“what?” he pressed, his voice rising.

“Look at Shepherd’s profile.” Shoko finished, clicking through more files. Her breath caught as another name appeared.

“Bingo,” she whispered.

The screen displayed a profile picture—grainy and poorly lit, but unmistakably you. Your face was sharper now, her features hardened by time and whatever hell she’d endured, but it was her.

Satoru froze. His world narrowed to that single image, the one he’d thought he’d never see again. His chest tightened as a wave of emotions crashed over him—relief, anger, guilt, and something raw and unnameable.

“She’s alive,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

But Satoru didn’t laugh. His fingers trembled as he reached out, tracing the edge of the screen. The woman in the photo was both familiar and a stranger, her eyes holding a weight he didn’t remember.

Shoko didn’t know what to say. The strongest sorcerer in the world looked like a man on the verge of breaking, and for once, she had no words to comfort him.

The glow of the computer screen flickered in the dim office, the silence heavy and suffocating. Satoru stared, his usually bright and sharp eyes wide and disbelieving. Her picture was there, alongside a name he’d never been able to forget. Her name. Her.

“Shoko,” his voice cracked, almost unrecognizable. “What is this?”

Shoko didn’t answer immediately. She stared at the screen, frozen, her cigarette burning down between her fingers. Her brows knitted together as though her mind refused to piece together what she was seeing. “I… I don’t know.”

“That’s her!” he shouted, slamming his hands down on the desk. The computer shook, and so did his voice. “Her name, her picture, her—why the hell is she on this file?”

“I thought—” Shoko swallowed hard, her voice trembling. “I thought she was dead as well. We all thought she was dead, Satoru.”

He pulled back, staggering as if the weight of her words had hit him physically. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, pacing back and forth, his movements erratic. “Dead?” His voice rose, brittle and cracking. “Then why the fuck is she on a classified task force roster? How could—how could she be alive and no one told me?”

Shoko finally moved, taking a shaky drag from her cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “None of this makes sense.”

He froze mid-step, spinning back to her. “Task force members are supposed to be low-grade sorcerers, right? Barely any cursed energy? She was semi-first grade by the end of our first year.”

Shoko looked at him, her usual calm façade nowhere to be found. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “That’s what we have to figure out.”

His chest heaved, his breaths ragged and loud in the still room. “Shoko.” His voice broke, raw and guttural. “Why didn’t I know? How could you not know?”

He turned away, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He hated this—the spiraling fear, the anger clawing at his throat, the gut-wrenching helplessness. For all his power, for everything he could do, he couldn’t reach her. He couldn’t protect her.

Shoko stepped closer, her voice soft but unsteady. “We’ll figure it out,” she murmured. “I promise.”

When her hand landed on his shoulder, Satoru froze, then slowly turned back to her. Without warning, he pulled her into a crushing hug, burying his face in her shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking again. “Thank you, Shoko.”

She patted his back lightly, her own grief mirrored in her touch. “Go get some rest, Satoru. You’re no good to her like this.”

He nodded, releasing her, his trademark cocky smirk flickering to life for just a second. “Yeah. Night, Shoko.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The night was still and cold as he stood in the parking lot, the sleek curves of his black car gleaming under the streetlights. He rolled his eyes, snapping his fingers and teleporting home instead.

The penthouse was immaculate, a study in luxury and emptiness. The marble floors gleamed, the furniture was pristine, and the city skyline stretched endlessly through floor-to-ceiling windows. It was everything anyone could want, but to him, it was nothing.

The silence pressed in as he shed his clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over his tense muscles. But no amount of heat could thaw the ice in his chest, the hollow ache that had taken root.

Later, he lay sprawled on his massive bed, the silk sheets cool against his skin. His mind refused to quiet. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her—her smile, the way she used to roll her eyes when he teased her, the sound of her laugh breaking through the walls he never realized he’d built.

The memories felt cruel now, a double-edged blade that both comforted and destroyed him. He let himself imagine the life they should’ve had—something quieter, simpler. A house by a lake. Her, curled up on the couch with a book while he pretended to read but really just watched her. Kids running barefoot through the grass. A cat lazing on a windowsill, a dog chasing after a ball, maybe even a parrot screeching in the background just because she thought it’d be funny.

He smiled bitterly. “Anything you wanted,” he whispered into the dark, his voice breaking. “Anything you wanted, I’d have given you.”

Reaching for his phone on the nightstand, he scrolled through his photo gallery. Picture after picture filled the screen, each one a moment in time that felt like a lifetime ago. There was her pout when he teased her, her mischievous grin during a mission, her face peaceful as she slept against his shoulder.

Then his finger hovered over a private folder, his pulse quickening. He opened it.

The video played on his phone, the screen dimly lighting the dark room. Satoru lay sprawled on his bed, bare-chested, his hand resting low on his abdomen as his eyes devoured every frame. The grainy quality didn’t matter—her voice, her body, the way she came undone under him—it was all burned into his memory.

He swallowed hard as her moans spilled through the speakers, soft and breathless, laced with the kind of vulnerability only he had been privy to. His cock throbbed beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants, and he freed himself with one quick motion, hissing softly as his palm wrapped around the swollen length.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his voice rough, nearly guttural. His thumb dragged over the sensitive head, smearing precum, and a shudder ripped through him. “You always knew how to ruin me.”

The video showed her writhing beneath him, her back arching, her lips parted as his name tumbled from her mouth like a plea. He matched the rhythm with his hand, slow and torturous, his grip tightening with every stroke. His mind blurred the line between memory and fantasy, the vivid recollection of her warmth, her scent, the way her nails had clawed at his back, begging him for more.

“Miss the way you’d take it,” he rasped, his teeth gritting as his strokes grew faster. His hand slick with precum, the obscene sounds of his movements filled the otherwise silent room. “Miss the way you’d fall apart for me—fuck, look at you.”

The video shifted, showing her face up close, eyes glassy with pleasure, lips swollen from his kisses. He groaned, his hips bucking into his fist as if chasing the ghost of her touch. The ache in his chest burned as hot as the fire pooling low in his abdomen.

“You’d love this, wouldn’t you?” he growled, his voice dropping lower, darker. “Me, falling apart like this. So desperate for you. So fucking pathetic without you.”

The tension coiled tighter, his breathing ragged and shallow, each stroke driving him closer to the edge. Her name spilled from his lips, raw and hoarse, a broken prayer as he imagined her beneath him again, her legs wrapped around his waist, her lips brushing his ear, whispering promises he’d never let her keep.

When release finally hit, it tore through him like a wave, his body arching off the bed as his hand milked every last drop from him. Her name escaped him again, quieter this time, barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

He lay there, chest heaving, his hand sticky and warm, but the satisfaction was fleeting. The hollowness returned almost immediately, swallowing him whole.

With a shaky exhale, he reached for the tissues on the nightstand, cleaning himself with mechanical precision before tossing them aside. Then he opened the drawer, pulling out the small velvet box that felt heavier than it should.

Flipping it open, he stared at the ring inside—a stunning twin-pear cut diamond on a slender gold band. The jeweler had tried to warn him about the price, but he’d only laughed. “Do you think money matters to me? It’s for her.”

His fingers trembled as he brought the ring to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the diamond.

“I’ll find you, baby.” he whispered, his voice barely holding steady as he cracks a small, lopsided weak smile. “what could you be doin’ right now, hm?”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The night was alive with chaos. Screams tore through the air as bullets ricocheted and curses shrieked, their grotesque forms illuminated by the staccato flashes of gunfire. The battlefield sprawled like a macabre painting-smoke rising in thick plumes, flames licking at the debris-strewn ground, and the sharp tang of iron and ozone saturating the air.

Shepherd moved through it all like a force of nature, his commands sharp and unyielding as he led his team into the fray. The chemical hangar loomed ahead, a foreboding structure with jagged shadows clawing at its edges. It was their target, the heart of the enemy's twisted operation, and it needed to be neutralized at all costs.

"Cover the rear! Don't let those bastards flank us!" Shepherd barked, his revolver spitting cursed energy into the night. The weapon's rounds glowed faintly, cutting through the inky darkness as they tore into a curse lunging from the rubble. It let out a guttural scream before disintegrating into ash.

Behind him, the team moved like a well-oiled machine, their formation tight despite the relentless assault.

They were soldiers, each of them hardened by battles far too numerous to count, but even they couldn't mask the tension etched into their movements.

“Hostiles incoming-two o'clock!" one of the soldiers shouted, swiveling to unleash a barrage of gunfire. The bullets caught a humanoid curse mid-leap, its misshapen body convulsing as it hit the ground, twitching before falling still.

Another curse-a grotesque, serpent-like monstrosity

-slithered toward them, its eyes glowing with malice.

Shepherd didn't hesitate. He surged forward, his hand crackling with cursed energy as he slammed his palm into the creature's head. The curse writhed, its hiss morphing into a scream as Shepherd's technique surged through it, obliterating it from the inside out.

"Keep moving!" he roared, turning to face his team.

"The clock's ticking!"

Inside the hangar, the air was suffocating, heavy with the acrid stench of chemicals and the faint hum of cursed energy. The barrels lining the walls seemed to pulse with malevolence, each one a ticking time bomb of destruction waiting to be unleashed.

The team fanned out, their boots echoing against the concrete floor as they worked with practiced efficiency.

Charges were placed with swift precision, the adhesive strips sticking to the tanks with muted clicks.

"Status?" Shepherd's voice was a low growl, his eyes scanning the dimly lit space for movement.

"Almost done, Captain," one of the soldiers replied, sweat streaking his dirt-smudged face as he secured the final charge. "Two minutes to finish the setup."

The words had barely left his mouth when the shadows shifted, and curses began to materialize from the darkness.

They came in a wave-hulking beasts with jagged limbs, their eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.

The soldiers reacted instantly, opening fire in a deafening cacophony. Shells clattered to the ground as bullets tore through the air, some embedding themselves in the curses' grotesque forms while others ricocheted off the walls.

One of the larger curses—a grotesque amalgamation of limbs and teeth-barreled toward the group, its roar shaking the ground. Shepherd met it head-on, his cursed energy igniting like a wildfire. He dodged its swiping claws with practiced ease, his movements fluid and lethal as he closed the distance.

The curse lunged, its jaws snapping shut inches from his face. Shepherd countered with a brutal uppercut, his cursed energy-enhanced strike shattering its lower jaw. The creature staggered back, and he followed up with a series of rapid blows, each one punctuated by the sickening crunch of bones.

Behind him, another soldier let out a sharp cry as a curse pinned him against a barrel. Before it could land the killing blow, a bullet tore through its head, and it crumpled to the ground. Shepherd spared a glance at the soldier, nodding once before returning his focus to the fray.

"Team Bravo, report!"

"Charges are secure, Captain! We're ready to exfil!"

"Good. Move out! Cover each other and keep those bastards off our backs!"

The team began their retreat, their movements quick but deliberate as they wove through the chaos.

Shepherd brought up the rear, his revolver barking with each pull of the trigger, every shot a precise kill.

Outside, the battlefield was no less chaotic. Smoke hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of blood and burnt flesh. The aircraft still loomed above, a silent predator waiting for the signal.

Shepherd's voice crackled through the radio, cutting through the static. "Eagle One, blow 'em to hell, doll."

For a moment, there was silence.

Inside the cockpit, the world seemed to still. You exhaled slowly, your breath fogging the glass as your hands moved with meticulous precision. The targeting system beeped softly, its crosshairs locking onto the heart of the hangar.

The chaos below was a distant memory, muted by the hum of the engines and the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. Your finger hovered over the trigger, and for a split second, you let yourself feel the weight of it-the lives, the destruction, the purpose carved out for you in the shadows of this war.

Your lips curled into a faint smile, a chilling edge to it as your voice cut through the silence.

"Yes, Captain."

lets go.

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@lavnder311

#jujutsu gojo #jujustu kaisen #gojo satoru smut #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #all i need mymoonisgrey

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mymoonisgrey · 4 days ago

Text

you, my love, are All I Need.

synopsis : After the tragedy of the Star Plasma Vessel incident, Satoru Gojo loses more than just his closest friend, Suguru Geto—he loses the one person who made the chaos of his world feel bearable. She was his light, his tether to something more human, and just when he dared to imagine a future with her, fate cruelly severed their bond. With her sudden disappearance in his third year at Jujutsu High, Satoru is left reeling, torn between his duties as the strongest sorcerer and the ache of searching for someone he may never find.

pairings : gojo satoru x reader. ( og jujutsu au.)

chapter warnings : 18+, substance use, brief smut, profanities.

wc : 6k+

all i need’s playlist!

series masterlist.

a/n: hiiii! my first ever ever ever write— besides my take on shakespeare during highschool, should i call it dollspeare? haha. anyway, see you on the flipside! 💋

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The water was cold.

Not the kind of cold that refreshes you. Not the cold side of a pillow or the chill of water after a midday nap. No, this cold was invasive, sharp, and biting. It numbed him in the worst way possible. His once expensive, custom made suit clung to his skin, heavy and oppressive. Wet clothes had always been a pet peeve of his—an irritation he could never quite shake.

The cigarette between his long, calloused fingers felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else. Satoru didn’t smoke. He never had. He’d always told you it was bad for you, even though you’d laugh and light another one, saying it was the only thing that kept your head straight when life got too heavy. Now he wondered if he could’ve been your relief, if he could’ve been what grounded you. But that wasn’t how life worked, was it?

How foolish of him to think he could ever compare to a simple cigarette.

He raised it to his lips, took a drag, and immediately regretted it. It tasted awful, acrid and bitter. He coughed. Shoko had given it to him, probably as a joke, but he couldn’t even bring himself to chuckle at the thought. Sweetness was more his thing, wasn’t it? Something saccharine to drown out the bitterness. But this—the taste clung to him, lingered like a bad memory he couldn’t shake.

RING!

“Fuck me,” he muttered, startled by the shrill ring of his phone. The sound echoed in the silent bathroom, his head pounding with every note. He groaned, shifting in the water as it sloshed around him, reaching for his phone. His movements were sluggish, as though the cold had seeped into his bones. His first touchscreen phone—a novelty he would’ve been excited about in a different time. Would you have liked it? Would you have made him take pictures, dragging him into the frame despite his protests?

“Boo, took you long enough,” Shoko’s voice teased, the usual dullness tinged with something heavier, wearier.

Satoru winced, his throat raw and hoarse. “Five seconds too long for you?” he replied, his tone biting, though the effort felt half-hearted.

“You sound like shit.”

“Gee, thanks.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. “Rough day.”

“Mission?”

“Yeah. Mission. Great.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“What do you want me to say, Shoko? That it was fucking fantastic? Peachy?” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. “Sorry, I’m just…”

“It’s fine. I get it.” Her tone softened, but the silence that followed was deafening. Crackling static filled the line as he struggled to find words that wouldn’t spill over into something he couldn’t control.

“They still have her files,” he blurted, the words bitter on his tongue. His free hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm. “They still have them, Shoko.”

“...Seriously?”

“Yeah. I saw them today. Her picture was just… there. Like she never fucking left. Like she’s still here, just out of reach.”

“And the verdict?”

“She’s alive. I fucking know it. Why else would they have her files? No stamp, no ‘KIA.’ They lied to me, Shoko. They told me she was dead, but they lied.”

His voice cracked again, and he swallowed hard, trying to choke down the rising tide of emotion. Don’t cry. Not now. Not here.

“What if it’s an old—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” His tone was sharp, cutting. “You know as well as I do that they wouldn’t keep her file out if she were dead. It would’ve been archived, buried under layers of dust and bureaucracy.”

Silence. Then, softly: “So what are you going to do?”

“Find her,” he said, the words a vow. “I have to find her.”

“Then do it,” she said firmly. “You’re the strongest, aren’t you? Use it. Burn it all down if you have to.”

He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. His eyes flicked to the orange bottle on the bathroom sink—benzos Shoko had prescribed him in a moment of pity. He hated them, but he hated the alternative more.

“Can I use your bathtub?” Shoko asked suddenly, her voice lighter, almost teasing. “The dorm showers are shit.”

“Yeah,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, fleeting smile. “You’re always welcome, Shoko.”

When the call ended, he stood, water cascading off his soaked suit. It dripped onto the expensive tiles as he walked to the sink, his movements erratic and unsteady. He grabbed the bottle, popping more pills than he should’ve, and braced himself against the counter. His reflection stared back at him, hollow and tired.

“I’m going to find you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding in his head. “I swear it.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Late 2007.

“Baby?”

You turned at the sound of his voice, cigarette in hand, the embers glowing faintly in the darkness. Your eyes met his, heavy with the weight of everything you couldn’t say. His heart ached at the sight—dulled color, dimmed light. You used to shine. What happened?

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” you asked softly as he sat beside you, his presence warm against the night’s chill.

“Can’t sleep without you,” he admitted, his voice gentle, honest.

Your cheeks flushed, and he smiled, the kind of smile that could’ve lit up your entire world if you let it. He reached for your hand, pulling you closer.

“Talk to me,” he urged, his thumb brushing against your delicate knuckles. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You hesitated, biting your lip—a nervous habit he always noticed, he noticed everything about you. “Mission tomorrow,” you said finally. “Just nervous.”

He frowned, his round glasses slipping down his nose. “You’ll be fine. You’re amazing, remember?”

He kissed your temple, soft and lingering. “Anything goes wrong, call me. I’ll be there.”

“You can’t.”

“I can,” he insisted. “I’ll cross the world for you. You know that. What’s a few old geezers gonna do to me, huh?”

His words were too much, too heavy, too sincere. They broke something in you. But you smiled anyway, because how could you not? He was Satoru Gojo—light incarnate. And you were about to dim that light forever. After months of him trying to light it back.

“Let’s go to bed,” you murmur softly, your fingers slipping into his with the kind of ease that comes only with familiarity. His hand is warm, encompassing yours, grounding you in a way nothing else ever could. He rises without hesitation, trailing behind you, his gaze tracing your every movement with an intensity that makes your heart falter. His eyes—those unrelenting, cerulean eyes—are filled with something unspoken, something that burns. For you? He’d cross any line, defy any rule. Murder? It’s not a question of if. It’s when.

His bed is warm, impossibly so, as though it’s been waiting just for you. The mattress is decadent, the kind of luxury you almost envy him for, but the thought dissipates the moment he pulls you against him. His arms encircle you, his chest firm and steady at your back. One hand rests possessively on your waist, the other trailing languid, deliberate circles over your stomach. His lips brush your temple, soft and reverent, like a prayer whispered to a god he doesn’t believe in.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice raw, aching with everything he feels but cannot say. “I love you so much.”

The words sink into you, heavy and bittersweet. They wrap around your heart, squeezing painfully tight. You feel it all—his love, his longing, his desperation to keep you close—and it hurts. Ouch.

“I love you... oh!”

Satoru’s breath is hot against your skin, but there's something different in the way he exhales—a harsh, almost desperate edge to it. His lips curl into a grin, but it's not playful, it’s darker, more possessive. “Shhh,” he hisses, voice rougher than before, "Don't even think. Just let go. I'll make you forget everything."

Before you can respond, his hand is already sliding under your waistband, fingertips grazing your skin in a way that feels almost possessive. His touch is no longer gentle, it’s urgent, demanding. He presses against your clothed clit, and the pressure is firm—so deliberate that you gasp, your body instinctively arching toward him, wanting more.

You can feel how damp you are, the evidence of your body's betrayal, but there's no time for embarrassment now. You’re lost in the way he touches you, the relentless friction, the heat spreading through you. His fingers move with purpose, pushing you toward something far more intense, and the quiet whimpers spilling from your lips only fuel his desire. His fingers slide your panties to the side, rubbing over your clit with precision, it’s too fucking much.

He’s too fucking much.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” His voice is lower now, like a growl, as he trails his lips along your neck. The heat of his breath against your skin sends jolts of electricity through your body. "Say it. Let me take care of ya, please, baby."

You can barely form the words, your breath coming in quick bursts. "Yes... please..." You don’t even recognize your own voice. It’s needy. Desperate.

Satoru's other hand moves swiftly to your chest, fingers grasping your ample tit with an almost bruising intensity. He kneads it, pinching your nipple sharply until you let out a startled gasp. The pain is sharp, but it’s mingled with the overwhelming pleasure of his touch, making you dizzy with desire. You’re at the edge, teetering, lost in the mounting pleasure that threatens to unravel you.

“I love you,” he mutters, but it’s not the gentle, loving declaration from before—it’s guttural, a promise of something darker. His lips crash against yours in a kiss so intense, so consuming, it knocks the air from your lungs. He dominates the kiss, his tongue claiming you with an urgency that leaves you breathless, desperate for more. His hands never stop moving—teasing, demanding—his touch leaving no room for hesitation.

“Feel me,” he demands between kisses, his tone low and commanding, yet so fucking desperate as if you were gonna leave. Touche..

“As long as I’m here, you don’t think. You don’t worry. You don’t have to do anything but feel. Let me take care of everything. That’s my job, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” His fingers are relentless, working you harder now, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, each movement sharper than the last. Your body is trembling beneath him, and he knows it. He knows how close you are to breaking, to completely losing yourself to him. And he’ll make sure you do.

“I'm sorry.” You croak out as he takes care of you. Like he always does.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

That was the last time he saw you. Because the next morning, you were gone.

The polaroids in his hands, ones he found while looking for a specific sweater in the back of his closet, felt heavier than they should’ve, their glossy surfaces cold against his fingers. Dates were scrawled in blue ink—a souvenir pen from a trip to Seoul. He stared at the pictures, your beautiful face smiling back at him, frozen in time.

“Did you even love me?”

The question lingered in the empty room. He didn’t believe you were dead. He couldn’t. Not when his gut told him otherwise. You were out there. Somewhere. And he would find you.

Even if it killed him.

next.

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